“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 782 (Saturday) – fancy

Big pretty room

Tonight, The Brush Art Gallery and Studios, the arts organization I’m involved with, honored two amazing individuals, Jack Moynihan and Carolyn Walsh. They have quietly, tirelessly, and humbly worked to support Lowell artists, arts organizations, and non-profits for decades. 

The event was originally scheduled for two years ago, but the pandemic swept in to derail life for everyone.

The events committee of The Brush board did a fantastic job with all the details. The cocktail hour featured hors d'oeuvres and the crowd spilled out of two bar areas and into the lobby, and was a relaxed chance for people to catch up. The meal options were chicken or salmon. 

Most of the attendees are familiar faces in the local arts and non-profit scenes, and the greetings in the lobby indicated that many hadn’t seen each other out for two years. It has been a long stretch. 

Over in the ballroom, the room was filled with tables set with white floral arrangements that were a study in texture with fluffy petals and fuzzy pussy willows. 

The silent auction had a variety of items, the speakers were entertaining and informative, and the photos of the honorees were fun to see as their story of community involvement and their art collection was told. The singer and keyboardist set a perfect mood for the night.

Salmon with potatoes and asparagus.

It was exciting to be in a beautiful room with fancier food than I usually eat, dressed in clothes I forgot I owned until they were unearthed from the closet this morning. Overall, it was a great night. 

The event was to benefit The Brush, but being in attendance was a huge benefit for me. There is a tendency to think all the solitude is fine and that I’m ok with being alone so much of the time. (Or it's the lie I convince myself with to get by.) All it takes is a nice night out with people to deliver a gentle reminder of just how lonely it is and that there is a whole lot more outside the confines of The BungaLowell. 

Thank goodness for gentle reminders and chances to be around good people.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 781 (Friday) – bleeding heart tour

There is a hosta in there.

The yard plants are really springing to life. Dandelions dot the wasteland of the front yard. Greenery will eventually fill in to replace what is currently tan dead stuff. Each year it greens and connects the various clumps of wide blade whatever that is, which is probably not grass and that I fondly call "faux grass."

The general rule for the "lawn" area is "if it's green, it can stay." And instead of taming the flower beds as they creep into the lawn, the flower bed fencing is set further out to expand the bed by several inches each year. This accommodates the spread of plants and is part of a strategic plan to minimize the area that needs mowing. Or I'm too lazy to properly tend the flower beds. 

The leaves that will soon host violets are emerging under the rhododendron, along with the first signs of lily of the valley. Tiger lily and iris greens are gaining height along the side property line and the lilac has an impressive array of buds in what looks to be the makings of its best showing so far.

Back yard plant from a
split of the front yard plant.

Near the back yard shed, what were once a few irises on each side of the small ramp to the door have spread and now crowd each other. A lone hosta struggles for space where it was once the star of the corner. Now that it has begun to show itself, I can try and dig the hosta out for relocation. 

There were once several hosta in the front yard, but their relocation for the front yard fence project in 2020 took its toll. The new locations were not ideal, or the hot July timing was not right, but the end result is that most are no longer present in the yard.

The only floral regret is the absence of perennials like tulips, daffodils, and hyacinth for early season color. 

In several spots in the back yard, four or five bleeding heart plants in various sizes are beginning to show their dark pink blossoms. One particular plant under the lilac has stems loaded with hot pink hearts dangling like charms. they are bright enough to be seen across the span of the yard from the window over the kitchen sink.

The lush front yard  bleeding heart.

The several back yard bleeding hearts were all dug from the plant in the front yard that seems to double in size each year. Last year, the original plant grew so large that the greenery hung over half of the steps to the front door. It was split last year with the multiple plants transplanted and split again this spring, when half of it was dug out and brought to Mom’s on Easter. 

After being halved, the front yard bleeding heart is lush and looks as big as it was before the split of just a couple weeks ago. The next bleeding heart split is destined for my sister’s yard. In our heart-shaped world, that is where my now jumbo plant came from several years ago, as a small plant.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 780 (Thursday) – chillin'

According to the weather widget on my phone, the high temperature Wednesday was 57, and today’s was 51. The temperature in the house is still in winter mode, a narrow band of 66 to 68 degrees and 65 degrees overnight, which has worked well for six years.

Despite the recent days’ generally not cold weather conditions, I was cold. Hands like ice. Feet, encased in thick hiking socks, were equally icy. Wednesday’s wardrobe included the beloved gray cashmere pullover, worn all throughout the winter quite comfortably, with the navy cashmere cardigan over it, possibly the first time that two layers of cashmere have been piled on. Today saw a winter base layer with the longer sleeves with the thumb hole, topped with a fleece quarter-zip pullover zipped up to my chin.  

Both days I was cold, despite being bundled like I was visiting the North Pole. There was a baseline of cold, accented with waves of chills cold. Even when sitting on the couch under a blanket after work, I was chilled. For added fun, my nose was sniffly runny and today saw some additional, shall we say, “gastric distress,” to put it gently. Maybe all the extra frostiness has an underlying situation. Whatever it is, it didn’t come with the glowing warmth of a fever.

Today, the recently ordered digital thermometer arrived. The old one stopped working and I finally got around to ordering a new one. It was deposited in the enclosed porch by the silent as a ninja service, and it wasn't until I saw the delivery notification email two hours after delivery I knew it had arrived. Winston, formerly The BungaLowell head of security, who barked any time a leaf blew down the street, seems to have retired months ago with disability and without fanfare. Just walked off the job without a word.

Once the thermometer was unpacked, it was time to play home medical office. Instructions were read. The button was pushed the prescribed number of times to change the readout from Celsius to Fahrenheit, and it was time for testing.

While visiting the doctor I always try to remember my temperature, weight, and blood pressure readings, but if I can’t write them down right away, they are forgotten. I only know my temperature is never 98.6, my blood pressure still tends toward the lower edge of normal-ish and my weight is higher than it used to be.

The first temperature readout, taken while sitting on the couch and feeling slightly chilled, was 97.6. Thirty minutes later, while enjoying a series of refreshing waves of chills that washed over me like the imagery in a Peppermint Patty commercial, another temperature reading was taken. This time it was 97.

Verified chilly.

The infinite knowledge pool of Google informed me that the “normal” human body temperature changes throughout life and in stages and the ranges are:

• Infant to 10 years old: 95.9 F (35.5 C) to 99.5 F (37.5 C).
• Eleven to 65 years old: 97.6 F (36.4 C) to 99.6 F (37.6 C).
• Over 65 years old: 96.4 F (35.8 C) to 98.5 F (36.9 C). 

It looks like I’m sitting pretty solidly at the lower edge of normal for the 11 years to 65 years range, and once I level up to the “Over 65” stage, it should be a real hoot. Based on how chilly 97 degrees feels, 96.4 should be a real blast of Arctic joy.

The evening’s most exciting factoid is that a core temperature of 95 is considered hypothermia, which is much higher than I thought, and for some of us chilly folk, isn’t really that far away. It’s good to learn something new every day, and it seems like human body temperature is the new thing for today. I wonder how long before I forget today’s fascinating frozen nuggets of knowledge.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 779 (Wednesday) – room divider

About four years ago, a nearby house had a yard sale that ran every weekend for a few months. The offspring were emptying the very full family home in advance of its sale. There was a folding room divider screen there that I kind of liked, but didn’t grab. Some number of weekends later, I visited the latest edition of the yard sale, saw it again, and sped to the bank for cash from the ATM to buy it. As I returned to the yard sale, a small red car drove away from the house with the folded room divider protruding from the trunk. Foiled by my own procrastination.

Ever since that yard sale failure, a folding room divider has become one of those things I look for in every store, whether brick and mortar or online. They have been scarce in the thrift and consignment shops when I’ve visited, but some of the online retailers have had them. I don't even know if one will even fit in my house, but I can't stop looking.

Recently, I checked Wayfair, and instead of choosing the filter “Sort by Price per Item: Low to High” I accidentally hit “High to Low.” It was an eye opener.

The first item on the page was described as three panels of solid wood with panels inlaid with pearl shell square pieces, measuring 71 inches wide, 84 inches tall and 1 inch thick, and weighing 200 pounds. It was nice enough. Certainly hefty. It’s handmade, finished on both sides, and suggested for "use in a shared room, dormitory, studio and much more!"

It was tagged at $20,999.99. Not a typo. $21k for a room divider. Not a room renovation, not an addition to a room, but a folding divider to set in a room. At least the shipping is free. And there is a payment plan available.  

Only $20,999.99!!

The other folding room dividers on page 1 of 83 pages of room dividers cost from $17,999.99 to the relative bargain price of $3,599.99. The $21k room divider had two competitors on the same page with the exact same photo and dimensions priced at $15,699.99 and $13,099.99. 

The haunting...

There are a few questions arising from this item. For example, what college student has $21k for a room divider? Or who at all, really? And what on earth could justify that cost for a room divider? Crazy. Seriously crazy. 

And now that I've searched on "room divider" I will be haunted by images of room dividers for the next, as Mom used to say, "skatey-eight million years."

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 778 (Tuesday) – asakura

The 1950 U.S. Census was released on April 1, and it was a big deal in the genealogy world. The census data is released to the public 72 years after it is conducted, and this was the big year. For a year I’ve known about the upcoming release of the 1950 data, and thought about how much fun it would be to look up the records of my family, but April 1 came and went, and I didn’t even log in to the Ancestry-dot-com account.

So many hints!

A year ago, maybe two, (again, it’s all been one mushy blur of time since March 2020), much quality free time was spent going through records on the site and reviewing “hints” of records of potential and known relatives. Images of records were saved to the family tree and the computer.

Tonight was the first time I logged into the system in I don’t even know how many months. There were 651 hints and 33 pages waiting for me. Speed scanning and scrolling, it seemed that most hints were for the spouses of blood relatives. It was exciting (and time consuming) to see all the records from Finland that weren’t available in Ancestry before and required memberships to Finnish organizations. I raced through 25 pages and never even got around to looking at the 1950 Census, which even has its own button on the hints page.

Many Ancestry records include images of original records in beautiful script. The modern transcriptions and artificial intelligence can be frustrating, annoying, or comical. When compared to the image of the original document, they can be wildly divergent from the original content and can explain why records searches come up empty.

Tonight’s transcription hijinks include a complete assassination of my great-grandfather’s name. In Finland his name was Juho Jaakko Näkyvä and in America he was John J Maki. All cool. I know to look for either one (or some variation/bastardization thereof), depending on whether it’s a record from Finland or one from America. 

New family name?

Census enumerators often spelled by phonetics (as was taught by many schools in the 1800s), and depending upon the census year, original census records have John Maki listed as Make, Mackey, Makin, and Mackie. His wife Wilhelmina went by Minna and is listed in census and other records as Wilhelmina, Mina, Minna, Miina, Minnie, and Muna. 

It gets even trickier when modern eyes and machines are reading and transcribing the hand scripted information. The beautiful script of long ago can be hard to read, and the transcription quirk I saw today really took the cake. Great Grandpa John Näkyvä was picked up and noted in Massachusetts Marriage Records as John Asakura, and Minna was showing as Muna. Maybe I need to start searching on Asakura for records.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 777 (Monday) – smoke and quirks

Yesterday had an exciting moment where I realized I hadn’t smelled phantom cigarette smoke for about a full day. It had been about a month or more of smelling it which has felt like forever. It was decided to enjoy the break for as long as it lasted. It didn’t last long. Today, the disgusting cigarette smoke smell is back. It’s back so thoroughly that I can taste it. Yuck.

It isn’t the first time this has happened, but because the past couple years have felt like one big stretch of time, I can’t recall how long ago it happened. It happened “ago” and then it stopped for a delightful stretch of however long it was, and now it’s back. If I ever need to be a witness in a court case, someone is doomed. 

Toothpaste doesn’t really help get rid of the smoke flavor, nor does mouthwash. Eating a lot of different stuff was also not helpful. Believe me on that. Many things have been eaten in an effort to eliminate the taste. You know, in the name of science. The experiment seems to have failed, but the eating has been fun. 

Tonight's effort included mushrooms, carrots, and garlic sautéed in butter and red wine and tossed with chicken and sprinkled with parmesan. It confirmed that phantom smells can't be eradicated with real food. At least the food tasted good, despite the smoke before- and aftertaste.

In other “not the first time” news – that new phone that was set up two weeks and a few days ago has already begun waging war. The old phone had a square fingerprint pad on the bottom of the screen area. It was easy to access and mostly worked except for the quirk where it wouldn’t recognize the print if my fingers were cold or if I had just washed my hands and my hands weren’t chalk dry. 

The new phone fingerprint ID is on the power button, a skinny little strip in the side of the phone that is hard to access when the phone is in the protective case. It worked mostly ok for a couple weeks, except when my fingers were cold or had just been washed and weren't chalk dry, but today was the third day it has delivered an error message or worse, done nothing at all until it says “too many failed attempts.” 

Today, it didn’t work all day and required the passcode to open the phone. And now, just as mysteriously, it is working again. Clearly, my Bad Technology Karma is feeling frisky and having fun. Maybe it’s protesting me giving it the finger all the time. Or something.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 776 (Sunday) – another sunday

In the rarest of weeks, today saw the third consecutive day of dance related gatherings, with regular class at our regular time. We shimmied right back into the basics because it is always good to revisit technique and new ways to give even the simplest moves a bit more oomph. It will likely be a while before we have another weekend with consecutive days of dress rehearsal, performance, and class, but hopefully it won’t be two years like the most recent gap.

In a sort of performance hangover, there was the task of putting away the jewelry, shoes, and costume components from performance day. Each time the jewelry is dug out for a show, it’s like meeting a long-lost friend. And then it is packed away until the next time. I probably own the equivalent of my body weight in costume jewelry.

Discounted lemon cookies.

The weekend as a whole may have been a bit special, but the rest of Sunday afternoon was more of the same. There was the regularly scheduled poop harvest. A routine stop was made at Market Basket on the way back from dance class to pick up the specialty items to enhance the Canine Overlord’s food, specifically, roasted chicken, mixed frozen vegetables, and canned pumpkin. 

There was also a package of cookies from the bakery department day-old reduced-priced rack for me as a reward for enduring the grocery store crowd. Yes, the dog gets premium priced prescription food and add-ins, and yes, my own treats are from the discount, dangling on the precipice of stale rack. It’s all about balancing the finances. And bargains taste better, right? Or is that just a lie I tell myself?

Knife plus cutting board
make Winston appear.

Winston, the king of lounging and napping, arose from his luxurious bed to come to the kitchen when I was dismantling the roasted chicken. It takes only a few seconds for him to hear the knife on the cutting board and smell whatever is being cut. 

He materializes like a ninja and plants himself on the small rug in front of the sink and to the right of where I am standing. If I don’t acknowledge him immediately, he will emit an “oof” so that I know that he knows that I am cutting up something yummy and of which he would like a bit. It always works, which is positive reinforcement for the begging behavior, but only when it’s a food item approved by the vet. 

It was mostly just another Sunday at the BungaLowell. And that’s okay.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 775 (Saturday) – dance day

Makeup staging.

Somehow, I managed to oversleep on performance day, but the extra hour beyond the normal wake-up time felt good. Once up, the plan was to apply the performance makeup before drinking too much coffee and having an overly caffeinated shaky hand when applying eye liner and false lashes. This lesson was learned the hard way. It took more than once, but it finally sunk in. Cosmetics appeared on the bathroom counter along with coffee for multi-task sipping.

There should have been makeup practice worked into the preparation timeline. The eyeliner came out great on the first eye, but despite the delayed coffee (or maybe because of it), the hand was shaky anyway and the line on the second eye was bumpy and required smoothing, then the first needed to be made wider to match.

The eyelashes were tricky from the start when too much glue squeezed out and ran down my finger and into the sink. By the time I was done, despite frequent washing, two fingers on my left hand were covered in eyelash adhesive. I couldn't even tell that I had applied eyelashes, which was disappointing.

Drive time with giant flower.

Soon, it was time to leave. Panic ensued when sunglasses couldn't be found for the ride and deep, calming breaths were taken. Feeling slightly self-conscious leaving the house in a massive skirt and with a giant flower in my hair, I headed out. It always feels weird being in a non-performance space decked out in a costume. 

Twenty minutes after the event started, the venue parking lot was full with no legal spaces available and a semi-frantic text to the other dancers. We parked across the street to congregate and finish “blinging out” with our paillette festooned tops and dance belts over our 25-yard skirts. Yes, 25 yards of cotton fabric in each skirt. 

At the appointed time, we made our entrance to the performance space, walking in a line of flouncy skirts, spangles, hair flowers, general fabulousness, and playing a triplet pattern with the zills. The dancing went well. It wasn’t as windy as yesterday or in 2019 when we danced in the same outdoor fair and one of our troupe members caught a pizza box in the leg thanks to a wind gust during a dance. 

Dancing!

Many of us had family and friends in the audience and it was fun seeing them while dancing and chatting with them before and after. Did I think to get a photo with any of them? Ummm…. nope. DUH. Some things never change.

After the performance and changing into civilian clothes, time was spent browsing the vendor tents. Aviator sunglasses strategically hid the eyeliner and false eyelash stage makeup. With no breakfast, the “hangry” side of the appetite spectrum was fast approaching and a visit made to the lone food vendor before heading home. 

A hot dog was handed to me wrapped in foil which was unwrapped at the attached condiments table. My purse and a paper bag holding a couple small artworks were set on the ground under the table. The purse tipped over, spilling the car key fob further under the table about the same time that the misdirected ketchup in my hand shot a stream all over the outside of the bun and the hand holding it.

About twenty paces and two small bites away, the hot dog holding hand tipped and the hot dog rolled out of the bun and landed on the pavement. The bun followed immediately. So much for lunch. The mess was picked up and wadded in the foil from whence it came and the walk to the exit was spent looking for a trash barrel. None was found, and for lack of a better option, the asphalt seared hot dog and gritty bun came home with me.

Tiny mishaps aside – shaky eyeliner, undetectable lashes, no breakfast, insufficient coffee, no parking at the event, lunch dropped on the ground – it was a really great day. The sun was shining, the temperature was comfortable, and our dancing felt good. Sometimes everything clicks.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 774 (Friday) – boycotts and overlords

It was a day like no other. Just kidding. In many ways, it was a day like many others. At least as far as vacation days go.

Picky eater cast asides.

There was coffee, because a morning without coffee would not be pretty. Winston, Canine Overlord of The BungaLowell is becoming exceptionally particular with his food and has a new daily ritual of not eating his expensive prescription food unless there is something added – chicken, cheese, mixed vegetables, pumpkin puree. Something. 

This morning, breakfast was boycotted for three full hours before I realized the time and nuked some mixed frozen vegetables to add to the bowl. Even that was problematic, as indicated by the green beans tossed onto the floor and left in the bowl, but at least he had eaten and I could give him his insulin.

A scheduled vacation day travel excursion involved a round trip journey to the vet in Fitchburg. An insulated cooler bag with multiple ice packs was prepared. After achieving the quest items, the insulin was set into the cooler bag and the Heartgard was set in my purse. The reward for quest completion was a stop at the consignment store where a skirt was scored, a gas station where half a tank of gas was acquired, and Ocean State Job Lot where rice, capers, and cosmetics were bought, and where I forgot to look for pumpkin puree. Oops.

Back at home, there were a few hours to relax before it was time to head to dress rehearsal. During this time, the Canine Overlord chose to ignore me. Luckily for me, at his supper time he chose to eat his food with added mixed veggies without hesitation or the mess made at breakfast.

Winston the Aloof.

The Friday 5:30 pm drive to dance was quite different from the usual Sunday morning drive. It was expected the little journey might take longer, but the degree of delay was underestimated and I was racing in the door as almost everyone else was dressed and ready to dance. I hate being late-ish, but it was alright. We ran the dances several times and then we scattered to the winds until tomorrow.

Back at home again, Winston greeted me briefly, went outside, then retired to his living room bed to ignore me for a couple more hours, making it a night like most others. So much for all those adopt a pet heartstring plucking memes about having a pet to cuddle. 

Winston the Aloof was cuddly when Moose was around and he was competing for attention, but now that he is an only pet, he has no use for it. Winston came when it seemed that Moose needed a buddy. Maybe Winston needs a buddy.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 773 (Thursday) – schedules

It’s Friday eve but also my sort-of Friday thanks to another vacation day. A long weekend is truly the best kind of weekend. This specific long weekend was kicked off with a light supper of ham salad sandwich on Tuscan bread, chips, and merlot. 

Per protocol, the vacation day includes exciting plans for fabulous and glamorous activities. There  is travel, aka life maintenance chores including a trip to the vet to pick up insulin. Now that the dosage is increased, the vials empty a lot quicker than they used to. Cha-ching!

Friday eve light supper.

A hair salon appointment that was shifted two weeks ago to accommodate the car service was changed again today. (Pampering is delayed.) The hair has mostly been behaving and there is no point ruining a good thing with a premature date with the scissors, and especially not the day before a dance performance. There is a dance troupe dress rehearsal in the early evening, the last chance for spit shine and polish. So, yeah, the day is kind of busy, at least by current standards where the bar is very, very low.

Looking at the calendar, it seems that a busy month has suddenly dawned. Last Saturday had a dance rehearsal, and Sunday was Easter dinner at Mom’s. This week includes a dress rehearsal and performance. Next weekend is an arts organization gala. May 7^th is a Steampunk Festival. The 14^th is the rescheduled hair salon appointment. Dance classes are sprinkled in on all the Sundays. Oy.

I’m tired thinking about it. And moderately stressed out. How did I do this all the time? And this is a light schedule compared to those glorious days in my 30s when I had a full-time job and a three-shift-a week part-time job, grad school, gym/fitness regimen, photography class, and a social life that took place most Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Oh, the folly and energy of youth. Life sure was different then.

The keys to the success of the lifestyle of my 30s and 40s were not thinking about it and just doing it, caffeine, alcohol, an undercurrent of anger, and a morbid fear of missing out with an accompanying disdain for sleep. I weighed about 10 pounds soaking wet and an endless stream of stress-fueled adrenaline flowed through my veins. 

The current, tragically sedate and more fluffy lifestyle runs on caffeine, the occasional glass of wine or beer, a new-found respect and adoration for sleep, and service to the Canine Overlord. Sometimes, it’s impossible to decide which version I like better.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 772 (Wednesday) – yard things

Nest refresh.

The spring wildlife activity is picking up. The nest over the drainpipe on the front of the house has been noticeably improved with a fresh layer of dead grass. The avian construction methods are sturdy enough that the nest, which has been in the same location for several years, survived the gutter cleaning of last summer. It was a bit askew after the gutter work, but still in place. Now it is fortified and refreshed for the season with another level of material.

Backyard bunny was out this morning, sitting motionless in the middle of the yard for several minutes while I was setting up the coffee maker. Afterwards, he moved a few feet to enjoy a breakfast buffet of fresh greens. The grass and faux grass are growing tall and clumpy without impediments, so it’s probably the clover patch that is the bunny breakfast of champions. 

It would be really cool if something would visit the yard that would trim the grass the same way the clover is groomed. Or, if the clover would spread and replace the grass, that might be the ideal backyard ground cover. The occasional clover flowers and the free trimming services by the bunny and the wood chucks and would be the best no-maintenance situation.

Backyard bunny pauses and poses.

The grass takes over the flagstone steppers every summer, and now is the time to liberate them, not that it lasts long. The path they form is now an inch or so lower than the rest of the yard and sometimes I imagine pulling them all out and having a brick walkway set, or maybe a nice concrete path poured from the driveway straight back to the shed and a branch to the right to the bulkhead. That’s when the brain goes into overdrive. 

A new concrete path to the shed before the shed is replaced is probably a dumb idea. What kind of shed? And replacing the shed will disturb all the plantings that will need to be either pulled out first or trampled/destroyed. Or should the new shed go in a different spot in the yard? If the shed is relocated, the patchwork mess of picket, chain link and other weird makeshift fencing behind the shed will be revealed and need to be dealt with.

The door to the current and crumbling shed is aligned with the gate and driveway for easy access to the front yard with the lawn mower. The options for accessing the front yard from the back are either down an asphalt driveway and a left turn through a gate into the front yard, or up three steps, along the length of the deck, then down three steps to the other driveway and a right turn to the gate on the other side of the yard. One of these paths is clearly easier that the other while pushing a lawnmower.

And this is how things (like the shed) are over thought and not done (for three years). Someday. We'll see. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 771 (Tuesday) – green and growing

Flower bed is
 popping.

The greenery for the irises, lilies, and bleeding heart plants has been pocking its way out of the ground for a couple weeks. The plantings along the back yard property line are coming in nicely, and further into the yard by the shed, the lilac is getting leafy. Out front, the always wayward rose is also getting green. 

Violets are emerging underneath the rhododendron, and the columbine is making its annual appearance. Every year. The columbine tries to put on a show, and every year the  ground hog makes its own appearance to eat the flowers. 

And in what seems like just a day or two but probably took longer and I just forgot to notice, the grass is becoming a vibrant green and growing. It probably won’t be too long before it will be time to take out the lawn mower and bust out the bandannas for the glamorous seasonal second job in yard work. 

Grass and faux grass are greening up.

Sadly, the proprietor of The BungaLowell doesn’t pay in cash, although there are sometimes hefty bribes  involving cookies, ice cream, or beer. The only reliable payment is the satisfaction of having completed a measurable task.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 770 (Monday) – long ago first day

2016 featured a new job and new shoes.

On Monday, April 18, 2016, I started working at the Bank. That first day of the new career got off on the right footing with new shoes, a bronze-toned low-heel pump. 

There was a new Ann Taylor suit in navy blue, bought for the occasion when my cousin and I went shopping for that purpose. She knew exactly where we needed to go for my perfect new job new outfit and shoes. The suit was worn that day with a blue and white striped cotton shirt bought when I worked at Kohl's, and belted with a yellow silk tie bought from a thrift shop in Tennessee. Even when I’m all corporate, there is usually a bit of quirk thrown in. 

Six years later, I still have the suit, shirt, tie, and shoes. The jacket fits better but the pants are now too snug. I hoped to spread my wings, but really it was my hips and thighs that embraced the concept. The shirt spends a lot of time hanging in the closet because the fabric is stiff and just doesn’t move well. It comes untucked and looks rumpled. My hair isn't fiery red any more.

That long ago first day.

The shoes still fit. Sort of. They are a bit loose because for many years I was buying my shoes a half size too large, which wasn’t known until my feet were recently measured for hiking boots. Self service shoe stores might be convenient but the old-timey customer service with measuring and fitting makes a big difference.  

That first day featured lunch with the other new team member who also started that day and our new bosses. At lunch in a nearby restaurant, we were asked if we had vacation plans, which felt like the weirdest conversation to have fours hours into a new job. Vacation wasn't really on the radar yet. 

There was a plant gifted by my manager, which got a bit frail looking early on, but then thrived. It looked great all the way up until the pandemic. Now, it's lanky and leggy with few leaves, looks like a mess, and I don't know what to do to help it improve. 

The plant situation seems to be a reflection of a lot of elements of life lately. Hopefully, things will get sorted out and start thriving again soon.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 769 (Sunday) – quick and easy

The day began with baking. The chosen recipe, "Quick Cherry Dessert" is from a "Great American Recipes" card in my possession for basically, forever. It came in the mail as a sample meant to entice the purchase of a boxed set of even more cards. It notes a prep time of “10 minutes” and that it is "Quick and Easy."

It’s been ages since I last made the recipe and the only thing I remembered was the almond flavor in the cake. Otherwise, it felt like making it for the first time and it was definitely not 10 minutes to prepare for baking. It was more like 40 minutes, and that was after pulling all the ingredients from the cabinet and giving the butter some time to come to room temperature while I drank coffee. So much for "quick."

The butter that nearly
 killed the mixer.

The ingredients pull revealed that the almond extract believed to be in the cabinet was nowhere to be found and was certainly depleted long ago. I was so sure there was almond extract that I deliberately didn't buy any while browsing the spice section at Whole Foods a few weeks ago.

There was an online search for a replacement for almond extract. Unfortunately, ground almond, which was on hand, was specified as not a replacement. The only thing on hand was vanilla, which is a great extract, but doesn’t taste like almond.

The first step was to cream two sticks of butter and the sugar together. I used to cream butter by hand all the time, and it’s hard. I knew I didn’t want to handle this first thing in the morning. There is huge respect for the physical strength of the pre-electricity cooks. It nearly killed the hand mixer. It was so bogged down with butter that it stopped, and it took much too long to scrape all the butter out of the beaters. 

Dessert remains of the day.

The recipe was finally mixed and in the oven. Once it was baked and cooling, and it was time to load the car with Winston’s bed and get him ready to travel. Splitting the bleeding heart plant near the front door has been planned since last summer when it was spreading across the front steps. Spring is the time to split them, and I’ve been thinking about digging it up since the first shoots came up, and finally happened today so I could bring part of it to Mom’s. Of course, I was already dressed in a silk tee shirt and jeans while shoveling and splitting the plant, because sometimes things just happen how they happen.

The drive to Mom's was typical New England. During the 35 mile trip and throughout the afternoon, there was a steady rotation of sunshine, clouds, light rain, and snow flurries. The meteorological elements appeared singularly and in combinations. 

Dinner was delicious and the day was nice. We got the bleeding heart plants into the ground. The dinner guests were sent home with ham and various desserts. Then it was back home to the reality of workweek preparations with laundry and running the dishwasher so there is a clean mug for the morning coffee. Monday lunch is all set with leftover Easter ham, there is the bone for soup, a bit of the cake, and a piece of mince pie. the living will be large this week.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 768 (Saturday) – forsythia manners

The Easter holiday meant our usual Sunday dance class was held today. At one week out from a scheduled performance we can’t afford to take time off. The flowering trees and forsythia blooming all over the place, some in precisely manicured squared-off hedges and others in wild, overgrown bushes exploding with yellow flowers, made for a colorful ride.

Our dance costume was selected two years ago when we were preparing to perform at the same event (Townsend Earth Day). Then, like so many other events, it was cancelled due to the pandemic. It feels good to be dancing and rehearsing and preparing for a show. After the rehearsal, some of us went over to the event location to scope things out for next week. Knowing in advance where to park and meet is comforting.

The absence of leftovers in the fridge and limited interest (okay, zero interest) in transforming any of the many ingredients into meals continues. The online menu from the favorite delivery place was consulted. 

Gyro dinner.

Pizza would have meant leftovers for the week, but the winner in “what’s for supper?” roulette was a beef gyro dinner with a cannolo for dessert. The side salad was a good size and the fries were plentiful. So yummy. A Sam Adams seasonal Holiday White Ale left from the fall holiday season rounded out the supper. There are still four Sam Adams beers left from a holiday 12-pack. Beer consumption is running a little behind schedule here at The BungaLowell. 

There was every intention to bake a dessert today to take to Mom’s for Easter dinner, but so far, this hasn’t happened. It may end up being an early morning bake. Or a case of showing up empty handed. It is appalling to me that I used to love to bake and did it all the time and now I just don’t care. Maybe it’s because I do a lot more cooking now that I used to do and the kitchen is fun for only so long.

My lack of manners is also appalling. I’m blaming the pandemic for cultivating my antisocial, feral state and allowing it to flourish and be on bold display like the wildly growing spring forsythia. The seeds were there all along, but not interacting with people outside the house or attending events for so long really allowed the social graces to wither. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 767 (Friday) – foraging friday

There was nothing at home to carry in for lunch today. The freezer was checked and found to be full of uncooked meats of both the actual and pretend-meat varieties, lots of random partial loaves of bread, and things like fancy baked potato things and grocery store pizza that require 20 to 30 minutes baking in a proper oven. 

No lunch here.

The refrigerator wasn't much better, stocked with condiments, assorted cheeses, soju, beer, white wine, a box of oat milk, eggs, and container of pasta sauce. The cabinet was chock full of ingredients and nothing that could be taken and warmed quickly in the office microwave or toaster oven.

Effort would be required to forage for lunch downtown. Eating lunch out has been successfully avoided for most of the time since the return to the office for 60% of the workweek. Once, maybe twice, lunch was a veggie sub from Subway, but the idea of eating a loaf of bread sprinkled with the meager fillings was not appealing. If the filling is taken from one half the sandwich and set into the other half, and the now-empty half of bread tossed out, the sandwich is improved by an adequate amount of filling.

Today, the winner of the lunchtime roulette was Espresso pizza, the benchmark against which all other pizza is measured. A colleague and I walked over together. One slice of pizza with mushroom was $2.56, making it the new favorite budget-friendly, fast lunch. It was good, with a large bubble in the crust and the famous sweet Espresso tomato sauce, and I burned my mouth with the first couple bites because I was hungry, impatient, and like my hot food nuclear hot despite the frequent injuries.

It took only a couple minutes for my slice to be warmed in the oven, but the colleague’s sub was another story. It took 40 minutes to be prepared, during which time nine pizzas in stacks of various heights accumulated atop the ovens awaiting pickup. During the lengthy wait there was plenty of time to observe the pizza production. The sub order, meanwhile, was forced to transform from eat-in to takeout by the time it was finally prepared.

Plenty of parking today.

Back at the office, it was Friday quiet with four of us in the cavernous fourth floor space. Like the ride to work and the parking garage, the office was sparsely populated and quiet with plenty of room to spread out. The commute was easy and the parking was plentiful. "London Calling" came on the radio as I was parking, and there may have been a solid three minutes of singing in the car before exiting the vehicle. After the energetic musical start and another coffee from the local coffee spot, the workday was productive and the lunch was tasty. Overall, it was quite a good Good Friday. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 766 (Thursday) – what the Twix

The workweek is flying by but is hasn't exactly been easy. It's involved a string of days filled with an overabundance of short-notice requests, insufficient information, miscommunication, and an abundance of annoying crap that makes the simplest thing ten times harder. 

By the time I logged off today, since Monday morning there had been, by conservative estimate, 1,257 utterances of “What in the actual hell?”. Today was the worst, but I won’t get too comfortable with that idea because there is still tomorrow to shatter the record.

Survival rewards.

This morning, a newspaper forgot to run our carefully crafted ad that was specially designed a month ago and strategically timed for today. Another newspaper, after three weeks of running ads, suddenly started asking questions about the rest of the lineup that got me so spun around I was second guessing the entire campaign ad lineup. 

After three or four rounds of back-and-forth emails it was finally settled with the ads at the second paper running according to the original schedule sent before the inquisition began and I still had no idea what prompted the entire thing. There was no time to ponder it, because it was one of those days with fires erupting everywhere.

The sudden media madness might not have been that bad if not running concurrently with a juggling act involving pricing comparisons and multiple not-so-clear projects and shifting and conflicting priorities. This consumed the first couple hours of the day until my chest was tight from not breathing or maybe the not breathing was because the chest was tight. A real chicken and egg philosophical debate, but again, there was no time to analyze it. This can be done during one of the 1,000 times I wake up all night long.

The flood of incoming emails and Team chat messages didn’t let up until around 4:55, meaning there were five whole minutes all day long in which to catch my breath before it was time to log off.

Over in the plus column, well, my head didn’t actually explode, even though it felt like it might. It was not my favorite work day by any stretch, but it was also probably not the worst and at least it finally ended. The prize for survival was impersonating a hungry jackal and devouring all six mini Twix bars from a package bought the other night when getting baby diapers for Winston. The day was not fun, but the Fun size candy certainly helped.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 765 (Wednesday) – walking

New garage.

There was walking today. After arriving downtown a few minutes early, the path taken to the office was the long route. Instead of walking left out of the garage, there was a turn to the right, then a right on French Street, right on Bridge Street, right on Merrimack and straight to the bank. Crazy early morning doings. 

This afternoon, the temperature was in the 60s. There was a walk from the Bank over to the Hamilton Canal district where the Niki Tsongas bridge was dedicated last week. It was a bit less of a dedicated walk and more of a walking photo tour in the area with the new garage, cool apartment buildings, and a path around the canal. 

It was a solid 25 minutes of semi-brisk walking with frequent quick stops to take approximately three dozen photos with the new cell phone. The clouds were interesting, and not having been out in the area since 2019 or early 2020, it was all new and fresh. Plus, since the last time I was there, quite a lot was quite literally new and fresh -- the bridge, the new 201 Canal Apartments, the Courthouse, the sculpture near the canal. 

Sculpture near the canal.

Even though it was warm-ish, I was chilly when first starting out and walking faster seemed to be the remedy. Walk fast, take a photo. Walk a few feet more, take a photo. Repeat. It was a good break from the desk that I too frequently fail to leave all day except to visit the loo.

The Spring ’22 plan is for more walks in the warm weather. Pre-pandemic, there was regular lunchtime walking tracked with a fitness app I couldn’t find in the Google Play store today during the entire one minute I spent looking for it. Maybe next time. Once the novelty of the scenery wears off, the focus can shift to time, distance, and tracking the personal bests.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 764 (Tuesday) – scrabble chat

Too much stuff.

It was an exciting moment when it was discovered that Scrabble GO worked on the new phone. Scrabble is my favorite game on the planet, and I never quite recovered from my sadness when it disappeared from Facebook. Now I can play before work and in the evening. 

Unfortunately, the Scrabble GO app by Scopely is a big, big disappointment. There are flashing and throbbing blocks of color. There are ads for Publishers Clearing House, Tik Tok, and other games that take multiple clicks to make go away. There are ridiculous adventures and awards and levels and charms and tools in the game.

What happened to making the words, logging the points, and tracking the statistics? The flashing and moving crap on the screen is enough to trigger a migraine, seizure, or spontaneous case of rage. But maybe it’s just me.

Perhaps the worst is the chat feature. Apparently, a lot of people are in the Scrabble game to chat, and during my limited time in the game a few too many have wanted to chat with me. I, however, am not there to be all chatty. Unless I already know you offline, I just want to move tiles and make words.

In a space of two days, there were several instances of players wanting to chat me up. There will be a flurry of messages in a short span of time and then “Why aren’t you answering me?” Holy hell. For one, I usually play a turn or two and then head off to work. In one case, I said I wasn’t in the game to chat. After that exchange, the person resigned from our game. Quitter. Geez. 

Since changing the game profile photo that auto-populated from an old Facebook profile photo not used in a couple years to a picture of Winston, thank goodness, the chat attempts have stopped. 

Maybe the other players think I’m a game bot like Sinbad or Djinn who are always available to play with no delays in the action and no insipid chit chat. In any event, the peace and quiet is delightful. Now, if only the flashing crap could Scrabble GO away.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 763 (Monday) – national pet day

According to the official calendars of made-up holidays and commemorations, today, April 11, is “National Pet Day.” The National Today website, the chronicle of all things national days, notes that national pet day was created “in 2006 to celebrate the joy pets can bring to us.” Sheesh, that took long enough. Did it take until 2006 for pets to become delightful? Maybe pets were not as charming in the earlier days. Of course, I am the pet parent who often forgets to post the public pet adulation on National Pet Day, so what does that say about me?

At The BungaLowell, the pet doting is not restricted to just one day of the year. Doting and pampering occurs on most days, and especially now that Winston is the only official pet on site. When Moose was around, the attention needed to be balanced. Spread around. Shared.

Winston!

If one pup saw the other receiving a snuggle or a head scratch, there would be repercussions. The second pup would snuggle in for some love. Maybe there was a low-level growl with an Elvis-like lip lift or some full blown teeth exposure.  

Doggy snuggling also required extensive peacekeeping skills, usually motivated by the fear of expensive veterinary bills. It was a juggling act worthy of an International Juggling Association Award. Yes, it’s a thing.

Now that all the attention is heaped upon Winston whether he wants it or not and he has me all to himself, he no longer cares. Without Moose to shove aside, Winston is no longer interested in snuggling near me on the couch. It's hard to not take it personally.

Since Moosie left us last summer, Winston now prefers cookies to cuddles and generally curls up all comfy in his bed on the floor. Alone. It’s fine. I know my place in the pet universe, and it's provider of food and opener of doors.

It's okay. When Winnie is on the floor in his bed ignoring me, the distance makes it easier to admire his canine perfection more easily. Or so I tell myself. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 762 (Sunday) – raindrops and coffee mugs

The morning was sunny and bright and thank goodness for sunglasses. The drive back from dance class involved some channel jumping on the radio which led to the discovery of a college station that was playing show tunes, a delightful break from the usual two stations that are usually alternated.

After dance the immediate focus was food. The measly and meager granola bar or piece of toast barely lasts for the one to two hours of dance and I usually leave the studio ravenous. There were lots of ingredients available at the house and nothing to nuke quickly, so it was ramen with frozen mixed vegetables, queso, and Korean hot pepper paste with for the win, as the fastest thing I could think of to make.

Once upon a time in the 1990s.

The after-lunch plan was to read. This did not happen. Not with books anyway. There were several Scrabble GO games in process and the usual daily feeding of the social media addiction with the review of the Facebook feed. 

Facebook memories delivered a couple photos from past “National Sibling Day” posts with photos of my sister, brother and me. One was from when we were really young and went to visit Grandpa Ray in Texas the first time. The other was from around the 1990s. The reminder of life with my brother sucked the air out of my lungs, much like a hard punch to the gut. 

Instead of the previously fantasized reading, Gilmore Girls season 7 played on TV. Winston signaled he wanted to go outside. A light rain was falling and at the same time, the sun was shining. I checked the parts of the sky I could see from the front door and then went to the side deck in search of a rainbow. Surprisingly, no rainbow was found, but there was a package encased in a sheer white trash bag laying on the deck. The delivery folks function like stealth operatives these days.

While carrying in the parcel, the receipts were running through the mental review process. The order with the fry pan, electric blue summer shoes, and ladies’ unmentionables from Kohl’s had arrived in three separate deliveries during the week. The phone had arrived from Verizon. The car vent mount and phone case from Amazon had arrived. There were no outstanding deliveries, so this was either a misdirected package intended for a neighbor, which hasn’t happened for a long time, or a surprise of some sort for me.

Gilmore "graduation" gift.

The outer protective bag was untied. The name and address in the inner package were confirmed to be actually intended for me before the scissors were extracted from the kitchen junk drawer to breach the industrial strength plastic shipping envelope and remove a brown box and a note. It was, indeed, a surprise in the form of a Luke’s Diner mug. The timing of its arrival is near perfect, as the beloved mug from Customs House Museum where I used to work has lots of rusty spots on the bottom as was recently retired from the coffee mug rotation, leaving an opening. 

In addition, and more appropriately, Season 7 of Gilmore Girls is approaching its end in the big binge. Rory just received the offer for her first writing job and is excited about someone paying her to write. I remember that feeling from when I landed my first official job as a writer. It was exhilarating and validating and nerve-wracking all at once. It was the same feeling when I landed my second job with official title of "staff  writer." Those were grand days when I had it all – a younger brother and a job with business cards that proclaimed I was a bona fide, official, professional, paid writer.

The note in the package mentioned it was to celebrate the near-completion of the steady binge of all seven seasons and the attainment of “official Gilmore Girl” status. The surprise of the Luke's Diner Gilmore Girls graduation gift coffee mug was the perfect counterpoint to the low of National Sibling Day.