Change Is Hard

Lapellah has been my go-to restaurant ever since I moved to Vancouver. It has the advantage of being within walking distance of where I live although there are much closer restaurants. Their menu features fresh and local ingredients. The food has always been consistent, creative, and fairly priced. If I could have my every meal there, I would. To that end, I make it there once or twice a week and often bring friends.

Recently, however, Lapellah lost its head chef and the new one has made some changes. I can understand that. The new guy wants to change things up, make his own individual mark on what it is that makes Lapellah, Lapellah. And, of course, not everyone is going to like it. Mercifully, Sunday Supper remains the same.

Sunday Supper is a two-course prix fixe menu created weekly by Lapellah's sous chef, Shaun. He is assisted in the kitchen by Hannah, Erik, Chris, and Brent. (I hope I got all your names right and didn't leave anyone out!) It's always inventive and always delicious. Don't let the changes to their regular menu keep you from coming to supper on Sunday but don't be late. It sells out early. It's a value at $20 per person or $30 per couple. Plus, on Sunday, bottles of wine are half off (for bottles selling for $70 or less, I believe). The best place to sit is at the kitchen counter or in the bar, imo.

No doubt, Lapellah will lose customers over changes to the regular menu. But, maybe they'll gain a new following.

Well, good luck with that. I love Lapellah, just not crazy about the changes.

Nevertheless, I'll be there Sunday.

Today is...

National Do A Grouch A Favor Day

I called my dad.

(Love you, Dad.)

Roses are Red .... How does that go again?

My favorite place to get greeting cards is Emily McDowell Studio. I dare you to look and not find something you love there. When I visit her site, I invariably think of the people in my life and buy cards that are perfect for them, or perfect for a situation.

The last time I placed, an order, I made sure to get a really great birthday card for Hubby who was going to turn 60 this year. We were traveling the week of his birthday, so I made sure to pack the card and bring it with me. By the time his birthday rolled around, though, I had completely forgotten about it and ended up giving it to him the next day, unsigned.

I told him that if I had remembered to give it to him, I would have written in it that I love him and wished him a happy birthday. That's okay, he said, I can give it to him again next year.

Valentine's Day was the following week and I completely forgot, again, to give him a card I had purchased and put away for the occasion. I guess I now have two cards I can give him next year.

This certainly isn't the first (or second) time I've forgotten to give someone a special card I picked out just for them. I bought a birthday card with a bunch of pink flamingos - an inside joke - for a friend's birthday, put it in my closet with my collection of other cards, and then forgot to send it. For years, I would come across it when sifting through the cards looking for one that would make a good thank you note or note of congratulations and I'd think, Oh, yeah. I forgot about that card. I should send that to her next year. But, I never did.

Eventually, we sold the house and I was going through all the stuff that accumulates in a house over ten years and was giving away or selling anything and everything just so I wouldn't have to move it. I found the flamingo card and thought, I'll be damned if I'm going to pack this card! So, I sent it to her and wished her a happy birthday, whenever that was.

If you know me, you've either received an Emily McDowell card from me or you will. You might check this out, too. I haven't read it yet but I'm thinking I will. (I'm definitely a fan.)

Happy birthday! Happy Valentine's Day, too, while I'm at it. (You know, just in case I forget to send your card.)

Orientation, part 2

Boaters know this feeling: it's a slight feeling of disorientation on land after spending a lot of time on a boat. Especially in the shower, for some reason, it feels as if the room is rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

I sort of remember a similar sensation after ice skating, oh so many years ago. Walking in street shoes after gliding on ice was like a mermaid becoming mortal. My feet felt weird, sluggish, sticking heavily to the ground.

I've been traveling a lot lately and getting disoriented in hotels has become a common occurrence. Last night, I woke up and I wasn't sure of where I was at first and I was in my own bed!

Don't worry. It'll wear off.

Alert!

The last hotel I stayed in, I could not see the TV from the bathroom which is a clear violation of hotel layout regulations. A couple of steps away from the sink, I could. Not that I necessarily need to see the TV from any given bathroom in any given location, rules are rules and hotel architecture cannot be exempt. It would be a slippery slope indeed if suddenly hotels considered bathrooms as a relatively private space rather than an extension of the room itself. What would be next? Soft toilet tissue? Quiet closing doors? Thick, plush carpets and tasteful art? Breakfast after 9am? Espresso machines?????

Hotels are meant to provide a consistent experience so frequent travelers know what to expect: subtle discomfort sufficient enough to ensure check out. Any departure from the hotel layout regulations could lead to happy travelers contemplating long term stays which could disrupt the entire multi-billion dollar travel industry.

Also of note, unaided moms traveling with children appear universally tired. All should be awarded a perfectly chilled martini at day's end (if not immediately).

Lastly, there was a small sign above the sink in the bathroom at the Phoenix airport that read, "Automatic turn on. Do not push." That kinda cracked me up but I'll leave it to you to imagine why.

Orientation

I was staying in a hotel recently where I went through my usual routine of mapping my route from bed to bath so I could navigate my way in the dark without stubbing a toe. While I was successful in that endeavor, I never quite got the hang of navigating my way to the room itself.

The carpet in the hallways had a busy pattern of the sort you might find in a Las Vegas casino, although in slightly muted colors, with the exception of a small area in front of the elevator. Without this differentiation in the pattern, I was lost every time I left the room. Once I found the elevator, I was fine. All I had to remember to find my way back was to turn right out of the elevator (or was it left?) and my room number (which was 2-something.)

I'll be home soon and my orientation will get reset. My focus will be tax returns for a while and I'm not going anywhere. Mark my words, though: I'll be on the road again April 16th and trying to figure out where the hell I am.

Dedicated to Galina

She's still nagging me to write a book. I thought she forgot about it but, nope. She asked me just the other day, How's the book coming?"

She's not my muse. She's more of a cheerleader, someone that refuses to stop pushing me. Not that it will change anything but if I ever write one, I told her, I'd dedicate it to her. 

This will have to be good enough, Galina. For now. 

Or, this:

https://chochimi.blogspot.com/2012/10/now-then.html

Don't stop pushing, Galina. Maybe, someday, it'll actually happen. And if it does, your name will be on the dedication page. 

Oh, by the way, if you're looking for a hair stylist, you should look her up (whether you're writing a book or not). She's at Parkwest Studio, #VanWA. 

Borderline

Whenever someone is talking about "The Wall" in the media, it often features someone talking in front of a wall. This got me to thinking. If there's already a wall (or fence), why do we need another one? How much of our border already has one? What problem are we trying to fix?

I asked Google and found this:

Borderline - The Washington Post

Take a look. 

Welcome Home

CNN: Washington is under a state of emergency as measles cases rise

" Last week, a person infected with measles attended a Portland Trail Blazers home game in Oregon amid the outbreak. Contagious people also went to Portland International Airport, as well as to hospitals, schools, stores, churches and restaurants across Washington's Clark County and the two-state region, county officials said. "

From The Columbian:  "The virus lives in the nose and throat mucus of an infected person, and can survive for up to two hours in an airspace where the infected person coughed or sneezed."

Like in an airplane?

We arrived at Portland International Airport yesterday from Phoenix. Our flight was packed and it seemed everyone was sneezing.

It started even before we got on the plane. We had to take a shuttle from the rental car area to the main terminal and we were surrounded by small children, most too young to know to cover one's mouth. We considered holding our breath for the entirety of our commute but figured we wouldn't last the two mile journey.

The flight was similarly packed with children. (On a Monday. Don't these kids have school?) Even the adults were coughing and sneezing, all around us.

Of the 36 cases of measles in Clark County, 31 involve people who were not immunized. According to the Washington State Department of Health, 7.9% of children entering kindergarten had a vaccine exemption - meaning a signed Certificate of Exemption excusing the student from one or more vaccinations due to medical, personal, or religious beliefs - during the 2017-18 school year in Clark County compared to 4.7% of the kindergarteners statewide. For all grades K-12, 7.5% of students in Clark County had some exemption from immunizations versus 4.9% for all of Washington (which breaks down to 7.5% for private schools versus 4.7% for public schools statewide).

Here in Clark County, 12.2% of students in the Battle Ground School District alone had exemptions (with an enrollment of 14,523). The worst school district in the state, by the way, is Orchard Prairie School District (40.7%) in Spokane County while the worst school is St. John of Kronstadt Orthodox Christian School in Yakima (68%) so I guess things could be worse.

I've been immunized against the measles as well as the flu but I loaded up on Vitamin C today anyway. And I plan to stay in bed until March as a safeguard.

Seriously, if you think you have the measles, call your healthcare provider before going to see the doctor to safeguard against spreading the infection to others in the waiting room. And, if you're a parent, consider getting your kids vaccinated. (The Washington state legislature has introduced a bill that would ban personal exemptions for the measles vaccine.)

On your marks, get set, go!

Today is the official start of Tax Season.

Woo hoo!

The Tax System, Explained in Beer!

[Submitted by a reader.]

We Are Number Two!

Vancouver No. 2 ‘coffee city’ in U.S.

" In absolute terms, Vancouver’s 78 coffee shops are substantially outnumbered by Portland’s 246 and Seattle’s 278. But on a residents-per-shop basis, Vancouver outranks them both, coming in at No. 2 on the overall list with one coffee business for every 2,224 residents, according to the report. "

But we're No. 1 in 'hipster.'

Hotels Rooms

No matter where you stay, you will find similarities as well as differences. You might say there are variations on themes however there are some constants. The artwork is almost universally bad. There is a universal, sole supplier of hotel toilet paper. (It is not available to the public because the public would never buy it.) All bathroom mirrors are oriented so that you can see the TV either from the bathroom sink or the commode. The coffee maker, if there is one, universally makes bad coffee. However, a coffee maker in the room ranks much higher than one without. (Rooms where they bring you a pot of coffee always arrive late but are of the highest quality, strongly correlated with room price.)

Bed firmness positively correlates with room price as does the slight variations in mattress height.  Creakiness of bed frames correlate negatively. (This article does not cover hotel beds that take quarters but I'll send you a roll of quarters if you venture to stay in one.) While the quality of the furniture also correlates strongly with room price, all hotel furniture features a certain sheen of ick. (Ick sheen is negatively correlated with price.)

I have little to say about the free toiletries (other than none of them are good) while I have a lot to say about bathroom layout. While most layouts work reasonably well for a single traveler, many present a challenge for two. Electrical outlets not arranged near mirrors make hair drying difficult (unless hairstyle is not important) while a lack of mirrors in some hotels makes simultaneous preening nearly impossible for a couple.

Sinks are a particular pet peeve. At one particular hotel, one sink has a residential sized kitchen faucet over an airplane sized sink making it nearly impossible to wash one's hands without the water cascading over the counter and down the front of one's pants. The other sink has a faucet so small that it's impossible to wash one's hands without also rubbing ones hands along back wall of the sink (which brings us back to ick).

Beyond the bathroom, room layout varies from comfortable and inviting to "What were they thinking?" Doors that swing open to block access to something else such as a closet or sink, for example, or closets that are nothing more than a coat rack. Drawers at floor level to replace a typical dresser might be perfect for toddlers but can be a literal pain in the back for older folks.

Some have motion-sensitive nightlights (with varying degrees of brightness and sensitivity) while others are pitch dark. We recently checked into a hotel room and after I claimed my side of the bed, I noticed our room's lack of nightlights, automatic or otherwise. My side was farthest from the bathroom; that plus the room's layout made reconnaissance necessary. A midnight trip to the bathroom would require navigation around the bed, avoidance of an ottoman (Dick Van Dyke style), and walking down a short corridor to a door that automatically swung closed to the dark and windowless bathroom. I made note of the orientation of the commode. (Which way did it face?) I made note of where the toilet paper was. (Would it be on my left or right?)

There's nothing more disorienting than waking up in the middle of the night in unfamiliar surroundings, unable to see, with an urgency to pee.

I moved the ottoman out of the way and propped the bathroom door open. I filled the coffee maker with water and loaded it with a plastic coffee pod. I brushed my teeth and readied for bed. When I climbed under the covers and snapped off the reading light, I discovered the light from outside our window would be glaringly sufficient to light my way (or see from outer space). My logistical preparations, which have become standard operating procedure, were completely unnecessary.

The coffee was still terrible.

Tax Season - sorta

I can't really work until the new tax software arrives. It's updated every year, at a minimum, to account for inflation adjustments to standard deductions and various phaseouts, and changes in mileage allowances, etc. Congress will often enact tax law, usually late in the year, which requires additional programming that must be substantially completed before the software can be delivered. (Updates are made throughout the tax filing season.) This year, the changes are drastic, requiring all new tax forms and schedules.

This means my workload around the Holidays is somewhere between nil and something I can do before my coffee gets cold. All I can do is get ready because once the tax software arrives, it's time to get to work.

The tax software arrived last Friday. Yippee!

As far as the IRS is concerned, however, Tax Season doesn't start until January 28th and that's if they can get anyone to show up for work. While the IRS doesn't usually process refunds during a government shutdown, this year they say they will. This means they will be recalling furloughed workers who will not be paid until the shutdown ends. The IRS expects to have enough employees to answer 60-70% of phone calls from taxpayers needing help.

You can prepare your taxes but no one will care for another three weeks. And then, the IRS will care about 65%.

This is news. Just a week before, the IRS's contingency plan for a governmental shutdown did not allow for the processing of refunds although taxes owed would still be due. Phone calls would not be answered and amended returns from prior years would not be processed. The contingency plan has now been updated to include refunds although no one is exactly sure how that will happen. I still haven't received my refund for the 2017 tax year and that's not bound to be fixed anytime soon.

People who are expecting refunds usually file early and while tax preparers now have the software to prepare 2018 tax returns, the IRS won't accept them before January 28th. On the other hand, people who owe generally file later; whether they file an extension or not, taxes are due April 15th.

Unless it's April 17th.

How can you not get excited about this stuff?

Just In

I'm sure I've lamented here before about the upstairs neighbors we used to have. We were temporarily living in a mother-in-law unit on the bottom level of a massive house in an affluent neighborhood. The unit was small but it was comfortable, furnished, and private. We had a large, west facing deck that offered peek-a-boo views and plenty of shade. One of its few drawbacks was schlepping groceries in the rain from the curb around back to our entrance. That, and our upstairs neighbors.

Our landlords, who lived above us, were a married couple. She was a tightly packed, petite woman and was home during the day most of the time. Small as she was, she was a heavy walker. Back and forth, we could hear her and it seemed she never stood still.

In the evenings, as we heard her - back and forth, back and forth - we imagined that she cleared the dinner table one spoon, fork, and knife at a time. Stack your dishes!, we would yell at the ceiling. Save yourself a trip!

The husband traveled and was often away on business. We could always tell his comings and goings because we could hear him dragging his rolling bag across the kitchen tiles. Early in the morning, we could hear him - padump padump padump - as he rolled over to what we imagined was the coffee maker. Then - padump padump padump - back to the kitchen table. Then - padump padump padump - to deposit the cup in the sink. Then - padump padump padump - out the front door.

If he was home on the weekends, he would work in his wood shop which was located on the bottom floor next to our bedroom. Late at night, we could hear him using a buzz saw just on the other side of our headboard.

They didn't entertain much. Once, there was a cocktail party held on the deck above ours. It seemed jolly but not raucous. The footsteps on the deck above didn't resonate like they did inside the house. Another time, however, she hosted a birthday party for one of her small grandchildren. On that occasion I could have sworn that she hired dancing elephants. It was a whole family of heavy walkers!

We lived there for less than a year before we purchased a condo and moved. The new location was in the flight path of a major airport, a half mile from a small regional airport, yards from a railroad and state highway, and steps from a major river supporting tug and barge traffic. Even with all that, it was quieter than the mother-in-law unit we previously occupied.

Our condo is a three story, townhouse style place. No neighbors above, but we have neighbors on either side. When we moved in, a confirmed bachelor was on one side and a librarian lived on the other. Both were sociable but quiet neighbors. For two years, all was well until the librarian moved out.

A self-described hedonist moved in and we can hear everything. He likes to crank up the stereo at 6 am and entertain women at night. When I say we can hear everything, I mean we can hear everything. We know how many women he entertains, how often, and for how long. We've approached him about this and even tried to befriend him to no avail.

In the summertime, when he cranks up the music and starts to cook an odoriferous meal, we could just jump on our bikes and pedal to a brewery, sit in the sunshine, or attend the local independent movie theater. Now, our prospects for escaping are more dismal. It's not impossible to get away, to avoid the noise. Sometimes, we escape to a different floor, one he isn't occupying.

There may be an assessment coming and we welcome it; the required repairs are necessary. We've been here long enough, and bought at the right time, to have the equity to support such an assessment. Our neighbor, however, just bought in at a $100,000 more than we paid next door. He's not so happy about it. While the repairs won't fix the soundproofing between units, we're hoping it improves the neighborhood. (We hope he moves out.)

Slipping into 2019

This morning, I made the last entry into my 2018 (paper) diary that was sent to us when we subscribed to The Economist. I enjoyed writing in it more than I thought I would. In fact, I’m not sure I started writing in it right away since I already keep an electronic journal plus two blogs.

I left it on the kitchen counter thinking it would be part diary and part guest book. It was never intended to be the kind of diary where I recorded my most secret feelings. (That’s in my electronic diary. Even there, I don’t like to disparage anyone, much, lest someone were to actually read it.)

Either we didn’t have people over much in 2018 or when we did no one was nosy enough to crack it open, much less contribute to it without invitation.

There are a couple pages in the back to tide me over into the first week of 2019 but I’m afraid I will miss the practice of writing each yesterday’s events down as I make my morning coffee, a brief but comfortable ritual. A mini-time-out for myself. One last quiet moment before my day begins.

No, I did not expect to like that 2018 diary from The Economist but even one day later, on New Year’s Day, I already miss it. I guess I’ll have to get another diary. (Maybe I should renew my subscription to The Economist while I’m at it.)

2018 is over; that book is closed. It's time to turn the page and to slip into 2019.

Crazy Eights

As I look back on 2018 and beyond, I think of the major events that happened in years that ended in 8.

1938 - my dad was born
1988 - a boy that was to become my stepson was born
2008 - my grandson was born

1988 - my divorce, and death of two grandparents (that was a tough year)

2018 - 89 nights away from home

For 2018, my iPhone reports daily averages of:

• 1.8 miles walked
• 4,348 steps
• 7 floors

These averages do not include times I walk, step, or climb floors without my iPhone. I live in a 3-story condo and the first two flights of every day - downstairs for coffee, upstairs to change into my walking gear - are without my phone. I imagine there are other times throughout the day since I work from home. It isn't hard to imagine my average is closer to 10 flights per day, or more. 

4,300 steps and 1.8 miles is probably considered only moderately active but my weight fluctuated less than a pound during the year despite the fact I had a handful of potato chips for breakfast this morning. (I couldn't help myself. Besides, I can get a little crazy on New Year's Eve, right?)

I don't remember the years ending in 9 as being so crazy. In 1989, I married a man that I'm still married to. Some might call that crazy but I'm pretty happy about it. Next year, we already have 41 nights scheduled for travel through May. That could be considered crazy, I suppose. Crazy or not, life is pretty good when you get right down to it. Not always easy but somehow we manage to get through it. 

I hope 2018 was reasonably good for you and your 2019 is even better. Crazy or not, here we come.

If you're going to make New Year's resolutions, don't wait until the last second.

INTERNATIONAL EARTH ROTATION AND REFERENCE SYSTEMS SERVICE (IERS)

SERVICE INTERNATIONAL DE LA ROTATION TERRESTRE ET DES SYSTEMES DE REFERENCE


SERVICE DE LA ROTATION TERRESTRE DE L'IERS
OBSERVATOIRE DE PARIS
61, Av. de l'Observatoire 75014 PARIS (France)
Tel. : +33 1 40 51 23 35
e-mail : services.iers@obspm.fr
http://hpiers.obspm.fr/eop-pc


Paris, 05 July 2018


Bulletin C 56

To authorities responsible
for the measurement and
distribution of time



INFORMATION ON UTC - TAI


NO leap second will be introduced at the end of December 2018.
The difference between Coordinated Universal Time UTC and the
International Atomic Time TAI is :

from 2017 January 1, 0h UTC, until further notice : UTC-TAI = -37 s

Leap seconds can be introduced in UTC at the end of the months of December
or June, depending on the evolution of UT1-TAI. Bulletin C is mailed every
six months, either to announce a time step in UTC, or to confirm that there
will be no time step at the next possible date.


Christian BIZOUARD
Director
Earth Orientation Center of IERS
Observatoire de Paris, France

Do Something Different

Yesterday, I read a blog post entitled, Christmas Mirage from Route 8. While the post was really about the author getting sick after attending a church sponsored Christmas carol sing-a-long in a brewpub, she alluded to what she called the "Christmas Mirage."

That phrase resonated with me. Christmas does seem to . . .  I was going to say slither but that sounds oily. The Grinch slithers. "Disappear" is the better word, as in a mist. As if it wasn't really there. A mirage.

This Christmas was good. It was at someone else's house. The buildup was someone else's problem. (Problem or joyful anticipation?) Procurement, wrapping, baking, hosting - Not it! Our house on Christmas day was peaceful and lazy. Better than any Sunday you can think of. (Chores strictly prohibited.)

In a way, it didn't feel like Christmas at all. We spent the week leading up to it in southern California. Houses were decorated, sure, but there was no snow. No precipitation of any kind, just clear skies and brilliant sunshine in the midst of winter. We were housesitting. There was a Christmas tree but there were no obligations - no office parties, awkward gift exchanges, or family gatherings. It was nice.

Some years ago, we agreed not to exchange gifts but this was the first time Hubby adhered to the rule and I was quite grateful. His heart is big - so much bigger than mine (remember?) - and he would always break our no gift rule with some expensive thing I really didn't need. It was given in love and returned with regrets. It was like breaking his heart year after year.

I could have kept the gifts and let them gather dust. Maybe that would have been better. This year, he gave me nothing and I was filled with joy! I, in fact, broke the rule. I gave him two books. Both were completely unnecessary, but not expensive, and one of them was really for me. (They weren't gift wrapped. Does that count?)

Still, the day after Christmas always feels like some kind of letdown. Even if it was exactly as you wanted, there's a sense of disappointment and unfulfilled expectations afterward. Loss? The echo of silence? There are decorations but nothing left to celebrate, reminders of something that was once there but now isn't.

Then, for many, there's an awkward work week - shortened, sometimes fractured, by the holiday. Requisite attendance with questionable productivity. No one wants to be there. Everyone wants the ease of Christmas day to linger. Work or not, the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve is that moment in time when people glance back at the past and make hopeful plans for the future. No one is focused on today.

I am doing the same. Looking back on 2018, I attended one funeral and one wedding. I attended several concerts and shows. I traveled. I learned how to shoot a gun. I re-read what I wrote last year. I made new friends and ended other friendships. I got a colonoscopy and a mammogram. We updated and executed our Wills. I did not clean out my closets except, perhaps, metaphorically.

I'm not sure I have any resolutions for the new year. More of the same: travel, weddings, and funerals in all likelihood. Mending broken relationships is on my list although I haven't any idea of how I'll go about it. I'll figure something out.

I do plan on joy. And laughter. Our motto has been, "If you're not having fun, do something different." Sure, there are melancholy moments, like the Christmas mirage, but that's the time to focus on something else, do something different. Time to put away all the decorations and move on. Have fun. Be with people you love and like to be around.

Yes, that's what my 2019 is going to be about. Christmas is over. It's time to do something different.

Today's post is an update to Eat Me.

The horror!

CenturyLink network affected by outage - The Columbian by Associated Press

" At North Colorado Medical Center in Greeley, Colorado, doctors and nurses for a time had difficulty accessing patient records. Rather than using digital devices, they had to take notes with pencil and paper, according to the Greeley Tribune. "

We are sitting on a plane in Santa Ana that is boarding for Portland in the row directly behind a young family of five. It is a little after 6 pm and the father in the row in front of us, with the oldest son, is apologetic even before we've taken our seats. Across the aisle, the mother is at her wits' end with the two youngest who are small enough that their legs jut straight out in front of them in their seats. The little ones speak at an octave just below that which only dogs can hear but at a volume that that first class can hear distinctly. The parents are are on the verge of panic - they are encapsulated for a little over two hours with tiny people they have no control over in the company of complete strangers who will inevitably judge them mercilessly. 

The mom fervently utters Sshhh! as the children squeal during takeoff. The lights turn low and a quiet descends. Surrounding passengers, as well as the harried parents, breathe a collective sigh of relief. No one wishes to disturb the suddenly calmed children while secretly praying the beverage cart will soon arrive. 

Santa is on his way. The children's slumber can only be good for us all.

[Screach! go the children. Sshhh! from the mom. Where the hell is that beverage cart?]

The father is already napping. [Is he faking or saving strength? Me, I'd totally be faking.] The mother is feeding treats to the the children as if fattening geese. But because they must share crayons, intermittent yowls persist.

[Cocktail, pah-lease!]

Electronics were deployed. Eyes were rubbed. The parents relaxed and furtive glances were replaced by smiles as the children became sleepy putty, if only for a short while.

As the lights below came back into view so did the parents’ ranks tighten as they prepared for another change in pressure. When we landed, Santa was only entering US airspace, yet the children were full of anticipation.

We deplaned. Santa was less than a few hours away. There was magic even as we made our way to baggage claim. On Christmas Eve, at the airport, people gathered to welcome loved ones. One small child, excited to see someone arriving on the night before dreams come true held a cardboard sign reading, “Welcome back from fat camp!”

Merry Christmas.



[not kidding]

John

I've often lamented there should be a government position of Bathroom Commissioner. This person would be in charge of creating and enforcing a set of standards for public restrooms. I shouldn't have to read directions on how to dry my hands, whether or not the device by which I dry them is paper towel or high-pressure air. I shouldn't have to wave my hands this way or that only to leave the bathroom with still wet hands. How often have I done that only to have another woman dry her hands effortlessly, having discovered the secret to operating the towel dispenser?

Toilets that flush automatically often don't. In such cases, one must find a secret button located uncomfortably close to the open toilet bowl. Sometimes, this button is obvious. Other times, the only thing one can do is run one's hand over the entire surface of the plumbing at the back of the bowl with one's face hovering over one's own waste until flush!

When a toilet does flush automatically, it is usually either before or during the event for which the device was devised. This can be rather surprising if not disgusting. Assuming you are not on the bowl at the time, the "bloom" created by flushing a toilet without a lid potentially exposes you to more germs than are on the toilet seat itself. (Time - You Asked: Should I Use a Toilet Seat Cover?)

How does this work?

Automatic sinks can often be as confusing. What is the magic hand motion to make them work? How do I adjust the temperature? Even sinks with handles can be confounding. Is a joystick really a good idea?

Bathroom design is another thing. Stalls at airports should be sufficiently large enough to accommodate one's luggage. Coat hooks allow a person to wash one's hands without also having to juggle coats or purses.  (Thank you, PDX!) The hotel where I now sit has two sinks. Both are located behind doors that, when open, block the sinks. The towels are hung on the walls opposite the sinks, 10 feet away. Whose idea was that?

Soap. Foam soap is mostly air. I realize it saves money but it doesn't work as well as liquid soap. Sanitizer should be available in more locations. First, in restrooms that only have foam soap but also outside restrooms where one cannot exit without touching the door handle.

Hand sanitizer should also be available anywhere where food is served such as fast food restaurants or buffet lines but that's someone else's job. Maybe we should have a Hand Sanitizer Commissioner.

Elfing

I can't imagine what it's like at the North Pole: the pressure, long hours, sleeplessness, the workplace injuries. Thankfully, I'm a senior elf. I don't have to make the toys anymore. No more late nights. No more North Pole, delightful as it is. And, no more eggnog, thank Santa.

Senior elfing is soooo much easier - much like grandparenting. It's someone else's job to fill the stockings, put up the tree, put together the "easy to assemble"s. Someone else was responsible for manufacture and delivery. All I had to do is sprinkle peppermint-crystal magic.

This year's assignment was southern California, a far cry from the North Pole, while a young family was away. It was a combination of house-sitting, pet-setting, and freeloading. I rushed to fill the vacuum of junior elfing with the very things that used to stress me out: wrapping presents, baking cookies, and sending cards. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Some packages were there already, ahead of the magic hour. I could have left them on the doorstep or in the hall. The family had no expectations. But, I brought them in and uncrated them. I found the wrapping, the ribbon, the tape. I wrapped them, all but one. It was so big, I devised a scavenger hunt for that one and hid clues throughout the house.

The family is due back by Christmas. The house will be clean before they arrive and the presents will be under the tree. There will be elf dust everywhere but, good thing, they won't be able to see (although the 10-year-old may now be allergic).

I'm delighted to be a senior elf but I'm exhausted. It's a lot of work - no matter what kind of elf you are - to get done in one night.

Written on the Bathroom Wall

Only $6.25 or is there some other quarter I don't know about?

Please forward and backward.

Garbage

There are always things to be done when one travels: placing a hold on delivered mail, for example, or making sure the plants are watered. I like to take apart my espresso maker and run all the parts through the dishwasher before I go. On longer trips, we like to take the garbage out so it doesn’t stink up the house while we’re gone.

There’s always some time pressure: the Uber car is about to arrive, last minute packing, trying to get everything ready without having to get up at o’dark thirty, and trying not to forget anything.

On a recent trip, we drove ourselves to the airport. We packed the garbage and recycling in the trunk of our car alongside our luggage. In our complex, the central waste collection is about a block and a half away. We usually walk it over but we thought it might be more efficient to drop it off on our way to the airport. We made sure the lights had all been turned off, we lowered the thermostat, double-checked with each other that we had everything. (Swimsuit? Check. Sun glasses? Check. Underwear? Check.) We got in the car, my shoelaces still untied, jewelry not yet donned in hand, and headed out.

As soon as we hit the freeway, we realized we had forgotten to drop off the garbage. Instead of stinking up the house, it was going to stink up our car unless we could get rid of it.

We had plenty of time, I suggested. We could turn around. Hubby thought we would cut it too close. We would have to find someplace near the airport to dispose of it.

Sure, I reasoned. There were hotels, restaurants, and plenty of retail stores nearby. We were bound to find an accessible garage dumpster somewhere. At the very least, we might find a pickup truck in the airport parking lot. Maybe we could leave it in the cargo bed?

Finding a dumpster wasn’t as easy to find as we had imagined. I started to worry that we would spend more time looking for a dumpster than it would have taken to turn around in the first place. Finally, we found one outside a fast food restaurant in an unlocked corral in plain view of the drive through window.

Now, I wondered if this was legal. Could we actually do this? Does dumping an unidentifiable package in dumpster near an airport create a homeland security risk? We kept the engine running as Hubby popped the trunk and made a break for the dumpster.

What an odd picture we must have painted. Hubby was wearing dark denim jeans with dress shoes, a crisp white dress shirt and a navy blue blazer. I sat nervously inside our expensive German auto, my diamonds sparkling from within. We are in our 50s and we were trying to stealthily dispose of our household waste as if our garbage might spark an international incident.

Go, go, go! We pealed out of the parking lot before anyone could get our plate number. We made our way to the economy parking lot relieved of our waste and evading pursuit from mall security. We reached the parking lot gate, took a ticket and the very first thing we came across inside was a freestanding garage dumpster practically begging travelers to rid themselves of whatever they couldn’t travel with or needed to empty their vehicles of.

*forehead slap*

Now we know. We've learned our lesson: Ask the maid to take the garbage out.



(Just kidding. They couldn't really see us from the drive through window.)

Sameness

My socks match today because all my mismatched socks are in the laundry.

Random sock pairings will resume tomorrow.

Heartless.

The Seattle Times: Dallas-bound flight returns to Seattle after human heart was left onboard

" On Sunday afternoon, a Southwest Airlines flight bound for Dallas made a hairpin turn over eastern Idaho and headed back for Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. The reason, the captain told passengers: Someone forgot to unload a human heart. "

A nonprofit just moved into, arguably, the most expensive real estate in Vancouver. No wonder they are non profit.

The Columbian: Tenants begin moving into Murdock building at The Waterfront Vancouver

" The first tenant has moved into the recently completed Murdock building at The Waterfront Vancouver: the M.J. Murdock Charitable Trust. The nonprofit foundation . . . "

Take a listen to this podcast. It's well worth it.

The New York Times: The Business of Selling Your Location

It's amazing how much is out there about each one of us on the internet. Shocked as I was by this report, I still did nothing about it.

I broke my rule about Costco in December ...

... which is DON'T GO. Costco is always a madhouse, especially so in December, but I was out of coffee and you do not want to know what that looks like!



So we braved it. I braved the warehouse while Hubby braved the parking lot. For emphasis, Hubby parked the car in a Costco parking lot, in December, while I was in a Costco warehouse, in December. We're lucky we're not still there. Me, snaking around aisles clogged with people clumped around overwhelmed, hairnetted retirees to sample whatever food was being handed out, and Hubby in an endless circuit around the parking lot interrupted only by people who look like they're going to back out of a spot but never really do.

If it wasn't for the coffee, we wouldn't have gone. Except, we were also out of everything else. We stocked up on paper towels, toilet paper, and Kleenex. And Triscuits. I couldn't help myself. I got a case of four boxes but they are organic so they're good for me, right?

Somehow, I made it out of there and we were reunited, for the most part, unscathed. (There may be some PTSD but we haven't been diagnosed yet.)

Technically, I broke two of my rules: the one about December plus the one about going. We live in a condo. We don't have room for three cases of paper products. (I made space for the case of Triscuits.) Euphoric over surviving the trip, this lapse in judgement became immediately apparent. There was no place to put all this stuff: 12 rolls of paper towel, 30 rolls of toilet paper, and 12 boxes of Keenex. The only good news is that I won't have to go back to Costco for a very long time (or at least until my two pound bag of coffee runs out - which could be next week.)

If I'm out of paper product next December, I'm just going to have to stay at your house.

Superficial foreign body, without major open wound.

I'm just lucky to be alive!

Actually, that's doctorspeak for "splinter." I had a checkup last week and as it happened, I was rearranging furniture in preparation for a holiday party. Rubbing my hands along the frame of a bench, I picked up a nasty splinter in one finger. Knowing I was about to see my doctor, my attempts at removing it were limited to a couple feeble attempts. First I had to find tweezers. Then, reading glasses. Then, adequate lighting. . . . I gave up quickly and left it to the professionals.

aka, a splinter

Extraction completed, I was bandaged and sent home with instructions to keep the area clean and to watch for infection. I wonder how the insurance company will be billed for this.

Today, I am in a fog - literally and figuratively. Current visibility is about 300 feet, we cannot see the sun, and I feel like I'm sleepwalking. We had plenty of sunshine last week but the weather has turned and it has become dark and wet.

I can't concentrate or get motivated to do much. This morning, I left the shower having forgotten to wash my hair.

Good thing we have a trip planned for southern California for next week. It'll be 30 degrees warmer and 100 percent sunnier. In fact, we will get an hour more of daylight every day as we will be closer to the eastern edge of the Pacific time zone.

A neighbor has come and gone, interrupting any semblance of rhythm and flow. Me, in my dirty hair and foggy existence. He, bearing homemade brownies.

Perhaps more coffee. Or, perhaps, I should just go back to bed and start over. Will someone please wake me up when it's March?

Stick Dog

This is the name I've given to a sleeping position I adopt

Stick dog or self portrait?

when I break out in a sweat, a common occurrence generally limited to my sleeping hours. It involves laying on my side with my arms and legs extended in search of cooler sheets.

Another position, unnamed, involves laying face down except I've been told never to sleep face down so while my lower half is face down, so to speak, my shoulders are rotated as in the Stick Dog position.

Temperatures are in the 20s at night now. Yet, I sleep with the fan on, covers thrown off, with arms and legs splayed while Hubby shivers under two Pendelton wool blankets. Both of us believe we should be losing weight - he because of vigorous and continual shivering and I through profuse sweating. It's hard to imagine that our slumber is restful! Neither, however, has found any weight loss in sleep.

Why am I telling you this? Your guess is as good as mine. I needed to post today so this is what you get. As in most blogs, it is a rambling of personal problems best kept to oneself. And, yet, I ramble on!

Now posted, you are dismissed.

I've suddenly become addicted to Triscuits and potato chips...

... and I know exactly how it happened: cleaning up. Let that be a lesson to you!

Putting away the party snacks, one inevitably must nibble. A cracker here, a potato chip there. Before I knew it, I was craving my next snack. I NEED A TRISCUIT!

I knew I hit rock bottom when I found myself eating potato chips for breakfast - Kettle Brand Krinkle Cut. I thought I could restrain myself. I only had a handful - maybe two - and then I put the bag away. But I couldn't stop thinking about them. They were ground into my teeth. I tried to dislodge the snack with my tongue only to taste their salty goodness and crave them all the more.

It's been four and a half hours since my last cracker - almost an entire day without chips. I'm trying to be strong but have turned to coffee to distract myself. Am I doomed to replace one indulgence with another? Thank goodness there aren't any cookies in the house!

(Anymore....)

Is it Friday yet?

. . . because I had too much Wednesday.

My house is a glorious mess. We hosted our first party since we remodeled, the first party since we've had both a dining room table and chairs, and the first Holiday party since we moved here. We purchased our condo with all the furnishings three years ago. It came with a dining room table but no chairs. This was great because, without chairs, we were never expected to host anything. We attached a net and used the table for ping pong instead.

Last year, we decided to remodel including all new wood floors. Rather than store the furniture for the duration, we sold it all and bought new stuff. The previous owner's furniture was worn and we wanted an updated look to go with our updated space. We bought dining chairs but no table. We couldn't find one that would fit the space and still be good for ping pong.

We spent six months looking for a table. During that time, we had no ping pong but we also continued to have no obligation to host anything. Luckily, we had friends who were gracious enough to include us as frequent, if not perennial, guests.

Even though we've had both table and chairs since February, the reputation persisted: We don't host.

Until last night. We invited friends and neighbors over for dinner and then a short walk to watch the Christmas Ships cruise along the Columbia River. That was the "Holiday" part. There was no gift giving. No ugly sweaters. No roasting fire. We had our measly few decorations, some holiday music in the background, and a whole lot of wine.

We invited Jimmy. We also invited Al who lives nearby. I have no idea how old Al is but if I had to guess, he's in the neighborhood of 80. We see him out walking every morning, rain or shine, and got to know him as our regular walking buddy. We invited a chef (no pressure!), a friend (our adopted daughter?) with two small children, and it was perfect: our house was made a home.

The kitchen was a littered with food, pots, and pans. The table was covered with wine glasses and coffee cups. After our wintery walk, blankets and coats were draped over every surface. We found Triscuits under tables and ground into carpet. There were dominoes dangerously dancing on glass table tops. (Our condo is more kid dangerous than friendly.) But no wine was spilled in the making of this party!

It's just the kind of mess that I don't mind. The kind that comes with warm, fuzzy feelings for being the evidence of love, messy as that is.

I slept in this morning and am slogging my way through Thursday, still in my fuzzy afterglow. I'll get over it. The Grinch isn't far away. Rain is back in the forecast. The nights are still long. But for now, everything is all right.

Here are two gifts I won't be giving you.

If it's the thought that counts, you are doubly blessed because I have two gifts that I won't be giving you.

Aloe

I have three aloe plants, two of which have given birth to several more and their pots are getting crowded. All year, I kept thinking I would come across a sale of adorable small pots that I could use to re-pot all the babies and gift to friends. But, I didn't. And, I didn't go out of my way to find them either.

Fruitcake

Phew!, you just sighed, but have you actually tried one? At the turn of the century (or thereabouts), I came across an article in Martha Stewart Living, to which I then subscribed, that extolled the virtues of this holiday phenomenon. Somehow, even though I had a career and two kids, I had enough time to bake all five varieties mentioned in the article. I think I liked some better than others but since I can't remember, it might be time to make them again.

The cakes are literally fermented and, therefore, must be made well in advance of when you intend to eat (or gift) them. For this reason (and the fact that I suck at managing my time), you will not be receiving such a cake this year. (Beware, I've already put it on my calendar for November to start baking for next year.)

Of the five recipes included in the article, only one can be made in less than one month's time: Chocolate Panforte. It is possible you'll get a bite of this before the year is over. However, I also found this at Martha Stewart dot com: Miniature Golden Fruitcakes so you're not entirely safe from the gift of fruitcake although it's highly unlikely that I'll get motivated enough to actually make them.

But, I thought about it so there you go. Merry Christmas.

Stress

The effort it takes to reduce stress is stressing me out. My blood pressure has been running a little high lately and I'm trying to avoid taking medication for it. For alternatives, I found this list (from 13 Natural Ways to Lower Your Blood Pressure - ABC News):

1. Power walks [Already doing it.]
2. Breathe deeply *
3. Potassium [Had it tested. No deficiency.]
4. Reduce sodium [Also tested fine.]
5. Dark chocolate [Every day, baby!]
6. Coenzyme Q10 [Started taking it as of today.]
7. Drink (a little) alcohol [I'm an overachiever here (and not in the "little" department).]
8. Switch to decaf coffee [In your dreams but I'll do it if nothing else works.]
9. Hibiscus tea [On my shopping list.]
10. Work less [I'm in front of the computer most of the day whether I'm working or not.]
11. Relax with music *
12. See help for snoring [For me or my partner?]
13. Replace refined carbs with foods high in soy or milk protein [I'm not sure how one can replace the other but reducing one and increasing the other makes sense. I have a soy latte, generally, every day.]

     * This is where I get stressed out.

I'm doing well in most of these areas but there are a couple bad habits I probably should fix. Deep breathing and relaxing music? Who has time for that?

I've tried to close my eyes and focus on my breathing and found myself getting antsy almost immediately. Today, I tried while listening to the most relaxing music ever and set a timer for one minute and was, frankly, surprised at how quickly the time passed. I'll work on increasing that time but just thinking about it is like: "Great, just another chore I've got to do." (If I all I did was worry about my "gottas" I'd never get to any of my "wannas.")

As if that wasn't stressful enough, I looked up how to properly take my own blood pressure. The instructions from Mayo Clinic include (and I quote although the emphasis is all mine):

• Measure your blood pressure twice daily. The first measurement should be in the morning before eating or taking any medications, and the second in the evening. Each time you measure, take two or three readings to make sure your results are accurate. Your doctor might recommend taking your blood pressure at the same times each day.
• Don't measure your blood pressure right after you wake up. You can prepare for the day, but don't eat breakfast or take medications before measuring your blood pressure. If you exercise after waking, take your blood pressure before exercising.
• Avoid food, caffeine, tobacco and alcohol for 30 minutes before taking a measurement. Also, go to the toilet first. A full bladder can increase blood pressure slightly.
• Sit quietly before and during monitoring. When you're ready to take your blood pressure, sit for five minutes in a comfortable position with your legs and ankles uncrossed and your back supported against a chair. Try to be calm and not think about stressful things. Don't talk while taking your blood pressure.

My morning routine includes coffee first thing so there's no period between "right after you wake up" and coffee. Certainly not 30 minutes. If I take my bp before exercise, that's less than 30 minutes after I had coffee. And twice daily taken multiple times? Sitting still for five minutes? It's all getting to be too much!

Ugh! It seems that medication is the easy way out - pop a pill and go about my day. But, if I want to avoid that, I need to quit whining and figure out how to relax a little. 

Maybe I need a cat. [I typed "stress and cats" into my search engine and found articles about stressed cats. That's the last thing I need!]

No Explosions

Sunday started with coffee in bed and an email from KenKen Puzzle Company saying that my December puzzles were ready. It was the perfect start to any day.

I decided, after all, to get out the holiday decorations which now consist of a ceramic tree lit by Lite-Brite-like lights (say that ten times fast), empty Christmas stockings, and a few decorations left over from when we used to get a tree. I turned on the fake fire (adding a YouTube crackling fire soundtrack), and lit an evergreen-scented candle.

It's not like Christmases past. No live tree. No family coming to visit. No music. (There's still three weeks to go. Don't want to overdo it.) I'm not nostalgic. Rather, I appreciate the easy, low stress, simplicity.

My family is strewn across the country so it's been decades since we were all together for the holidays. Meanwhile, Hubby's large family of four generations has managed to get together every year. (36 in all now, including spouses, if I counted right). A boisterous crowd, everyone somehow managed to get there. There were white elephant gifts and gift exchanging games that were loud and rambunctious. There was a kitchen full of food and more cookies than could be conceivably consumed. Santa sometimes showed up and one year even the Grinch made an appearance.

This year is the first year we won't all be together. Families have moved apart. There are new households and new traditions being established. Ornaments are being passed down to younger generations. They can have the stress, too! I'm enjoying the quiet.

I guess the transformation is complete. I've managed to get into the spirit of things (although "jolly" might be a stretch). And, I didn't blow anything up.

Peaceful, all around.

BADASS!

After a lazy morning yesterday, Hubby and I approached each other with "What do you want to do now?"

I answered, "Well, we could go to a movie or maybe take a handgun lesson."

*record screech*

These words have never before formed in my mind, much less come out of my mouth. I don't have any desire to own a handgun and have only had a mild curiosity about how to handle one. We discussed movie options, a possible hike, a quick day trip to a winery but by the time I got out of the shower, we had an appointment with an instructor at the local gun range.

It was a little nerve wracking since I've never even handled a handgun before. I've only (knowingly) been in a room with one a couple of times. Yet, here we were. We started with classroom instruction that covered safety, range rules, stance, grip, and aiming before even handling a weapon.

Our instructor chose a Glock 17 for us to try and we headed to the range where we covered the mechanics of the gun before even loading it. I felt calm even as my hands shook. The noise didn't bother me. I wan't afraid of the recoil, although I found myself anticipating it at times, and I wasn't worried about the shells as they were ejected from the gun. I just tried to take it all in- intellectualize it all - yet the adrenaline found its way to my sweaty palms.

In the end, I had fun -  a word that feels funny to use in the context of lethal weapons. Using firearms responsibly should never be trivialized. That being said, I felt badass. I did something that I was uncomfortable doing. I learned something. And, I did well.

I'll probably go back but I still don't want to own a gun. And I'm just as interested in taking a traditional self-defense class. (My alter ego is a ninja.)

So maybe range shooting wasn't a very Christmas-y activity and it did nothing to get me ready to celebrate the holiday. (Now that I mention that, what does that even mean? Why does anyone need to get ready?) But, I'll grin the next time I hear the song, "You better watch out..." because this Grandma is a badass!

This is as close to Christmas as it gets.

Today is the first Saturday since mid-September that I've been home with nothing on the calendar. To understand the significance, you have to understand just how much I schedule. I have ten trips scheduled in the next six months. Hair appointments, accordingly, are scheduled through May. I even schedule when I change the sheets because I can't remember when I changed them last.

It's just past noon and I'm still in my pajamas having finished my second cup of coffee in front of a fake yule log, with accompanying sounds provided by a YouTube video linked in by wifi. I suppose I could get more into the Christmas spirit by hauling out the decorations but I leave again in two weeks. Is it worth it? Perhaps I should don my Grinch onsie and think about it.

For the most part, I have everything I want with the exception of time. There's never enough time but I'm enjoying the time I have. Every second.

I'm glad to be back on Holidailies. Without it, I would just give up (blogging) and, in fact, have thought about doing just that. It comes down to time. And effort, and when that starts to feel like work it's no longer fun. Last year, I launched a second blog about beer and quickly found myself unqualified and outclassed by the true writers in the beer industry. I remain enthusiastic about the beer scene but my enthusiasm for beer writing has gone flat.

I'm hoping Hoilidailies will rekindle my interest in writing. (It certainly puts in on the schedule.) In the meantime, I need to figure out what to do with my day as I am unaccustomed to so much free time.

I'll let you know how that turns out.

If you like podcasts, here are 10 of the best.

The top 10 podcasts of 2018
TIME

From 30:30 to Serial Read the full story

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The Story of Festivus

TGIF!

It's been five whole days since I had a day off. Scoff you may, but due much travel this is the first five-day workweek I've had in seven weeks! I coped by mostly avoiding work at the office and occasionally clocking out early. Still, time dragged eternal as I stared out the window and organized month's worth of future travel. 

Just in time, I spied an excellent opportunity for a road trip this weekend lest I grow moss. It's that or clean the house.

The choice is clear.

Why did the elk cross the road?

To get to the other side.

And this, children, is why we don't jump on beds.

Warrenton, OR

Thankful and, well, just full.

This doesn't even include the pie.

Mud Wrestling