Thursday, November 2, 2006
I'm here. Good direct flight, on time. Sister picked me up at the airport. Great hotel, nice room, free internet in the room. I don't have a laptop, but no problem, there's a business center downstairs with free use of the desktops.
Swoopy!
Visitation tonight.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
956 Hotel
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
Orlando hotel reservations are made. It took me only three hours. I had to Google the funeral home and the church to get their addresses, check online maps for the locations, get a map of hotels, then figure out how the maps overlap (they didn't both consider the same streets significant), choose a hotel, and then find out which online booking site would give me the best price.
When I filled in all the info, including credit card, and hit "do it", I got "reservations system is not available" and I wasn't sure whether it went through or not. So I called the hotel desk, and they gave me a price $40 less than the lowest rate I could get online (including on their own website). For the same room.
As soon as I finished, Sister called, and it just so happens the hotel I chose is about three blocks from her house. She wants me to stay with her, but I really truly do prefer hotels for the freedom they allow me.
I might allow her to feed me.
Then I went shopping for a flyswatter. None anywhere. I ended up with some of that twisty hanging flypaper, the stuff Roman says the flies ignore.
I have visions of Miss Thunderfoot tangled up in it.
Orlando hotel reservations are made. It took me only three hours. I had to Google the funeral home and the church to get their addresses, check online maps for the locations, get a map of hotels, then figure out how the maps overlap (they didn't both consider the same streets significant), choose a hotel, and then find out which online booking site would give me the best price.
When I filled in all the info, including credit card, and hit "do it", I got "reservations system is not available" and I wasn't sure whether it went through or not. So I called the hotel desk, and they gave me a price $40 less than the lowest rate I could get online (including on their own website). For the same room.
As soon as I finished, Sister called, and it just so happens the hotel I chose is about three blocks from her house. She wants me to stay with her, but I really truly do prefer hotels for the freedom they allow me.
I might allow her to feed me.
Then I went shopping for a flyswatter. None anywhere. I ended up with some of that twisty hanging flypaper, the stuff Roman says the flies ignore.
I have visions of Miss Thunderfoot tangled up in it.
955 Flies! Snow!
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
The flies are getting thicker. I need a flyswatter. I've been using rolled up newspaper, but anything but a flyswatter-like implement builds up air in front as you swat, so it's almost impossible to hit a fly. Flyswatters blow away flies without blowing them away. Surprise, splat!
Last night I was thinking maybe I should get those sticky fly tapes, but then I remembered a forgotten conversation with Roman from about two weeks ago. He said his house was full of small flies that were driving him crazy because they keep landing on him and tickling him. Exactly like mine! All summer long he keeps a coil of sticky flypaper hanging in his kitchen, and I asked him if it was full of the flies, and he said these flies don't seem to be interested in it.
I fell a little better remembering that. I was feeling guilty about the three days of cat food leftovers in the garbage, the dirty dishes and unfinished cat food left out overnight, the ignored kitty doodoo in the litterbox. All possible breeding spots. But although Roman's house is messy and cluttered, I am absolutely certain there's no suitable breeding materials anywhere. The man may be messy, but he's CLEAN.
I wasn't watching the TV, but I think I just heard the Albany weatherman say something about "after we clean up the snow tomorrow morning...". Snow? I just remembered the other reason I so rarely use the Albany airport.
The flies are getting thicker. I need a flyswatter. I've been using rolled up newspaper, but anything but a flyswatter-like implement builds up air in front as you swat, so it's almost impossible to hit a fly. Flyswatters blow away flies without blowing them away. Surprise, splat!
Last night I was thinking maybe I should get those sticky fly tapes, but then I remembered a forgotten conversation with Roman from about two weeks ago. He said his house was full of small flies that were driving him crazy because they keep landing on him and tickling him. Exactly like mine! All summer long he keeps a coil of sticky flypaper hanging in his kitchen, and I asked him if it was full of the flies, and he said these flies don't seem to be interested in it.
I fell a little better remembering that. I was feeling guilty about the three days of cat food leftovers in the garbage, the dirty dishes and unfinished cat food left out overnight, the ignored kitty doodoo in the litterbox. All possible breeding spots. But although Roman's house is messy and cluttered, I am absolutely certain there's no suitable breeding materials anywhere. The man may be messy, but he's CLEAN.
I wasn't watching the TV, but I think I just heard the Albany weatherman say something about "after we clean up the snow tomorrow morning...". Snow? I just remembered the other reason I so rarely use the Albany airport.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
954 It's Ok - I've Got the Van
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
I decided to wait until after I got back from Florida to get the bad noise in the Aerio checked. After all, I have the minivan. Right?
Back when the van was with the Chrysler people, I had reported to them that it was dripping something onto the driveway (they had earlier worked on the brakes). They said it wasn't brake fluid, or they'd have noticed it on all the test driving they did. I guess having decided they knew what it wasn't, they never looked to see what it was.
Last night the van started making awful noises when I turned the steering wheel.
I drove the van into the village for lunch with Piper and Vinnie today, and they called a garage friend of theirs, and so after lunch I went there. Yup. Power steering fluid was very low. The guy agreed it was a slow leak, so he filled it up and the bad noise went away.
He gave me another bottle of the stuff, and that should get me to the Albany airport and back, and then I'll take it in to him on Monday, and he'll find out where it's leaking.
I didn't get my jaw/tooth checked last week because there just wasn't time (and I kept hoping it would go away). I didn't make an appointment yesterday because I wasn't sure of my schedule. So this afternoon I started calling dentists, to make an appointment for sometime next week.
Yeah. Sure. Real easy.
Of the six dentists in and around the village, two are not accepting new patients, and two have NO appointments available until the second week in December!!! Sheesh. Aren't they supposed to keep an hour or two a week open for emergencies? Are there emergency rooms for teeth? One receptionist said they were full with cleanings into December. Cleanings! The hygienists do the cleanings. What's the dentist doing? Managing the cleaners? Filling out insurance forms?
My old dentist is forty minutes away, in Highland, where I lived before I married Jay. I had stayed with him because it was comfortable. But I haven't been in since I went into the depression after Jay died (after 12 years of twice-a-year cleanings), so if I want to change to someone closer, now's the time. Plus, if this problem requires any nastiness, it's better to be closer to home.
I'll try the other two tomorrow. Both are new to the area, according to one of the other receptionists, so I might have a better chance. Failing that, I'll have to expand my search. And there's always the multi-dentist office in the mall.
In the meantime, the pain has lessened. The bite is still off, but I haven't needed any Tylenol or aspirin yesterday or today. Either it's getting better, or the nerves have died.
I talked with Roman this afternoon, and he had to hang up after a short conversation because he had to leave for a dental appointment. Irony.
---------------------------
Yeah, ok, I know I'm supposed to establish relationships with professionals BEFORE I need them. So I should be lining up a dermatologist, oncologist, neurologist, podiatrist, plastic surgeon, oral surgeon, opthamologist ... ??? At least I already have three lawyers. And a financial advisor. And a GP. Leave me alone.
I decided to wait until after I got back from Florida to get the bad noise in the Aerio checked. After all, I have the minivan. Right?
Back when the van was with the Chrysler people, I had reported to them that it was dripping something onto the driveway (they had earlier worked on the brakes). They said it wasn't brake fluid, or they'd have noticed it on all the test driving they did. I guess having decided they knew what it wasn't, they never looked to see what it was.
Last night the van started making awful noises when I turned the steering wheel.
I drove the van into the village for lunch with Piper and Vinnie today, and they called a garage friend of theirs, and so after lunch I went there. Yup. Power steering fluid was very low. The guy agreed it was a slow leak, so he filled it up and the bad noise went away.
He gave me another bottle of the stuff, and that should get me to the Albany airport and back, and then I'll take it in to him on Monday, and he'll find out where it's leaking.
I didn't get my jaw/tooth checked last week because there just wasn't time (and I kept hoping it would go away). I didn't make an appointment yesterday because I wasn't sure of my schedule. So this afternoon I started calling dentists, to make an appointment for sometime next week.
Yeah. Sure. Real easy.
Of the six dentists in and around the village, two are not accepting new patients, and two have NO appointments available until the second week in December!!! Sheesh. Aren't they supposed to keep an hour or two a week open for emergencies? Are there emergency rooms for teeth? One receptionist said they were full with cleanings into December. Cleanings! The hygienists do the cleanings. What's the dentist doing? Managing the cleaners? Filling out insurance forms?
My old dentist is forty minutes away, in Highland, where I lived before I married Jay. I had stayed with him because it was comfortable. But I haven't been in since I went into the depression after Jay died (after 12 years of twice-a-year cleanings), so if I want to change to someone closer, now's the time. Plus, if this problem requires any nastiness, it's better to be closer to home.
I'll try the other two tomorrow. Both are new to the area, according to one of the other receptionists, so I might have a better chance. Failing that, I'll have to expand my search. And there's always the multi-dentist office in the mall.
In the meantime, the pain has lessened. The bite is still off, but I haven't needed any Tylenol or aspirin yesterday or today. Either it's getting better, or the nerves have died.
I talked with Roman this afternoon, and he had to hang up after a short conversation because he had to leave for a dental appointment. Irony.
---------------------------
Yeah, ok, I know I'm supposed to establish relationships with professionals BEFORE I need them. So I should be lining up a dermatologist, oncologist, neurologist, podiatrist, plastic surgeon, oral surgeon, opthamologist ... ??? At least I already have three lawyers. And a financial advisor. And a GP. Leave me alone.
954 Beyond Mice
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
I guess I can assume the house isn't too tight. In addition to the mice moving in for the winter, I've got flies. I don't know where they came from or how they got in, but I hope they arrived as adults, because I don't want to think they hatched somewhere in the house.
I often get flies in the fall, and some manage to last through the winter, quietly minding their own business up near the ceiling. These are more annoying than any I've ever had before. They seem to be attracted to my face, and they keep trying to climb up my nose.
I killed three in the den yesterday, and there are four in the kitchen right now.
I can't find my flyswatter.
I guess I can assume the house isn't too tight. In addition to the mice moving in for the winter, I've got flies. I don't know where they came from or how they got in, but I hope they arrived as adults, because I don't want to think they hatched somewhere in the house.
I often get flies in the fall, and some manage to last through the winter, quietly minding their own business up near the ceiling. These are more annoying than any I've ever had before. They seem to be attracted to my face, and they keep trying to climb up my nose.
I killed three in the den yesterday, and there are four in the kitchen right now.
I can't find my flyswatter.
Monday, October 30, 2006
953 Ignorance?
One of our older members has written an article in the latest issue of the local Mensa newsletter, commenting on Jay Leno's "Jaywalking" segments, specifically the one broadcast last June 22, wherein he asked questions like why the Boston Tea Party happened, what are the words to The Star-Spangled Banner, and so on.
She is "amazed and chagrined that persons ... were so very ignorant of the history of this great country of ours."
I think she missed something.
If Jay Leno walks up to you with a microphone and a camera and asks a question, if you answer it correctly, you might look smart, but you don't get on TV!
Think quickly now, how would you answer?
She is "amazed and chagrined that persons ... were so very ignorant of the history of this great country of ours."
I think she missed something.
If Jay Leno walks up to you with a microphone and a camera and asks a question, if you answer it correctly, you might look smart, but you don't get on TV!
Think quickly now, how would you answer?
952 I Want My Chocolate Chocolatey!
Every so often I need chocolate. I'm not particular - Bakers semi-sweet baking chocolate works just fine, especially after a minute in the microwave. It's smooth and super chocolatey, and comes already measured in exactly the right craving-satisfying amount. Sometimes I need a milk chocolate that will melt on my tongue, but not so melty it gloms up the mouth. Lindt or Hershey's is best then.
The other day I found a real deal in the grocery store: "Sweet Obsession - Fine European Chocolate - simply the finest chocolates on Earth". Milk chocolate. With peanuts. $.50 for a 7 oz bar. I'm a sucker for labels. And sales. And new stuff.
It won't melt! It stays hard and dry no matter how long it sits on the tongue, like it's frozen or something. Inert.
I felt a need for chocolate this evening, and it was either snort Jay's six-year-old hot chocolate drink mix powder, or try the "chocolate" bar again.
I tried microwaving it, and it BURNED! Without melting. It was still hard and smooth on the outside, but the inside was that grainy sand you get when you microwave something mostly sugar.
So if you like your chocolate crunchy, if you like chocolate that laughs at you, thumbs its nose at you, chocolate with attitude, that refuses to give in, I have a recommendation.
By the way - the ingredients list on the milk chocolate with peanuts says it "may contain peanuts".
The other day I found a real deal in the grocery store: "Sweet Obsession - Fine European Chocolate - simply the finest chocolates on Earth". Milk chocolate. With peanuts. $.50 for a 7 oz bar. I'm a sucker for labels. And sales. And new stuff.
It won't melt! It stays hard and dry no matter how long it sits on the tongue, like it's frozen or something. Inert.
I felt a need for chocolate this evening, and it was either snort Jay's six-year-old hot chocolate drink mix powder, or try the "chocolate" bar again.
I tried microwaving it, and it BURNED! Without melting. It was still hard and smooth on the outside, but the inside was that grainy sand you get when you microwave something mostly sugar.
So if you like your chocolate crunchy, if you like chocolate that laughs at you, thumbs its nose at you, chocolate with attitude, that refuses to give in, I have a recommendation.
By the way - the ingredients list on the milk chocolate with peanuts says it "may contain peanuts".
951 Nephew
Monday, October 30, 2006
Very brief email from Sister this afternoon. Nephew's viewing is Thursday evening, funeral is Friday morning.
Airports:
I was online looking at three different sites simultaneously, trying to put together the best round-trip package, when Piper called. He asked if I had tried Southwest out of Albany. I explained why I didn't even look at Albany, and next thing I knew he had me on a conference call to Southwest. Straight through, non-stop, Albany to Orlando round trip, both departure times ideal, half the time in the air as from Newburgh, arriving four hours before the viewing, for only $7 more than from Newburgh. Wow. I booked it. That was so quick! Thank you, Piper.
Since I'll be gone only two overnights, Miss Thunderfoot can stay home. She won't be happy, but I just happened to have bought her absolute favorite (cat candy!) dry food this morning - I don't know why, something told me to - so I think she won't suffer too badly.
Off topic - back in post 944, "Rochester Strange", I complained a bit about Jay's sister. To clarify, I do like her. She is smart and has a good and very soft heart. It's just that I have learned a few things about how to avoid friction with her, and I was a bit annoyed on that trip because even though I KNEW what to do and not do, I didn't listen to myself and was just the usual relaxed and bumbling me. Which I knew wouldn't work.
One thing age has taught me is that sometimes it's ok not to be yourself.
Very brief email from Sister this afternoon. Nephew's viewing is Thursday evening, funeral is Friday morning.
Airports:
- Newark and JFK are both a little over two hours away, and I can get non-stop first class flights from there.
- Newburgh is a little over an hour south, but there's no first class and no non-stop flights. It's like it's just commuter flights to Philadelphia or Detroit, where you change to "real" planes. On the other hand, all the flights are relatively cheap.
- Albany is also a little over an hour north, and flight choices are more convenient, but it's been my experience that everything out of Albany costs about twice what it would cost from any other airport.
I was online looking at three different sites simultaneously, trying to put together the best round-trip package, when Piper called. He asked if I had tried Southwest out of Albany. I explained why I didn't even look at Albany, and next thing I knew he had me on a conference call to Southwest. Straight through, non-stop, Albany to Orlando round trip, both departure times ideal, half the time in the air as from Newburgh, arriving four hours before the viewing, for only $7 more than from Newburgh. Wow. I booked it. That was so quick! Thank you, Piper.
Since I'll be gone only two overnights, Miss Thunderfoot can stay home. She won't be happy, but I just happened to have bought her absolute favorite (cat candy!) dry food this morning - I don't know why, something told me to - so I think she won't suffer too badly.
Off topic - back in post 944, "Rochester Strange", I complained a bit about Jay's sister. To clarify, I do like her. She is smart and has a good and very soft heart. It's just that I have learned a few things about how to avoid friction with her, and I was a bit annoyed on that trip because even though I KNEW what to do and not do, I didn't listen to myself and was just the usual relaxed and bumbling me. Which I knew wouldn't work.
One thing age has taught me is that sometimes it's ok not to be yourself.
950 Interpretation
Monday, October 30, 2006
There's a Special K (cereal) commercial where a woman joins her friends at an outdoor cafe, and they remark on how good she looks. She gives credit to her breakfast cereal. At the end, the voiceover says - or at least I think he says:
"Women who eat breakfast like the Special K breakfast weigh less."
I think that's what he said. Because what I heard was:
"Women who eat breakfast like the Special K breakfast way less."
I'm amazed that no one at the ad agency caught that during review.
There's a Special K (cereal) commercial where a woman joins her friends at an outdoor cafe, and they remark on how good she looks. She gives credit to her breakfast cereal. At the end, the voiceover says - or at least I think he says:
"Women who eat breakfast like the Special K breakfast weigh less."
I think that's what he said. Because what I heard was:
"Women who eat breakfast like the Special K breakfast way less."
I'm amazed that no one at the ad agency caught that during review.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
949 Aggghhh!
Sunday, October 29, 2006
I just visited the photo gallery of a California bellydancer, teacher, impresario. She puts on a big show in Hollywood every October.
Leela.
I am aghast!
About half the "bellydancers" in the shows in the gallery are wearing bedlah, but they seem to have forgotten their skirts. Just a mid-thigh length belt. One pair in the 2004 show are wearing nothing but pasties, thong, and a long string of beads.
The bellydance police should make her remove "bellydance" from the show flyers. If she wants to call them exotic dancers, ok. But calling them "exotic bellydancers" is taking the form back to when bellydancers were grouped with strippers. It's been a long hard battle for respect, and The Dance doesn't need stuff like this.
It's spreading. Some eastern seaboard dancers have already caught the "Vegas Wannabe Virus" (VWV - I get credit for naming it!).
I just visited the photo gallery of a California bellydancer, teacher, impresario. She puts on a big show in Hollywood every October.
Leela.
I am aghast!
About half the "bellydancers" in the shows in the gallery are wearing bedlah, but they seem to have forgotten their skirts. Just a mid-thigh length belt. One pair in the 2004 show are wearing nothing but pasties, thong, and a long string of beads.
The bellydance police should make her remove "bellydance" from the show flyers. If she wants to call them exotic dancers, ok. But calling them "exotic bellydancers" is taking the form back to when bellydancers were grouped with strippers. It's been a long hard battle for respect, and The Dance doesn't need stuff like this.
It's spreading. Some eastern seaboard dancers have already caught the "Vegas Wannabe Virus" (VWV - I get credit for naming it!).
948 Such a Mix
Sunday, October 29, 2006
I've had such a mix of good and bad the past week. It's tiring. I'm used to being up or down, but rapidly alternating between up and down is WORK!
Daughter's hardcopy birthday card arrived in yesterday's mail, and it's wonderful. I didn't know they made cards that said things like that. The theme is "you were there", and it has paragraphs about all the times that Mother was there, and Daughter has written in specific times and examples between the paragraphs. So nice.
On the other hand, the Suzuki is sick. Friday night driving home from the theater, a scraping sound started somewhere toward the right front wheel well. A metal-on-metal sound. I'd almost think it had something to do with the brakes, but it isn't steady. It happens mostly when I hit a bump (even a small one) or when I turn right. Sometimes when I'm going straight. Off and on. It doesn't depend on speed or brakes.
I said "oh, well, thank goodness I have the minivan" and Daughter cracked up, "I never expected to hear that!"
With winter coming, the field mice are looking for a new home. There was a mouse in the kitchen the other night while I was on the phone. It was tiny, fat, teardrop-shaped, very cute and very fast. Miss Thunderfoot saw it out of the corner of her eye, and she chased, but when the mouse stopped, it was like Thunder couldn't see it. She'd look all around where she saw it last, and look right past it, until it took off again. If Thunder knew it was a mouse, she would have lost interest, but it moved so fast that she couldn't identify it. It finally disappeared under the stove. (That's the main mouse highway into the house.)
Live mice are cute. Dead mice are not. Somewhere 'long about last Thursday I noticed that there's a dead mouse, probably in the wall, just inside the kitchen doorway. You can smell it as you walk in the front door. I know from much experience that if I wait a week or so, the smell will disappear, but in the meantime, it's a long week.
About ten days ago, the back of my right jaw went funny. At first I thought it was a TMJ thing, but then I noticed my teeth on that side aren't meeting correctly. They touch before the left side does. And pressing them together generates pain, top and bottom. Pain from the temple to behind the ear, to below the jaw. I have old root canals there, top and bottom, with metal caps and spikes into the bone, and every time I chew I can feel those nails stabbing. I guess I need to have it looked at, but haven't had time this past week. It feels almost like the top teeth have dropped (they did that before - the fix was to grind down the lower teeth to make room), but another possibility is that I'm growing another wisdom tooth. I must be part alligator or elephant or something. I have grown multiple extra molars - several came out sideways through the outside of the gum, and one is still sitting proudly vertical on the lower left, squeezed between its twin and sister. I've grown six wisdom teeth so far.
It felt a little better yesterday, so I was poking around in there trying to figure out what was going on, and then I was foolish enough to actually chew my dinner, and this morning when the overnight aspirin wore off, the pain woke me. It's really bad today. Phone call to dentist tomorrow.
I had signed up and paid for a ballroom dance class with Rhinebeck Continuing Education, and then waited and waited to get confirmation from them, which never came. In the meantime I lost the brochure, so I wasn't sure when it started. When I decided maybe I should call, the only number I could find for them had been disconnected. I finally got to their office through the superintendent of schools, and left a message. Turns out the class started at the end of September! I am very disappointed. I don't want to sign up for any classes over the winter, so it'll be spring now before I can try again. Note - the object was only slightly to be more comfortable on the dance floor. Mainly it was because I'd heard it's a good way to meet men.
The TV weatherman is gloating over snow predictions.
Today is the fifth anniversary of Jay's death.
I've had such a mix of good and bad the past week. It's tiring. I'm used to being up or down, but rapidly alternating between up and down is WORK!
Daughter's hardcopy birthday card arrived in yesterday's mail, and it's wonderful. I didn't know they made cards that said things like that. The theme is "you were there", and it has paragraphs about all the times that Mother was there, and Daughter has written in specific times and examples between the paragraphs. So nice.
On the other hand, the Suzuki is sick. Friday night driving home from the theater, a scraping sound started somewhere toward the right front wheel well. A metal-on-metal sound. I'd almost think it had something to do with the brakes, but it isn't steady. It happens mostly when I hit a bump (even a small one) or when I turn right. Sometimes when I'm going straight. Off and on. It doesn't depend on speed or brakes.
I said "oh, well, thank goodness I have the minivan" and Daughter cracked up, "I never expected to hear that!"
With winter coming, the field mice are looking for a new home. There was a mouse in the kitchen the other night while I was on the phone. It was tiny, fat, teardrop-shaped, very cute and very fast. Miss Thunderfoot saw it out of the corner of her eye, and she chased, but when the mouse stopped, it was like Thunder couldn't see it. She'd look all around where she saw it last, and look right past it, until it took off again. If Thunder knew it was a mouse, she would have lost interest, but it moved so fast that she couldn't identify it. It finally disappeared under the stove. (That's the main mouse highway into the house.)
Live mice are cute. Dead mice are not. Somewhere 'long about last Thursday I noticed that there's a dead mouse, probably in the wall, just inside the kitchen doorway. You can smell it as you walk in the front door. I know from much experience that if I wait a week or so, the smell will disappear, but in the meantime, it's a long week.
About ten days ago, the back of my right jaw went funny. At first I thought it was a TMJ thing, but then I noticed my teeth on that side aren't meeting correctly. They touch before the left side does. And pressing them together generates pain, top and bottom. Pain from the temple to behind the ear, to below the jaw. I have old root canals there, top and bottom, with metal caps and spikes into the bone, and every time I chew I can feel those nails stabbing. I guess I need to have it looked at, but haven't had time this past week. It feels almost like the top teeth have dropped (they did that before - the fix was to grind down the lower teeth to make room), but another possibility is that I'm growing another wisdom tooth. I must be part alligator or elephant or something. I have grown multiple extra molars - several came out sideways through the outside of the gum, and one is still sitting proudly vertical on the lower left, squeezed between its twin and sister. I've grown six wisdom teeth so far.
It felt a little better yesterday, so I was poking around in there trying to figure out what was going on, and then I was foolish enough to actually chew my dinner, and this morning when the overnight aspirin wore off, the pain woke me. It's really bad today. Phone call to dentist tomorrow.
I had signed up and paid for a ballroom dance class with Rhinebeck Continuing Education, and then waited and waited to get confirmation from them, which never came. In the meantime I lost the brochure, so I wasn't sure when it started. When I decided maybe I should call, the only number I could find for them had been disconnected. I finally got to their office through the superintendent of schools, and left a message. Turns out the class started at the end of September! I am very disappointed. I don't want to sign up for any classes over the winter, so it'll be spring now before I can try again. Note - the object was only slightly to be more comfortable on the dance floor. Mainly it was because I'd heard it's a good way to meet men.
The TV weatherman is gloating over snow predictions.
Today is the fifth anniversary of Jay's death.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
947 Annoyed with Coldwater Creek
Saturday, October 28, 2006
I like Coldwater Creeks' travel knit (lycra) pants. They are silky and stretchy and drapey and supremely comfortable, and last forever. But, they are pull-on, elastic waist, no pockets, and therefore in my opinion not worth most of the $60-$70 Coldwater Creek wants for them. So I buy them on sale. At 50% off or more, that approaches perfection.
So, I found a notice in my email Thursday night that it was the last day! of a 50% off sale of everything in the online store. Wow! On the one hand, I don't need more clothes, but having gone from large to medium to small in the past several months, I do need more clothes that fit, and especially pants, especially in solid colors other than black. So I looked to see what they had, pushed myself to stay awake, and I bought a few pairs in brown and dark green and navy. I finished my order at 11:45 pm, just under the wire, and was very proud of myself.
Today I find in my email a notice that today is the last day! of a 60% off sale of everything. (The email implies everything online, but I think it's actually everything in the "outlet" section, but everything eventually ends up there anyway, so it's probably everything left from the 50% sale of Thursday. Like, the stuff I just bought.)
I am miffed.
I like Coldwater Creeks' travel knit (lycra) pants. They are silky and stretchy and drapey and supremely comfortable, and last forever. But, they are pull-on, elastic waist, no pockets, and therefore in my opinion not worth most of the $60-$70 Coldwater Creek wants for them. So I buy them on sale. At 50% off or more, that approaches perfection.
So, I found a notice in my email Thursday night that it was the last day! of a 50% off sale of everything in the online store. Wow! On the one hand, I don't need more clothes, but having gone from large to medium to small in the past several months, I do need more clothes that fit, and especially pants, especially in solid colors other than black. So I looked to see what they had, pushed myself to stay awake, and I bought a few pairs in brown and dark green and navy. I finished my order at 11:45 pm, just under the wire, and was very proud of myself.
Today I find in my email a notice that today is the last day! of a 60% off sale of everything. (The email implies everything online, but I think it's actually everything in the "outlet" section, but everything eventually ends up there anyway, so it's probably everything left from the 50% sale of Thursday. Like, the stuff I just bought.)
I am miffed.
946 Birthday & Theater Group
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Friday, yesterday, (it seems so much longer ago than that), was my 62nd birthday.
Roman called almost as soon as I walked in the door Thursday. He called from the LI Expressway, where he was on the way to visit his parents. He asked me out to lunch on Friday, for my birthday. That was nice of him. When I checked my email later, I found a birthday ecard from him.
We met at noon in Rhinebeck, and had a three-hour lunch at Foster's. He was teaching an evening class, and was getting a little antsy toward the end of the time, but it was good conversation anyway.
Then I went directly from there to the theater to help with whatever I could. I changed into grungies I had brought along, met some of the set people, and painted about a hundred acres of canvas and plywood flat black. I'm happy with a paintbrush or roller in my hand. Not very creative, but then I don't need creative. There's still a feeling of having accomplished something solid.
After I got home, I found two more (snail mail) birthday cards in the mail from Roman, an ecard from Daughter, an ecard from a friend of Daughter (the young man who reminds me so much of Jay, and whom I want to adopt), a chorus of "Happy Birthday to You" on the phone tape, and later another live rendition including the new son-in-law.
I also found a phone message from Sister, so I played phone tag with her a bit until we caught each other, and that's when I got the latest bad news about Nephew. Which led to more phone tag with Daughter. Then I called Roman to thank him for the additional cards and for lunch - I knew he was teaching a class and wouldn't answer his cell, so the intent was to just leave him a brief thank you message, but he answered, class had ended earlier than I thought, so we talked for a while, I told him about what was going on with Nephew, until Daughter returned my call and I had to cut him off.
I ventually got back to the computer, and the last I remember the clock said 2:30 am, and then I woke up with my head on the desk and it was 5 am. I went to bed for four more hours. I wanted to go back to the theater this afternoon, but I'm totally wiped, and my jaw hurts, and I have a terrible headache from bending my neck funny sleeping at the desk, so I'm not going.
There's been too much high and too much low with too much activity in between. I need a day of rest. I'll go tomorrow.
Friday, yesterday, (it seems so much longer ago than that), was my 62nd birthday.
Roman called almost as soon as I walked in the door Thursday. He called from the LI Expressway, where he was on the way to visit his parents. He asked me out to lunch on Friday, for my birthday. That was nice of him. When I checked my email later, I found a birthday ecard from him.
We met at noon in Rhinebeck, and had a three-hour lunch at Foster's. He was teaching an evening class, and was getting a little antsy toward the end of the time, but it was good conversation anyway.
Then I went directly from there to the theater to help with whatever I could. I changed into grungies I had brought along, met some of the set people, and painted about a hundred acres of canvas and plywood flat black. I'm happy with a paintbrush or roller in my hand. Not very creative, but then I don't need creative. There's still a feeling of having accomplished something solid.
After I got home, I found two more (snail mail) birthday cards in the mail from Roman, an ecard from Daughter, an ecard from a friend of Daughter (the young man who reminds me so much of Jay, and whom I want to adopt), a chorus of "Happy Birthday to You" on the phone tape, and later another live rendition including the new son-in-law.
I also found a phone message from Sister, so I played phone tag with her a bit until we caught each other, and that's when I got the latest bad news about Nephew. Which led to more phone tag with Daughter. Then I called Roman to thank him for the additional cards and for lunch - I knew he was teaching a class and wouldn't answer his cell, so the intent was to just leave him a brief thank you message, but he answered, class had ended earlier than I thought, so we talked for a while, I told him about what was going on with Nephew, until Daughter returned my call and I had to cut him off.
I ventually got back to the computer, and the last I remember the clock said 2:30 am, and then I woke up with my head on the desk and it was 5 am. I went to bed for four more hours. I wanted to go back to the theater this afternoon, but I'm totally wiped, and my jaw hurts, and I have a terrible headache from bending my neck funny sleeping at the desk, so I'm not going.
There's been too much high and too much low with too much activity in between. I need a day of rest. I'll go tomorrow.
945 Nephew
Saturday, October 28, 2006
A commenter has asked for news about my nephew. I've been putting that off because it's not good at all.
After last Saturday's surgery, they had put him into a deeper coma (I didn't know they got any deeper!) and then took him off that medication later. Wednesday he was dumping urine. Thursday his pupils were no longer reacting - one is dilated and the other is constricted, but neither react to light. So they (finally!) did some kind of test for brain activity, and there isn't any. His heart is beating on its own, and although he's on a respirator, he's "one breath ahead of the respirator", but there are no higher functions.
So, decisions have to be made.
I asked my sister what the law is in Florida, who can make those decisions. He's 37 and had never married, no children. His mother, I guess? (She's our ex-sister-in-law. It gets complicated. When she and our brother got divorced, Nephew was very small. When she remarried, our brother allowed her new husband to adopt Nephew. They later divorced, and she remarried again. So Nephew has a birth father, an adopted father, and a step-father, all of whom have been very connected and involved. He has always been close to our family.)
Two weeks ago when I asked if he had a living will, my sister said no. Last night I made some comment about the lack of a living will, and Sister said that, um, uh, they'd, uh, found one. Located with the, uh, help of family friends. So there should be no problems, especially since I doubt that anyone would object to any decisions made by his mother.
They're talking about organ donation.
If I have to go to Florida, it will probably be on short notice, and more than two overnights, which gets complicated finding care for Miss Thunderfoot, so Roman has agreed to keep her for me for a few days if and when necessary. He likes cats. I am grateful.
A commenter has asked for news about my nephew. I've been putting that off because it's not good at all.
After last Saturday's surgery, they had put him into a deeper coma (I didn't know they got any deeper!) and then took him off that medication later. Wednesday he was dumping urine. Thursday his pupils were no longer reacting - one is dilated and the other is constricted, but neither react to light. So they (finally!) did some kind of test for brain activity, and there isn't any. His heart is beating on its own, and although he's on a respirator, he's "one breath ahead of the respirator", but there are no higher functions.
So, decisions have to be made.
I asked my sister what the law is in Florida, who can make those decisions. He's 37 and had never married, no children. His mother, I guess? (She's our ex-sister-in-law. It gets complicated. When she and our brother got divorced, Nephew was very small. When she remarried, our brother allowed her new husband to adopt Nephew. They later divorced, and she remarried again. So Nephew has a birth father, an adopted father, and a step-father, all of whom have been very connected and involved. He has always been close to our family.)
Two weeks ago when I asked if he had a living will, my sister said no. Last night I made some comment about the lack of a living will, and Sister said that, um, uh, they'd, uh, found one. Located with the, uh, help of family friends. So there should be no problems, especially since I doubt that anyone would object to any decisions made by his mother.
They're talking about organ donation.
If I have to go to Florida, it will probably be on short notice, and more than two overnights, which gets complicated finding care for Miss Thunderfoot, so Roman has agreed to keep her for me for a few days if and when necessary. He likes cats. I am grateful.
944 Rochester Strange
Saturday, October 28, 2006
I didn't get out of the house Tuesday as early as I'd planned. It's usually about a six hour drive to Rochester, and I wanted to get to Jay's father's house in time for dinner. I had been invited to stay there, but I prefer a hotel (I can keep my own hours), so I had a reservation nearby. I ended up calling from east of Syracuse to tell Jay's sister that I'd get there about seven pm. That was the first strangeness. SIL said that since Dad went to bed about 8, there was no point in my stopping by, so she assumed that I'd just go directly to my hotel and arrange for my own dinner.
Now, if it were anyone else, I'd say, well, there'd be an hour with him, and you'll be up later, right? But I long ago learned that when SIL says something, you simply accept. It's pointless and possibly even dangerous to question, suggest, or argue.
So I went to the hotel ... where the fire alarm went off at 10 pm, and blared for 45 minutes before the firemen turned it off. When it started, I had grabbed my jacket and purse and headed for the exit, but met some men coming up the stairs who said that the guy at the desk had said it was a false alarm and we could go back to our rooms. That bothered me. How could he be so sure it was a false alarm, without having checked upstairs? I don't know what the firemen did to decide they could turn the alarm off, but they didn't come upstairs, either. The only reason I decided to stay in the room was that my window opened onto the roof over the front door, so I had a backup escape route. (Well, the primary reason was that it was COLD outside.)
The next morning I went to Dad's. He was eating breakfast and didn't recognize me until SIL told him who I was. The first thing I noticed was that he was looking very frail, a lot more bent and unsteady on his feet. He has some dementia, but I'm not convinced it's Alzheimers.
One minute he and I would be having a good conversation about, oh, say the cycle of natural destruction, terraforming, and growth in the rainforest, and ten minutes later he'd decide (more like insist, over my protestations) that I was a security inspector with Homeland Security, interviewing him to get his views on what needs to be improved in Rochester. He argued that the street signs would confuse any emergency assistance from outside the area. He was very logical and reasonable in that argument, and also right - the Rochester metro area is a pastiche of small towns all schmushed seamlessly together, and each municipality has a different name for the same street, the street name changes at arbitrary points, and street signs are often absent, so even with a map it can be difficult to figure out what street you're on. The only strangeness in that conversation was that he didn't know who I was. Ten more minutes and he's telling me about how his hearing going, and vision so bad, and the iffy short-term memory, leaves him isolated and feeling that he has no control. Very aware and rational. Half hour later he's doing or saying something wildly irrational and very very strange, out of contact with his surroundings.
The good part is that he is apparently always pleasant and even-tempered. Which is interesting, because prior to his health problems, he was exacting, demanding, and irrascible.
I feel sorry for him. With the hearing and sight problems, he can't really read or watch TV. He used to go for long walks with his little dog every day, but is having difficulty walking now, so that's out. He has 24-hour caregivers, but I don't think they, like, read to him or whatever. So I guess he gets very little stimulation, dozes in his recliner most of the day. He does go to monthly luncheons with old coworkers and groups he used to be active in, so there's that. There's an elder center nearby that SIL tried to get him interested in a year or two ago, they have classes and field trips and activities, but I think he rejected that after deciding that the other elderly were, um, inane. I don't know what else can be done to make one day different from the day before.
The caregiver whom SIL had arrived to fire, being unaware that SIL was swooping in from Washington, had taken Dad on a 300-mile trip last weekend to visit her son in college. Of course Dad paid for the entire trip. SIL says he was so tired he slept all day Monday. When SIL fired the woman, she went through the kitchen and took all the food, claiming that she had paid for all of it.
I left at a little after 7 pm, when they were sitting down to dinner. I have a problem with my jaw at the moment, and can't chew, so I wasn't going to eat with them. By the way, note the time. The day before, 7 pm was too late for me to arrive. Oh, well.
SIL, the day caregiver, and Dad were leaving the next morning, Thursday, at 11 am to attend one of Dad's luncheons. I had to go home Thursday because I hadn't made arrangements for Miss Thunderfoot (and the original plan was for SIL to fly home Thursday, too, so I had assumed I'd be taking her to the airport on my way out, but she changed her flight to Friday). So I told SIL I'd stop in again before they left for the luncheon, and I'd call if it looked like I wouldn't make it.
When I arrived at 10 am (I ate breakfast first), I found Dad already in the car, and SIL and the day lady on their way out the door. They were leaving early because they wanted to stop at the bank and blah blah. Duh? SIL was angry at me for not having called. Duh? (She knew where I was staying. She could have called me.) I had to go to the bathroom so bad, the once-a-day one, ya know?, but I didn't feel like I could ask to use the bathroom. You don't inconvenience SIL. Especially when she has already determined that it's my fault for not calling. So I hugged Dad and left, and hurried to the first rest stop on the Thruway.
I don't know why I was so tired, but about four hours into the trip I couldn't keep my eyes open, so I took an hour nap in the car at a rest area. I got home a little after 6 pm.
It was all very strange.
I didn't get out of the house Tuesday as early as I'd planned. It's usually about a six hour drive to Rochester, and I wanted to get to Jay's father's house in time for dinner. I had been invited to stay there, but I prefer a hotel (I can keep my own hours), so I had a reservation nearby. I ended up calling from east of Syracuse to tell Jay's sister that I'd get there about seven pm. That was the first strangeness. SIL said that since Dad went to bed about 8, there was no point in my stopping by, so she assumed that I'd just go directly to my hotel and arrange for my own dinner.
Now, if it were anyone else, I'd say, well, there'd be an hour with him, and you'll be up later, right? But I long ago learned that when SIL says something, you simply accept. It's pointless and possibly even dangerous to question, suggest, or argue.
So I went to the hotel ... where the fire alarm went off at 10 pm, and blared for 45 minutes before the firemen turned it off. When it started, I had grabbed my jacket and purse and headed for the exit, but met some men coming up the stairs who said that the guy at the desk had said it was a false alarm and we could go back to our rooms. That bothered me. How could he be so sure it was a false alarm, without having checked upstairs? I don't know what the firemen did to decide they could turn the alarm off, but they didn't come upstairs, either. The only reason I decided to stay in the room was that my window opened onto the roof over the front door, so I had a backup escape route. (Well, the primary reason was that it was COLD outside.)
The next morning I went to Dad's. He was eating breakfast and didn't recognize me until SIL told him who I was. The first thing I noticed was that he was looking very frail, a lot more bent and unsteady on his feet. He has some dementia, but I'm not convinced it's Alzheimers.
One minute he and I would be having a good conversation about, oh, say the cycle of natural destruction, terraforming, and growth in the rainforest, and ten minutes later he'd decide (more like insist, over my protestations) that I was a security inspector with Homeland Security, interviewing him to get his views on what needs to be improved in Rochester. He argued that the street signs would confuse any emergency assistance from outside the area. He was very logical and reasonable in that argument, and also right - the Rochester metro area is a pastiche of small towns all schmushed seamlessly together, and each municipality has a different name for the same street, the street name changes at arbitrary points, and street signs are often absent, so even with a map it can be difficult to figure out what street you're on. The only strangeness in that conversation was that he didn't know who I was. Ten more minutes and he's telling me about how his hearing going, and vision so bad, and the iffy short-term memory, leaves him isolated and feeling that he has no control. Very aware and rational. Half hour later he's doing or saying something wildly irrational and very very strange, out of contact with his surroundings.
The good part is that he is apparently always pleasant and even-tempered. Which is interesting, because prior to his health problems, he was exacting, demanding, and irrascible.
I feel sorry for him. With the hearing and sight problems, he can't really read or watch TV. He used to go for long walks with his little dog every day, but is having difficulty walking now, so that's out. He has 24-hour caregivers, but I don't think they, like, read to him or whatever. So I guess he gets very little stimulation, dozes in his recliner most of the day. He does go to monthly luncheons with old coworkers and groups he used to be active in, so there's that. There's an elder center nearby that SIL tried to get him interested in a year or two ago, they have classes and field trips and activities, but I think he rejected that after deciding that the other elderly were, um, inane. I don't know what else can be done to make one day different from the day before.
The caregiver whom SIL had arrived to fire, being unaware that SIL was swooping in from Washington, had taken Dad on a 300-mile trip last weekend to visit her son in college. Of course Dad paid for the entire trip. SIL says he was so tired he slept all day Monday. When SIL fired the woman, she went through the kitchen and took all the food, claiming that she had paid for all of it.
I left at a little after 7 pm, when they were sitting down to dinner. I have a problem with my jaw at the moment, and can't chew, so I wasn't going to eat with them. By the way, note the time. The day before, 7 pm was too late for me to arrive. Oh, well.
SIL, the day caregiver, and Dad were leaving the next morning, Thursday, at 11 am to attend one of Dad's luncheons. I had to go home Thursday because I hadn't made arrangements for Miss Thunderfoot (and the original plan was for SIL to fly home Thursday, too, so I had assumed I'd be taking her to the airport on my way out, but she changed her flight to Friday). So I told SIL I'd stop in again before they left for the luncheon, and I'd call if it looked like I wouldn't make it.
When I arrived at 10 am (I ate breakfast first), I found Dad already in the car, and SIL and the day lady on their way out the door. They were leaving early because they wanted to stop at the bank and blah blah. Duh? SIL was angry at me for not having called. Duh? (She knew where I was staying. She could have called me.) I had to go to the bathroom so bad, the once-a-day one, ya know?, but I didn't feel like I could ask to use the bathroom. You don't inconvenience SIL. Especially when she has already determined that it's my fault for not calling. So I hugged Dad and left, and hurried to the first rest stop on the Thruway.
I don't know why I was so tired, but about four hours into the trip I couldn't keep my eyes open, so I took an hour nap in the car at a rest area. I got home a little after 6 pm.
It was all very strange.
Friday, October 27, 2006
943 I'm Back
Friday, October 27, 2006
I got home Thursday evening. About 6 pm-ish, I think. I don't remember. Lots of stuff happened, stuff I want to remember. Skeleton, to be fleshed out when I have more time:
Rochester
Birthday
Theater group
Nephew
I got home Thursday evening. About 6 pm-ish, I think. I don't remember. Lots of stuff happened, stuff I want to remember. Skeleton, to be fleshed out when I have more time:
Rochester
Birthday
Theater group
Nephew
Monday, October 23, 2006
942 Nephew
Monday, October 23, 2006
I worked at the museum this afternoon. When I got home there was a message on my phone from Sister. She hadn't been in touch because she'd had a bad cold and so hadn't been to the hospital, and had nothing to report. But today she had talked to ... someone ... and called to fill me in.
Nephew had a craniotomy on Saturday. They removed (presumably) necrotic matter from the frontal lobes (Sister said "front lobals", so I assume that's what she meant) to help reduce the swelling and give some breathing room. I guess the pneumonia must be better, because her message said he made it through the surgery just fine, although he's still in a coma.
I called her back this evening, but her phone went directly to message, so I assume she was at the hospital.
I'm a little surprised that the doctors employed such a drastic measure when they are not encouraging hope. (Good article on the function of the frontal lobes: http://www.neuroskills.com/tbi/bfrontal.shtml)
In other news, I got a call from a guy with the amateur theater group - they need help with set construction and lighting for the production opening this coming Sunday evening (I think...). I told him I would be out of town for a few days, but would be able to help probably Friday afternoon, definitely Saturday and Sunday. He was pleased. So am I.
I worked at the museum this afternoon. When I got home there was a message on my phone from Sister. She hadn't been in touch because she'd had a bad cold and so hadn't been to the hospital, and had nothing to report. But today she had talked to ... someone ... and called to fill me in.
Nephew had a craniotomy on Saturday. They removed (presumably) necrotic matter from the frontal lobes (Sister said "front lobals", so I assume that's what she meant) to help reduce the swelling and give some breathing room. I guess the pneumonia must be better, because her message said he made it through the surgery just fine, although he's still in a coma.
I called her back this evening, but her phone went directly to message, so I assume she was at the hospital.
I'm a little surprised that the doctors employed such a drastic measure when they are not encouraging hope. (Good article on the function of the frontal lobes: http://www.neuroskills.com/tbi/bfrontal.shtml)
In other news, I got a call from a guy with the amateur theater group - they need help with set construction and lighting for the production opening this coming Sunday evening (I think...). I told him I would be out of town for a few days, but would be able to help probably Friday afternoon, definitely Saturday and Sunday. He was pleased. So am I.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
941 Why Blogs Die
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Yesterday, looking for my past entry about Nephew at my mother's funeral, I reread a lot of my old entries, and was amazed at how much my journal has changed. The difference from the beginning on AOL in June of 2004 and now is amazing. I used to write a lot of opinion and observation. Now it's mainly "I went there, I did that", without a lot of thought or comment.
I started the journal on AOL when I was just starting to come out of the depression and isolation I had gone into when Jay died. I used it to work through my feelings, to remember our relationship, to think about what I had learned, to break the isolation. I needed to think some things through, to get some things out, to put them outside myself so I could let them go. I don't have to keep going over those things now in my head, they are someplace safe forever, not lost.
The journal didn't always show what was going on in my mind. The surface things I wrote about were often just the waves on top. I sometimes went into rants, which was an improvement on the prior three years of not feeling anything. It was an exercise in feeling.
Then Roman happened, and the character of the journal changed. Emotional stress. Too much feeling too suddenly, and no one to talk to about what was happening.
Some people who know that I keep a blog (but don't know where it is) have asked why (especially when their only knowledge of blogs is MySpace and the like, which horrifies them, they can't imagine me doing THAT!). The "why" changes as conditions change. Right now it's sort of just to keep track of my days. My daily notes.
So then thinking about that got me thinking about how over the past two years, many of the blogs I had been following have died, or have gone private, and I wondered if they "got old". I guess many of them probably died of old age and boredom. They had outlived their purpose.
Blogs with a theme, like photos, political comment or current events, seem to last longer than personal blogs. When they die, it's often because their readership got too large, trolls moved in, the comments area took on a life of its own, becoming virtually a chat room, and the blog owner finally lost patience with mediating arguments, taking abuse from idiots, and cleaning up the comments. So they close and lock the doors. Sometimes they open shop again in a different "storefront", under a different name.
Some personal blogs start out in the "I went here, I did that" vein, then some late night, the owner drops a bomb, a personal revelation that scares him or her, and they disappear. It appears to me that the need to make the revelation, to come clean, was probably the impetus for the blog in the first place, but the owner wasn't ready yet, took too long to get to it, and in the meantime built up a readership that they suddenly realized were NOT the people they really wanted to reveal this stuff to. Panic, end of blog.
Something I saw a lot of on AOL was scammer blogs, filled with sob stories of mistreatment, misfortune, and how bravely the blog owner is coping. They eventually build a loyal following of syncophants who will valiantly defend their hero against anyone who questions the inconsistencies in the stories, the blatant impossibilities, the similarities to old novels. Then comes the "it would make so much difference if I had a ....". I watched one woman scam a new computer with all the bells and whistles out of her readership. She was working on a car (her old one being too unreliable to pick up her emotionally disabled son at the residental facility for his Christmas visit home, etc, sob sob), when she suddenly went private. I guess she had her base of suckers, and didn't want any more of those nasty "why don't you look for a job" or "how come you can go visit a boyfriend in another state when you can't feed your child" hecklers. Easier to milk her victims in private, without interference.
And then there's the folks who talk about their life which (oh, wow!) intersects with the lives of others (no kidding!), or a job, and the others find the blog, and have fits. What they don't realize is that although they recognize themselves in entries, nobody else would recognize them! Only another friend in common or coworker could recognize them, and then if what it written is true and known, how can they reasonably object? I mean, is the blog owner not allowed to have observations? An opinion? Is it a law that you have to keep your opinions to yourself? And don't give me that "to the whole world!" crap. Nobody knows who you ARE! But the blogger gets so much guff he or she has to censor the blog out of existence.
I don't tell very many people who know me how to find this blog, but if anyone put even an ounce of thought into it they'd know exactly what to look for. And I don't care. Anything I may have said about anyone else is the truth as I see it, and certainly my opinion, and I am a very open person, so they already know what that opinion is. There should be no shocks. (Well, maybe the ditz from an entry or two back, but everyone knows she's a ditz, so it wouldn't be shocking to anyone else, and she's such a ditz that even given the date and the others at the table, she wouldn't recognize herself, and of all the people we know in common, she's the only one who would be stupid enough to explain it to the ditz. So, I'm safe.)
So, blogs grow up, learn, mature, and then either commit suicide, are murdered, or have fulfilled their purpose and die of old age.
Mine is going to limp on forever, through dementia, if necessary. Just like me. Something exciting might happen at any moment, and neither the blog nor I want to miss it.
Yesterday, looking for my past entry about Nephew at my mother's funeral, I reread a lot of my old entries, and was amazed at how much my journal has changed. The difference from the beginning on AOL in June of 2004 and now is amazing. I used to write a lot of opinion and observation. Now it's mainly "I went there, I did that", without a lot of thought or comment.
I started the journal on AOL when I was just starting to come out of the depression and isolation I had gone into when Jay died. I used it to work through my feelings, to remember our relationship, to think about what I had learned, to break the isolation. I needed to think some things through, to get some things out, to put them outside myself so I could let them go. I don't have to keep going over those things now in my head, they are someplace safe forever, not lost.
The journal didn't always show what was going on in my mind. The surface things I wrote about were often just the waves on top. I sometimes went into rants, which was an improvement on the prior three years of not feeling anything. It was an exercise in feeling.
Then Roman happened, and the character of the journal changed. Emotional stress. Too much feeling too suddenly, and no one to talk to about what was happening.
Some people who know that I keep a blog (but don't know where it is) have asked why (especially when their only knowledge of blogs is MySpace and the like, which horrifies them, they can't imagine me doing THAT!). The "why" changes as conditions change. Right now it's sort of just to keep track of my days. My daily notes.
So then thinking about that got me thinking about how over the past two years, many of the blogs I had been following have died, or have gone private, and I wondered if they "got old". I guess many of them probably died of old age and boredom. They had outlived their purpose.
Blogs with a theme, like photos, political comment or current events, seem to last longer than personal blogs. When they die, it's often because their readership got too large, trolls moved in, the comments area took on a life of its own, becoming virtually a chat room, and the blog owner finally lost patience with mediating arguments, taking abuse from idiots, and cleaning up the comments. So they close and lock the doors. Sometimes they open shop again in a different "storefront", under a different name.
Some personal blogs start out in the "I went here, I did that" vein, then some late night, the owner drops a bomb, a personal revelation that scares him or her, and they disappear. It appears to me that the need to make the revelation, to come clean, was probably the impetus for the blog in the first place, but the owner wasn't ready yet, took too long to get to it, and in the meantime built up a readership that they suddenly realized were NOT the people they really wanted to reveal this stuff to. Panic, end of blog.
Something I saw a lot of on AOL was scammer blogs, filled with sob stories of mistreatment, misfortune, and how bravely the blog owner is coping. They eventually build a loyal following of syncophants who will valiantly defend their hero against anyone who questions the inconsistencies in the stories, the blatant impossibilities, the similarities to old novels. Then comes the "it would make so much difference if I had a ....". I watched one woman scam a new computer with all the bells and whistles out of her readership. She was working on a car (her old one being too unreliable to pick up her emotionally disabled son at the residental facility for his Christmas visit home, etc, sob sob), when she suddenly went private. I guess she had her base of suckers, and didn't want any more of those nasty "why don't you look for a job" or "how come you can go visit a boyfriend in another state when you can't feed your child" hecklers. Easier to milk her victims in private, without interference.
And then there's the folks who talk about their life which (oh, wow!) intersects with the lives of others (no kidding!), or a job, and the others find the blog, and have fits. What they don't realize is that although they recognize themselves in entries, nobody else would recognize them! Only another friend in common or coworker could recognize them, and then if what it written is true and known, how can they reasonably object? I mean, is the blog owner not allowed to have observations? An opinion? Is it a law that you have to keep your opinions to yourself? And don't give me that "to the whole world!" crap. Nobody knows who you ARE! But the blogger gets so much guff he or she has to censor the blog out of existence.
I don't tell very many people who know me how to find this blog, but if anyone put even an ounce of thought into it they'd know exactly what to look for. And I don't care. Anything I may have said about anyone else is the truth as I see it, and certainly my opinion, and I am a very open person, so they already know what that opinion is. There should be no shocks. (Well, maybe the ditz from an entry or two back, but everyone knows she's a ditz, so it wouldn't be shocking to anyone else, and she's such a ditz that even given the date and the others at the table, she wouldn't recognize herself, and of all the people we know in common, she's the only one who would be stupid enough to explain it to the ditz. So, I'm safe.)
So, blogs grow up, learn, mature, and then either commit suicide, are murdered, or have fulfilled their purpose and die of old age.
Mine is going to limp on forever, through dementia, if necessary. Just like me. Something exciting might happen at any moment, and neither the blog nor I want to miss it.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
940 Called to Rochester
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Jay's eldest sister called this evening. I haven't talked with her in ages. Haven't seen her in more than a year. There seems to be a problem with one of Jay's father's caregivers, so she's going to be in Rochester next week to find out what's going on, and asked if I'd like to join her there. The problem? Strange charges showing up on the credit cards, the doctor called her and said he suspects emotional if not physical abuse, the vet called her and said the dog is losing weight, etc. Dad's got 24-hour care, there are several caretakers, so it may be a problem in more than one area.
I have to work at the museum on Monday, but I can drive to Rochester on Tuesday (a 6-hour drive) and return on Thursday. It will be nice to see both of them.
I just hope nothing critical happens in Orlando while I'm gone.
Jay's eldest sister called this evening. I haven't talked with her in ages. Haven't seen her in more than a year. There seems to be a problem with one of Jay's father's caregivers, so she's going to be in Rochester next week to find out what's going on, and asked if I'd like to join her there. The problem? Strange charges showing up on the credit cards, the doctor called her and said he suspects emotional if not physical abuse, the vet called her and said the dog is losing weight, etc. Dad's got 24-hour care, there are several caretakers, so it may be a problem in more than one area.
I have to work at the museum on Monday, but I can drive to Rochester on Tuesday (a 6-hour drive) and return on Thursday. It will be nice to see both of them.
I just hope nothing critical happens in Orlando while I'm gone.
939 I'm Tired of Looking Tired
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Every time I leave the house with no makeup on, and not just lately, it's been since my early thirties, people tell me I look tired. Or sick. I don't wear that much makeup - spot coverup on my scars, eyebrow pencil and brown eyeliner and mascara, and that's about it. Sometimes lipstick, sometimes powder, depending on how fancy I feel. Never base or rouge.
My main problem, I guess, is that my eyes are light, my eyebrows are scanty and blonde, almost not there, and my eyelashes, although long enough, are also blonde. So without makeup I look pale and washed out.
Two of the four recessed floodlights in the kitchen burned out today, so I went to the grocery store this evening to buy some. They didn't have any of the type I need, so I just got yogurt and bread. The checkout lady, one of my favorites, ask me what was wrong. I said "Nothing, why?", and she said I looked tired. I said no, that I just wasn't wearing any makeup. She proceded to tell me that I was even moving more slowly, like I was tired. I said no, I'm really ok. She said I even said that in a tired way.
I had been just fine when I went in. By the time I left, I did feel tired. She convinced me.
Sigh.
I'm half tempted to get eyebrows and eyeliner tattooed on, but I'm afraid they'd screw it up and I'd be stuck with a mess. Plus as I get older I might want the eyebrows lighter, and I don't know how that would work. Sister has tattooed eyeliner. I'll have to check hers out better next time I see her.
Sheesh. Wouldn't that hurt? What do you look like until it heals?
Every time I leave the house with no makeup on, and not just lately, it's been since my early thirties, people tell me I look tired. Or sick. I don't wear that much makeup - spot coverup on my scars, eyebrow pencil and brown eyeliner and mascara, and that's about it. Sometimes lipstick, sometimes powder, depending on how fancy I feel. Never base or rouge.
My main problem, I guess, is that my eyes are light, my eyebrows are scanty and blonde, almost not there, and my eyelashes, although long enough, are also blonde. So without makeup I look pale and washed out.
Two of the four recessed floodlights in the kitchen burned out today, so I went to the grocery store this evening to buy some. They didn't have any of the type I need, so I just got yogurt and bread. The checkout lady, one of my favorites, ask me what was wrong. I said "Nothing, why?", and she said I looked tired. I said no, that I just wasn't wearing any makeup. She proceded to tell me that I was even moving more slowly, like I was tired. I said no, I'm really ok. She said I even said that in a tired way.
I had been just fine when I went in. By the time I left, I did feel tired. She convinced me.
Sigh.
I'm half tempted to get eyebrows and eyeliner tattooed on, but I'm afraid they'd screw it up and I'd be stuck with a mess. Plus as I get older I might want the eyebrows lighter, and I don't know how that would work. Sister has tattooed eyeliner. I'll have to check hers out better next time I see her.
Sheesh. Wouldn't that hurt? What do you look like until it heals?
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