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Monday, October 3, 2005
Cessation Of Hibernation
I have now spent a year NOT driving around to do errands. When necessary for me to go hither and yon, Lydia has done the driving.
This morning was the first of the new era when I get a life and start to drive around for myself. Here's how that came about. Susanna, Lydia's Hurricane Katrina surviver friend, is getting settled into her new apartment. Also, she's settling into her new employment as substitute teacher at Old Dominion University. Today was her first time on the job. She teaches on Monday/Wednesday/Friday mornings. Lydia has been driving her to appointments and places to get needed supplies, appointments, whatnot. Of course, Lydia has continued to chauffeur her children to all of their usual activities as well...in addition to the errands she needs to run for Dan. By last Thursday, Lydia was looking down and out, frazzled, confused. She was perfectly willing to continue her super-full schedule, but I thought it was time for me to get into the game. After all, I'm retired. I could easily do some of Lydia's running around. So I volunteered to chauffeur Susanna to her job and other places on Monday/Wednesday/Friday mornings. On those days, too, I'm going to start...as of today...picking up Benny and taking him to karate, feeding him during Lydia's karate lesson, and then dropping him back at home in time for bed. Each of those days, I'm going to drop off dinner when I pick up Benny, so I'll have cooking to do three times/week.
This may sound like some serious scampering around, but not really. For example today. Susanna needed to stop at the hardware store. Well, I had errands there, too. Also, taking her to work is only slightly out of my way because I go to the YMCA to my Fitlinxx workout at that time on those days. Susanna's apartment and her job are each less than a mile from my house. Same with karate and Benny's house. No big deal.
Quite likely this schedule will not persist through the winter. If it does, though, that's OK. Time for me to get about and about. After hibernating for a year, I should waddle out of the cave and look around.
Friday, September 30, 2005
The Right Costume
Yesterday we bought Benny his dearly loved Incredibles costume. He put it on right away and wore it for the rest of the day. Then this morning he insisted on wearing it today, as well. He wore it ALL day, playing hard. Benny has the movie pretty much memorized and calls himself Dash Netzer. To him, the thought of being an Incredible is so wonderful as to beggar belief. It is the exactly right costume. He will wear it ragged before Halloween. When we bought it, I was sorry it was the only one. I just knew that little boy was going to play Dash until his costume fell to ribbons around him.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Tooling Up
You just can't get Halloween started too early for me. I love it. I'm already working on my decorations and it isn't even October yet.
Today Lydia/kids/I went to Target after leaving the YMCA. The Sunday flyer showed numerous things I need, so we were there a while finding this and that. I bought a vacuum cleaner for just upstairs because I'm tired of dragging the big one up and down the staircase. Enough, already! Also I wanted some cookware, specifically a casserole and a stir fry pan. Got those, too. Then I wanted Tide detergent at the sale price. I don't need it now, but when I'm ready for more detergent, the price may have gone up, so I bought a big jug today. I wanted the DVD of the three Wallace and Grommit half-hour animations, and also I wanted the new DVD of Robotz. Got those. I wanted the on-sale long-sleeved crewneck tops and got some, three black, two white, and one brown.
Finally, I wanted to sniff out any Halloween stuff available. It was great!!! I found a gigantic spider to put somewhere in my house. Also, at last, I got the Martha Stewart Living October issue. Very hard to find, that. For Sadie I spotted a beautiful witch costume covered with sparkles. She looks gorgeous. Benny got an Incredibles costume and loved it so much that he hugged the package to his heart all the way home and when we reached my house, he came in to put it on, went home that way too. Best of all...taaaadaaaa!...I bought every single doggie costume for Porque Choppe. Of the ones tried so far, I like the clown the best. Too good. What do you think?
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Sad
A fellow Tripod blogger has passed on to her reward, and unexpectedly, too. Tessa Steer died in hospital as she was making a good recovery from surgery. Although she lived in England and I live in the USA, and although we never met, we were good online friends. A background of similar experiences and values made it easy for us to become acquainted through our blogs. I came to value her for her lively intelligence and sense of humor. Very sudden and sad that she is gone. I'm really going to miss her. My thoughts and sympathy to her family for whom her loss is going to be a lasting ache. Odd about the internet. It actually does bring people together from around the world. For a long time, now, I've "talked to" Tessa nearly every day. She has been just as real to me as the people I see, and now she is gone.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
The Morning After The Day Before
What a day! At 5:30 A.M. I was up and walking Porque in the near-dark. Then I got busy with various chores. At 8:30 I went to the Y and got my fitness routines, was trained on seven different machines, did the whole work-out. Then I went upstairs and did the exercycle. Could have done it downstairs, but needed to get up and see if Lydia was there. She was. Madly wheeling along and getting noplace, but managing to work up a serious sweat. I chose my usual machine and bicycled with her. As Lydia and I finished upstairs, a woman came up calling for Lydia. Turns out that downstairs in the gym, Benny had a tantrum and was in trouble with the teachers of the Kidgym class. We all left the Y, Lydia to take Susanna to an appointment. I told her that I'd be home soon and she could drop off Benny. Then I went to the grocery store to get bananas in order to make frozen chocolate-covered bananasicles. After the grocery store, I stopped at the hardware store. At home Lydia and kids waited for me in the driveway. They all came in for lunch. Lydia and I had Szechuan beef with a salad. Kids ate this and that. Clearly they weren't candidates for Szechuan beef since it turned out to be hotter than a firecracker. YOW! Just about cauterized my alimentary canal. Then Lydia and Sadie left to take baby home for her nap. Benny stayed to play and do projects. We drew for almost an hour. Then we made "banana trees" with rolled newspaper cut and pulled. Then we put up a scarecrow I'd earlier purchased to place among the cornstalks by the porch railings. Then we took Porque for a walk. We played Chuzzle Deluxe. Etc etc etc. By 3:00 P.M. Lydia and Sadie and Suzanna were back. We went to the mall. In the morning, the fitness trainer told me that in order to participate at the Y, I had to wear regular sneakers. Irritated, I complied, went to Lady Foot Locker and came out with some supremely squishy running shoes and special socks. Then we all went on to April Cornell where we got a fabulous outfit for Sadie and a quilt for on my red sofa. By 4:00 we were at the top of the mall in their wonderful run and play area for small children, full of imaginative toys. Sadie and Benny ran and climbed while Lydia and I sipped vanilla latte from Starbucks. Suzanna was cruising the mall for bargains. At 5:00 I was finally at home again and happily discovered that the new quilt is an exact match for the sofa. Then I walked Porque. Finally I sat down with a glass of iced tea. I checked my e-mail and found that I needed to be at a neighborhood meeting by 6:30. AAAARRRGGGGHH! My morning exercises had begun to take a toll. I was sore and experienced difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. Also, Porque Choppe was sad about being left at home so much. I put her into my doggie purse and took her with me. The meeting was annoying to the tenth power due to the verbosity of a wealthy woman who objects to ethnically challenged construction workers building a house next door to hers. She refused to shut her mouth in spite of the fact that one man asked, then told her to shut up. By 8:30 I was at last back home walking Porque. A man buzzed by us going at warp speed toward the store on the corner. He yelled at me, "Love what you've done to your porch!" Hm...well, I guess that proves that people have noticed. I have life-sized cloth, home-made dolls sitting on my porch rockers with pumpkins around their feet. So, that was it. I was done for the day, came in, made myself a salad and a cup of tea, and went upstairs to eat in bed while watching TV. I went to sleep, Porque at my side, TV showing premiers of the new fall shows. Tired. I hope that today bring less activity. I'm still worn out. HOWEVER, I did make a commitment to do the fitness routine four days/week, so I now have to chug down my cup of tea and get going. Back to the YMCA.
Monday, September 26, 2005
On A Banana Peel, Slipping Over The Edge
For the last few weeks I've clung to my status as a completely sedentary person. I've clung desperately while Lydia pulled the other way, dragging me to the YMCA, weaselling me into buying a year's membership, driving me there for sessions on the exercycle or in the pool.
Today, I guess I'm going to slide over the edge into the lifestyle of a person trying to get fit. Gag. Here's how it works. Sitting on the exercycle and sweating and hating the process, I have wondered, what's this doing for my abdomen, upper body flab? I'm sweating, but so what? If I have to do this, shouldn't I be getting the most for my pain? So I went downstairs and signed up for an appointment with a personal trainer. Then I forgot about it. On Friday that trainer called to remind me that at 9:00A.M. today I'm supposed to be getting a regimen on this and that machine, all designed to turn me into a tougher, leaner specimen.
Now, you know, I expect nothing from this, nothing but additional sweat and misery. However, it is apparent that I've got to keep on going to the Y, so I might as well do the whole experience. Today's the day. I can't believe it. Me. Going to put my wretched life into the hands of a personal trainer. Anyone knowing me would be shocked. IF this ends up with me lean and stringy, I'll be shocked.
Yesterday coming out of church, we were behind a woman who has the body I need. She was less than 36 inches around at the fattest point. Each of her legs was so toned that you could almost see blood moving through her corpuscles. She moved with a blithe zippiness which said, "I have so much energy that unless I rachet back, I'd float off the ground." Is this the picture of the Joanna of tomorrow? No. Tomorrow I'll be crying and groaning, unable to get out of bed and cringe my way down the stairs.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Porque's Power Personality
Feels weird to sit here and type without a tiny warm dog asleep on my lap. Porque is at the doggie beauty-parlor. This is an extremely popular grooming place, over the top busy at all times. You have to call a week ahead to get an appointment and then sometimes you can’t. However, Porque is the exception to all of that. I don’t even have to call ahead. Can simply drop her off. It wasn’t always that way, but by the first week of August, Porque was one of Groomingdale’s primo clients. Like everyone else, they had fallen victim to her doggy charm.
I called to get an appointment for the second week of August. The receptionist said, “Uh…can you hold while I try to see if there’s a time for you?” I could hold. She came back, “So sorry but we’re booked into the third week of August. You could have a Friday appointment then, if you’d like.” I agreed to wait until then and take the Friday.
The receptionist asked, “What breed of dog is this?” A Chihuahua. “Has she been here before?” She has. “Your name?” Jenkins. The dog’s name?” Porque Choppe. “Oh!!! Porque Choppe!!!! You can drop her off any time. She’s no trouble at all, takes very little time, and is an absolute doll. We all just love Porque Choppe. Porque Choppe might be our favorite customer.”
Today when I dropped her off, Porque was wearing her blue leash and halter with pink, blue, and lavender gauze flounces on top. The receptionist squealed, “Oh, Porkee, you’re a fairy princess,” hugged little dog and kissed her on the nose. Porque blinked solemnly in agreement; yes, she is a fairy princess.
I took advantage of this time when Porque would not be home alone to do some extended grocery shopping. You know, the kind where you slowly cruise the aisles looking for this and that ingredient that you’ve read about in cook books but have never noticed in the store. Usually I shop the ghetto grocery, but for once, I went to the rich-people emporium in Ghent and near to Groomingdale’s. They have every single fresh vegetable, every single herb and outlandish ingredient in the world. It’s an interesting place. I found fresh asparagus and parsley, jicama, spaghetti squash, fresh ginger, chopped garlic in a jar, Old Bay Seasoning, diet Arizona green tea in the gallon size, all kinds of good stuff. I even hurried up and bought my Halloween candy because this store had huge sacks of individually wrapped candies in the shape of vampire teeth, eyeballs, and other such desirable items.
An hour and a half went by and I finally approached the check out. Here came the Groomingdale’s receptionist with an armful of Arizona Tea bottles. Evidently she’d been delegated to hydrate her dog workers. I asked, “Porque all done?” She looked shocked, “I guess not! She’s hangin’ out. She doesn’t want to go home yet. Can‘t you just leave her for a while and come back after lunch?”
I can’t imagine where Porque might be ‘hangin’ out’. When I left, the place was so frantic that a groomer tried to find a way to finagle two dogs under one dryer. Comically, the two dogs looked at one another with the same expressions that women would have had in a beauty parlor trying such a crazy thing. ..surprise, outrage, offense, disgust. No barking, fighting, or biting, but cold, polite horror. And this is the place where they want Porque Choppe to stick around, to hang out. Clearly little Porquita has stolen hearts with her power personality. Here I sit in a Porqueless house, typing about her, thinking of her. She’s a rare and loveable character!
Friday, September 23, 2005
Fleo
A while back when we returned from the beach and I found Porque covered with fleas, I was frantic. My goodness. I went out and bought literally every product at Walgreens having to do with fleas. I used them all, too. Took a while, but I did eradicate the problem. Since I used products guaranteed to kill both fleas and their eggs/children/pets/whatever, I felt that I'd taken care of an ugly situation and could forget it.
Cheered up too soon. The other day Lydia looked at Porque and said, "Oh, no! There's a flea." She grabbed and missed. When Lydia and the kids were gone, I resurrected my anti-flea remedies and went to work once again turning my house into a toxic environment. Now, you know, this stuff does work. I have unintentionally killed three crickets. Just because they happened to be on treated carpet, they died, doing nothing more than sitting there where I had sprayed. Having said that, I admit that two days post re-spray, Porque still has a flea somewhere on her little self. I've gone over every milimeter of her small hide, but can't find the offending insect.
Thinking about his has me scratching myself mercilessly, sure that each imagined twitch is a flea-inspired itch. Horrible. I have turned my house into a place probably unsafe for grandchildren, but we still have a flea. So, I'm going with plan-B.
Plan-B is this. We embrace our flea-bitten-ness. We make it part of the status quo. We accept it. We learn to love it. How? Yes...I began by naming the flea. It is now officially, FLEO, Porque Choppes' pet flea. Porque comes scooting around the corner, I look up and say, "How nice. It's Porque and Fleo. Come. Sit on my lap, my little friends."
If I could actually see and grab FLEO, would I maintain this..er, uh, whatever it is? Heh. I only hope the nearly microscopic trouble-maker thinks so.
Monday, September 19, 2005
I Need A Secretary
Yes, this is crazy, but I am unable to open mail. Takes weeks, sometimes months for me to screw up the courage. No, this is not a case of a poor soul without money and afraid to open bills. Not at all. I can't even open a personal letter or, for that matter, obvious junk mail. I. Just. Can't.
On TV I briefly watched a bit of chitchat with a therapist about the plight of myself and my fellow sufferers from whatever the name for this is. He said, predictably, that it calls for years of yakking on the couch as well as 'support' from a variety of addictive medications. Oh, surprise.
After deliberation, I decided that I'd make a monumental effort and toil through the back stack until I managed to get myself organized on automatic pay for all of my recurring bills. That was a horrible experience, but I got it largely done. Now I don't have to think about mail having to do with house, utilities, car, communications, things like that. Which is good. But not enough. I still get mail. It still piles up. Looking at it from time to time makes my heart pound and brings on a panic attack. You see? I'm out of my mind. Scared of the mail. I need to not get mail OR I need a secretary because I certainly am not going to enter a unilaterally remunerative relationship with a therapist. And I'm not going to begin a regimen of addictive drugs. A secretary, someone to come in for a couple of hours/week and answer the mail, identify the junk mail, run everything appropriate through the shredder, slap stamps on the rest, put the envelopes into the mailbox up at the post office, and leave my desk top bare. What's wrong with that? If I needed to have a nurse come in and give me shots, there'd be nothing weird about hiring one and using her services, right? If I needed a guy to fix pipes and stop a leaky toilet bowl, there'd be nothing strange about calling a plumber, right? Right. Simple matter of paying for specialized services as needed.
So why not do the therapy route? Because 1) I'm too old, although 2) I wouldn't do it even if I were twenty years old, and 3) the alternative seems better.
Some people feel it shameful to hire a cleaning lady. Not me. I had a cleaning lady while I lived in Michigan, and I was sorry to leave her behind. It was so worth it to pay her for one day/ week and then on that day to arrive home to a house that looked clean, smelled clean, where every smooth surface had a quiet gleam, where all closets and drawers and cupboards were organized to death, where the sheets were changed, where nothing life-threatening grew in a forgotten corner of the refrigerator. She needed the money and I needed the help as well as the boost to morale. A thoroughly sensible arrangement.
Well, now that I live in a different part of the country, I no longer have this trusted employee. Since I'm retired, I don't really need a replacement for her because I don't mind doing a bit of occasional cleaning/organizing. Now I need a secretary. Yes, to hire such a person would be a direct admission of weakness. I'm going to do it, though.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Big, Fat Books
Some people have incredible productivity re. getting words onto the page. An author named Diana Gabaldon has written a series of books about Scottish Highlanders and time travel. I bought one of them just because I'd never read anything by this person. When I got the book home and saw that it runs to 1,500 pp., I wondered how anyone could pour out such a torrent of words and actually say something. Then I began to read and realized that my suspicion was well founded. It's a case of diahrea of the word processor. Blah,blah,blah,blah. Drivelling on and on and on. I'll have to be book-deprived for a while before I develop a strong enough need to read to drive me through all that goo. Yawn. Well...maybe it will get better, but it sure did start like a forty year old car with a dead battery. Pages and pages and pages of breathless personal reflections of a woman waking up in a tent, wondering if she really wants to go outside and go potty or to go outside, build up the fire and make coffee.
Another big, fat book is The Godfather Returns by Mark Winegardner. This one, however, is good. Better, even, than the classic Mario Puzo stories. Extremely entertaining. I buzzed through it yesterday afternoon and evening. It practically read itself.
Third big, fat book...Battle For Corrin, part of the Dune series, this one written by the great man's son and a friend. Huge book with itty-bitty chapters, each jumping to another sector of some galaxy somewhere, now with evil machines intent on destroying all human life, now with humans trying to evade final extermination by the machines and also trying to survive their complex rivalries. Inevitably in a book like this, every character is a cartoon. If not painted with a broad brush, none of them would be sufficiently memorable to make any kind of story line possible. A cast of gazillions in incredibly numerous settings.
Years ago I read all the Dune stories written by the father of this author. Took me a while because between books, I had to work up enough interest to go back to the spice mines. By the end of the final book, I knew that this thing had run out of gas. I was wrong. The author's son and a friend of his went on with the series and are now six books beyond where Dad left off. Seeing the scope of this effort, I wonder how they keep track, how they avoid re-running person/place/plot. By now that task would require specialized software. The WHY is obvious. It's a living. Such a well-loved franchise must be a gold mine. The problem is that Dad was an inventive genius and the current team are not similarly gifted. The most interesting thing about the original series was the weird religions and philosophies. Bits of the goofy thinking were dropped here and there through the stories like clues in a detective novel. You had to read all of it to understand. It was a puzzle of sorts. This story is just a great, big, fat interplanetary shoot-out.
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