“Remoted” – Day 380 (Wednesday)

Fresh out of college, my career started in banking in the headquarters of a tiny bank with three offices where each of us had multiple roles. Every teller also had a backroom function, and mine was handling the IRA accounts. From the tiny bank I moved to the larger bank next door, starting at the teller line, then the IRA department, accounts payable, and cash management. During my time there, the bank underwent a merger with a bank in a neighboring city. 

In the last department I worked in at the second bank, my manager was a former bond trader who ended every phone call with “Bye bye, and buy bonds.” Every call. All day, every day. That team was smart, funny, and talented, and we sometimes hung around together outside work. 

Former HQ of a former bank and former employer.

One day, it all changed when the bank was taken over by the FDIC. My department knew it was coming – the executive vice president who headed our department told us and swore us to secrecy. For weeks we rode it out, bearing the weight of knowledge and waiting for March 31, which we knew to be the day the FDIC was coming in.

That designated Friday, as the specified hour approached, we kept watch out the large window in our second-floor office. From there, we had a clear view of the parking lot behind the building at 15 Monument Square. It was the same window that entertained us with views of the liquor store next door. There were patrons who would exit the store and take a walk behind the store to drink, take care of personal toileting needs, and sometimes pass out, to be driven away in an ambulance.

Leading up to the bank’s closing, we had heard stories about vans pulling in and briefcase toting regulators in trench coats piling out and swooping in to take control of a bank. That is exactly what unfolded as we watched from our window. It was less shocking for us than for our colleagues who had no clue, and it was also crazy and stressful with heavy surreal overtones. 

“Remoted” – Day 379 (Tuesday)

Signs of spring.

Signs of spring are appearing in the yard. Green shoots are pushing up  through the dry earth of the flower bed formed last summer where irises and lilies were moved from the front yard for the fence project. The big shame is that the big hosta root ball never made it into the ground after it was hurriedly dug up for the fence post hole. There was no relocation plan and no obvious place to put it, so it sat in the yard. Heck, it’s still sitting in the yard. 

Two dudes came knocking on the door to try and book an appointment for solar panels. Um, no thanks. The main dude just kept talking, because to a hardcore door-to-door salesman, "no" clearly means, "oh, yes, please do ramble on for ten minutes and tell me more." His companion stood there nodding his head the entire time. The only reason I even checked the door was the dogs were barking like we were under attack and I was expecting a Prime delivery. I hadn't yet seen the message the delivery was delayed by a day. 

Monday’s wind blew the caps off the end posts on the gate. They were both in place when the trash went out in the morning, but when the mailbox was checked after work, one was laying in the yard. The location of the second one is anyone’s guess.

Not mine, luckily. But whose?

The wind left an offering in the yard today, perhaps in exchange for the gate cap. It wasn’t money or a winning lottery ticket or anything that could be exchanged for a new gate cap. It’s somebody’s $40 fine for parking on the street during designated hours without a resident sticker. The driver of the blue Toyota probably doesn’t even know they got a ticket. I considered walking up the street looking for the car and license plate noted on the ticket, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood to play Nancy Drew in The Case of the Flyaway Citation. And if I find the vehicle, do I really want to be messing with it putting the ticket on it? Maybe I’ll just mail it to City Hall with a note. 

The level of patrolling over resident stickers is surprising. My neighbor just got a new Jeep a couple weeks ago and hadn’t managed to catch the parking office during business hours. She works from home part of the time, and one work-at-home day got her a $40 citation for parking in front of her home without a resident sticker. The city is not joking with those resident stickers.

“Remoted” – Day 378 (Monday)

The day had a confusing start. Dogs were fed and let outside and back in, Winston’s insulin shot was administered, coffee was made. All was normal, except when the coffee was poured, it was a sheer tan color in the pot and extra white and creamy when poured into nondairy creamer in the cup. A look inside the filter basket revealed that the usual cinnamon had been put in the filter, but not the coffee grounds. Accidental cinnamon water was not going to cut it as a morning beverage, and a new pot was made, including coffee this time. This mystery is still unsolved. 

The innocent  looking latch is
out for my beltloops.

While putting the lone, not-quite-full trash bag into the trash barrel to roll it to the curb for pickup, a beltloop on my pants caught on the gate latch, jerking me back and nearly ripping the loop off my black pants. I don’t understand how this keeps happening, but it feels like the gate latch is out to get me. Ditto for the screws that hold the windows in the kitchen storm door and have succeeded in tearing a loop off my blueish-gray pinwale corduroys from pandemic work wardrobe collection. 

It was a day for good news. Dad had a test scheduled for this morning and by 1:00 I received word it went well. He is now liberated of a blood clot and has two stents installed. He sounded good on the phone and was told he may be home tomorrow.

My Medical Monday trend continued with the cardiologist follow-up, which was changed from an office visit to a phone call and spared me driving back and forth to Chelmsford. He said the stress test and echocardiogram show no signs of heart issues. That’s great, but doesn’t shed any light on why I was nauseated for hours after shoveling and chopping ice. Things to keep an eye on.

At least I can stop worrying I’ll drop dead if I run up the stairs in the house. Activities put on hold after the tech doing the stress test told me not to do anything that would elevate my heart rate can be resumed. Like snow shoeing, except the snow is gone now. And skiing, but, um… feels late for that. But it’s hiking season, and there is dancing, and it will be great to stop playing dead and act like a live human again.

“Remoted” – Day 377 (Sunday)

It was another mostly usual Sunday with a lot of the same. There was TV/Netflix, food preparation, and laundry. When Moose wasn’t sleeping, he was emitting his super annoying whining sound that feels like it goes on forever, and we played at least 24 rounds of “wanna go out?” and “what do you want?” trying to determine what would make it stop. 

There was online shopping for picture hanging nails and clear acrylic shelving, which took significantly longer than it seems it should have, but mostly because there are some crazy and medieval looking solutions beyond just nails for hanging pictures. 

Fascinating!

One of the craziest hanging options is a metal arc that reminds me of a curved sewing needle that twists into drywall until just a tiny hook remains. It is as fascinating to me as the time a friend and I hung an entire show of framed works by our photography group using actual sewing needles because they wouldn't leave marks or holes in the painted walls of the hosting coffee shop. I swore it couldn't be done and was proven quite wrong.  

Woven in amongst all the usual Sunday stuff was an emotionally and mentally exhausting twist that really started on Saturday. In between loads of laundry and trying to not burn things that were cooking were several hours of phone calls and text messages either receiving or relaying updates on a health issue my Dad is dealing with after being hospitalized last night. He sounded pretty good on the phone today, and it seems like it’s wait and see until a test tomorrow. Dad's medical team draws blood and checks on things every one to two hours so it isn't very restful, and he said the hospital food is yucky, so it sounds like a punishment. The COVID-inspired restrictions limit visitors to one a day, which is better than none. 

I’ve decided the situation will all work out in his favor. It has to. He (along with the rest of the family) is a bit stubborn and won’t allow it any other way. That's how it works, right? Decide and it shall be?

“Remoted” – Day 376 (Saturday)

Thank goodness for bands still doing Facebook live feeds a year into the socially distanced days of the modern plague. These entertainment events help break the combined monotony and stress of a solitary pandemic life peppered with various recent health events -- my own and those of family members. 

The recent habit of watching Hallmark Movie Channel’s stupid romance movies has essentially turned my brain to mush, and it’s really gotten depressing watching all the 30- to 35-year old model types fall in love movie after movie. I may need to switch over to the murder channels for a while to reset and cleanse my palate and brain. At least in the mornings and late night Hallmark offers Golden Girls, which I failed to appreciate fully when it originally aired, but thoroughly enjoy now. 

Sobernaught live from
the practice garage!

Over on Netflix the addiction is foreign language movies with subtitles. Reading a movie at least requires some level of alert mental engagement. Thank goodness for the pause and backup buttons for when I space out and miss something important. The new season of Shtisel, about a Haredi family living in an ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Jerusalem, is killing me and keeps making my eyes leak.

Reading subtitles on Finnish, Korean, and Isreali shows, plus daily news and online banking and marketing subscriptions are the closest I’ve come to reading a book. After reading stuff literally all day and night, there is no interest left for a book, so it’s been a dismal failure of the resolution to read a book a month. That innocent idea crashed and burned after the January completion of Charlotte’s Web. Last night I picked up a book of Mark Twain and carried it from the bookcase over to the bed, noticed the spine was really loose and the whole book felt fragile, so it was set down, and that is as far as it went.

Tonight’s much needed, monotony busting, online musical diversion was Sobernaught, my brother-in-law’s band's livestream “from the practice garage.” It was great to see familiar faces and hear live music. The only reading was optional and involved the set list on a white board in some of the camera angles, and was definitely a nice change of pace. It will be an even nicer change of pace to see a band live in a club with other people. 

“Remoted” – Day 375 (Friday)

‘Twas another day when things were done. It started with logging onto the work the computer early to get a jump on the emails. The inbox usually has a healthy dose of professional subscriptions and news articles to start the day before the flood gates release the deluge of sales letters. 

COVID inspired landscaping.

At 8:00, it was a trip to Family Dollar for a couple things that were postponed all week long with the infamous game of "I’ll go at lunchtime … after work …. definitely tomorrow." It’s wonderfully quiet and tidy in Family Dollar when they first open and the store hasn't yet been ravaged by the day's customers. Thanks to the fact that people are slobs, the small bushes near the parking lot were adorned with blue masks entangled in the branches. It’s New Century Modern Plague décor, and very popular, apparently. By 8:25 I was back at the desk again. 

After work, it was a trip to the Post Office, which, like the trip to the store, had been delayed every day since Monday. The intent was to get to the Lowell Post Office before the 5:30 pickup at the drive-up mailbox. After not driving in it for year, I forgot how hellacious 5:00 traffic is. 

It took a good five minutes to exit my dead-end street with limited egress. I ended up taking a right turn because it was my only shot at getting out, even though the intended destination was to the left. Due to the right turn, the destination was altered to the Dracut Post Office. This was not entirely bad, as it took me past Hannaford, which sells beer and ice cream and became the prize for enduring the traffic.

Of course, once in the store, an additional $20 of items was gathered, as if I was possessed by some demon spirit of impulse purchases. Refrigerated pie crust and biscuits, Cape Cod chips (on sale!), Veggie Straws, cookies, and my favorite Post Great Grains Cereal plus orange juice to go with it. And I see the eye rolling over the orange juice on cereal bit, just like some colleagues in our Thursday meeting when I mentioned it after a conversation about the trendy new “cereal milk” for coffee. First, I don’t like milk, and second, in the cereal commercials there was always a bowl of cereal with milk, and a glass of orange juice next to it. Milk plus orange juice is far grosser than orange juice on cereal. Try it if you don't believe me.

Nick's is good.

The big winner was Nick’s Swedish Style Light Ice Cream. I have seen about 10,000 ads for this stuff in my Facebook feed and the highly addictive Woodoku game over the past month. Of course, I ignored the first 9,500 appearances, then began to get curious and finally visited the website. The flavors are interesting – my test container was Coffee Karamel, which tastes pretty good. The best part is the calorie count – the entire container has 240 calories, which is about as many calories as a half cup serving of everything else. This is great news for anyone who eats the entire pint in one sitting, because really, a half-cup is just enough to piss you off and not nearly enough to satisfy. That might be just me, but I doubt it.

On the way home from the Post Office - Hannaford run, I had the benefit of a right-hand turn to go to the ATM and deposit a couple checks I’ve had for several weeks. Yes, I could have deposited them using my phone, and no, I did not do that. Overall, that first hour after work was quite successful. The rest of the night crashed and burned, but at least I have that one personally productive hour to look back on.

“Remoted” – Day 374 (Thursday)

I've won a lottery I didn't enter!

The messages from the scammers have made their way into my inbox and DM.

Last week, there was an email from a Mr. Christopher Wray with the very official sounding Antiterrorism and Monetary Crimes Division at FBI Headquarters, informing me about a large lottery payment I have won from a lottery I never entered. The exclamation points in the greeting are convincing, though.

All I have to do to get it rolling is to send a $96 fee to have my $4.8 million released by the IMF and have a check shipped to me. Simple, right? Last I heard, the FBI was not in the lottery winning notifications arena, and  no, I won’t be sending a payment. 

Sugar baby invite!

This week, over in Instagram, there was a bizarre and random invitation from a self-proclaimed sugar daddy named Thomas who has a new Instagram account with zero followers, one post, and as my magnificent luck would have it, he is, for whatever reason, following me. He says he loves my profile picture, and if he is actually looking at my IG, he must also love food, because that is about 90% of what is on there. 

Although it would be more believable if Thomas was inviting me to a Pampered Chef party or an online cooking group, he has extended a kind invitation to be his sugar baby – with weekly payments. This is intriguing. I know the definition of “young” keeps getting pushed out and 40 is the new 20 and 50 is the new 30, but the reality is, I’m closer to retirement age and an assisted living facility that to any age that is young. Unless, of course, this dude is as old as Methuselah at age 969, in which case, my age would be relatively young. It’s hard to tell by the tiny photo in the message if he is Methuselah, but I'm doubting it, Thomas. 

Sugar daddy Thomas was blocked, but that is now feeling a little hasty. Maybe I should have at least inquired about the weekly payments. After all, I did just also win a foreign lottery, so my luck is running pretty hot. Between the lottery the FBI wrote me about and the weekly payments from Thomas the sugar daddy wannabe, this could be my entry to the easy life. It may be time for an appointment with a wealth manager to develop a plan for my new income streams.

“Remoted” – Day 373 (Wednesday)

In this life that is one big, fabulous series of events, today is yet another anniversary. On this date in 2001, married almost four months and back in the states for about one month, the then-new husband and I moved to Tennessee. He owned a house in Clarksville, but the property management company handling his house while he was stationed out of the area told us the person who was renting wouldn’t leave for six more months.  This meant we needed a short-term rental. 

Once upon a time two decades ago...

Because it had taken many weeks to find and rent any place I had ever lived in Massachusetts, it was impossible for me to believe that we could load a truck, drive to Tennessee, rent a place, and move in, just like that. I insisted we go to Tennessee for however long it took to find a place to live, then return to Worcester, pack my apartment and move. I think that psychologically, I also needed a buffer between returning from a three-month trip to Korea and moving away from my family for good.

In Tennessee, we stayed with X’s best friend and his family, and just like X had said, in a few days we found a house to rent for six months. It was a cute ranch with a deep front yard on a quiet street. The house had an open living room / dining area, small kitchen, two bedrooms and two bathrooms. My furniture from my huge apartment fit well and the house looked nice, but after we moved in, we could smell the damp, musty, dank odor that made us glad it was a temporary place.

The front door was metal and painted black, and offered third degree burns daily after the blazing sun had beaten on it for several hours. The neighbors next door had a ring of stones in the front yard, which they filled with trash all week, mostly cardboard beer cases, and burned each weekend.

The blue garden gazing ball on a wrought iron stand that was in my living room in Worcester was set in the front yard in a ring of flowers, and I could see it when the living room blinds were opened. That is, for a couple weeks anyway, before it was stolen from the yard, leaving nothing but clumps of dirt across the yard in the direction the thief had traveled. Not exactly the Welcome Wagon.

X’s household from when he lived in Gardner had been in military storage ever since he was transferred to Korea. One morning, about a month after we had settled in, we got a call from a driver of a truck that X’s stuff would be arriving in a day or two. The house went from comfortable to overcrowded with furniture in the blink of an eye.

The first months in Clarksville were spent sightseeing, visiting the local abundance of WalMart Supercenter stores (more per capita than anywhere else!), and looking for jobs. X had been stationed out of the area for several years and was excited to take me on his favorite former pastime of “driving around until we get lost in the country.” Unfortunately, everywhere we went, what he remembered as farmland had been replanted with subdivisions, and the only “getting lost” was in a seemingly never-ending series of cul de sacs.

By August, we were able to move into X’s house, located two miles away. As we were setting up house for the second time, we each found jobs. Mine was as a staff writer with bylines in a weekly newspaper, still one of my favorite jobs ever. His was with the corporate training division of a company with franchises nationwide.  It’s hard to believe all this was 20 years ago. Sometimes it feels like yesterday.

“Remoted” – Day 372 (Tuesday)

Dogs not in their beds.

The day had an early start thanks to Moose’s bladder and his barking me awake at 2:57 a.m. to go outside. He often needs to go out during the night, but usually it’s closer to midnight. Winston usually stays in his bed during the potty break, but this morning he went out, too. By 3:15 they were both back in their beds on the floor and asleep, or faking it really well with their deep breathing and snoring. 

Meanwhile, up on the bed, I did the toss and turn thing until after 4:00. Apparently, sleep was being rationed and the dogs were hogging it all. The brain chatter kicked into high gear with an unwelcome and lengthy recitation of every stupid thing I’ve ever done since birth.

Finally, after what felt like five full and glorious minutes of quality sleep, it was suddenly 6:15 and the alarm was going off. Moose began his morning serenade of barking, then went outside. He stops barking long enough to pee, but in no time, he is at the back door delivering another of his monologues and I scramble to let him in before he wakes up the whole street. This is his morning wake-up routine. While the dogs noisily ate their breakfast, the coffee maker made some very strange and frightening noises worthy of a horror movie before producing hot coffee. “New coffeemaker” is now added to the list of things to look for sooner rather than later, and the new 30% off coupon from Kohl’s seems to have arrived just in time.

It was another nice weather day – sunny and warm and the stubborn snow and ice patches are slowly shrinking. Winston spent several chunks of his day laying in the sun on the deck, and while inside, stretched out in the sun spots on the floor. A couple times I went out with Winnie and sat in the sun on the step for a few minutes. He even cuddled with me, so he gets bonus points for affection.

 It’s not as comfortable sitting on a stone step as sitting in a chair, so five minutes was my natural time limit, but it was still a nice break. The deck chairs are currently packed into the shed with the table and lawn mowers and a lot of other stuff, so it is a challenge getting things in and out right now. They can come out of the shed and onto the deck later when I have the patience, strength and time to deal with it. For now, it’s sitting on the step.

Moose is not a sun worshipper or any type of a nature lover, so he avoids staying outside longer than necessary. No matter how nice the weather outside, Moose usually chooses to spend his weekdays sleeping under my desk, behind my chair, or in his bed near the desk, and weekends on the couch or wherever I am. He gets bonus points for steadfast loyalty.

“Remoted” – Day 371 (Monday)

It was the second weekly "Just another Medical Monday" morning. I wished it was Sunday. 

Last Monday kicked off the week at 8:00 a.m. with the echocardiogram in the recent cardiac adventures. Today started with a consultation with the Ear, Nose, Throat specialist as a result of a bump on my uvula that the dentist saw during routine visit months ago. The dentist suggested my doctor check it out. My doctor suggested a specialist check it out. 

Another Monday morning,
another medical office.

The appointment was booked with the ENT, but then I went to the dentist again. That’s when the 18 x-rays were taken that jammed up my jaw so it wouldn’t open for over a week. Obviously, it would be impossible to look at a bump on my throat when my mouth wouldn’t open, so the ENT appointment was changed. The best part of the jaw being jammed was losing three pounds. Sadly, it was short-lived and once I could eat again, it was all found all over again, without even looking. If only finding money was was easy as finding weight.

That brings us to this morning. At 8:15 I was at the ENT to have that bump looked at. It went well. There was an immediate answer, which was, “This doesn’t look like anything to be concerned about.” But we’re going to check it again in about eight weeks to be sure. This is much less stressful than having to wait days or weeks for a test, then wait for unspecified lengths for the test results, and then waiting until yet another consultation to learn what life changes are needed based on the results. When I told her about the appointment delay due to the jaw problem, she mentioned having other patients who had jaw problem after a dental visit, which reduced the feeling of being a freak by a few degrees. Overall, it went well.

Next Monday, it’s back to the cardiologist for the follow-up to the recent tests. Then, after that, hopefully the run of Medical Monday appointments can be halted.

“Remoted” – Day 370 (Sunday)

The stubborn patch of front yard snow.

There has not been an official survey undertaken, but it’s possible, despite temperatures in the 60s today, the last patch of snow in the neighborhood is the one stubbornly lingering in the front yard of The BungaLowell. There is a companion stubborn patch of ice in the back yard. The sun just doesn’t seem to hit those two spots with any effect at this time of year. 

While sitting on the back step to the deck in the sunshine today, and staring at the ice patch along the back fence and the shed in the corner that is showing signs of age and wear, an idea crept into my head. I was running through the inventory of what is in the shed, and when I got to “patio table,” the idea dawned to paint the metal frame a more fun color than the current dark green. 

While the table frame painting is a new idea, for two years I’ve thought some fabric paint or dye might help camouflage the fading on the umbrella fabric which makes it look tired when closed, and weather abused when opened. By way of a reality check, the average duration on the house list is currently two to four years, so the umbrella idea may be close to done percolating, but the table painting may need to run through the usual gauntlet of analysis, doubt, and procrastination before action occurs. Because paint is involved, there could also be the prolonged and agonizing color debate. This is my version of a low-budget, solo home entertainment/improvement system. Fortunately, I’m easily entertained.

Veggies!

When not enjoying the sunshine in brief spells of sitting or picking up doggy waste and dreaming up projects that will probably not happen any time soon, there was the usual Sunday cooking and lounging. Time was spent with Mummu's old photo albums from the 1930s and 40s. Many of the photos are very small, and hard to make out. 

The cooking was a vegetable stir fry that included kale and beet greens, mushrooms, cauliflower, cherry tomatoes, and onion along with with roasted beets, farro, black olives and feta cheese. Of course, there is more for tomorrow, because that is how Sunday cooking works. A little time invested on Sunday pays off later in the week, and one if my favorite things is not having to worry about what to have for lunch.

“Remoted” – Day 369 (Saturday)

My CR-V was at the Honda dealer today for recall service on the passenger air bag. This had already been done once, so several letters had been ignored. They kept coming, and it turned out this is a second recall for this airbag. 

Car 007 in the service area.

When I called to make the appointment, the service team said it could take two hours. Honda has a 0% financing deal going on and the recent stimulus check hit the bank account this week, so it was decided to do my part to help stimulate the economy and spend it. Maybe there would be something I like at the Honda dealership. Or at least something acceptable.

In preparation for auto shopping, there were visits to the Honda website to become acquainted with the current models. The dying breed of Civic 2-door coupe looked nice, and the HR-V looked kind of cool, especially the picture with the back seats flipped to hold a bicycle. These had promise. The Aegean Blue color on any model looks nice. The lot also has a lot of pre-owned vehicles, so it felt promising.

Car shopping is possibly my least favorite life activity. It is one reason why my CR-V is a 2004, bought way back when it was new. Another reason for my old car is that I don’t like most of the vehicle styles. They all look the same to me, like used erasers with a different logo slapped on to tell them apart.

For several years cars in traffic and parking lots have been scrutinized, hoping to see something I like. The curves of aerodynamic design baffle me. It’s not like we can drive 100 mph, so how much does it really help? When barely moving in traffic, do the curves make a vehicle run more efficiently than models with angles?

During the week, I psyched myself up for car shopping to the point I was actually looking forward to it. I imagined walking onto the lot and experiencing a love at first sight moment, but it’s probably all the Hallmark Channel movies talking. Despite the optimism that shopping the Honda lot would be fun and fruitful, it didn’t quite play out like that. The Honda models are boring. There was one Acura SUV that I dubbed “the ex-husband’s ex-wife” model because it reminded me of my second ex-husband’s second ex-wife. It looked okay, but had high mileage.

Amid the hundreds of new and pre-owned vehicles I didn’t like and couldn’t imagine going into debt for, there was exactly one vehicle that I liked. It was navy blue and was more squared without looking to boxy, so it checked a couple boxes on my list. It was a 2015 Mercedes GLK listed at $25,000.

The first thing that went through my mind was that I don’t really have a Mercedes lifestyle and would be a self-conscious nervous wreck driving it. Something newer could be bought for that kind of money. Then the memory of an ex-boyfriend who briefly had a Mercedes crept in. He left the windshield wipers turned on when shutting off the car, and one cold night, the wiper froze to the windshield. While the car was warming up the next morning, the wiper motor burned out and it cost $600 to fix. Anything he needed done to it cost a fortune. There is no room in the budget for expensive Mercedes service and repairs.

After 45 minutes on the lot, no vehicle had inspired me to buy, or to even take a test drive. The gazillion-year old CR-V will be around a while longer. It has relatively low mileage, runs well, is still reliable, and has been paid off since 2008. We get along pretty well and it has things not found in newer models, like angles.

“Remoted” – Day 368 (Friday)

Grandma Olive

Today is the anniversary of the death of Grandma Olive, my Dad’s mother. She was born in Nova Scotia and arrived in America as a child. Just this week I learned that she had a congenital heart condition and was the first woman to have open heart surgery at The Brigham in the 1960s. She died in 1965 at age 52, but nobody living seems to know the cause of death. A newspaper notice says she died on the way from her home to the hospital and had recently been a patient. This got me thinking about all the things we don’t know about the people we are connected to. 

In the curiousness about ancestry, the tube of DNA laden saliva was sent, prompted by encouragement from several cousins and aided by the dinging of the Outlook calendar reminder beginning at 11:15 this morning. Due to crazy stuff going down at work that momentarily felt like walking through hell-fire in a gasoline pantsuit, it was pushed to 12:00. And 1:00. And 1:30. Finally, at 2:15, I bolted from the desk, the office, the house, and drove to the Post Office. The small mailer was deposited into the drive-up mail box with the 5:30 pickup.

All week long, an undercurrent of annoyance that was impossible to ignore made everything a million times more difficult. The humming baseline of aggravation probably amplified everything and nothing was truly as bad as it felt in the moment. The monthly resetting of the cable box, a fact of life for a couple years and usually not worth much thought, was suddenly infuriating. Work stress on multiple fronts with system issues and project problems and unanswered questions that normally wouldn’t be any big deal, prompted a few outbursts that startled the dozing dogs. Before and after work, there were random tears during movies and while reading the news and Facebook posts. Cooking was annoying, as was the fact of needing to eat.

There was the echocardiogram and awaiting word from the cardiologist. Bits of family history gleaned from various relatives indicate that yes, heart issues run in the family, apparently on both sides. A bit of vaccination envy crept in around the edges like a poisonous fog after learning that many people I know in multiple states are already vaccinated and the best I have is pre-registration on the state website, which feels like the waiting list for the waiting list.

It’s good this week is basically over. It is definitely time to shake this one off and reset.

“Remoted” – Day 367 (Thursday)

On a whim, or maybe not exactly a whim, because I have thought about it for years and salivated over the ancestral wonders that could be revealed, I ordered the Ancestry.com DNA kit. The fancier one with the extra “Traits” feature.

While in the Ancestry.com site stressing over the excessive and overwhelming number of “hints” about people on my tree, I noticed there was a sale on the kits. A headline, obviously timed for St. Patrick’s Day, invited people to "find out how Irish" they are. After missing the sale at the end of 2020 by procrastinating, I had told myself I would pounce the next time there was a sale. It was more of a promise fulfilled than a whim. The Ancestry website beckons, “Now that you've created a family tree, take an AncestryDNA test to explore your ethnicity, find DNA matches, and discover people you share a common ancestor with.” Oh, yes. Let’s explore. The magic digits were typed in to pay the $79 fee, partly in an effort to stop breaking promises to myself. 

Someday I will salivate for you.

The kit arrived in a fraction of the 7-10 days mentioned in the ad. This is in contrast to my passport renewal which cost $7.95 for two-day priority delivery that took six days to arrive. I am quite thoroughly miffed at the United States Postal Service, which used to be quite reliable, for the grossly exaggerated and misleading advertising. It seems like I could have pedaled that Priority envelope to Philadelphia on my bicycle and gotten it there faster. At least it wasn’t anything urgent that could have been a problem.

Anyway. Despite the DNA kit arriving several days earlier than expected, the tube still has not been prepared with the recommended level of saliva and mailed to Utah. The excitement seems to have passed. For several days, I’ve seen the pretty pearly white box sitting there while I’m drinking my morning coffee and think, “Ewwww, I’m not going to send coffee spit.” Or supper spit. Is fresh toothpaste saliva okay? Can the test even detect coffee spit? So many questions. Other times, it seems like my mouth is too dry and I need to drink some water first. Then, it’s forgotten again. 

This may need to be treated as a work project with a deadline or set as an appointment on my Outlook Calendar with the nagging reminder. That’s how things are accomplished at work, and what it took to finally get the passport renewal mailed after a six-week delay. When it's finally done, I wonder if the "Traits" feature will reveal a tendency to procrastinate or need for deadlines.

“Remoted” – Day 366 (Wednesday)

Tuesday may have been the anniversary of being remoted from the office, but today is the one year  anniversary of the first day of working from home, and the second St. Patrick’s Day in seclusion.

The first home office setup.

The home office started out in the dining room a year ago. The dining table had been cleared the night before, which wasn’t as easy as folding a tablecloth and relocating a vase. The table had been serving as a workstation for the creation of a Steampunk top hat for an upcoming costumed event. The project was moved upstairs to the spare room and has sat there untouched ever since. The event was postponed, indefinitely it seems. It wasn’t long before the discomfort of the dining room was apparent and the desk and chair were bought, delivered, and set up in the nook off the kitchen. It has worked out brilliantly. 

Better office setup.

In my entire working career, the work delivering the primary income was almost always done outside the house. There were a few years of freelance writing and photography gigs for newspapers and a museum newsletter that involved working from home. Working from home for the main income earning activity had been avoided like the plague, thinking it would be too lonely. It turns out, the modern plague that resulted in working from home revealed it to be quite pleasant. 

Working from home has saved money on multiple casual spending fronts. The afternoon walks downtown with stops into CVS and Rainbow Fashion often involved spending money. Forgetting lunch at home would mean buying lunch downtown. The pandemic inspired absence of a social life has meant no spontaneous cocktail and dinner outings that each cost as much as a week’s groceries. It’s been a weird year with benefits.

Sure, working alone from home lacks birthday cakes and the frequent food-based celebrations common in the office downtown, and loud conversations and ringing phones are replaced by the sounds of street basketball, motorcycles, and rap music, but it feels good to be the queen of my own home-office castle. It’s been liberating. There is no worry of saying something stupid or accidentally and unprofessionally blurting out swears because there is nobody to hear it. Stinky food for lunch carries no risk of grossing out a colleague. If inclined, I could floss my teeth at my desk, which hasn’t been the case, but it’s nice to feel it’s an option. There could be a booming business opportunity in re-grooming now-feral remoted office workers for their return to professional settings.

“Remoted” Day 365 (Tuesday)

Pre-pandemic tax seizure.

One year ago on this date was the last time I walked from the John Street parking garage down Merrimack Street to the bank and my desk in my cubicle in the fourth floor office downtown. Like many other days, I paused for pictures along the way. On this day, it was through the windows of the burger joint that had been seized by the state for unpaid taxes, leaving tables set for customers with bottled water and silverware in the shuttered space. 

It’s the day I mistakenly thought I was being “relocated” to another department by the People Rearranger in charge of facilities, having misheard when he said I was being “remoted” – jettisoned right off company property to temporary seclusion at The BungaLowell, two miles away. 

It was the early days of social distancing. The thought was, if distancing was executed well enough by society in general, the other popular buzzword of that week could be achieved to  “flatten the curve” of the rate of infection to manageable levels for hospitals to keep up.

Here it is, a year after that last confusing day at the office and sitting at my desk in my coat, waiting for the People Rearranger to return and escort me to temporary quarters in another department. This was the “split teams up to avoid having an entire department out sick at once” philosophy.

I imagine I looked like Mummu as I sat there. Countless times she would have her coat and gloves on, ready to go wherever it was we were going, and some combination of Mom, my sister, or I would be sidetracked getting out the door to drive her. She never wanted anyone to have to wait for her, so she was often roasting in her coat waiting for everyone else to get their act together. That was me last year, waiting at my desk for the next piece of information, not comprehending it wasn’t an alternate workspace elsewhere in the bank, I was going to be working from my house, for possibly a couple weeks. Ha! A couple weeks. Now it sounds so innocent. So naive. And slightly miscalculated by about 50 weeks.

Looking back, a few things should have been done differently one year ago. It was definitely the right move to take the snacks from the drawer, but more pens, highlighters, and notepads would have been helpful. As would any of the several lap blankets or the shawl from my file drawer. The plant on my desk, given to me by my former manager on my first day, and the succulent a colleague gave me at Christmas should have been taken home. Talk about neglectful plant parenting. 

Awesome office mates.

Any nervousness a year ago centered on the emerging scarcity of toilet paper and disinfectant and the unknown of the new virus. A year after leaving it, my nervousness centers on returning to the office. It’s going to feel like the stressful yet exciting first day at a new place all over again. 

The dogs, having recovered from the suddenly ever-present hovering human presence, will certainly suffer from the sudden lack of it when it’s time to go back. And I will miss them, too. With apologies to my awesome human colleagues at the office-office, my home office colleagues are pretty amazing. Sure, they don't bring bagels and baked goods, but they cuddle, and that is worth a lot.

It's quite possibly the weirdest personal anniversary I've recognized, not that working all day and watching movies and typing all night are exactly "recognizing" anything. It's just more of the same of the continuing weird that now feels routine and normal.

“Remoted” Day 364 (Monday)

Monday morning fun.

Thanks to the time change, this was a Monday morning of waking up tired. It was also a Monday morning with an 8:00 appointment at the cardiologist’s office for an echocardiogram in the continuing excitement of the “shoveling snow makes me want to barf” saga. The technician was cordial, professional, and didn’t force me into stupid chit chat. I was able to lay on the table for the entire time and not say a word and I loved her for that time of peace and quiet. Before long, I was headed out the door with a follow-up appointment scheduled with the cardiologist for two weeks out.

By 9:00, I was back at the home office and logging in to the work network. The first work task of the workday was a review that is the final step in a process that is so annoying we rotate the task among three of us on the team. This week it’s my turn to be punished with the daily review. In a couple weeks I’ll be punished with the task of coordinating the graphics for the May account statement cycle. The monthly graphics coordination and daily reviews are rotated to spread the pain. It might be fairness, or it might be because the process is so completely annoying and heinous that there is a risk that whoever was awarded sole custody of the chore would quit. This might be an exaggeration for effect, but there are no guarantees.

Task number one, the review, resulted in an error message about Adobe Reader having an issue. By 9:30, the screen was littered with error messages from Adobe, Windows, and Internet Explorer (don’t ask). There were error boxes for each of these issues on the screen, and all commands were frozen. A complete restart was needed. Unfortunately, the restart also triggered updates and the friendly message that “This could take a few minutes.” After 10 minutes, the progress was indicated as 10% done. Based on that initial time of one percent per minute, my calculations indicated it would take 100 minutes to reach 100% complete. Luckily, the rate did not hold steady and it took only 30 minutes to complete. Thirty long minutes of me staring at the screen and glaring at the clock and cursing the to-do list. It was agonizing. But it worked much better afterward.

This Monday morning had come in hot with a little bit too much Monday. Luckily, it loosened the Monday hell cloak and the improvement propelled me through the rest of the day. And suddenly, blessedly, it was done.

“Remoted” Day 363 (Sunday)

Saturday night had a moment of confusion when I thought it was Sunday and then panicked because no laundry had been done. It felt great to realize that all of Sunday still lay before me. Then, I forgot about the clock changing and stayed up later than usual. Before going to bed at close to midnight, the kitchen clock was changed and just like that it was nearly 1:00 am.

Moose awoke at his customary 6:00, which was 7:00 today and felt like a bonus. It was followed by  being tired all day from staying up later than usual and then losing an hour of sleep due to the time change. Napping was avoided to ensure a decent night's sleep tonight.

Most of the day was consumed with rearranging artwork, and it still isn’t great. After taking down two things previously hung on the bathroom wall behind the toilet, the task procrastination process kicked in with lunch preparations and a veggie stir fry with farro and feta cheese emerged. Many hours later, after the wall was rehung, ravioli with onion, green pepper, diced tomatoes, and pesto was made for supper. Laundry happened after supper, avoiding a true and legitimate Sunday night panic attack.

Hung for now.
Still don't love it.

I don’t understand what it is about this house, but I have the hardest time hanging stuff. Previous dwellings were easy to decorate. It was like the walls spoke to me and told me what they wanted. I would be in an art gallery and see something and know exactly where it would go. This house gives me the silent treatment, and everything hung feels forced. It’s annoying. Part of the problem is stupidly placed light switches. An overabundance of artwork is tucked in drawers, storage totes, and shelves. New pieces have been bought, which end up waiting for years to be displayed. 

Today saw calculations and art layouts on the floor. A couple pieces were even hung in the office. There were nails pounded into the bathroom wall, some of which turned out to be the wrong places and the stuff that made it onto the wall is now hiding a few excess nail holes. It’s kind of okay, because as soon as I finally choose a better color, the bathroom is being painted, and all the holes will be patched and the entire hanging process repeated. Of course, if it takes as long as it did to choose a kitchen paint color, I have a few more years. Maybe the house will start talking to me by then.

“Remoted” Day 362 (Saturday)

The sunshine was deceptive today. It looked warm like the 60-plus degrees of Friday, but it was only in the 30s and 40s. The winds that blew in Friday night lingered a bit, and it felt like a letdown that the three warm days of the week were work days where I was indoors at the computer all day except for a few brief trips to the back yard, usually to harvest poop.

It was a leisurely morning of drinking coffee and watching Golden Girls. There were no dental or vet appointments, but part of the reason for that was the vet is only open two Saturdays a month and this wasn’t one of them. It was a bit unfortunate, because the dogs have a new a prescription resulting from a test during Winton’s visit last Saturday. During the week, there was a call that his fecal test showed roundworms. The test was specific enough to specify it was from ingesting cat poop, so big thanks to the neighborhood cats making pit stops in the yard and leaving tasty tidbits for the poop connoisseurs under my roof.

How is she old
enough to drive?

My sister, the superhero, sprang to action and visited the vet for me Friday to pick up the prescription so I didn't need to take time from work to drive to Fitchburg during the week. This afternoon, we met partway between our homes at the parking area for the Rail Trail in Pepperell, for the pet prescription handoff. This allowed my youngest niece to get some driving time in, and I was spared the full trip. It was both fun and somewhat astounding to see her behind the wheel. She was just a beautiful baby, like, yesterday. How is it possible she is now a beautiful teenager old enough to drive? Despite feeling ancient seeing my youngest niece driving, it was fun seeing her and my sister for our brief visit. It was chilly, so we we didn't venture out onto the Rail Trail

Because Winston tested positive for roundworms during his routine check, the vet and I assumed both dogs probably have them so Moose is also being treated. Fun fact – it cost $60 for the stuff to treat the two dogs for roundworms from the free cat poop. Now I get to imagine myself a chemist as I mix Panacur Granules into their supper for five days. This is in addition to the morning medical duties of burying capsules in meatballs of canned food and and twice daily insulin. The fun never stops here. Ever. Oddly, I can't remember to take my own multivitamin, but the medication for the dogs is always religiously administered. Someday I'll get around to my own stuff. Maybe.

“Remoted” Day 361 (Friday)

Red meat and I have a strange relationship. I rarely eat it, and never buy it to cook myself. There have been times when I felt sick in my stomach just walking past the meat counter in a grocery store. Other times, I crave it, and all I can think about is a medium rare burger or steak, which can be a sign of low iron. If the read meat craving hits, I have it in a restaurant, eliminating the stress of both buying and cooking the stuff. 

Today was one of the red meat craving days. By mid-afternoon, my brain was possessed by the idea of a steak and cheese sub. At 5:00, I was ordering a medium rare sirloin tips sub with grilled mushrooms, provolone cheese, and mayonnaise from my favorite local pizza delivery shop. Forty minutes later it was delivered and unwrapped on my kitchen counter. 

The dogs could smell it and twitched with excitement. They practically knocked me over as I carried half the sandwich on a plate to the living room. They know I'm a sucker for their cute little faces and always cave to their begging. 

Mis-steak tips grinder.

The bread was soft, the contents were nice and hot, the cheese was melty. It looked like everything I had imagined. The first bite delivered a steak tip a bit larger than bite-sized and a bit too tough to bite. The second noticeable aspect was a very strong teriyaki taste, as if the steak had steeped in it for a week. It tasted like a mistake and dominated the sandwich. Every bite was overpowered by teriyaki sauce flavor. It made me thirsty. It bummed me out. It made me wish I had ordered something else instead. Anything else not drowning in teriyaki flavor. Despite the overpowering and unexpected taste, it was eaten, partly because red meat felt needed, and there would be no starting over with a dinner plan. It cured the red meat craving and solved the personal hunger situation, but wasn’t satisfying. Lesson learned. May there be no next time for this particular menu item mis-steak.

“Remoted” Day 360 (Thursday)

Several news articles ran today about “March 11, 2020 -- The day that changed everything” on the one year anniversary of the World Health Organization declaring COVID a global pandemic. One day earlier, the governor of Massachusetts had declared a state of emergency. What a year it has been since then.

I didn’t know it, but a few days earlier, Saturday the 7^th, was the last “normal” day in a very long time. It started with a regularly scheduled hair appointment in Worcester, and that evening, friends and I met for dinner at Christina’s Restaurant in Leominster. After dinner we met other friends at the Knights of Columbus where a band was playing. I haven’t seen several of those friends in real life since that night.

The in-person social
season evaporated.

The clues that something bad was blowing in had already begun appearing. While driving back to Lowell from the hair appointment, a message arrived about the cancellation of a work celebration scheduled for Monday the 9^th. On Sunday the 8^th, we didn’t know it yet, but we had what turned out to be our last dance class and rehearsal. Later that day, word was received that the Bellies for Hope fundraiser that we were rehearsing for was cancelled. 

One by one, events were crossed off the calendar. The 4 x 4 Art Sale at The Brush Art Gallery and Studios and the Steampunk themed gala at Fitchburg Art Museum, both scheduled for the 14^th, were postponed. Volunteer events and dance classes were cancelled. Ditto for drumming classes and dental appointments.

As the early spring in-person “social season” evaporated, any sadness was overshadowed by stress and worries about the rapidly advancing, mysterious coronavirus. And it was only the beginning. To say it’s been a strange, awful, illuminating, frustrating, stressful year of change for pretty much, well, everyone, is probably not news to anyone. Some of the change has been in the form of inner knowledge and growth, and the ability to cope with and adapt to changing and uncertain conditions. For some, more successfully than others.

Goodbye social life.

The year of change reminds me a bit of the Franz Kafka novella The Metamorphosis. In the story, Gregor Samsa’s life is suddenly changed when he wakes up one day as a giant bug. Trapped as a prisoner in his new form (in the case of the pandemic, one’s home), he experiences loneliness, isolation, and worry, yet comes to find some enjoyment in his plight. Then he starves himself and dies.

The part where life was suddenly different and there followed a range of various feelings holds true. There have certainly been feelings of loneliness and isolation and worry with intermittent moments of feeling content. Unlike Gregor Samsa, my home is not shared with neglectful family members who find me a burden now that I can’t work and support them. That is a blessing, and there has been no temptation to enact Samsa’s solution, which was to starve himself. Pandemic or not, I can’t check out – who would feed the dogs?

“Remoted” Day 359 (Wednesday)

Three years ago on this date, friends and I attended the Fitchburg Art Museum 1920s themed gala. We dressed up in 20s garb. There were beads and fringe, cut velvet, feathers, long necklaces, vests, and hats. There were themed drinks and many of the guests dressed up, so it was really fun.

Living in the wrong era.

After the event at the museum, which was founded in 1925, there was a related event at the Fay Club, completed in 1883. We went there for drinks in the beautiful wood paneled bar. It really felt like living in a different era for the night. As much fun as it was, it was still great to return to the current era and all its conveniences and comforts. 

I’ve always felt like I was born in the wrong era, and this event, like many others, helped to confirm the feeling. It’s mostly about the clothes. The modern styles and the sloppy aesthetic are not appealing to me. I want glamour and elegance, not athleisure wear. I miss the days when people dressed up to go out for dinner.  Maybe it’s because eating out is so common that it isn’t special any more. When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to be older so I could dress up and go out. By the time I was old enough to have money to go out, attitudes had changed and everybody was wearing jeans and sneakers.

Over the past year, with all the staying at home, at least I haven’t had to deal with the ever-present discomfort of living in the wrong fashion cycle, wrong time and place. It’s been a bit of a blessing. The staying home was easy, but the fear is creeping in that the return to the outside world is going to be tough.

“Remoted” Day 358 (Tuesday)

Things got done. 

Yesterday, which, according to Facebook memories, was coincidentally the ten year anniversary of the receipt of the last passport, a return trip to the Post Office to mail the passport renewal was scheduled for 11:00. The first attempt at mailing the passport renewal on Friday was thwarted by the missing passport card, left at home on the table.

The planned post office trip was officially entered into the official Outlook calendar that reminds me of the things logged upon it as appointments and meetings. Beginning at 10:45, the alert was snoozed, snoozed again, then moved to 1:00, where it was again snoozed and then dismissed. Moving it to Tuesday was considered, but it was deleted instead. The USPS site was consulted and it was learned that the location near me on Father Morrisette opens at 7:30. This was perfect.

At 8:00 this morning, thanks to light traffic and a smidgeon of ambition, I was holding a Priority Mail envelope containing the passport book and card, renewal form, and check, third in the queue behind a couple that was mailing two boxes in a process that took what felt like forever to my insufficiently caffeinated self. Fortunately, it did not actually take forever. It was just that mysterious extension of time that makes everything happen in a state of suspended animation within the confines of the USPS lobby.

Boxed and ready for BBBS.

After the post office there was a trip to the ATM at the branch location near my house, and by 8:20 I was back at home. The passport renewal was on its journey to the Philadelphia processing center, there was a new book of stamps with pictures of pretty flowers in my wallet, a fresh cup of coffee had been poured into a mug, and I was sitting in my blue chair at my yellow desk logging into the network to start the workday.

After work there was a board meeting followed by the finishing of the packing of the donation boxes for the Wednesday pickup by Big Brothers Big Sisters. I wish there was more going out the door, but the donation request came just last week and it took a couple days to commit to the pickup and then gather the items. I never even got to the closets. But it got done. It’s not anywhere near close to everything that could or should be sent off to a new life somewhere else, but it’s what could be gathered on short notice to be packed to be gone. 

Sandwiched between the post office success and the donation box triumph was work and then a board meeting. Between work and the board meeting, paper templates were traced and cut to help with the artwork placement that has been waiting to be hung for months (years?). This is the most activity for a weekday in months. There was makeup on the face at 7:30 am, and except for the mask wearing out of the house, it felt old-time, pre-pandemic normal.

“Remoted” Day 357 (Monday)

Pretty glass bowls live on a shelf.

The entire first floor of the house is in disarray. The kitchen and dining room tables are buried under framed artwork intended for the walls, that just hasn’t made it there yet. The hammer and hanging sets are everywhere. Under the dining room table is a box collecting housewares for the Big Brothers Big Sisters donation pickup scheduled for Wednesday. More empty boxes await the call to action in the enclosed porch. Goodbye kitchen and bathroom wall clocks. You have served me well, but the walls in this house are too small for your fabulousness. You’ve been replaced with smaller models so more artwork can fit. Adios oddball candle holders that require display space and constant dusting. 

There is so much more that should be shed, but emotional attachments keep things in the cupboards, unused, year after year. But I can’t part with the fancy glass bowls and the wood bread and salad set, or the Finnish coffee cups, or any of the other treasures Mummu gave me. Some of them were gifts when she married Grandpa Ray. Even though, as Mom once pointed out, Mummu gave many of these things to me when her intent was to get rid of stuff.

Mummu's Finnish coffee set
and wine glasses.

The closet, drawers, and cedar chest are overloaded and could use a purge, but the same weird attachments to clothes exist. There are still a lot of things Mummu bought for me when I was much younger, and even more special, sweaters she knit for me and my sister. Some of the hand knits are amusing, like the coral-colored hot pants and coral and white striped tank top she made for me when I was thirty. I was never brave enough to wear those knit hot pants, but I love that she thought I was. There are afghans and an amazing oval tablecloth that doesn’t quite work on the current rectangle dining table. I’m pretty sure I’ll have these things until my dying day. It’s okay. I think. 

“Remoted” Day 356 (Sunday)

Curry and stuff!

A Whole Foods delivery happened today as the result of a quest to see what could be procured for approximately the cost of the produce box scheduled to deliver this week. The produce box selection wasn’t very exciting and a lot of choices were settling for things I didn’t really want. Like potatoes. So many potato options. There are still potatoes from the last box.

In the end, Whole Foods delivery won over produce delivery and the produce box was delayed by another week. The order was placed shortly before 11:00, and seven bags of groceries arrived at 1:15. That sounds like a lot of bags, but each bag held only two or three items. The bags were unpacked and cooking began. Chicken was sauteed with broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, and mushroom, and added to leftover rice and the jar of Madras Curry that had just arrived. By 2:00, fine dining was underway, and shortly afterward, the leftovers were packed for a future lunch. 

Apple pie!

A couple hours later, in another inspired moment, an apple pie was baked with the newly arrived MacIntosh apples and some Granny Smiths from the last produce box. The boxed pie crust was creeping towards the “best by” date, and had been bought due to what I can only guess was a brilliant psychological trick at Hannaford in January. There was a sign at the pie crust display declaring a limit on pie crust purchases per customer. The limit made me suddenly want pie crust, which had not even been a thought before that. By the time I got home that day and put away the groceries, there was no interest in using the pie crust. Today showed that when provisions arrive at the push of a button, there is plenty of energy left for turning them into food. 

After the pie baking, it was approaching suppertime. The plan with the late lunch was to skip supper, but suddenly I was hungry and imagining what could be done with mushrooms and a jar of pesto. Supper became onion, mushroom, and Gardein meat substitute Italian Sausage with a pesto cream sauce over spaghetti. It was really good. There are leftovers for lunch.

Multiple ingredient food was cooked three times in one day. The dishes involved were washed and put away. It was like magic. Oh, wait, that was me. It was like there was a day-long possession by the spirit of Betty Crocker. I hope the spirit of Mr. Clean shows up next, it's nearly spring cleaning time.