“Remoted” – Workday 101 /Day 137 (Friday)

Potato flowers!

Another beautiful weather day. Working from the home office has me more aware of the weather than I can recall, and having a desk at a window allows me to enjoy it. One of my favorite office-office spaces is also the tiniest one I’ve ever had. I could extend my arms and touch the cubicle walls. But it was directly near a window, which the chair faced, and that's what made it my favorite. Later, I was moved to a much larger cubicle. It was long and narrow and oriented to face a wall with windows behind me. Definitely roomier, with amenities including a coat locker, but less great than that previous teeny, tiny cubicle with a window. So yes, I love being by a window.

Before work, I took a trip out to the deck to visit the deck plants. The mix of deliberately set plants and accidental weeds in the containers have gotten lush. The potato eyes planted on a whim have produced sturdy stalks with pretty flowers. The mint smells refreshing. The basil is filling out nicely. The weeds growing along the outside of the deck are ready to burst with yellow flowers. I want to transplant them to the outside of the new fence. Something needs to go there. 

Pretty weeds!

It’s been two weeks that the new fencing has been installed along the street edge of the yard where the neighbor sets her trash cans. This week, when the trash truck robot arms lifted the neighbor’s barrels to empty them, the cap on one of the posts popped off. It hadn’t been glued on yet, it wasn’t damaged, landed on the ground, and was safely retrieved, but it seems like a sign of the things that could come. The new fence is even set a bit further from the road than the fence it replaced. This just seems to mean the neighbor cans are even more in my yard.

So, now I’m contemplating what to put on the ground to force the cans to be further from the fence. Big rocks? Pretty weeds and flowers? Prickly plants with long lethal pointy things? Electric cattle fencing to deliver a shock when the neighbor sets the trash cans too close on Sunday for Monday pickup and again on Wednesday when they are finally collected to go home?  Time for some research.

“Remoted” – Workday 100 /Day 136 (Thursday)

As the clock approached 11:00 am, when thoughts of lunch sometimes start to creep in, the dogs were on their 512^th trip outside. This is a rough estimate, of course. I haven’t actually counted. Not today, anyway. Often the routine is, two dogs go out, one comes in. Then, when I get just deep enough back into work for it to be annoying, the other one barks to come in. As an attempt at being a good neighbor, I don’t let the dogs stay out barking, and usually go outside right away to usher them back inside.

This morning, while heading out to respond to the summons and open the gate for Sir Winston, Canine Overlord, there was a tiny misstep. My stupid flip flop sandal slid on the stairs and I skidded down them on my butt. Between the annoying noise and the danger, I generally don’t believe in flip flops except for at the beach.

The ass-skid seems to happen at least once a summer. This is the fourth summer at my house, and now the fourth summer sliding on my ass down the outside stairs. Usually, it happens during the week I’m home on staycation, so I’m a bit ahead of schedule this year. Like always, it frigging hurt.

The shoes tried to kill me. Again.

Luckily, I’m finally prepared for such events and pulled out the freezer pack to sit on. Before I did that, though, I had to lay down on the couch due to feeling dizzy and like I would barf. This was something I wasn’t dismissing, having passed out enough times to know the signs and the potential of what might come next. The last thing needed was a concussion from passing out and hitting the floor, or maybe a counter on the way down. The dogs followed me to the couch and stayed by my side. After a minute I felt better, and it was time to resume the normal daily schedule.

For some reason, the ride down the stairs always starts with my right foot skidding out and ends with a hard landing to the right. If things continue to follow the usual pattern, there will be a giant purple bruise across the right side of my butt for the next few weeks. It will be tender for a while, and then it will all be forgotten, probably until next summer. Especially if I manage to hide the killer shoes.

“Remoted” – Workday 99 /Day 135 (Wednesday)

What can I say about you, Wednesday? It was breezy and nice during the work hours and the windows were open and it was quite comfortable at the BungaLowell. It wasn’t Prince Spaghetti day, but it was leftover lobster ravioli day and that was tasty. And, after a two-month COVID-19 delay, it was high school graduation day for my middle niece. Go Chowdah 2020!

Aerial!

I knew which website was carrying the ceremony live stream, but I didn’t know if there was any sort of program rolling before the actual ceremony, so I went to the site early. It was too early, and there was an ARTS program with a group in blue unitards dancing. This gave me time to prepare a glass of lemonade and do some things elsewhere in the cyber world, returning about 20 minutes before the scheduled start time. This time, there was a slide program of the graduate’s yearbook photos running. It was in the section of last names beginning with “O.” My niece’s name is in the “C” section. So, I missed that. Found out from Mom the slide show ran through twice, so I missed more than I thought.

When “Pomp and Circumstance” started playing, the eyes started leaking, and the words we were taught at practice for my own high school graduation cycled through my head like they do every time I hear this music. “My seagull flies backward, your seagull does not.” What the hell? I think it was supposed to help us keep time during the processional. It's like being haunted.

All during the live stream, I scanned the crowd shots. I knew on which side of the stage Chowdah would be seated and kept looking for her long, thick hair. Guess what? There is a lot of long hair in the graduating class of 2020. Seriously. A lot, lot. Miles and miles of it. During every crowd shot I bored laser beam holes into my laptop screen looking for a familiar face in the sea of purple caps, gowns, and masks, and the socially distanced guests, knowing my sister, brother-in-law and two other nieces were there somewhere. The camera angles switched up to keep it interesting, mixing the occasional visually appealing aerial image with shots of people baking on the field and fanning themselves, seated graduates, and graduates in line waiting to walk across the stage.

The cell phone was poised and ready for Chowdah’s program to be called (HVAC and Building Maintenance). The print screen button on my laptop, which worked during the slide show, did not work during the live stream in full screen, but luckily, I had checked that early. For the “walk,” the grads climbed a few steps up the stage, walked to a white pedestal marking the center of the stage, paused behind the pedestal for a photo, then walked to pick up their diploma from a table and exit the stage.

Chowdah's moment and the worst
video camera angle of the entire
graduating class.

A video feed camera was pointed directly at the center stage pedestal with a nice, tight shot. The person's name was called, there was a nanosecond of not much until they entered the shot of the stage, paused at the pedestal for a photo, and moved on. You could even see the flash of the camera of the photographer in front of the stage. For hundreds of students, I’m guessing 99% of the class, this was the visual. Guess who was in the 1% with a screwy video camera angle? Yup, it was Chowdah. The camera angle for her walk was distant, and from the side of the stage. It showed her from the back climbing the steps to the stage, from super far away on the stage, and from the back exiting the stage. Those are the images I got with my phone. The view never cut to the center stage camera facing the pedestal. Then as the next name was called, the camera cut to the straight-on angle for the next person. I can’t even make this crap up. This is the kind of luck that runs in my family.

Love you Chowdah! Super proud of you. And I’ve got your back. Literally. In pixels.

“Remoted” – Workday 98 /Day 134 (Tuesday)

There wasn’t much predictable about today. There were surprises and shit from the get-go. Even before the official start of work, there was word of a routine task with a new twist. Logging into the system revealed a meeting invitation lurking in the inbox for a newer project that seemed to be on autopilot and is now a bit derailed. None of it was awful or especially stressful, it just felt like a steady stream of nuances and shifts.

Lobster ravioli with
cream and pesto sauce.

After work, inspiration struck for dinner upon finding a forgotten bag of lobster ravioli in the freezer. With basil picked fresh from the deck planter, a pesto and cream sauce with sautéed onion and mushrooms was prepared with diced heirloom tomato tossed in at the finish. It may have been the best unplanned meal in a while.

There was a sink full of dishes dating back to Sunday, because my pendulum swings between total slacker and OCD housekeeper and lately it is lodged in slacker mode. After dealing with that and shortly after 6:00, I noticed the Facebook reminder that Punk Rock Aerobics was starting. I dashed to the living room where there is more room to move around. Ok, it was more like a waddle, having just eaten a big bowl of lobster ravioli with pesto cream sauce.

I’ve been meaning to do this class for weeks but one week I had a board meeting, and every other week I either forgot or was just too lazy. Tonight would be my triumphant moment to pogo my way to fitness, just like in the good old days. Or have a heart attack from not working out for the past six months. I missed the opening stretching due to the timing of seeing the alert and logging into the living room laptop.

I lasted one song. I was doing a step kick maneuver to the left and noticed the puddle. One of the dogs, but it was probably Moose, had peed on the futon. Thank goodness for the removable, washable couch cover. Punk Rock Aerobics was abandoned in favor of playing the "who did this?" game and stripping the couch cover to wash it. Maybe next week will work out for the Punk Rock Aerobics.

Being the suspect in a string
of domestic crimes is tiring.

While the unplanned load of laundry was underway, I remembered the undone watering. The watering can and the big jug were filled. While juggling those and trying to fight my way out the door with the sticky latch that leads to the deck, a funky stench hung in the stillness of the hot and humid enclosed porch. That’s when I saw the dog poo on the rug in the enclosed porch. Which I had also already stepped in. The finger of blame was pointing at Moose again.

That meant a poo pickup operation before the next exciting phase of the day – mowing the jungle lawn. Again, a routine task. But with a twist. The lawn mower ran out of gas 80% of the way through. The gas can in the shed had what seemed like 10 drops of gas in it, which was just enough to finish the job.

Did I mention this day had some surprises?

“Remoted” – Workday 97 /Day 133 (Monday)

Today made up for all those awful Mondays that dragged on forever. It flew by. Work was steady busy all day and the next thing I knew it was 1:30 and I hadn’t even thought about lunch. Then, suddenly it was past 4:00. The weirdest part is that it wasn’t just me. A colleague sent a message asking how it was so suddenly after 4:00. It’s fascinating to me how when the time flies (or drags) it happens to bunches of us.

Kale salad.

Once upon a different lifetime, I worked for a company that made time and attendance systems and fire detection equipment. In orientation and during my six years there, I learned about master timekeeping systems with punch clocks that integrate with payroll accounting programs. During those years, and sometimes even now, I often envisioned “The Master Timekeeper” – a faceless, shapeless prankster of the Universe that would alter time at whim by expanding or compressing it. Time could be gooey like taffy and stretch and stretch forever, or shrink and dissolve quickly like cotton candy in your mouth. Sometimes the Master Timekeeper would jump the clock ahead, other times it would be stopped dead.

After work it was time to play with the greens and I don't mean a golf course. Kale salad was the supper plan, which involved massaging the kale with olive oil. Talk about playing with your food. Until about a year ago, I knew nothing about kale beyond it being the weird green stuff in the Edible Arrangements that was always tossed into the trash. Now I find myself choosing it for my produce deliveries, and doing things like cutting it into strips and massaging it gently with oil for salad. Sometimes it's roasted in large pieces, or done in a sauté or starring in a soup. All those years I didn’t know about kale. So much time lived unaware of such a wonderful green leafy vegetable. At least I know now. 

Moosie under the couch
cover cracked me up.

The evening was comfortable with the gentlest of breezes blowing. I might not have noticed if I hadn’t finally realized after supper that I never watered the deck plants in the morning. Or did I? Who knows. It's hard to keep track. In any event, they were watered tonight, possibly for the second time today, and I noticed how nice it was. After work, I parked myself in a deck chair, and relaxed on the deck. The party house across the street had a loud pool party going on, but tonight’s dance club music selections were far superior to the raunchy sex songs they usually blast. The hour spent on the deck was more of the gooey, luxurious time and a lovely contrast to the pace of the workday. It was tempting to stay out there all night, but you, know, there was stuff to do.

Moose managed to entertain me by burrowing and wriggling underneath the couch cover. He's tried to do it before, and tonight, for the first time in four years, he succeeded in getting himself completely under it. He went in head first and then managed to turn himself around. After all the effort, he lasted about two minutes and then he was fighting his way back out. The whole ordeal struck me as funny, but I don't know why. This must just be one of those nights where I'm easily entertained. 

“Remoted” – Day 132 (Sunday)

Freshly made omelet muffin cups.

At 2:00 this afternoon I wished it could always be Sunday at 2:00 in the afternoon. Well, I mean, if it can’t always be Saturday night. Two o’clock arrived after a highly unusual morning of sleeping in until 8:15. Moose never lets that happen. He usually barks me out of bed by 6:30. There was coffee and a late breakfast of freshly made omelet muffin cups and goofing on the computer and Facebook.

While wandering around the house semi-aimlessly, it felt like time spent on many vacations with no schedule and no real responsibilities. It was a good feeling. In a couple weeks, while on staycation I hope to have many more moments like that.

There was time spent scanning the bookcases in search of a book to read on the deck, but four bookcases are currently offering nothing I’m in the mood for. I don’t really even know what I’m in the mood for, just that I’m not finding it in my book collection. Titles were rejected because I’ve already seen the cable series based on the book, already read the book, or not in the mood for non-fiction, which takes up most of the shelf space.

I ended up reading my homeowners insurance policy which recently arrived in the mail, trying to figure out why it went up $75 for next year. There was no clear answer to be found. I never made it out to the deck, not even to water the plants, even though it was a beautiful and comfortable day. There is a bit of regret over not relaxing on the deck, but the bee sting sustained out there a few days ago is still a bright rash on my arm and lingering paranoia in my head so I didn't feel that badly.

In the vintage suitcase that lives under the mid-century piece in the living room that holds the TV, instead of books, I found four photo albums. One album contained the photos from high school  that I was searching for a couple years ago when we were planning our class reunion. Better late than never? Maybe for the next reunion? Assuming I don’t misplace it again, anyway. 

Apparently, I needed to
conquer the motel furniture.

There are photos from when I was in college, too, which are pretty funny. Several are from a summer weekend at Hampton Beach where we toilet papered our own motel room. What the heck? Those crazy college days with plentiful toilet paper. We weren't at a bar because one friend in our group wasn't old enough, so the party was in our room. 

The reading books must be in the other vintage suitcase buried under a mega-ton of crap in the someday-it-will-be a guest room. I went up there briefly to look for something, but even with the A/C on, it was too hot and stuffy in the room to do anything in there except suffocate.

There was ice cream, my latest downfall and reason for gaining three pounds in a week, followed by more ice cream, probably putting things on track for another three this week. For the record, the Ben & Jerry’s Karmel Sutra is really good, in case you are wondering. There is also an informal study underway here at the BungaLowell of various brands of butter pecan ice cream. So far, Whole Foods 365 brand is the frontrunner. Breyer’s was hugely disappointing. Hood is up next. 

“Remoted” – Day 131 (Saturday)

It was hair salon appointment day. The appointment had been rescheduled several times, mostly because I just wasn’t ready to go, and working from home and rarely seeing anyone in person meant I haven’t cared what my hair looked like. Or much else.

For a week, I planned to change today’s appointment, but kept forgetting to call, and suddenly it was late Friday. It would have been rude to cancel on such short notice for no good reason, so the decision was made to go. It’s probably long past the time to start getting out of the house more before I become such a recluse I never leave.

Fresh and fancy hair.

Even though there are terrific salons in Lowell, I go to Worcester. It’s worth the trip to me because it’s my friend’s salon and the service is great. I lived in Worcester twice, so it’s not like it’s unfamiliar territory. The first time was near Lake Quinsigamond, after a divorce. The second time was near Elm Park, after a huge breakup. Wormtown was where I went to lick my wounds and heal. The city has always felt like home, and the plan upon returning from Tennessee was to find a job and place to live to Worcester. That’s not quite how it worked out. Going to the hair salon and occasionally out with friends who live there is the extent of my Worcester activity.  

Today helped shake up what has become a tiny life. It was the second day in a row of visiting the closet, once the daily hub of work and socializing outfits and largely neglected since mid-March. The treasure trove of summer pants and capris had been forgotten since being hung there a couple months ago. It felt fancy dressing nicer two days in a row – Friday for the dentist, and today for the hair salon. My hair is now professionally blown out and styled and it’s the best I’ve looked on a Saturday night sitting home alone and watching TV since the last hair appointment in March, right before the stay at home order happened. There was an event I could have attended tonight, but I'm peopled out. 

“Remoted” – Workday 96 /Day 130 (Friday)

Friday vacation day. The morning included itching and redness at the site of the sting from the angry little bee earlier in the week. It hurt when the sting happened, then it was fine all day yesterday, but this morning was a whole new situation. Of course, I finally scratched it (quite aggressively) and now it looks like my arm has been mauled by a bear.

Coggshall Park, Fitchburg.

I headed out for a meetup with Mom and we visited a couple consignment shops in Leominster in a search for home décor and linens for our respective dwellings. I would like a small shelf to set on a counter so the coffee jar can go on it and the filters can go under. I know such a thing exists, but now that I want one, I can’t find one anywhere. If I had any woodworking skills (and tools) I would just make it myself. Mom is looking for something for a wall in her small hallway. We failed in our efforts.

Next up was meeting my sister and 2/3 of the nieces plus their dog at Coggshall Park for brief visit. There were gajillions of bugs on the surface of Mirror Lake and the fish were jumping, and there were turtles reclining on rocks and geese in a cluster, so that was some nice wildlife time in the city.

Got the crown.

After all the preliminary fun, it was time for the main event – the dentist. Because, what's a spectacular vacation day without a trip to the dentist? Oh, it's just me? The third time was the charm and the crown installation finally took place. There is concern about a shadow at the base of the root of the freshly crowned tooth and the future potential need for a root canal. For now, we are “watching it.” What the actual hell? Just like every other time I’ve been in the chair, much of what Dr. L said whizzed right over my head. In addition to not knowing dental-speak, I needed to pee and I was hungry.

On the way home, the Market Basket parking lot was half empty so I pulled in, tossed caution to the wind, ignored both the "don't shop without a list" and the "don't shop hungry" rules, and spent twice as much money as "planned" when I chose a fairly random budget number. Several extraordinary items somehow found their way into the cart to boost the total including a container of fresh Lentil soup, Tuscan wheat bread, bakery cookies, frozen pizza, and multiple containers of ice cream. Ugh. I hate when I forget to do the math thing and then get surprised at the register. It didn’t help that it was hours past lunch and I still hadn't eaten. I don’t even remember what specific item I wanted that compelled me to stop but I think it was the kalamata olives in olive oil that I can't find there anymore.

“Remoted” – Workday 95 /Day 129 (Thursday)

Shelving before.

The morning was quiet, but it turned into a rainy and thundery day. There were three thunderstorms throughout the afternoon, synchronized perfectly to the three meetings on my calendar. It was as if Hollywood set the scene and perfectly cued the sound effects. Another storm rolled through after supper with a thunder clap that shook the house, so it’s been very noisy during parts of a seven hour stretch. Last night had storms with winds strong enough around midnight to blow over a basketball hoop at the end of the street. The noise woke the dogs and me, but it was morning before I could see what had fallen.

The chrome narrow shelf ordered several days ago arrived. It took a bit longer to assemble than expected, but that is because, despite the rather straightforward looking three step instructions, I was still doing it wrong. It finally was assembled with the shelves at the recommended heights, but the clearance wasn’t tall enough to house the five liquor bottles, the vegetable oil, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar I planned to put there. It took two adjustments before I got it right, but it was fun banging with the rubber mallet, so there’s that.

Shelving after.

Now that it’s done, the five big liquor bottles are gone from daily view on the dining room buffet where they have lived for three to four years, depending upon the bottle. It turns out I don’t really drink liquor, and it's not clear why I have it, but at least I don’t have to see the bottles every day now. The shelf is a couple inches deeper than it should be, which I knew when checking the measurements, but when the price dropped $10 I couldn't not buy it. If it makes be too nutty, it may need to be relocated. 

The smallest counter in the entire kitchen is neater, having been liberated of the big bowl of dog biscuits and the oils that don’t fit in any of the cabinets. It amazes me that the shelves could have been set at varied heights, but some genius who apparently never bought or stored food in this kitchen set them all at the exact same height, which is one setting too short for every bottle and most boxes ever manufactured in the food industry. It seems that, although the shelves have settings for different heights, once the shelves are slid into the guides, they can't be changed without removing the entire front facing of the cabinets. The other nine miles of kitchen counter still look a whole lot like crap, but that 15-inch span next to the stove is magnificent

“Remoted” – Workday 94 /Day 128 (Wednesday)

Canine Overlord Moose
and the deck planter.

The deck garden is becoming lush. There are things I planted that I can’t remember quite what they are. There are things I deliberately planted including potato eyes and carrot bit that I don’t know what to do with or how to know what is going on under the dirt. There are at least two plants, a marigold and a dusty miller, that grew all by themselves from plants that were in the container last year. I planted mint which was rooted from a bunch of mint from a grocery order, which almost went into the yard, but I used the deck planters instead due to its invasive reputation.

This year I gave up on tomatoes after a couple frustrating years of much effort invested for no result. Plus, I would have had to leave the house to go get plants. I almost gave up on basil, but bought a plant in a grocery order (which turned out to be six plants) and those are doing well. Pesto, baby! The dozen or so rosemary sprigs I tried to root from grocery store herbs didn’t do well. They died. Every single one. 

Flowers from
the mystery seeds.

There was a mysterious box of wildflower seeds in the laundry closet. I don’t know when I got it, from where, or how long ago. I put some of it into two flower pots, and one pot is doing well with a couple little purple flowers opened today.

After admiring the deck farm, I sat at the deck table with a glass of ice water to enjoy the evening air. It was comfortable and peaceful and quiet until Canine Overlord Moose ruined it with his shrill and annoying yapping, so I put him in the house. After a few minutes, he ruined the tranquility again by barking even louder from inside the house. It’s possible he was just being a jerk, but it was also possible he needed to go out to the back yard, so I went inside.

One of my neurotic things that needs to happen is pushing in the deck chairs after use. It bugs me to know they are scattered around, maybe because the deck is open and visible from the street. The street visibility is also why I don’t spend much time out there. I hadn’t tidied the chairs when I went inside to deal with Sir Barks-a-lot, so a trip was made outside to do this stupid task so I could sleep tonight. While wrestling with the chairs I got stung by something which instantly hurt. Kind of a lot. I slapped away whatever it was, which seemed to be a small and angry bee. While the actual insect is not solidly known, the throbbing, quarter-sized welt on my scrawny left bicep was a certainty. Ice was applied right away, though I don’t know how I knew to do that or if it was even the right thing to do, but it feel better.

Now I remember why I spent my youth inside. Allergies, bugs, nature is not always my friend.

“Remoted” – Workday 93 /Day 127 (Tuesday)

This is the year of the milestone birthdays. My eldest niece turned 21, middle niece turned 18, and the youngest turned 16. Each of these significant life markers has happened during the pandemic, and in most cases, without the usual family gathering. There was also a high school graduation in there, or there will be in a couple weeks, due to the life-altering shifted schedules bestowed by the specter of  COVID-19.

It’s a little freaky, and it seems like last week my nieces were infants or toddlers. Then suddenly they were taking ballet classes and also running around with sticks playing street hockey and going off with their friends and now they are grown. One has even moved away. Amazing how lives progress.  

My niece and I like this.
We are chocolate soul mates.

This past Saturday we gathered in person to celebrate the youngest’s birthday, which was just a few days away. She has blossomed from a tiny dancer/athlete known for wearing sequins every day to a graceful and beautiful young woman athlete who likes chocolate with chili in it and studies cabinetmaking. The sequins have since been abandoned, which felt like a shame when I found a gorgeous multicolored sequin skirt while shopping with Mom, and I couldn't find the Chocolate bar with Chili. There were tacos and a cheesecake assortment, cupcakes, and ice cream, and except for the cloud of the pandemic, and spacing, and not hugging, it almost felt normal. It was the first time I’ve been in a group of more than four people since mid-March, so it also felt a little bit stressful.

“Remoted” – Workday 92 /Day 126 (Monday)

The weather map
looks like lava.

According to the weather folks, the Lowell high temperature was 96 today and we are officially in a heat wave. The past three days of high temperatures and humidity compelled me to turn the A/C on Friday and leave it on. I’m not getting soft, it was mostly for the dogs. I worry when they seem too warm and pant a lot. This means it’s been 78 degrees inside and the dogs have been comfortably lounging and napping. This also means that I’ve had to rummage for a sweater and socks at least once each day. The things I do for the Canine Overlords.

I also win in this arrangement. The A/C helps me breathe when it’s humid, even if it means I’m also wearing a sweater when it’s 95 outside. Every year for much of my adult life, during allergy season and high humidity, I have trouble breathing. This results in an unfortunate amount of yawning which seems to force my chest to expand enough to inhale. During the time between the yawns, my rib cage just doesn’t seem able to expand enough to let in the air. It’s like wearing a too tight corset, but on the inside. This made my 12 summers living in the South a bit tougher than they probably needed to be, but thankfully, everything was air conditioned which seems to help.

When I first arrived in Tennessee, freshly married to a freshly-retired soldier and a new member of the Tricare military health system, I had a breathing test done at the military hospital. There was deep inhaling then blowing into a tube to blow out the digital candles on the digital cake on the test screen. I blew out 7 of 10. An asthma inhaler was administered and a few minutes later the test was repeated, and again the result was 7 candles. The lab tech, stating the obvious, declared that the inhaler made no difference.

Why I run the A/C.

A few days later, someone from the doctor’s office called with the official results of my test. My now-ex husband answered the phone and for some reason, the caller gave him the result of my test. Why they did not ask to speak to me as the actual patient, and why he did not just hand me the phone are unanswered questions to this day. This meant my diagnosis was filtered through him, and the message relayed to me was basically, “it’s reduced elasticity in the lungs, not much can be done, good luck and have a nice life.” Perhaps the best part was, when I mentioned the test at later appointments there was no record of the pulmonary test in my file. Maybe they should have checked my husband’s file.

So, if you see me in the summer and I’m constantly yawning, don’t get paranoid or judgey. Chances are I’m probably not tired or bored by you. Depending upon the weather, I might just be trying to inhale.

“Remoted” – Day 125 (Sunday)

Life might have been better when I didn’t read any news. Of course, I was probably ten or eleven at the time. It’s easy for things to seem better when there are no adult responsibilities, limited awareness of the world at large, and the biggest worries on my mind were if any boys thought I was cute and to what degree the girls in my class were going to torment me on any given day.

The recent extended staying at home plus living alone have me scrolling news outlets and too many news subscriptions and consuming more news that I have since 9/11. Recent political and world health headlines seen on various news shares from Facebook have me unsettled and basically freaking the f%$& out.

"No more lives."
Again.

With the June demise of the old format Facebook online Scrabble, distractions, diversions, and intellectual stimulation are limited. There are loads of books here, but I’ve either already read them, or, more often, they just don’t seem appealing. Chances are good I’ll be totally brain dead by Labor Day, if I live that long.

My Candy Crush strategic talents are sporadic and limited, and more time is spent with “No more lives” than actually playing. Instead of juggling multiple Scrabble games I now find myself scrolling news outlets and Facebook posts and stressing out reading the squabbles and fights of various friends and family members over politics, the pandemic, and face masks. It isn’t even debate most of the time, which I enjoy for the learning opportunity, it’s a lot of nasty name calling, insults, and people whining with their knickers in a twist, which is a different type of education. The lack of civility and the level of venom is about the only thing that surprises me any more.

Sorry ... problems.

Tragically, the inventory of cute kitten and puppy videos seems to have disappeared along with the patience and manners of far too many people. And TV/Cable/Streaming is not always an option. For some reason, I still have to reboot the Comcast box every few days. Today's issue is with Netflix and Prime and neither one is loading. Prime bailed in the middle of a movie I was half watching and got stuck on the screen with the streaming options. No commands on the remote worked and I finally had to unplug the TV and force everything to restart. This is usually how it goes. 

There was a post from the local weather site that the Neowise Comet would be visible around 9:15 “NW below the Big Dipper,” so I went outside to look. I know where the Big Dipper sits lately. Again tonight, there was cloud cover and not a single star was visible. It wasn't even a surprise.

“Remoted” – Day 124 (Saturday)

The military precision of the morning transportation maneuvers were executed as planned and a true testament to the logistics lessons learned from Mom. Pre-departure dog feeding, watering, and diapering were conducted, the human's water bottle filled with ice and water, and a call made to Mom that the car would be incoming. At 7:50, before rolling out of the driveway, a call was placed to the dentist office to as recommended in the voice mail from their office yesterday. Just like yesterday, the “office closed” recording was still playing. The road trip began. Whether the dentist appointment held or not didn’t change the fact that the car still needed to be looked at.

Messages on the road.

Somewhere along Route 495 or maybe it was Route 2, the dentist office called, but the phone didn’t ring, just like it hasn't rung for any of the four incoming calls of the past three days. Despite having driven the same route to Mom's for four years, I still use Waze for the traffic, road hazards and "police reported ahead" features.  While consulting the Waze map on the phone propped on the dash, I saw the icons for incoming text messages and missed calls.

Because I was driving, it was a few minutes before I could check the phone. The first missed call was noted at 8:11 and the first text message, time stamped 8:15 was a reminder of my 10:15 appointment. The second text, timestamped 8:28 informed me the crown was delayed at FedEx, would not be in today, and the appointment would need to be rescheduled. It didn’t even surprise me. This is how my life goes.

It served no purpose to play the “dang, I could have slept in or sat around drinking coffee or reading a book or whatever” game. I was already on the road, hurtling towards the day. This is just how the chips fell for the morning.

Upon arrival at Mom’s in Gardner, we had a chance to relax instead of there being a dash to the dentist office in Fitchburg. We had a nice chat and I uninstalled a program Mom wanted off her computer. Then we headed out shopping to alleviate her cabin fever. We learned we really didn’t need anything at the first store. We each had one item in the cart, and upon further consideration, decided it wasn't worth waiting in the checkout line so we put them back. We got English muffins and bread and snacks at the bread thrift store. While loading a cart at store number three, also known as Big Lots, Mom got a call from Stepdad, who was heading out on a half-hour trek of his own to pick up a new alternator. It was not a tricky wire as previously thought. Apparently, the new alternator installed last week is defective (oops, it was a faulty-nator. Ba doom doom.). It didn’t even surprise me. This is how my life goes. I just feel bad for the unsuspecting participants caught in the wake. Sorry Dr. L., sorry Butch.

At my niece's birthday party my sister, the consummate hostess, had an abundance of tacos and veggies and cakes and ice cream. And it was good. It didn’t even surprise me. This is how my life goes. 

“Remoted” – Workday 91 /Day 123 (Friday)

At 5:30 this morning, when Canine Overlord Moose awakened me to perform the first of my many door opening duties for the day, it was just beginning to rain lightly. We returned to the still-warm bed for “30 more minutes.” The clouds, gloom, and rain made for perfect sleeping weather for both human and Overlord, and his highness granted me closer to 60 more minutes of delicious sleep. 

Front door water feature!

When we got up for the day, it was raining quite heavily, and by 7:00 the gutter over the front door was releasing a sheet of water just like a fancy water wall feature in a restaurant or building lobby. It’s possible to stand on the top step and have a free personal power washing. This is the price (or reward?) for not yet finding a handyman to look at the gutters. It’s been dry for a while, so it hasn’t been an issue or even a thought.

After the rain stopped and the sun appeared, I swore I could hear the grass growing and by morning it will likely need mowing. It’s been a couple weeks, so overall, I’ve gotten off easy, but the reckoning is near.

The recently replaced cell phone is being weird and if Mercury retrograde hadn’t ended several days ago I’d swear we were still in the thick of it. The ringer is at maximum volume during the day on the slim chance a call comes in, and even though it sits on my desk or in my hand,  I’ve missed three calls in fewer than 24 hours.

It was 45 minutes after the call when I noticed the indicator for today’s missed call. It was the dentist office, and the message said my crown is expected to arrive at the office just in time for my Saturday morning appointment. Or not. We’ll see. I called back, but the office was already closed for the day. It wouldn’t be such an annoyance if the dentist wasn’t an hour away and my car didn't still need a tweak from the work last week.

The action-packed Saturday morning plan involves driving an hour to Mom’s and leaving the car to be looked at, taking Mom’s car to backtrack 20 minutes to the dentist, then back to Mom’s. Shortly after, it will be a 20 minute trip to my sister’s house. Later in the day, it will be the ride home. 

Butter pecan ice cream with
maple syrup and kettle chips.

The logistics are starting to feel like a military operation and will require being up as early as a regular work day. The entire maneuver was built around the dentist appointment. The message from the office said to call before I head there in the morning. If not for the stupid phone ringer I could have had an actual conversation and just rescheduled. This tooth situation, ongoing since February 14 and already involving three appointments, is really getting on my nerves. 

The overblown aggravation of it all resulted in a blatant disregard for the plentiful healthy food options available and seeking refuge in unwise dietary choices. Supper was butter pecan ice cream with maple syrup and kettle cooked sea salt potato chips. Black licorice followed, along with the mildest pangs of regret. 

“Remoted” – Workday 90 /Day 122 (Thursday)

There have been many things to enjoy about all the quality time spent at home the past several months, and one of them has been cooking, which is much less stressful without the unpredictable commute time and accompanying road rage. The air was crisp again today, but the heat is due to return Saturday and hang around for five days in the 90s. This information made this evening the most reasonable choice to roast some of the broccoli and the giant beet that came in this week’s produce box.

Roasted beets with overdone,
tar-like balsamic reduction
and summer vegetables.

To go with the roasted veggies, I decided to do a balsamic reduction I read about earlier this week, except I was too lazy to look it up again, so I just winged it and poured some balsamic vinegar and some honey into a pan and put it on a low flame while the beet and broccoli roasted. The problem came when I started goofing around on the computer and when I remembered the task at hand was actually cooking, the stuff had been boiling for an unknown time. It was sticky and thick like tar and the whisk even got stuck in it. It wasn’t quite right, and was too thick to pour, but I somehow got it onto the beets and ate it anyway. It wasn’t the worse thing I’ve ever had, but it really stuck to my teeth. The next time, I’ll have to check the directions.

It is nice to feel content spending time at home, as this was not always the case. Once upon a time and many life chapters ago, I would pace like a caged lion when at home for an extended time, which generally meant more than five waking daylight hours and more than one night in a week. Now, I haven’t been out of the house after dark except to stand in the yard with the dogs for 122 nights, and have ventured beyond my yard only a dozen times. It's all good.

There is something to be said for old age/"maturity" and basically giving up on life. It’s not as horrible in the pit as I feared.

“Remoted” – Workday 89 /Day 121 (Wednesday)

According to the local temperature displayed constantly on my phone, it was between 68 and 74 degrees today. To everyone else on the planet, this is probably the perfect temperature range, but I was cold. After feeling the chill in the air while letting Moose out at 6:00 this morning, long pants were selected for the day’s attire. Being mid-July, a short sleeve tee shirt was chosen, but it didn’t take long, maybe five minutes, before a long sleeve shirt was layered on. And socks.

Thank goodness for
hot soup lunch.

The beauty and convenience of working from the home-office is the feeling (illusion?) of climate control, plus the availability of an entire wardrobe to layer on or completely change as needed. The individual climate control solution at the office-office was regularly dressing in multiple layers, and maintaining a file drawer stuffed with a various weight wraps and company-logo embroidered blankets to wrap in as needed. And they were needed often, all year long.

This feeling chilly thing has been a curse all my life. At age 16 and visiting Florida in the summer heat and humidity, I sat poolside cloaked in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt while the rest of my family and the relatives we visited all swam in the pool. The story lives on in family lore and the photographic proof lives somewhere in a family album. Not that proof of the tale is needed by anyone who knows me. 

The calendar says mid-summer, but feeling chilly created a requirement of hot soup for lunch like in fall and winter. Luckily, another benefit of the home-office is the freedom and ability to grab soup from the freezer and have hot soup for lunch without much advance planning.

Tomato and cheese sandwich
is summer on a plate.

As the day wore on, the reading on the home programmable thermostat edged upwards to 78 degrees. The produce box arrived with heirloom tomatoes and supper was a true taste of summer with an easy tomato and cheese sandwich. I was still in long sleeves, but a perfectly fresh tomato sandwich let me feel like summer again. 

“Remoted” – Workday 88 /Day 120 (Tuesday)

Stylish storm pup.

Another ordinary day in an ordinary life. There was work and eating and an online class in astrology charts. After eating ice cream and potato chips for supper, the Amazon Pantry delivery arrived with the order that includes the packet of brown gravy mix to be used with sour cream to make meatballs with the frozen Gardein meatless meatballs, which are really good. That was the plan back on Saturday when I ordered the gravy, anyway. It’s several days later and I’m less in the mood for it now, so that gravy packet could sit in the cabinet until Christmas of 2025, who really knows.

Every time the dogs barked today, I hoped it was gravy for meatballs, but that wasn’t the case. The box also contained two big cannisters of coffee where I meant to order one, but it was a good price, so I’m not feeling too badly about it. It also had mixes for instant iced tea and lemonade, ordered because on Saturday when I was sitting around sweating I really wanted a glass of iced tea/lemonade. Now it’s Tuesday and I’m chilly enough to be wearing long sleeves and socks and I don’t really care about it anymore.

It rained and thundered several times during the day. We need the rain and I find thunder kind of cool, but the dogs are not such fans. Moose was a little freaked out and shaking during the approach of the first storm so he wore the Thundershirt most of the day.

The pepper in the window.
Not a bat. Not a cocoon.

I freaked myself out with a pepper, so that was slightly entertaining and maybe Moose didn't feel so self conscious when he was freaked out with the weather. By way of explanation, last night I hung a jalapeno pepper from dental floss in a kitchen window to dry out. Yes, dental floss – there is no string here and I already used the gift wrap ribbon tying up the rose bush last month or whenever that was. This morning, whilst (new favored word) not quite awake and headed into the kitchen to make coffee, I caught a glimpse of the pepper in the window and thought it was a bat hanging from the curtain rod. That was exciting. Later in the day, I spotted it again and thought it was a big cocoon. I may need a different and faster way to dry this pepper because my heart might not be able to take it. 

“Remoted” – Workday 87 /Day 119 (Monday)

Sunday night the temperature had shifted downward and the breezes activated enough that it seemed okay to sleep with the A/C off, the windows open, and the ceiling fan on. It was still a bit stuffy, but not intolerable. Not long after falling asleep, around 11:30, there was noise in the street that woke me up. Sounds from the street carry upward and all manner of noise and conversation can be heard clearly in my bedroom. It’s a curse when I’m trying to sleep, and occasionally a form of entertainment when the Nuisance House occupants are fighting and screaming and have called the police on each other.

Sunday night's racket was a couple knuckleheads from the Nuisance House playing a little late night basketball. Between the sound of the ball dribbling and pounding on the asphalt and hitting the backboard and rim, compounded by the talking, I wanted to scream. It was 33 minutes of annoyance and hell before I finally managed to fall asleep again, this time with a pillow over my head, which wasn’t really much quieter and nearly caused me to suffocate.

Not surprising, this morning was heavy on dragging arse. A shower and copious amounts of coffee helped, but only minimally.

Seriously? Happy Monday!

While exercising the Monday morning routine of moving the trash, recycling, and yard waste receptacles to the curb and strategically placing them so the Nuisance House folks can’t use my driveway in which to turn around for at least a little while, I paused to admire the newly installed fence panels along the driveway on the other side of the yard. There sat my blue vehicle, showered in blessings from above. The driver’s side windows and doors, half the roof, and the pavement between the car and the yard were artistically splattered in generous and plentiful bird droppings.

Maybe the birds were pissed off about the late night noise, too. I can certainly understand, empathize, and even respect the manner of protest, but it was the wrong target. Please dear birds, adjust your coordinates and I will support you with the whole of my stony little heart. The late night athletic program participant’s cars, motorcycles, and bicycles are all across the street. 

I hoped the artistic blessings upon the car were not an indication of how the day would go, but they kind of were. It was Monday, after all. Some days are easy to categorize in a single word, and the word for much of today seems to be “crappy.”

“Remoted” – Day 118 (Sunday)

The front fencing install has begun.

The front yard fence is going in. Neighbor Guy started it Saturday. Much like the other fencing he installed at his own yard and between our yards, the first post hole was easy, later ones were wretched. At the site of the recent and horrible battle of the hosta removal, the hole digging was impeded by what turned out to be a very large cluster of three big rocks cemented together. There was a temptation to hose down the earth tumor, plant some flowers and bark mulch around it and call it a piece of yard art. I’ve seen worse available for sale with ridiculous price tags attached. Unfortunately, Neighbor Guy is supremely efficient and the stone clump was promptly spirited away before I could plan an art project around it. 

It will be nice to be able to let the dogs out to the front yard without danger of them wandering off. Soon enough. The only downside will be shoveling the driveway with a four foot barrier to the snow throwing area.

While Neighbor Guy was toiling in the heat and humidity with the fence, I was inside wrapping up a binge of eight full seasons of Letterkenny on hulu which I began Friday evening. This exhibits either incredible focus, that I am easily entertained, or I currently have a very limited range of interest. I don’t know why that show amused me like it did, but the constant word games between the characters is amusing and the character Wayne is nice to look at, especially from behind in his jeans. But I digress.

This needs a better solution.

In addition to the entertainment of Letterkenny, there was the online shopping for provisions, and hours of deliberation over the available options for “narrow shelving” and trust me, there are dozens of styles of shelving in widths from 5 inches to 10 inches that can roll in and out of the space between a refrigerator and a wall or other small spaces. There are units in plastic, metal, wood, and mixed materials in price points from $19.99 to hundreds of dollars. It became overwhelming, like so many other online shopping excursions and I finally just had to stop. There are now nine versions of “narrow shelving” in my Amazon list. 

It would be easier if there were one model that fit the bill, but they are either taller than the counter it will reside beside, or much too low, or a couple inches too deep and would be hit when opening the adjoining cabinet door. So complicated. All I want is a solution for storing the liquor bottles currently atop the buffet, along with the olive oil and other cooking oils, and to store the spices that are presently jammed in a cabinet. It’s a nightmare each time I need a spice, and the olive oil and vinegar bottles eat up precious counter space because they are too tall to fit with the cabinet shelving. It has been easier to just keep buying spices than to locate the ones previously procured. Some day it will be sorted out. Soon. 

“Remoted” – Day 117 (Saturday)

It was time to restock key provisions. While I can make do when it comes to being low on people food, the need for dog food forces action every time. The kibble isn’t completely depleted yet, but will be by next weekend. Yesterday’s aborted attempts at Market Basket (left after surveying the full parking lot) and Family Dollar (the store was in the midst of a major layout change and empty shelves) were inspired in equal measure by the need for dog food and the desire for ice cream. The ice cream craving has grown daily all week.

Saturday supper!

Over this morning’s coffee a grocery list was cobbled together from various lists scrawled on paper scraps all week long, then rearranged based on the last known layout of Market Basket on Fletcher Street. There was internal debate as to whether an in-person shop really needed to happen. It would cost less at Market Basket, but there would be people to deal with.  Amazon Pantry would work for dry goods and could be here by Tuesday, but there would still not be ice cream. Whole Foods through Amazon Prime would cost a bit more than MB, but would deliver directly to my door within a few hours, and most importantly, would fulfill the growing need for ice cream. MB was out, it was Whole Foods for the win, which was even more winning upon discovering Ben & Jerry’s was on sale. Dog food and treats will deliver from Amazon by Thursday.

The order was heavy on luxury items – potato chips, tortilla chips, three containers of Ben & Jerry’s, and a container of Whole Foods brand butter pecan ice cream. Non-luxury, important staples were toilet paper, bread, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, butter, milk, and shredded mozzarella cheese. The Whole Foods order was placed at 3:00 and on the doorstep at 5:45.

It was a battle.

Dinner was Ben & Jerry’s and potato chips because I can. This sumptuous repast was a reward for being out in the yard at 7:00 this morning, armed with a trowel, a cultivator, a pair of gardening gloves, and the genetic gift of Finnish sisu coursing through my veins. The mission was to relocate the giant hosta to make room for the corner fencepost. The front yard temporary eviction project began Friday night and ran into trouble. With inadequate tools and possibly the worst time to dig it up (deep in the growth season on a humid, million-degree night), I chipped around the base of the plant with my tiny trowel. The lush leaves were in the way, so a severe scalping with the hedge clippers was administered before again attempting to get under the plant and lift it out.  A temporary truce was finally called and a retreat sounded to the coolness of the house and a glass of wine.

The humid and cloudy morning return to battle first bent, then snapped the trowel, leaving the cultivator and my hands the only available tools. It took effort, but the root ball was finally lifted. If what is left of that heroic hosta survives it’s violent ripping from the ground, it deserves a true place of honor in the yard. You know, like I deserved my ice cream and chips supper.