Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts

Monday, March 04, 2024

At the X Roads

Something's gotta change.

It's gotta be me.

I've no f#cking idea how to go about it.

Tuesday, February 27, 2024

What's My Name?

Right before the pandemic hit in March 2020, my husband and I went to the DMV and obtained our REAL IDs from the Commonwealth of Virginia.

This identification is recognized by the state and federal governments.

When I married, I chose to drop my maiden name. I changed my Social Security card. I changed my driver's license. Some places would not make the change no matter how often I complained about it, like hospitals and oddly enough the women's college I attended. So even though officially, as far as I was concerned, I was First Name, Middle Name, Married Name, the Maiden Name has followed me around.

When I went in to get my Real ID, I had to take along identifying documents that my husband didn't need. I had to take my birth certificate, my marriage license, and some kind of bill that had my name on it. The latter was difficult because when we married 40 years ago, the utilities were put in my husband's name. That is how it was done back them. I mean, we were only 9 years out from women being able to have a credit card when I married. 

Most of the documents I had in my possession were not the documents the state needed for my Real ID, but they had them on file. I had to pay for the copies so they could then use them to get my driver's license. It seemed a little obscene, because they could pull it up and look at it right there, but I later needed the documents for some of my husband's retirement paperwork, so it all worked out in the end.

Still, I consider the ID requirements to be gender biased and discriminatory against women. Taking your husband's name is what people do. I know some people hyphenate or sometimes they keep their maiden name, but the majority of women who marry a man take the man's name. They've been doing this for hundreds of years. The marriage license is on file with the state; they pulled it up and looked at it. It was right there. Yet it cost me considerably more to get the Real ID than it cost my husband because I had to get hard copies of those documents.

A Real ID is supposed to be the most valid ID you can have next to a passport. I don't have a passport, but I do have Real ID. The state recognizes my name as First Name, Middle Name, Married Name. 

So, imagine my surprise when last week an officer at a banking institution informed me that she would need a document with ALL of my names on it - first name, middle name, maiden name, married name. How many women do you know who have documents with all of that on it? Not many women have all of that on their driver's license, I bet.

I argued with her that the Real ID should be enough. I also told her if she was going to make this difficult, then the reason we were talking would go away quickly enough as it was just something we used for convenience. I don't need to deal with this bank, although I have dealt with this bank for almost 40 years. I am even a stockholder in this bank, which makes this oddball requirement all the more egregious.

We are still trying to work this out. But now I don't know who I am, if my Real ID isn't good enough for a bank but is good enough for the state and the federal government. 

Wednesday, January 17, 2024

Havoc

Last year, frankly, was not a good year for us. Everything that could break, broke, or so it seemed. My husband was constantly patching tractors and other pieces of farm equipment. We replaced tires on both vehicles. We had to replace the heat pump and the furnace/air handler at the house. We had a drought and fretted over hay so much that our hay count is down to the smallest piece of dried straw that a cow could feasibly munch on. Vultures killed a calf.

We have a small home we rent out, a place I inherited from my mother, and things went wrong over there, too. This doohickey didn't work, some other thing-a-ma-bob didn't function. The well pump went out.

On and on it went all last year. One hopes that such luck doesn't follow one into the new year, but so far that isn't happening.

In the bitter cold, the pipes are frozen over at the small rental home. Or perhaps not the pipes, but the actual well pump itself, we're not sure yet. We've owned this home for over 20 years, and up until last year, never had a problem with pipes freezing. (They froze and burst during the horrid Christmas cold of 2022; perhaps that was the beginning of this run of tortuous bad luck.) Now it appears every time the temperatures drop into the teens, we are going to be heading over there with a blow torch, and we don't know what changed to create this problem.

Additionally, the cattle waterers froze during the night, and my husband will have to check those every few hours until the weather warms up, which won't be until next week.

The only good thing is, knock wood, the electrical power has thus far stayed on, and the expected high winds did not materialize - yet.

I am useless in these situations and can do little to help my poor old husband. The best thing I can do is stay out of his way and fix his lunch.

But I fret. I worry about my husband being out in the cold. I worry about whatever is wrong. I worry about the cattle. 

Come on 2024. Do your thing and smooth out the rough seas!

Tuesday, January 09, 2024

I Close My Eyes

Back when I had insomnia and would often wake at strange hours and not return to sleep, I tried many things to bring rest to my weary head.

I would get up, pace, watch TV, read a little. Sometimes I laid there, drifting in and out in some kind of conscious-but-not sort of wakefulness. I worried about whatever was going on. What would happen if X did Y or Q did T or thus and such and who cared, anyway?

Apparently, I did at the time, but not so much that I remember those worries. They only seemed important in the moment.

Worrying doesn't solve anything, although many times my worry turns into a plan: if X happens, I'll do Y. If the interviewer says Q, I'll say W. Or whatever. If you can make worrying turn into something positive, like a plan of action, then it's not so bad.

Overall though, worrying, especially at night, is not good.

I still worry. Perhaps once a worrier, always a worrier, but my worries no longer keep me awake at night. In fact, I sleep fairly well these days. I usually get up only once during the night, and I generally go right back to sleep.

Occasionally, though, I do find that I can't go to sleep right away. I have a little house in my head that I visit when I can't sleep. I start on the steps, which is a count, then I go in and begin examining the room, item by item, inch by inch, after envisioning an overall version of it. Usually after a few "objects" have come under scrutiny, I drop on off to sleep.

There are whole books about what to do if you can't sleep, so I'm not giving advice. I do imagery; some folks might fall asleep mid-prayer, I don't know. Everyone has to do what works for them.

***

Last night I watched part of a documentary on Nikki Giovani (her website is not up to date). Giovani retired in 2022 from Virginia Tech, where she'd been a professor since 1987. 

One of the parts that made me laugh was when she went after Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer. She wanted to know why Santa and Mrs. Claus didn't do something about all those reindeer making fun or Rudolph and calling him names. She went on to say that if she'd been Rudolph, when Santa asked for the big favor in the foggy snow, she'd have said something akin to "F&ck you, Santa." 

I confess I have always thought the same thing about the Santa in Rudolph. He really wasn't a very nice guy. He was a bit nasty to the elves and not especially jolly.

Additionally, the footage of Blacks living in America made me think about how many Americas there are actually are here in the United States. I'm going to state that I think there are about 300 million Americas here, one for each person. Because everyone is different, and everyone thinks differently, and while many of us may have similarities in how we were raised, still, we're all different. We differ by race, we differ by class, we differ by gender. We have Black America, White America, rich, poor, middle class. Men, women, and those with gender identity concerns. We are indeed a melting pot, and it's far too late to put that lid back on and keep that pot from boiling over.

Which is, of course, what is happening now. Some are trying to put the lid on the pot, and that lid isn't going back on. We can't turn the clock back to the 1950s or the 1890s or whatever year it is that some people want to return to. This is 2024.

A whole new year, a whole new time. Old ways of thinking need to move aside.

If that means I'm "woke," I'm woke. I don't always like change - I worry about it when it is happening - but I don't always hide from it, either.


Friday, January 05, 2024

By My Bed

Most of us have a bedside table of some kind, I suppose. Ours came with the bedroom suite that we purchased around 1991. The suite is dark cherry, made by Virginia House, a now-defunct local company that made great furniture back in the day. We got one of the last sets to come out of the place before some larger company took them over. The dark cherry is a bit out of place in the house, because everything else is golden oak.

Nevertheless, this was the suite we bought and have we each will probably die in the bed, or that's our hope, anyway.

We each have a bedside table. Here's what you'd find on and in mine:

A touch lamp.
A box of tissues.
Medication.
A bottle of water.
A box that holds a pair of scissors, a flashlight, a small notebook, a pen, and a paper towel.
 
In the drawers, you would find:

Old watches that no longer work.
Medication.
Nail files.
Nail clippers.
Allergy masks.
A dental mouth guard.
A dream catcher.
A small box with old jewelry in it.
A Slinky.

You'd also see that at the bottom of my bedside table, there is an indentation in the wood from something. It's from a step that I used to use to climb into the bed. The mattress sits very high up off the floor, and I can't get into it without a step stool. The block I used to use rubbed against the bedside table and left a place before I realized what was happening.

I wonder what that bedside table says about me.


Friday, December 01, 2023

Phone Company Update

Three trucks from the phone company rolled into my driveway around lunchtime yesterday. I thought I was under attack for a minute.

The three guys, good ol' boys, hopped out and one of them checked my phone from the box outside of my house. He made the phone call his cellphone and it hung right up.

"There's nothing wrong out here," he declared, as I stood in the doorway watching.

"Try it the other way. Call in from your cell phone and then try to hang up," I told him.

He tried that and lo, he couldn't hang up. Now he was perplexed. There was an immediate gathering of men to try to figure out this issue. 

Then they had to try again with different cell phones. Amazingly, they received the same result each time.

They discussed what the problem could be. This appeared to be an unusual issue that they'd not run into before. Was it something they called a card? Would switching a channel help?

I reminded them that it wasn't only my line. Since it looked like they were going to be there a while, I asked if they needed anything to drink. "Can I make you a sandwich?" I offered.

They all declined but thanked me. I would have made them sandwiches if they'd said yes.

They made phone calls back to home base, conferred for a long time, and two of the trucks left.

One of the fellows stood around by himself, and I went out to ask him about the possibility of my ever receiving fiber internet. I told him I wasn't holding my breath about getting it, but I was wondering if they'd have to dig up my sidewalk. He said they bored under stuff like that, so no.

That was a relief. I asked him when I could expect it, and he said, "They tell us it will all be in by the end of the 1st quarter, but, like you said, don't hold your breath."

I went back inside for a while. He later knocked on the door and told me nothing they'd tried had fixed the problem. They were sending it to "landline engineering," whatever that was.

Around 6 p.m., someone from the phone company called and asked me to hang up on him. I did. He called me back and said he was seeing unusual activity and would now work on it. 

When I last checked it just moments before writing this, the issue remained. I don't think it will be fixed until sometime next week.

At least I got somebody's attention.

Tuesday, October 17, 2023

End of an Era

I began reading newspapers when I was four years old. At first, my parents and grandparents thought it was cute, that I was copying them reading the paper with their coffee.

At some point, they realized that by then I could read some things, and I was actually reading headlines and pieces of articles. I may not have understood it, but I was reading it. Understanding dawned the more I read.

My parents always subscribed to The Roanoke Times & World News, and I loved to read the paper after I came home from school. (Well, after I'd watched Dark Shadows first. Or Batman. Whichever was on.) On Sundays, I would try to get the paper before my father so I could read it fresh. I loved the look and feel of an untouched paper. No wrinkles, no crumbs from anybody else. He would fuss at me for messing up his paper - he liked them untouched, too. It was sort of a game and I relished disobeying (yes, I was a hellion, I don't deny it.).

When my husband and I married the first thing we did was subscribe to the evening edition of the paper. We each read it over dinner after work.

Then the paper changed its name to The Roanoke Times and started only coming out once a day, in the mornings. We still read the paper at dinner, only the news was a day older. Still, there were the comics, and more in depth writing on stories that interested me.

In the 1990s, the paper began changing. At some point, online became a thing. I was a bit late to the online thing, living in a rural area as I did. The only way I could actually get online was through America Online (AOL). My local phone company didn't have a way to reach the internet until the late 1990s.

The newspapers, meanwhile, put information for free online. I don't know what genius thought this was a great idea. At any rate, news was suddenly free, and the downhill tumble began.

Today, the daily paper is a shadow of its former self. A Sunday paper now looks like what the daily paper used to look like almost every day. Advertisements are nearly non-existent, and as the revenue goes, so goes the paper, I guess.

It was with great sadness that I cancelled our print edition subscription and kept a digital one, so I could read the paper online. No more newspaper in the box. No more print edition to pile up in the recycling. No more newspaper to use to fill up space in Christmas packages.

Sunday was the last day of our print edition. So yesterday, there it was, an empty paper box. I read the e-edition online.

It's not the same. I don't think my husband is going to adapt to this well. He's trying to use a tablet to read, and with his big fingers he is having trouble manipulating it. I've suggested that tonight he try it on his computer screen. I find that easier than the iPad, too.

As a former news reporter, this hurt. It broke my heart to not renew the subscription, but they were asking so much for so little return I couldn't justify it anymore. A recent certificate of ownership in the paper said the subscriptions were down to about 20,000. At one time, that was how many people were reading the little ol' weekly I wrote for. And the over 100,000 people read the daily.

This explains a great deal about the country. If people are not reading the news, then stupid rules. 

Who knows, maybe in six months, we'll pick the print edition back up as new subscribers, if it's still available. I have my doubts the daily paper is going to survive.

It was hard to let that 40-year-old subscription go, but I guess I'm moving on into the new age with the digital edition.

Friday, July 07, 2023

Long Week

This has been a long week.

I had an echocardiogram on Wednesday. This was for a new heart murmur my doctor discovered a few months ago. She sent me to a cardiologist. The test wasn't too bad; the waiting on it to happen was, though. The test results have been released to me and I didn't think it looked bad.

Then I saw the chiropractor on Thursday, which always leaves me feeling kind of tired.

Last night, the air conditioning unit stopped working. It was 90 degrees today so we needed to get that fixed ASAP. With my asthma, I need the air quality in the house to be the best we can make it, and the air conditioning helps with that.

Even though we pay a company an annual fee to be available, they had no one who could come last night. But they had someone here by 10:30 a.m., and he was able to fix it. He had to replace the flux capacitor. I had figured it was that as it is a part that continually needs to be replaced.

The heat pump unit is 21 years old, so it is time to purchase a new one. Or it will be soon, anyway.

This morning, I saw my primary care doctor. She is always so kind. She asked if a medical student she was training could see me because she wanted her to see the "cool kids" that are in her practice. How nice to be thought of as one of the "cool kids" at my age! Her nurse managed to get blood out of me this time, too. I am a "hard stick" and sometimes the blood just doesn't want to come.

Also, my husband saw the dentist on Thursday. No cavities this time, thankfully. He is not a dentist person, but since his hip replacement surgery he has been better about going. He's had a lot of cavities filled in the last year.

Neither of us slept well last night because the air conditioning was off and fans don't do a thing for humidity. Hopefully we will both rest better tonight.

I am rather glad this week is coming to an end. It has been busy with doctor visits. And who wants to see that many doctors in just a few days?




Friday, June 09, 2023

60 plus 1 day

Yesterday, I had a nice day for my birthday.

My husband's radio alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., and it was playing a Melissa Etheridge song. That much registered, but I don't remember the song. Just that it was one of my favorite singer/songwriters.

My friend took me to lunch! I had the first piece of chocolate cake I've had in at least three years.


The pearls around my neck were my birthday present from my husband. I have on earrings to match.

I received lots of cards.


And over 100 people said Happy Birthday to me on Facebook! I also had phone calls and texts from various friends and family members.

My brother visited me, which would have been present enough, but he also brought me a cool gift - a box of retro candy from the year I was born.



Inside were things like wax lips, red hots, Smarties, candy cigarettes, a bubble gum cigarette, and other things that I had long forgotten.

I received a few gift cards, too. I am thinking about what to purchase with those.

Additionally, I received some books!


My husband took me to dinner Wednesday night, which was a very good thing as he got hung up on one of his contracting jobs and didn't get home until almost 9 p.m. I didn't mind the time alone; I put on a Fleetwood Mac concert we have on the DVR and read a book. Then I made a phone call to a friend whose birthday is today and learned about the former guy's indictments. I watched the news about that for a little while but then went back to my book until my husband came home. I made him a chicken sandwich, he took a shower, and we went to bed.

All in all, a very satisfactory 60th birthday. Many thanks to all who helped make it special.



Wednesday, June 07, 2023

Crash and Burn

Yesterday, I wheeled my grocery cart from Food Lion and as I approached my car, I hit the trunk opening.

A woman was walking by just as I hit the button, and it startled her. I called, "Sorry, I didn't realize you were so close to the car," and she said, "I thought I must've touched it or something." We laughed about it, and she climbed into her car.

I proceeded to start putting my groceries in the trunk. The woman had parked beside me and was driving a white van/SUV type vehicle. I was trying to figure out how to keep the hot rotisserie chicken away from the cold items when I heard a slight beep of a horn and then I heard, "crunch, crash, bang." I said, "Oh crap," and ducked. I turned around to see that the woman had backed right into a smaller vehicle with North Carolina plates.

They each pulled back into their parking spaces, and the woman climbed out of her car. "I just didn't see him at all," she said as she walked by me.

She said something to the man, and he somewhat loudly and angrily replied, "I don't have a job, I can't absorb this." Then he asked where he was, and she told him Botetourt County, and he wanted the police called, and wanted to know who would respond, and she again said, "Botetourt County."

I pushed my cart to the rack and as I walked back, I surveyed the damage. The car from North Carolina had taken the brunt of the blow, with the rear side being caved in. The white vehicle had scratches but was otherwise ok.

The woman was heading to her car with her cellphone in her hand. "Do you want me to stay?" I asked her. She shook her head no. Had she said yes, I would have stayed even though I didn't really see anything as I was focusing on my grocery unloading task. I didn't know her but I'm sure she was shaken. I know I would have been. Had I thought I'd been a good witness I would have stayed, but since I really didn't see anything but the aftermath, I left.

Since this occurred on private property, the police won't have done anything other than referee and ensured that insurance information was properly passed along by each party. At least there would be a paper trail.

***

The other thing that happened yesterday was something that I am occasionally confronted with, and it always makes me uncomfortable.

Someone I know asked me if I wanted to write their life story. 

For free.

I know many people are not writers, and I believe everyone has a story. But I do not want to write someone else's life story, not for free. I know they mean well, but they have no idea what kind of time that would take.

If the person had said, "I'll pay you," or mentioned anything like that - even a barter for services - I would have responded more enthusiastically. Instead, I said, "I think you should write it. Get started on it. I'll be glad to give you advice later on if you need it."

My friend said she wasn't a writer, but I said, "You should try it anyway. That's more real, more in your own voice."

Fortunately, she dropped the topic and we moved on. (I hope she doesn't read my blog.)

Many years ago, a good friend stopped talking to me after I declined to write her life story, so this is tricky. It's not something I want to lose friends over, but it's like asking a lawyer to take your case for nothing. Or asking your doctor to see you without charge. Those are extraordinary circumstances if you have to do that. Writing a life story is not an extraordinary circumstance, and writing has been how I've made my living. I have done enough volunteer work for various causes. I don't need to do free work for other people.

I remember another guy who asked me to write his life story - he had been involved, peripherally, in NASCAR - and he stopped talking to me as well when I declined. These things are not going to make any money, so offering to split the "big bucks" with me isn't going to cut it. If someone writes something, I am more than happy to read it and make suggestions for a meager amount*, but if they want copyediting or involved, in-depth work, then I need to be paid for my time.



*I charged the last person $100 to read through and make suggestions. That is way too little for what I offer, but I consider the circumstances. If you don't want to invest $100 in your creation for a read-through, then you either already know it's no good or know deep down you're not going to listen to my suggestions.


Wednesday, April 26, 2023

Scammed Over Tic Tacs

The checkout clerk stared at my Tic Tacs like they were from another planet. He put them side by side and frowned.

"One of these isn't ringing up," he announced.

"They came from the same box," I said. I pointed to the display right beside him.

"The bar codes aren't the same," he said.

Eventually, he shrugged, scanned one a second time, and then tossed them both in my bag.

After I had arrived home and put everything away, I settled in for a reading hour. I reached for the Tic Tacs.

One of them had been opened and was half empty.

I looked at the bar codes. They weren't the same. The guy had been right. But he hadn't noticed that one was half empty and opened. I hadn't noticed because he'd had his hand wrapped around them while he frowned at the bar codes.

My guess is someone "traded" out one they'd been eating on for a new one. If they'd simply opened one and eaten from it and put it back, the bar codes would have been the same. I tossed the opened one - who knew what could be in there, or where that had been.

I was out a $1.09. Not much in the grand scheme of things, but still.

These are the days when one must be ever vigilant. Check the expiration dates on every item picked up, examine packaging, ensure that things look right - whatever that means. 

Technically this person did not steal from the grocery chain. They stole from me.


Monday, March 27, 2023

Odds & Ends

The DMV

Last week, I had cause to visit the local Division of Motor Vehicles. In pre-Covid times, this was a nightmare. One set aside an entire afternoon simply to drop something off at the DMV.

After Covid, in the now, the DMV has figured out it can schedule appointments. It has learned how to speed things through. 

I was doing something that could have, in pre-Covid days, taken hours.

I was in and out in less than 15 minutes. I made an appointment for 11 a.m. I arrived early. I was supposed to scan a QR code, but it said I was too early. It was 10:47 a.m. The security guard waved me on in, walked me past a line of people to an information clerk who was not doing anything, and she checked me in. She told me to go to Line 21.

I did. No one was in Line 21. The woman asked me if I was number thus and such, and I nodded. I told her what I needed. I'd already filled out the forms. She took care of what I needed, and as I stepped out the door I glanced at my watch. It said 11:02 a.m.

Fifteen minutes at the DMV. Who'd have thought it 10 years ago?

The Dream

The other night I dreamed that I was on another planet entirely. There were other people there; it was a settled world, but it wasn't Earth. The ground undulated from time to time, for one thing, but no one said a word about it. Somewhere off in the distance, these things with tentacles on them hovered off the ground, and they had a big orange "5" flashing on them. Some kind of native animal, I guess.

I apparently had written an article, and something was wrong with it, for I'd been called before the journalism board. They told me I'd written the story wrong, and I hadn't solved the crime. It wasn't my job to solve the crime, I explained. But since the crime wasn't solved - apparently it was a murder - I shouldn't have written the story.

"Then I'll go solve the damn crime!" I cried out (possibly even if my sleep) and I leapt up. I roamed around and found bits of human remains by someone's outdoor grill.

They had eaten Charles Barkley (the basketball player).

That was about the time I woke.

I know that Charles Barkley came from a TV commercial I'd seen that night, because I'd asked my husband who the man in the commercial was and it was he, but I don't know where the rest of the stuff came from. There is no "journalism board" that I am aware of or apart of; maybe if I actually worked at a newspaper there would be colleagues who would lay such charges, I don't know. Perhaps that came from watching Alaska Daily, which is a TV show about a news reporter in Alaska. I don't know what the big flashing orange "5" means, but it was so vivid in the dream - and so long in the background - it must indicate something.

The subconscious mind is a crazy place.

Another School Shooting

I don't know why we can ban the word "gay," ban books, ban drag, ban foods, ban drugs, ban the statue of David, etc., but can't do a damn thing about guns.

Hating on Myself

Yesterday, I hated every possible atom of my being. I hated my hair. I hated the fact that I can't wear makeup anymore because I've developed an allergy to it (all of it, apparently, even the ones supposedly safe make me itch). I hated the fact that I am fat. I hated that I feel like I do nothing (even though I know that's not true, just today I washed 3 loads of clothes, vacuumed the house, went to the grocery store, made the bed, did the dishes, and will fix dinner shortly). It was just that kind of day.

Unfortunately, it's carried over into today, and at the moment it's mostly aimed at my inability to cook well (it would help if I actually enjoyed cooking), because the pork loin I'd expected to feed us for 3 days at least turned out to be inedible. I cooked it in the crockpot the way I always do, but it was tough and pretty awful.

But so help me, I do not find satisfaction in reading recipes, and there is nothing about chopping vegetables or playing with naked uncooked meats that makes me happy or content. The only thing I like to do with food is eat it.

Wednesday, December 28, 2022

How It All Went Down - Part III




Christmas morning.

My husband rose before I did.

"Time to do it again. It's like Groundhog Day," he said as he pulled on his clothes. He was thinking of the Bill Murray movie where he is trapped on February 2 for a very long time.

I lay beneath the covers, not willing to brave the chill. I finally pulled myself out from under the covers and grabbed my robe; it was as cold as the house.

Ice had formed on the windows in the bedroom overnight; we were running a small humidifier off the generator. And the water had gathered on the windowpanes, where it froze.

I looked at myself in the mirror and ran a brush through my hair before I went to say good morning. I looked awful.

In the kitchen, I found my husband had placed a Christmas card at my place at the table. We had a breakfast of frozen pancakes heated in the microwave. 

After we ate, he went outside and gassed up the generator again while I rinsed the plates in cold water and put them in the dishwasher.

Then we had Christmas. My husband gave me an autographed photo of Melissa Etheridge and a few other things. I gave him clothes and a small George Foreman grill, because we'd tossed the huge one out a few weeks prior. He'd had a new hip and a new utility vehicle this past year; I didn't need to give him anything more.

It was over quickly, and the circumstances sapped most of the joy out of the morning. He had to bundle up again and head out to check the cattle and unfreeze the watering troughs. I cleaned up the Christmas paper, put the gifts back under the tree, and took another sponge bath at the kitchen sink.

By the time he returned, I was dressed. My chores were done. I was trying hard to find the Christmas spirit, but it was eluding me. This was stressful. This wasn't what we were supposed to be doing. I was worried about him being out in the cold and the wind, afraid he would make himself sick. He looked tired. I looked tired.

He left again, and I spent some time standing at the patio door, feeling the sun come in and offer a small respite of heat. It also brought flies, which have plagued me since November. I removed an empty water bottle from the recycling bin and began to catch the ones buzzing at the patio door - five in all.

I remembered a fairy tale from long ago called "Seven in one blow" where some guy, a tailor by trade, had killed 7 flies in one swat, and he made himself up a shirt that said Seven in One Blow. Everyone took that to mean he had killed 7 people. I think he ended up being a knight.

Nobody was going to make me a knight.

I went back to my chair and propped my feet up on a footstool. I didn't mention this before, as I forgot, but on Christmas Eve, the husband of my best friend who passed away last year brought us a footstool that he had made from the cherry tree from our back yard. I did not see him as he had simply dropped it off with my husband as he was out trying to keep the generator running.

Now I pondered the footstool. Earlier in the week, I had had a talk with my friend, wondering if there was life after death and if so, could she send me a sign that I would recognize as such. Was this my sign?

Several people texted me to wish me Merry Christmas. I texted back, trying to sound cheerful. All the while I was feeling very low.

We ate another lunch of a ham sandwich, and then my husband said he was going back out after more gasoline. By this time, we figured we were spending about $65 a day to keep the generator running. The battery for my car had cost over $200. This was becoming an expensive weekend.

My husband left, and I cleaned up the lunch mess. Then I looked at the wall where I tape the Christmas cards. I wanted to yank every one of them down and then tear the Christmas tree down and put it all away.

Just as my hand moved toward the first card, the phone rang. 

"There's a bucket truck in Lanetta's driveway!" my husband exclaimed. She is our neighbor, and the line was broken not far from her entrance.  "You need to turn everything off, throw the breakers, and turn off the generator. I'm at the gas station."

Our cousin had called him and told him the power company was here, he explained as I raced around the house turning off everything so I could throw the breakers. But which breakers? Out in the garage, faced with a barrage of cords and a breaker box that I never deal with, I had no idea what I was doing. He tried to tell me, and I started to cry.

"I don't know anything about this stuff, you have never showed me how to do this," I wailed.

Finally, I figured out which were the main breakers to turn off, and then I went outside, coatless, gloveless, and hatless, and turned off the generator. Since we were backfeeding the generator into the house circuit breakers, there is always a risk to the linemen if you leave the generator running.

The silence that came over everything when I turned off the generator was almost as deafening as the generator itself. I went back inside to sit and wait. I bundled up in a blanket and picked up a magazine.

My friend T. texted me. "We're coming over with food," she said, not giving me a choice.

She and her husband arrived while the power company was still working. She came in bearing brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, biscuits, ham, and hot chocolate. She gave me a big hug and a kiss but didn't stay long because she had company.

I was more than touched that she took time out to bring me something to eat - I wept again after she left, partly with relief and partly just because it was that kind of day.

At 2:30 p.m., the lights came on. 

The power was restored on Christmas day.

That night, we heated up the food my friend had brought us, and we ate like a king and queen. 

It was the best meal of my life.

Christmas had come and gone, and it certainly had not been the festive event I'd anticipated. But I was loved and cared for, and safe in my house with the fellow I've been with for 39 years.

I knew who my friends were, and who cared if I froze or not. That was a great gift, wasn't it?

Next year, I will read back over this, and laugh.


-End-

Tuesday, December 27, 2022

How It All Went Down - Part II


After the sponge bath, my husband and I decided we may as well go to bed. We were both worn out.

I woke about 12:30 a.m. on Christmas Eve and listened to the wind howling, again. We did not have wind like this when I was a child. But now, it's a pattern - a front comes in, the wind follows. And not just breezes, but big gulping chunks of wind that take down trees and rip up buildings.

My husband had estimated the generator would run until about 4 a.m., but I felt like he'd miscalculated, so at 1 a.m. I shook him awake and suggested we go gas the thing up.

I put on my jeans, a pair of socks, my sneakers, a light coat, and then my heavy coat. I pulled my hands inside of my coat and put a stocking hat on my head. I was to be the flashlight holder.

He put on a pair of insulated coveralls, sneakers, and a coat. He put on a stocking hat and gloves as well, and outside in the dark we went.

The wind was frigid, and the air was thick with cold. I held the flashlight so he could see to turn off the generator and then open the gas cap. Unfortunately, I could not keep my hands inside my coat and hold the flashlight, and the ends of my fingers began to freeze from exposure. I also felt it on my cheeks. It took a long time for 5 gallons of gas to empty out of that can.

By the time we were done and I could go back inside, my fingers were painful from cold. My fingers were numb and red. Warming them back up took lots of rubbing to bring the feeling back. We undressed, and then we both shivered against one another when we returned to bed. He held my hands to try to warm them, but his weren't much better even though he'd had on gloves.

Finally, we slept. We woke at 6:15 a.m., our usual normal time, and got up.

The first order of business, after breakfast, was for him to go get more gasoline. The generator was eating up about a gallon an hour, and we only had three 5-gallon cans. While my husband went after the gasoline, I put a towel down by the kitchen sink, took off my clothes, and stood there naked while I waited on a bowl of water to heat in the microwave. Then I took a sponge bath right there in the kitchen. I ended up dumping water over my head with a cup, but I didn't wash my hair.

I dried off and dressed. The hair dryer wasn't working in the bathroom - apparently it was on a circuit breaker he hadn't turned on - so I brought it in the kitchen. I hoped that having my hair dried and brushed might make me look a little better, which in turn might make me feel better. I have to say, by this time I was mighty low. It was obvious that Christmas Eve was not going to be the special day I had been anticipating.

I did my chores again, making the bed and sweeping the floors with a broom. There was little else I could do. I read the paper, checked the power company website, and looked at a few magazines. I was too anxious to concentrate on a book.

My friend T. let me know they'd also lost power, but they had invested in a whole-house generator, so they were doing fine.

My husband returned and he brought with him a pair of gloves that he'd picked up at the local farmer's co-op. He didn't want my hands to freeze again.

My father and brother called to check on us. My husband asked my brother if he had extra gas cans. When he brought them over, he came into the garage, where I waited dressed in a coat, robe, jeans, and whatever else I could find because the house was cold. He hugged me and I cried because we were going to have to miss Christmas Eve.

"We'll do it another time," he said. "It's not your fault. At least I'm seeing you on Christmas Eve."

His house makes me sneeze and have asthma attacks. It is full of taxidermy animals and he and his girlfriend have a dog. This is why we did not go over there to stay or to have Christmas. My allergies ruin everything.

By 11:45 a.m., the house was at 60 degrees. The humidity was at 25%, which added to the chill. I kept adding clothes, including a second pair of socks, to my outfit.

We ate sandwiches for lunch. My husband was in and out trying to get the generator to work up at his mother's, but it wouldn't run the heat (it was supposed to). She was going to have to stay at his sister's until the power came back on. (In the meantime, we didn't even think about the stuff in her freezer; I could have carried it outside and it would have stayed frozen, but neither of us thought to do it. I think we were just too weary to think of everything.)

My husband continued to run back and forth between his mother's house, working on her generator, and ensuring the cattle waterers were not frozen. He was working with his cousin and his nephew, because my mother-in-law's house is large, and it would have helped if they could have gotten the heat running so that not everyone was tripping over one another at my sister-in-law's.

I tried to keep my spirits up, but they were quite low. 

I noticed, though, that a few times when I turned on the hot water to wash my hands, something I was doing out of habit, that the water was warm. Weird. It should have been cold by then.

Finally, darkness fell. My husband came in and we had another meal of cold chicken and a vegetable heated in the microwave. I mentioned the hot water to him.

"Try it and see if you have hot water," he suggested.

I turned on the faucet, and after a few seconds, there was warm water! Not hot, but hot enough. I was excited. "I thought the generator wouldn't run the hot water heater!" I exclaimed.

"It won't."

My husband took a flashlight and his glasses and went out to the circuit breakers and hot water heater. All of that stuff is in a small room off the garage. The circuit breaker to the water heater was off. He took a voltage meter and for unknown reasons, there was less than 1 amp of electricity running to each of the hot water heater elements.

"That's not enough to heat the water," he said. "And I don't know where it is coming from."

I decided to see if there was enough warm water to wash the dishes. I filled the sink, and we still had warmish-hot water, so I washed the dishes that had piled up in the dishwasher.

We let it sit for another hour. "Do you want to risk a shower?" my husband said. "You haven't washed your hair since Thursday."

I agreed to give it a try, knowing that if the hot water didn't hold up, I would be drenched in freezing water. But the warm water stayed warm. My husband stood at the shower faucet, turning it off and on, and I was able to wash my hair.

It felt so good, and the shower lifted my heart a bit.

There was enough warm water for my husband to shower, as well.

"I don't know how this is happening," my husband said as he dried off.

"It's a Christmas miracle," I replied, sure that somebody somewhere knew that if I didn't have some boost to my spirits, I would fall mercilessly down to the bottom of that deep well of depression that I constantly circle around anyway.

After that, we both felt refreshed. We went to bed and set an alarm for 2:30 a.m.  My husband told me he could use the car lights to see to put gas in the generator, so while I got up with him and made sure he came back inside without any problems, I didn't have to go out in the extreme cold.

"Merry Christmas," I said to him as we crawled back to bed.

For it was Christmas Day.

To Be Continued

Monday, December 26, 2022

How It All Went Down - Part I

Before I get started, I'm afraid this may sound like whining, but that is not my intention. I'm trying to write up how this Christmas weekend went.

I know we were lucky - no one died, the cattle are fine, and we didn't get 43 inches of snow - but it was still one of the worst Christmases I've ever had. But it will definitely be memorable, and in some ways, it was possibly the best Christmas I will ever have. Who knows?

The problem was I had anticipated a great Christmas weekend. I expected Friday to bake, make a cheeseball, all of that holiday stuff that makes the house smell good and that gives the tummy the yummies.

Usually, my father and stepmother come by on Christmas Eve. Later, my brother comes over and I enjoy those visits. We've opened our presents from one another on Christmas Eve since we were small children; it's a tradition, one of the few we have, really.

Some years I have an open house and lots of people come by, though we haven't done that since the pandemic began. Then Christmas Day is generally quiet. My husband and I open presents, we visit with his mom, maybe go to my father's house.

That's what I was expecting. My father and stepmother had Covid, so I knew we wouldn't see them, but I was looking forward to time with my brother.

None of that happened, except my husband and I exchanged presents Christmas morning.

This write-up will be a long narrative. It's writing practice, really, an effort to convey how things were for us this weekend. It's just a slice of life. Feel free to critique. Or not read. Whatever.

Thursday night, December 22, the winds began to howl. Around midnight, the noise woke me. I lay listening to the sound of pinecones or small sticks hitting the siding of the house. Eventually I drifted back to sleep. When the alarms went off, the bed was warm and we snuggled a bit too long before getting up. I wasn't ready to send my husband out into those cold temperatures and that wind, but I knew he would have to care for the cattle.

I took my medication and my husband took his. He ate some sausage for breakfast. The lights blinked once. "I'm going to get a shower," I told him. 

I stepped in the shower and began to get wet.

Then the power went out.

I was drenched but not soapy. I hurried to turn off the water to preserve what was in the tank. "The power's out!" my husband helpfully yelled as I tried to find my towel in the darkness of the bathroom.

"Bring me a flashlight," I shrieked.

"What?"

He came toward the bathroom. I could hear the backup battery in my office beeping. "Turn off my computer for me," I said. I heard him plod down the hall and into my office. I realized he'd already put on his work boots and knew there would be dirt all over the hall.

He went back to the kitchen.

"Goddamn it, APCO doesn't have a customer service number in the phone book!" my husband said. He continued to mutter and rant about the power company and its unreliable service.

I dried off without a flashlight. "I'll call them, go check on the cattle and the watering troughs," I called out.

"You'd think as much as they keep raising the rates, they would have a number in the phone book!" my husband yelled back. We were shouting at one another from opposite ends of the house.

"I'll put the outage in on the app on my phone," I called back. "Or find a number in my 2012 book I have in my office."

"I bet you don't find a number, they don't want you to report an outage," he snarled.

By this time, I'd dried off and put on my clothes. My hair was wet, and I toweled it dry.

I looked in the hallway and sure enough, there was dirt. "Go feed the cattle, I'm going to have to sweep the floor," I told him. "I'll report the outage."

He left, slamming the door and cursing the power company as he went. I picked up my phone and went to the power company's website and reported the outage. Then I swept up the dirt he tracked in.

The thermometer said 9 degrees. The winds were blowing about 45 mph. I wondered how long it would take the house to cool down.

I ate a bowl of Cheerios without milk (which is how I always eat them), and then made the bed. I picked up the dirty clothes and carried them to the laundry room. I emptied the clean dishes from the dishwasher and put the dirty ones in it.

The house grew colder.

My husband returned and reported that a line was down about 100 yards from our driveway. Time to pull out the generator. This was going to be a long outage.

The portable generator is heavy, but he had brought it to the back door the day before because we had anticipated a problem.

I had to back the car out of the garage so he could have space to run extension cords. We used these to power the refrigerator, freezer, and a small space heater. After I looked at the outage map, I suspected we might be without power until the next day.

Our house is wired so that, once the mains are off, we can run the generator through the circuit breaker box. It won't run the heat, the hot water heater, the stove, or the washer and dryer, but it will run lights, the small TV, space heaters, and the microwave. It also gives us water to flush the toilets. Just not hot water.

The last time we'd ran the generator through the circuit breaker box, my husband blew up an air purifier and the electric box on one of the sofas, so I went around and unplugged everything I could before he hooked the generator up.

People were checking on us by this time, too. My brother and my friend T. texted to see if we needed anything. We were ok so far, but I asked my brother to come by to help my husband connect the generator, since he was in the area. He stopped by but we did not talk much, since they were working and doing guy things.

My husband asked me to go to Bellacinos and get hot sandwiches. I agreed and pulled on my heaviest coat. I had only a little pair of knit gloves, and no hat, though the coat had a hood. I had to sit in the car for a few minutes to let the ice that had built up on the windshield melt. Where did the ice come from? The car had been in the garage where there was some humidity, and as soon as I pulled it outside, it did a flash freeze over the windshield.

Once I could see, I drove to Daleville, dodging tree limbs and icy spots in the road as I went. At Bellacinos, I went to the restroom, hoping for soap and warm water; I had the water but not the soap and no towels. I dried my hands on my jeans, fetched our food, and went back outside for the return ride home.

The winds had diminished some, but the frigid temperatures left me wishing I had on more clothes even with the car heater going full blast. My winter attire leaves something to be desired, since I try not to go out in bad weather anymore.

After I returned home, we ate our sandwiches. My husband had tried to convince his mother to go to his sister's house, but it was nearly dark before she agreed to go. I had worried about her all day because I knew the house was cooling off. Plus, she'd probably lost all of her food in the refrigerator.

Our house was down to about 60 degrees. Cool, but tolerable. I kept walking around, moving, because it was warmer to do that than to sit under a blanket.

Dinner that night was cold chicken with a side of broccoli that I heated in the microwave.

I had no internet, and we have a very low data plan on my cellphone, which I used up by constantly checking the power company's website for updates. We were in an area with 65 people out, including my mother-in-law, my nephew, and my cousin.

My nephew also went to his mother's, so my sister-in-law had a houseful with her son, his wife, their two children, and her mother. I could only imagine what it was like over there. At least they were warm and safe.

For a while, my husband and I sat and looked at one another. I read a magazine. He talked on his cellphone to various people. He checked in on his cousin, who, like us, was staying with the house to ensure the pipes didn't freeze. They made a plan to try to hook up this tractor PTO generator to my husband's mother's house Saturday morning if the power had not returned.

Around 7 p.m., my husband decided to go to his mother's to see if she had another space heater we could use. He returned, and then needed to put gas in the generator.

"Go turn on the lights on the car so I can see what I'm doing," he said.

I went out to the car and the dashboard was lit up like a rocketship control panel, including, I noted with dismay, the battery indicator. 

The car wouldn't start, nor would the headlights burn.

"Did you not turn the car all the way off?" I asked him. "The battery is dead."

There was much cursing then that I will not repeat. My husband hopped in his truck and went to the shed to retrieve the battery charger, which he hooked to my car when he returned.

By then it was about 0 degrees, and the winds were still blowing, though not as hard. I was freezing. He was cold and angry. The battery charger indicated a cell in the battery was dead. I went inside and found a number for the local Advanced Auto Parts to see what their hours were. As I hung up, my husband said he had the car running.

"Advanced closes at 9," I said. 

"Good girl," he said, because I'd had sense enough to call.

He left then to have a new battery put in the car. I worried that the generator might run out of gas before he returned, but it didn't. 

I took off my coat, sat down, and had a good cry, one of those that alternates between laughing and crying. It was crazy, the car dying on this day, when the power was out, and absolutely nothing was going as expected. I was cold and I wanted a hot shower, which I knew I wasn't going to get. I finally hiccupped and pulled myself together.

He came back and filled the generator tank with gas.

By this time, it was about 8:30 p.m.

It had been a very long day.

And we still had to get him clean so he could get in the bed.

We are both rather fastidious people, to be farmers. We take lots of showers, change our clothes a lot, and wash our hands frequently. He had been around the hay and the cattle. He wasn't going to bed dirty.

I heated water in a glass dish in the microwave and carried it to him in the bathroom. He took what he called a whore bath, otherwise known as a sponge bath, while I ferried bowls of hot water to him from the kitchen. He then bravely put his head under the sink and washed his hair with cold water, until I returned with a bowl of hot water that I promptly dumped over his head.

Generally, I take a bath before bedtime, too, a quick jump in and out to wash the day out of my hair so that it doesn't upset my allergies and asthma, but I passed. I couldn't be but so dirty, right?

To Be Continued