“Remoted” Workday 172 / Day 259 (Monday)

Write 50k words, get a winner badge.

This morning, at 7:20, after a month of writing, the 50,000 words target was reached in National Novel Writing Month, held each November. It could have been completed yesterday, but the last 500 words were saved for this morning to hit the full 30 days of writing. There were badges involved, including the “write for 30 days” badge, and I got them all except for the one for “hitting par” each day. Instead of a steady 1,667 words daily, my counts varied from 700 to 2,800.  The accomplishment of the feat was celebrated by ordering a commemorative coffee mug and a poster which will likely compound the "too much wall art stuffed in drawers" problem.

Usually, NaNoWriMo is on the periphery of my awareness for months. I participated in 2008 and one other time many computers and hard drives ago. There were several years where I did Blog Posting Month in November instead, but this year neither one was even a glimmer in my awareness. It was late October when a reference to NaNoWriMo popped up in my newsfeed in a post from a Facebook friend. Without allowing time to overthink it, the registration process was done.

Many writers arrive to November armed with a plan. Research has been done, and there is an idea of plot points and characters and a story arc. I was not one of these writers. I don’t even write fiction because I don’t have the kind of imagination to create worlds and develop characters and then come up with things up for them to say and do. The idea of writing dialogue is terrifying.

I love stats and charts!

By NaNoWriMo day one on November 1, there was already a groove going with 229 days of “Remoted” blog posts. That first day, the not-much-of-a-plan was to continue the daily blog and call it a grouping of short stories. After a few days it felt weird.

On the fourth day of the monthlong novel writing adventure, an ad for a two-week free trial of Ancestry.com popped into my feed and a new idea began to form. With the general idea of “Finding Minnie,” it seemed it would be fun to learn about my great-grandmother who came to America from Finland in 1893 and hopefully confirm some of the family tales Mummu told me about her family. Unfortunately, Mummu passed away in 2005 and can’t retell or correct the stories I wish I remembered better. There is only the vaguest recollection of a fragment of a detail remaining from many of Mummu’s stories. In other cases, much of what I thought I “knew” and remembered has been called into question or directly contradicted by recently acquired family ephemera and online government records.

The new plan meant researching the family tree from one to three hours after work and then writing “Remoted.” On weekday mornings, writing for NaNoWriMo took place from 6:45 to 8:00, but on non-work days the writing time had fewer limitations. Sometimes the evening research resulted in a head start on the morning writing. It’s been a great way to spend the dark early mornings and dark nights.

Finding dry facts, figures, addresses, and occupations of a person’s life is greatly facilitated by search engines and digitized records, but filling in the gaps with an actual life story is more difficult. Except for the occasional newspaper story, the day to day life of my family was not recorded. Mom and I have very few old family photos, and there are no journals or scrapbooks for reference. For decades, the only known photo of my great-grandmother Minnie was the one taken the day she became an American citizen in her 70s. Mom and I were surprised to learn her age in the photo, because she looks much older.

Now the task is to organize the big word dump. More research is needed to fill in the gaps. Editing is needed to clean things up and develop more focus. The easy part was in November. Now even more work needs to happen. Or, it could end up like the last couple times, sitting abandoned in a document file.

“Remoted” Day 258 (Sunday)

There was a loose plan to do online Christmas shopping today, but that went down the tubes after tumbling down a research trail based on two words in a Facebook group post.

It turns out, and I don’t even know why this came as a surprise, in addition to the general Finnish Genealogy group found a few weeks ago, there is another Finnish genealogy group. A few days ago, thanks to a mention in the first group, I learned there is a group specific to the descendants of Isokyrö, a municipality located in the province of Western Finland, and part of the Ostrobothnia region. This is where Mummu's family was from.

Even more fun than the general discovery of the Facebook group was the specific information that one of the members is the great-granddaughter of a younger brother of my own great-grandfather, and she is writing a book about her great-grandfather, that line of the family, and farm life in Finland. This woman’s name appears in records hints in Ancestry.com that seemed to overlap my tree, and now I know why. In the brief description of her book in process, she had a reference to her great-grandfather being a “cottager’s son.” Those two words gave me more information about the family in Finland than I had found anywhere else, and set the new course for my day. The new path began with skimming articles on Finnish farms.

Because I love a good detour on any research project, I also landed in an article titled “Home-thievery and the Modernization of Rural Finnish Society 1860-1900.” Home-thievery (kotivarkaus), is a “practice in which farm women secretly pilfered and sold farm products – butter, grain, meat, cheese, milk, and wool – behind the farm master’s back.  These women either sold the pilfered goods to local shopkeepers in order to obtain things that the farm master would not buy for them, or gave them as payment to lower-class women who gathered information – or spread gossip – on their behalf.” It's fascinating that the farm wives lacked personal cash and were part of the local black market.

Kahvi aika (coffee time) with an
Arabia Finland coffee cup from Mummu.

Some farm women were compelled to participate in home thievery for the specific need to buy or trade for coffee to restock the home coffee reserves before their husbands noticed the depletion resulting from her having her friends over to drink coffee. Coffee is important to Finns. Finnish workers scarce on time often drank the coffee from a saucer to save the time required to cool it. In articles on Finnish coffee consumption there was this fun fact – according to the International Coffee Association, Finns have the highest per capita coffee consumption in the world. The Finnish language has about a dozen words for specific coffee situations including morning coffee, day coffee, evening coffee, sauna coffee, farewell coffee, and even "just won a medal in a sporting event" coffee. Serious, indeed.

Other riveting articles for the day's read included “The Social Origin of the Left-Wing Radicals and 'Church Finns' among Finnish Immigrants in North America,” which, in addition to discussing political positions,  provided details to determining social class through passport records. 

Yes, this is actually my idea of a good time, which might explain how I can be content spending so much time alone. And my need for morning coffee. At least I have my own coffee money and don’t need to resort to home thievery.

“Remoted” Day 257 (Saturday)

It was a leisurely and relaxing Saturday and then, without warning, it wasn’t anymore. It got gloomy and annoying. I was cold, despite wearing a base layer and wool sweater, and drinking hot cocoa on a 50-degree day. A loud engine of some sort was running somewhere outside. The photo I was working on for this year’s Christmas Card was being problematic. None of it was anything outrageous, but suddenly every single little thing was getting under my skin.

Lacking input options.

Trying to order more insulin for Winston from the online pet pharmacy where Moose’s meds come from became an ordeal. The system kept delivering an error message about choosing a shipper in a field that had no options to select anything at all. After nearly an hour on the vet pharmacy site, there was still no insulin ordered. The chance was blown to get to the vet in Fitchburg to pick up more by not fully planning ahead. The inability to order online, along with the full realization that the monthly vet pharmacy bill is now doubled was a two-fer bonus deal of annoying and depressing. The insulin ordering thing is starting to feel like a solid argument to transfer the dogs to a vet closer to home.  

Yams were baked for supper which took longer than expected and further raised the hackles of annoyance and hunger. After eating supper, yams be damned, instead of feeling sated, wild and crazy hunger set in and I was hungrier than before eating. A frozen pizza was baked and five-eighths of it was consumed. It wasn’t even that good, and then the guilt over eating so much piled on.

Even the show I’ve been watching on Netflix, Virgin River, has pushed my buttons. The character played by Annette O’Toole is so annoying I’m close to abandoning the show. That is how thin my skin is today. It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.

“Remoted” Day 256 (Friday)

Day two of the new mystery question came and went without an answer. “How can a day with minimal activity and no plans pass so quickly?” There really was as close to nothing done today as possible. Couch. Hallmark Movie channel. Microwaved non-turkey dinner leftovers were lunch and veggie straws, cashews, and dried apricots were supper. Baking a pie was considered, recipes were sourced, and ingredients assessed. The initial research was exhausting enough that the whole idea was abandoned once it was determined it would require expending additional energy to peel the apples and pears.

A day's work.

At 5:00 pm there was a random flurry of activity. Three nails were banged into walls and items were hung – two in the living room and one in the dining room. The carpeted stairs were vacuumed and a plant stand placed for the red tinsel tree on the stair landing. A silver glitter wreath was hung on a wreath hanger on the living room coat closet door. Despite the use of a coaster, one drop of red wine was spilled onto a tan formica topped mid-century end table, causing a stain. 

The evening’s entertainment is a new musical extravaganza on Netflix, “Christmas on the Square,” with Saint Dolly Parton, clever songs and dance, and Christine Baranski as “the wickedest witch of the middle.” Oh, yes, please. If only I had made that Chess Pie I was too lazy to make the other night I could be having dessert in Southern style. Having no pie is the penalty of laziness.

“Remoted” Day 255 (Thursday – Thanksgiving!)

The Thanksgiving Holiday began Wednesday night with YouTube videos of old football games from the Fitchburg-Leominster Thanksgiving football rivalry. There was a video from 1930 that had some really cool winter coats and views of Crocker Field, downtown, and the high school building of the early 1930s before it burned down. The video from the November 1978 game had crowd shots with people I recognized, and the 100^th playing of the game in 1983 had entertaining and illuminating clips with the cheer squads, candid interviews with people at the mall, and local commercials that were pretty funny. One of the commercials featured my old boss from my first stint in banking in an IRA ad, and the old "IT" Instant Teller ads were a real blast from the past.

This morning included network TV airings of highlights of past Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parades, the last few episodes of the series I was watching on Prime, and back-to-back Hallmark Christmas movies. Boy, it’s been ages since I watched “regular tv” with commercials and now I remember why I prefer streaming Prime and Netflix. I've seen at least a dozen different pharmaceutical ads today.

Christmas decorating commenced with the hanging of the wreath on the front door, then promptly stopped for the day. Technically speaking, the decorating started back in January with the one forgotten ornament that stayed out on a shelf in the bookcase all year. It’s a silver colored wire tree with a wire star on top, and tiny red and green ornaments and glitter. Tomorrow is a vacation day with no plans, so maybe the decorating will resume then. Or not. It’s nice to have options.

Lobster pie and veggies.

The food portion of the day included a very easy lobster pie, using melted butter and half and half poured over the lobster and baked 15 minutes, then topped with cracker crumbs and melted butter and baked for 5 more minutes. It was the perfect combination of easy, quick, and all the ingredients sat in the pantry. The lobster came in a box pre-cooked and frozen, and the hardest part was last night with calculating the thawing of the lobster. The package said in two locations to “thaw in refrigerator immediately before using,” and that was it. The same packaging included instructions in six highly detailed steps on how to make a lobster roll, including precisely how to butter and grill the roll and how to spread the mayo on the roll before adding the lobster meat. But it required a visit to the company website to find out how long it takes to thaw the frozen lobster in the refrigerator "immediately before using," which was noted on the website, buried deep in a FAQ and was 16 to 24 hours. I might be wrong, but that seems like a more appropriate and important message for the package. 

There were brussels sprout and carrots, roasted the other day, and leftover apple crisp to round out the menu. Later, it was Ben & Jerry’s Blackberry Marscapone ice cream, which will not be bought again any time soon. The description, “blackberry and marscapone ice cream with shortbread chunks and chocolate covered almonds,” sounded a lot better than it actually tastes. There was a touch of regret over not sticking with tried and true favorites like Cherry Garcia or Phish Food. Sorry Ben, sorry Jerry, this is going on your permanent record with the equally gross Coffee Caramel Fudge non-dairy flavor abomination of the summer.

The day was lazy and leisurely and, beyond the less than exciting ice cream, the only other disappointment of the day was that it went by much too quickly. One minute I was drinking morning coffee, and in a blink it was 4:00 and then it was night.

“Remoted” Workday 171 / Day 254 (Wednesday)

Thanksgiving Eve is historically one of the best nights of the year to be out socializing. People come home for the holiday and it’s like a big reunion without the commitments of an RSVP and catered buffet. The “normal” Fitchburg Thanksgiving Eve hometown options to run into as many former classmates as possible would be stopping by one or more places including The Boulder Café, Slatttery’s, The Singapore, and any other place tossed out as an idea during the night. Visiting multiple places was not unheard of. Knowing there were options for the evening and staying home anyway was also not unheard of.

American Chop Suey -
comfort on a plate.

But this year, in the shitshow that is 2020, the stress-free Thanksgiving Eve plan involves cocooning on the couch with the dogs and streaming video. Supper was American Chop Suey, one of my favorite comfort foods. It was also lunch earlier today, and supper last night. There were differences to Mom’s which is the benchmark against which all American Chop Suey is measured, and mine was not quite as good as hers by just a smidge. There were no diced tomatoes and a thick spaghetti sauce was used, and there was no sliced American cheese to break into pieces and scatter on top, so Cheddar was sliced thin off the block, and a sprinkle of grated Parmesan, but despite the minor deficiencies of my kitchen, it was still damned good. 

Tomorrow, if I get super lazy, or the currently frozen lobster meat delivered in the Whole Foods order last night doesn’t thaw in time, there is enough American Chop Suey left for the loosely planned solo dinner of thankfulness. The solo aspect and caution exercised by staying in my own home is a planned choice and the food will be winging it. It will be a stress-free, quiet day of quiet thanks, just me and the pups, and that is okay. There is plenty of food to make or not, and new recipes to try, or not. There are Christmas decorations to be hung, or maybe not. Sure, it sounds like most of my weekends, and people have flat out asked, and not in a nice way, if I am “living my best life” or just wasting it.

In any event, the quiet holiday will not be boring. It will not be lonely. I’m used to solitude and accustomed to entertaining myself. The idea of zero commitments and no timetable for the day is liberating. The sacrifice of Thanksgiving Day is so maybe there can be some sort of safer gathering for Christmas. And if not, hopefully sometime soon afterward. It’s all good.

“Remoted” Workday 170 / Day 253 (Tuesday)

The pressure has been building. The 4:00 am harsh and barky awakening from Moose to go pee seems to clearly be the new norm. Yes, it’s infinitely better than him peeing in the house, and yes, he has a condition that makes him need to pee more often, so the six-hour stretch I get between bed and 4:00 am is actually pretty amazing. My brain knows this. But at that hour I’m tired and at this time of year it’s cold out.

When Moose first came out of the shelter, he didn’t vocalize a peep for a couple months. It was both amazing and unnerving, and I wondered if his vocal chords had been altered. One day, he found his voice, and basically hasn’t stopped using it since. Some of the barking is predictable and like clockwork. He barks to wake me up, which generally isn’t bad when it is actually time to get up. He barks at me every morning when I get dressed. He barks when I join a video call for work. Then there is the barking to go out, followed three minutes later by barking to come back, but only if I’m already back in the house. If I wait at the back gate or the front door for him, he suddenly needs to go on walkabout and sniff every square inch of the yard, but as soon as I am out of sight, it’s bark city.

Quietly recovering from the freak out.

This afternoon, as our regular Tuesday team meeting began, Moose began barking, which got Winston barking. As usual, there was an attempt by me to shush them without looking like some sort of harpy shrew on screen. 

After the meeting, while reviewing a spreadsheet with 12,800 lines of data to be uploaded to a program, the barking to go outside began. I waited at the gate, Moose wandered off, and when I got back inside, the barking began. It was extra loud and extra annoying and enough to irritate every neighbor for miles. And, as an ex used to say, I “snapped like popcorn.” Or, to be more colorful, as my Dad used to say, I “totally lost my shit.” However it’s labelled, what happened next was I yelled. I yelled at Moose to shut the hell up. I yelled at him that I was sick of the friggin’ barking. I yelled a whole bunch of words that just tumbled over each other into the air in a fury. Then I looked around to see which cars were parked nearby to calculate how many neighbors had just been loudly informed that the lady in the tan house is a certifiable lunatic. 

The driveway outburst scared Moose. It was freaked out, too, and not in a fun disco music flashback kind of way. The confusion was evident in his chocolate brown eyes and I instantly felt horrible. It’s hours later and I still feel horrible for yelling at my most loyal buddy. But at least it’s quiet. It seems I scared the bark out of him. I seem to have temporarily scared the bitch out of myself, too, but at least it’s peaceful. For now.

“Remoted” Workday 169 / Day 252 (Monday)

It was raining like crazy this morning when Moose demanded to go out at 4:00 or whatever ungodly hour it was. He saw and heard the deluge, refused to go out the front door, and turned to head through the house to go out the back door where he can hug the house and pee on the foundation under the shelter of the small overhang. 

Winston’s recent antics and avoidance for the insulin shots have a workaround. Once, over the weekend, he squealed like he was being axe-murdered when I inserted the needle and it freaked me out at least as much as it seemed to freak him out. Now, I sneak up on him while he is distracted by eating his breakfast or supper. Luckily, he isn’t one of those dogs that get snarly if approached while eating.

The separate beds at night is still amazing. We go upstairs, the pups get their Good Boy nitey-nite cookies, started years ago when Moose would wake up during the night with an upset stomach, and then they go right to their own beds. Amazing! Back when they were sleeping on my bed, there would be posturing and growling, but with their own beds, separated by the sea of tranquility that is now my bed, they curl up, go to sleep, and beautiful rest is enjoyed by all. 

A bowl of speedy delicious.

Work chugged along today in a steady and productive manner where meetings were attended, things were crossed off the list, and then the day was done. Dinner was an inspired and delicious sauté mix of sliced mushrooms, onion, peppers, cabbage, and frozen riced cauliflower. Roasted eggplant and brussels sprouts were tossed in, and the whole mess was stirred with a blend of soy sauce, sesame oil, fresh ground ginger, and a splash of Sriracha. Half was supposed to be saved for lunch on Tuesday, but it tasted like more, and then it was gone. That is my kind of fast food, made possible by the beauty of having fresh and frozen veggies in the house. From the initial idea to the dishes cleaned up took about 45 minutes and then it was time to kick back on the couch with the snoring pups and Prime Video (Being Erica – time traveling psychotherapy? ok, I’m in). 

“Remoted” Day 251 (Sunday)

Lazy Sundays are the best. Moose was up at 5:30 barking to go out, and after that we went back to bed and slept until 7:45! It was crazy! When the dogs were out in the front yard, Winston escaped again. I spotted him on the ridge of the embankment to Beaver Brook. His red and gray sweater helped. He heard me call his named and even paused to turn towards me. Then he turned to resume his walkabout. In my fleece pajamas and purple fuzzy bathrobe and hyper conscious of the outfit and being seen outside while wearing it, I walked over to the hill to get Winston to go home. The air was crisp, but my burning embarrassment over being outside in pajamas and bathrobe helped keep me warm.

Winston the wanderer finally headed towards the house, but instead of going to the gate where I was waiting to let him into the yard, he revealed a second escape portal, a space between the fence post and the corner of the house, just wide enough for him to walk his scrawny and clever self through. Evidently, the flower bed edging restricted access all summer long, but a week or two ago it was pulled up and stored for the winter, clearing the way for clear egress.

There was the usual coffee and morning sofa time with the boys. There was an eye exam scheduled for 1:00, postponed from last Saturday to last Sunday, then from last Sunday until today. After seeing the new Massachusetts and New Hampshire restrictions and quarantine guidelines, going to the eye doctor located in Pheasant Lane Mall in Nashua seemed like a less great idea. It also seemed like I should have made an actual effort to go last weekend instead of avoiding it. The appointment was delayed again, this time to December 5. It’s unfortunate that I pay extra for vision coverage with my health plan each year and then half the time I don’t even get the routine exam that is covered by the plan.

In other things not done, no artwork was hung (again). No laundry was done, but there is still enough clean underwear in the drawer for the week and time before bed if I suddenly become energetic. No food was cooked to speed meals up during the week, but there is still soup left from a kettle made the other day that will get me through Monday.

Less crispy apple crisp.

In the tasks done column, an apple crisp was baked. After cutting off the bruised and gouged parts of the apples that were in the battered produce that arrived Wednesday, the apple measure was a bit light, so I added sliced frozen strawberries. Sadly, even though it is the recipe I use all the time, it just didn’t come out as good as usual. The “crisp” part isn’t crisp enough, and it’s the best part, so it feels like a failure. 

Genealogy research was done, which is fun and mostly involved skim reading entire old newspapers after finding one relevant family-related story. It was a nice way to spend a chilly afternoon, with a dog sleeping on each side of me. 

“Remoted” Day 250 (Saturday)

It was a day with minimal accomplishments, which seems to be a new trend. There was a late-morning ride with the dogs out into the world to pick up the artworks won in the recent Humane Society fundraiser auction. There was a designated pickup time, and if there is one thing I love to inspire action it is a deadline.

Art Auction winnings and treats!

The ride across town was done without using Waze, which felt old-school and like a gamble but it turned out okay. Shamefully, I have not learned the streets of Lowell since moving here. I rode past the intended destination twice because I was looking at the road and not the buildings and both times, as I sat at the traffic light just beyond the entry way I realized the navigational error. The lady in Waze would have told me I had reached my destination.  

Luckily, there were no other obligations for the day. During some of the extra random driving, the new location of the new St Vincent de Paul Society thrift store location was passed a couple times and if the dogs hadn’t been with me, I would have stopped in to look around. In another instance of, “If I didn’t have the dogs with me,” I would also have swung by a local shop to grab some lunch with the gift card I got in last year’s office Yankee Swap.

The plan was to hang the new artwork right away. One is already framed and ready to go and just needs a nail in the wall. There are few suitable walls for hanging art in the house, and they have sat empty since moving in four years ago. One dining room wall is begging for art, but much of what I want to go there is in a box in the spare room, in the far corner, under other boxes, blocked by more bags and boxes. I went upstairs, stood in the small place available for standing, turned in a complete circle to survey the mess, felt overwhelmed, and walked out of the room empty handed. No artwork was hung. It’s now day five of the mysterious olfactory hallucination of smelling cigarette smoke when there is none, and at this point, it is 100% annoying and consuming too much energy.  

There was a package supposed to be delivered today, but I didn’t know through what courier to estimate the approximate time based on my extensive new knowledge of FedEx, UPS, and USPS deliveries gained from eight months of being at home. Several hundred steps extra were logged from jumping up and running to the door to peek outside with anticipation and excitement every time there was the sound of a vehicle outside. It sort of felt like being a kid and looking for Santa on Christmas Eve, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and beats feeling dead inside all the time.

The mailman arrived at 5:30 with the awaited package, which was from work in celebration of Enterprise Bank being named the #1 Top Place to Work among large companies by the Boston Globe. Any benefits from the extra steps and pacing were offset by the consumption of three snack bags of Frito-Lay products – Cheetos, Cool Ranch Doritos, and Lay’s Potato Chips during the long wait. And now that the work treat box is in the house, there is a mix of sweet, salty, dried fruit, and cheese tasty bits from the Lowell Culinary Collaborative that will be the perfect mate to a glass of wine. Thank goodness no precious digestive real estate was wasted with supper. Let the party of one begin! 

“Remoted” Workday 168 / Day 249 (Friday)

Surprisingly yummy.

This was the longest and most annoying Friday of the longest and most annoying week. The highlights, however, were stellar. Those were logging off today at 5:08 having survived, feeding the dogs, and pouring a glass of wine at 5:12. I don’t even know what the wine is. A few weeks ago, it arrived in a box with five other bottles and some glossy, fancy, expensive looking cards with glamorous vineyard images on one side and too many words and pre-printed lines to write "notes for the wine cellar" on the other side. It tastes nice. It’s red. 

The educational materials in the boxes of wine have not really helped. My online notes in the wine company site to help with future selections are usually along the line of “Tastes good” and “I would drink this again.” Apparently, I’m more interested in the drinking of the wine and less concerned with the fancy learning about wine part. 

Does this go with wine?

Supper was an inspired bowl of randomness with leftover Jasmine rice layered with roasted eggplant slices and roasted brussels sprouts, drizzled with maple syrup and balsamic vinegar. The smokiness of the roasted veggies with the syrup and the vinegar was even better than I imagined as I was putting it in the bowl. This was followed by leftover sweet potato fries heated in the toaster oven. And a single serve bag of Lay’s potato chips. 

The evening’s stress eating will likely continue with the broken Finnish chocolate bars that were “Crafted with Wonder in Finland,” and came to me via New Jersey, semi-crushed at the bottom of a box of vegetables. The tough (and hopefully only) choice for night is to which to have first. 

“Remoted” Workday 167 / Day 248 (Thursday)

This week has felt like a month, and it isn’t quite done yet.

There have been new domestic developments and revelations. It took a while, but the realization finally dawned that the home-office space where I now spend most of my quality awake time, is the coldest spot in the house. Prior to April, no time was spent in the former kitchen nook. It was purely decorative with no useful purpose.

When the new desk and chair arrived and were set up, it was spring and beyond the prolonged winter chill. Now that the temperatures have already dipped into the 30s and winter seems to be upon us, the artic climate in the corner has become obvious. On the bright side, according to the National Institutes of Health, “Shivering triggers brown fat to produce heat and burn calories.” I have no idea what color my fat is, but the idea that my daily freeze will control fat and burn calories makes up for the guilt of not regularly exercising for approximately the last 248 days. 

For mysterious reasons, my formerly faulty sinuses and largely absent sense of smell have reactivated. For the past four days, the smell of cigarette smoke has been a near constant companion. I don’t smoke. The only thing my neighbor smokes is weed in his broken down car with the concrete block holding the trunk lid closed, and this is clearly not that fragrance. In the past, sinus infections were accompanied by the pungent smell of cat pee, so maybe this is a new disgusting aroma.  

Winston, who was initially an angel about taking his insulin shot, has become fussy. Twice a day now, he scooches away, turns his head, and won’t stand still as I try to administer his shot. What used to take about 15 seconds, including ridiculous levels of praise post shot, now takes a couple minutes to wrangle him and get it done. The aerobics of dog wrangling, coupled with the fat and calorie burn from shivering, may qualify as a low-budget fitness program, so that is a bright spot.

Last night, while binge watching 30 Rock and after enjoying a snack of Town House crackers with peanut butter and Fluff, there was an accidental acrobatic performance. While arising from the couch to return the empty snack plate to the kitchen, my foot became caught in the cord to the laptop that had been set on the ottoman. Unlike the 5,000 times that the cord has come out of the laptop when looked at sideways, this time it stayed securely attached. While my left foot was held captive, the rest of me kept moving with impressive forward motion. Gravity and technology won and there was crash landing on the floor. It hurt.

Thank goodness for
freezer ice packs.

The plate sailed out of my hand in a graceful arc like a Frisbee brand flying disk. Unlike the crash landing in the living room, the plate made an impressively soft and delicate landing in the dining room. A stream of cracker crumbs followed behind the plate like the tail of a comet. The dogs, startled by the thud when I hit the floor, paused only momentarily before racing to the plate and crumb trail. I was on my own on the floor. After a stunned and unplanned brief rest on the floor, it took an agonizing minute to get up and limp to the freezer for an ice pack.

Walking was difficult for the rest of the night. Taking the stairs up to bed was a slow and painful ordeal. My slammed knee hurt enough to wake me up during the night and keep me awake. Today it is better. The constant pain has been minimized and it hurts only when I put weight on my right leg. As long I sit still, it's a pain-free situation. 

At least tomorrow is Friday. It is, right?

“Remoted” Workday 166 / Day 247 (Wednesday)

The technology issues were minimal today, which was a welcome thing. Overall, work was great. Regular life, though … Errrr. 

Sure, just drop in
the doorway.

Today, the first produce box since September 30^th arrived. I had postponed several previous boxes because when logging into the site to choose items, there was not much left to choose from, but lots of images of stuff that were sold out. The two groupings with instructions to “Choose 6” would have a total of maybe three things left between them that I wanted (or would settle for) and everything I wanted was already sold out an hour into the selection window. The “Choose 2” group, with about six items to choose from, would have six things I actually wanted. 

Box delivery dates were shifted out by a week, week after week, until I realized there hadn’t been a fresh vegetable in the house in ages. Last week on selection day, there were enough items not already sold out that I wanted (or would settle for, looking at you lemons) to get the box, and it arrived today.

The box was left in the middle of the doorway. Literally. The storm door couldn't be closed due to the placement of the box. No worries, it was a balmy 30-something degrees. Thanks to lots of extra space in the box due to insufficient packing material, the box was crunched on top and the tape wasn’t even attached to the box.

Bruised and broken.

Inside, was a bunch of battered produce. A crushed red pepper, not the good kind in a shaker dispenser, was the first thing seen in the box of disappointment. Other casualties were three dinged and badly bruised apples, a tragically soft eggplant, a lemon with a brown squishy spot, and another red pepper that was bruised and only slightly crushed. The “Marketplace” add-on Finnish chocolate bars were both on the bottom of the box under a very heavy spaghetti squash and everything else in the order and are broken into bits. The disappointment was rounded out with two potatoes that are as small as the lemons, and a green cabbage that was not much larger than the onion. 

After a series of boxes over the summer with issues including missing items, broken stuff, and the occasional way past prime squishy items, time was taken to report the issues. But dang, consistently receiving bashed and broken food and constantly having to report issues is not fun. I tried to be patient, but the patience may have reached its limit. It may be time to break up with my produce box. Like so many other relationships, this one may have run its course. 

“Remoted” Workday 165 / Day 246 (Tuesday)

Tuesday began slightly better than Monday in that there was no dog poo on the bedroom rug and no dogs barfed in the home-office. The day's issues were primarily technological.

The computer was fired up and the email volume was a refreshing and normal level of around 20 messages to start the morning. The volume was better, but every email sent from outside the company had issues with images in the message. Every one. That made reading the Chamber update and news roundups extra hard with the small X in a box and accompanying error message everywhere an image belonged. A tech ticket was created and a Help Desk associate remoted in. Things were clicked, boxes were checked. It was a flashback to decades of what former colleagues called my BTK – Bad Technology Karma. 

OMG. Such a good lunch.

There were back-to-back video meetings on the calendar at 12:00 and 1:00. The first meeting involved a lunch meetup and a Beyond Burger with grilled onions, grilled mushrooms, American cheese, and mayo, sweet potato fries, and a side salad with house dressing from my favorite no contact delivery shop. It’s actually the only place I’ve used in my very brief food delivery history which began in March with the remote work. Anyway, lunch was messy, delicious, and so filling there was no need for supper. Most of the fries and the salad were saved for later.

The first meeting was left and the second meeting joined. The tech issues resumed. My screen froze to still images of everyone, and I couldn’t change the layout or revive the screen. The meeting was joined on my phone, which caused a shrill, piercing sound through the audio. The laptop connection to the meeting was terminated.

After a couple minutes on the phone, the dogs began barking to go out. The phone screen kept freezing, and a message about “UI system problems” message kept popping up. At the end of the meeting, instead of letting me “Leave Meeting,” the usual exit strategy, the phone screen went blank on my side, but the remaining two people could see me, and we could all hear each other. The phone had to be restarted, although I really just wanted to throw it across the room. After the meeting, it was more email image issues and another remote connection with the tech gurus.

Lunch was the high point, and the tech stuff made for a sadly, not at all unusual day. The curse of BTK lives.

“Remoted” Workday 164 / Day 245 (Monday)

The first day back to work after a few days off is never easy. There was the return to routine after just enough days off to have gotten used to staying up later, so getting to sleep Sunday night was tough. The noise of the crazy wind and driving rain slamming into the house didn’t help to encourage sleep.

The day began with Moose barking his need to go out at 5:30, but it was nice and quick. Not 15 minutes later, he was barking again, and I told him to stop and lay down. He got quiet, but a few minutes later the wafting aroma of freshly laid poo tickled me awake. It was my fault for not getting up (again) to let him out, and probably also my fault for not making him stay out longer the first time. Cleanup commenced, and I went back to bed and then overslept by nearly 30 minutes.

Logging into work a little early delivered the jolt of 227 unread emails in the inbox for two workdays off, and a surprising volume of emails that arrived on the holiday. Gotta love the salesmen trying to hit a quota for the fourth quarter. The email hellbox is the routine punishment for taking vacation days. It took roughly two hours of speed reading and deleting to narrow the list down to what actually needed attention. 

Cleaned up for a ...
phone call?

Upon checking the calendar, there was a project meeting that had been forgotten, and I was dressed in a casual flannel shirt. Not a fashionable flannel shirt, more like a scarecrow had been robbed and I was the beneficiary of the raggedy man’s shirt. A dash of the 40 steps to wardrobe produced a sweater and scarf more suitable for a video meeting, and a quick stop by hair and makeup included a much needed visit with a comb and an attempt at makeup to not look dead. Two hours later the meeting notification dinged and I popped over to the video program, to learn the meeting was not a video meeting but a phone call.  Oops. That was an unnecessary use of wardrobe and cosmetic resources.

Luckily, I moved a piece of paper that was on the desk, which turned out to be the water bill due today. It got it paid on time via the city website.

Early in the workday, Moose followed up the bedroom carpet poop by barfing on the rug behind my desk chair. At the end of the workday, I forgot to give Winston his insulin with his supper. When I finally remembered 2.5 hours later, the pups got bonus wet food meatballs and Winnie finally got his evening insulin.

And now it’s time to relax.

“Remoted” – Day 244 (Sunday)

The weekend included trips from the house. As much as one of the top new hobbies is to order things online for delivery and find excuses, however flimsy, to not leave the house, it was unavoidable. Some things cannot be magicked to my doorstep. 

Saturday’s trip out of the house was a quick trip to pick up two wreaths to decorate for the wreath festival fundraiser at The Brush Art Gallery and Studios. With the wreaths in hand and a night to ponder the options, today was arts and crafts day at the BungaLowell. Coffee was poured, Christmas movies were chosen on Netflix, the scissors and floral wire were gathered, and the craft supply inventory was accessed. The living room, usually the site of lounging, became crafts headquarters for the day.

Thanks to leftover materials from years of previous completed craft projects and the optimistic gathering of supplies for other projects that never happened, there was a variety of ribbon and ornaments to choose from. The floral wire, searched for unsuccessfully last year in multiple locations including the sewing desk during the wreath decorating, was found last month in the same sewing desk while looking for something unrelated. It’s amazing how that works. 

Done and delivered.

The crafting procedure was methodical. Even before the full materials gathering, I had a solid idea of what I wanted to do, which really saved time. One wreath was completed, then the other. Several of the ornaments had glitter on them, so now the whole house has a fine coating of glitter – the floor, the furniture, my socks, and even Moose’s head. The car is probably dusted in it from the transportation leg.

Thanks to the preplanning and advance supplies gathering, it took just two Christmas-themed, formulaic movies to complete the two wreaths. Against the backdrop of "Operation Christmas Drop" followed by "A Very Country Christmas," the sweat shop operated with brief interruptions for aerobic activities. The magic of the pause button prevented missing crucial plot points during trips to let the dogs out, heat pizza for late breakfast-early lunch, and run up and down the stairs too many times to the spare room and the basement to fetch suddenly necessary items. Thankfully, this year’s floral wire find avoided the use of the hot glue gun, which really slowed things down last year with multiple accidental incidences of the gluing of fingers and the ongoing need to reload glue sticks.

The wreaths were completed and delivered in the most efficient, miraculous crafts production in recent memory. It was slightly less than 24 hours from picking up the two plain wreaths to delivering the completed wreaths. If I could only be this focused all the time with crafts projects. It is not uncommon to have projects in process covering the dining table for weeks, then packed up incomplete and shoved out of sight somewhere.

“Remoted” Day 243 (Saturday)

The peppy pups have been especially calm and sedate today. Ever since Moose got his shots on Friday he has been off his game. It's been blissfully quiet without the constant yapping, and at the same time, more nerve-wracking than pleasing.

The unnerving quiet even made me move my recently scheduled eye exam, but I may have been looking for an excuse. By “recently scheduled” we’re talking last night, after reading an email from the eye doctor place that they haven’t seen me in 17 months. That is partly because I couldn’t remember the name of the office to schedule another appointment and was too lazy to go digging through emails and paperwork to find it. The email had a link for online scheduling, which is brilliant. Last night at 10:30 I was able to schedule an appointment for this afternoon. This morning at 9:30 it was rescheduled for tomorrow. It's so much nicer when I don't have to actually talk to anyone and I'm spared the phone call dress rehearsal and pep talk.

The scene as they slept late this morning.

One potentially manufactured "reason" for changing the appointment was I didn’t want to leave Moose unattended. Since returning from the vet Friday afternoon, he's gone through shivering, lethargy, standing with his hind legs twitching, and no interest in food. I called the vet after he had been shivering for a couple hours, but he wasn’t vomiting or having diarrhea, so they weren’t especially alarmed.

The concern at this end grew when the dog who lives for food and scams for treats refused his dinner. He was tricked into taking a Benadryl hidden inside a wet food meatball, which was the only food he could be coaxed into eating. 

At bedtime, Moose was settled into one bed after I carried him upstairs. Winston wouldn’t lay down in the other bed across the room. He stood near my bed and kept doing his polite bark that sounds like “uff.” When he didn’t respond to “Do you want to go out?”  the other bed was moved over near Moose’s in a desperate measure. Winston immediately climbed into it and curled up to sleep. These dogs are better communicators than half the humans I know.

Both dogs slept through the night, which is a miracle and also unfortunate that it takes Moose feeling poorly for it to happen. They slept until nearly 8:00 this morning, which gave me a panic and I checked to make sure Moose was still breathing. Worry much?

Winston sprang to life and pranced downstairs and around the dining room like a pony. Since the insulin injections began, he has moments where he is much more like his younger self, which is great until he starts jumping and risks injuring his knee again. Moose wouldn’t eat his food, wasn’t interested in water, and didn’t care about cookies. He ate some plain rice and wet food and laid down for most of the day.

Winston also slept all day. He’s either enjoying the peace and quiet and catching up on rest, or empathizing by matching Moose’s energy level. It turns out that a quiet Moose and Winston are not quite the blessing it was imagined to be. Their noise was replaced with my worry. I wish I was kidding, but they were so quiet I kept checking to make sure they were both still breathing. Hopefully, tomorrow will return to the more usual noise and energy levels for all us.

“Remoted” Day 242 (Friday)

Friday the 13^th of the crazy year 2020 wasn’t really so bad, in the sense that nothing blew up. It was one of the vacation days that seem to have become my trademark day off with a double feature of trips to the vet and the dentist for twice the fun. I needed a filling and Moose finally had his checkup and shots for Lepto, Lyme, and Distemper. Winston took Moose's original appointment, which was the day he was diagnosed with diabetes.

The vet and the dentist offices are on the same street, so Moose was dropped off for his appointment, Mom and I went to pick out her new eyeglasses, then I went to the dentist and back to fetch Moose.

There were small challenges, like getting Moose out of the house and into the car while Winston stayed home. It is very rare these days that one goes somewhere without the other. The time snuck up on me and went from “it’s too early to leave” to “crap, now I’m late” in a blink. In the rush, I didn’t diaper Winston before I left. His barks of abandonment followed us to the car after the door was shut with him inside and Moose and me outside. 

I'll just lay here and shiver.

Historically, I have not minded the dentist, but during the last year or so, it is just annoying. It took extra Novacaine, because the water and the suction for the drill were making a different tooth super sensitive. The dentist told me not to eat until the numbness wore off, which was bad news because by then it was 1:00 and I was running on a puny morning granola bar before dashing out of the house at 9:30.

Moose stayed at the vet until I was done at the dentist. He still has a heart murmur and loud sinuses. The vet told me she gave his shots in a shoulder and opposite hip. The last time he had shots, he ended up at the super pricey emergency vet a few days later with his shot leg swollen from hip to knee. There was never a clear cause determined, but the best guess was an insect bite or a some sort of slow allergic reaction. We’re armed with Benadryl for him. He’s been shivering and trembling since 3:00, despite wearing a sweater and a blanket. I called the vet’s office, but they didn’t seem to think the shivering was anything.  

Despite the warning from the dentist, I ate leftover pizza when I got home and chewed up the inside of my mouth, which is exactly what the warning was about. The numbness finally wore off around 5:00, and now the pain of the chewed-up mouth has set in.

At least Winston is mostly ok. He’s been getting fussy and trying to pull away when it’s time for his insulin shots. He pooped on the kitchen rug when he was the only one home, proving he is not the saint I had anointed him to be, but that was probably a lot to pin on a little dog anyway.

Just. Another. Glorious. Day.

"Remoted" Day 241 (Thursday)

It was a vacation day that turned into a full day on the computer chasing my tail. The rabbit hole is endless. This was not how I intended to spend the day, but in the absence of any solid plans, it is how the day turned out. 

I am trying to figure out where Oscar Waino Kask (also spelled Oskar Waina Kask, and Oscar Väinö Kask) was hiding from 1926 until 1942 and how he managed to avoid the US Federal Census of 1930 and 1940, and Fitchburg City Directory during that time span. After appearing on numerous passenger lists arriving in the US and Canada with and without wife and kids in tow in the range of 1910 -1918, the US Federal Census in 1920, a small news item in 1925 and a front page newspaper story in 1926, he seems to have vanished. He is not seen in any records found until the 1942 Draft Registration for World War II which has him still living in Fitchburg and working at Iver Johnson Arms and Cycle Works. There have been plenty of times I wished I could just disappear, but this guy seems to have pulled it off for 16 years.

Later, while checking my email, there was a message from Geni, a genealogy group that several of my cousins on my Dad’s side are on. I’ve been receiving emails with update notices from Geni for years, but never really pay attention to them. Yesterday I went into Geni and did a search on great grandpa Oscar’s name, even though I haven’t built any info on that side of the family, then promptly forgot about it.

Today’s email caught my attention with the subject line “We found your in-law connection to Oskar Väinö Kask.” I thought, that’s cool, because I’ve been looking for him all day. My search included multiple data sites with every phonetic variation of the name I could think of and scrolling the census lists looking for the street name referenced in the 1926 news story and on the 1942 Draft Registration card. I finally concluded when the house doesn’t have a number, is referenced in a news item as “a three-room shack,” and part of the address on the Draft Registration is “near the Proctor Farm,” maybe it isn’t somewhere the census takers ventured to. Upon opening the message, it read:

Did a comedian write this? 

The text looks like some comedian threw every possible family connection into a sentence for a laugh. And it worked, because I did laugh. When I opened the link I saw that is the actual connection on Dad’s side. 

There is a much more direct connection, though. Oscar is Mom’s grandfather. And evidently, he is also a connection on Dad’s side. Now I want to know how many other crossovers exist in the tree. But possibly not as much as I want to know what great grandpa Oscar was up to from 1926 until 1942 when he was dodging all the official recordkeeping.

“Remoted” Day 240 (Wednesday)

 The day started too early when Moose began barking his demands to go outside at 4:00 am. The going out operation involves removing pee bands from both dogs, removing the child gate that prevents them from roaming the house at night, racing downstairs to open the front door and ushering Moose outside before he stops along the journey to pee on a rug. Meanwhile, Winston remains in the bedroom or at the top of the stairs, requiring a trip upstairs to either coax or carry him down. I think he likes the special attention and personalized transportation. Or he's too tired to deal with the stairs.

Back from a morning adventure.

At about three steps from the bottom of the staircase, Winston starts squirming like a fussy toddler to get down, and as soon as his paws hit the dining room rug he races to the door, where he then has to wait a second for me to catch up. Once he is also outside, because I’m already up, it’s a pre-emptive visit to the human potty before letting the dogs back in, telling them to go back to back upstairs to bed and hoping they cooperate. If they do cooperate, they are rediapered and we are all back in our respective beds in six to eight minutes. If they don’t cooperate and start creating delays with drinking water and wandering around the house and jumping on the couch, it can take as long as 15 minutes to get back to bed.

Once the 4:00 am drill is completed, it’s back to sleep for hopefully two more hours on a workday, and ideally more on an off-work day.  This is mostly fantasy. Many days (too many), Moose is barking to get up and go back outside or to eat breakfast as soon as 5:00. Today he was barking almost continuously from 5:30 until 6:30 and I just couldn’t get up. I was really tired and I didn’t want to. So I didn’t. I put the extra pillow over my head to try and muffle the barking.

Once I’m up, the first hour of the day is a bit of a circus-like mad dash and choreographed activities. The dogs go outside while I measure out the food and refresh the water, then they come back inside before Moose’s barking awakens the neighborhood. While they are eating, I start the coffee and remove the night guard that keeps me from destroying my teeth in my sleep and brush it and my teeth. Winston gets his insulin, and the dogs often go back outside after they’ve eaten. Then I can get dressed and pour some coffee. At 7:00 it's "Meatball Time" involving the daily improvised song and the wet food meat balls with Moose's containing his adrenosuppressant capsule. Then I  can finally drink the coffee.

This morning, the two dogs were in the front yard after breakfast and I dashed upstairs to dress. It felt like barely two minutes had passed and Moose was already barking to come in. Unfortunately, I was in a state of partial undress unsuitable for appearing at the front door to let them in. I hurriedly finished dressing and went downstairs to discover only one dog in the front yard. Apparently, Moose had been sounding the alarm about an escape and Winston had slithered under the gate and made a run for freedom. 

Usually I can hear the metal name tag clinking on his collar, but there was no sound to alert me to Winston's location as I walked around the yard, looked to the yards across the street, and looked up and down the street before heading inside. It was 7:15 and it felt like I’d already lived an entire day. I wandered the house with my coffee cup, looking out every window for a sign of him before I sat down, then popped up every few minutes to look and listen outside for a sign of him.

Finally, at 7:45, there was the familiar and polite bark at the back door, which is not nearly as annoying as Moose’s loud, shrill yapping, and there was Winston the Prodigal Dog, with four muddy paws leading up to four wet legs. I’ll never know where he went or how he got all wet, but I was just glad he was home and let me wipe his dirty little feet and legs. If he can gain back some of the weight he lost before the diabetes diagnosis he won’t fit under the gate so easily, but for now, it’s looking like he will be on a backyard restriction where there are no escape options. 

He must have had quite a tiring adventure during his 30 minutes of freedom, because he napped on the couch all day. I was tired enough from the morning hijinks that I joined him around 3:00 and had my own couch nap. That is the luxury of a holiday off with no plans.

“Remoted” Workday 163 / Day 239 (Tuesday)

While I might not remember chunks of my life, I do remember random bits, especially stories Mummu told me (or more likely, fragments of stories).

Mummu was the youngest of ten children in her family, born over a 20-year timeframe. Three of her siblings died in childhood, and of the seven who lived to adulthood, Mummu was the only to graduate high school. Some of her siblings left after the eighth grade to go to work, some left school even earlier. 

Senior Yearbook - 1934

When Mummu graduated from high school in 1934 at age 17, the writeup in The Boulder, the Fitchburg High School yearbook, described her as quiet. Her father wanted to give her a car to celebrate the accomplishment. Her mother, Wilhelmina, forbade it, and Mummu was gifted with a radio instead. Some fifty years later, Mummu still talked about the radio she got for graduation when her father really wanted to give her a car and she still seemed mad at her mother over it. If there is anything my family can cling to it’s an old injury. And a grudge. 

In developing a spreadsheet of information to track the various addresses of the family over the years through U.S. Census records and information from City Directories, I noticed interesting tidbits and an intriguing question in the 1930 Census questions. In the 1930 Census, the interesting tidbit was that the family is shown as now owning their home on Kimball Street, valued at $4,000. Home value or rent amount was also a new census question for 1930. Other family members occupied the home next door as renters, which is the case through many years of the family.

The intriguing new question asked if the household had a “Radio Set,” which had me wondering about Mummu’s graduation radio. I never asked her anything about the specific radio she received as a gift, and now I wish I knew more about it.

According to the National Archives, “The 1930 census included for the first time a question regarding a consumer item. Respondents were asked whether they owned a "Radio set," a luxury that had become increasingly common in the 1920s.”  Now I can’t help wondering if Wilhelmina’s insistence on the radio as a graduation gift wasn’t influenced by the census question a few years earlier. Plus, it’s a lot safer than a motor car. Unfortunately, the Radio question was not part of the 1940 census so the presence of the luxury item in the household was not recorded for posterity.

When Mummu said “radio” all the times she told the story, I imagined a tiny portable transistor radio like the one she used to listen to sports when I was kid, but maybe it was something grander like one of the wood tabletop or freestanding cabinet radios. But still not as grand and impressive a gift as a car. File this under “things we will never know.”

“Remoted” Workday 162 / Day 238 (Monday)

In large part, I don’t remember being a kid. There are snippets here and there, but the story has so many gaps it’s as if I wasn’t really there. My sister was born when I was five and I don’t remember Mom being pregnant, or my sister even existing until she was about three. Did I block it out?  I might think I was self-absorbed if I actually remembered my own life then, but this is also a big blur.

Each year of school has a few select memories interrupted by massive stretches of blankness.

There are three clear kindergarten memories. First, my kindergarten year kicked off with a bang when I spilled my Kool-Aid at registration and felt terrible for embarrassing Mom. Mom and I once argued about the dress I wanted to wear to school and I think after that she gave up trying to influence my outfits. I was invited to do a finger painting with yellow and green paint that would hang in the hall where the sixth graders might see it, and I was so nervous I dropped the jar and the paint went everywhere. It was on the metal sink, the cabinet, and the floor.

In first grade, my teacher was a mean and horrible woman who was universally recognized by students as someone who should not have been allowed to work with children. Or anyone, really. When I said I was going to ballet class after school, she said, and I quote, “Frankly, once you leave my classroom, I don’t care what you do.” A boy who lived on a farm and ate math paper sat next to me and I drew his name for the Christmas gift swap. I got him a red tractor, and he immediately traded with another kid, right in front of me. 

The later years are not much different. A few oddball, less than great memories, and a lot of nothing.

Proof!

In the course of the Ancestry research on Mummu's family, I typed in my own name to see what records are available. There were lots of newspaper articles with my name in them which confirm my fear that I grew up with a case of amnesia (Tamnesia?). There were the dance recital lists which were expected because I remember going to dance class and being in recitals and also there are photos in the family album. 

The surprises were the articles about Girl Scout activities from age eight to 11. Apparently, as an eight-year-old Brownie I was an “Official Delegate” to a party celebrating the birthday of the Girl Scout organization. At age nine, I was on a planning committee for a “Junior Pow Wow” at Camp Wakitatina. Also at age nine, I was in a photo with some other scouts with wall decorations we made for the hospital and the stockade at Fort Devens. I don’t even know what a Girl Scout Patrol Leader is, but according to another newspaper article, when I was ten, I was one of them. Sounds like fun, unfortunately, I remember none of this. I do remember marching in a parade with the Girl Scouts, not because it was a newspaper item, but because it was captured as a photo in a family album somewhere. It seems I was quite the Girl Scout socialite in a segment of life I barely remember. At least I have my Scouting sash with badges as tangible proof.

Perhaps the Ancestry research should focus on reconstructing my own life, which apparently didn’t make enough of an impression while it was happening for me to even remember it.

“Remoted” Day 237 – Sunday

This morning at 5:00, as I nonchalantly leaned in the front doorway in my pajamas and bathrobe, gazing out to the street while the dogs performed their business in the front yard, I was surprised to see that nobody had their trash cans out. Mine are usually the last ones rolled out shortly before 7:00 am, while the neighbors set theirs out as early as Sunday afternoon. It took a few seconds before my mind swam to the surface and realized it was just now Sunday and that’s why there were no bins at the curb. 

Resting after chasing a cat.

I was on the cusp of a day free of obligations, and herded the dogs back upstairs to bed for a bit more sleep. There was all of thirty glorious minutes of additional sleep before Moose was annoying me awake again. His stomach clock is stubbornly clinging to the pre-time change hours, and he demands breakfast and dinner before “it’s time.”

After a full week, the “no dogs on the bed” initiative have been a success. There was concern that the sudden eviction of the canines from the bed would not be well received and a riot might ensue. The first two nights there was some confusion, but since then, when I put the pee bands on the boys and say, “Go lay down in your bed,” Winston does. Moose hangs around by the side of my bed for a while, and when he finally realizes he won’t be coming up, he either sleeps on the floor beside the bed, or lays down in the other pet bed. The dog beds are strategically located on each side of the bed to avoid crowding. The dogs aren’t possessive of the beds and trade off regularly, including during the night.

Sleep interruptions have been limited to when one of the dogs needs to go out and the bed is now a blissful, no growling, no canine posturing zone. I can stretch out and roll over freely without being pinned beneath  the covers by the dogs sleeping atop them. My movement doesn’t disturb them, and theirs doesn’t bother me. It is sleepy time heaven for all parties and should have been done years ago.

As of Friday, Winston’s insulin dosage was increased from four units once a day to to five units twice a day. He is a champ at taking the shots, and comes over after having his food. His thirst has diminished to more normal levels, he doesn’t need to go outside as often, and his energy seems better. He even cornered a cat on the bulkhead today. The unusual tone of his barking lured me outside. As I rounded the corner of the house, telling him to be quiet, I saw the cat on the bulkhead, which then took off with Winston in pursuit. The cat leapt onto the deck and somehow escaped. It was quite exciting.

Welcome to 1930.

Human chores were accomplished  in the beautiful weather. Dog poop was harvested and the lawn was mowed, which took care of both grass and leaves. Flower bed fencing was removed, rolled, and stored in the shed. Dead plants were removed from the deck planter, flower beds, and along the deck. The Art Deco style “welcome” lettering, chosen because the house was built in 1930, was added to the gate. 

The genealogy research is going marvelously. I asked the Facebook Finnish Genealogy group for resources or info about my maternal great-grandparents in Finland, and in a matter of hours I had a pre-America name, links to records, and a beautifully laid out family tree showing the roots of both maternal great-grandparents. That really opened the doors to other information.

All in all, it was a pleasant and productive, yet relaxing weekend. The upcoming workweek features two days of work, a holiday, and two vacation days. That is a schedule I could get used to.

“Remoted” – Day 236 (Saturday)

Mummu used to tell my sister and me, and our mother before us, cautionary tales in an attempt to guide us, or maybe to control us, depending upon your viewpoint. When shopping with her, I would gravitate towards the adult cocktail dresses festooned with sequins and rhinestones. When I was about ten years old, we were shopping and I wandered away from her to stroke the fancy evening dresses, mesmerized by all the sparkle. Mummu suddenly appeared at my side. As she steered me back to the department specializing in age appropriate boring clothes for kids she said, “It’s important to keep children away from sequins or they will grow up to be gaudy.” Nice try, Mummu. It turns out that despite her attempt at guidance and direction to conservative attire, my closet has been the recipient of an ever-expanding collection of beaded, sequined, and shiny garments. She probably would have choked if she saw the amazing sparkly everyday outfits available for kids nowadays.

Shiny Pink!

Oh, if she could have seen me dressed in some of my favorite special occasion outfits and themed event ensembles. For a fundraiser event last year with a pink theme, I got a pink and gold metallic tuxedo. For another fundraiser with a black attire theme, the ensemble was black sequin shorts and a black sequin baseball jacket.  

Sometimes, her tales involved horrific warnings of terrible potential consequences for noncompliance. My sister and I had long hair when we were kids. My sister’s hair was (and still is) waist-length and dark brown-black, straight, and silky. Mine was a mousey brownish reddish color with weird waves, bumps, and cowlicks and was never as long, straight, or as pretty as my sister’s. With our long hair, we would do silly things like twist locks of it and hold it under our noses like a moustache. I would pretend a lock of my hair was a paintbrush, or pass it between my lips and blow my warm breath through it. Mummu would see this and tell us “Don’t put your hair in your mouth, you’ll get a hair ball in your stomach and you’ll die.” The absurdity of the comment would have us rolling our eyes and thinking, “yeah, right.” When with my friends, I would tell them Mummu’s crazy story about the hairball.

Today, while adding family members to my Ancestry.com family tree, I added Grandpa Ray. One of the sources in the search results was a front-page newspaper article from January 6, 1926 about Ray’s parents, Hilda and Oscar. The story, titled “Hubby Charged Wife for Rides in His Machine” with the subtitle “Mrs. Kask Gives Divorce After Testifying She Walked to Work While Mr. Kask Rode”, described a court appearance where my great-grandmother Hilda testified before a judge that she walked seven miles to work while her husband rode around in an automobile, and, here’s the kicker, if he gave her a ride, he charged her 50 cents per trip. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she also testified that he made her sleep in the woods near their home and threatened to beat her. This story appeared prominently just below the masthead, and directly above another riveting story titled, “12-Year-Old-Boy Siphoned Beer at “Speak-Easy”.”

Can't make this stuff up!

As if those news stories were not exciting and dramatic enough, I browsed the rest of the front page for entertainment, and two columns to the right, sat this gem of an article: “Ball of Hair Found in Stomach of Girl.” Hot damn. Mummu’s story about the stomach hairball was not nonsense fabricated to scare us after all. It really happened to a real girl, when Mummu was 10 years old. It was so shocking, so astounding, that I called Mom immediately to tell her the hairball story we had endured and rolled our eyes at, was actually real, and in 1926, a 15-year old girl from the nearby town of Ashby had a stomach ache that resulted in surgery and “A ball of hair was found in her stomach.” Now Mom and I have so many unanswered questions. How much hair? How big was the hair ball?  Was it accidentally ingested and accumulated over time or was there some ailment that caused her to literally eat her hair? And we will never know. 

The weirdness contained in that newspaper front page keeps on weirding. That story my grandmother preached to the three of us during our formative years, and probably countless others, appeared on the same front page of the newspaper as the story of the seemingly dysfunctional family she would marry into some 15 years later. I can’t even make this stuff up. But damn, it sure explains a lot.