and one for the brothers who aren't here anymore

George Barry

David Kopek

Gwen Ladd

Guerry Roberts

Mark Finlay

Margie Ranew

horoscope crystal balls

At the beginning of this year, one of the local entertainment weekly newspapers had the following horoscope for me.

Here are some of the experiences I hope to help you harvest in the coming year: growing pains that are interesting and invigorating rather than stressful; future shock that feels like a fun joyride rather than a bumpy rumble; two totally new and original ways to get excited; a good reason to have faith in a dream that has previously been improbable; a fresh supply of Innocent Crazy-Wise Love Truth; and access to all the borogoves, mome raths, and slithy toves you could ever want.

Honestly, it was that bit about the borogoves that hooked my interest enough that I clipped out the horoscope and taped it to my kitchen cabinet, under my calendar. Periodically I would review the short paragraph, to reaffirm what I recalled of its forecast and to wonder when any of it would come to pass.
Today, the last day of this year, I thought an analysis was needed to see if the author had some divine link to the future - or was just stringing some random thoughts together for entertainment.
In other words: which is more on point, the horoscope, the Dove promises, or the fortune cookie?
Then again... isn't there something else I should be doing right now?
Probably.
Bye!

one last time, brother mine!

To my youngest brother,
This will be the LAST TIME I write to you... this year. Ha ha ha!
Yesterday I received your Christmas Day letter. I'm so glad you received the goodies! I know how nice it is to have some new things sometimes, even if they look exactly like the old ones. There's something about the feel of new stuff - you know? So, new towel, new hat, new warm shirt... little things, but new.
Not a whole lot going on here with me. I really haven't made any plans for tonight. Can you believe it? Lots of options, but I'm just not excited about any of them. I guess that when I hear the right one, maybe I'll jump on it - but, so far, nothing. Trust me, if I end up staying home, by myself, that will be just fine, too. Maybe I'll catch up on some of my blogging or do some preparation work for school... Hah! I doubt that last one!
I'm looking forward to 2014 and some nice changes. I especially like that you're going to be a much better brother - fabulous! I am being absolutely serious. It's hard for folks to do the right thing, to make the good choices, because the temptation to go the other way is so easy. No one ever said anything worth doing, or worth having, is easy. A little hard work makes it all worthwhile.
with so much love!

unwritten postscript: Most of the reason I would rather stay home is the problem with my car. Every time I have left the house lately, I've had to get a push start from strangers to get back home. Very fortunate to drive a stick shift, or that wouldn't be an option. And I have had a lot of practice with popping the clutch to get started and have successfully done it once by myself. How cool is that? Still, a sufficient incline is not often available and I very much dislike having to ask strangers for help. Especially if the day is rainy. Right? So, better to stay home.

79 pints of blood on the wall, 79 pints of blood

Dear Dood,
I do hope you have received the package of new towels and such that I bought for you. I thought it would be nice to start the year with some new clothes. Of course I ordered them online at the site for y'all to make sure the items would be in regulation.
I'm recycling this card, even though this is the first time this card has ever been used. Say what?! Well, it's a Mother's Day card. It came with the package of cards, much as the Home Shopping Network is part of the cable package, even though I never watch that channel. As you are the "baddest Mutha" I know, YOU are getting the card!

Guess who called me this morning? The American Red Cross! I'm one of their VIP donors, Silver level, which means I have pledged to give blood at least three times this year. I had already planned to give today, so their timing was pretty good. The really nice thing? She kept thanking me for helping to save lives. After all, each pint donated helps three people. What a lovely first phone call of the day!
I'm sure you're wondering: how much have you donated? Well, I wasn't sure until now. She told me I've given 78 pints. Seventy-eight! Wow!
Happy New Year!
with my love!

postscript: In case you're wondering, these are not the usual cookies on this card. They're meringue cookies, a French treat. The whipped egg whites and sugar are formed in cookie tins and baked, then the sweet goo is put in the middle. These are typically small cookies, too - one bite and they're gone!

walking on a Sunday afternoon

Ya gotta sing it.
Think, Queen's "Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon", one of my favorites on the album, "A Night at the Opera". Yes, I am well aware that "Bohemian Rhapsody" is regarded as THE hit from that one. However, given my penchant for listening to an entire side of an album, not just a single song, I can assure you that all of the songs deserve more recognition.
Ahem. I digress, ramble, stray off topic, yet again.
As I am wont to do.
So there.
Um... let me see... what was I saying?
Oh! I see! I hadn't really started yet.
Good!
Today had started out overcast and a bit gray, as the weatherman had predicted. My niece Emily and her family came by around 10:30 AM, to visit. As we had not seen each other at Christmas, I gave her and her music-making husband two tickets for Afterlife Tours (garnered in a fundraiser for Savannah Stage Company). They immediately said "Date night event!" Major coolness!

Then I gave their darling daughter, my ocean-loving great-niece, her gift. Yeah! I had made (i.e., stuffed it myself) a turtle to cuddle, making sure it was extra cuddly, like her. I had left the blue-themed Hawaiian shirt and shorts off, to allow her the option of dressing him or not. (She started putting the clothes on him as soon as she saw them.) Then she named him: Scutzles, I think was the final name, though it may have morphed into Scuttles. Very nice!
They stayed and visited for a while, then life called and they had to leave. But not without first making plans to share dinner some Tuesday or Thursday in the near future. I will certainly look forward to that!

As they left, I noticed the day had brightened.
Not just figuratively.
No, literally.
The sun had muscled its way past the clouds, clearing a space for blue sky to arch above.
Well, then.
This was entirely too pretty a day to spend inside!
And it was reasonably warm, too!
This called for a trip to the real beach!
And so that is exactly what happened. I contacted my NK! Barbara, who had recently spoken of wanting to walk on the beach. No better time than the present! She was at my house within the hour and we were at Tybee Island's Atlantic Ocean sands shortly after. Yeah!

We were not the only ones on those sands, either, basking in the glow of this glorious day in late December. Oh, no! Lots of folks were there, strolling along the water's edge, testing out new metal detectors, splashing in the surf, catching waves. Nice!
We stayed for two hours, until the time on the meter was up, then we dined at the The Flying Fish Bar & Grill on the way back to town. She had never been and I love the food there. Now, she knows another good place for shrimp! I highly recommend the appetizer sampler: fried shrimp, fried calamari, fried conch, and delicious shrimp salad - and five different sauces for dipping! Definitely a fun food!
What a thoroughly relaxing day!

pineapple upside-down ...cornbread?

Yep, that's what I said: pineapple upside-down cornbread.
A while back, I had combined a can of crushed pineaple with a box of bran muffin mix - adding no other ingredients - and baked them to make quite a nice breakfast for several days.
Successful experiment.
Thursday, I had pulled a can of crushed pineapple out of the pantry and a box of "Jiffy" corn muffin mix. Hey, everyone always says that "Jiffy's" cornbread is like cake, so maybe I could combine the two and have something good. Right?
Evidently, I needed to think about it overnight.
Yesterday, I looked again at the two ingredients on my kitchen counter.
And the thought popped into my mind, with an image tagging along: crushed pineapple on the bottom of the loaf pan, prepared muffin mix on top.
And so it came to pass.
I drained the pineapple, mostly. Then the loaf pan was lightly oiled and the muffin mix combined with 1/2 cup of water and allowed to stand for a moment (as if I was making corn muffins). The mix was gently spooned on top of the pineapple, smoothing the top for appearance. Then, into the oven it was popped for 22 minutes.
Golden-brown crust? Yep!
Turned loose from the edges of the pan? Yep!
Okay, let's invert it onto a plate and see what we get...
Success! Woohoo!
I served it alongside the stove-pot casserole for the night: diced Spam (low-fat, low-sodium version, thank you), some fresh onion, a small apple, the leftover pineapple, and brown rice.
Very nice combination!!!
I just may have that for breakfast tomorrow.

bad gallbladder! BAD!

The conversation had begun on the 16th, late at night. As is usual for him, he broke the topic with a cryptic text: "They gave you your gallstones after the surgery, right?"
Apropos of nothing, out of the blue, no precursor.
So, I texted back that I thought they did, what's up? Eventually, I tired of texting and made sure he knew he could call if he wanted to talk.
So, he did.
And we talked for over an hour, until the clock had gone into the hours of the next day.
He had been having intestinal problems. They thought initially that it was pancreatitis, but eventually ruled that out. Now, they were thinking gallbladder. Testing had confirmed that his bile storage unit, aka gallbladder, was full of gallstones and no longer functional.
Not a big deal, I had assured him. The surgery was laparoscopic, so there would be a few small scars and some extra gas for a while, but moving around would not be an issue. The bigger problem, I had told him, would be recovery from the anesthesia. Especially as we age, that recovery time lengthens into ridiculous spans and includes no decision making for up to a week.
He hadn't recalled that recovery from going under had been an issue for him when he had the four stents placed into his heart (two in February 2004, two more in February 2007). I told him that perhaps he had not, but that he should expect to now as he was now older.
I don't think he cared for that, but, as he would say, "there it is".
He was mostly bummed out that he would not be making his usual drive south to visit his daughters during the holidays. His consultation with the gastrointestinal surgeon was slated for the day after Christmas. So, he could drive down, but would miss seeing the girls on Christmas Day as that day would be needed for the return drive.
Also, I don't know that he would have been physically able to perform that 17-hour drive in his current condition.
I don't think he wanted to admit that aloud, true or not.
So, in Michigan he would remain this December.
His 49-for-the-first-time birthday was last Friday, the 20th. I sent him a text, knowing he would be at work and not answering his phone. I then sent a few reminders to folks about his birthday and then hooked up with my first niece and her family for a last night with their three foster children.

Last Sunday, I was awakended at 5:30 AM with diarrhea.
I rushed to the bathroom, barely making it in time. Afterward, I got back in bed and had just snuggled into the warmth when I had to rush out of bed again. And again.
Continuously.
Then, at 8:00 AM, my body added vomiting to the repertoire.
Thank God for the little plastic trashcan by the toilet.
After that, it was repeat, repeat, repeat.
I have no idea where my body was still getting the stuff it was spewing out of me.
All I could think was: I haven't been this ill since my gallbladder went bad six years ago.
Same symptoms, same nasty results.
Was this what he had been going through, too? Most likely. Given the fatty foods he loads into his diet, I was sure his body had been as violently rejective of input as mine was being.

The physicist texted me later on Sunday night.
bfe: Yo! You be going to Odd Lot tomorrow?
me: I certainly plan to do so. Have been crazy sick today.
bfe: That's not good. if your nose is running I hope you catch it! ha ha.
me: Thank you. My nose is fine. It is my stomach and digestive tract that have had me running to the toilet since 5 AM. Hope it is just 24 hour. Going to try to sleep again.
bfe: I'll check with you tomorrow to see how you are feeling. Get some good sleep and rest Faustina. Have pleasant dreams and feel better.

On the 23rd (i.e., the next afternoon), he did check back in;
bfe: Hey, Faustina, how ya feeling? I know how much it sucks to be sick.
me: Better. Mostly been sleeping a lot. Had some chicken soup and it stayed so that is good. :) That was five hours ago. Making some pasta now.
bfe: Sounds like you might have had a bought with da flu. :( It both is good and it sucks to get sick on your own time.
me: Possible but i may also have overloaded my system on fat at a Christmas party Saturday night.
bfe: Ever since I texted you yesterday my nose has been running. And I have been sneezy. Did I catch something from texting you yesterday?
me: My NOSE is fine. :) I just need to be more mindful of beef and chocolate and such.
bfe: Oh, that's not good for you at all. I'll look on eBay and see if we can find you a gently used gall bladder.
me: I am still not sure about Odd Lot tonight. Are you going?
bfe: I was thinking of going but I am going to pass. A cursory search on ebay has not turned anything up so far.
me: Drats. I think the sale of body parts is discouraged. At least in this country.
bfe: Marilyn Monroe had gall bladder surgery.
me: Really? i wonder how old she was. I was 49 when i had my gall bladder evicted.
bfe: She was 34 years old when her gall bladder was removed. Joe DiMagio was standing by.
me: That was sweet. Sorry to hear about your nose. :(
bfe: It's ok... More annoying than anything else.

Odd. I hadn't mentioned my symptoms as being those of a gallbladder in distress, but the topic had risen of its own accord. From flu to gallbladder distress in one fell swoop. Oh, and some Marilyn thrown in, too, as we must remember at all times about the thirteen-year-old boy.
(Smile.)
So, back to the topic at hand: the ex's dilemma.
Today, the day of his GI surgical consult, I waited for his result. I didn't want to text him, partly because I had no idea what time he was to see the doctor. Better to wait for his call or text.
Finally, at 5:45 this afternoon, word came.
ex: Cardiac stress echo scheduled for January 2nd. Wants to make sure there are no surprises, given my medical history.
me: What about the gallbladder surgery? When is it scheduled?
ex: One thing at a time.
me: Well, at least it will be after the new year. What kinds of tests are to be done?
ex: Stress echo, just like I used to have at Hardigan's office.
me: Have you talked to Auntie about all this?
ex: Thursday, I think. Her card played that hamster song you used to adore! And thank you for the tree, honey.
me: You are very welcome. And don't use energy worrying about the cardiac test this next week.
ex: I'm not worried about that. Stress echo? I can do that in my sleep.

He probably can. He's had lots of practice these past ten years.
I hope all will go well.
I really do.

o holy night

Yes, I know the photo isn't centered.
In that way, it mirrors life perfectly.
My life, that is.
That's truly the only life I lay any claim to knowing much about.
Which is a truth for everyone.
We all have one life, one opportunity to experience the sights and sounds and tastes and smells and feel of what it means to be alive on this magical planet as it circles its yellow star.
Tonight, I experienced something different from the Christmas Eve routine I have followed for more than half my life. My stepbrother George had hosted last year's family gathering and no one had stepped forward to do so this year.
Completely undrestandable.
Sometimes, a break is needed, to allow new strengths to be found.
This year, instead of meeting in the early evening hours to break bread with family and share gifts, I found my seat at God's table with my church family.
The experience was incredible.
The service was filled with scripture readings, liturgical dance, and song.
Lots of song.
In other words, the service was much like the usual uplifting Sunday services here.
The pacing was different, though.
And there was no sermon.
Some of the early songs made me miss Mama terribly.
Others brought the loss of Daddy to my mind and my weeping eyes.
I found myself going through the litany of family members lost, recently and through the past years.
Then, there was a shift, in both the tone and tempo of the music, an uplifting, reassuring hand upon my heart.
Quite wondrous.
That calm, joyful reassurance was maintained throughout the balance of the service.
Most wondrous.

And quite a few of us (at least thirty!) even went caroling in the neighborhood afterward, ending the time with the church family by singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" to Miss Virginia, as she swang on the front porch at the house she has lived in much of her life.

My love, and many thanks, always, to the ever-huggable, ever-hugging Hai, and my gratitude especially for his company on this different journey tonight.

yes, Santa Claus, there IS a Virginia

And her last name is Holliday.
How about that?
Tomorrow will be her 90th birthday.
Today, the church honored Miss Virginia with a surprise birthday party. She was unaware that the "Big" Coffee Hour, usually held at on the first Sunday of the month, had been changed on purpose to this date, the day before her birthday. She had even made her specialty - deviled eggs - for the BCH and had poured the drinks for all there, as usual.
She is an amazing woman.
How did the church manage to sneak this over on her? Well, in the monthly newsletter, it was written that "We will not have our “Big” Coffee Hour after the worship service on December 1st, but we will have it two weeks later on December 15th. This will help feed those who will go caroling to our homebound members that day."
Clever, right?
But then how to let the rest of us in on the surpise for Miss Virginia?
Email. She doesn't do computer stuff and nonsense. So the church's head honchos sent an email to those of us who DO play with computers, advising us of the real reason for the change of date. Here's the message: "Okay, everyone...here's the scoop! Sunday's "Big" Coffee Hour isn't just a Big Coffee Hour. Virginia Holiday will be celebrating her 90th birthday on Monday...so the Big Coffee Hour is actually a surprise birthday party for her. Virginia doesn't get email so she will not be getting this church email...so she will not know. So let's keep it a secret - bring your vittles to share with others, and let's celebrate the life of this one who has given so much to Asbury Memorial. We will still go caroling to our homebound members after the party, but we will getting a later start than usual. Hope you can go to the party and caroling!" Very nice!
The church even arranged for her brother (who she had not seen for a couple of years) and his family to join us for this special occasion. How cool is that! She was unaware they were coming until they entered the church for the singing of "Happy Birthday" to her. What a grand surpirse!
Especially for this woman full of love.
Last February marked the 20th year that she has participated in the Love Walk, in support of the projects and works of the Wesley Community Centers of Savannah. Two years ago, she raised $3300 for the mission. I can only imagine the funds she has raised for them during her twenty years of being in the walk.
So, in case you missed it: this is her 20th year of walking for the fundraiser. That means she started doing this when she was 69 years old, in 1993. Amazing. Want to see more? Go here. She's the child-sized smiler in the orange jacket.
Amazing.
She is known as an ElderBury. She has been a member of the church for almost fifty years. (I expect that milestone will be marked sometime in the new year.) She was one of the 25 church members still present when Reverend Billy Hester took the helm in 1993 and steered the church away from the rocky shore of destruction. How did he do it? Well, he built a place where "the Joy of God is expressed creatively". Miss Virginia has been a part of those theatrical productions, adding her voice to both the commercial works ("The Pirates of Penzance", among others) and the "God on Broadway" series each October.
In November, she was part of the Asbury CHEER Team, during the Rock'n'Roll Marathon here. The team members wore costumes from the theatre closet; Virginia chose the traditional clown, the face of Asbury Memorial UMC. Clad in the huge white garment and topped by a purple wig, waving colorful pompons, she was credited with helping the church's team garner $750 for their efforts.
Amazing.
So, Santa, whatever she wants for Christmas, please do give it to her. If anyone is deserving of presents, she is.
Merry Christmas!

chasing a shattered asteroid, catching sun

Early this morning, around 5:40 AM or so, I rose to take my anti-hypothyroid pill. Actually, I rose to relieve my bladder, but then to take the little lavendar pill with its required cup of water.
When I saw the time, I checked the view outside: no meteor shower met my gaze.
I returned to bed.
I did not return to sleep.
Come on, you know you need to go outside to really look.
It's cold out there and looked cloudy.
No, I definitely saw some stars. You need to look for Orion's belt, then to red Betelgeuse, then stay on that line northward to Gemini. That's where the shower is to be.
I only saw a few stars.
And it's too chilly.
And it's too early in the day.
Or maybe it's too late at night.
I think it was to become invisible again by dawn.
It isn't dawn yet. It's still dark out. You need to go look.
Come on. How often you do get the chance to see meteor showers?
Go look.
You know you want to. It's the Geminid shower. You must.
I must?

So, I did. I dressed warmly, threw on my shawl, and headed out.
I was rather surprised that the night air wasn't cold.
Chilly, sure. But not cold.
That was a good omen.
I walked around, looking up, scanning the dark sky for the cluster known as Orion's belt.
I found the Big Dipper.
It was huge, too, spanning an enormous expanse of dark velvet, as it did in Okinawa.
I walked around toward the ocean, toward an area I knew would not have much light pollution, scanning the sky.
Still no bits of shattered asteroid known as 3200 Phaethon.
Maybe I'll have better luck tonight, I thought.

And as I was gazing toward the star-sprinkled dark above the ever-singing Atlantic Ocean, I paused.
Was that the Milky Way sprawled up there???
No... I think it's just an odd cloud formation... I think.
Look at the wind whipping the air around under that lamp! Wow!

Then I wandered around, enjoying the wind and the solitude. I kept trying to take a photo of the possible Milky Way stretched overhead, but the little camera on my six-year-old phone could not detect anything.
Then I noticed an odd fringe in the sky. What was that?
And the barest glow emanated just south of where I stood on the beach.
Well, why not? I thought.
That must be the start of the sunrise and I very rarely see those.
Why don't I do my own time-lapse photography, using my trusty phone, and see how long it takes for the sun to rise?
And so I did, snapping a new photo, in roughly the same place, every three to four minutes.
The first one in the series was shot at 6:26 AM. The last photo was taken at 6:58 AM.
No alterations have been made.
This was a fun experiment and certainly made it more fun for me to be up so early.
Now - YAWWWWNN - I'm going back to bed to await a more seemly hour.

tuscawilla

As I was entering the Tuscawilla outdoor exhibit, I had glanced toward the sky to check on the daylight remaining.
Amazingly, I was standing in the perfect location to see this driftwood crane winging toward the blue sky and a rising moon.
Then an upward-climbing plane joined the tableau.
Sometimes, I am in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.

Amazing.
i thank You, God, for such little miracles to brighten my days and nights.

909

Home.
This is the view that greeted me as I set down my travel bag.
The sun was on its way down on the other side of the building.
The ocean was lit only by the waning light of the eastern sky.

Home.
This is not my first stay in this room at hall's end.
I was here last year, too.
Thank you, dear John, for remembering how I like this suite.

Home.

carcass o'plenty

Today, I ate the last of the meat I had garnered from the carcass of one of the Thanksgiving turkeys my biggest little brother had prepared for the family feast this year. On that day of thanks, I had waited too late to prepare a to-go plate. By the time the rest of the family had gotten some of this and a bit of that, there were just carcasses, some cranberry jelly, and some s'more cookies my eldest niece had made.
My sister-in-law helped me bag, and then double-bag, the largest turkey carcass. I had said I would try my hand at making broth with the bones. I rightly thought that would be all I do with it, as the bones had been picked pretty clean.
So, she sent me home with the bones, the jelly, and the cookies. I put them all away when home, then settled in to watch a marathon of "Monk" and to psych myself up for making broth.
I knew I had seen a recipe for New York Penicilln in my worn copy of The New York Cookbook. This is one of the best cookbooks I've ever had! The recipes are those of (mostly) famous people, accompanied by stories and anecdotes - quite entertaining, especially for a book of recipes! As it happens, the soup recipe I recalled reading was from Guardian Angel Curtis Sliwa's elderly aunt. (How appropriate! A guardian angel led my memory to that recipe!)
Sure, I hear you now: that recipe was for chicken broth. To you I say: Fowl is fowl and poultry is poultry.
Meanwhile, the clock is ticking. It was already approaching 8 PM and the recipe called for all of the ingredients to simmer for four hours.
FOUR HOURS.
Good thing I'm a night owl. Hoot, hoot!
So, I grabbed my largest pot, poured in the gallon of cold water, submerged the bird remains, and set it to heat. The recipe called for garlic (got it!), an onion (whole, peeled, but not sliced: got it!), and two carrots ("peeled, cut into hunks": got baby carrots!). It also requested celery, a bay leaf, parsley, salt, peppercorns, and chicken feet or chicken wings or a turkey wing.
Oh, and it started with a whole chicken, not just bones.
Hmmm... nah, didn't have it, so didn't add any of that. I was cooking turkey broth, so I figured I was free to make other alterations.
(By the way, that's fairly typical for me to use a recipe as a springboard, not a rulebook. Used to drive my ex crazy.)
It was well past midnight before the broth was done. Then, the decision to be made: go ahead and strain it and gather the bits of meat and discard the bones - or, close it all up, put it into the fridge, and tackle the onerous task of picking some other time?
You mean, when it would all be cold?
Nah, that didn't sound appealing. At all.
So I took care of it then and there.
Pulled out and discarded the larger bones and the onion and the carrots, as the recipe said to do.
Fetched my strainer and pulled up spoonfuls of meat and gunk, drained them, then picked out the meat.
Repeat, Repeat. Repeat.
By the time I was down to just broth, I had about four cups of meat.
WOW!.
I had thought I came home with no turkey and here I had four cups of ready-to-use meat!
It was also 4 AM and definitely time for bed, after covering the broth and setting it in the fridge to cool, so I could de-fat it later.
I ended up with about six cups (1500 milliliters) of broth!
Quite impressive. Especially as I thought I took home bones.

Since then, I've eaten quite a bit of turkey. Sometimes (four days) as breakfast sandwiches, made with dill pickle dip mix in "sour cream", on hearty white bread (4 grams of fiber per sandwich). What a grand way to start the day!
I've also had turkey and mayo sandwiches (twice), turkey with pasta and vegetables (twice), Italian ribollita (twice, made the quickie way with a pint of my broth, some fresh onions and chopped broccoli, and a cup of stove-top stuffing mix), fajitas (twice, using leftovers from a veggie fajita lunch with my first niece and some Ro-Tel of my own).
Today for lunch, it was the last of the turkey meat, fresh broccoli florets, leftover red rice (from the Post 36 fundraiser on Friday), and some of the cranberry jelly. Oh, and toast points, for a little crunch.
I still have two pints of broth in the freezer, too.
Not a bad haul from bird bones.
It just shows to go ya: Appearances can be deceptive.
Don't count something as worthless before it truly is all used up.
Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.

alliteration in the mornin'

"Mild-mannered, money-making men", Ben Bailey, Cash Cab.

Spoken after the exit of two soft-spoken, non-high-five-ing, intelligent gents with $950 in hand for their forty-block ride on video.

Nice.

rippling waves of distance

Yesterday, I wrote the following to my youngest brother.

Dear Tony,

Before I become totally immersed in grading Lab Final Exams, I thought I would heave a few lines across the miles to let you know I was thinking about you. Just like the picture on this note, distance can be seen as water, an expanse of water between here, where I am, and there, where you are. If our vision was like Superman's, we could stand on our two shores of the same lake and see each other waving.

Alas, my vision cannot see across such far distances. However, the air around me eventually finds its way to the shore where you stand, just as the air in the blue sky around you finds its way to me. When you think of it that way, the distance is not such a large factor. Right? And the stars you see are the same ones I see, as are the moon and the sun.

Here's looking at you, Tony! See me waving? Feel the hug in the breeze?

with my love!

giving tuesday

Today was designated #GivingTuesday.
For those who don't tweet, the above is referred to as a hashtag and is used to denote the topic under discussion.
A label, if you will.
I must admit, I had not been aware that today was to be The First in what is meant to be an annual day of giving.
The #GivingTuesday term has only impinged on my consciousness for the past few days. I'm sure others may have been more aware, certainly any who were directly involved in the birthing of this newly-minted national, and international, day of charity.
Perhaps one of the reasons I have been so unaware is the time of year. No, I'm not referring to the holiday season. My mind is more on the grading of papers and devising of tests.
Then again, my lack of acknowledgement of the intended importance of today may be due to a lack of acknowledgement of this day of charity by those in my environs. I have not heard a single family member, friend, colleague, or student say the first word about #GivingTuesday. Does that mean the marketing of this abligatory day of charity toward others has failed? Maybe. I am part of some quite diverse circles - you would think someone would have organized an event centered around this day's theme. If so, I have missed the news.
However, I suspect the primary reason I didn't lend importance to the concept of #GivingTuesday is this: I am a regular supporter of charitable organizations, near and far. I don't require the designation of one day out of 365 to prompt me to help support the non-profits in my community and elsewhere in the world.
Hopefully no one needs such prompting, except perhaps children who are young and still learning their roles as inhabitants of Earth, Milky Way.

look! up in the air! it's a plane!

Here's one from the outlaw Bunny's mom, received this lovely day, the same day I shot the above photo.
Nice timing!

> The Pilot and the Priest
>
> A priest dies and is waiting in line at the Pearly Gates. Ahead of him is
> a guy who's dressed in sunglasses, a loud shirt, leather jacket, and
> jeans.
>
> Saint Peter addresses this cool guy, 'Who are you, so that I may know
> whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?'
>
> The guy replies, 'I'm Jack, retired airline pilot from Houston.'
>
> Saint Peter consults his list. He smiles and says to the pilot, 'Take this
> silken robe and golden staff and enter the Kingdom.'
>
> The pilot goes into Heaven with his robe and staff.
>
> Next, it's the priest's turn. He stands erect and booms out, 'I am Father
> Bob, pastor of Saint Mary's for the last 43 years.'
>
> Saint Peter consults his list. He says to the priest, 'Take this cotton
> robe and wooden staff and enter the Kingdom.'
>
> 'Just a minute,' says the good father. 'That man was a pilot and he gets
> a silken robe and golden staff and I get only cotton and wood. How can
> this be?'
>
> 'Up here - we go by results,' says Saint Peter. 'When you preached -
> people slept. When he flew, people prayed.'
>

thanksgiving greetings from the C-Port

whooo whooo!

time to go to bed

The owl outside my window is like a demented alarm clock,
urging me to go to bed.

hoot hoot
it's late
hoot hoot
go to sleep
hoot hoot
hoot hoot

I hit the "not yet" mentally -
then the delay passes
and the owl again urges me to sleep, to sleep, it's late.

favor from a physicist

So, the dialogue went like this:

me: Hey, are you still on campus? I need a favor.
him: I am. What do you need?
me: I'm stranded at Wendy's and my car won't start. I have help coming, but I don't know when they will get here and class is at 6. Could you leave a note on the board and ask them to stay until I get there? Tonight is their last test.
him: I can do that. Which room?
me: 2502. Just let them know I will be a little late and to please stay.

short time passes

him: Done! Hope your car problem turns out to be something cheap and easy ... like a good date!
me: lol! Thank you!

So, the car gets started, and I get to the school, just a few minutes late. I rush to make copies of the test and head to the room, where everyone is sitting, waiting, in accordance with the message on the board.
Are you ready for this?

charles in charge

I must preface this entry by saying that the following piece is not new to me. I have received this email numerous times in the past and, after reading it, sent the expected "lol" and moved on.
Today, for some reason, I actually thought about it.
I blame the bfe; lunch with a physicist has that effect.
This email is usually titled "Physics of Hell", even though it is referring to a gas law used in chemistry.
Today, after the afore-mentioned (celebration of his fourth-decade birthday) lunch with the bfe, I realized something: the following is most likely a myth or urban legend.
No! Say it ain't so!
I wish I could. Perhaps if they had referred to the correct gas law, I would have accepted it as gospel.
I guess it just shows you how easy it is to read something in a hurry and not comprehend what is actually written.
So, here is the piece for your enjoyment. I will follow it with a brief discussion of the gas laws which should have been used and why "Boyle's Law" was an incorrect choice.

*******************************************************
*******************************************************
HELL EXPLAINED
BY A CHEMISTRY STUDENT

The following is an actual question given on a University of Arizona chemistry midterm, and an actual answer turned in by a student.
The answer by one student was so 'profound' that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well.

Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant. {This is an erroneous application of this law, as I will soon explain.}

One student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving, which is unlikely. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today.

Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added. {This is another erroneous application of Boyle's Law, as I will explain.}

This gives two possibilities:

1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.

2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year that, 'It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you,' and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over. The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct..... ...leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting 'Oh my God.'

THIS STUDENT RECEIVED AN A+.
*******************************************************
*******************************************************

If this "student" did truly exist and did truly write the above essay and did truly receive an "A+" grade, then the "teacher" must have been too consumed with laughter to recognize the errors.
Boyle's Law concerns the indirect relationship between volume and pressure. Specifically, the Law states that for an ideal gas at constant temperature and constant amount of gas, changes in volume are indirectly related to changes in pressure.
In GOB chemistry, this law is called the Law of Respiration.
Breathing?
Exactly. Consider the lungs, flexible vessels for the containment and processing of air. The volume, or amount of air which the lungs can hold, is controlled by the placement of the diaphragm (the muscle which separates the thoracic and abdominal cavities of the body).
As the diaphragm contracts and elevates, the lungs are compressed, decreasing their volume...and increasing the pressure of the gas within. This action results in air (containing carbon dioxide created during metabolic processes) being expelled from the lungs. Immediately after, the diaphragm relaxes and lowers, allowing the lungs to expand and increase their volume. This results in a decrease of gas pressure within the lungs, allowing air (containing oxygen needed for metabolic processes) to be inhaled.
Thank God we don't have to think about making that happen, right? Over and over and over, every second of every day, inhale, exhale. Thank God we have a portion of our brain dedicated to that mundane task as well as others of its ilk, like the heart beating.
But I digress.
My point is this: Boyle's Law was not the correct choice for the introduction of the student's essay. Perhaps the composer of the farce was familiar with Boyle's Law and thought its presence would lend some credence to the tale.
I'd be willing to wager that the majority of my students will remember that law, if only in part because of my in-class demonstration of it in action. The power of visual demonstrations!
So, which of the gas laws would be the better choice?
Well, I would recommend Charles' Law for that first part of the tale, when the speaker is talking of gas cooling as it expands. In other words, the talk was of temperature and volume. For Charles' Law, also known as the Law of Volumes, the premise can be stated thusly: for an ideal gas at constant pressure and constant amount of gas, changes in volume are directly related to changes in temperature. In short, as the temperature increases, the volume also increases.
However, a different law is needed for the second part of the emailed tale, the part which proposes to present the student's essay. There, the "student" writes that the "temperature and pressure...stay the same as the volume changes with the addition of souls. Boyle's Law is certainly NOT the correct choice, but Charles' Law would not fit this change of parameters, either.
No, the best choice would have been Avogadro's Law. If the temperature and pressure are both constant, then volume changes directly as the amount of ideal gas changes.
How does any of this relate to souls???
Well, if we assume that souls are spirits and behave comparably to ideal gases, then we can assume that Charles' Law and Avogadro's Law can be applied to the student's essay.
In accordance with Avogadro's Law, we have the number of departed souls (ideal gas molecules) increasing continually, leading to the continual expansion of the volume of Hell (vessel holding the gas). However, given the number of departed souls over the entire lifespan to date of Earth, we can assume that current change in number of souls is very small compared to the number of souls already in Hell, so the expansion can be regarded as very small at this point in time.
Likewise, if the volume of Hell is only nominally changing at this stage in the game, then the temperature and pressure would also only have slight variations as time proceeds and more departed souls enter. In other words, any decreases in pressure or increases in temperature for current increases in departed souls are fairly negligible.

Maybe the universe is Hell. We all know the universe is slowly and continually expanding. We all know that the space outside of our atmosphere is frightfully cold and basically a vacuum of constant pressure.
Perhaps space is Hell and the many stars are the departed souls...

got pickles?

So, there I was, on a Tuesday afternoon, stranded.
No, not my car.
I was at home, with a jar of pickles that I could not open.
Mind you, this was not my first encounter with this stubborn jar.
Oh, no.
The jar and I had gone round and round for several months. I would have a hankering for a pickle and have another go at the jar and the jar would not yield. I would then put the jar back into the refrigerator, to await our next encounter.
I kept meaning to ask for assistance when folks would come by the house.
But, as it happened, the pickles would not come to mind when others were present.
Only when I was alone.
And so I went pickle-less, only thinking about the lack when I would spot the jar and want to have a pickle.

Today, I had decided to have a hamburger sandwich.
I know, for some folks, that's a fairly common lunch item.
Not for me.
I'm rather picky about burger meat.
In fact, this burger might not even be called a burger by some folks, as it contained no beef and was made from ground chicken.
But it was a burger to me and I had been thinking about eating a burger sandwich for a couple of days.
I had my mouth all set for it, you know what I mean?
And I wanted pickles with my burger.

So, I set myself to try to open that jar, one more time.
I ran hot water over the cap.
The cap would not turn.
I turned the jar upside-down, to break the vacuum seal, a trick I have used to good advantage on other jars.
The jar would not open.
I tapped the lid with a knife.
The lid still did not turn.
I put on my gardening gloves with the rubber beads on the palms and fingers.
The pickles remained trapped within the glass.
I even wnet onto the front porch to see if I could flag down someone with strong hands that might be passing by.
No one was there and my neighbors seemed to be gone.
By this time, I was getting angry. All I wanted was to have some pickles with my burger. That's all. That did not seem to be a great demand that I was making. I just wanted some dill pickles with my lunch.
Arrrgghhhh!!!!
Realizing that I was leaning toward the use of my hammer to break the jar, just to get some pickles, the thought occurred to me that I should send out an SOS to my first niece and her husband.

me: Help! I cannot open my jar of pickles! Seriously.
her: Lol. Jason gets off at 3, should I send him over?
me: Yes, please. I have waited for two months to eat these pickles.
me: I have two other jars I cannot open, too.
her: Ok, I will let him know.
me: Thank you so much!
him: I'm getting off work now. I should be there in just a few minutes.
me: Thank you! <3

And so he did.
By the time he arrived, I had five jars lined up on the counter for him.
The pickle jar took a little work, but he finally opened it.
The jar of olives opened fairly readily, too.
But the jar of banana pepper rings refused. He had to put on the gardening gloves and really put some muscle into it, but the cap finally yielded.
As did the previously opened jars of apple butter and mango jam, glued shut by their own sticky residue at their mouths.
Then he and I talked a little while and gave each other big hugs and he headed for home.

I had my burger sandwich... and at least five pickles.
At last!

rules for life

Written By Regina Brett, "90 years old *", of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland, Ohio

"To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolled over to '91' in August (2009), so here is the column once more."

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.

5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.

12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.

16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.

18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.

20.. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22.. Over prepare, then go with the flow.

23.. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.

24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive everyone everything.

29. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood.

38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

39.. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.

41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

42. The best is yet to come.

43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

44. Yield.

45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.


Just so you know, the woman is actually in her 50's. Somehow, somewhere along the line, somebody went to forward her list and mistakenly read her age as "90", not "50". Strange how things like that happen!
Wear your glasses, folks... I do!
Well... most of the time. :-)

meatloaf in the house!

I've had the meat in the refrigerator for several days now. A mix of ground beef, pork, and veal, it is classic meat loaf material. Usually, I would simply use ground chicken or turkey, but this was on sale when I bought it a couple of months ago. I had promptly thrown it into the freezer, awaiting weather when the oven would be in use.
That time was now!
I couldn't actually lay my hands on my Velvety Meatloaf recipe, which I created and have used for years. So, I worked from memory.
I knew I would need about 1 pound (454 grams) of ground meat, raw.
I would also need 1 cup (about 250 milliliters) of barbeque sauce and 1 cup of stuffing mix (or bread crumbs).
I had the meat. I had the sauce.
I did not have the stuffing mix.
Well...I had lots of Canadian tri-color couscous, thanks to the DeKalb Farmers Market and the BFF.
I mean, lots. Three quarts or so.
So I used a cup of the Canadian couscous, uncooked.
I also had a half-bag of baby carrots needing to be used.
Fine. I can do that!

So, here is my creation: Carrot Upside-Down Meatloaf!
Preheat the oven to 350 Fahrenheit (180 Celsius).
In a large glass bowl, mix together the meat, couscous, and barbeque sauce. (This is best accomplished with your hands. This is also the worst part to me.)
Allow the mixture to relax while you wash the baby carrots, cut them into 1-inch (2.54-centimeter) lengths, and place them into the bottom of a glass meatloaf pan.
Now, transfer the meatloaf mixture into the meatloaf pan, on top of the carrots, and press into a smooth surface.
Cover loosely with aluminum foil, then cook in oven for one hour.
At that time, remove foil and cook another ten minutes.
Ta Da! All done!
Loosen the sides and invert onto a plate for a meatloaf that is not only tasty, but pretty!

I prepared more of the couscous to accompany the main course. However, I used orange juice instead of water.
Excellent!
I do hope I will remember this for future meals.
That's why I wrote it here!

texting with the ex

Ever since Thursday, a lot of words have sped along in the ether between his phone in Michigan and mine here in Georgia. Especially this week. We have "spoken" every day for three days in a row.
His cousin's death has hit him the hardest of any of the others (his mom, our friend Jim Adams, our friend Sam Johnson, my stepbrother, and David's sweetheart) over the past decade.
I'm sure that is due to time and circumstances being different now. After all, he will be 49 years old next month.

He grew up in a small family.
He was raised as an only child by his divorced mom. She eventually had remarried, for a few years, adding two stepsisters to his life. He didn't know them well, as they were a bit older than him.
His dad went on to remarry and have several children, but my ex never knew them, never even knew of their existence until I had tracked down his dad almost ten years ago. (That was after my ex - still husband at the time - had the first two stents placed into his heart. I had wanted to get a more complete medical picture.)
I think his dad had two sisters, maybe three. I don't recall any brothers. At any rate, the ex did not grow up with them in his life, nor any children they may have had.
His mom only had one living sister. Through her, the ex grew up with two male cousins and one female cousin. Those were the only cousins he ever knew.
As I said, he had a small family.
I don't know if that increased the perceived impact of each death. I don't think so, but I don't know. Perhaps some studies have been done on the subject?
But he and David were close and had grown closer over the past six years. When the ex would come to Georgia to visit his elder daughter, he would also swing up to Tennessee on his return trip and spend some time with his cousin. It allowed him some time with family, with people who knew and loved him.
The other cousins and his aunt live in Minnesota and Virginia. Not exactly "on his way" for his travels from Michigan southward.
The loss of David is a huge hole in his heart.

The ex and I have remained close, as I've mentioned a time or two. That's a good thing for both of us. After all, we are still family, we still know and love each other.

So, the following are transcriptions of our conversations since Monday evening.
No, wait.
I'll include the one from last Thursday, too, when I'd lunched with his aunt and uncle here in town.

Thursday, Nov 7, 2013
(About 3:30 PM, after sending him two pictures taken during the lunch with his Aunt and Uncle.)

me: At Huey's on River Street.
ex: I didn't realize they were in Savannah!
me: Are in Hilton Head. Got there on Monday. We had a very nice lunch!
ex: I'm guessing they needed a break after Tennessee.
me: Yes. Very sad about David. {Auntie} Arlene is exhausted.
me: We talked very briefly about David and Chris {David's son}. Then we dropped the topic. Did you know that David was going to have to move out of the house?
me: I can understand why he may have felt there was no other option for him. Very sad.
ex: I didn't know that. Was that what the fight between him and Gwen's family was about?
me: Yes. There may have been other issues that I don't know. Arlene made it seem to have been a longer running thing. Could have just been since Gwen got cancer.
me: The question of what to do with the house would have been raised then.
me: The house was Gwen's and the land had been her mom's. Her mom wanted it back and wanted David out. Arlene was there cleaning it out for the bank to take it.
ex: What a mess. I've been saying that if something was enough to break even the devil-may-care David down, who are we to say that it wouldn't have done the same to us...
me: You are absolutely right. But you have to remember he was a sentimental man. The timing was all too hard.
me: David had arranged for a friend to come over at a specific time. Instead Chris came there unexpectedly and found him. Very sad.
ex: I'm betting I know which friend. They told me about him while I was there.
me: Arlene mentioned his name but I don't recall. She said David had evidently given it all some thought and wanted to not have family find him.
me: Instead Chris came home and found him. Then he ran down the street to the bank where Stephanie {David's daughter} was working and said "I think Dad has hurt himself."
ex: Already in shock. He couldn't bring himself to say what ultimately had happened. The best laid plans.
me: I know. One never knows what will happen. Neither of the kids wanted to go into the house so Arlene took care of cleaning it out.
me: Stephanie and Daniel had her over for dinner every night.
ex: I'm sure they did. Daniel's a nice guy.
me: That's what Auntie said. She really likes him.
ex: Even Goldie, the rescue dog they had, knew something bad was going on. She came and sat next to me on the couch straight away. Years of visits and I couldn't get her to do that.
me: Jeff I am so very sorry about David. I always liked him and I know he meant a lot to you.
ex: Thank you honey.

That was one of the most difficult conversations I've ever had. Oddly, texting the news instead of speaking it somehow made it more real, more solid. The power of the printed word, perhaps.
Now on to this week's word exchanges.

Monday, 11 Nov 2013
(The ex had contacted me earlier, texting about Earl Grey tea and tomato soup, then I had to go to work. This is the resumption of the talk, about 9 PM.)

me: Okay all done with lab. Yeah!
ex: We had our first snow today. As you may guess, I'm not very happy.
ex: it was 41 this morning and the temperature slowly dropped all day. We bottom out at 26 tonight.
me: Much
me: Ouch
me: Damn phone.
me: Has been very cold at night here too. Will be in thirties on Wednesday.
ex: Hot tea and extra blankets tonight.
me: Yeah me too. At least you are not living in a tent in the woods. That is what Ronnie is doing.
me: My heat is not working so I have a space heater in the living room. Blocked off the sunroom and guest room so that helped. I hope next week is warm.
me: I am glad that I have a heated mattress pad. Could not live without it.
ex: He's still doing that?
me: Oh yeah. No rules but his.
ex: I have no idea what to say to that. But you're right.
me: I know. I called him today to check in and he complained about the cold but didn't say he needed anything. So I didn't offer.
ex: I think that was the correct card to play.
me: I knew it was. If I offer but he didn't ask then he regards it as free.

Tuesday, 12 Nov 2013
(The next morning, the conversation resumed about 8:30 AM and went for an hour.)

ex: I didn't see that your heat wasn't working because I was still incredulous over your running comment. How have you blocked off the sunroom since it's open space? Is John not there, that you were able to block off the guest room?
me: Joe (the peace Guy) moved to Atlanta in early August. As for the sunroom, I hung a sheet between it and the kitchen. Seems to work well.
ex: If it works, it works. By the way, your low last night will be our high today.
me: That sucks. Our high tomorrow is in the fifties. That really sucks.
ex: Here, that would be pleasant. Hell, more than pleasant. Unseasonably warm.
me: And THAT is why I don't ever want to live at that latitude.
ex: I'm sure my blood is getting thicker. I just won't ever get it used to the idea.
me: That makes it a matter over mind thing. Lol.
ex: Lottery hasn't been any kinder to me in Michigan that it was in Georgia. At least I'm no longer throwing away hundreds of dollars at a time (casino).
me: I keep trying with Publishers Clearing House. No luck so far. :)
ex: Oh how priorities change. I used to want to make great spots. Now I just walk on eggshells, capitulating to every whim (however stupid) of the sales people, just so I can crawl to my 5 year mark. The last time I had three weeks vacation per year, I was in the service.
me: Five year mark?
ex: The dream is in sight. Rather than take a week at a time, I'll just dot the calendar with the three- and four-day weekends all year.
me: Nice. That tends to be what I do.
ex: Yes, I've been at MacDonald Broadcasting for 3 years now. September.
ex: And why not? There are so many things to see and do in Michigan and the Great Lakes region. Grand Rapids. Toledo. Indianapolis. Chicago. Cinci. Cleveland. And now that Bob's in Des Moines, I foresee a long drunk weekend in the immediate future.
me: Not what I meant. Do you get tenure or something at five years?
ex: I don't think it's thought of as a tenure thing in our business; it's more just a perk and thank you for helping keep the company stable.
ex: It's never been something I thought of because I never came close to five years at a radio station before.
me: So what do you get at five years? Just more vacation?
ex: Probably. It would be nice if I got a raise. Honestly, though, I make enough. I'd rather have more time than more money. Very soon D {his younger daughter} turns 18 and that will be an extra knot in my pocket every month.
ex: Although my BlueCross just jumped up...so not as big a knot as I had hoped.
me: Yeah that will be February. You won't need to pay for medical insurance on her either.
ex: Au contraire! Obamacare will make me carry her until age 26. And I want to. She's going to need every bit of help she can get...and that help will be expensive.
me: Heard. Good of you to take care of her like that.
ex: That's another reason I keep my head down, keep my mouth shut and do my work.
me: You keep trying. That is good.
ex: I'm trying to straighten things out. The boulder is at the bottom of the hill every day.
me: Think of those hills as in succession, not the SAME hill.
ex: I could have it worse. I could be living in a tent, freezing my ass off in a sleeping bag. And not by choice.
me: He has been like this for years now. He counts on the holiday spirit to make folks more generous toward him. It is very tiring.
ex: How serendipitous that the holidays come at a time when the weather turns bad and someone like him needs help the most.

ex: Wow! Looks professionally done!
me: Thanks! Sam does that at her house to block off the upstairs. She only heats the downstairs. Has heated mattress pads on all beds.
me: As for Ronnie, yes. He may not believe in Christmas but he knows the rest of us do.
ex: I didn't word that well. I didn't mean to imply that he works that happenstance...even though, deep down, we know he does.
me: Oh yes. He most certainly does. He times it on purpose. He gets tired of working and this is his way of getting others to take care of him.
me: I have confronted him about it and he doesn't deny it.
me: I pay for him to have a phone every month. Just as I have ever since his TIA. That way he can call for help if he needs it.
ex: Well, I admire the fact that he admits it. That means he's true to his belief. However, it's not very smart. Knowing he's an unrepentant freeloader gives me all the reason I need to not enable him.
me: Smitty is of that mind. Throws him some work from time to time but gives him nothing.

Wednesday, 13 Nov 2013
(Out of the blue, after 10 PM.)

ex: The picture of David and Gwen...where is that from, again?
ex: ...and when?
me: 5 July, 2009, at Nags Head. It was the K&k family reunion.
ex: I'm kicking myself for not having gotten photos with them in 2010, when they visited Mary and me in Birmingham. We were at this cute little place caleed the Bottle Tree Cafe but the lighting indoors was too low for pictures.
me: Didn't you send me a photo of that place? By email. I may still have it.
ex: I still have all the photos I took of the decor and the sign with the actual sculpture. Not one of me or my family.
me: Auntie said they took video at the reunion in Minnesota this summer.
ex: Yeah, they talked about that last month.
me: Maybe they will post it online.
ex: I'm taking old photos on my phone and cataloguing them on the computer.
ex: I don't know how much more I can take this.
me: Pardon? Want to talk?
ex: It's alright, but thank you...it's late. I'm going to brush my teeth and go to bed.
me: Love you, Jeff. I am here if you want to talk.
ex: Thank you. I love you too.
me: I took a lot of photos. Will send you the links. I even have a few from that trip to Virginia Beach. That was definitely a fun day.
ex: That trip where we were putting out so much radiation that we could bake a potato in our hands?
me: Yes that's the one!
ex: F&k. It hurt to sit it hurt to stand it hurt to move...It hurt to BE.
me: :-)
me: Just sent the link for the VA Beach pics.
me: Be sure to wear your sunglasses!
ex: I didn't mention that last Thursday, Living Colour was in Flint on a tour celebrating the 25th anniversary of their first album. They played it in its entirety.

ex: They played Walk on The Wild Side since Lou Reed just passed. They played Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash as the last song. The chorus was played at thrash metal speed.
me: TOTALLY awesome!

Then, on that up-note, we signed off. I bounced over to facebook, to raid my albums there for signs of life.
I found them.
I had five albums with David in them.
I sat there and cried, remembering how much fun he was to be around, feeling the void in the world.
Very sad.
I sent links to the albums to the ex, to the cousins, to the daughter.
And I went to bed.

closed until spring

Yesterday, I closed off the sunroom. No more cold air streaming from that corner of the house and permeating every other space.
I also closed the door to the guest room. The peace Guy is gone, away in ATL with a new love, and I doubt he will return anytime soon. I closed off the vent in that room, too. No sense in paying to heat that area when no one will be in there.
Closing off the guest room didn't bother me, though. I simply shut the door. That was much as Joe had done, when he thought the room was too messy for view. That was not anything new to me.
But closing off the sunroom... that is another story all together.
No more bright and cheery sun-yellow walls to look at while I wait for the coffee to percolate.
No more enjoyment of that space for morning breakfasts.
No more artificial enhancement of the size of my kitchen.
I shall miss this room.
I missed it this morning. Even though the sheet is a light blue-green and has pretty flowers on it and allows much of the light through, it is a reminder that winter is here.
But spring will come... and I will anticpate that delight.

trudy's eyes

I think I may have mentioned a time or two that I'm a fan of Tony Shalhoub's character, Adrian Monk. Yes? Surely I have. He's a detective, formerly on the police force, but serves now as a consultant ever since the death of his beloved wife, Trudy.
Monk has a lot of quirks.
A lot of quirks.
Most people are willing to overlook those quirks, as he is so talented.
He has an assistant to help keep him stable, and to run interference for him, while he is solving murder cases.
The episode I just watched, "Mr. Monk Is Up All Night", was a bit different from the usual ones in the series. Amazingly, it also was one I did not recall ever seeing before.
Here's what happened (as Monk would say): He and his assistant are walking along in their hometown of San Francisco, just diddy-bopping along, and he gets bumped by a woman passing by. They all stop, she apologizes, and ... Monk feels compelled to follow her. He loses her in the traffic and the crowd. When his trusty assistant asks why? Did you know her? What's going on?, he has to tell her that he doesn't know why, that he has never seen the woman before, that he simply felt he had to follow her.
The man has a photographic memory. If he says he's never seen someone before, you can bet good money that he has never seen them before.
Odd, right?
So, I watched.
His not understanding his own actions keeps him awake at night. He calls his assistant and she suggests he take a walk, which he does.
There's a great scene where he is walking by a row of late-night businesses. As he approaches each one on the block, its lights are turned out, leaving him in the dark.
Get it?
Fabulous visualization.
So, a little later, a taxi pulls up beside him and the driver, a woman, asks if he needs a ride. He leans down to look into the passenger-side window, saying as he does so, "no, thank you" - and recognizes the driver as the woman he had been following earlier! But, too late! She is already pulling away before he can try to stop her. Oh, no!
And the chase continues throughout the show. (Another storyline is also unwinding as he deals with his dilemma, but you'll have to watch the episode yourself for that one.)
Meanwhile, all who know him are also mystified with his obsession with this unknown woman. Is he in love with her? Does he know her after all, but has forgotten her somehow? Is his famous memory having a lapse?
At last, they meet. What is it about her face that so attracts and distracts him? Wait, not her entire face - no, her eyes. There is something about her eyes...
Her eyes? She tells him of the birth defect that had left her blind until just a few years ago, of the transplant she had received, like a miracle, from a woman who had just died. And when she tells him the date, he echoes it back to her. It was the date his beloved Trudy had been killed by a car bomb. The eyes were Trudy's eyes.
And the woman is crying and he touches her tears, oh so softly, with his fingertips. This man who has a phobia about touching anything is trying to make contact with his dead wife through the tears coming from her eyes in a stranger's face.
And he leans forward and touches his forehead to hers.
And the woman says, as she sobs, "oh, I am so sorry, I am so sorry."
And the show ends with them standing just like that, heads touching, shoulders bowed, as the light goes to dusk on the street.
It was a very emotional moment for us all: Monk, the woman, and me.

I've always been a proponent of organ donation. I'm an organ donor and have been ever since my teen years. I guess it goes along with my "reduce, reuse, recycle" mentality and my altruism and general attempts to make this world a better place, one starfish at a time.
After all, parts are parts. Once the soul has left the building, so to speak, then the building can be dismantled and used for new construction. Anything which will help someone's mother or dad or loved one to live longer is a good thing, right?
But I must admit I haven't ever given any thought to the possible effect on family members of donors. After all, most transplants occur deep below skin level: hearts, lungs, livers, kidneys. No possibility of recognition of a dear departed loved one's internal organs should one happen upon the recipient on the street, now is there?
No.
However, what about the living who receive skin grafts or corneal transplants, as in this episode? What might be the chances that a family member of that donor might recognize the placement of a mole, a shading of skin tone, the reflection of light upon the eyes? What then?
I'm sure the issue doesn't arise often, if ever, in the real world.
The real world is not populated by a vast majority of people with eidetic memories.
Monk has such a memory and was able to recognize the corneas of his dead wife.
But, as my ex was fond of saying, Monk is a "poor little fictional character".
Still, it does give one pause, n'est-ce pas?