Saturday, October 10, 2015
We got a notice from the township yesterday that we are to rake leaves to the curb, and the town trucks will be by this Monday to suck them up.
Has no one in the town hall noticed that the leaves are still on the trees?
.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
5021 Noises in the night
Saturday, October 10, 2015
This house has strange noises at night. Noises that I don't hear during the day. It's not that I don't hear them in daytime because of the radio or TV being on, because I don't have anything on during the day. Conditions are pretty much the same. Except it's nighttime, and dark.
One is the sound of microwave buttons. Know that beep beep when you set the timer? All through the night I hear occasional sets of three or four beeps, exactly as if someone is setting a microwave. I don't know where it's coming from.
I hear the siding contracting as it cools off, but I recognize that. I hear the ductwork expanding as it heats up, and I recognize that. I hear the click as the furnace goes on and off. But I also hear solid clicks, and bumps, and creaks that I can't identify.
Last night there was a loud crash, definitely inside the house, downstairs, as if a stack of books fell off a shelf. Jasper was sleeping on the bed by my feet, so it wasn't him, and, oddly, he didn't react to it. I checked around this morning and don't see anything that would explain it.
If the house were bigger and with mystery rooms or a basement or empty closets, I'd think maybe I have someone else living here who comes out only at night. You hear about that once in a while. But there's no spot anywhere here where a person could hide, especially not downstairs.
I'm beginning to think I have a ghost.
.
This house has strange noises at night. Noises that I don't hear during the day. It's not that I don't hear them in daytime because of the radio or TV being on, because I don't have anything on during the day. Conditions are pretty much the same. Except it's nighttime, and dark.
One is the sound of microwave buttons. Know that beep beep when you set the timer? All through the night I hear occasional sets of three or four beeps, exactly as if someone is setting a microwave. I don't know where it's coming from.
I hear the siding contracting as it cools off, but I recognize that. I hear the ductwork expanding as it heats up, and I recognize that. I hear the click as the furnace goes on and off. But I also hear solid clicks, and bumps, and creaks that I can't identify.
Last night there was a loud crash, definitely inside the house, downstairs, as if a stack of books fell off a shelf. Jasper was sleeping on the bed by my feet, so it wasn't him, and, oddly, he didn't react to it. I checked around this morning and don't see anything that would explain it.
If the house were bigger and with mystery rooms or a basement or empty closets, I'd think maybe I have someone else living here who comes out only at night. You hear about that once in a while. But there's no spot anywhere here where a person could hide, especially not downstairs.
I'm beginning to think I have a ghost.
.
Thursday, October 08, 2015
5020 Old.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
A few days ago, I went into the bathroom. I was wearing a very full long caftan and over it a large bulky also long cape/shawl sweater thingy. I gathered it all up in front of me so it wouldn't dunk in the water, with great difficulty, because the cape was long in the back and both sides, with fringes. I sat down and did my thing, and it was awfully .... wet. I had forgotten to pull my panties down.
I suddenly felt very old.
I've never done that before. I mentioned it to Daughter, and she blushed and confessed that she had occasionally done the same thing. So, maybe it's not old. Just distraction?
On the other hand, I've been watching a lot of BBC historical documentaries. Two of them involved Queen Victoria. I'm noticing a distressing similarity in the mirror to post-Albert Victoria.
Oh dear.
(She was a few inches taller than I and only a few pounds heavier - but I don't look that big, do I? I've GOT to change my hairstyle! And stop wearing the damn crown!)
I am reminded of something a wise man told me once about how a man feels about a woman:
- he is attracted to the way she looks,
- intrigued by the way she thinks,
- charmed by the way she acts,
- and falls in love with the way she makes him feel.
Forty years later, when she's wrinkled, jowly, thickened, and saggy, well, three out of four ain't bad.
.
A few days ago, I went into the bathroom. I was wearing a very full long caftan and over it a large bulky also long cape/shawl sweater thingy. I gathered it all up in front of me so it wouldn't dunk in the water, with great difficulty, because the cape was long in the back and both sides, with fringes. I sat down and did my thing, and it was awfully .... wet. I had forgotten to pull my panties down.
I suddenly felt very old.
I've never done that before. I mentioned it to Daughter, and she blushed and confessed that she had occasionally done the same thing. So, maybe it's not old. Just distraction?
On the other hand, I've been watching a lot of BBC historical documentaries. Two of them involved Queen Victoria. I'm noticing a distressing similarity in the mirror to post-Albert Victoria.
Oh dear.
(She was a few inches taller than I and only a few pounds heavier - but I don't look that big, do I? I've GOT to change my hairstyle! And stop wearing the damn crown!)
I am reminded of something a wise man told me once about how a man feels about a woman:
- he is attracted to the way she looks,
- intrigued by the way she thinks,
- charmed by the way she acts,
- and falls in love with the way she makes him feel.
Forty years later, when she's wrinkled, jowly, thickened, and saggy, well, three out of four ain't bad.
.
Tuesday, October 06, 2015
5018 Recycling Anger
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
I am very angry at (with?) the township.
Several weeks ago we got notice that all recyclables, collected twice a month, were to be put out in either closed lidded containers or in clear plastic bags. I had been using an open container -- a hip-high kitchen trash can. It was light enough for me to easily carry out, and big enough to hold everything.
Well, there's nothing with a good lid that would be convenient for me. I'd almost need something I could wheel out, and all the wheeled thingies are too big, so I decided to go the clear plastic bag route.
I visited several stores before I concluded that there's no such thing (not in stores around here, anyway) as a clear kitchen-sized trash bag. Not to mention that even if there had been a space on the shelves labelled for clear bags, everyone in the township was looking for them. I finally bought some clear bags in a hardware store, but they're sized for yard waste, and are ridiculously huge. Also ridiculously expensive. But it was the last box, so I bought them and used them for one collection, realized they were ridiculous, and then went looking online. Found the right stuff on Amazon. Used the Amazon ones for the second collection.
The third collection since being told to use clear plastic bags is tomorrow.
Today, late this afternoon, we all got phone calls and alert emails from the township. Recycle materials must be put in closed containers only. "Plastic bags will not be picked up."
Changing horses with less than one day's notice.
You could hear the swearing all up and down the street.
The phone call was a recording, but I swore at it anyway. Loudly.
----------------------------------------
I thought hard about what I could use and finally remembered that I had two of those old green Rubbermaid stackable recycle bins in the garage, the kind with the sloping flaps on the top front. I don't remember why I'd kept them all these years, haven't seen them actually used since recycling started three or four decades ago. But, they DO have lids....
So I put my stuff in them and put them out (paper in one, glass, plastic, and cans in the other). I hope the guys recognize them for what they are, and don't toss the entire recycle bins themselves into the truck, too. I also have corrugated cardboard (cut, flattened, bundled and tied, as ordered!) sitting next to them, and six huge kitty litter jugs all tied together by their handles (which they may or may not take, although they are #2, but they're not in a "closed container", sigh), so it would be easy for the guys to just throw everything in without thinking.
I'm going to have to watch for them to make sure the right things go and the wrong things don't. They come anywhere between 7:30 am and 3:00 pm.
Sigh.
.
I am very angry at (with?) the township.
Several weeks ago we got notice that all recyclables, collected twice a month, were to be put out in either closed lidded containers or in clear plastic bags. I had been using an open container -- a hip-high kitchen trash can. It was light enough for me to easily carry out, and big enough to hold everything.
Well, there's nothing with a good lid that would be convenient for me. I'd almost need something I could wheel out, and all the wheeled thingies are too big, so I decided to go the clear plastic bag route.
I visited several stores before I concluded that there's no such thing (not in stores around here, anyway) as a clear kitchen-sized trash bag. Not to mention that even if there had been a space on the shelves labelled for clear bags, everyone in the township was looking for them. I finally bought some clear bags in a hardware store, but they're sized for yard waste, and are ridiculously huge. Also ridiculously expensive. But it was the last box, so I bought them and used them for one collection, realized they were ridiculous, and then went looking online. Found the right stuff on Amazon. Used the Amazon ones for the second collection.
The third collection since being told to use clear plastic bags is tomorrow.
Today, late this afternoon, we all got phone calls and alert emails from the township. Recycle materials must be put in closed containers only. "Plastic bags will not be picked up."
Changing horses with less than one day's notice.
You could hear the swearing all up and down the street.
The phone call was a recording, but I swore at it anyway. Loudly.
----------------------------------------
I thought hard about what I could use and finally remembered that I had two of those old green Rubbermaid stackable recycle bins in the garage, the kind with the sloping flaps on the top front. I don't remember why I'd kept them all these years, haven't seen them actually used since recycling started three or four decades ago. But, they DO have lids....
So I put my stuff in them and put them out (paper in one, glass, plastic, and cans in the other). I hope the guys recognize them for what they are, and don't toss the entire recycle bins themselves into the truck, too. I also have corrugated cardboard (cut, flattened, bundled and tied, as ordered!) sitting next to them, and six huge kitty litter jugs all tied together by their handles (which they may or may not take, although they are #2, but they're not in a "closed container", sigh), so it would be easy for the guys to just throw everything in without thinking.
I'm going to have to watch for them to make sure the right things go and the wrong things don't. They come anywhere between 7:30 am and 3:00 pm.
Sigh.
.
Monday, October 05, 2015
5017 No gun for you...
October 5, 2015
Gun control is once again an issue (being diverted to mental health by politicians), and I've been reading some arguments, none of which have any effect whatsoever, of course. I am reminded of my experience with gun control measures.
I spent my high school years on a military base. I used to go to the firing range with the airmen. I got to be very good with a light hand gun. They tested me once, and I scored sharpshooter. Very good. When you're really good at something, you kinda like it.
You know, if you point at something with your index finger, no matter how far away it is you will point directly at the object. Your index finger has excellent aim. So when shooting, if you just consider the barrel to be your index finger, you'll be right on side to side. One test shot will tell you what adjustment to make up or down. Guns are a lot easier than arrows. Arrows don't make good index fingers.
Anyway, in my 20s I missed target shooting. There was also something else going on that made me want a gun, but really, I mainly wanted target shooting. At that time in my life, I wanted to do something I was good at, and have people see me being good at something.
The central NY community I was living in at the time had a few target clubs. There were no public ranges. You needed a membership to shoot anything other than tin cans in a field. So I checked, and all of the clubs wanted you to register your guns with them before they would issue membership. You couldn't join without first owning a gun. However, when I tried to buy a gun, I was told I had to show a gun club membership before they could sell me a handgun. (Or a hunting license before buying a long gun, but again, you had to register your existing gun to get a hunting license.)
I don't know if this was a county law or state law, but it was a very effective Catch 22. I never did get my gun. And I still miss shooting. Damn!
.
Gun control is once again an issue (being diverted to mental health by politicians), and I've been reading some arguments, none of which have any effect whatsoever, of course. I am reminded of my experience with gun control measures.
I spent my high school years on a military base. I used to go to the firing range with the airmen. I got to be very good with a light hand gun. They tested me once, and I scored sharpshooter. Very good. When you're really good at something, you kinda like it.
You know, if you point at something with your index finger, no matter how far away it is you will point directly at the object. Your index finger has excellent aim. So when shooting, if you just consider the barrel to be your index finger, you'll be right on side to side. One test shot will tell you what adjustment to make up or down. Guns are a lot easier than arrows. Arrows don't make good index fingers.
Anyway, in my 20s I missed target shooting. There was also something else going on that made me want a gun, but really, I mainly wanted target shooting. At that time in my life, I wanted to do something I was good at, and have people see me being good at something.
The central NY community I was living in at the time had a few target clubs. There were no public ranges. You needed a membership to shoot anything other than tin cans in a field. So I checked, and all of the clubs wanted you to register your guns with them before they would issue membership. You couldn't join without first owning a gun. However, when I tried to buy a gun, I was told I had to show a gun club membership before they could sell me a handgun. (Or a hunting license before buying a long gun, but again, you had to register your existing gun to get a hunting license.)
I don't know if this was a county law or state law, but it was a very effective Catch 22. I never did get my gun. And I still miss shooting. Damn!
.
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