“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 875 (Sunday) – prep day

Laundry launched the day with the routine washing of the sheets. Even the bed pillows were washed and after they ran through the dryer, they were twice as thick and puffy. There is a good chance I’ll suffer a neck injury (or worse) while sleeping tonight. Just in case I wake up Monday morning incapacitated from the potential murder pillow, the trash and yard waste bins are already at the curb.

Photo matting.

Photos were matted. Photos were framed. The dining room table is strewn with backboards, window matts, clear bags, and frames. I should probably tidy up the table clutter before bed. That way, if I need to call emergency services for help getting out of bed in the morning, my embarrassment and humiliation won’t need to expand to include a messy house. Maybe I should leave the front door unlocked so if I do need to call the EMTs at least they won’t need to bust the door in. It could be a case of overreacting, but I would bet that these are the rational and practical thoughts of people of a certain age who live alone. 

The rose bush in the front yard bloomed beautifully this summer. Unlike every other bush on the street, including a row of them across the street which have been taunting me while in continuous bloom for months, mine is a one and done blooming plant. It looked spectacular and then it suddenly looked overgrown and crazy. Long branches that were sticking out all over the place were trimmed today (more like hacked with the loppers) in time for yard waste pickup. I remembered to wear yard gloves, but had on a short sleeve shirt. By the time I was done, my arms were mildly perforated, reminding me why long sleeves are preferred for the task. Some early lessons don’t stick, apparently.

Quinoa bowl and baklava.

A lack of ambition required to turn pantry ingredients into food led to a delivery order from my favorite local pizza joint. An absence of cravings led to an exploration of the menu and ordering an item labeled “new.” The Quinoa Chicken Bowl, described as “A mixture of brown rice, edamame, red quinoa and vegetable blend with tomatoes, cucumbers and grilled chicken on top” was delicious. So was the baklava that was ordered mostly just because it's on the menu. Part of the quinoa bowl was portioned out for lunch on Monday. Being prepared feels good. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 874 (Saturday) – festive

Nava Persian Trio

It was a perfect weather day for the Folk Festival. There was plentiful  sunshine, puffy clouds in the bright blue sky, and welcome breezes. It was warm, but not quite as hot and humid as we remembered it being at past festivals. And it was packed. Every street, every performance stage, every festival food vendor. 

My friends and I walked the Festival footprint with stops to listen to Native American, Persian, and Memphis Soul music. During our wanderings, we caught the strains of Irish music, jazz, and steel drum.

Cobblestone's.

We visited Take Care Vintage to check out the newest vintage shop where I've been gawking in the windows for a month waiting for the opening, and Rainbow Fashion to scope out possible accessories at the “this store is closing” sale. We went into CNCPT 6 art gallery, Lala Books, Brush Art Gallery, and Sweet Lydia’s. There was a visit to a thrift shop on Kirk Street I've walked past dozens of times when it wasn't open.

When it was time for refreshments, we chose the Tavern at Cobblestones for the comfortable air conditioning, seating, and avoidance of the long lines. We feasted on Truffle Parmesan Fries, House BBQ Chips, and the Spa Sampler of hummus, olives, Feta cheese, chick peas, and Greek salad.

There was our festival tradition meetup with my friend’s cousin and his wife, and a couple other of their relatives. We had fun over at the Dance Pavilion listening to Don Bryant Memphis soul and chatting.

Trolley ride!

There was a lot of walking and some stair climbing. The trolley was running and we rode it from the National Street Car Museum over to Boarding House Park, mostly because it's fun to ride the trolley. After disembarking, we walked back to where we had come from. Later, to round out the mechanical amusements, we rode the elevator in the parking garage. We managed to avoid both the porta-potties and the need for medical attention.

It was a great day in downtown Lowell. It had all the fun stuff with friends, music, vintage and thrift shops, books, food and drink, and a trolley ride. Success!

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 873 (Friday) – a drag

Thursday night, while preparing for bed, I remembered a time-sensitive something I had fully intended to do at work, but had been derailed by a zillion other things and forgot. Three meetings and a webinar were a time suck on the day and made it harder to keep all the threads from unraveling. At 7:30 this morning, I logged into work to get an early jump on the day and deal with the thing that was missed the day earlier.

It turned into another one of "those days." Passwords were suddenly expired and during the new password selection process, errors were made and programs were locked. There was a hunt for the identity of our system administrator to reset the password in one program. That information seemed to be about as top secret as the password protocol that complicated the normal password reset and resulted in the lockout. Even the timecard program turned against me later in the morning, locking me out of that program, too. In all, the morning saw battles with three different programs. 

Despite the aggravation, or maybe because of it, the day dragged, which made it even more aggravating. It was like time stood still, and it was painful. Time consuming things were completed and crossed off the list, and yet, time itself seemed untouched and preserved in place.

Pizza (take 2) and beer.

At 4:30, things got extra annoying with a text from my bank checking the validity of a charge on the checking account. I typed “no” for fraud, (thinking I was saying it was "no, it is not fraud") instead of “yes” for "this is a valid transaction" because I read it wrong. It was the Prime renewal, which had very specifically been designated to a different account when the renewal notice came a few days ago. My answer to the text put a lock on my card and required a call to the Fraud Center.

The Fraud Center rep spoke very quickly with clipped enunciation that sounded robotic. Three times I had to ask them to slow down and repeat what they said. I may or may not be able to use my bankcard this weekend. Right now, after the confusing phone call with the rapid speaker, I don’t know. The next point of contact was Amazon Prime where I expressed my extreme displeasure at the charge hitting the wrong account. The rep claimed he would straighten it out. I am not confident in this happening.

The loose after-work plan was to maybe, possibly, act all independent and free-spirited and head downtown to the Folk Festival to see the opening parade and dine on festival foods. Alone. Carefree.

Instead, it became a search in the freezer for something for supper, followed by a way to burn off the annoyance of the Prime renewal /possibly deactivated debit card scenario. Pizza was set in the toaster oven to heat while I vacuumed the dining room, during which time the crust malfunctioned and split and pizza cheese melted all over the toaster oven. A beer was poured. A second slice was retrieved from the freezer, was better supervised, and fared better in the heating process.

Downtown was ruled out. No opening parade led by a New Orleans brass band for me. It was traded for the music of the electric lawn mower and parade of one as I pushed it around the front yard and then the back.

In the words of Scarlett O’Hara, “Tomorrow is another day.” It will start fresh with coffee and a visit to the bank to make sure I have access to funds. Then it will be time for the Folk Festival with friends who are coming to town for the day.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 872 (Thursday) – wetness

Rain. For real.

Today it rained. It began around 3:00 p.m. It was done in ten minutes, maybe fewer, making it mostly a non-event. At 8:50 p.m., over the volume of the TV, which wasn’t even very loud, I heard the sound of a downpour. I don’t know how long it had been raining before I was aware of it, but once I heard it, I looked outside. There was a wall of rain slamming down at an angle. A puddle had accumulated at the base of the front stairs which poor Winston will have to wade through when he next goes out to potty. A torrent of water flowed down the street like a river. 

Just a few minutes later, the volume had been turned down, both in noise and ferocity. The rain was coming straight down and was less loud. The usual rain lake had formed at the end of the short driveway I don’t park in partly because of the big puddle. And then it was back to the loud rain again. Thank goodness the gutters were cleaned last week, which pulled the plug on the front door water feature.

The soaking means the weeds out front will likely be as tall as Winston in the morning. The basement is taking in water in the one weird corner that always gets wet. I can see the water trickling in where the wall meets the floor but it’s minor compared to the water park that opened in the basement one winter several years ago. For now, anyway.

In other hydration news, the work wellness hydration challenge continues. It’s become really easy to meet the 64-ounce daily quota and even exceed it by 10 or 20 ounces. The weird thing is, the more water I am drinking, the thirstier I feel. My mouth feels perma-dry.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 871 (Wednesday) – party prep

Signs and banners and tents, oh my.

Downtown is bustling with preparations for the Folk Festival, Lowell's big street party. Storefront windows were painted with colorful designs several days ago by local artists. Lucy Larcom Park, nestled along the canal between Merrimack Street and Father Morissette Boulevard, bloomed with white and blue tents since Monday, and fresh new wayfinding signs are abundant. The banners with Jack Kerouac quotes that were hung to commemorate the 100^th anniversary of his birth are now joined by colorful wayfinding signs for the various stages. 

From our office window we could see that Arcand Drive is blocked with saw horses and tent tops were set on the ground ready to be raised, and City Hall Plaza was abuzz with activity.

Paint it!

During a walk around the block this afternoon, I saw preparations taking place everywhere. There was piping and tent framing being assembled at the park with the Working Man Fountain. There were teams raking around the trees on Merrimack Street and spreading fresh mulch. A man painted the trim on a building across the street. All the activity made the air feel electric and the mood was a little exciting.

The Festival kicks off Friday evening and runs until Sunday, and the streets will be absent of cars and filled with people. Coworkers and I scoped out the food offerings, which look as terrific as ever. Greek, Polish, African. Laotian and many more. It’s going to be a long couple days waiting for that Festival food.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 870 (Tuesday) – super tuesday

The work day was remote. It was productive and things were triumphantly crossed off the weekly task list. There were minor blips and groan worthy moments, but overall, it was a mostly stress-free stretch of work time. A Prime delivery that was originally due on Monday by 10:00 pm and at 10:20 was noted as “delayed” arrived. Lunch was leftover cabbage salad from Monday night. The day was moving along nicely. Smoothly. It was good.

After work, there was a plan to meet with some fellow bankers. Several of us work in different departments and in the pre-pandemic times, we would buy the three-pack of theater tickets to Merrimack Repertory Theater and meet up for dinner and a show. I was new-ish to the group, in possible my second theater season before the world skidded sideways to a halt. 

Tonight was a welcome outing. Seven of us gathered at TreMonte Pizzeria Restaurant and Ice Bar for supper. The weather was dramatically improved from recent days with less humidity and lower temperatures and we ate outside. People passed by in small groups on the sidewalk. Some were walking dogs. A couple cars rolled through the intersection and nearly were T-boned and one driver started down the one-way, cobblestone street the wrong way.  Downtown at suppertime is exciting.

A big glass of chilled water started my supper and finished the daily water quota for the hydration mission. Check! An  Allagash Swiftly IPA earned me two badges in the Untappd app and had me feeling very wild drinking beer so early in the week on a "work night" no less. The only phone in sight was mine as I tried to located and log my beer in the app.

Amongst our group, there were four light and refreshing salads at the table, one burger, and two of us each got pizza. Mine was the super delicious Formaggi pizza, described in the menu as “White pizza with a blend of six cheeses topped with fresh basil.” Holy cheeses. SIX cheeses! So delicious. And there was plenty left to take home because I strategically got the large one in the trademark combined supper/grocery shopping maneuver.

The conversation was varied. It turns out some of us have been through some adventures. Babysitting grandkids and kiddie poop in a jacuzzi. Summer timeshares. Spouses engaging in triathlons and other athletic feats.  A car incinerated in a fire on the highway. 

It was possibly the best Tuesday in ages.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 869 (Monday) – weather not

This morning, the weather app on my phone showed the little cloud with a lightning bolt icon at 7:00, at noon, and later in the day. I made sure the umbrella was in my work bag, but decided against a raincoat due to the heat and humidity.

For most of the morning, the weather app in the toolbar on the computer at work claimed it was raining or would be very soon. The forecast had people in our office checking out the window frequently while planning trips outside to pick up coffee, lunch, or run errands. It didn’t rain. Or if it did, we somehow missed it. The most we got was a mix of clouds and sun.

The not stormy
night sky at 8:45pm.

A text message came from National Grid at 4:59 pm about storm preparedness and how to report an outage. Winston went outside after his supper and there was hot wind blowing and the trees swayed wildly. It felt like we were on the brink of some wild and exciting weather, but it passed without incident. 

A supper salad of chopped cabbage, carrots, broccoli and green pepper with mayonnaise dressing was assembled and some was eaten. The kitchen mess was cleaned up. Netflix shows were watched. Phones and laptops were charged in case of a power failure. Hours later, the sky holds some regular, non-menacing clouds and there hasn’t been a raindrop in sight.

I feel a little cheated, having been mentally prepared once again for exciting weather and getting nothing of note. The pattern this summer seems to be a promise of rain or a potentially spectacular storm, preparations are made, and then nothing happens. It’s been a little like the infamous boy who cried wolf, except in this case it’s the weather person who cried rain, thunder, and lightning.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 868 (Sunday) – cheeses

Adding to the wall.

The day had a leisurely, relaxed feel, and yet, things were accomplished. Using a wadded up plastic shopping bag and the rest of the quart of paint from the June bathroom wall treatment, the walls were touched up at the corners and ceiling, and around the light fixture. That only took a month and a half to get done.

The 4x4 canvases for the past five years were gathered for a revision to the current display which was mostly canvases scattered in several locations. There were two in the office on a shelving unit, one hung in the dining room, one in a drawer, and now the new ones from yesterday. A couple things were reconfigured and four canvases are now hung in the dining room. 

New bathroom artwork.

Art from the home office was rearranged and two pieces were moved to the bathroom. Now when I sit on the toilet, there is something to look at. A 4x4 canvas is now hung in the office with a wire thingy found in a drawer. The bathroom clock was moved from the kitchen counter where it has sat since the first round of bathroom paint, and rehung in the bathroom. Instead of hanging in the place where it was before the painting project, it is now above the medicine cabinet in an attempt to balance the off-center light fixture that has annoyed me for five years and 10 months. Frames, matts, and backboards were ordered. Problems were being solved all over the place.

Early in the afternoon, there was a mild hankering for baked macaroni and cheese. This would require effort as none currently existed in the house and the idea of running the oven inside when it felt like an oven outside was not exactly appealing. The idea was ignored in the hope it would go away. An hour later, it was mac and cheese on the brain again, and again, it was ignored. At 5:00, the idea of mac and cheese was still kicking around with no sign of abating and I accepted defeat. The power of cheeses had won.

Chicken, mushroom, onion
mac and cheeses.

Various recipes were consulted for general guidelines on how much milk to use and what oven temperature. It was decided to add things beyond cheeses, and onions and mushrooms were chopped and sauteed. Roasted chicken was chopped. Various cheeses were gathered – Swiss, American, Provolone, and some shredded Mozzarella from the freezer. An entire box of mini penne was cooked which was twice as much as needed because I neglected to check the measurement on that item. There was melting, mixing and baking, followed by eating and it was good. And now there is fancy mac and cheese for future lunches. 

For a day that was intended to be all about doing nothing, more got done than most days with the intention of getting things done. Another one of life’s wacky little mysteries. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 867 (Saturday) – randomness

Breakfast.

In the “feast or famine” cycle of things, after weeks, nay months, of days with few activities I felt like doing, today had events competing all over my calendar. There was a historical walking tour and a community volunteer event. There was an invitation to go swimming. The previous commitments were a Finnish Breakfast and an arts event. 

The breakfast plan meant leaving around 7:00. Upon parking, I decided to open the vent in the Jeep’s roof panel. I hit the button that slides the panel open instead of the one that raises the rear edge of the panel. It wouldn’t close so I could adjust it as intended. It closed halfway, then reversed to open. Several times. The online Jeep forum was consulted where the problem seems to be not exactly uncommon. StepDad arrived in the nick of time and helped me get it closed.

Breakfast was Finnish pancake (pannakakku) with bacon, sausage, coffee bread (pulla), watermelon, orange juice, and coffee. There was a lady selling beautiful hand knit items and another selling jars of honey and beeswax candles. I got to visit with family and a friend. 

Gas was needed. I stood at the car minding my own business while the gas pumped. There was an older man (as in older than me, a population that keeps shrinking) with a large pickup truck on the other side of the pump. He edged himself around the pump and onto the little concrete pad separating us.

Truck dude said something unintelligible and I said “Sorry?”

Truck Dude: I have a five-year old grand-daughter Cora.

Me: Oh, nice (while wondering if I’m supposed to either know this guy or exclaim that he looked too young, which he definitely did not).

Truck Dude: We something, something.

Me: Sorry?

Truck Dude: (moving closer, speaking louder) So, we have a summer home in Maine.

Me: Oh, that must be nice (wondering why he would be telling me this and if I’m supposed to gasp in amazement, jump up and down clapping, or something else).

Truck Dude: (leaning closer) So, Cora goes upstairs to my wife’s drawer and pulls out a bra and holds it up. (He pantomimes holding a bra in front of his chest.) And she says, “Gigi, your boobs go in here.” (Now chuckling.) Only five years old!!! (As if she’s a baby genius and just wrote a concerto or discovered a new planet or something. And I'm wondering why a five-year old is allowed to go through someone's dresser drawers. No boundaries in that house?)

Luckily, he stepped back to his side of the pump. My tank was full and I hurried to get in the car before he graced me with more stories. Random info bombs from strangers happen more times than I could possibly count.

The 4x4 canvases.

Back in Lowell, the plan was the “4 by 4 for Education” art event. Artists create four-inch by four-inch canvases, and tickets are sold for $25. Names are dropped in a bucket and drawn at random. When their name is called, the person chooses a canvas to take home.

There were 16 “top choices” marked on my list before I stopped making notes. I liked pretty much all of them, and figured when my number was called there would surely still be something I liked. My name was called first, a variable that had not been considered in my musings and choosings and I panicked. It was stressful having 100+ options. We had a second round of tickets, and at the end, I had two canvases. 

My choices.

After the “4 by 4” there was a quick stop at Market Basket. It felt appropriate as I was already out. With my six selected items, I headed to the long express checkout line, next to all the other long lines. A woman (younger than me, a growing segment of the population) arrived at the end of the express line the same time I did. I told her to go ahead of me, she said I should go, and she walked past as if to another register line.

When register lady got to the other side of me she paused and began rambling in slurred words that the Express line would take forever because “some people cheat” with too many items. She then launched into a lengthy tale of an older lady, “like 80” who had many more items than the Express Lane sign indicated and nobody said anything about it and then nobody would help. A lot of it was unintelligible and I nodded occasionally.

The tale continued. The cashier didn’t enunciate. The old lady couldn’t hear well and gave the cashier $20 when he said $24 and he got snotty and shouldn’t be in customer service. Nobody would help the old lady but she, the teller of the tale, helped, because people need to be nicer to old people, and she knows because her own mother “is like 60.”

I just kept nodding, while wondering if she was ever going to stop talking and also if she was going to dislocate her shoulder patting herself on the back for helping the old lady. Finally, she moved on. My line had not budged an inch through all of it and I wondered if the bags of ice and the freeze pops in the cart ahead of mine were melting.

Info dumps from two random strangers in one day is a bit much. It was nice to be home where it was quiet.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 866 (Friday) – ten/ten

The youngest niece has turned 18. Holy crap, how did this even happen? 

Today was taken as a vacation day because I thought today was my niece’s birthday. It was actually yesterday. This is not the first time I have had this recordkeeping blunder, but I caught my error in time and was able to wish her a happy birthday on the correct day. Today, Mom, Sis, and the two nieces who still live locally met for a birthday lunch.

Birthday girl chose Uno Pizzeria and Grill for the destination. It was air conditioned and on the frosty side of comfortable, and Birthday Girl was chilly in her short sleeve tee. I absolutely understand. I had on a long sleeve cotton shirt and rolled the sleeves down for comfort, by my legs were cold because I was wearing shorts. 

Leftovers for supper. Yum!

Lunches were ordered. Food was delivered. There was a tiny mix-up when my medium-rare bacon bleu cheese burger turned out to be a well-done cheddar burger. I noticed the over-doneness when I cut it in half and figured I might be able to deal with it. After a couple bites, it finally registered it was not bleu cheese, either. 

As we tried to get the server’s attention, a nearby table caught her first, and we learned where my burger had landed. It was fixed and all was well. These things happen and I understand. My years in an apron running meals to tables have provided insight and empathy. Half of my lunch came home in a box and reappeared as supper, supplemented by apps from book club. 

After the lunch, it back to Sis’s house for cake and ice cream before Birthday Girl went to work. It was fun to sit around chatting and relaxing before, during and after lunch. As usual, the topics were all over the place. Paperwork piles that magically appear all over the kitchen (family trait?). Crazy Tik Tok videos featuring real life lawyers that seem like SNL skits (dude out of Clarksville, TN). Funny comedy performers (Ismo from Finland and Leanne Morgan from Tennessee). Taking inventory in the produce department at 4:00 am (duties at middle niece’s job). The wonder of Hoodsie cups and eating with tiny spoons (all in attendance).

When I lived at Mom’s after moving from Tennessee, we did this all the time. It happens regularly for Sis, Mom and nieces because they live closer to each other than I do, but full-time work and 30 miles distance keeps me out of the mix a lot. On the positive side, I appreciate and value the time when it happens.

Another thrift store score.

On the way home, traffic on 495 was the summer Friday nightmare. Waze rerouted me out of the highway hell and I ended up on the street where the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store is located. It seemed like a sign from the Universe, so I stopped in. 

It was another successful visit and I left with black and white seersucker shorts and a blue Hawaian style shirt for the thrift store thrifty total of $7. Summer wardrobe refresh has happened. 

At home, while the thrift store aroma was laundered out of the new treasures, supper was followed by a cold Sam Adams Reunion IPA that has been chilling in the fridge since Christmas. The vacation day felt like a vacation. Overall, it was a great day. Ten out of ten. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 865 (Thursday) – thirsty thursday

The weather got a little crazy. There was a tornado warning in central Massachusetts, and a severe thunderstorm warning in a broader area. It was mixed sun and clouds at my house. Around 4:30, as colleagues and I were wrapping up a video conference call, thunder rumbled faintly. The clouds over the back yard that were visible from the remote office window became moody. The many branches in the tree in the yard behind The BungaLowell began swaying wildly in the wind which had suddenly picked up enthusiasm.

Epiphany double IPA.

The connection to the work server posted messages about a lost connection. The clouds deepened to dark charcoal gray and the sun was still shining. Large raindrops fell, leaving splat marks that looked like pop art splatters on the hot pavement and the back door deck. 

The wild weather was over as quickly as it started. There were so few comically large rain splats that they could be counted, and just as suddenly as it began, it stopped raining. It would have been easy to miss the entire episode had I not been near a window. At 5:30, as I was ready to head downtown to the book club meeting, the sun was back out. It was as if the little weather tantrum had never happened. 

Book club had a lot of cancellations tonight and we ended up being four people instead of 12, which  made for plenty of appetizers for each of us and leftovers to take home. There were fried pickles, French fries, sweet potato fries, onion rings, and mozzarella sticks. 

My beverage selection was Foundation Brewing Company’s Epiphany, a beer I never heard of, for the double joys of exploration and logging a new beer in the Untapped app. The server said it was a “double IPA,” and when I said I had no idea what that meant, she offered me a taster. I can be a bit reckless and told her I would just go for it. I’m reckless like that. Unlike my last book club adventurous beer gamble on Bull Spit Brewing’s Rodeo Clown, which was awful, Epiphany is pretty good. It was a nice evening. The book club group was fun, the beer and snacks were yummy, and I was home by 7:15. It was a big contrast to Thursday nights of yore, but for now, it was the perfect old lady “night out.”

The beer in the fancy glass doesn't count in the work wellness hydration challenge, but the daylong overall water consumption was good. A sixteen ounce glass of ice water was at hand all day, and refilled a few times, and repeated upon arrival at home. The weird thing is, the more water consumed today, the thirstier I get. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 864 (Wednesday) – hydration

The work wellness program “Hydration Challenge” is underway. I missed it last year because I forgot to pay attention and registration was closed when I finally learned about it.

Evening hydrating.

The object of the challenge is to drink and log 64 ounces of water at least four days a week for four weeks. I’ve done the challenge before, back in the pre-pandemic “before times” and it seemed easy. The water machine was about ten steps away from my desk, delivering chilled and instant hot water with the flick of a lever and I was there often for tea and instant cocoa in the cold season, and endless refills of deliciously chilled water in the warm season. I was well hydrated throughout the year, and for four weeks I logged the water consumption into the wellness website. 

This year is different. It’s a lot less easy. 

The water machine on my side of the suite had some issues. The hot water was great and hot and instant, but the cold water wasn’t really chilled any more. Someone on the team put in a service ticket, expecting to be told that it would either be fixed, or something like “oops so sad,” that’s as cold as it will be. Instead, the machine was spirited away. Word is, it’s gone for good. And I am parched.

There is still a water machine on the floor, but it’s all the way across the building and around a corner. Instead of being able to fill a cup of water in mere seconds while a program file is opening and I can see my screen from the machine, it’s a journey that requires locking the screen according to protocols and walking across the building. The route goes past three cubicles, one glass walled conference room, and three glass walled offices. I always feel self-conscious during the journey, like I'm walking too heavy, or trespassing. On the bright side, I’m getting more steps into my alarmingly sedentary lifestyle.

The result is, I drink a lot less water now. What used to be six to eight cups of water during the workday is now one or two cups. A bigger vessel isn’t necessarily the answer, as it can be tricky aligning a water bottle under the spout. I would have to buy a new water chilling bottle to leave at work or transport one back and forth three days a week. I have yet to meet a water bottle that isn't a hand-wash only pain in the butt to clean. The eight-ounce disposable paper cup or the ceramic coffee cup in my desk are easy to wash, practical, and convenient, at least when the water source is nearby.

So yes, the water consumption during the office day is challenging, and I’m trying to make up for it at night. The usual evening water consumption of several 12- or 16-ounce glasses after supper has been bumped up to hit the target. And who doesn’t love waking up at 1:30 am for a sprint downstairs to the bathroom? A little late night/early morning indoor track event be fun. Or cause a heart attack. I guess we’ll see.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 863 (Tuesday) – corn

Having bought corn on Sunday and then promptly forgetting I bought corn as soon I was home, I got around to the shucking and cooking on Monday. The five ears had been strategically placed in the refrigerator for maximum visibility when retrieving Winston’s insulin after work. It was successful.

All five ears were cleaned and cooked because it felt easier to deal with the floss and mess once. It reminded me of countless summer weekend dinners at Mummu’s. I would remove the husks and the floss and put it in a paper grocery sack. Mummu would rinse the corn and cook it in a big kettle.

When we ate corn on the cob at Mummu’s, it was never served on the plate with the meat and potato. And there was always meat and potato. Every dinner at Mummu’s included a meat, some variety of potato, a vegetable, slice of bread with butter, and a glass of milk. When the vegetable was corn on the cob, there was a ritual. The meat and potato were eaten. Plates were rinsed. Then the corn was served on the freshly rinsed plates, where it was slathered in butter and salted. It always seemed that the corn was so special that it was its own entire course.

Corn on its own platter.

We were not fancy people. We did not use the little corn holders. We held our scalding hot corn cobs with bare hands, and if our fingers burned, so be it. It was part of the thrill.

Growing up, I was aware of three kinds of corn – Butter and Sugar corn on the cob, canned corn, and Green Giant frozen niblets corn in butter sauce that came in a bag that was boiled in water and served only on holidays. Canned corn was boring, fresh corn on the cob was delicious, and the frozen niblets could regularly start a war at the holiday dinner table if one kid thought they got fewer niblets than another. Being the only vegetable my brother would eat, Mummu eventually bought him his own package of niblets for Thanksgiving dinners at her house.

I was a fully grown adult before knowing that ears of corn came in different varieties. Silver Queen? Peaches and Cream? Oh my. All delicious.

Monday and Tuesday, fresh corn was not the special highlight of the supper meal, it was the entire meal. It sat on a plate, uncrowded by other elements of the meal, like corn at Mummu’s, and also liberated of the burden of following the opening act of mandatory meat and potato. It’s great to be an adult, able to eat whatever I like whenever I feel like it.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 862 (Monday) – ancestry apples

Periodically, I open random photo folders on the laptop. Many photos are organized in folders titled “Dogs,” “Family,” “Events,” and such. Others are just wild and loose in the main PC Pictures folder.

Tonight, I clicked on a couple images that are loose in the folder. One is a newspaper story that was in the Fitchburg Sentinel on May 24, 1951. The article titled “Auxiliary Party Attended by 48” mentioned my maternal grandmother and a mother daughter party. The auxiliary to Fraternite court, Catholic Order of Foresters held a “regular meeting” which was followed by French songs sung by children. Rose bowls were presented to the oldest and youngest mothers present, and Grandma Olive was the youngest. In 1951 she was 38 years old and had six children, four of whom were daughters. 

Now I want to know the age of the the oldest mother at the meeting who received the other rose bowl. These details would have made the newspaper story more interesting. I had to do the math myself to calculate grandma Olive's age. This is the same paper that published the names of all the poor kids who were treated to a day of fun and prizes by some feel-good organization. The list included a bunch of my aunts and uncles, so I know they weren’t shy about details or protecting personal info. And imagine being the broke-ass family with half their kids listed as guests at the event for the underprivileged children. Cripes.

A fun thing about the article with Grandma Olive is that the next column contains a story about Mom’s cousin who was in a car accident in the general neighborhood where my nuclear family lived decades later. It’s not the first time I’ve found issues of the paper with stories including someone from both sides of the family published on the same date. I guess that is bound to happen in small town life.

My 8th cousin!?!

Speaking of cousins, a new and exciting ancestry surprise was delivered to my inbox from a cousin on Mom’s side. He has done a lot of research on Grandpa Ray’s line, and apparently, I am an 8^th cousin to actor Matt Damon through my great-great-great grandmother Anna Hőgvag. How exciting is that?!?! 

I had been feeling a little sad that my only famous relatives were the very long-ago Johnny Appleseed and Count Rumford on Dad’s side. 

Thanks to Mom’s side for coming to the rescue with a current celebrity relative. To quote Matt’s character in Good Will Hunting, “How do you like them apples?” I like them just fine, cousin Matt. I finally feel like I'm somebody. I bet he will be equally thrilled to learn we are related. If he isn't, I'd rather not know, thanks.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 861 (Sunday) – summer sunday

The day was sunny and on the hot side. The weather has been spectacular, and a recent weather report linked it to the ongoing drought. The lawns and plants may be scorched, but the rest of it is on the amazing side of things. The additional benefit is, the less it rains, the less often I need to mow.

There was a 30-minute visit to the fancy big Market Basket for provisions and produce. I remembered to wear a light hoodie to keep from freezing inside the store. The ultimate shopping victory was the hit to the wallet was a mere $18. It would have been a bit more if I hadn't forgotten ice cream. It was on the list in my hand the whole time. 

Snackin' salad.

Once back in the kitchen, a salad of chopped cabbage, broccoli, carrots, raisins, and sliced almonds with a mayo-vinegar-sugar  dressing was assembled. Winston, the steadfast kitchen assistant, stood at my feet and was rewarded with crunchy cabbage bits, carrot coins, and broccoli stem slices. The salad was set in the fridge to chill and promptly forgotten. 

The budget-friendly, minimal shopping meant there still wasn’t a lot to work with for lunches and suppers during the week. Tonight's supper solution was an online order with the preferred pizza delivery joint and within 30 minutes, a large cheese pizza and a steak and cheese sub were delivered. Half the sub was supper with the remainder designated as office lunch for Monday. The pizza slices were individually wrapped in foil and set in the freezer for grab and go lunches.  

Somewhere between the salad prep and the delivery order, I forgot I had bought corn for supper with the salad. Tomorrow after work, memory willing, shucking and boiling activities will commence.

The chilled salad, once remembered, made for a nice little snack in a ramekin while watching Prime video. Since finishing Mad Men earlier in the day, the current selection is the series The Summer I Turned Pretty. References to Boston, Newton, and Yarmouth keep it interesting. The series’ online info indicates that the setting of fictional Cousins Beach was “inspired by Cape Cod, Martha's Vineyard, the Hamptons, and Nags Head in North Carolina” and a house in Wilmington, North Carolina was the filming location. Yes, I almost always look up the cast and info for whatever is on the screen. I have no idea how I watched snows before on-demand, pause, and the Internet in my hand, but I swear, one day I will watch a show without looking up info on the laptop or the phone. Today is not yet that day.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 860 (Saturday) – thrifty score

Cool staircase at Mill No.5.

Mill No. 5 is a really cool converted mill building with creaky floors, interesting staircases, and fun shops including a coffee shop, soda fountain, book store, record shop, and movie theater. They regularly host themed markets with additional specialty vendors, and today’s pop-up vintage market had a large room filled with many vendors. With great triumph, I made it out of the house to attend. 

The departure from the house didn’t happen as early as initially imagined, but that was a calculated tradeoff. For days I looked forward to the National Park Service urban hike which began at 10:00 downtown, but the wonky knee was hurting when I got up. This is the knee that the orthopedic surgeon says is fine according to the x-rays. 

It doesn’t help that I keep forgetting to take the ibuprofen that was prescribed for inflammation. Most of the time it gets hung up on the “take with food” instruction, which rarely coincides with appropriate timing to take the stuff. A three-mile walk (or limp) seemed unwise, and I saved the knee for the afternoon. One temperamental knee is one reason why much of life has been put on hold in recent months.

There was a fair amount of clothing at the vintage market, and while looking at a rack of carpenter and painter pants, I was slapped with the depressing realization that the stuff I wore in high school is now part of the “vintage” category of commerce. My own small collection of dresses, coats, and purses from the 50s and 60s is probably now considered a relic of ancient history. Such a sobering concept. 

Thrift store $5.30 score!

I saved a fortune at the market by not seeing anything I wanted to buy. Later, a trip to the local St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Shop was more fruitful. For the thrifty sum of $5.30, I got a pair of madras shorts, a pink western style shirt, and a necklace. Score!

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 859 (Friday) – yard gifts

Winston's chicken.

Sometimes things just show up in the yard. Once, in Tennessee, there was a shed snake skin in the middle of the front lawn. I spotted it while mowing and it took a good while of me looking at it from afar before I figured out it was an empty skin. For months I wondered where the snake it once covered was hiding. 

After seeing turkeys in the yard for years, one day several large turkey feathers were scattered about the front yard. It was the only time any turkey feathers were found. 

Stalker balloon.

One day, there was a dried up squirrel pelt near the front door. Another day, Winston had a raw, dirt covered chicken breast. Maybe he expected me to cook it for him. I didn't. 

At The BungaLowell, yard treasures have been few and varied. There was once a torn off third of a dollar bill on the front lawn. One morning, a birthday balloon on a string with a weight at the end bobbed directly in my face when I opened the kitchen door to let the dogs out. It was startling and creepy. It was shooed off the landing and a few minutes later, it bobbed outside the kitchen window as if looking in at me. It floated and bobbed around the yard, then back through the gate to the driveway. It finally disappeared, perhaps to terrorize someone else. 

Some bunny's tail?

A couple years ago, a weird letter with an invitation for “passionate love” appeared in the mailbox with instructions to leave my response under the flowerpot. Also creepy.

Thursday morning, there was a cotton ball sized fluffy puffy bit in the driveway. It was brown on the bottom, white on the top, and looked just like the tail that was on the little bunny seen recently in the back yard. 

The brown and white fluffball sat on the asphalt and fluttered in the gentle breeze. Since seeing it, I can’t stop wondering if there is a bunny running around missing its tail and if it will come back looking for it. Maybe it's the bunny version of "I've got your nose" gone wrong.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 858 (Thursday) – ad magic

The Mad Men marathon continues. I’m in Season 6 now, so it will be over soon. Seeing the depiction of ad agency life in the 1960s is depressing. Ditto for what I always heard about banking while young. 

In my first banking job right after college, I kept hearing people talk about how they would love to have “banker’s hours” and “work 9 to 5” and enjoy some mythical concept of Wednesday afternoons off. I don’t know about other banks, but at the one I worked for, we worked Monday through Friday from 8:15 am to 5:00, and later if someone’s drawer didn’t balance. Our “banker’s hours” were pretty much the same as those for every office worker everywhere.

When I was off the teller line and in IRAs, and later, accounting, and then cash management, we were in early and out late all the time, depending upon what was going on. There were enviable, cushy, "banker's hours." Not for us, anyway, and especially not at the end of a reporting quarter.

New! With chips!

The exciting world of Madison Avenue advertising in the olden days has me yearning for a job where I have an office with a sofa where I can have a lie down in the afternoon after having a long lunch that maybe includes a bunch of cocktails (more likely not), but I can do without the chain smoking. When I worked in an agency in the early 2000s, we worked 8 to 5 with an hour for lunch and there were definitely no naps happening on the only sofa, which was in the lobby. Lunch now is 30 minutes, and whether it's an in-office day or remote, it usually happens at my desk while I'm doing something work related.

One Mad Men episode has the executives lining up to see a doctor to get an energy shot in the butt. In the office, no less. One by one, they pop into an office and drop trousers for a glute shot. Afterward, several were so energized, they were running foot races in the hallway. 

The doctor says the shot is a proprietary multivitamin and energy shot that will give them a boost to work through the weekend. The ad folks seem to get stuck pulling a lot of weekends, and the office couches come in handy when the don't get to leave.

In the vitamin in the butt episode, the team is on a deadline for the Chevy project, and it turns out that office workers trapped in an office for the weekend on a project with a deadline and half of them on drugs can be funny. There was even tap dancing by Ken after his shot. He was recently in a car accident and injured his foot, and broke into a song and dance production with a recitation of a list of crappy things he’s had to deal with because "it’s my job." Workers everywhere can relate.

Definitely not Reese's.

Some of the modern-day commercials in the show about advertising of long ago have been effective, but none as much as the one for the new Reese’s cups with potato chips inside. I like Reese’s cups okay in a pinch, but they are never my first choice in candy. But thanks to a week of regular nightly brainwashing by the ever-abundant commercials, I need some frigging new Reese’s cups with potato chips inside. 

Laziness prevents me from dashing out into the night in search of Reese’s with built-in chips, so instead, it’s the baking cabinet to forage for something. Anything. Pecans, almonds, craisins, raisins, and milk chocolate chips are the substitute snack that can be assembled in a pinch with ingredients usually on hand. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get look for the latest new thing. Or maybe, with luck, I’ll forget about the candy after tonight’s heavy rotation of boring pharmaceutical ads.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 857 (Wednesday) – hunting season

Six years ago today, the purchase and sale agreement was signed for The BungaLowell. It had been a very long road to arrive at that point. My realtor, who was also my friend, had the patience of a saint and the endurance of a long distance athlete guiding me through the marathon hunt. We had spent the better part of a year looking, first in Fitchburg, then, when I started working in Lowell, we shifted the search to that area.

I loved this kitchen, but the
basement had major issues.

There was an amazing time capsule home that I fell in love with, located in a small town. The all original, aqua-colored vintage kitchen appliances were a dream with surprises built into every corner. A knife rack was built into a cabinet door. An ironing board lived on the backside of another door. The bathroom had a built in, pop-out drying rack. There was an abundance of knotty pine. I was infatuated with all of it.

The vintage siren song lulled me into being willing to overlook the odd lot shape, where one's derriere would be suspended over the property line while opening the basement bulkhead. The location on a dead-end street off a very busy street was declared tolerable (hopefully). When we went into the basement, it all began to fall apart. Literally. The support beams were riddled with termite damage and disintegrated to the touch. This could not be overlooked. It was depressing. 

There had been one serious flirtation with a house near a lake, but the home inspection revealed extensive issues. There was not the wallet, time, or patience for it. 

There were a few other houses seen that ranged from "ugh" to "ok but not great," and several that looked great in photos but were not seen in real life because they had offers accepted and my viewing appointments were cancelled. 

The BungaLowell in 2016.

The first day The BungaLowell was on the market my realtor and I were the first to see it. It needed work, but not a lot, and mostly cosmetic. We got the offer submitted immediately and luckily, it was accepted. The paperwork fell into place, and hunting season was declared ended. 

Then it was six weeks of stress, anticipation, excitement, and planning leading to the closing. Exciting, vibrant times. Maybe someday soon I'll finish unpacking. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 856 (Tuesday) – birthday thoughts

We were really young once, but
I've always been 11 months older.

It’s my brother’s birthday today. We were born 11 months apart, so when we were young, we shared a party some time in July or August, often at Mummu’s small apartment with Mom’s side of the family and cake and ice cream and rarely, a group photo of all the kids. 

As we got older, John would begin on July 12 with the taunt that would last for one month – that we were now the same age and I was currently not older than him. My power as “the oldest” was erased, and it was the only power I had, so it hurt. It continued until my birthday, year after year, for as long as it bothered me, which was most of my youth, when I wanted full credit for blazing trails and training our parents so the younger two could have it easier. Every firstborn knows what I mean.

Later in life, John, Sis and I made a deal to hold the line on aging. I would stay forever age 30, John would remain 29, and Sis would hold at 25. It was one of our better agreements and held for decades until the age on our faces made us all clearly liars.

Grown up John.

It’s John’s first birthday since he took himself out of the game of life and I didn’t know how I’d handle it. I scheduled vacation days for yesterday and today to avoid a possible meltdown at work. The last thing I wanted to be dealing with was crying at my desk. At least there is some privacy when it happens while driving or at home.

It was decided to stay home and have a quiet day. There were random tears, but that has been the case most days for the past 11 months since John left us. It doesn’t take much for them to sneak up. They are sparked by a song, photo, random memory, or just the brother-shaped hole in my heart.

The last time I spoke with John was exactly one year ago when I called to wish him a happy birthday and catch up on our lives. He lived at the Cape and had spent the day out on his friend’s boat fishing. He was driving home and sounded really happy. He joked that he never thought he’d make it to be this old and that his neck, back, and knees hurt, which was funny because I almost sent him a card saying exactly that, but had sent a different one instead. 

Because he was driving, we kept the call short and promised to catch up soon. At the very least, if our lives were busy, I knew we'd chat again in a month on my birthday. It didn’t happen, but I’m glad the last chat we had was fun. A few weeks later he was gone. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 855 (Monday) – vitamin sea

The bonds of inertia were broken. This morning, drinking coffee on a vacation day under the sun shining in a big blue sky, I got the idea to go to the beach. "Beach" in my adult life has always meant Hampton Beach, New Hampshire. As a kid, it meant Long Sands Beach in York, Maine. 

The first challenge was digging out the swim suits and then trying them on and hoping for one that actually fit. Pandemic fluffy muffin tops were an impediment in swimsuit land. Of the four or five bottoms, one fit enough to be passable and not painful. 

Having been several years since the last summer visit, there was some rust on the memory of what to do before going to the beach. Lotion, reading material, notebook, blanket, towel, hat, long sleeves, water, were rounded up. 

Bag on shoulder and ready to walk out the door, I realized breakfast had been forgotten and it would be pushing noon when I arrived. A slice of Scala bread was smeared with peanut butter and devoured and finally, after an hour of preparation, I was out the door.

Brief break between blanket attacks.

The ride north was easy. It took one quick loop around Ashworth Avenue and Ocean Boulevard to determine that all the metered parking was full and choose a parking lot. Most were charging $20 but one was charging $10. 

About an hour after leaving the house, I was sitting on the beach on a blanket that is usually used more like a rug because I forgot the beach chair. I had also forgotten a pen after spending five minutes looking for the notebook to write in.

The light breezes were just assertive enough to keep launching umbrellas and flipping them inside out. While I was reading Yankee Magazine, I spotted an umbrella in motion and headed right for me. I extended my left arm and caught it by the edge of the fabric. It was a smooth catch, almost as if I had trained for it. I was quite impressed with myself, but the umbrella owner looked right through me and didn’t even acknowledge the deed as he retrieved his lethal projectile. In his defense, it’s possible I’m almost pale enough to be nearly transparent.

Umbrella arsenal.

Not far away and downwind was a cluster of chairs and umbrellas that looked like a compound. Barring a major shift in the direction of the wind, I seemed to be safe from the path of that particular umbrella arsenal. 

In addition to flipping through Yankee, I read some Kerouac (Desolation Angels), took photos, and watched the sea gulls. Many, many people stupidly left food out on their blankets and went to the water. In their absence, the birds descended. Gold fish crackers and Sun Chips were under attack at one blanket. People nearby shooed the birds away and covered the food with blankets and towels. The birds moved to another destination.

After two hours on the beach, it felt like time to do something else. The sidewalk menu at the Sea Ketch was studied briefly. Very briefly. It was a digital display board and before I could look at half of it, it changed to a different graphic. I wasn’t hungry enough to deal with menus and dining alone and left to walk down the Boulevard. There was a shop I drove past on the parking search that had Hawaiian print shirts on a rack on the sidewalk, but I gave up after passing a couple shops that weren’t the right one and headed to the car.

The beach was relaxing. Clouds moved in which made the sun less scalding. The water was refreshing and comfortable and not the usual foot numbing temperature. The change in scenery was needed. It's amazing the difference a few miles and a visit to the sea can make.