4075 Weight and remembrance.

Saturday, July 25, 2015

"By a curious confusion, many modern critics have passed from the proposition

that a masterpiece may be unpopular

to the other proposition that unless it is unpopular

it cannot be a masterpiece."

-- G. K. Chesterton --

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I'm now at 150 lbs, and have been for quite a while.  That may not seem like all that terribly much, but remember that I am about 4'9" tall.  On a regular-sized woman, that might be equivalent to over 180 lbs.  Being pre-diabetic (and I might be fooling myself there with the "pre") this is bad.

I've been trying to lose weight for a few months now, watching calories, but I guess I'm not trying all that hard because I haven't increased my activity level one iota.  So, I weigh me about once a week, or every two weeks, and I'm frustrated to see exactly 150 lbs every time.  The needle is so steady that for a while I wondered if the scale was broken.

What's weird is that a few things that were too tight a month ago are fine now, so either I'm losing inches if not pounds, or I'm just more accepting of the lumps.  I dunno.

The Man would think I look great now.  He prefers well-padded women.  He didn't say anything, but I know he was distressed when I dropped to 125ish back in 2009ish.  

I guess I'm going to have to start walking, or something.

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

This brings up the topic of what happened to The Man?  Nothing drastic, really.  We enjoyed each other thoroughly during the time, but neither of us was looking for anything permanent or intense, and although the physical and mental intimacy was wonderful there wasn't a lot of emotional intimacy.  That was an unspoken but understood agreement. There were a lot of topics we carefully avoided.

So there came a time when things in my life (the kidney stuff especially, and pneumonia) were causing me to withdraw and I was not willing to share the reasons with him, which created a wedge, and then he had some serious physical/medical and professional (and resulting financial and severe emotional) reversals that he was not willing to discuss with me (it being unmanly, and not a part of our relationship, and he certainly did not want my help), so he withdrew also, and then some personality differences came into play that made rapprochement difficult, and we kind of drifted apart.  

We both hate the telephone, and I don't text (won't!), so now there are the occasional holiday and birthday emails, and that's about it.  I know better than to ask questions, and he doesn't, so even those emails are terse.

I'm ok with it.  If I ever had the opportunity to fall into bed with him again, would I?   You bet your sweet patooty!  That's an experience not to be missed!  But on the other hand, I'm not sure I'd want to start that whole thing up again.  I'm absolutely glad we had what we did have.  He opened a new world to me, and taught me things about myself I'd never known or appreciated before, and I'm glad I experienced that. 

I'm not looking for another man.  Just not the least bit interested.  Plus, I doubt that anyone else could live up to his example.  If he's the last of my sex life, it's a bang-up ending, and I'm fine with that.
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3790 Three kinds of sleeping men

Sunday, November 3, 2013

I was lying in bed this morning, snuggled under the blankets with Jasper curled against the back of my knees, and I was thinking about which side of the bed I choose to sleep on.  I start on the left**, often roll over to the right during the night, then back to the left by morning.  I guess it's because the table with the clock and my eyeglasses is on the left.  At the country house, I sleep on the right, and pretty much stay there.

In my experience with sleeping with men (and I have a lot more experience than you'd even guess), I've found they seem to fall into three groups.

The first two groups don't consistently prefer one side over another.  Their choice is based on the layout of the room, and in that they are consistent.

1.  Some insist on sleeping on the side of the bed nearest the door.  If you ask, that's what they say, that they want to be nearest the door. Even if you're sleeping in a strange place, like a hotel, they want to be nearest the door.  Which side they sleep on changes with the room.  I think of them as "The Protectors".  These men also tend to walk toward the outside on sidewalks, and insist on opening doors for ladies.

2.  Some want the side of the bed nearest the bathroom, and if you ask, that's what they say.  The bathroom.  I think of them as "The Piddlers".   These guys tend to be a little  bit self-absorbed and stingy.

3.  Then there's the guys who always sleep on one particular side.  If you ask, they say that they always sleep on the left (or right), with raised eyebrows, like "Duh?  Is there any other possibility?"  Mostly you don't have to ask.  They simply state it as fact, no discussion allowed.  I think it probably has to do with which side of their body they sleep on, and want to be facing out, or in, and know exactly where the edge is.  These are "The Rigids".  They like things a certain way, seldom break routine.

Of course this is just my experience, and some men are combinations or exceptions.  The Man, for example, always sleeps on "his side" of the bed and is pretty Rigid in his habits (well, very rigid) and often his thinking, but in all else he is a Protector.

Do you prefer a particular side?  Why?

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**I'm never quite sure what people mean when they say "right" or "left" in reference to a bed.  Is it as when you lie on your back on the bed?  Or when you stand at the foot facing the head?

Seems to me that since the bed has a head and a foot, it would have a right hand and a left, so it would be like lying on the bed on your back.  But The Man uses the opposite, and we all know he's never wrong.
 
It doesn't  much matter what's correct, since the person speaking is not necessarily using it that way.

Later - We don't seem to have this problem with chairs.  "Put the table to the right of the chair" means to your right, not the chair's right, and most people understand that.  Oh, Good Grief!  Does that mean The Man is right again!?
.
.

3613 King of root beer

Monday, September 10, 2012

The admirable qualities so often sought among human beings

actually reside almost exclusively in dogs.

-- Evan Morris --

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Women who extend their eye makeup way past the outer edges of their eyes in an effort, I suppose, to make their eyes look larger, actually end up looking cross-eyed.  Do they really not realize this?

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

Stephen King's 11/22/63 has been sitting on the shelf for a few months, so this week I started reading it.  In the first few pages his character rhapsodizes about 1958 root beer.

Yes!  Yes!  Oh my God yes!  I had almost forgotten.  Root beer used to be full and round and dark and smooth and strong and thick and full of body!  It was only lightly carbonated, but formed a head when poured.  It was a meal!  You rolled it around in your mouth for a while before swallowing it.  You could add 8 ounces of vanilla ice cream to 8 ounces of root beer, and the flavor was still strong.  You could smell a glass of root beer three tables away.  In the '50s and '60s root beer was just about my favorite thing in the whole wide world!

Somewhere along the early '70s it changed.  It got thin and blah.  Fizzly.  Watery.  Add ice cream and the taste almost disappears.  Fizzly water that a root beer barrel candy got dissolved in.  Artificially flavored?  Blah.  I stopped drinking it because it was such a disappointment.  That's not root beer.  I haven't had a good root beer in 40 years.

What happened?

(Up in the mountains you could get REAL root beer, locally brewed and mildly alcoholic.  The real stuff.  I wonder if that still exists?  Probably not - them damn revenooers!  Regulate the flavor right out.) 

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

"Root beer used to be full and round and dark and smooth and strong and thick and full of body!"  Hmmm.  I notice a pattern here.  That's what I like about The Man.  The old root beer had a good head, too.
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3553 Playing tourist

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Many men don't really want to hear what a woman has to say. They say they do,

but they don't, and they telegraph that. They end up teaching their women

not to say anything important, and then complain because they never say anything important. 

 -- Me --

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

The green has nothing to do with this post.  Well, very little.

I intended to go to the country house this week, leaving Tuesday evening or Wednesday morning.  But Tuesday morning The Man asked what my plans were for the week.  He was going to be in NJ on business somewhere toward the end of the week and wanted to set up the schedule so he could visit when I was free.  Naturally I got all excited, and said that my time was flexible, and when could he be here?

Tuesday afternoon, I got the temperature alert for the country house - 98 degrees Wednesday and Thursday.  The a/c is dead there, that's one of those things on the "to fix" list, so my time suddenly became even more flexible.  It would be well over 100 in that house. 

By early afternoon Tuesday, The Man's schedule had changed, too.  No NJ.  He was going to be in Washington, DC, for two days.

So, long story short, I'm in (well, near) DC.  Arrived yesterday, leaving tomorrow.  He's working during the day, but we have the evenings and mornings.

3543 NYC-Speak

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Ignorant men don't know what good they hold in their hands

until they've flung it away.

-- Sophocles --

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"They" say people in New York City talk fast. That's not precisely true. It's not really talking fast, it's running things together, with no attention to distinct syllables, let alone accented syllables. That has the effect of speeding it up because it shortens it, but it's not the same thing.

The Nugget was hugging a doll when The Man was here, and he said to her, "Gimilmo. Gimilmo."  She stared at him, confused.  It took me a few seconds to figure out that he wanted her to give him the doll she was holding, an Elmo muppet.  I said, "Show the man Elmo", and she give him the muppet.  He hugged it properly and gave it back, and she fell in love with him.

Mostly he doesn't do that NYC-speak, except when he makes some offhand remark, and then I flat out don't understand him.  He says, "Yeah, I mutter".  I used to ask, but now if I don't catch it, I just let it go.  If it's important, he slows down and says individual words.

I mentioned the Nugget's confusion to Daughter, and she said that yeah, since she's been talking to the Nugget, she's much more conscious of how fast she talks, how she's slowed down now and doesn't run things together when she talks to the baby.  But she still gets frustrated by how non-NYC/NJ people (like ME!) talk so slowly.  She wants to shake us, "Come on!  Get it OUT already!"

She and I both get frustrated when we talk on the phone.  I have to ask her to repeat every other phrase.  "Slow down, please."  She says she understands a bit better now, and almost apologized for accusing me multiple times of going deaf.
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3537 Hair! The solution!

Friday, May 25, 2012

The underwire in a woman’s bra deflected a bullet. It also lifted, separated, defined and supported.  Her terrified thong tried to hide and was almost impossible to remove from the scene.

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Hair saga:   When my hair was long, it was easy.  I just trimmed the ends, and for bangs I'd grab a hank, hold it straight up and make one cut, automatic taper.  Done.  I'd been doing that all my life, because when my mother was in charge of my hair, I'd never had a salon cut that didn't leave me crying.

Eighteen months ago I decided to go short.  I tried salons again, thinking that hey, I'm adult, I'm in charge now.  They pretty much did what they wanted to do, not what I wanted, no matter what I said, and I wasn't happy. 

I tried cutting it myself, and it took forever, with much twisting and swearing.  The top and sides were ok, but I simply can't wield scissors with my left hand while looking at the back of my head in the mirror.  I tried using clippers on the back, but blending where it meets the upper back was hit or miss, and it's too difficult to get it the right length anyway.

I'd finally get it sort of right over a period of several days or weeks, snipping hither and yon, constantly with itchy bits of hair all over me, the bathroom sinks, and the floors.  And then when it finally looked good, within a week it was too long again and time to do it all over again.  It was choppy from my hacking, so to go to a salon and say "cut it just like this, but shorter" would be asking for trouble.  They'd try to "fix it" and guess wrong.

I've been moaning over it.  It was now about a half inch too long to be manageable.  Sigh.  Here we go again.

I went to the country house (I'm not calling them the old and the new house any more; they are now officially "the country house" and "the city house") this past week and found the solution to all my hair problems in the back of the coat closet.

In about the mid-'90s, we had tried a haircutting thingy for Jay's hair that attaches to the vacuum cleaner.  It sucks the hair into a tube where there's rotating blades, and the clippings go into the vacuum cleaner.  (There are three versions on the internet.  I won't recommend any particular one because they all have advantages and disadvantages, but I will say that the RoboCut and clones is infinitely adjustable for various lengths, where the Flowbee and clones has multiple set lengths, which is important to know if you want a smooth taper.)  It didn't really work on Jay's hair because he had strange thin spots on the back of his head where the hair had to be cut slightly longer to cover them, so it got packed up and stored in the closet. (My hair was very long then, so I wasn't cutting mine.)

I brought it down to the city house, and this evening I tried it.  It works!  I LOVE my cut!  It's perfect!  It took less than 10 minutes, there's no itchy bits on me or on the floor, and it's done.  Done done done.  And so what if it needs another trim in a week or two?  It took less than 10 minutes!  I can give myself a quick trim before going out for dinner.

I had to sketch out the lengths I wanted.  I measured the hair all over my head and made a chart marking the length all over.  Like a sketch from the front and the side, with the hair sticking out light-socket-wise.  I decided to play it safe and take off only a half inch all over.  It's always easier to go shorter if that's not enough.  I started at the top, set the tube to to 3.5 inches, then graduated to 3.0 upper back, 2.0 from the top of my ear around to the other ear, and taper down to 1.5 below that.  If you scrub the tube up and down a bit, it blends nicely.

And believe it or not, both sides of my head are now the same length!  I've never been able to do that by hand.

My only sadness now is that I was afraid to do it before The Man visited.  I cut it about six hours after he'd left.  Too bad.  But at least I can easily maintain this.
.

3426 Title? I don't need no stinkin' title!

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Half the people you know are below average.
-- Steven Wright --

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I'm in love again. Fourteen hours with The Man will do that to me.

One of the many things we talked about - he marveled at a coworker who, when the clock hits 4:30, stands up, puts his coat on, and leaves, leaving coffee on his desk, the computer open to whatever he was working on, conversations unfinished, he just leaves! It drives The Man crazy. He can't understand it. (Part of it was that the guy doesn't clean up before leaving, part of it was the leaving.)

Reminded me of this:
[http://dilbert.com/dyn_file/str_strip/146542/gif/strip.print/]

That's so true. The more you do, the more you get to do. When I worked for The Company - oh hell, it's far enough out now I think I can use the name - IBM, 10 to 15% overtime was built into every project. Being salaried, we didn't get paid overtime, but overtime was expected. Missing schedules was bad for your performance reviews, so overtime was necessary. And yet, it seemed like the people who got the raises and the promotions were also the people who left on time every day.

I knew one woman, Nancy, who worked like a dog. She took on everything she was asked to do, worked 10-15 hours of unpaid overtime every week. She pulled her department's tail out of the fire over and over. But over and over she was downgraded on the performance reviews because she "demonstrated poor time management", while other members of her department left on time every day, and got good reviews.

Nancy did a quarter of the entire work assigned to that entire 8 person department! She got no credit for it.

Simply put, those other people were able to convince their managers that they couldn't possibly take on additional projects. So all the additional department load was dumped on Nancy, who couldn't seem to say no. It was always, "Yeah, ok, I can do that."

Jay had pretty much the same problem.

I guess it's good time management when you don't accept any work that interferes with your personal life, even though overtime is part of the job. I think it's poor people management when you don't see the difference between loads carried.
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3413 Swimming to Australia

Monday, December 5, 2011

It's impossible to learn what you think you already know.

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

I think I was depressed for the past month or two. It happens occasionally. I never recognize it until it's passing. Not a clinical depression, if you know what I mean - a situational depression. I didn't want to go anywhere or do anything. Even the grocery store. Didn't want to get dressed. When I ran out of stuff I'd stand at the pantry and wonder what I could eat instead. I haven't yet stowed away any of the latest load of clothing and trinkets I'd brought back from the old house.

I finally recognized it a day or two ago, when I noticed I'd been living almost exclusively in the internet. Reading long articles that don't really matter. Looking stuff up that has no meaning. Following Wikipedia links into the hinterlands. It really hit home when I realized my internet shopping was out of control. I do that when I'm unhappy - I buy myself gifts. They have to arrive in the mail, like a surprise, to be a gift.

The slide all started the first week in October, when Hercules was in Ireland, and Daughter's back went out, and I had to rush back from the old house to care for her. I took over the Nugget for a few days, and then when Daughter was able to lift Nugget again, my back went out from lifting Nugget, and being older, mine took longer to get happy again.

Then Daughter got that cold that was going around, the one with the sore throat and copious nasal and sinus congestion, and general raggedness. Nugget was sick, too. So for several days I had Nugget during the day so Daughter could nap, because Nugget was worse at night, so Daughter had been sleeping on the floor in Nugget's room and up and down with her all night.

Nugget and Daughter got better, but then I came down with the snots. It's bad only maybe two days, but my sinuses are scarred from an epic infection in the early '80s, and the sinus reaction goes on and on for weeks after a cold. No infection, just irritation that produces glop that requires horrendous snorts to clear when it thickens and catches on the soft palate, and it constantly sloughs down the back of my throat and makes me cough. And nobody can cough like I can. My coughs wrack my body. Every cough produces a mouthful of glop.

Naturally, my back went out from the coughing.

The Man has been working out of state, but would be in NJ during that time that Daughter was sick. He wanted to get together. When I mentioned the colds, he decided not, saying he catches everything that comes down the pike - which was just as well because the day he would have arrived, I was starting the sore throat and sniffling.

So, right now my back is still delicate. I can finally sit comfortably. No pain, but I feel that warning twinge every time I move. The coughing and snorting has lessened. And now I recognize how depressed I'd been.

I haven't been to the old house since early October. Winter is coming. There's so very much to do. Until I can get it on the market and actually sell it, it's costing me $1,500/month or more in taxes, utilities, and insurance. I can't go when I'm sick or when my back is out. It's so upsetting it has been causing nightmares and insomnia from a churning mind.

And I haven't seen The Man in ages.

I look at photos of me from just 12 months ago and compare them to now, and I have aged a lot. My weight is also creeping up.

Yesterday I sort of woke up a little. I actually did a few things around here.

We'll see....
.

3205 Missed and finally found.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

It's a lot easier to react than it is to think.

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

A friend sent this link to an article about a 12 year-old kid named Jake, who is well on the way to challenging Stephen Hawking: http://www.indystar.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2011103200369

It's interesting that he was originally diagnosed as borderline autistic, then "upgraded" to Asperger. I wonder if he's really either. It's almost as if he was born into a continuation of a previous life where he had learned mathematical relationships.

I had a very personal reaction to the article. It says that Jake "has been measured at 170 (top of the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children)" in mathematical IQ, and that as a toddler, he stopped talking for a year and a half. It's also mentioned that he had periods of regression.

Rather than attempt to "normalize" him, and mainstream him, his parents chose to feed his specific interest and skills.

What hit me:

• My daughter scored 168, general, not specifically math, at age 12. I was not aware until just now that 170 was the top score.
• My daughter was talking in sentences at 10 months. When she realized that her immature pronunciation made it difficult for anyone but her parents to understand her, she suddenly stopped talking. Period. She didn't say another single word until she was a bit over two (but was a master in pantomime, easily conveying even complex ideas), and then suddenly when she started talking again, she had an enormous vocabulary, including four and five syllable words with solid grammar and complex sentence construction.
  
• I noticed early that she would have a period of rapid and amazing learning (she knew colors and numbers at three months. "Which is the blue block?" "Show me five blocks." "Now show me two blocks and three blocks" - and her eyebrows would shoot up and big smile when she realized two and three is five), during which time she didn't grow physically at all, followed by a period of physical growth during which she seemed to find learning anything new to be very difficult. Sort of like Jake's regressions.

My personal reaction after reading the article:

• I noticed the parallels.
• I was horrified.
• I wondered if I had failed her in some way by not offering her opportunities in her interests.
• I tried to remember if there was any area in which she showed an early interest. Um, nothing obvious stands out, not in an academic area, anyway. She just liked to learn things, was hungry for new "experiments" and information about anything.
  
• I was aware that she seemed to have difficulty relating to children her own age. She was comfortable with much older and younger children, and adults, but she wanted to be "in" with kids her own age, but she couldn't seem to relate to them. She couldn't seem to figure out what they were interested in, how their minds worked. (The word "autistic" was so new that most people misheard it and thought it had something to do with artistic ability, and Aspberger's wasn't even on the horizon.)
• If she had any special interest at all, it was in social interaction, and it was the only thing she wasn't very good at.

This article made me feel guilty. Like I should have noticed something important, looked for her special gift, some specific thing that engaged her attention, but I don't know what.

When she was in high school and thinking of future areas of study, I thought she should head for something medical or psychological. She rejected that. I don't know why. Her teachers said she was good in math and science, and that's how she ended up in engineering. For which she was entirely unsuited.

Now the field she's in is medically and psychologically related, with an eastern slant, and she's happy. Her special talent is an ability to "read" people, inside and out, to feel and direct energy flow, and she's rather spectacular at it. Really. You have to know to appreciate it.

And that's what I missed when she was young. Without even realizing it, her father and I kept at a distance anyone she reacted negatively to, even when she was an infant. We learned over and over that she was always always always right.

Believe it or not, I ran The Man past her before I consented to date him. He laughing refers to that evening as "the interview". (Little does he know.) Her take on him was "He's ok. Have fun, Mom. But take everything he says with a grain of salt."

She was so very right.
.

3187 Haircut Update

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Heat, pressure, time. The same things that make a diamond also make a waffle.

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

I've been nibbling at my hair. Rat tail comb, scissors, mirrors. The original cut was much too long, difficult to deal with.

I was a little worried about what The Man would think, but I guess it was ok. He said he liked that the back was short - that too many women, when they go short, leave it too long in the back. Which was kind of neat because it was just the night before he saw it that I went after the back and chopped it all off.

This is what it looked like in November when the professional was finished:
Feminine, sexy, but next to impossible to keep the back looking right without "product", and difficult to wear a hat without killing it entirely. Just too much hair behind my ears.

This is what it looks like since I've been nibbling:
From the front (sorry about the focus, or whatever it is that went wrong - call it a virtual face lift - which helps a lot because I have no makeup on):

It even looks like the hair is thicker when it's shorter. Not so much scalp showing through. Note how the color has changed as the old blond dye is growing out and the natural is coming in. It's still blonder in the front and on the sides. The light has a lot to do with the color, too.

I might eventually go blond again, but I figured it was a good opportunity to find out what color it really is these days. (It's actually darker in the lower back than shows here.)

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

I bought automatic dishwasher detergent the other day, "Regular Scent". Scent? Why scent?

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

Some guy has written an extension for browsers that will automatically blank out any mention of "Charlie Sheen", as well as photos, for those of us who are sick of the whole thing cluttering up our environment.

You know, even though I intensely dislike the show, I hope the network continues "Two and a Half Men" with another actor in Sheen's role, and that the show is even more successful with the replacement actor. That would really be ironic, pop ol' Sheen's ego-trip bubble, show him that it WAS the writing and production that made it successful after all, not him.

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

Vocabulary lesson of the day: The term is straitjacket, or strait jacket, not straight jacket, where "strait" means "narrow, confined".
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3180 Gathering, Image, Id card

Sunday, March 6, 2011

There can’t be sin without knowledge.

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

Friday I went 13 minutes up the road to the Central NJ regional gathering. It started at 4 pm on Friday, and went 'til about noonish today, with conversation and food in the hospitality room, a slate of speakers, and people from all over the north east in attendance. I heard one of the organizers say they had about 200 people registered, but I don't know where they were all hiding, because it didn't seem like that many to me.

The Man and I had met at this gathering four years ago, so this is sorta like an anniversary for us. It was a fluke that he was there that year. He just doesn't enjoy the gatherings.

I got a room at the host hotel for Friday night, but not for Saturday, because not much happens on Sunday anyway, so I figured I'd leave late Saturday night.

I sent The Man a note mid-week to tell him I'd be there and would love to see him. He's been working in Delaware, so I was a bit shocked (and very happy) when he said yes. He arrived Friday evening, bearing sushi, and we had dinner in the room. He'd said he had to leave on Saturday for a 4 pm dinner with his son, but what I didn't realize was that he'd be meeting his son in Maryland. So he left a little before noon Saturday. That means he drove from Delaware to central NJ to see me, then drove back through Delaware to Maryland - I was way out of his way. I am gratified. It feels good.

Back in the Hospitality room, many people were commenting (not exactly complaining) that they were disappointed in the speakers. Seems like nobody was up to par. There were no topics that interested me until a 4 pm talk on "Humor", by a guy who was the 2006 Time magazine "Man of the Year". I thought that would be good. Like what makes something funny? What are the differences in regional or national humor? What effect does laughter have on one's attitude and health? On brain chemistry? Why do some people find some things funny (like slapstick, the Three Stooges, the Marx Brothers, Seinfeld, Two and a Half Men) that others (like me) find offensive? What is the anatomy of a joke? There were so many approaches that would have been interesting.

A series of ancient jokes wasn't it.

I actually left the room before it ended, and I rarely walk out on a speaker. Sorry. I was tired (a night with The Man does that...) and I was falling asleep sitting there, which I suspect is worse than quietly creeping out.

There was nothing else on the roster that interested me, so after wandering around a bit and talking to a few people, I left. I was home by 6:30 pm, and in bed by 10.

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

When a perfectly presentable person looks in the mirror, and sees a fat slob, or an ugly face, or is generally unhappy with their appearance, we have names for that. It's seen as a psychological problem. A disconnect between reality and perception.

I wonder if there's a name for my problem. When I look in the mirror, I'm happy with what I see. I think I look not only fine, but downright sexy, verging on pretty. Everything about my mirror image pleases me, and I think I'm being critical and realistic.

But when I see a photo of me, I'm shocked. Look at the wrinkles! The scars! The sags! The belly sticking out! The thunder thighs! The thin shapeless hair! The droopy neck! The yellow crooked teeth! Where did all those chins come from! My God, that nose is HUGE! Who IS that person!

And then I'm embarrassed. I wonder, when people look at me, do they see my mirror image or the photo image? I guess I have a disconnect between reality and perception, too. But is it good or bad? Healthy or unhealthy?

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

I keep hearing that the Conservatives, Republicans, Tea Party folks, most, anyway, want less government messing in our lives. But read this: http://www.switched.com/2011/03/03/real-id-act-republicans-push-to-enact/.

It seems to me that what they really mean is less regulation of corporations and big business (campaign contributors), but more messing in and control of the lives of the "little people".

I don't see where a national id card would be any safer than the existing ids. The terrorists used faked driver's licenses. Would faking a national card be any more difficult? Especially when much of the info comes from state DMVs anyway? Seems to me it's more like an excuse to gather information on me, and you, and everyone else. That's all. An extension of the Patriot Act that has already destroyed our privacy, gone a major step farther.
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3247 Cold pressed

Monday, January 31, 2011

“While you may be very careful about what you pay for with your money, you are probably less careful about what you pay for with your attention. In the long run, how you spend your attention affects your life far more profoundly than how you spend your money.
Attention is energy. Whatever you feed it to will grow.”
-- Alan Cohen (Why Your Life Sucks, Page 70) --

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

Jasper plays a lot, but I don't get to watch him play unless I happen to be on the other end of the toy. I hear balls rolling, or catnip pillows being "killed", or hanging bells being jingled, but if I look over at him, he stops, leaves the toy, and comes over to me. I hear him chasing something from one end of the house to the other upstairs, but no matter how quietly I sneak to the stairs, when I get to the bottom, he's sitting on the top step looking down at me. I don't know what's going on up there.

He sits on the window sills when I'm not in a room. I see him in the living room window watching me when I'm on the front porch, and I've seen tiny paw prints on almost all the sills. But I've never seen him get up there. I don't know how he gets past/around/under/through the curtains.

The only way I can watch him do anything, including eating, is to cover my face with my hands and peek through my fingers, so he can't see my eyes. Even then I have to turn my face aside and look sideways, or he's not fooled.

I've never seen him drink water.

I don't know why he keeps all these secrets. It's not like he's afraid he's doing something wrong. About the only times he's ever had to be told "No!" is about getting on the kitchen counters or getting too close to an outside door. Otherwise we've never had any arguments.

I've never even seen him use the litter box.

Hmmmm. Jasper and The Man have a lot in common.

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

I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not sensitive to temperature - that's just what it feels like. Evening to evening in this house, as long as it's not windy, the temperature is fairly steady. Most evenings I'm fine. But some evenings, I freeze.

I am freezing this evening. I'm sitting here wrapped in a knit cape topped by a new rust red tan brown crochet shawl with only my fingers and head exposed, and I'm freezing. I'm thinking about going to bed, just to get warm.

And then I realized that every evening that snow or precipitation was predicted overnight, I've gone to bed especially early.

I wonder if I'm actually sensitive to drops in atmospheric pressure, and it registers as feeling cold.

Is that possible?

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

Know how you can't buy wintery stuff in the winter? I had a telescoping snow-pusher-offer thingy. Brand new in December. Last week, after the last snow, Daughter turned the pusher-thingy head without pressing the release button, and it broke. So now I need a new snow-pusher-offer thingy, and it needs to be telescoping because I'm so short and the roof of the minivan is so high and wide.

I went to three stores this evening, and none of them - including a huge auto parts store - had any, and none expect to get any more.

Yeah, I have one at the old house, and also a push broom that works if one doesn't mind marks on the edge of the roof, but Fred the van and I are here, not there. And if I bring them here, that leaves nothing to use there.

Why do they stop stocking winter stuff when there's two more months of winter to go? Do they really think nothing ever breaks or gets lost? Doesn't the fact that what they had sold out quickly, and people are still asking, tell them anything? Is anyone really buying lawn mowers right now?
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3246 Anthem, guns.

Monday, January 31, 2011

" And above all things, never think that you're not good enough yourself. A [person] should never think that. My belief is that in life people will take you at your own reckoning."
-- Isaac Asimov --

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

Field's topic Saturday involved renditions of the national anthem, and he touched on Marvin Gaye's and Whitney Houston's. He said, "Whitney wasn't bad, but Marvin's version was transcending."

Now, I dearly love me some Marvin, but I'd never heard him sing the anthem. I do remember hearing Whitney in real time, though. I didn't have the faintest idea who she was then, and I don't watch sports, so I caught it by accident, but I was blown away. I cried.

So I had to go listen to both versions. Yeah, Marvin was good. Marvin is always good. Do love me some Marvin. But once again, Whitney's killed me. I cried again.

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

Someone on TV said recently that people who want to carry guns all the time feel threatened all the time.

I had to think about that for a while. Based on next to no information, no facts, no studies, I think I believe it. It's been my experience, anyway, limited as it is.

I've known a few people who had permits to carry concealed weapons, and they did strike me as people who always felt threatened. Even walking the same streets as I, shopping in the same stores, dealing with the same people, they saw threat everywhere. I didn't. I don't. I certainly didn't feel any safer with them. I wonder whether carrying a gun made them more conscious of the possibilities, or seeing possibilities everywhere made them want to carry the gun. Chicken or egg. I don't know.

Maybe it has to do with past experiences, their own or something that happened to someone they knew. A kind of civilian post-traumatic stress.

I know someone now who sees the threat of violence everywhere, resulting in a constant alertness, vigilance, and if you knew the stories, you'd understand why. In his case a side effect is not a desire to carry a gun, but to an intense hatred of guns and all those who carry them.

Or maybe it's the political climate. We are being taught by the media that we should fear. To fear "the other", anyone not like us, and that should the unthinkable happen, you're on your own. Nothing has happened to make people feel threatened as individuals - not yet anyway - but "it's right around the corner".

I consider this a political thing because one way to control people is to make them afraid, then convince them that only you can be depended on to protect them.

Theories, anyone?
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3195 Weekend, Wilderstein

Saturday, December 12, 2010

Any couples therapist will tell you
that the minute the initial contract of the relationship is breached,
all bets are off.

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

I believe the green quote above to be absolutely true, but often you don't know what that initial contract is. You think you know, and then find out it wasn't what you thought it was. The real contract was deeply hidden.

From the therapist's viewpoint, the expression of the contract is and always was as it is now, known to be now broken, but back at the beginning of the relationship, the couple may have expressed their understanding differently. We change, and our expectations change, and we think our current expectations are the same as ever. If you know what I mean.

Maintaining a relationship is often like trying to hit a moving target.

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

Yesterday a friend and I drove up to Wilderstein mansion in Rhinecliff, to see the Victorian Christmas decorations. First we had lunch at the Rhinecliff Hotel, and visited a chocolate shop outside Rhinebeck.

The Wilderstein decorations were ok, but I was excited just to see the interior of the mansion again. I hadn't been inside in several years, and I'm impressed with how well the restoration is going. It's just sad that the work could not have been done while Daisy was alive. I love love love the wood and the gorgeous detail in that house.

It's odd, but there are very few photographs of the interior of Wilderstein online or anywhere else, and as much as I love it, I have never taken any pictures inside the house, either.

The friend had two questions she wanted to ask in research for a book, the first question having to do with electric service at the turn of the century, and the second with train service.

I was amazed that the docent was knowledgeable about electricity, and then as we were leaving, we met a guy who was an actual train buff, filled to the brim with old train lore.

I mean, what are the chances?

After leaving Wilderstein, we headed south of Newburgh to a Mensa dinner/party. There were a lot of people there, and I was happy to see many people I haven't seen in months. What felt especially good was that they seemed happy to see me, too.

We had two, count 'em, two, GPS devices to get us south to the Thruway and back home, and somehow I managed to get lost anyway. Route 9w kicked off to the left near Suffern and I missed the turn, but I kept going thinking the GPS would simply reroute us. He did, and we somehow ended up on the Thruway alright, but headed north. Duh?

After dropping the friend off at her home, it was supposed to be another 25 minutes to my home. Yeah, sure, this is New Jersey. It took me almost an hour because the state police had a sobriety roadblock set up on route 35. I didn't get home until after midnight.

When I got home, I found a bunch of packages on my doorstep. One from Amazon was four seasons of "My Name Is Earl". I LOVE that show! So this morning after breakfast I set myself up with the DVDs in Bedroom #2, planning to lie on the bed and watch the first season. Uh, I woke up at 2 pm. Windy and raining today (prefect bubble-blowing day), so no loss.

And this is/was my weekend.
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3182 We passed on all counts

Friday, December 3, 2010

Disappointment is the distance between expectations and reality.

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

Let me get this straight: The House has blocked the bill to extend unemployment benefits, but the House Republicans want to keep tax cuts for the wealthy. The house blocked a bill to feed needy school children healthy food (junk food producers, big campaign contributors, objected), but they passed the bill to ban loud TV commercials.

Yup. I guess they've got their priorities straight. "I've got mine, buck you fuddy."

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

A prediction: There will be a class action suit against Prilosec and Zantac, alleging that they contribute to osteoporosis and broken hips. (Unfortunately, they do, by blocking production of acid, thereby making it difficult to absorb calcium, even if one is taking supplements. That's why the packages say not to use them for more than two consecutive weeks.)

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

I hosted my first overnight guest in the new house last night. He'd been traveling all over the US and working a lot of overtime, and drove in from the Philadelphia area last night.

He likes a warm room. I like warm, too, but I often find his idea of "just right" too warm for me. Like, I'm trying to put makeup on and it's melting off. I think this house is cold, even though the thermometer says 72. Probably because with no basement, the floors are cold. Anyway, I was a bit worried that he'd think it was too cold here. I think he expected that, too, because he hadn't been here more than a half hour when he said, with surprise in his voice, "It's nice and warm here."

This morning, again with surprise in his voice, he said, "Nothing in the house smells of cigarettes." I think he was worried about that, too. I was, a bit, because even though I washed everything that came from the old house that could be laundered, there were a lot of things that couldn't be washed, like rugs and upholstery, and the sari spread on the very bed he slept in. And I knew if there was the slightest hint, he'd detect it.

And he has a slight cat allergy, and he knew Jasper is here. But Jasper sheds the least of any cat I've ever seen, not a bit of dry skin or dander, and, timid to the core, made himself scarce, so that wasn't a problem either.

So we were both afraid, in our own way, that he'd find the place cold and smelly and full of allergens, and we're both surprised that it was just fine.

This is good, I think. Now all I have to do is learn to cook.

Nah. That's going too far.
.

3167 Flat

Saturday, November 20, 2010

"They do not love that do not show their love."
-- William Shakespeare --

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I woke up this morning to find a flat tire on Fred. Not just low - it was resting on the rim. Naturally, I have no friendly garages or other contacts here, and my tire-blower-upper-machine is still at the old house.

Because of his lowered floor I can't use his own jack on Fred when the tire is that low. It won't squeeze under. And even if I could get it jacked up, I'd hesitate to change the tire myself anyway because the driveway slopes and I have nothing with which to chock the tires.

I called Daughter to ask if she had a local friendly garage to recommend, one that makes house calls, and she said no, but she has AAA. Unfortunately, she was about to leave for work. So I called #ROAD, an emergency service I have through my cell phone ($3 a month, but they don't service you at your home, only on the road, dead in your driveway is not considered an emergency).

A friendly guy arrived within a half hour, and put the spare on for me. I thought it was #ROAD, but he turned out to be the AAA guy. Daughter had called them anyway. Before the AAA guy left, the #ROAD guy showed up. I hadn't canceled him because I thought the AAA guy was him.

Service sure is a lot faster here than at the old house!

I had looked at AAA a few years ago, but it wasn't very useful in the mid-Hudson valley. The nearest AAA-authorized service folks were in Albany, so it would take at least an hour and a half to get any help if I needed it anywhere near home. I guess it might be worth looking into down here.

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

I'd mentioned that I'd bought a small office refrigerator to use until I could either find a regular bottom-freezer refrigerator on sale or bring my old one down to the new house. Well, it's working just fine with just me to feed, except that I really wish it had more freezer space. There's just a flapped space in the top of the compartment, big enough for four Lean Cuisine dinners and a tiny ice cube tray, but no room for ice cream.

I need ice cream.

Yesterday I was in Home Depot arranging installation of a garage door opener, and lo, they had taller 2 -door mini refrigerators on sale, with a much larger freezer compartment behind a separate freezer compartment door.

I had been surprised at how cheap the first mini was. This one was even cheaper.

So now I have TWO mini refrigerators in the kitchen, side by side in the space meant for a big one. The two together cost less than a quarter of what I'd expect to pay for a standard one, even on sale, and I think it'll work out just fine.

Daughter is going to roll her eyes at me. Piper thinks I'm nuts. I'm perfectly happy. (Except that the smaller one is all black, and the new one is black with stainless steel doors. I wish they matched better.)

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

The Man has been traveling all over the country most of the month. I asked him if he had to go through the new TSA scans yet, and he said that none of the airports he'd used had them yet. He didn't mention having endured the new pat downs. I was curious because if they patted him down, they'd think he was packing artillery.
.

2953 Weekend

Monday, May 3, 2010

Mythology, n.: The body of a primitive people's beliefs concerning its
origin, early history, heroes, deities and so forth,
as distinguished from the true accounts which it invents later.
-- Ambrose Bierce, "The Devil's Dictionary" --

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

Another thing I don't understand: Why is the drain in a bathtub always under the spigot? If they sloped the tub away from the spigot and put the drain in the opposite end, it would be sooooo much easier to clean the tub, and doesn't change the function at all. Of course, the dooflinky to open and close the drain would need to be smooth so you could lie comfortably against the drain end when it's closed, but that's a minor design change.

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

I had a great weekend. The Man has joined a barbershop chorus, and they competed at a convention in Scranton (where I was born) on Saturday. We left Friday afternoon, checked into a hotel in Moosic (the convention hotel was full), stopped by the convention (the quartets competition was Friday), had dinner at the new hotel in the old Lackawanna Railway Station around the corner (where my grandfather used to work), and then found a bowling alley where he could practice. (He gets two lanes and bowls 20 lines in quick succession. It's pretty impressive.)

I love to watch him bowl. He's so intent. He's incredibly focused and intent no matter what he's doing, and I love to see it. Or feel it. (Yeah, ok, I'm in love again.)

Saturday we returned for the chorus competitions.

Now, The Man doesn't like barbershop style, and he's especially annoyed that the group he's in sings only the old standards, which he finds irrelevant to today. But, the man's gotta sing. It's one of his ways to relax. He was hoping he could get them to sing like Christmas carols at nursing homes and hospitals, and do some a-capella stuff at street festivals, but all but one of the other members are over 70 and stuck in their ways. "We don't sing carols." Huh? But he's their strongest bass, so he decided to stick with it for now, I guess, and if he can't change their minds, I suppose he'll eventually find something more suitable.

A group warming up on the street:

The winning chorus (NYC). To tell the truth, I didn't like their performance. There was so much going on onstage it detracted from their music.

The second-place group (Westchester). I liked they way each of them was a different type, and it was easy to identify who/what they were. "Willy Nelson" was perfect, and the hippie, and the Amish guy ... click on the photo to enlarge and see who else you can identify.

The Man says that the groups come in types - the "top" being the competition groups, like the two above. They spend money on costumes, and spend all their time learning two to four songs for competitions. I forget what the middle type is, but most of the rest are recreational. They get together to sing together for fun. They just need to compete every so often to keep membership in the national group. The Man's group is one of those.

Some other groups:



The competition was over and scored by 1 pm on Saturday, and The Man didn't want to stay for the afternoon's festivities, so we went to North Scranton and I showed him where I spent almost every summer of my childhood, then we headed back to NJ to my car. The original plan was that we'd part then, but he was going to practice again and asked if I'd like to watch, so he bowled another 15 lines and I watched.

I wanted to visit Daughter on Sunday, so I asked him to find me a room near her (he's got a membership that gets nice upgrades, so I let him make the reservation and have the points when I stay anywhere). His hips were aching from all the bowling, so I said that if he found me a room with a Jacuzzi, I'd allow him to soak in it. Neat how I wrangled another night together, eh?

Sunday he went to a small bowling tournament where he did pretty well, and I went to Daughter's. I didn't go into the new house, and now I kick myself because once the contract is signed, I'm not allowed to until just before closing. Apparently that's a standard clause.

I got home in time to watch The Amazing Race.
.

2628 Sex in the 60s, and the relief of death

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

There are no stupid questions, just stupid people.
-- South Park --

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

On Hoda & Kathie Lee this morning, a woman was talking about menopause, what happens and why. She mentioned that women in their 60s and 70s report that sex is better, that they're having the best sex in their lives.

My immediate thought was "Hmmm. Yes. But I thought it was him, The Man, that he was doing it so well. Hey, maybe it's me!"

My second thought was that again, this is a self-selected sample.  The only ones who would report are those who are having sex, and they would be the ones who always liked it anyway.  Women in their 60s and 70s who don't like sex have long ago figured out how to avoid it, and menopause is the perfect excuse. 

My third thought was that women get shafted again.  For those of us who like and want it, it's better, it's wonderful, our libido is ramped up, but where are the capable men?  How does one go about finding a compatible man who can keep up with us and not leave us hanging?

Younger men, and their staying power.  That's the solution.  I lucked out in finding The Man, but (those red flags again**) I don't think he'll be good for the next decade and a half, and what do I do after I lose patience with him? 

Sigh.

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

** In The Man's defense, the red flags don't involve sexual infidelity, believe it or not.  That's the one thing I am not at all worried about.  The flags have more to do with attention, interests, propinquity, intimacy, keeping secrets, differing values, a resistance to sharing lives, and on and on.  Things that at my age perhaps shouldn't matter so much, but I guess they still do.

On the other hand, if I were involved with a man who lived close, whom I saw a few times a week, who wanted me involved in his life and wanted to be involved in mine, who dragged me to family functions, who shared his problems with me, who wanted to advise and direct me, who MEDDLED!, I probably wouldn't be happy either.  I'd feel trapped and smothered.  I'd want some distance, some independence.

So.  Damn.

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

I observed to a relative recently, when her daughter's diabetic cat died while in her care, that sometimes when someone we love, or a pet, is old and ill and caring for them has become a burden, when they die we may mourn them, but we are also relieved.

I didn't realize how much that was a part of my crash after Jay died.

People have asked me, if he were still alive, would we still be together, and I've always answered yes.  That's true whether he were healthy, or left ravaged by the brain cancer.  At the time he died, he was hemiparalyzed, unable to stand, sit, move himself or feed himself, incontinent, blind, sleeping no more than an hour at a time, and with absolutely no short-term memory.  But I still loved him, and if we had been able to stop the brain cancer and control all the other potentially fatal conditions he was prone to, even if he was left in that condition for decades, I'd have stayed with him and cared for him.

When he died, I was relieved.  I realize and accept that now. 

I didn't realize it then, because I mourned the loss of him in my life and all of what could have and should have been.  That was on top.  Underneath was the relief, and I think the inability to accept that feeling contributed to the multi-year depression that followed.

I think he was relieved, too.  So it's ok.
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2556 It's Meetup, damn it! Not Hookup!

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Definition: Perfluxity - the feeling that
you are drowning in a sea of information.

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

I joined several Meetup groups, mostly travel, movie, and dinner groups. They are just to get out and meet up with some people to do things as a group. There ARE Meetup groups specifically for singles, for the purpose of meeting and exploring romantic possibilities, but that's not what I'm there for, and not the groups I joined.

Some guys seem confused. I've been getting regular mash notes and invitations from strange men. They can look at your profile and see your picture and what groups you've signed up for. One guy noticed I'd joined a few travel groups, so he wrote (through the site) and suggested that he take me somewhere for a weekend. Another has invited me to a movie in Rhinebeck (the next village down) - even though he lives in Manhattan. One young man in Albany, in his early 20s, invited me to go dancing. And so on.

Hey, guys - it's not an online dating site! What makes you think I'm looking to hook up? In fact, in my profile, I included a photo of me with The Man.

A more subtle way to approach it, if you see someone interesting, would be to watch what meetups they RSVP for, and then go to the same meetup. That way you meet in a group. Introduce yourself. Chat. See if she or he is open to overtures. Then maybe something might develop.

Some people might see that as stalking, I guess. I don't.
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2536 Nuthin'

Friday, August 7, 2009

There can’t be sin without knowledge.

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

Nothing day. The outside temperature was 75 F, but for some reason it felt terribly hot to me, so I didn't do any walking. It was 75 in the house, too, but it felt cool in here. Must have been the sun. And humidity.

Mostly I spent the day moving old emails from the AOL archives to my new Gmail id. Mostly from The Man. Naturally, I had to read them all as I transferred them - all 4000 or so from over the past 2.3 years. I've been reading them over the past several days. We've used email like other people use instant message, I guess.

I do love his mind, it's been fascinating reading, but he's also the most frustrating person I've ever known, so it's also been a rollercoaster read.
.