“Remoted” Workday 182 / Day 273 (Monday)

Temperatures were in the 50s yesterday and today, headlines are declaring the "Biggest snow, ice storm in years set to wallop the eastern US" in the middle of the week. All a pretty normal almost-winter day in New England, really. I hope we don't get shortchanged like the last predicted snowfall when it was hours of rain and then a couple inches of wet snow. 

After work, it was a stretch of overeating that began with a last of the latkes supper and a baked sweet potato and the realization that, although the presentations were different, with the exception of some applesauce, it was a 100% potato meal. This was followed by Veggie Straws and cookies and a level of amazement at how much food can be stress eaten in 40 minutes. Thank you holidays plus pandemic plus absence of any Christmas gift ideas and a host of other stupid stuff.

Then there was TV, well, because, it's a safe escape. Life used to have other activities and interests, but now it's just TV. In December, I have my annual date with holiday movies and commercials. The brief hiatus from streaming reinforces why I spend the other 11 months with my Prime and Netflix subscriptions. In the past three or four days I’ve seen way too many commercials for pharmaceuticals. There are some medications with some crazy sounding names that the advertisers inform me I should ask my doctor about. I will not be doing this. Then there was the commercial inviting viewers to “explore the wonders of an award-winning blend” with “Menage a Trois” wine. Ummm, ok? It sounded nuts, so I looked it up online. The website claims that “We will bring you blissful pleasure when we're together.” That is a mighty lofty promise from a bottle of wine, indeed. I needed a cold shower after reading about the sexy wines.

Tonight’s 6:00 Lifetime movie, “A Christmas in Tennessee,” turned out to be annoying, and not just for the three-minute commercial interruptions every four minutes. Without the ads, this movie would be about 45 minutes long instead of two hours. In this one, the single mom main character runs the bakery her parents ran. She gets a big cookie order and after closing the shop for the day, she is baking the new order with her long hair down and loose. Yummmy hair cookies coming up. Also, she’s basically on a date and being very playful in her alleged business kitchen and her new potential love interest is eating the raw cookie dough and playing with the cut-out, still unbaked cookies for the big customer order. Ummm…. No. Stop. This is not flirty home baking, this is supposed to be a business. Are there no health department rules?

Movie dance studios are
always amazing.

The movie set in Tennessee pushed me over the edge with the mandatory precocious child and when it was finally over I hopped back to Netflix to escape the sugar-coated stories and annoying commercials. The alternative is a series about ballet dancers which opens with a dancer going over the edge of a roof. This show comes with a warning label about “self-harm – sex – nudity – language” and not a grain of artificial sweetener. Thank goodness.  A poorly acted show about ballet dancers in an elite boarding school with dance scenes in huge studios with a live pianist are what I need to get the aspartame taste out of my mouth. 
 

“Remoted” Day 272 (Sunday)

Today’s temperatures were around 50 degrees, which was perfect for yard work. At this time of year, yard work means harvesting the dog poo. The harvest is an opportunity to observe certain elements of the canine digestive system. Based on the colorful evidence dotting the yard, neither dog thoroughly chews the raw carrots they love, and lightly chewed raw carrots seem to travel through the canine system to be deposited largely intact on the lawn like confetti. Between the front and back yards and Moose’s new preferred spots along the length of in the driveway, the bucket was filled.

After the exciting time spent collecting natural specimens from the yard, there was soup making, which was far more pleasant. The time around and between the chores and cooking were spent on the couch with the Hallmark Channel and Lifetime Christmas movie offerings. I used to hate Christmas movies but now they are my preferred holiday mental numbing agent, delivered in doses every 90 to 120 minutes. Thanks to the standard movie formula it’s possible to wander away from the screen and do small tasks like check on the soup or even take a nap without missing much in the way of plot points. 

A Timeless Christmas

The 6:00 movie on Hallmark Channel involved a man who wound a clock and then fainted in 1903 and woke up in 2020, so that was a new and interesting twist and not so easy to get out of. Luckily, he awakened in his own home, which is now a history museum, so he was able to pose as a historical interpreter portraying himself. While he was busy falling in love in 2020 and learning about the past he disappeared from, I was busy wondering what would happen if he didn't find his way back to his own time. How can he get a job in 2020 when he is from 1903? He was an inventor back then, what will he do now with no identity and verifiable experience? I hate when modern reality seeps in and ruins a movie. 

Two bars downstairs.

More bars upstairs!

During a phone call with my sister, the call kept dropping. There were seven frustrating connections, some as brief as 11 seconds before we finally gave up and texted instead. Some of the conversation was trying to figure out whose phone was the problem. The cell service in my house is generally bad enough that the phone displays barely one bar, and I used to get the message “out of service area” while standing in my kitchen. The best place in the house for successful phone calls is upstairs in the bedroom where three or four bars might be obtainable, but that isn’t always very convenient. A later call with my brother dropped only once, but he said the volume kept changing, so it’s probably time to start investigating phone issues again. It’s been a few months, so we’re right on time. 

“Remoted” Day 271 (Saturday)

This week involved quality time with the stove and moderate levels of improvisation and winging it. There was a potato latke experiment on Thursday night, which was less about Hanukkah and more about having seen latke recipes everywhere I looked for the week leading up to Hanukkah. It’s been decades since I had latkes – all the way back to the last century and the first ex-husband who is Jewish. His parents came to America from Poland, and his mother was an amazing cook. I wish I’d had the chance to learn her recipes from her, but she lived in the Bronx and we didn’t see each other often. Even when we were there, the galley kitchen in her Co-Op City apartment made it next to impossible to have more than one cook in there at a time. 

Latkes, applesauce and coffee
 for breakfast.

One intriguing recipe that surfaced is a dessert sweet potato latke dipped in chocolate, but a non-dessert version was chosen instead. A recipe that involves baking instead of frying in batches became the winner. There were only two small white potatoes and two small sweet potatoes, so the latkes ended up being a mix of both potatoes with onion, bushed with oil and baked. They weren’t super crispy but they were really good.

Since the Thursday supper of latkes with apple sauce there have been latkes for brunch with sour cream and weekend breakfast latkes with applesauce and there are still a couple more left to go.

Somewhere along the way, rugelach made with refrigerated pie crust bubbled up to consciousness. This is a time saver, but lacks the cream cheese in most of the rugelach crust recipes. I love rugelach, but any time I see it for sale anywhere it feels too expensive or maybe I am just too frugal. Ex-husband number one used to call me “the Frugal Finn,” and he would also tell people he waited to get married until he “found a woman with a good credit rating and health insurance benefits.” The people he told included two levels of bosses and all my colleagues at the company Christmas party the first time he met any of them. He said it so often that after a few years it felt like there was more truth than joke to the comment. Gee, I wonder why we aren’t still together….

Once the burnt filling/sugar is
removed, they taste good.

Saturday morning laptop time was a recipe search and a plan. A pre-made pie crust was unfurled and spread with orange marmalade and ground almonds because they were both in the cabinet. The instructions said to spread it thin. As I rolled the dough with the filling, the marmalade oozed out. If it said “a shmear” instead of “thin” and I might have gotten it better. While in the oven, even more marmalade oozed out and burnt sugar surrounded each piece. Thank goodness for parchment paper or it would have been baked solid to the cookie sheet. After breaking off the burnt jelly sugar, the remaining cookies were really good. So good that, two hours after coming out of the oven there were only three pieces left. A rainy Saturday spent streaming shows and eating too many pieces of fresh rugelach is a pretty good day. 

“Remoted” Workday 181 / Day 270 (Friday)

Winnie sporting doggles at the vet.

It’s another Doggy Day Anniversary at the BungaLowell. Nine years ago today, Moose and I met Winston for the first time. It was a deliberately brief visit that was followed later that week with an overnight visit. After the holidays, Winston, aka Winnie / Winnebago / Boo and a list of other nicknames came to stay for good. Before coming to me, Winston lived with one of my roller derby teammates. He's one of many good things that came out of my time in roller derby. 

From the beginning and even still, the two dogs generally give each other wide berth, with exceptions. They never cuddle with each other, but they both cuddle with me, sometimes one on either side, and I’m a fan of that. I’m not sure either one of them knows how to play. Toys are ignored. Tossed objects are not retrieved, instead, the dogs remain still and look puzzled.

Winnie has several adorable behaviors. When we lived in Tennessee, he would disappear each night, and I'd find him tucked into my bed. Nowadays he stays close, and when he wants my attention, he will gently tap my arm or my ankle with his paw. If Winnie is standing, he alternates tapping his front paws like he’s dancing to get my attention. He used to jump straight up into the air to look out the window until he hurt his knee and needed laser treatments, where he flirted with every technician at the veterinary office. 

Unlike Moose, who seems to enjoy yelling at me during most of his waking hours, Winston is the quiet type. Instead of barking at me, Winston blow airs out of his mouth with a sound like “oof.” If I don’t notice him right away, or ignore him to see how things might proceed, he repeats the sound, a bit louder each time. It’s all very genteel. 

Winston used to tuck himself in.

Moose is always close by. So close, that he is literally underfoot and gets stepped on daily, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. Winston, on the other hand, will be in my general vicinity and if I stop or change direction quickly, he squeals like he’s been stabbed when he hasn’t been touched. This is not a genteel sound. Winston can also be as silent as a ninja. He’s smart enough to figure out how to sneak under the gate and squeeze through the small space between the fencepost and the house. He waits in the far corner of the yard until I open the gate, then runs top speed across the yard, through the gate, down the driveway, around to the stairs, and straight into the house. This is assuming I timed my part of the performance correctly and opened the door in time.

Moosie and Winnie have taught each other things. Winston started standing with one front paw lifted from the floor like Moose. Moose used to squat to pee, but now he lifts his leg like Winston does. After Winnie joined us, Moose stopped eating so much fabric. They may not act like best buds, but they get nervous when they are separated.

They don’t play with each other, but they know how to play me. They will both suddenly appear when I’m working and start tilting their heads to the biscuit bin nearby. One will go to the door and signal to go outside, but the other won’t go out. When the outside dog comes in, they run to the biscuit bin for a cookie. Then the dog that stayed in wants to go out, and when he comes in, they both beg at the biscuit bin. It is a masterfully choregraphed production, with a daily matinee.

Every night includes a ritual. While I brush my teeth, Winston slinks into the bathroom like a ninja to watch me. When the teeth brushing is done, Winnie herds me out of the bathroom and towards Moose, and the container of snacks. The bedtime doggy snacks are gathered and the boys escort me upstairs, but it is more likely they are escorting the snacks.

It’s fun with Winston and Moose and I love our little routines. It would be very dull without them. Happy glad I met you day, Winnie!

“Remoted” Workday 180 / Day 269 (Thursday)

The photo where I fell in love - 2009.

Today is the anniversary of Moose’s “Gotcha Day.” Eleven years ago on this date, Moose was picked up from the vet after being neutered, and took up residence at my home in Tennessee. The boyfriend I was living with then had pestered me about us getting a dog for months. I finally agreed (caved?) under the condition that I got to choose the dog. After a few nights invested in browsing all the cute dogs on Petfinder.com it had become mind numbing, then Moose’s picture appeared. It was love at first sight. My heart was captured.

Moose had been residing at the Montgomery County (TN) Animal Shelter, which had a high euthanasia rate. It was basically doggy death row. The shelter was close to my work and we went on my lunch hour to see him. Thank goodness we knew which dog we wanted, because the place was full of adorable dogs. Moose was frolicking in a pen with a similar sized dog named Eddie and looked to be having fun. Moose came out for a visit with us, was a very sweet pup, and my instant love was amplified. Papers were completed and Moose went from the shelter to the vet for neutering and then home to us. For the first couple months, he didn't utter a sound and I wondered if his vocal cords had been altered. He finally found his voice and hasn't stopped using it since. The boyfriend who insisted on us getting a dog moved out several months later but Moose and I (and Winston) have longevity. Moose is my longest relationship and Winston is a close second. It seems I am capable of long-term commitment after all.

My Moosie love in 2020.

We’ve been through some things, Moose and I. The summer of  heartworm treatments. The fabric eating, which included pillow corners, random holes in his blanket, his bed, his toys, and the armpits of my favorite shirt, and left patchwork piles of decorative fabric poop on the lawn. There was his peeing on the rugs under the coffee table and dining table. The worrisome multiple events of his mysterious swollen leg, which was discovered to have a BB pellet embedded in it, but the BB was not be the cause of the swelling. 

Moose got me through some (too many) dark and lonely times, and when I broke my leg playing roller derby, he dialed his energy level down closer to mine and was my constant companion during the recuperation. Later, when he seemed depressed and mopey, Winston came to live with us to keep him company. When being away from my human family had finally gone on for too long and the reasons to stay in Tennessee became fewer and fewer, Moose, Winston, and I moved 1,200 miles back home to New England. And now it is still just the three of us, looking out for each other, staying in through the pandemic, and growing old together.

“Remoted” Workday 179 / Day 268 (Wednesday)

Sunrise over the Classy Lady.

The day began with a colorful sunrise barely glimpsed from between the houses and over the Classy Lady, a fine water vessel that has not moved for a couple years since being parked in a backyard neighbor's yard. Classy Lady is possibly the most expensive yard decor in the hood. 

After that, it was another day of more of the same. Dogs, coffee, work, food. Letting dogs out and letting them back in, all day long. They stare at me, I let them out. They bark outside, I scurry to let them back in. They stare me down again and they get cookies. While this is going on, Pavlov and his dogs come to mind, except in this case, the dogs are delivering the cues instead of the human. Double Milk Chocolate Milano Cookies arrived in a Prime delivery so at least I got a cookie (or ten) for my efforts, too. The rewards here in Pavlov's remote lab and clinical study are not always that generous.

To shake up the rut of more of the same, there was a trip to the outside world after work. In the dark! A list of needed items had been carefully drafted. After entering Big Lots through the magic of the automatic doors, it was discovered there was no list in any coat pockets or my purse. The entire store was traversed in an effort to jog the memory with visual reminders.

While traversing the aisles, impulse items were discovered that were definitely not on list. Jalapeno gouda? Yes, please. And disinfecting wipes! It’s been so long since seeing any of those available online or on a store shelf that I declared them extinct and stopped writing them on any lists. A full shelf display felt like a holiday miracle. There was one item on the list that was remembered and sought. Unfortunately, there were no door hangers for the wreath in the stripped bare seasonal section, or anywhere else.

While attempting to follow the arrows and navigate the store in the designated socially distant pandemic fashion, there were many failures on the part of each of us in the handful of customers present. There were bonding moments as we apologized and commiserated over our confusion. It was not entirely our fault. The way the arrows were marked on the floor, the nearest arrow might be at the end of the row, too far to see, or potentially blocked by the guy talking on the phone who seemed to pop up everywhere. Or maybe there were actually many tall guys with remnants of brown hair, wearing a blue mask and an olive colored coat, standing in the middle of aisles throughout the store, talking too loud on a cell phone. Anything seems possible these days, even if it sounds insane.

Despite the guy on the phone, this trip was quite pleasant. Traffic was light, and even though the parking lot was busy, Big Lots was not. Back at home, while storing the disinfecting wipes under the sink, there was a container of wipes already there. What the heck? For at least three months, I’ve thought there were no more wipes and they were under the sink the behind the trash bags the whole time.

The empty tape dispenser on the table was a reminder that tape was on the forgotten list, which I expected to find on the kitchen table, but it is still mysteriously missing. It will be an adventure trying to determine what else was on the list and still needed. Sadly, playing “what did I forget” and “how can I avoid going out” is the level of adventure these days.

“Remoted” Workday 178 / Day 267 (Tuesday)

Sometimes I am amazed at the juvenile level of my brain. With little to no human contact, my wits are dulled and my sense of humor has wandered off. In many ways, it’s like I’m 12 years old. Today, my inbox had an item that made me chuckle more than it should have. In with the nondescript sales pitches and routine work emails about various projects sat “American Bankers Ass ... Upcoming Training.” This amused me.

American Bankers Ass ... Upcoming Training!

The other night, while browsing items on a website from Finland, I saw “Fish Cock” listed on the site. Of course, I had to see what that was, because most of the stuff on the site was clothing and accessories. I was half expecting a joke item like the Creamed Possum seen once in a shop in the tiny town of Floyd, Virginia. It turns out that Fish Cock is an actual food product of salmon baked in a rye bread and packaged in a can with a shelf life of five years. The description notes it does not contain cock. Now my amusement has turned into culinary curiosity. I love salmon, and also rye bread and now I need some Fish Cock. Dear Santa, on your trip out from Lapland, could you grab me some Fish Cock?

Fish Cock!

Clearly, I don’t have enough going on lately to keep my brain from turning to mush. Working from home is going well, but beyond that, it’s work, eat, write, sleep. Sometimes I pick up after myself, sometimes not. Who cares? It's just me. My favorite time of day used to be daytime, but now it’s bedtime and my current favorite activity is sleeping. If there was a different favorite activity before, I can’t remember what it was. I sleep much better than I used to, so that is a huge step forward, even if my sense of humor has launched itself a few decades back.