“Remoted” – Day 441 (Monday)

The gray, cloudy, wet, and very un-summery weather all weekend was the opposite of the weather that graced the area during the workdays last week. Instead of rummaging for summer clothing options, Friday saw three spring weight layers. On Saturday, the winter base layers and sweaters were resurrected for both human and dogs. The heat was turned back on and it was quite depressing. Warmer temperatures are due to return Tuesday, proving that Mother Nature has a hell of a sense of humor.

Torture mask.

Sleep patterns were destroyed. Friday, after the doctor’s office with tetanus shot and cemetery planting with the hard labor of digging out the dense grass growing against the headstones there was a nap that dominated most of the afternoon. Bedtime occurred close to the normal time, but edged later on Saturday, and Sunday was a record-breaker at 1:30. I can’t remember the last time I stayed up that late, but the real mystery was why I was thoroughly awake and still watching Netflix and playing stupid phone games that late.

Moose attempted to get things back on track at 5:45 Monday morning with the shrill barking to go out for the preliminary pee, then again at 6:45 with the final notice to get and produce food. Once up and caffeinated, the day kicked into gear. There was the application of a charcoal peel off mask intended for pore cleansing. The thick, messy goop akin to liquid asphalt was spread on and for 30 minutes I sat on the couch while it dried, awaiting the magical moment of removal and the reveal of newborn-fresh skin.

According to the lofty claims on the label, “charcoal acts as a magnet to gently draw out deep dwelling dirt.” Apparently, there was some damn deep dirt, because the brutal and vicious peel-off process felt like every layer of my skin was coming off. Holy crap, that stuff needs a warning label. 

Eggplant, sweet potatoes, and acorn and butternut squashes were brushed with olive oil and roasted in a rousing culinary feat that managed to not trigger the smoke alarm. This fulfilled the dual goals of weekly food prep and warming up the house with the glory of the 375-degree oven. 

Pan full of veggies and
Field Roast sausage.

Hours of shows were binge-watched. Floors were swept. Dishes were washed. Brownies were consumed. Supper was assembled of Field Roast Smoked Apple and Sage plant-based sausage and various vegetables. It was quite tasty. Basically, it was a normal Sunday, except it’s Monday, making it the perfect setup for one of those confusing short workweeks where the days are all jumbled and calendars show their value.

At 7:00 pm, as a brilliant grand finale to the long and dreary weather of the weekend, the sun blasted through the clouds for the final 1.25 hours before descending for the day. Maybe it was a quick dress rehearsal for the week. The plentiful rain caused the grass and faux-grass to suddenly grow enough that mowing will be required soon. It was originally on the weekend list of exciting tasks, but the rain prevented it from happening. Now it tops the list of things to look forward to during the week. Oh goody.

“Remoted” – Day 440 (Sunday)

Reading the local newspaper online has more challenges than seem necessary. The byline capitalization is generally insane, and line breaks are awkward, but worse are the all too frequent occurrences of misplaced partial words or sentence fragments. It feels like being in first grade and learning to read all over again. When typing in a Word document on my own laptop, things randomly jump to another line in the middle of typing, or randomly delete, and bizarre popup boxes with weird commands appear on the screen seemingly at will. I haven’t figured out if it is the ultra-touchy mousepad, crappy typing skills, or my Bad Technology Karma causing it, but for the past year of using the “new” red laptop, it’s been a constant headache and proofreading nightmare. 

One the run!

Seeing the jumbled sentences in the newspaper daily in many articles is equally frustrating. Recipes are a nightmare because the ingredient list is always messed up in the online version, with measurements including things like 1K salt. Really? One thousand what of salt? Teaspoons? Grains? Either way seems like a huge pain to count out.  

This weekend, both the Saturday and Sunday “Daily Sunrise” emails arrived with the top headlines and a couple of them are real puzzlers. First, there is “In lifting COVID-19 restrictions, Gov. Charlie Baker declares virus “one the run”” Really, “one the run”? Is this a new expression, or another example of why it’s a bad idea when the papers reduce staff and get rid of the editors and proofreaders? Did no one see this after it ran Saturday to fix it for Sunday? Or do we just not care?

Shot with a kinfe?

Later in the listing was “DA: Officers justified when they fatally shot man with knife.” I know the headline is supposed to mean that a man with a knife was shot by police, but it could be more clearly stated, for example, “DA: Officers justified when they fatally shot knife-welding man.” This would have spared me all the time spent wondering about the mechanics of shooting with a knife and if it is also possible to stab with a gun. Neither of these possibilities are explained in the article, but the first sentence more clearly stated the content with “BROCKTON, Mass. (AP) — Two Massachusetts police officers were justified when they shot and killed a knife-wielding man during a domestic violence investigation, prosecutors said.” See, it would not have been so hard to get the headline right in the email synopsis.

“Remoted” – Day 439 (Saturday)

In 2010 on this date, my friend Barry, who was then living in Santa Monica, visited me in Tennessee. Facebook memories reminded me of this today. 

B at the beach in
Santa Monica.

A couple years earlier, I had visited him and we attended the Abbot Kinney music festival in Venice Beach, where I fainted and we spent several hours in the Emergency Room while the medical team insisted on finding a cause beyond the low blood pressure I kept telling them about. No cause was found, and if you’re wondering, it cost $3,000 to faint in Venice Beach, California in 2008. The ambulance ride alone was $900 to go a couple miles, and the police and EMTs on site at the festival wouldn't take “no thanks, I don’t need to go to the hospital, I have low blood pressure” as an acceptable answer. My fainting tour of ERs has also included New York City and the MetroWest area of Massachusetts. Once, I fainted at Burbank Hospital in Fitchburg while in the lab having blood drawn for a routine test. Barry suggested I write an Emergency Room travel guide.

In California, Barry and I went to a nightclub, the Getty Museum, the music festival, saw a movie (Hank and Mike, which has a great soundtrack), had dinner at a terrific Greek restaurant, and played Scrabble. We went to the beach, cruised by the camera store he managed, and listened to Canadian music in his car. He was a chef and cooked some great meals. He was super witty and a lot of the time I felt dumb when I couldn't keep up my end of the banter. 

My visit to California was really fun, and I worried about matching the hospitality level for our visit in Tennessee.

While leaving the Nashville airport, B mentioned that a musician he knew was playing nearby later in the day and asked if we could go. This was amazing – he was in town five minutes and had more and better entertainment hookups. We did our mini version of Nashville – Great Escape Comics, Noshville Deli, then over to Edgehill Studios Café where his friend Joe was playing with a band called “The Young Republic.” Introductions were made, CDs were purchased, and B had a fun reunion with his friend while I basked in the glory and minor celebrity of one of us knowing the drummer. 

During the weekend, we did all the Clarksville hits – Silke’s Old World Bakery and Café, driving around the outskirts of Fort Campbell, kim-bap from Mo Mo Korean BBQ for our picnic at Beachaven Winery’s Jazz on the Lawn event. There was a trip to Blackhorse Pub and Brewery for beer cheese dip and pizza, and a Memorial Day pool party at the home of my adopted Clarksville family.

We took walks with Moose around my neighborhood. On one of those walks, Moose crawled under a car and wouldn’t come out. It was a hot Tennessee day, and it seemed Moose had enough and found some shade. It took a while to coax Moose out from under the car, and B, a self-professed “not a dog person,” carried him back to the house, which was crazy sweet for the cat guy to do. 

Life was so different then. There was Tennessee (which I miss more than I ever suspected possible considering my love-hate relationship with the place while there), I had a social scene, and B was around. 

After we had each moved back to Massachusetts, we would see each other at the annual Canada Day Celebration he organized in Worcester and once or twice we met up for dinner.

Barry. A dear friend
sent me this one.

In 2019, B came for a visit in Lowell. We shopped for vinyl and walked around downtown as snowflakes fluttered in the cold air. Despite he and his wife having recently split up, B seemed okay, but I know from having lived through my own personal versions of hell that what people see on the outside is not always what a person is feeling on the inside. Some people are really good at acting fine when fine is the last thing they are feeling. 

Less than two weeks later, B took his own life. I don’t know what Barry was really feeling that last time we saw each other and the several times we texted over the following couple weeks. I just know I feel sad thinking about him and that he felt the need to punch the clock and check out of life. It’s better to focus on the happier memories of our visits in California, Tennessee, Worcester, and Lowell. Miss you, B.

“Remoted” – Day 438 (Friday)

Today, Friday, was a vacation day. It started like many of my vacation days, with a medical appointment. I woke up tired, because the night was interrupted by numerous nocturnal awakenings, The Canine Overlords (but mostly Moose) demanded to go outside at 12:30, 2:30, 4:00, and 5:30. It was glorious. Really.

The appointment was at 7:00 am, which required being up earlier than on a work day. Getting up early for fun vacation day plans is one thing, and getting up early for an annual physical after being awakened all through the night is a completely different feeling that isn’t fun.

Blood is usually drawn at the annual checkup, so the fasting ritual was observed with no breakfast and no coffee on a morning it would have been most helpful. It turned out the blood work done during the cardiology capers of a few months ago negated the need for bloodwork today, so it was wasted un-caffeinated suffering. But I got a tetanus shot, so that was exciting.

The plan was to meet with Mom after my physical to decorate the family graves in Fitchburg with flowers. First, I backtracked across town from the doctor’s office to the house with the idea of having coffee. Once home, coffee was ruled out because it would take too long to brew and prep the coffee for the road, and the way coffee instantly converts to pee would definitely result in the crisis situation of needing a toilet in the middle of the cemetery planting 45 minutes from home. The dogs were let outside, re-diapered, and I was on my way again. The absence of caffeine-induced alertness nearly caused a side-swipe lane change incident on the highway and the jolt of adrenaline was helpful.  

Mummu!

The planting was fun. Mom had bought purple and pink petunias and some cool white flowers. She was the art director and I was the muscle. Oddly, the lushest and densest grass of the whole place was growing up close to every headstone we were planting. It required extra effort to pull the grass out to plant the flowers on the graves of Mummu and her parents and several of her siblings.

There is no photographic evidence of our horticultural handiwork. Part of the plan was to take photos of the headstones for the ancestry records, but my phone chose this morning to go on strike. It’s been warning me for months that the storage is full, and I’ve been deleting apps and photos every day to squeak in a few more images, but today was the day of reckoning. It flat out refused to take a single image, even after deleting more photos and some of the 93 remaining apps. It may be time to start schlepping around the ten-ton Nikon to take any photos.

The vet’s office was visited for prescription food for Winston and the kibble rationing program can end. Back at home, the lack of morning caffeine caught up with me. Hard. By noon it was nap time on the couch, which consumed most of the afternoon. the day was largely unplugged with minimal social media and no email checked until after supper. In terms of time well spent, the morning was great, but the rest of the day was not necessarily well spent.

“Remoted” – Day 437 (Thursday)

It was one of those days that was hopping busy and went by in a flash. A couple of us are out on vacation days Friday and things suddenly got busy this week so we were all trying to get things done before the end of the day. There were 10,000 emails, things entered for approval, new things hitting the to-do list. Oy.

Veggies and salami.

Suddenly it was 5:00, I was hungry, and there was no supper plan. Thank goodness the veggies arrived yesterday. Things were chopped – zucchini, summer squash, carrot, celery, mushroom, garlic, and halved grape tomatoes. There was a sprinkle of Italian seasonings and much mental debate about seasonings and sauces, but in the end the debate raged on so long that the veggies were cooked and no sauce emerged. In any event, it was good, topped with cheese and plated with Kalamata olives and thin sliced Genoa salami discovered in the deli when getting the cheese. 

Meanwhile, over at the dog bowls …. It’s been a week of rationing Winston’s prescription food since forgetting to get more while at the vet last Saturday. It’s down to literally counting kibble bits and stretching it with some of the general, non-prescription food that delivered in an order of 28 pounds just days before Winston was put on prescription food. The prescription food costs a million times more than the regular food and the dog food budget now eclipses the human grocery budget. For real, a seven-pound bag of the prescription food costs more than 28 pounds of the other food.

The week has included missed phone calls and crossed wires and cancelled online orders. The plan now is to pick up food from the vet tomorrow, because I’ll be near the office when I meet Mom to plant flowers on the family graves at the cemetery.

“Remoted” – Day 436 (Wednesday)

The most egregious of errors has occurred at The BungaLowell. The horror is nearly unspeakable.

There are no snacks. No cookies, no saltine or Ritz crackers upon which to put peanut butter, no candies, no chips. None of these.  Not even a granola bar. The dogs are better stocked with tasty bits than the human of the household.

Oddly, the other day in Family Dollar, the snacks were dismissed. I wasn’t hungry at the time, and was therefore uninterested in looking at any of them. I thought I may regret the choice, but rolled the dice and skipped the snacks, resulting in the current snack dry spell.

Yum, cardboard!

The regret is now hitting. Hard. Heirloom cherry tomatoes are very sweet, but those will not fool me into thinking I’m having a snack. While good, they are not chocolatey or salty or crunchy. This has forced me into the unfortunate position of eating Rye Crisp. 

It’s not that I don’t like Rye Crisp, it’s just that the cardboard color and dry texture make it seem like more of an emergency ration for a natural disaster or zombie apocalypse. Or maybe a substitute for cedar shingles on a Cape Cod house renovation. It’s far from my top snacking choice. Generally, if it were chosen in desperation for a snack, it would have a schmear of soft butter, but the butter is currently in the refrigerator and cold and solid. the package shows it with a slice of cold cut meat, tomato and lettuce, but supper was a tomato, cheese, and lettuce sandwich, so the serving suggestion is not appealing.

The produce box came today, and unfortunately, everything fun was deleted and only basic vegetables and a few fruits kept in the order. An eggplant or a zucchini, while good for a supper stir fry, are hardly a snack. Two mandarin oranges have already been eaten. When carrots are part of most meals, it’s difficult to view them as a treat and not a basic ingredient. So, it’s dry, cardboard-like Rye Crisp for a pseudo snack. Four have already been consumed, and we are now creeping into candy bar calorie territory, but without the satisfaction.

The dogs are loving the cardboard treat, probably because it has the texture I imagine a dry dog biscuit to have. They have been staring at me, transfixed, while I choke down the shingles. The snack situation is going to need a remedy. Soon, Just not right now, it's pouring outside.

“Remoted” – Day 435 (Tuesday)

Many mornings before work, I sit in the living room with the laptop. Morning laptop time includes personal email, social accounts, and sometimes, ancestry research. Evening living room laptop time is for writing.

This morning there was a trip into ancestry.com. There was a records hint for my paternal great-grandfather. It was the “Deaths Registered in the City of Fitchburg in the Year Nineteen Hundred.” The page displayed contains records number 247 through 267. Record 253 is the one for my ancestor, the record for the death of  (no name) Simonds on June 21 at age 15 days young. The cause of death was Infantile Debility – Premature Birth. This made me sad. Other records show the baby had a name and it was Doris Emogene, sister to my not yet born grandfather and his twin.

Baby Simonds was not the only infant on that page of the Deaths Registered in Fitchburg list. Of the 20 records on the page, seven are infants under one month old. The deaths of six other children aged six months to 16 years are listed.  Twenty records on the page and 13 are children. So much sadness on one page.

Part of a page full of sadness

That same year, on the maternal side of the family, my great grandparents had a loss three months later. Recorded in the same beautiful script on the page with records 425 through 445 is record 428, the death of John W. Nakyva. He was born January 23, 1900 and died on September 29 of the same year. Ten of the deaths recorded on that page are of children younger than one year. Also on the page are children between the ages of one year and five years, and another aged 10. That’s another page with 13 children out of 20 records. That is even sadder.

Pretty script, sad records.

Two pages probably do not constitute a scientific sample, but the percentage of child deaths on those two pages is horrifying at 26 children out of 40 recorded deaths. The year 1900 in Fitchburg seems to have been a tragic year for infants and children. So much heartache for so many families.

“Remoted” – Day 434 (Monday)

I haven’t been active on Facebook Dating lately. Sometimes the app even sends me reminder messages to do something, anything. It turns out that weeks have passed since I last looked at it, and there are unanswered messages and conversations that have faded off to nothingness because of neglect. It’s not the guys, it’s me. Or it’s both of us. 

The notable observation from recent visits with the app involve occupations. Dang, there sure are a lot of allegedly local guys working as “drill operator, oil and gas and mechanical engineer, oil and gas workers.” I had no idea that pipeline work was such a huge industry here in New England. The other popular occupation seems to be “Middle East area peacekeeping mission.” It all sounds so fake. I though Massachusetts was big on biotech, healthcare and finance stuff, but it seems it’s oil and gas and peacekeeping.  

An article about dating scammers on the Federal Trade Commission website says, “They’ll often say they’re living or traveling outside of the United States” with jobs like “working on an oil rig, in the military, or a doctor with an international organization.” Hey ladies, if you want an oil rig worker they are all hanging out on Facebook Dating.

There are profiles that are complete gibberish. I read and re-read, and can't figure out what the heck is being said. It's like a random word generator puked out some words and called it a dating profile. 

The conversations follow a pattern – a couple brief messages with introductory and boring pleasantries, then the guy asks for a phone number or email address “so we can communicate directly.”  I thought it was me being old fashioned or bitchy, but “Hi, how are you? Give me your number so we can text,” feels kind of fast from a total and complete stranger. Several websites posting articles about dating scams mention another big red flag as, “The person quickly wants to leave the dating website and communicate with you through email or instant messaging.” Noted, and glad it’s not just me.

One guy, in his first message, asked if I had run into people asking for money. I responded “no, just people who immediately want a phone number or email, which feels like the gateway to a scam.” He disappeared, never to be heard from again. I didn’t feel bad.

There have been a couple guys who launch right in with “Hey Baby, how are you doing, beautiful?” Ummmm…. Pray tell, does that really work? Do other women melt at that sort of talk from a total stranger? Is it my crusty, protective outer shell that prevents my stony little heart from responding to such words from someone I’ve never met? Unfortunately, I have the same reaction as when some stranger dude on the street tells me to smile. 

I really miss the golden, olden days when life presented an abundance of opportunities to meet people (cough, men) IN REAL LIFE. It was fun to have a conversation and then make a decision about continuing the conversation at a later time or maybe right away at a late night diner. Now, it’s guesswork based on photos that look fake, profiles that sound too perfect, and conversations that read like scripts.

Many profiles have photos straight from some modeling agency’s roster. A large percentage are photos of groups of guys at sporting events and bars, and it seems to be up to the viewer to figure out which of the half dozen dudes is the one with the profile. Other guys have another woman in the photo. Seriously? Are they looking for a third? The rest, a smaller percentage, look like actual, normal guys, but a frightening number of those proclaim they are "a GOD FEARING man.” Yes, in caps. Please don’t yell at me, we haven’t even met. And chances are good that we never will. 

The wackiest message yet was not on Facebook Dating, but a rogue message on Instagram. The guy was offering me the chance to be his sugar baby, with weekly money. I suppose it's good work if you can get it, but I don't get why he thought I was the person for that. Maybe I'm hanging out at the wrong cyber dating bar.

“Remoted” – Day 433 (Sunday)

Columbine!

While I was enjoying coffee on the deck this morning, Moose barfed his breakfast on the deck. Minutes later, inside the house, the toilet flush function went on strike again. This is the second time recently, and is probably a sign. A bad sign. 

Over in the flower beds, the Columbine is flowering, and it's nice to see what it looks like when the groundhogs haven't eaten it. This seems to be their off year for inhabiting the space under the shed.  

The umbrella project did, indeed, continue with day two of labor. First, it required shopping at multiple retail locations. The first stop was Family Dollar, to look for fake ferns to use as a stencil. There were none, but I was able to restock makeup remover wipes, a greeting card, and two sets of foil trays with holes in them which seemed like a perfect stencil for dots. The next stop was Home Depot for a can of red spray paint. The third and final stop was Dollar Tree, to look for ferns. One plastic fern floral pick was found, along with two sizes of square plates in case a square motif was decided upon. The plan was loose and fluid. Some may say nonexistent.

Red added -- dots and ferns.

Back at The BungaLowell, the umbrella was taken from the shed and the pole set in the cinder block in the back yard. It looked dusty, so it was hosed off using the new spray nozzle from the Family Dollar excursion. Yesterday, it was discovered that the trigger on the old sprayer turned on and stayed on, providing water longer than needed, and requiring shut off at the water hookup thingy to make it stop. It was breezy, so the umbrella dried quickly. It was breezy, so the painting was a bit more challenging than Saturday when the air was still. 

The plastic ferns were used at the top of the umbrella, and looked not-so-good. They are small, and the effect was too much paint and not much outline. The plan was switched immediately to randomly placed groups of dots. Then more dots. Then, because any project I have ever started with the intent of “random” always ends up evolving into some sort of  order, it was decided to connect the random dot clusters, to form a meandering path. 

It was okay, but felt like it needed more, so the ferns were tried again, with mixed results. Some came out great, others were over-sprayed blobs. Ferns were sprayed until the breeze was too breezy, the gray clouds piled up, and my phone said it would rain in 33 minutes. The supplies were put away and lunch break declared. After that, the umbrella was put back into the shed. It did not rain in the 33-minute window, but the wind would have made it impossible to continue. The red paint, just like the navy and gray, dries much lighter. Thanks to the breeze, I am also wearing more of it on my skin and clothes than the navy or gray.

The jury of one is undecided as to whether this thing is done, but whatever the eventual verdict, the project is paused until at least next weekend.

“Remoted” – Day 432 (Saturday)

Before -- faded lines -- which look
cooler in photos than real life

After dropping a big chunk of money at the vet followed by a lunch of leftover pizza, the umbrella project began. Neighbor guy was home and got the umbrella pole out of the holder in about two seconds. I hauled it to the back yard, opened it up on the tarp, and anchored the pole through the hole of a cinder block set on its side for support. At ground level, the faded strips look a lot cooler than when the umbrella is open at the table.

The hose was dragged from the shed and the umbrella rinsed off again, and good thing, because the water that ran off, despite being rinsed yesterday, was a mix of dirt and pollen that pooled in greenish brown puddles on the tarp. Due to the puddling, the tarp was abandoned almost immediately. 

Leaves from some weeds, hosta, lilac, and irises were harvested to use for stencils. The gray paint was more tan than gray, and sort of faded away, but the navy looked great. Both seemed to dry much lighter. After using the entire can of each color, it looks a lot like camo, and a third color is under consideration to punch it up. There was regret over not buying the can of Chili Pepper Red that was briefly in my hand before doing the math to add up the tally and the frugal gene took control of the wallet. Quality time on the couch drinking ice water provided time to consider a trip across town to Home Depot for a third color of paint and that is where the lazy gene kicked in and the idea tabled until Sunday. 

After a can of navy and a can of gray.
The jury deliberates on adding red.

The process of setting leaves on the umbrella and spraying around the edges took a couple hours.  There was a lot of standing back and assessing, followed by more spraying. After two sprays of the leaves, they were soaked with paint and would drip. There are an unfortunate number of random drip marks on the umbrella, along with weird marks from accidentally including the hand holding the leaves in the spray process.  

There were several breaks during the process, mostly to drink water. After the paint ran out, another break was taken to allow the paint to dry for an hour before hauling the umbrella into the shed for the night. Tomorrow the project will be reassessed for the third color and either will continue or be declared finished. The suspense!

“Remoted” – Day 431 (Friday)

Be Hoppy.

After work, the sun was shining, the air was warm and still, and I was ready to begin the deck umbrella refresh project. First, a long-awaited, thought about since Tuesday pizza was ordered for delivery. 

The umbrella was opened, but I can get it open to only the first notch and no further, so the fabric isn’t as taut as it could or should be. The plan for tonight was to wrangle the umbrella out of the holder, get it to ground level, and hose it off. There was a tarp. There was a cinder block on standby to help anchor the umbrella pole. There was hope that maybe the spray paint magic could start.

The problems were immediate. I couldn’t get the umbrella out of the holder. The round table is exactly deep enough and my arms exactly short enough that I can just barely grab the pole, but can’t get any leverage to raise it from the holder. Now I have to try and hijack a neighbor for help, because the phone a friend option seems like asking a lot. “Hi, friend, can you drive 45 to 60 minutes to my house to take my deck umbrella out of the holder? Oh, then, maybe come back in a day or so to put it back?”

It has been considered to paint the umbrella while it is set in the holder in the table on the deck. The stepstool would work for reaching the outer portions, but the center would be impossible. The deck is narrow and the danger of overspray meeting the neighbor’s white vinyl fence and the siding on my house would give me a nervous breakdown.

The hose was hauled from the shed and the umbrella rinsed off while it was set up in the table. That’s when I learned the spray nozzle doesn’t stays on and doesn’t go off. While holding the hose up high to wash the umbrella, cold water ran down my arm, into the sleeve of my tee shirt, and down my back. Thank goodness it was warm out. After the umbrella, the pollen was hosed off the car. It wasn’t a proper washing with soap, but it helped.

A few minutes later, supper was delivered. I sat on the couch and let the extra-cheese pineapple and black olive covered tastiness bury my disappointment over not being able to start the umbrella painting. It was accompanied by a Wormtown Brewery Be Hoppy India Pale Ale. After that, I felt, if not happy, at least happier. Getting that umbrella out of the holder would make me happy.

“Remoted” – Day 430 (Thursday)

The days are still feeling like one big stretch of blurry blah, and despite 14 months of the working from home, it feels harder. It makes no sense to me that working from home felt easier at the beginning when it was new and completely unfamiliar. Maybe it’s a case of “familiarity breeds contempt.”

Starting to pop.

There were the usual work things with reviews and project miscommunications and flukes that might someday be hilarious.  Earlier this week, on one project, after four attempts to deliver proof files that were not arriving in my inbox, our IT group was contacted. It turned out the emails had been trapped by a scanning filter, and for whatever reason, there was no notice to let me know the emails had been quarantined. The problem was the standard human resources disclaimer with “… makes employment decisions without regard to race, color, sex, religion, sexual orientation, age, national origin …” and more specifically, the word “sex.” Oy. It was a bit funnier today, now that the printed pieces have delivered.

Tonight, after work there was a quick trip to Home Depot for the fabric spray paint for the umbrella project this weekend. I didn’t want to go there, but when I checked the website, it showed there was one can of the color I wanted in stock after there had been nine cans of it last week. The fear was having to spend time on the weekend chasing down spray paint instead of spraying the spray paint. So I went.

The car hadn’t been driven since Mother’s Day, and has a thick and embarrassing coating of pollen. “Wash the car” is now added to the ever-growing list of life maintenance tasks. On the drive back home, I was thinking about pizza, which has been the case since Tuesday morning when a colleague did her speech for our public speaking class presentations about making pizza with her aunt as child and now with her children.

Not pizza, tuna and chips. 

 It would have been easy enough to make happen, as there were probably a half dozen pizza places on the way home from HD, but I decided to wait until tomorrow night. Fresh pizza, when it happens, has been a Friday or Saturday night "special" supper. The idea of ordering pizza on Thursday unleashed the fear of waking up on Friday thinking it was Saturday and instead of parking my butt at the desk for a regular workday, dashing out the door with the dogs to the vet. These are the things I worry about and plan around. This is what life is currently reduced to. Supper was a tuna fish sandwich, which has no chance of day of week confusion. 

Approaching my house, there was a kid from the house across from mine, junior high age, dressed in yellow shorts and no shirt, laying in the street. Literally laying on his back on the asphalt smack in the middle of the street as if he was a speed bump. I tooted the horn lightly, he turned his head to look my way, then got up and went into his house as if this was all perfectly normal. I can’t imagine what that was about. That was the oddball event of the day. Less odd and more normal, there was a bunny in the front yard this afternoon and the rhododendron is beginning to flower.

“Remoted” – Day 429 (Wednesday)

Lily of the valley
beginning to pop.

There is not enough that can be said about the weather this week. It's been spectacular. Fan-frigging-tastic. The days have been warm and sunny and the garden is beginning to bloom. The nights have been perfect for sleeping with the window open a few inches. It’s still light out after 8:00 and, except for the thick coat of pollen on everything, it feels like the perfect weather and conditions. It has me wondering where I can live that has year-round temperatures around 80 in the daytime, in the 50s at night, and with the long light of May and June in New England. That seems ideal. 

The deck table umbrella plan is taking shape and if it comes out in real life the way it is in my head it will be awesome. So, so very awesome. And if it doesn’t actually come out as great as I’m imagining it will, I can take solace in the fact it spends most of the time closed. This weekend is the target for production, weather permitting.

This week’s Netflix entertainment, Dirty John with Connie Britton, has been a thrill ride. Holy crap, what a series. It’s suspenseful and disturbing because it's based on real people and events. Connie Britton is amazing, as always. Her character’s wardrobe and home and Maserati are the life I once fantasized about. You know, when I was in college, living at home, walking a mile from home to classes and then walking to work at a series of minimum wage jobs that paid my tuition. It was fashion magazines like W Magazine with the ads for designer fashions, jewelry, and luxury goods that motivated me. My life was going to be peppered with jewels from Tiffany, vacations to exotic locales, luxury cars, an Amex Black Card, and a huge and beautiful home.

The rich fantasy life lasted until life took over with the harsh doses of reality that no, I wouldn’t be busting out of Fitchburg and landing in the lap of status and wealth. Ever. Sure, Fitchburg made it to the rear-view mirror, but I never managed to figure out how to work my way to being wealthy. At least I like ramen, and the festering disappointment and resentment are the fuel that keeps me going. Who needs a huge home with a view and a Maserati when they can have a tiny bungalow, never-ending vet bills, and a 2004 SUV? So sweet. At least nobody is trying to marry me for my money (or anything else), although that first (now ex) husband used to tell people, including my bosses at the company Christmas party, that he married me for my credit rating and health insurance.

“Remoted” – Day 428 (Tuesday)

Today was the day – the final presentation for the Public Speaking class taken through work. Last week, the instructor and I did a run-through for the screen share of the slides to make sure I knew how to work it all smoothly. There were days of practicing with notecards and checking the timing to make sure I kept to the designated eight minutes, and for days, the time kept running over to nine minutes.

On Monday, a couple tweaks were made to the slides and a new PDF saved and sent to my personal email. The video conferencing system needs to be accessed from the personal system, so I made sure the file was ready and delivered to avoid rushing in the morning before the presentations.

Tuesday dawned with a Google weather forecast near the low 80s, which means no sweater needed. Attire was chosen to look good and professional on the video screen. Hair was combed, which doesn’t happen every day. Makeup was applied in an attempt to not look too pale or tired or scary. I felt prepared, confident, and ready.

The computer was logged on early, with the plan to check work emails then set the slides file on the desktop for a run through. Everything was going according to plan and it felt good. That is, until the slides file was opened, and instead of opening like a normal PDF like it did last week during the run through, it opened in a stupid Microsoft Edge browser window with different (unfamiliar) controls, all sorts of extra visible tools, and weird navigation to change pages. Panic set in, and quickly. The file was closed. And opened. And closed. And opened. Sweat was happening. Swears were ready to erupt.

Emails were sent to line up a backup plan for the instructor to have the file for sharing just in case I couldn’t figure out the file weirdness at my end. 

For two years and up until 8:30 this morning, the laptop now used for work has never had a quirk opening a PDF – just click on the file and there it is. And today, the day of the presentation with 9 slides and a screen share, the day it mattered, despite preparing and practicing, PDF stuff went sideways. Welcome to my world. Bad Technology Karma (BTK) is alive and well. I was close to either screaming or crying, but screaming would scare the dogs, and my makeup isn’t waterproof, so I kept looking for a solution.

For whatever reason, and the best I can figure out, the work changeover to Microsoft Edge one day ago seems to have done something. I don’t know what, only that a PowerPoint file created and saved as a PDF at work last week opened one way, and the same file with one edit on Monday opened a totally different way on Tuesday. The last-minute solution done under the wire ended up being downloading Adobe Reader to open the PDF, so the slides were accessible and functional.

Slides!

The presentations were very interesting and on a variety of topics including cruises, puppy mills, online dating scams, and family pizza making. My topic was improving cell phone photos by getting closer to the subject and compositional tips. I have no idea what I actually said, but afterward, kept remembering things that were forgotten. At least it’s over now, I have the certificate to prove it, and can cross it off the list. Done!

“Remoted” – Day 427 (Monday)

Closing bow - 2009.

According to Facebook Memories, which serves as a handy digital diary, on this date in past years, interesting things happened. From 2009, photos from the Clarksville belly dance show popped up, capturing the sheen of satin skirts and the sparkle of rhinestone, sequin, and beaded dance tops, and dang, I look so happy. Life was fun then. 

In the memory from 2013, the photo was of buildings in the Boston Financial District, taken from Dunkin Donuts before a job interview just a couple months after I had moved back to Massachusetts. There was still optimism and hope and confidence and the total naïve innocence and no clue that the search for a full-time, professional position in my degree field would take three full years.

Early days of long job search, 2013.

A few days ago, the memory was from the time in 2012 when I bought a concert ticket just hours before a Jack White show at Ryman Auditorium and attended alone. It’s the first and only time I attended a concert solo. Generally, if there was nobody to attend something with, I would just not go, which is pretty much the philosophy I have returned to since leaving Tennessee.  

Some day, as I languish in the community room of some old age home, I'll likely be looking back at 2009 through 2012 as "the good old days," probably from  the comfort of a lovely rocking chair. For now, I reminisce about (mourn) those years from my living room futon. 

“Remoted” – Day 426 (Sunday)

Another beautiful spring day of sun and blue sky and fluffy stuff floating in the air. My sinuses are paying the price for the past three days, which is a bummer after having zero allergy symptoms last year, but it could be much worse. It’s much better indoors than outside, so, despite the glorious weather, I ended up enjoying most of the day from the inside looking out. 

Tiny print for 312 pages. Penny for scale.

There was an attempt made to be outside to test the allergies and read an actual book to get away from the screens. The “Read a Book a Month” goal fell apart after January, and this afternoon, I went to the deck with Robert Penn Warren and Band of Angels. It’s probably a great book, but I may never fully know. It’s another one where the typeface is so frigging small it’s nearly impossible to read. Either people in 1955 when this edition was published had excellent vision, or the publisher made every effort to contain the page count and price with miniscule lettering. Holy crap. I made it to page eight before bailing, which is even less impressive considering the story starts on page three.

Videos were viewed and plans formulated for the resurrection of the faded patio umbrella. Sources for fabric paint have been located and a couple ideas are percolating. By next weekend the supplies will be procured, after mulling the ideas and the colors for a couple days. It’s quite probable help will be needed to get the umbrella out of the pole bracket and onto ground level to work on. Ideally, the floaty fluff will be gone when this painting project is finally executed. This is going to be fun. With luck, I won't lose interest before getting it done. 

“Remoted” – Day 425 (Saturday)

Today was a gorgeous day. It was sunny and warm with some clouds and white fluffy stuff that looks like snow or bits of cotton candy filling the air. This is the second day of the fluffy stuff. Mom and I were sitting on the deck chatting and trying to catch the elusive stuff as it floated on the air.

Fresh, glossy navy blue.

While we were doing this, StepDad was in the shed avoiding the fluff and spray painting my deck table to transform it from dark green to a glossy navy blue. The base was sprayed as I would have expected, but the technique for spraying the frame holding the glass top was amazing and I never would have thought to do it the way he did it. He suspended the table top from a beam across the shed using a wire through a screw hole in the edge. It was secured from moving with another wire through a second hole and anchored to a secure point. Tape protected the glass from overspray, and boom, he was done in no time. The base and the pole for the umbrella, and the finial at the top were also sprayed. 

The final step needed for sprucing up the deck furniture is addressing the highly faded umbrella fabric, which will be handled with fabric paint in a manner yet to be determined using materials yet to be acquired. Already, the table frame looks brand new. It didn’t look bad before, but I was tired of the color. Lately, I’m on a blue kick, and next up will be the foundation. The black peeling paint on the cinder block needs some love. And some filler between some of the blocks.

Branches that were not just overhanging the roof to my shed, but literally ON the roof were trimmed from the tree in a neighboring yard. It didn’t seem like many branches, but when they were in the yard it looked like a lot more. Then the chain saw started, Winston ran and ended up under some branches on the ground. He was getting a bit tangled and was visibly nervous, but before I could get to him, he freed himself and bolted for the deck. Poor little guy.  When the limbs were cut smaller, they filled the bed of the pickup truck and was definitely more than my yard waste bin can hold.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll get the fabric paint and tackle the umbrella. Deck goals 2021.

“Remoted” – Day 424 (Friday)

The Friday feeling was in full effect. There was a laser focus and work tasks were completed for the pure joy of crossing them off the list. The presentation for the Public Speaking class final next week was practiced and timed and a full minute needs to be shaved.

As a test, I tried starting the gas mower that wouldn’t work last Friday. After three or four attempts, it cooperated. Maybe it’s the arm strengthening effects of multiple shifts with the push mower earlier in the week, maybe it’s the phase of the moon, maybe it’s the empowering effects of anger and rage, who knows.

White violets on the prowl.

Mom and StepDad are coming tomorrow, and it was important the lawn be neat so that StepDad wouldn’t feel compelled to mow it. Thanks to the gas mower, the front and back yard grass is now evenly cut and free of the lush clusters of faux grass. The front yard has a minor invasion of white violets creeping into the lawn. I love them, and mowing around them was the goal, but dang, that is harder than it seemed it should be and there were some casualties. 

Groceries were delivered, which is still my favorite pandemic luxury. The bags were set on the doorstep and a text arrived saying the driver needed help. There was no help needed. The text continued with a note saying the order was delivered, thanking me for the order, and saying that a five-star rating is very important to the person who delivered it and their family, and telling me to have a wonderful day. After seeing the note, I don’t have the heart to complain about the cracked egg that leaked all over the bag and everything else in it. Nicely done, delivery person.

The evening's entertainment consisted of the Netflix series Halston, which sent me back to the days of high school and college when I cared about fashion and W, a consumer publication of Women’s Wear Daily, was my bible. The series touches on the emerging designers like Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren,  and Halston saying he won’t put his name on jeans "because they are a fad." There are days I wish that had been true. 

In my fashion obsessed days of college, the walls of my bedroom were covered in collages featuring the top models and designers. A male friend of the time had remarked that other girls he knew had pictures of male singers and actors on their walls, but my walls were "a lesson in style." Looking back, it was fun to care about fashion and designers and perfume and lifestyle. My, how life has changed. Now, my life is dominated by dogs and pet food and medications and lawn mowing, and  I couldn't name one contemporary designer if my life depended on it. So sad.

“Remoted” – Day 423 (Thursday)

Today offered some very welcome breaks from the usual routine. It still involved sitting at the desk all day, but the brain requirements were altered and in some cases, refreshing. First, there was the meeting with my manager for goal setting. Who doesn’t love a to-do list with high stakes?

A half hour later, it was an online team event involving team names and trivia and rapid-fire questions, and other games. It was really fun, and my font of random knowledge bits helped my team score points. Of course, knowing the answer to Brad Pitt’s first speaking role in a movie (Thelma and Louise) has colleagues thinking I'm a Brad Pitt fan and know a lot about movies. Neither of these perceptions is true. I got the Swedish word for winter correct (vinter) when I remembered Mummu telling me when I was a kid that there is no "w" in Swedish or Finnish and her mother used to say, "vill you put my sveater on?" It was luck from the fountain of random.

There was accidental learning involved in the event – and I now know another area in which I am way below average. The question was “how many hot dogs does the average American eat each year?” and the answer was 87. Seriously – 87? How in the heck does this happen? I can’t even remember the last time I ate a hot dog. Even in my prime hot dog consumption years, I doubt I came close to that number. And now it’s all I can think about. In the end, my team and I, the aptly named “Better Than the Rest”, beat the other two teams. Colleagues had to bow to us. We rock.

Kira!

Then, as if the day wasn’t exciting enough, after work, it was the YWCA of Northeastern Massachusetts' Tribute to Women 2021. It was a virtual event with an online auction and my friend and colleague Kira was an honoree. The online event was pretty neat and several of us from our team had a pre-recorded shoutout that was done to congratulate Kira. She rocks. 

“Remoted” – Day 422 (Wednesday)

Murder show.

Tonight, I finished watching the third season of Hinterland, a crime show set in Aberystwyth, Ceredigion, Wales, (a real place!) that I have been binge-watching for a couple weeks. It has the basic premise of many other crime shows – big city cop has personal crisis and flees to a small town and quieter life, and ends up constantly busy solving crazy, bloody crimes. This was also the idea behind Death in Paradise, which was set on a pretty island in the eastern Caribbean Sea. 

According to the Wikipedia page for Hinterland, “The series reflects the commitment made in April 2013 by the Director of BBC Cymru Wales, Rhodri Talfan Davies, to show more Welsh language, life, and culture on the mainstream BBC channels.” Wales looks lovely and drizzly and moody, and based on the sheer number of violent crimes depicted in the one rural town in this show created to depict Welsh “life and culture,” I don’t think I want to go there. Ever. It is interesting to note that every show was filmed twice – in English and in Welsh. That’s a lot of work for the actors. I wonder if they were paid for the equivalent of two shows.

As for the pretty little island in Death in Paradise, I’m not so keen on that place either. It looks lovely, but everyone there ends up dead by rather unnatural causes, so that’s not going to be on the top of my travel list any time soon. I guess it’s a good thing that show is set on a made-up island.

The crime show switch has been forced by the Hallmark Channel lineup which suddenly transformed to endless episodes of Reba and Last Man Standing and a bunch of other series once the calendar flipped to May. Thanks, Hallmark. Now instead of sappy movies with happy endings that might teach me how to meet a life partner, I’m looking at grim police procedurals and learning all the most gruesome ways to kill people. Not cool.

“Remoted” – Day 421 (Tuesday)

Cut back, but still big.

The wind returned today. This did not please me, especially when I noticed it was blowing long enough and hard enough to have removed some of the flowers from the bleeding heart transplanted in the back yard. The original plant out front is quite large, even after what was clearly insufficient thinning as it was first coming up. There was not much time spent lingering in the yard with the Canine Overlords due to the wind. A few weeds were pulled from the flower bed, but it was quick and done and not very much fun. 

Work saw several things making progress in the to do list, which always feels good. After work there was a board meeting held via Zoom, which is the clear highlight of the social life, and as entertaining as it can be, the one hour has a lot of pressure riding on it doing double duty as volunteer work and social scene.

While driving recently, in addition to noticing cars I might want to buy, I have noticed that men’s fashions still have not improved. I had hoped that the cyclical nature of fashion would lead to a return of the waistband to the actual waist, but this has not borne out, and man butts and underwear are still on full and disappointing display. 

Not my real neighbor.

While my dream of men wearing their pants at or near the waist have not fully returned, there has been a revival of a previous accessory. The men congregating at the end of my street have added a new layer to their fashion-forward low-slung jeans and baggy coordinated sweat suits in the form of the fanny pack. The update to the fanny pack is that they are not worn fastened around the midsection, and instead it is worn either over the shoulder like a purse, or crosswise on the torso like a cross body bag. Perhaps most amusing, is that they wear it while sitting on the porch of their own home. 

Is this the current comical direction of menswear? What do guys carry that won't fit into any of the dozens of pockets with which their clothing is already blessed? Should I start taking my purse out to the deck when I sit there? Does the man purse match the shoes, or should it coordinate more with the general outfit? If the men are going to be carrying purses now, does that mean the wife or girlfriend can ditch her purse and have him carry her keys and wallet, or do the couples coordinate the purses? So many questions.

“Remoted” – Day 420 (Monday)

Today was the perfect day to shake up the inertia. Work-work got done and there was a test run of the “share screen” feature in our conferencing software for my final presentation in the public speaking class at work next Tuesday. This was a relief.

After work, a couple home-work things got done, partly prompted by a planned visit from Mom and StepDad this coming weekend. Things have really been allowed to slide around here, and I need to get it together so Mom doesn’t see that I am really a slob. It's hard to cling to the illusion that I might have my crap together when it’s laid out on every horizontal surface of the house.

In addition to the general rule that the best way to get the house cleaned is to have people over, the sunshine and nice air temperature helped get things in motion. The weather inspired the planting of half the pansies into the three-tiered planter on the deck. There are still eight more pansies to be planted, which are now in the front porch. Maybe tomorrow they will be set into the earth. At least I’m no longer constantly relocating them from one end of the kitchen counter to the other.

Instruments of torture.

The remainder of the back yard mowing abandoned on Friday then ignored both Saturday and Sunday was tackled. It took a solid hour of hard labor thanks to the thick clumps of faux grass and their ability to halt the push mower/torture device. As a point of pride, only once did I say aloud, “I hate this effing lawn.” Usually, it is much more frequently uttered, as if a mantra, but I heard kids playing a couple yards over and made every effort to stifle my bitching. The suppression of swearing was at least as great a triumph as the completion of the mowing and the workout. 

While I labored, Winston lounged in the sun on the deck, and Moose wandered the yard, following the random paths of mowed grass, which briefly resembled a labrynth. The way the dense greenery winds through the yard made straight and even rows difficult to impossible, and the mower was pushed in any direction it could pass though. To any neighbors observing, it certainly must have looked like a drunk did the mowing. Out of curiosity, I clipped on the pedometer, and it was 800 steps to mow half the back yard with the push mower. The next mow should be easier, because clumps of the yard will not be six to eight inches tall. I hope.

After the mowing and several glasses of ice water, I happened to catch the beginning of a live tarot reading on Facebook that I had no idea was happening. It felt like a sign. In the space of thirty minutes, the intuitive reader did readings for questions submitted by four viewers. There was a question about career, a mother-in-law, and two about romance/relationships. One of the questions was mine and the outlook seems very favorable.

“Remoted” – Day 419 (Sunday)

It was Mother’s Day, and a planned trip to Mom’s. Before leaving, I pulled a sneak attack on Moose to trim his much too long toenails while he napped. After one nail was cut successfully, I boldly moved to a second, which I cut too short and it bled. Moose didn’t react at all and it was the blood on the couch that indicated what I had done. Bad Mommy. Not only did I feel terrible about it, I had to chase him around the kitchen with tissues and corn starch to stop his bleeding then wipe up the blood spots on the floor. 

The traffic was a bit heavy on the way to Mom’s but the reward at the end of it was a relaxed visit in Mom’s yard in the sunshine with my sister, brother-in-law and two-thirds of the nieces in person and one via Facetime. The sun was warm until blocked by a cloud. It was nice sitting outside, which I don’t do nearly enough, and it was nice to have conversations in person, although I don’t recall many specifics. We definitely talked about cars – the ones we own and those I might want to consider buying. The Saturday visit from Chicken was shared.

After a couple hours, my sister and her crew left to other adventures. StepDad grilled burgers while I planted a bleeding heart and some lilies of the valley dug up earlier from my yard and set them in Mom’s back yard. There were the burgers and cole slaw and potato chips for lunch, followed by strawberries with pound cake, and brown sugar cinnamon pie crust pinwheels. 

It was an offline day and there are no photos of the people or lunch or desserts or the transplanted flowers. Just like the low-tech times of the “good old days,” we’ll have to hold the memory of the day in our hearts and minds until sooner or later (but probably sooner) it slips away. It was a great day.

“Remoted” – Day 418 (Saturday)

Chicken in the yard.

Around 6:00, Moose wanted to go outside for his post-dinner business, and as he rounded the corner into the back yard, I spotted a white bird in the driveway. From the front it looked okay, but the rear feathers were pretty messed up and pink flesh could be seen on most of the butt. The feet indicated it was a chicken. 

I rushed to close the gate so Moose couldn’t get near the bird. His vision is poor, so it would probably be purely an accident if he encountered it, but why take risks. Chicken followed me and tried to peck my shiny, brand new, navy blue loafers. Brand new as in, arrived Thursday from Prime Wardrobe and worn today for the first time, which, until Chicken arrived, was the highlight of the day.

After a few minutes, the chicken crossed the road. I do not know why. It went into the neighbor’s yard, and I was a bit relieved it was no longer my situation to deal with. 

Half an hour later, the dogs next door were barking like crazy, which is unusual. They are generally as quiet as statues. I thought of the chicken, and went onto the deck. Neighbor guy was at the fence looking into my yard with a puzzled look. I asked if the chicken was back, he asked if it was mine. Chicken came to me as if we were best buddies. Moose and Winston barked in the house. I texted the neighbors on the other side of me to see if they knew of anyone with chickens. Nope. 

Chicken in a box, pre-screen.

Chicken enjoyed a feast as it pecked in my yard, and the neighbor dogs were ready to knock down the fence with excitement. Growing worried about Chicken’s welfare overnight, a friend with several chickens was consulted. A Prime delivery box was lined with batting that was insulation from a produce delivery that had been saved because “someday this could be handy.” Reasons to be a packrat, chapters 11 and 12. 

Somehow, Chicken was coaxed into the box and the box moved to the deck. Multi-grain bread was pulled from the freezer and the oats and seeds flicked into the box. Cute, tiny peeping sounds came from the feathered guest.

After another series of texts with my personal poultry consultant, the box was moved to the enclosed porch and topped with a screen from the basement. I went back inside to get a bowl of water and discovered dog poop in the kitchen.

Houdini Chicken in a porch.

After a frantic search through the cabinets for a bowl, I returned to the porch where the screen was still on top of the box, but Chicken was wandering the porch freely. Chicken might need to be renamed Houdini. The plastic, non-breakable takeout bowl of water was a hit, with happy drinking and much flicking and eventually stepping into the bowl and spilling it all over the floor before having a poop/pee release. More water in a heavier bowl was fetched, but the bowl was clear glass and seemed to confuse Chicken.

Chicken was coaxed back into the box with a third, non-spillable but rather small dog water bowl. A child/doggy gate, heavier than the window screen, was placed on the box and the overlap arranged so Chicken’s head would not get stuck. The tiny peeping noises were growing in volume and tone and it seemed Chicken was stressed out or maybe it was me projecting my own stress. The dogs were still going nuts inside. 

At 8:00, the neighbors across the street arrived home. After their car was unloaded, I could hear talk of looking for the chickens. It turned out, they had gotten Chicken and a companion earlier today with plans of nursing them to health. It seems like the first thing they need to plan for is securing the fowl. Over two hours, they had both escaped the yard, and one had scootched under the gate to enter and exit my front yard and later, magically escape a box with a screen. The other one was found under a vehicle in a neighboring yard.

It was sad to see Chicken go back across the road, and unfortunate the poultry Air BnB accommodations were not used. In the end, the lawn was not finished from Friday night, and  I was left with chicken poop in the porch, dog poop in the kitchen, a wet porch floor, a wet box with poop and water-soaked insulation, and two confused barking dogs. It was the best Saturday night in the past year.