“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 844 (Thursday) – food memories

Helen was an
amazing cook.

While foraging in the cabinet for ideas for supper among the many assorted ingredients, the box of matzo crackers was moved out of the way for the seventy-billionth time. This particular time, it made me think of my former mother-in-law and her delicious meals. And that was it, I suddenly needed to taste some Bronx memories. 

The matzo crackers came out, and half a sheet was busted up and put into a fry pan with melted butter. Eggs were scrambled with some water and added to the fry pan. The plate was dressed with herring in wine sauce from a jar in the fridge.

Had this been Co-op City in the Bronx, Helen’s table in her small kitchen would have been laden with additional items: lox, bagels, cream cheese, sliced onion, tomato, orange juice, coffee, and who knows what all else. I would not have been eating in the living room in front of the TV. And it would also have been breakfast and not breakfast for supper.

Helen was an amazing cook. There are only two things from her extensive arsenal that I know how to make – noodle kugel and matzo brie. Despite having the ingredients, I haven’t made kugel in ages, but now that I’m thinking about it, it might have to happen soon. Historically, my kugel was always more successful than the matzo brie.

Matzo brie breakfast for supper.

The trick to keep the matzo crispy seems to be to fry the cracker in butter first, then add the egg mixture. That was learned in a recipe site somewhere in my casual recipe reading activities, then stored away until needed, and miraculously not forgotten in the interim. Previously, I had been putting the broken matzo into the egg mixture, but the end result was less appealing with soggy matzo in the egg. So yes, tonight’s supper tasted more like my food memories of the Bronx. And it was good. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 843 (Wednesday) – resting face

There have been days in this 843-day adventure when I have just not felt like cranking out a single word. Today is one of them. Today, however, is different, because instead of forcing myself to write a new rearrangement of words, the easy path is being taken. The archive was visited and something from 2013 that still holds true today was dusted off. Perhaps some things don’t really change, they just gather cobwebs. And wrinkles.

There is a YouTube video written by Taylor Orci and directed by Behn Fannin making the rounds of social media. Called “Bitchy Resting Face,” it chronicles “a disorder that affects millions of women every day.”

It’s funny. Well, to me anyway, because for as long as I can remember, I have been subjected to casual queries and full-blown interrogations as to why I am mad, glum, depressed, etc., etc. A history of wearing a lot of black probably didn’t help the situation, but hey, it’s not my fault that black happens to be appropriate for practically every occasion, episodes of bitchiness or depression included. 

For as many people I know who walk around smiling like a toothpaste ad, there is an equal number of acquaintances who are afflicted with Bitchy Resting Face. I relate to my non-smiling friends, maybe in part because I completely understand when they look mad but aren’t, and the ensuing aggravation when people keep commenting on it. 

Although I was kind of a moody teenager (who isn’t, really?), I’m pretty sure I was not as perpetually pissed off and bitchy as my face apparently portrayed me to be. Not when I was a kid, and not now. 

Even when perfectly content, I get the questions about being mad. I’m just not one of those people who can walk around all day every day with a smile plastered across my face. I’ve tried. It hurts. It looks more like a constipated grimace than a genuine smile, and I’m pretty sure it’s scarier than my Bitchy Resting Face and my “get the hell out of my way I’m pissed off” face.

Maybe the serious face
 runs n the family

Even the photos of me as a young kid look serious. Shy. Thoughtful, even. The fact is, I was self-conscious as all hell. As my classmates blossomed into womanhood all around me, I lived with daily worry that my own bosom would never develop because I slept on my stomach and refused to wear undershirts in first grade. 

Fifth and sixth grade was spent being tormented by female classmates with chests that bore more resemblance to Playboy centerfolds and Maxim cover models than 11-year-olds, and who delivered daily torture (today it’s called “bullying”) over my dream worthiness to pirates (sunken chest) and carpenters (flat as a board and skinny as a nail). These girls shoved orange peels down my shirt while chanting they were “adding to the cause.” Trust me, there was a LOT going on behind my early non-smiling Bitchy Resting Face, and cultivating a lovely smile was not as high on the agenda as surviving sixth grade without lashing out and committing murder. 

Ample photographic evidence exists that even when I tried to smile for a photo, it usually looked fake. While attempting to smile (especially during my teens and 20s when I was engrossed in fashion magazines and fantasies of being a model or a wealthy tycoon’s wife), I was also worried about crinkly eyes, smile lines, my super prominent cheekbones appearing even more prominent, showing the chip in my front tooth (earned at age 8) and later the repair to the chip in my front tooth (finally at 17). YOU try smiling with all that going on. 

The busy inner life was affecting the outward appearance. But I wasn’t always mad, I was usually just thinking. Focused. Trying to not trip over cracks in the sidewalk. Riding the wild pendulum between wanting to totally be invisible and desperately wishing to be noticed and acknowledged.

During a short stint as a beauty pageant contestant (two pageants, one crown) there was an insider trick shared by other contestants -- Vaseline on the teeth. Try it. It’s freeking disgusting. The feeling is so nasty you’ll do anything to avoid closing your mouth over your teeth. Ta da! A smile, but not exactly practical for daily use.

Regular "Wasn't expecting a photo"
Resting Bitchy Face.

Thankfully, some of the baggage of the old inner life has been shed, and I’m slightly less self conscious (or no longer give a crap). Thanks to the proliferation of camera phones and digital photography, there is a small reservoir of recent photographic evidence of me smiling. These may be directly linked to an indulgence in beer, wine, or good old fashioned hard liquor (friends have said I am one smiling, happy drunk) but I’ll take whatever breaks can be caught. 

There is the comfort of the official recognition of “Bitchy Resting Face” and my sisters in faces. According to the "Bitchy Resting Face" video, our brothers in faces have an equivalent called "Asshole Face." We're one big, bitchy asshole face family.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 842 (Tuesday) – days and stuff

Day lilies!

The day lilies are blooming. The plants near the gate are as tall as I am, and because of this, the blooms are at my eye level. So is the evidence of eight instances of clean cuts from that cluster of day lilies where something was cleanly cut or bitten off. Based on the height and the results of an Internet search, the prime suspects are deer. At least they haven’t eaten all the buds. Not yet, anyway. The day lilies along the back fence are not quite as tall, and have no evidence of being snack food for wildlife.

The air was comfortable all day and the windows were open. The light streaming into the office and the kitchen was lovely. Winston slept on the rug behind my desk chair most of the day, and across the room on the little rug at the sink for the rest of it.

Work involved a fair amount of time searching for files and misplacing new files and a lot of swearing and wondering if there is a better way to organize the too many projects and folders and stuff that can logically fit in more than one category. Things always start easy and get complicated six weeks later when the files has suddenly become impossible to find. Thank goodness for the search function, but only if I happen to guess the right keywords and didn't abbreviate something in the file name. Maybe a better file reorganization solution will come to me in the shower, where so many other brilliant revelations have arrived and some are even remembered.

June 28, 2010.

In the Facebook memories department, a photo of my nieces and me popped up from 2010 when I was home on vacation for a week. We did fun things like go to the beach inMaine, play games, take blurry selfies, and get ice cream. Twelve years is a long time and now they are so grown up with their own jobs and lives.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 841 (Monday) – ortho visit

Last night, in preparation for the appointment at the orthopedic surgeon before work this morning, I looked up the name of the office, got the address online, and programmed it and the desired arrival time into Waze. The referral sheet from the primary care office showed the Chelmsford address, but my appointment was at the Westford location because I could be seen sooner there. I needed to leave by 7:45 to arrive on time. The morning ran according to schedule and I was showered, dressed, hair dried and styled, and ready to leave at the designated time.

In the lobby of the building, a different orthopedic office name was listed on the directory, and under the practice name, none of the names was the doctor my appointment was with. I panicked a bit, stepped away, and took a breath. Then I returned to the directory. Nope, still not there. But both the wrong information and my panic were present and accounted for.

I returned to the car to call the office. The referral list was consulted for the practice name, and it was entered into Google just like the night previous. The address found was that of the parking lot I was sitting in. The number in my phone was called.

The rabbit hole of hold messages and doctor bios felt like forever before I got a person on the line and could verify where I was supposed to be. I was in the right town and close, but instead of telling me the correct street to reprogram the navigation, the office person gave a series of landmarks that meant little to me – CVS, Cumberland Farms, Major Name chain hotel. I finally got the correct address and Waze informed me I was barely a mile off course and a straight shot down the street. 

I arrived later than planned and even more stressed than usual. There was a ream of paperwork to complete. The waiting room was cold and the sweater in my bag was pulled out and donned. Despite having had x-rays done at Lowell General after my regular checkup, the office wanted more and different ones done. Then there was a wait in the exam room where a couple of the new x-rays were illuminated on the screen near some models of bone bits. 

The good news out of the appointment is that my knees aren’t rotted, I don’t need surgery, and ibuprofen may be my salvation. After the doctor left the exam room without dropping a clue about what I was supposed to do next, I sat for a minute, then peeked out of the room and down the hall. There was another patient at the “Please check with secretary before leaving” window. I hung back to not crowd them.

The nurse practitioner appeared with a printout of exercises to help stretch the something or other at the side of one thigh and said I was ok to go. Unfortunately, the ibuprofen regimen the doctor mentioned wasn’t written down, so after three times a day for a week, I have zero recall of what came next. Why do doctors not have something available to write down the instructions, especially when it’s “take this much, then taper to that much, then taper off altogether”? About 50% of the time, the instructions are forgotten before I’m out of the office and 99% of the time they are 100% forgotten by the time the car is started.

If the ibuprofen works and I can walk without pain again, maybe I can start hiking, biking, and being more alive again. It will be nice to be able to move without pain. So, so nice. Really looking forward to it.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 840 (Sunday) – then and now

The morning air was perfect for coffee and reading a gigantic book and lounging around on the deck. The book, Deep River, is a novel by Karl Marlantes that clocks in at 717 pages. This morning, I read the singular sentiment that explains so much about the Finnish side of my family: "But Juoka was a Finn too, and a fight between a Finnish couple was like a fight between glaciers. Only the occasional sound of the cracking of ice revealed the power of the opposing forces."

After an hour or two outside, it was like a switch flipped on the big outdoor furnace and for the rest of the day it was sweltering. Once the furnace started, there was a good amount of lying around doing not much. Some laundry miraculously managed to get done, mostly because dressing for work was problematic last week, the memory lingers, and there is no desire for a repeat this week.

The hot laziness could have been alleviated simply by turning on the A/C, but I was too lazy to leave the couch and the air movement of the living room ceiling fan to go through the house and find the open windows to close them. This may be the pinnacle of my laziness. During one trip to refill the giant cup of ice water, I noticed the thermostat reading was 90 degrees.

There was no desire to make dinner but much desire to eat. Pizza delivery menus were consulted but in the end it was home-prepared pasta with sauce, meatballs, and cheese, served with a side of sweat. At least lunch is covered for a couple days.

In previous years on this date, exciting things transpired. I was at a bicycle race followed by a duck race (2016), a book club meeting in a coffee shop (2014), vacationing in Maine (2013), traveling from Tennessee to California to visit cousins (2012), skating in a roller derby bout in southern Illinois (2011), and at a Greek Festival in Fitchburg (2010). It seems I have really slammed on the brakes in recent years as far as fun and excitement is concerned. Life was very full then.

Today I sat around, read a book, and did the Doom Scroll in social media, email, and news headlines. The only conversation of the entire day was saying "Hey, how are you?" to the lady next door. Sad.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 839 (Saturday) – kicking back

Today had a low-tech, kicked back, old school feel to it. I was up at the regular time of 6:00, dusting, vacuuming, washing the kitchen floor, and taking inventory of the pantry for lunch. Coffee was consumed. More coffee was made.  

Mom and StepDad arrived after getting tangled up in parade traffic in Pepperell. Who knew the Independence Day parade would take place a week and a couple days before the holiday? Not us, obviously.

We set the umbrella back in the table stand, then had coffee on the deck. StepDad set the screw in the umbrella base this time, so it should hold better than the previous faulty situation that led to the airborne umbrella.

Mom and I played Scrabble on my totally old-fashioned flat board that is not on a swivel like hers. There were two games with one victory each. StepDad tackled a small project in the enclosed porch. There was lunch on the deck and conversation. It was relaxing.

Shopping haul.

After they left, I headed to the moving sale at the Tyngsboro JoAnn Fabrics for I wasn’t sure what. I wanted a sea sponge, but there were none there. I also wanted paint, but had no idea what color, so the shelves of many little bottles and large spray cans was a bit overwhelming. I finally chose a boxed set of small tubes of acrylic paints, assorted brushes, jewelry beading wire and jewelry E-6000 glue, and other random less fabric and craft store items like a Ghiradelli milk chocolate and caramel bar. The next stop was Dollar Tree across the parking lot where they had stencils and a few other things. 

The temperature had crept up to hot by lunchtime, as promised, and the car A/C seemed to have trouble keeping up. Mid-afternoon I remembered I need an inspection sticker by the end of this month, but I don’t see how I’m going to squeeze that in now unless I can time travel back to this morning or last Saturday. The weekday hours are not exactly office worker friendly.

The evening was still pretty warm, but light breezes had returned, and thank goodness for ceiling fans. I am positive I would never survive one of those TV decorating shows because the first thing the team does most of the time is rip out the ceiling fans. I would be ripping out someone’s throat.

My phone was plugged into the charger and left there all day. All day, all day. I was halfway to JoAnn Fabric before I realized it was still plugged in at home. Deep breaths were taken. Panic was avoided. I carried on, and somehow survived.

Paint time!

After supper, it was time to relax with some mindless Hallmark movies, a big glass of ice water, paints, a large and a small canvas, a sponge, a foam applicator thingy, some cupcake liners, and stencils. In the living room, of course, because the element of risk of spilling paint on the ottoman adds a sliver of danger to keep the relaxing from becoming too sedate.

After turquoise and dark blue with metallic gold stenciled elements were applied with a makeup sponge and the foam dabber thingy, it was time to stop for the night. It’s entirely possible there will be more paint added tomorrow. Or not. And I still need a sea sponge to maybe do one more thing in the bathroom and then I can rehang the artwork and the clock.. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 838 (Friday) – comfortable memories

In the memory chip of the York Beach vacation of nine years ago, on this date, the waves were a bit assertive and there was a tiny mishap. According to Facebook memories and a post from that day, and I quote, “Today’s report: Massive wave => swimsuit top off, sunglasses and hat afloat, and two purple toes. The Atlantic wins. I have tomorrow.”

South Union Shaker Village,
Kentucky - June 24, 2012

It was kind of hilarious but also a stern reminder of the power of the ocean. And purple is a good color. Very royal.

Ten years ago, a group of photographer friends and I went to the South Union Shaker Village in Kentucky. Most of us were in the Friends of Photography group in Clarksville, Tennessee. The day was spent with fun and inspiring photographers, beautifully crafted furniture, and peaceful household scenes. Photo group trips were always fun and I miss that crew. 

It was a beautiful, sunny day. Photographing buildings and inanimate objects is my “thing.” I can take as long as I want, and there is no living breathing subject waiting on me so something can happen. I shot 127 photos that day and when I got home and downloaded them to the computer, discovered there was some kind of dust or schmutz on either the lens or the mirror, leaving a small spot on many of them in the same spot in the frame. Errr….

Broom shop - South Union Shaker
Village, Kentucky - June 24, 2012

Eleven years ago, there was a battle with the Tennessee wildlife that was eating my garden. The slugs had eaten the marigolds, and the deer ate the tomato plants. Roma was the preferred tomato but they would settle for the grape tomato plants after polishing off the Roma. 

It’s fun visiting benign memories for a temporary retreat from the present, which lately, has been about as stressful as it could be. The news is unbearable on every front -- local, regional, and national. 

It feels like it may be time for a long-term retreat to the mindless fluff of the Hallmark Channel. The predictable plots where the worst thing that happens is it rains on the day of the big town festival or someone breaks a toe would be refreshing. Knowing from the beginning that everyone ends up okay in the end is comforting. Real life is not feeling very reassuring or comforting these days.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 837 (Thursday) – rodeo clown

There was every intention of getting to book club early. Work ended at 5:00, a change of footwear took me out of flip flops and into a more sturdy sandal. Winston was fed and medicated and went outside. Then he was diapered and given the Momma feels guilty that she’s leaving cookies. There was a temporary moment of wardrobe insecurity involving the fear of being cold in the restaurant that resulted in a trip upstairs for a sweater to jam in the purse. Suddenly, it was 5:43 and I was finally just walking out the door for the 6:00 meeting.

I drove downtown, parked, walked around the corner to Warp and Weft, and squeaked into the restaurant before the meeting began. I ended up at a corner of the long table with the rest of the noisy room behind me. 

The alley near book club.

The evening’s beer was chosen because the name was amusing and it is a local brewer – Bull Spit Brewing Company (Lancaster, MA) Rodeo Clown. There are not many craft beers I don’t like, but tongiht I learned this is one of them. The description in the Untappd App says “Sour – Traditional Gose.” Whatever that means. My note about it says “Ordered for the fun name. Ick.”

Thanks to the acoustics, three or four of us at our end could hear all the restaurant noise but very little of the book club discussion ahead. We started our own conversations a couple times. 

After book club, the walk to the car took me past the alley that runs between Market Street and Middle Street. The alley has grass covered trolley tracks and a wall with a mural. Since the last time I passed there and paid attention, the wall of one building is covered in greenery and looks really cool.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 836 (Wednesday) – beach house

On this date in 2013, Mom, Sis, the nieces, Moose, Winston, and I headed to the beach for a full week. We had rented a three-story house near Long Sands Beach in York, Maine. The lowest level was bedrooms, the main level was living and dining, and the third had a pool table and futons. It smelled musty and felt damp, like many beach houses do. There was room to spread out and it was fun. 

Long Sands Beach, York, Maine,
 June 22, 2013.

Three months earlier, I had moved back to Massachusetts from Tennessee, where the closest beach was an eight hour drive. It was thrilling to be living an hour from beaches again. 

The first evening at the beach house, we discovered the blinds in the living room were stuck in the raised position. The house next door was just a few feet away with windows unobstructed by blinds or curtains. Around suppertime, a woman exercised along with a show playing on the big screen TV in her living room. In her underwear. The way the furniture in our rental was situated, it faced the window with the stuck blinds. If she turned slightly, she would have seen us in our living room. So there we sat, laughing and trying to not look out the window, trying to not watch the lady in the underwear exercising in the house with no curtains. It was awkward and also funny.

The dogs were unimpressed with the beach. In the early morning until 8:00 am, dogs could be leash free in the beach, and the first morning there, my nieces and I took the dogs across the wooden bridge over the little stream, across the street to the beach. The air was cool and the waves were loud. The dogs lasted about 10 seconds off leash, turned and ran at top speed away from the water towards the street. My nieces and I chased after them. Luckily, there were people at the top of the stairs who caught them before they could go further and we could catch up. After that, Moose would refuse to cross the little wooden bridge, even when we weren’t going to the beach.

It was a fun week with many laughs. In the nine years separating then and now, so much has happened – three high school graduations, home purchases and moves, job changes and promotions, other vacations, not to mention all the crazy world events. 

It feels like an entire lifetime has happened between then and now. We've sometimes talked about staying at the beach again, but for less than a week. It just hasn't happened. Yet. Some day.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 835 (Tuesday) – scripted nuggets

According to Netflix, one of the shows now trending is God’s Favorite Idiot, with Melissa McCarty and Ben Falcone. The title is amusing and I took the bait. There are several familiar faces in the cast, which is fun.

The workplace depicted is lively and filled with conversation that is often inappropriate and also funny. The convivial interaction of the swear swapping colleagues is nothing like office settings in which I work. Not lately, anyway. Or maybe it is, and just not when I’m there. 

My favorite workplace banter so far was between Amily, played by Melissa McCarthy and coworker Tom played by Chris Sandiford.

Amily:   “Tom, stop interrupting me or I will end you.”

Tom:      “I’m not interrupting. I’m collaboratively overlapping.”

“Collaboratively overlapping.” And there you have it, my new favorite phrase. For as long as I remember it, anyway.

The current second favorite phrase, delivered by office boss Frisbee is “Thanks for sunshining that for me.”  Bwahahaha.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 834 (Monday) – fun times award

We did Father’s Day today at my sister’s house. We didn’t forget, we planned it this way last week. My sister made biscuits and gravy, always impressive, but even more so today after learning her stove died on Sunday. Thank goodness for electric hotplates and her extensive camping experience. Dad, Sis, and I dined and talked for a couple hours. There were stories of the old family house and cool stuff Dad found in the walls and the yard during various stages of improvements.

This was the nice part of the day. The preceding part was a bit more stressful.

At 9:00 am, I sat in my driveway programming Waze so I could get the important alerts along the ride. The alerts today were mostly “roadkill on road ahead” and “vehicle on side of road.” While setting up the address, a UHaul truck came down the one-way, dead-end street, backed into my driveway on the other side of the house, turned and backed down the rest of the street, stopping in front of the Nuisance House. It didn’t seem wise to pull out of the driveway at the same time a truck was backing down the street towards the same driveway so I waited. 

The award goes to ...

When the truck stopped, it did so in the middle of the street, blocking me from getting out of my driveway. I tooted the horn and waved to signal the driver (who was not someone who lives at that house) to let me out. Instead of moving the truck forward or out of the middle of the street and closer to the destination house, the driver turned off the truck and hopped out. Then he started gesturing that he felt I had plenty of space between one neighbor’s three trash cans in front of my house for pickup today and the UHaul he had just parked in the middle of the street.

This escalated into a gesturing and shouting conversation that lasted three to four times longer than if he had just moved the truck up a few feet so I could leave. In the end, because he was clearly not going to move the truck, it was him gesturing and me executing a 27-point turn to navigate the hard left into the narrow space between the barrels and the truck.

Then, he stood in the street in front of my car so I still couldn’t leave. This is when he chose to deliver his loud sermon about how he was “just trying to enjoy his day” (as was I), and that he “doesn’t even live on this street” (um, no kidding), and that I “need to relax” (ok, that is true), and something about how I must be “that asshole neighbor that complains about everything.”

That one hurt. A lot. Because from where I sit, I have been exceedingly patient with the exceedingly self-absorbed people who come calling at the Nuisance House across the street. And I might bitch about the Nuisance House and its visitors in a blog, but it hasn’t gone any further than that. But it could.

If I really was “that asshole neighbor that complained about everything,” there would have been a stream of texts to the property owner and/or calls to the police during any othe dozens of pool parties when the driveway was blocked by the many Nuisance House guest cars blocking the entire end of the street. And definitely all the many Friday nights at 11:00 or 12:00 when the 10 or 15 cars arrive and park three across and three or four deep in the end of the street as if it was a private parking lot and then finally leave on Saturday mornings around 4:00 am with great fanfare when the guests spill out of the house and into the street, yelling and slamming car doors and revving engines during the very long goodbyes and departures. Or all the weekends when a UHaul truck arrives and parks in the middle of the street for 30 to 60 minutes as the dirt bikes are ceremoniously rolled out from the back yard and into the truck, and later in the day when they are wrangled back out of the truck and returned to the back yard. And every day when the neighborhoodlums from the Nuisance House are in my driveway throwing the basketball into their hoop across the street, and again at 11:00 or midnight when the late-night game commences, now accompanied by a whistle.

I might be wrong, but if any “asshole neighbor” awards are being bestowed, the crown will at least need to be shared with the Nuisance House across the street.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 833 (Sunday) – bathrobe double feature

The fine weather has broken and it got chilly. Sunny, cloudy, gray, back into the 60s chilly sampler. There was a shower followed by coffee while sitting on the couch with wet hair and wearing the purple chenille winter bathroom. This leisure activity dragged on and suddenly, it was 10:00 and there was a noise in the driveway.

Like a person expecting a delivery (I was) and also like a TV show nosy neighbor in a bathrobe (guilty as charged), I peeked out from between the curtains at the deck sliders. It wasn’t a UPS truck bearing the two pairs of sandals from Kohl’s. Instead, a big yellow Penske truck had backed in and straddled the shared driveway between my house and the one next door. The truck was long enough that the front part protruded into the street. It seemed weird, but I figured maybe the neighbors on the other side of the shared driveway were moving something big either in or out. 

Heading out to the correct city.

I had barely sat my backside back down on the couch when I heard the gate latch to the deck opened. It sticks and requires effort. There was a knock on the side storm door between deck and enclosed porch. And then there I was, standing at the door with wet hair, wearing a purple bathrobe and talking to a stranger. This is exactly the situation I try to avoid by dressing right away and not sitting around all morning in pajamas and bathrobes.

I asked the guy at the door if I could help him, and he said he had my delivery from IKEA. Um, nope. I like IKEA, but I haven’t been there since about 2014, and there is exactly zero space in the house for anything from IKEA that requires delivery by a massive truck.

He showed me his phone screen, which definitely and clearly showed my house number and street name, and he flipped to the screen with the map and routing to my house. There was one important detail on the line below the street name that I caught on the first screen. I told the guy to back up one screen and pointed out to the delivery guy that the address he needed said Salem and not Lowell. Right house, wrong city. Sorry guys.

The guy headed back to the truck and the other delivery person as I headed back into the house. On my way inside, the delivery guy uttered a very loud f-bomb. It was justifiable, as they were about 35 miles and 45 to 60 minutes off course (depending upon route) and the delivery route was probably now off schedule for the day. Not to mention the cost of more gas for a massive truck.

The truck departed, and Winston, who had lounged in his bed the entire time, decided he wanted to go outside. As I leaned against the front doorway watching Winston, now on full display for the house across the street, the cute guy who drives the big blue truck rolled up. He’s been staying there the past couple weeks. He looked right at me as I leaned in the doorway with my wet hair and my purple bathroom, talking on the phone to Mom, telling her about the delivery. He had the decency to quickly look away, which I appreciated. 

The morning was delivering a double whammy of mortification and punishment for lounging around in a bathrobe. I also noticed the delivery guy had left the gate to the deck open, but that could wait until I was dressed to be addressed. The bathrobe fashion show was over.

When I returned home after an afternoon away, the Kohl's box had been delivered. And I can only wonder what might have happened if I hadn’t been off schedule and was already gone when the Penske truck arrived with the errant delivery. Would I have returned to a deck loaded with IKEA boxes? Hopefully, the delivery required a signature and wouldn’t have been just left without customer contact.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 832 (Saturday) – toilet and mower

The day’s accomplishments were few and minor. Much of the morning was spent either staring at the toilet while muttering, reading the results of Internet searches for “toilet doesn’t flush right” and “how to plunge a toilet,” and plunging the toilet while swearing. That killed most of the morning with no immediate signs of success.

There were lessons. I have the right kind of toilet plunger, but was doing it wrong. Something about the angle was mentioned as important. In any event, between the tank that frequently keeps running until it is sworn at and the handle is jiggled a couple times to make it stop, and now the rebellion against the basic yet crucial flushing function, I see bathroom repairs in the near future, along with visions of dollars being flushed from the bank account. Oh, goody. Squee!

Patchwork yard.

The weeds in the front yard were tall enough that there was danger of Winston being lost in the jungle. Forgive me garden gurus, for I have sinned. It was nearly three weeks since the last mowing. 

The recently acquired electric lawn mower was rolled from the shed. It’s a dream – quieter than the old gas mower, infinitely easier to start, and maneuvers more easily. The yard was done with zero swearing, which was good because I used up most of them earlier with the toilet. The back yard has more actual grass and was less shaggy, so the mowing there was saved for another day. 

The interesting things about the front lawn include the two distinct textures and shades of green represented in whatever grows there, which are more pronounced after mowing. There is the varying density of the deep, rich green blades, and the lighter, brighter green of whatever that stuff is. It's an effect like a patchwork quilt or a really bad shag carpet. 

And then there is the interesting smell. Whatever the weird bright green stuff is that occupies more than half the yard smells a bit like mustard when cut. It’s odd, fascinating, and gross. Sort of like the morning dealing with the toilet.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 831 (Friday) – friday night gala

Going out on a Friday night always makes the weekend feel longer.  Attending a Friday night gala for Merrimack Repertory Theater on the cusp of a long weekend felt like the best possible way to shake off the dust of the workweek and kickstart the leisure time.

Vintage bits!

It was a chance to dress up a bit and be out with colleagues as part of the Bank’s event sponsorship. After logging off from work, a couple vintage pieces were dusted off and taken out to play. Winston was fed and I dashed upstairs to dress. 

Thank goodness for fashion cycles and packrat tendencies. Tonight’s outfit began with high-waisted black pants from the last time waistbands were really high (up over the ribs) from the late 70s or early 80s with a cream and tan bed jacket over a cream camisole and finished off with my favorite giant fancy necklace I made from vintage brooches, and the new blue shoes. 

Shortly before 6:00 I was headed out for the night. And what a nice night it was. There were cocktails and socializing on a terrace on a sunny evening with cooling breezes. There were colleagues I hadn't seen for two or three years do to office moves and then the pandemic. 

Stage set for Woody Sez.

We moved indoors for dinner featuring fish, fowl, and beef and an array of potatoes and vegetables. After dinner, an accordionist led us to the theater for performances from the current production Woody Sez: The Life and Music of Woody Guthrie, and an earlier production of Back Together Again: The Music of Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway. 

After the live auction it was back to the terrace for dessert and the settling up of auction items. There was strawberry shortcake layer cake and ice cream with hot fudge. On the way out, we were given packaged chocolate treats from Sweet Lydia's, a local handcrafted chocolate shop. 

The whole night was well-paced, well organized and most pleasant. And it felt wonderfully pre-pandemic normal.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 830 (Thursday) – shoes and shirts

New shoes were worn today. Not the shoes ordered this week, as those won’t deliver until Sunday. The new electric blue open toe slides worn today were bought way back in April and the box stuffed into the closet and nearly forgotten, so it's possible they weren't technically new, just unworn. When they arrived, it was still “chilly closed toed shoes/booties with socks” season. When the weather improved, it was “still have winter feet and there is no way I’m wearing sandals or open toed shoes” season. 

Blue shoes.

Today, despite the continued winter feet condition, it became “screw it, I’m wearing these things anyway.” This was partly because the booties I had on were rubbing on my ankle and the pattern on the booties didn’t really go with the multicolored pattern on my shirt. It was easier to change the footwear than to find another shirt, which had already taken more time to choose than it deserved, and still wouldn't solve the chafed ankle situation. At least the new blue shoes picked up on one of the 57 colors in the shirt.

Yesterday’s work ensemble began with blue ankle pants that match the shoes worn today, but wearing them together might be too matchy matchy, and my knee hurt when I woke up, so heels were out of the question. The pants were paired with a blue and white striped shirt with epaulets and navy loafers.

Just before leaving, I walked past a mirror and looked at the reflection it held. The shirt looked rumpled and too long for the proportions of the pants. There was a quick costume change into tan ankle pants with a pink, brown and cream silk long sleeve jersey and a cream-colored cardigan for air conditioned safety’s sake.

It’s amazing how quickly an outfit change can be accomplished after spending 10- or 15-minutes deliberating over the initial outfit or two. Sometimes three. Maybe someday I’ll be able to plan outfits in advance. Usually, office attire is dictated by a check of the weather forecast, an assessment of the knee, an analysis of weight, and a review of what was worn during the last day in the office. These factors can't be predicted with confidence.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 829 (Wednesday) – secrets and surprises

John St., Lowell,
 July 2016.

The walk to the office from the garage went past the small secret garden on John Street. It’s nestled between two concrete buildings, with a wrought iron fence along the sidewalk and can be easy to miss.

Over the years, it has occasionally been sadly overgrown and overrun with weeds. Human trash like cups, wrappers, cans, and other junk have been deposited or blown in. 

When traveling on John Street away from Merrimack Street, the flowers of the garden are not even in the line of sight. That might be what makes it special and fun. It’s one of several little pockets of peace and prettiness tucked away in downtown.  

I first noticed the little garden a few months after starting at the bank. Photos of the space from July 2016 show a neat and tidy space planted with multiple rose bushes. They have grown considerably since then, stretching higher than the windows are tall.

John St., Lowell, June 2022.

Since returning to the office three days a week, and especially this spring, I’ve been paying attention to the space during the walks from the garage, waiting to see the degree to which it will bloom. 

I either forgot to pay attention last Friday and Monday, or the rose bushes exploded with blooms since then. This morning it was full of yellow roses. So pretty. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 828 (Tuesday) – cars and shoes

One year ago - car delivery day.

One year ago today, the Jeep salesman delivered the Renegade to The BungaLowell. The day one photos are wet and rainy. The weather on car-anniversary day was much nicer with sunshine and breezes.

The Jeep has acquired only around 6,000 miles in the past year. At first, there wasn’t anywhere I especially wanted to go. Now gas is so expensive, there is no place I want to go enough to lay out the cost of fuel. It’s become a choice between expensive groceries or expensive gas. The stomach wins every time. Luckily, driving is not a past-time for me like it is for other people. I'm a Point A to Point B destination driver and not a recreational driver, so there is no real sense of loss from not tooling around town.

I still miss the six-CD payer that was in the old car, but I’ve finally found a radio station that isn't awful. Thank you, Emerson College for your radio station and the variety of tolerable music. But Route 495 just isn’t the same without the Beth Nielsen Chapman Latin church hymns and the Middle Eastern Belly Dance music CDs.

When looking at the Renegade, brief consideration was given to getting a proper Jeep – you know, the Wrangler. This was dismissed because it felt like it would be false advertising portraying an image I can’t live up to – that of an adventurer. The Renegade is a softer, more diluted version of a Jeep, and the nonexistent back seat and miniscule cargo area accurately reflect my nonexistent life. I am relatively at peace with the harmony of car and driver.

In other non-adventuring news, my new elderly accessory arrived today – the elbow strap that is supposed to help with the tendonitis. It came with plenty of instructions about the washing and drying, but not how to use the stupid thing. 

The internet was consulted for guidance on where the lumpy part is supposed to sit and how tight to set the thing and in true fashion, by the time the laptop was turned on, the mission was forgotten and I ended up looking at shoes. There are now four pairs of sandals in shopping carts at two different online vendors. Thanks to a 30% Kohl’s discount on top of some decent sale prices, it’s looking like it will be Kohl’s for the win. At least my feet will be stylish. Hopefully enough to erase the stigma of the bulky and dumb looking strap that keeps sliding down my arm and flopping like a giant bangle bracelet.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 827 (Monday) – minor mission

It was a day of gooey time, quick time, and reckoning. Most of the workday was quiet and passed slowly. There were several of us in the office, and all were focused and quiet and busy at our respective work stations. And after a day where the clock dragged and took its sweet time, as though slogging through thick mud, suddenly it was 4:00, which was important because I needed to leave early.

Winston, the good boy.

At 4:25, files were closed, the computer was shut down, and I bolted from the desk, to the garage, and for the not-so-open road of Route 495 and then Route 2. That is where time began to stand still again a bit. But just a little. 

The traffic was moderately heavy, the travel was steady, the destination was Winston’s vet office, and the objective was getting his veterinary insulin. While in the slightly less expensive area for gas, the tank was filled. Cha-ching. Bye bye money, it was nice knowing you. 

The return trip featured steady travel and at 6:20, I was home. Winston was waiting inside the kitchen door, all cute and happy. He was let outside and his supper was prepared – prescription kibble with fresh chicken broth heated and stirred in the way he likes it. Today, anyway. This preference can and likely will change. Probably soon.

The vet trip was required because the insulin supply seems to be fine and then suddenly, one day it is nearly depleted. Last week it was getting low and today it was nearly gone. Today was one of the days the vet is open until 7:00. 

Calculations were made for time, distance and the latest possible departure from the office to still get there, even if there was a traffic tie-up. The refill was ordered and the mission scheduled on my calendar. Now we are good for about six weeks or so. With that singular aspect, anyway. There is another day of reckoning on the horizon for more flea and tick and heartworm prevention, but those refills weren't requested for today's pickup. And a wallet can take only so much aggressive activity in one day.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 826 (Sunday) – productive procrastination

Another beautiful weather day. Imagine if it could stay like this all the time -- sunny, breezy, temperature in the high 70s with sunrise around 5:00 am and sunset at nearly 8:30 pm. Sigh.

Love this plant place --
Gary's Too, Rte 119, Townsend.

The drive to dance class took place with the roof open, sunglasses on, and radio playing. Dance was fun, but now we are done until September. There are other teachers with summer classes that might be good to check out. Or not. Relaxing sounds pretty good.

The usual Sunday visit to the farm stand happened after class.  I wandered aimlessly looking at the plants and all the colors, but didn’t get anything. Unfortunately, this week I had no plan for where to put more flowers and the lack of a plan was crippling. The selection can be overwhelming when not looking for something specific. But it’s okay. I can go back there anytime. 

There was a ripple effect from the non-purchase of flowers. It meant there was no need to be digging today, which allowed time and energy to trim the rhododendron. It had begun sprawling again and was covering windows, hanging over the lawn, and crowding the neighbor plants. It’s trimmed now. While trimming, I realized that handling that task was really a delaying tactic to avoid mowing. At least it was a productive procrastination effort.

The game of “should I water the flowers or should I not” played in the background. After hearing it was going to rain the watering was skipped, but so far, not a single drop has fallen.

In exciting news of other adulting tasks, grocery shopping was done and the produce bin is restocked with salad ingredients. A roast chicken was bought  and there is fresh broth for Canine Overlord Winston’s food. It’s the three tablespoon solution that gets him to eat his food, so it’s worth the hours of a chicken carcass simmering on the stove.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 825 (Saturday) – invitations and inspiration

Inspiration strikes when it wants and where it wants. It can be hoped for and invited, but that doesn’t mean it will appear. This knowledge was reinforced recently when I read the book Satori in Paris by Jack Kerouac. It was the theme for an exhibit and I hoped the words would invite a visit from the Muse and I’d be inspired to make photos to enter into the exhibit. I enjoyed the book, but the Muse didn’t visit. I had exactly zero ideas for new work, and insufficient ambition to look through the multiple binders of old negatives from Paris or hard drives of newer work to print from those. Looking at photos of a young Jack Kerouac during the past few months and various sources has shown me one thing. Young Jack was hot and if I was around Lowell in his young days, I would likely have been crushing on him. Hard. But I digress.

Satori in Paris - the exhibit.

The exhibit reception was today, and the show is an assortment of paintings, photos, and mixed media pieces. It was a treat to see the studio artists who were on site, a couple colleagues who attended, and a friend who had work in the show. Except for the masks required because the gallery is in a federal building, it all felt very pre-pandemic normal.

Looking at the artworks done by the folks who managed to get their acts together and create elicited mixed emotions. There was interesting work to admire and appreciate. At the same time, there was a twinge of sadness and regret that I hadn’t gotten my own crap together to have something to enter. It’s not the first time and surely won’t be the last.

During a conversation with a writer I met at the reception, we ran through a variety of topics. While I told her about photos I’ve taken in Maine and the vacations of my youth camping at York Beach, she commented a couple times that it gave her an idea. Sometimes all it takes is a conversation for inspiration. For half the conversational transaction, anyway. At least we exchanged business cards so we can resume the conversation. Too many times there have been great conversations with just-met people and then we go our separate ways and it becomes an eroding memory of “person X was so interesting, too bad I’ve never run into them again.”

So. Much. Brick.

After the reception it was back through the courtyard to the car and home. I took a minute to acknowledge all the brick. Downtown Lowell has a LOT of brickwork. Brick buildings. Brick courtyards. A brick park. More brick buildings. It feels stable. Solid. Dependable. No fairy tale wolf will blow down this little pig's house.

At The BungaLowell, Winston was waiting for me. Recently, instead of being upstairs outside the bedroom, he is in the office when I arrive home. When I come in through the kitchen door, he does the cute thing where he taps his front paws on the floor. This particular choreography is presented when I get home and twice a day when he reminds me that he has not received his good boy cookie for eating the prescription food he isn’t so keen on. The cookie reward system is alive and well, even if the Muse invitational system is not.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 824 (Friday) – downtown walking

Another beautiful weather day, another quick afternoon walk downtown. It was a refreshing break from the desk, even though things were running great at the desk today. There were four people working on the floor and there was light conversation and fellowship. You know, the things that make working in an office fun and that provide energy to power through the work. 

Friday reflections in a store window.

Content was finished and polished and sent to a business line for review with a deadline of next Friday. In possibly the fastest review ever, all three articles were returned in a most expeditious manner with minor edits to one of them, and they were submitted for full review. Things were running on all cylinders today and it felt good.

The afternoon walk was to further stalk the Vintage Store that is in the process of setting up. Merrimack Street was abuzz with energy at 3:00. Outside the bakery, there was a cluster of student types and the scent of marijuana hung in the air. People walked along the sidewalks and ate at restaurant sidewalk tables.

Nobody was inside the vintage shop today, but there was a QR code inside the glass door. Since the pandemic, QR codes have made quite the comeback, and are now used for restaurant menus, beer lists, and links to websites in print ads. I hoped the QR code would lead me to a website for the store, but it opened a list of payment apps and Poshmark, the online secondhand site. There was also a link for an Instagram site for the store that has no content yet, but at least it’s a clue and I am now a follower on the site along with 125 other people.

Brick park tucked into downtown.

Life must have gotten pretty small for me when stalking a not yet opened vintage store and peeking in the windows ranks as a highlight for the day. Not just once, but twice in a week. It’s probably long past the time to bust things open and start living large again. 

One block away from Merrimack on Middle Street, it was another world. The sidewalks were nearly deserted and my favorite little all brick pocket park that makes me think of New York City was empty and quiet. The air smelled like grilled hamburgers, but I couldn't figure out from where it came. 

It was a nice walk. Rejuvenating. A sensory delight. I need to remember to do it more often.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 823 (Thursday) – downspouts and flowers

Another remote workday done. Another day closer to the weekend. And it is good.

It poured for a while in the morning, and I was glad to be working from home for two reasons. The first was not having to be out in the rain. The second reason was that, if not working from home, I would have missed the return of the gutter waterfall feature over the front door. After the gutters were cleaned last year, the problem seemed solved, but now it seemed to be back. 

A minute was taken to revive the memory of beloved book character and teenage sleuth Nancy Drew, which involved dashing upstairs and opening the second floor window and raising the screen. By hanging out the window a a bit, it is possible to look down on the top of the gutter. The gutter itself, from what I could see, was was full of clean looking water and not much else. This is quite unlike last year when it was full of black goo, decomposed leaves, and even a tennis ball. The unofficial, very amateur fictional detective conclusion is that the problem must be at the downspout at the corner. 

As it rained, there was effort required to convince Winston to go outside. The front door water flow had Winston refusing to pass through. To get him into the back yard, meant I also had to go outside to guide him out to the yard and check the gate. While outside in the rain I had been glad to avoid just minutes earlier, the downspout was observed to be dispensing barely a trickle of water. It was far from the streams of water pouring forth from the downspouts on the other corners of my house and even the house next door. 

Peony popping!

Now the question is, now what? The low-budget solution is to haul a ladder to the corner of the house for a removal action. Or I could call the gutter company that did the cleaning last year. And two postcards arrived by mail in the last week from Leaf Filter gutter protection. How timely. 

The rain stopped, the skies cleared, and the sun returned. After work, there was a sense of surprise at seeing the thermostat reading of 80 degrees in the house. I had been chilly most of the day despite wearing long pants and a long sleeve tee shirt and adding a long sleeve lightweight hoodie. Either the thermostat is broken or I am. It wasn’t until after supper and pulling weeds that I first felt the tiniest bit warm.

June can be such a spectacular month. Flowers are blooming everywhere, and the peonies are taking the stage now with blooms. The daylight is long, and the temperature is often comfortable. When the cool evening breezes blow, the windows are opened and the house feels refreshed. The BungaLowell benefits from nice airflow in the dry, cool mornings and evenings. Downstairs anyway. Upstairs is noticeably more stuffy with essentially no air flow and thank goodness for the ceiling fan in the bedroom. Once the humidity settles in, the A/C will have to be turned on, but for now, it’s all good. 

Dry, clear gutter.

The evening basement check revealed it to be dry and the follow-up gutter check showed the gutter water to be gone. The only thing to be seen in the gutter was a bountiful cluster of the tiny helicopter seed things way down in the corner near the downspout (Nancy Drew wannabe was right!). The seed things actually have a name that I just now learned, which is "samaras" and sounds a lot prettier but far less descriptive than "helicopter thingies." 

There was one windy day some weeks ago when the air was briefly filled with a squall of samaras as they swirled and fluttered down from the tree in a neighbor's yard. It was the first time I recall seeing a magical swirling cloud of helicopter thingies, and it was impressive.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 822 (Wednesday) – coming and going

A colleague told me the very exciting news that a vintage shop is coming into downtown in a corner shop that has been empty for a while. The location is on the way to a shop I was planning to visit today, so I made sure to pay attention, pause, and check it out.

Take Care Vintage - Opening in June.

There was lettering on the window that said “Take Care Vintage” and “Opening in June.” Racks were set up inside with clothes hanging. A wall held some purses and knickknacks lined the window sill. Someone inside had things spread out on the floor and was organizing and arranging. 

I was tempted to bang on the door and pepper the person inside with the questions burning in my brain. When are you opening? How do you source your inventory? Are you going to specialize in any particular decades? Do you want to buy my vintage purse collection? How about my 1950s/60s day dresses that no longer fit me? How about some gowns from the 1970s?

I did not bang on the door or harass the person inside the building. Instead, I crossed the street to my existing favorite downtown store and original destination, Dollar Buy. There, on the sidewalk outside the window, my blood turn to ice. There was a sign reading “For Sale – Business.”

It seems that downtown giveth and downtown may also taketh away. 

What if I need another Movable Stick?

New questions flooded my brain to replace the questions about the new shop. Are you really closing, or is that just a sample of signs you sell here? Where will I go to laugh at odd translations into English for things like “Moveable Stick” (rolling pin)? Will a buyer keep it as a shop of super cheap assorted stuff? Should I buy every single household item I might need in the coming decade right now, just in case? It was depressing. I left, planning to inventory the kitchen before Friday when I am downtown again. That way, I can replace and stockpile. 

Since walking past the site of the incoming vintage store, an internet search on the store name was done, looking for info. There was none. Dang! Set your shop up with some social media sites. Announce your existence and upcoming opening. Potential customers want to know. 

  

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 821 (Tuesday) – more of the same

The weather was sunny, the house thermostat claimed the house was 77 degrees, and despite wearing long sleeves, long pants, and shoes with socks, I was chilly. It was basically just another Tuesday remote work day. More of the same, really.

Winston is still boycotting his breakfast, but a few hours after it’s served, he gets around to it. Supper goes a bit easier, but not by much. This morning, he woke me up at 1:00 to go out and pee, and as I was still tossing, turning, and raging at still being awake at 3:00, he wanted to go downstairs to drink water. It was reminiscent of Moose’s old nocturnal patterns and I don't know if it's a coincidence or a sign of the beginning of the end.

700 days on the stats board.

There was a quick nap until waking again at 5:00, a quick toss/turn and another nap until the 6:15 alarm. I was exhausted when the alarm went off.  There was a zombie sleepwalk through the morning routine which required the extra large pot of morning coffee for basic functioning. All hail the magical, rejuvenating powers of daily caffeine and more of the same.

The Duolingo reminder this evening was to do a lesson to keep my 700-day streak going. The 700th consecutive day of Finnish lessons was last night and it didn’t even register enough for me to take a screen shot at the time and now the moment is gone. Is nothing special anymore? More of the same, really. 

Light supper.

About the only things that broke free of the more of the same rut today were the tomato, lettuce, cheese sandwich for supper and the load of laundry done after supper. There was zero interest in cooking, and not a lot to work with that wouldn't take multiple steps and the equivalent of forever to make.

Tuesday laundry was mostly spontaneous and unusual, but now the sheets are clean and fresh (and still in the dryer as I type), along with the cushion covers from the glider in the enclosed porch. It’s time to get the porch space set up for the season so I can begin the early summer “More of the same” morning porch reading until it’s too hot to do so.