Saturday, March 28, 2009
I finally got Peggy Sue into the house and assembled her in the basement. She's gorgeous! Especially with the long straight black wig I bought her ($12). I looked into her face and told her I'll probably dream of her down there alone tonight.
However, I swore a bit, too.
I was limited to only a few of the many dozens of models available because most were six feet tall, and I wanted average height. I had difficulty putting her head on because I couldn't easily reach that high. Her legs come up to the bottom band on my bra. The top of my head is below her collar bones. And yes, her feet are on the floor. I thought, "@#$%^&! She's gotta be six feet tall!"
So I took a yardstick downstairs and measured her. Twice.
She's 5' 7".
So then I measured me. Am I shorter than I used to be?
I'm 4' 10". Just what I thought.
I don't understand.
.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
2327 Why does nothing get done?
Friday, March 27, 2009
I almost didn't want to post today. I am reluctant to bury yesterday's post. I want to chew on his lower lip a little longer.
-----------------------
Yesterday I decided to be very good to myself. My to-do list had only five items, things I ought to be able to accomplish easily. Not the kind of overwhelming list that stuns me into inaction. I need to feel successful.
Only two got done.
One item was to replace all the burned-out lightbulbs, a slew of them. Many of the ceiling fixtures use those little round bulbs in clusters of four or six, and the bathroom light is a bar over the mirror that needs ten. I was down to like one bulb per fixture (some were zero), and I felt like I was living in a cave.
I looked in the pantry, in the bulb box. I found a few dozen 100 watt regular bulbs (a legacy of Jay - there's not one fixture or lamp in the entire house that will take a 100 watt bulb, but he always bought them every time he passed them in a store), but no little round bulbs.
So when I went to the grocery store, I looked, but they didn't have any little round ones. One quarter of the to-dos not done.
Then The Man asked me to research flights for our trip to Florida next month. Easy, right? We need non-stop flights, on certain days, morning going and evening returning, out of JFK or LaGuardia (he hates Newark, and Newark and Newburgh tend to be more expensive anyway). There are only two airlines with non-stops: Jet Blue and Delta. Should be simple, right?
(Non-stop because he'll be in a tournament, and wants to make absolutely certain that his equipment arrives the same time we do.)
Not simple. I went to the sites for the airlines, and did the search. I'd find perfect times, and jump through all the hoops, and then find that there were only five seats left, and they weren't together. Or that the only return flight available to that airport was first class.
I finally found two possible combinations, both Delta, and they had only one or two seat pairs left on each flight. I fired off a note to The Man, saying that I'd like to book it NOW! He chose one, and I made the reservation (non-refundable!).
Delta offered PayPal as a payment option. I like PayPal because I don't have to give my credit card number. PayPal has it. Now, I was buying two tickets at $299 each. Total $598, right? I clicked on PayPal, and jumped through more hoops, and at the end, PayPal informed me I had made a payment to Delta for $299.
Uh, that's just one ticket. And PayPal did not return me to the Delta website.
I called Delta. Wasn't on hold very long, but the agent informed me they had no record of any payment.
I clicked "back" to get back to the Delta website, who informed me my session had expired.
Do I have reservations or not?
I called Delta. Wasn't on hold very long, but the agent informed me they had no record of any reservation.
Jumped through the flight search hoops again, hoping that the same seats were still available (they were exit row on both flights, needed because The Man has unbelievably long legs), and they were, so this time I selected payment via credit card. After a pause the email confirmation and itinerary arrived --- and they had the wrong seat numbers. We were not only no longer exit row, we were in a set of three seats across.
I freaked.
I called Delta. Wasn't on hold very long, but the agent informed me that she had no idea why we were no longer in the exit row. Those seats were still available on the first flight, so she moved us, but the exit row had already been reassigned on the return flight. But at least she could move us to a two-across row on that one.
Now I had to call PayPal and cancel that first payment. Wasn't on hold very long, when the rep informed me that it could not be canceled, but neither would it ever be paid, because Delta had not invoiced me. (If Delta didn't invoice, then where did the 299 number come from?) So there's an approval for a $299 payment to Delta that will sit there forever - unless Delta notices it and decides to send PayPal an invoice, at which point I'll have to convince Delta (if I notice it) that they should refund the money.
By this time, four hours had passed. It was now dark, so I couldn't clean the litter boxes (I dump them in the woods), or clean out the car, and the village hardware store was closed so I couldn't buy lightbulbs.
I had one item on my to-do list accomplished - the trip to the grocery store. I rushed and washed the dishes. Two of five down.
Man, I remember when I was in my twenties, thirties, forties, and I accomplished so very much in a day, AND read five to ten books a month. That just doesn't happen any more, and I don't know why.
Today I had lunch with Piper, bought lightbulbs, changed bulbs, and shall now go dump litter boxes, clean out the car, and load it for a trip to the recycle center tomorrow.
And maybe read a book.
.
I almost didn't want to post today. I am reluctant to bury yesterday's post. I want to chew on his lower lip a little longer.
-----------------------
Yesterday I decided to be very good to myself. My to-do list had only five items, things I ought to be able to accomplish easily. Not the kind of overwhelming list that stuns me into inaction. I need to feel successful.
Only two got done.
One item was to replace all the burned-out lightbulbs, a slew of them. Many of the ceiling fixtures use those little round bulbs in clusters of four or six, and the bathroom light is a bar over the mirror that needs ten. I was down to like one bulb per fixture (some were zero), and I felt like I was living in a cave.
I looked in the pantry, in the bulb box. I found a few dozen 100 watt regular bulbs (a legacy of Jay - there's not one fixture or lamp in the entire house that will take a 100 watt bulb, but he always bought them every time he passed them in a store), but no little round bulbs.
So when I went to the grocery store, I looked, but they didn't have any little round ones. One quarter of the to-dos not done.
Then The Man asked me to research flights for our trip to Florida next month. Easy, right? We need non-stop flights, on certain days, morning going and evening returning, out of JFK or LaGuardia (he hates Newark, and Newark and Newburgh tend to be more expensive anyway). There are only two airlines with non-stops: Jet Blue and Delta. Should be simple, right?
(Non-stop because he'll be in a tournament, and wants to make absolutely certain that his equipment arrives the same time we do.)
Not simple. I went to the sites for the airlines, and did the search. I'd find perfect times, and jump through all the hoops, and then find that there were only five seats left, and they weren't together. Or that the only return flight available to that airport was first class.
I finally found two possible combinations, both Delta, and they had only one or two seat pairs left on each flight. I fired off a note to The Man, saying that I'd like to book it NOW! He chose one, and I made the reservation (non-refundable!).
Delta offered PayPal as a payment option. I like PayPal because I don't have to give my credit card number. PayPal has it. Now, I was buying two tickets at $299 each. Total $598, right? I clicked on PayPal, and jumped through more hoops, and at the end, PayPal informed me I had made a payment to Delta for $299.
Uh, that's just one ticket. And PayPal did not return me to the Delta website.
I called Delta. Wasn't on hold very long, but the agent informed me they had no record of any payment.
I clicked "back" to get back to the Delta website, who informed me my session had expired.
Do I have reservations or not?
I called Delta. Wasn't on hold very long, but the agent informed me they had no record of any reservation.
Jumped through the flight search hoops again, hoping that the same seats were still available (they were exit row on both flights, needed because The Man has unbelievably long legs), and they were, so this time I selected payment via credit card. After a pause the email confirmation and itinerary arrived --- and they had the wrong seat numbers. We were not only no longer exit row, we were in a set of three seats across.
I freaked.
I called Delta. Wasn't on hold very long, but the agent informed me that she had no idea why we were no longer in the exit row. Those seats were still available on the first flight, so she moved us, but the exit row had already been reassigned on the return flight. But at least she could move us to a two-across row on that one.
Now I had to call PayPal and cancel that first payment. Wasn't on hold very long, when the rep informed me that it could not be canceled, but neither would it ever be paid, because Delta had not invoiced me. (If Delta didn't invoice, then where did the 299 number come from?) So there's an approval for a $299 payment to Delta that will sit there forever - unless Delta notices it and decides to send PayPal an invoice, at which point I'll have to convince Delta (if I notice it) that they should refund the money.
By this time, four hours had passed. It was now dark, so I couldn't clean the litter boxes (I dump them in the woods), or clean out the car, and the village hardware store was closed so I couldn't buy lightbulbs.
I had one item on my to-do list accomplished - the trip to the grocery store. I rushed and washed the dishes. Two of five down.
Man, I remember when I was in my twenties, thirties, forties, and I accomplished so very much in a day, AND read five to ten books a month. That just doesn't happen any more, and I don't know why.
Today I had lunch with Piper, bought lightbulbs, changed bulbs, and shall now go dump litter boxes, clean out the car, and load it for a trip to the recycle center tomorrow.
And maybe read a book.
.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
2326 He plays a doctor on tv
Thursday, March 26, 2009
I haven't had a strong crush on a celebrity since Rockford. I've got one now. I watch "Private Practice" on Thursday nights just so I can look at Dr. Sam Bennett (Taye Diggs). I don't even pay any attention to the storyline.
I cannot believe how gorgeous he is.
I haven't had a strong crush on a celebrity since Rockford. I've got one now. I watch "Private Practice" on Thursday nights just so I can look at Dr. Sam Bennett (Taye Diggs). I don't even pay any attention to the storyline.
I cannot believe how gorgeous he is.
2325 Visits from Jay
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
My husband Jay died in late October, 2001, after eight years of marriage and a three-year battle with brain cancer. He had known right from the initial diagnosis what was going to happen, and I encouraged him to figure out for himself where he'd be going, what would happen next. We both thought of it not so much as a end, but as a transformation.
Ever the scientist, he decided that since energy could not be destroyed, and life is energy, his energy would continue. The trick would be keeping it together as an entity. By the time he died, he was almost looking forward to it. He'd always wondered what black holes were, really, and he planned to find out.
The announcement I sent out said "A new star is traveling the Heavens".
A few days, maybe a week, after he died, I was standing on the back deck in early evening, and I noticed an odd cloud formation. There were wisps of high cloud moving quickly across the sky, but there was one lower block of cloud that was stationary. It's difficult to convey how remarkable it was. It was a face. Clearly a face. A rectangle with some fluff on top, a lot of fluff on the bottom, a round hole where each eye would be, and a triangular hole for the nose. The kicker was that the moon was centered in the right "eye". I looked at it for a moment. It was backlit by the moon, very bright. I said aloud, "Jay? Is that you?", (Jay'd had a beard. The fluff on the bottom looked just like his beard), and then a wisp of higher cloud crossed between the face and the moon, and the right eye winked. It winked at me.
It absolutely winked.
Truth. It happened.
And then the cloud, which had held position for several minutes, slowly broke up and drifted away.
--------------------------------
A few days after that, in early November 2001, there was a big meteor shower. Jay loved meteor showers. He used to drag me off to fields, to lie on the hood of the car and watch them. (Why are all meteor showers in COLD weather?) I figured I owed it to him to watch this one for him. The peak was going to be at something like 5 am, so I set the alarm, got up, and went out to the deck. It was very cold. I stayed outside for maybe 5-10 minutes, no more. During that time I counted, and I quit counting at about 60 meteors within the first few minutes, I guess. There were lots more, I must have seen a hundred, easily, and from the deck I could see less than half the sky. They weren't little flashes, either. Most went halfway across the sky. Even though I froze, I was glad I'd made the effort for Jay, because this would have thrilled him.
A few days later I was talking with the president of the local amateur astronomer's club at a Mensa dinner, and I asked him if he'd seen it. He said the whole club had been in the fields at 5 am, and it was indeed spectacular, that they were coming at the amazing rate of 20-30 per hour!
Twenty to thirty per hour? I'd seen way more than that in a few minutes.
I think Jay arranged a private showing just for me.
--------------------------
Over the next two years I often felt him nearby. A warm arm across my shoulders. A problem with the computer that suddenly fixed itself. A video game that I won time after time, but only if I asked him to help. Weird, but not, apparently, unusual. Could be explained by coincidence.
Oddly, I had no dreams of him.
I had promised him I'd take his ashes to a particular state park a few hours from here, and scatter them on a cliff near one of his favorite falls. Our dog had died six months before before Jay, so I had her ashes, and those of a cat, and the ashes of a daughter I had lost in 1967 and had been carrying around ever since, because I couldn't just leave her somewhere alone. (She was supposed to be buried with my mother, but Mom died unexpectedly while I was visiting her in Florida, and I wasn't able to go home, get the ashes, and return in time.)
So in 2004, Daughter and I made weekend plans to take all the ashes up the mountain. Unfortunately, Daughter wasn't able to make it on Saturday. I had to make the climb alone. Ashes are heavy! I couldn't carry them all. So I took Jay and the dog.
The trail ran up the west side of the creek. The cliff above the falls was on the east side. So I went above the falls and waded across the creek, thence to the top of the cliff.
Daughter arrived that evening at the little hunters' hotel, and that evening it rained, hard, it poured all night. On Sunday morning it was still drizzling. Daughter wanted to walk the mile up the trail to the falls and pay her respects, but I was feeling a bit sniffly, and sore from the climb the day before, and didn't care to walk in the rain, so we decided I'd just wait in the parking lot, and then we'd have lunch, then part. I put the baby's and the cat's ashes into her backpack, and gave her explicit directions on how to find the right spot on the cliff and how to scatter them so they'd stay on the cliff and not get washed away in rain.
Then I settled in the car with a book. A bit later, the rain stopped. The creek passed the parking lot a little way into the woods, and there was a rather nice falls there (the last of the 23 falls down the mountainside), so I decided to go look.
I totally freaked when I saw those falls. The water was thundering! It was shooting out way past normal. Of course! It had rained hard! I don't know why I hadn't thought of that before I sent Daughter up the trail. I know her well enough to know that she would try to cross the creek anyway. She can be very determined. I looked at my watch and knew that she'd probably already arrived at Jay's falls. If she tried to cross at the ford above the falls, there's a good chance the force of the water and the slippery rocks would wash her over the falls.
I yelled, "Jay, if you're anywhere around here, stop her! Jay, help! Stop her! Now! Please!", and I set off running up the trail.
Actually, I ignored the trail and ran alongside the creek, watching the whole way for her hat, hoping I wouldn't see it floating down. I met her sauntering down about halfway. She laughed at my watching the creek for her hat. And then, without my asking, she told me an amazing story.
When she arrived at Jay's falls, she knew crossing above could be dangerous. But just below the falls, there was a huge fallen tree trunk across the creek. She decided to cross there, holding the trunk. The water, normally at that spot mid-calf deep, was up to her hips and moving fast. She couldn't keep her footing, and crossed hand-over-hand along the tree trunk. When she got to the other side, she started climbing the rock cliff to get to the top. She'd got about six feet or so up when something odd happened.
She: "You know how your 'thinking voice' sounds in your head? And you know how you think things kind of connected, like you know what you're thinking about and thoughts follow each other?"
Me: "Yeah."
"Well, I had a thought that wasn't mine. It wasn't my thinking voice. It wasn't anybody else's voice either, really. It was so clearly not me that I looked around to see who'd said it, but there was no one around. It startled me. I was in the middle of thinking something else, and a voice said 'STOP! GET DOWN! If you go up you won't be able to get down!' So I looked, and that was right. Water was coming pretty fast out of the rockface, and I could see hand and foot-holds going up, that's what I had been concentrating on, but I wouldn't be able to see them coming down, because of the water. I hadn't noticed that." She said she hesitated, looking for a better route on the cliff, and the voice came again, more forcefully, telling her to “GET DOWN!”
So she jumped down.
The topology on that side of the creek is pretty rough. There was no way up except up the cliff, and no way back to the parking lot except to cross the creek again, back to the trail. So she started back across the creek, holding on to the tree trunk.
She said that she was about halfway across the creek, and was starting to mull the possibility of taking the trail further up and finding a place to cross, maybe another tree, up above the falls, when she felt a blow to the middle of her back that almost knocked her off her feet, and the voice shouted "NO!" in her head.
She told me that it convinced her. "Mom, it wasn't me! Somebody else was in my head!" And if it wasn't scary enough to have someone in her head, someone not there had actually hit her to impress her. I asked her why she wasn't more frightened, especially about the hitting, and she said that she thought it might have been Jay, "... and that would be ok. There was no other way to make me listen and not argue."
So. It could have been a fairy. It could have been the self-preservation part of her brain taking over. It could have been Jay. It could have been ... anything. Except that it doesn't end there.
We had lunch, and I headed back to New York and she to New Jersey.
That night I was awakened from sleep by the feeling of someone touching me. There was nothing I could touch, but the feeling of being touched was very real. Hands stroked me, and touched me in familiar ways. Jay and I had not been physically intimate in the special way since late 1999. Chemotherapy and radiation and hemiparalysis tends to inhibit that. But wow, did he make up for it that night. It was pretty spectacular. And it was him. I am certain he was there. What I felt was not something I could do myself, and something I‘d had no interest in for four years anyway.
Perhaps he had put so much effort into pulling energies together to deliver that blow to Daughter's back, that he decided not to waste it, and do something nice for me.
Anyway, immediately after that, I felt his presence a lot less, and much less strongly. (Perhaps he’d used up his permissions.)
One of the falls on the trail, during a low-water period. Note the cliffs, and yes, that's people on the bottom.
-----------------------
In 2007, I had been dating The Man for a few months (we're still dating), and he, Daughter, Son-in-Law and I all went to the mountain together (I try to go every year in early summer). It was a nice clear day. We started at the top of the trail and walked down (it's about five miles, I believe). Jay's falls is the last at the bottom, about a mile from the end of the trail. The falls are all named. Daughter and SIL decided to do some geocaching off trail, and we were to meet just below Jay's falls. There was a bit of occasional discussion about it on the first mile or so, and here's the weird part. Every time any of us mentioned the name of that falls, the sky opened and there was a brief shower, a minute or so of rain.
It rained at no other time. But every time we mentioned those falls, it rained. It was so obvious, everyone remarked on it. The two men didn't know that it was Jay's falls, that his ashes were there. They started testing it, and yes, every time they said the falls' name, it rained, and only then. We were getting soaked when The Man declared that he'd drown the next person to say it.
He and I were alone when we got to Jay's falls. I had intended to send him on and stay there alone to commune for a few minutes, maybe Jay would tell me what he thought of The Man. It would be nice to think he approved. But I decided that the rain was a warning, that I wasn't to do that. So we passed the falls with just a short pause, and kept going.
The next morning, The Man and I were talking about the trail and what it means to me, and I mentioned that Daughter has instructions to scatter my ashes at the lower falls, that that's where Jay's ashes and my first daughter’s ashes were. The Man's eyes about bugged out. He hadn't known. He made a connection between the falls and the brief showers, and it blew his mind. He apologized for first playing with the phenomenon, and then for forbidding mention, and then couldn't believe he was buying into it.
I laughed and said, "You think this is weird? Wait'll you get to know me better...."
.
My husband Jay died in late October, 2001, after eight years of marriage and a three-year battle with brain cancer. He had known right from the initial diagnosis what was going to happen, and I encouraged him to figure out for himself where he'd be going, what would happen next. We both thought of it not so much as a end, but as a transformation.
Ever the scientist, he decided that since energy could not be destroyed, and life is energy, his energy would continue. The trick would be keeping it together as an entity. By the time he died, he was almost looking forward to it. He'd always wondered what black holes were, really, and he planned to find out.
The announcement I sent out said "A new star is traveling the Heavens".
A few days, maybe a week, after he died, I was standing on the back deck in early evening, and I noticed an odd cloud formation. There were wisps of high cloud moving quickly across the sky, but there was one lower block of cloud that was stationary. It's difficult to convey how remarkable it was. It was a face. Clearly a face. A rectangle with some fluff on top, a lot of fluff on the bottom, a round hole where each eye would be, and a triangular hole for the nose. The kicker was that the moon was centered in the right "eye". I looked at it for a moment. It was backlit by the moon, very bright. I said aloud, "Jay? Is that you?", (Jay'd had a beard. The fluff on the bottom looked just like his beard), and then a wisp of higher cloud crossed between the face and the moon, and the right eye winked. It winked at me.
It absolutely winked.
Truth. It happened.
And then the cloud, which had held position for several minutes, slowly broke up and drifted away.
--------------------------------
A few days after that, in early November 2001, there was a big meteor shower. Jay loved meteor showers. He used to drag me off to fields, to lie on the hood of the car and watch them. (Why are all meteor showers in COLD weather?) I figured I owed it to him to watch this one for him. The peak was going to be at something like 5 am, so I set the alarm, got up, and went out to the deck. It was very cold. I stayed outside for maybe 5-10 minutes, no more. During that time I counted, and I quit counting at about 60 meteors within the first few minutes, I guess. There were lots more, I must have seen a hundred, easily, and from the deck I could see less than half the sky. They weren't little flashes, either. Most went halfway across the sky. Even though I froze, I was glad I'd made the effort for Jay, because this would have thrilled him.
A few days later I was talking with the president of the local amateur astronomer's club at a Mensa dinner, and I asked him if he'd seen it. He said the whole club had been in the fields at 5 am, and it was indeed spectacular, that they were coming at the amazing rate of 20-30 per hour!
Twenty to thirty per hour? I'd seen way more than that in a few minutes.
I think Jay arranged a private showing just for me.
--------------------------
Over the next two years I often felt him nearby. A warm arm across my shoulders. A problem with the computer that suddenly fixed itself. A video game that I won time after time, but only if I asked him to help. Weird, but not, apparently, unusual. Could be explained by coincidence.
Oddly, I had no dreams of him.
I had promised him I'd take his ashes to a particular state park a few hours from here, and scatter them on a cliff near one of his favorite falls. Our dog had died six months before before Jay, so I had her ashes, and those of a cat, and the ashes of a daughter I had lost in 1967 and had been carrying around ever since, because I couldn't just leave her somewhere alone. (She was supposed to be buried with my mother, but Mom died unexpectedly while I was visiting her in Florida, and I wasn't able to go home, get the ashes, and return in time.)
So in 2004, Daughter and I made weekend plans to take all the ashes up the mountain. Unfortunately, Daughter wasn't able to make it on Saturday. I had to make the climb alone. Ashes are heavy! I couldn't carry them all. So I took Jay and the dog.
The trail ran up the west side of the creek. The cliff above the falls was on the east side. So I went above the falls and waded across the creek, thence to the top of the cliff.
Daughter arrived that evening at the little hunters' hotel, and that evening it rained, hard, it poured all night. On Sunday morning it was still drizzling. Daughter wanted to walk the mile up the trail to the falls and pay her respects, but I was feeling a bit sniffly, and sore from the climb the day before, and didn't care to walk in the rain, so we decided I'd just wait in the parking lot, and then we'd have lunch, then part. I put the baby's and the cat's ashes into her backpack, and gave her explicit directions on how to find the right spot on the cliff and how to scatter them so they'd stay on the cliff and not get washed away in rain.
Then I settled in the car with a book. A bit later, the rain stopped. The creek passed the parking lot a little way into the woods, and there was a rather nice falls there (the last of the 23 falls down the mountainside), so I decided to go look.
I totally freaked when I saw those falls. The water was thundering! It was shooting out way past normal. Of course! It had rained hard! I don't know why I hadn't thought of that before I sent Daughter up the trail. I know her well enough to know that she would try to cross the creek anyway. She can be very determined. I looked at my watch and knew that she'd probably already arrived at Jay's falls. If she tried to cross at the ford above the falls, there's a good chance the force of the water and the slippery rocks would wash her over the falls.
I yelled, "Jay, if you're anywhere around here, stop her! Jay, help! Stop her! Now! Please!", and I set off running up the trail.
Actually, I ignored the trail and ran alongside the creek, watching the whole way for her hat, hoping I wouldn't see it floating down. I met her sauntering down about halfway. She laughed at my watching the creek for her hat. And then, without my asking, she told me an amazing story.
When she arrived at Jay's falls, she knew crossing above could be dangerous. But just below the falls, there was a huge fallen tree trunk across the creek. She decided to cross there, holding the trunk. The water, normally at that spot mid-calf deep, was up to her hips and moving fast. She couldn't keep her footing, and crossed hand-over-hand along the tree trunk. When she got to the other side, she started climbing the rock cliff to get to the top. She'd got about six feet or so up when something odd happened.
She: "You know how your 'thinking voice' sounds in your head? And you know how you think things kind of connected, like you know what you're thinking about and thoughts follow each other?"
Me: "Yeah."
"Well, I had a thought that wasn't mine. It wasn't my thinking voice. It wasn't anybody else's voice either, really. It was so clearly not me that I looked around to see who'd said it, but there was no one around. It startled me. I was in the middle of thinking something else, and a voice said 'STOP! GET DOWN! If you go up you won't be able to get down!' So I looked, and that was right. Water was coming pretty fast out of the rockface, and I could see hand and foot-holds going up, that's what I had been concentrating on, but I wouldn't be able to see them coming down, because of the water. I hadn't noticed that." She said she hesitated, looking for a better route on the cliff, and the voice came again, more forcefully, telling her to “GET DOWN!”
So she jumped down.
The topology on that side of the creek is pretty rough. There was no way up except up the cliff, and no way back to the parking lot except to cross the creek again, back to the trail. So she started back across the creek, holding on to the tree trunk.
She said that she was about halfway across the creek, and was starting to mull the possibility of taking the trail further up and finding a place to cross, maybe another tree, up above the falls, when she felt a blow to the middle of her back that almost knocked her off her feet, and the voice shouted "NO!" in her head.
She told me that it convinced her. "Mom, it wasn't me! Somebody else was in my head!" And if it wasn't scary enough to have someone in her head, someone not there had actually hit her to impress her. I asked her why she wasn't more frightened, especially about the hitting, and she said that she thought it might have been Jay, "... and that would be ok. There was no other way to make me listen and not argue."
So. It could have been a fairy. It could have been the self-preservation part of her brain taking over. It could have been Jay. It could have been ... anything. Except that it doesn't end there.
We had lunch, and I headed back to New York and she to New Jersey.
That night I was awakened from sleep by the feeling of someone touching me. There was nothing I could touch, but the feeling of being touched was very real. Hands stroked me, and touched me in familiar ways. Jay and I had not been physically intimate in the special way since late 1999. Chemotherapy and radiation and hemiparalysis tends to inhibit that. But wow, did he make up for it that night. It was pretty spectacular. And it was him. I am certain he was there. What I felt was not something I could do myself, and something I‘d had no interest in for four years anyway.
Perhaps he had put so much effort into pulling energies together to deliver that blow to Daughter's back, that he decided not to waste it, and do something nice for me.
Anyway, immediately after that, I felt his presence a lot less, and much less strongly. (Perhaps he’d used up his permissions.)
One of the falls on the trail, during a low-water period. Note the cliffs, and yes, that's people on the bottom.-----------------------
In 2007, I had been dating The Man for a few months (we're still dating), and he, Daughter, Son-in-Law and I all went to the mountain together (I try to go every year in early summer). It was a nice clear day. We started at the top of the trail and walked down (it's about five miles, I believe). Jay's falls is the last at the bottom, about a mile from the end of the trail. The falls are all named. Daughter and SIL decided to do some geocaching off trail, and we were to meet just below Jay's falls. There was a bit of occasional discussion about it on the first mile or so, and here's the weird part. Every time any of us mentioned the name of that falls, the sky opened and there was a brief shower, a minute or so of rain.
It rained at no other time. But every time we mentioned those falls, it rained. It was so obvious, everyone remarked on it. The two men didn't know that it was Jay's falls, that his ashes were there. They started testing it, and yes, every time they said the falls' name, it rained, and only then. We were getting soaked when The Man declared that he'd drown the next person to say it.
He and I were alone when we got to Jay's falls. I had intended to send him on and stay there alone to commune for a few minutes, maybe Jay would tell me what he thought of The Man. It would be nice to think he approved. But I decided that the rain was a warning, that I wasn't to do that. So we passed the falls with just a short pause, and kept going.
The next morning, The Man and I were talking about the trail and what it means to me, and I mentioned that Daughter has instructions to scatter my ashes at the lower falls, that that's where Jay's ashes and my first daughter’s ashes were. The Man's eyes about bugged out. He hadn't known. He made a connection between the falls and the brief showers, and it blew his mind. He apologized for first playing with the phenomenon, and then for forbidding mention, and then couldn't believe he was buying into it.
I laughed and said, "You think this is weird? Wait'll you get to know me better...."
.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
2324 Legal Fun: Flipped Birds and Naked Chicks
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Ok. Is "the finger", "flipping the bird", an obscene gesture? I though it was, because of what it means, what it's saying, what it's derived from. I mean, isn't it saying "F--- you!", or "Sit on this!"?
A federal court judge in Pittsburgh says no, that it is free speech protected by the first amendment.
The story (here) is that a guy was cut off from a parking space, so he flipped the bird at the offender. A policeman driving by yelled at him not to do that, so the guy flipped off the cop, too. He was issued a citation charging him with violation of Pennsylvania's Disorderly Conduct statute.
He was convicted in district court and fined, but decided to appeal, on the theory that profane language and gestures are protected by the first amendment, whereas a narrowly limited category such as obscene speech and gestures or fighting words (or things like shouting "fire!" in a crowded theater) are not.
So I had to look up profane. I pretty much know what obscene is, and I figure the middle-finger salute is obscene, and therefore not protected. Profane is defined as irreverent or blasphemous. In simple terms, it has to do with disrespect of religion.
Can somebody explain to me how "the bird" is profane? And not obscene? I don't get it. Is it possible that the judge doesn't know where that bird flew out of?
---------------------
Also in Pennsylvania (Wyoming county, one of my old stomping grounds), the DA is getting tough on "sexting". And the ACLU has stepped in. It's getting interesting. WSJ synopsis here.
.
Ok. Is "the finger", "flipping the bird", an obscene gesture? I though it was, because of what it means, what it's saying, what it's derived from. I mean, isn't it saying "F--- you!", or "Sit on this!"?
A federal court judge in Pittsburgh says no, that it is free speech protected by the first amendment.
The story (here) is that a guy was cut off from a parking space, so he flipped the bird at the offender. A policeman driving by yelled at him not to do that, so the guy flipped off the cop, too. He was issued a citation charging him with violation of Pennsylvania's Disorderly Conduct statute.
He was convicted in district court and fined, but decided to appeal, on the theory that profane language and gestures are protected by the first amendment, whereas a narrowly limited category such as obscene speech and gestures or fighting words (or things like shouting "fire!" in a crowded theater) are not.
So I had to look up profane. I pretty much know what obscene is, and I figure the middle-finger salute is obscene, and therefore not protected. Profane is defined as irreverent or blasphemous. In simple terms, it has to do with disrespect of religion.
Can somebody explain to me how "the bird" is profane? And not obscene? I don't get it. Is it possible that the judge doesn't know where that bird flew out of?
---------------------
Also in Pennsylvania (Wyoming county, one of my old stomping grounds), the DA is getting tough on "sexting". And the ACLU has stepped in. It's getting interesting. WSJ synopsis here.
.
2323 Clone Cars
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
This is a CNN piece on the FBI breaking up a car cloning ring. Car theft rings "clone" vehicles by taking license plates and VIN from a legal car and putting them on a stolen vehicle of similar make and model. The article says that the ring has been operating in the US for more than 20 years.
I have some problems with the term "clone". They are disguising the vehicles, not cloning them. Sheesh. I'd even accept "automotive identity theft".
And maybe that particular ring has been operating for "more than 20 years", but the method has been around since long before Dolly the sheep made cloning a household word. It's not a recent innovation.
In 1969 a coworker of mine was briefly arrested for possession of a stolen car. Her car was parked in front of her apartment, and the city police showed up at her door, arrested her, and towed her car away. She was understandably upset. When the police checked the VIN, they let her go, but they kept her car for a few days as "evidence".
It turned out that a car of the exact same make, model, color, and year as her car had been reported stolen, and the plates on her car matched the plates of the stolen car. The police told her that the thieves had switched plates with her car. That gets them a head start getting the stolen car out of the state.
The police kept the bogus plates, and the DMV gave her a load of crap about issuing new plates. They wanted her to turn the old ones in. Duh? Them's the rules, ya know.
----------------------------
I've been having strange dreams lately.
I'm running out of closet space, and last night I dreamed that I found a fourth bedroom that I didn't know I had, and it was neat and clean, and had about 15 feet of unused closet bars. I woke up this morning all excited about having so much space.
The main problem is that I have no drawers, so a lot of stuff that should be in drawers is instead on hangers. I need me some drawers. Or a real fourth bedroom.
I've had a lot of dreams like that lately. Last week I dreamed that the Hairless Hunk had fixed the van. I was so disappointed when I opened the front door, and the van was still sitting there, rotting into the driveway.
The dreams are so real. I believe them.
.
This is a CNN piece on the FBI breaking up a car cloning ring. Car theft rings "clone" vehicles by taking license plates and VIN from a legal car and putting them on a stolen vehicle of similar make and model. The article says that the ring has been operating in the US for more than 20 years.
I have some problems with the term "clone". They are disguising the vehicles, not cloning them. Sheesh. I'd even accept "automotive identity theft".
And maybe that particular ring has been operating for "more than 20 years", but the method has been around since long before Dolly the sheep made cloning a household word. It's not a recent innovation.
In 1969 a coworker of mine was briefly arrested for possession of a stolen car. Her car was parked in front of her apartment, and the city police showed up at her door, arrested her, and towed her car away. She was understandably upset. When the police checked the VIN, they let her go, but they kept her car for a few days as "evidence".
It turned out that a car of the exact same make, model, color, and year as her car had been reported stolen, and the plates on her car matched the plates of the stolen car. The police told her that the thieves had switched plates with her car. That gets them a head start getting the stolen car out of the state.
The police kept the bogus plates, and the DMV gave her a load of crap about issuing new plates. They wanted her to turn the old ones in. Duh? Them's the rules, ya know.
----------------------------
I've been having strange dreams lately.
I'm running out of closet space, and last night I dreamed that I found a fourth bedroom that I didn't know I had, and it was neat and clean, and had about 15 feet of unused closet bars. I woke up this morning all excited about having so much space.
The main problem is that I have no drawers, so a lot of stuff that should be in drawers is instead on hangers. I need me some drawers. Or a real fourth bedroom.
I've had a lot of dreams like that lately. Last week I dreamed that the Hairless Hunk had fixed the van. I was so disappointed when I opened the front door, and the van was still sitting there, rotting into the driveway.
The dreams are so real. I believe them.
.
2322 Photos - Drug war.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Thirty-four photos illustrating Mexico's drug war from the Boston Globe, at http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/03/mexicos_drug_war.html. Warning - unlike most of the Boston Globe site's photos that I have provided links to in the past, these particular ones are not beautiful or amazing. They are frightening.
This one is beautiful, but still oddly disturbing. I'd heard about the border wall, but didn't know what it looked like. Here it is (click on it to enlarge and see the whole photo):
Caption on the photo: "A recently constructed section of the controversial US-Mexico border fence expansion project crosses previously pristine desert sands at sunrise on March 14, 2009 between Yuma, Arizona and Calexico, California. The new barrier between the US and Mexico stands 15 feet tall and sits on top of the sand so it can lifted by a machine and repositioned whenever the migrating desert dunes begin to bury it. The almost seven miles of floating fence cost about $6 million per mile to build. (David McNew/Getty Images)"
The comments after the photos are mostly thoughtful, worth sampling if you have the time.
Later edit: There were about 120 comments when I wrote the above. I went back to read later comments. The discussion has deteriorated. Sorry about that.
.
Thirty-four photos illustrating Mexico's drug war from the Boston Globe, at http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/03/mexicos_drug_war.html. Warning - unlike most of the Boston Globe site's photos that I have provided links to in the past, these particular ones are not beautiful or amazing. They are frightening.
This one is beautiful, but still oddly disturbing. I'd heard about the border wall, but didn't know what it looked like. Here it is (click on it to enlarge and see the whole photo):
Caption on the photo: "A recently constructed section of the controversial US-Mexico border fence expansion project crosses previously pristine desert sands at sunrise on March 14, 2009 between Yuma, Arizona and Calexico, California. The new barrier between the US and Mexico stands 15 feet tall and sits on top of the sand so it can lifted by a machine and repositioned whenever the migrating desert dunes begin to bury it. The almost seven miles of floating fence cost about $6 million per mile to build. (David McNew/Getty Images)"The comments after the photos are mostly thoughtful, worth sampling if you have the time.
Later edit: There were about 120 comments when I wrote the above. I went back to read later comments. The discussion has deteriorated. Sorry about that.
.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
2321 Holding Hands
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
You know how some things just are the way they are, and you don't think about them? And sometimes if you do think about them, they expose you as a hypocrite, so you don't want to think about them?
I saw three instances of hand-holding today, and one of them annoyed me, and I hate to admit why.
The one that annoyed me was the first. It was a starlet and her celebrity date. She was a bit more famous than he. She was also much taller than he, like by two feet. (He was a "Little Person.**") The interviewer addressed most of the questions to her.
Something about them really bothered me. It looked vaguely to me like she and the interviewer, but mostly she, were treating her date like a child, or a lesser being. It look like he felt that way, too. He kept glancing away, rubbing the back of his head.
The second photo was a bride and groom holding hands, and his wrist was to the front. That's when I realized what it was that bothered me about the first couple. The first couple were holding hands, and her wrist was in front of his. That's what felt wrong. I wonder, if his wrist were in front, would the interviewer have paid more attention to him?
The third was a slightly older sister with her toddler brother, and her wrist was to the front. That was ok with me, and that's when I realized I should be ashamed of myself.
Wrist to the front indicates the leader, the decision maker, the protector, dominance. Wrist to the back indicates the follower, infantilization, passivity, subservience.
Isn't that odd?
Beyond the fact that we read it that way, even if it really does indicate what the relationship is, every couple, whether dating or siblings, should be able to define their relationship any way they want. I don't have a right to approve or disapprove.
I am annoyed with myself that a.) I interpret the wrist position that way, b.) that I expect the female half of a heterosexual couple to be the submissive one, and c.) it bugs me when she's not!
----------------------
I select men who are bigger, faster, stronger, and smarter than I. I select that way because I want to be submissive in public, I think that is a huge compliment to a man, so I need a man I can trust to handle things without needing my approval. At home, in private, in major decisions, in the relationship, I expect equal participation.
So I always have my wrist to the back when we hold hands. If we're sitting at a table, I'll slip my hand under his rather than touch the top. It's just automatic.
I have noticed that when dealing with clerks, sales people, anyone else, really, male or female, if I am holding hands with a man, and my wrist is behind, they address all questions and comments to the man. I don't exist. If I want to be heard, I have to not only release the hand, but step aside and keep both hands visible.
If my wrist is in front (and that often was the case during Jay's illness) it actually confuses people. They're not sure who's in charge.
--------------------------
**
Re: "Little People". Ok. You can choose what you want to be called. I guess I can understand not wanting to be called a dwarf, or a midget, since those are labels that get misused and perhaps have carnival connotations, and don't always apply anyway, and even the medical terms don't always apply (although I don't see that any terms are any more limiting than "Black", or "Presbyterian", or "blond", they're all simply descriptive). So I can see why you want your own non-emotional, non-negative, group defining label.
But I don't understand why "little people". "Short" is more accurate. "Short" is pretty much limited to physical height. "Little" applies to much more. You can be short and still not be little, or small. "Little" has a feeling of incapacity, a deficiency. Instead of little people, how about shorter people? As in I'm short, you're shorter. Big deal. Just means I can't reach the top shelf, and neither can you. The rest of both of us is as big as everyone else.
.
You know how some things just are the way they are, and you don't think about them? And sometimes if you do think about them, they expose you as a hypocrite, so you don't want to think about them?
I saw three instances of hand-holding today, and one of them annoyed me, and I hate to admit why.
The one that annoyed me was the first. It was a starlet and her celebrity date. She was a bit more famous than he. She was also much taller than he, like by two feet. (He was a "Little Person.**") The interviewer addressed most of the questions to her.
Something about them really bothered me. It looked vaguely to me like she and the interviewer, but mostly she, were treating her date like a child, or a lesser being. It look like he felt that way, too. He kept glancing away, rubbing the back of his head.
The second photo was a bride and groom holding hands, and his wrist was to the front. That's when I realized what it was that bothered me about the first couple. The first couple were holding hands, and her wrist was in front of his. That's what felt wrong. I wonder, if his wrist were in front, would the interviewer have paid more attention to him?
The third was a slightly older sister with her toddler brother, and her wrist was to the front. That was ok with me, and that's when I realized I should be ashamed of myself.
Wrist to the front indicates the leader, the decision maker, the protector, dominance. Wrist to the back indicates the follower, infantilization, passivity, subservience.
Isn't that odd?
Beyond the fact that we read it that way, even if it really does indicate what the relationship is, every couple, whether dating or siblings, should be able to define their relationship any way they want. I don't have a right to approve or disapprove.
I am annoyed with myself that a.) I interpret the wrist position that way, b.) that I expect the female half of a heterosexual couple to be the submissive one, and c.) it bugs me when she's not!
----------------------
I select men who are bigger, faster, stronger, and smarter than I. I select that way because I want to be submissive in public, I think that is a huge compliment to a man, so I need a man I can trust to handle things without needing my approval. At home, in private, in major decisions, in the relationship, I expect equal participation.
So I always have my wrist to the back when we hold hands. If we're sitting at a table, I'll slip my hand under his rather than touch the top. It's just automatic.
I have noticed that when dealing with clerks, sales people, anyone else, really, male or female, if I am holding hands with a man, and my wrist is behind, they address all questions and comments to the man. I don't exist. If I want to be heard, I have to not only release the hand, but step aside and keep both hands visible.
If my wrist is in front (and that often was the case during Jay's illness) it actually confuses people. They're not sure who's in charge.
--------------------------
**
Re: "Little People". Ok. You can choose what you want to be called. I guess I can understand not wanting to be called a dwarf, or a midget, since those are labels that get misused and perhaps have carnival connotations, and don't always apply anyway, and even the medical terms don't always apply (although I don't see that any terms are any more limiting than "Black", or "Presbyterian", or "blond", they're all simply descriptive). So I can see why you want your own non-emotional, non-negative, group defining label.
But I don't understand why "little people". "Short" is more accurate. "Short" is pretty much limited to physical height. "Little" applies to much more. You can be short and still not be little, or small. "Little" has a feeling of incapacity, a deficiency. Instead of little people, how about shorter people? As in I'm short, you're shorter. Big deal. Just means I can't reach the top shelf, and neither can you. The rest of both of us is as big as everyone else.
.
Monday, March 23, 2009
2320 Crazy Man
Monday, March 23, 2009
I spent Sunday with The Man, into this morning. One of the reasons I want to see as much of him as I can is because he's working himself into the ground. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he simply dropped dead one of these days.
He met me directly off a 43-hour marathon shift**, got a total of three hours sleep in two pieces, spent the day with me, and then Sunday night bowled 20 practice games, one ball after another, back and forth on two lanes.
He's crazy and getting crazier.
At least he slept well last night.
I want to wring his neck.
(** isn't that illegal?)
.
I spent Sunday with The Man, into this morning. One of the reasons I want to see as much of him as I can is because he's working himself into the ground. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he simply dropped dead one of these days.
He met me directly off a 43-hour marathon shift**, got a total of three hours sleep in two pieces, spent the day with me, and then Sunday night bowled 20 practice games, one ball after another, back and forth on two lanes.
He's crazy and getting crazier.
At least he slept well last night.
I want to wring his neck.
(** isn't that illegal?)
.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
2319 Spring's Over
Saturday, March 21, 2009
I've got to pay some bills. Before I can do that, I have to clean out the car. I have a habit of picking up the mail and the newspaper on the way up the driveway, checking it quickly for anything critical, and then just dumping the rest on the seat or floor, "for later".
I was standing at the open car door this morning, sorting the mess into rough recycle, office recycle, trash, bills, and "to be read/handled", got halfway through, and had to quit and come inside. It was too cold. My hands are burning, and you can't sort paper in gloves.
I guess Spring was yesterday. I missed it.
.
I've got to pay some bills. Before I can do that, I have to clean out the car. I have a habit of picking up the mail and the newspaper on the way up the driveway, checking it quickly for anything critical, and then just dumping the rest on the seat or floor, "for later".
I was standing at the open car door this morning, sorting the mess into rough recycle, office recycle, trash, bills, and "to be read/handled", got halfway through, and had to quit and come inside. It was too cold. My hands are burning, and you can't sort paper in gloves.
I guess Spring was yesterday. I missed it.
.
Friday, March 20, 2009
2318 Last Night at the Halfway Point
Friday, March 20, 2009
The title sounds like a movie. A dimly lit empty diner on a road bypassed by the new highway. A couple searching for a rendezvous point, and a little bit lost. A crazed cook with a cleaver.
The actuality would have made a great movie, but not one I'd want distributed. We didn't go to the usual karaoke. We had some rare concentrated time alone together, and made very good use of it. Man, he sure can talk.
---------------
I'm starting on a new smoke-cessation program.
I have brought up on several occasions with my doctor the subject of quitting smoking. She always suggests the nicotine gum or the patches.
They don't work for me, period.
I don't chew gum normally, and I had a lot of trouble regulating the "dosage" when I tried. One problem is that the brand I smoke is extremely mild, and the gum delivers too much nicotine, even when I cut it down to 1/4 of a stick.
The patches are a bit easier to use, except that I have to start with step 3, and since you can't cut them in half, there's nowhere to go from there. Plus the patches deliver a constant level of nicotine, and that's not what my body's used to.
The third problem is that it's not simply the nicotine I'm addicted to - it's also the ceremony. Having a cigarette is the punctuation to a task. When I finish something, I get up and go have a cigarette. It's the reward for the end of a task. When I need to think hard about a topic or decision, getting away from it for a cigarette usually leads to a decision. It's like I think better when I take that break. And then there's the simple ceremony of lighting, holding, drawing, directing the smoke.
The patches and gum do not supply the ceremony, and nothing else I'd found quite does it.
The result is anxiety, because I am bereft of my calming ceremony, and eventually the anxiety becomes unbearable, especially if I have to cope with something that has angered or frustrated me.
Now, there ARE prescriptions that can mitigate the anxiety. There are doctors who will prescribe those calming meds to help in smoke-cessation.
My doctor isn't one of them. I don't present as having anger management issues, or as being someone with anxiety problems, so I guess she just doesn't believe I need it. There's also the problem that a smoker may have an addictive personality, and trading one addiction for another isn't a solution.
So, until a few days ago, I was kind of stuck. I did actually stop smoking shortly after Christmas for amost three weeks, cold turkey, no aids, and then I got very angry and frustrated with someone, and it was like I sleepwalked to the deli and bought a pack, it was the only thing that calmed me down, and then I was right back where I started.
My ideal aid would be something that provided tapering nicotine, AND the calming ceremony.
Ta rah! I discovered E-Cigs. It's a "cigarette" consisting of a rechargeable battery, a microprocessor, an atomizing chamber, and replaceable capsules of a nicotine mixture (one pack's worth per capsule). When you draw on it, it produces "smoke" (actually water vapor with a touch of nicotine), and the tip lights up.
It provides nicotine and, except that you don't light it, the ceremony! without the tars and other chemicals.
They are apparently all the rage in Europe. In the US, the FDA is trying to block their importation, since they haven't been tested to the FDA's satisfaction, so they are marked as a "healthier nicotine delivery system", not as a smoking cessation device. But the capsules come in high, medium, low, and zero nicotine level, so it's pretty easy to figure out.
I bought enough capsules to last five weeks, with a taper down in nicotine level. They arrived this afternoon, and so far, they're satisfying enough.
Of course, they haven't been stress tested. I'm still floating on cloud nine today, and I'll be seeing The Man again tomorrow, and all day Sunday. The real test will come when he's unavailable for three or more weeks in a row.
(You can find them most inexpensively on eBay. Search for "electronic cigarette", or "smoking everywhere". )
.
The title sounds like a movie. A dimly lit empty diner on a road bypassed by the new highway. A couple searching for a rendezvous point, and a little bit lost. A crazed cook with a cleaver.
The actuality would have made a great movie, but not one I'd want distributed. We didn't go to the usual karaoke. We had some rare concentrated time alone together, and made very good use of it. Man, he sure can talk.
---------------
I'm starting on a new smoke-cessation program.
I have brought up on several occasions with my doctor the subject of quitting smoking. She always suggests the nicotine gum or the patches.
They don't work for me, period.
I don't chew gum normally, and I had a lot of trouble regulating the "dosage" when I tried. One problem is that the brand I smoke is extremely mild, and the gum delivers too much nicotine, even when I cut it down to 1/4 of a stick.
The patches are a bit easier to use, except that I have to start with step 3, and since you can't cut them in half, there's nowhere to go from there. Plus the patches deliver a constant level of nicotine, and that's not what my body's used to.
The third problem is that it's not simply the nicotine I'm addicted to - it's also the ceremony. Having a cigarette is the punctuation to a task. When I finish something, I get up and go have a cigarette. It's the reward for the end of a task. When I need to think hard about a topic or decision, getting away from it for a cigarette usually leads to a decision. It's like I think better when I take that break. And then there's the simple ceremony of lighting, holding, drawing, directing the smoke.
The patches and gum do not supply the ceremony, and nothing else I'd found quite does it.
The result is anxiety, because I am bereft of my calming ceremony, and eventually the anxiety becomes unbearable, especially if I have to cope with something that has angered or frustrated me.
Now, there ARE prescriptions that can mitigate the anxiety. There are doctors who will prescribe those calming meds to help in smoke-cessation.
My doctor isn't one of them. I don't present as having anger management issues, or as being someone with anxiety problems, so I guess she just doesn't believe I need it. There's also the problem that a smoker may have an addictive personality, and trading one addiction for another isn't a solution.
So, until a few days ago, I was kind of stuck. I did actually stop smoking shortly after Christmas for amost three weeks, cold turkey, no aids, and then I got very angry and frustrated with someone, and it was like I sleepwalked to the deli and bought a pack, it was the only thing that calmed me down, and then I was right back where I started.
My ideal aid would be something that provided tapering nicotine, AND the calming ceremony.
Ta rah! I discovered E-Cigs. It's a "cigarette" consisting of a rechargeable battery, a microprocessor, an atomizing chamber, and replaceable capsules of a nicotine mixture (one pack's worth per capsule). When you draw on it, it produces "smoke" (actually water vapor with a touch of nicotine), and the tip lights up.
It provides nicotine and, except that you don't light it, the ceremony! without the tars and other chemicals.
They are apparently all the rage in Europe. In the US, the FDA is trying to block their importation, since they haven't been tested to the FDA's satisfaction, so they are marked as a "healthier nicotine delivery system", not as a smoking cessation device. But the capsules come in high, medium, low, and zero nicotine level, so it's pretty easy to figure out.
I bought enough capsules to last five weeks, with a taper down in nicotine level. They arrived this afternoon, and so far, they're satisfying enough.
Of course, they haven't been stress tested. I'm still floating on cloud nine today, and I'll be seeing The Man again tomorrow, and all day Sunday. The real test will come when he's unavailable for three or more weeks in a row.
(You can find them most inexpensively on eBay. Search for "electronic cigarette", or "smoking everywhere". )
.
2317 Boots
You Are Riding Boots |
 You are very sophisticated. You have refined tastes, and you don't fall for cheesy trends. You are naturally chic and stylish. You can pull together a great look in no time flat. You don't need a lot of flash or bling in your life. You prefer the glamour of the understated. You treasure wisdom. You are attracted to ideas and things that have stood the test of time. |
I'm rather pleased with this. I'm flattered. A friend has her result on her blog, and she came out "Combat Boots". Now, I'd never in any way think of her as a combat boot, not in any form, but the text description came out pretty accurate, and now that I think about it, yeah, she kicks ass.
.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
2316 Undersea volcano!
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I'm in a hurry to get cleaned up and out of here, but I had to share this. It's an undersea volcano eruption near Tonga. The video is real-time, but it's interesting how slowly it seems to move.
Video:
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egFM7J4CN44]
Amazing photos of the eruption from those Boston folks (which is quickly becoming one of my favorite sites):
http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/03/undersea_eruptions_near_tonga.html
.
I'm in a hurry to get cleaned up and out of here, but I had to share this. It's an undersea volcano eruption near Tonga. The video is real-time, but it's interesting how slowly it seems to move.
Video:
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egFM7J4CN44]
Amazing photos of the eruption from those Boston folks (which is quickly becoming one of my favorite sites):
http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/03/undersea_eruptions_near_tonga.html
.
2315 Going out
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I'm meeting The Man at the halfway point this evening. It's been only a week since we'd last gotten together, and he's making noises about this weekend.
Something's up. This is not normal. Yeah, ok, I'm happy and grateful (especially since yesterday's luncheon disaster), but I'm also waiting for the other shoe to fall.
.
I'm meeting The Man at the halfway point this evening. It's been only a week since we'd last gotten together, and he's making noises about this weekend.
Something's up. This is not normal. Yeah, ok, I'm happy and grateful (especially since yesterday's luncheon disaster), but I'm also waiting for the other shoe to fall.
.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
2314 Tattoo Horror
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I found another interesting time-waster web site: Horrible Tattoos. It's over 500 photos of, well, horrible tattoos.
Actually some of them are pretty well done, but you have to wonder why on earth someone would put that, permanently, on their body, like, oh, say, this one:
Some of them are very very badly done.
I wonder what one does when what seemed like a nice design comes out horrible - like when words were misspelled, or it's just plain ugly. Some of the worst are renditions of photographs, like when the adored baby comes out looking like a lopsided smurf, or your late wife appears to have been a bearded sharp-toothed cannibal, with bones in her hair and a strange nose:
And this was one of the better-done photos.
The post owner thinks this next one is a terrible tattoo, but I kind of like it. I think it's funny without being embarrassing. It's something I might even consider:
I don't know how this one got into the "horrible" category. It's certainly well done, and it's beautiful. Maybe it's the finishing touches at the bottom, on the bottom. I may be wrong, but it looks like there might be implants for the nipples. Agh!
I question whether that last one is actually a tattoo. It looks like it could be paint.
----------------------
In other areas, I'm getting tired of reading about something being a "right of passage". That's what a ticket on a cruise gets you. If you mean something one goes through as a step in one's growth, that's a "rite of passage".
----------------------
When The Man calls, it shows on my caller id as "unknown caller". So when the phone rang this evening, and it said "unknown caller" on the screen, I answered it immediately.
It was my lunch date.
I hope this does not become a habit.
.
I found another interesting time-waster web site: Horrible Tattoos. It's over 500 photos of, well, horrible tattoos.
Actually some of them are pretty well done, but you have to wonder why on earth someone would put that, permanently, on their body, like, oh, say, this one:
Some of them are very very badly done.
I wonder what one does when what seemed like a nice design comes out horrible - like when words were misspelled, or it's just plain ugly. Some of the worst are renditions of photographs, like when the adored baby comes out looking like a lopsided smurf, or your late wife appears to have been a bearded sharp-toothed cannibal, with bones in her hair and a strange nose:
And this was one of the better-done photos.The post owner thinks this next one is a terrible tattoo, but I kind of like it. I think it's funny without being embarrassing. It's something I might even consider:
I don't know how this one got into the "horrible" category. It's certainly well done, and it's beautiful. Maybe it's the finishing touches at the bottom, on the bottom. I may be wrong, but it looks like there might be implants for the nipples. Agh!
I question whether that last one is actually a tattoo. It looks like it could be paint.
----------------------
In other areas, I'm getting tired of reading about something being a "right of passage". That's what a ticket on a cruise gets you. If you mean something one goes through as a step in one's growth, that's a "rite of passage".
----------------------
When The Man calls, it shows on my caller id as "unknown caller". So when the phone rang this evening, and it said "unknown caller" on the screen, I answered it immediately.
It was my lunch date.
I hope this does not become a habit.
.
2313 It's a jungle out there
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Well, I went to the foolishly made lunch date today, and I'm glad I did. Of the nine or so immediate responses I got to my profile (which, by the way, was very quickly hidden) Monday night, this guy was the pick of the litter.
On the good side, you can see that in his youth he was probably quite handsome - he's still attractive around the eyes and cheeks. And I think he might even be a nice guy, in there somewhere.
He was 25 minutes late, because I didn't call him to confirm, even though I had told him several times that I would NOT call, and that I didn't need to confirm because I'd already committed, and if there was an emergency I'd email him.
When he didn't get a call, he assumed I'd canceled. Not a good listener, and perhaps lacking in confidence.
His profile put him at a bit younger than I, but I think he's actually many years older, that or he's lived a very rough life. Either his photo is not recent, or he photographs very well (which is possible, because I know I photograph badly). 90% of his conversation ran to sex. Worse, I would be talking about something, and he'd interrupt, and take it off in a sexual direction just before I got to my point. I kept bring things back to where I was, kind of like a hint, and he didn't notice. (I know I tend to take 50 words to say what could be said in 5, but if you stick with it and listen, sometimes it's worth it.)
The end result is that I know more about him than I want to, and he knows nothing about me.
Ok. I learned my lesson.
I find it difficult to say "I don't think this is going to work". The only guy I ever came right out and said that to was the one with the iron cross tattoo on the back of his hand, who said he had five piercings, and sitting across the table from him I saw none, and then I cringed.
I think he got the idea anyway. And I have a renewed appreciation for The Man. He's got everything I want; I just have to figure out how to get more of it out of him.
I don't know if I mentioned the OTHER site I played with Monday night. That one was specifically for seniors, and also required that you sign up and fill out a profile before doing a search. I'd learned my lesson on the first site. The profile I briefly had on the second site says I'm 80 years old, bald, smoke cigars, drink like a fish, and I'm looking for a rich man to pay my bills and change my dressings.
No hits on that one.
.
Well, I went to the foolishly made lunch date today, and I'm glad I did. Of the nine or so immediate responses I got to my profile (which, by the way, was very quickly hidden) Monday night, this guy was the pick of the litter.
On the good side, you can see that in his youth he was probably quite handsome - he's still attractive around the eyes and cheeks. And I think he might even be a nice guy, in there somewhere.
He was 25 minutes late, because I didn't call him to confirm, even though I had told him several times that I would NOT call, and that I didn't need to confirm because I'd already committed, and if there was an emergency I'd email him.
When he didn't get a call, he assumed I'd canceled. Not a good listener, and perhaps lacking in confidence.
His profile put him at a bit younger than I, but I think he's actually many years older, that or he's lived a very rough life. Either his photo is not recent, or he photographs very well (which is possible, because I know I photograph badly). 90% of his conversation ran to sex. Worse, I would be talking about something, and he'd interrupt, and take it off in a sexual direction just before I got to my point. I kept bring things back to where I was, kind of like a hint, and he didn't notice. (I know I tend to take 50 words to say what could be said in 5, but if you stick with it and listen, sometimes it's worth it.)
The end result is that I know more about him than I want to, and he knows nothing about me.
Ok. I learned my lesson.
I find it difficult to say "I don't think this is going to work". The only guy I ever came right out and said that to was the one with the iron cross tattoo on the back of his hand, who said he had five piercings, and sitting across the table from him I saw none, and then I cringed.
I think he got the idea anyway. And I have a renewed appreciation for The Man. He's got everything I want; I just have to figure out how to get more of it out of him.
I don't know if I mentioned the OTHER site I played with Monday night. That one was specifically for seniors, and also required that you sign up and fill out a profile before doing a search. I'd learned my lesson on the first site. The profile I briefly had on the second site says I'm 80 years old, bald, smoke cigars, drink like a fish, and I'm looking for a rich man to pay my bills and change my dressings.
No hits on that one.
.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
2312 I think I've hurt me, Part 2.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I hurt me twice. Once by doing something stupid last night, and once by doing too much today.
Part 2 - Today
I volunteered at the nursing home. They were having a St. Patrick's Day parade, where the residents dress up and parade through the halls led by a 21-piece bagpipe and drum band and "floats" (shopping carts decorated by the various interest groups), and they needed about 35 volunteers to push wheelchairs and floats.
I'm not sure how it happened, I think maybe because I was the only volunteer that followed directions and didn't just run and grab someone but waited to be assigned, which we'd been told to do but it never happened because everyone else just ran and grabbed someone - anyway, I was the last to get a resident to push. Everybody else had shopping carts or regular big-wheeled pipe-and-canvas-type wheelchairs. I had a nice, but very large, lady in one of those big thickly upholstered recliner-type chairs. The only one like that in the whole building. (Imagine a LazyBoy with a too-small handle on the back and tiny serving cart wheels, on carpet. No kidding.)
Obviously no one else wanted to push that one, and I can see why. It was heavy and awkward, and the small wheels that spun independently would swoosh it off sideways if you didn't pay attention.
It had so much inertia to overcome to get it moving, that I, the smallest of all the volunteers, had to stretch out at an extreme angle to get it moving. Everybody carefully ignored my struggles, and by the time I realized how hard it was going to be, the parade was moving out, my lady and I were the last in line, and there was no one I could ask to trade.
The home is laid out with halls leading to circular nursing stations, and then halls branching off from the stations - sort of like a snowflake. Maximizes windows in the rooms. We followed the right wall, up and down the halls. Right turn after right turn, with a heavy awkward chair that wanted to skitter sideways into the walls, threatening to smash my lady's fingers, and me leaning sideways against the pull.
I had to throw my entire body into moving, turning, and maneuvering the chair.
I don't know how far we walked, but it was 50 minutes at a normal walking pace. In the first ten minutes, the inside of my right knee started to complain, from the hard right turning with it stretched out to the side. Twenty minutes in, I had a stitch in my right side. By the time it was over, even my sternum hurt.
Tonight it's obvious I've strained my back. I have upper and lower back pain, and abdominal cramps, which indicates a nerve under pressure. Bleck.
Oh well, with any luck I won't be able to move tomorrow, and I can honestly cancel the dreaded lunch.
.
I hurt me twice. Once by doing something stupid last night, and once by doing too much today.
Part 2 - Today
I volunteered at the nursing home. They were having a St. Patrick's Day parade, where the residents dress up and parade through the halls led by a 21-piece bagpipe and drum band and "floats" (shopping carts decorated by the various interest groups), and they needed about 35 volunteers to push wheelchairs and floats.
I'm not sure how it happened, I think maybe because I was the only volunteer that followed directions and didn't just run and grab someone but waited to be assigned, which we'd been told to do but it never happened because everyone else just ran and grabbed someone - anyway, I was the last to get a resident to push. Everybody else had shopping carts or regular big-wheeled pipe-and-canvas-type wheelchairs. I had a nice, but very large, lady in one of those big thickly upholstered recliner-type chairs. The only one like that in the whole building. (Imagine a LazyBoy with a too-small handle on the back and tiny serving cart wheels, on carpet. No kidding.)
Obviously no one else wanted to push that one, and I can see why. It was heavy and awkward, and the small wheels that spun independently would swoosh it off sideways if you didn't pay attention.
It had so much inertia to overcome to get it moving, that I, the smallest of all the volunteers, had to stretch out at an extreme angle to get it moving. Everybody carefully ignored my struggles, and by the time I realized how hard it was going to be, the parade was moving out, my lady and I were the last in line, and there was no one I could ask to trade.
The home is laid out with halls leading to circular nursing stations, and then halls branching off from the stations - sort of like a snowflake. Maximizes windows in the rooms. We followed the right wall, up and down the halls. Right turn after right turn, with a heavy awkward chair that wanted to skitter sideways into the walls, threatening to smash my lady's fingers, and me leaning sideways against the pull.
I had to throw my entire body into moving, turning, and maneuvering the chair.
I don't know how far we walked, but it was 50 minutes at a normal walking pace. In the first ten minutes, the inside of my right knee started to complain, from the hard right turning with it stretched out to the side. Twenty minutes in, I had a stitch in my right side. By the time it was over, even my sternum hurt.
Tonight it's obvious I've strained my back. I have upper and lower back pain, and abdominal cramps, which indicates a nerve under pressure. Bleck.
Oh well, with any luck I won't be able to move tomorrow, and I can honestly cancel the dreaded lunch.
.
2311 I think I've hurt me, Part 1.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Twice. Once by doing something stupid last night, and once by doing too much today.
Part 1 -Last Night
Some time ago, in conversation with a friend about online dating sites, I mentioned that my experience from a few years ago turned up very few men within 50 miles of my home. They just aren't there. She said that I should check out blahblah.com, that they had oodles of local men. I thought I knew all the sites. I'd never heard of that one.
Now, since the medical scare, and a reevaluation of my current relationship, as satisfying as it is when I see him, I don't think it's likely to be "going anywhere", I'm beginning to think that as strong as the feelings may be on either side (I really do adore him, and I believe him when he says he loves me), it's probably just a casual thing, and darn it I want more, but I'm not going to find more unless I look, and all those other crazy thoughts I reject as soon as I think them, oh go away crazy lady - well, I've been thinking about getting "out there" just to see what's possible. I mean, I don't have to DO anything, right? Just window shop. Shake the bush and see what falls out.
So I went to blahblah.com and started a search. Naturally, you can't search until you register (free). And you can't register until you fill out a profile. And they must have some good text checking software, because they won't let you set up a dummy profile full of nonsense.
Ok, so maybe I should have made me sound crazy. I didn't. I made it real (except that for the first time ever, I lied about my age). And I did say I was just window shopping. I hit "Save", and within twenty seconds I had five winks, and three emails. And an invitation to chat.
I never chatted before. I was intrigued. Besides, the guy used to work for The Company. Maybe I already know him. We chatted a bit, and he sent me a photo (nice looking, don't know him), and ...
... I have a lunch date with him tomorow.
Oh crap. In the light of day I now want to cancel. I can't with good conscience do that. I'm going to have to go. I don't know what will happen, what I'll say. Maybe I'll just tell him about The Man, but then I'll come off as a royal ... um ... something-er-other. One of those people who jerks people around for their own amusement.
This is not cool. I think I hurt me. Worse, if you know what to give Google, it turns up the profile. Agh! Sometimes I don't understand ME!
Oh, and the friend was right - I did search, and there were about 80 guys on there within 50 miles. Amazing.
My profile is now "invisible".
.
Twice. Once by doing something stupid last night, and once by doing too much today.
Part 1 -Last Night
Some time ago, in conversation with a friend about online dating sites, I mentioned that my experience from a few years ago turned up very few men within 50 miles of my home. They just aren't there. She said that I should check out blahblah.com, that they had oodles of local men. I thought I knew all the sites. I'd never heard of that one.
Now, since the medical scare, and a reevaluation of my current relationship, as satisfying as it is when I see him, I don't think it's likely to be "going anywhere", I'm beginning to think that as strong as the feelings may be on either side (I really do adore him, and I believe him when he says he loves me), it's probably just a casual thing, and darn it I want more, but I'm not going to find more unless I look, and all those other crazy thoughts I reject as soon as I think them, oh go away crazy lady - well, I've been thinking about getting "out there" just to see what's possible. I mean, I don't have to DO anything, right? Just window shop. Shake the bush and see what falls out.
So I went to blahblah.com and started a search. Naturally, you can't search until you register (free). And you can't register until you fill out a profile. And they must have some good text checking software, because they won't let you set up a dummy profile full of nonsense.
Ok, so maybe I should have made me sound crazy. I didn't. I made it real (except that for the first time ever, I lied about my age). And I did say I was just window shopping. I hit "Save", and within twenty seconds I had five winks, and three emails. And an invitation to chat.
I never chatted before. I was intrigued. Besides, the guy used to work for The Company. Maybe I already know him. We chatted a bit, and he sent me a photo (nice looking, don't know him), and ...
... I have a lunch date with him tomorow.
Oh crap. In the light of day I now want to cancel. I can't with good conscience do that. I'm going to have to go. I don't know what will happen, what I'll say. Maybe I'll just tell him about The Man, but then I'll come off as a royal ... um ... something-er-other. One of those people who jerks people around for their own amusement.
This is not cool. I think I hurt me. Worse, if you know what to give Google, it turns up the profile. Agh! Sometimes I don't understand ME!
Oh, and the friend was right - I did search, and there were about 80 guys on there within 50 miles. Amazing.
My profile is now "invisible".
.
Monday, March 16, 2009
2310 Town Car
Monday, March 16, 2009
I've never ridden in a limousine. I don't know that there's anything special about it, but I do feel like I'm missing an experience. Not so much the actual ride as the occasion that would call for it.
Thinking about that reminded me of my one experience with a limousine service. It was the early eighties, and Daughter and I went to England for a few weeks. The flight was out of Kennedy, and it was expensive (and worrisome) to leave my car in the lot that long, and the local rental car companies wouldn't allow one-way rentals. We got a ride to the airport with a friend, but getting home we were on our own. I found a local limousine service that would pick us up at the airport. They offered a stretch limousine for a small fortune, or a "Town Car" for a few hundred.
I chose the Town Car.
When we got off the plane, we saw lots of uniformed drivers with neatly printed signs. And one unshaved guy in jeans holding up a torn piece of cardboard. Took a while for me to realize that it was my name scrawled on the cardboard.
The "Town Car" was a battered old Ford with duct-taped bumpers that spewed black soot out the rear and burped exhaust through the floorboards. I hesitated to go with the guy. I had visions of my uniformed chauffeur lying tied up in an alley next to his stripped vehicle, while this guy abducted the stupid "rich lady". But he had all the proper documents, and the photo matched, and it was 9 pm, and 8-year-old Daughter was asleep on her feet, and it was pre-cell days, and the limousine company didn't answer the one pay phone call I attempted, so I gave up and we went.
I sat in the front so Daughter could sleep on the back seat, and the guy spent the next two hours of the drive apologizing for the car. His personal car was wonderful (a Mustang (which still isn't a Town Car you know)), and he was supposed to use his own car, he's a subcontractor, but he didn't want to put the mileage on it, so he had borrowed this one, and he was sure it was ok with the boss, but he'd appreciate it if I didn't tell him.
I was furious. Even if he did use the other car, it wasn't what I'd paid for.
I was younger and a bit beaten down back then. I should have called the limousine company and demanded at least half my money back, but I just didn't have the energy. I just told all the secretaries who handled the business travel arrangements for The Company.
Heh heh.
If I ever marry again, I want a stretch limousine. Just for the heck of it.
.
I've never ridden in a limousine. I don't know that there's anything special about it, but I do feel like I'm missing an experience. Not so much the actual ride as the occasion that would call for it.
Thinking about that reminded me of my one experience with a limousine service. It was the early eighties, and Daughter and I went to England for a few weeks. The flight was out of Kennedy, and it was expensive (and worrisome) to leave my car in the lot that long, and the local rental car companies wouldn't allow one-way rentals. We got a ride to the airport with a friend, but getting home we were on our own. I found a local limousine service that would pick us up at the airport. They offered a stretch limousine for a small fortune, or a "Town Car" for a few hundred.
I chose the Town Car.
When we got off the plane, we saw lots of uniformed drivers with neatly printed signs. And one unshaved guy in jeans holding up a torn piece of cardboard. Took a while for me to realize that it was my name scrawled on the cardboard.
The "Town Car" was a battered old Ford with duct-taped bumpers that spewed black soot out the rear and burped exhaust through the floorboards. I hesitated to go with the guy. I had visions of my uniformed chauffeur lying tied up in an alley next to his stripped vehicle, while this guy abducted the stupid "rich lady". But he had all the proper documents, and the photo matched, and it was 9 pm, and 8-year-old Daughter was asleep on her feet, and it was pre-cell days, and the limousine company didn't answer the one pay phone call I attempted, so I gave up and we went.
I sat in the front so Daughter could sleep on the back seat, and the guy spent the next two hours of the drive apologizing for the car. His personal car was wonderful (a Mustang (which still isn't a Town Car you know)), and he was supposed to use his own car, he's a subcontractor, but he didn't want to put the mileage on it, so he had borrowed this one, and he was sure it was ok with the boss, but he'd appreciate it if I didn't tell him.
I was furious. Even if he did use the other car, it wasn't what I'd paid for.
I was younger and a bit beaten down back then. I should have called the limousine company and demanded at least half my money back, but I just didn't have the energy. I just told all the secretaries who handled the business travel arrangements for The Company.
Heh heh.
If I ever marry again, I want a stretch limousine. Just for the heck of it.
.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
2309 Maybe some progress
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Hairless Hunk was working on his yard as I passed this afternoon, so I stopped to talk with him. He's going to clear all my fallen trees this week. That'll be nice, because I was getting anxious about the wildflower seeds. I got them in too late last year, and will be cutting it close this year, but I couldn't have them sprouting and THEN have men tromping around and dragging tree trunks.
He also mentioned that he knows a good man to get me some real air conditioning. I've decided not to get geothermal again.
The old heat pump system took water from the well, ran it through a blower, and then dumped it into a dry well. I didn't want to do that again because the system eventually clogs with silt from the well. If I stayed with ground water heat pump, I'd want a closed system. But that means they'd have to bury several hundred feet of pipe like four feet deep in loops around the yard, and it would have to be in the front yard, because the back yard is my septic field, AND the yard is solid rock starting about 18" down. It would take explosives.
Nah. I'll get a regular old condenser in the side yard.
Plus, the Hairless Hunk says he can help me select and then he can install a water softener system for me.
So, things are looking manageable again.
I was beginning to feel like the house was falling apart around me.
.
The Hairless Hunk was working on his yard as I passed this afternoon, so I stopped to talk with him. He's going to clear all my fallen trees this week. That'll be nice, because I was getting anxious about the wildflower seeds. I got them in too late last year, and will be cutting it close this year, but I couldn't have them sprouting and THEN have men tromping around and dragging tree trunks.
He also mentioned that he knows a good man to get me some real air conditioning. I've decided not to get geothermal again.
The old heat pump system took water from the well, ran it through a blower, and then dumped it into a dry well. I didn't want to do that again because the system eventually clogs with silt from the well. If I stayed with ground water heat pump, I'd want a closed system. But that means they'd have to bury several hundred feet of pipe like four feet deep in loops around the yard, and it would have to be in the front yard, because the back yard is my septic field, AND the yard is solid rock starting about 18" down. It would take explosives.
Nah. I'll get a regular old condenser in the side yard.
Plus, the Hairless Hunk says he can help me select and then he can install a water softener system for me.
So, things are looking manageable again.
I was beginning to feel like the house was falling apart around me.
.
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