“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 563 (Thursday)

Weird things went on today. There were technology challenges and frustrations and mysteries, but Mercury went retrograde a couple days ago, so I couldn’t even pretend it’s a surprise. Systems and programs were painfully slow. Regularly used software programs were suddenly inaccessible. Toolbar shortcuts and pins disappeared. Screens froze. The most frustrating event happened in the middle of typing in a Word document when the document disappeared from the screen. Poof! Gone. Luckily, it had been recently saved and was comfortably residing in a folder on my drive, minus the last few changes.

The noises in and around the house were even more weird than usual. The kitchen clock ticked extra loud for a couple hours and could be heard all the way across the room. Maybe it wasn't extra loud and maybe now I have superpower hearing. The refrigerator was quiet, then rattled, then groaned and sighed, and then it was blissfully quiet again so I could enjoy the full effects of the shrill shrieking of tinnitus, which has been extra present lately.

Over in the dining room, there was the sound like something being dragged across the floor. Winston was with me in the kitchen, so the logical and grown-up conclusion was that it was actually coming from the shared driveway on that side of the house. The wild and fantastical conclusion is that the mice now have superpower strength and are moving bodies and it's just a matter of time before they are dragging Winston and me through the house. It wouldn’t even surprise me, but I need to sleep at night, so we’re going with neighbors in the driveway.

Skulking white cat.

After work, I was at the desk using the computer to check the recipe for the “Ultra Crispy Smashed Potatoes” that were headed for the oven. I didn’t have glasses on because they aren’t needed for close work and I spotted a ghostly figure in the yard. With glasses on, I saw it was a pure white cat skulking around the perimeter of the yard and sniffing under and around the plants. It turned towards me with a sharply chiseled face. 

The yard has been visited by a pretty gray and tan patterned cat and a solid black cat, but this was the first white cat sighting. It headed along the back edge of the yard towards the shed in the corner. It stuck its head under the shed in one of the openings used by Chuck and his woodchuck family, and its large body remained in the yard. Then, the white cat crawled and flattened and its large body completely disappeared under the shed. 

"Ultra Crispy
Smashed Potatoes."

The ability of animals to slink and morph and fit into crazy spaces is impressive, and I wonder just how much vacant space is carved out underneath that shed. Is it floating on air and is the floor going to collapse as a result? I half expect to hear the screams of embattled wildlife as the woodchucks and the rabbits and the squirrels and now the cat and whatever other critters I haven’t seen go under there engage in a territorial dispute.

The smashed potatoes didn’t look so ultra crispy or golden brown when they came out of the oven after being boiled, smashed, then baked, but they were quite tasty. One turned into two, then the next thing I knew, I’d eaten three of the darned things. There is still about five pounds of potatoes left, so the cookbooks will be scoured for even more potato recipes. Life goals. 

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 562 (Wednesday)

It’s Tuesday. No, Wednesday. Half the day and into the evening I wasn’t sure what day it is and kept flipping back and forth and reviewing the clues to get it straight. Team meeting equals Wednesday and there was one this afternoon, so that helped. The new schedule with some days in the office and some days remote feels confusing and schlepping notepads and files back and forth feels like a free fitness plan.  

Here is what was certain – in the morning I was cold, and the weather forecast was for chillier temperatures than recent days. The day's outfit was chosen accordingly, with ankle exposing cropped pants with low booties traded for cool weather full-length pants with taller booties and taller socks. There was a cami, a long sleeve top, and a cashmere cardigan on top of that, and for the morning trip to the office, a coat on top of that.

Around lunchtime, I was hot, so the sweater layer came off, which is 99% of the reason they are a wardrobe must have. After a few minutes I was still hot, so the hair went up into a ponytail and I asked to no one in particular and everyone in the vicinity in general, “Is it hot in here, or is it me?” There was a small amount of fear that I might be coming down with something, because I’m usually the last person in any group to feel warm. It turned out the office was warm, as in, hovering around the 80-degree level. We learned from the facilities squad there were some challenges happening with the building’s system, which was good because apparently it wasn’t me.

Tea season is here.

After supper and at home, the thermostat is displaying 68-degrees, I’m chilly, and the hot peach flavored tea is in the mug. Hot beverage season began with a light chill last night, and this all feels like the official kick-off to “how long can I go before turning the heat on?” season. At 6:30, going to bed and being under the quilt and the puff seemed mighty appealing. Or I could, you know, put the heat on.

It’s not even actually that cold. The outdoor temperature is 57 according to Google weather, with low 60s predicted for tomorrow and the next couple days. With the steady-ish temperatures for several days and me already feeling chilled, the heating system hold out game might end before it really gets to kick in. The hope was to hold out for a couple more weeks on all fronts, but it may also be the time to dig out the winter base layers. 

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 561 (Tuesday)

It was chilly and gray and perfect sleeping weather this morning, which made it extra hard to get up for work. Once up, the gray and the gloom and the encroaching seasonal darkness required turning on lights in every room. During the morning, thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain came. It was gloomy, but not the deep and extended gloom that seeps into the soul, more like a mild sedative. Luckily, it was a remote home-office day with no need for office appropriate attire and the exhausting effort of wearing the expression of civility and cheer for all the live long day. There really are small blessings everywhere.

Rainy day ramen.

At lunchtime, there was hunger but no cravings and no interest in 99% of the food in the house. Pizza? Had it Monday and will probably bring it to the office for lunch on Wednesday. Mashed potatoes? That was last night’s dinner. Vegetable soup? It was a mystery how long it had been in the fridge and was put down the disposal due to the questionable lifespan. In the end, it was ramen by default, made with half-and-half (for creaminess), cheese dip from a jar (for cheesiness), and gochujang (for spiciness), but lacking mixed frozen vegetables (for healthiness). 

The gloominess of the day was redeemed by research and writing. Of all the varied tasks I handle in my role, my favorite is writing. Today the focus was researching and writing content for the Learning Center tab of our website. I dove into four topics which will be published under someone else’s name and it’s okay because that is how things work in the writing and content world. Two pieces were sent out for the first review, and two need a bit more polish.

Wednesday is an office-office day and will include the full team on site except for the lucky team member out of office enjoying an actual special anniversary vacation at a fabulous destination. I'm not jealous. Much. The only way I can achieve a major anniversary with another human at this point in life will be to find a partner immediately and then hope we both live until I'm about 90. I have a feeling this will never happen. Lone Wolf pity party of one, my table is ready!

Tomorrrow's weather forecast shows morning temperatures in the 50s and afternoon temps in the 60s, so it looks like it's time to bust out the cold weather layers. Wherever those are. Oy, There will also be the need for makeup and interacting with fellow humans. After so much solitude for so long, I always worry about being around people on the front end. Not for health reasons as much as social anxiety. And yet I’m always, always grateful to be with people and the energizing effects of human interaction. Anxiety, my lifelong companion, is a real bitch, randomly planting doubt, insecurity, and nervousness where none should be. I tried to drown the bitch in alcohol while in college, but it didn't work.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 560 (Monday)

As Mondays in the office go, it was quiet. One colleague is on vacation, one was occupied with a virtual conference, and there were just two of us in our half of the suite. There weren’t a lot of emails or phone calls. Basically, it was a perfect Monday in the office.

There was almost a brief walkabout in the afternoon, but the surprise rain shower caused the dismissal of the idea. When I checked Google weather before dressing for the day, there was no mention of rain. Or maybe there was and I chose to acknowledge only the parts I liked and stopped paying attention after seeing the forecast of 72 degrees.

Fried mashed potato patty and mustard.

There was pizza over the weekend, which meant, by design, at least seven more pizza meals. One foil wrapped slice was grabbed for lunch and tossed into the work bag. The weekend time dedicated to the rigorous physical training with bike riding and hard labor in the yard meant the pizza was the only food acquired, and no meal planning was done. Oops. Supper became a fried mashed potato patty with a big schmear of whole grain mustard. Thank goodness for last week’s potato boil and mash fest. 

There are still several pounds of potatoes to be dealt with, which might make this the perfect time to dust off X2’s family recipe for potato candy. That might have to go on the activities docket for the weekend’s entertainment. Not that I need to be eating more candy, doctor’s scale, blah blah, tight pants blah blah, but hey, whatever. 

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 559 (Sunday)

Saturday’s Intro to Physical Education biking class had lingering effects. I expected there would be some soreness in the legs, but the leg soreness was overshadowed by tense shoulders and a sore neck and lower back all day today. This led to an acute awareness of every hip and shoulder movement in the first belly dance class of our fall season this morning.

On the way home from dance class, I stopped at a farm stand and bought an echinacea plant and then figured I better get it into the ground today. As long as my muscles were already screaming in pain, why not take on manual labor, right?  As long as I was already in the yard, it seemed logical to trim the unruly rose bush. As long as I would already be digging for the new plant, it seemed logical to thin the irises near the shed and transplant them to the front yard. This is how a ten minute planting becomes an entire afternoon of toil.

The on-the-fly gardening plan required ripping out nearly a barrel full of weeds, digging holes, and the most difficult part, digging out the crowded irises. It took three shifts of digging and lifting and using the three-pronged garden tool thingy and even still, the biggest problem clump of irises on one side of the shed is still firmly in the ground. There was no energy left to start on the cluster on the other side. Insect bites were becoming welts on my arm and neck.

For all the effort, just six scrawny plant clumps were relocated to the front yard. Once set into the ground and watered, bark mulch was spread around the plants. The edge of the new flower bed is ragged and the nearby ground cover of mostly weeds is overgrown. Mowing needs to happen soon. There is concern that Winston, with his lack of vision, will end up trampling the flower bed due to not sensing it’s there, so now flower bed fencing needs to be bought and installed. The yard chore list is long and never seems to be completed.

He loves to ignore me.

Winston was in the front yard with me, and when I headed to the back to dig out irises it wasn't long before I heard his gentle barking out front. Maybe he wanted to go inside, or was taking attendance. I came around the house and let him inside. As I continued the self-imposed hard labor, physical education program, the barking from inside was audible. 

He has levels of barking which include the polite “oof” used at night to gently awaken me when he needs to go outside and the gentle-ish bark that I have decided is the taking attendance bark. The funny thing is, when I’m in the house with him, Winston goes upstairs or lays in his living room bed and ignores me, which is frighteningly like two different marriages I was once party to.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 558 (Saturday)

Autumn has begun to leave me its highly personal calling cards. It’s a nearly annual event that around October, my fingernails start splitting and breaking and nosebleed season begins. For many years, insomnia arrived with October, but it hasn’t been as bad in the past couple years. This morning kicked off with a gusher of a nosebleed almost immediately after getting out of bed. It happened again a few more times throughout the day. Hello fall! Now we’ll just wait for the turning of the leaves and the breaking of the nails.

Today saw a couple reboots that really boosted the spirits. There was a meetup with a fellow banker who is in the midst of a closet purge and offered me items from her closet cleanout. I left her home with several skirts and tops, and a couple dresses and jackets. One time, when I was in fifth or sixth grade, Mummu’s coworker gave her some clothes for me that a young relative had outgrown. It felt like Christmas. This morning felt like that. 

On the drive home from the closet reboot, a call came in from a friend asking if I had a bike and if I wanted to go riding on the Rail Trail. Umm…. Yes, and yes. The cell signal cut out before we could finalize things, but when I got home, I rushed to pump up the tires. The last time I mowed, I noticed the bike tires were flat. If they held air, bike riding was a go. Oh, and if the bike fit into the Jeep.

Two-wheeled
 instrument of torture.

The tires pumped up nicely and after a while they were still holding air. I sent a picture of pumped up tires to my friend to signal riding was “a go.” We made plans to meet at a trail access and parking area about halfway between our homes. 

The old Honda had a rear mounted spare tire that my bike rack fit onto, but the Jeep doesn’t have a mounted spare. The back seats were flipped down, fingers were crossed, and the bike fit into the expanded cargo area with minimal jockeying and zero swearing. Yes, zero swearing. Thank you, Jeep cargo area.

Had I done any of the riding that was imagined when I bought the bike a few years ago, I would have known how close the rail trail is to home. As it turned out, the bike was ridden on Lowell streets for three miles the first day I got it, and it was so stressful I never got on the bike again. Thanks to my friend, I rode today, and finally know close the Rail Trail is. 

The traffic from Lowell was heavy and annoying, but the traffic in Chelmsford was worse. Halfway to the meeting spot, I saw an adult and a kid riding bikes and wearing helmets and realized I had forgotten mine. The bike riding supplies have been scattered all over the house. The windbreaker with the pocket large enough for the phone and keys was found in the hiking backpack. The water bottle was tucked on a high shelf in the dish cabinet. The padded bike shorts and gloves were nowhere to be found. I didn’t even try to look for the biking shoes that can clip onto one side of the cleated pedals.

Shady trail.

We rode from our meeting point to one end of the trail and back, a distance of about ten miles. The trail is mostly shady with only a couple busy crossovers involving street traffic. There were underpasses with fun acoustics and several potential dining spots along the trail. There were inline skaters, walkers, and cyclists, but the trail traffic wasn’t overly crowded.  

After loading our bikes into our vehicles, we spent a few minutes sitting on a bench near the pond near the trail. The water was still and reflected the sky. The sun was warm and bright. It was relaxing, and a needed break from the usual focus of dog blindness and insulin and the mice that continue to brazenly invade the house and evade all the many traps that were set.

The overall feeling of the day was much needed rejuvenation thanks to the interpersonal connections and outdoor activity in beautiful weather. Lessons were also learned, primarily that the bike is quite uncomfortable. The handle bar is too low or my arms are too short to reach it, but the result was my shoulders and neck becoming very tense. To add to that, the seat is basically an instrument of torture. It’s hard and narrow and felt like sitting on a brick. Adjustments and remedies for the bike have joined the list with dozens of other tasks to do and problems to solve.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 557 (Friday)

Today was the final follow-up cardiology visit. This was to close the loop on the winter escapades and excitement that began with a couple incidences of snow shoveling followed by hours of nausea and feeling wretched. Over a span of several weeks there was a visit with the primary care practitioner, the consultation with the cardiologist, blood work, a stress test, and an echocardiogram. Contrary to claims by certain exes, it was confirmed by the cardiologist that I do, indeed, have a heart. The tests indicated there is nothing physically wrong with it. Emotionally, well, that's another story.

The 15-minute visit at the cardiologist office involved quality time with the medical assistant who directed me to the scale. The number displayed on the torture machine explained a LOT about the battle of the closet. It’s not a record high, but it’s heading that way. UGH. That is the price for inactivity and eating as a hobby. There was a blood pressure reading (116/62) and the regular review of allergies.

Study guide!

During the down time after the assistant and while waiting for the doctor, entertainment and education was sought studying Finnish with my new and amazing “Phrase Dictionary and Study Guide” from the tori last weekend for 50 cents. Seriously the best half a buck spent on anything in ages. 

It was barely five minutes with the doctor. The conversation was basically "How are you doing?" "Great." "Good. You don't have heart disease and you don't need to come back." It was a relief, but at the same time, it felt a big waste of time. And the $60 co-pay stings. For the same money (or less) there could have been a mani-pedi that included a couple cycles in the massage chair. Or a couple weeks worth of groceries. 

The whole medical appointment, with travel, took an hour, and it probably could have been a phone call. It wasn't awful, but it also wasn't my favorite fun time of the week. The time suck and the hit to the wallet feel like a rip-off. Unfortunately, it’s nothing like the hit to bank account that will happen in a few weeks when I have dental surgery, but that is all part of the glory of the American system of health care and insurance companies. And that is enough about that. For now, anyway.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 556 (Thursday)

It’s nearly impossible to predict  what might be seen on a lunchtime walk in downtown Lowell. Pre-pandemic, once a strange man (as in, unknown to me as well as, well, strange) told me to “smile.” The response to this unsolicited beauty advice remained in my head, but my inner voice was screaming  “eff you a**hole.”

Countless times there were requests for money, usually from the same two men, one of whom would become angry and hostile upon not receiving any. A state of high alert was necessary to be on the lookout and cross the street if needed.

Interesting, isolated, random things have been seen. One day here was a bicycle tossed onto a frozen canal. Another featured a luncheon tableau of a cigarette pack and Beef-a-Roni can on a window ledge. Nooks and crannies and even a space in the base of a tree sheltered nip bottles.

Today, a walk was taken around 2:00, after a promise to myself to actually get outside once in a while. It’s long past time to start using my allotted lunch period for personal health and well-being. It is doubtful there are any special martyrdoms or medals issued in heaven (or hell, can’t be sure) for neglecting to take a break during the work day.

There was no specific destination for the walk, especially since CVS, my usual favorite place for quick errands, closed. The new bookstore was briefly considered despite the fear of being tempted to buy more books without having finished the two from the last visit.

The afternoon walk started with a random trip through the parking lot and a quiet stroll along a cobblestone street. Some restaurants have not resumed lunch service, so the sidewalk tables were empty which was good because I always feel weird walking past people who are eating.

There is a shady asphalt pocket park nestled between several brick buildings which is usually empty and desolate looking. Today it was full of life with a half-dozen college age students milling about, probably from the Middlesex Community College branded buildings nearby.

At the end of the street, where there are always people gathered, Latin dance music was blasting. A walking tour paused at one of the Black History Walking tour markers on Central Street and a woman read from a sheet of paper in a voice that was not nearly loud enough to be heard over the music, but she kept reading. Steps away at the TD Bank drive-up, a car was parked straddling the entry to both drive up lanes, making access to either one a challenge.

Further down on Market Street, a small group of people was collected in the street. A tall and beautiful young woman dressed in a designer ensemble of a white, asymmetric mini dress with a band crisscross wrapped up one leg was posing in the crosswalk while a couple people took photos. When the light changed at the intersection behind her and the traffic resumed, the group moved out of the street to the sidewalk, still near the crosswalk. A Postal truck was the first vehicle in the line and it stopped to let the group cross the street, which isn’t really what they seemed like they wanted to do. After about one second, the model ran over to the truck and started hanging off it and posing, the entourage ran back into the street to take pictures and the traffic behind the truck began to honk. 

Model swinging off a mail truck.

Beyond the fashion shoot and across the street was a grassy park outside an apartment building where Calypso music blared and a few people sat on the sidewalk benches. On  my side of the street, just a bit further down, the ear-piercing tone of an alarm competed with the Calypso music and a red light mounted to a brick building flashed. Two people in shirts bearing the name of a hair salon stood on the sidewalk, and a couple doors down, two people in book store tee shirts leaned on the concrete barriers marking the outdoor dining area of a neighboring restaurant and it seemed a bookstore visit was now ruled out. A man exited the building and someone from team salon asked if the alarm was blasting on the second floor, too. The man yelled “it sure is!” I kept walking to escape the racket and before I got very far, the sound of approaching sirens crept in. Four fire trucks arrived on the scene.

Fire alarms and fire trucks.

Ten minutes had passed since leaving the office. It seemed like an entire movie had played out on the street. It began to feel like sensory overload and it was time to flee to the quiet of the office.

Random garden.

A few hours later on the walk to the garage, the interesting facets of the city continued to reveal themselves. A doorway on Merrimack Street was the resting place for two Poland Springs bottles holding what looked suspiciously closer to urine than water. Not far away on John Street, yellow roses bloomed in a garden between two buildings and behind an iron fence. 

It’s a city of noise and clutter and randomness and beauty. You just need to take a walk and look around.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 555 (Wednesday)

It is abundantly clear in the second week with days working in the office, that the long stretch of working from home made me soft. The work from home wardrobe was minimal – one pair of faded capris worn for five days, and a different plain tee shirt each day. It was easy. There was no real thought needed, and nobody to witness the attire. Jeans were reserved for weekends to help differentiate the days. You know, to make them feel special.

Last week had three days in the office on the Monday, Wednesday, and Friday schedule. Monday and Wednesday were office attire and Friday was jeans allowed with a bank logo top. Tuesday and Thursday were a great buffer with no need to worry about wardrobe and it was back to casual capris and a tee shirt. This week it’s Tuesday through Thursday in the office, plus Monday had an offsite bank event requiring “proper” attire.

After three straight days of dressing, the wardobe pickins’ are getting slim and I still need attire for Thursday. The stress mounts each morning, and is my own fault for engaging in minimal activity for 18 months. The home-office days meant sitting. And sitting. Nothing is more than twenty steps away from the desk.

Now office-office days include physical activity. There is climbing the staircase at the garage and walking between the garage and office, to the coffee shop, the option to climb stairs up and down to the fourth floor, plus office wanderings to the water cooler, copier, and rest room. This is all good, and clearly a more healthy level of activity, but it’s been a mild shock to the system.

Enemy territory.

Office-office days also mean mornings standing at the closet near the pants department, also known as enemy territory, staring and cursing at the options while mentally eliminating those that are too casual, too summery, and those that probably won’t fit. That leaves a very small number of viable options. How did I manage to dress five days a week, every week, for so many years? What did I wear? It's like I have wardrobe amnesia, but I do recall there was a lot of swearing. 

It’s always the pants that are the problem, and it’s always an issue of not being able to both zip them and breathe. It’s been a surprise every day this week that some of them still fit. A miracle, really. But even when they manage to encase the soft and squishy flesh of inactivity, it doesn’t mean they are flattering and mirrors and reflective surfaces are avoided whenever possible.

Dresses or skirts used to be my go-to, largely for their ability to hide a multitude of dietary sins, but those have been out of favor in my world for several years since the fashion trend of no hose. Being bare legged for me means thighs sticking together in the heat and the panful ripping apart of the stuck flesh upon moving. The solution of the lady boxer brief skimmer shorts helps a little, but also means the legs rolling up and making dents in the thighs, and a million trips to the loo to unroll them. Bare legs also invites general, overall freezing in the air conditioning.

Consequently, there will be no dresses or skirts until we are solidly settled into heavy tights and tall boots weather. For now, it’s ankle pants or capris with booties, because full length pants require high heels and that is an adventure for another day that will need some easing into. 

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 554 (Tuesday)

It feels summer is being heralded out and autumn welcomed by the resurgence of the unwelcome, annoying, robotic machine calls. One came in today while I was at work, and I swiped to reject the call. Then the phone was set face down on the desk to trigger privacy mode for a while.

After work, an Emergency Notification text came in about a missing child. This made me sad. There is a likely frantic family a few neighborhoods away. A few minutes after the alert text, there was the sound of a helicopter, and then sirens, but there was no way to know if they were related. The missed incoming call symbol was also showing on the phone screen and the recent calls listing included a call from Emergency Notifications. 

The Voice Mailbox also included a couple other missed calls. That’s when the annoying messages started to roll in. It had been a while since receiving any scammy robocalls and the peace and quiet was most pleasant.

One message featured the very precise robotic voice of “Jessica Nixon” calling about my “incomplete loan forbearance application.” Robot Jessica provided a phone number in the 202 area code and an approval code to use to speak to my “dedicated counselor.” Robot Jessica leaves a great message – well paced, clearly spoken, and it doesn’t suddenly speed up when leaving the callback number. The callback number was even repeated. I wish the actual humans leaving voice mails at work would follow the example of Robot Jessica, without the scammy phishing intent, of course. And nope, I won’t be calling back.

The next message was an urgent call about renewing my auto warranty. Over the summer I received a half dozen post cards about my auto warranty, which are easy to ignore, but now it seems we’re back to a fresh season of annoying phone calls. In terms of delivery, the urgent auto warranty call was not as polished and well produced as the call from Robot Jessica. Maybe I should call the warranty people and recommend they contact the Robot Jessica people for some message delivery, pacing, and production tips. 

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 553 (Monday)

Many months ago, the bank announced plans for our newest branch. This is not earth-shattering news, but today it was at least groundbreaking. In a ceremonial sense anyway.

Shovels ready.

There was a gathering at the site chosen for the new branch, with a small amount of speechifying and a large amount of food. It was fun on many levels, starting with being outside on a gorgeous morning, and seeing fellow bankers who have been seen only via social media for the past 18 months. There was fellowship. There was camaraderie. There was coffee, yogurt parfaits, bagels and donuts, deftly chosen by our dedicated events specialist. There were golden colored shovels and representatives from all the parties involved in making a new business structure happen. And there were photos. So many photos. 

There was also a brief, blood chilling, panicked moment when I was ready to leave. While approaching the car, phone in hand, I realized there were no keys in hand. And thanks to the rocket scientists who design women’s clothing, there were no pockets to check, just decorative, narrow, useless welt trim where the front and back pockets would be if they were men’s pants.

The car door was definitely locked, verified by the highly scientific and rational test of trying to open it. As my heart rate increased, I peeked in the window, looking for the keys on the seat while running through the mental list of who might be called for rescue. The nice folks at Triple-A seemed like the best, most productive call, and thankfully, since previous distress calls for a jump start and a tow, the number is in my phone. There were no keys in the car and also no bag containing wallet and other stuff. 

That was when I remembered carrying a bag with me and setting it against a pole near the catering table upon arrival. There was a near record breaking speed walk back to the ceremony site, partly to burn off the sudden surge of stress and partly to get to where I thought I had left the bag more quickly. The bag and I were reunited, exactly where it had been left, keys safely inside, and no distress call was needed.

The ride to the event had been pleasant as the Waze app directed me down a peaceful, curving state road. If all drives were like the quiet back roads taken to New Hampshire at 9:00 this morning, I might be one of those people who enjoy driving. Oddly, the same driving app set me on an entirely different path for the return to the home office, and I was almost immediately deposited onto a major Interstate. Perhaps it was because I was already stressed over the keys/bag incident, so what was a little driving stress? Of course, that assigns a creepy level of awareness to a driving app. The Interstate turned out to be a good transitional phase between the calm morning and the rest of the workday. Not that it was a rough workday, it just required a different, more actively engaged mindset than was needed during the morning.

Canine Overlord Winston
in a quiet moment.

While escorting Canine Overlord Winston outside during the afternoon, he somehow slid down the stairs on his belly, the second time he's done that in a couple days. Then, he proceeded to run, like he did when he could see, smack into the downspout mounted on the side of the house, which he did not do when he could see. Maybe he forgot he can't see. If he's going to start running and crashing into things, the stress could kill me. I checked for injuries and saw none, which was a surprise, because it seemed like he had hit it hard, and a relief that he wasn't bleeding and seemed unaffected. 

Winston had another outdoor incident a few hours later and was barking at the place under the shed where the woodchuck comes out and I was afraid it might end up in a close encounter of the animal fighting kind. Thank goodness there was no altercation, and once inside he chilled out. For now.  

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 552 (Sunday)

The sun was shining and it was a perfect day to be outside. The sky was nearly the shade of blue on the Finnish flag and seemed custom-ordered for the tori (market) at Saima Park in Fitchburg. I hit the ATM on the way and was ready to browse the vendor booths displaying a bit of everything. Hours after being home, there are several additional things I wish I had bought. Danggit.

Tori haul.

I got to chat with the Finnish language teacher, and might enroll in the next class session. The haul I left the tori with was a reikaleipa (rye bread), korpuu (hard toasted coffee bread), Karjalanpiirakka (Karelilan pie), several packs of salmiakki (Finnish licorice), a mug, coasters, and four books. The pulla (coffee bread) sold out early, so that was a purchase fail and I may need to finally make some. The books I got will hopefully help with my Duolingo Finnish lessons until I enroll in an actual class. 

The Karjalanpiirakka and salmiakki nearly didn’t happen. I was in the car with the engine started, ready to roll on to the next part of the day when I remembered I hadn’t gone back to those vendors after my initial reconnaissance. Knowing it could be ages before there was another chance to get these items without a big shipping charge, the car was shut off and I went back up the driveway.

The Karjalanpiirkka were a strategic purchase so I know the intended goal before attempting to make them. As a black licorice lover, I’ve been curious about salmiakki for a long time and got sweet, salty, milk chocolate, and blueberry. The blueberry was really good. The rest are awaiting their taste tests. I was back in the car when I realized I had never looked at the vintage car show that was taking place, but I wasn’t going back.

After the tori, my youngest niece and I headed to the woods to take photos for her yearbook picture. We got some nice ones, but we’re going to keep an eye on the leaves, and if they start changing in the next couple weeks, we may go out again for pictures with an autumn background. It’s impossible to believe my youngest niece is graduating at the end of this school year.

Fresh veggies
sauteed in butter.

There was a vegetable score from the Maine farming relatives via Mom. There are familiar potatoes, zucchini, squash, tomatoes, cucumber and corn, and the unfamiliar rutabaga, which will be a kitchen adventure later this week. For supper, things got all wild and crazy in the kitchen and instead of the usual olive oil, I used butter to cook the squash, zucchini, fresh corn, diced tomatoes and tarragon. I know, it’s wild. With a side of rye bread and fresh cuke spears, it was really good.

Winston stayed close throughout the preparation, sitting nearby quietly and like the perfect gentledog. As a result, he scored many bite-sized squash, zucchini, and cuke treats.

The day had it all – sunshine and nice weather, specialty food shopping, photos, and cooking/eating. It’s pretty much the perfect day.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 551 (Saturday)

The summer I turned 12, we flew to Dallas Fort Worth Airport to visit my Grandpa Ray. This was back in the days when flying was a big deal, not the ordeal it is today. We dressed up. I wore a sleeveless dress with a red, white, and blue knit top and attached crisp white cotton pleated skirt. We flew American Airlines out of Boston and the flight attendant gave my brother, sister, and me gold wings to pin onto our clothes.

Back then, flight attendants were all female and were called stewardesses, and they looked like they came off an assembly line – all the same height and weight, wearing identical uniforms. I heard they could be fired for not maintaining weight and beauty standards set by the airline or for becoming too old, which was something like 30. I wanted to be pretty enough to be a stewardess.

In those days, meals were served on flights. Proper, full meals with meat and potatoes and vegetables that seemed like a higher-class version of the TV dinners we saw advertised on TV. That first flight experience included the most wonderful sliced potatoes in a creamy sauce. I asked Mom what they were and she said “potatoes are rotten.” I argued that no, these were delicious, and asked again what they were called. It turned out she was saying “potatoes au gratin.” We had a good laugh once we finally understood what happened. I still chuckle when I see potatoes au gratin.

That trip was a peek into a world I hadn’t experienced yet. Traveling through the sky was amazing. The food, the service, the luxury! Not to mention, the opportunity to be someplace very far away in a few hours instead of driving for a few days. I imagined adult life would be filled with exciting and glamorous travel to thrilling destinations.

There were many flights after that first one, usually to Texas to visit Grandpa Ray, then eventually, to other places, some for work, some for leisure. Over time, food on domestic flights diminished from full hot meals to a sandwich and then pretty much disappeared, replaced by a bag of crackers. What was once exciting and hosted by a glamorous team of people who seemed larger than life became as ordinary as taking a bus staffed by average looking people. I miss the glamour and the sense that what was happening was special. I miss the young me that imagined my fancy adult life before my actual adult life stepped in and stomped all over it.

While flying to and from Korea on two different trips in 2000 and 2001, there was a taste of the old glamour and excitement. The Asian airline teams wore identical, impeccable uniforms that included a small hat. Seeing a line of beautiful attendants filing through the airport to the gates was like seeing a fashion show, especially when compared to the casual clusters of their American counterparts in mix-and-match attire. The food on the flight was restaurant quality, and there were hot towels. Near the end of the journey, the team led us in stretching exercises. It felt special and luxurious and exciting.

Once upon a Tennessee wedding.

When I was in high school and college, I imagined having a dressy, elegant life. It seems like evidence I was born in the wrong era. When I was married the first time, we had some of the glamour. Ex-husband #1 liked to dress up, and we had Christmas parties, ate at restaurants where people dressed nicely, and attended fancy New Year’s Eve parties in hotel ball rooms. If there is anything I miss from that marriage, it’s the nice times at dressy places. They just weren’t enough to offset all the bad things.  

Now the closest thing to luxury is attending the rare wedding or themed costume party fundraiser. The closet lies poised and ready. Sure, I could dress up at home, but it feels like desperate overkill, even for me, to be dressed for a formal party and watching TV alone. 

When Mummu lived at Wallace Towers, which was largely populated by the elder set, she told me that when there were weddings on the afternoon soap operas, ladies in the building would dress up. They would shed their usual pull-on pants and track suits and don their finery. In the elevators, they would tell plainly dressed people that they were “going to a wedding,” and file into the community room to watch the episode. We thought this was incredibly funny, but I understand it now. I can’t wait to retire and find some old lady friends to dress up with on a weekday to watch a TV show. As long as I’m not the only one, any excuse at all will do, really.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 550 (Friday)

It was the United Way North Central Mass “Day of Caring” and it was pretty cool. I was barely under the tent to check in at the welcome breakfast when I saw two fellow bankers working at one of the tables. While checking in, I saw another friend who was helping with the breakfast. It felt great to walk into a crowd and see three people I knew immediately. That hardly ever happens. 

At the coffee station, a very nice and handsome man around my age poured my coffee for me and if I was any good at it, I might have thought to maybe flirt or at the very least start a proper conversation, but that thought didn't hit me about a half hour later and all I said at the time was “thank you.” No wonder I am tragically, perpetually single.

In the parking lot at Fitchburg Historical Society, a small group of other volunteers was waiting for the doors to be opened. One of the volunteers and I had the “you look familiar, I think I know you” moment and we realized we had been schoolmates. That was the cherry on top of the morning.

Teamwork  and archival tissue
got the textiles boxed.

In a room containing several rows of bookcases with City Directories, yearbooks, and all manner of bound books, Debra and I worked together to organize textiles in the collection, carefully layering items between archival tissue paper. There was an amazing lace dress from Paris with a tag dated 1917. There were table linens and doilies and various items from the estate of Eleanor Norcross, founder of the Fitchburg Art Museum. 

After boxing the textiles, we went through photos and memorabilia and slid loose photos into archival photo sleeves and protector sheets and set them into a box. It was interesting to see some of the things people donate. Some were “wow” and others were closer to “huh?” The weird fabric scraps and small roll of dress trim could have come out of the waste basket under my own sewing desk. There was visible progress to our work, which I always like.

Goody bag!

There was conversation and learning, which I always like. I knew Mummu’s apartment building on Rollstone was near “the Mason house,” a historic house, and today I heard a lot of fascinating info about Charles Mason. There were stories about the Fitchburg connections to Calvin Coolidge and a time capsule in the Upper Common.

There is even a Fitchburg connection to a president of Finland. Oskari Tokoi was Prime Minister of Finland in 1917, and came to Fitchburg in 1921. He became the editor of the Finnish language newspaper Raivaaja in 1922, and during the Winter War of 1939–1940, he was an active public voice for the cause of Finland. In 1970, Finland’s President Urho Kekkonen laid a wreath at the Oskari Tokoi’s grave in Fitchburg. Wow. I had no idea about this before today, but it’s fascinating. At the end of the shift, there was a goody bag. 

After that, there was a drive to the office-office and a meeting scheduled for 3:30. Who sets a product demo for 3:30 on a Friday? Seriously. The only product for which this would be acceptable scheduling would be food and beverage. Of course, nobody asked me. Worse, it ran a half hour over the scheduled time. I don't know which side of the transaction drove the schedule (us or the vendor), but this is exactly how to sour me on a product in one easy step. I've already forgotten almost every single thing covered in the demo. 

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 549 (Thursday)

The library of my youth was a magical place. The books beckoned. The reference section was stocked with knowledge not available at home. The temperature was always comfortable, especially in the hot summers when the window fans at home just rearranged the heat.

When I was nine or ten, and maybe even younger, I would walk from home to the library. In those wild and reckless days, kids wandered the streets freely and I went there by myself. According to the modern magic of the Internet and Google search, the distance was a half-mile from our house. I had no clue how far it was. What was important was knowing where it was and how to get there. 

The Fitchburg Public Library
has a beautiful outdoor area.

I loved the library.  It was a huge sense of freedom to go to the library, browse the stacks in the glorious hush of the place, and choose books to come home with me. It was my refuge during an awkward youth and adolescence. It was an escape from a neighborhood full of bratty boys and no girls my age. It had  comfortable climate controlled conditions where I could attack my goal of reading every book in the children’s library (I failed, they kept getting more books). There was a garden at the library, but I always spent my time inside with the book stacks.

It sat on Main Street, and at the opposite end of the side street facing it sat the high school. When my family moved across town when I was in fifth grade, the distance to the library became a smidge longer, but was still under a mile.

In high school, that same library was the site of after school visits for researching term papers, doing homework, and the occasional date with a boy from Saint Bernard’s High School. Years later, kids would hang out at the mall, but for me in my teenage years, it was the library. It was entertainment. I would pull open random drawers and start browsing the entries. I loved the heft of the long drawers and the soft edges of the older catalogue cards and the crisp edges of the new cards. Sometimes I imagined how amazing it would be to work there and be able to go downstairs to the staff only area.

At Fitchburg State, despite options like the commuter cafeteria, the student union lounge, and the quad, I hung out in the library between classes. The first floor was for people watching and talking, and the upper floors were for hard core studying. There was a small group of us who had all attended Fitchburg High and we met on the first floor in our free time.

Since the Internet arrived, countless hours have been spent randomly typing in key words and reading through the search results. The digital card catalogue is vast, but there are no physical cards to flip through. My earliest online shopping was for books. Amazon held some of the excitement of the library, minus the immediacy of leaving with a no-cost book in hand, due back in a few weeks.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 548 (Wednesday)

What a difference a decade makes. On this date in 2011, the entertainment calendar featured The Raconteurs show at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville and I was an account manager at a marketing agency, the job I imagined having while in college and studying marketing. It wasn’t quite the Boston agency in a funky brick and beam building originally pictured, but it was a cool agency based in Clarksville with a branch office in Nashville and there was a brick wall in our entry area, so parts of the reality were close to the earlier dream situation. The projects were interesting, challenging, and sometimes very high visibility and dang, it was satisfying. 

Life in a much faster lane, 2010.

Life back then was solidly in a faster lane. There was skating on the fledgling roller derby team and dancing with The Jezebellies belly dance troupe. There was the Downtown Artist Co-Op and the Friends of Photography. The social circle was full of intellectuals, creatives, and athletes and it was exciting. The busier I was, the more I got done and the energy fed off itself and made more energy.

On the 2021 scorecard, the job is in marketing, the current office-office is in a building steeped in history, has massive beams, and we’re less than an hour from Boston. That is plenty close to that original vision. The work side checks some of the boxes, but the rest of it is a bit off balance.

Life is much more solitary, sometimes by choice, sometimes by accident. Athletic endeavors of recent years are mostly limited to mowing the lawn, with the recent addition of on-site work days and a moderately paced walk between the parking garage and the office. It’s not quite skating 25 derby track laps in five minutes, but it’s okay. You can’t have it all, all the time, and it’s not practical to live in the fast lane forever, except maybe for Keith Richards.

There is a current, thorough understanding of that crazy and annoying stereotypical elderly aunt. You know the one – the lipstick was always drawn on way beyond the actual lips and there was the constant droning about the good old days while everyone under the age of 100 rolled their eyes and thought “oh, gawd, not again.” I am her. She is me. Blah blah, back when I was younger and more fun … blah blah I used to do a lot of cool stuff … blah blah. Maybe it’s a bit early to have dusted off the rocking chair and embraced the vibe. Let’s hope it’s possible to kick things back into gear again after a period of dormancy.   

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 547 (Tuesday)

Tuesday, you done good. It was a work from home day under the new hybrid model and it mostly wasn’t stressful. 

I woke up a little tired due to laying awake in bed, tired but not sleepy on Monday night. The culprit, or at least the scapegoat? On Monday, in addition to made at home lame coffee before heading downtown, there was a caffeine boost of a proper coffee shop coffee late in the morning. It seemed innocent enough. Wrong. It wasn't past the usual noon cutoff, but the penalty for strong grownup coffee was paid in the form of tossing and turning twelve hours later. Or not? No telling.   

Yard waste pickup, scheduled for Monday, didn’t happen which worked out perfectly for me. Some weeds were pulled when I was outside with Winston, and then it was discovered the barrel I thought was empty was actually full. It was set at the curb and picked up a day late a few hours later. Bam!

What's up, poor plant?

Slight fatigue aside, the most stressful aspect of the day might well be the African Violet I’ve had for years. YEARS. And it has thrived under my neglect the entire time. Until now. Suddenly, the poor thing is losing about 50% of its leaves each day. In just a few days it has gone from lush and flowering and nearly climbing out of the pot to having me worried that I am somehow committing plant murder. It was repotted after work and hopefully having some more dirt will help, but the fear is it might be too late. 

There was a board meeting at 6:30 on a rooftop deck downtown, which was great. There was fresh air and people, and we always start on time and have efficient meetings, so it’s time well spent. As darkness began to fall, we were wrapping up and it was back towards home.

“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 546 (Monday)

What do we call this first day of the new hybrid schedule? The new schedule splits the week between days working in the office and days working remote and I don’t know how to label the time anymore. Maybe now it’s just Monday? It’s a new chapter of an ongoing adventure, that’s for sure.

King of the upstairs.

Overall, it was a good Monday but Winston knew something was up right away.  After his breakfast, which for three mornings has involved him refusing to eat from his bowl and only eating from my hand, he snuck upstairs instead of sitting with me on the couch while I drank coffee. He likes to sit at the top of the stairs or slink off into the bedroom. 

It required coaxing him downstairs by saying the word “cookies” about 100 times and basically begging. When I hijacked him with the pee wrap and then lied that I would “be right back” as I was leaving, I felt like a terrible, deceitful human. 

The old preferred route downtown that avoids both the university and the high school, planted me squarely in a massive traffic jam. I bailed and backtracked to a different bridge and eventually arrived at the parking garage two miles from the house after 20 minutes of travel. Walking from the garage and then back to it at day’s end represent a significant increase in physical activity which feels like a win. I still need to return to taking the stairs to the fourth floor, and once back in that groove, there will be cause to really celebrate.

Part of the morning was spent moving the contents of my desk and file cabinet from one side of the office space to the other to accommodate some desk shuffling. The distance isn’t far and the resulting paper purge was liberating. The computer at the new desk seems weird and my Outlook calendar is messed up, and assistance from the Help Desk was required for printer access, but none of this is a big problem.

There are “Welcome Week” activities happening all this week, and this afternoon the Cookie Monstah truck was in the parking lot. There was a variety of made to order treats featuring big scoops of ice cream between two amazing homemade cookies. They were 100% photo worthy and yet, despite having my phone tucked into the waistband of my women’s pocket-free capris, I managed to not take any pictures of them. It was a definite two-handed snack, so there was no chance of photos while tackling one.

Back at home, Winston was happy to see me, prancing and tapping his feet and acting excited. His bed had been moved across the kitchen. Maybe he was sensing my move across the office. It was a wonderful welcome home, but since supper he’s made himself scarce. It’s possible we’ve advanced to the punishment for today’s crime. Maybe I can atone for it tomorrow.

“Remoted” – Day 545 (Sunday)

The Sunday weather was beautiful – sunny, breezy, and perfect for outdoor fun like hiking and communing with nature. I didn’t do that.

Noodles and meatless meatballs
and gravy, oh my.

It was a mostly indoor day, spent doing exciting and glamorous domestic things like normal laundry with water and detergent and special at-home in the dryer dry cleaning of cashmere sweaters. Noodles were cooked with plant-based meatless meatballs and creamy brown gravy. Finally. This dish had been craved earlier in the week, then strategically delayed to be available for Monday's lunch carried to the office. 

There was a deep dive into the bottomless black hole of Prime Video and specifically the series Goliath with Billy Bob Thornton. Large chunks of the weekend were invested in this gritty, violent, and sometimes too-graphic series. People get killed or drugged or dismembered and it is the polar opposite of a Hallmark movie where people cheerfully and cleverly negotiate their way through business goals and misunderstandings and there is always a happy ending and everybody wins.

It’s a bit of a mystery why I keep watching it, but it’s probably some deeply rooted psychological issue worthy of professional help.

I had imagined mowing the lawn most of the weekend and several days during the week. I imagined mowing the lawn as I sat in the living room folding laundry with Goliath on TV, but at first it was too early or too sunny or too some other excuse.  

Finally, after 4:00, I somehow convinced myself to get up from the couch, get outside, and mow the yard. Just like most of the grass cutting efforts this summer, the mower wouldn’t start, but unlike the past efforts, adding gas didn’t help. Neither did checking and adding oil. The only sign of life during multiple efforts with the pull cord was a puff of black smoke. Don Draper was coaxed out of retirement. Sometimes a crappy result is better than none at all and you just have to take what you can get. The back yard was cut. Much sweat was involved with the 100% person powered mower. The next logical step would be raking the yard for yard waste pickup on Monday, but at 7:00 the light is already dying and looks like that isn’t happening. With any luck, yard waste collection will follow the pattern of most of the summer and be two days tardy, and I can get the raking done after work on Monday. We’ll see. Monday is the first official day back in the office under the new hybrid schedule. There’s no telling how draining that will be.

“Remoted” – Day 544 (Saturday, September 11, 2021)

On a long ago Tuesday morning, I drove down Providence Boulevard (Rt 41A), crossed the Red River, and continued to Franklin Street in downtown Clarksville, Tennessee. It was the sixth day of my new job as a staff writer at Our City, the free weekly newspaper covering news and entertainment for Clarksville, Hopkinsville, and Fort Campbell. Each Wednesday since arriving in Clarksville in March, I had made it a point to find a rack and grab a copy of the paper. I was thrilled to be working in my second professional job as a full-time writer and the first writing job with bylines.

My assigned beat was Hopkinsville and Christian County, Kentucky, just over the state line down Highway 41A past Fort Campbell (Home of the 101^st Airborne). It required attending County Commission and City Council meetings, and covering the occasional arts event. Even though government and politics had never been an area of interest for me, I would have gladly covered trash pickup routes if assigned.

That sunny morning, I parked in the designated spot outside the building and headed inside to my desk. On Tuesdays, the writers would be busy working on the following week’s story assignments, the sales folks would be selling ads to pay for the printing of those stories, and a large newspaper publisher in Nashville would be printing the current week’s issues which would hit our distribution racks the next day.

I had barely made it to my seat that particular morning when the desk phone rang with a call from the husband/reason I was in Clarksville. He was at home during what would turn out to be his last couple weeks of a job search. He asked if I had heard the news, then told me what was playing out on TV at the World Trade Center. Meanwhile, phones were suddenly ringing all over the office with calls for colleagues with the same horrible news. Shock rippled through the office. There were tears.

The surreal day unfolded. We covered local news and events, and there was no TV in the office. We were in the weird space of knowing that terrible things were happening and being largely cut off from the streams of information. The rarely used radio was turned on and played throughout the space. It wasn’t enough, and during the day our group made several trips next door to a neighboring business to crowd in their conference room to watch the coverage on their TV.

At home, the wretched day became a freakish night glued to the TV news. The Ex and his active duty friends wondered if he might be called back for active duty, having just retired from the army in February. Calls were made to and from family around the country. Time lost its usual cadence. The roulette wheel of emotions would settle briefly on numb, angry, shocked, or sad, before moving on to another and then another.

Fort Campbell heightened its security to Threatcon Delta, its highest level. Access was limited to one gate and no visitors were allowed. All military personnel were required to present IDs to enter and the traffic stretched down Highway 41A for miles in each direction.

On Wednesday, the upcoming issue’s cover story was reformatted. We writers hit the phones and the streets to interview people for their reactions to the events of the previous day. I crossed the state line into Kentucky to chat with people in parking lots and lunch spots.

My first issue with published articles is the September 19, 2001 issue with the cover article titled, “September 11, 2001: What We’ll Remember.” People we interviewed expressed feelings of shock, fear, grief, and pain. They told us about the phone calls they made or received upon hearing the news. One woman told me her mother-in-law called her with the news and to express her firm belief that it was “biblically, the end of time.” A Rite Aid worker told me the store had sold out of its entire stock of American flags. 

At a popular Hopkinsville burger diner,  I overheard someone in the lunch crowd say, “We are going to see things we have never seen before in this country.” They were prophetic words 20 years ago, and they still ring true today.

“Remoted” – Day 543 (Friday)

 Chewed.

The mice at The BungaLowell are apparently very smart, and I am feeling overmatched. Yesterday, while measuring out the kibble for Winston’s supper, I discovered two holes, each about the size of a straw, chewed in a bottom corner of the heavy weight bag of expensive prescription dog food formulated for glucose/weight management. The holes were taped over with Duck Tape. This morning, the tape was chewed through with another precise straw sized hole, which was taped over again.

Two kibble bits were smashed up and sprinkled on the peanut butter in the trap in an effort to enhance the flavor profile. This assumed that the food in the bag was the desired dietary element and not the bag itself. From a past home, I know that mice eat some weird stuff. While packing to move out of a rented condo, I opened a seldom used kitchen drawer to pack the candles and matches therein and saw it was heavily sprinkled with droppings and the candles were all chewed up, so maybe the bag was the preference. 

Safe? We'll see.

Tonight, while measuring Winston’s supper, it was discovered there was another straw-sized hole chewed through the new tape. The baited trap, meanwhile, sat inches away and seemingly untouched. None of the traps look like they’ve been visited.

Despite reading somewhere that it’s better to keep the dog food in the original bag, the food was transferred into Tupperware containers, which have so far seemed impenetrable to rodent teeth. It was most of a 17-pound bag and took three containers. 

If the situation wasn’t so frustrating it might be funny. If there is any such thing as a 100% mouse-proof home, I want to move there. Like, now.

“Remoted” – Day 542 (Thursday)

Today shook the dust off a few things. Yesterday’s mouse peeking out from the refrigerator mechanicals resulted in today’s dismantling and cleaning of the area. Not by me, there was help who was much more experienced in both machinery and mice. The refrigerator has been suspiciously quiet since yesterday, which has me a bit on edge, waiting for the axe to fall. 

This morning also revealed rodent calling cards in new areas not previously seen. There were droppings and also the ravaging of a bag of coffee beans. The bag seemed to have suffered more than the contents, but there still may have been some caffeinated critters running around. This added to the edginess.

The expert on site conducted the baiting with peanut butter and strategic placement of several traps. I can’t smell the peanut butter, but Winston can and has shown new interest in the general areas of the traps. Luckily, they are located where he can’t get to them.

As if the planting of the death traps wasn’t exciting enough, there was progress made on work projects. Then, during the post-work email check, there was a 20% coupon from my favorite delivery place. Without even thinking, I ordered the fried seafood dinner for delivery. Abandoning food preparation and ordering delivery is usually reserved for Friday nights, as a treat for surviving the week. It’s one step in the attempts to differentiate the days of the week. 

The Monday holiday had already set the work week off wacky, and the premature restaurant food night will likely be confusing tomorrow as I swim up from the depths of sleep and play the “what day is this?” game by recalling facts of the previous day. The clues are things like, "I wore khakis yesterday, so that would be a weekday," and "There was a team meeting yesterday, so that would make today Thursday." That sort of thing. Tomorrow, I’ll be thinking, “I ate too much fried seafood so this must be Saturday. But there was no beer or wine, so, maybe not?” Should be fun. Can’t wait.

“Remoted” – Day 541 (Wednesday)

There was more excitement at The BungaLowell today. As I was settling in at the desk a bit early to check emails before logging in for work, the refrigerator began making a weird noise. It wasn’t any of the usual familiar weird noises, but sounded extra suspicious. More scratchy. Investigation was warranted. The refrigerator was wheeled out of the little alcove where it sits and routinely cycles through quiet and noisy spells. Dollar signs flashed before my eyes and the comical special sound effect “cha-ching!” echoed in my head.  The last time I went Nancy Drew snooping around a major appliance it cost me a bundle for a new water tank. 

House of horrors?

The fridge can’t come all the way out of the alcove without being unplugged. The cell phone torch was enlisted to investigate and I eased into the space available to look around. The light was directed towards the lower part of the unit. This area hadn’t been acknowledged since the time the back of the fridge and the alcove floor were vacuumed, but who knows how long ago that was. There were great hopes of not seeing any sort of pool of refrigerant on the floor. Surprise! A tiny nose twitched and two little eyes, possibly startled by the sudden light, peered out from inside the mechanical panel of the refrigerator. A mouse. Inside the bottom of the refrigerator where the wires and stuff are. It was horrifying. 

I felt a little sick to my stomach (which lasted for hours), and also certainly, suddenly more awake in a terrified, blood chilling kind of way. Next up, the search for professional help. Oh, and a pest control remedy.