“Remoted” – Day 502 (Saturday)

There was a text from a neighbor Tuesday night that a tow truck was coming on Wednesday to remove the dismembered car from the yard next door. This is the red Audi that was briefly road worthy before experiencing issues and being planted in the yard where it sat for about a year. The wheels were removed long ago, the front bumper sat on the ground around the corner at the back of the house, a cluster of air fresheners dangled from the rearview mirror, and the driver side rear window was cracked open a couple inches for months, exposing the interior to the plentiful summer rain. The red car used to be the pot smoking lounge of the guy next door. Last summer, he said the engine was blown, he still owed money on the car, and blamed the automaker for the engine situation. 

There was a recent delivery to the driveway of a silver Mercedes with New Hampshire plates via flatbed truck marked with the AAA logo. The Mercedes has several times been pushed to various parking spots in the vicinity. Apparently, it doesn’t run either, and reminds me of my brother’s ordeals with motor vehicles while in his 20s. There was a series of  two and four wheeled vehicles that suddenly didn’t run or worse, were wrecked in accidents.

The sometimes waterfront parking spot.

Wednesday morning, at the suggestion of the neighbor who sent the text, my car was moved to the driveway on the other side of the house. I rarely park on that side, partly due to the giant puddle that collects there and creates waterfront property every time it rains. Plus, it means schlepping bags through the porch and the dining room and climbing over the gate to get into the kitchen. The spot where I usually park is closer to the back door off the kitchen, which is where the dogs are confined when I go out. 

At night, the guy and the girlfriend who seems to have graduated from occasional visitor to permanent guest/resident convene in either her car, parked on the street, or the recently arrived Mercedes with the New Hampshire plates, parked in the driveway. Cell phone screens glow, the aroma of pot wafts from the cracked open windows, and every night I feel like an intruder to the idyllic scene while taking the dogs outside before bed. One recent night, as I descended the stairs with the dogs to my side of the shared driveway, the guy and girl came out of the house. She cradled a huge bong as if it were a baby and seemed startled by my presence as she came around the car to get in for the nightly smoke.

Friday afternoon's home office
  entertainment.

I wish there was privacy at this house, but the close-set houses and shared driveways on both sides make it feel like I am always intruding on something. I fantasize about installing breezeblock walls to define the space and shield the views a bit, but it isn’t realistic. It would occupy too much precious space and be a nightmare for winter plowing. That’s when I start thinking about moving, instead. Someday, when the dogs have left me the housing requirements will be different. I won’t need a yard, but it’s likely I’ll still have a traditional house on a lot, as condo fees seem expensive and for years rents have been higher than the combined monthly principal, interest, and escrow, which is why I  buy instead of renting. 

The imagined yard at the imagined different house is a no-maintenance yard like a development Grandpa Ray once took us to see in Fort Worth. It was new development he said was being marketed to people who were downsizing and gravel played a starring role in the landscaping in the small yards. A  deliberately designed yard that avoids grass and the need for mowing and watering sounds like my kind of yard. All show and no mow.

Friday afternoon, the tow truck finally arrived. It took one guy just ten minutes to attach the car with no wheels to big rusty hooks and chains, drag it up onto the flatbed and secure it, and roll out of the driveway. This was the entertainment break for the day and I had a front row office chair seat.

Commercial filming with
Elizabeth Banks July 23, 2019.

At the office downtown, the out-the-window free entertainment included the shirtless man posing in a window directly across the street from ours (almost daily), movie and commercial filming in the street below (twice), the arrival of emergency services and finally the coroner to deal with a deceased person in an apartment building across the street (once) and a street brawl involving about a hundred high school kids (once). The one guy with the tow truck directly outside the office window at The BungaLowell was moderately interesting and far less exciting, but here, we appreciate the entertainment however it presents itself.

“Remoted” – Day 501 (Friday)

Seeing “Day 501” this morning led directly to me thinking about the classic Levi’s 501 button fly jeans and an old commercial with a blues singer singing about “The 501 Blues.” The earworm stuck with me all day and sent me down a memory trail beginning with how much I loved the look of Levi’s in high school and college, especially on a guy. There was a stretch of time where I wanted Levi’s for myself, but the thighs were usually too tight and the waist was usually too big. For years, I envied the girls who could wear Levi’s. My shape, especially after packing on the notorious "Freshman 10" pound weight gain, was better suited to Wrangler jeans which were fine for rodeo cowboys but less cool for college cool-kid wannabes.

The funniest part of my freshman 10 is that it started immediately after graduating high school and I didn’t even go away to school. I lived at home with my family and walked to my classes at Fitchburg State just like I had walked to my classes at Fitchburg High. I had also quit my high school job right after graduation (another story for another day), stopped dancing ballet (still don’t know why), and because the drinking age was 18 and Happy Hours were allowed in Massachusetts back then, it was easy to invest heavily in drinking. Freshman year, I ironed Mom's work clothes each week for money which was then exchanged for cheap beers in bars and steak and cheese subs at the late-night local grilled meat truck.

Fought the "Freshman 10"
with iceberg lettuce.

In the early college years, there was frustration at my clothes not fitting anymore and needing larger sizes and then a guy I liked told me I had “a pretty face but could lose about five pounds.” That triggered a stretch of time dominated by a strict diet heavy on iceberg lettuce based salads, black coffee, diet soda, and ice water. Every morsel consumed was recorded. The pocket calorie counter was memorized and calorie counts tossed out at random in conversations. There were diet pills and exercises in my room every night before bed.

Weight loss was achieved and soon my Wranglers were too big. I borrowed a pair of my brother’s Levi’s, which miraculously fit. Sort of. The waist was still too big, but I could get my legs into them, and with Candie's high heels the 36-inch inseam worked. Soon, other styles and brands of jeans came onto my radar and my lust for Levi’s was replaced by that for jeans bearing labels by Calvin Klein, Zena, and Chic.

Today’s earworm and the denim clad memories made me a little blue remembering that chapter of life. It was exciting and stressful and awash in beer. The dalliance with eating disorders played out in multiple chapters into my 30s. Counting calories equaled control, at least in that one area of life.

“Remoted” – Day 500 (Thursday)

Holy crap – 500 days of the remote life. It’s a bit less exciting than say, the Indy 500, and it’s a bit less remote than it was, say 499 days ago. Compared to the beginning of remoted life, I leave the house frequently to do exciting things like buy dog food and dog biscuits, take the dogs to the vet and myself to the doctor and the dentist, and mail things at the Post Office. There have been ballet and belly dance classes, both indoors and out, and a handful of hair appointments, cookouts, and day trips, but mostly, over the past 500 days, I’ve stayed pretty close to home. This thing would have played out differently had there been a significant other, kids, or housemates in the picture. I swear.

Never, in my wildest dreams, fantasies, and nightmares did I ever think I’d spend so much quality alone time at home. Never did I ever thing I’d actually enjoy it. For decades I was solidly convinced I had to always have someplace to go and needed to be with people. It turns out that neither is true. Or maybe it used to be true, and like a chameleon, I’ve simply adapted to current conditions. After decades of feeling house poor with a significant chunk of monthly take-home income going towards housing, the past 500 days has provided plenty of time to enjoy the investment. 

In any event, it’s been a real learning experience. I learned that the house makes weird noises and the end of the asphalt driveway was torn up and getting worse because every truck bearing a UPS, FedEx, and Prime logo, along with many drivers who miss the “Dead End” sign and most of the neighbors at the end of the street use my driveway to turn around. All day long.

A couple of layabouts.

Other valuable life lessons have been learned. My dogs are layabouts that sleep most of the day. I like working from home a million times more than I ever thought I would, although the team communications and feeling connected to the colleagues part of it started hard and got harder. Having groceries delivered might be one of the greatest luxuries available to an average person with a $40 grocery budget. Many common household tasks can be completed before starting work or during a five minute break. 

Deciding to chronicle the remoted life was never expected to run this long. Not even close. Heck, working from home was never expected to run this long. Several of us in my department thought it would be maybe two weeks that we’d be working from home before we were reunited in our office suite. Now the tracking of accumulated days has a counterpoint companion tracker as the days are ticked off until we return to the office in September. The chronicling scenario felt like a lighthearted adventure at the beginning, but the longer it goes on, the more often it's felt like a chore. But staying home all the time, what else would I do? Oh right, I could sew, make jewelry or tie dye garments, do photography, make jigsaw puzzles, or set leaded stained glass. Dang, talk about tradeoffs. At least the nightly writing has been less expensive, though a bit more public, than therapy.

“Remoted” – Day 499 (Wednesday)

A gray, drizzly morning started the day. Moose slept on the living room floor and Winston slept on the couch. Winnie, a true stealth ninja who has always managed to magically appear, was soundly sleeping without a sound. Moose, meanwhile, was sound asleep with a soundtrack. Each exhale, every one or two seconds, had an audible poof of air. I don’t know if this is good, bad, or indifferent. He has always been a loud breather and it usually seemed like his sinuses, but this sounded different. Later in the day, his sleeping was quiet.

Ice cream!

The drizzle went away and the skies cleared and became sunny but not overly hot. It was pleasant letting the dogs out, especially after the grass finally dried, which took about half the day. The grass is already in need of a mow and Winston is avoiding the back yard again due to the length, but now the mower is out of gas, so that will require a trip to gas station first. I hate getting gas for the mower because I hate driving around with the plastic gas containers, which is why there was initial excitement about Don Draper, my old-time push mower. No gas needed, but unfortunately, it doesn’t actually cut the grass either. With a chiropractor appointment scheduled after work, there was no gas getting and no lawn mowing.

After the chiropractor, which Dr. G declared my "best adjustment yet,” I was feeling pretty good. A trip was made to Hannaford for a roasted chicken to restock the dog food ingredients. The store was not crowded and I entered with a mission – get a roasted chicken and get out quickly with minimal extras.

A chicken was procured, but because I can never make it out with just one item there were turns down random aisles and additional items landed in the cart. Post Great Grains with the nuts and cranberries (extra). Orange juice (extra). Tri-Sum Potato Chips – a.k.a. the chips of my people and so far, found only at Hannaford in Dracut (extra). Then there was a cruise past the ice cream freezers partly out of habit and also because with a tiny detour it was sort of on the way to the checkout. 

Whiskey Hazelnut Latte. Yum!

The ice cream case was magical. Ben and Jerry brand was on sale for $3.99 which was exciting, but Haagen Dazs was also on sale for $2.99. and Rum Rasin was in available. What was even more exciting was when I noticed the new flavors with “Spirits.” Whiskey Hazelnut Latte is lovely, and B&J Cherry Garcia may have just lost the #1 ice cream position. 

After trying the whiskey ice cream, I'm looking forward to trying the other flavors. According to the website, in addition to the whiskey, there are two bourbon flavors, Amaretto, rose, Irish cream, and rum tres leches. I may end up back at Hannaford for more. Ice cream always lifts the sprits, but ice cream with spirits? And on sale? Now we’re talking. I may need to clear the freezer to stock up on ice cream.

“Remoted” – Day 498 (Tuesday)

Rice, chicken, beans. queso,
salsa and a dash of guilt.

After work there was supper. It was beans, queso, and salsa, with some chicken and rice from the food prepped for the doggy plain diet. It started out tasting good, then began to feel like bowl of guilt for eating the ingredients for the special diet for the ailing canine. I cheered myself up with the thought that the dogs aren't the ones doing the working, earning, shopping, and chopping, so danggit, I deserve a few grains of rice and some bits of chicken if I want it. It also means there is that much less for upcoming dog meals, so I'm the one who loses in the end with having to go to the store.

After the guilt-seasoned bowl of grub, there was a trip to City Hall, having learned that it is open until 8:00 on Tuesdays. This good news offset the irritation on Friday when I called the Assessor’s office at 1:00, only to be reminded that City Hall closes at noon on Fridays. The Assessor’s Office was visited tonight to complete the abatement form for the Honda no longer in my possession. It looks like I’ll get half the excise tax back in about four to six weeks, and the new excise tax bill for the Jeep will probably be in by then. Too bad they couldn’t just apply the refund to the new bill.

The excise tax abatement feels more satisfactory than the refund received from the RMV for the registration. The plates renewed for two years in February at a cost of $60 and were cancelled in June. A refund check arrived from the state with no explanation for the amount. I called to ask about it and received a rundown on the refund calculation. Call me crazy, but that would have been super helpful if it was included on the check stub. It would have saved me a phone call and the state worker answering the line from having to answer that call and I would bet I’m not the only person who calls with that same question. 

Basically, the explanation was that they take a $15 fee before refunding a portion of the unused portion of the registration fee. Even though the registration was active for four months and three weeks, the refund wasn’t even half of the 24 month fee. The refund of $22.50 of the original $60 left me feeling a bit robbed. Luckily, my memory is short and I’ll likely forget all about this in next to no time.

Before the little jaunt to downtown, a stop was made at Family Dollar for the usual dog biscuits, infant diapers for the dog pee wraps, and replacement lightbulbs for two sconces in the bedroom. One bulb burned out a couple weeks ago, and the last time in a store, because nothing is ever easy, there were two different sizes of screw socket and I didn’t know which I needed. Today I knew the answer, new bulbs were procured, and the light near the bed works again. 

Oddly, tonight and the last several times I've been in Family Dollar, an uncomfortable amount of shelf space has sat bare. The chips and many shelves in the grocery section, half the diaper section, and more were expanses of emptiness. It's been like the truck forgot to show up for weeks, but unlike the early pandemic product shortage time, there was plenty of toilet paper and paper towels.

Another stop was made at the Post Office to mail the payment for the gutter cleaning. They don’t have online payments, so was super old school and a paper check, which I still have, and use maybe four a year. The stops were factored in to eat up 20 minutes until the parking meters became free at 6:00. I wasn’t feeling lucky about parking outside City Hall and the Police Department and risking a ticket by skipping the pay station, and I also wasn’t keen on paying the minimum one-hour rate of $1.50 for an errand that would take ten minutes. That $1.50 equals half the cost of the box of dog biscuits. Priorities.

“Remoted” – Day 497 (Monday)

Fast moving Monday workdays are the best version of Monday workdays. At 8:00 I logged in to find 93 emails lying in wait, which was better than it has been in the past after a couple days off. It’s been an ongoing effort to unsubscribe from emails that were deliberately subscribed to in a naïve belief I would have time to read yet another marketing newsletter and those that managed to worm their way around the spam filters and into the inbox because there is some loose connection to the ones I did subscribe to. Then there are the dozens of weekly cold call sales letters which are becoming more casual with greetings like “Hey Tammy!” Ummm, no thanks. Finally, then there are the legitimate emails for actual work projects and communications. It took about an hour to blow through the emails and delete the sales letters and the newsletters I will never get to so I could focus on those with project info.

Lots of people are on vacation, so things were on the quiet side. The absence of meetings and extra calls and questions allowed for periods of dedicated focus on the tasks at hand, which happens so rarely it feels like a luxury. I know better than to get used to it. Being able to complete entire tasks made the day fly. Of course there were computer issues, and I got locked out of the file moving program halfway through loading files to send a vendor. Technical help was sought and received and both access and calm were restored.

Moose in his bed.

Throughout the day and all of the night, the doggies were nestled all snug in their beds. This is how they roll these days. Winston has a method of molesting and scrunching up his bed to form more of a cozy cocoon. Moosie sleeps more and more each day, usually with his head hanging over the edge of his bed, or directly under the desk or behind the chair so I am essentially a prisoner in my office. Moose has had ongoing trouble with his hips that could be arthritis so stairs are a problem for him. He’s finally gotten used to the folded taco bed magic carpet at bedtime and cooperates with the plan instead of fighting me. I am his personal affordable stair lift, indoors and out. 

Winston's customized bed scrunch.

Other than work, not much else happened, but for someone with not a lot going on it is to be expected. It was Monday trash and recycle day. The weather was nice, and according to the home temperature patterns observed over the past many months, around 6:00 pm it was suddenly too hot and time to turn on the A/C. While growing up, we never had A/C, or even ceiling fans, and clearly, we didn’t expire from it, but I can’t remember what life was like without either one. It’s sort of the same thing with the dogs. I can’t remember what life was like without them, but knowing they are both old and have health issues and that Moose, especially, is on borrowed time, at least I have the opportunity to savor every moment  and also try and mentally prepare for what life will look like without them.

“Remoted” – Day 496 (Sunday)

There was rain. Luckily it was light and didn’t last all day. The several days of beautiful sunny but not oppressively scorching hot weather were a welcome break in the midst of the rainiest July on record. Breakfast was a square leftover party pizza from my sister's house yesterday. She hooks me up. 

The drive to belly dance class in the morning drizzle included a stop at a farm stand to look at plants and produce. Nothing was bought, and once back home there was a small spasm of regret at not buying the pot of daisies I looked at for the front yard. Oh well, it’s okay. Now I don't have to worry about planting them.

After class, there was a quick trip to meet Mom at an antiques co-op. It was a bit crowded. There was interesting stuff to see, but not interesting enough to buy, take home, and try to find a space for. I was mildly tempted by a framed ad for “Ayer’s Hair Vigor,” thinking that it might be the Ayer company in Lowell, and that connection was the real point of interest for me. The company location wasn’t included in the part of the ad that had been cut from a magazine and I couldn’t get a signal to check the Internet to see if it was the J.C. Ayer company that was in Lowell. Later, when I had a signal and was able to check, it turned out to be the Lowell company. The ad was trimmed poorly to fit the frame and would have required rearranging stuff to hang it anyway, so it’s okay. Now I don't have to worry about finding a spot for it.

GOTHAM? GOT HAM?

Once back home, the rest of the afternoon had the usual bells and whistles of  household drudgery. There was the preparation of rice and packing doggy meals. Sweeping and vacuuming and laundry happened. I did not mix baking soda and peroxide paste to clean the grout line in the tile floor in the bathroom even though I finished gathering the supplies the other day. Instead, I continued watching Gotham on Netflix (originally aired on Fox), and every time the title is displayed on the screen in all caps, the dorky voice in my head splits the word and reads it as “GOT HAM.” This amuses me. Apparently, I am easily amused. It turns out there are five seasons on Netflix, so it will be interesting to see how long the title shot GOT HAM is amusing. 

“Remoted” – Day 495 (Saturday)

Sometimes he actually goes out.

The morning featured the usual business of feeding the Canine Overlords, and trying to coax Moose outside so he doesn’t choose to use the rugs to potty. There used to be a set of identifiable signals when he wanted to go out, which took me years to decipher. One or more cues would be chosen from the repertoire of standing at the door, staring at me from across the room and tilting his head toward an exit, staring at me from very close, and/or barking a bark that sounds exactly like “out, out.”

Now, after the heavy investment in training me to respond to his signals, it’s like he’s arbitrarily tossed out the play book. He will stare from across the room and get me to follow him to the cookies. He will go to the door, and when I meet him there to open it, he retreats to plant himself halfway across the room, unbudging. Sometimes he just disappears into another room and the only “cue” is the sudden sound of a stream hitting the floor or the aroma of poo. There may be several failed attempts before he finally goes out, and even then, he often turns around to come back in, having done no business. It's more fun because he has a hard time with the stairs now, and I carry him down and then back up. It's a great free home workout.

After the morning charade with going out, not going out, it was coffee and relaxing before heading out to my sister’s house for my niece’s birthday party. On the way to the party, I stopped at my favorite consignment shop and got a pair of capris, a white cotton blouse, and a shirt perfect for hiking that claims to repel various bugs for up to 70 washings. If only I knew what the wash count was before it landed with me. The treasure cost the teeny sum of $8.

Birthday girl party crown!

The party featured big party pizzas, macaroni salad with teeny tiny shrimp, ham salad rolls, and birthday cake and cupcakes. The birthday girl sported an inflatable Chuck E Cheese birthday crown. There was a plastic candelabra birthday candle holder but every time three candles were lit, they would all blow out in a breeze. 

We chatted, we hung out, and the niece living in Vegas attended her sister’s party via the wonders of technology and Facetime. We learned it has cooled off a bit and was “only” around 100 degrees there today, which sounds funny coming from someone who wore shorts and no coat during most of the New England winters before she moved. 

“Remoted” – Day 494 (Friday)

A random memory of two favorite pita pockets inexplicably popped into my head about a month ago. One has Havarti cheese, tomato, cucumber, mayo and sprouts. The other is just American cheese, stuffed into the pocket and toasted in the toaster oven. Each time I’ve been in a store with a food section for the past month there has been an unsuccessful search for pita bread.

There was a quick stop at Market Basket on Thursday, primarily for the “It takes a whole chicken to feed a Canine Overlord on a special diet for a week” meal plan. This MB keeps the roasted chickens in the back near the deli. During the journey to the chicken, other essentials were grabbed – eggs, butter, yogurt – and others forgotten, namely half and half used daily for coffee. It wouldn’t be a shopping trip without missing something.

Passing the deli included the now habitual scan for pita bread and there it was amongst the deli rolls – Joseph’s pita bread, which was everywhere once upon a time, and recently has been nowhere, and trust me, I’ve been looking. 

Fig Cuccidati.

It turns out that the pita bread isn’t the only scarce item for that pocket sandwich of yore. Finding alfafa sprouts, or any sprouts, or as they seem to be called in the fancy fresh produce vernacular of the times, “micro greens” is also a challenge. Recently, Misfits Market has had “mixed micro greens” listed, but they were usually sold out before I could order them. Yesterday, MB taunted with me with a shelf tag that listed alfafa sprouts, but instead of sprouts, the space was filled with sliced white mushrooms. The pita bread luck continued today and the Misfits Market order for next week includes micro greens. It will be  interesting to see whether they arrive or not.

The pita pockets procured Thursday were cut in half and set in the freezer. Next weekend there shall be at least one of the veggie pockets with sprouts. Last night and today, it was veggie pockets containing mixed salad greens, which was good, but not quite the same.   

Other tasty bits were harvested at the store. Ben and Jerry was on sale, and the bakery discount rack offered delicious wheat bread and a container of fig cuccidati which I’d never heard of but I like figs and an Italian cookie with a schmear of fig filling and a sugar glaze looked like a winner to me.

There was a moment of panic when I couldn’t find the cookies after unpacking the groceries. A trip was made to the car to see if they had fallen out of the bag, and when not found, it was feared they had been left at the store. They were finally found in the vegetable bin with the similarly sized container of mushrooms and other produce. That was close.

The fig cookies proved to be a perfect complement to the bottle of chardonnay accidentally drank in its entirety last night. By supper tonight, the container of ten cookies held just three. Then two. Then none. Tasty bits do not enjoy a lengthy life in my world. The carrots in the veggie bin for the past who knows long, however, are another story.

“Remoted” – Day 493 (Thursday)

Overnight, there was cool air and breezes that moved the bedroom curtains upstairs, which is rare and made for perfect sleeping conditions. Usually, the breezes move only through the first floor. A couple windows remained open downstairs, and when I got up this morning the house had naturally cooled from around 77 degrees to 68. I love free air conditioning. It feels like I’m winning in my undeclared battle with the electric company.

The morning house temperature was actually a bit cool for my taste, but there was no complaining. It’s been nice getting to intimately know the house during the work from home days. In the daytime, breezes usually come from the back of the house, and I’ve noticed the gradually warming until about 5:00 pm when it suddenly feels too hot.

Today was a vacation day with an adventure planned to celebrate my youngest niece’s birthday. I swear it was just a few days ago that she was a wee little thing about four years old, tottering around in plastic high heels, satin gloves, a feather boa, and a plastic tiara and I was cooing “Ooh-la-la, Shay-La-La.” Yesterday, she turned 17 and is now 5’10”, and I can’t figure out how this happened. Also, I would have killed to be 5'10" all those many years of wishing I was tall enough and pretty enough to be a model.

The day's plan was to meet at Kimball Farm in Westford for activities and food. According to the website, they open at 10:00, and when we arrived just after 11:00, the parking lots were nearly full. I somehow scored a spot near the front, my sister landed further away. A golf cart arrived and the driver set the "Lot Full" sign as we were congregating.

Kimball Farm was a parental weapon in my house growing up. Once or twice a summer, Mom would utter the magical phrase, “If you kids are good today, we can go to Kimball’s for supper.” The was all it took to guarantee an entire day of absolute sainthood from the three of us. None of us wanted to be the one who screwed up ice cream for supper.

Today, Kimball Farm is far more than just an amazing ice cream stand. There are multiple locations, and in Westford, the menu has expanded to include grilled burgers, fried seafood, salads, and other stuff. In Westford, there are activities including mini golf, a zip line, bumper cars, bumper boats, and a driving range. We arrived and crossed the street to what seemed to be the main pedestrian entrance. I was hard to tell, as the wayfinding signage there is not just lacking, it doesn’t seem to exist at all, and my marketing agency antenna was on high alert. 

We entered via an opening in the landscaping, saw a line of dozens of people and got in it, not fully sure of what it was for and also aware it would get longer before it got shorter. We saw a small trailer with a sign that said “Information” with something else under it about “passes.” A scout went ahead to read the whiteboard mounted at the furthest point from us on the far side of the trailer. 

Mini golf with nieces!

Thirty or so minutes later, we arrived at the service window for the 3- and 5- activity wristbands and to reserve slots for the at-capacity mini golf, which was our activity of choice. Mini golf was chosen partly because it would take the longest of the available activities (cost/value!!) and partly because mini golf is hella-fun.

It was about a 30-minute wait for mini golf, so we explored an unmarked asphalt road that we learned ran along the corporate and private event space and eventually ended at the batting cages and bumper cars. We watched the bumper car action and barely seven minutes after reserving our mini golf tee time, received the text message that it was our turn.

Kimball Special = lunch for two.

Mini golf felt expensive at $12.50 per adult, defined as 12 and older. It was also impressive. The course wound around multiple water features including pools, a stream crossed by a wiggly suspended bridge, and a couple waterfalls, and there was plenty of shade. We spent about an hour on the mini golf course, partly due to waiting for the party ahead of us, and it was an hour well spent. After that we watched the action on the bumper boat pond where some 25 boats spun around and crashed into each other and the people who seemed to be enjoying it the most were two middle-aged dudes, one in a black cowboy hat, the other in a baseball cap.

After the athletics, it was lunch time. We scoped out what people were eating in the picnic tent as we passed through it and the fried seafood looked really good. There was debate about “real food” versus ice cream, and serious consideration given to joining the long line for the grill and seafood hut. Unfortunately, the menu for food mecca was mounted on the building, a long Disneyesque queue away from us. It would have been immensely helpful to have a menu posted the hundred miles away at the end of the line. Perhaps it is an occupational hazard, but I am super sensitive to customer experience, customer journeys, and wayfinding, and this place was seriously lacking in guidance.

The aftermath.

We decided to check out the ice cream line before making a final lunch decision. The ice cream line was virtually nonexistent, so it was an ice cream lunch for the win. Our order was one Kimball Special, one small cone, and one small cup. “Small” is such a relative term, as the Kimball Farm small is larger than the large at many other places. The Special was shared by two of us, with eventual help enlisted from a third, and still not finished. Best. Lunch. Ever. 

It was the perfect day for a Kimball’s excursion, as evidenced by the hundreds of other people with the same idea. The beautiful weather certainly helped, especially for people like my sister who had their vacations scheduled during this week that featured a couple days of monsoons.

When I arrived back home, there was a gross moss and slime covered tennis ball near the fence, the first clue that the gutter cleaning had taken place. The invoice on the storm door handle was the second clue. Hanging out the bedroom window I was able to check the front gutter and it is pristine. Not a single sign of a maple tree helicopter thingy or the sludge previously there. What a day!

“Remoted” – Day 492 (Wednesday)

The front lawn, freshly cut on Tuesday night, glistened on Wednesday morning with what appeared to be another fresh rainfall. The driveway puddle was refilled, creating, once again,  the magical illusion of waterfront property on a muddy, murky, tiny body of water. All the cars were wet, along with  the asphalt around them.

Summer 2021 is dominated by a water theme and it can stop anytime now. The dampness is gross and reminds me of everything I dislike about seacoast vacation cabins where the woodwork and furniture feel gross and the air smells musty and I never wanted to touch anything. Please make it stop.

The weather forecast for today called for scattered thunderstorms in the afternoon and luckily those didn’t happen. Not near The BungaLowell, anyway. The next three days are forecast to be mostly sunny and with any luck, that will be the case and things will dry out. 

Yard waste pickup finally happened today. My barrel wasn’t full, but it weighed a ton from all the wet grass clippings pulled from under the mower and damp weeds pulled from the ground. After I heard the truck, I went to retrieve the barrel and had a lovely chat with little Captain Underpants next door. He was in a cheerful mood today and told me about all his favorite creatures which include fish, sea turtles, sea horses, and penguins. I was told that sea horses have tails and shown where on his backside his tail would be, and treated to a demonstration of how penguins walk. There were more creatures discussed. Many more. But I’m old and can’t retain more than two or three things before needing to make notes. It was the best summer school class ever.

After work, there was a chiropractor appointment where I learned that while my medical insurance covers chiropractic, and I have already been to about seven appointments, the billing came in and it turns out the co-payment on my plan is $20 higher than the self-pay rate for visits. So much for that benefit to the health plan. It’s self-pay for the win. My neck and middle back are adjusting well, but the lower back is a bit stiff and cranky and my hips are off kilter. All in good time.

Another planned after work activity was a stop at Family Dollar. A master short list had been made, containing 11 items suitable for a full grocery store visit, with a sub-list of four items available at Family Dollar, two of which were most important to maintain harmony in the realm of the Canine Overlord. The list was forgotten at home.

Canine Overlord Mischief Makers.

While walking carefully through the store, mindful of my freshly adjusted spine and hips, there were mental gymnastics in play to try to remember what the two important items were. One was definitely dog biscuits. Various cleaning items were gathered. Non-list chocolate chip cookies were added. Funds were paid. 

The minute I walked into the kitchen and saw the Canine Overlord mischief makers, the important and missing item was remembered – canned dog food for the morning "meatball time" medication delivery. There is not a speck of wet dog food in the palace and I had been rationing what little was left all week. The morning will be a test trying to figure out something in which to bury a capsule. Should be fun. 

“Remoted” – Day 491 (Tuesday)

There was wailing outside at 7:00 this morning. The sound was something between that of an injured animal, grief-stricken person on a TV show who just witnessed the brutal murder of a loved one, and a toddler in the midst of a meltdown.

As I edged towards the sliders leading to the deck to have a peek, wondering who to call in the event of a wildlife incident, I saw one of the new neighbors getting into her car. Her youngest son, the one who was playing in the puddle in his underpants a couple days ago, was serenading her with mournful wails. I couldn’t tell if she was heartbroken to have to leave him with his live-in grandparents for the day or relieved to escape the noise as she headed to work. Probably a bit of both, but I’m totally guessing, never having had someone so emotionally distraught at my departing for work.

Nope. Not budging.

The sobbing continued, rising and falling. I opened the front door to try and coerce the stubborn Canine Overlords across the enclosed porch and outside to potty, knowing that Moose had not had his morning poop yet and hoping to avoid any pre-work carpet cleanups. Moose stood his ground and delivered his trademark stare that silently screams, "nope". 

The tiny vocalist next door, barefoot and heartbroken, was pacing the driveway in circles in the spot where his Mommy’s car had been parked just minutes before. He wore camo patterned shorts. I wore camo cargo capris. The wardrobe similarity has me wondering if it means I dress like a four-year-old, he dresses like an old lady, or that earth tone camo patterns are just universally appealing. Let’s go with “universally appealing.”

Grandma was on the porch, trying to convince Little One to turn down the volume and come inside for breakfast. I waved to her as I tried to convince the Canine Overlords to go outside to the overgrown front yard after their breakfast. I finally won, but it wasn't easy.

I left the yard for the outside perimeter of the fence to address the abundant crop of weeds. The task wasn’t tackled on Monday due to trash barrels and a neighbor’s car parked along the front of the house. Oh, yeah, and soaking wet everything from the days of plentiful rain. The child’s wailing continued, along with the adult’s promises of breakfast that had me wanting to take her up on the offer.

While I focused on the weeds, the human noise stopped. For a few minutes it was just chirping birds. One benefit to all the rain is that the earth releases the weeds a lot easier, so it was quick work cleaning up the street side of the fence.

After returning indoors to coffee, the quiet was broken again. This time it was the sounds of the basketball bouncing on the asphalt, hitting the backboard, hitting the rim. The sound is more pleasant at 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning than it is at 10:00 or 11:00 at night. Morning basketball usually involves just one high school kid who practices several times every day, with focus. When the younger kids from across the street are out at the same hoop, usually in the late afternoon and at night, it’s several of them trash talking to each other. Luckily, they rarely last too long and quiet eventually returns.

“Remoted” – Day 490 (Monday)

This morning, there were fresh annoyances lying in wait and ready to pounce to greet the new week. It seemed like everything I touched seemed to turn to crap. 

Around 11:00 am, as the crap was mounting and I approached the usual Thursday 4:00 level of aggravation days ahead of schedule, I touched my left temple and it felt as tender as if I had slammed my head on something, but I don’t remember bumping my head any time recently. Soon, there was a full-blown headache that included cheekbones and eye socket pain and throbbing sinuses. Maybe it’s all the damp weather. Maybe it’s all the glamour and excitement of life at The BungaLowell. It lasted all day and so far, all night.

Moose wouldn’t go outside when I headed out to return the trash bin to the driveway. I told him to go outside and he stood in the dining room stubborn and defiant, staring me down. When I reentered the house barely a minute later, he was dining on fresh and fragrant poo that had just been deposited on the rug just inside the front door.

A bunny and the fresh greens salad bar.

All day long the tall back yard greenery remained wet. A bunny enjoyed the lawn greens salad bar, but the woodchuck was nowhere in sight. I tried to will the bunny to keep eating and trim the yard, but it didn't. Apparently no creatures were bending to my will.  After my work was done and as large drops of water still glistened in the light on the weeds and grass, the mowing was tackled anyway. 

Gas was added to the mower and it started, accompanied by a puff of smoke. Mowing commenced. After a couple passes, the machine suddenly stopped. The gas was checked and already seemed low. More was added. About a ton of wet grass was pulled from underneath. The mower started again and a few more passes were completed. Then it stopped once more, with a dark and dramatic puff of smoke. More wet clumps were removed and it was restarted. This happened at least four times, but by some miracle, in about 40 minutes, the back yard was completed and I called it quits.

The front yard was still wet and mowing was postponed. It will be delightful to have chores still hanging overhead. With the headache, it was feared my head might actually explode, although if it could guarantee an end to dealing with rainy wetness, mowing, general stress, and picking up dog poo it would probably be worth it.

At 10:00, the basketball players came out to make the nightly noise. Tonight, the dribbling almost synchronizes with the throbbing in my head. It's almost like an alarm clock. It's glorious.

“Remoted” – Day 489 (Sunday)

Four o’clock this morning was heralded with vivid lightning that illuminated the bedroom like an LED spotlight followed by deep and rumbling thunder that shook the house. It subsided, but at 5:00, it roared back even louder and crazier. Moose was panting and seemed nervous so I began running around looking for the Thunder Shirt. It’s been so long since we needed it I couldn’t remember where it was, but it was quickly discovered where it wasn’t, which included the dog drawer in the closet or the dog basket on the office shelf. It was finally located in the bedroom, buried under a pile of my clothes with the velcro stuck to my favorite and most expensive sweater – the delicate Peruvian handknit alpaca. This did nothing to help improve the 5:00 am mood.

After the dramatic start, the day had more light rain. Then it stopped. Then it rained. Then it stopped. Rain seems to be an important theme for this summer. The driveway puddle grew again and the lawn remained studded with raindrops all day but at least the basement remained mostly dry. There was no mowing due to the wet grass. The punishment for this is going to be brutal. 

Tuna casserole. 

The damp and gray weather resulted in a desire to bake something, but nothing requiring much effort. Baked macaroni and cheese was the front runner, but while rifling through the cabinet to inventory the pasta shapes, there was a weird and mysterious notion to make tuna casserole. It’s weird and mysterious because I have never really liked tuna casserole, partly because it smells so fishy. 

Today’s was made with mixed frozen vegetables, rotini, mushrooms and onions sautéed in butter, and half and half, then topped with bread crumbs mixed with parmesan. It came out surprisingly good, despite the baked fishy stench, it being a bit dry, and also forgetting to add melted butter to the bread crumb parmesan mix before sprinkling it on and then trying to pour/spread the melted butter over the top of the crumbs.

There was zero interest in leaving the house all day, so it just never happened. Netflix ruled the day, along with trying to coax the dogs out to go potty in the light rain, but they would have no part of it. A nail from yesterday’s manicure was dulled while using steel wool on a pan with egg baked on it, which led to a high level of being peeved. I love baked egg dishes, but the baking pans are always a royal pain to clean.

“Remoted” – Day 488 (Saturday)

At 6:00 this morning, when the dogs and I got up, it was beginning to rain. It stopped raining by 10:00 when I headed out to the local strip plaza nail salon for a mani-pedi. I hadn't been there since the summer of 2019  and was really missing the pedicure station massage chair. There were two nail technicians working and both were busy with customers when I arrived as a walk-in.

The foot tub was filled and I was seated in the pedicure chair, feet enjoying the water jet, and full command of the remote for the massage controls. I've always liked a firm massage, but the chair today was killing me. I tried every setting on the remote and they all hurt. Maybe it’s from the recent chiropractor appointments every few days. Or maybe I'm just becoming a delicate little wimp.

Lilac!

It was a full 20 to 30 minute cycle of massage before anyone was free to help me and I didn’t mind one bit. My phone remained in my purse and there was a TV playing Law & Order SVU with no sound. The only sounds were the water jet in the tub and occasional conversation in a non-English language between the two nail spa employees. It was quite pleasant. It was a couple hours before I emerged from the nail salon with lilac fingernails and dark purple nearly navy blue toenails after a change of heart concerning color after the pedicure was done. 

There were no real plans for the day, just a vague notion of perhaps mowing the lawn if it was dry enough. All the recent rain has resulted in an impressive crop of faux grass and very few windows of dryness for mowing. Friday night was dry but I foolishly neglected to pounce when the window was open.

The puddle refills itself.

Luckily, it stopped raining during the day and things dried out a bit, including the big puddle at the end of the driveway. Earlier in the day, the littlest boy from the newly moved in family next door was in his underpants playing in the big puddle spanning the end of the shared driveway. He was having a great time splashing around until his mother came out of the house and scolded him for both not having pants on and playing in the puddle, and told him to get inside. The whole time, the grandfather was sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette, looking at his phone, and not saying a word. Maybe it wasn't his jurisdiction. 

When the dogs went outside late in the afternoon, I surveyed the lush greenery in the back yard. The sun was shining full blast and it was hot, so I decided to wait until after supper when the yard was more shaded. By 6:00 pm it was raining again and the mowing window had been slammed shut again. By 7:30, the big puddle had refilled itself. By tomorrow I’ll probably need farming equipment to handle the yard.

“Remoted” – Day 487 (Friday)

Dead-end street of my early youth.

From shortly before I turned five until just after I turned ten years old, we lived upstairs from Grandpa Simonds in a brick house at the bend where the street continues up a small hill before becoming a dead end. If a car were to zoom up the street and not veer left to follow the pavement, it would smash directly into the house. This is the stuff that kept me awake when we lived there. 

There were about a dozen kids living on the street, distributed amongst five of the seven or eight houses. Of all the kids, the girls were me, Melody, five years my senior, my sister, nearly five years my junior, and Karen, closer to my sister’s age. The boys were all about my brother’s age and wanted nothing to do with me except to torment me. I had nothing in common with the other girls, largely due to the age differences. Even as a wee lass, I was a lone wolf.

During the earlier years of this adventure, when I was maybe six or seven, Mummu and Mom thought it would be fun for my brother and me to go to Co-Op Summer Day Camp. The Co-Op, or “U-Coop,” as many called it, was the grocery store run by the Finnish United Cooperative Farmers organization. In addition to the grocery store with bakery, U-Coop had a grain mill, coal yard, and gas station, and probably other elements I just didn’t see in a recent quick online search of the organization. 

Co-op Day Camp ran for six weeks in the summer, and kids attended for a one-week session. I remember walking with Mom from our house the few blocks to the parking lot of the Co-Op. I was carrying Mom’s aqua colored, plastic open weave bag she always took to the beach, although I can’t imagine now what might have been inside it. In the parking lot, Mom said she “would pick us up after camp.” Goodbyes were said for the day and my brother and I boarded the bus. At the end of the first day, kids got back onto the bus, and I told my brother not to get on it, because Mom was picking us up from camp.

An adult in charge inquired about us not getting on the bus, and I said that Mom said she would “pick us up after camp.” We waited. There was no Mom. We sat in some office space and the adult tried calling Mom. There was no answer. Meanwhile, Mom was at the Co-Op parking lot, frantic because her two kids did not emerge from the bus. Mom eventually fetched us from Saima Park and we learned that she meant she would pick us up from the parking lot at the Co-Op after the bus returned, not at the camp. I remember feeling incredibly stupid and embarrassed, because even at that age, I hated being wrong. After that day, we knew to board the bus for the ride back.

The rest of the week must have been without incident, because there are very few memories of it. There is a vague recollection of doing arts and crafts under the pavilion. Sometime during the week, there was a nature walk in the woods. It was a small group of kids and a counselor leading the way and I was walking with my brother. 

Suddenly there was yelling, and a shirtless man wearing some interpretation of Native American war paint came running through the woods. He grabbed a kid from the group and carried him off. The kid was screaming, and my brother and tried to hide behind a rock, terrified. All the kids were screaming at this point. I don’t remember leaving the woods, but I remember never wanting to go back to day camp. And we didn’t. If Mom thought she might catch some peace and quiet for a week in the summer while her kids attended day camp, it was done after one week one summer thanks to some dude in the woods who scared us so badly we never wanted to return. 

After we moved across town when I was 10, my brother and sister became best friends with a boy and girl their ages who lived around the corner from our house. One time when my brother was having supper at their house, Co-Op Summer Day Camp came up. It turned out the father worked at Co-Op Summer Camp. Not only that, he was the guy who dressed up and grabbed a kid during the nature walk. He seemed so excited about this aspect of his work, like it was the most awesome thing ever. It was a shock learning that just a few years earlier the nicest dad in our neighborhood was the perpetrator of the terror that left us crying behind a rock in the woods. 

“Remoted” – Day 486 (Thursday)

The sultry weather tonight has me thinking about Thursday nights of summers past, and specifically the stretch around 2008 to 2012 in Clarksville. Back then, Thursday nights were basically my Friday. 

Thursday nights had the monthly First Thursday Art Walk with galleries and shops displaying and selling art from local artists. There was trivia night at the Front Page Deli in downtown Clarksville where the “Knights Who Say Ni” regularly went head to head with a room full of other teams and often won with the reward of a gift certificate to the Deli. Team Ni sometimes had ten people with some real brainiacs when it came to history, literature, art, and pop culture. Despite our size, the weak spot was always sports, and many times the final question would end up being a sports question and we would be be panicking. Or maybe it was just me with the panic.  

Margarita night at Old Chicago, 2010.

Downtown was hopping many Thursday nights, but there was another favorite spot across town on Wilma Rudolph near the mall. Nights on that side of town often included sitting on the patio at Books A Million, then crossing the million lane road to Old Chicago for the patio over there. Thursday nights at Old Chicago featured low priced Margaritas. The Margaritas were okay, but usually my “thing” was the craft beers, and OC had 110 beers. Patio time at OC often included Italian Nachos and conversations about everything including literature, politics, religion, our jobs, our relationships and love lives (or lack thereof). It was something to look forward to. There hasn't been a replacement for the old rhythm of those Thursday nights. 

Tonight, after supper, I sat on my deck reading a book. The weather was beautiful, and after all the recent rain, much appreciated. The book is Late Migrations, by Margaret Renkl, a Tennessee writer, and is filled with vignettes of Southern life. The sunshine and touch of humidity in the air felt similar to some of the summer nights in Tennessee, and the book took me on a little trip back to the place. It wasn’t trivia or conversations with friends like those Thursdays of so long ago, but it was still a pretty good night.

“Remoted” – Day 485 (Wednesday)

Today was another day in the office, but it was not a usual office day. There were sixteen people scheduled to come in for photos for a couple projects. Appointments were set at 15-minute intervals from 9:00 to 1:30 and it ran like clockwork. Everybody arrived on time and the photographer is a total master of making people comfortable in front of the camera, so it was brilliant.

The photo shoots happen directly outside my cubicle, so I have a ringside seat to the action, but I usually just keep doing my other work. It can be nerve-wracking enough for people without me watching. While today’s photos were being created, I was reserving ad space in a new magazine, answering questions from vendors about a quote request that went out on Tuesday, posting a fresh news story to the website and a good half dozen other things. The day flew until 4:00 when it suddenly felt like time stood still.

Ravioli and creamy pesto.

At 5:00, there was the trek from the bank to the parking garage. It was nearly 5:25 when I arrived home to the Canine Overlords, nearly two miles away. They  seemed displeased that supper was tardy. Once they were settled, it was time for my own supper of ravioli with mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, olives, and a creamy pesto sauce. This was prepared while dodging the living canine obstacle course at my feet. 

Meanwhile, my shins were aching. The two quarter-mile stages of Monday’s rigorous journey between the garage and bank had my shins crying out on Tuesday. This morning they felt better, but the marathon was repeated today, and now they are most unhappy with me again.

It’s a mysterious situation. I wasn’t even trying to beat my personal best speed, and today’s footwear was a very practical and supportive Rockport wingtip oxford. In any event, I can barely walk from the living room to the kitchen without discomfort. When propped on the ottoman, both shins throb, but on the bright side, the pulsating makes them feel very alive. It seems clear that a physical training program will be required for reentry to the office world. 

“Remoted” – Day 484 (Tuesday)

Five years ago today, the latest chapter of home ownership really took shape when I signed the Purchase and Sales Agreement on The BungaLowell. In the home section of life, this was my third time advancing towards home ownership and the second time buying a home on my own. My amazing friend who is also an amazing realtor worked her butt off guiding me through every step of finding a home.

Our search started in Fitchburg and we saw some lovely older homes that had amazing woodwork and solid construction but still needed more work than I could handle. After I got my job in Lowell, we shifted the hunt a couple dozen miles because I don’t like commuting. I did it for far too many years under the philosophy of “live where you choose and work where you can.” After living in Tennessee for 12 years in houses close enough to work that I went home for lunch most days, I never want to commute again.

Maybe it's time to
finish moving in.

After signing the agreement, life kicked into high gear with preparations. It was exciting. It was stressful. I hope to never do it again, but I say that every time I move. After the hunt and the move, there is a crazy tendency, every time, to never fully move into the place, as evidenced by my spare room where I am haunted by still unpacked boxes and piles of stuff. Maybe it’s a psychological step for a future quick getaway, but likely it’s my sentimental attachment to stuff, especially things that were gifts that become elevated to holy relic status. There are treasures residing in those boxes, some of which are even labeled correctly with the contents.

There is also some weird junk in those boxes, like the contents of the box labeled “orange tea set,” which was from my grandmother’s family. It's the ugliest tea set I've ever seen. One of the cups broke years ago while packed in the box. I don’t even know if it was Mummu's or one of her sister’s, and I'm not sure why I have kept it and moved it dozens of times, or why I still have it today. That may be for a therapist to help decipher.

Now that it’s approaching the five-year anniversary of the house, maybe it's finally time to get around to finishing starting setting up the guest room. There were grand plans for that room when I signed the Purchase and Sales agreement. There would be some sort of convertible seating/sleeping furniture and an office set up. Or maybe it was an arts room with seating/sleeping? In any event, the intent was to be set up with a comfortable space for overnight guests. So much has both happened and not happened since then. Maybe this year on staycation I can get it squared away in time for the anniversary of the closing. Or not.

“Remoted” – Day 483 (Monday)

The weather app, checked to assist with the day’s wardrobe selection, said “light precipitation.” Meanwhile, monsoon season was raging. The dogs refused to go outside. The basement was taking on water in multiple locations.

The puddle at the end of the driveway was broad, and rolling the recycling and trash to the curb required heading left into the neighbor’s side of the shared asphalt, then skirting the street edge of the puddle to arrive at the destination along the fence. It was either that or wade straight through the puddle, but the new hip waders haven’t come in yet.

Recycling was collected around 7:45. To keep the bin with the now open lid from becoming an accidental rain barrel, I went back out in the downpour and rolled it along the scenic coastal route back to its spot near the deck. A raincoat kept my torso dry, but my hair got soaked and my pants below the hem of the coat. 

I had to go into the office this morning, so all the trash bin activity was done in office clothes. The day’s outfit was ankle pants, an elbow length tee, and lightweight zip front blouse/jacket, built from the ground up based on footwear that was flat and vinyl, chosen for water repellant speed walking the quarter mile from the garage to the bank in the rain. Black ankle pants were chosen based on the shoes, because my full-length pants are a bit too long and require heels. Because I absolutely detest the popular bare leg look in general and my legs in particular, I now avoid wearing the dresses and skirts I used to love. The tops were chosen for office appropriateness and in case it was cold in the office. The wardrobe analysis and dressing were exhausting. Not dealing with that every day might be the best part of working from home. 

Tiny assembly line.

The office was creepy. I was the only person on the entire floor. Printer access was messed up, so I couldn’t even print the overview sheets intended to be included in the branch packets I was there to assemble. Against the soundtrack of rain slamming onto the roof and windows, interoffice envelopes were addressed. Materials lined the counter and were placed in the envelopes which were set into boxes and then inside a trash bag to keep them dry as they were transported to the mail room. A call was made and the packets magically disappeared. The mailroom magician was the only person I saw the whole time.

By noon, in addition to the branch packets, I had deleted voice mails from my phone and cleaned my top desk drawer, where a cable with USB at one end and phone connection at the other was found that I hoped would work in the Jeep’s media port but later learned it doesn’t. The plants looked dry so I watered them. Items obviously out of place were returned to where they belonged. The sink counter looked icky so I wiped it.

It was becoming clear the office had too many distractions. The surroundings felt new and I kept noticing it all, but it was keeping me from my projects. At least it stopped raining for a while and I headed home to check on the dogs, the basement, and work the rest of the day remotely on marketing stuff and not office housekeeping.

At home, Moose’s diaper pants were soaked. The basement waters had receded. Work was accomplished in the environment where I’m already numb to the surroundings and don’t notice the things that need doing. Order and balance were restored.

“Remoted” – Day 482 (Sunday)

It can be fun to do something a little off the beaten path, so today, Mom and I drove west down route 2 or as the voice in the Jeep Navigation system says, “Are Tee Two.” Every route is an “Are Tee,” and the highway exits are all the old ones before the new numbering system. Some of the calibration is off, including when it cues the turn onto the Lowell Connector Access ramp “in 150 feet” when already at the actual ramp. It also cues the turn onto the University Bridge a few hundred feet before the bridge, which would be a disastrous turn into the river. Waze is more accurate with both the new exit numbers and the distance to execute turns.

There is an update to the navigation system (of course there is) and it costs $149 (of course it does), but the update date is 2020, and my concern is that the new Massachusetts exit numbers still won’t be in it, so what would be the real benefit? According to the Mass DOT site, the exit renumbering project began in Fall 2020, so it feels iffy. Waze is free and already has the updated exit numbers, and that is why I’ve been trying to get the cable to hook the phone up to the media USB port so that Waze can play through the car’s system. It seems like a no-brainer – a cable costing less than $10 or a $149 update that may not have the latest information. Hmmmmm.

Along the path - Bridge of Flowers.

The quirks of the Jeep navigation were nearly imperceptible on the drive west, but it’s because we were on “Are Tee” 2 pretty much the entire time. Our first destination on the adventure was Shelburne Falls and the Bridge of Flowers. I heard of this attraction several years ago, but this was the first time there. It’s pretty cool – a walking path lined on both sides with flowers of all varieties, labeled with ID signs. There were so many flowers we had never seen before. 

We popped into an antique shop, then continued the journey to our next adventurous site – Yankee Candle Village in Deerfield. Mom has been there before, but it was my first visit to the “flagship store” billed as a “must visit in Massachusetts” and “one of New England’s most popular attractions” by the tripsavvy-cot-com website. Wow. I wouldn’t go that far, but now that I’ve been there, I never need to go back, so there is that, thank you very much.

The Bavarian section was dark and creepy and felt like someone forgot part of the store opening procedures and missed turning on a section of lights. The “General Store” felt like a less crowded Cracker Barrel gift shop. Another section had some beautifully patterned housewares, but after seeing a soup bowl tagged at $64 and a coffee mug at $42 that was enough of that.

At one end of the 
Bridge of Flowers.

Out of all the many nonsensical-named scents like “Midsummer’s Night” and “Pink Sand” there was not one item in my favorite freshener scent – peppermint. I used to love the Pine Tree peppermint air fresheners – they were red and white stripe and smelled wonderfully invigorating and one day they all just disappeared and I have been in mourning ever since. And what the heck do Midsummer’s Night and Pink Sand smell like anyway? I tried to open a jar candle to find out, but it wasn’t opening easily and I gave up. 

Of all the men being dragged through Yankee Candle, and there were many, I couldn’t help but wonder how many were there willingly, how many who looked like they were enjoying carrying the basket were really just good actors, and how many were annoyed that the Powder Hollow Brewery feature was not open.

The traffic wasn’t bad, Bridge of Flowers was beautiful, and Yankee Candle did not overwhelm with fragrance and aggravate my sinuses like the stink shops at the malls. Bonus – now I can say I’ve been there. There was some rain, but not until we were making our way out of Deerfield. Overall, it was a great day.