Showing posts with label neighbors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neighbors. Show all posts

Saturday, November 24, 2012

3671 Inability to think? Brain dead?

Saturday, November 24, 2012

“Peace will come when the Arabs will love their children more than they hate us.” 
--  Golda Meir --

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Golda makes a common mistake in the quote above.  Not all Mid-eastern folks are Arabs, like the Persians of Iran, for example, and most are insulted if you call them Arabs when they're not.  It's a history/blood/tribal thing, like a Scotsman being annoyed if you call him an Welshman, or if you call either of them an Englishman.

Unless, of course, Golda really did specifically mean Arabs.  (The title of this post does not refer to Golda.)

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Squiggy the Squirrel was back this morning, none the worst for his battles.

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Garbage is collected here twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays.  The time of day is random, anywhere from 8 am to 6 pm.

I put out one small kitchen can sized bag, often only half full, so I don't have to store anything between pickups even if I miss one.  Daughter's family makes a lot more garbage, as is expected with more home cooking and many daily diaper changes.  She often has a full regular garbage can, but sometimes puts it out only once a week.

I flat-out don't understand what's going on in the house directly across the street. 

Every pickup their two or three large cans are overflowing.  There's two adults and two early-teen kids (whom I often don't see for days at a time, so I suspect there may be some kind of shared custody arrangement).  How on earth do they make that much garbage!?  I know they don't recycle, but still....

Daughter's cans are bungee'd to the side of their house, with bungees holding the lids down.  The folks across the street have their cans alongside the side fence, with no lids!  I have often seen, late at night, the tails of racoons, opossums, or skunks waving out of the top of the cans.  When the cans are full to overflowing, the scavangers pull the stuff off the top to examine, or just tip the cans over.

What bugs the hell out of me is that the people don't seem to care, and they don't learn.  They'll go out and gather up the garbage on their property, but they ignore what has blown or been strewn out onto the street.

I'm getting very tired of collecting their paper towels, cigarette packs, potato chip bags, paper cups, and every other type of debris from my curb and lawn.

Today it has reached a crisis.  I'm very annoyed and I don't know whether I should say something or not.  Nobody else in the neighborhood has said anything, so there must be a reason for their reticence.  I'm not sure I want to find out why.

Thursday was Thanksgiving.  They must have had 15 people in the house.  Thursday was garbage day, but of course it was skipped for the holiday.  Friday morning, they put three large grossly overflowing cans plus a big black garbage bag out at the curb - OUTSIDE their fence, of course.  There was no pickup.  When I went to bed, all that stuff was still at the curb, and I thought "Raccoons will feast tonight."

Sure enough, this morning one can had been tipped, several bags torn open, and garbage and trash was strewn in the street.  Later in the morning the woman was out there picking up trash from the part of their lawn outside the fence and stuffing it back into bags.  As usual, she did not pick up what had blown into the street.

Now here's what blows my mind:  there is no hope of a pickup until Monday, but she left the overflowing cans and the black bag sitting there!  So they'll be there tonight and Sunday night.  Does she think racoons take the weekend off?  What the hell is she thinking? IS she thinking?  How can anyone repeatedly clean up trash, and NOT figure out how to avoid it? Is she incapable of learning?

Photo taken through my living room window a few minutes ago, through a screen, and severely cropped:


I don't understand.
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Sunday, October 07, 2012

3633 Getting to where I'll talk with wrong numbers?

Sunday, October 7, 2012

"It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished
unless they kill in large numbers
and to the sound of trumpets."
--  Voltaire  --

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I've been thinking more about post #3631, about the mortgage rates.  The more I think about it, the more interesting it gets.

If I carry a balance on the credit cards, it's oh, say, 9% or more.  The mortgage would be 2.75%.  The mortgage is obviously a cheaper loan.  If I invest the mortgage money, I'd make say 11-12% on it (I just checked those numbers and am surprised it's so high, given that 1/3 is in bonds that pay very low), and I'd pull from those investments as I need it to pay back the mortgage and pay for purchases that otherwise would have been on credit cards.  PLUS, I get a tax break on the mortgage interest whereas I don't get a break on credit card interest.  Of course, when I pull from investments, I'd have capital gains tax - but there's talk of eliminating capital gains tax, so ....

A difference of like 8-9% on paying out and bringing in?  Damn!

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I'm very socially isolated here.  For the past two years I've talked with almost no one, beyond occasional conversations with Becs and The Man.  Maybe weather and lawn care with neighbor George.  I see Daughter and the Nugget almost every day (except weekends, when they seem to go off somewhere), but I can't really talk with Daughter, and Nugget isn't speaking English yet.  About the only other people I see are store clerks.  None of those contacts involve much in the way of conversation, and certainly never about ideas.  About the only food for thought I get these days is from my reading, either books or internet.  I don't watch much TV and am rarely interested in movies.

Man, I never thought I'd find myself missing coworkers!

Know how you occasionally find little old ladies who leap on any eye contact to engage you in lengthy and desperate-seeming conversation?  Now I know where they come from.  At least I have the internet.

Daughter knows almost everyone on the street, and chit-chats with everyone.  I can't do that.  I don't know how to chit-chat.  Daughter is content with small talk.  I'm not.  Plus I've done the suburban housewife thing a few times in the past, and I just don't want to ever again get caught up in those petty spats and intrigues and social debts and imagined slights.   It leads to more trouble than it's worth.  And it's worse when you're a single woman.

I could have Mensa and various Meetup groups, but although I mark events on the calendar, I don't actually go to anything, mainly because I feel guilty that I'm not making any progress on either house, so it feels wrong to go gallivanting when there's so much that isn't getting done.  That keeps me pretty much nailed in the house (although it doesn't get me up off the chair in front of the laptop).  Besides, the Meetup people are, I don't know, not "deep"?  Again, there's petty spats and intrigues and social debts and competitions.  Some of those people are flat-out crazy.  Some are nasty.  Many are shallow.  I'm not desperate enough I guess to navigate those piranha-infested shoals.

I'm not lonely, though.  Oddly enough, it's not people-contact I'm missing.  If so, I'd get up and go to Mensa, Intertel, or Meetup stuff.  I'm pretty much content alone.  Always have been a bit of a loner.

What I miss is discussing ideas.

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Bonus - Nugget 17-month update:

Sudden nap attack.

An installation at Grounds for Sculpture.


Grounds for Sculpture. Everything here except the littlest beer drinker is a statue.

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Saturday, August 18, 2012

3599 Killing frenzy starting, in 3, 2, 1...

Saturday, August 18, 2012

You can tell you've made God into your own image
when He hates the same people you do.

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I'm going slightly crazy.  Somebody somewhere on the street behind is playing music (I think that's what it's supposed to be) and my kitchen has been filled with boompah boompah boom boom thump boompah boom  pause boompah thump thump, repeat, for over three hours now.  I can hear nothing but bass.  It's maddening.  I'm ready to kill someone.

Turning on my own noise doesn't help.  The boompah thump boom reverberates in my chest no matter what else I'm hearing, like when the bass drum passes you on the street during a parade.
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Thursday, August 09, 2012

3591 A sad truth.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

"[I]f I want to have a thought of mine preserved for eternity, I put it on my blog;
if I don’t care if I ever see it again, I put it on Twitter."
-- John Scalzi -- 

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I have never watched "Real Housewives of New Jersey".  I don't want to, either.  This morning, three of the women from the show were on "The View".

My new solidly lower middle class NJ neighborhood is full of housewives.  I desperately want to say that, like Snooki and the rest of the group on "Jersey Shore", there's nobody like that in my neighborhood.  Nobody who looks like, talks like, dresses like, acts like that. 

I am distressed to admit that, yeah, there are several of them.

Sigh.
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Thursday, March 22, 2012

3493 Early bird

Thursday, March 22, 2012

If you want to be seen, stand up.
If you want to be heard, speak up.
If you want to be appreciated, shut up.

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Prior to moving here, for the past nine years or so I had gone to bed after the evening news, somewhere between 11:30 pm and midnight, read or worked some puzzles or watched TV in bed, and fell asleep an hour or two later. I'd wake after 9 am, sometimes 10 if it had been a good book.

Here, I'm dragging by 9 pm, asleep by 11, and wide awake usually around 6:30 am. I don't use an alarm clock, but it's pretty much the same time every day. It's still dark out.

I didn't understand why. I am not a morning person, so it makes no sense.

Today I woke at 5:30 am to get some aspirin because I had a headache, and now I think I know why the early waking.

At the old house my neighbors were at some distance. Here they're right on top of me.

The guy across the street has a remote car starter. He starts the car at 5:40, and then it sits there running for 15 minutes, with the tail lights flashing red on my bedroom windows. And either it's just a deep-throated car, or he's got a muffler problem. He leaves a hair before 6.

Then at 6:15, the short school bus arrives to pick up my neighbor, who rides that bus to care for the kids who need assistance. The bus turns around in the driveway across the street, and it BEEP BEEP BEEPs when it backs up.

The birds are in full throat by then. There are a lot more birds here than at the old house. The old house was on a ridge above farmland to the west, where they grow corn, wheat, and several kinds of berries, and it's all woods around the house to the south, east, and north. The majority of the birds are in the woods or in the fields, away from the house.

Here, Daughter has two huge white pines in her front yard, with about 12 bird houses (some are bird apartments), there's a small lake behind my house, and at the end of the block there's the bay. Screaming seagulls, honking geese, chirping songbirds. Those damn things are LOUD!

So the idling car pulls me out of deep sleep, the beeping bus pulls me to awareness, and the birds don't let me fall back. By 6:30 I'm fully awake.

I figure the being so tired by 9 or 10 pm is due to early awakening, pollution, and boredom.

I liked my old schedule better.
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Sunday, May 29, 2011

3270 My watermelon exploded!

Sunday, May 29, 2011

“[Marriage is] about being together some of the time and apart some of the time.
About entering and leaving together.
About being free to follow your own tastes
yet always conscious that there is a seat saved for you beside the other.”
-- Terry Bisson, The Edge of the Universe -

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...well, I think it would have exploded if it had gotten warm.

I love watermelon. A few days ago I bought a very small round one, and put it on the kitchen counter. It was uncut, the refrigerator is too small, and you see them sitting in bins in the grocery store for a few days, right? So it never occurred to me to put it in the refrigerator.

It was ok this morning. This evening I glanced over and noticed that it looked ... deflated. It was flat on the bottom, sinking into the counter exactly like a leaking soccer ball.

I touched it, and it was empty-squishy-feeling. I scooped it up and ran for the sink, just in time for it to literally fall apart in my hands.

What you see in the photo is what happened when it landed in the sink. I didn't scrape it out or anything. There was a little "meat" in it, but not enough to so much as block the drain. It was mostly water.

I'd read a story about Chinese farmers who were losing their watermelon crops - that the melons were exploding in the fields because they'd had a very wet spring and the melons contained a higher ratio of water to fiber, and when they got warm they blew apart.

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Friday morning very early I drove 1.5 hours to Harriman, NY, to get Hal inspected. He's one year old this month. I'm not ready to change the registrations yet because Suzy is still in NY and that just makes things too complicated.

He passed inspection, but I got a severe shock. Both driver's side tires have bubbles in their sidewalls. Probably from potholes. PLUS both driver's side wheels are bent. They'll need to be replaced.

Hal's tires are $417 EACH! I have no idea how much the wheels cost. Note - the guy didn't say "rims", he said "wheels".

The tires are not dangerous, but they'll eventually go flat, and they can't be repaired. They're so expensive because they're "drive flat" tires. Once the sensor says it's flat, I can drive something like 50 miles - at a lower speed - then it needs to be fixed or replaced. Well, that's the dealer's definition of "drive flat", anyway. Given that this makes three bubbled tires in four months, I think it means "drive them and they go flat". And honest, since the big pothole that blew the first one, I've been very careful NOT to hit potholes, even to avoiding the north section of route 35, and the back entrance to the post office.

Sigh. I was just beginning to get control of the finances, too.

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The worst part of that diagnosis was that Fred was sitting outside with a flat tire, passenger side rear (another valve stem shot, that's the fifth of Hal's five tires in the past five months), and a holiday weekend is coming, and Daughter and Hercules are away until Monday, and now I hear Hal could go flat any minute, which would leave me stranded.

Neighbor George helped me put the spare on Fred this afternoon. (Well, he actually did it all.) The big problem with Fred is that his floor and rear axle are dropped 10 inches for wheelchair access, so an ordinary jack won't fit under him, and NO jack will fit under when a tire is completely flat. George had a compressor and pumped up the flat enough to get a special jack in there, and got it done.

George is 72 or 73, not in the best of health, and it was 88 degrees and sunny. He was bright red and sweating up a storm, lying on hot blacktop poking around under Fred, but he wouldn't be deterred. I was very worried.

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Yesterday and today I did some yard work (in bits and pieces. I stopped every time I saw a trace of blood in the urine. Since I piddle about every 20 minutes (I've GOT to get this stent out!) it was easy to keep track of.)

Today my (new, replacement) gardenia bloomed. I took this picture before the blossom was completely open. There are two other swelling buds, but, if it goes like every other gardenia I've ever tried to keep, that simply means it will die next week.

Sigh.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

3256 Training a dog at the end of the world

Thursday, May 19, 2011

"There are no whole truths; all truths are half-truths.
It is trying to treat them as whole truths that plays the devil."
-- Alfred North Whitehead --

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I overheard two (both male) neighbors talking on the street this morning. One joked that there was no point in mowing the lawn because "the world is going to end on Saturday".

It turned out neither of them had any idea what it meant, what the actual prediction is. They wondered if it was a meteor headed for earth, or earthquakes and tsunamis, or the sun was going to explode, and so on. One of them did comment that no, it's not this Saturday, it's December 21. The other said he'd heard October something.

Sigh.

They did express a concern that I share - that some fools will figure that since "the world is ending", it doesn't matter what they do, so they'll shoot up their workplace, or rob banks, or whatever.

They didn't mention my major concern - that since it's a "Christian" concept, a few nuclear bombs in Christian areas would be appropriate.

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One of those neighbors was walking his dog, a happy young pit bull (yeah, it's that kind of neighborhood), and he was trying to "train" the dog.

I felt so sorry for the dog.

One of the basics of dog training is that you use the dog's name before every command, to get his attention and alert him that a command is coming, use a short distinct word for commands, like "sit", "stay", "come" (or "here"), "heel", and show the dog what you want, rewarding him when he does it.

This guy had the dog on a long spooled leash, letting him run out, and then was yelling "Come here!", "Get over here", "Stop", "Calm down!", without showing the dog what he wanted. Naturally, the dog looked at him, wagged his tail, and kept going, and the guy got mad.

I guess he doesn't understand that dogs don't parse sentences.
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Thursday, January 06, 2011

3221 Blue collar love

Thursday, January 6, 2011

American journalism thrives on exploring conflicts, often to the exclusion of ideas.

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When I first began working for The Company, in 1968, I lived in a 4-room log cabin in the woods, in a little depressed area called Ruby. The kind of neighborhood where there are trailers tucked into the woods, and old cars sinking into yards, and you can't see any neighbors when there are leaves on the trees. No lawns. Just mud and weed yards.

My friends thought it was a rather dangerous place for a small woman to live alone.

It turned out to be the ideal place. Half of my neighbors were nurses, state police, or city of Kingston cops, and the other half worked for the highway department. It was very safe, and when snow fell, my street was the first plowed, the most thoroughly plowed, and the most frequently plowed.

I'm finding that kind of advantage here, in my new home. The houses are small, on small lots. Very few have garages. It's definitely a lower middle class blue collar neighborhood.

But...

The fire chief lives across the street. That's got to be handy. A few highway department folks live nearby. In the last storm, this street was one of the first plowed, and after the drifting stopped, a town frontloader came through and removed not only all the snow right up to the curbs, dumping it on some town-owned land down the street, he also cleaned out the plow piles across the end of the driveways. I didn't think anything of it until I ventured out onto the "better" streets, and found snow still halfway into the street lanes and people snowed into their driveways.

Morale of the story - don't judge the liveability of a neighborhood by appearances. It's good to live near the people who work to make life liveable.

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By the way, although I have worked in white collar jobs and lived in some pretty snooty places, and many of my friends are upper crust ivy league, I freely admit I come from blue collar roots, and many of my attitudes and values are frankly blue collar. And I like it. It's a virtue.
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Sunday, December 26, 2010

3211 Snow, Paint, Drafts, etc.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

"America is the only country that went from barbarism to decadence
without civilization in between."
-- Oscar Wilde --

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It's snowing. The prediction is 10 to 16 inches, with 30-50 mph wind gusts. I went early this morning to Home Depot to buy show snovels (that's not a typo - that's how I say it. I've never been able to say "show snovel". Oops. See? I can say each word separately, but not together.) I bought a lightweight metal one for lifting and throwing snow, and a heavier plastic one for pushing and plowing snow. I also bought 40 pounds of "pet friendly" ice killer. The driveway slopes precipitously and I can just see Hal sliding out of the garage, down the drive, and right into the cars parked across the street. Oops.

I'm starting to love the local Home Depot. There are plenty of orange-vested folks in the aisles, and they are always more than willing to help. I've never spent more than a few seconds being confused or lost. This morning they were bringing out flat after flat of shovels and salt, and handing them out right off the flats, and directing heavy customer traffic efficiently into and out of the seasonal aisle. A guy even went out with me to help get the bags of ice killer and shovels into my car, and was a bit startled that two show snovels barely fit into Hal's back seat. Hal isn't very wide. We had to wiggle the shovels around and angle them upward.

Daughter and Hercules went to Pennsylvania on Friday and won't be home until tomorrow or Tuesday, so I'm in charge of their cats, and, I guess, making sure they can get into the driveway when they get home. The neighbors have told me that I don't have to worry about anything - everybody digs everybody else out.

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I painted most of the downstairs hall and one wall in the kitchen Friday and yesterday. I love the paint. It's Behr Premium Plus "Silky Bamboo" UL180-15. On the card it looks like a pale heavy cream, but on the walls it changes dramatically depending on the light. In the morning, in the kitchen, where the daylight hits it's a cream with a yellow tone, and on the same wall at the other end, where the light isn't direct, it morphs into a rosy peach sand. In the evening, that wall gets a faint greenish tone. The hall walls range from sunny yellow to rosy peach sand. It also changes depending on whether you're looking directly at it, or at an angle. I love it!

The plan was to first paint walls where heavy furniture would be going, so in theory the kitchen and halls would be last. But I have a huge desk with credenza arriving in the next week or two, and it will go along that long wall in the kitchen.

The desk in the old house is an enormous wooden manager's desk from The Company, purchased by Jay at an employee surplus sale perhaps twenty-five years ago. It's very nice, but it's huge, and provides relatively little storage for the amount of floor space it takes up. Not to mention the weight. So it won't be moving down here. I found the new desk online, and I just so happen to have several bookcases that (I hope) will match it perfectly.

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While standing on the ladder taping the hall yesterday, I noticed the smoke detector just above my head. The center button said "Hold to test / Press to quiet" or something like that. Considering the way everything else in the house was installed, I figured it might be a good idea to test it.

Man! It works! In spades! Every detector in the house went off (and there are many), some screeched, some whooped, some wailed, and a woman's voice upstairs yelled "Fire! Fire!" I couldn't get them to shut up. I kept pressing the button, and they just kept going. They finally quit. If I ever decide to get a burglar alarm, to heck with hooking it up to "central". I'll just have them wire it into the smoke alarm.

(Daughter said not to bother with a burglar alarm system. Back in her electrician days, she worked for an alarm system company. She says they are very easy to circumvent, they won't even slow down anyone who knows what they're doing, and even if they go off, the security people are too late to save anything anyway.)

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I have cut down the drafts and heat loss in the house considerably with a cheap, simple, safe, quick fix. I put strips of painting tape over all the unused electrical sockets on outside walls. Pow. It's ugly as sin, but it works.

I also found out why The Man thought the house was warm. On the floor, the thermometer registers 66 degrees. At counter height, it says 73. At the top of my tall stepladder, it says 75. The Man is more than a foot taller than I. No damn wonder he was warm while I was cold.

The old house had cathedral ceilings in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. The house was fairly tight, but I long ago discovered I needed a fan on the floor aimed up in the winter to circulate the heat down from the ceiling. Next trip to a department store, I'll try to find a small fan for here.

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Well, the snow is starting to build up. I plan to shovel every three inches or so, try to keep ahead of it, so excuse me while I go eat some ice cream to keep my strength up.
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Friday, November 26, 2010

3173 Annoyance, also so easy.

Friday, November 26, 2010

“Life in itself is neither good nor evil, it is the place of good and evil,
according to what you make it.”
-- Michel de Montaigne --

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Just as it takes little to make me feel satisfied, it seems it takes little to annoy me.

The lady in the next house to the north is very nice. I'd say she's maybe 10 years younger than I. I haven't met the husband yet, but that's ok. Anyway, they have parties, and they decorate extravagantly for every holiday.

Since closing on the house in mid-October, I have been startled several times by the black-robed ghouls hanging in the trees, moving in the breeze, next to my driveway. This week, the ghouls were been replaced by this:

The view from my front porch -

The view from Daughter's porch across the street (that's Daughter's fence in the foreground) -

Several of those things move. And twinkle.

Ouch!
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