“Remoted” Day 349 (Sunday)

On this date in 2013, the closing was held and “The 402,” my home in Clarksville, Tennessee, left my possession and became someone else’s. The house was a 1,200 square foot ranch on a hill. It had a wooded back yard, hardwood floors, and a full basement. The steep driveway that terrified my friends reminded me of the hills of Fitchburg where I grew up.

The two moving cubes had left the yard, bound for a storage yard in New England until I could provide a delivery address. The spare keys to the door locks were neatly laid out on the kitchen counter, along with the gadget to rekey the locks and the second set of keys. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in the refrigerator for the new owner. 

The 402, my former home in Tennessee.

Daily essentials and minimal clothing were packed in the car, along with the two dogs, their crates, and all the related doggy paraphernalia. Mom and Butch had driven from Massachusetts the previous week to help with the packing and moving, and after waiting for it to be time to lock the doors, we drove to the closing site. Once done at the closing, we would roll out of Tennessee and back to Massachusetts.

When I arrived at the office for the closing, there was much chit chat and a level of excitement and sadness. My part was quick – a couple papers to sign and hand over the keys. A ring with two keys was removed from my main key ring and handed to the realtor during conversation and goodbyes. There were hugs and well wishes and off I went in our two-car caravan along the Interstate.

Mom rode with me in my car and Butch was in his car. About 2.5 hours and 175 miles into the journey, my cell phone rang. It seemed there was a problem with the keys and the new owner couldn’t unlock the doors to the house. After checking the keys that remained on the ring with the car key, my heart sank and my stomach flipped. The house keys were still on the key ring, but the keys to the padlocks on the two storage cubes were not. I had one job for the closing, and had screwed it up.

Remembering the excitement of leaving the closing when I bought the house, and driving over to my just-purchased home, I really felt horrible that my buyer was missing out on that moment. Luckily, the realtors’ lockbox was still on the door, so the house could be opened, but not until the next morning. This meant I didn’t need to drive back to Clarksville, but I still really felt awful. When we stopped for a meal, I bought a card to send with the keys to the new owner.  

I still miss that house in Tennessee. From first sight, I knew it was the perfect house for me. It was the right size and layout, with a no-maintenance wooded backyard with turkeys and deer and the occasional red fox, and a picture window in the dining room to take in the view. There was a guest room, office, and a living room with a picture window facing a sloping lawn with a hill covered in periwinkle and a huge old tree where an owl often hung out.

We arrived back in Massachusetts a couple days into March, where I faced the huge unknown of the next segment of my life’s story. The plan was to stay in my old room at Mom’s, for what we figured would be several months while I found a job and place to live. Nothing went according to plan. At the same time that it felt like the right next step, I also wondered daily if my sanity should be checked. I still wonder this.  

“Remoted” Day 348 (Saturday)

Another Saturday and another dentist visit. It stinks sacrificing Saturday to sit in a dental chair, but it beats taking time off from work. It seems like it would have been wise to get a dentist closer to home, but that didn’t happen and I’m not dentist shopping now. There is enough going on already.

There was finger poking and prodding and blown cold air and electrical tests and yes, another x-ray, but this time it was a panoramic that did not require opening wide, which as we know, would have been impossible.

The mystery continues. Again, there was no sign of infection in the tooth that was crowned over the summer. This is the tooth that broke a year ago on popcorn that was made more out of boredom than any desire for popcorn, resulting in Valentine’s Day 2020, a scheduled vacation day, being spent in the dentist chair. A temporary crown was installed, and before the permanent crown could be done, the pandemic shutdowns happened. When we were finally able to get back to it months later, the crown didn’t fit, requiring a new crown and another visit. In a nutshell, I spent an inordinate amount of free time in July at the dentist. And now, it’s an encore performance for February and March.

Today, much attention was bestowed upon the crowned tooth and the molar above it. Those teeth are closest to the jaw problem. Nothing showed up in the panoramic x-ray to explain the unyielding jaw. The warm, moist compresses and muscle relaxers will continue, along with checking a million times a day to see if I will be able to eat anything interesting yet.

After arriving home, it was time for my current favorite socially distant, socially acceptable activity—napping. The dogs and I were cuddled on the couch in a lovely tableau until they suddenly began barking and fighting their ways out from under the blanket and running to the door. I jumped off the couch faster than I should have, because rapid positional changes and I do not get along. It’s a low blood pressure thing that has resulted in dizziness, and worse, fainting. I know I’m not supposed to get up quickly, but sometimes I’m already up before I have time to think about it.

I hate this door,

The dogs were heralding the presence of two strangers standing in the enclosed porch, an average looking man and a younger female. Because there is a stupid glass panel down the center of the door, I could see them, and they could see me, and there was no graceful way to not open the door. I hate that stupid door. 

The man said, “Hi! Don’t worry, we’re not here to convert you!” And I’m thinking, “Great, so what are you selling?” but I just leaned on the doorframe for support, mildly miffed from being awoken. Then the guy hands me a brochure and launches into a spiel about his company moving from Salem, NH into Dracut and they clean floors of all surfaces including carpet and hardwood and a bunch of my neighbors have already signed on for services and which are the high traffic areas of my house?

By this time, the dogs are still jumping and running out to the porch and back into the house and I’m fading fast and clutching the doorframe. Finally, I interrupted with “Umm, I’m not feeling so great and standing here like this is not helping. Sorry, I gotta go.” Then I shut the stupid door with the stupid glass panel that doesn’t let you not open it after you’ve been spotted and I went and back to the couch to lie down before I keeled over from getting up too fast. There was no fainting, and the nap resumed and it was good. That door with the stupid glass panel I’ve hated since moving in has moved higher on the house list.

“Remoted” Day 347 (Friday)

Hangry is a real thing. Very, very real. That state of being crankier than your usual self when you’re hungry has been the state of being for most of the time since after last Saturday’s dental appointment. I have new respect for the contestants on Big Brother who got stuck eating slop. Of course, the difference is, they signed up for the gig, aware of the possibility they might end up eating mush, and all I did was get my teeth checked and cleaned.

Had I known that last Friday’s supper would be my last solid food for a solid week, trust me, it would not have been a $3 Tony’s Supreme frozen pizza. It would definitely have been a different meal. Better. Grander. Something accompanied by a nice, fresh, dense, chewy bread. Something that could be piled high or twirled around a fork. Perhaps followed by some caramels. Definitely not a cheap frozen boxed pizza.

More soup.

Today at 11:00, the bowl was still sitting on the counter with the unopened oatmeal packet in it. The monotony of a week of oatmeal breakfast must have numbed me to hunger. At lunchtime, it was more monotony with more of the same vegetable soup that has been in play since Monday. To try and jazz it up, some salsa plus some jarred queso was stirred in, and a dollop of sour cream after it was ladled into the bowl and the vegetables smashed with a fork. It gave it some kick and a creamy texture.  

Today was also the start of the new muscle relaxer for the jacked-up jaw. The previous prescription had me sleeping an hour after taking it, which meant I was skipping the morning dose, and taking the midday dose at 4:00 and then the third one before bed. Not knowing if the new script would also knock me out, I waited to take today’s first dose until late in the day. Good thing. This one doesn’t make me tired, but it makes me feel kind of loopy and spacey and like I should be wearing a gauze off-the-shoulder top and a long skirt with Doc Martens and dancing at a music festival. Instead, I’m on the couch in a wool blend sweater and corduroy pants, binge-watching Bewitched on Prime, and periodically checking the functional capability of my jaw. If only I could wiggle my nose like Samantha Stevens and fix it.

The new prescription seems to work. One tablet in, and I can open my mouth a bit more. Feeling like a space cadet might be a worthwhile tradeoff. The jaw is improved, but still not fully corrected. I can’t bite into a grinder or a Beyond Burger with bread, so supper was potato chips and ice cream. Sometimes it’s necessary to just deliver a big, fat "No!" to more vegetable soup, especially after just having eaten it for lunch and all week long. The necessity of it killed the enjoyment of it. Given free reign, I often eat the same thing for days, but the difference here is the perception of  choice.

“Remoted” Day 346 (Thursday)

There are two turtleneck base layer shirts in the wardrobe, one white and one black. For years, they were worn only rarely, mostly for skiing and winter outdoor activities. This winter they have been in heavy rotation as protection under the pricklyness of winter sweaters, both the known scratchy wool and the deceptively soft looking. 

Sweater looks soft,
but needs a base layer.

After being washed, the turtlenecks are usually air dried by hanging them over the shower or the rod in the laundry closet. This has been the drill the entire time living here.

Recently, the white T-neck was washed and hung to dry in the laundry closet, where it was forgotten. For several days, drawers were emptied and the bedroom pile rifled through. The bedroom pile is stuff worn probably once, rendering it too clean for the wash, but not clean enough to go back into the drawer.

A week later, the turtleneck was found when laundry was done again. There was minor rejoicing at the reunion. It was folded and brought upstairs with the week’s clean laundry. And then it was lost again. Drawers were searched, the pile was searched, the dirty laundry basket was searched, and everything was searched again throughout the week. No white turtleneck.

It remained missing for at least another week, but having already found it once, it was even more torturous. Suddenly the lighter colored sweaters were the ones that were the favorites, where the dark T-neck would make the sweater look dingy. Funny how that works. Finally, it was found. In the pajama drawer, layered between a set of gray and white pajamas. Sometimes the clean pajamas go into the drawer, and sometimes they just stay in rotation after the laundry is done, based on whim.

The laundry roulette happens a lot. Shirts, sweaters, leggings, socks. All have been part of the game. Even the dog laundry is not immune, with sweaters and pee pee belts disappearing. There have been multiple occurrences of a sock being found in the bathroom closet folded in a towel, or tucked in the corner nook of a fitted sheet.

This week, it was the black turtleneck that went on hiatus. I swore I’d washed it, but when getting dressed, couldn’t find it in the drawer. Or the pile. Or in the pajama drawer. All the other dark laundry was accounted for. The kicker – during the search, not once did it occur to me to check the laundry closet, even though the ordeal of the white T-neck was not that long ago. Luckily, after a few days, something was needed from the closet and the black turtleneck was found.

This can only mean that it’s time to misplace something else. Too bad it wasn't so easy to misplace ten pandemic pounds.

“Remoted” Day 345 (Wednesday)

Last Saturday’s dental visit has triggered a mystery. The appointment was for a routine cleaning, but there was also the tweak for the toothache of the day before. There were 18 x-rays taken, which was noted as “done every five years.” I don’t ever remember having 18 individual x-rays done at once. 

I used to have flaming hair
and could open my mouth.

Anyway, after the appointment, as I was trying to eat lunch with my Mom, I could barely open my mouth wide enough to fit a fork with salad in it. It became a game of eating one piece of lettuce or anything else in the salad one tiny piece at a time. Supper was the same situation with the remainder of the salad I couldn’t eat at lunchtime. 

Flash forward to today. I still can’t open my mouth fully. In highly scientific terms, I can open my mouth the height of one finger. In food terms, I can open it one Family Dollar brand strawberry crème sandwich cookie, which represents the first solid food I’ve had since last Friday. It’s been oatmeal and vegetable soup with the veggie bits smashed with a fork and slurped through the space in the teeth. The slurping sound is gross, even to me. Important note: the oatmeal and the soup are separate meals. The soup is easier to consume if drunk from a cup. Thank goodness I made a huge pot of soup on Sunday.

Brushing the teeth is painful. The outer surfaces are easy, but all the others are difficult if not impossible to access with the toothbrush. My mouth tastes a little like death as a result. It is gross. So, so gross.

There have been multiple conversations with the dental office and a visit to my primary care doctor on Tuesday. After checking it out, the primary team thinks it’s a muscular-skeletal issue. There is no sign of ear infection, yet the earache keeps returning. Another dental visit is probably next, but we’re waiting a day or two to see if the muscle relaxers from the doctor help first. The ice pack has been traded for heat. 

On a whim, while texting with a friend about this tonight, I searched “lockjaw.” Except for my pain being on only one side and my not having stepped on or eaten any rusty nails and contracting tetanus, all the symptoms fit – can’t open mouth fully, headache, earache, jaw pain. The last tetanus shot was in October 2011 after the broken leg incident. 

Over five days of this, a variety of things have danced through my head, including the fear of dying on my own vomit because I can’t open my mouth to hurl. Even after reminding myself that I vomit approximately once every ten years and the last time was approximately 2018. On the bright side, the inability to eat has been rewarded with the loss of two pandemic pounds.

It would be great if this was the only thing that had been going on in the past week, but there is actually more. Too much more.

“Remoted” Day 344 (Tuesday)

I was at the kitchen sink washing some dishes and the dogs were wandering the room, when a sound like a belch or a fart erupted from the bathroom. All the creatures of the house were present and accounted for in the kitchen. Winston paused and looked around.

I went to the bathroom, nervous about what might be found. An exploded toilet was imagined, but the  porcelain star of the room and reason for its existence was calm with the water in the bowl smooth as glass. The shower was dry and empty. The sink, which had been used a few minutes earlier, was not actively engaged in any visible activity, but had water shimmering in the drain pipe.

Back in the kitchen, the dogs were on high alert with heads cocked. The handwashing of things not allowed in the dishwasher resumed. The bathroom belched again. The best uneducated non-plumber guess was a drain clog in the sink, the most recently used fixture. The drain tends to accumulate a black sludgey substance composed of the toothpaste and soap suds that comprise most of its diet. The drain snake was fetched and run down the drain where it met firm resistance, yet yielded nothing upon resurfacing. No hair clog, no sludge. The bathroom closet was searched for drain cleaner and also yielded nothing. 

The Internet, my favorite research friend since the demise of the old, wooden library card catalog was consulted. It yielded a drain cleaner recipe using common ingredients stocked in the pantry – baking soda and vinegar, plus water. 

Drain cleaner recipe.

Following the instructions, water was boiled and poured down the drain. A cup of baking soda, which felt like way too much, but is what the instructions called for, was poured down the drain. Or more accurately shoved down the drain, because it didn’t all want to pour down. The snake was used to try to jam it down, and the baking soda seemed to pack the drain. It was too late to turn back now.

One cup of vinegar mixed with one of water was poured in next, but had nowhere to go. The snake was used to try and move it down. Because the baking soda was blocking the drain, the fuzzing, fizzling, frothing reaction began in the sink, making the next step of putting in the sink stopper really tricky. Once stopped, the sink was to be left for five to ten minutes. Additional water was boiled. Soup was consumed while researching actual plumbers just in case a professional was needed. Finally, ten minutes was up.

After ten minutes, the second pan of boiling water was poured down the drain. The sink became a white frothy mess of baking soda, vinegar, and water accented with the the occasional fleck of black gunk from the drain. And then it was empty. The mess in the sink, like many of life’s messes, had moved on.

A day later, another drain cleaner recipe was found that uses half the measures of baking soda and vinegar. This seems much more appropriate for the small drain in the bathroom sink. Although it didn't specify, the original measure was probably for a kitchen sink with a larger opening, Next time I’ll know.

“Remoted” Day 343 (Monday)

The Victorian invalid show continued as the throat, ear, and head still ached. This encore performance did not happen because it was fun. For possibly the second time in nearly five years, I actually took a sick day. Work emails were checked and. A few things were reviewed. The appropriate work people were notified and the “out of office” auto responder set. A message was sent to the primary care doctor’s office through the patient portal. 

Couchbound with caretakers.

Shortly after 9:00 I was back on the couch for Day 2, wearing fleece and wrapped in a fleece blanket, with a dog curled up at my belly and the other in the bend of my knees. The bed is more comfortable, but on the couch, I’m closer to the exits for when the Canine Overlords demand a foray outside, and it’s where the TV is.

There was napping and movies and attempts at swallowing. An ice pack periodically adorned the jaw with the swelling. The doctor’s office suggested Tylenol, but I don’t have any, and didn’t feel well enough to be driving to get some. The problem with me and the medicine cabinet is, things are bought, used once, linger in the cabinet until it’s one or two years beyond the expiration date, then tossed. And then I finally need some again.

Today was slightly better than yesterday, and hopefully, tomorrow will be improved.

“Remoted” Day 342 (Sunday)

After the dentist yesterday, my jaw hurt a little. This morning delivered swelling and half of a sore throat. Throughout the day, the sore  throat spread to an earache. This is the second time I’ve gotten a sore throat and swelling after dental work. It’s enough to make me never want to go back.

Yet another soup.

With a sore throat and earache reminiscent of my youth, today I embraced the role of the Victorian invalid. Because it's 2021, I was swathed in fleece and not a lovely gown, and because it's me, tragically, there were no servants or family members to cater to my needs as I reclined on the couch all day, so it lacked drama and glamour. This was one of those rare days when the idea of a housemate seemed almost palatable. It was a day of napping with the dogs. There was cuddling, and there was confusion a couple times when I dozed off and awoke to a different movie in progress.

Finally, around 4:00, I felt a couple steps closer to normal and began making soup. The produce that came Wednesday has already started getting weird. The turnips are slightly soft and the tomatoes that don’t even look fully ripe are getting spotty. Into a soup it all went, along with white potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, celery, onion, mushrooms, and frozen broccoli. In a twist with a pathetic ending, the potatoes and turnips were still hard in the soup, so supper ended up being ramen while the proper soup continued simmering. Tomorrow there shall be soup. 

“Remoted” Day 341 (Saturday)

This morning had a routine cleaning appointment scheduled at the dentist. After the weird toothache that started yesterday and rolled right on into today, I’ve never looked forward to a dental visit as much as today’s. The ache was quite unpleasant this morning, starting at the tooth that got the crown over the summer, and the one directly above it. It included my jaw and the headache from last night.

The appointment included a full set of 18 x-rays, which the hygienist said happens every five years. That was thrilling, as the device never fits into my mouth easily. The images showed no decay and no infection.

The professional dental assessment is that my excessive jaw clenching, which has become an all day, every day condition for at least a month, is the cause. It is exacerbated by the upper tooth having a pointy feature making firm contact with the crown below. Even at night when I remember to put in the exceedingly attractive bite guard that causes me to lisp, there is a lot of pressure from the clenching. My shoulders and upper back are so hard and tense they could serve as a wall for handball.  

Whatever. After the cleaning, the dentist made an adjustment by filing down the point and easing the contact of the two teeth. He mentioned the jaw could be sore for around two weeks because the ligaments are aggravated. It’s good the expectation was set.

After the dentist, located halfway between my house and Mom’s, I continued down Route 2 to her house. We looked at old family photos that she has gathered to hand off to one of her cousins. It was nice and lowkey and helped me forget bout my sore jaw for a while.  

OMG, is this snuggling?

The evening delivered a surprise. After roughly ten years of giving each other lots of space, the dogs napped on the couch and were touching each other. Not just their butts, like has seemed to be an accident. They were side by side. Snuggling almost. During the night, Winston sometimes drags his bed a few feet across the bedroom floor to be closer to Moose’s. I am trying to contain my glee just in case it is an intimidation play. You know, like in junior high, when it was possible to completely stress someone out by standing close to them. Or maybe that was just me getting stressed out by my personal tormentors, especially the ones in high school. There was one girl in particular, who would stand in my very long checkout line at DeMoulas to buy a single pack of gum with a large bill, and call me names under her breath while I was counting back the change. She was royally pissed because her boyfriend, who lived near me, had given me a ride home from work. That is high on the list of things I don’t miss from high school. As for my dogs acting cozy with each other – that is high on my list of things to love today.

“Remoted” Workday 223 / Day 340 (Friday)

It’s snowing. Again. Still. All day, steadily, but with less accumulation than would be expected from an all-day snowfall. At least it’s the fluffy stuff, easy to push, rearrange, and relocate. It covers up the old dog pee snow banks and ice chunks and makes everything look fresh again.

My loves.

A random toothache struck from out of nowhere this morning. It’s possible it’s a result of all the jaw clenching, and even with the night guard there is still pressure between the teeth even though it’s not the grinding of tooth surfaces. It was butternut squash bisque for lunch, which was quite yummy and chosen because it was fast to heat up, not because the toothache, which was mild at lunchtime. By supper, the toothache was worse and it was discovered that chewing is painful. The toothache has spread to become a headache. Luckily, there was already a routine dental appointment scheduled for the morning, which was set up months ago. If there has to be a dental issue, the best time for it to occur is the day before an appointment. 

The Canine Overlords have been their adorable selves. Winston’s new cute thing is to stand on his hind legs and put his paws on my leg while I am working. Usually, he just wants my cookie dispensing services, but for a brief moment I can pretend he wants to be near me.  As for Moose, his limp has improved with his medications, but the radiologist wasn’t able to determine anything definitive from the x-ray taken last week. Of course, more x-rays can be done of both legs for comparison. Cha-ching!

“Remoted” Workday 222 / Day 339 (Thursday)

It has been a temptation lately to write to the Hallmark Movie Channel people.

I want to like their product. Really, I’m trying. I’ve managed to cast aside my intense hatred of the romantic movie genre in which they specialize and allowed the productions to run each evening after work, often because I'm too lazy to find something else. I’ve attempted to suspend belief while seeing the same handful of lead actors changing their wardrobes and job titles to be in yet another movie. The females get to at least change hair color and style, but its confusing with the males who always look the same as the last movie they were in.

Some of the story lines are mildly interesting, and it is slightly amusing to see how many ways they can spin the vineyard/B&B/country inn/small business backdrop into a story that isn’t exactly like the previous dozen movies featuring a vineyard/B&B/country inn/small business, which can’t be easy. But dang, please have someone give the scripts a reality check and a grammar review. 

A recent Hallmark movie was enjoyable until the character who is allegedly a professor said “This was always Tracy and I’s favorite …” Seriously, professor, where did you go to school? And if Tracy wasn’t around, would you say “This was always I’s favorite”? I really need to know. Or is it, "Me need to know?"

Later, in another movie, a character who is allegedly a writer said, “Noah has been like family to Nora and I.” What the actual blankety blank? And I suppose she would also say “Noah has always been like family to I.” After the first egregious misuse of “I” it becomes a game to see how many other errors will present themselves. And they do, but the most grating to my ear is the rampant misuse of “me” and “I.” It's the same in "real life" so maybe they are just trying to be realistic. You know, because everything else about the movies where every cookie cutter character is attractive and well-dressed is so true-to-life.

The latest movie took the cake for a story line issue. The 2017 movie featured a character who is a romance writer. Her recent book was criticized for some research lapse, and to help improve the book in process, she is training with a former Navy SEAL for research purposes. We learn the book signing is already scheduled -- for the book that isn't finished yet. We learn she has never traveled internationally because everything she needs is right where she is. The approaching deadline, the travel, and the research issue come up throughout the movie.  And of course, the romance writer and the former Navy SEAL fall in love, because who didn’t spot that from the opening, but that is okay.

At the very end of the movie, the writer is signing books and the former SEAL is leaving for a planned trip to New Zealand. Mere hours before his flight, the writer’s friend books her a ticket on the same flight so she can go away with her newly discovered love. The same flight that is leaving in a few hours, and the friend says the writer has a credit card so she doesn’t really need to pack anything (and there is no time for that anyway). The writer who has never travelled internationally is now leaving her own book signing to fly to New Zealand in a few hours with no baggage and seemingly with no passport, and should probably already be at the airport. That sounds like a few major issues for check-in and security. Or does she maybe have a secret passport, because who doesn’t love dropping $100 on a little government-issued book allowing international travel when there was never any intention of traveling out of the country? And her personal jet pack will get her to the airport in time. It seems the scriptwriter and the team on the movie project starring a research storyline should have done a little research. Just a thought, Hallmark folks. I don't want to see or hear the errors, but it is hard to ignore when they are right there, larger than life. And this is why I can't watch movies with other people.

“Remoted” Workday 221 / Day 338 (Wednesday)

Produce!

A Misfits Market produce box was allowed to happen today. For about a month, when it was time to choose vegetables, I’d end up pushing the box out by a week. Choosing the produce had become stressful, mostly due to a lack of interest in what was available. I’d start reviewing the groups and anything I might have wanted would be already sold out.

Last week, as I was stressing over the options, I noticed a “Mystery Box” option. It was decided that if the Market add-ons were any good, I would keep the scheduled box with the mystery option, otherwise, it would be pushed by a week. Cancelling the subscription was also considered. Checking out the market add-ons was a good decision, because those options were great. There was jarred pesto, pecan halves, mushrooms, and figs, all at great prices. 

The produce box arrived at some point in the afternoon. It must have been delivered by a stealth ninja or a Navy SEAL because there was not a peep from the on-site security team, which usually reacts to a sneeze two blocks away. The chief of security was lounging in the living room. The box had been strategically placed immediately outside the storm door to the deck, making it hard to open the door. Someone please tell me what the deal is with delivery people leaving heavy boxes up against doors. Is this a new delivery standard, or is it just my personal delightful luck?

It started with soft mangoes.

Anyway. Produce was unpacked. There were comical elements, like the head of cabbage that is not much larger than the purple top turnip or the onions. Between the ginger in the freezer from past boxes, and the ginger that arrived today, I'm buried in the stuff. The two mangoes that arrived in the box were soft and not long for this world. 

Nothing had been planned for supper, but after work, I began peeling and dicing mangoes and tossed it with onions. That led to a concoction with a can of three bean mix (kidney, black, and pinto), a can of corn, some hot salsa and a handful of frozen shrimp because mangoes and onion on their own do not a supper make. The cool, sweet mango offset the hot salsa and it was all pretty good for a thrown together, unplanned meal. Now to figure out what the heck to do with all the ginger. Oy. 

“Remoted” Workday 220 / Day 337 (Tuesday)

It was rainy. A cold rain, but still warmer than snow or freezing. The frozen downspouts began to flow again, the gutters dripped less, and some of the ice on the ground liquified and flowed with the rain to the storm drain. And it was good. 

Before all these positive steps occurred, however, things were a bit different. When it was still dark, the cold rain formed a slick coating on the decks and stairs. It was apparent immediately when the dogs went out and started slipping on the stairs. A little later, when I brought the usual half-full lone bag of trash to the bin before rolling the bin to the curb for trash pickup day, I stepped onto the side deck and despite being careful, nearly wiped out.

As the second ex-husband would say in his colorful way, it “was slicker than owl shit.” For full effect, let the voice in your head say those words in a combined Pennsylvania accent that adds an “R” to words where it has no business, such as “Warshing,” and “Warshington” and add a bit of Tennessee twang that elongates the middle of words. It should come out something like, “Ahhh….. That’s sliquor than awe-l shiit.” And that is how treacherous the deck was this morning.

I'll stay here where it's dry and not
 slick, please and thank you.

The bag made it into the bin without neck or hip breakage, but it stopped there. With an ice moat covered with rain and the water moat between me and the curb, it was not worth the potential risk to push the bin over the ice and though the water. Not for one not even full bag of trash.

I have met ice like this before and it didn’t end well for me. When I was in high school, Mom and I were out shopping one winter night. It was dark with ice on the ground and rain falling from the sky. I was wearing my beloved white painter’s pants, popular when I was a know-it-all high school student and before I became a know-it-all college student. As we exited Marshall’s to walk to the car for a quick trip to Friendly’s on Water Street on the way home, Mom told me to be careful of the ice because the rain made it more slippery. I responded with the typical teenage eye roll, big sigh, and snotty “I know.” The words were barely out of my mouth when my feet flew out from under me and I landed hard on my butt in the dirty puddle on the ice. My pants were saturated and dirty and our night ended early. To this day, I am careful on water covered ice. Especially when it is slicker than owl shit.

The dogs scaled back to only half the usual 10,000 trips outside and spared me the attitude when I told them to be careful. The rest of the time they alternated napping and yapping. I managed just one more outdoor adventure after the trash drop. I carefully shuffle-walked and slid to the downspout at the front of the house to check the ice situation and corral Winston from the end of the driveway where he was enjoying happy rainy day playtime and stepping onto the snowbank. Then I shuffle-walked and slid up the driveway to the other previously frozen downspout towards the back of the house. After that it was happily indoors all day for me.

“Remoted” Day 336 (Monday)

On this date in 2013, it was my last day of work at the full-service marketing agency in Tennessee where I had worked for 6 years and 11 months. It was a great job with a great team, and a wonderful learning experience. The projects I worked on were varied and interesting. There was account literature, ad campaigns, and even a historical video for banking clients; video scripts, website content, and mentions in industrial publications for our iron foundry client; research, video scripting, and historic interpretive panels for a Civil War Interpretive Park; research and content development for a project for the local museum; and countless other projects I was fortunate to be entrusted with.

Leaving a great job, selling a house I loved, and moving 1,200 miles with no job lined up was nuts. Looking back on how long it took to restart the career, all I gave up in Tennessee, and how hard it has been to try and rebuild a life since returning, I probably would not do it again. In Tennessee, I was frustrated and missed my family, and it took leaving to realize just how great I had it there. 

Beer tour victory shirt.

My house was adorable and affordable in a terrific location. There was a large social circle and an artistic life that included an arts co-op and events at the local museum. There were colleagues, artists, friends, and teammates with whom to socialize. I could go to arts openings, Chamber of Commerce events and ribbon cuttings and know most of the people attending.

Coinciding with the last day of agency work was the triumphant completion of my second World Beer Tour at the Old Chicago Pizza and Taproom in Clarksville. The beer tour consists of drinking 110 beers. It took me roughly three years to complete the first beer tour, and about a year to complete the second. Once the house was listed for sale the clock was ticking on that second tour and I was determined to finish. The beer tour program includes mini-tours throughout the year with commemorative tee shirts, and progress gifts at designated benchmarks. I earned bottle openers, a compass, ball cap, travel cup, sweatshirt, and dozens of tee shirts. Beer tour completion got my name on a metal plaque on “The Wall of Foam.” While this feat carried a level of satisfaction, it did not carry the same sense of accomplishment as seeing my name listed in the credits of the video shown at the Interpretive Park, or bylines in the weekly newspaper at a previous job. Most of the beer tour commemorative items were donated to charity on my way out of town, but I still have every issue of the weekly and monthly papers I wrote for.

The best thing about Old Chicago was the friends and our standing Thursday night meetup which sometimes included playing trivia and any time the weather was nice enough, sitting on the deck discussing any number of interesting topics. Sometimes there were two of us, other times it was a crowd, and it was always fun. Looking back, February 2013 marks more than the end of my Tennessee residency. It’s also the last time I had a social life.

As stressful as having a house on the market for a year and the uncertainty of not knowing when I would be leaving my job and moving, and trying to conduct a job search from 1,200 miles away, the really hard work began after that last day of work and celebratory conquering of the beer tour. There was two weeks before the closing to finish downsizing the household, pack, and move.

“Remoted” Day 335 (Sunday)

There was a burst of mild activity, but nothing that could be considered a Valentine’s Day festivity at The BungaLowell. There were no chocolates or flowers or cards or decorations because I don't seem to love myself enough or I am too cheap to shop for and shower myself with gifts. 

Due to the failure to fully remove snow from the storm early last week, the fortress of solitude is fortified by ice moats and naturally formed skating rinks at both parking spots.  The downspouts are frozen solid, anchored to the ground by pillars of ice. The gutters are dripping, resulting in an accumulation of ice on the concrete steps at the front door and a slick spot on the deck immediately outside the back door. The icy residential exterior now matches my frozen interior. The metamorphosis is complete.

The natural ice fortifications were further reinforced by contributions from the Canine Overlords of additional yellow ice patches and random poop barriers. The day included time spent outdoors harvesting the poop crop and attempting to chop ice. The ice was attacked with a vengeance and as much power as a plastic snow shovel can wield. It’s lucky the plastic shovel didn’t shatter. An interesting observation during the ice project is that frozen pee on asphalt looks just like regular ice until shoveled up and tossed on a snow pile, where the dirty lemon color is suddenly highlighted.

The picture on the box
 is not this soupy.

Before the impassioned ice chipping, there was a lunch of Hamburger Helper Crunchy Taco dinner made with the instructions for black beans. The directions called for an insane amount of liquid – 2.75 cups of water plus one cup of milk. The ingredients filled the specified 10-inch skillet with little room to spare. The recommended 20-minute cooking time yielded soft rice and looked like soup. The directions said to continue cooking for a few more minutes without the lid until “desired consistency.” 

There was not enough time in the day to get the mess to resemble the picture on the box. Defeat was declared and the mess was eaten soupy. This only convenience this boxed entrée offered over cooking rice, black beans, and taco seasoning from the pantry was not having to measure the rice and seasoning. Perhaps the only benefit was providing fuel for the hostile ice chopping. Today, the value of the specialized ice chopper tool became apparent. Of course, I don’t have one, so the appreciation is from afar.

“Remoted” Day 334 (Saturday)

Snow fun!

The weekend rolled in with invigorating temperatures in the mid-20s. There is still a lot of snow on the ground from the three snowstorms in ten days. It all combined for a good day for snowshoeing.

Despite the chilly weather, trudging through the snow builds heat. Thank goodness for layers and zippers that also got a workout today. Get warm, unzip. Turn a corner into a breeze and zip back up. By the time we had done the first half lap of the field I was sweating. As we trekked through the fields and the woods, I was sweating and my two-layer jacket system was zipped and unzipped dozens of times. The worst thing about sweating in cold weather is when the movement stops and sweat gets cold. So gross.  

Chillin' at the pavilion.

There were six of us playing in the snow this week. Four were on snow shoes, two on cross-country skis. We all know each other from dancing with the same dance studio in our youth, but our age differences put us in different classes back then. We dance together now when schedules permit. There is a core group that danced outside under the pavilion at Saima Park throughout the fall, but I am not quite that hardy and wimped out once it started getting cold.

It was very relaxed. Through our masks we chatted about a range of topics. Some of us are caring for elder parents or spouses. Some of us are working remotely, including teaching.  There was conversation about our various aches and pains from sitting on dining chairs not comfortable for an eight hour stretch, or home office chairs chosen more for looks before knowing it would be sat upon five days a week for nearly a year. Shoulder and neck pain is currently popular in our little group.

The snow excursions let us interact with the cold and snow on our own terms. It makes winter fun, first with the anticipation of it, then with the doing of it. It provides control and a sense of accomplishment. This is not bad for strapping on the modern version of snow walking contraptions that Wikipedia says were first developed thousands of years ago. 

“Remoted” Day 333 (Friday)

Vacation Day!  Friday is generally a good day, but vacation day Fridays are even better. With the Canine Overlords there is no sleeping in, so it was up at 6:00, just like a work day. With no plans to go anywhere, the day's costume was comfy fleece pants – the ones with the penguins wearing scarves and hats. These are pants I used to change into on winter evenings after arriving home from work back in the olden days of dressing for work in tailored pants and pencil skirts.

It took forever to get
the snow out of the ribs.

The morning of the vacation day with no plans was consumed with coffee drinking, episodes of Reba followed by Golden Girls and generic and mindless movies, and dumb games on the phone (Candy Crush and Wooduko).

The snow on the deck was checked and it was still the dry stuff. On Thursday, it had been decided to try a small rug with the snow cleaning method if the snow was right. Instead of grabbing a runner or one of the small rugs from the kitchen, suddenly the area rug under the kitchen table seemed like a good prospect. I love this rug. It is a black and multicolored rag rug. When it arrived, I wished I had gone one size larger. Then I cleaned it. It was hard. The ribs containing the multicolored rag material trap dog hair and dust and dirt. It usually takes up to 30 minutes to vacuum the rug and clean each individual ridge with the edge tool. It's a good thing it isn't larger.

The table and chairs were moved off the rug, and it was rolled and brought to the deck. The rug was laid out on the snow on the deck and covered with loose snow. Then the real work began as the snow was swept off. It took two different brooms, a hand brush, a ton of elbow grease, and a long time to sweep the snow out of the ridges, so I may have put too much on. At least the backside was faster. Hanging the rug over over the deck rail helped with the snow removal. My arms were screaming by the time it was finished and I wished I had started with a mat instead of a rug. Only a couple neighbors I am aware of saw me toiling on the deck in the snow.

Moving it all back in.

The method is supposed to freshen the rug and brighten the colors and it seemed like that was the case.  Every other rug in the house will be easier than the one that was done today. Assuming I ever do this again, of course.

With the rug out of the kitchen, it seemed like a good idea to sweep and wash the floor. This is how a singular task escalates to become a day-long affair. It took a good part of the afternoon to clean the rug and floor, replace the rug, and restore the furniture to the kitchen. 

While this was going on, the dogs, but mostly Moose, were running around confused when I was inside, and barking constantly while I was on the deck. They were outside with me for a while until they became antsy and annoying. Moose’s meds from the Thursday vet visit are already helping and he is using his paw again.

“Remoted” Day 332 (Thursday)

Vacation Day. Check!

Like 95% of my vacation days, this one was scheduled to go to the vet. Today was Moose’s appointment for the mysterious limping situation. The traffic was reasonable, and I arrived 10 minutes early for the 8:00 drop off. Unfortunately, that left me waiting for 40 minutes in the car with Moose because the person opening the office was a half hour late. Oops. Stuff happens. I got to play Candy Crush and tell Moosie what a good boy he is in both English and Finnish. Moosie on hyvä poika!

Moosie good boy.

Moose was a trooper. He rarely seems nervous when going into the office.  When the tech picked him up to take him away, he didn’t even growl at her like he growls at me when I try to pick him up. Then, as she carried him off, he didn’t even look back at me. What a little traitor.

It is Dad’s 80^th birthday today, so I got to enjoy a breakfast visit with him at my sister’s house. For about two decades he said he was 29, then for the next two decades he said he was 39. And now suddenly he’s saying he’s 80. How did this happen? It may explain my own deeply rooted denial of my own age.

After more than five hours at the vet office, Moose was ready to be picked up. The vet called and said there was nothing immediately noticeable in the x-rays to explain the limping, but she noticed he has an enlarged heart to go along with his heart murmur. The x-rays will go to a specialist for additional analysis, and Moose has two new meds to help with pain, a possible nerve issue, and inflammation. Because I was just about to leave my sister’s when the call came, I was on the phone call in the car in her driveway and not taking notes like I would be if I were at home, by the time I arrived at the office I had pretty much forgotten what else she said beyond keeping him off the stairs.

Just another night. Yawn.

At pick up time, I heard Moose barking the minute I entered the office.  The tech at the desk said she had just come in a short time earlier, and he was barking the entire time. Sounds about right. The little dude is very vocal sometimes. Wednesday, when I was out front shoveling, he was inside howling like a forlorn hound dog. Luckily for the vet office, Moose was regaling them with the regular barking and not the tortured howl. He slept in his bed on the back seat floor the entire ride home.

Upon our arrival home, we were met at the door by Winston. He barked, jumped, and wagged his tail in what felt like a celebration. Most likely, he was just happy that the Keeper of the Cookies was back and could resume the cookie dispensing duties. After supper and medications, the boys settled in and lounged and slept and snored on the couch. Winston hogged the blanket, and it was just another normal night after another expensive veterinary vacation day.  

“Remoted” Workday 219 / Day 331 (Wednesday)

The is feeling like a snowy February. It has snowed three times since the month began. Work breaks that used to involve vacuuming have been replaced with shoveling breaks. Yesterday’s fresh accumulation, which added to that from Sunday, was cleaned from the car in preparation for Moose’s Thursday morning vet visit.

Drippy gutter icicles.

Icicles formed on strategic corners of the gutters and the downspouts are blocked with ice. The roof wiring system to deal with icy edges was plugged in, which first required shoveling a path down the length of the deck to reach the outlet mounted on the rear corner of the house. I don’t leave it plugged in all winter because it isn’t needed every day, and the one year I plugged it in and left it, the electric bill was uncomfortably steep. 

The newest snow was light, fluffy, and dry, and seemed perfect for a rug cleaning method used in Finland that I recently saw a video about. Yes, I watched an entire video on cleaning a rug with snow. Yes, I actually enjoyed it. I read somewhere that the early settlers also used this method. The rug is laid out on the snow, covered with snow, and swept with a stiff broom. Then it is flipped and the other side is done, and the rug is clean and fresh and bright. If the snow isn’t the dry stuff, it makes the rug wet.

This is the second recent snowfall that was the dry, light snow, and the second time I was working all day and didn’t have a rug ready to haul out into the snow to clean at a moment’s notice. I need to round up the rugs and have them ready to go for a snow cleaning.

One of the neighbors was cleaning her car the same time I was cleaning mine and she told me more snow is forecast for Sunday. No, thank you. There is no place to put any more. But if it’s going to happen, I hope it’s the light, dry stuff so I can start some rug cleaning.

“Remoted” Workday 218 / Day 330 (Tuesday)

Oh, good, it snowed some more. All day long. The hand crafted snow mountain in the front yard is growing, and my skill at flinging the snow over the four foot tall fence is becoming quite exceptional. 

Hand flung snow mountain.

Last night, as I was about to let the dogs out, I saw that the gutter over the front door had dripped and turned the concrete stairs into an ice encrusted sculpture that could break a neck. Salt was applied, and this morning I was able to chisel off the ice. Of course, it hasn’t been checked for several hours, so who knows what it looks like now.

After work it was a quick supper before a board meeting followed by an event meeting, and there was no 5:00 shovel session. During the brief lunchtime shovel break, the stairs to the side deck and the area of the deck outside the door were finally cleared of the snow from last Monday. The deck stairs don’t collect ice like the front stone and concrete stairs do, and if they hadn’t been buried in a big drift with the big storm last week, they would have been cleared right away.

It felt good. The thing I like about manual labor is the visible results. With the bread and butter work-work, the results are seen mostly as items crossed of a list. Of course, the financial measurement in the form of the regular paycheck is also pretty sweet. 

With shoveling, I put my head down and get busy, and a few minutes later when I step back and survey the landscape, the level of progress is almost always a surprise. It may not be paid work, but it’s still satisfying. It turns out a lot of shoveling can be done in around 20 minutes, at least when it’s the lighter stuff. Now, with the deck stairs cleared, there is an alternate entry to the house for the EMTs after I collapse from all the shoveling. Next up, teaching the dogs to call 911.

“Remoted” Workday 217 / Day 329 (Monday)

Moose has been limping. It started with favoring his left front paw by not putting full weight on it. Soon, he was hobbling on three legs and avoiding touching his paw down at all. When I would try to check for pain areas by touching the shoulder, leg, joints, and paw, there was no reaction, but the limping and hobbling continued. A vet appointment was scheduled, but the soonest one was a few weeks out. 

Moose and his wonky front leg.

When he would put weight on the paw, instead of putting the bottom of his paw with the pad down on the ground, he would bend his lower joint so that any weight was on the top of his paw. The hobbling was getting more jerky and labored. The extra effort seems to be wearing him out, and now even his back legs look wonky. The number for the emergency vet was added to my phone just in case things got worse, it having disappeared when the phone was replaced and more recently added contacts did not transfer over.

After work, when I am parked on the couch, both dogs sleep next to me on the couch or in their beds on the floor. It is lazy and easy and Moose is mostly motionless, and I can stop worrying about him for a few minutes. During the day, he is constantly up and hobbling to the door, the water bowl, and the living room when Winston randomly barks. At bedtime, to spare him climbing the stairs, I’ve been carrying him up to the bedroom in his bed like he is royalty in a palanquin, and it seems like he is starting to enjoy this conveyance method.

His vet appointment is Thursday. I can drop him off first thing in the morning, and he will be there for several hours for observation in between other patients. Calls were made to the vet since the original scheduling to check for cancellations and the chance for an earlier appointment, but there have been none, so we are waiting it out.

This morning, the usual routine was underway. Moose barked me and Winston awake, we went downstairs, the dogs rushed out the door to potty. Food and water was prepared for both, and insulin for Winston. Moose went back outside for his post breakfast potty. The coffee maker was started. That's usually the point where I go upstairs to get dressed. Lately, the baby gate has been set at the bottom of the stairs when I go up, to keep Moose downstairs. This triggers a lengthy barking solo by Moose. When I have tiptoed down stairs to investigate, thinking he was mourning my absence, I see Moose on the floor, barking at Winston on the couch. My best guess is that Winston won’t let Moose on the couch and Moose is vocalizing his displeasure. Today I forgot to set the gate.

While dressing in a glamorous outfit from the winter work from home collection, I heard Moose’s uneven steps on the carpeted stairs. Then it stopped, but he didn’t appear in the bedroom. I went to the doorway, and he was at the next to top step, just standing there, like he got stuck, or ran out of steam or got bored, and was puzzling out what to do next. And then he suddenly tumbled down the stairs. Rolling, flipping, finally bouncing off the wall at the foot of the stairs and onto the dining room floor. And I was racing down the stairs behind him. 

He got up and hobbled a couple feet away and then stood on the dining room rug trembling. And I started crying and holding him and begging for him to please be okay. It was the ugly loud kind of sobbing like in a movie when someone is gutted with grief. I can’t imagine that he wasn’t hurt. He seemed confused by my smothering him. All day, he’s been hobbling a bit more than the new usual hobble, and I’ve been keeping my eye on him even more than usual. Thursday and that vet appointment can’t get here quickly enough.

“Remoted” Day 328 (Sunday)

Wavy when wet.

Last week, there was mention of more snow for today, then midweek, I swear I saw a weather report that said there would be no snow. But, then, it was back On like Donkey Kong^TM (a registered trademark of Nintendo). Sunday plans for snowshoeing were shifted to Saturday, which turned out to be a great success.

The new curling iron, recently delivered from Prime, came complete with a tag bearing the thought-provoking message “Caution-this product can burn eyes.” I can’t figure out exactly how one would burn their eyes with a 1.5” barrel curling iron, but I burned my ear immediately on the maiden adventure. Setting number 15 of 30 is pretty danged hot. Parts of my hair are really wavy, and other parts are straight. This means it's being either straightened or curled to remove the bumps and tame the bushiness. In summer, putting it into a bun after the shower has the taming and curling effect, but it stays wet all day. In winter, the heat of the blow dryer is welcomed. 

Instrument of torture?

Today's exercise in hair styling and makeup was intended to minimize the chance of scaring anyone out in the world at large who might mistake me for a pasty corpse driving down the road. It was for naught when the day’s “play it by ear” tentative plan to go over to Mom’s became “maybe next weekend” when the snow was already falling around 10:00 am.

Snow fell all day and all evening. Several inches piled up. Stairs and walkways were cleared multiple times. One side of the driveway still had two feet of snow from last Monday’s storm. A late afternoon shovel session took care of the last of it, which now lives in the front yard snow mountain after having been heaved over the fence, one shovel full at a time. The snow shoveling workouts, free for the taking, keep on giving this week, and are probably the best free and convenient benefit of snowfall. Shoveling can be as meditative as mowing the lawn in the summer.

Potentially more
controlled when styled.

Between the hat and the hair exposed to the falling snow, the day's snow throwing ruined the hair styling, but it’s not like there were any substitute social plans. Instead of seeing Mom, Russet and sweet potatoes, carrots, and onions were oven roasted for the basis for as yet unplanned meals during the week. And many hours of Netflix were watched. Firefly Lane is really good. When that ended, it was on to The Sinner. I really need to find a way to be paid for all the evening and weekend hours of screen time. Maybe I should get with the times and use the modern parlance and find a way to "monetize" this activity. 

For now, TV screen time  is mostly mindless entertainment, although some shows do inspire emotion in my stony heart. Golden Girls is funny and makes me laugh. Firefly Lane brought tears several times. The Sinner has had a couple moments of squeamishness and averted eyes. It is entirely possible I may come out the other side of pandemic hibernation as some emotional, weepy human full of feelings and all that crap. Kind of scary. 

“Remoted” Day 327 (Saturday)

Snowy woods at Saima.

The outdoors was tackled today, and not just the lingering snow piles from Monday’s storm. The snow earlier in the week made for great ground cover, and several of the Denishawn dancers met up at Saima Park. Some of us were on snowshoes, and others were on cross country skis. There were wooded trails to explore and two fields. A snowy stream flowed through the park near the athletic field, with foot bridges for crossing. 

It was sunny when I left Lowell but Fitchburg was cloudy. The clouds cleared a bit and revealed a blue sky and sunshine. The woods were beautiful – evergreen trees, bright white snow, and shelter from the wind, which had a bit of a bite to it when we were on the flat, open fields.

It was nice to be outside, and even nicer to be out with the group of dancer friends. The combination of fresh air, sunshine, conversation, and exercise made for a great time. It flew by.

Fun in the snow.

Before and after the snow shoe excursion, an attempt was made to breach the big snow pile blocking the backyard gate. Winston the adventurer walked belly deep through the snow in the front yard in an effort to reach the space between the house and the fencepost to escape, unhappy with the small cleared walkway. A shoveled path through the backyard snow has moved up on the priority list so the poor little guy has someplace to romp, frolic, and pee without claustrophobia or the need to flee to larger spaces. 

The day's physical activity involving trudging on top of snow and digging through the snow, after many months of exceptional laziness, has led to muscular soreness. A massage would really help right now, but unless someone is providing Saturday night drive up massage services, I’m out of luck. One of the perils of living alone is the absence of another human who can be conned into providing a backrub. The dogs, while adorable, are completely lacking in massage skills.

“Remoted” Workday 216 / Day 326 (Friday)

All through my life, there were many stories from Mummu about Finland, the country from which her parents relocated in 1893. She proudly told the story of the Finns dressed in white, skiing down the snowy hills with rifles and fighting off the much larger Russian Army. Her passion with the story had me thinking she had witnessed this firsthand, but she was born in America and never traveled to the land of her parents except through their stories. Mummu told of “Sisu,” the tenacious spirit that courses through Finnish veins. Her mother was from a farming family in Finland and became an American citizen in her 70s. 

Flag of Finland

Mom’s father, my Grandpa Ray, was born in Finland and came to America as a young child. I learned from Mummu that Mom was mostly Finnish and a bit of Swedish that came from Grandpa Ray, and that made me us kids half Finnish with a smidge of Swedish.

Dad’s ancestral roots are in England and France. His mother died when I was four, and I have no memories of my Grandma Olive. She was an exotic looking dark-haired beauty in a portrait in the photo album. After her death, Dad, Mom, my brother, infant sister and I moved to the family home. We lived upstairs and Grandpa Simonds and one of my cousins lived downstairs. Despite living upstairs from Grandpa for about five years, I have few memories of him. He was tall. He liked flipping his dentures around in his mouth to horrify us kids. Mostly, he stayed downstairs and we stayed upstairs. He fished. Mom bought him flannel shirts for Christmas.

There were no stories of England or France or Canada or Simonds family pride at our nightly dinner table. There were occasional references to the family rumor of alleged but undocumented Mi'kmaq roots. I only recently learned my paternal grandma Olive was born in Nova Scotia.

When I was in high school, my aunt shared what she had learned about the family tree and our connections to Johnny Appleseed and Count Rumford. It was exciting and the first time ever hearing anything about the family history.

Finnish lion flag (1917-18).

A relative asked recently about my connection to Finnish ancestry and the absence of recognition of the paternal side of my background. I’ve been thinking about the question ever since. The answer is actually pretty simple. I grew up hearing about the Finnish side of my lineage from Mummu. She shared her pride in where her parents came from, and the enthusiasm made it easy to connect with being "half Finnish." That’s the background I know. I learned very little about Dad's family background.

Stories of Dad’s family and his youth were scarce. They usually involved attending parochial school under the tutelage of “the Crows at Saint Joe’s.” He had rheumatic fever as a kid, spent time at Children’s Hospital in Boston, and as a result, his mother wouldn’t let him swim. These few nuggets didn’t give us much to grasp on to. There were no funny sibling stories like Mummu’s favorite about the time her sister Julia accidentally stepped in the pies that were cooling on the pantry floor. The Simonds siblings as adults were people we sometimes visited. As children growing up, they are a complete mystery, and it was almost as if Dad had been an only child. I still don’t know any stories about his life growing up as one of six kids that include any of his siblings. It’s hard to feel a connection to something you know next to nothing about. There is still time.