“Remoted” – Workday 116 / Day 168

Closing Day 8-31-2016.

On this date in 2016, thanks to an amazing realtor and equally amazing mortgage lender, I closed on The BungaLowell. It was a long haul trying to find a property. After months of looking in one area, there was a geographic shift when I got my job in Lowell. After a couple months of having viewing appointments cancelled because the houses went under contract, we got to see The BungaLowell. I was the first person to see it on the first day of showings and pounced. It was available, the right size for me and the dogs, and had off-street parking.

Thanks to an amazing level of expertise and hard labor from friends starting immediately after the closing, we got the house ready for me to live in. The entire house had wall-to-wall carpeting. Even the kitchen. (Who does that?) My friend Cris and I ripped out all the first-floor carpeting, then her husband with mad skills laid plywood flooring that Cris and I coated with polyurethane. I still love the floors, which are miraculously holding up pretty well despite the ruinous efforts of two sometimes naughty dogs with the too-long toenails they won’t let me trim.

The BungaLowell
after four years.

After the stunningly productive start, momentum dropped off drastically. The kitchen wall paper was stripped off during the first year, and after two years the walls were finally painted. The yard got new picket fencing this summer but the deck rail is still loose. The guest room, originally imagined as a cozy space for hosting visiting friends, is still a storage room stuffed with art supplies and other stuff, but at least the living room has the futon which has provided sleeping space for the rare guests.

Maybe in the next four years I’ll get around to dealing with the spare room instead of pretending it doesn’t exist. Or maybe I’ll just move, preferably to somewhere not in a flood plain. Heck, all the art stuff is still packed and ready to go.

“Remoted” – Day 167 (Sunday)

Not perfect, but done.

Super sunny breezy (windy?) day meant time out in the yard. The free stones from Neighbor Guy’s wall dismantling project  had been sitting in stacks near the A/C unit all summer. Like, since June. I hadn’t figured out what I wanted to do with them, but today just felt like the right time to dive in and do something.

Stones were schlepped across the yard to make a flower bed edging. If a better use comes up, they can always be taken out and moved again. It was done with a trowel and no guide string to keep it straight, so unfortunately, it bows out a bit. It will stay that way until it makes me crazy enough to straighten it.

There was some branch trimming done to minimize the backyard neighbor tree branches that hang over my yard and rub on my shed. I cut what could be reached from the ground with loppers and wished I wasn't too lazy to haul out the ladder.

Over in the front yard, the bleeding heart near the door is in need of thinning. According to some gardening sites, spring is the best time for that, just as the shoots are coming up, so that’s on the list for next year. I hope I remember the plan then. The rhododendron has a gajillion buds set for next year. There were very few blossoms this year, due to last year’s poorly timed trim. I have since learned that after the next year’s buds have set is the wrong time for to trim. Live and learn. Luckily, plants can be forgiving.

Overgrown bleeding heart
and reset bricks and pavers.

The bricks and pavers under the mailbox suffered a necessary disruption with the fence post digging, and were finally rearranged today. Some flower pots will finish it off, but not today. It’s amazing how much can be done just by stepping outside. The weather helped a lot.

Between schlepping the stones, trimming the branches, and pulling weeds, my legs are aching from lifting and squatting and my arms feel like twitchy noodles. If I did manual labor as frequently as I should, I might actually be in shape instead of being all soft and squishy. I miss being in shape but not the effort required to get that way.

After the discovery that Ben & Jerry’s is on sale at Hannaford, there was a quick road trip. A new favorite flavor has joined the ranks of preferred ice cream. “Everything but the” is pretty danged good, especially with a side of Tri-Sum potato chips, which is the other big reason to shop Hannaford. If only the store near me had beer and wine it would be perfect. Sigh.

The place where terror comes from.

And in the horror department, even though it is only August, a mouse just darted out from under the coat closet door. This has left me frozen on the couch in a mental state somewhere between horrified, scientifically interested, and ready to burn down the house. Physically, I want to barf. And cry. I may never sleep again. 

Like I already said, every good day seems to be offset by some fresh load of crap, according to that weird cosmic law.

“Remoted” – Day 166 (Saturday)

The morning was cloudy and rainy and perfect for tackling laundry and vacuuming and maybe some vegetable roasting. By 8:30, tomatoes were blanched, peeled, and a sauce started. By 9:30, with no clean silverware left in the drawer except for large serving pieces, and the coffee mugs and drinking glasses running low, the soap dispenser was filled to run the dishwasher.

The door shut, but the latch didn’t click like usual. The machine started but didn’t sound normal. A puddle collected on the floor. The machine was stopped, the door opened and the latch poked. The door closed but the latch still didn’t click shut. The machine began and still sounded not right. Again, the cycle was cancelled. This was not like the last time the door latch was wonky and it fixed itself after a couple tries. Floor puddle removal commenced.

An online video shows how to fix the latch on what looks like my exact dishwasher, but I mentally checked out at “turn off the breaker” and the very specific screwdriver needed. A search for “dishwasher repair near me,” delivered the name of an appliance sales and service shop nearby and a service call scheduled for September 9^th. Until then, the dishes will be done the old-fashioned way. 

Apparently, with more people spending more time at home, appliances everywhere are going on strike and repair teams are hopping busy. For a small add-on fee, the service appointment was expanded to include the clothes washer, which has been off balance for at least three years and only used on the hand wash cycle. Any other cycle has the machine thrashing and ready to launch out of the laundry closet on the spin cycle. I kept thinking I’d meet a handyman but that fantasy only happens in Hallmark Movies after the big-city career gal returns home to the tiny town of her youth.

So much silverware.

An hour was spent methodically unloading the dishwasher and hand washing and drying every plate, bowl, glass, mug and piece of silverware therein. There is no dish drainer, because, well, dishwasher. 

A tedious bail out process involving a plastic cup and three towels removed the inch of water from the bottom of the dishwasher, which would be gross and swampy sitting there until the service call. 

After dealing with the dishes and the machine, there was no longer any energy or interest for dealing with the originally scheduled tasks.

Sometimes it seems the underlying cosmic theme to life is “No good day goes unpunished.” Every good day must be offset by a less good, not-so great day. Not hurricane horrible, or wildfire horrendous, or tornado terrible, thank goodness. Just less lovely and more annoying than the good day before. Perhaps it’s to inspire full appreciation of those good days when they happen? Maybe it’s just me.

"Remoted" - Day 165 (Friday)

It was roots-visiting day back in the ‘Burg with a meetup with dancers from the studio we all danced at in high school, and for some, for many years afterward. There are several dancers who have been meeting weekly for years to keep alive the dances we learned as teens. When I moved back from Tennessee and was staying at Mom’s in Fitchburg, I dropped in occasionally, but once I started working it was a lot harder to make it to daytime dance meetups.

Dancing at the pavilion is great!

Today, my vacation day finally coincided with group dance day at the open-air pavilion at Saima Park. The stars and planets also aligned for my sister to be there. There were seven of us running through Merce Cunningham and Denishawn warmup and centerwork followed by a Denishawn and Marion Rice Studio repertoire. 

If you’ve ever heard of muscle memory and wondered if is a real thing, I’m here to tell you it most definitely is. Sometimes it just took hearing a few notes of the music for steps and entire chunks of dances to come right back. It was tricky being on concrete in rubber soled shoes and not on a wood studio floor in dance slippers or barefoot, but we managed. The turns are the hardest because rubber doesn’t quite glide on concrete, and I can’t find my leather soled jazz flats which might have worked better. 

That pavilion concrete was flat and pretty and the space is large. While dancing, I was also thinking how nice it would be to roller skate there. The outdoor setting was breezy and perfect, and we even did one dance out on the grass. 

It felt great to move, although I fully expect to be lame from neck to toes tomorrow after not having danced, moved, or even gone for a walk since, I dunno, April. How long is that, now? For the past month or so, at the end of each day my butt is in actual pain from sitting all day at the cute but ergonomically deficient desk chair, and then all night on the futon that should have been replaced by a proper adult sofa at least three years ago, but shit happens. Or in this case, doesn’t happen.

Veggie straws and wine kind of night.

After the dancing, there was a pizza lunch (Espresso!) with Mom at my sister’s house. Later, Mom and I went to Big Lots, but nobody else was interested. Apparently, she and I are the only ones in the family who go there for recreational purposes which probably speaks volumes about the excitement levels in our worlds. We each got a few things and then headed to our respective homes in opposite directions. I am now stocked with toilet paper for months and granola bars for at least a few weeks. The veggie straws may not last to see tomorrow. They are delicious, but like eating air. Perfect with wine, but what isn't?

Overall, it was a great day. Culture, nature, family, salty snacks and wine. I give it an A.

“Remoted” – Workday 115 / Day 164 (Thursday)

This morning felt different. I woke up with a mild headache, and the feeling of being near tears, both of which lasted most of the morning. There was no apparent reason. Now I understand when Mummu used to say she felt “weepy.” It was exactly that. 

Cloudy cloud cover.

It took a while, because my energy was focused on the headache and trying to not cry, but eventually the realization struck that my head was strangely, deliciously quiet. The shrill tinnitus soundtrack that has looped on overdrive in my cranium for the past two weeks was missing. The mild throb of the headache seemed to have crowded it out. I have never been so grateful for the miracle of a headache.

The tinnitus is as unpredictable as the headaches, though more frequent. According to whiny posts that show up in my Facebook memories, the curse of internal cranial noise has been visiting me for many years. There’s no discernible pattern or cause, although if I tracked it daily, maybe one or the other would emerge. Sometimes, when it’s especially annoying, I jot a note in my daily planner, but it’s not scientific or regular. Maybe it’s time to start a daily tinnitus/headache inventory and notation. I can probably squeeze it in between the morning language app Finnish lessons and Candy Crush or the evening social media time suck and Candy Crush.

In other news, it was cloudy, a very un-August like 67 degrees outside, 71 degrees inside, and I was cold. This meant rummaging for an extra sweater layer for over the long sleeve shirt, long pants, and socks. There was even hot cocoa. Already. But it didn’t make me too sad, because my head was noise free for the first time in about two weeks. 

Then the chilly, cloudy day became a rainy day. Even that wasn’t so bad, because when the rain arrived, the headache went away. This truly is a day of minor personal miracles. It's purely unscientific at this point, but if it turns out that gray, cloudy, rainy weather means being headache and tinnitus free, I may need to consider relocating. Portland? Seattle? Reykjavik? Edinburgh?

“Remoted” – Workday 114 / Day 163 (Wednesday)

This morning I woke up and didn't know what day it was. There isn’t enough variety to the days to differentiate, so it’s surprising this hasn’t happened more often with the five-going-on-six month of sameness to the days. The wardrobe rundown isn’t always super helpful, as I seem to wear stuff on repeat a lot. 

In bed, half asleep, I tried to remember the last thing worn during daylight hours and fill in the clues from there. It was a long sleeve cotton print shirt and olive capris. That helped. It’s a thin summer weight cotton shirt that was still too hot and I was sweating through our team video meeting, so that would have been Tuesday or Thursday. We talked about work projects, so that means it was the Tuesday meeting, and today must be Wednesday. Oy. That was a lot of thinking before coffee. I showered and dressed in a fresh new outfit to hopefully create some strong markers for the day. 

Dogs on National Dog Day.

Work, work, blah, blah, then it was suppertime. There was an English cucumber and no other traditional garden salad ingredients on hand, so it was time to try the “Smashed Cucumber Salad” recipe I recently found when searching for "English cucumber recipes." I have no idea why English cucumbers are sold shrink-wrapped in plastic, but it came in handy today. Step one to the salad recipe is “wrap cucumber in plastic and smash with a mallet until slightly flattened.” Done and fun.

According to the lengthy dissertation preceding the recipe, smashing releases something in the flavor that doesn't happen with just cutting. Whatever. It was smashed with a metal meat mallet, removed from the plastic, cut, and drained. An hour later it was added to the dressing. It tasted okay and was easy to make, but I wouldn’t fall all over myself to have it again.

Today being National Dog Day, the word dog was top of mind even more than usual. The wacky word association game had me soon craving a hot dog. Luckily, there were some in the fridge, for possibly the second time in four years, bought on a whim the last time I was in a grocery store. It was boiled hot dog, steamed bun, and cucumber salad for the win. Of course, it was not without incident.

Dog day supper and a scorched towel.

To steam the mostly still frozen bun I put a too large cooling rack over the too small pan of water cooking the hot dog, and a dish towel over the bun to trap the steam. Really, it should have been a proper steaming basket and a larger pan, but there was no time to go shopping for these things. Yankee ingenuity is a handy thing. Canine Overlord Winston demanded to go out. After the door and gate opening duties, which can be done in 30 seconds when properly motivated, I checked the food. Good thing.

Somehow, the towel was already scorched. Clearly, I should not be left without adult supervision. And why does this only happen to the good towels and never to the crappy ones? The bun, oddly, was still frozen in the middle and ended up in the microwave. The fire hazard was removed and by then, the outside dog was barking to come back in. Re-entering the house showcased the stench of the scorched dish towel to maximum effect. Yuck. It might be a great candle fragrance if you want to keep people away. 

With proper folding, the scorched section of the towel can be hidden when hung on the oven door or the refrigerator handle, which is good, because the quality of new dish towels is awful. The newest ones I have look nice, but they don’t absorb the water, they just rearrange it on the dishes. Looks like the few effective ones will be clung to until I’m dead. 

Supper was good, but I wished there were some potato chips to really make it special. So, I made brownies. The logic holds. There are no chips here presently, nor anything that could be baked or fried to resemble a chip, but there was brownie mix. Work with the tools at hand. Nothing was scorched during the brownie bake, so at least that was a win. And brownies smell better than scorched dish towels.

“Remoted” – Workday 113 / Day 162 (Tuesday)

Recently, a letter arrived in the mailbox from “Chris” at a franchise office of “America’s #1 Home Buyer,” which buys homes for cash, asking if I have considered selling my property. To quote the letter, “By selling your house “as is” for cash to us, you won’t need to bother with repairs, cleaning, or having people traipse through your home for showings.” That’s one way to get out of finding someone to fix the loose deck rail and the drippy gutter and paint the bulkhead, but it feels a bit extreme.

The offending letter.

For a nanosecond, I wondered how much cash this outfit would pay for my house. Of course, the result of such a sale would mean having no place to live, which would be inconvenient. After the wonderment wore off I was offended and tore the letter in half. I mean, sure, my house is no palace. It’s on the small side and even my old apartment in Worcester was bigger in both size and number of rooms. But, really? 

The letter, addressed to me and not just generic “homeowner,” didn’t mention “ugly houses,” but it includes a cartoon cave man and the phrase is all over their website. Granted, it’s not the best house on the street, but it’s also not the worst. 

That's when the paranoia started to kick in hard. Did everyone on the street get a letter, or just some of us? Or worse, was it just my house? Is my info on some prospecting database of broke-down owners of shitty-ass houses? It sure isn’t on any lists for nice stuff. Nobody is beating a path to my mailbox inviting me to high end jewelry and estate sales or to open CDs or money market accounts. But now I’m getting mail offering to buy my ugly shit house. Dang, they really know how to hurt a gal.

“Remoted” – Workday 112 / Day 161 (Monday)

Today was sunny with blue sky as far as I could see, which, with my very limited skyscape blocked by tall houses and taller trees, is not really all that much. At least over my street, the sun was out and the sky was blue but the sound effects did not match the visuals. 

Instead of chirping birds, the soundtrack for grand chunks of the day was the near-constant, low rumble of distant thunder. It hung in the background like a low-grade fever or the tinnitus that cycles through my head for days (even weeks) on end. Moose slept most of the day, awakened periodically, not by the thunder, but by his own snoring.

Around 4:00 the thunder was louder and the sky was gray and heavy and finally matched the mood of the rumbling. Moose was becoming agitated in the twitchy way he does when a storm is near and I was wondering where I last left the Thunder Shirt that helps to calm him. The weather note on my phone, usually quite accurate, seemed to be randomly tossing out numbers like a bingo ball machine, saying it would rain in 90 minutes, three minutes, then 27, then six minutes. To avoid being soaked by the promised rain with the moving target start time, I went outside to harvest basil for the pesto cream sauce planned for supper.

Oops. Kind of scorched.

A little after 5:00, as the pine nuts I intended to lightly toast were rapidly scorching in the toaster oven, it finally rained. For about one whole minute, maybe less. The rain was so brief that when it stopped, the driveway pavement wasn’t wet, it was lightly freckled from individual drops of rain.

Despite the scorched pine nuts, supper was good – cheese ravioli and leftover baked summer vegetables in the cream basil sauce. After supper, it was time to wash the pots and pans and water the droopy plants on the deck. 

Just another day, and just another night.

“Remoted” – Day 160 (Sunday)

After yesterday’s high-quality entertainment and the shouted promise from the circus team of, “we’ll be back tomorrow!” I had high hopes for this morning. The coffee was brewed, the dogs were fed, and I was dressed and ready to be amused. The morning dawned with the ropes still hanging from the big tree from Saturday. The crew did, indeed, return, and the sound of a chainsaw rang from within the privacy fence. There was a shouted discussion about who wanted what for firewood. And that was it. No acrobats. Nobody yelling from up in the tree. This was, undoubtedly, the lamest sequel ever. 

The really big tree, ready
for the next phase.

Later, when I was pulling weeds from the too-narrow-for-the-lawnmower strip around the outside of my front fencing (note to Santa: weed whacker?) Happy Homeowner and another guy crossed the street to chat. I thanked him for having the branches trimmed and getting them away from the power lines. Storms will be slightly less scary now. Well, at least as far as branches taking out the power lines. 

Happy Homeowner is friendly and chatty, and I mostly listen. Much can be learned from the one-way conversations with him. He is frustrated about the ever-increasing cost of flood insurance, and I shared the name of the office that is saving me money on my policy for the next year.

It seemed there was to be more up-in-the tree work today, but a friend of the son living on the first floor parked his car in the space under the tree and was unavailable to move it. The big tree has rot. The area where the branches were dumped yesterday is part of Happy Homeowner’s property, so my outrage at the tree crew chucking branches over the fence and dragging them up the embankment was unnecessary and now I am over it.  

The story was relayed that a previous owner had a gazebo on the embankment overlooking Beaver Brook and Previous Owner was told to move it or the city would bulldoze it during some work. Previous Owner evidently liked the gazebo and its location, and opted instead to buy the stretch of embankment that runs along the yard. The gazebo is gone, and also the old canoe dock, and Happy Homeowner’s property taxes include the strip of embankment running along his yard and across to the other side of the brook. The old gazebo overlooking Beaver Brook and a little canoe dock sound like they were nice.

The entertainment factor today was sorely lacking. Even the storm that was supposed to hit was a bust with just a small amount of thunder and some rain. At least the neighborhood history lesson was fascinating. The tree still stands, so it’s possible the circus will return another day and the show can redeem itself with a comeback.

“Remoted” – Day 159 (Saturday)

The opening act.

The sound of power tools rang through the air at 9:00 this morning, along with voices attempting to yell over them. Of course, I had to look.

Two guys were across the street. Within the fortress-like privacy fencing of the house lives a massive tree, at least twice the height of the house. Long branches hang close to the power lines strung from the pole to the houses on my side of the street. A man waved over his head a power saw on an extension rod. Branches rained down around him. It looked like the opening clown act at a circus.

Meanwhile, a shirtless, barefoot man with a large question mark tattooed in the center of his back and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, paced in front of the driveway and yelled at Clown Guy waving the power saw. Question Mark turned up the music from the boom box stereo and “Hot Blooded” blared. Sufficiently pumped from the pacing and the music, Question Mark dragged a recycle bin and a cooler closer to the tree and climbed onto the bin. Clown Guy handed him the extended power saw (teamwork!). Perched atop the now sinking lid, Question Mark assumed the overhead cutting / acrobat act.

Question Mark takes over the saw work.

Periodically, a woman in a maroon tee shirt appeared from nowhere. She dragged the fallen branches up the embankment separating us from Beaver Brook and made them disappear, just like a magician. The "No Dumping per LPD" sign was purely decorative in this production.

As entertainment, this show had it all. Comedy, magic tricks, acrobatics, tension, illegal dumping, half naked performers. I couldn’t help wondering what their insurance coverage was.

I texted the homeowner to express concern over the waving of power cutting tools near the power lines from atop the trash bin. Happy Homeowner responded, “He’s a lil weird,” and added, “one of the best tree guys.” Wow. I'm not convinced.

Neighbor Guy next door was sent a text asking if he and his wife were also enjoying the Saturday morning live action cartoon. He asked if I saw when the dude with the chain saw chugged the beer at 9:30. Sadly, I missed that product placement hydration moment.

By 10:45, the action had moved inside the fence and deep into the tree, with a guy up in the branches, and Magician and Clown Guy on the ground assisting with ropes. A voice in the tree screamed and swore when the rope holders pulled the rope at the wrong time, and the guy in the tree had “to go back up and reset it.” Happy Homeowner, now onsite, observed the proceedings. A car of spectators arrived and parked at the end of the street below the tree branches. Word must have gotten out.

It began to thunder. The yelling from the tree shifted to shouts of, “It’s just thunder, let’s keep going” and “It’s not even raining yet.” The newly arrived spectators, known by name, were asked to relocate their vehicle to safety. At 11:00, the rain arrived with thunder loud enough to drown out the chain saw and the yelling. Happy Homeowner, Clown Guy, and Magician scattered for shelter, leaving the guy up in the tree. So much for teamwork.

That concluded today’s show. A lackluster ending after such a buildup, but I heard they will be back tomorrow morning. I can't wait for the next episode. 

“Remoted” – Workday 111 / Day 158 (Friday)

Took a half day off today. It had been three, maybe four weeks since I was last at the dentist, so I thought I should pop in in case they missed me.

Not entirely true. It was because of ice cream. And how I hit the roof when it touches a tooth near where the new crown was installed. (Is that the right word, “installed”? I should ask my niece with the dental education.) It didn’t seem like the newly crowned tooth, that one has been great. From what I could tell by my purely unscientific methods, it was the neighboring tooth. And with careful tongue placement the issue can be avoided, but that didn't seem like a good long-term plan.

Anyway, they were able to see me within a day of calling, so I worked this morning, then headed to the dentist for approximately the 10,000^th time since June. Today, several of my teeth were tapped. They were also sprayed with cold air and caressed with a swab doused in some cold agent. There was an additional x-ray. There was no clear problem found. I was sent on my way with well wishes and samples of a toothpaste for sensitive teeth to try for a few weeks. We’re going to “keep an eye on it.” It was a relief and a much better outcome than hearing “oh, you need a root canal in that tooth with the brand new, expensive crown,” because that is the response I half-expected and fully feared. 

Dinner/groceries!

Then I went for ice cream, which was kind of funny considering that was the triggering event for the day of dental. I won a gift card to an ice cream stand in a raffle at work in March or April, and I finally got to break it in with Mom, my sister, and nieces. It was a beautiful blue-sky afternoon, with exactly the right amount of breeze to feel nice and also be super annoying as it continually blew our hair into the ice cream and our faces. This was not a good day to be without the pony tail elastic that usually adorns my wrist. Love the farm stand ice cream, but I’m not really a fan of the ice cream hair styling product. 

Upon arrival home, the decision was made to order pizza, because I'm lazy and also my favorite local shop that delivers sent me a coupon last week for a free birthday dessert that expires today. This shop has great pizza and a really good dessert menu with options ranging from $1.50 to $7. The online ordering system means I don’t have to speak to anyone, which is a huge plus, because I am old and tired of having my pizza order laughed at. (Yes, it’s happened. More than once, in multiple states.)

Moosie, king of the stare.

After choosing the toppings for my large pizza/grocery order (black olive and pineapple) it was time for the dessert menu. I was torn between carrot cake, cannoli, and baklava. It was a little hard to focus because Moosie was giving me the stare over the edge of the couch cushion. He does this a lot and it freaks me out a little. On a whim I checked off a $7 container of ice cream, thinking that the coupon wouldn’t work on the most expensive option. But it did work, and now I am restocked with ice cream for home, and flush with the feeling of victory from scoring the expensive dessert. 

This was the best day in a really long time, even with a dentist appointment.

“Remoted” – Workday 110 / Day 157 (Thursday)

This morning Moose outdid himself. He regularly manages to pee on his own foot, which I can’t quite figure out. In a flat yard, he can somehow manage to find a mound or incline, then pee so it runs down the slope onto the rear foot that is on the ground. Time after time.

Sir Poop Foot,
fresh from the bath.

This morning he went out to the back yard as usual, and on the way back in, stepped in his own freshly planted poop. Then he trotted to the door to enter the house. Of course, the paper towels, soap, and everything else remotely helpful were inside the house. Moose and I were outside, which necessitated opening the door. Old Poop Foot darted in and began tracking a poop paw print all over the kitchen floor.  Then he laid down in the office nook and began licking his poop foot.

At least he was momentarily sitting still, which provided the opportunity to try to clean the offensive foot. There are many nooks between pads and toes in which such offensive material can collect. And it did. It took too many paper towels, a pre-moistened makeup remover cloth, and a conscious override of my gag reflex to clean this most disgusting foot. Even after the cleanup, the smell lingered for hours, trapped in my sinuses. 

One gets poop foot, two get baths.

The morning poop foot episode led to the morning wiping of the floor and the clearing of a portion of the hectic Friday-eve Netflix viewing schedule to accommodate a bathing schedule. If one dog gets a bath, both dogs get a bath. Both Canine Overlords now smell fresh like their oatmeal dog shampoo. The aftermath of the bathing was mopping the now wet bathroom floor. Enough hair was cleaned out of the tub to build another dog, and now Mommy needs some wine. Welcome to the glamorous life at the BungaLowell.

“Remoted” – Workday 109 / Day 156 (Wednesday)

The weather got wacky this afternoon. There were some mood swings happening. Giant rain drops loudly splatted on the air conditioner unit and the driveway pavement outside the office windows. From the desk, I could see bright blue sky. The rain cloud seemed to be parked over my street. It cleared briefly, then an hour later, a thunderstorm rolled in. Once the rumbling cleared, the sky co-starred dark clouds and bright sunshine.

Stormy and sunny
mood swing weather.

During the first rain event, while marveling at the combination of bright and stormy, I went to the far side of the house in search of dramatic clouds. The rain pummeled the deck and the Prime delivery package laying there. There were no deliveries scheduled for me, and I hadn't yet ordered the item delivering tomorrow.

The name on the soggy paper label affixed to the plastic padded envelope was luckily still legible, and it was that of a neighbor I actually know, which was helpful. I put the dripping thing in the enclosed porch while engaging in a mini rant about the driver. I was already peeved by the UPS driver who parked the big brown truck in my driveway this morning to deliver a package to a house across the street. A house, which, by the way, had its own, much larger empty driveway. Where the driveway meets the road is becoming more chewed up.

Every day, UPS, FedEx, and untold numbers of passenger vehicles pull into my driveway shared with Neighbor Guy to turn around, and in the case of the UPS big brown trucks, to park while they deliver to neighboring homes. Lately, this really burns me up. Now I understand the houses I've seen with the “No Turning in Driveway” signs. Those homeowners clearly had enough. The driveway traffic annoys me even more than the mailman walking across my lawn to the neighbor’s house. I thought the new fence would stop that, but he freely strides across the grass to exit via the other gate in the fence.

While most people fantasize about vacations or their next car, lately I fantasize about installing a gate at the end of the driveway. A concrete barrier or a boulder might also do the trick. Or those metal spikes that destroy tires while backing out. Then I feel guilty for being the “get off my lawn” grump. Feeling petty and spiteful aren’t fun, but neither is feeling that my property, into which most of my money goes, is being abused.

With the more generous state of mind that I vaguely recall once possessing, these things didn’t bother me. Or at least not as much. But lately, the driveway, the lawn, and a thousand other things are getting deep under my skin and on my nerves. The weather isn't the only thing moody and dark. The dogs, while reasonably good listeners, aren’t especially helpful with their feedback.  

“Remoted” – Workday 108/ Day 155 (Tuesday)

It was a draggin’ butt morning. Both Sunday and Monday nights involved being awake a couple hours later than is ideal. In the olden, younger days, this would have been due to being out with friends or being deep in the zone working on a stained glass, photography, or sewing project. Now, it’s due to being blessed with a front row seat to the nightly 11:00 basketball practice in the street below my bedroom window.

There is napping in the kitchen.

To try and distract myself from the live sporting events, I end up sucked in a spiral of reading the news alternated with the biggest time suck available in the palm of one’s hand – Candy Crush. Sometimes I get lucky and the practice is quick and done in 15 agonizing minutes that just feel like forever and I can go to sleep. Other times, the solo ball player is joined by others from his home team and practice runs long and loud with ball bouncing, backboard hitting, and talking.

It really ruins the joy of having the windows open for the night air and makes running the A/C at night more appealing. Murder also feels a little bit appealing.

There is napping in the living room.

This week has also seen the introduction of bonus afternoon neighboring yard work involving various combinations of weed whacker, leaf blower, and lawn mower for two to three hours at a stretch. Today, at the height of the noise, cranky from insufficient sleep due to nighttime basketball, and aggravated from the din of yard work, I really missed the office downtown. Suddenly the sirens and honking horns and even the annoying drummer who beats on the plastic buckets seemed preferable. 

The worst thing? This whole back to work from vacation thing means there are no afternoon naps. Not for me anyway. The dogs still nap all day every day. So unfair.

“Remoted” – Workday 107/ Day 154 (Monday)

There was a sense of dread upon opening the work email this morning. Any time out of the office highlights how many emails arrive in a day. The count is not always obvious when dealing with them as they come in, but there have been as many as 75 to 100 emails waiting after one day out of the office. Armed with this information, I logged in a few minutes early in anticipation of the many emails lying in wait.

There were pre-vacation preparations taken to minimize the bulk, which included unsubscribing from many newsletters and trade publications. The out-of-office autoresponder was set. Google alerts already go to a separate folder. And considering, the 5.5 days out of the office, the 318 emails in the inbox wasn't really that horrible. A bunch of them were from two group email addresses I’m part of, and could be deleted, but it still required plowing through them all. Luckily, it took less time to deal with than I expected.

The day was busy, the day was good. Then it was time for supper.

Supper was great. The fridge is still crammed with produce. So much to choose from. Too much, really. It’s time to cook big and reload the freezer. Despite there already being a summer vegetable soup loaded with zucchini, squash, mushroom, cauliflower, broccoli, and tomatoes and the macaroni and cheese with cauliflower and broccoli, the avocado on the counter was calling to me. I listened. 

Plated for show. 

Avocado, garlic, diced yellow grape tomatoes, diced heritage tomatoes, onion, hot pepper, and lemon were mixed and plated with a cheese quesadilla, corn, and mango. It was colorful and pretty. During the eating part, the quesadilla was peeled apart and the avocado salsa jammed inside for more efficient eating. Or cave woman eating. I’m sure the sight of me seated on the couch, huddled over the ottoman and stuffing the stuffed quesadilla into my pie hole lacked all elegance, but luckily for me, my solitary life affords no witnesses. Let’s be real, I’m much closer to feral than regal at this point. Working in the outside world in an office with other people served as a great set of social checks and balances. It’s like the wild west at The BungaLowell and it’s getting worse. At least the food starts out civilized.

“Remoted” – Day 153 (Sunday)

Book and pups in the morning.

It was a day of rebirth. Moose heralded the usual 6:00 awakening and I felt a million times better than Saturday. Even with all the sleep throughout the day Saturday, it was bed at the usual 10:00 time. The night sleep was as great as the day sleep, and even longer. Waking up not feeling like poop on a stick was even greater.

The listed side effects were gone, but it wasn’t a totally symptom free day. There was a new condition – a runny nose – which I hope to high hell is allergies and not one of the common symptoms of the dreaded COVID-19. Having left the house a few times over the past couple weeks has me on high alert at every sniffle, sneeze, or twitch. Porch morning reading time, frequently punctuated by pauses to service the Canine Overlords, today included additional stops for the nose blowing, but was still quality comfort time with a book and the pups.

With the renewed lease on life, the theme of the day became GSD – getting stuff done. Laundry. Check! Make vegetable soup. Check! Bake cauliflower, broccoli, macaroni and cheese. Check! Finish book one from the three-book vacation reading list (“The Visionist” by Rachel Urquhart). Check! Pick up all the dog turds in the front and back yards. Check! Wash the dishes, both the sink and dishwasher. Check!

Cauliflower, broccoli mac and cheese
for the lunchtime win.

After a full week off, the idea of returning to work feels a little bit like the first day of school. What projects will we be assigned to work on? Will I have all the same workmates, or have any of the interns finished their time and moved on? Thanks to working from home, I don’t have to worry about what to wear to the office, and having done all the laundry will make the easy choice even easier. Regular Sunday cooking means healthy and comfort food lunch options are on auto pilot and the week is already off to a good start.

The day’s new and fresh runny nose symptom wore off by suppertime, so that felt like a good sign. Maybe all the wishful thinking finally paid off for something.

“Remoted” – Day 152 (Saturday)

Today was the day. It was the long awaited, time passing slowly, feels like forever day I had wanted all vacation. It’s amazing how long the day seems when you feel like death on a cracker. It seems to be side effects from Friday morning’s Shingrix shot.

A very long day.

According to their website, “Pain, redness, and swelling at the injection site, muscle pain, tiredness, headache, shivering, fever, and upset stomach are all common side effects of SHINGRIX.” Starting Friday evening, it has been all those and more. Freezing in August is fun, and thank goodness for blankets. 

Today dawned with bonus ailments included lightheadedness. Moose needed to go out for his usual 6:00 a.m. pee, which allowed me the joy of laying on the bathroom floor to avoid passing out. After that, it was back to bed and sleeping on and off until 10:00.

Once out of bed, the day was spent laid out on the couch, sleeping in hourly increments, with brief bouts of Netflix in between. The idea of food was unappealing, which was fine, because there was insufficient strength to prepare any. Each awakening delivered the surprise that it was earlier in the day than it felt. Talk about a long day.

“Remoted” – Day 151 (Friday)

This period of Monday through Friday staycation has been the fastest five day stretch possibly ever in the many, (too) many decades of my life. It blew by faster than the fastest workweek, as fast as any amazing good time, and happened without a busy schedule of many (ha, any!) activities. So much for recreating the long, lazy, bordering on bored summer days of my youth. I don’t understand. I feel robbed. Of the three books and two new puzzles ready for the staycation entertainment plan, I’ve made it only halfway through the first book. The puzzles are still wrapped in plastic.

There was a morning trip downtown today, for a quick medical appointment scheduled at the last appointment in May. There was time to walk around a bit before the appointment, and things have changed. For one thing, Fabiano’s, the pizza and sub shop with the eggplant subs I like is emptied and the sign is gone. My 10:00 appointment was just a shot and done in ten minutes. My arm has hurt since, but from what I understand, it’s much less than the pain of shingles the shot will prevent. 

Lowell has cool old buildings.
History, baby!

While still downtown, I finally remembered to pick up my painting from the art fundraiser last month. Unfortunately, my arrival at the gallery a block or so from the doctor’s office turned out to be 45 minutes too early for it to be open. There was time to take some photos with the cell phone camera, and when that lost interest, it was time to head home. Outside the parking garage, a broken-down car was partially blocking one of the exit lanes and almost ready to be towed. Almost as in, the tow truck was just pulling up across the street. At my car, the A/C was turned on and a couple Finnish lessons done until it seemed long enough for the car to be gone. It worked.

White wine o'clock!

Back at home, the stomach rumbling and realization that breakfast never happened led to the immediate undertaking of a veggie stir fry with balsamic. The recent abandonment of actual suppers in favor of ice cream has the fridge loaded with currently fresh veggies, but they won’t stay that way forever and it's time to get busy. Of course, I was wearing a white shirt during the cooking/eating, and of course, it now has balsamic vinegar splashed on it. Based on a lengthy track record, that should have been seen from a mile away and prepared for. Last night, a white cloth napkin was stained with chocolate ice cream and half of my pants now have olive oil on them, so I’m really customizing the wardrobe and linens with food stains.

Now it’s wine o’clock and time to kick back, but I have learned my lesson today. It’s white wine, so when I spill it on everything, at least it won’t stain. 

“Remoted” – Day 150 (Thursday)

8/13 Birthday!

Thursday, aka Friday Eve, also my birthday, and the day of staycation where I finally left the house. Mom and I made plans earlier in the week, which went only as far as committing to “do something,” which was not specified until this morning. Neither of us felt like shopping or dining out, so I went to her house. We ordered subs and spent the afternoon in her shady back yard screen house and it was great.

The idea danced through my head that the previously planned road trip could be executed on the way home without too much of a detour. This didn’t happen, because it was so nice sitting and talking with Mom that I pushed the timeline bit by bit until suddenly it was doggy dinner time and an hour’s ride separated me from them. It was likely I’d arrive to two fur babies pacing like hungry lions and ready to pounce, which was pretty much the scene when I walked into the house. Both boys were hopping and anxious to go out, and then it was time for Kibbles and Bits, perhaps the most fragrant (i.e. stinky) dog food. Of the many life aromatics that fail to penetrate my faulty sinuses and register with my nearly absent sense of smell, this particular funky dog food is one of the few. Ewwww.

Mom sent me home with an entertaining facsimile of a birthday cake in the form of a box of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls. She couldn’t find any Ring Dings, family joke and memento of my life as a juvenile criminal. When I was around eight or nine years old, my desire for sweets was so powerful I would sneak out of bed to steal the desserts for our school lunches. My sister and I shared a bedroom with two doors. One opened to the family room and the other opened to the kitchen, where I would stand in the doorway, heart pounding, looking down the hall to the far end of the house where my parents sat on the couch watching TV. A turn of either of their heads just a few degrees and I would be spotted darting to the bread box and then back to our room. And one night I was.

Birthday supper!

As I was in bed executing the ritual of unwrapping and smoothing the foil before devouring the precious Ring Ding, Dad appeared, asking what I had in bed. Of course, the answer was “nothing” and of course he pulled back the covers and there was the pilfered Ring Ding, unwrapped and ready to be devoured. And the case of the missing school desserts was finally solved. Also, the bedroom furniture was rearranged to block the door to the kitchen, cutting off the path to the kitchen and specifically the breadbox of treats. 

So yes, I have a box of Swiss Rolls. Birthday supper for one was Swiss Rolls and ice cream in my new, hand painted, commemorative birthday ice cream bowl sent by my amazing cousin. Dang, that bowl holds a lot of ice cream. And it was good.

“Remoted” – Day 149 (Wednesday)

Wednesday already. The day was mostly more of the same, as in, another successful execution of pretty much nothing. Breakfast was a tasty mashup of leftovers – omelet muffin cup with taco meat and rice, topped with a garden-fresh diced tomato. There was too much news reading, some novel reading, and a Finnish lesson (in a million more years I should be fluent), and of course, Facebook. 

Breakfast was at a “normal” time, but then it was ice cream at lunchtime, tomato pie mid-afternoon, and more ice cream at suppertime. There was today’s half-hearted attempt to convince myself to take the little road trip planned on Tuesday. At first, it seemed too early, then when it was around a good time to go, I remembered that my Misfits Market produce box was delivering from FedEx.

Produce day!

Generally, the FedEx driver does one of three things with the produce box. The box is either left on the asphalt walk in full sun; set on the top step against the front porch door, so when the door is opened from inside, the box topples down the stone and concrete stairs onto the asphalt walk; or, left in the full sun on the side deck just outside the door to the shaded porch. Option four, putting the box marked “produce” and “perishable” inside the sheltered porch is rarely used. Reasons one through three were the excuse for not going on my little outing today. The possibility of returning home to a box of produce cooking in the sun seemed too real. 

It was a good call to wait for the delivery. Today’s box was dumped with a big thud onto the side deck, just outside the door to the shaded porch, as if it had been lobbed from the back of the truck onto the deck. Luckily, the boxes have a lot of cushioned insulation and nothing was smashed. Not this time, anyway. By the time the produce was put away it was 2:00 and “too late” for my auto excursion. Not too late because I had something else to do at a set time, just vaguely “too late” in the nonexistent timetable of my day. Plus, it was 90 degrees out. So, I stayed home and did that “not a lot” stuff at which I am so skilled, including a napping.

No idea what I did, but I
hope I don't do it again.

The evening is when things got exciting. Around 8:00 I saw that I had a warning from Facebook that I violated “community standards,” but I have no idea when or how, even after combing my Activity Log. It’s the usual litany of likes on posts and occasional comments in various groups I’m in which include mid-century modern kitsch, breeze block, old homes, a local food group, and a Schitt’s Creek fan group. Foul language has miraculously been avoided, as have political comments. I type, then delete far more comments than I post. Did this morning's comment about screen porches somehow violate? Maybe I liked an offensive number of pictures of breeze block walls? There were no clues or specific posts referenced in the violation notice. Is this going on my permanent record? Not knowing my specific violation could kill me. It's fitting that tonight's Netflix viewing choice, even before learning about the unspecified violation, was Unsolved Mysteries. 

“Remoted” – Day 148 (Tuesday)

The “doing nothing on staycation” idea has been taken to heart. When I commit, I’m all in. Less was done today than yesterday, when I managed to sweep and vacuum, do some laundry, run the dishwasher and put away the clean dishes.

Tomato pie for days and days.

Today, I tricked Moosie back to bed after the regular 6:00 wake up and got to sleep until 6:30. That felt like victory. There was basic personal hygiene and dressing. The deck plants were watered, but only after supper when I couldn’t remember the last time I had checked on them. Poor things were wilted and parched from the heat. Sunday’s tomato pie, mini omelet cups pulled from the freezer, and roasted vegetables have served as the autopilot food plan for the past couple days. This only works because luckily, I don’t mind eating the same thing for days and days. I'd rather keep eating repeats than have to actively plan more food.

Those were the days accomplishments. Pretty much the full inventory.

Late in the morning I planned out a road trip – a 45-minute ride with destinations in two neighboring towns, and back home. Then it just didn’t happen. After a couple hours of thinking about it but not going, I curled up on the couch and took a nap instead. Evidently, the idea of a road trip was enough for today. Actually getting into the car and driving suddenly felt like a lot of effort. 

There have been alerts that Xfinity is working in my area on Wednesday and causing a “brief service interruption.” There was no time window noted and sometimes “brief” is closer to all day in utility provider speak, so tomorrow is probably a better day to drag myself out on the little car jaunt.  Maybe an Xfinity service interruption can break the level of “don’t give a shit,” which is currently comically, tragically high.

“Remoted” – Day 147 (Monday)

Vacation Monday and not a single plan on the calendar. This was by design. Woke up at the normal time thanks to Moose, aka “Little Big Ben” and his amazing timekeeping abilities. Come hell or high water, workday or holiday, he has us up by 6:00 a.m. Sometimes I can trick him back to bed, other times it isn’t worth the effort. This morning it was not worth the effort. Besides, I figured I might as well have a vacation day that is as long as a work day instead of sleeping it away.

It was all the usual stuff during the morning all the way up until I didn’t go to my desk and log in to the work system. Then there was more morning Internet news on the porch, and more reading a book in the house. Mom and I talked on the phone and made plans for later in the week.

Not a creature was stirring ...

While I binge watched a Netflix Korean drama I started Sunday night, the dogs laid around and slept most of the day, Moose on the couch, Winston on the floor. Usually when I have the TV on, I’m also writing, playing Candy Crush on my phone in five minute spurts until I’m out of lives, reading Facebook or various news outlets on my phone and/or computer, or some other form of half-assed multitasking. This is not possible with a K-Drama as I need to read the subtitles.

A couple things stand out across my many, many hours of watching many K-Dramas. First, there is the very formulaic scripting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a K-Drama that did not include a male giving a drunk female a piggy back ride home up a very steep and narrow street. Ok, maybe not the old-timey period pieces set in a palace, but it definitely happens in all the stories set in modern times. It must be some law of K-Dramas.

Eight slices, eight totally
different toppings. Yes, please.

The second thing is that the folks at Subway must have a big sponsorship deal going on with Netflix and the entire Korean TV industry. The major non-Korean food in any and all dramas seems to be Subway – with a long establishing shot capturing the Subway shop and branding. Any time the characters aren’t eating Korean food or drinking coffee (Iced Americano is popular) they are eating Subway sandwiches from the branded wrapping paper. The show I’m watching now ("It’s Okay to Not Be Okay") also has a twist with a pizza shop. I’m intrigued by the pizza coming out of this place. Eight slices, but each slice has its own unique toppings! Where in America can I get that, please? Seriously. Tell me, please.

“Remoted” – Day 146 (Sunday)

Woo hoo! Forty days!

Sunday Family Funday! Coffee and day 40 of Finnish lessons, then it was off to my sister's house. There was a breakfast sendoff for my niece, who returned to Las Vegas later in the day. The menu was my sister’s specialty – biscuits and sausage gravy. Hers is the only version of it I’ll eat.

My introduction to the stuff was in Fort Worth in my early 20s. Mom’s stepsister Laura was very excited to treat me to a “Foat Wuth” night on the town. This involved time served in a honky tonk where I disliked the music and didn’t know any cowboy dances, which was comically and publicly revealed on the dance floor when a couple unsuspecting cowboys asked me to dance.

That long ago  night of honky tonk dancing turned out like most “out dancing” nights in New England at the time – with me awkwardly tending the precious table with the purses and drinks while my friends tore up the dance floor. The grand finale of the Fort Worth night was a restaurant where Laura ordered the plain gravy and biscuit for me, which she was convinced I was going to love. Unfortunately, even though I was late-night, been drinking beer hungry, I was still not impressed by this most egregious treatment of a good biscuit. Laura ate both of our biscuit and gravy orders that night, and I avoided the stuff for many years afterward. It’s definitely better with spicy sausage in it. It’s definitely better at my sister’s house. Maybe my taste buds finally matured.

After visiting with the family, it was time to go home, loaded with garden tomatoes from my sister’s. The Southern food day would continue with tomato pie. I had all the ingredients, but kept thinking about the multiple flavors of ice cream in my incomplete Hannaford experimental delivery shopping basket from Saturday, so a tiny detour was in order. The frozen food cooler offered up my favorite frozen pizza at a crazy low price, but it was a heaping helping of disappointment over at the ice cream cooler.

One serving in, and no
fudge cores to be found.

Hannaford’s, you let me down. There was no Edy’s Slow Churned Triple Core Salted Caramel. There was no Friendly’s Black Cherry Chocolate Chunk or Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. There was no Limited Time Originals Pumpkin flavored ice cream. There was a heavy heart as I stared into the ice cream coolers. How was I to properly celebrate my 40 day Finnish streak? I settled for Hannaford brand Maple Walnut and Edy’s Triple Core Chocolate. Incidentally, the missing flavors still exist in my cyber shopping basket, so maybe there is a secret stash in the magical retail reservoir “out back.” Or the online ordering system has inventory flaws.

The disappointment continued at home upon opening the settled upon Edy’s flavor. There was a huge air pocket where roughly a half cup of ice cream should have been, and there are no triple cores of anything to be found. There is no sign of even a single core. It definitely did not look like the picture on the container. My 40-day language lesson ice cream celebration is lacking more than someone to celebrate with. At least the tomato pie came out ok.