Blog explosion confusion

I thought I understood the way blog explosion works. They have recently started "blog links" which I don't understand, but willing to give it a shot in the interest of increasing the number of readers. I enrolled, copied the HTML and pasted into my template and re-published by blog. I now see -- nothing different. Did I do something wrong? Is there an error in the HTML code? Has blogger not started this feature yet? Beats me. All this can be so frustrating.....

Ab-Reaction

So someone DID ask me about the battery recall. I leaped up onto my chair and shouted "I'm not going to take it anymore!" Then I closed my applications, logged off the server, shut down Windows, powered off the computer, undocked it, and prepared to HURL it out the window! Except by then everyone had wandered away, I was feeling kinda foolish standing on my chair getting the seat all dusty, and anyway the window was closed. So I sat back down and mused on our tendency to latch on to any piece of information and BEAT it to death. Take the JonBenet thing,you'd think we had wrung the last drop out of that sorry mess long ago, but apparently there is still a little more to come. And digging up Jimmy Hoffa, how many of you out there even remember who he was and what he was doing that got him so comprehensively eradicated, raise your hands? That's what I thought. And what would they know if they did find his bones? Well, that he was killed. A long time ago. Duh. Maybe we do this because our own lives are so dull, we take vicarious pleasure out of the lives and events of other people? The global version of gossiping over the back fence. It would be nice to blame the media for the feeding frenzies, but you know they only give us what we want.

Maybe if we could learn to take what we hear with a handful of salt, and wait for the whole story instead of just the 20 second sound bite, we wouldn't be so pulled here and there by the winds of speculation and hysteria.

But what do I know? Maybe if we didn't have the media to feed us, we'd sit around a fire and make up tales of gods and demons to entertain ourselves, the stuff of legends. Then gradually they would stop being legends, become "historical fact", we would argue about whose version was right, found organizations based on our version, go to war to kill the guys who believe something else. Yeah, maybe we would do that.

Has anyone heard anything about a big quake in California?

The Latest Word(s)

OK, now I know all of you drive, right? So you won't mind if I point out a couple of teeny problems. First, when an emergency vehicle is hard on the siren, lights a-flashin' behind you, and the person in front of you courteously pulls to the curb, you DO NOT think "Ah HA! They have pulled over so I can whisk past them!" INSTEAD, you too pull to the curb, in consideration of the person in the ambulance/burning house/being mugged, etc. Are we clear? And then, when a whole line of you are edged to the curb for said emergency vehicle, and the coast is now clear, you DO NOT say "ME first!!" but instead everyone pulls back into traffic together, it's only sensible. Got it? I'm so glad we had this little talk.

I have been Laid Low by the dreaded migraine monkey, who apparently takes special notice of those times when I am Most Stressed to visit. As if regular headaches aren't enough to work through, now I have a throbbing headache with nausea, bright light and loud sound sensitivity, and a strong desire to lay in bed with a pillow over my face. Very limiting, what one can do while wearing a pillow. I have a Special Medicine for just such times, which I failed to refill after the last bout, hello? Did we think it would magically reappear in the medicine cabinet, hmmm? And still wait up for Santa, too, do we?

I am writing this on a Dell laptop, model Inspiron 600m, bought between 2004 and now, and if ONE MORE PERSON asks me about the battery recall, I will be forced to react violently. No, mine isn't one of the pyrotechnical batteries. Darn. I think it would be lovely irony to have the computer in the safety office burst into flames, don't you? It would be all of a piece with the labs in the Eye Institute that don't have an eyewash, the same labs with door numbering in beige-on-beige waaay up high on the door frame, so that the only way to read them is to squint sideways or use your fingertips to feel the numbers (thereby confirming that you NEED to be in the Eye Institute). This is part of the same medical center that has only one handicap-accessible door, which is NOT anywhere near the handicap parking area. That still has signage throughout the buildings that point the way to departments and offices that moved elsewhere some 10 years ago. I'm sure they will get around to updating any day now. As soon as the indigenous porcine population begins to defy gravity.

Meanwhile, here's hoping everyone out there is being thoughtful, kind, and reverent, remembering the Golden Rule (he who has the gold makes the rules) and prepared to watch those pesky civil liberties be tattered beyond recognition by those ever-helpful folk in Washington, who know Better Than Us What Needs to Be Done to keep our country safe. Riiiight.

Crotchety

I've decided that I'm becoming more than a little grumpy. Maybe it's just a natural part of getting older. I find that I don't have any enthusiasm for (most)new things. Specifically, I'm tired of construction.

This is a little town (by my standards)of 25,000 population; twice that when the university is in regular session. For reasons I cannot understand, little Motown is undergoing a boom. Everywhere you look, there are hundreds of luxury condominiums going up, two new malls (giving us a total of 4), mega theater complexes (making it two, and unless I'm just watching the wrong films, I've never seen more than 25 people in a theater at either of them when I've been there). They are putting in a 19 story apartment complex downtown (the tallest building by 10 stories), adding a Sam's Club, a Wal-mart Super store, 8 or so new restaurants (Chili's, Olive Garden, Cheddars, etc.), this in addition to the 25 or so we already have. And of course, you can't build all this stuff without roads and plumbing/electricity and so on, so every major road is being torn up, widened, re-paved, torn up again, utilities run under, re-re-paved. The medical center is adding a new $20M research building, and a new neurosciences institute building; they've almost completed a major (2 years and counting)renovation and expansion of the medical library which will now be a 'learning center'. The univ. has broken ground for a new research 'park' in conjunction with various businesses. The local pharmaceutical firm has built a huge recreational complex, with equestrian space, outdoor amphitheaters, and so forth. There are plans to built a live theater, a museum, and who knows what else. An 'intermodal public transportation facility' will be tying university buses, PRT, and city buses together.

And I keep thinking, where is the money coming from? And what do the Powers That Be know that the rest of us don't?

But no matter how much they build, you still won't be able to find a parking space.

Grumble grumble.

Those were the days, my friend....

When my son was small (lo, these many years ago), around 10, I surprised him as I was coming out of my bedroom late one evening. I caught him heading for the computer room (to play games), and he immediately looked guilty when he saw me. He said, "I thought you had gone to bed?" and I said " I thought you were doing your homework?" to which he smoothly replied, "Then I guess we're both disappointed."

When he was in 3rd or 4th grade, we got a note home from his (parochial) school, saying that he was not paying attention in class, being rowdy, and so forth. And I thought, C? I don't think so...mostly what he did in class was sneak books out of his bag and read during class. So without saying anything to him at all, I took him for a haircut, and got him some nicer clothes (ones that weren't such ankle beaters), and made sure he looked tidy going to school. Sure enough, the next note said what a great improvement they had noticed in him. And I thought how often teachers form unconscious judgements of their students, thinking the taller kids (which he definitely was) should act more mature, the tidy kids to be better students, the sloppy kids to be a troublemakers, and so forth. His was a good school, and the teachers all above average, but still, it isn't a good policy to assume that they are always right, or that they see some side of your child he doesn't show at home. I had a friend who (back in the day when schools did corporal punishment) said if the sisters spanked him, it was a given his dad would too, once he got home. No explanations listened to, or even voiced. I sure hope we're past that stage. Schools are such an unnatural environment, emphasizing conforming yet standing out, cooperation and competition, certain behaviors that are never fully explained,behaviors that conflict with what they are taught at home, and overall denial of the validity of a different point of view. My over-all memory of school days, especially the early years, is one of bewilderment, and a total inability to see that all the other kids, popular, pariah, smart, or dumb, were all bewildered too, only different in how they showed it. I wouldn't go back to those days for all the money in the world.

Well, OK, just this once

I am going to give up apologizing for the infrequency of posts here. After all, I am the Creator and I Follow No Rules But My Own. I have Spoken.

July is proving to be hot and rainy, and so everything seems to smell faintly of mildew. Whenever I read about the extinction of 'x' number of plant species a year, I always wish I could pick the ones to go extinct, with mold and mildew topping the list. What possible ecological niche could they fill? Are there predatory species who feast on mildew? If so, can I get some? Soon? I remember one memorable summer in Miami when I was a kid, it rained 30 inches in 30 days. You needed a snorkle to walk around outside, and everything was green, including you. No wonder the roaches in florida are so huge, they have to be big enough to float without drowning.

We did try to open the pool over the fourth, but scrubbing the walls of the pool, 27 feet in diameter (if I remember the right formula, that's 85 feet in length, 48 inches tall = 339 square feet) did us in. We intended to replace the liner this year, until the installer said it would cost $600 in labor, and that he needed to be able to reach the outside of the pool all the way around -- which means pulling up a deck 85 feet around; so we passed this year. May try DYI next year.

The horses are enjoying these lazy days of summer. It's far too hot to ride, too buggy. On Memorial day we started the 'turn around turn out' which means we keep them in the barn (shady, fans in every stall, bug sprayed)during the day, and turn them out at night (so if there are thunderstorms we can quicky get them in). The two mares are both white-faced and blue-eyed, so bright sunlight is hard on them anyway; if for some reason they are out in the sun, I put those fly mask/sun bonnet things on, it makes them look like aliens, but keeps the flies off and the light down. One time I forgot them, and when Blondy saw me approaching with them in hand, she rushed over and THRUST her face into it, so I guess it suits.

One way I know I'll be missed when I retire--my candy jar. I keep a one gallon jar filled with candy, not just the hard stuff that comes in 'variety' bags, but miniatures of real candy; i.e., chocolate. I refill it about once a week. It tickles me, because although I can't see the jar from where I sit, since it's in the outer office, I can hear every time someone gets candy because it has an old-fashioned click-grip canning jar lid. It amuses me, for various reasons, and so I never mind the cost. Gotta go with anything that makes the day go faster.

Same old

I really wish I could type better. I took typing in high school, lo these many years ago, on a manual typewriter (you can still find a few at flea markets; I can't type on them either). I cannot type now without looking at the keys. They haven't moved around, qwerty is still in the same place when I look at them, but it's a crutch to look at the keys. I even got a copy years ago of Mario teaches typing, ostensibly for the kids, but I used it too. Even then I couldn't break myself of looking at the keys. It was demoralizing to type poorer than a 10 year old. You would think that I would make fewer mistakes that way, slower but better accuracy, but that isn't the case, after I look up at the screen, there are dozens of errors. So I am a compulsive spell-checker (although you wouldn't guess that from some of my previous posts). Of course, spell checkers don't catch real words in the wrong useage, like hear for here, or there for their. And judging by the number of times I see it used, no one seems to know when to use its (possessive) and when to use it's (contraction for it is). I've been known to stand waiting for an elevator and pull out a pen to correct a 'For Sail' sign (call evnings) on the bulletin board. I also find it surprising to see how many errors there are in printed copy, thousands and thousands distributed all over the county with "Hemren's Plumbing" when you know they mean Herman's. I've even had dreams where I am trying over and over to type something, but the light is too dim to see the keys, so I carry the keyboard to the light (must have had a LOOONNG cord)only to realize the letters on the keys are all rubbed too faint to see. I call these sorts of dreams, frustration dreams. I have lots of them.

And speaking of frustration, I bought a new Palm Lifedrive PDA last week, and with it, an aluminum hard case. I have found the problem with soft-ish cases is that I accidentally press keys and turn the Palm on when I'm rummaging in my purse, so it uses up the battery too soon. Anyway, the PDA slips right in the hard case, but I'll be damned if I can figure out how to open the aluminum 'door' on the face. The best I can do is pry at it with my thumbnail, and somehow that just doesn't cut it with me. I even had my son the mechanical genius take a go at it, and he agrees it's hopeless. So back it goes. Who designs these things?

Bye for now.....

All sorts of things, mostly of interest only to me, have been happening, and I haven't posted here in ages. I hate it when the blogs I read haven't been updated in weeks and weeks, but I am secure in knowing that the 6 or so people who stumble across this blog won't have even noticed.

Let me see. Tuesday the 6th was our 36th wedding anniversary, I'm not sure if that is an accomplishment or just a tribute to inertia. For my gift, I got a kiln. I don't have anywhere to put it, but that never stopped me from buying anything in the past, did it? The 6th was also the day of our big training session, in which I had to give a 20 minute talk on laboratory auditing. I managed to get through it without swallowing my own tongue or fainting, and I attribute that success to Xanax. I just stood there thinking how friendly everyone looked, so nice..... The 6th was also the day my son's new Dell computer arrived, he hasn't come up for air yet. Last weekend my daughter bought a new car, a Suzuki Something, so clearly we as a family are doing our part to advance the Economy and the rise of Western Consumerism. Yesterday the Hub and I met with the retirement lady to talk about the best way to manage my vast reserve of retirement savings. Basically we agreed that having me work another 10 years probably won't help much in my long-range goal of regular purchases of support stockings and laxatives, so I guess I'm good to go in December. Won't that make for a terrific holiday, knowing that I won't have to go back to work in January?

Speaking of death, when I handled my mother's estate (such as it was) in 1999, my sister was convinced that Mom had purchased a life insurance policy that named her as beneficiary. Given that all of Mom's 'important papers' were filed in any one of hundreds of paper grocery bags in the spare bedroom, it came as no surprise to me that no such policy could be found. I called any insurance company Mom had ever written a check to, and couldn't find this mythical policy, but that didn't stop my sister from thinking I was stiffing her. What exactly I would get out of leaving any insurance unclaimed I never did figure out. But trolling through the internet recently, I found a site that, for a (fairly modest) fee, will contact 100 of the top insurance companies to check for an unclaimed policy. So I decided, heck, why not go for it? Although my sister died in 2004, and finding it still won't do me any good, it is one of those nagging little things that floats into my mind in the middle of the night when I'm trying to get to sleep. Did my sister delude herself into thinking that Mom and Dad, who were barely making ends meet, would lay out money for an insurance policy that would allow her to squander even more cash? Did Mom tell her that she had done so just to placate her, did Mom think she actually had done so when she hadn't, did she really buy insurance and then lose the policy? Puzzling. I don't actually think the search will turn up anything..... Back in 1953 my parents purchased four cemetary plots in the National Memorial Park in Falls Church, VA. Exactly why they bought them in VA, when they lived in Miami, were only in their 30s, and why FOUR lots, I've never been able to figure. At any rate, there they sit, now worth some $5000 each, I'm told, and that's another nagging little detail to ponder during the Insomnia Hours. I am resolved to leave my affairs all tidy for the kids/husband to handle, no weeks and weeks of sorting through piles of papers including receipts for a 25 cent part for the old '42 Packard.

Although they will have to decide what to do with the kiln.

The way 'Eers talk

OK, so I've come up with more regional ways with words. If one looks for "West Virginia Dialects" on Google, you will come up with all sorts of interesting links on the WV Dialects Project, which is attempting to preserve some of the unique characteristics of language here. Some of them, I've only heard a time or two, from old folks, but the ones I have here are pretty common even in Morgantown, the home of the university.

The term "pooched out" is one I've heard no where else, it means 'sticks out', like, 'The front of her dress was all pooched out". For some reason, saying 'pregnant' is frowned on, instead a woman is 'that way', thus, "The front of her dress was all pooched out 'cause she's that way". It's also considered bad form to say 'stallion' or 'bull', instead you'll hear 'male horse' or 'boy cow'.

Because 'Eers say pin and pen both as 'pin', it's pretty common to hear, 'stick pin' and 'ink pin' to differentiate.

Let's see, 'crack the window' means to roll the window down some. Memorial Day is usually called 'Decoration Day'. To be 'gritly' means to be a hillbilly. Your grandmother is Mamaw or MeeMee, where your great-grandmother is Meemaw. A 'painter' is a mountain lion, and 'ramps' aren't something you drive your lawn mower up to get it in the truck. They're a vile version of a wild mountain leek, and if someone asks you to eat a mess 'o them, you should decline quickly. And if the other person eats them, you should try to avoid sitting in close proximity to them for several days afterwards. Like garlic, they, ah, exude.

A similar term to 'pooched up' is 'hove up', as in, "the sidewalk was all hove up from the tree roots". My grandmother always admired something by saying, "That's REAL!" with no reference to what it 'really' was, nice? pretty? And if she referred to someone as 'cute' it meant they were bow-legged. And because it isn't polite for a lady to swear, she always said, "I swan, I never saw the like".

Oops, time to go. Y'all be good now, hear?

TGIF!

I am SOOO glad it is Friday. This has been a long week, arriving early, finishing late, taking work home, etc. Big training session coming up, and so many regs have changed, I'm having to re-do all the material. I think I'll be done Monday, fingers crossed.

Do kids still do that? Cross their fingers for good luck? Probably not. I bet they don't 'touch wood' either, or carry rabbits' feet (Ewwww, now that I think about it). They probably don't rub the heads of red-haired kids, or carry a lucky penny, or throw a pinch of salt over their shoulder when they spill salt. I did this last thing when I was making bread last weekend, and daughter R happened to be standing behind me and got the full benefit. She hollered, "WHAT are you doing!!?"
and I tried to explain, but it really doesn't make much sense, does it? I think it only confirmed that her mother is a little wacky.

I had occasion to crawl up in the attic last weekend too, someplace I haven't been in years (thanks to a strong agile son). Ours is a half-attic, with pull down stairs, but you have to go through it on hands and knees, or walk WAY bent over. That attic is STUFFED! With tons of junk! I didn't remember what I was looking for was packed in, so I had to check every box, after I made my way past crib, high chair, bassinet, playpen, youth bed, dining table and appliances. And I couldn't belive how many boxes of old clothes, lots of empty boxes saved "in case", and boxes and boxes of books. This is in addition to the 3-4000 books we have downstairs, and that after donating 700 to the local library. Most of the ones in the attic are hard-bound, and some of them are OLD textbooks from the early 90s, when I was getting my Med Tech degree. It's ridiculous, I mean, are we going to crawl up in the attic for a little reading time, there amid the cobwebs and dust, just curl up in a handy broken chair and relax with a good thriller from 1960? I think not. So one of my projects after I retire is to clean the attic out, stem to stern, and either trash things, donate them, or do a flea market thing. I kinda enjoy selling junk at the flea market, although having someone walk off with your stuff always makes me wonder, did I really want to get rid of that? I guess the merchandise always does look better in the other customer's hand. But clearing out the garage? It's hopeless, I think when the time comes to move out of this house, we'll just saw the garage off and set fire to it.

I was reading DOOCE's Blog from a few posts back, about the correct pronounciation of certain words. I'm with Jon on this one, crayon IS pronounced 'cray-on' and not 'crown' (unless you call all crayons regardless of brand as crayolas). When I started working in California, I was quickly corrected anytime I said certain things. For example, I used to say insurance as INsurance instead of inSUREance. I pronounced Washington D.C. as WaRshington. But nothing compared to what I would routinely hear after moving to West Virginia. Here, you don't bathe the baby, you 'bath' the baby. The use of 'went' when 'gone' should be used ("I had already went to the mall when she called me"). There are lots of these regional usages of words, I'm going to have to ruminate for a while and do another post when I come up with more.

Meanwhile, enjoy the weekend!

Insomnia

It's not bad enough that I'm fighting the demon of Insomnia, thrashing around on the bed like the agitator in the washing machine. But I find myself doing odd things in the middle of the night, too. One night I pulled out the drawer in the dresser where I keep socks, and arranged them in vertical rows, according to rainbow colors. One night I went through my cedar chest (just getting to where you can open the top is a chore) looking for...what? I dunno. One memorable night I pulled all my purses out of the top of the closet and went through them, each pocket and compartment, looking for a small penknife I left behind when I changed purses. I finally found it--in purse #57. And then I had to put them all back, using a ladder. All this at 3 am. Last night, at 3 am, I got up to use the bathroom, and decided my feet were in terrible shape. So I got out all the foot-treatment stuff, soaked my feet, rubbed the calluses off with three different tools, used foot sloughing lotion, and finally foot repair creme. Then I put my feet in plastic bags so the lotion would stay on my feet and not make a greasy mess in the bedclothes. With the way I've been sleeping, I'd slither right out of the bed, hit the floor "plop!" and sit there going, "Huh? Wha?" The next morning the Hub comes in (for obvious reasons he sleeps in another room) and I told him how long I'd laid awake, and he said, "No wonder you couldn't sleep! You've got bagel bags on your feet!"

I don't get any respect.

I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamed that I was on this huge cruise ship, in a really big storm. Waves were swamping the ship so you couldn't even go on deck, but no one seemed worried. I was lost in the dream, trying to make my way back to our cabin, but since I wasn't sure of the number, I couldn't figure out how to get there. I had with me my dog, or maybe my horse, or maybe a baby-- it sorta ran together, but there were places I couldn't go through because of the dog/horse/baby, and every time I backtracked, I got more and more lost. There were arenas where they were playing polo, and Vegas-style nightclubs, and places where to get to the upper deck, you had to go up a climbing wall (particularly hard with a horse). Everyone was smiling and polite, but none of them could help me. I finally woke up and realized two things. One, no more watching The Perfect Storm, and skip the trailers for the Poseidon remake. Two, leave the dog, the horse, and the baby at home for our next cruise!

The Slough of Despond

Starting last Friday, my depression rose up like a tidal wave and swamped the Good Ship Redhead-pop. I tried to go on about my usual weekend chores, but it's hard to disguise it from people who really know you. I'm at work today, but just marking time until my 2:30 doctor's appt. What he'll be able to do I really can't envision, but at least it will kill a couple hours, and then I can go home and crash again. I HATE those commercials for some antidepressant, the ones that start out, "Who does depression hurt?" pointing out that not only does the victim of depression hurt, but that he/she is such a selfish oblivious jerk that they can't see that it hurts their families, too. So you OWE it to your family to be medicated into la-la land, if that's what it takes to keep you smiling smiling happy as a lark tra la. It isn't surprising to me that such a low percentage of depression sufferers seek professional help. For one thing, it costs a bloody fortune for therapy AND meds; the results are often slight and slow, and the depression itself causes a kind of inertia that is hard to overcome. I remember calling my insurance company when I first realized I wouldn't survive if I didn't get help, but the "case manager" was so callous, she made it seem like I wanted therapy because it's such a rush, don't you know, to pour out your most intimate thoughts to a perfect stranger, so they can write it up and send it in to the insurance company for the rest of the world to read too. She all but told me to suck it up, soldier. May she get terminal hemorrhoids while traveling on a bus in Mexico. In the summer.

I think I'll leave now, maybe I can get in to see doc early; at the minimum, I won't have to guard myself against myself every single moment while I'm in his office.

Addendum: The medical doctor deferred changing the meds to the psych. doctor (reasonable) only the problem is, I can't reach the psych. doctor. My therapist tried today (Wednesday) and she didn't have any success either. So I guess the change to this psychiatrist isn't a great success, but I don't have an alternative either. So I shall take enough sleeping meds to keep me quiescent through the night, and see how it goes. Drugs--can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.

Too many cooks spoil the broth

I think it's time my daughter moved out. Friday while I was home, I got going on the kitchen. I sorted through the cabinets, got rid of plastic-bowls-with-no-lids, stacked the mixing bowls back into small>medium>large so they'd fit in without holding the door ajar, washing shelves, and so on. I was pretty chuffed when I finished. That night, I was getting plates out of the cabinet when I realized the brand new snack plates I'd put in there were gone. I asked, "What happened to the red plates?" and my daughter replied, oh, they were in the way there, I moved them to this other cabinet (the one I'd cleaned out). I didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow. Later that night, I saw they were back in the dish cupboard. I asked my husband if he'd moved them back, and he said no, that he had told daughter to move them back.
So don't you think there's one too many women in this household? A woman's kitchen is sacred territory, I determine where and what will be there. This isn't the first time she's done this, she threw out a set of salt shakers because "we didn't need them", packed up a whole box of coffee mugs and stowed them under the stairs because "there wasn't room for them", wrote her name on the bottom of my tupperware "so they won't get lost at work" tossed out food "that was too old" (like baking yeast!), and on and on. When I bring home some odd gadget (I have a soft spot for gadgets) she'll ask, what's THAT for? And then comment that I'll never use it.
It makes me steam just to write all this.
When she finally moves out, I'm going to gift her with all the mis-matched tupperware, the 'extra' coffee mugs, and a set of salt shakers that don't match. Hehehe.
And then I'll rearrange her kitchen when she's not there, too.

It's that time again!

For the last four years we've been leasing my car, known as the Pregnant Rollerskate, but since we're trying to wrap up all the debts, we decided to go ahead and buy the PR, since it has a BlueBook value considerably higher than the lease-end price. Also because I like it. And because shopping for a new car is such a pain, I always feel like everybody else gets a better deal (even though people always lie about what they paid). So Saturday we went to the dealer and forked over what felt like a whole lot of $$. It wasn't at all like buying a new car; I mean, there it sits in the garage, completely covered in paw prints and wilted cherry blossoms, gum wrappers in the ash tray, smelling like the fries you brought home last week, nothing like those showroom waxed beauties at the dealer. It reminded me of other times when we spent a lot of money without having much fun doing it. One was paying to have a home sanitation unit installed, in place of the failed septic tank. You know, all that cash for something you bury in the back yard, can't even talk about it at the water cooler, only memorable if it doesn't work. Or having the roof replaced. Yes, it is nice not to have those plastic trash cans adding to the ambience of the living room (since it is one of Murphy's laws that roofs never leak except in the wintertime). But on the other hand, a roof isn't really very exciting, and there's all those roofing nails to pick up out of the flowerbeds for months. Or paying off hospital bills, you can't help but think what the same amount of money would have gotten you at a really nice resort. And the staff would have been so much friendlier, too. Or grocery shopping, mostly dull stuff like paper towels and baked beans, with the odd kitchen gadget thrown in to make it even somewhat bearable. If I took the same amount of money and hit the outlet mall, what a haul I could make!

But the one that really sticks in my craw is Income Taxes. I think, since the government takes their cut off the top, before we ever get it, that they should be able to figure out how much to take. If they come up short, too bad, right? But every year for as long as I can remember, we figure the taxes out in January, and then save up to pay them by April. Such a downer, to save money for Uncle Sam, knowing that our frugality will be such a pittance to the government, it won't even pay for one new seat on Air Force One. Not that we'd ever get to sit in it, if it did. And there's that looming deadline to meet, no wiggle room if you're a little short. This year, for the first time, I noticed that you can opt to make monthly payments on your outstanding tax liability, the friendly folks at the IRS will just dip into your checking account every month until the bill is paid. Uh, hello? Am I the only one who thinks that giving the IRS the power to bleed your checking account dry is a bad idea? Can you imagine the battle you would have if they took too much (a computer error no doubt, we know how honest the government really is), trying to prove it and get your money back? Your beard would be long and white before you ever saw a penny of that. But of course, if you failed to pay all you owe, rest assured that they will pursue you to the end of the earth to get that last dollar. I think the government ought to collect taxes like in the 'Hagar the Horrible' comic strip; they show up at your door in black masks, one of them holding a bag and the other an axe, pay up or else. At least it would be entertaining, for a change.

Happy tax day!

Making up my mind

OK, I finally reached a decision. I'm going to retire at the end of Dec. of this year. I always said I would retire when Hub did, but he retired in 2000, and I have slogged onward. But all our debt is paid; the kids are out of college; Hub's consulting has been a total windfall, and I am finding the physical and mental strength to get up and go to work each day a constant, debilitating struggle. I don't feel that I'm giving all I should at work, because frankly I'm finding it hard to care. I've worked at the medical center at this university for 25 years, and every "new" crisis is the same -- been there, done that. The administration is so very short sighted, dealing with each crisis today, and don't worry about the consequences, we'll deal with them tomorrow. In the safety field, this is a particularly dangerous attitude, your only hope in disaster control is prevention, and that means planning ahead, a totally alien scheme here.

I probably won't get any kind of 'goodby' party, so I'm going to get my own retirement gift -- a Newfoundland puppy. I'm already on a waiting list with a great breeder. I had my lovely Lotsa Trouble from 1986 until she died in 1998; it was the start of a truly bad time, as I lost my mom in 1999, my dad went in a nursing home right after that, and died in 2002, my favorite aunt in 2003, and my only sib, my sister, in 2004 (she was only 57). Hub lost his dad in 2001. I lost my job in 1999, again in 2002, and again in 2004. I tried suicide in 2001 and 2002, ending up unconscious in ICU both times. Thanks to a great husband and kids, and the help of my doctor, two therapists, and a great psychiatrist, I am on the road to better times now, touch wood. Looking back, I can only think that I am far more resilient than I thought I ever could be. I still have black black times, but I trust that they will get better without my having to do anything but endure, and they DO pass and they last for less time each time. SO! A new puppy...Newfs are the greatest dogs, mellow, loving, contented to just be where you are. The great pity is that, like all the giant breeds, they live such short lives (8 to 10 being the average). My Lotsa was a therapy dog, and loved to go to the rehab hospital, especially the kids in wheelchairs, where she could just lay her head in their laps and be stroked. We went in the local parades with the kennel club, where she loved to walk at the edge of the road so all the kids could pat her as she walked by. I know a new puppy won't be identical to her, but just the touch of their fur, watching their clumsy way of running, I can't wait.

Something to look forward to.

My barbeque party

The following is slide show (you don't need to click your mouse, just scroll down) that is not original with me. If you are the creator, let me know and I will gladly give credit where credit is due!

Back on the road again

As I guess a lot of you have found, last weekend Blogger was essentially unavailable. I wrote a post from home, but as I am now at work, I guess I'll just try to remember what I wrote.

I spent a fair amount of time this weekend ripping my CDs to mp3 files, to go on my new player. In the bad old days, I used to download tracks from Napster, but as far as I remember, I only did so for tracks for which I owned the CD anyway; I just didn't have the software (or maybe the know-how) to rip songs from an audio CD back then. This weekend I realized how very many CDs I have in which I only want to listen to one or two tracks. When we had a reel-to-reel tape recorder, I would copy LPs to it one or two tracks at a time, because however much I may like an artist, I really don't want to hear 90 minutes of them, uninterrupted. Eventually I would memorize the order of the tunes, I played them that way so often. The 'shuffle' feature of the mp3 players is great, you never know what will be next, and if you turn it off mid-song, it resumes at the start of that song, too. But it still doesn't change the fact that a CD, costing around $15 or more, is 90% crud and 10% listenable. Unfortunately, when ripping I pretty much had to listen to the whole CD to find what I wanted. Or at least the first minute of the tune, and that certainly slowed up the process. I calculate I will finish the task in 2008, but only if I stop buying CDs right now. Which isn't too likely. I also plan to make CDs with these selections, so I can play them in the car. The mp3 player, with its earbuds, is too much of a distraction when I'm driving, I can't hear traffic noises like sirens or horns. And if they get ripped off (in a convertible, access is only a fingernail file away), I can always burn another.

Actually, speaking of rag tops, I rarely lock my car anyway. I would rather a thief took whatever they want inside, but leave the friggin' top intact. A new top, the last I checked, runs around $1500, and believe me, there's nothing inside worth that much. And if they steal the whole car, well, that's what insurance is for. Plus, of course, this is a small town (I think; there are those from truly little towns in WV who think Morgantown is 'the big city') and it's harder than you would think to get away with stuff. When we first moved here from San Francisco, I was caught by this when I would be telling a funny story about, say, the babysitter, and someone would ask, who is she? And I'd give her name and they would say, oh yeah, she goes to church with me, or, I went to school with her brother, or the like. Even in a town of 25,000, you can't count on anonymity at all; the guy in the Lexus you give the bird to will turn out to be the new youth pastor or whatever. It takes some getting used to. The place where I go every two weeks to get my nails done is a fount of information; between the two of them, they know the history of everyone in town, who is running around on who, who has a drinking problem, everything. I just listen, I seldom know any of these people (despite having lived here 25 years), but the wealth of gossip just leaves me breathless. There must be an underground telegraph somewhere. I wonder if everyone in town is aware of how transparent their lives are? This must be part of the appeal of living in a real big city.

Well I'm off to see the new psychiatrist (you have to be off, otherwise you wouldn't need a psychiatrist, right?) who will maybe have some magic pill that will make me cheerful, lose weight, be smarter, and sleep sounder. Riiiiight.

Is there a doctor in the house?

Two weeks ago my family physician of 20+ years died of breast cancer. If anyone could beat it, I thought she would. I didn't like the doctor who bought her practice ( I ranted on about this a few posts back), and so I sent for a copy of my medical records to take to a new doctor I had heard good things about. By the way, if you ever do this, be sure to get your copied records sent to you and not directly to the new doctor. The reason for this isn't so you can read them (although of course you can, anytime) but because if they arrive before your first appt. with the dr., his staff will look in their files, not see one for you (yet), shove your copies in a drawer somewhere, and when you arrive for your first visit, no one will have any idea where your old records are--or even if they arrived. And you do want them there with you at your first visit, so your new doctor will have information about lab results, surgeries, medications, right at his fingertips. If you don't hand-carry them, you'll never be sure they arrive at all.

Anyway, I did read through them, and I realized anew how special my old doctor really was. For example:
(Redhead) presents today. We haven't seen her here in this office for almost two months now. She had been, evidently, doing fairly well up until that time. She says, over the last month, she has slowly been getting more depressed. I did talk to her husband, who does not think that she has been getting progressively more depressed, since she's had several good days in the last month, but she feels much more depressed. She's been doing more sleepwalking. She does feel intermittently suicidal, although she's not been ()...She agreed not to hurt herself in any way....I am worried about her. She has been extremely depressed in the past. Today, she has a flat effect. Her exam was benign, other than the flat effect. I have seen her much more depressed than she is today, but I am still worried about her.
And then she went on to say she was calling my psych. Dr. to discuss anti-depressant regimen, and that she also talked to my therapist (all of which I had previously signed releases for her to do).
In contrast, here's what the doctor's notes read from the one who bought her practice:
ROS: denies unexpected weight change, fatigue, change in appetite, fevers, night sweats, rashes, easy bruising, changes in skin lesions, headaches, heartburn, nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, diarrhea, constipation, urinary problems, sexual dysfunction, myalgias, arthralgias, syncope,memory loss, or depressed mood.
Subjective: A four month follow-up. She discontinued () due to persistent cough and never started () due to fear of side effects. Claims her sugars are well-controlled at home. No new complaints.
Married, employed, denies tobacco or alcohol use.

Can you see the difference? Even though the first one was a time when I felt bad, and the second was when I was doing better.

Anyway, I saw the new doctor Monday, and I already like him a good bit. He went over my history and my family history, checked that I knew what each med is for, promised to read the old notes before he dictated his note, did a quick but complete exam, patted me on the back and told me that if I started to feel "down" to call him sooner rather than later, so we could "work it out" before I became desperate, and remarked on how sad it was that Dr. S. had died; that he knew my psych dr. and would willingly work with him "to keep us all on the same page". I am encouraged.

In other news, techie maven that I am, I managed to change the ringtone on my cell phone to one I downloaded. It now plays the Pink Panther Theme, which hopefully I'll recognize when it rings, and not sit there, puzzled, wondering what that strange sound coming from my purse is all about.

Slip-slidin' away

Yeah, I know it's been weeks since I posted. I'm sorry. I had one week of intensive therapy, and at the end of each day of that, all I wanted to do was curl up in bed with my blankie and rock myself to sleep. So I did. And since then I have had the stomach crud, and am only back at work today, thinking it was a bad idea to return at all. Tonight I have tickets to see Michael Flattley's Lord of the Dance, hope I can hold it together for the evening.

So I spent some time catching up on the blogs I read, and as I did so, I composed a list of Things I Will Never Blog About.

1. TV. Not that there aren't interesting things to say about television, I'm sure there must be, because so many people write about it. But the truth? I don't watch TV. I have mainly, over the years, practiced serial monogamy television. I mean, I watch one show til it goes off the air, and then pick another until it is canceled, and so on. My list reads : X files, Buffy, Angel, CSI, and that's pretty much it. I've never seen: Friends, Seinfeld, Idol, Desperate Whoever, Sopranos, or a whole lot of other shows.

2. Academy Awards/ SAG awards/ Grammy awards/ Tony awards. I never see current movies, they have to be on Showtime or something, so I'm completely ignorant of the various movie nominees. I've never seen any of the stars on the red carpet, so I couldn't care less about their dresses, I listen to music on the radio and not on MTV or CMT, so I never recognize the singers either. As a chronicler of American culture, I'm a non-starter.

3. Politics. Well, not much, anyway. I think Bush is an idiot, but that isn't a unique viewpoint, some 55% of Americans agree, what can I add? I can only hope the Democrats will run somebody that actually might have a chance, and not throw the elections with a dumb nomination like Hillary. I personally think she's one smart cookie and would probably make a good president, but her chance of getting elected in this country are entirely ZIP.

4. Crafts. Not knitting, not crocheting, not tole painting, not basket weaving. If I were good enough to be contributing something worthwhile to a craft, I'd probably be too busy to bother to write it down, anyway. As it happens, I'm a dabbler in crafts--one quilt, one pair of pillowcases, one wreath, one pair of mittens, and so on. The quilt was the worst, it took me 4+ years to finish, and the only reason I got it done at all is because I was unemployed for 6 months, and I spent 40 hours a week on it until I got it done. Never again.

5. Music. As a kid, I took lessons on the accordion, do they even exist any longer? Then, like every one else in the 60s and 70s, I learned guitar. I still have two guitars, but no finger calluses (if they ever make artificial ones I might take another stab at it). I sang in the church choir and in high school choir, and I CAN carry a tune in a bucket. As long as I don't have to carry it too far. Or hit too many high notes. I can read music, and I have perfect pitch, a skill I have never found the slightest use for. Singers that sing off-key set my teeth on edge.

6. Technical tips for the computer-savvy. Eons ago I wrote programs in (remember them?) Fortran? Cobol? Assembler? GWBasic? But computer programmers have gone the way of stenographers, I think, and the systems analysts and engineering types talk a language of their own. I will admit to a whimsical view of Windows, for many years my desk sported a sign that said "I don't do Windows". I mean, how can you take an operating system seriously that has you click on "start" to turn the computer OFF?

7. Bad sad things -- abuse, violence. I can't let my mind even go in those directions without doing a meltdown myself, and I bet there are plenty of people who can't read about them either.

So what's left? Well, pretty much just random thoughts -- small ones. And no, "Micro" thoughts doesn't mean I write about Bill Gates, either.