#98 To think about..........

Women love.  Men desire.

#97 What Kind of Intelligence?

I don't agree with this.  The quiz did not take into consideration that I am shy, and have a miserable memory.  In an ideal world, however, this would be the ideal me.  (I noticed immediately the typo in "convincing".)

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator. What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

#96 Remorial?

Item on TV news, heard in passing:  a family is raising donations to build a "remorial" in Albany.  My immediate thought was "Remoras are a butt-ugly fish.  Why would someone want to build something for remoras?"   Later, I find out that it's the family of a female college student who disappeared a few years ago (upstate NY seems to have a lot of missing coeds), and the structure is to be dedicated to missing students.  They want to call it a "remorial", which they define as a combination of "remember" and "memorial". 

I wanted to both cry and throw up.  Are they really unaware that the operative part of both words is "mem"?   They removed the remembrance portion, the memory, from both words!  "Remorial" is devoid of meaning, an insult to the language, and just plain ugly stupidity. 

It reminds me of when Daughter's elementary school called the combination cafeteria and auditorium a "cafetorium".  I flatly refused to use the word.  (It reminded me of vomitorium, given the way I felt every time I heard it.)  The school administration thought it was a combination of "cafeteria" and "auditorium", but it was really a prime example of the ignorance of those charged with my daughter's education.  "Cafe" refers to eating.  "Audit" refers to hearing.  "Teria/torium" means room or  area.   "Cafeteria"="eating room".  "Auditorium"="listening room". (*)  So "cafetorium" is still "eating room", with the gender of  "room" changed.    It is not combination of cafeteria and auditorium except to those who are blissfully ignorant of the roots of the words. 

* Yes, this is simplified, but it will do.

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I got home from Saturday evening's  hafla at about 1 am, and got to bed about 2.  I'm not sure when the phone rang - I didn't have my glasses on, so my view of the clock was fuzzy - but it was either 2:30 or 3:30 am.  I tend to think the latter.  It was the new widow, calling to invite me to a holiday dinner at her home on the 18th.

We chatted about the arrangements for the dinner, and when it began to look like she was settling into one of those "talk until her phone batteries die" marathons, I begged off, telling her that I have to go to bed now.

I was left wondering what was going on in her head.  She seemed to be completely unaware of the hour.  I felt bad cutting her off, but I really needed to go back to sleep.  I remember once telling her that it was best to call me in the afternoon or evening, because I frequently stay up very late and then sleep late.  Maybe I should have defined "late" better?   We had worried that she might take to drinking after her husband died, but she seemed to be doing ok, and she didn't sound drunk when she called.  A little maudlin, but sober.

I'm a social slob.  I should have called her the next afternoon.  I'll call her today.  (I hate the telephone - never call anyone if I can avoid it.........)

#95 My Back

I mentioned to a friend recently that back in the '70s, the doctors wanted to fuse my back in three places - my neck, just below my shoulder blades, and at and above the tailbone.  I would have had very limited motion.  She expressed disbelief - "They don't do that any more!"  Well, yes, things have changed in the past 30 years, but they DO still fuse.   Ex-husband #2 recently had rods implanted, same basic idea, just more expensive.

So, here's the history of my back:

I was born with a fairly common genetic error, shared with you, Daughter, and with my mother, my little sister, and possibly my other sister.  Our tailbones are incomplete.  Normally, each of the four bones that make up the coccyx are one solid piece.  Ours are each two pieces with blanks in the center.  The centers of the bones never developed, and the edges are sketchy.  A doctor once told my mother that if she were a dog, she'd have two tails.  Not true, but illustrative.  Anyway, the rest of the spine sits on top of and is supported by the coccyx.  We do not have a good foundation.  So even with no other complications, we are prone to sciatica.

In my youth, I had several severe but untreated back injuries, including a ruptured disk between my shoulder blades, and some cracked and broken ribs.  (You know pretty much how they happened, and why they were untreated - let's just say that if it happened now instead of the '50s, my father would be in jail.  Or a mental institution.) 

By college, the early '60s, my back was "going out" regularly.  I was also getting calcium deposits in the areas of the old injuries.  "They" were giving me ultrasound treatments (the wonderful new thing at the time) to break up the deposits, but that just spread calcium sand all through the muscles, which abraded and tore the muscle fibers, and caused incredible bruising and pain (there was one whole semester when it hurt so badly to move my arms that I had a medical slip saying I was not to carry books to class), but it did nothing for the basic problem.  All the prescription pain killers upset my stomach, so for several years I was badly addicted toAPC's - the military issue souped-up aspirin. 

When I was teaching, in the late '60s, an osteopath decided (without benefit of x-rays) that my left leg was more than an inch longer than my right (the favorite diagnosis at the time for back problems), so for several years I wore a lift in my right shoe.  It didn't help my back much. 

By the late '60s, my body looked funny.  My left leg was obviously longer than the right.  My chest was lopsided - the right side ribs bulged out in the front, and the left side ribs caved in.  My neck was perfectly straight, no forward curve.   I had finally learned what I could and could not do, how I was "allowed" to move, so my back went out only once a year or so, but that once was a doozy! 

In the early '70s, I was taking a shower in an old classic hotel in Chicago, while there for Company training, and I swung my head (my hair was small-of-the-back length), and whacked it on a heavy old porcelain lip on the wall.  It didn't knock me out, but then and for several days afterward I had that "floating" disconnected feeling.  And then ... the pain started.  I had tic douloureux (aka trigeminal neuralgia) on both sides of my head for 18 months.  (See http://www.intelihealth.com/IH/ihtIH/WSIHW000/9339/10867.html) 

The pain was incredible.  It literally felt like my face was in fire, and there was a white-hot bar that passed through the center of my head from one side to the other.  Anything would set it off, any touch to my face, turning my head, a vibration.  I had anywhere from 3 to 10 episodes a day, lasting from 5 to 20 minutes, day or night.  I couldn't wash my face.  Brushing my hair was risky.  My pillow touching my face at night frightened me.  The doctors didn't believe me at first, because they said it never occurs on both sides, it never occurs when you are sleeping, it never lasts that long. They were convinced I was faking - until one day I had an episode in a doctor's office.  In the first few seconds I produced several cups of saliva.  You can't fake that.

The pain was bad, but after a while, I learned the Native American trick of leaving my body.  I knew that it would get bad, until it reached a peak, and then it would begin to slacken.  So when it started, I'd go into the bathroom and rest my shoulders on the edge of the sink and my forehead on the faucet, and let everything slump.  I drooled into the sink.  There was a lot of drool, and I couldn't swallow when the pain was on.  I'd leave my body, and wait.  Every so often I'd "drop back in" for a second to test whether it had peaked yet.  When I was out of my body, I was a few inches above and to the left.  I could see me.  It didn't strike me as remarkable at the time.  (What was remarkable was that ex-husband didn't know how to deal with it, so he ignored the whole problem.  If you don't acknowledge a problem, it doesn't exist.)

Anyway, this finally kicked the doctors into action.  We eventually discovered that my spine was twisted, to one direction at the bottom, and to the opposite direction at the top.  It had probably twisted itself in an effort to take pressure off injuries.  My left leg was not longer - it was dislocated at the hip, because my hip was twisted to the plane of my body.  My ribs were sprung on one side and caved on the other because of the twist in my upper back.  My neck was too straight because it was twisted.  (In old photographs, you can actually see that my head is carried off center.)   The only reason I still looked reasonable in clothing was because I was so muscular - it was my muscles that maintained a frontal orientation, not the inner structure (which is what had caused the hip dislocation - I had actually worked it out of the socket by trying to walk and stand straight).

When I had bonked my head in the hotel, it had actually lifted my skull off the atlas vertebra.  The atlas vertebra had been under tension because of all the other twisting, so when my skull came back down, the atlas vertebra was almost an inch out of alignment.  You could feel one end of it under the back of my left ear, the other end was under my right molars.  I was told that I was very lucky - the spinal cord could easily have torn.  That high, it would have been fatal.

My spine had to be straightened, or eventually I would simply collapse.  The doctors wanted to surgically fuse the three areas of greatest weakness - the bottom, the middle, and the top.  That was how they would straighten it, and keep it straight. 

I was only about 28 years old.  I couldn't face never again being able to turn or bend.  I was willing to take a chance, and work on the slow fix.  I went to a chiropractor three times a week for a year.  He'd work everything into place, and I'd try to hold it there until the next visit.  Eventually, muscles, tendons, ligaments stretched and shortened as needed, and everything would stay in place for longer and longer periods.  After a few years, a chiropractor suggested that I strengthen my back.  He recommended either weightlifting or bellydance.  The weightlifting class was full.  The rest is history.

The entire time I was dancing, (REALLY dancing - I did everything, and I was GOOD!), my back didn't go out once.  My next back problem was after I had left husband 2 and started working for the Company.  After not dancing for six months, and sitting at a desk all the time in a chair that didn't fit, it went out big time - that's when I lost the nerves to my right ankle.  (And they screamed bloody murder as they died - so did I!)

Since then it has been spotty.  I need to do something more to strengthen my back, but I can't really dance any more, because of my weight and knees, and I'm afraid to lift weights.  Walking is good, but I can't (won't!) walk in the cold.  Don't worry - I'll manage.  I know it well.

So, that's why I got annoyed when friend poo-pooed my saying that the doctors wanted to fuse my back.  What does she know!

#94 Bellydance Jam

I went to Willow's "Bellydance Jam" Saturday night.  $5 at the door and a dish to share.  It was very enjoyable.  There was open dance and performances, potluck yummies, and some vendors selling pretties.  (I wonder if I could have sold a veil or two....)  I lost count of the performers after the eighth, Willow said there were twelve.  There were sword dancers, and some Egyptian, some Turkish, some gypsy, some fusion, and a tambourine performance - which I haven't seen in a long time.  (I was disappointed that no one danced with a cane.  Cane is more difficult than sword.  Sadly, cane seems to be getting more and more rare, probably because of those flimsy canes you see everywhere now that are next to impossible to balance.)  Willow herself was in fine form - I've never seen her so sinuous - it was like she had no spine at all!   

Two performances were especially thrilling.  One woman had fire balls on chains, which she whirled as she danced in the dark.  Another danced with glass candle balls in her palms.  What made her dance so special was that she had a veil draped over her forearms, and as she moved the candles under her arms and over her head in large figure eights, she wrapped, unwrapped, and rewrapped the veil around her arms, over her shoulders, across her back - without setting fire to it.  It's hard to describe, but it was beautiful and fascinating.

I would have liked to have played around during the open dance periods, but the sound system was full of vibration and echo, and I couldn't hear the music very well, especially over the conversational rumble.  Also, Willow's taste in music is evolving, and a lot of the open dance music was "different", and I'm just too old to "feel" new stuff.  Old dogs and new tricks, I guess.  Plus, having had no exercise in the previous two weeks, I was stiff and fragile. 

I was fragile in class last night, too.  My back kept saying "Don't you DARE!"  I finally just quit and took pictures with Willow's camera for her website.  This class is fun, and even when I can't keep up (they go through some very fast transitions now, which I just can't do, ye olde brain problem) I love to watch them - they are starting to look really good!  But since I'm not there to dance, just to stretch and move and strengthen my back, I'm thinking it might be best to find another beginning class again.  Beginning classes concentrate on the movements with less transition.  I'm not real happy about leaving this group, but one must be realistic.

I took your tomato dish to the hafla, Daughter.  I took the recipe to the grocery store on Saturday morning to buy the ingredients, and by the time I realized how much this dish was going to cost (as soon as I looked at the basil - two little sprigs with about 5 leaves each were $2.99) it was too late to change horses.  I'm such a klutz when it comes to food, and I stood there in the middle of the grocery store trying to think of something, anything, else I could do, and I gave up and paid.  

I doubled the recipe, and this is what it cost:  Fresh Mozzarella $6.99;  2 cans of small pitted olives $1.98; small bottle red wine vinegar $1.89; 3 pkgs basil $6.87; 4 shallots $2.98; 3.25 lbs tomatoes (on vine) $9.72; garlic $.89; small bottle olive oil $1.99.  Total:   $33.31.  Well, at least I have 1/3 bottle of vinegar left.

Almost everybody else brought chips and dips and the like.  My tomato salad filled one of those big stainless steel mixing bowls, and there was nothing left at the end of the evening, so I guess it went over well.   However, it gave me very bad gassa-pains-Maria, and I wonder if it was tummy pains that kept some people off the dance floor...........

#93 Random Ravings

Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed that Barry Manilow looks like Rod Stewart's wimpy cousin?  (BTW - Rod, I've always loved you, but your voice is NOT suited to standards.)

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Early in November there were stories on TV news about the harvesting of the trees for Rockefeller Center and Albany's downtown.  Those stories always make me sad.  "Oh, look! A huge absolutely perfect tree!  How beautiful!  Let's kill it!" 

Once it's gone, it's gone forever. 

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A few days ago a grilled cheese sandwich sold on eBay for like $20,000 because it had "the Virgin Mary" on it.  It was just a woman, young, pretty, fluffy hair, rather Spanish looking.  Why is it that whenever something appears on a building, or potato chip, or whatever, that looks even vaguely like a beardless human, it is declared to be "the Virgin Mary"?  And if it seems to have a beard, then it's Jesus?  And so many people are so eager to believe it?  I guess because if you called it "a woman" or "a man", you couldn't feel special.  Or couldn't make any money on it.  There are a few old photos in my photo storage box of people I don't recognize.  It would make as much sense ............

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I found the answer to the BIG question!  The smoke detector goes HIGH, because hot smoke rises (I knew that).  The CO detector goes LOW.  CO sinks. (I wasn't sure about that.) 

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I have a question about fuel cells in cars.  "They" say that the only byproduct is water.  Will there be a tank to catch the water?  How MUCH water on a 300-mile trip?  I read a article about fuel cells for cell phones, and they DO catch the water, and you do have to empty the reservoir, and it was more than a few drops.   A car is bigger.  I get the impression that it will be allowed to simply dribble out of the cars, but won't this cause dangerously wet roads?  Ice in the winter? 

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Speaking of water, I read that Las Vegas is the fastest growing city in the US.  What are they doing for water?  I thought there were already water wars in the southwest.  Mexico is pissed.  Shouldn't there be a moratorium on growth until they figure it out?

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A woman bragged in her journal that she made the most wonderful pumpkin pie, absolutely out of this world.  Rich and creamy.  Others pleaded in comments for the recipe.  She put it in her journal.  Later commenters said they'd tried it and it was indeed the best they'd ever had.  They raved about it.  Never had any like it.  So, I went back to her recipe entry and reread it. 

It looked familiar. 

I went to the pantry and got out the can of Libby's pumpkin.  Yup.  Right there on the back of the can.  Except that the journal woman used the ready-mixed spice and Libby used the individual spices, it was word-for-word the same.  So now I wonder what canned pumpkin those commenters used.  Did no one use Libby's?  Did no one look at the recipe on the can? 

I dunno, but whenever people compliment something I feed them (rarely!  I don't pretend to cook!), I always tell them where the recipe came from. 

The comments on this woman's journal are invariably fawning.  Does she selectively delete?  Does she write comments to herself under other ids?

I guess it's becoming obvious I don't like or trust this woman.  I always have the feeling she's pulling a con.  There are a lot of things that don't add up.  I don't believe her.  I'd stop lurking around her journal except that, well, it's like a soap opera.

Oops, I should be careful saying that - although I've tried to be careful not to advertise my journal, one never knows who might find it.  She and all her friends recently tore into some slob who dared to describe her as a drama queen, and ask her if she has a job.  I prefer not tofind out how they could hurt me.  Frankly, I thought it was a reasonable question. 

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My computer is at least 8 years old.  I think it was one of the first with Intel.  It has massive hard disk, but it's so slow that some websites with music will cause it to hang up, and because I use a phone line, it takes forever to download large files.  Anybody want to send me a new one?  (Anyone who recognizes "recipe lady" will know where this entreaty came from.)  Actually, I'm not ready for a new one yet.  I'm not really disgusted with this one.  What it doesn't do, I don't really need anyway. 

What IS disturbing is that after this computer was purchased, we bought a new one for Daughter, and the next year for Jay's father.  I never did find out what happened to Daughter's computer - it seemed to have disappeared with no trace, just one day she didn't have one and I know better than to press, she'll just snap at me and refuse to answer, and it's none of your business anyway, which makes me think that it was stolen, and she's being defensive - and Dad's computer was replaced two years ago.

I'd have been happy to give either of them a home. 

I'm still using this one......

I must be easily amused.

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I'm worried that "conversate/conversating" is going to make it into Webster's.  The verb is "converse/conversing", people! 

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Have you ever noticed that in the grocery store, product A, a blah national product, has 8 feet of shelf space, and product B, a delicious regional product, gets only 2 feet, even though product A remains untouched until product B has completely sold out - usually within two days of being put on the shelf?  And there won't be any more of B for a week, so then you are forced to buy A.

Have you ever wondered why?

Wouldn't it make sense for the grocery store to stock more of what their customers want?

I wondered, and I asked.  It turns out that the grocery stores don't stock the shelves based on what sells.  They stock them based on who buys the shelf space!  I didn't know that.  Product A actually pays the grocery store to stock 8 feet of shelf - even if it doesn't sell.  Product B, being a smaller company, can't afford a lot of shelf space.  It's a catch-22.  Product B company can't afford more shelf if they can't sell more product, and they can't sell more if they can't get the shelf space, but they can't get the shelf space if they can't sell more.  And the grocery store makes out selling shelf, so they're not as worried about selling product as they perhaps should be.  There's something wrong there. 

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Daughter - the word I couldn't think of the other day was "menengioma".  Jay said his mother had "melanoma" in her spine.  I wonder if there wasn't a miscommunication somewhere, and it was actually a menengioma.  That would make a lot more sense.  Sorta like when my mother said she had "congenital heart failure".  It was actually "congestive heart failure". 

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The show "Friends" is all over the dial now.  I've noticed two rather odd things.  First, all the women seem to have had breast reduction surgery somewhere along the line.  They were all very well endowed in the early episodes. 

Second, I think I've seen every episode a dozen times by now- except for one.  Back when Friends first started, I kept hearing about this great new show at work.  That was when I wasn't watching TV much (Yes, Daughter, there was a time when....).  It had been on for quite a while when I finally decided to watch.  The episode I caught that night was the one where one of the young women had been dating a guy for a few months, but was upset and embarrassed that he had not yet tried to get her into bed.  Her friends were sure there was something wrong with him, and they set out to try to get him to bed. 

I never found out how it ended because I was so horrified by the message that show was sending to their young audience that I turned it off.

That was before "Sex in the City".  Before women were appearing in offices on TV in streetwalker attire.  Before the morals of the entire country were corrupted.  We are all inured now. 

But what's really odd is that after thousands of reruns, I've never seen that particular episode again.

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Comments on current fads:

What's with the striped hair?  Frosting isn't so bad.  Tipping isn't so bad.  But those heavy zebra stripes are just plain ugly.

I'm really tired of the women who've turned their lips inside out.  Some of them have gone way too far.  Their lips look like slabs of liver flapping when they talk.  I wonder if they would have done it if they knew why many men find thick lips attractive? 

Men's minds are twisted when it comes to sex (and with men, it always comes to sex).  They like breasts because the cleavage reminds them of something else.  They like the swollen lips because it reminds them of something else.  Most women probably don't mind displaying a pseudo backside on their chests, but do they really want to display a pseudo vulva on their face?

#92 Deprivation?

I was reading something the other day that had me thinking that I'm very fortunate in that I have everything I really need.  Then I thought that all my life I've always had all the material things I've needed.  I've never felt materially deprived.  I've been lucky. 

Then I thought a little harder, and remembered that there were many times in my life when I had next to nothing. 

My entire wardrobe when I was in college took up maybe 14 inches of closet space.  I wore bedroom slippers all summer one year (they were straw) because I couldn't afford to buy sandals.  One Pennsylvania winter I wore a rubber raincoat over a sweater because I didn't have a coat. 

Then after I graduated and began teaching, I bought my first sewing machine (used) with my first savings, and my wardrobe grew.  I had to resign 2 months into my second year because pregnant women in 1966 weren't allowed to teach.  I had like $200 in savings, and a husband who was away in the army.  The army took $125 out of his paycheck every month and sent it to me - but he never sent another cent.  Rent was $125 a month.  I ate dinner every evening at the diner around the corner from my apartment because they had a $.80 "blue plate special".  That and a glass of diet shake in the morning was all I had to eat every day.  I did my laundry in the bathtub because I couldn't afford the laundromat.  Then, just a few weeks before the baby was due, there was a fire in the store below my apartment.  Everything I owned suffered smoke damage, almost nothing could be saved, my bird died, and the day after the fire I lost the baby.

In 1968 I left husband #1.  I had $500 squirreled away in a secret savings account, in my own name, to use to move away.  I got a job in a different state, and when I went to the bank to get the money, I found that my husband had gone to the bank and demanded the money, and they had given it to him.  That was normal in those days - a woman's money belonged to her husband.  I left with what I had in my pocket and what I could fit in my tiny car (a rear-motor Volkswagon Karmann Ghia (sp?) which meant almost no trunk and a tiny back seat, and the mice, birds, and Smokey cat took up most of that).

The new employer gave me a"per diem" allowance for six weeks while I looked for someplace to live.  From that, by moving into a cheaper motel and eating in the company cafeteria, I was able to save enough for the first month's rent on a little 4-room cabin in the woods.  The landlady lent me a little lamp, which I carried from room to room at night.  I slept on the floor until I could afford a sofa.  I slept on the sofa until I could afford a bed. I ate standing at the sink until I could afford a little table and chairs. 

Then I married husband #2, who was a tightwad.  In the 70's, a working wife turned her salary over to the husband to manage.  The average woman had no idea what was where moneywise.  I would have had to beg for things, and I wouldn't beg, so we had no livingroom or diningroom furniture for the first 9 years.  When Daughter was born, I made her bassinet out of a laundry basket, and sewed all her baby clothes.  In 1979, my monthly budget for food was $70, and I fed two adults and a child quite well on that. 

When I finally left him, even though next to no money had been spent on goodies, there was strangely little to be split.  I left with $19,000 (half the equity in the house, for downpayment on a small house for Daughter and me), a few shares of computer company stock, my car, and $1,500 cash.   (There should have been a LOT more stock, but I didn't want to fight, so I didn't push it.)   I'd picked the absolute worst time to leave - I think it was 1981 or 82 - mortgage rates were through the roof.  The best I could do was 17.5% and 3 points, for a 30-year mortgage.  (Honest!  That was a real rate for an adjustable mortgage.)

Nonetheless, living the way same way I had been living before, and now on a low starting salary, after the first ten months I had over $10,000 in savings, almost half my salary.  (The ex was paying support - we had agreed on 40% of the difference in our salaries, but I put all of that money into a separate account for my daughter and for emergencies.) 

That was when I realized the ex must have cheated me.  There should have been more when we split, given his larger salary (over twice mine) and the way we had been living for so long.

That was the first time in my entire life that I felt that I had been deprived.  Up until then, no matter how little I had, I just figured that was the way it was, and I took pride in managing with what I had.  I coped.  Besides, in college and in my 20's, most of my friends were in the same boat.  One of my friends in college had to sell her 15-years-uncut hair to buy textbooks.  I didn't even feel deprived when my visiting mother looked around my kitchen in 1979, and said "You don't have a microwave?"  I didn't figure I needed one.

About the same time I was starting to look back and feel like I'd been missing something (about 1984ish), that there should have been more, there was a young woman interviewed on TV - her home had been broken into, and the thieves had taken everything.   Her list included a large color TV (I had a small black-and-white), a stereo with all the goodies (I had an old one-piece hi-fi), a fox coat (my only coat was cloth), a microwave oven, a VCR (what's a VCR?), etc.  The kicker was that she was about 20 years old, childless, and on welfare!   I decided then and there that I was going to be deprived no longer.  I had worked hard all my life, and by darn I was going to have at least what a 20-year-old on welfare has! 

I put a reasonable amount into savings every month, and then the rest I spent.  For the past 22 years I have treated myself well.  Daughter and I took the first "luxury" vacations I had ever taken in my life - to England and Wales (3 weeks! Two of them on a houseboat on the canals), Disneyworld, Puerto Vallarta (sp?), Barbados, a dude ranch.  I bought shoes.  I wore store-bought clothes.  I bought books!!! 

My first 38 years had taught me how to be shrewd about money.   I still think beauty parlors are a waste of money, still cut my own hair.  I've still never been to a spa.   I happen to like cheap food and inexpensive restaurants.  Brand names are all pronounced "ripoff".  Not that I buy cheap stuff - I just don't pay for cachet.

When Jay and I got married, he was pretty well strapped.  His ex had taken everything, literally everything, they had acquiredin their entire relationship, even things she couldn't possibly keep or use.  She threw things away rather than let him have them.  She left him with a 20-year-old car (it was his first car, and he had an emotional attachment to it), and a lawn tractor, and he had to buy "her" half of the house (she'd "shopped around" for the highest appraisal).  She took half the savings and checking accounts, and half the stock.    She had been teaching, and all of her salary through the years had been going into a saving account in her name, untouched except for vacations.  Naturally, that was all "hers".  Jay just lay there and took it.  I don't know why he felt guilty - this was a woman who allowed sex maybe three times a year, and had banished him to the guest bedroom because his snoring kept her awake.   (It didn't take me long to realize that he had a severe case of sleep apnea, and that was when I really started to hate her.  How could she not have realized that he was struggling to breathe - the sleep center clocked him at 70 episodes per hour - especially if it "kept her awake"?  I don't think she cared enough.)

Anyhow, Jay was pretty much starting over when we got married, and then he lost his job 4 months later and was out of work for 9 months.  We lived on my savings that year.  My hard-earned money-squeezing skills came in handy, especially since Daughter had just started college - out-of-state Ivy League, no financial aid because her father was too well off, no matter that he was contributing nothing to her costs, them's the rules durn it.  When Jay went back to work, his pay was significantly higher, but he had no benefits.  No problem, because he could be on my health plan. 

That was enough to scare me a little.  I went back into save mode.  Within the next four years, we had more than tripled our savings and investments.  Then he got sick.  Then he died. 

I still don't understand the numbers during the three years he was ill.  The costs, even with health insurance, were enormous.  We had my retirement check, his disability check (40% of his salary), and our investment income coming in.  We had the bills going out.  No matter how I run the numbers, more went out than came in,but we were never hurting to pay the bills.  I can't figure it out.  The only time I had to dip into capital was when I sold $20,000 of my stock to buy the handicap van.  (I also borrowed $20,000 from Jay's father for the van, which I paid back at $500/month, and then in full from the life insurance.)  I don't understand it.   That must have been some kind of super-saving mode?!?  That $500/month loan payment is the kicker.  How?!?

So now I'm sitting on all that financial history.  And I don't at all feel bad buying oriental rugs and fox coats.  I saved for it.  I earned it.  I have been deprived so that now I can be indulged.

#91 All I Want for Christmas....

Dear Daughter -

I'm writing this letter to you in the journal to make it more real than if I said it over the phone.  You always want hints for gifts - well here's a command.

This is what I want for Christmas:  I want 5 or so gifts, costing no more than $2 or so each.  They should each be different. They can be garage sale items, something you made, discards from your home, but not jokey.  I want them wrapped prettily, in different papers.  I would like each of them to include a short personal note from you.  And here's the most important part - I want them mailed at intervals, like two days apart, some before and some after Christmas, so they arrive over a space of maybe 2 weeks.

This will entail some work for you, but that's what I want.  I LOVE finding surprises in the mail!  Your major cost and effort should be in the wrapping and periodic mailing - that's the real gift.

Now for a few hints:  I like those little soluble sheets of breath freshener in the snap-open plastic cases, but they are hard to find around here (they're usually next to the cash registers).  My Christmas tree is Victorian - silver and gold and lace and pearls and glass.  I don't much care for scented candles, but I like incense.  Whatever happened to Tasti-Cakes? (Sp?)  If they exist, I like the butterscotch ones.  I like dark butterscotch candy in general (not the yellow crap), and the regular mix of JellyBelly jellybeans.  I'm still looking for that cheap WalMart lipstick from a few entries back.  I like those itty-bitty flat flashlights that you can put on keyrings.  I had a dishmop - it's like an oldfashioned cotton string floormop but smaller, on a wire stick - that I loved, but the plastic handle part fell off, and all the grocery store currently has are sponge ones.  I dearly love cheap bubblebath (the stuff that comes in jugs - I like to make it "glug" when I pour it in the tub - if it's the "good" stuff, I hesitate to use as much as I really want to), but that might be too expensive to mail.  I could use some pretty-but-not-cutsy simple fat elastic bands for pony tails - mostly in the black gray brown white green color ranges.   If you see any of the type where you overlap the balls, but with something other than balls, they'd be nice too.  Knee-high patterned "pants socks" in black, tan, or "skin-color".  (Discount shoe stores frequently have them really cheap.)  My mechanical pencils take 0.5 mm lead.  My stapler takes standard Swingline staples.  I don't need any soap - I have a backlog of nice scented stuff.  Don't need gloves or scarves or calendars - although a 2-year calendar booklet for my purse would be handy.  The ones I'm thinking of are about the length and width of a hand.   

The above applies to all gift-giving occasions. 

Love,

Mom

#90 Red and Blue by IQ

[There used to be a table here, which listed states by average IQ, colored blue and red depending on how they went in the election.  The states at the top of the list were all blue.  The bottom was all red.  It was amusing, but it was wide, and made the whole journal wide, which was a pain, so I deleted it after a few weeks.  Contact me if you'd like a copy.]

#89 Snort....

New Version of "Survivor" Series to debut...

A television network is developing a "Texas Version" of "Survivor" and "The Amazing Race". Contestants must travel from Amarillo, Texas, through Fort Worth, Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, and back to Amarillo, through San Marcos and Lubbock ... driving a Volvo ... with a bumper sticker that reads: "I'm for Kerry, I'm Gay and I'm Here to Take Your Guns".

The first to complete the round trip is the winner!

==============================

Failed World Survey:

"Would you please give your honest opinion about solutions to the food shortage in the rest of the world?"   The survey was a huge failure.

In Africa they didn't know what "food" meant.

In Eastern Europe they didn't know what "honest" meant.

In Western Europe they didn't know what "shortage" meant.

In China they didn't know what "opinion" meant.

In the Middle East they didn't know what "solution" meant.

In South America they didn't know what "please" meant.

And, in the USA they didn't know what "the rest of the world" meant!

(Praveen Muley)

#88 Is It Christmas Already?

I can remember my mother being annoyed when the stores started putting up Christmas decorations and playing carols the day after Thanksgiving.  She thought that was too early, that it diluted Thanksgiving.  Now, they're starting the day after Hallowe'en, and I'm annoyed.   

#87 The Box of Bent Pieces

I spent the first 30 years of my life thinking there was something very wrong with me, that I was either very stupid or slightly crazy.  I was very good at taking tests.  Exceptionally good at all kinds of logic, analysis, and synthesis.  But I couldn't remember the name of the street I lived on, the name of the product I was working on, formulas (for example, my major was math, but I could never remember the quadratic formula.  I derived it anew myself every time I needed it during a test or task!  Same with all the geometry theorems.) and sometimes words just disappeared.  I'd open my mouth, and nothing came out.  Then I found out that I had a type of learning disability.  I wasn't stupid or crazy at all.  It had boundaries.  I could take the "bent" parts and put them in a box.  Once I defined the boundaries of that box, I could compensate. 

I had told Jay about my discovery of how my mind worked, and how much it meant to me to know that the hiccups were not all-encompassing, that the rest worked better than fine.  That got Jay thinking.  He said that he thought maybe he had a problem, too. 

He described it as a concentration/distraction thing.  That when he was working on something that interested him, he tended to get into it so deeply that he'd forget time, food, everything.  He'd get so deep that he'd forget the objective, and start going in circles.  Like if you asked him to paint a stool, four hours later he'd be devising tests to determine the chemical composition of the paint, and the stool still wouldn't be painted.  However, at the same time, he would be easily distracted by almost any little thing.  That's why he had the TV on all the time.  It blocked out all the minor distractions, but at the same time provided a constant low-level distraction that kept him from going too deeply "under".  He said that when he was a child, he was always in trouble at school because he kept forgetting that he had to sit still, and he'd keep getting up to look at things in the room or out the window.    

He and his ex had gone through like six or seven counselors, psychiatrists, and psychologists in the two years before they separated, so Jay was not averse to "head doctors".  A few months after we were married, he was diagnosed as having Adult ADD, and he took Ritalin for a year.  I saw a definite difference, but he didn't, so he quit.  (Later, I discovered that if you don't have ADD and take Ritalin, it acts as a stimulant - what I had noticed as an improvement was increased energy.)  So he still had no answers.

After we'd been married about 2 1/2 years, he said that he had another problem - he couldn't judge people's reactions.  Logically, he could figure out what might make someone angry, but in practice, he never saw it coming.  He'd ask me, how did you know that person was getting angry (before the actual outburst), and I'd say that I could see her eyebrows going down and her lips tightening.   That mystified him.  He couldn't pick up verbal clues, either.  If you didn't actually laugh, or cry, or shout, he didn't know that you were amused, or sad, or angry.  He'd come home from work all upset because someone had gotten angry at him, over time it had apparently built up to a confrontation, and he never saw it coming.

That may be one reason we got along so well.  I have an unusually expressive face (gets me into trouble sometimes), but more, I don't hesitate to tell someone that something is bothering me.  I give plenty of explicit warning.

I tried to find someone in the area who could give him a battery of tests to determine what was going on, but there wasn't anything.  I guess I misjudged the state of the art.  All the educational psychologists seemed to rely on anecdotes - that's how we ended up with the ADD diagnosis.  (Also, I suspect that the doctor we saw had Ritalin for a hammer, so he saw everything as an ADD nail.)

Then when the tumor was discovered, that's when he finally got tested.  Before and after his surgeries and during rehab, he was given cognitive and physical tests, so they could determine what had or had not been affected.  In all of the many doctor's notes, he is described as presenting a "flat affect" - in other words, no animation.  One of the doctors told me that they were shocked to find that, shown faces displaying various emotions, Jay could identify only the most blatant.   He asked me if I was aware that my husband was high-functioning autistic.  Possibly Asperger's Syndrome.

Neither the doctor nor I said anything to Jay about it, but somehow, somewhere, Jay found a description of Asperger's himself.  He came running into the kitchen about six months after the first surgery, and said "I have Asperger's Syndrome!" 

Early in the second year of fighting the tumor, he said that he had probably been depressed all his life.  That he had never really felt a part of what was going on around him, probably because so much of it either went over his head or overwhelmed him to where he shut it out.   (He was starting to build his own box, to put the bent pieces in.)   So we went searching to find someone to whom he could talk about autism and depression, and who might perhaps treat it or teach him to cope with it.  Jay had finally realized that he was a good whole person, with a small disability which was now in a box, and he wanted to experience life without the defenses he'd built up over the years.  He was in a hurry to be opened. 

It was a frustrating search.  Every doctor simply assumed "of course you are depressed, you have a death sentence", and that's all they wanted to talk about - how he felt about his diagnosis, how he felt about dying.   That isn't where he/we wanted to go at all!  Jay was very positive about his treatments.  He was convinced that he would beat it, right up until the end.  He didn't want to talk about his death - he wanted to talk about his life!  These doctors weren't helping at all.  In the end, he was just put on an antidepressant, and that was that.  It didn't do much.  What he wanted to do was to learn how to experience life, to drop his armor.  A pill wasn't going to change habits built up over a lifetime.  He needed cognitive/behavioral therapy.

The diagnosis of autism explains a lot about him.  He had a closet full of gorgeous birthday and Christmas gift sweaters that he never wore, because he "can't stand the feeling" on his arms.  He flinched when anyone touched him lightly or without warning.  He claimed he could see the flicker of fluourescent lights.  Music confused him, especially vocal and instrumental mixed.  He was oblivious to women flirting with him. The excessive concentration/distraction problem mentioned above.  Obsessions. The way he would joke at inappropriate moments.  He always tucked his shirts in, even T-shirts, because he couldn't handle them moving across his body.  His excessive shyness.  The way he would quickly form habits, and then get nervous when a habit was disrupted.  Lots of stuff.  A lot of it sounds like typical male behavior, but in Jay it went to extremes.  I used to tell him he just had an excess of testosterone.

I hadn't realized until after he was gone how much I had adapted to his needs without even thinking about it.  I quickly learned to touch him firmly, and warn before touching.  I didn't play music when he was home.  I'd check on him frequently when he was doing something at home, to keep him on track.  We'd go over what he did at work each day, and talk about what was contributing to the objectives, and what was a side track he should not follow the next day.  I ran interference for him in social situations.  I clued him in when others were not likely to be receptive to puns.  I was very specific about my own feelings, so he wouldn't be caught off guard.    

With a few more years, Jay could have learned to compensate, we could have worked out a pattern, and he could have lived more fully.  I wish we had gotten together sooner.  It pleases me to think that I made him feel safe enough to look beyond the bars, to feel that he deserved more.

#86 Paranoia

Fear leads to paranoia.  Paranoia leads to conspiracy theories. 

I was telling an acquaintance recently that I don't like the idea of electronic voting.  I know too much about computer bugs and bad code.  Plus there's no paper trail.

He said, "Oh, but that's the GOOD part."

Me, ""What's the good part?"

He, "No paper trail."

Me, "Huh?  How?  Oh.  I see.  I guess it depends on who wrote the code and how they want it to come out."

According to an article in Newsweek sometime this past spring, the owner of the company that supplied almost all the machines is a rabid Christian Right Bushy.  I'd love to see a map of the precincts using electronic voting overlaid on a map of how the counts went. 

#85 @#$%^& AOL!

As often happens, the previous entry lost all paragraph breaks after it was saved.  I attempted to edit it, and it wouldn't go to an edit page.  Then I tried to delete it and start over, and it refused to delete.  Buncha poopy!

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

Postscript - so after I did this entry, I tried to edit #84 again, and this time it let me.  So then I decided to delete this entry.  AOL asked "Are you sure you want to delete this entry?", and had highlighted ALL the entries for today.  (Note that they are all under one date.)  I wasn't sure whether only #85 or all entries under this date would be deleted.  So I hit Cancel.  More poopy!

Yesterday I had occasion to consult AOL live help (chat), and I accused him "to his face" of being a machine. I was getting canned Help scripts that were keyed off keywords in my complaint, but that had nothing to do with my REAL problem - like - hey - this thing went to the spam folder, and according to your documentation, it shouldn't have.  I had to move it from the spam folder to my inbox.  That email should have been recognized as non-spam.  Answer: To look at your spam folder, blah blah.  To move mail from the spam folder to your inbox, blah, blah....  Isn't it obvious from what I said that I already know how to do that?   I was amused (yeah, that's the word) that only after I complained that "AOL lied!  You aren't alive!", I began to get real answers to my real input.  I guess "alive" is the keyword that queues the real person.

#84 Psycho Test

Read this question, come up with an answer and then scroll down to the bottom for the result. This is not a trick question. It is as it reads.

A woman, while at the funeral of her own mother, met this guy whom she did not know. She thought this guy was amazing, so much her dream guy she believed him to be just that! She fell in love with him right there, but never asked for his number and could not find him. A few days later she killed her sister.

Question: What is her motive in killing her sister? (Give this some thought before you answer).

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Answer: She was hoping that the guy would appear at the funeral again.

If you answered this correctly, you think like a psychopath. This was a test by a famous American Psychologist used to test if one has the same mentality as a killer. Many arrested serial killers took part in the test and answered the question correctly.

If you didn't answer the question correctly good for you. If you got the answer correct, please let me know so I can take you off of my email list unless that will tick you off , then I'll just be extra nice to you from now on.

.......found on a Mensa website.

#83 Rebuff Unethical Competitors!

Both toll booths at the bridge usually have signs over them saying "E-ZPass" and "Full Service".   During especially busy times, the one on the left changes to "E-ZPass Only".  When I crossed the bridge the other day, the E-ZPass sign was missing on the right, so I moved to the left lane.  When I stopped at the gate, I asked the attendant, "... no sign on the right lane.  Can I still use E-ZPass there?"  

He answered, "Yeah.  They just took the sign down.  It's getting rebuffed."

I wondered about that all the way across the bridge.

***********************************************************************

"Reality" shows.  Lots of them on TV.  They're inexpensive, I guess (although the best, "The Amazing Race" probably isn't cheap).  Every time I hear a contestant say "I'm a tough competitor!", I have an instantly negative reaction.  I figure anyone who describes themselves as a tough competitor is someone who would see nothing wrong with doing immoral or unethical things to get ahead.  And they usually do.

I'm afraid that these shows are teaching young people that it's rewarding to be that kind of "tough competitor".

#82 Blather

A few entries ago I said I'd like to get up earlier.  One way to do it is to drink a lot of water before I go to bed.  Then at the first flicker of consciousness in the morning I have to get up, instead of burrowing deeper and going back to sleep, and then I tend to stay up (unless I'm cold.  Cold will send me back into my nice warm nest.)  The danger is that sometimes it backfires, and the pressure wakes me at like 4 am, and then I can't get back to full sleep for hours.  

This morning I was awakened at 6:30 when something crashed into the glass wall in the bedroom.  Whatever it was, it was huge, and shook the wall.  I'm surprised the glass held.  (Something hit Tuesday morning too, but not as hard.)  I jumped up and ran to look, expecting to find a stunned goose on the deck, but there was nothing there.  Not even the dust print a bird will usually leave.  

Is it possible it was another of those mysterious "bangs in my mind", that I mentioned many entries back?

 ****************************************************************

Wanted to call Daughter.  Cell phone - no long distance charge.  Where's cell phone?  Usually in purse.  Not in purse.  Hmmmm.  Back problems, was taking cell phone to bed because has numbers in memory.  Look in bed.  No cell phone.  Hmmmm.  Ahah!  Made a 1 am run to PO Tuesday night - took cell just in case.  Look in car.  Not on passenger seat in car.  Hmmmm.  Maybe slid to side?  Look between passenger seat and door.  No phone.  Notice that litter bag between seats is full.  Empty litter bag.  Cell phone falls out.  Call daughter.  Don't tell her Mom is losing it.

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On TV the other night, a very self-satisfied woman said "Jesus has rewarded us".  She lives with her husband and two kids in a California shore-side mini-mansion, buys anything she wants whenever she wants, goes to spas, gets her nails done, spends afternoons at the beach, etc.  Beauty and relaxation. Her husband works out of an office at home.  The good life.   

During the program, we find that her husband is under enormous stress to keep the money flowing in.  Worries constantly.  Works like 80-90 hour weeks, leaves his desk and phone only to sleep.  Has no involvement in his children's lives.  They think of him only as "that guy in the office".   

"Jesus has rewarded us"?  She is completely oblivious.  

The statement annoyed me for a second reason - I am annoyed when people ascribe to Jesus powers that belong only to God (assuming that....etc.)  And don't give me that "three in one" excuse - the picture people have in mind, when they say something like that, isn't God.

 ***************************************************************************

Thoughts on the quote from John Kerry in the previous entry, "...we all wake up as Americans. And that -- that is the greatest privilege and the most remarkable good fortune ...":  

I don't know about that. Americans in general seem to me to be awfully parochial and ... I'm having trouble finding the words ... conceited?  What's the word that means you don't know much about anything, but think you know best about everything?  What's the word that means "my way is the right way and if you think differently you're stupid"?  Arrogance? 

Americans are disliked or downright hated all over the world, and it doesn't seem to bother us at all.  (I shouldn't say "us", I should say "them", because it does bother me.)  If they think about it at all, they just say "Oh, they're just jealous."    Jealous that we think we own the world's oil and can burn as much as we like?  That we think we own the skies and can foul them as we like?  That only we are capable of controlling certain weapons?  That we can tell other countries not to cut forests, while we can destroy our own and any others we can make money from?   That ... fill in the blank ... lots of choices.

One of the foundations of our government is religious freedom - but apparently ONLY if you are some brand of Christian.  A major magazine surveyed immigrants about religious freedom in the United States, and that was pretty much their conclusion.  Immigrants are a pretty good judge, because their eyes are clear, their minds haven't been bent yet, and they are very aware of the American effort to bend their minds.   

And even though we don't have an American version of the pope, there are lots of people who are more than willing to interpret for us what God wants us to do.  Right now, Bush is in a news conference on TV, telling us that "we" don't push any particular version of religion on anyone.  (He actually said those exact words as I was typing the sentence!)  Ummmm.  Uhuh.  Yeah.  Sure.   You are blinded by your righteousness.   

American tourists in other countries are notorious.  They are loud and demanding, and ignore or dismiss the local customs.  Daughter and I stayed in a small B&B/hotel in a slate mining village in Wales.  The guests were us, an English honeymooning couple, and three late-middle-aged American women with a teenaged daughter.   We were all together for dinner and then later in the evening in the sitting room, and the American women plain embarrassed me.  They asked stupid questions of the host, hostess, and honeymoon couple, loudly complained about the service (things just don't taste right, not even plain meat, and haven't you people ever heard of teaspoons? or mixing faucets?), bragged about how much more convenient everything was back home, shouted to each other down the halls, and generally made their presence loudly known.  

The morning that Daughter and I were to check out, I was standing next to the office window looking at some tourist flyers, when I heard the host say to the hostess, "The English woman and her daughter will be checking out this morning."   

She, "What English woman?"

He, "The little woman with the daughter."

She, "They're not English."

He, "Well, where are they from, then."

She, "I don't know, but I don't think they're English.  They may be Welsh.  (Looking in file)  Oh, here is is.  They're American (with surprise)."

He, "Are you sure?  That can't be right.  They're much too nice."  

I stuck my head around the corner and said "Thank you."  

One of the reasons I haven't traveled lately (beside inertia) is that I can't think of any country I'd want to go to these days as an American.  I'd be ashamed to  identify myself as such.

#81 Kerry's Words

"We worked hard, and we fought hard, and I wish that things had turned out a little differently.

"But in an American election, there are no losers, because whether or not our candidates are successful, the next morning we all wake up as Americans. And that -- that is the greatest privilege and the most remarkable good fortune that can come to us on earth.
 -John Kerry            

I stole this from "Patrick's Place", another AOL journal.  I think Patrick will forgive me.

#80 Daughter's ...uh... Nails

Daughter has contributed a scan of her hand.  No fingernails!  But the for kind of work she does, very short nails are necessary.  I kept mine trimmed short when I was on the rescue squad.

I think her larger complaint is not that they are short, but that they just don't grow, so if she ever wanted them long, it won't happen. 

The tips of her fingers are broad and flat (which I've heard indicates artistic/musical sensitivity), which means that her nails are broad and flat.  Mine are narrow and curved - the ring finger nail is a full half-circle in cross section.  I suspect that the more side-to-side curve in the top surface of the nail, the stronger they are.  Physics! 

So, daughter, it looks to me like you are doubly suited to the guitar!

#79 Fonts

AOL offers only a few fonts for Journals.  If you want more choice, I guess you have to compose under some other editor, and copy into the journal, but that can cause some strange problems (the most obvious being that you lose the paragraph breaks), and you could end up with an entirely different, and unexpected, font.  There are things you can do to avoid the glitches, but it's esoteric. 

The size is something else.  For some fonts, 14 is bigger than 12.  For others, 14 is merely darker than 12.  Arial and Arial Black are crazy - what you see here is NOT what it looks like on the edit page.  And then, there's the "System" font, which ignores size altogether.   Also, what you see on the journal "entry" page bears no relationship whatsoever to what you see IN the journal.   Sigh. 

So I have made this little template to help me decide.  If you have an opinion, let me know.

This is Arial.  This is 10.  This is 12.  This is 14.

This is Arial Black.  This is 10.  This is 12.  This is 14.

This is Arial Narrow.  This is 10.  This is 12.  This is 14.

This is Comic Sans MS.  This is 10.  This is 12.  This is 14.

This is Courier New.  This is 10.  This is 12.  This is 14.

This is System.  This is 10.  This is 12.  This is 14.

This is Times New Roman.  This is 10.  This is 12.  This is 14.

This is Verdana.  This is 10.  This is 12.  This is 14.

Note that the Times New Roman always looks like Times New Roman on the journal edit page, but when I "save" it, it is transformed to Verdana. 

I like Arial, but 12 came out  too small and 14 was too large.  Now, having done this experiment, I find that I should use 10, which in AOL-land falls between 12 and 14.  (No, one is not allowed to type in a number - one must choose from a drop-down list.) 

I think there are some bugs.  Again I say - bad beta!!!!

#78 Almost Whole Again!

I almost made it to dance class this evening.  I got up early this morning (which always feels so good I wish I'd do it more often), and then went to vote, at a church up the road.  The TV tonight is talking about record turnouts - not here, I guess.  At 11 am, I was the only person there.   (There's a retired widow in Florida whose journal I read, who says that she tried 5 times to vote early in Florida but the lines were always more than 2 hours long, but today there was almost no one there.  Odd.)

After I left the church, I passed a road I'd never been down before, so I turned around and explored it.  I LOVE having the compass in the car!  I can plot a route on roads I've never been on before, just by watching the compass.  I managed to wander for an hour, and still come out on route 199 just east of the village, exactly where I wanted to be.  The back roads are so pretty now, all covered with leaves.  I had to stop twice to let large flocks of wild turkeys cross.  In my wandering, I passed two other polling places, and there were very few cars there, too.

Then I visited a jeweler in the village who designs and makes all the settings for his jewelry.  I had bought a pleating attachment for my sewing machine, and it doesn't quite fit.  The needle comes down just to the right of the center hole.  These attachments used to be adjustable, and in fact, the adjustment spot has a slot that looks like it should allow you to slide the mechanism left and right, but instead of an adjustment screw, there's a permanent rivet.  (Probably because people would allow the screw to loosen, letting the needle hit the plate, break, and fly into a face - instant lawsuit!)  Thanks to Jay's fascination with the tiny, I have some wonderful itty-bitty brass bolts complete with nuts and washers that would work just fine in that slot.  So I thought maybe someone with a tiny tool and a steady hand could maybe punch/drill out the rivet.  Ahah!  A jeweler! 

He managed to move the mechanism without removing the rivet, and showed me where to tap it to adjust it further if necessary.  He didn't charge, and gave me 50% off anything in the shop (they have an invitation-only sale going), so I walked out with a very pretty amethest/citrine ring (one stone - it shades from purple to yellow - the two colors grew next to each other naturally) that I had fallen in love with while he was working on the pleater. 

Then I ate lunch (open-face pot roast sandwich) at Betty's in the middle of the village (the best cole slaw!), where I sat in a corner in the window and read a Newsweek, then I went to the grocery store and bought milk and yogurt.   Saw Jay's ex there, but managed to avoid her.  

Then I went across the river to the Wal-mart, to see if I could still buy a particular lipstick - I love it and it isn't sold online, only at Wal-Marts and Rite-Aids.  I want to buy five, and stick them in the refrigerator for the future.  They had the maker (Jane by Sassaby), but not the particular line (Lucky Star) let alone the color (Starlet Rose - a mauve lipgloss with sparkles), but I got to chatting with a Wal-Mart lady (Ellen) whose sister works in cosmetics at a larger store out route 28 somewhere, and she's going to check with her sister for me.  I felt almost silly asking for it.  "Jane" is for teenyboppers, not grown up ladies.  But I like the sparkly transparency and the way it feels on. 

By the time I got home, it was 4:30 pm, and my back was feeling fine!  I was sooooo happy!

By 5:30 I was feeling the effects of perhaps overdoing.  I had an ache at the top back of my left hip.  By 6:15, when I would have had to leave for class, it had expanded to both hips.  It's not pain, just a tired achy feeling, so I'm not unhappy, but I think it would be a good idea not to push it.  So I've missed the third class in a row.

I have to be careful not to lose tone in my back, so I'm going to have to start pushing pretty soon.  Maybe tomorrow..........................

 

#77 Medicals

I've been getting ominous letters from The Company (the more I use that term, the more it sounds like the CIA, or the Mafia).  November is the time to choose the medical plan for the next year.  The first letter complained that the costs were going up again, and that they were dropping some HMOs from the available list. (Last year, my "contribution" to the cost of the plan tripled.)  The second letter said that they weren't able to find any cost-effective HMOs in my area, so I would have to consider another format. 

I think they think they are softening the blow before they send out the November packets.  Yeah.  Like I will be pleased to find that it's not as bad as I feared, huh?  And they wonder why there's a movement to unionize.  

So I guess I should hurry up and take care of any medical business within the next two months.   I've got some moles I'd like checked, I'm overdue for all the standard stuff, and I need to follow up on the opthamologist visit from last winter.   Sigh.

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I'm very smart when I actually think about something, but when something just drifts past in the stream of my mind, I can be really stupid.  I mean really "duh...."   I guess that's my main stupidity - an inability to pick the right pieces of flotsam to think about before they hang up on a snag somewhere and change the course of the stream for the worse.  

Several years ago, the medical community was saying that the worst thing you can do when you have back pain is to lie in bed.  They said you should stay up and moving as much as possible, and that would shorten the duration of the pain.  Drift.... Snag....  

So when my back would go out, I'd feel guilty about lying on the heating pad for days at a time.  But I had to, because my legs simply flat-out didn't work - the nerve signals weren't getting through - or the slightest movement caused excruciating screaming spears and firestorms of pain.   Then, as soon as possible, I'd try to get up and hobble around.  

I was in the drugstore yesterday, shopping for a better back support. (My old one is too small since I've gained weight, so I've been using the adjustable one the hospital had given Jay after his back surgery, and it has so many straps it's a pain to put on.)  Right next to the supports was all the medications and "Heet"-type creams for back pain.  I was browsing through them when I suddenly realized that they were all for strained muscles!   

Strained back muscles!!!  That's what they were talking about when they said the best thing was to keep moving!  It hadn't even occurred to me that simple strained muscles could cause pain!  Sheesh!  That's minor!  That kind of thing wouldn't even slow me down.  

What I've got is vertebrae that shift or twist out of place, disks that bulge, calcium deposits that grow too large, or break and move.  I've got pressure on nerves caused by HARD stuff!  That was the click I heard and felt when I bent down to feed the cat 15 days ago - something shifted.       

If I take this to a doctor, they will do a lot of very painful tests, then they'll recommend surgery.  Back in the '70s they wanted to fuse the bones in my neck, between the shoulder blades, and just above the tailbone.  I would not have been able to bend or rotate my spine at all. 

I have found that the best preventative is to keep the muscles in my back strong - strong enough to hold everything together, and strong enough to pull it all back in place when something does get out of position.    

 I think things are pretty much back to normal now - I can stand, walk, and sit, although doing any one of them for too long will cause problems.  Most of the stabs I feel now are due to residual inflammation, I think.  Yesterday I was feeling pretty good, and then after I went to bed, I was lying on my side with my knees drawn up, and I raised on one elbow and reached down past my knees to pet the cat goodnight, and screamed.  So whatever is going on, it's not finished yet.   

But I will never again feel guilt about lying on a heating pad for as long as I durn well want!

#76 Nails

I never have to decide to cut my nails.  They just grow, and eventually one breaks, and then I trim them all to match.  For some reason, for the past three months or so, none broke, so they just kept growing, and growing. They stay fairly straight, they don't hook, so they're not inconvenient.

And then they got weirdly long.  I had a difficult decision.  To trim, or not to trim?  I was curious as to just how long they'd get.  Cold weather is coming, and when they get cold, they snap easily, so they wouldn't get too much longer.

The decision was made for me this morning.  I was popping some bubble wrap, and the left middle finger was inside the wrap, and I snapped the nail along with a bubble.   It had been just a hair shorter than the ring finger nail. 

I thought I'd memorialize the remainder before I cut them down.

#75 Eclipse Confessions

I was talking with Jay's eldest sister on the phone earlier this evening, and she pointed out that Jay was giving me a red moon, a lunar eclipse, for my birthday.  A few minutes ago, I found this note from her in my email:

"... I saw that the next lunar eclipse will occur on Mar 3, 2007.  From your birthday to Jay's.  How do you think he arranged that?"

I whooped with laughter (scared the cat).  That's Jay, all right!  It's soooooo cool.  Elegant, even.  I guess he just needed to make doubly sure we got the connection (although he is off by two days.  On the other hand, I always had to fill out the medical forms for him, because he could never remember his birthdate.  He always thought it was the third.) 

Actually, I was a bit disturbed when she said "a red moon".  My ancestors come from mining villages in the valleys of Wales, and blood on the moon was ominous - a sign of impending death, with very good reason.  From working in the mines, a lot of people had lung problems.  Homes were heated with wood or coal fires, and if there was a fog or atmospheric inversion, the air got very bad in the valleys, causing the moon to appear red.  People died because they couldn't breathe when there was blood on the moon.  So I was happy to see that the eclipsed moon tonight was not red, but a dusky tangerine, with a bright yellow edge on top. 

[Later insert. Flash - late news is on TV - they are saying it was red.  Maybe it was red everywhere else, but in MY front yard, it was dusky tangerine at full eclipse.] 

During the eclipse, Orion, my constellation, was just rising above the trees below the moon, and the Pleiades, Jay's constellation, was between the two.  The Pleiades are in mythology the daughters of Atlas, whom Zeus hid among the stars to save them from the pursuit of Orion.  Later, when Orion was courting Diana, the sister of Apollo, Apollo tricked Diana into killing Orion with an arrow.  In sadness, Diana placed Orion in the heavens.  Tonight, Apollo (the sun), Diana (the moon), the Pleiades (Jay's stars) and Orion (mine) were all in accord. 

==============================

I made reservations today for that Hawaiian cruise in August of 2005.  They had cabins with private balconies, or with ocean views, or interior cabins.  I opted for a balcony cabin.  Costs a bit more, but this way I can have a cigarette when I want without smoking in the room, which I prefer not to do.  Also, the prices were based on double occupancy, but single occupancy wasn't double the price - so if they don't find me a roommate, it's not too terrible.  I'm almost hoping now that they don't.

============================== 

I keep hearing and reading about all these, uh, controversial? political ads - but we never get to see any of them here, except little bits as part of newscasts, when they are especially nasty.   It seems that the political campaigns don't bother to pay to show them in states that are considered foregone conclusions.  I haven't seen a single complete presidential campaign ad.  Not one.   How dare they consider ME a lost cause?  I'm insulted.

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At the tail end of a Mensa party a month or so ago, there were four of us left sitting in the dark on NJKC's porch - we three Musketeers, and a man (a lost hippie) that we have all known for 20 or more years.  Someone mentioned a young woman who was a new transfer, who was a bit hard to take.  I said that I was annoyed with her because she had a sweet husband whom she treated like dirt.  Well, that opened a can of worms.  I had not attended the regional gathering, so they told me about how she spent the RG weekend chasing after everything in pants. (Gossip!  And I confess I listened!) 

I don't remember exactly how the conversation went after that, but I was saying something about how it is possible to be at least discreet, and I gave an example.  Now, you need to know that I have a spotless reputation in this group.  Or had.  I may have blown it that evening. 

I told them about the time I was sitting at the lunch table in the main Company cafeteria one day, and I suddenly realized with horror that of the six men chatting happily at the table, I had slept with five of them!  One of them was my ex-husband, so of course everyone assumed I had slept with him, but none of the five knew anything about any of the others.  I sat there a little bit stunned, because not only did they not know each other well, worked in three different buildings (with their own cafeterias), and had never lunched together before, they represented the sum total of my local Company-connected sexual experience.  All at one table, all at once, entirely by chance, and all completely unaware.  It was a very strange (and I must confess, powerful) feeling. 

I didn't realize what I had said until the silence after I stopped speaking stretched out much tooooooo loooooong.  I could almost hear the gears in the other three minds clanking to reevaluate my reputation, and in one of the minds, casting for missed signals and opportunities.   Oops. 

To explain:   #1 had been in 1968, before I married the ex-husband.  #2 was the ex-husband, whom I married in 1970.  #3 was in about 1982, when #3 and I were friends, we each had no one else, so for a short while we had each other, until he decided he wanted more, and I decided I wanted less.  #4 was a single incident in 1990, when I  realized I was madly in love with Jay, so bad it was messing up my mind, but we hadn't been together yet and it didn't look like we ever would be, and after so many "dry" years I didn't know whether it was "A MAN" I wanted or Jay himself, so I had to check, and ...  #5 was Jay, whom I married in January 1994, a few months after that lunch.   Now it doesn't sound so bad, eh? 

But so much for discretion.  I think I blew it.  (Is this an "exception that proves the rule"?)

#74 A Crystal Jar

In a few days, it will be three years since Jay left. At his memorial service, the pastor said something about putting "memories in a crystal jar". I liked the thought, and decided to do exactly that. I have a crystal jar on the bookcase in the livingroom, and I have filled it with tiny slips of paper, like from a fortune cookie, each a memory of something special about Jay.

• The way he played video games with his tongue and whole body

• When something (a hammer, a pen) wasn’t where he expected to find it, he said "It escaped!", and seemed truly surprised

• He always tried to think honestly about his feelings, never hid anything from himself or me

• He never tried to talk me into skiing, never indicated in the least that he missed it

• Twinkling eyes

• He supported me against his father’s strong disapproval when I found the McDonald’s outside Versailles

• He couldn’t spell worth a damn

• He gave me the clouds and the moon

• "Carrot cake is a vegetable, right?"

• He loved Pleiades, volcanoes, and meteor showers

• In many ways, he was like my beloved mice - quiet, made nice warm nests, worked hard, personally very clean, and, like a mouse, he left the remnants of his tasks scattered behind him

• How huge he looked behind the windshields of his tiny cars - one wondered how he would ever unfold to get out

• The way he pronounced "oops"

• The mountain of his shoulders in bed, the angle of his hip

• When he stood at the bar of the Marlboro Inn in his three-piece dark suit, among the hunters and farmers - how tall he seemed, how impressively broad his shoulders

• After his diagnosis, he joked that he didn’t understand all the fuss - after all, his illness was just "all in his head"

• The way he could snatch flies right out of the air - and always released them outside

• He explained that there are things that are very clear and understandable, until you try to explain them - there are some things that just shouldn’t be looked at too carefully

• He was unaware of how big and powerful he was - he was timid about walking the streets of Binghamton after dark

• He never complained. Not once. No matter what

• His delicate tapering hands

• The way he gave off heat when he slept

• How playful he was

• The dangerous toiletries

• When he worked on something, he made a terrible mess of his environs, but the work itself was done neatly, delicately, and perfectly

• He acknowledged male hormonal urges and prohibitions - even better, he was able to describe male attitudes and thought patterns so that a female could actually understand and sympathize with them

• The way he couldn’t resist "improving" everything he bought

• How confident he was of his ability to understand/handle/fix anything

• Everybody says you have to work hard and constantly at a good marriage - it wasn’t work for him, he did what came naturally, and it was good

• The way his uni-eyebrow and beard were all one piece, and his nose hairs blended into his mustache

• The way his tongue helped him concentrate

• How sensitive he was to my moods, and always said and did exactly the right thing

• Joy in little things, like Ninja and Baby plowing a figure 8 in deep snow - "Just what I  always wanted - a doggy choo-choo!"

• That silky spot behind and below his left ear

• How soft and liquid his eyes could get

• Lying on the ground looking at stars

• Pizza! Pizza, pizza, pizza!

• He was so clean about his body that it took me ten years to discover that he had a severe problem with seborrhea on his scalp, face, and ears.

• He remembered perfectly everything he heard or read

• Music confused him - too much information all at once

• Elfin hairs on the outer curve and lobes of his ears

• His absolute joy in yummies

• LOUD!!! sneezes

• He never got petulant when I consistently beat him at word games like Super Boggle, and he played happily because he knew I enjoyed them

• His delicate artist’s touch

• The wonderful lopsided smile when he saw me coming down the hall at the rehab center

• In the last months, when he was having hallucinations and delusions, he listened to me and believed me, even though everything he "saw" and felt told him differently

• Near the end, he said that one of the things he appreciated most about me was the way I so thoroughly understood him. He didn’t realize that was only because he opened himself so completely to me.

• Incredible force of will - he hung on until I told him it was time to go.

• The cloud formation a few days after he died - his face, with a winking moon eye

• The meteor shower a few days after he died - I got up at 5 am and went out to the deck only because I knew he would want me to, and I counted >50 in the first 2 minutes, then I stopped counting. Later, the newspaper and the astronomy club reported a peak of 30 per hour! I got a private show. I truly believe he arranged it for me.

Is it any wonder I'm still in love with him?

~~Silk