May the fours be with Hugh.

 https://www.gocomics.com/pearlsbeforeswine/2021/05/02

Work is unavoidable.

... for the next two weeks.

 

Siri was pissing me off so I downloaded Alexa to my phone. Now, neither one will talk to me.

I just got a new phone and the iOS that goes with it which, apparently, also updated Siri. I guess the idea was to make him seem more conversational. (My Siri identifies with he/him/his.) Problem is, he’s a little too relaxed. I think he might be high, in fact.

When I say, “Hey, Siri” a full second or two will pass before he says, “Yeah.”

Yeah? Is that a proper way to respond? To anyone? I might start a request and then I’m interrupted with, “Yeah.” I’m not even sure it’s a question. It’s more like a “Yo” than a “How can I help you?”

But, then Alexa arrived in my life. While Siri lives on my phone, Alexa lives on my kitchen counter. Whenever I was cooking and noticed I was running low on something, I would go back to my office and ask Siri to add the item to my grocery list, whenever he deigned to answer me at all. It quickly became obvious that it would be easier to just tell Alexa to add the item to the list. And, since Siri was being rather aloof, it made sense to put Alexa on my phone as well.

Except she doesn’t like my phone and Siri doesn’t like Alexa and now nobody will talk to me. Except Samuel L. Jackson which is pretty fun. 

I’m just saying, nobody’s expendable. Got that, kids?

This is not a tax deadline.

 If this was an actual deadline, you would have been directed to: 

Just like that, the beautiful mess was gone. The dynamic changes again.

On day three, the dynamic changed when the oldest decided he didn’t want to participate in the herd anymore. He’s practically a teen, you see. The herd dynamic changed and new alliances formed and feelings got hurt when one was left out. They were tired and worn out from hours in the hot sun, turning pink, their feet bleeding from rough surfaces, soldiering on so the fun wouldn’t end.

Day four, the oldest opted out again but the herd adjusted. He was missed but no longer crucial to the functioning of the herd.

And then it was over. Half of the herd left and the dynamic is fated to change again. Seven became four. The teenager wants nothing to do with his sister. The adults are busy with work. Order is restored and fun is left to each own’s devices (generally, electronic these days). Boredom and frustration set in. Adults check their watches frequently, wondering when they get their lives back. Tick, tock - don’t tease your sister!

We’ll probably go to the pool again, risking skin cancer and permanent damage to the soles of their feet in the hope there will be other kids there who can join our herd. Until 27 days from now, the youngest of our herd predicted, when they will flock back. For a week, he says.

Sounds good to me.



(How about Labor Day weekend?)

Herd immunity?

More of the same. I was up first and went straight to work. The day was busy and consisted of feeding, cleaning, swimming, herding, feeding, cleaning, crafts, and freestyle wrap by Chicken Nugget (aka C-Man). The rest of the stage show included themed clapping (cheer clap!), and dancing in the kitchen.

At the pool, the kiddos multiplied. We started with four and ended with four (thank the heavens) but in between they swelled to an alarming number, especially when you consider we live in a retirement community. Where did they come from? The under 10 year-old-crowd outnumbered the over by, dare I say, 10 to 1. 

There’s a funny line between your space, ordered the way you like it, and another muddled space where you don’t really care about the line. Most of the time, the line is a defended border. When the border is breached, the mess can be beautiful.

I’m now immune to the herd (or, quite possibly, I’m numb from the wine). I will feel a hole when the herd is gone. Peace and order will be restored. The border will be re-established and I will need to be inoculated again.

The dynamic changes when there’s a herd. They mostly take care of themselves. Well, except for the feeding, cleaning, transporting, supplying, washing, folding, limiting… 

Somehow it all comes together.

Day two.

This is when I would normally post "10"

... but it's really 42.

Forty-two .... 

Ugh.

Could be worse. 

Could be 10.

Spring Break

A collaborative day. Three adults and four kids. A decent match. 

I was up by 6 and started work by 6:30 am. D was the second to rise at 7. The rest followed and soon the day was a hive of activity. Breakfasts, commutes, pick ups, drop offs. Work, play dates, indoor activities, outdoor activities. Juggling schedules and covering for each other. Sunshine, exhaustion. Clean up and do it again. Snack. Build a fort out of blankets and cushions and leave it there because it’s no longer worth the effort to pick things up. Dinner and clean up again. Laughter, games, loud. Decibels up. Decibels down. 

Slowing down, the adults unwind, the kids settle into quieter activities. I find a moment of silence. (This one, now.) A breeze. A fountain. (A glass of wine, thank goodness.) Sleep is not far behind and I am not afraid that the kids may have to fend for themselves.

Surrender.

It was great.

My creation is completed.

Yesterday morning, I woke up first as I often do. I had poured myself a cup of cold coffee and was reading the paper when I heard Hubby stirring. I really like a hot coffee on the weekends and he prefers cold so I poured my joe into his cup (reading, "The Man, The Myth, The Legend") and prepared to greet him as he shuffled into the kitchen.

The sun was streaming in the windows, the day was young with promise, the fountain on our beautiful patio was beckoning us outdoors. My heart was full with gratitude for all that we have, not the least of which being each other. 

I prepared to welcome him into my open arms and greet him with a kiss but he reached for the coffee cup still in my hand. It was only a second before he realized the error, if you could call it that. He relaxed into my embrace and then went for the coffee but not before I noticed the shift in priority: coffee first, hug second.

I completely understand. My work here is complete.

It's like I've never made coffee before.

Maybe it's a sign that my mental acuity is in decline but I temporarily forgot how to make coffee. 

On my first attempt, I forgot to put the top on the carafe before pressing the brew button. This is a problem because without the lid, the coffee won't pass from the filter into the carafe. The idea behind this feature is if you pull the carafe out while it's still brewing you can pour a cup of coffee without the still-brewing coffee dripping, searing, onto the hot plate below. (In the old days, if you couldn't wait to get your first cup of coffee, try as you might, coffee would always - always - sizzle on that hot plate.) Without that lid, the water just floods the filter basket and eventually overflows wet coffee grounds all over the counter.

I pulled the plug, cleaned up the mess, and started over. This time, I forgot to put the coffee grounds in. I figured out my mistake when I noticed the warm fluid in the carafe was completely clear. I panicked and tossed the coffee grounds in the filter basket after it was already about half through the brew cycle. I ended up with a very translucent brew that looked more like tea which is the definition of weak coffee. (I like coffee dark and thick enough to chew on.) I tossed the whole batch out.

At this point, I was out of ice.

The coffee I was making was what is sometimes referred to as Japanese Iced Coffee or flashed chilled coffee. Using this method, you substitute half the water in the carafe with ice. After pouring the water into the coffee maker, the coffee is brewed directly onto the ice.

But I was out of ice so I so I had to wait.

Thank goodness I have an espresso maker because waiting will not do.

And, thank goodness I remembered how to make that because the situation was becoming dire. (Lives were at stake!) 

Later that day, I was able to make my flashed chilled coffee and order was restored to my refrigerator and to my coffee cup the next morning. And the world was safe again.

Off the grid is great until you need a pizza

The idea of getting off the grid, unplugging, having some privacy from the digital world that follows you around in your pocket, is appealing. Some people do it. Many have envisioned it. There are practicalities to consider like services that you hope you will never need but if you do, you really, really need. Like emergency services.

Or pizza. Trying getting DoorDash when you don't have an address. Or Amazon Prime. Sure, these are things we can live without but we sure have become accustomed to instant gratification, delivered, haven't we?

I just purchased a new address that didn't exist. We moved, actually, to a brand new home. So new, the neighborhood is still being built around it. So new, Google didn't know it existed.

Let that sink in a second. Google didn't know my address existed. It felt like I had disappeared in a sense. In the sense that Google couldn't find me. Of course, they could but it was harder to be found by the people I wanted to find me. Like family. Or pizza delivery. Or, more importantly, furniture delivery.

In the satellite view in Google Maps, our house is still being built but anything north of us is still dirt. Those homes don't even exist on the satellite images yet. Interestingly, Apple Maps had already had our address. Google was behind the curve.

Now I know about Plus Codes and pins. These are features inside Google maps that allow you to share a location without an address. Or, you can share a specific location even if a building has an address. Like a specific entrance to a large building or venue.

I actually asked Google to take me back. "Please, Google, put me on the map." Which, of course, they did. Whatever momentary illusion to privacy I held is gone. But, I got my pizza and if I'm lucky the furniture will arrive later today so I'll have something to sit on when I eat it.

Thank you Google. I'm sorry I ever thought to leave you.

Time Flies By

 The Earth Orientation Centre has announced there will be no leap second added at the end of June 2021. Leap seconds have been added roughly every year and a half to adjust for the difference between atomic clocks and the time it takes for the earth to complete one revolution around its axis. Now, we have too many. Seconds, that is.

Despite how it seemed to drag on, and the Leap Year, 2020 was unusually fast.

The 28 fastest days on record (since 1960) all occurred in 2020, with Earth completing its revolutions around its axis milliseconds quicker than average. 

Space.com | Earth is whipping around quicker than it has in a half-century

 This raises the question of whether a negative leap second will be introduced. Should that happens, the last second of the year will disappear. Ryan Seacrest will count down, "... five, four, three two." That's it. Anyone who was born in the last second of any year, will be skipped over for birthday presents. Celebratory kisses will occur one second earlier. Whatever 2021 brings, good or bad, will be over.

 The night will be that much shorter. Coffee will reach my lips that much sooner. And we will all be older, regardless of how you measure it.

A perfect end to an imperfect year.

We had no plans to celebrate the end of the year. There wasn't much to celebrate other than it was finally over! For dinner, we made a steak in our cast iron skillet and served it with sides of mashed sweet potato and peas. And just because it was still 2020, and because the question of what else could go wrong left open the possibility that something would go wrong, the cast iron skillet exploded on our induction burner resulting in a crack halfway across the pan.

The steak, thankfully, was still fine and dinner was delicious. The pan, like 2020, is ruined.

Also on the last day of the year, I received a phone call from Eisenhower Health. Apparently, while I was at the hospital for a high fever earlier in the month, I may have been exposed to the coronavirus. They were required by the county to inform me of this and to find out if I had any symptoms. Luckily, I never developed any other than the fever and I had self-quarantined for ten days. Nevertheless, the irony was not lost on me: Best not to go to the hospital if you can help it. This was true, more than ever, in 2020.

When I think back to all the events of 2020, both personal and global, I liken the past year to living on a deserted island. Thrust into a situation of no one's choosing, we were isolated, lacked toilet paper, suffered mental challenges, found new ways to toil but found money useless: We could not travel off the island and there were no restaurants. We went gray and or grew beards. Personal grooming became meaningless.

There were other events that were exactly the opposite of a deserted island - or maybe a divided one, much like my cast iron skillet. Riots raised our awareness while the election made us want to cringe from awareness. 

I haven't even touched on the wildfires or murder hornets. There was a pandemic, for crying out loud - the storm that landed us on our islands.

There were births. There were marriages. Love was transmitted through the ether to family and friends who were on their own deserted islands. We made an effort to connect however we could. There were bright moments. 

The pan cracked but it didn't break apart.

Take the 7-day poop challenge!

I can't remember where I heard about this but I jotted it down in a notebook I carry for such things -  funny things I hear, see, or read about. The problem is that when I finally get around to reading my notes, I forgot where I heard or saw whatever I've listed or what my notes even mean.

One item, I set up as a reminder. Once a month, I would get a notification on my phone that read, "Stop doing that shit." I didn't know what my phone was trying to tell me or what shit it caught me doing so I would reset the reminder for a month later. Four weeks would pass and again I would be reminded to "stop doing that shit." I started getting paranoid.

Finally, I typed "stop doing that shit" into a search engine and discovered it was a title to a book: Stop Doing That Sh*t: End Self-Sabotage and Demand Your Life Back. Apparently, someone recommended the title to me. All I typed into my phone was "stop doing that shit" and then forgot all about it. (It was a good book, by the way.)

Speaking of shit, I have no idea where the 7-day poop challenge came from but decided to type that into my search engine. 

Remind me to to stop doing that shit.

May Fred be with you.

The Danish word for Peace is Fred. It's pronounced frell but as if you had a mouth full of mashed potatoes. 

I like Fred. (I also like mashed potatoes.) I think we could all do with a little more Fred. (Come to think of it, more mashed potatoes would be okay with me, too.) 

I hope you experience Fred in 2021. We invite Fred into our lives, our minds, and our hearts. And may there be Fred between you and I.

Doesn't that make you want to picture us holding hands with Fred? Let's celebrate Fred! Yay, Fred!

(Yay, mashed potatoes!)

A common question: Who should get the COVID vaccine first?

Of course that's already been decided but among those considered for first in line was Santa.

An early prediction on NPR's "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!" was offered by Adam Burke:

"I really hope it's going to be Santa Claus. Given the way he shoves himself down our chimneys, drinks from our milk glasses and ho-ho-hos all over our living rooms, he's superspreading more than just joy if we're not careful."

Valid and more than a little troubling. An invitation, if nothing else, for us to rethink the whole Christmas package distribution and reward scheme.

But before you sanitize the hearth, erect plastic shields around your Christmas tree, and don protective gear instead of festive pajamas consider this: At a press conference on Monday, the World Health Organization has confirmed that Santa, while quite old, is immune to the novel coronavirus according to NBC News. Additionally, world leaders around the world have lifted travel restrictions especially for him on Christmas Eve.

What scientists don't know, however, is whether Santa can transmit the disease. Therefore, the WHO also directed a warning for children:

"Physical distancing by Santa and of the children themselves must be strictly enforced, so it is really important that the children of the world still listen to their moms and dads and guardians and make sure they go to bed early on Christmas Eve," she said. 

Parents who remain awake amidst the paper and ribbon and the last of the 'nog can track Santa's progress around the globe here: North American Aerospace Defense Command Official Santa Tracker.

My short stint as a mule

I discovered two things recently: First, that some Walgreens locations will dispose of your expired or unused prescription or over-the-counter medicines. Second, that I had a lot of unused or expired medicine.

While reorganizing our bathrooms and hall closets, I found all sorts of old cold medicines, pain killers and anti-inflammatories, and toxic opioids that had been prescribed after past surgeries. It was surprising, when amassed together, how much there was. 

Flushing these medicines down the toilet introduces them to our water supply. Similarly, throwing them in the trash not only adds drugs to our soil and water, they can be potentially dangerous to anyone who might otherwise get their hands on them. Nevertheless, the FDA informs that it is possible to flush or throw away unused drugs if a drug take back program is not available. Had I known this, I might not have sought out Walgreens. And, having found Walgreens, I might have paid a little more attention to the information on their website.

Somehow, I got it in my head that the disposal site was nothing more than a cardboard box with markings that identified its purpose. The many reasons that would be a ridiculous idea never occurred to me not the least of which being that anyone could have reached into a cardboard box and taken out a random handful of drugs. Instead, and rightfully so, the box was more like a mailbox with a one-way slot making it possible to deposit but not withdraw. 

Considering I was about to haul in a bag of drugs into a Walgreens - or anywhere else for that matter - I decided to put my thin plastic bag of goodies into a reusable grocery bag thinking that was far more discreet. Again, not considering the obvious reasons for not doing this, I was disappointed that the imagined open-top cardboard box was not prominently displayed by the front door like the RedBox machine. This was not a situation where I could just walk in with a bag of drugs, drop them, and then turn around and leave. No, I had to walk through the store to the back where the mailbox style receptacle was located, near the Pharmacy.

Of course, that makes perfect sense as does the fact that there's always two lines at the Pharmacy. One for ordering, one for pickup. There were only a half dozen people waiting as I made my way to the box. Addressing one gentleman, I stupidly asked if he was waiting. For what, I asked myself later, I don't know. The drug box? Nothing else he might have been waiting for made any difference to my purpose unless he was waiting for a woman with a bag of drugs to walk up looking to give them away as if it was Halloween. 

In any case, he wasn't waiting, so I proceeded with my deposit. One hand being occupied with holding the grocery bag that contained a second bag which contained the drugs, I could make my deposit only with the other hand. I reached for an orange bottle of pills and put it in the slot and heard it rattle to the bottom of an empty metal drum. I reached for the next item. And the next. And the next. (Expired NyQuil makes a particularly loud thump.) At one point a lone, unidentifiable capsule still in its impenetrable bubble wrap fell to the floor and I thought for a split second that I could just ignore it and leave it there but was sure at this point that I had the full attention of anyone who was waiting in line to pay money for some of the drugs I was throwing away while simultaneously wondering how it was a person could have that much to get rid of. 

Instead of pointing out the hypocrisy of my imagined accusers, I scooped up the lone pill and dropped it in the box. I turned to go and thought - perhaps for the first time - that I was damned glad I was wearing a mask.

Toilet paper: Art or political statement?

" The bathroom is a place of social and environmental politics. A single company, owned by Koch Industries, controls 29% of the tissue paper market in North America. With the purchase of fluffy, plastic-wrapped, bleach-white rolls, many Americans are unwittingly aiding in the politically-conservative efforts of conglomerates like Koch Industries, which has funneled millions of dollars into voter suppression, the aiding and growth of the Prison Industrial Complex, and the reversal of common-sense environmental protections. "

Seems like a serious statement for an exhibit at the Marta gallery featuring over 50 toilet paper holders. 

I'm just going to move on to 2021 and call it a year.

"2020 - completely worthless."

I bought three of these calendars. I kept one for myself and gave two away as Christmas presents last year. But then, we put our house on the market so mine went into a box and was never hung on the wall.

We bought a new home in a different state early in 2020 but before we could come home and collect our belongs (which we put in storage after our first home sold), COVID happened. Fortunately, the place we purchased was fully furnished so there wasn't much to retrieve other than clothes, some small kitchen appliances, and items of sentimental value.

It wasn't until September until we defied stay-at-home orders. We drove 1,100 miles, rented a small truck, and trekked back to our new home - a car plus the truck - through some of the worst wildfires the western United States has ever seen.

And, still, most of it remains in boxes. First, we wanted to get some work done around the house. We converted all of our lighting to LED and added ceiling fans and we had the interior completely repainted. Only now are we starting to unpack after living in the same clothes since February.

Hubby unpacked this calendar just last week. It hasn't been hung for nearly 10 months of 2020. Seeing as I can pre-order my 2021 calendar (which includes September-December of the previous year), I'm not sure there's any reason to even take this out of it's cellophane. 

Instead, I plan to donate it Goodwill and mark it: 

Unused Calendar 

2020

Completely Worthless

I wished I lived in a place where the most serious problem is "What is bread?"

 

Irish High Court Rules Subway’s Sandwich Bread Is Not Legally Bread | Forbes

Justice O’Donnell, wrote, “This seems a very cumbersome and unnatural description of a hot meatball sandwich. Arguments like this induce some sympathy for the beleaguered draftspersons and for the tortured language to which they sometimes have to resort in order to carry into effect a reasonable statutory policy.” And with that, he dismissed the appeal.

Read all about it.