“Remoted” Day 321 (Sunday)

Looks like we're getting pink snow.

Family Dollar, located barely a half mile from the house, has become my go-to when I need practically anything, because they carry a little bit of everything. With a snowstorm forecast for Monday, it suddenly felt important to get milk. What is the deal with snowstorms and milk? I don’t even drink milk because it makes my throat all gross. Since I learned that scrambled eggs don’t require milk and can be made with water, the reasons for having milk on hand are reduced. It’s only ever needed for quiche, the very rare French Toast, an occasional quality cup of hot cocoa, and a few recipes. 

There are a few groceries needed, but not in a true need sense. The pantry and freezer are far from empty. It’s more of an “if I had this, I could do that” sense. It’s stuff like yeast and rye flour for some of the recipes in the recently acquired Finnish Cookbook. Ground pretend meat in case there is a sudden need for American Chop Suey. And, perhaps most important, ice cream for sitting on the couch and watching TV. None of this warranted a trip to a grocery store the day before a snowstorm. But if a Whole Foods delivery window was available, it might be good for that. As an added plus, a delivery would give me something to look forward to.

The grocery cart was prepared with depleted staples like potatoes, apples, onions, plus ice cream, milk, rye flour, and yeast. A delivery window was available on Monday from 3:00 – 5:00. In the time it took to dilly-dally, let the dogs outside, and a few other diversions before completing the payment info, the window closed.

There was some weird and mysterious need to spend money today so it was Family Dollar for the win. The freshly drafted Family Dollar shopping list included a wide barrel curling iron, dog biscuits, canned dog food, a frame for the pet portrait, and necessities like potato chips and cookies. And snowstorm milk. The list was misplaced before leaving the house. Curling irons were available, but not the right size. Dog biscuits, a frame, and potato chips were found. Canned dog food was forgotten about until I got home. 

The new ice cream freezer installed at Family Dollar during the store remodel in the spring has been wonky since the summer. Any time I considered getting ice cream, the containers were soft and squishy like a stress ball and very unlike an allegedly frozen treat. One day while I was standing at the so-called freezer case, having just checked all the containers for firmness, the manager came up the aisle and I mentioned all the soft ice cream. He felt the ice cream containers like I had just done. He pushed a button at the top of the case and didn’t seem satisfied with the result that blinked on the display. Then, without a word, he wandered off the to the back room and that was the end of that. For the next few months, every time I came into the store, the ice cream freezer was empty.

Channeling Mummu.

Today, while rounding the corner from paper goods to the baking/frozen food row, Ben & Jerry’s and Breyers ice cream could be seen in the freezer, along with a few boxes of ice cream bars. This was exciting, because it had been a solid five, maybe even six months since seeing ice cream there. Flavor was irrelevant and I reached in for a container of Ben & Jerry’s. It was stress ball squishy soft. All of it. So was all the Breyers. And that was the end of that.

In the milk cooler, there was one half-gallon container of milk and three one-gallon containers. I grabbed the half gallon because it’s going to snow. I have until February 8^th to figure out what I’ll do with it. There also seems to have been a bit of channeling Mummu with the purchase of chocolate covered graham crackers and Caramel Nips and Chocolate Parfait Nips, some of her regular treats.

With potato chips, cookies, candy, milk, a fresh pot of soup, and dog biscuits, The BungaLowell is ready for the snow. The snow shoes are in the enclosed porch and shovels are posted near the front and back doors. Bring it, Mother Nature.

“Remoted” Day 320 (Saturday)

The work from home lifestyle has resulted in limited selections from the wardrobe being invited to come to work. Five or six sweaters have risen to the top of the list to become favorites in the rotation. Lately, three pairs of pants are in the mix – blue-gray pinwale cords, black Tommy Hilfiger chinos, and black Vera Wang pull-on pants that long johns fit under. Usually, the same pair of pants is worn for a week straight. The pandemic wardrobe is miles from the wardrobe philosophy of my first job out of college where it was three months before an outfit was repeated and that actually felt important.

The sweaters on the short list include a winter white alpaca pullover, light gray cashmere pullover, dark gray men’s pullover with a shawl collar, navy ribbed cashmere cardigan, charcoal gray cashmere cardigan, and winter white vintage cashmere pullover. Yes, winter white is a color and it is a creamier white than the crisp summer whites of summer. The current favorites are all hip length or longer, a style feature that emerged as important when winter set in with the awareness that the office is the coldest spot in the house.  

The alpaca is the most expensive sweater I’ve ever bought. It’s soft, lightweight, and warm. The men’s pullover is a Marc Anthony sweater from the clearance rack at Kohl’s and the sleeves are too long, which is great, because I pull them over my hands like instant mittens when I let the dogs out. The cashmere sweaters are from various thrift shops, and none cost more than $8. My varied super powers include making chocolate disappear, whipping up decent dinners in under 30 minutes, and spotting a cashmere sweater in a thrift shop from a rack away.

Today required a trip out of the house to pick up the poorly drawn pet portrait from the Humane Society fundraiser. The Humane Society is conveniently located down the street from the Saint Vincent de Paul Thrift Store, so there was no way I wasn’t going there, too.

Today’s trip to Vinnie’s had the mission of finding sweaters to mix into the regular lineup because the same few sweaters are marching steadily towards “familiarity breeds contempt.” The current spots in heavy rotation were earned by being warm and long and therefore well-suited for the daily stretch in the home office. One-by-one, they go downstairs and depending upon the angle of the sunlight and the angle of the computer, may even appear in video meetings.

The current favorites are my warmest sweaters that are also not itchy, but they have become tiresome. Even still, putting them aside out of boredom in the midst of a cold snap without replacement sweaters on the bench is not smart. Winter is far from over.

New used sweaters.

The yellow tag items at Vinnie’s were half off, and three yellow tag success stories came home. The lucky winners are a white zip front sweater with a made in Italy tag, a brand-new looking white vee neck pullover of indeterminate material and a tag written in Korean, and a very soft heather purple long cardigan with pockets. There were a few cashmere sweaters, but one was a shade of gray identical to the sweater I was wearing, and the others were too big. The gray sweater infatuation is a mystery and it takes a lot of effort to not buy every single one I see, especially when they are cashmere and only a few dollars. 

Today’s $6 injection to the sweater rotation should help with the wardrobe fatigue. Hopefully, they will break up the monotony and help with the “what day is this/was that?” Assuming I get them run through a hand wash cycle tomorrow, next week I could have three days of not having to play “Do I have a team video meeting today and did I wear this during the last one?” 

“Remoted” Workday 211 / Day 319 (Friday)

Today is the anniversary of Mummu’s death. I was married and living in Tennessee at the time. Mom called with the news that Mummu was in the hospital and not going to make it. After the call and talking with the now-former husband, I stared at the flight schedules on the computer screen. Pushing the button to book a flight was terrifying. It felt like as long as I didn’t book it, it would just be a sad, bad dream, but once the ticket was bought it would all be very real. 

The day before the flight I took the car for an oil change. The day of the flight I drove myself to the airport in Nashville and flew home alone, wondering why I had left my family in Massachusetts to live in Tennessee with a husband who couldn’t be bothered to come with me to my grandmother’s death. Hell, he couldn’t even be bothered to drive me to the airport.

I sat with Mummu in her hospital room. She was in a medically induced coma and looked frail and tiny in the hospital bed. Her mouth hung open like an Italic O. The nurses came in and out while I sat there quietly. I didn’t even know what to do, so I just sat there in the chair beside the bed. It wasn’t unusual for us to sit quietly at her apartment, but back then, she wasn’t dying with me staring at her. Was she aware of what was going on around her? 

Mummu and Me, 2001.

During her life, Mummu was a contradictory mix of fiercely independent and dependent. She lived on her own in a high rise apartment that started out as elderly housing and later included younger tenants. Each small concrete deck on the building was accessed via sliding glass doors and shared by two units. The guy next door would often lean on the railing and smoke on his side of the deck. Mummu was afraid of heights and never went on the deck. From the decks on her side of the building, the old site of the Historical Society could be seen in the street below and rolling hills beyond Greek Town could be seen in the distance.

Even after multiple knee surgeries and cancer and a mastectomy, Mummu insisted on living alone and independent in her own apartment. She didn’t want “to be a bother” to anyone. In her independence, she was completely dependent upon on Mom and my sister for shopping. She never drove, and in her more active years she walked and took the bus to the grocery store, but as she got older and battled breast cancer twice and knee problems, going out was increasingly difficult.

In Mummu’s later years, while I was living in Tennessee, illnesses and family stress and caretaking were happening and I wasn’t around to help. My life choice came with a bonus buttload of guilt. Mom dealt with doctor appointments where Mummu would nod her head to everything, and then in the car ask what the doctor said because she hadn’t actually heard it.

Mom and my sister provided emotional support. They grocery shopped for their own homes and Mummu’s. They each called to ask if Mummu needed anything before regular trips to the grocery store. The answer was often “no,” and then the very next day, an urgent call would be received that there was no food in the house and groceries were desperately needed. Schedules were shuffled, another grocery trip was squeezed in after work, and when the goods were delivered, it would be discovered the pantry and refrigerator were still full from the last shopping trip.

Despite repeated offers from my sister for Mummu to come live at her house where she would have her own rooms on the main level that were equivalent to the size of her current apartment, Mummu insisted on staying at her own place. It seemed puzzling at the time, because it would have simplified things for everyone. After my many years of living alone, though, I understand Mummu more.

Mummu landed in the hospital that final time after her neighbor of the shared deck heard her screaming in pain during the night and called for an ambulance. She passed away at the hospital within a day of my arrival. Mom said Mummu was waiting for me. While meeting with the funeral director, Mom said I was the daughter Mummu wanted, but she was the daughter Mummu got stuck with. This explained a lot. It also broke my heart for my Mom. It still does. 

“Remoted” Workday 210 / Day 318 (Thursday)

On Wednesday, a bold noontime trip was undertaken. The destinations were the Post Office for a passport renewal form, and City Hall to deposit the dog license paperwork in the secure drop box. The trip took a miraculous and miniscule 15 minutes including parking and getting out of the car twice. The pandemic stinks and is wearing everyone out, but the Wednesday midday pandemic traffic was awesome. I wish it could be like this all the time. In the pre-pandemic times, it could take that long to get out of my street and a quarter mile to the first traffic light. 

Oops. Black ink errors.

The prep work before the trip spanned several evenings. There were visits to the city website to check for changes to the licensing dates while City Hall is closed to the public, but just because there is a pandemic doesn't mean there is a grace period. Late fees start February 1, just like always. An email to the City Clerk’s office with questions went unanswered for several days, prompting a phone call. The Post Office website was visited for information about the correct forms and if an appointment was needed for renewals (nope!). A phone call was placed to ask about the presence of a public photo copier (not any more) and location of the forms (rack on the wall outside the Passport counter).

The dog license application form is downloadable, but no printer access renders the feature useless. The rabies certificate is supposed to be submitted with the form, but the absence of copier access was a problem. I used to go in person and the counter clerk would photocopy everything and hand it back. The person on the phone said to send the original rabies certificates with a note asking for their return, and the dog names and dates of previous licensing. A copy of last year's application form was found in the massive dog files, and “2020” was squeezed onto the line for “previously licensed” next to 2017, 2018, and 2019. The original rabies certificates and a note requesting their return were packaged with the form and check for the fees and put into an envelope. Full trust has been placed in the system.

Forty-five minutes had been blocked on my calendar for the Post Office/City Hall jaunt, so a quick trip to Family Dollar for dog biscuits was slipped in before returning to the home office. On the way to the pet supplies row, a display of cute desk lamps was spotted with a couple colors perfect for the office. Unfortunately, there were none of the specified light bulbs in the light bulb display, and no empty space to indicate there ever had been any, either. As much as a task light is needed, one with no light bulb is as useless as none at all, so the lamp went back on the shelf. 

Luckily, two passport renewal forms had been taken, because after a lengthy search for the mandatory black ink pen, the form was screwed up. Twice. The first error was writing first name first, then noticing it was supposed to be last name first. It seems really stupid having to repeat info entered on page one on page two, but this is a government form.

Further down the page, the address was screwed up for emergency contact info of “a person not traveling with you,” resulting in two scribbled out spots on the page. It looked really bad, so it was time to start over. And what’s up with that "person not traveling with me" information? Does this now mean I can never travel with the person whose information is in that line? Seems kind of harsh. And permanent, Oh, and sorry, Mom.

“Remoted” Workday 209 / Day 317 (Wednesday)

The month was winding down quickly and I realized I had gotten way off track on the “read a book a month” goal. The January selection, Charlotte’s Web, at only 184 pages, started off with a bang and then was abandoned. With a week and a half left to the month, the book was only half read. A reading push was required and the thin book for children was finished this morning before work. And it was good.

New book!

A second book was started before the first was finished, but it hasn’t been decided if it qualifies as a book towards the reading goal because it’s a cookbook. More accurately, it’s a Finnish cookbook written in 1964 that was recommended in a Finnish culture Facebook group. It opens with a 13-page cultural lesson and sprinkles additional cultural information throughout the various sections. 

I learned on page 2 that Finland is “larger than Great Britain and as big as Minnesota and Iowa together, although its population is only four and one-half million.” I did not know any of this. A quick check on the worldwide encyclopedia of Google places it at 5.5 million in 2020. On the same page, I learned that Eastern and Central Finland are famous for fish dishes, due to the presence of 50,000 lakes. That is a lot of lakes. 

So far, the book is super interesting, but it also is 250 pages of cruelty. The text is painfully small. And by “small,” we’re talking approximately the same size as the legal disclaimer in ads. The tiny font is used through all 250 pages, and I’m willing to guess it will be responsible for much eye strain and many baking mistakes on my part. I never thought I would need to buy a magnifying lens to read a recipe, but holy hell, this book warrants a full-page magnifier.

Tiny font Beer Soup = one Smarties roll high.

Opening to a random page led me to page 116 and the recipe for Beer Soup. For scientific reference on the font size, the height of the Beer Soup recipe equals the height of one roll of Smarties candies and two lines of text are one Smartie candy high. The recipe the book opened to feels like a sign from the universe that perhaps Beer Soup should be the first dish made from the book, but the idea of a soup made from hot milk mixed with hot beer could take some getting used to. 

The twelve-year-old in me that was highly entertained by finding the canned “Fish Cock” product online before Christmas was childishly amused all over again to find the recipe for “Meat Cock” on page 90 of the new cookbook. It calls for strips of lean veal and pork, and no reference to male body parts. The meat is baked in a rye bread dough for four hours, then stands for another three to four hours. Wow. That requires some planning. 

The preceding page has the Fish version, but calls it “Fish in a Crust,” adding it "is one of the most identifiably Finnish traditional foods." The recipe calls for cleaning two or three trout or 14 smelts and removing the head and tail. There is no description provided for the fish "cleaning," but I have a feeling it's gross. The rest gets baked in the bread dough bones and all. I do not see this happening in my kitchen. The closest I may get is ordering the canned version made with smoked salmon from the online site varusteleka.com.

“Remoted” Workday 208 / Day 316 (Tuesday)

Today we had a team-building exercise at work. It was a 90-minute Zoom virtual murder mystery event set in ancient Egypt. We were split into four teams and had to choose our team name. There were Tomb Raiders, Crusaders, Fab Four Pharaohs, and the team I was in, Chet & the Three Cleopatras. I maintain that my team had the best name. 

Not a good murder detective.

There was a a lot of actual Egyptian history woven throughout the event and a series of clues and puzzles specific to the game. Logic and creative thinking were required, and breakout rooms and files to download. I felt very stupid during a lot of it, beginning with having trouble accessing the file for the first puzzle. It contained a recipe in a dozen or so steps and then a weird series of sets of numbers at the bottom. The numbers and colons were mumbo jumbo and I had no idea what it meant. 

The pressure was on, as the first team to solve won a clue. It turned out the number represented lines in the recipe, a word in the line, and a letter in the word. That is not the investigative path we were treading, by a mile. Chet & the Three Cleopatras did not win the clue. We were just a second behind another team on one puzzle, because we couldn't figure out how to exit the breakout room. Oh well.

There were other opportunities to win clues, and thanks to a 2004 museum-group trip to Memphis to see the "MASTERS OF FLORENCE: Glory & Genius at the Court of the Medici" exhibition when I lived in Tennessee and worked at a museum, I recognized the pyramid in Memphis to win a trivia question. That show in Memphis was amazing. Having the winning answer was my sole moment of triumph during the murder game. Solving codes and picture puzzles in a team event today was not a glorious moment. 

Additional clue-winning opportunities involved producing a calendar, eyeliner, and toothpaste. This is the first time my kitchen ever felt too big. I had a calendar at my desk, but a Tomb Raider produced one quicker. I would be only halfway to the bathroom for the eyeliner or the toothpaste and someone would already have displayed the item.

Despite not winning and not being able to bask in the glory of being crowned the murder mystery champions, it was still a fun event. I learned the ancient Egyptians had toothbrushes. And that Sudan has more pyramids than Egypt. At least I came out of it feeling smarter.  

“Remoted” Workday 207 / Day 315 (Monday)

Recently, I reactivated my account on the Facebook dating app, which was active over the summer and fall. During that time, there were a few text conversations with actual full sentences, complete thoughts, and exchanges of ideas, but then the communications fizzled. Mostly, it was dudes writing to say “Hi, you’re pretty. We should meet.” Ummm, slow your roll, sir. Also, I think not. 

Matches!

The app contains hints about starting a conversation like “Comment on a photo.” There are optional profile questions you can answer such as, “What is your favorite time of day / book / movie?” and “What three foods could you never live without” and “If you could live anywhere for a year, where would it be?” A lot of guys don’t bother filling any of those out, which makes it impossible to respond their riveting message of “Hi” with much more than “Hi, how are you?” Maybe they think they are being mysterious, but I don’t have the patience for it.

There are quite a few men out there whose profile looks like a catalogue for a motorsports company. There are no write ups, no prompt answers, and just photos of expensive toys like a boat, a motorcycle, or a car and sometimes one of each. I wonder how many of these guys have also complained that their exes were only interested in them for the boat / car / motorcycle / money.

In other cases, there is a profile writeup, and it is riddled with red flags. One Noman Bates wannabe wrote his profile as a memorial for his mother. For real. It reads (typos and absence of grammar are his) “I’m loving memory of my sweet mom you’ll be missed and I want you to know you’re the sweetest mom ever.” Oh, and he’s looking for his “one last love.” Sounds to me like he's already met her, and no other woman stands a chance at this point. Good luck ladies, I'll sit this one out.

One guy’s spartan profile consisted of a photo of a beautiful Christmas tree and one of a dog, and the full content of his writeup is that he is interested in “something casual.” I smell trouble and it's probably a wife or girlfriend. Another guy has one to three much younger women with him in every one of his several photos. His profile says he doesn't have children, so maybe he fancies himself a modern Hugh Hefner. So much nope.

Several men describe themselves as “a God fearing man.” Is that code for something? If your God is something to be feared, that’s a hard pass for me, thanks, but maybe the mysterious guy with a Christmas tree photo who is clearly looking for a hookup could use some guidance.

“Remoted” Day 314 (Sunday)

The weekend kicked off with the chirpy chirp sound of some sort of detector and the fun-filled game of “Which device is that noise coming from?”

I got to play this game in Tennessee and it lasted forever. After checking and replacing batteries in every found detector in my 1,200 square foot ranch with a full basement, the sound continued.  For months. A couple years later, while packing to move, a carbon monoxide detector was found in the dining room closet, still in the box. It had been given to me by the company that installed my attic insulation and central heart and air system. Considering the job cost over $10,000, started late, and took twice as long as promised, it would have meant a lot more if they had installed the detector. Instead, they handed it to me in the box and left it up to me to figure out. They had also insisted, for insurance purposes, on replacing the fully functioning fold-down ladder to the attic. This wouldn’t have been bad if the old one hadn’t worked better than the new one, which was difficult to pull down and even harder to push back up. The pain of that installation was a gift that kept on giving.

The options for the source of the current chirpy sound seem plentiful for the current 1,000 square foot home. There are four CO detectors in three different models, and two smoke detectors. The box of batteries was retrieved from the bathroom closet and the stockpile revealed to be not as plentiful as remembered. The stepstool was pulled from its space between the wall and the refrigerator and carried up the steep and narrow staircase, because in 1930 that’s how they were built.

In the realm of “nothing is ever as easy as it should be,” there were multiple trips up and down the stairs with the wrong batteries when I had AAA instead of 9-volt in hand. When that battery was replaced, the chirp continued. The many manuals were sought and found, and thanks whispered to the previous owner for saving all the manuals for every appliance, the thermostat, and the detectors. 

So many devices, so many manuals.

After dismantling the carbon monoxide detector in the living room and the smoke detector at the bottom of the stairs, the sound was finally isolated to the basement where two CO detectors are mounted side by side (or “side by each” as a friend from the Midwest would say).  Luckily, there are extra chairs stored in the basement, because that staircase is even scarier than the one between the main levels. There were multiple trips for the correct batteries, and a knife to pry the original battery out after the helpful plastic strip broke. And finally, there was quiet.

Meatballs and
Hasselback potato.

At least, there was quiet until I cooked today. It was a 425 degree oven and potatoes sliced and brushed with olive oil and butter for Hasselback potatoes that were the culprit today. Even with the range fan on high, partway through the 45-minute cook time the smoke detector started shrieking. At least I knew exactly which device was emitting the ear splitting tone, having gone through this drill dozens of times since moving here. Dish towels were waved. Doors were opened. Dogs cowered and quivered. There was no visible smoke. There was no yelling, just a lot of sighs and muttered swears. This happened three times.

At least after all the drama, the potatoes were good. And it’s comforting to know the smoke detector works, but it would be appreciated greatly if it weren’t operating on a hair trigger. It’s been set off dozens of times by the oven in the next room, and once by a candle at a Christmas Eve party. 

The weekend started with one detector chirping and wound down with a different detector shrieking. After that, the only sounds were dogs snoring, the TV, and the ever present shrill of tinnitus. Even the tinnitus is preferable to the other sounds of this weekend.

“Remoted” Day 313 (Saturday)

The Saturday morning entertainment was superior today with a trip to the local AAA office for passport photos with the required non-smiling, serious expression. I guess the security teams need people to have the same weary, pissed off look worn in the long lines for security and customs. There are no travel plans on the horizon, but my current passport, which actually has a nice smiling photo and used only once in the past ten years, expires in a couple months. Since once missing out on a short-notice opportunity to go to Costa Rica due to an expired passport, I now make sure to always have a valid one. Plus, it needs to be renewed to get the new mandatory Real-ID License when my driver’s license expires.

Productive visit to the AAA office.

Many great services beside roadside services are available to AAA members, and after three years of being a member, I am finally tapping some of them. My Basic Level AAA membership meant it was $10 for passport photos. The service agent helping me seemed apologetic when telling me the price, but I already knew it from visiting the website, and I also knew it would cost $15 for the same 2” x 2” photos at Walgreens. The clerk accidentally printed the photos twice, so there is a bonus set. The extra mug shots could come in handy for a Halloween project.

While at the AAA office, I also scored a leftover 2019 road atlas on sale for $3.50. When I was in Tennessee, my State Farm agent gave an atlas each year with the auto insurance renewal. Stupidly thinking this would be a perpetual thing, during a cleanout I threw the atlas into the recycling, and consequently, haven’t had one since around 2012.

I’ve really missed having an atlas with full- and two-page layouts, in a similar way to missing reading encyclopedias for fun. Google and GPS navigation are great, but tiny screens with limited views are not the same as large paper and seeing the big picture with all the routes and learning which run parallel to which. Back before GPS, I was really good at navigating roadways, but now I’m lucky if I can find my way out of my own street.

The excitement of new photos for the passport renewal plus a new atlas were tempered a bit by one small disappointment. Turns out, my local AAA office no longer provides passport forms, despite the official website and the rep I spoke to on the phone saying offices have them available. With no easy access to a printer, I can’t just print them from the Department of State website. The rep I dealt with at the office said people were getting paperwork, not using it right away, and when they finally did, the form had changed and theirs was rejected. I get that. At my last passport renewal, the photos, which are supposed to be done within six months of the renewal paperwork, sat on the desk for so long that my hair style and color had changed dramatically several times and I ended up having them redone.

It looks like a trip to the Passport Office at the Post Office is needed to get the forms. Unfortunately, any time I’ve been in the local Post Office in the past four years, the passport counter hasn't been open, so I didn’t even bother going there today. At least I have something to look forward to.

“Remoted” Workday 206 / Day 312 (Friday)

Winter is dragging along. The absence of snow in my yard has me uninterested in skiing. The old “backyard phenomenon” we used to talk about when I was part of the wait staff at a ski lodge many years and a couple lifetimes ago is a real thing. Out of sight, out of mind. No snow in the yard, no thoughts of skiing on the hill with the heavy investment in snow making equipment. It’s even worse now that I live 30+ miles from my favorite local ski area and don’t see the lights along the trails each evening and the fog of the snow making equipment.

Wachusett, Mountain -
the long ago season of the ski pass.

A few winters ago, I was all about the snow and winter and dealing with the weather on my own terms. There was endless snow falling from the sky and piling on the ground to be rearranged. There was snowshoeing. One year, when I worked retail, there was a ski pass and Sunday night skiing and weekday vacation day morning skiing. There was shoveling and snow blobs we called people. It was really fun. 

Now? Not so much. Not that it isn't fun, this year there hasn’t been much snow. But I’ve been watching winter on the TV screen. 

There are many winter-themed moves on Hallmark starring fresh-faced actors with beautiful teeth. So many mountain side chalets and ski resorts to serve as the settings for so many romances, galas, and engagements. One movie even featured royalty from a made-up country name in Europe. The movie ski and snowboard pants and coats are a visual disappointment. The cell phones are unbelievable. Really unbelievable. Movie people remove cell phones from an outermost coat pocket and engage in lengthy calls on the edge of the trail, as snow falls down lightly, and there are no battery or reception issues. When my cell phone is removed from a warm inside coat pocket, if it even turns on, it might take one photo before shutting off due to a suddenly and dramatically drained battery. A long, slope side call in the cold is not possible with my phone. That must be some Hallmark movie magic.

“Remoted” Workday 205 / Day 311 (Thursday)

The elusive, out of focus Squirrel King.

This morning offered another sighting of the magnificent backyard Squirrel King. Every now and again, I see a squirrel perched on the peak of my shed, surveying my yard and the neighboring yard in the morning light. Today, the squirrel was especially large – close to the size of a small cat. The bulky beast sat still while I attempted, unsuccessfully, to take photos with my cell phone from between the slats of the mini-blinds. Usually, before I can even grab the phone, the elusive critter has already skittered down the slope of the roof and onto other adventures. 

The tree in the yard behind mine has branches that don’t just hang over my shed, they recline upon the roof of my shed, which is likely the red carpet path to the shed roof. Maybe someday I’ll have the resources to climb up and trim the branches. For now, with no cutting tools beyond a small branch lopper that is inadequate for much more than twigs, trimming the neighbor's tree encroaching on my air space remains an item on a lengthy list of home and garden projects.

Later in the day, I learned that January 21 is National Squirrel Appreciation Day. Who knew? Ok, my cousin obviously knew because he posted it on my aunt’s Facebook feed and that is how I found out about it. The appreciation of the impressive size of the squirrel on the shed during the brief morning visit was coincidental.

A quick search on Google revealed that this date has been Squirrel Appreciation Day since 2001. How has this important information escaped me? Granted, on that first National Squirrel Appreciation Day, I was in Seoul, South Korea, where I had been since November 21, 2000. I’m pretty sure the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service (AFRTS, also known in our home as A-Farts) didn’t cover National Squirrel Day in between the screenings of Happy Days, Oprah, and the military network news which included the dates and locations of upcoming civilian protests outside the Yongsan Army Base and weather reports for Vladivostok, Russia. There was already a lot going on. National Squirrel Day must have been lost in the flurry of other important information.

Over in Seoul, while National Squirrel Day was being launched in America, we were enduring a winter with multiple record-breaking snowfalls, for which I was blamed by the now ex-husband, who was certain I had brought the New England winter weather with me. We were a week shy of our three-month wedding anniversary, with just a few weeks left in Korea before we returned to the states. That explains my not knowing about Squirrel Day in 2001, but what about the next two decades? I must be living under some major rocks. 

Squirrel Nut Zippers!

At least I know about it now, and I can begin plans for next year’s celebratory recognition, which will certainly include Squirrel Nut Zippers – both the caramel candy and the swing band, and acorn shaped treats. How could it not? If I can rustle up some of the delicious, special caramel and peanut candies, maybe I can enjoy a belated celebration this year and try to make up for lost time.

“Remoted” Workday 204 / Day 310 (Wednesday)

Winston and Moose!

On Monday, the Lowell Humane Society had their “Poorly Drawn Pet Portrait” fundraiser and my two little guys had a portrait done from a photo. It’s awesome! It captures their spirit. Or a facet of it, anyway. 

Moose wasn’t limping today. He was also less barky, which is a facet of his personality that is often hidden when he is awake. These are both good situations, yet, worry seeps in that perhaps it’s because he isn’t feeling well and just lacks the energy required to behave in his usual vocally annoying manner.

A translation service for when Barky Bark is earnestly trying to communicate something to me would be helpful. Depending upon the time of day, I’m often reduced to tossing out guesses and comments like “Wanna go out?”, “Is the water bowl empty?”, “No, it’s not time yet,” and “For the love of God, shut the hell up!” Then, when I finally get my wish and he’s unusually quiet, when he actually has indeed shut up, the silence is unnerving and the monologue shifts to “Are you okay, Boo Boo? Does something hurt? What’s the matter baby boy?”

Winston has lately been displaying his more energetic facet, probably because he feels better with the insulin. This morning, for some reason, I forgot to give him his insulin shot while he was eating his breakfast. When he finished eating, he stood at my feet and stared at me until I snapped back to the routine and got him his dose.

Between his usual series of naps, Winston’s favorite game has returned. He stays out for what feels like a long time, and when I go outside to investigate, he is often in the furthest corner of the yard until I whistle and whisper yell for him to come in. Then, he charges at top speed diagonally across the yard and to the door. He is jumping a lot again, which is a sign he feels better, but also a concern since he jacked up his knee a few years ago and needed laser treatments. It triggered on and off problems that sometimes have him limping.

Such is the contradictory state of life and health with the Canine Overlords. Personal history has shown it is okay to act as a neutral observer and acknowledge that things are going better, but rarely safe to actually relax and enjoy it. That’s usually when everything shifts and random and costly vet bills show up.

“Remoted” Workday 203 / Day 309 (Tuesday)

In the latest episode of the never ending saga of “What’s wrong with the Dog?,” Moose is limping again, and sometimes hobbling on three legs.

In the mystery of Moosie, who barks and yaps loudly for all sorts of random and potentially imaginary reasons, when I touch the joints, shoulder, or paw of his newly sometimes favored leg, he is silent. I poke and prod, alert for any sort of reaction that could be described to the vet, but he offers nothing. Sometimes it seems like he is overacting with the paw thing for extra cuddles and head pats, but it’s hard to tell. This is the same dog who started limping while I had a broken leg and I couldn't tell if it was sympathy or he was mocking me.

Whatever is or isn’t happening with his leg has not deterred him from climbing up and down stairs and jumping onto and off the couch. And he doesn’t ease himself off the couch, like I have seen him do before. Oh, no, he launches himself from the couch to the middle of the floor as if he is trying to hit a very specific landing zone that only he can see. Then he pauses, and either walks away, or limps. It's a crapshoot every time.

Moose and his
Ted Bundy fake cast.

Last night, I managed to examine his leg again and it seemed like there was a hard lump on the outside of the joint above the dew claw. Once more, Moose offered no reaction to my prodding, but it seemed it might be a good idea to wrap his leg. I can’t get him to rest, ice, or elevate it, but maybe I can create some compression, or at least manufacture a situation to force him to be more careful. 

The ace bandages on hand from my own past injuries are all too wide for a doggy leg, and I didn’t want to cut them up, so I wrapped his leg in gauze and secured it with painter’s tape. It seemed to annoy him, and he laid down in his bed in the living room with a dramatic huff. Dramatics aside, he wasn’t walking around on it, which felt like a win on both the rest and possible compression fronts.

This morning the gauze wrap was laying in his bed, having slipped off or been pried off during the night. Today, the leg was rewrapped, and the makeshift medical treatment stayed on all day. While we were outside this afternoon, one of the neighbors saw us and thought Moose had an actual cast on his leg. While explaining that I had wrapped his leg with gauze and tape, it occurred to me that I had basically given him a little Ted Bundy fake cast. At least he’s not out in the park trolling for murder victims. Sleeping on the couch is much more his speed, and if it means he's resting his mysterious ailment until I can remember to call the vet during office hours, I’m in favor. It wouldn’t be the first time I made an appointment for him and by the time we get in to the vet's office, even if it’s the next day, the problem is gone, along with the fee for the office visit.

“Remoted” Day 308 (Monday)

Ice lantern at Heikinpäivä.

Back in January, 2015, there was a Heikinpäivä Winter Family Fun Day at The Finnish Center at Saima Park in Fitchburg. Saint Henrik (Heikki), the patron saint of Finland, presided over the mid-winter celebration which included cross country skiing, and the boot toss contest, where contestants flung a cross country ski boot to see who could send it the furthest. There was a bonfire, Finnish folk dancing, and the classic Finnish entertainment, The Wife Carry Race. 

For the Saima race, the rules did not require the team to actually be married, but included the amusing note that “If you are really hung up about the marriage thing, see Heikki. Perhaps he’ll perform a quickie ceremony.” In Finland, the winners are often awarded the equivalent weight of the wife in beer. For the Saima event, the prizes were listed as “Just some things we slapped together we thought you would like. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Wife carry race!

The carrying takes many forms like piggyback, fireman carry and whatever method works for the contestants as they raced to the various challenges and then the finish line. The first challenge was to set up a wood pile like would be done for a sauna, then dismantle it, and race to the next station. The second challenge required wrapping in a towel and laying on a bench as if in a sauna, and the partner would flog the person with birch branches. Positions were switched, then the towels had to be folded and everything neatly returned to the bench. The carry resumed to the third station where a four strand pulla bread was braided by one partner, while the other followed a specific table setting pattern with a cloth and dishes. Then the team raced to the finish line. 

While heading over to the race course with Mom, my sister, my nieces, and a couple friends, my plan was to take photos of the spectacle, especially after our friend Jane entered the race with a friend. The next thing I knew, an organizer was flagging me over to be in the race with someone who needed a partner. That is where I met Maximillian, my temporary, pretend husband for the next few minutes, a German exchange student who was studying at Fitchburg State.

My pretend, temporary husband
and I took 2nd place.

My pretend husband and I decided on a piggyback carry, as did most of the other teams. We blasted through the course. At the third station, Maximillian handled the four-strand braid while I tackled the table setting, which is where we lost precious seconds when I got the place setting wrong. In the end, we came in second, just one second behind the first-place winning team. One second. Had I not screwed up the tableware placement, we would have nailed first place. 

My boot tossing skill was not at all impressive, but with pretend husband Maximillian, I felt redeemed. As I recall it, the prize bags included a pulla (Finnish coffee bread) and an admission ticket to a future Finnish breakfast, usually held monthly. I'm sure I still have my plastic medal somewhere. It was so much fun being a pretend wife and participating in winter “sports.”  Being in the winner's circle didn't suck, either. 

“Remoted” Day 307 (Sunday)

Quiche!

The domestic urge kicked in again today with multiple loads of laundry and oven work. The recent cheese purchase triggered a quiche versus mac and cheese debate. Quiche won, because quiche is delicious and also because some of the eggs and the milk were bumping up on their use by dates. The mac and cheese may be a Monday holiday project. 

The quiche involves the same dilemma every time which I forget about once the dish goes into the oven. The recipe is crustless and uses Bisquick, which forms a thin crust. The recipe calls for a 9” x 9” baking dish, which is where it gets tricky every time. My baking dishes include two 8”x 8” dishes, one 9” x 7,” one 8” x 11.5,” and one 9” x 13.” There are exactly zero 9” x 9” baking dishes. Then the math kicks in with square inch calculations. I don’t know why there is no 9” x 9” in my baking dish collection, or why I never remember to look for one when in a store.

The ingredients list calls for “one bar of Cracker Barrel cheese, grated.” The recipe is from the 1980s or 90s, so I don’t know the weight of a bar of Cracker Barrel cheese when it was written. If it’s anything like ice cream or candy bars, it was probably larger than it is today. I usually use the grocery store brand shredded cheese anyway, and use “some,” which varies by what is on hand. No matter how much is used, it’s never enough anyway. Today, sharp cheddar went into the recipe, followed by a debate about adding other cheeses. In the end, the “other cheeses” were saved for a potential Monday mac and cheese.

Sliced mushrooms, chopped onion, and diced roasted butternut squash were neatly arranged in the bottom of the 9” x 7” baking dish and the cheese was layered on top of it. The recipe calls for mixing the cheese with the eggs, milk, and Bisquick, but years of making this recipe have shown that the cheese always settles at the bottom of the mixing bowl and when pouring the mixture into the baking dish, the cheese lands in a big clump in one spot.

Chowing cheddar.

In the “clean up as you go” method learned many, many moons ago in junior high Home Economics cooking class, measuring tools and utensils were put into the dishwasher and the hand wash items shifted off the counter and into the sink. The remaining sliced mushrooms and butternut squash were put into the freezer. The rest of the onion was put in a small container in the refrigerator. The cheese bag was sealed. 

While walking the few steps to the refrigerator to return the cheese to the deli drawer, I shook the bag to redistribute the bulk so it would fit flat in the drawer. A geyser of sharp cheddar cheese shreds arced out of the bag. The dogs, startled by the sudden shower of cheese, pounced upon their good fortune. It turns out the so-called resealable bags for Hannaford store brand cheese don’t actually seal, which I remembered being a problem after the cheese shower had already hit the floor. I tried three or four more times to seal the bag before giving up, folding the bag over and slipping it into a Ziploc bag that actually seals.

Sunday brunch of quiche
 and roasted beets.

The wasted cheese on the floor, as Mom used to say, “really frosted my cookies,” but on the bright side, while Moose and Winston were occupied with the cleanup operation, they weren’t under my feet. The eggs were beaten with the Bisquick, tarragon was added like Mummu always did with egg dishes, and the recipe finished.

An hour after going into the oven, the baked quiche emerged. Plated with diced roasted beets, it made a nice Sunday brunch. Because the boys had already indulged in an indeterminate amount of cheese, I didn’t feel as guilty for denying them quiche. It’s loaded with onion, which is bad for dogs, but those are not words they understand. 

“Remoted” Day 306 (Saturday)

January 16 is one of those days that over the years had interesting things going on. If not for Facebook's "On this Day" memories feature, the specifics would be lost.

Eleven years ago on this date, according to a brief status update, “The 402,” my home in Tennessee, was in the final stages of an HVAC project, which, if I recall correctly, was running longer than scheduled. That status reads, “is on day six of heating/cooling install and attic seal/insulation. None of us knew what we were in for.”

Dr. Sketchy event of long ago.

Ten years ago this date featured a trip from Clarksville to East Nashville for one of several Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School events I attended. At Dr. Sketchy, models from all walks of life, usually in costumes, or in the cases of the burlesque dancer models, various states of undress, pose for sketches ranging from one to thirty minutes. It took place monthly on a Sunday and was always fun. I always meant to attend it more regularly, but for various (usually lame) reasons I didn’t, and then I sold The 402 and moved. After returning to Massachusetts, I attended one or two Dr. Sketchy programs in Somerville. Again, the plan was always to attend more often, which once again didn’t happen, and then the local program stopped. This is a theme that repeats throughout my life. 

Six years ago on this date, my niece’s high school hockey team was playing. She had translated her street hockey skills to the ice and was with her team at the ice rink at Cushing Academy. Now she’s been graduated from high school for several years, lives in Las Vegas, and has her own life.

Five years ago, I was at Vincent’s in Worcester “Reliving the old days” at one of my favorite watering holes in America. When I lived in Worcester, Vincent's was a place where my friends and I met for drinks, the best meatball sandwich available, and fun and eclectic juke box and band lineups. Many laughs happened there over the years. 

Layers!

Today had a mostly normal trip to Worcester for a mostly normal activity – a hair appointment at my friend’s salon. Before the world was changed by COVID-19, hair salon visits were routine and took place every seven or eight weeks, sometimes followed by lunch with a friend. Now, the appointments are scheduled for 12 weeks, and except for the infrequent trips for groceries, having my hair done is one of the last remaining “normal” out-of-the-house activities still in my schedule. The scalp massage is a brief and glorious period of human physical contact and relaxation. 

We took off several inches and cut a lot of layers to freshen it up. The winter dry air and seasonal wardrobe heavy on fleece and sweaters has meant lots of static. The length had crept well down my back and was encroaching on my waist. Sitting against the back of the office chair and the couch, made it hard to move my head without pulling my own hair. The same thing happens in bed. Now the problem is fixed and I'm liberated from the prison of my own hair. Sometimes it is the simple things that make all the difference.

“Remoted” Workday 202 / Day 305 (Friday)

Recently, a coupon landed in my inbox for $10 off a $25 order at Hannaford Supermarket. That is the kind of coupon that will get my butt to a store, especially when it’s located close to home and the coupon is expiring in a few days. Because I haven’t been reading the weekly flyer delivered to my inbox, the website was visited to check the sales. It was shocking!

There were lots of good things on sale that I actually like/want/use. Like shrimp! Cape Cod chips! And cheese! Dang, I love cheese, even though it doesn’t love me back, but I do not let this get in my way.

The cheese was enticing, but the advertised item that would get me out of the house, into the car, and over to the store was the current obsession, Beyond Burger, on sale for $3.99. A list was made in the store app, which meant, unlike most lists, as long as I had my phone, I wouldn’t forget or lose the stupid list. The app list notes which aisles the items are in. It’s not perfect and several items were noted two aisles off, and others were noted in aisle 14, which, it turns out, is not an aisle number that exists in the Dracut Hannaford.

Beyond Burger, the reason for being in the store, was listed in the app as “Meat Department – off shelf.” What the heck is off shelf?” There were no in-aisle coolers in the area, and after trolling the entire very lengthy meat wall, they were finally found, very much on a shelf in the meat cooler. It was an exhausting victory. And why aren’t they in the cooler near produce with the other meat substitute products? At least I’ll know next time.

Grocery store beer!

A turn at the back of the bakery to where English muffins and bread were located on my last visit many months ago delivered me to a short wall of beer coolers and shelves of wine. This is perhaps one of the best gifts from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts to grocery shoppers in the Bay State. Unfortunately, I couldn't focus on beer when Beyond Burgers and cheese awaited.

The cheese quest practically required a map and a Sherpa and should have come with experience points and levels like a video game. Five locations holding cheese were found including a fancy cheese case on the outskirts  of the produce section with pricey wheels, slabs, and shreds of stuff; the packaged specialty meat and cheese wall near the refrigerated pasta with Italian salami and asiago cheese; a small refrigerated case opposite beer and wine with sliced turkey, ham, and lots of sliced Swiss cheese; the deli, where I overheard the clerk tell another customer that there was no Land O’Lakes cheese of any type, and then finally, across the broad and seemingly endless expanse of the store at the furthest possible location from the deli and all the other cheese, was the dairy wall and the cheese noted on sale in the ad. It was exhausting and the most activity I’ve engaged in in weeks.

The dairy wall held a treasure trove of cheese, and I got a lot of it. Sharp cheddar. Provolone. Mozzarella. Mexican blend. Round slices. Square slices. Shredded stuff. All the tasty basics except for American cheese, the perfect melt for the Beyond Burger. Oops. American cheese that is not the weird individually wrapped rubbery slices was all the way back across the store in the deli district and I wasn’t going back there.

Now, the deli drawer, the freezer, and the cabinets are overloaded. I may have gone a little overboard with the groceries this week. But I saved $10 with the coupon and earned 62 cents in rewards. Sixty-two cents!

“Remoted” Workday 201 / Day 304 (Thursday)

The guy next door is becoming a source of entertainment. His age is somewhere around mid-20s, and he is the guy with the deceased red Audi planted in the back yard for about a year, from which he sold the wheels months ago. He also has a functioning silver car that he has done work on, hammering the wheel wells to accommodate the wheels that don’t seem to fit therein, replacing the cinder block that held down the trunk lid with a system of chains and screws. The rearview mirror is festooned with a half-dozen black pine tree air freshers, and a vinyl decal on one window declares "Locally Hated."

Four or five times each day between 3:00 pm and 10:00 pm, the car runs in the driveway between our houses. It’s loud and deep and rumbling, and when I’m in my office space working, vibrations can be felt through the floor. It usually runs from around 30 to 60 minutes. The car is driven very rarely, sometimes just to the end of the driveway to park in front of the house and run for a while before being returned to the spot the driveway. 

Wednesday Date night?

More than just a transportation device, the silver car doubles as the young man’s man cave where he prepares and smokes his weed, sometimes rolled, sometimes in a bong. Judging by the fragrance that seeps from the car and can be enjoyed from my driveway, back yard, and in the warm weather, open-windows months, in my home office/kitchen, he’s going to need a lot more air fresheners.

Last night, a Honda was parked in front of the house next door. It looked like the same Honda that is parked there every once in a while, and that blocked me from parking in my driveway on Christmas. In the driveway, around 9:00, the silver car with the passenger-side black front quarter panel and the loud exhaust system was running in the driveway. Neighbor guy’s mom’s car was tandem parked behind the silver car, so it didn’t seem there were plans to leave.

The car runs loud enough to require turning up the volume on the TV. At 10:00, when the dogs were let out the back door to potty, I noticed light from inside the car. A young lady with dark curls sat in the passenger seat and the guy from next door sat in the driver’s seat. Each was looking at their cell phone in the comfort of the loud car. It seems the young lady drove to the neighbor’s house and got out of her car to sit with him in his car and look at her phone.

There are questions. Is this the state of dating during the pandemic because at 9:00 on a Wednesday night there is no place to go? Is the silver car the winter date car because it runs and has heat? Do they sit in his car instead of hers because he did the inviting? How many dates per gallon does the car get?

“Remoted” Workday 200 / Day 303 (Wednesday)

Each morning, I receive an email from A Network for Grateful Living with the Grateful Word of the Day. Of the many email messages each day, this is one of the few emails regularly opened and read each morning. I like it because it is short.

Today’s message struck a chord, but not in the “Yes, I love this” kind of way. It was definitely more of a “Who the heck has the energy for this?” reaction, followed by instantaneous guilt. Today’s quote, from Julia Butterfly Hill, was,

“I wake up in the morning asking myself, what can I do today, how can I help the world today?”

Barky Bark and the Grumpy Bunch.

I wish. I wake up in the morning asking myself "what?" all right. It's just closer to "what the hell time is it?" and "what the frig is Moose barking about now?" After being barked awake by Moose, (whose newest nickname is “Barky Barky and the Grumpy Bunch”), I stumble over to the bathrobe hung on the back of the bedroom door and then down the stairs. 

Daily immediate concerns include getting one yapping beast and one quiet beast outside to potty, hurriedly preparing their food, and then getting back to the door before Barky Bark awakens the entire street. Next is Winston’s insulin and starting the coffee. With luck, speed, and focus, this is can be done before Moose finishes eating and demands to go outside again. It's a wait at the door to let Barky Bark back in before he starts vocalizing, and then I can finally dress for the day.

Inspiring? Or daunting?

The rest of the day is consumed with avoiding land mines, putting out fires, and trying really hard to not screw things up. If I drop the ball over in my part of a project, the delay can really mess things up for someone else and their role in the ordeal.

I have colleagues and acquaintances who help, if not the whole world, at least swaths of it. They run for public office. They actively and effectively fundraise for non-profit organizations and organize drives for needed items like food, socks, cold weather wear, toys. They rescue animals. They inspire others with their tireless energy and impressive accomplishments.

Unfortunately, I am not one of these heavenly creatures radiating kindness and goodwill like a beacon of hope unto the world. I am one lonely-ass person trying really hard to keep my shit together, one day at a time, and some days it is a lot harder than others. 

The idea of "helping the world today" is definitely more daunting than inspiring. Overwhelming, even. Most days, at best, I might be the quick flicker of a match in the dark of night. In the wind. During a rainstorm. The best I can regularly muster is actively and consciously avoiding doing harm. This is also important, but that should always be the bare minimum baseline for a decent human. I’m not sure it is quite the same thing as “how can I help the world today?”

“Remoted” Workday 199 / Day 302 (Tuesday)

Winston ... adorable and
not a massage therapist.

Although I've been a dancer of one form or another on and off for most of my life since the age of six, at the same time, I’m not always the most graceful person around. I’ve never fallen while performing on stage, but have been known to trip over absolutely nothing while walking across a perfectly cleared floor, usually in front of a group of people. Absentmindedly walking into furniture and bouncing off doorframes is just part of daily life, and falling down the backdoor stairs is an annual event. Bruises are as natural as breathing and unless there is an audience to bear witness, the events that cause them barely register. The title of “klutz” has been bestowed on many occasions. 

Working from home seems to have helped a little with the klutz factor. For one thing, the home office shoes are very sensible. Without the hazards of downtown cobblestones and sidewalk cracks, the most common mishap has been slamming the top of my foot on the underside of the corner of the metal bed frame. That one never goes unnoticed, because it hurts like crazy and usually involves swearing. The mystery is why it keeps happening – the bed has been in the same spot for more than four years. 

Moose ... cute, but
not a chiroporactor.

Lately, physical ailments have been less about stumbles and furniture contact and more about shoulder, neck and arm pain. Sitting in the desk chair all day and on the not so comfortable couch/futon all evening are really taking a toll on my posture and clenching my jaw all night while sleeping is resulting in tension. If only the Canine Overlords were trained in massage or chiropractic.

Today has a weird and random ailment. While watching TV with a dog asleep on either side, I moved my too long bangs out of my face for the nine millionth time. I touched the top of my head and discovered a mysterious tender spot.

On the spectrum of head pain, it’s worse than the scalp tenderness when my hair comes down from being in a topknot bun and closer to the too many times I’ve banged my head on the corner of a cabinet. Even though I like how wavy my hair is after a night in a topknot, it hasn’t been in one for months because my scalp feels so tender and uncomfortable when it comes down. And I’m 100% sure I haven’t banged my head on a cabinet. I think. While hitting fleshy bits on a chair or table is not so memorable, hitting the boney parts usually registers. And now the sore spot has become an obsession as I keep touching it and wondering how it came to be. My heart might be made of stone, but right now, at least my head is tender.

“Remoted” Workday 198 / Day 301 (Monday)

At 7:00 am, I rolled the red trash bin to the curb, just like every non-holiday Monday morning. A glance up the street and the sight of green recycle bins at neighboring homes indicated it was every-other-Monday recycle day, so I busted up some boxes and rolled my own recycle bin down the driveway. As I was doing so, the black pickup truck that had been next door picking up neighbor guy like nearly every morning, swiftly backed out of the neighbor driveway, and just as swiftly backed into my driveway to turn around, nearly running me over in the process. Luckily for me, I was paying attention and jumped out of the way because it didn’t seem that the driver of the truck had even noticed how close he came to plowing me over in my own driveway. Cripes. At least the adrenaline rush from the narrow escape was exciting.

Tonight, a visit to a previously started Amazon Pantry shopping cart delivered another, smaller jolt. During the first week of the New Year my wallet was having a little rest to recover from the financial hit from the Christmas Day auto strike, the memory of which was still fresh. On that day, the car had gotten a little hot under the hood during a ride on the highway, ceased functioning, and was towed to a repair shop. The New Year's Eve repair bill could have been worse, but it still left a dent in the finances, so the accounts and I took a little break to cool down. 

During the pause, recreational window shopping continued, specifically for household items including a clock and a tea kettle. There was an alert bar from Amazon that prices had changed on Pantry items in the cart. This happens regularly, but what was surprising was that all the prices had dropped. It was a declared spending break and nothing in the cart was urgent, so I moved on to other things.

Tonight, with the spending kibosh over since Saturday when dog biscuits were bought, a visit was made to the Amazon Pantry cart with full intent to add items to reach the $35 level for free shipping and commit to the transaction. Oddly, the Pantry items were displaying as “Item no longer available from vendor.” All of them. It wasn’t unusual for one or two items to become unavailable, but never has it been everything in the cart.

No more Pantry "Buy Again."
Let the crying begin.

That’s when I realized that Pantry no longer showed as a department in the search bar or the left-hand navigation. It was gone. Disappeared, without a trace, like it never existed at all. If not for the items showing in my cart and now suddenly labeled “unavailable,” I might wonder if Pantry had ever existed at all, or if I had just dreamt its’ marvelousness. A visit to past orders showed that it had existed. My best cyber research friend Google delivered several news articles from Friday, January 8, about Pantry’s closing on Wednesday, January 6. As my items sat neglected in the shopping cart and my bank card cooled off, I missed what was apparently the Pantry clearance sale. It's all over now but for the crying over the lost cart and the items I planned to push a button and "Buy Again."

Had I known about the plans to close Pantry, things would have gone differently last week. The spending freeze would have been lifted to stock up on favorite items, available in small quantities at low prices. Today’s search for the same items that were in the cart and past orders seems to indicate that we are now in the realm of warehouse type shopping. Pantry had single bags of Fritos Corn Chips at the low price of $2.50, which beat the regular grocery store price of close to $4. Amazon has cases of Fritos, but I don’t need 12 bags, nor do I have space for them. Ditto for six boxes of crunchy Nature Valley Granola Bars or a case of individual boxes of Lipton Soup mix.

The other loss is the amazing boxes the Pantry items came in. They were sturdy, and would be great for my upcoming charitable donation except for one thing. At Christmas, Pantry boxes were used to transport gifts and left behind, knowing there would be more Pantry orders. This morning, a Pantry box was flattened and put into the recycling bin, knowing that the Pantry order would be finished tonight and a new box would arrive in days. Oops. This seems to be another case of a lifelong curse of not so great timing. At least my timing and reflexes were good this morning while avoiding being flattened by a pickup truck.