“Remoted” – Day 447 (Sunday)

Crowded irises in
 full bloom today.

According to the weather info on Google, the high temperature today was 93 degrees. There was a breeze coming in through the slider, the front door, and several windows, and the ceiling fan in the living room was on, so the heat didn’t really register with me for most of the day. At 3:00, I felt a bit warm. The thermostat in the dining room read 90 degrees, normal people would probably be unconscious by then, and that’s when the A/C was finally turned on. 

After several hours with the air on, the house has been holding steady at 78 conditioned degrees, and my feet are freezing, opening the floor to the first lifelong debate of the season on the topic of whether to put on socks or turn off the air. Between the irises and roses blooming, the peonies budding, and the frozen feet A/C versus sock debate, all signs are pointing to summer having arrived.

The second seasonal debate has also begun. This one entered the rotation with the purchase of The BungaLowell. The topic is whether or not to install the window air conditioner unit in the bedroom window. Even with the central air running, the upstairs is like a sauna. The temperature change can be felt at step seven of the thirteen step flight of stairs between floors. It's quite remarkable, really.

The window unit installation process requires emptying part of the closet to access the door to the attic storage area, then pulling out the A/C unit, dragging it over to the window, and lifting it to set it in the window without it crashing into the front yard in a dramatic and infuriating spectacle. It’s a tough project for an aging woman with the upper body strength of a rag doll. Last year, the window unit was left in the attic, and the night air and ceiling fan were relied upon for relief in the stuffy bedroom. It did not always go well, and was tougher knowing there was a portable unit just feet away on the other side of the closet wall. 

“Remoted” – Day 446 (Saturday)

Rollstone Boulder, from a postcard.

Plans had been made for today, and then the plans were altered. The original plan was to go to Fitchburg and take the guided Rock Walk group hike from the Boulder that sits on a small traffic island on Main Street up to Rollstone Hill to the site of the former granite quarries. Yes, there is an actual ten-foot tall boulder on a traffic island in downtown Fitchburg. 

The Boulder once sat atop Rollstone Hill, (which is one of many, many hills in the 'Burg), having been deposited there by a glacier. It served as a landmark and local attraction, and early photos show visitors sitting atop the boulder. When the boulder was in danger with quarrying operations, it was broken apart and reassembled near the Upper Common. 

View from "the Rock", October 2017.

Years later, the tradition of “painting the rock” began where the granite face of the hill was painted by students at Fitchburg High School. The rock was visible from both the "old" high school and Crocker Field, where high school football, soccer, and track events were held. "The Rock" and "The Boulder" are fun landmarks and hard to explain to people not from Fitchburg.

I did the guided walk in October 2017, and it is interesting and informative. The views of the city from the top of Rollstone Hill are striking. Spray paint artists have created an outdoor gallery on granite canvases. For several days, I looked forward to revisiting the quarry on this morning’s walk. Then, like many other times I planned to attend, at the last minute, the plan changed. 

Painted granite atop Rollstone Hill,
October 2017.

Today dawned sunny and warm with a forecast of hot. Dogs were fed and medicated. Coffee was made and somehow screwed up when, for mysterious reasons, some of the hot water sat trapped in the filter basket after providing only four cups of a six-pot measure, so the morning caffeine jolt was lacking. Too much time was spent sitting around trying to wake up and suddenly it was too late to complete all the necessary steps to arrive on time for the walk – specifically, dressing for a hot weather hike, diapering and settling the dogs in the kitchen, and driving the 34 miles to the meeting point on a hot day in a car with currently non-functioning A/C. 

It was decided to skip the walk and stay home and tackle two long-standing items on the house to-do list instead. Long-standing, in this list, means more than two years. A bucket with a vinegar and water solution was prepared. The hose was liberated from the shed. The valves in the basement were opened to provide flow to the two outdoor water spigots. Shorts, a tank top, and flip flops were donned. The washing process began at the side of the house, then moved to the front, where the northern exposure results in dark stains of mildew that contrast unpleasantly with the tan siding. After starting to spray the house, it was noticed a couple porch windows were open and a pause was needed to close those and the bedroom windows upstairs.

The dark spots were scrubbed off with the vinegar water and a brush. From there, the hose was relocated to the spigot at the back of the house for the next phase. Hosing the back of the house began before realizing the kitchen windows were cranked wide open, requiring another pause and trip inside. Before long, all four sides had been cleaned. The front and back dormers were tough, as the water stream lost most of its power by the time it got that high.

After the house, the six-foot fence at the back property line was tackled. Like the front of the house, the fence is north facing and several of the panels were more dark stains than white vinyl. It was especially gross under the tree from the neighboring yard. The lattice sections at the top were extra challenging. It all took some elbow grease, but now the house looks fresh and the back fence is a blinding beacon of cleanliness. The car was also hosed off, freeing it of the latest layer of pollen. This is the type of chore I enjoy – a little bit physical, can be completed in one session, and has visible results. And who doesn’t like playing with a hose on a hot day?

“Remoted” – Day 445 (Friday)

Car shopping has resumed after a break. Ugh. It failed with Honda in April because I don’t like any of the body styles, but I kept looking at cars in traffic and online and decided Jeep Renegade and Ford Bronco have body styles I like. There was 0% financing through May 31 on Jeep, but I learned of this just a few days before the offer ended and I wasn’t ready, because I haven’t yet seen one in real life or driven one. The other day the financing was 3.3% which is still not bad, but higher than 0%. I'm not in a rush, and can probably wait until the next major holiday specials.

Alerts were set up at a couple dealerships so I’ll be notified when a blue one is available. It has unleashed the flood gates of salesperson hell. I am now getting multiple daily texts, emails and phone calls. I don’t just mean “multiple” as in messages from multiple dealers, it’s closer to multiple messages from multiple dealers daily.

After answering one phone call this week that was a scam call from “Federal Officer Sarah Schulz” saying my “work needs to be put aside” and instructing me to “press one to speak to the Federal Officer” I’m back to screening all calls with an unfamiliar number. Sorry car sales folks. Blame the scammer posing as Sarah Schulz, who is actually a real person in Michigan and whose website has info about the scam calls using her name.

One dealer email teased with “a new offer,” and I fell for it and visited the dealer website, which is hideous – all red screaming banners and red text and red buttons screaming at me and overlay boxes in the way. It felt like 1993 – headache inducing, hard to navigate, amateurish graphics. Not a good impression at all.

A chat box offered help and I typed in, “What are the current specials for Renegade?” There was an instant response which did not answer the question but immediately tried to move the chat over to a phone call. Nope. Don’t offer to help me on chat if you aren’t going to chat. If I wanted a phone call, I would have called. A few minutes later another email from the same dealer arrived, with an embedded video and the message “I made a video for you.” They are pulling out all the stops and utilizing every message delivery service, but it’s starting to feel a little stalkerish.

A conversation with a friend about the now defunct Saturn has me really missing their pricing philosophy. No messing around, no negotiating, no nonsense. I'm going to need a negotiator to go with me when it's time to buy.

“Remoted” – Day 444 (Thursday)

It’s June 3^rd and my baby sister’s birthday. Even though I was nearly five years old old when she was born, I don’t remember her as a baby. It's like I spent my early childhood in a fog. My earliest memory of S is just a vague snippet of her being toddler-ish in a playpen and my brother and our cousin catering to her every whim. If she looked at something, the boys fetched it for her. Then Mom would tell them to knock it off and let her learn to reach and grab and get things for herself.

S as a sassy kid, with our dog Colette.
I had this outfit in navy blue.

The many photos in the family albums starting when I was a newborn in Mom’s lap prove that I was a child, even though I don’t recall my earliest years. There are slightly fewer photos of my brother, and fewer still of my sister, especially without all the rest of us crowded into the frame. Evidently, by the time the third kid rolls around, the fascination with documenting every little thing is gone. 

There is a memory fragment of S being in the hospital for a few days when she was a toddler. We often had the same outfits, but in different colors. The summer I turned seven and S was two, my family went camping in Canada and S stayed with Mummu.

When I was nearly eight and S was three, my family went to Texas. In the summer. In a black car with no air conditioning and no planned stops at hotels, motels, or Holiday Inn. In those days, our car had “a hump” that ran front to back down the center of the floor. On regular days, the kid sitting in the middle of the back seat usually had their feet on the hump and was eating their knees. For the long drive to Texas, Dad cut a piece of plywood to set on the backseat floor to create a level surface over “the hump.” It eliminated the floor space, but created a flat surface for a kid to sleep. One kid slept on the back seat and one on the makeshift floor, and my sister slept in the flat space behind the seat and under the angled back window. All the way from Massachusetts to Texas and then back. Ah, the carefree days before child car seats and seatbelt laws. 

S, the cool one,
with our dog Colette.

Although I don’t remember her birth, I’m pretty sure S exited the womb and entered the world way cooler than me. While I holed up in my room reading, she was out with friends and on cheerleading squads, first for church league basketball, then later for high school varsity football. While I worried about winning spelling bees and practicing my penmanship, she cultivated social skills and formed lifelong friendships. While I spent my high school years working at DeMoulas and being stood up by Saturday night dates who never showed up, S spent her high school years working at the best donut shop in the 'burg (MaryAnn's!) and dating the captain of the football team.

All these decades later, not much has changed. She is still the cool one. She is clever and creative and funny and generous. She has three amazing, beautiful, and intelligent daughters. Her social circle is large  and for years before the pandemic, her house was frequently the site of gatherings for the Sunday football games. I keep thinking if I ever grow up, I want to be just like her.

Happy birthday S!

“Remoted” – Day 443 (Wednesday)

Irises starting to pop.

The weather was nice and the flowers are popping. Time was spent in the yard before and after work. Before work, the clumps of grass left by the mower last night were raked into four or five heaps not unlike mini hay piles. As I raked, the adorable pups from next door ran over to the fence to say hello and have their chins rubbed. I will miss them when they move at the end of the month.

The yard waste barrel was very nearly dragged out back to collect the clippings, but there was a fear that the yard waste pickup truck would come in the meantime. Yard waste is collected on trash day. Theoretically, anyway. Sometimes it’s a day late, sometimes two. This week, trash and recycling pickups were on Tuesday due to the holiday, but yard waste wasn’t collected. It turned out it wasn’t collected today either, but it would take until after work before I knew that.

Explosion of roses.

The little haystacks sat in the yard all day, drying in the sun. After work the barrel was dragged to the back yard to collect the clippings and then replaced at the curb. This is the sort of stuff I now have myself convinced is “exercise.” It’s generally so brief that it barely counts as activity. Fifty steps dragging a barrel is not exactly aerobic or weight bearing. 

A tour of the garden occurred, under the flimsy guise of “walking.” The entire grounds can be covered in mere minutes, so from a step count perspective, it’s probably barely a couple hundred. I could check it with the pedometer, but that seems embarrassing. Anyway, the big two-tone purple irises bloomed last week, and now the smaller, darker ones are opening. 

What is this mess?

The rosebush out front has exploded with blooms. I don’t understand that plant at all. Each year, I hack it back and each summer it grows back even bigger. It’s now sprawling all over the place, invading the yard, and my arms have been shredded by thorns just walking by it. It looks nice against the picket fence, but it needs some control. Last year, or maybe the year before, I tied it up with gift wrap ribbon, due to a lack of proper string. Unfortunately, now there is also no more gift ribbon, either. There is a box of wires and cables that could be pressed into service. 

A few petunias left over from the Friday cemetery planting were finally set into a planter. Mom said they were my payment for digging the holes and pulling out the grass. The big metal tub used for the frustrating non-crops of tomatoes, basil, and other veggies the past few years is now full of mystery green seedlings. And I mean full. It’s being treated as an experiment. They could be weeds or they could be future flowers from the seeds of the flowers that were scattered in there last year. There are three identifiable marigolds in the mess and one tall thing that looks familiar, and a lot of who knows what else. Eventually, the sprouts will be revealed.  

“Remoted” – Day 442 (Tuesday)

The highlight of today was after work when it was decided to mow the lawn. The gray and wet weather all weekend had forced a delay of the yard work. The weather today was lovely and a huge insult after the crappy weather of the long weekend. Mowing the lawn is dreadful, but only the starting of the magical mowing machine because it is so hard to pull the stupid cord to start it. Once started, the task is quite enjoyable. Meditative even. Tonight, the red button was pushed three times according to instructions and the cord pulled. And repeated. And all the steps repeated. The gas was checked. The start was attempted. And failed. 

In a huff, I pulled "Don Draper," the people-powered old-timely machine from the shed. The tall and willowy weeds generally bow down before Don Draper and remain uncut while the lush clumps stop Don in its tracks. After a few unproductive and aggravating passes, the power mower was tried again. After a couple more attempts, it started. Perhaps I just needed to be sufficiently pissed for things to work. 

A cloud of black smoke blew out for a few seconds, but it ran and the mowing commenced. Progress was fantastic, even with the thick clumps of faux grass. The perimeter was cut and then another couple passes in the diminishing square meditative path. Suddenly, halfway through, with a large square of grass remaining in the middle of the yard, the mower stopped.

Sink with a view.

Attempts were made to restart, which failed. It finally occurred to me that maybe it was oil. The entire time I’ve had this mower, I haven’t been able to figure out where the oil even goes. A trip was made inside to consult with the all-knowing Google. The search results had stupid and unhelpful steps with no pictures like “Turn the fill tube cap counterclockwise and remove it from the fill tube” which led to my follow up question of “where is the f#$king fill tube on a lawn mower?” There was finally an instruction with images so I knew what the thing looks like and where it is located so I could add oil. It still didn’t start, and the gas was checked again. With more gas, it started and the yard chore was finished.

I remembered that I didn’t clean out under the mower the last time it was used a few weeks ago. After it was tipped on its side, it became obvious that it hadn’t been cleared long before that first mow of the season. There was about a half inch of grass and stuff caked under there. It was peeled off, then scraped off with a metal screw, which was the only thing I could find in the shed that seemed at all helpful. And it was helpful. A pile of caked and dried grass and dirt was accumulated. 

Today was a whack-a-doodle day, but at least the lawn is done and there is a sense of accomplishment. As long as I don’t look at the kitchen sink newly filled with dishes, anyway. At least I can admire the freshly clipped grass while dealing with the dishes.

“Remoted” – Day 441 (Monday)

The gray, cloudy, wet, and very un-summery weather all weekend was the opposite of the weather that graced the area during the workdays last week. Instead of rummaging for summer clothing options, Friday saw three spring weight layers. On Saturday, the winter base layers and sweaters were resurrected for both human and dogs. The heat was turned back on and it was quite depressing. Warmer temperatures are due to return Tuesday, proving that Mother Nature has a hell of a sense of humor.

Torture mask.

Sleep patterns were destroyed. Friday, after the doctor’s office with tetanus shot and cemetery planting with the hard labor of digging out the dense grass growing against the headstones there was a nap that dominated most of the afternoon. Bedtime occurred close to the normal time, but edged later on Saturday, and Sunday was a record-breaker at 1:30. I can’t remember the last time I stayed up that late, but the real mystery was why I was thoroughly awake and still watching Netflix and playing stupid phone games that late.

Moose attempted to get things back on track at 5:45 Monday morning with the shrill barking to go out for the preliminary pee, then again at 6:45 with the final notice to get and produce food. Once up and caffeinated, the day kicked into gear. There was the application of a charcoal peel off mask intended for pore cleansing. The thick, messy goop akin to liquid asphalt was spread on and for 30 minutes I sat on the couch while it dried, awaiting the magical moment of removal and the reveal of newborn-fresh skin.

According to the lofty claims on the label, “charcoal acts as a magnet to gently draw out deep dwelling dirt.” Apparently, there was some damn deep dirt, because the brutal and vicious peel-off process felt like every layer of my skin was coming off. Holy crap, that stuff needs a warning label. 

Eggplant, sweet potatoes, and acorn and butternut squashes were brushed with olive oil and roasted in a rousing culinary feat that managed to not trigger the smoke alarm. This fulfilled the dual goals of weekly food prep and warming up the house with the glory of the 375-degree oven. 

Pan full of veggies and
Field Roast sausage.

Hours of shows were binge-watched. Floors were swept. Dishes were washed. Brownies were consumed. Supper was assembled of Field Roast Smoked Apple and Sage plant-based sausage and various vegetables. It was quite tasty. Basically, it was a normal Sunday, except it’s Monday, making it the perfect setup for one of those confusing short workweeks where the days are all jumbled and calendars show their value.

At 7:00 pm, as a brilliant grand finale to the long and dreary weather of the weekend, the sun blasted through the clouds for the final 1.25 hours before descending for the day. Maybe it was a quick dress rehearsal for the week. The plentiful rain caused the grass and faux-grass to suddenly grow enough that mowing will be required soon. It was originally on the weekend list of exciting tasks, but the rain prevented it from happening. Now it tops the list of things to look forward to during the week. Oh goody.