1076 Presidential IQs

Thursday, January 18, 2007

This was sent to me. I thought it interesting at first glance, but the more I think about it, the more my nose wrinkles. The web site for the Lovenstein Institute is http://lovenstein.org/. They seem far from neutral, so I find their conclusions suspect.

The numbers, even if assumed to be accurate in some way, are meaningless except as compared to each other (because above about 135, the standard deviations for standard IQ tests diverge so wildly that a 145 on the California Test of Mental Maturity, for example, is actually a higher score than a 160 on the Stanford-Benet (unless they've recalibrated recently)), and they don't say what scale they're comparing to here. I've also heard that the average IQ for high school seniors is closer to 115 than to 100, so low 90s for an ivy league MBA doesn't feel right.

Of course, that's the perennial argument: how do you define higher than average intelligence? Do you look at pattern recognition and problem solving? Vocabulary and ability to communicate? Social awareness? Numerical or musical or physical talent? Scholastic drive and success? Everyone who wants to assign numbers and rankings picks their favorite characteristic and ignores the rest.

Does Jimmy Carter's high number make the conclusions in his latest book more valid?

Well, here it is. Enjoy.

The Presidential IQ Report

WASHINGTON --In a published report, the Lovenstein Institute of Scranton, Pennsylvania has detailed findings of a four month study of the intelligence quotient of President George W. Bush. Since 1973, the Lovenstein Institute has published its research to the education community on each new president, which includes the famous "IQ" report among others.

According to statements in the report, there have been twelve presidents over the past 60 years, from F. D. Roosevelt to G. W. Bush who were all rated based on scholarly achievements, writings that they alone produced without aid of staff, their ability to speak with clarity, and several other psychological factors which were then scored in the Swanson/Crain system of intelligence ranking. The study determined the following IQs of each president as accurate to within five percentage points:

147	Franklin D. Roosevelt (D)
132	Harry Truman (D)
122	Dwight D. Eisenhower (R)
174	John F. Kennedy (D)
126	Lyndon B. Johnson (D)
155	Richard M. Nixon (R)
121	Gerald R. Ford (R)
176	James E. Carter (D)
105	Ronald W. Reagan (R)
98	George H. W. Bush (R)
182	William J. Clinton (D)
91	George W. Bush (R)

The six Republican presidents of the past 60 years had an average IQ of 115.5, with President Nixon having the highest IQ, at 155. President G. W. Bush was rated the lowest of all the Republicans with an IQ of 91.

The six Democrat presidents had IQs with an average of 156, with President Clinton having the highest IQ, at 182. President Lyndon B. Johnson was rated the lowest of all the Democrats with an IQ of 126.

No president other than Carter (D) has released his actual IQ, 176. Among comments made concerning the specific testing of President GW Bush, his low ratings were due to his apparent difficulty to command the English language in public statements, his limited use of vocabulary (6,500 words for Bush versus an average of 11,000 words for other presidents), his lack of scholarly achievements other than a basic MBA, and an absence of any body of work which could be studied on an intellectual basis.

The complete report documents the methods and procedures used to arrive at these ratings, including depth of sentence structure and voice stress confidence analysis. "All the Presidents prior to George W. Bush had a least one book under their belt, and most had written several white papers during their education or early careers.

Not so with President Bush," Dr. Lovenstein said. "He has no published works or writings, so in many ways that made it more difficult to arrive at an assessment. We had to rely more heavily on transcripts of his unscripted public speaking."

The Lovenstein Institute of Scranton Pennsylvania think tank includes high caliber historians, psychiatrists, sociologists, scientists in human behavior, and psychologists. Among their ranks are Dr. Werner R. Lovenstein, world-renowned sociologist, and Professor Patricia F. Dilliams, a world-respected psychiatrist. This study was commissioned on February 13, 2001, and released on July 9, 2001, to subscribing member universities and organizations within the education community.

CLICK HERE TO SEND THIS TO A FRIEND

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The Lovenstein Institute of Scranton Pennsylvania is a think tank employing high caliber historians, psychiatrists, sociologists, scientists in human behavior, and psychologists. Among their ranks are Dr. Werner R. Lovenstein, world-renowned sociologist, and Professor Patricia F. Dilliams, a world-respected psychiatrist.

Since 1973, the Lovenstein Institute has published its research to the education community on various topics including the famous Presidential IQ Report among others. Reports are distributed to subscribing member universities and organizations within the education community.

FAIR USE NOTICE: Copyrighted material used on Lovenstein.org may not have been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. Such material is made available on a non-profit basis for educational and discussion purposes only. We believe this constitutes a 'fair use' of any such copyrighted material as provided for in 17 USC § 107. For more information go to: http://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/17/107.shtml. If you wish to use copyrighted material from this site for purposes of your own that go beyond 'fair use', you must obtain permission from the copyright owner.

1075 Catalog

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

The new Spiegel catalog has arrived, and I am pleased that they seem to have turned a corner.

Once upon a very long time ago I used to buy my office wear from Spiegel. They used to have some really nice stuff. I bought my favorite suit of all time from them, a pale turquoise linen-look, and another suit in rose and navy that for some reason got me first class treatment on business trips. The items were beautifully and carefully packed, and they even (back in those days) included a prepaid label for returns.

But somewhere between ten and fifteen years ago, they changed. Everything in the catalog looked like it was aimed toward streetwalkers and amateur sluts, or for cowgirls. (I'm not saying cowgirls are anywhere near streetwalking sluts - that just seemed to be the two separate groups they were courting, in two separate sections of the catalog.)

There was no way I was going to wear transparent tops, tight lycra dresses, belly button level plunge necklines, underwear as outerwear, broad-shouldered blouses covered with appliqued lace, or suits with peplum jackets to the office. Too much skin. Too much flash. Too much fluff. Yuck.

I don't think I've bought anything from them in a least a decade, but they have continued to send me a huge catalog several times a year anyway.

I guess they've finally fired that buyer. This issue is chock full of reasonable choices. We've got boob and belly coverage! The lycra is drapey! We've got a lot less lace and sequins. It almost looks like they've decided to go for the more mature, sophisticated, customer.

The only complaint I have is that the models are obviously out of proportion. The head length and total height should be a 1 to 7 ratio, and most of these models are 1 to 10. Their heads look tiny, and their legs look impossible. Most of the photos look like they were shot with the photographer lying on the floor, and even then the photos look like they were stretched.

I, at 4'10", can't imagine myself in those clothes. Not from those photos.

So I didn't buy anything (I don't need anything, either, but that never stopped me...), except that I had just the other day decided I need a full-length bodysuit for under a semi-sheer caftan, and some black tights for under a tunic, and lo, they had them in my size, so I ordered them.

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I got a phone call from a friend, the one with the ill parents, and we talked for over an hour. At the same time, there was a program on TV, one segment of which was going to be on hoarders. I taped it, and I just watched the beginning of that segment.

I have a lot of "stuff", which has built up into clutter. But I'm not a truehoarder, not like Jay was. The program mentioned that to a hoarder, throwing out anything is like tearing out a piece of their life. One woman mentioned that she's terrified that she might throw out something important. The program also said that hoarders tend to think of their hoards in three dimensions, that they know exactly where everything is. They don't catagorise things for sorting or storage, because to them, every item is unique.

(Heh heh. I guess that proves I'm not a hoarder. I still haven't found my winter shoes.)

Jay was like that. He knew exactly where everything was, even though there was nothing remotely resembling sorting, which blew my mind. It was true that he was terrified of throwing out something important. When I first moved in, I tried to clear out the stacks of paper in the den, and he actually got panicky, hyperventilating and all. We ended up buying a pair of 42 inch wide 2-drawer file cabinets to corral the mess.

He had subscriptions to about eight magazines, and never threw an issue out. Ever. There are still boxes of Smithsonians and Scientific Americans and others in the attic. I had attempted to clean out the basement, where there were boxes wall-to-wall and stacked to the ceiling down there, many of which had moved with him from Texas in the early 80s, and had not been opened since the move. We managed to get through one box when I realized this wasn't going to happen. The box we opened together had some badly-framed, faded and stained prints of Paris that his parents had bought on one of their trips, and had hung in his boyhood bedroom. Parents (deceased mother). Paris (dear to him). Boyhood bedroom. Hoo boy. Throwing out those prints was, to him, throwing all that out.

Every item had a memory attached, and it was as if throwing out the item was to excise, or at least devalue, the memory.

After he died, I tackled the basement. I found all his old college textbooks, all his high school and college class notes, several huge boxes full of unopened junk mail, boxes full of old ratty towels, bath mats, ugly knickknacks, all the detritus of thirty years of never throwing anything out. I filled two construction dumpsters, and that's only about half the stuff yet to go.

The TV program (pardon me if I don't look up what it was, I don't have a TV guide, and it's gone now so who cares) put some hoarders through an MRI while they showed a hoarded object and asked whether it should be kept or pitched, and they found that "a war went on" in their brains. A large number of connections involved in the decision.

I have to rewatch that first bit, and then the rest.

But right now there's a piece about the lost boys of the Sudan on Nightline, so pardon me while I go watch that. They're in my will (if Daughter predeceases me), along with several other charities. I suppose I ought to check whether it's still an operating charity. The boys have a fascinating story. Anyway, gotta watch that now.
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1074 Beasty Armor

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Samurai mouse armor:


Samurai cat armor:


The above are from Calgary artist Jeff de Boer. You can see more of his suits of armor for cats and mice at http://www.jeffdeboer.com/Galleries/CatsMice/tabid/63/
Default.aspx.

The rod attached to the top of some of the armor is (obviously) for jousting.
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1073 Ice

Monday, January 15, 2007

I didn't go to NJ this morning. Everything was covered with ice. The driveway was only wet, not icy, which would imply that the roads were ok, but the pine trees outside my kitchen window were bent double from the weight of ice, and the radio seemed to think that the greater danger was loss of power. I decided to stay home so I could throw logs in the fireplace if we lost electricity.

Talked with Daughter a few times on the phone. She had picked up some massage jobs anyway, so it wasn't a complete bust. But Hercules had made some more of his delicious peanut butter cookies for me, and I had just finished the last of the previous batch last night, so I was really looking forward to getting more cookies. I'll have to tough it out 'til next weekend.

Roman called in the morning from LI, his father is in the hospital again, said he'd call in the evening. He called from the road on his drive home (which is always awkward, because the signal drops several times - he usually doesn't call back after the third drop, and it leaves the conversation unfinished), and he said the roads were slippery, he saw (a) car(s) that had spun out, so it's just as well I didn't go anywhere.
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1072 Superman

Sunday, January 14, 2007

It's my understanding that it's our yellow sun that causes Superman to have super strength and super powers.

It's my understanding that you build muscles by working them hard.

Now, if Superman has super strength, to him nothing is heavy, how did he manage to build big muscles?

Just something else I don't understand.
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1071 Chi1dren's Fund

Sunday, January 14, 2007

I was about to go to bed, and glanced up at the TV, and there was a commercial on for Chris1ian Chi1drens' Fund, and I had to, again, fight down the urge. They have a very good reputation. They have one of the smallest overheads. And come on, it's children!

But I had a very bad experience with them way back when.

When Daughter was small, we decided to "join up". We requested a girl, in Africa if possible, about Daughter's age if possible. They said that could be arranged, and they hooked us up with a girl of about the right age, in ... Baton Rouge, La. She was African only by heritage. Oh, well.

So we sent our set amount every month for about three years, and everything was fine.

Then we left Ex#2 and moved from Maryland to New York State, in the middle of the summer (early '80s). I had just enough money for a down payment on a small house, but no extra cash. The well pump died within a month of our moving in. The furnace went shortly after. I was starting over, way down on the pay scale. I had to pay for child care. I was really worried about money. It was paycheck to paycheck, and we were scrimping. But we still sent the same amount to C-C-F every month.

Daughter was starting second grade in a new school, and was dismayed that she didn't have the cool fad stuff the other kids had, to fit in, establish her bona fides, but there was no way I could afford stuff like those $150 XXX shoes she "needed", especially not when she'd outgrow them in six months.

Then came Christmas. Daughter got what few gifts I could afford.

And then the Christmas photos arrived from the child in Baton Rouge. The kid was sitting in the middle of a huge pile of toys, including the very doll Daughter wanted, but I couldn't afford, and wearing those exact same $150 XXX shoes that my daughter craved. The furniture in her home was better than ours.

I continued to send the check for the next few months, but it was bugging me. This kid was doing better than my own daughter. She had a stay-at-home mother, while my daughter was spending her time in daycare and I was racking up bills. She was taking all kinds of music and dance lessons. She went to summer camp. She and Daughter corresponded, and Daughter couldn't help but be jealous of all the "stuff" this kid had, the designer name dropping. Photos confirmed that it wasn't mere name dropping.

Then my washing machine died, and I decided that maybe I should back up and take care of my own home and my own child first.

I wrote to C-C-F and explained that I was newly divorced, and having a hard time, and I would be unable to continue, that this was the last check I could send. That perhaps in the future, when I was back on my feet, I would try again.

Uh uh. There was no way they were letting me go! They badgered me by phone and mail constantly for the next few weeks, and then a couple times a month for the next YEAR! They tried guilt, anger, guilt again, innocence ... they didn't let up even when I asked if I could maybe get my daughter on their beneficiary list, since I suspected that a lot of their kids were better off than we were! They didn't quit until I mentioned harassment, and even then it took a while to taper off.

So that's why I fight off the commercials. I don't want to get into that guilt trap again. I give a lot, to a lot of charities, but as soon as they start acting like they're entitled to a donation, they don't get another for a while.

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Habitat is starting to annoy me. I got a call yesterday, asking for $200. "Well, you sent $200 last time, so perhaps you could send the same for this drive?"

Hey, folks, "last time" was just two months ago. BACK OFF! You won't get another dime from me until I haven't heard from you for six months.

Jay's father contributes a lot. He's probably on everybody's list. That bad part is that the more you send, the more often they ask, and when the donor is getting up in age, sometimes they forget that they already donated. Jay's sister, when she took over management of the old man's mail and money, was horrified to find that certain charities were sending request letters at the rate of one a week, and Dad was sending checks almost as often. He'd forget that he had already sent them a check. They sure didn't forget.

By the way, watch out for those cancer associations that pretend to be the American Cancer Society. If you read the small print, all the donation is used for is "informational materials". In other words, they print up little one-page "go get a mammogram" or whatever fliers that they put on the public info tables in a few libraries, and they keep the rest of the money.
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1070 Snarl

Sunday, January 14, 2007 (1 am)

I'm supposed to go to central New Jersey for the day on Monday. Daughter has the day off, but Hercules has to work, so Daughter and I are going to do "girl stuff". But the weather reports out of Albany are full of storm. Sounds like maybe ice. Maybe snow. Maybe both.

I don't mind driving in ick. I just go slow and listen to CDs or the radio, and just keep slogging along. But the problem is my road. I'll be driving the minivan with the dropped floor (only 4" clearance), so if there's more than four inches of anything on the road, I can't move. The front edge of the dropped floor turns into a snowplow and pushes snow up into the motor compartment. If that's not bad enough, so much steam comes out from under the hood when that happens, I can't see anyway.

There's no place within a half mile of the house that I can park the van and leave it if I can't get up my road when I get home.

I'll watch the reports, listen to the weather radio, but I don't know how I can be sure, ever, what's going to happen until it actually happens.

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Whatever the program is that handles "flash" stuff updated itself the other day, and ever since then if I go to any page that has flash stuff on it, it takes the browsers down. I couldn't even visit my own blog because of the Flickr badge (that box with the changing photos that used to be on the left). I had to comment it out in the template. I can't visit the blogs of anyone else with a Flickr badge, either.

I suspect what happened is that the flash thingy update didn't check the level of the operating system. I'm running Windows 98 SE. They're likely trying to do something 98 SE doesn't support.

I've been planning to buy a new laptop. I guess it's getting urgent.
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1069 Friday Night on the Town, Sort of...

Saturday, January 13, 2007

[Later edit - screwed up the date again....]

Friday evening (last night) FirstWoman and I went to a Carl's List party in uptown Kingston. It was held in what used to be a furrier's shop, then a law office, and now an art gallery "and whatever" space on Wall Street. There was a front room, where the tables of food and drinks were, then a second round room, where two different groups played and sang, then a hall lined with restroom, kitchen, and smaller gallery rooms, leading back to a huge concrete and steel furrier vault room (very cold in there), safe door standing open.

It was an interesting space, but not really ideal for the group. Unlike last month, there were few chairs, and no tables other than those used for the food and drinks, and there wouldn't have been enough room to set tables up anyway. The round room had a double row of chairs (perhaps 20?) around the wall opposite where the band was set up, leaving the center of the room open, but people hesitated to stand in the open space in front of the seated people, so almost everyone was jammed into the front room, where it was so noisy no one could hear the music, and so crowded that a plate or drink got dumped on the floor every ten minutes or so.

It was more difficult to meet people than at last month's affair. Nobody was exactly relaxed.

We stayed two hours, and then headed to another something-or-other. (I don't know what to call these things.) The next thing was a Chronogram-hosted thingy in mid-town, in the old Shirt Factory (hi, Gypsy!) Parking was tight. We ended up parking in a 20-minute-only spot right across from the post office doors. (I'm such a rule-follower, I fussed about it for a bit.)

We had passes, so it cost us only $10 to get in. When we arrived, there was recorded music in a darkened room, with multicolored multishaped spotlights waving all around, and large projected pictures on the wall (seemed to be mostly pages from the Chronogram, a sort of free community newspaper). They had some kind of dust in the air to make the waving lights more interesting, I guess, and the dust really got to my nose.

FW was very unhappy, whether she didn't like the music, or the look of the crowd, or the fact that it wasn't open bar ($4 for wine/beer, $2 for soda/water), or what, I don't know. We were there about 20 minutes when she decided she wanted to leave, even though there was a band that was supposed to be very good slated to start within the half hour. She tried to get our money back, but the management said no. So we left.

There was supposed to be a good band in Saugerstock that FW wanted to hear. I had earlier told her that I probably wouldn't be up for Saugerstock, but since it was now only 9:45, I said ok. She was going to follow me, since she's unfamiliar with central Kingston. We got just around the corner, when she hit the horn and flashed her headlights, and stopped in the middle of her lane. I pulled over to the curb and ran back.

She had a flat rear driver-side tire.

She called 911. (Rule-follower me again: "Uh, this isn't exactly an emergency." "Well, what else are we going to do?" "Um, we could change the tire, do you have a spare?" "Yes, but @#$%^&*!!!" "Oh, ok.")

The town police actually came within minutes. Also, we happened to be stopped in front of a county cop's home, and he heard the call on his scanner, so he came out, too. They were very nice (all the police around here are always nice), they didn't even yell at FW for calling 911 or for sitting in the middle of the lane with her lights off (I was at the curb with flashers on).

They changed the tire. FW's jack was a little screw-type, so the county cop got a big pump jack out of his garage, and then when it turned out FW's donut was also flat, he provided an electric pump. We kinda had a little party there of our own. The town cops asked where we were from and where we had been, so we told them about the big party around the corner. They didn't know about it, which surprised me a bit. We jokingly told them that since they had done us a favor, we'll do them one, "if you're in the mood for writing parking tickets, try around the corner."

So Saugerstock was off. The cops advised FW against attempting the drive home to Newburgh on the thruway on the donut, so I led her to route 9W, and she limped home. I was home before 11.

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Some people object to my calling police officers "cops". I have enormous respect for good police officers, so there is no disrespect in my use of the term. I don't think it's disrespectful at all. I think maybe people who think it's disrespectful don't know where the nickname came from, and perhaps they get it confused with "pig" - same number of letters and all that. Most police officers I've met don't seem to object to "cop" - after all, that real-life TV show is called "Cops". So there.

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Some idiot woman brought a dog to the Carl's List party. I don't know what was going on in her head. It was a Jack Russell-Chihuahua mix, a little bitty very nervous beasty. It wouldn't have been so bad if the woman had held the doggie in her arms, or if she had positioned herself in an out of the way spot, but no, he was on the floor, in the middle of the room, on a leash. The room was very crowded, people stepping back to let others through and all that. The little dog almost got trampled several times, and looked very frightened. I was just waiting for someone to trip over him and fall on him, or get nipped. The woman acted completely oblivious. She was way past old enough to know better.

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At the Chronogram party, there were several men about our age at the table next to ours. They looked like businessmen who'd gotten lost, really uncomfortable and out of place. They brightened when they saw FW and me, one pulled out my chair for me, and so on. But for some reason, FW was already turned off by the place, and wasn't at all welcoming, thunder faced, so that went nowhere.

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And that was my big night out.
Sigh.
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1068 My Bed, etc.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

I need to buy more sheets, and I cringe because they're so expensive.

I have a queen-sized bed, and in the winter I use two complete sets of sheets, because of the feather bed and the cat.

First there's a fitted sheet on the mattress (hotel-quality, firm). Then there's another fitted sheet on the feather bed. (Imagine an eight-inch-thick pillow the width and length of the mattress. You sink into it, and it cuddles you. That's a feather bed.) I used to put one sheet over both the feather bed and the mattress, but it squished the feather bed, didn't allow it to curl up around me. With a separate sheet on it, it's easy to fluff it in the morning.

Next is a flat sheet, tucked in at the foot. On top of that is an enormous king-sized white eider down comforter, so thick that Miss Thunderfoot can disappear into its depressions, and then on top of the comforter is another flat sheet. The top sheet is necessary to protect the comforter from Miss Thunderfoot - she still has her claws, which catch on things, and she sheds terribly. I can put a nice cover on the bed only temporarily for "company show". If there's anything other than a sheet on top for everyday, she'd destroy it.

When Jay was sick, I bought lots of good pillows. He needed them all around him to prop him up, and to change the position of his arms and legs. So now I have several on the bed. I need a very thick dense one for under my belly when I lie on my stomach to do crossword puzzles, so my back doesn't get bent the wrong way. I need a medium dense one for my head. I need a malleable one for when my neck is bothering me.

My winter bed is utterly shapeless. It looks like a mound of marshmallow fluff. I can't walk past it without throwing myself on it. I love it. It's so soft and warm and cuddly. So warm, the programmed thermostat will allow the house to drop 15 degrees at night, and I won't even notice.

Why do I need new sheets? I don't know. I'm down to two green sets. That's ok for the summer when the feathers are stored away, but not for the winter. Seems like there ought to be more, there should be a tan set, and a flowered set, but I don't know where they went. I seem to remember the flowered set was left over from Jay's ex, and they pilled, so I threw them away, I think. I'm confused.

What I really want to do is buy two queen and two king plain white flats, and make "envelopes" for the feather bed and the comforter (like duvets). That's a minimum of four sheets for one set of covers. Ack!

I need a good white sale.

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Classmates.com seems to think I have an account. I don't think I do. A few years ago I visited, hoping that maybe someone from my old high school might be listed, but my old high school wasn't there, let alone any classmates. So I tried to put my high school on their list with me as the first alumnus, but they wouldn't allow me to list it. Apparently, they allow only "known" schools, with real street addresses. My school ceased to exist in 1963, and it never did have an address. It was just Turnpike Area School, Mildred, Pa. Period. No street address needed, when there are only three streets and maybe twenty houses in the whole town.

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A good friend called this afternoon to ask if I had a wheelchair he could borrow for his parents. I've still got all kinds of sickroom equipment, but the bed, Hoyer lift, oxygen generator, reciprocating air mattress, and wheelchair were rented. I wish I could accommodate him. I'm willing to lend him the van if he needs it to transport a chair-bound parent, but I know he wouldn't accept it.

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Jay used to insist that the proper abbreviation of "cellular" is "cel", not "cell", as in "cel phone", not "cell phone". Since he was the techie, I accepted that without question. So now I'm torn. I go back and forth between "cel" and "cell". "Cell phone" seems to be the popular usage, but just because it's popular, does that make it right?

That's the very argument he and I used to have over Webster V Oxford. The Webster dictionary documents common usage, even if it's wrong (with the end result that words lose their meaning, and you can't use them any more if you want to be understood). The Oxford retains purity.

So would Jay bow to "cell phone" because it's popular? Should I stick with "cel phone" because it's correct? Is it?
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1067 Spelling

Wednesday, January 10, 2006

My ISP seems to have straightened itself out, and the browsers haven't gone down in a while, so whatever was wrong seems to have fixed itself.

I really missed the spell checker when it wasn't working there for a while. I have a small (British) dictionary here in the den, and a huge dictionary permanently open on a stand in the dining room. I really do check one or the other several times a day. I also have French, Spanish, Latin, Legal, Chemical, and Medical dictionaries, plus several other "word" references. Words were one of Jay's interests, too. We would open the dictionary to a random page, and try to stump each other with words. We had small spats over which dictionary, Webster's or Oxford's, was the best.

I have a huge "understanding/reading" vocabulary, but my "speaking/writing" vocabulary is pitifully small and parochial. I'll use the excuse that I see no reason to use a big fancy word that some people may misinterpret when a smaller more common word will do.

That's an excuse, because the real reason is that I can't spell, and I'm never sure of my pronunciation. Which makes sense, because I believe that if you can pronounce a word correctly, you have a better chance of spelling it correctly. (For example, ask someone who pronounces "athletic" with four syllables how they spell it.)

I have particular areas of difficulty:
Long words with double consonants.
Words that end with "el" or "le". I never know which is correct. Label? Lable? Why isn't it like table?
Adding "ed" to a word that ends with "el", double the "l" or not? Sometimes it's yes, and sometimes no, and I can't figure out what the rule is.
Stuff like that.

I do have a learning disability. They used to think it was dyslexia, but I think it's different, having more to do with left/right confusion, and memory. I have a terrible memory. I can't just memorize things, like how a word is spelled. The only way I can remember anything is to understand it. I can memorize a poem, but I can't memorize an item, like a person's name, or the name of a street (I have a specific problem with proper nouns of all types). For spelling a word, I have to know what the etymology is, what the rule is, and then "figure out" how it's spelled, as opposed to remember.

Welcome back, spel chekker.
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1066 Bits

Wednesday, January 10, 2006

I'm having all kinds of problems today. My browsers are crashing regularly, something about "illegal operations", and today the ISP (the folks I pay to dial in to) claims it has a connection to the internet, but all pages are either blank, or "contain no data". I can't get to anything.

So I'm trying to use a free dial-in Juno account I had set up the last time this happened, and I HATE it. Juno fills the screen with ads, leaving me only 6 inches of working space, and although Juno claims to be blocking popups, I get one every 10 seconds.

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After two weeks of fussing, the young lady whose paycheck was refused because of a supposed routing number problem has finally got some satisfaction. She tends to doubt herself, so she's not as aggressive as she should be in dealing with stuff like this, and what really bugged me is that her bank wouldn't or couldn't give her a definitive reason for why the check was refused, let alone put it in writing. In the meantime, the penalties kept mounting, to several hundred dollars at this point. As of Monday, she still wasn't SURE it was really a routing number error, which is critical to figuring out where the fault lies.

Yesterday, her employer agreed to write her a check for the penalties. So it's no longer her problem. However, her latest paycheck has the same routing code as the one that was refused.

She's afraid to deposit it.

I have advised her to change banks. Her current bank is deficient in customer service.

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Snow was predicted today for "north and west" of Albany. I watched the weather reports carefully last night and this morning, and the snow area was nowhere near here, not within 60 miles, so I didn't move the van down the driveway. This afternoon, I was surprised to see scattered snowflakes drifting lazily down outside the kitchen window. I half hoped someone was burning brush, and it was ash I was seeing, but nope, it's definitely snow.

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The sinuses are still nasty. I'm supposed to go to a pot-luck party with FirstWoman this Friday. She asked if I'd be feeling well enough to go, and I said I could fake it. I had originally planned to take Mormon funeral potatoes, but maybe it would be safer, germ-wise, to do the monetary donation option instead. I'm starting to cough more because of the drainage, and if I can't control the coughing, I suppose I can't go at all.

I don't think I'm contagious, I think that's over, what I've got (at the moment, anyway) is a simple irritation problem (sort of like an allergy), but it sure doesn't SOUND like it.

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I think it may be time to replace the bathroom scale. I went into the bathroom to piddle, and stepped on the scale as I passed it. I weighed X pounds, the same as I weighed before this past week of barely eating. Disappointing. I piddled, and then decided to check again, but this time I kicked off my shoes.

I weighed X+2 pounds.

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Flippin' browsers! Netscape has dropped twice since I started this post, and Firefox can't find Google.

Flippin' Juno! Because I'm not actually using Juno as the browser, it thinks there's "no activity", so every few minutes I get the "we're gonna kick you off in 50 seconds if you don't click here now" message. Which means if I got out to the kitchen for whatever, when I come back, the line has been dropped.

Flippin' whatever! I've clicked on Blogger's "spell check" several times now, and nothing happens.

I quit. I am the soul of patience, but only for reasonable, logical things. Not for arbitrary ridiculousnesses.
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1065 WordsWordsWords

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

If you go to www.snapshirts.com, and choose "Custom", you can build what they call a "word cloud", consisting of the most-used words in your blog. I just did mine, and this is the result: (The larger/darker the word, the more often it is used in the blog.)



I'm rather pleased with this list. The words I've used most are mostly words with positive connotations to me (with the obvious exception of "snow", of course).

Cool.
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1064

Monday, January 08, 2007

I've never understood the part in the Irish blessing, "...may the road rise up to meet you...". It's supposed to be good, but I don't understand why. Doesn't it mean that there should be no downhills? Aren't downhills the easy parts? It still leaves uphills, maybe even steeper ones if the road keeps rising. If you fall flat on your face, the road rose up to meet you....

Just something else I don't understand.

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My cold isn't a cold any more. Nose is clear, throat is fine, glands are normal, but sinuses are a mess. Back in the mid-eighties I'd had a serious sinus infection that left scarring, so they don't drain very well. I now have a lot of ick draining down the back of my throat (schnorrrrrt!). It's clear or white, so there's probably no infection, but the pressure is causing a lot of headache pain. I guess now it's just waiting it out, and watching that nothing opportunistic starts up.

I'm trying to drink a lot of hot stuff to keep things loose. Unfortunately, I don't like hot drinks. I drink a lot of tea, but I like it very strong and lukewarm.

Hot bubblebath! Ahah! I'll accept any excuse for a bubblebath!
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1063 More Ditz, and an Apology to HRH

Monday, January 08, 2007

I was reading another blogger's observation that Chinese fortune cookies don't seem to contain fortunes any more. They're just sage sayings. I had noticed that, too. It's like no one wants to frighten or offend anyone. You kinda don't even look forward to them any more.

Given that, the last "fortune" I got, at last month's Third Thursday dinner was very unusual. It said "Aviod walking alone in the dark." Scary. Even back when they pretended to be fortunes, I'd never seen one like that.

That was the dinner when I wanted to strangle The Ditz, because of other things she'd said. When I wrote that entry, I forgot to mention the fourtune cookie. Her comment was a dismissive wave of her hand, and "Oh, well, how often do you walk alone in the dark anyway?" Roman and I both choked and looked at her in amazement.

I said, "Um, like, anytime I walk out of the house after 4:30 pm?"

----------------------------------------

While looking through the December archives for the entry on The Ditz, to check whether I had mentioned the cookie, I also glanced through some of the entries surrounding that one, including the entries about harddisk clutter. TheQueen had recommended in a comment that I try Window Washer to eliminate the clutter, and I responded that I had tried it, and had a lot of trouble with it.

Well. Looking at that entry, I realize now I may have unintentionally offended her. I had quoted a very unhelpful "help" from FileExt.com to which I said "Very helpful folks! Bleck!"

Unfortunately, the "Very helpful..." looks like a header for my response to TheQueen. Oops.

It wasn't. But with some distance from it now, it sure looks like it.

So I'm making a public apology. I appreciate your suggestion, Your Highness, and never mean to denigrate it or to offend you, and I apologize for any hackles I may have raised. I was facing the other direction when I said bleck (but of course you couldn't see that, what with all the skinny wires and clouds and stuff between here and there).
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1062 I Hate Snow

Sunday, January 07, 2007

In a phone conversation this afternoon, I mentioned to Daughter that I was happy that we'd had no snow yet, and I'd be even happier if we had none all winter. Then I found this, which pretty much explains why:

December 8:
6:00 PM. It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses Print. So romantic we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!

December 9:
We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the whole world? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had. Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks. This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life.

December 12:
The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment. My neighbor tells me not to worry, we'll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. l don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man. I'm glad he's our neighbor.

December 14:
Snow lovely snow! 8" last night. The temperature dropped to - 20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish I wouldn't huff and puff so.

December 15:
20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.

December 16:
Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an hour, Which I think was very cruel.

December 17:
Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.

December 20:
Electricity's back on, but had another 14" of the damn stuff last night. More shoveling. Took all day. Goddamn snowplow came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.

December 22:
Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white shit fell today, and it's so cold it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again. I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob who has a plow on his truck for the rest of the winter; but he says he's too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 23:
Only 2" of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she, nuts?!?! Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago? She says she did but I think she's lying.

December 24:
6". Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a bitch who drives that snowplow, I'll drag him through the snow by his balls. I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling and then he comes down the street at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents, but I was busy watching for the goddamn snowplow.

December 25:
Merry Christmas. 20 more inches of the slop tonight. Snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's an idiot. If I have to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" one more time, I'm going to kill her.

December 26:
Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.

December 27:
Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze.

December 28:
Warmed up to above -50. Still snowed in. THE BITCH is driving me crazy!!!!!

December 29:
10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30:
Roof caved in. The snow plow driver is suing me for a million dollars. The wife went home to her mother. 9" predicted.

December 31:
Set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8:
I feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed?
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1061 Petra

Saturday, January 06, 2007

I want to go to Petra, in Jordan. Take the tour (enter through The Siq, at the bottom). See more pictures. [Later edit - I just spent two hours perusing the "pictures" site. It takes you through step by step, in an easy to follow way. It's wonderful!]

First thing I need to do is find someone to go with me.

I will touch the stone! I will buy Bedouin jewelry! And dresses! And shawls!

I want to do this soon, like within the next two years. I checked the state department advisories, and right now it looks ok. Who knows how long that will be true.

I wanna!
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1060 Walking It Off

Saturday, January 06, 20067

[Edit - another date correction. Ignore.]

Daughter called at about 2:30 today. She and Hercules were on the road headed for Pennsylvania for his grandmother's ninetieth birthday. She said that it was in the seventies today, and I should go for a walk. She says walking helps her to keep colds from going into her chest, so it should be good for me.

If Daughter lived anywhere but north central New Jersey, I might believe her.

It was 3:30 before I got started walking. I decided not to walk on my road because I didn't want to have to climb the hill to get back home, so I drove into the village to walk. I figured that way, if I collapsed on the street, somebody would find me sooner.

It was 65 degrees, with a stiff cool breeze. Bleck. It may have been warmer earlier, but setting out an hour before the sun went down was probably not the best idea. My hair is still pasty, so I had worn a hat and was grateful for it. I kept hoping I wouldn't see anyone I knew, because I look like death warmed over. My eyes are red, my nose is swollen, and something strange is going on with my cheeks and neck - they look saggier than normal.

I walked a total of maybe six blocks and then gave up. My knees were tired.

If it's nice tomorrow, I'll try again, but earlier. I might even wash my hair first.
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1059 Thirteen Photos

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Roba, at "And Far Away..." found this, and I'm passing it along. Thirteen Photographs That Changed the World, with the stories behind them. This one is my favorite:

"Migrant Mother"
Dorothea Lange, 1936

Would you believe the woman in the photo is only 32 years old?
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1058 The Medicine Chest

Friday, January 05, 2007

I started to respond to a comment on an earlier entry, and that reminded me of something else, so here I am, still soupless.

A friend swears by NyQuil. I get sick so seldom that there's never anything in the medicine cabinet when I need it, or it's long past the expiration date. The e-date on the Contac box, for example, is 06/2000. My NyQuil e-date is 04/2005. Kate recommends TheraFlu (sp?). Is that the stuff that you fizz in water, like Alka-Seltzer? I had a box of fizzy tablets in there, I forget what it was exactly, but when I opened the box, all the packets were all swollen up. I popped one, and it exploded white powder. I suspect that e-date was expired, too.

So, after this is over, I'll go out and restock the cabinet, and that alone will keep me healthy for another five years, or at least until everything has well expired again.

What that reminded me of - I have a pretty complete first responder kit in the back of the van. In the middle of all those sensor woes in early summer, I decided I should move it to the Aerio, since I wasn't driving the van. When I pulled it out of the van, I checked it.

The BP cuff, stethoscope, thermometer, gloves, masks, flat-nosed scissors for cutting clothing, packets of alcohol, various creams and so on, all the interesting stuff one would think, were all still there. But ALL the bandaids, gauze, pads, and tape were gone. Disappeared. All of it. There was quite a lot in there, back before all those service visits.

Very strange. Doesn't make any sense to me.... I guess someone needed to restock their first aid kit.
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1057 Up and Moving

Friday, January 05, 2006 2007

[Edit - another date correction. Ignore. I'm gonna keep doing this until I get it RIGHT!]

Temp was below 100 this morning, below 99 now. Nose swollen, but clear. I can breathe through it, but mostly I don't because that makes it tickle, and sneezing hurts, and scares the cat. So now my lips are all chapped. Sinuses still ache, and glands under my jaw are very swollen. Coughing, but I think that's from sinus drainage. If it doesn't go into my chest, I should be lots better pretty soon.

I got several phone calls today. Most of it was pretty good news. Roman says they've figured out what was causing his mother's problems, they're treating it, and she should be ok. Daughter reports that she and Hercules have an appointment to look at houses for sale. FirstWoman got some very nice news from a past love. The year is starting out pretty good, I think.

I went to the deli today, and brought home some cream of broccoli soup. (I'd have had to go to the grocery store to get clam chowder, and from two days of sweating and hot soaks, my hair was in no condition for that, and I didn't feel like washing it.) I also got a small container of macaroni salad, which was very good, wish I'd got more. I haven't tried the soup yet. Will do that in a few minutes.

It was warm today, but drizzling. It's supposed to be very warm tomorrow, and dry. I hope to get out to feel it.
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1056 Reporting In

Thursday, January 04, 2006

Nose was running a lot until about 7 pm today, and then it stopped. Swollen now, but dry, I can breathe through it. Temperature 100.9. Sweating. Body aches. Everywhere. Very little coughing, lots of sneezing. Headache. I think there might be something going on in the sinuses. No chest or abdominal involvement.

So far I've treated the body aches with bathtub soaks. I've been able to short-circuit the throat by gargling with firewater (mouthwash) every time I think of it. All I've taken otherwise is a little aspirin for the headache. I have this theory that fever and phlegm has a purpose, so I leave them alone until they seem to be getting out of control. So far, so good. I plan to use a littleVicks Vaporub on my chest tonight, just to keep things open.

I've been in bed all day with Miss Thunderfoot snuggled against my knees, a heating pad on low under the small of my back, TV, crossword puzzles, and a book. I doze off and on.

I couldn't think of anything I wanted to eat, until I settled on either New England clam chowder or cream of potato soup. I don't have either in the house (I thought I did), so I had some sugar-free ice cream, and lots of iced tea. Everything else seemed like it took too much effort, or it would "fill or scratch my throat too much" - I don't know how to explain that, but that's what it felt like when I rejected it.

If I don't feel any worse tomorrow, I might go get some canned chowder. It's going to stick in my brain until I do.
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1055 Tempting Fate

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

I went out Sunday night, spent many hours in a series of rooms with people packed in so tight they actually pushed on our table to get by.

Monday I had dinner with Daughter and Hercules. Daughter has been fighting a sore throat (a.k.a. New Jersey Throat) for a few weeks.

Monday evening Roman called to say Happy New Year. He said his head was all stopped up.

Tuesday morning, Piper called to cancel our planned lunch. He sounded terrible. Head and throat.

I made the mistake of saying to Piper that it seemed like everyone I knew was sick, and that I seemed to have lucked out so far. And then I immediately regretted saying it when I heard Fate laughing from the next room.

At precisely 3:10 today, as if someone fired a starting gun, my nose began running, and a hot spot sprang up in the back of my throat. Things have since gone downhill. Me no feel so good.

Bleck.

I'm sure I'd have been ok if I hadn't tempted Fate.
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1054 Weasel Words

Wednesday, January 03,. 2006

I have to confess to something that has been bothering me. In the previous entry, I used a "weasel word" when I said "...let's just say I had been effectively celibate for eight years when I decided it wasn't working." I was dissembling. Roman has rubbed off on me, I guess.

There are a few people who might read that sentence, and know it's not strictly true, and that would make everything else I say suspect, so I guess I should explain it.

Ex#2 and I had been in marriage counselling for years when it became pretty clear that he was not interested in changing anything. I continued in individual psychotherapy with the last psychiatrist we had seen together, twice a week for another 4.5 years. I had some serious problems of my own. Something about a "poorly integrated personality". Ex#2 was put on some antidepressants, but had no interest in any other therapy.

And so things dragged along for years and years. I was very unhappy. Toward the end, I still wanted to save the marriage, but it was obvious that I couldn't go on that way. I couldn't continue in a relationship where my husband didn't speak to me for weeks at a time, where there was no intimacy, where when he did speak to me, half the time it was a lie. The psychiatrist said that I had a few choices.

1. Ex#2 and I could continue as things were, with me lonely and unhappily celibate.
2. I could develop friendships outside the marriage, and remain celibate.
3. I could have secret affairs outside the marriage.
4. Ex#2 and I could agree to have an open marriage, where I would be allowed to openly take lovers.
5. We could separate.

#1 was unacceptable. I couldn't do that any more. I was doing #2, but it wasn't enough. I still felt unloved. In about the fourth and fifth years of the marriage, I had tried #3, but that was when I was very weak (the "poorly integrated" thing) and it made me feel very bad and out of control, and I spiralled down. It was very bad for me. I knew without asking that #4 was impossible. I didn't want #5 yet, but the tension in the marriage was beginning to affect Daughter. She was working her little six-year-old tail off trying to get Ex#2's attention, a near impossible task. (That's STILL a problem. Removal of the tension didn't fix that.) So, anyway, something had to change.

Dr. K recommended that I try #3 again. It seemed like the only option. Dr. K. said that I was stronger now, and that I could be in control .

I had a very brief fling with someone I didn't really like. I chose him precisely because I didn't like him. (That way he would be not threat to my intending to stay married, and I wouldn't much care what he thought of me.) Parts were very satisfactory (my not caring what he thought of me was very freeing - think about that a minute), but, well, I didn't like him. So then I had an equally brief fling with someone I liked. And then I found that I didn't like him any more. I lost respect for him because he was messing around with a married woman! I didn't see how he could respect me, either, and I was in danger of losing my own self-respect. So, I proved #3 wouldn't work, either. There was no way it could be acceptable to me.

And right about then, Ex#2 and I were having an argument about something [another lie] and he said "So, what do you want to do about it. I suppose you want a divorce?" Right up until that moment, I hadn't seriously considered it, but somehow, when he said it like that, like he dared me, I knew. I said yes, I do want a divorce. It's over. I'm finished.

So, that's where the "effectively" came from. Sorta like the small deviation from enforced celibacy was necessary "therapy", and didn't count.

-----------------------------------------

What kind of lies did Ex#2 tell?

Every year The Company threw a big Christmas party for employees' children. You had to sign up with the department secretary and get tickets. I asked him to sign Daughter up. The first time I asked him if he'd done it yet, he said he'd forgotten, but he would "tomorrow". The next day I asked him, and he'd forgotten again, but he'd do it "tomorrow". The next day, I called him at work and reminded him, and he told me he'd just done it, it was all taken care of. He'd actually get the tickets in a few days.

"Did you pick up the tickets yet?" "Tomorrow." Take two aspirin and repeat three times.

Then I found out that he would be out of town for two weeks, over the weekend of the party. The last workday before he left, I reminded him that he MUST pick up the tickets today, so we'd have them for next weekend. He forgot. But he assured me he'd call the secretary on Monday, and she'd have them ready for me to pick up. Monday evening I called him at his hotel and asked where I should get the tickets. He said that the secretary, Miss So-and-so, said that she would be at the party, Daughter and I should just go, and she'd give them to me there.

Daughter and I arrived at the doors of a hotel ballroom. Four-year-old Daughter was excited. Through the doors we could see a mountain of gifts, being handed out by Santa. There were balloons and rides, and food stations like at a fair, hot dog steam carts, cotton candy, everything to thrill a child. She was hopping up and down impatiently while I asked around for Miss So-and-so. I found her.

Yeah. Ex#2 had never signed up for the tickets, had never even spoken to her about them.

They couldn't allow us in.

Daughter cried. I cried. We were told we could go in, but Daughter would not get a gift and could not have any food.

So we went in and walked around, and looked at all the things we couldn't have, and then I took her to Chuck-e-Cheese (or however you spell that, I'm not looking it up) and we had our own party. But it didn't make up for what had happened.

Of course, Ex#2 swore he'd done all the things he said he'd done, he had a clear and detailed memory of having done it, but I know now what had happened. He'd lie and tell me something was done just to satisfy me, figuring that he would then be sure to do it the next day and make it right. And then he would imagine doing it, perhaps to lock it into his memory so he wouldn't forget, and by the next day he had a clear "memory" of having done it.

It happened over and over. He'd swear he did something, or told me something, or paid for something, when it was obvious to the world that he hadn't. This incident stands out because it wasn't just me that got hurt. Eventually I learned to check up on everything. You never knew whether something he said was true, or just imagined.

That's when he spoke to me at all.

He didn't even speak to me when it was important. I'd cook dinner, and sit there waiting, and he'd not come home all night. I'd call his office the next day, and the secretary would tell me he was out of town on business. It was embarrassing that she had to tell me. After the second time that happened, I learned to count his underwear when he didn't come home. That was how I'd know he was away, and for approximately how long.

I was married to him for 13 years. I married him because I thought his not pushing me into sex meant he respected me, and I knew he'd never hit me. I guess I tilted too far in my quest for safety. It was because I knew that I'd married him for the wrong reasons that I tried so hard for so long to make it right.
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1053 Ask Me - Answer - Paramour Before Jay?

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Another from post 1049, where I invited questions.

TheQueen wants to know "who was your paramour before Jay?"

Hmmmm. How far before? I have a long, colorful, passionate past. There's a trail of broken men (which seems to have tapered off significantly in the past twenty-five years, sob) and there are a few I've loved forever still standing, out there, somewhere, lost.

Let's restrict it to after I left Ex#2.

We were living in near Washington DC when I decided to leave him, in 1982, I believe. Without going into details, let's just say I had been effectively celibate for eight years when I decided it wasn't working. (I really gave it the good old college try, I really did.)

I got a job here, back with The Company, for whom I had worked before. Ex#2 followed me, transferring here and buying a house close enough that Daughter, who was in second grade, could go to either house on the school bus.

In Washington, my only social outlet had been Mensa. Ex#2 wasn't interested in going out, ever, so I went to the dinners and parties alone. The last two years one of my best friends in Washington Mensa was a guy named Ed. We happened to have exactly the same birthday. He was tall and ultra-skinny, with one of the unprettiest faces I'd ever seen. Big hooked nose. Pale blue eyes that always looked like he didn't get enough sleep. Skraggly beard. He'd shave his head every spring, and then until the next spring he'd let it grow out into a matted, light brown, dense mass that stuck out and crackled around his head (think Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein, but worse). Very intelligent (you can't say that about everyone in Mensa). Dressed like a hippie. Well, worse than a hippie. Worked for PBS.

We never arranged to be at the same parties, but when by chance we were, you'd find us sitting on the floor in a corner, talking. We talked for hours, about everything and nothing. We seemed to really click. We "read" each other perfectly. He also gave great (platonic) back rubs. He had a very relaxed attitude toward everything (except the management of PBS).

Just before I left, I called him and asked him to be at the last party I went to before moving to NY, and when I told him at the party that I was leaving, he was very distressed. We went outside, and he held me and kissed me for the first time, on the sidewalk, a lot. But neither of us said anything about keeping in touch.

And then I moved.

About six weeks after I moved, I found him on my doorstep, unannounced. A mutual friend had given him my address. He had started out for "just a Sunday drive", and six hours later arrived in the Mid-Hudson Valley. I really didn't know quite what to do with him. I hadn't had time to think about it, or him, or what I wanted. He had to be back to work the next morning, so we spent the day in the mountains, exploring old Catskill hotel trails and waterfalls, and then he drove the six hours back to Northern Virginia.

There followed many long phone calls and letters (no cell phones or internet then), until there came a 4-day holiday weekend, when Ex#2 planned to take Daughter to visit her grandmother. An opportunity. I tacked a few more days on and drove to his place, and spent the long weekend with him. I knew I loved him a lot, in some way, but I wasn't sure what way, and I wanted to find out.

By the time I got back home, I was very much in love.

It took me about two weeks to come down from that high. I realized it just wouldn't work, not long term. Even though we seemed like separated twins, even though I could and did love him, and he loved me, I realized that if we were together constantly we'd drive each other crazy. We both need some bit of separation, some aloneness, and we were just too much "into" each other's heads. We'd end up resenting each other, fighting each other off, keeping secrets just to have something of our own.

We also had very different lifestyle expectations and management styles. For example, he had a Lamborghini rotting into the ground in the back yard because it needed a part he'd never got around to ordering. A Lamborghini. Rotting. Because he kept forgetting. And because he didn't have a garage. For the Lamborghini. The white Lamborghini with the split in the convertible top, the split that was letting water in on the red glove-leather upholstery. It didn't bother him at all. Sorry, but I just can't be THAT relaxed.

Then again, maybe, after thirteen years of being ignored by Ex#2, and newly divorced and "off men", I was just afraid of so much closeness.

Whatever. The calls and letters tapered off when he realized I wasn't pushing for more time together.

And then I met Jay, several months later.

In 1984 or '85 there was a very brief fling with someone I was "set up" with by mutual friends who thought we'd be perfect together. He was the type who leaps out of bed and takes a shower immediately after sex. Without even checking to see if we were, uh, finished. Not very flattering. Didn't last long, and I had no feelings for him, really, except a friendship. We're still friends. He still annoys me.

And after that there was no one else but Jay, no dating, no petting, no sex, no interest except Jay, until Roman woke me up, in July 2005, damn him.

Now I'm hungry again, and there's nothing on the table.
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1052 Retirement Decision

Tuesday, December January 02, 2007

[Later edit - I was so proud of getting the year right! I got the month wrong. Again.]

I have to make a decision in the next day or two. As Jay's widow, I am entitled to half of Jay's Company retirement. He had worked for The Company only about 16 years, and The Company is notoriously parsimonious toward retirees, so the total amount is pitifully small. My half of it will barely pay for groceries.

Because Jay was so much younger than I, he wouldn't be eligible for full retirement until March 5, 2017, however, he'd have been eligible to begin collecting a reduced amount as of this March. So I have to decide when to start collecting. A reduced amount now, or wait a year or two or five for a smaller reduction, or wait for the full amount in 2017?

If I start collecting now, I'd get $200 a month less than if I wait until 2017. I'll be 72 in 2017. If I even live that long. (Considering the pitiful amount to begin with, that $200 is significant.)

I'll have to call the company tomorrow to check numbers. If I wait five more years, will the reduction be only $100? (I doubt it - I suspect the penalty is greater in the early part and lesser later.) Would that make a difference anyway, since I'd be trading today dollars for 2012 or 2017 dollars? And I can invest what pittance they do send me. I bet I can make up the loss by 2017. Heck, I KNOW I can. I can more than double it in ten years!

I can just about guarantee there won't be much of a COLA raise by 2017, if any. They're almost unheard of from The Company. I've had two raises from Social Security and none on my own retirement from The Company in the past five years. Instead, they keep raising the medical plan contribution (for the medical insurance that, at the time I retired, they verbally promised would be free for life. Verbally. The small print said that anything could be changed at any time, so there! "Buck you Fuddy, you powerless retirees! We've got to finance these multi-million dollar golden parachutes somehow...".) It almost looks like their plan is to eventually nibble it all back.

I guess maybe I should get the financial exposure from Piper first, he might advise me to wait another year, because we've still balancing and there will be another capital gains hit this year, but if the penalty is still about $200 in another year, I can't see why I should wait.

Ahah! An argument for Piper! I can just put it all in an indexed mutual fund IRA to remove the tax hit, and earn on it faster than The Company would pretend to earn on it for me. Yeah!

Ok. Piper's out of it.

Sounds like I've decided.
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1051 Ask Me - Answer - How Jay and I Met

Tuesday,
December
January 02, 2007

[Later edit - I was so proud of getting the year right! I got the month wrong.]

In entry 1049 I invited questions. So far I've had only one, and it's a very dangerous one. Not dangerous for me, dangerous for you. It happens to be one of my favorite topics, and I could write an entire screenplay about it. It's a very romantic story.

Becs asks how Jay and I met.

In 1983 The Company moved our product group from Poughkeepsie to a new building in Kingston. There was already one department there when the other 250 of us arrived, a group of 8 who had been moved from Texas to Kingston to work on an experimental design.

One day I walked into a friend's office, El, to go to lunch with her, and there was a man sitting in her chair working on her computer. Just as I rounded the corner, he pressed a key, said "Oops", and froze, and the instant I heard his voice I fell in love. He had a soft smooth very deep voice, and the "oops" was pronounced as to rhyme with "coops", and there was something very funny about the way his eyebrows shot up and he froze.

I fell in love before I saw his face. I had a side-rear view. He was so tall that our heads were level while he was sitting and I was standing. His shoulders were, no exaggeration, two feet wide. Soft and fine hair, full short beard, and eyes the color of black coffee. He was wearing a dark three-piece suit, vest and all. He was impressive. The first thing I focused on was a spot at the top of his neck behind his left ear - a spot where the hair was a bit thin and softly curly, a vulnerable spot, and I wanted to touch it. That was the second thing I fell in love with.

El introduced us, and he left. I said to her, "My God! How on earth did I miss that walking the halls!" She said he had moved up with the Texas group, he was the lead designer, so he hadn't been with us in Poughkeepsie, and besides, he was extremely shy and rarely left his office. She said he was the most intelligent and knowledgeable person she'd ever met.

As I've said, I didn't know how to flirt. I wanted to flirt so badly, and I didn't know how without looking foolish. When I asked El who he ate lunch with, she said he probably just took something from the cafeteria back to his office, or got a sandwich from the machines in the hall. So I invited him to have lunch with our usual group of four to six. El or I would go to his office every day and drag him out.

Six weeks after our first meeting, he and I were standing at the bulletin board outside the cafeteria reading about a rafting trip sponsored by the employee club, and he turned to me and asked if Daughter and I would be interested in that. I was so happy, and so excited. Finally! He was asking me out! I said oh yes, we'd love it, and he said "Good. They want four in a raft, so with you two and me and my wife, that makes four."

Wife?

There's something you have to understand about Jay. Much later, when we found out about the Asperger's, it explained a lot. But even back then, it was somehow obvious that you didn't touch Jay. Like when you are looking over a sitting coworker's shoulder, it's natural to put your hand on his shoulder, or when kidding someone, to touch their arm. But there was some kind of silent signal about Jay, a sort of dignity, a pulling back. You didn't touch him. In his last days, when he was blind and bedridden, a coworker visited, and before I took her into the bedroom I told her that she should sit on his right, and put her hand on his right arm so he'd know where she was, and she looked startled, "Touch him? You don't touch Jay! Are you sure it would be ok?"

Likewise, he never spoke of his personal life, and somehow you knew not to ask. So nobody knew he was married.

We went on the raft trip. His wife told me that they were married only a few months, that they had been dating in Texas when his transfer came, so they got married real quick.

And that was the end of that for me. I still loved and admired him, but I gave up on any hope. We were friends. We ate lunch together every day, in the group, for the next seven years. We noticed that he tended to forget time and work very late, so either El or I would stop by his office at quitting time and stand in his doorway until he closed up, and then walk him to his car to make sure he actually left. I noticed that he always called home before leaving, and his wife would tell him what takeout to pick up for dinner. She was a teacher, and off all summer, but apparently she rarely cooked.

He was a technical resource in our product area, and all day there'd be people lined up outside his office waiting for their turn for advice. It was difficult for him to get his own work done. So along about 1987, he started working from my office after lunch. I had a big office with several terminals and worktables. Everybody knew that's where he was, but for some reason, nobody bothered him when he was in my office unless it was an emergency. So for three years we were together from about 11:30 'til 5:30 every day.

And except for once accidentally stepping back into him at the bulletin board one day (and I remember that because instead of stepping back himself, he stepped slightly forward, and we held a five second contact - absolutely remarkable!) we had never, during all that time, so much as touched a sleeve.

In 1990, I'd about had it with some nasty office politics, so when I was offered a transfer to the litigation lab in Poughkeepsie, I accepted the offer. Daughter was 15 then, and Poughkeepsie was a much shorter commute, so it would be good for me both personally and professionally.

Jay hated the telephone as much as I did, but he called me at the litigation lab five, six, seven times a day, whenever he heard or read or thought anything interesting. We missed each other terribly.

About three weeks after the transfer, I heard of a free program at a college about two miles from his house, where they bring in Nobel Prize winners on summer weekends to speak on various science topics, and teachers can get continuing ed credits for attending. They have a preliminary lecture in the morning, serve a free lunch, and then have the main speaker in the afternoon. I mentioned to him that I intended to attend, and that his wife might be interested in picking up a few credits. He said that she'd be bored by the topic, but that he'd like to go.

That weekend, we parked at the same time at opposite ends of the parking lot on campus, and looked up and saw each other. You know the scene in the movies where the two run toward each other in slow motion through a field of daisies? Yeah, just like that, only through a gravel parking lot. When we met, we didn't know what to do. We stood a foot apart and just stared at each other. And then he bent down and kissed me. He tasted of mint toothpaste.

We went to the weekend lectures all summer, but there was no more touching. We often took our lunches outside and sat on a bench and talked.

Three months after my transfer, I happened to be in Kingston for a meeting. El had told me that he had started working very late again, so at 5:30 I stopped at his office to surprise him and drag him out. "Hi! Time to go home! Move it!" He looked up, and his face fell, and he actually teared up. I closed the door and asked what was wrong, and he said that he didn't want to go home, "nobody's there." I asked if his wife was away, and he said "No. She's there. But there's nobody home."

We sat there for a good two hours. He opened up completely. They were living two separate lives. They'd had separate bedrooms since a few weeks after the wedding. He had no idea what she thought any more. He thought she didn't like him, but kept him because he was useful.

We talked a lot after that. I asked him if he wanted to stay married, and he said he had to make it work, that he'd made a commitment. I told him he had to talk about it with her, tell her that he was unhappy. He said he didn't dare, that "she'll punish me." It turned out that whenever he displeased her, she'd get "sick". She was "getting sick" a lot lately, and it was all his fault.

I pushed him into suggesting counselling. She refused until she decided that he was in love with me. Apparently my name turned up a lot. So then she agreed because obviously he needed fixing. Over the next two years, they went through something like six different counsellors. Every time a counsellor suggested that maybe she needed to do something different, she'd decide this one was no good and she'd refuse to go back. The last one (whom Jay stayed with on his own, and then with me, for a few more years) took Jay aside and told him that in her opinion, there was no hope. Either he accepted things as they were, that he would be lonely in his marriage, or he called it quits and got a divorce.

He did. Shocked me. I didn't think he was capable of it. Once he decided that's what he had to do, I admit I worked hard to hold him to that course. I'm not entirely a nice person, I can be self-serving, even if I hate myself for it.

He convinced HER to file for divorce, and he moved into a motel, where he lived for the next two years. When they got the legal separation, that's when Jay and I finally really touched.

I soon discovered something significant. Jay had very bad sleep apnea. He would start snoring very loudly and then stop breathing, and then would go through choking and thrashing before he'd get his breath back. Because his oxygen level would get very low, he had bad night terrors. He was completely unaware of any of it! It's pretty obvious that's why the wife had kicked him out of the bedroom, but she had never said anything to him about it, never told him why.

Me, I'm different. I dragged him to a sleep lab, where they said he had the worst case of apnea they'd ever seen. He stopped breathing 80 times an hour! In three nights of tests, he got no REM sleep, no deep sleep. They didn't see how he could possibly be sane.

He got a CPAP (constant positive airways pressure) machine, and and the snoring and choking stopped. The night terrors took a little longer, but eventually they stopped, too.

Ya gotta give me credit. I told him that this might go a long way toward fixing one of the biggest problems in their marriage. Did he want to try again? He said no, that if he went back to her, not only would things not be any different, she'd punish him for the rest of his life.

The divorce was final in December of 1993, and he and I were married in January 1994.

The brain cancer appeared in October of 1998, and he died in October of 2001.

And that's the story. I guess I could have simply answered that we met in 1983 when we worked together, started dating in (when? 1992?), and married in 1994, but that leaves out so much.

There is a cute side story. When I found out that Jay had feelings for me beyond a strong friendship and a professional respect, I was so amazed and so happy, I told El and one of the other female coworker friends, "Guess what ...!" They both, separately, rolled their eyes at me and said, "So what else is new? You didn't know how he felt about you? Oh, come on! It was so obvious!" It turned out that everyone we knew, everyone we worked with, had figured we'd been sleeping together for years! He and I were the only ones who didn't know how each of us felt about the other.

1050 New Year in Assuit

Monday, January 01, 2007 (Ahah! I got the year right! That may be the last time this month....)

Well, I got some surprise visitors. Welcome, Patrick. I'm flattered to have such a perceptive (and illustrious) visitor. And Shaun - in answer to your original (search) question, SiteMeter shows greater than "0:00" as the length of a visit only when the visitor leaves by clicking on something on your page, because SiteMeter can "see" that. If the visitor left by going to a bookmarked site, or hitting "Back", or entering a URL in the browser "go to" bar, SiteMeter has no opportunity to calculate the time because that click is invisible to SiteMeter.

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FirstWoman and I had a very good time last night. I got home about 3:30 am.

I had to leave the house a little after 7 pm to be there by 8, and I didn't even think about what I would wear until 4. I have absolutely nothing that even approaches "American festive" or cocktail wear, not even a "little black dress". Small panic. But then I remembered that I'd bought a very good close-fitting Assuit dress at Rakkasah last October. I hemmed it right quick, and located a long black lycra dress to wear under it, and with big silver hoop earrings, silver bangle bracelets, and high-heeled sandals, I was ready to go. It was a very good choice. Got a lot of compliments on it. (More on Assuit below.)

The band was terrific. They played all the OLD Rolling Stones hits, and I actually got up and danced! You have to know me to know how extraordinary that is. I define shy and self-conscious. At one point FirstWoman and I were sitting across the table from each other, and she said "You know, I feel like I'm in the presence of a lady." I raised eyebrows, and she explained that I have "that air" about me. I laughed and told her that she is total Free Spirit, and that probably meant we could be very good for each other. She grinned.

I think I'm right. I danced! In public! I might even do it again sometime. (Several women told me that they enjoyed watching me. I guess I have graceful arms. One woman, a complete stranger, said as she left, "Good night, Beautiful. Happy New Year." What a boost! I can't stop burbling.)

Daughter and Hercules were up this way for a party (about an hour south), and had stayed over, so she called about 2 pm this afternoon, and we met partway between for late lunch/early dinner. Luckily, Daughter remembered that we needed to eat sauerkraut for luck. I've heard that this custom, sauerkraut on New Year's Day, is German and/or Polish, but my mother was pure Welsh, and she insisted on it, too, so it's probably widespread. I didn't have sauerkraut last year for the first time ever, and look what happened in 2006. Ok, Mom, now I believe. So, anyway, we had a small side dish which we shared.

Actually, now that I think about it, 2006 wasn't all that bad. Except for Roman's breaking my heart, and the roof leaking into the kitchen, and the van's computer faking everyone out for six months and a few thousand dollars, everything else was pretty good. Very good, even. Daughter got married, Sister and I reconnected, my woods got cleared for free, I made some new friends, got involved with some community activities, lost a few more pounds, ... and I didn't even have to eat sauerkraut for all that.

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Assuit: Assuit is a city in Egypt, on the Nile, I believe. Assuit fabric is a cotton or cotton/silk see-through net (usually black) with bits of metal attached to the net. They cut small elongated diamonds of thin metal, fold them over the mesh net so the ends cross on the back, then they hammer them until they're smooth and tight. The metal is applied to the dress or shawl in fancy geometric patterns.

You can buy an inexpensive Assuit dress for less than $100. A good one is several times that. The cheap ones are stiff, the metal is too soft and will start to come loose and will scratch inside, and it tarnishes quickly. I bought a cheap one a few years ago just to try it out.

The higher quality ones are very soft net, fit better, and use a higher quality metal. The one I bought last October is a very good one. The quality is directly proportional to the cost.

The best ones flow softly, and the metal is real silver, pounded ultra-thin. Rather rare, and a bit heavy for normal wear.


The above is an Assuit coverup, for sale at salomestent.com.


Above is a loose Assuit caftan, available by special order from ekenoz.com. This one appears to be lined. I am seriously considering ordering one from them (unlined), custom sized, so I don't have to cut any of the design off to tailor it to me.

Mine is semi-fitted, with a very wide and deep V opening in front (closeable with a hook and eye at the top) down to below bra band level, and wide sleeves like the top photo. For bellydance, you'd wear it over a decorated silver bra and a straight skirt, with a matching scarf around the hips. For "going out", they look nice over a body suit or sleeveless lycra dress. I think next time I wear it, I'll try for a turquoise or pale green underdress.

This is a scan of a bit of the hem I had to cut off my dress:


An enlargement, showing the metal bits and how they're attached:


It's all done by hand.

I like being different.
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1049 Ask Me - An Invitation

Sunday, December 31, 2006

There are about 30 people who return to this blather on a regular basis (ok, at least twice in the past three weeks - I'm easily flattered). Only maybe 5 or 6 ever leave comments, and that's fine. I'm not looking for comments. Besides which, Blogger doesn't make it easy, by implying that you have to log in (you don't actually have to - if you don't have a blogger account, it skips over the log in).

So, partly to involve lurkers (my curiosity), and to give anyone out there an opportunity for fun (your curiosity), I promise to truthfully answer any question posed to me in a comment on this entry. It may not be a complete answer, but it will be a true answer.

Ask away.
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1048 The Strange Thing

Sunday, December 31, 2006

Well, referring to the previous post, it IS him. He replied to my note this morning. But nobody should get all hopeful about any romantic connections. I'm not. He's WAY out of my league. Even if he isn't, the female competition would be. I doubt he is tired of beauty and sophistication, so I'm not thinking anything interesting could happen. I was just startled to find him "out there", and I'd like to reconnect in a casual way.

He says we could have lunch later in the month.

He mentioned that he'd been dating someone, and they'd broken up, and a friend signed him up on the site, and he's enjoying meeting new women (although nobody lives up to their profiles), but he's still in touch with the old love and they may yet get back together.

Hmmmm. Where have I heard that before?

Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!
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1047

Sunday, December 31, 2006

The strangest thing has just happened.

I've been "killing" my online dating subscriptions one by one as each subscription came up for renewal. There are only two left now, one should die in two weeks. I haven't visited that site in at least a month. I get about one "sniff" a week from men on that site, but they are always much too far away, and I just reply directly from the email notice with a canned "Sorry - too far" message.

I also never run searches. I see the same local guys over and over on every site, and it's just too discouraging (especially when the only likely ones who turn up are those I've already met).

My profiles say "I am unlikely to make first contact. If you live within 30 miles, and meet my (admittedly loose) criteria, please take the initiative." And I don't make first contact. Frankly, there are very few I'd care to contact.

I don't know why, but I went to that site this evening (it's a little after 1 am now), and just for fun, I ran a search. In hopes of finding someone other than the usual slobs, I asked that the results be sorted by newest members first.

I almost fell off my chair.

There's a guy I worked with way back when. I've always had a crush on him. He's gorgeous! He always took my breath away when I saw him in the halls. He's also a really nice guy. I've seen his girlfriends/wives at company functions, and they were always these tall willowy beautiful very sophisticated-looking types. W-A-Y out of my league.

His profile was at the top of my search list this evening. Apparently he is newly divorced. I can't imagine his having to resort to an online match-up.

Another odd thing is that I mentioned him in this blog almost exactly one year ago.

So I sent him a note, asking if it really was him, and suggesting lunch (but, in my note, I said "not a 'match' date, just lunch"). Given his search criteria, it's possible he has already seen my profile and, uh, skimmed over it. I'm really going to feel bad if he doesn't respond.

I almost hope it isn't him.
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