“Remoted” Day 300 (Sunday)

Day three hundred. Holy cow. Where has the time gone?

Never in my wildest nightmares did I ever think I’d be mostly at home with minimal trips out for, well anything, for 300 days. At least not until I’m retired and/or elderly and infirm. Once the reality of remote work and staying at home sank in, it was never imagined it would last this long. Years of believing I could never work from home because it would be too lonely were proved wrong. Surprisingly, not only have I not totally lost my mind, the shocking truth is I don’t mind it. I like it. Quite a lot.

Sure, the past 300 days had no traveling. Or concerts, plays, or art exhibits. And vacation week and all long weekends were spent at home. But it hasn’t been all loss and sacrifice. Benefits emerged.

The BungaLowell, the largest purchase of my life and credit report, is being fully utilized. I’m no longer compelled to do things on the weekend just to participate in the office post-weekend chit chat. I finally had my first pizza delivery in the spring (after 3.5 years at the house) and now I enjoy deliveries from there every couple weeks. Maybe someday I’ll even branch out and try a new place, but there is no pressure.

Grocery delivery is still the top favorite luxury. Expanded grocery options mean trips to the store are by choice and therefore much more tolerable. The dogs get along better with me being home with them all day every day, and at night, we each sleep in our own bed. I can roll over without risk of accidentally launching a pup off the mattress of tranquility. 

Bordello office?

Nesting activities in the BungaLowell resumed after a stretch of abandonment and furniture, décor, and artwork are in various stages of rearrangement. A charitable donation is scheduled with a curbside pickup, so the clothing and linen closets will receive the regularly scheduled annual cleanout. Sheer curtains were added to the home-office space in an effort to block window drafts. The color is darker than I expected, but Mom likes it. In team video meetings it looks like I work out of some purple palace or maybe a bordello and it amuses me. Hopefully, the nesting momentum will continue and some weekend the spare room will finally be dealt with and become a functional guest room. If not, it won’t be the end of the world, just like it hasn’t been the end of the world for the more than four years up to now.

The 300-day writing streak is a definite first, and even though quitting was considered more than once, I’ve stuck with it. There has also been a 188-day streak of online Finnish lessons, so maybe by the time travel opens up again and I can actually go to Finland, all those ten-minute lessons will have produced something useful to say. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, because this won’t last forever. I hope. 

“Remoted” Day 299 (Saturday)

The recent steady diet of Lifetime and Hallmark Channel movies is wrapping up month two. It’s escapism that doesn’t give me insomnia and nightmares like scary movies. Or the news. Today, after a season of too many of these movies to count, I was ruminating on the common plotline of high school pals reuniting after many years of separation and life experience. It occurred to me that this has happened to me. Not once or twice, but thrice. And by my continued singleton status, it is safe to assume that in no instance did it ever conclude like in the movies. 

No Hallmark stories here.

The first time it happened, it began much like a Hallmark movie script. At a class reunion, Classmate X and I struck up a conversation. In ninth grade, I’d had a crush on him, but he didn’t seem to know I existed. I was going on vacation just a few days after the reunion, and we made date plans for after I got back.

Leading up to my vacation, there were nightly calls from X, which always included his exclamation, “I can’t believe you’re going out with me!” After my vacation, we met at a restaurant for dinner. The conversation included a gem labeled as a big, red flag during the post breakup analysis. He said, “I called my mother before I left and I told her I’m having dinner with my future wife.” There was not a hint of humor in this comment, and I don’t know about other women, but that is not something I want to hear on a first date. There were also 10,000 iterations during the date of, “I can’t believe you’re out on a date with me,” which seemed to be his favorite topic that night. Halfway through dinner, he was not the only one who could not believe I was on a date with him.

The younger, wiser me would have run from that date and never looked back. Unfortunately, I was trying to be a nicer, more open minded adult and give people a chance, so I agreed to see him again. We dated for a couple months which included so many phone calls from him to my work that I got in trouble with my boss after the switchboard complained. He would call out sick to his job, drive 20 miles to my apartment, and be sitting on my doorstep or worse, hanging out with my landlord when I arrived home. I broke up with him after a couple months of his suffocating, stalker behavior, but he decided we were still dating and continued to call and show up at my apartment until I threatened to call the police, unplugged the phone, and eventually moved to another town.

The second time, it was a guy I worked with at my high school job at the supermarket, where he was my favorite bagger. We went to different high schools and most of our dates involved meeting at the public library to do our homework at the same table. We went to one dance at his school and I was grounded for arriving home ten minutes past curfew. After that, we just ghosted each other. Years later, he was living in Denver, found me online, and sent an email to say “hey.” We did the long-distance thing for many months and it was great – he had his life, I had mine, we connected with daily emails, regular phone calls, and long-weekend visits in Denver and Worcester. Once, he suggested I move out to Denver, but everything was still really high level and casual. 

It was comfortable and going great until the day I accidentally blew it all up by signing an email with a casual “love ya!” just like I signed messages to many other friends. That casual slip led to two weeks of unanswered emails and phone calls, followed by the sudden lengthy letter dumping me. He explained that during the radio silence he took time to think about things and concluded I was more serious about us than he was. The assumption wasn’t even correct, which he would have known if we had talked about it. I snapped and told him off with an email lecture about how nice it was that he was pondering life and the significance of “love ya” for two weeks while I spent the same time worried that he had been murdered or killed in a car accident. Years later, we connected again and had the chance to laugh over how stupid we were, and shortly after that he died of cancer. It still makes me sad thinking about him.

The third reconnection happened via the magic of Facebook with another guy from high school and we shared a year of casually hanging out now and then. At the time I was living with Mom, working a minimum wage job, searching for a place of my own, and was hundreds of applications deep into searching for a job where I could simultaneously afford to both eat and pay for housing. Going on a date meant guilt at leaving Mom to deal with the dogs after she had already dealt with them all day while I was at work. Between the dog-related guilt, embarrassment over the suck-ass state of my life, rock bottom confidence, and exhaustion, there was nothing left to invest in any sort of relationship. It was doomed from the start. 

Never, in all the many hours of quality time invested in the Hallmark Channel, have I seen any of these situations portrayed in their delightful, heartwarming little movies. There is probably a rule against stalkers in Hallmark movies, but there are other channels devoted to that storyline, usually with gruesome endings. And really, who would want to watch stories about failed relationships with no happy ending? That’s real life for some of us, but it wouldn't even make a good reality show. Maybe Hallmark will come out with a special line of romantic horror stories.

“Remoted” Workday 197 / Day 298 (Friday)

A few weeks ago, there was snow on the ground, but now the yard is grass and dirt and doggy deposits. The birds are chirpy in the morning and it sounds like spring. The temperatures have still been wintry, but not the deep freeze winter, just the normal mid to high 30s range. It’s cold enough that I don’t want to be outside. Nights are spent on the couch under a blanket.

Whatever the weather, the dogs go out a hundred times a day. Lately it feels like extortion, because they aren’t out there long enough to even do anything. Moose goes down the steps, turns around, and immediately comes back inside and heads directly to the biscuits. The problem is, they’ve been conditioned to get a treat after going outside, which is a human-created situation. The other problem is, we are tragically low on biscuits and I haven’t been to the store (or anywhere else). The treat bin was restocked with regular dry kibble, but even the regular food is getting low. I can’t even slip them carrots because those all went into the soup the other day. This is also a human-created situation.

Starting January 1, I was trying to see if I could make it an entire week without spending any money (except for bills – it’s probably a pretty solid assumption that the mortgage bank and National Grid don’t play the “I was trying to not spend money” game). This has meant no Amazon purchases, but it has also inspired the repurposing of things already in the house, which means I don't have to figure out a way to dispose of things.

Are these books or clocks?

No spending hasn't meant no window shopping. The shopping carts are not empty, but the buying ban provides a cool down period to decide if things are really needed. The kitchen clock has grown tiresome, but is still in the want side of the need/want spectrum, I just haven’t found one I like. There are some truly hideous clocks that I definitely don't want. A flower pot with a clock in the middle? No thank you. There is no need in my world for a clock that declares “you are what you eat,” tells me to “live love laugh,” or taunts my solo existence with “big happy family” crap. There are expensive clocks emblazoned with a word count equal to a short story, that display the time completely in text. Maybe I should get one of those and count the word clock towards my "read a book a month" goal. Maybe I’ll find something I like next week when it's back to normal spending. Right after restocking the royal pantry for the Canine Overlords, for whom it is always treat o’clock.

“Remoted” Workday 196 / Day 297 (Thursday)

The department pace of two speeds – busy and busier – is still the norm, and the “slow period” that we hear other departments mention never seems to visit our team for more than a half hour. I won’t even try to pretend I’m not a little bit jealous of the idea of a temporary slow pace.

Then again, while doing not much of anything in the off-time is one of my favorite pastimes, I like to stay busy at work. It can be exhilarating juggling multiple projects and roles. The word “specialist” in my job title doesn’t mean I do one specialized thing all day every day. There are many roles and hats. For example, today included being an account manager coordinating with our “clients” from other departments to determine the scope of a request … production manager coordinating with vendors … editor developing topics for an upcoming newsletter and compiling content revisions on another project … and project manager tracking statuses and relaying updates. Earlier this week there was media planning and writing news articles for the website.

Soup! It's efficient.

Sometimes the idea creeps in that it would be nice to do one role/task, but then I wake up and accept that isn’t how I’m wired. The buffet of work with a range of options is preferable to the same thing day after day. A mental block on one thing just means bouncing over to something different, and half the time, the solution to Project A's problem comes when working on Project B. Or maybe Project C or D. When the buffet of work is full it’s all good, and when the buffet gets a little lean, nervousness sets in.

The funny part is, with work I love the variety, but with food, days of the same lunch or dinner are perfectly acceptable. Pizza for lunch every day for a week isn't monotonous, it's energy efficient. Ditto for a kettle of soup that lasts for days of ongoing dining without ongoing planning. The soups are a lot like the workday – a variety of “stuff” coming together. In a model of domestic planning, most meals prepared are large enough for several encores. The weekly mini buffet of soup and leftovers has enough variety to to keep it from being boring. Again, it’s efficient, so it’s all good.

“Remoted” Workday 195 / Day 296 (Wednesday)

Hooray for a quick read.

The day started much like many before it, and probably many more to come. In an effort to avoid a repeat of last year’s failed goal of reading one book per month, I picked up a book. Instead of mindlessly scrolling Facebook and email, I read Charlotte’ s Web for a half hour before work. It was chosen because it was nearby in the bookcase, and if I read it before, it was so long ago that I don’t remember much beyond there being a pig and a spider. Plus, as a bonus, it’s short and I’m already one-third of the way through it, meaning there is a chance for success at least for the first month. For some reason, I kept hearing the voice of the pig from the movie Babe while reading Wilbur's words in the book, and now I want to watch Babe again for about the millionth time.

Coffee is a standard element for the start of most of my days. On those rare days of awakening uninterested in coffee, it’s usually because I’m sick. The accompanying home-office breakfast food item is generally a bagel, toast, granola bar, or oatmeal. This is basically the same range of food options as when working from the office-office, except for the bagels. Those were a part of the office-office only when a colleague would bring them into the office from some amazing bagel place. Since discovering the magical world of Amazon Prime Whole Foods grocery deliveries, bagels and lox have been a treat at the BungaLowell, but the bagels are still not as good as those bagels at the office.

Great lunch, but not breakfast.

This morning’s selection was maple brown sugar oatmeal. Every oatmeal eater I know claims that it is a filling breakfast with staying power. Unfortunately, I have not found this to be the case, and through some quirk of my metabolism, I’m hungry quicker after eating oatmeal than if I skipped breakfast altogether. While preparing the packet of oatmeal, the thought of making two of them flitted through my cranium, but it was decided for the sake of science to stick to the usual one packet and see if things had changed. It turns out that nothing has changed. Oatmeal eaten at 8:15 left me ready to gnaw my own arm off from hunger by 10:00. Luckily, there was a lot of work to be done, which redirected my mind from the hunger thing. A savory kale, mushroom, onion, and sweet potato soup was planned for lunch, and 10:00 was just too early for that. 

The home-office workday was rather routine and unsurprising with words written, words edited, projects reviewed, video meetings attended. That is, it was routine until an afternoon check of the news to see if the generally routine Electoral College vote count was proceeding with or without dramatics and histrionics. Until this recent election, I never would have thought to watch any part of what I would have assumed to be a snooze fest.

It turned out that events out in the real world, hundreds of miles beyond the general peace and solitude of the home office, were anything but a snooze fest. The news showed thousands of people on Capitol Hill, some of whom eventually forced their way the Capitol Building. It’s the worst reality show I’ve seen in a while and it delivered stress and a headache. As much as I generally try to avoid politics, the events of today are impossible to ignore.

The temptation to doom scroll the social media and news sites has been strong all night. To avoid the stress it would deliver, solace and distraction were sought in the predictable plot of a Hallmark Channel movie. True to form, the businesswoman returned from the big city to her small hometown and reconnected an old friend and there was the inability of each to realize they had feelings for the other until three minutes before the end. Oh, and the lead actress reminds me strongly of a colleague. After the unusual events of the day, it was a brief comfort.

“Remoted” Workday 194 / Day 295 (Tuesday)

The nesting activity continues and the only reasonable explanation is that I've been invaded by an extraterrestrial or the house is now inhabited by sprites, fairies, or domestically inclined spirits. The latest visitation was some sort of goddess of organization, and the result is the tidying up of the counter where the coffee maker lives.

Months ago, there was an online search for a shelf for the small counter are near the coffee maker. The coffee maker lives there because it’s the only spot in the kitchen that is close to an outlet and the water supply, and has enough clearance to flip up the lid of the coffee maker without crashing into the underside of the wall-mounted cabinet.

There are still at least three shelves on the Amazon “save for later” lists, and searches of Kohl’s and Bed, Bath, and Beyond websites and a couple brick and mortar stores came up empty. Challenges to the small area include the placement of the electrical outlet and the light/garbage disposal switch. Measurements were taken and it seems that most of the shelves found would block access to one or both of these important features, or are too tall relative to the cabinet to allow for anything on the shelf.

Awkwardly placed light switches and other oddities are a theme throughout the house. One of the behind/above the toilet cabinets would be great in the bathroom, but the placement of the light switch is twice as far from the door frame as every other switch in the house, and would be blocked by the cabinet and impossible to access. Next to the toilet is the vanity, which boasts an off-center light fixture over the medicine cabinet. Basically, one entire wall of the bathroom is a source of daily angst. The switch plate near the front door is so close to the doorframe that someone trimmed the edge of the switch plate cover to fit the space. 

Organized coffee setup!

The wine rack that lived in the kitchen until being moved to the dining room buffet sat atop a wood shelf thing with sliding doors which, until very recently, held tap shoes that my sister gave me a couple years ago. The tap shoes were used with a piece of plywood that, for lack of a better place, has been shoved between the  refrigerator and the wall since redoing the floors in 2016. It's easy to access and set down to tap dance on without wrecking the floor. Both times I did it anyway.

Emptied of the taps, the wood shelf thing now contains two travel coffee cups, coffee filters, cinnamon, and coffee creamers inside, with cannisters of coffee and sugar packets and a sugar bowl on top. No more walking the length of the counter each morning to get a coffee filter from the drawer on the other side of the sink. It looks so tidy. I feel so organized. This repurposing stuff already in the house is kind of fun, and certainly budget friendly.

“Remoted” Workday 193 / Day 294 (Monday)

Today is one of those dates where Facebook Memories offer up a fun nugget.

Merriwether of Tennessee, who
pushed Moose to find his voice.

The earliest “On this day” memory from today's date concerns Moose and a cat. When Moose and I joined forces, there was a gray neighborhood stray cat that stayed at my house when he felt like it. I named him Merriwether, and, despite my best efforts to make him my housebound companion, he resisted my offers of long-term commitment. He is but one of many  males who somehow managed to resist my charms. During the stretch of his independent, playboy comings and goings, my house was twice infested with fleas, which was an unpleasant situation I hope to avoid forevermore.

One day, I arrived home to an amusing sight. Moose was scrunched back into the corner of the couch, trapped by Merriwether, who sat in front of him. Moose and I locked eyes, and it seemed like he was sending me a distress signal. Merriwether seemed amused by the situation.

On this date in 2010, when Moose had been with me for about three weeks, silent as a monk, my post on Facebook reads, “is wondering what button the cat pushed to make the dog bark after weeks of silence.” It was Merriwether who “inspired” Moose to find his voice, and he has not stopped exercising his vocal chords since.

Tennessee Moose, in our early days.

Merriwether continued to leave and return at whim, with longer absences between. He would show up with battle scars, eat, and leave. Once, after an absence of months, while walking Moose in the neighborhood, we came upon Merriwether sitting on a tree stump in an empty lot, looking a bit rough. He glared at me then turned his head away. For real, there were fiery laser beams shooting from his eyes. And that was the end of that. I never saw him again. 

While looking for a photo of Merriwether, which took 100 times longer than it should have, it was finally found in a blog post from January 4, 2010. For an early, on-the-scene report of Moose and Merriwether, check out “Sibling Rivalry.”