Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Yesterday I paid the estimated tax, filled the gas tank, shopped for groceries, wrote and sent a letter to old friend Danny to ask if he and his wife would be able to meet me for dinner while I'm at the Gathering in Maryland at the end of May, and went to Office Max to see if the laptop would be able to connect through their free WiFi. Bad news.
The hardware locates the wireless networks and even connects, but then I get an error message that it "cannot connect to the internet". Hercules, who had seen this two weeks ago, had said it looks like the hardware is ok, but the software, Windows or Internet Explorer, is screwing up. I guess I'm going to have to bite the bullet and make a call to service.
On the way home from Office Max I stopped at Wendy's. I had a craving for french fries. All I'd had to eat all day was oatmeal. I knew I needed real vegetables, too, so I bought a salad, which I brought home for later. But later I wasn't hungry, so it didn't get eaten. It's huge, so I had figured it would be good for two meals, yesterday's dinner and today's.
This morning I got up late, so I rushed to get to the museum by 1 pm to handle a backlog of memberships. When I got there, the door was locked, and there were no cars parked outside. The Rondout creek is over its banks and lapping against the museum foundation - I'm sure the basement must be flooded. I wondered if maybe that's why no one was there. Even if they're out for lunch, there should be a car or two there.
The road was blocked off just past the museum. It looks like all of lower Kingston is flooded.
I decided to walk around the Rondout district (higher ground) a bit, see what shops and restaurants are new. I ended up having lunch, pulled pork and salad, at the Ship to Shore. It's very fancy and gentrified now. Twenty years ago it was pretty much a beer, wine, and hamburger place. Mensa used to do a Yahtzee TGIF there every Friday. I can't see playing Yahtzee there now....
I wandered through a few boutiques ($40 necklaces On Sale! for only $200!!), and got back to my car at 3 pm, just in time to see the museum director pull in. She saw me and waved, but it was too late for me to start processing memberships, so I left.
I really truly hate being under pressure to get stuff done on any kind of schedule. I am determined to enjoy retirement. I have been very clear right from the beginning of this volunteer gig that I want to just show up when I can, and do jobs that always need doing, and are finished when I leave - like painting walls, cleaning floors, caulking windows, weeding flowerbeds, filling in at the cash register in the gift shop, setting up for events. I don't know how on earth I got talked into this membership thing. It's an ongoing responsibility with time requirements, which is EXACTLY what I didn't want! Someone, someday, is going to complain about the buildup in the "Membership ToDo" box, and I'm going to hand it to them and say, "You do it", and walk out and never return. No one can say they haven't been warned.
I refuse to give up my freedom for this.
Well, anyway, having eaten lunch in the Rondout, I don't want that salad in the refrigerator. Tomorrow is the Third Thursday Therapy dinner in Poughkeepsie. Saturday I'll be having lunch and dinner with The Man in NYC. So the whole salad will have to be eaten on Friday - if it's still good by then - but Friday I have to try for the museum again, and I hate to take it with me.
Damn. I do this all the time. Is it any wonder I hate schedules. It's WORK for me!
.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
1210 Annoyed
Monday, April 16, 2007
I'm getting very annoyed at all the "Monday morning quarterbacking" regarding the officials' response to the Virginia Tech shootings, especially regarding the lack of a lockdown during the two hours between the two sets of shootings.
They knew what they knew when they knew it, and did what seemed right at the time. They had no reason to think that it was other than an isolated and personal crime of passion. Sheesh! Nothing like criticizing actions based on later knowledge, huh? It's easy and fun.
Yes, looking at procedures and seeing if something could/should have been done differently is proper, but that should be done by those intimate with the situation, not by TV reporters! This kind of ripping and laying blame only leads to "cook books", where people aren't allow to make decisions, and are forced to follow paper procedures, and then if something goes wrong, you can just point to the paper and say - "I followed procedure." NOT the best solution! It leads to overreactions.
I'm also getting very annoyed at some Christian station that's been breaking into my television reception for the past four days. I get gray snow and Bible-thumping shouting instead of news and weather. You get that when self-righteous idiots broadcast a wider signal than they're allowed. I'd report them if I could figure out who they are.
.
I'm getting very annoyed at all the "Monday morning quarterbacking" regarding the officials' response to the Virginia Tech shootings, especially regarding the lack of a lockdown during the two hours between the two sets of shootings.
They knew what they knew when they knew it, and did what seemed right at the time. They had no reason to think that it was other than an isolated and personal crime of passion. Sheesh! Nothing like criticizing actions based on later knowledge, huh? It's easy and fun.
Yes, looking at procedures and seeing if something could/should have been done differently is proper, but that should be done by those intimate with the situation, not by TV reporters! This kind of ripping and laying blame only leads to "cook books", where people aren't allow to make decisions, and are forced to follow paper procedures, and then if something goes wrong, you can just point to the paper and say - "I followed procedure." NOT the best solution! It leads to overreactions.
I'm also getting very annoyed at some Christian station that's been breaking into my television reception for the past four days. I get gray snow and Bible-thumping shouting instead of news and weather. You get that when self-righteous idiots broadcast a wider signal than they're allowed. I'd report them if I could figure out who they are.
.
1209 Flood
Monday, April 16, 2007
I spent some time planning trips today, making hotel reservations. The Maryland Mensa gathering over Memorial Day weekend is already out of rooms at the group rate, so I got an executive room at the regular rate. Not a big problem, it's only $20 a night more (and with any luck I'll have company), but I'm getting tired of Mensa groups not reserving enough rooms. They get snapped up too quickly.
I also finally located the hotel I had stayed in nearest to Jay's father's house in Irondequoit. For some reason, they had dropped off the internet last year, and I had to stay in that icky place where the fire alarm kept going off. The good place is back now, and it's a different chain, so I guess that explains it. I'll be going to Rochester for Dad's ninetieth birthday, the weekend of May 12.
Given the propensity for hotel rooms at the Mensa group rate to disappear, I'm booking the October Chicago gathering room now. I don't know what my travel plans will be, so I've booked from a day before to a day after the gathering. It's easier to cancel if I don't need the room than to try to get another day if I do.
I went out to run some errands today, and was surprised to find flooding on my street. My house is on the top of the ridge, and the road curves down. Several lawns had large deep puddles, and the water was running like a river down and across the road. I don't know where it was coming from. So I decided to drive around on the back roads a bit and see what's what.
Lots of houses have huge deep puddles in their lawns. I'm sure their basements are flooded. One house had a pair of ducks swimming in the lawn lake. It was kind of cute. They looked very happy, like they were planning to move in.
I went through a woodsy development to the south west of my house, and couldn't get out, because there's a little creek that winds through, and every turn I took ended at a flooded bridge. I had to retrace my steps out.
I went down to the river. I've never seen the Hudson so high and fast. I'll bet Kingston has lost all their beach sand.
The next county up is on emergency whatsis - nobody but essential services and occupations are allowed on the roads.
Miss Thunderfoot doesn't mind. When things get bad, she gets tuna fish.
.
I spent some time planning trips today, making hotel reservations. The Maryland Mensa gathering over Memorial Day weekend is already out of rooms at the group rate, so I got an executive room at the regular rate. Not a big problem, it's only $20 a night more (and with any luck I'll have company), but I'm getting tired of Mensa groups not reserving enough rooms. They get snapped up too quickly.
I also finally located the hotel I had stayed in nearest to Jay's father's house in Irondequoit. For some reason, they had dropped off the internet last year, and I had to stay in that icky place where the fire alarm kept going off. The good place is back now, and it's a different chain, so I guess that explains it. I'll be going to Rochester for Dad's ninetieth birthday, the weekend of May 12.
Given the propensity for hotel rooms at the Mensa group rate to disappear, I'm booking the October Chicago gathering room now. I don't know what my travel plans will be, so I've booked from a day before to a day after the gathering. It's easier to cancel if I don't need the room than to try to get another day if I do.
I went out to run some errands today, and was surprised to find flooding on my street. My house is on the top of the ridge, and the road curves down. Several lawns had large deep puddles, and the water was running like a river down and across the road. I don't know where it was coming from. So I decided to drive around on the back roads a bit and see what's what.
Lots of houses have huge deep puddles in their lawns. I'm sure their basements are flooded. One house had a pair of ducks swimming in the lawn lake. It was kind of cute. They looked very happy, like they were planning to move in.
I went through a woodsy development to the south west of my house, and couldn't get out, because there's a little creek that winds through, and every turn I took ended at a flooded bridge. I had to retrace my steps out.
I went down to the river. I've never seen the Hudson so high and fast. I'll bet Kingston has lost all their beach sand.
The next county up is on emergency whatsis - nobody but essential services and occupations are allowed on the roads.
Miss Thunderfoot doesn't mind. When things get bad, she gets tuna fish.
.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
1208 Iraqi Letters
Sunday, April 15, 2007
[Later Edit - added another link.]
This is a new website, set up for Iraqi citizens to write letters to be read by the outside world. There's not much there now, they're just starting, but tuck the URL away, and go visit sometime, perhaps in a week or two or three there will be more.
Find out what real people really think.
The bottom link on the left of the "Iraq Has a Voice" home page is to
which is a collection of blog entries, mostly by very young Iraqis, children, even. There's some good stuff there already. Check it out. I am impressed with these kids and with their command of the English language.
.
[Later Edit - added another link.]
This is a new website, set up for Iraqi citizens to write letters to be read by the outside world. There's not much there now, they're just starting, but tuck the URL away, and go visit sometime, perhaps in a week or two or three there will be more.
Find out what real people really think.
The bottom link on the left of the "Iraq Has a Voice" home page is to
which is a collection of blog entries, mostly by very young Iraqis, children, even. There's some good stuff there already. Check it out. I am impressed with these kids and with their command of the English language.
.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
1207 Eyes
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Ever since the optometrist said I have "albino eyes"(an exaggeration) I've been reading about eye color, why eyes look the color they do. According to what I've read, the only color actually in the iris is some degree of some shade of brown. The other colors are caused by the eye reflecting in the blue wave length.
The iris is multi-layered. The cells in each layer (inner and outer, to simplify) can be some degree of translucent or opaque, and can have some degree of some shade of brown.
The opacity determines how much blue is reflected. If there is no brown and all layers are translucent, then no blue is reflected and you get the pink eyes of the albino, rare in human albinos. Pink eyes don't block light, and are very sensitive to and can be damaged by light.
If some or most of the cells are opaque, and have no brown, then you get clear blue eyes. The degree and location of the opacity determines the shade of blue. The more opacity the more blue and the more to the outer layer the more blue. A mostly translucent outer layer and some opacity scattered toward the inner layers will move toward gray, since the light is reflected less evenly.
Brown eyes are easy to figure out. Lots of color. Some brown eyes have a blue cast. That probably indicates a translucent outer layer over a well-colored inner layer.
Green eyes happen when the outer layer is colorless and mostly translucent, and the inner layer has some degree of light brown. Blue reflected over light brown gives green.
Liz Taylor's violet eyes? No brown, and a mix of opacity and translucence that allows some pink through with the blue.
My mother's eyes and Jay's eyes were very dark brown. Lots of an even brown color and translucence in an even mix in both layers.
Roman's eyes I call "kaleidoscope eyes", having flecks of every color. He must have a royal mix of opacity, translucence, and shades of brown color. A speck of clear on top of a light brown with a speck of dark brown right next to it with a heavy dose of opacity next to that, and so on.
Daughter's eyes range from gray through blue through turquoise, depending on her mood. I don't know what that means.
My father's eyes were the silvery blue of a winter sky. Translucent outer, opaque inner, no color. My father had "nearly albino" eyes, having no color, and high translucence.
My eyes? The outer layers are translucent and colorless (except for a visible brown spot in the outer layer of one eye). The inner layers are opaque, with small flecks of light brown. That makes them look light gray. BUT, because of the light brown, there are hints of green, especially in the right light, and usually in mirrors (mirrors cut blue, that's why blue-haired ladies don't know they have blue hair). I suspect something has changed, because my eyes were definitely green in high school. Something faded.
So when the optometrist said I had albino eyes, he was referring to the very small amount of color I have. Near albino would have been more accurate. Or like, maybe, Nordic.
All that reminded me of deer eyes. Just as you can tell a doe's footprints from a buck's by the shape, you can tell a doe from a buck by what their eyes reflect. If you've ever caught a deer in your headlights, you know that their eyes reflect a bright glow.
A doe's eyes glow toward pink, and a buck's eyes glow toward yellow or green.
Betcha didn't know that.
.
Ever since the optometrist said I have "albino eyes"(an exaggeration) I've been reading about eye color, why eyes look the color they do. According to what I've read, the only color actually in the iris is some degree of some shade of brown. The other colors are caused by the eye reflecting in the blue wave length.
The iris is multi-layered. The cells in each layer (inner and outer, to simplify) can be some degree of translucent or opaque, and can have some degree of some shade of brown.
The opacity determines how much blue is reflected. If there is no brown and all layers are translucent, then no blue is reflected and you get the pink eyes of the albino, rare in human albinos. Pink eyes don't block light, and are very sensitive to and can be damaged by light.
If some or most of the cells are opaque, and have no brown, then you get clear blue eyes. The degree and location of the opacity determines the shade of blue. The more opacity the more blue and the more to the outer layer the more blue. A mostly translucent outer layer and some opacity scattered toward the inner layers will move toward gray, since the light is reflected less evenly.
Brown eyes are easy to figure out. Lots of color. Some brown eyes have a blue cast. That probably indicates a translucent outer layer over a well-colored inner layer.
Green eyes happen when the outer layer is colorless and mostly translucent, and the inner layer has some degree of light brown. Blue reflected over light brown gives green.
Liz Taylor's violet eyes? No brown, and a mix of opacity and translucence that allows some pink through with the blue.
My mother's eyes and Jay's eyes were very dark brown. Lots of an even brown color and translucence in an even mix in both layers.
Roman's eyes I call "kaleidoscope eyes", having flecks of every color. He must have a royal mix of opacity, translucence, and shades of brown color. A speck of clear on top of a light brown with a speck of dark brown right next to it with a heavy dose of opacity next to that, and so on.
Daughter's eyes range from gray through blue through turquoise, depending on her mood. I don't know what that means.
My father's eyes were the silvery blue of a winter sky. Translucent outer, opaque inner, no color. My father had "nearly albino" eyes, having no color, and high translucence.
My eyes? The outer layers are translucent and colorless (except for a visible brown spot in the outer layer of one eye). The inner layers are opaque, with small flecks of light brown. That makes them look light gray. BUT, because of the light brown, there are hints of green, especially in the right light, and usually in mirrors (mirrors cut blue, that's why blue-haired ladies don't know they have blue hair). I suspect something has changed, because my eyes were definitely green in high school. Something faded.
So when the optometrist said I had albino eyes, he was referring to the very small amount of color I have. Near albino would have been more accurate. Or like, maybe, Nordic.
All that reminded me of deer eyes. Just as you can tell a doe's footprints from a buck's by the shape, you can tell a doe from a buck by what their eyes reflect. If you've ever caught a deer in your headlights, you know that their eyes reflect a bright glow.
A doe's eyes glow toward pink, and a buck's eyes glow toward yellow or green.
Betcha didn't know that.
.
Friday, April 13, 2007
1206 Boring Museum Day
Friday, April 13, 2007
A bunch of errands this morning. Stopped in at Piper's to warn him about the Belorussian, and he said he's already decided that the ferry idea wouldn't fit into his vacation schedule. He was surprised to hear what else I had to tell him, though.
Then to the bank, to deposit my first check from my widow's share of Jay's retirement. It's a tiny check, but I wouldn't be able to collect the full amount until Jay would have been ready for retirement, and by that time I'd be 73. I decided to take the reduced amount now.
To the health club to make my monthly payment. There was a sign on the rack that any shoes that had not been used in a while (like, say, MINE!) were going to be thrown out. Um, my shoes weren't there. I freaked. They are rather expensive jazz shoes, difficult to find, and especially difficult in my size. The woman in charge wasn't there, so I left a note. She called later in the afternoon to say that she has the shoes.
To the deli to get tea and a snack for the museum.
To the post office, mail some more bill payments.
I forget where else.
Then to the museum, where I put in 4 hours printing labels and membership cards for 33 more renewals and stuffing envelopes with cards, letters, and premiums. They have like eight levels of membership, and each level gets a different envelope stuffing. The current process is to do them alphabetically. That's a piece I'm going to change. Next time, I'm going to sort them by level! Sheesh!
The hardest part is stuffing the envelopes, because I have to stand at a conference table to do it, and leaning forward is extremely hard on my back. My back is sore and tired tonight. (People compliment me on my "perfect posture". What they don't know is that if I slump, I fall down.)
They've been working on the exhibits, for the May opening, and the featured exhibits are ice boats. Those things are BIG. (Well, some of them.) So before I left, I went downstairs with Russ to see what they'd done. It's amazing to me that I ended up volunteering at a museum whose concentration interests me very little. At least the location is interesting.
To the post office to mail the membership envelopes.
To the next village upriver. I read that they have free WiFi in the village, and I have a load of stuff to download that keeps timing out on my dialup at home. The laptop did recognize that there was WiFi, but it said the connection was weak (I was sitting right under the tower, which is atop the town water tank!), and it "connected", but said it could not access the internet. Huh? Their definition of "connect" is not the same as mine, I guess. I gave up.
And that was the day. Boring, but tiring.
.
A bunch of errands this morning. Stopped in at Piper's to warn him about the Belorussian, and he said he's already decided that the ferry idea wouldn't fit into his vacation schedule. He was surprised to hear what else I had to tell him, though.
Then to the bank, to deposit my first check from my widow's share of Jay's retirement. It's a tiny check, but I wouldn't be able to collect the full amount until Jay would have been ready for retirement, and by that time I'd be 73. I decided to take the reduced amount now.
To the health club to make my monthly payment. There was a sign on the rack that any shoes that had not been used in a while (like, say, MINE!) were going to be thrown out. Um, my shoes weren't there. I freaked. They are rather expensive jazz shoes, difficult to find, and especially difficult in my size. The woman in charge wasn't there, so I left a note. She called later in the afternoon to say that she has the shoes.
To the deli to get tea and a snack for the museum.
To the post office, mail some more bill payments.
I forget where else.
Then to the museum, where I put in 4 hours printing labels and membership cards for 33 more renewals and stuffing envelopes with cards, letters, and premiums. They have like eight levels of membership, and each level gets a different envelope stuffing. The current process is to do them alphabetically. That's a piece I'm going to change. Next time, I'm going to sort them by level! Sheesh!
The hardest part is stuffing the envelopes, because I have to stand at a conference table to do it, and leaning forward is extremely hard on my back. My back is sore and tired tonight. (People compliment me on my "perfect posture". What they don't know is that if I slump, I fall down.)
They've been working on the exhibits, for the May opening, and the featured exhibits are ice boats. Those things are BIG. (Well, some of them.) So before I left, I went downstairs with Russ to see what they'd done. It's amazing to me that I ended up volunteering at a museum whose concentration interests me very little. At least the location is interesting.
To the post office to mail the membership envelopes.
To the next village upriver. I read that they have free WiFi in the village, and I have a load of stuff to download that keeps timing out on my dialup at home. The laptop did recognize that there was WiFi, but it said the connection was weak (I was sitting right under the tower, which is atop the town water tank!), and it "connected", but said it could not access the internet. Huh? Their definition of "connect" is not the same as mine, I guess. I gave up.
And that was the day. Boring, but tiring.
.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
1205 Driving to London
[Later edit - Step 2 got folded into the URL. Fixed it. Link and directions will work now.]
1. Go to www.google.com
2. click on "maps" (above the search box)
3. click on "get directions" (under the search box)
4. type "New York" in the first box (the "from" box at the top)
5. type "London" in the second box (the "to" box at the top) and click "get directions"
6. scroll down to step #23
Google has a sense of humor.
.
1. Go to www.google.com
2. click on "maps" (above the search box)
3. click on "get directions" (under the search box)
4. type "New York" in the first box (the "from" box at the top)
5. type "London" in the second box (the "to" box at the top) and click "get directions"
6. scroll down to step #23
Google has a sense of humor.
.
1204 Static
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I’ve got a static electricity problem.
I think I’ve always had it. I build up a powerful charge just walking around.
Back when watches were stem-wound, and then self-winding, a watch never kept decent time on my wrist. Left on the dresser or in my purse it was fine, but on me, they just didn’t work. Jewelers said I was “magnetic”.
I started working for The Company in 1968, in Kingston. Computers were huge then, and kept on raised floors in climate-controlled rooms. The rooms were kept at a constant humidity because the systems were very sensitive to static electricity. Static electricity could cause a “machine check”, a major error in main storage. Each central processing unit (CPU) was surrounded by tape drives (those tall things you see representing computers in old movies) and banks of waist-high disk drives. When a CPU machine checked, all its tape drives unloaded simultaneously, and the arms of all the disk drives slammed back, rocking the banks of drives. It was an awful KA-CHUNK! sound. Loud. Followed by eerie silence.
My job entailed large amounts of time out there on the raised floor. Every time I went to the machine room, at least one machine crashed. Sometimes my progress through the room was announced by a series of KA-CHUNK!, KA-CHUNK!, KA-CHUNK! as I passed the machines. I didn’t have to touch them. If I got within eight feet of them, they went down.
It took the operators a few weeks to figure out I was causing it, because it wasn’t consistent and frankly didn‘t make sense. They turned me over to the engineers. Back then, I wore nylon stockings and nylon slips. My hair was thick, long, and loose. They made me spray everything I wore with a static guard, and dampen and tie up my hair, and if that didn‘t work, they were going to have to transfer me from programming to publications. (For a while, they actually had me trailing aluminum foil from the back of my shoe!)
Luckily, it worked. As long as I didn’t touch the paper in the operator’s console, anyway.
Then we got some new machines, the latest technology, the next model. They were supposedly also less sensitive. As a test floor, we got the first two machines off the line. Each machine manufactured got a unique model number, so it could be tracked during its life, and we got 000001 and 000002.
It just so happened that I was carrying on a mutual flirtation with the 2nd shift operator on 000002.
Every time I got anywhere near 000002, it crashed. The joke was that it recognized me and was jealous.
Fast forward two years. I’m now a Company rep at a large chemical company in St. Louis. The customer is excited because they are upgrading to the newly released technology. The new machine arrives and is installed over the weekend. The customer programming manager invites me down to the raised floor to show off his new baby.
I walk into the room on Monday afternoon, and hear ………….. KA-CHUNK! Followed by an eerie silence.
I turned to one of The Company field engineers, who had installed the machine, and said through the stunned silence of the FE and the programming manager, “I bet I can tell you the serial number on that machine.”
I was right.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I’m beginning to wonder if the serial number on my laptop might be 000002. Maybe some component deep inside is made of a bit of metal recycled from my old nemesis.
When I walk into the room and touch it, I get a shock. Always, every time. There’s a flash of light jumping between us. I’m sure it’s me generating the charge, because after that there’s no more, as long as I don’t get up and walk around. If I go out to the kitchen, when I come back I get another shock.
Jay used to ground himself when he walked into the computer room by touching a screw on the light switch. I tried that, and it’s not working for me. The only thing I can find that seems to work is the flatscreen monitor on the desktop PC, so now I touch that before touching the laptop. (Everything else on the desktop machine is plastic, so except for the monitor, which I rarely touched, static had not been a problem.)
I’m afraid I’m going to hurt the laptop, or in my efforts to avoid shocking the laptop, I’ll hurt the desktop monitor. (It’s a real fear. Back in about 1996 Jay had received an early prototype of a Blackberry-type thingy, to give to me for testing, on the theory that I can break anything. One day I touched the screen, and it went ZZZAAAAAAAP-POP, and it never recovered.)
Suggestions? Any way I can ground me or the laptop?
.
I’ve got a static electricity problem.
I think I’ve always had it. I build up a powerful charge just walking around.
Back when watches were stem-wound, and then self-winding, a watch never kept decent time on my wrist. Left on the dresser or in my purse it was fine, but on me, they just didn’t work. Jewelers said I was “magnetic”.
I started working for The Company in 1968, in Kingston. Computers were huge then, and kept on raised floors in climate-controlled rooms. The rooms were kept at a constant humidity because the systems were very sensitive to static electricity. Static electricity could cause a “machine check”, a major error in main storage. Each central processing unit (CPU) was surrounded by tape drives (those tall things you see representing computers in old movies) and banks of waist-high disk drives. When a CPU machine checked, all its tape drives unloaded simultaneously, and the arms of all the disk drives slammed back, rocking the banks of drives. It was an awful KA-CHUNK! sound. Loud. Followed by eerie silence.
My job entailed large amounts of time out there on the raised floor. Every time I went to the machine room, at least one machine crashed. Sometimes my progress through the room was announced by a series of KA-CHUNK!, KA-CHUNK!, KA-CHUNK! as I passed the machines. I didn’t have to touch them. If I got within eight feet of them, they went down.
It took the operators a few weeks to figure out I was causing it, because it wasn’t consistent and frankly didn‘t make sense. They turned me over to the engineers. Back then, I wore nylon stockings and nylon slips. My hair was thick, long, and loose. They made me spray everything I wore with a static guard, and dampen and tie up my hair, and if that didn‘t work, they were going to have to transfer me from programming to publications. (For a while, they actually had me trailing aluminum foil from the back of my shoe!)
Luckily, it worked. As long as I didn’t touch the paper in the operator’s console, anyway.
Then we got some new machines, the latest technology, the next model. They were supposedly also less sensitive. As a test floor, we got the first two machines off the line. Each machine manufactured got a unique model number, so it could be tracked during its life, and we got 000001 and 000002.
It just so happened that I was carrying on a mutual flirtation with the 2nd shift operator on 000002.
Every time I got anywhere near 000002, it crashed. The joke was that it recognized me and was jealous.
Fast forward two years. I’m now a Company rep at a large chemical company in St. Louis. The customer is excited because they are upgrading to the newly released technology. The new machine arrives and is installed over the weekend. The customer programming manager invites me down to the raised floor to show off his new baby.
I walk into the room on Monday afternoon, and hear ………….. KA-CHUNK! Followed by an eerie silence.
I turned to one of The Company field engineers, who had installed the machine, and said through the stunned silence of the FE and the programming manager, “I bet I can tell you the serial number on that machine.”
I was right.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I’m beginning to wonder if the serial number on my laptop might be 000002. Maybe some component deep inside is made of a bit of metal recycled from my old nemesis.
When I walk into the room and touch it, I get a shock. Always, every time. There’s a flash of light jumping between us. I’m sure it’s me generating the charge, because after that there’s no more, as long as I don’t get up and walk around. If I go out to the kitchen, when I come back I get another shock.
Jay used to ground himself when he walked into the computer room by touching a screw on the light switch. I tried that, and it’s not working for me. The only thing I can find that seems to work is the flatscreen monitor on the desktop PC, so now I touch that before touching the laptop. (Everything else on the desktop machine is plastic, so except for the monitor, which I rarely touched, static had not been a problem.)
I’m afraid I’m going to hurt the laptop, or in my efforts to avoid shocking the laptop, I’ll hurt the desktop monitor. (It’s a real fear. Back in about 1996 Jay had received an early prototype of a Blackberry-type thingy, to give to me for testing, on the theory that I can break anything. One day I touched the screen, and it went ZZZAAAAAAAP-POP, and it never recovered.)
Suggestions? Any way I can ground me or the laptop?
.
1203 FirstWoman's Evening
Wednesday, April 12, 2007
It's well into Thursday by now, the post date will say so, but this entry is about Wednesday. Deal with it.
I spent the morning sleeping, early afternoon got lost, late afternoon on paperwork, and evening at an "information session" ("panel" doesn't fit, neither does "lecture" or any other word...) on the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, organized by FirstWoman. It was interesting, and gave me something to think about. But it was also a bit one-sided. When you accuse someone of doing something that's not a good thing, it's obligatory to also attempt to understand WHY they do that thing. So the information was appreciated (but I already knew a lot of what the American media doesn't tell us because I read blogs and mid-eastern newspaper articles), but I'm not yet ready to venture an opinion.
I sat next to Roman, and he's the person I would most like to discuss it with, but not then, not yet, and with him, the moment passes quickly.
------------------------------------------
TV commercial for a golf course: "... and it's only minutes from many locations in Albany county."
Duh? That statement is still bonging in my head, for about six different reasons.
-------------------------------------------
The Microsoft service website says that Firefox has problems on Vista, and can cause Vista problems I guess, so that explains the strange lack of formatting I noted a few entries back. It goes on to say that Firefox has a fix. So I'll have to check on that tomorrow.
I'm also getting the error message that Sonic Something-or-other is causing compatibility problems, and the Microsoft service site has a fix, but it says that the application has to be removed prior to applying the fix. Great. I haven't the faintest idea how to remove something I can't find in any searches. Time to read some more of the "Vista for Dummies" book.
--------------------------------------------
I want to go to the museum tomorrow. I'm sure there's a backlog of memberships to process. We'll see if I get there.
--------------------------------------------
The Man is going south for the weekend, and said he wanted to talk to me this evening, "before he left", and was disappointed that I'd be out. I told him I'd call him, but when I did, after I got home, it went to voicemail. Fooey.
It's well into Thursday by now, the post date will say so, but this entry is about Wednesday. Deal with it.
I spent the morning sleeping, early afternoon got lost, late afternoon on paperwork, and evening at an "information session" ("panel" doesn't fit, neither does "lecture" or any other word...) on the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, organized by FirstWoman. It was interesting, and gave me something to think about. But it was also a bit one-sided. When you accuse someone of doing something that's not a good thing, it's obligatory to also attempt to understand WHY they do that thing. So the information was appreciated (but I already knew a lot of what the American media doesn't tell us because I read blogs and mid-eastern newspaper articles), but I'm not yet ready to venture an opinion.
I sat next to Roman, and he's the person I would most like to discuss it with, but not then, not yet, and with him, the moment passes quickly.
------------------------------------------
TV commercial for a golf course: "... and it's only minutes from many locations in Albany county."
Duh? That statement is still bonging in my head, for about six different reasons.
-------------------------------------------
The Microsoft service website says that Firefox has problems on Vista, and can cause Vista problems I guess, so that explains the strange lack of formatting I noted a few entries back. It goes on to say that Firefox has a fix. So I'll have to check on that tomorrow.
I'm also getting the error message that Sonic Something-or-other is causing compatibility problems, and the Microsoft service site has a fix, but it says that the application has to be removed prior to applying the fix. Great. I haven't the faintest idea how to remove something I can't find in any searches. Time to read some more of the "Vista for Dummies" book.
--------------------------------------------
I want to go to the museum tomorrow. I'm sure there's a backlog of memberships to process. We'll see if I get there.
--------------------------------------------
The Man is going south for the weekend, and said he wanted to talk to me this evening, "before he left", and was disappointed that I'd be out. I told him I'd call him, but when I did, after I got home, it went to voicemail. Fooey.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
1202 The Lost Nation
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
It wasn't a three hour lunch with Piper today - it was only two hours, plus the half hour we spent in his office going over my taxes.
The Angel didn't include the 111.5 hours, 1,127.1 miles, and 38.02 in tolls for 2006 volunteer work, which bugged me. I was under the impression that starting 2006, you could deduct x dollars for the hours and x cents for the miles in addition to the tolls. All that record keeping for nothing.
Piper was willing to bounce it back to The Angel to redo it, but I said it probably wouldn't be worth it unless it dropped me a bracket, so I let it go. But (evil me) I might call The Angel after the crush is over, and tell him that Piper said that The Angel would cover it out of his own pocket. Just kidding. (Piper freaked anyway. The Angel is famously tight.)
As we were finishing up, another client came in, a thin dark man about our age. Piper introduced us, saying that the man was from Belorus (used to be Byelorussia), and invited him to lunch with us (at the tavern instead of the cafe, which pleased me).
The man had a thick accent, so I occasionally missed a phrase, but the conversation was amazing, covering Baltic history and politics, Stalin and Tito, the history of the coexistence of Jews, Muslims, and several varieties of Christians in the area. Mostly it was the new guy and me against Piper, which was satisfying (but don't tell him that). I had Jamaican scallops, and they were very good, and at the end of the meal a glass of wine was mispoured and needed a home, so I got that, too. Free.
Piper said that the Belorussian had been trying to get Piper to visit Belorus, that it was mountains, sea shore, and orchards. The man was going back for a visit this fall, and it turned out that he'd be there at the same time that Piper and his lady were going to be on the east coast of Italy. The Belorussian talked Piper into arriving in Italy a few days earlier, and taking a ferry from Bari, a four hour trip across the Adriatic Sea, "and you'll arrive only ten minutes from my home. You'll love Belorus." He was very clear that Piper would be visiting Belorus.
People with a better grasp of geography should be raising eyebrows about now. I merely felt a little confusion.
When Piper got up to talk to some people at the bar (he knows everyone in town, it seems) the Belorussian turned to me and said that he had very much enjoyed our conversation, and would like to continue it, "just you and me", some evening.
I blinked twice, and stammered, "I enjoyed it too, but if you mean that in a romantic way, I can't. I'm not available."
He blinked twice, and said, "Ok. Just talk. You decide."
And then Piper returned, and we went back to the office, where I gathered up my papers and left the two of them. I went to the mall, shopped a little, and got my glasses adjusted. As soon as I got home, I dragged out the big atlas and looked up Belorus, Bari, and the Adriatic coast.
Uh huh. Belorus is, as I suspected, nowhere near the Adriatic. It's further north, completely landlocked, bordered by Russia, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, and the Ukraine.
Across the Adriatic from Bari is Albania and Croatia. I checked carefully for maybe an Albanian or Croatian town named "Belorus", but nada. I know there has been some political shuffling around there since that atlas was printed, but not that extreme!
Something's wrong. I'm gonna lug that atlas into Piper's office tomorrow and ask him what he thinks, where he thought that ferry ride was going.
So then about 6 pm, the phone rang, and it was the guy. He asked if he could come over to talk with me this evening. "Come over? Here? This evening? [Read with rising panicked tone.] Uh, no. Perhaps we could meet like at the diner, some afternoon. Coffee. Talk there. Not here. No."
It was a short conversation, after which I made sure the doors were locked. Deadbolted.
I gotta talk with Piper! I just remembered his lady has a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Oh, dear.
---------------------------------------
It's funny. I had all those online dating profiles out there, and nothing but duds, gradually petering to no nibbles at all. I kill the profiles, and suddenly men are dropping from trees. Good ones, bad ones, big ones, small ones, fat ones, tall ones. I could take my pick. I'm rather pleased that the one flirtation I decided to follow up on, whom I suspect I chose precisely because he seemed impossible (fear of actually finding someone, Silk?) looks like it might get interesting.
Scary, but interesting.
----------------------------------------
Later addition:
I am now entering my 43rd hour awake, and it's odd for a little old lady, but I'm neither physically nor mentally tired. I feel like I could keep going. Must be all that end-of-release overtime training in The Company. My eyes, however, have been red and swollen all day, and now they're getting dry. Makes me wonder how many hours I could do if I could just close my eyes occasionally without necessarily sleeping.
.
It wasn't a three hour lunch with Piper today - it was only two hours, plus the half hour we spent in his office going over my taxes.
The Angel didn't include the 111.5 hours, 1,127.1 miles, and 38.02 in tolls for 2006 volunteer work, which bugged me. I was under the impression that starting 2006, you could deduct x dollars for the hours and x cents for the miles in addition to the tolls. All that record keeping for nothing.
Piper was willing to bounce it back to The Angel to redo it, but I said it probably wouldn't be worth it unless it dropped me a bracket, so I let it go. But (evil me) I might call The Angel after the crush is over, and tell him that Piper said that The Angel would cover it out of his own pocket. Just kidding. (Piper freaked anyway. The Angel is famously tight.)
As we were finishing up, another client came in, a thin dark man about our age. Piper introduced us, saying that the man was from Belorus (used to be Byelorussia), and invited him to lunch with us (at the tavern instead of the cafe, which pleased me).
The man had a thick accent, so I occasionally missed a phrase, but the conversation was amazing, covering Baltic history and politics, Stalin and Tito, the history of the coexistence of Jews, Muslims, and several varieties of Christians in the area. Mostly it was the new guy and me against Piper, which was satisfying (but don't tell him that). I had Jamaican scallops, and they were very good, and at the end of the meal a glass of wine was mispoured and needed a home, so I got that, too. Free.
Piper said that the Belorussian had been trying to get Piper to visit Belorus, that it was mountains, sea shore, and orchards. The man was going back for a visit this fall, and it turned out that he'd be there at the same time that Piper and his lady were going to be on the east coast of Italy. The Belorussian talked Piper into arriving in Italy a few days earlier, and taking a ferry from Bari, a four hour trip across the Adriatic Sea, "and you'll arrive only ten minutes from my home. You'll love Belorus." He was very clear that Piper would be visiting Belorus.
People with a better grasp of geography should be raising eyebrows about now. I merely felt a little confusion.
When Piper got up to talk to some people at the bar (he knows everyone in town, it seems) the Belorussian turned to me and said that he had very much enjoyed our conversation, and would like to continue it, "just you and me", some evening.
I blinked twice, and stammered, "I enjoyed it too, but if you mean that in a romantic way, I can't. I'm not available."
He blinked twice, and said, "Ok. Just talk. You decide."
And then Piper returned, and we went back to the office, where I gathered up my papers and left the two of them. I went to the mall, shopped a little, and got my glasses adjusted. As soon as I got home, I dragged out the big atlas and looked up Belorus, Bari, and the Adriatic coast.
Uh huh. Belorus is, as I suspected, nowhere near the Adriatic. It's further north, completely landlocked, bordered by Russia, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, and the Ukraine.
Across the Adriatic from Bari is Albania and Croatia. I checked carefully for maybe an Albanian or Croatian town named "Belorus", but nada. I know there has been some political shuffling around there since that atlas was printed, but not that extreme!
Something's wrong. I'm gonna lug that atlas into Piper's office tomorrow and ask him what he thinks, where he thought that ferry ride was going.
So then about 6 pm, the phone rang, and it was the guy. He asked if he could come over to talk with me this evening. "Come over? Here? This evening? [Read with rising panicked tone.] Uh, no. Perhaps we could meet like at the diner, some afternoon. Coffee. Talk there. Not here. No."
It was a short conversation, after which I made sure the doors were locked. Deadbolted.
I gotta talk with Piper! I just remembered his lady has a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Oh, dear.
---------------------------------------
It's funny. I had all those online dating profiles out there, and nothing but duds, gradually petering to no nibbles at all. I kill the profiles, and suddenly men are dropping from trees. Good ones, bad ones, big ones, small ones, fat ones, tall ones. I could take my pick. I'm rather pleased that the one flirtation I decided to follow up on, whom I suspect I chose precisely because he seemed impossible (fear of actually finding someone, Silk?) looks like it might get interesting.
Scary, but interesting.
----------------------------------------
Later addition:
I am now entering my 43rd hour awake, and it's odd for a little old lady, but I'm neither physically nor mentally tired. I feel like I could keep going. Must be all that end-of-release overtime training in The Company. My eyes, however, have been red and swollen all day, and now they're getting dry. Makes me wonder how many hours I could do if I could just close my eyes occasionally without necessarily sleeping.
.
1201 Sleepless
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
[Later edit - more info on the strange Blogger bug.]
I went to bed at about 4:30 am (don't ask, I don't know, maybe I'm punishing myself for having accomplished nothing all week), set the alarm for 10 am, worked some crosswords, and was just falling asleep when something woke me - to the sight of a huge wolf spider running up my pillow, inches from my face.
I have a small problem with spiders that close. I think they can read minds.
It escaped between the top of the mattress and the wall, and I've been wide awake since. I heard every click in the house, every train passing (two miles away), every vehicle on the road, every raccoon in the yard. Miss Thunderfoot snores. So here it is 7:50 am, and I may as well give up.
-------------------------------
Something has happened to Blogger. I don't have the toolbar across the top of this input area, you know, the "edit HTML", "preview", "change size/font/color" thingies? Anyone else having the same problem? It looks very primitive. (Worse, the "save as draft" button doesn't work.)
Surprise. Bloglines isn't working, either. Also primitive. I don't get the list of posts, the "buttons" that are usually on tabs are just arranged in a list, and they don't seem to work as links to anything.
I've seen all of this before, and it resolved itself, but I'm concerned because no one else has mentioned seeing it. Could it be only me? Has my Java gone sour, or something?
Later -
It's also Yahoo, and Flicker, and a few other sites, but only on Firefox! Netscape and Internet Explorer (and AOL, which uses IE) are having no trouble formatting the pages. Hmmmmm. It's not me. It's Firefox.
.
[Later edit - more info on the strange Blogger bug.]
I went to bed at about 4:30 am (don't ask, I don't know, maybe I'm punishing myself for having accomplished nothing all week), set the alarm for 10 am, worked some crosswords, and was just falling asleep when something woke me - to the sight of a huge wolf spider running up my pillow, inches from my face.
I have a small problem with spiders that close. I think they can read minds.
It escaped between the top of the mattress and the wall, and I've been wide awake since. I heard every click in the house, every train passing (two miles away), every vehicle on the road, every raccoon in the yard. Miss Thunderfoot snores. So here it is 7:50 am, and I may as well give up.
-------------------------------
Something has happened to Blogger. I don't have the toolbar across the top of this input area, you know, the "edit HTML", "preview", "change size/font/color" thingies? Anyone else having the same problem? It looks very primitive. (Worse, the "save as draft" button doesn't work.)
Surprise. Bloglines isn't working, either. Also primitive. I don't get the list of posts, the "buttons" that are usually on tabs are just arranged in a list, and they don't seem to work as links to anything.
I've seen all of this before, and it resolved itself, but I'm concerned because no one else has mentioned seeing it. Could it be only me? Has my Java gone sour, or something?
Later -
It's also Yahoo, and Flicker, and a few other sites, but only on Firefox! Netscape and Internet Explorer (and AOL, which uses IE) are having no trouble formatting the pages. Hmmmmm. It's not me. It's Firefox.
.
1200 So Far Behind
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
It's 3:45 am, and I should be asleep. I have to meet Piper at 11:30 tomorrow (actually later today! Ack!) to go over the tax ramifications (The Angel finally finished the 2006 taxes, and the plans for 2007) and outline the next set of sales and purchases. And then lunch, of course. Probably not the usual three-hour lunch this time, at least I hope not. It's a busy time for him, and the broken foot and his lady's surgery have him working weekends, so I don't want to distract him. Plus, I'm so far behind on my own stuff I'm beginning to feel so overwhelmed that I sit and stare at lists instead of DOING stuff. When I feel overwhelmed, I play Spider Solitaire, and it's been so bad lately I'm beginning to recognize repeats of deals.
I've got a few trips coming up, and I absolutely have to make reservations NOW!, or I'll be camping in the hotel lobby.
If I don't do laundry soon, I'm going to have to buy more clothes!
Pay bills? My credit rating is good enough to take a hit or two, I hope.
Sell those stock dogs? Oh well, they can only go up after that dive the other week.
Clean house? Spider webs? Spiders eat those clothes moths. Let'em work.
I didn't make it into the museum at all last week, so I definitely have to go this week. Today is out, so it'll have to be Wednesday, but I have a panel discussion I want to attend Wednesday evening, and if anyone wants to have dinner before the program, it could be tight.
The calendar is rapidly filling up. All winter there's nothing, and then all summer there's three or four things I want to do every day of every weekend. I refuse to miss Spring Plowing (my beloved draft horses) again this year! Priorities will have to rotate.
I gotta get organized. Or maybe an assistant. Yeah, an assistant.... That's the ticket.
.
It's 3:45 am, and I should be asleep. I have to meet Piper at 11:30 tomorrow (actually later today! Ack!) to go over the tax ramifications (The Angel finally finished the 2006 taxes, and the plans for 2007) and outline the next set of sales and purchases. And then lunch, of course. Probably not the usual three-hour lunch this time, at least I hope not. It's a busy time for him, and the broken foot and his lady's surgery have him working weekends, so I don't want to distract him. Plus, I'm so far behind on my own stuff I'm beginning to feel so overwhelmed that I sit and stare at lists instead of DOING stuff. When I feel overwhelmed, I play Spider Solitaire, and it's been so bad lately I'm beginning to recognize repeats of deals.
I've got a few trips coming up, and I absolutely have to make reservations NOW!, or I'll be camping in the hotel lobby.
If I don't do laundry soon, I'm going to have to buy more clothes!
Pay bills? My credit rating is good enough to take a hit or two, I hope.
Sell those stock dogs? Oh well, they can only go up after that dive the other week.
Clean house? Spider webs? Spiders eat those clothes moths. Let'em work.
I didn't make it into the museum at all last week, so I definitely have to go this week. Today is out, so it'll have to be Wednesday, but I have a panel discussion I want to attend Wednesday evening, and if anyone wants to have dinner before the program, it could be tight.
The calendar is rapidly filling up. All winter there's nothing, and then all summer there's three or four things I want to do every day of every weekend. I refuse to miss Spring Plowing (my beloved draft horses) again this year! Priorities will have to rotate.
I gotta get organized. Or maybe an assistant. Yeah, an assistant.... That's the ticket.
.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
1199 Laptop Lament
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Having trouble with connection (bouncing every three minutes), and laptop is being difficult. I had to restore from the 3/14 checkpoint on Friday. It was ok for a while if I shutdown every time, but if it goes into sleep or hibernation, it's very sick when it comes back up. Mother is not pleased.
Having trouble with connection (bouncing every three minutes), and laptop is being difficult. I had to restore from the 3/14 checkpoint on Friday. It was ok for a while if I shutdown every time, but if it goes into sleep or hibernation, it's very sick when it comes back up. Mother is not pleased.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
1198 I'm Still Alive?
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Forty-five years ago I made a few promises to my Gramma. I kept them all as long as she was alive. She's been gone about thirty years now, and one by one the promises have fallen aside. I now play cards on Sunday. I bought a lottery ticket. I even dated some non-Protestant men. Other sins.
I broke the last standing promise yesterday. I ate meat on Good Friday.
.
Forty-five years ago I made a few promises to my Gramma. I kept them all as long as she was alive. She's been gone about thirty years now, and one by one the promises have fallen aside. I now play cards on Sunday. I bought a lottery ticket. I even dated some non-Protestant men. Other sins.
I broke the last standing promise yesterday. I ate meat on Good Friday.
.
Friday, April 06, 2007
1197 Spam
Friday, April 6, 2007
I had to go back and edit the last five posts - I was stuck in March. Oh well, at least I'm pretty solidly into 2007 by now.
I am amused by the subject lines on spam. It looks like they just pick random words. Today's spam:
That "you be cartoon" worries me a tad.
.
I had to go back and edit the last five posts - I was stuck in March. Oh well, at least I'm pretty solidly into 2007 by now.
I am amused by the subject lines on spam. It looks like they just pick random words. Today's spam:
image smaller
ignoring
Or of version
rstein
them whenever Forgive
I looking for serious relation, are you?
by he glory
fc Buyers GuideGifts forfrom
Re: Or multifarious
by so dear
As community
Re: chameleon lively
A stage
you be cartoon
As bernville before gualala
He wood
As earthquake
lfacing
RE:Why look anywhere else? I found it here
But juntura on keenesburg
you have got new "show interests" from ladie
her whom wednesday
do in parental
xzoom
ignoring
Or of version
rstein
them whenever Forgive
I looking for serious relation, are you?
by he glory
fc Buyers GuideGifts forfrom
Re: Or multifarious
by so dear
As community
Re: chameleon lively
A stage
you be cartoon
As bernville before gualala
He wood
As earthquake
lfacing
RE:Why look anywhere else? I found it here
But juntura on keenesburg
you have got new "show interests" from ladie
her whom wednesday
do in parental
xzoom
That "you be cartoon" worries me a tad.
.
1196 Closed Doors
Friday, April 6, 2007
[Edit - fixed the date.]
Talking with Roman on the phone last night, I was telling him about the too-small house and how Daughter and Hercules need space between them sometimes, and he said, "Don't the rooms have doors?" Me, "Doors?" He, "You can go into a room and close the door."
I had an instant feeling of revulsion, which I did not express.
In my mind, there's an enormous difference between space between a couple, and a closed door between them. Space is respect. A closed door is rejection.
It seems to illustrate the difference between Roman and me.
Not to say he's wrong, or bad, it's just a different way of being, and I don't like it. I am pleased that the concept of closed doors doesn't come naturally to Daughter and Hercules.
Or me.
.
[Edit - fixed the date.]
Talking with Roman on the phone last night, I was telling him about the too-small house and how Daughter and Hercules need space between them sometimes, and he said, "Don't the rooms have doors?" Me, "Doors?" He, "You can go into a room and close the door."
I had an instant feeling of revulsion, which I did not express.
In my mind, there's an enormous difference between space between a couple, and a closed door between them. Space is respect. A closed door is rejection.
It seems to illustrate the difference between Roman and me.
Not to say he's wrong, or bad, it's just a different way of being, and I don't like it. I am pleased that the concept of closed doors doesn't come naturally to Daughter and Hercules.
Or me.
.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
1195 Animal Games
Thursday, April 5, 2007
[4/6 Edit - fixed the date.]
A friend sent me a description and observation from her friend, who had seen three young rabbits playing leapfrog, almost exactly the way children play it. They lined up, and the end rabbit jumped over each of the other two, then the end rabbit jumped over two, and the line of bunnies progressed across the lawn that way. She had seen squirrels "playing" before, but was surprised that rabbits play, too.
I'm not. I have several times seen two rabbits playing leapfrog, taking turns leaping over each other. Almost all young animals have games of some kind, games that can only be described as games because they don't seem to have any survival purpose, and the animals are so obviously enjoying them.
I've seen the calves down the road play something that looks a lot like tag. They have another game where they form a circle, all facing in, and they stand very still for a moment, and then suddenly one calf will break out and run away, and all the others try to catch her. Year after year the calves play the same games, and you have to wonder where they learn them.
In mammals, play usually seems to disappear at puberty, but not always.
I've watched adult crows play. One favorite game is where everybody forms a line in the sky, then the line loops around to form a horizontal figure 8, and the crows go 'round and 'round the figure 8, interweaving at the crossing. As each crow interleaves, alternates, through the crossing, they caw loudly. The enjoyment is obvious.
If joy is an emotion, how can people say animals don't experience emotions?
-------------------------------------
The day was spent on catching up on emails, and on the telephone. FirstWoman called in the morning, and we talked for quite a while. The Man called on his way into work at noon, and we talked for quite a while. The lady from the volunteer program called to ask if I could man a table at a charity fair. We didn't talk long, because I wasn't available that day. I called Piper to find out how his lady is doing, and we talked for maybe a half hour (she's fine). Roman called this evening, and we talked for quite a while.
For someone who hates the telephone, I sure am appreciating calls these days. Maybe I've finally just found people I like talking to on the phone.
.
[4/6 Edit - fixed the date.]
A friend sent me a description and observation from her friend, who had seen three young rabbits playing leapfrog, almost exactly the way children play it. They lined up, and the end rabbit jumped over each of the other two, then the end rabbit jumped over two, and the line of bunnies progressed across the lawn that way. She had seen squirrels "playing" before, but was surprised that rabbits play, too.
I'm not. I have several times seen two rabbits playing leapfrog, taking turns leaping over each other. Almost all young animals have games of some kind, games that can only be described as games because they don't seem to have any survival purpose, and the animals are so obviously enjoying them.
I've seen the calves down the road play something that looks a lot like tag. They have another game where they form a circle, all facing in, and they stand very still for a moment, and then suddenly one calf will break out and run away, and all the others try to catch her. Year after year the calves play the same games, and you have to wonder where they learn them.
In mammals, play usually seems to disappear at puberty, but not always.
I've watched adult crows play. One favorite game is where everybody forms a line in the sky, then the line loops around to form a horizontal figure 8, and the crows go 'round and 'round the figure 8, interweaving at the crossing. As each crow interleaves, alternates, through the crossing, they caw loudly. The enjoyment is obvious.
If joy is an emotion, how can people say animals don't experience emotions?
-------------------------------------
The day was spent on catching up on emails, and on the telephone. FirstWoman called in the morning, and we talked for quite a while. The Man called on his way into work at noon, and we talked for quite a while. The lady from the volunteer program called to ask if I could man a table at a charity fair. We didn't talk long, because I wasn't available that day. I called Piper to find out how his lady is doing, and we talked for maybe a half hour (she's fine). Roman called this evening, and we talked for quite a while.
For someone who hates the telephone, I sure am appreciating calls these days. Maybe I've finally just found people I like talking to on the phone.
.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
1194 Back Again, Again
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
[Edit - fixed the date.]
I'm back from a visit with Daughter and Hercules, and I'm so tired at this point I literally can't see straight. I occasionally pull all-nighters, and they don't seem to affect me too badly, so I don't know why I'm so tired. Maybe it was from thinking a lot as opposed to doing a lot.
It was a very good visit. A lot of very good things happened. Rather than attempt to compose an entry tonight, I'm going to simply paste in an email I wrote earlier this evening.
A few explanatory notes:
The person to whom I am writing the note, a family member, had sent me one of those "going around the internet things". The text was about how you can tell that summer's coming when young women start displaying their belly buttons, followed by a photo of a very heavy woman sitting on a park bench. The skirt of the woman's dress reaches to her knees, and hanging down from under the hem, between her spread knees, is a fold of drooping belly, complete with belly button.
And I hope the woman who sent me the sculpture park photos will not be offended. The outrage at the deterioration of morality upon which I comment was not hers, but that of the person who sent it to her.
I have edited to remove real names and insert the usual [aliases].
------------start of email-----------
I opened the "spring belly button" on the ancient desktop, and so the photo "revealed" very slowly, a line at a time. It crept down and I thought, "yes, not a belly button I'd want to see", and then it got to the skirt hem, then below, and then I almost fell off the chair! OMG!!
My second thought was "the poor woman". She probably didn't realize what was showing. I think we can be pretty certain that even if she knew her picture was being taken, she wouldn't want to be broadcast looking like that all over the internet! I worry that somehow, someone, some way, maybe someone who knows her, will send it to her. Of course, the photo may have been "shopped", and she didn't really look like that at all, but she's still a real person, and that might even be worse.
I guess I'm a prude. Am I strange to worry about the feelings of a stranger?
I got a broadcast from a woman in a retirement community in Miami, a blogging-buddy, complaining about how "this sculpture park" (in Denmark, I think) proves the erosion of morality today. Included were about 30 photos of anatomically correct statues, mostly couples in XXX-rated positions.
Now, I have to wonder, why would someone who is so concerned about the erosion of morals send those photos to 70 of their closest friends?
Ok, yeah, I'm a prude, and proud of it.
---------------------------------------
I was amazed at the latest photos of [niece]'s tummy. Now THAT's a belly button to be proud of! I can't believe how perfectly round she is. I also can't believe there's still so long to go. This is the first tummy I've seen where the word "burst" is the first thought. "Twins" is the second.
-----------------------------------------
I was visiting [Daughter] and [Hercules] Monday and Tuesday. [Daughter] and I went out with her realtor and looked at some houses. It was interesting and fun.
[Daughter] is very easily swayed by propinquity to woods. She's in love with, and they have a (too low) bid in on, a house that's more than they can afford, and very tiny, but that backs on woods and a creek. I pointed out that she and [Hercules] often need to have space between them. This house has the rooms arranged all around the center, so that no matter where they are in the house, they'd never be more than just around the corner from each other. She agreed that could be a problem.
One house she liked was in very bad condition, but much larger and $70,000 less than most of what they'd seen, so maybe they could fix it up. I found some, and I suspect extensive, dry rot. I advised her she'd not be buying a house, but a lot and foundation. This house was meant for someone who wants to tear down and custom-build.
Another house was extremely ugly inside, and the tenants lived like pigs. It was really bad. But the structure looked sound and well-kept, and there was nothing a crowbar, paint, new flooring and new molding wouldn't fix. It had great potential. Best of all, it had three or four bedrooms, an attic that smelled like an attic should, and was big enough that if they were in opposite ends, they'd be completely unaware of each other. Oh, and the roof looked new. Even if they don't go for that house (it's next to a busy road), I hope she at least learned a little bit from my comments. (I had promised myself I would make no persuasive comments at all, but, well, I tried to be quiet, but she asked....)
She and [Hercules] are both frustrated that they can't find something that a) they both agree on, b) they can afford, and c) doesn't sell out from under them. I explained to her my "theory of fate":
I told her that things happen as they should. If they don't find the perfect house now, or what seems to be the perfect house is torn away from them, it's because it's not yet the right time, or not yet the right house. It will all happen as it should.
That doesn't mean that bad things don't happen. Sometimes bad things happen because they should, because there is an experience you are meant to have, or a lesson you need to learn. You might buy the absolute perfect house, and then find it's on a floodplain. Those kinds of bad things you recover from eventually, and you are stronger, smarter, and better for them.
That's only if you have been honest and moral going into something. If you cheat, or do something you know is wrong, then any bad outcome is not a survivable beneficial lesson, but deserved retribution, from which you learn and earn nothing. It's not part of your "path", because you left your path. I really believe this.
[Daughter] was surprised when I said that. "Retribution" sounded like, um, God, religion, which isn't "me". I said it's not necessarily a religious thing. It's not an old man up there meting out punishment. It's just the way things work. Actually, it's probably psychology. Surviving, learning, and strengthening from something you did not cause is easier than from something you know was your own "badness". But that's not all of it. I do believe that some things are "ordained", are meant to happen on your path to enlightenment. I believe that if you do and be "good", stay true to yourself, then things will happen as they should, and even if they seem bad, they are necessary.
-------------------------------------
On the personal front, after many less than satisfactory experiences, I have killed all my online dating profiles. If I ever try that again, I'm going to be a lot more mysterious on paper, and insist on a fast meeting, so that the dashed expectations aren't so painful.
On March 3rd, I met a new man at a weekend Mensa gathering in New Jersey. Absolutely everything is wrong with the whole thing! He lives too far away ([Northern NJ]), he's too tall, too urban, too much into sports, too into pop culture, and much much too young (46). I absolutely cannot see him walking in the woods or going to county fairs with me. But he's nice looking, has a fast and eclectic mind that fascinates me, a backstory I'd like to hear, and he seems to be impressed with something about me. Not sure what, but I'll take it. He had dinner with[Daughter], [Hercules], and me last Monday. [Daughter]'s opinion is that maybe it won't work in the long run, but otherwise she approves and says "Have fun, Mom!"
Well, we'll see. He's certainly very attentive. I haven't had that in a very long time.
------------end of email-----------
When I said "everything is wrong", I am referring to "The Requirements". I sort of had an idea of what I wanted to find in a man. (I'm going to call this guy "The Man".) The Man is nice looking, but appearance wasn't a requirement. Among the requirements were that a candidate for my affections had to be smarter and faster than I, and possess an intricate mind. I think he does. It's the first thing I noticed about him. I suspect that he can not only stand up to me, but is capable of manipulating the "Master Manipulator" (as I have been called, but never believed). He could be very dangerous.
In no other way does he fit any of the other oh-so-important requirements, like age, height, propinquity, retirement (available time), social similarities, etc. It's interesting that I'm beginning to think that maybe those aren't so important after all. He does do volunteer work with autistic kids. A service requirement I hadn't considered.
Dangerous.
Hmmmm.
"Have fun, Mom!"
.
[Edit - fixed the date.]
I'm back from a visit with Daughter and Hercules, and I'm so tired at this point I literally can't see straight. I occasionally pull all-nighters, and they don't seem to affect me too badly, so I don't know why I'm so tired. Maybe it was from thinking a lot as opposed to doing a lot.
It was a very good visit. A lot of very good things happened. Rather than attempt to compose an entry tonight, I'm going to simply paste in an email I wrote earlier this evening.
A few explanatory notes:
The person to whom I am writing the note, a family member, had sent me one of those "going around the internet things". The text was about how you can tell that summer's coming when young women start displaying their belly buttons, followed by a photo of a very heavy woman sitting on a park bench. The skirt of the woman's dress reaches to her knees, and hanging down from under the hem, between her spread knees, is a fold of drooping belly, complete with belly button.
And I hope the woman who sent me the sculpture park photos will not be offended. The outrage at the deterioration of morality upon which I comment was not hers, but that of the person who sent it to her.
I have edited to remove real names and insert the usual [aliases].
------------start of email-----------
I opened the "spring belly button" on the ancient desktop, and so the photo "revealed" very slowly, a line at a time. It crept down and I thought, "yes, not a belly button I'd want to see", and then it got to the skirt hem, then below, and then I almost fell off the chair! OMG!!
My second thought was "the poor woman". She probably didn't realize what was showing. I think we can be pretty certain that even if she knew her picture was being taken, she wouldn't want to be broadcast looking like that all over the internet! I worry that somehow, someone, some way, maybe someone who knows her, will send it to her. Of course, the photo may have been "shopped", and she didn't really look like that at all, but she's still a real person, and that might even be worse.
I guess I'm a prude. Am I strange to worry about the feelings of a stranger?
I got a broadcast from a woman in a retirement community in Miami, a blogging-buddy, complaining about how "this sculpture park" (in Denmark, I think) proves the erosion of morality today. Included were about 30 photos of anatomically correct statues, mostly couples in XXX-rated positions.
Now, I have to wonder, why would someone who is so concerned about the erosion of morals send those photos to 70 of their closest friends?
Ok, yeah, I'm a prude, and proud of it.
---------------------------------------
I was amazed at the latest photos of [niece]'s tummy. Now THAT's a belly button to be proud of! I can't believe how perfectly round she is. I also can't believe there's still so long to go. This is the first tummy I've seen where the word "burst" is the first thought. "Twins" is the second.
-----------------------------------------
I was visiting [Daughter] and [Hercules] Monday and Tuesday. [Daughter] and I went out with her realtor and looked at some houses. It was interesting and fun.
[Daughter] is very easily swayed by propinquity to woods. She's in love with, and they have a (too low) bid in on, a house that's more than they can afford, and very tiny, but that backs on woods and a creek. I pointed out that she and [Hercules] often need to have space between them. This house has the rooms arranged all around the center, so that no matter where they are in the house, they'd never be more than just around the corner from each other. She agreed that could be a problem.
One house she liked was in very bad condition, but much larger and $70,000 less than most of what they'd seen, so maybe they could fix it up. I found some, and I suspect extensive, dry rot. I advised her she'd not be buying a house, but a lot and foundation. This house was meant for someone who wants to tear down and custom-build.
Another house was extremely ugly inside, and the tenants lived like pigs. It was really bad. But the structure looked sound and well-kept, and there was nothing a crowbar, paint, new flooring and new molding wouldn't fix. It had great potential. Best of all, it had three or four bedrooms, an attic that smelled like an attic should, and was big enough that if they were in opposite ends, they'd be completely unaware of each other. Oh, and the roof looked new. Even if they don't go for that house (it's next to a busy road), I hope she at least learned a little bit from my comments. (I had promised myself I would make no persuasive comments at all, but, well, I tried to be quiet, but she asked....)
She and [Hercules] are both frustrated that they can't find something that a) they both agree on, b) they can afford, and c) doesn't sell out from under them. I explained to her my "theory of fate":
I told her that things happen as they should. If they don't find the perfect house now, or what seems to be the perfect house is torn away from them, it's because it's not yet the right time, or not yet the right house. It will all happen as it should.
That doesn't mean that bad things don't happen. Sometimes bad things happen because they should, because there is an experience you are meant to have, or a lesson you need to learn. You might buy the absolute perfect house, and then find it's on a floodplain. Those kinds of bad things you recover from eventually, and you are stronger, smarter, and better for them.
That's only if you have been honest and moral going into something. If you cheat, or do something you know is wrong, then any bad outcome is not a survivable beneficial lesson, but deserved retribution, from which you learn and earn nothing. It's not part of your "path", because you left your path. I really believe this.
[Daughter] was surprised when I said that. "Retribution" sounded like, um, God, religion, which isn't "me". I said it's not necessarily a religious thing. It's not an old man up there meting out punishment. It's just the way things work. Actually, it's probably psychology. Surviving, learning, and strengthening from something you did not cause is easier than from something you know was your own "badness". But that's not all of it. I do believe that some things are "ordained", are meant to happen on your path to enlightenment. I believe that if you do and be "good", stay true to yourself, then things will happen as they should, and even if they seem bad, they are necessary.
-------------------------------------
On the personal front, after many less than satisfactory experiences, I have killed all my online dating profiles. If I ever try that again, I'm going to be a lot more mysterious on paper, and insist on a fast meeting, so that the dashed expectations aren't so painful.
On March 3rd, I met a new man at a weekend Mensa gathering in New Jersey. Absolutely everything is wrong with the whole thing! He lives too far away ([Northern NJ]), he's too tall, too urban, too much into sports, too into pop culture, and much much too young (46). I absolutely cannot see him walking in the woods or going to county fairs with me. But he's nice looking, has a fast and eclectic mind that fascinates me, a backstory I'd like to hear, and he seems to be impressed with something about me. Not sure what, but I'll take it. He had dinner with[Daughter], [Hercules], and me last Monday. [Daughter]'s opinion is that maybe it won't work in the long run, but otherwise she approves and says "Have fun, Mom!"
Well, we'll see. He's certainly very attentive. I haven't had that in a very long time.
------------end of email-----------
When I said "everything is wrong", I am referring to "The Requirements". I sort of had an idea of what I wanted to find in a man. (I'm going to call this guy "The Man".) The Man is nice looking, but appearance wasn't a requirement. Among the requirements were that a candidate for my affections had to be smarter and faster than I, and possess an intricate mind. I think he does. It's the first thing I noticed about him. I suspect that he can not only stand up to me, but is capable of manipulating the "Master Manipulator" (as I have been called, but never believed). He could be very dangerous.
In no other way does he fit any of the other oh-so-important requirements, like age, height, propinquity, retirement (available time), social similarities, etc. It's interesting that I'm beginning to think that maybe those aren't so important after all. He does do volunteer work with autistic kids. A service requirement I hadn't considered.
Dangerous.
Hmmmm.
"Have fun, Mom!"
.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
1193 The Uncomfortable Thing
Sunday, April 1, 2007
[4/6 Edit - fixed the date.]
I mentioned that something uncomfortable had happened last weekend, when I went to The Rabbi's 40th anniversary celebration.
Ever since he contacted me, almost two years ago, I'd been wanting to visit, to see him again and meet The Rebbetzin. (I had been searching for what to call her. Rabbess? Rabbette? Rabbit?! Turns out rebbetzin is the proper term for a rabbi's wife. Cool.)
I was happy to get the invitation. It was perfect for a visit. I wouldn't be "putting them out" at all.
He and I had started college in the same class, but I graduated a year early. I wasn't aware that he was dating anyone. When he said that they were married a little less than a year after he graduated, my thought was that he worked fast.
After they renewed their vows in the church, there was a communion. I was probably the only person who didn't get in line. I'm technically not Christian, so I didn't feel it would be right. The couple stood at the front, and spoke to everyone as they came through. I noticed that The Rabbi hugged every person, male and female, young and old. At the end of the service, the couple were at the back, again greeting and hugging everyone as they left. I tacked myself on the very end of the line. When I got up to them, The Rabbi took my hand in both of his, and we three chatted. Smiles, but no hug. I didn't really notice then. I'm not a hugger anyway.
During the reception, they made the rounds. Whenever I spoke with The Rebbetzin with people around, she was gracious and smiled.
I had stayed to help clean up. It also gave me a chance to talk with them a little more. I saw her sitting alone against the wall, looking a bit worn out. Given that she had cooked all the food (and it was all delicious), I wasn't surprised. I went over to chat, started by complimenting the cake, I think, and she didn't smile. I was getting a rather hard look. Finally she interrupted me, and said, "We HAVE met. I visited [The Rabbi] at college, a couple times, and we met then." Still no smile. I was confused, and admitted that I didn't remember. I sputtered some blather - her hard look was confusing - and excused myself to go clear up some more.
Later, I ran into The Rabbi in the kitchen. I told him what she'd said, and he confirmed it. We'd apparently met more than once. I wondered if I had offended her back then. It had to be more than my simply not remembering meeting her (although it does trouble me that I don't).
Well, turns out she was in high school when he was in college, and they had been dating during that whole time. I don't remember him dating anyone. In fact, his roommate was ...um... flamboyant (in the early '60s, that's as specific as anyone would get), and I sometimes wondered if The Rabbi was interested in girls at all. I mean, given that, you'd think I'd remember meeting a girlfriend!
After meeting me, he says she was absolutely convinced that he and I were carrying on a torrid campus affair, and there was nothing he could say to convince her otherwise. She absolutely believed it to her core. Apparently she "forgave" him, because she married him, but he thinks she still believes it.
A surprise to me, to say the least.
So now I feel bad that I went at all. Maybe it would have been better had I taken a date along. Had I known, I wouldn't have gone, and had I gone, I shouldn't have stayed to help clean up. The only thing I didn't do wrong - at least I wore a nice sedate ankle-length little old lady dress, and my hair was tied back.
I felt so bad. I wonder if I put a cloud on her day. I wonder what on earth possessed him to contact me through the college alumni website! That had to annoy her.
I wonder if she gave him a rough time later.
I feel guilty. But I didn't do anything wrong! It's not my fault!
Normally, I'd be writing a nice note thanking them for an enjoyable evening, and wishing them many more years of happiness.
Now I don't know how that would be received.
Phooey. I'm not sure what to do.
------------------------------------------------------
This has been a recurring theme in my life. My best friend in college cut me off completely when she met the man she later married (and they're still married) because she decided I was "after him". I barely even met him. I sent her email after I found her in the college alumni data base, several, in fact, over the past two years, and she has not responded.
After college, my best friend in Gettysburg cut me off completely when she met the man she later married (and they're still married) because she decided I was "after him". I barely even met him.
Several married men have told me that their wives don't want me around, because I'm "after" their husbands.
I'm really really tired of it. I thought all that crap was all behind me, and here it is biting me again.
I mostly didn't date in college. There was Byron, the summer between first and second years. He dropped me because I wouldn't let him so much as open a button, and then he told the most outrageous stories about me. And that was it until my last year when I met Ex#1. And yet, I know definitely of several guys who swear they "scored" with me, that I was easy. To hear some of the stories, half the guys on campus slept with me. And no, it's not that I was too drunk to remember (although that's part of the claims), because I went to exactly two parties with alcohol - one at Penn State and one local - and I'm 100% certain nothing happened at either.
I'm half tempted to just go ahead and fulfill everyone's fantasies. I'd have a lot more fun! But it was that kind of thinking that put me into therapy thirty years ago, and I know now that the fantasies are not me.
Part of the problem is that guys talk about me to their wives/girlfriends, like "Silk says this", "Silk does that". A few guys have told me I'm sensible, and they wish their wives were more like me. Yeah, sure. Then how come I could get so many undeserved rumors all my life, and so few deserved dates?
I was talking with Piper yesterday about something like this, and I asked him if he ever mentions me to his lady, and he said yes, he talks about me all the time. I reacted with horror, and told him to stop immediately. Never never ever mention me to her again!
That way be dragons!
.
[4/6 Edit - fixed the date.]
I mentioned that something uncomfortable had happened last weekend, when I went to The Rabbi's 40th anniversary celebration.
Ever since he contacted me, almost two years ago, I'd been wanting to visit, to see him again and meet The Rebbetzin. (I had been searching for what to call her. Rabbess? Rabbette? Rabbit?! Turns out rebbetzin is the proper term for a rabbi's wife. Cool.)
I was happy to get the invitation. It was perfect for a visit. I wouldn't be "putting them out" at all.
He and I had started college in the same class, but I graduated a year early. I wasn't aware that he was dating anyone. When he said that they were married a little less than a year after he graduated, my thought was that he worked fast.
After they renewed their vows in the church, there was a communion. I was probably the only person who didn't get in line. I'm technically not Christian, so I didn't feel it would be right. The couple stood at the front, and spoke to everyone as they came through. I noticed that The Rabbi hugged every person, male and female, young and old. At the end of the service, the couple were at the back, again greeting and hugging everyone as they left. I tacked myself on the very end of the line. When I got up to them, The Rabbi took my hand in both of his, and we three chatted. Smiles, but no hug. I didn't really notice then. I'm not a hugger anyway.
During the reception, they made the rounds. Whenever I spoke with The Rebbetzin with people around, she was gracious and smiled.
I had stayed to help clean up. It also gave me a chance to talk with them a little more. I saw her sitting alone against the wall, looking a bit worn out. Given that she had cooked all the food (and it was all delicious), I wasn't surprised. I went over to chat, started by complimenting the cake, I think, and she didn't smile. I was getting a rather hard look. Finally she interrupted me, and said, "We HAVE met. I visited [The Rabbi] at college, a couple times, and we met then." Still no smile. I was confused, and admitted that I didn't remember. I sputtered some blather - her hard look was confusing - and excused myself to go clear up some more.
Later, I ran into The Rabbi in the kitchen. I told him what she'd said, and he confirmed it. We'd apparently met more than once. I wondered if I had offended her back then. It had to be more than my simply not remembering meeting her (although it does trouble me that I don't).
Well, turns out she was in high school when he was in college, and they had been dating during that whole time. I don't remember him dating anyone. In fact, his roommate was ...um... flamboyant (in the early '60s, that's as specific as anyone would get), and I sometimes wondered if The Rabbi was interested in girls at all. I mean, given that, you'd think I'd remember meeting a girlfriend!
After meeting me, he says she was absolutely convinced that he and I were carrying on a torrid campus affair, and there was nothing he could say to convince her otherwise. She absolutely believed it to her core. Apparently she "forgave" him, because she married him, but he thinks she still believes it.
A surprise to me, to say the least.
So now I feel bad that I went at all. Maybe it would have been better had I taken a date along. Had I known, I wouldn't have gone, and had I gone, I shouldn't have stayed to help clean up. The only thing I didn't do wrong - at least I wore a nice sedate ankle-length little old lady dress, and my hair was tied back.
I felt so bad. I wonder if I put a cloud on her day. I wonder what on earth possessed him to contact me through the college alumni website! That had to annoy her.
I wonder if she gave him a rough time later.
I feel guilty. But I didn't do anything wrong! It's not my fault!
Normally, I'd be writing a nice note thanking them for an enjoyable evening, and wishing them many more years of happiness.
Now I don't know how that would be received.
Phooey. I'm not sure what to do.
------------------------------------------------------
This has been a recurring theme in my life. My best friend in college cut me off completely when she met the man she later married (and they're still married) because she decided I was "after him". I barely even met him. I sent her email after I found her in the college alumni data base, several, in fact, over the past two years, and she has not responded.
After college, my best friend in Gettysburg cut me off completely when she met the man she later married (and they're still married) because she decided I was "after him". I barely even met him.
Several married men have told me that their wives don't want me around, because I'm "after" their husbands.
I'm really really tired of it. I thought all that crap was all behind me, and here it is biting me again.
I mostly didn't date in college. There was Byron, the summer between first and second years. He dropped me because I wouldn't let him so much as open a button, and then he told the most outrageous stories about me. And that was it until my last year when I met Ex#1. And yet, I know definitely of several guys who swear they "scored" with me, that I was easy. To hear some of the stories, half the guys on campus slept with me. And no, it's not that I was too drunk to remember (although that's part of the claims), because I went to exactly two parties with alcohol - one at Penn State and one local - and I'm 100% certain nothing happened at either.
I'm half tempted to just go ahead and fulfill everyone's fantasies. I'd have a lot more fun! But it was that kind of thinking that put me into therapy thirty years ago, and I know now that the fantasies are not me.
Part of the problem is that guys talk about me to their wives/girlfriends, like "Silk says this", "Silk does that". A few guys have told me I'm sensible, and they wish their wives were more like me. Yeah, sure. Then how come I could get so many undeserved rumors all my life, and so few deserved dates?
I was talking with Piper yesterday about something like this, and I asked him if he ever mentions me to his lady, and he said yes, he talks about me all the time. I reacted with horror, and told him to stop immediately. Never never ever mention me to her again!
That way be dragons!
.
1192 Possibilities
Sunday, April 1, 2007
[4/6 Edit - fixed the date.]
Yesterday seemed to be a telephone day. Roman called on his way to LI. He was headed for a significant meeting, and was excited and nervous, and we talked for quite a long time. The signal kept dropping (as is usual when he calls from the road) and he kept redialing, but it was ok.
As soon as our call was finished, FirstWoman called, and we talked for quite a while. She needs more responsiveness from me. That's one of my problems - I don't reach out much. Part of it is a reluctance to annoy, part is inertia, part is that time passing is theoretical to me, and part is that - ick! - "they" changed my cel phone calling plan. I used to get 100 hours a month, now I get 100 minutes, same price. Gotta do something about that.... So, anyway, I don't make long distance calls before 9 pm. All not very good excuses. I guess that's why people forget me and wander away.
Then I went into the village, and saw Piper's car outside his office, so I stopped in to find out how his lady's surgery went. All good. They plan radiation, but not chemo, so I guess that's a good sign.
Later, Roman called on his way back from LI, and we talked a bunch more.
Speaking of keeping in touch, I had sent an email to a guy I met at the gathering in NJ, some information I had promised him. He sent an intriguing response. I replied to that email last night (after a two week pause), and next thing I know, I get a torrent of emails, and a phone call this morning, and I've invited him to join Daughter and Hercules and me for dinner tomorrow evening. Wow!
I find him interesting and stimulating. I think it may be reciprocal. I'm not sure what I want to do about that. He lives in NJ (about a half hour north of Daughter, about 2 hours from here). He's also much younger, probably at least 15 years from retirement. I don't think he realizes my age - he referred to "people our age".
It's funny, I am always quite open about my age, I'm rather proud of the fact that I look pretty darn good for my age, but if he ever asked, I'd be reluctant to tell him. Stupid, because it's going to be a bit hard to talk about experiences without giving it away. At the gathering, the original Woodstock concert came up, and he said he was only 9? 11? years old then, and his father wouldn't let him go. I was four or five years out of college then. Ack!
He's rather hedonistic, I think. Clubs. Rock concerts. Likes to start driving and see where he ends up (we're talking like, Canada). Likes to put the top down. He might tire me out. I suspect hikes in the woods and county fairs aren't his style.
But, so far I like him, and a little flirtation is fun. We'll see.
.
[4/6 Edit - fixed the date.]
Yesterday seemed to be a telephone day. Roman called on his way to LI. He was headed for a significant meeting, and was excited and nervous, and we talked for quite a long time. The signal kept dropping (as is usual when he calls from the road) and he kept redialing, but it was ok.
As soon as our call was finished, FirstWoman called, and we talked for quite a while. She needs more responsiveness from me. That's one of my problems - I don't reach out much. Part of it is a reluctance to annoy, part is inertia, part is that time passing is theoretical to me, and part is that - ick! - "they" changed my cel phone calling plan. I used to get 100 hours a month, now I get 100 minutes, same price. Gotta do something about that.... So, anyway, I don't make long distance calls before 9 pm. All not very good excuses. I guess that's why people forget me and wander away.
Then I went into the village, and saw Piper's car outside his office, so I stopped in to find out how his lady's surgery went. All good. They plan radiation, but not chemo, so I guess that's a good sign.
Later, Roman called on his way back from LI, and we talked a bunch more.
Speaking of keeping in touch, I had sent an email to a guy I met at the gathering in NJ, some information I had promised him. He sent an intriguing response. I replied to that email last night (after a two week pause), and next thing I know, I get a torrent of emails, and a phone call this morning, and I've invited him to join Daughter and Hercules and me for dinner tomorrow evening. Wow!
I find him interesting and stimulating. I think it may be reciprocal. I'm not sure what I want to do about that. He lives in NJ (about a half hour north of Daughter, about 2 hours from here). He's also much younger, probably at least 15 years from retirement. I don't think he realizes my age - he referred to "people our age".
It's funny, I am always quite open about my age, I'm rather proud of the fact that I look pretty darn good for my age, but if he ever asked, I'd be reluctant to tell him. Stupid, because it's going to be a bit hard to talk about experiences without giving it away. At the gathering, the original Woodstock concert came up, and he said he was only 9? 11? years old then, and his father wouldn't let him go. I was four or five years out of college then. Ack!
He's rather hedonistic, I think. Clubs. Rock concerts. Likes to start driving and see where he ends up (we're talking like, Canada). Likes to put the top down. He might tire me out. I suspect hikes in the woods and county fairs aren't his style.
But, so far I like him, and a little flirtation is fun. We'll see.
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