Saturday Moaning

Closing on my house is Monday at 3 pm. I hope I can remember to take everything I need because it has to be completed that day. I finally remembered to add all the keys and garage door openers to the list. What am I forgetting?

Baby has an odd patch of fur with thicker skin under her right ear. I have no idea what it is. The vet will see it May 9 when they both go in for teeth cleaning, shots, blood work, and Molly's lumps and bumps. If it changes sooner, she goes in sooner.

I worry about Molly with her Addison's disease and being almost 8 years old doing well with anesthesia. I don't want to be a vet tech when Molly wakes up in a crate. Baby, either. Neither do well in confined areas at all.

I have furniture in my old house that has to be out by Monday. I was given the closing date and time on Thursday when I called to ask, and I haven't be able to find anyone I can donate it to that will pick it up that soon. I am not sure I can even get it out of the house myself. I rather doubt it. The sofa is huge, and the love seat is not much lighter.

I was told on Friday to transfer the utilities to the new people as of Monday and get the final bill for the water. I asked for the names of the new people, which I was not given. So, I had to request a shut off, and no one will be happy with that. I can't transfer to Unknown. As it is, the electric can't be changed until Tuesday (not enough notice), the gas company didn't respond to my e-change, and the city says the water bill would take at least 48 hours to complete (not counting the weekend).

I had to run over to the old house and read the meter myself, and write it on a form. The closing company might not accept this, but my former city says everyone else does.

My dead carpet steamer is still in my garage, waiting to be shipped back to Bissell. I am leery of lifting it and putting it on the porch for pickup by FedEx. I need to do this. I have a dolly and I know how to use it. I should stop babying my shoulder one of these days. Some pain is expected as part of rehab.

In PT, I am doing very well. I have hit the point where I am begging for more and harder and heavier. She handed me a 1-lb weight for my first bicep curls. I was used to using both a 10 and a 5 lb at the same time - I was embarrassed. We are up to 3 lbs now. I still feel underused. I know I can do 5, if not 10, but I am not getting out my weights to check. I hid them from myself.

The TV I have still annoys me just by virtue of being there. I want to get rid of it completely. I don't really want another, but I am thinking maybe entirely changing the front bedroom and putting in a futon, desk, and small flat screen TV for watching movies on DVD. I might do that some day. Maybe. I might never watch anything - so why even buy a new TV at all? It concerns people to see a house without one. They don't Get It that I don't want to see whatever  show they find entertaining. I prefer the quietness of a book. I do like movies.

Do futons come in queen size or are they all double bed size?

I still have no idea what vehicle I am going to get. I need to do this soon. Get another big SUV? A crossover? A car? New? Used? Lease? Hybrid? I don't know what I want, so how can I get one? Maybe I need someone to just take my car away and hand me the new key. I will sign for whatever.

Do I get a new mattress set first or the two ceiling fans? Do I sell the TV or donate it? (It's old, but like new due to lack of use.) Who is going to hang my clock and my beautiful canvas that I bought and have hidden in my front bedroom so it doesn't get ruined?

When will the child get over her attitude problem and call me? Will it be by Mother's Day? Will I spend another Mother's Day home alone? She doesn't even know I sold the house unless it got to her third hand, and I really haven't told very many people. I decided to tell when it's a done deal. I would have liked her to have a chance for a last walk through to say goodbye.

Maybe I should have titled this: Why I Don't Sleep At Night

My Did List

Most of my days start out with me writing up a To Do list. I need them due to my memory leakage. I sleep on my side and all my brain cells fall out at night. I get tired of the lists, and then don't bother for a week or so. It gets exhausting looking at the list just get longer and longer. I feel like I do a lot of things, but the list doesn't seem to take much of a hit. It has been particularly difficult for me to work on lists since I came home from Arizona. Still, the chores and errands must get completed.

Saturday I got up with a new idea. I wrote out a Did list. Instead of even looking at a To Do list, I started right out writing down what I actually did instead of what I thought I should get done. As usual, I have no idea where the idea came from.

It worked out very well. It got me past my slump. I realized quite early in the day that the list was going to be longer than most of my To Do lists for a day. That alone spurred me on to complete even more chores. Each new item felt like a reward in itself.

Such a simple idea, and it worked out great.

 

 

Short order cook

I have of course forgotten what I already wrote about my trip, so if much of this is a repeat, too bad. That is what happens when your memory goes south. You repeat yourself sometimes. You repeat yourself sometimes.

Poor Late was very ill. Her illness has about 56 letters to it and I am still not sure how to spell it or pronounce it. She also had pneumonia, so I had to watch her for breathing difficulties. Stress, tiredness - someone had to keep an eye out. She is like me - she will run herself to the ground if no one stops her. I eventually found the hospital on Oracle Road, but we fortunately didn't need it.

I offered my services as chief cook and bottle washer. That may seem like an unusual way to spend a vacation, but I didn't mind it at all. I cleaned most of the house before Late and Son arrived. In the morning, I hopped off the floor and offered to make breakfast.

Of course, I forgot that there is a reason I don't cook in the mornings. It's the same reason that led to me dropping the glass on the carpet and causing the cranberry juice to spray 10 feet up the wall. I am clumsy and a bit mentally slow before 10 am. I got up at 8 am, as usual. That would be Mountain Time, not my usual Eastern Daylight Time. It's rare that I don't adjust right away to time changes. I think that means I actually slept until 11 am, but by my local time, I was up until 5 am anyway.

I asked Son what he wanted. Eggs, of course. So I peeled some potatoes and fried them up - I still don't know how I peeled the potatoes. We didn't have a peeler. I don't remember how I did that. We also didn't have a paring knife. Somehow, I made country fries without the skins. I asked how he wanted his eggs, and realized I am limited in my skills. Luckily, he asked for them over. Bad for him, he didn't tell me how much to cook them. I can't stand the sight of a gooshy egg, so he got them over hard the first day. I also cooked bacon and peeled some oranges to set on the side of the plate. I shared my cranberry juice. He didn't get the raspberry stoli to go with it.

He didn't even complain that the eggs were hard. Late wanted the same thing, but I added sweet red peppers and portabella mushrooms to her potatoes. Son didn't want those.

I ate a donut. I do not like to eat grease when I wake up. I normally have something like a piece of toast, but we didn't have a toaster. So I had a donut.

Day two, I made eggs again, over medium. I figured I was making progress. No potatoes were requested. They made toast in the oven using the broiler. I snuck some cut up apples on the their plates. I had another donut.

Day three, they said I was making great breakfasts, but was I possibly poisoning them, since I refused to eat any of it? I sighed, and cooked a scrambled egg. Cooked it hard. I cut up some portabella, cooked it, and stuck them in a flour tortilla. They looked at me like I was nuts, but were happy I ate some "real" breakfast.

Day four, Son wanted an omelette. I had never made one before. They gave me some directions, and I tossed some cheese and ham into a big mess of egg, and folded it in half. Everyone was happy. Me too, since I had a new skill. Late had one also. By this time, I was on to cinnamon rolls. They gave me the evil eye, but I still don't like grease in the morning.

I had forgotten how much I like to cook breakfast food. I just don't like to eat it very much. It's a little difficult with just one pan, but I was able to put sausages into the one pot with a little water, and then toss them into the frying pan after the eggs came out. I cooked the eggs with bacon grease, which was something new for them.

They made fun of my "dirty eggs." They do look dirty when made with bacon grease. Personally, the amount of bacon grease needed is not a worry because I eat eggs maybe 3 times a year. Not every day! I just think they have more flavor that way.

The first day I told Son, age 17, that I would cook his breakfast, but he needed to do his own dishes. He agreed. Later, I notice his version of doing dishes. He had put his dishes next to the sink, right over the dishwasher, and they weren't even rinsed. Oh well, chief cook and bottle washers can deal with that.

I did enjoy making the breakfasts, even though I wasn't eating them and the facilities were a bit like camping. The house is lovely, it will just take them time to get everything in place. 

I might take a toaster with me next time.

 

 

New house

I am a nervous flyer. We all know that by now. The process is unnerving to me. First I have to get everything ready to go, get myself to the airport by driving through Detroit, then wait around after being fondled by airport security. After that, we get shuffled like cattle onto the plane.

I asked to be included in the early boarding because I would need help getting my pilot bag up into the overhead bin (my shoulder is doing well, but I can't lift baggage over my head). Last time, they were great about it. This time, the lady at the desk almost made me pee my pants.

She said they do not lift baggage and I could get on the plane earlier but if I could not lift my bag then I would have to check it because it's not their job and they don't have to do that and what is my problem, anyway? O.....K.....

I went in search of the bar without asking her if they had an open aisle seat. I accepted the middle seat I was originally assigned and hoped I didn't get seatmates who lapped over into my seat and smashed my shoulder.

I couldn't find a bar, so I grabbed a diet Coke. Caffeine makes me high now anyway. I got on the plane, and found myself between two nice people who didn't crush me too badly. They went to sleep, and I read. The usual. Both seatmates had rested their heads on my shoulders during their sleep. I felt useful.

How do people sleep on planes? I can't do it. I can have a few drinks, I can take Xanax, I can even take a sleeping pill. I can't sleep. I am 7 miles above the ground in a metal tube with several hundred people. We share two bathrooms the size of a cereal box. That alone is enough to keep me awake.

Since I booked late (as usual), I was not on the same flight as Late and her son. I was there 15 hours before them. I had a friend who agreed to pick me up at the airport. I was nervous - what if he didn't show? He did, and was even waiting inside for me. I didn't have to wander outside and accidentally get in the wrong car.

Knowing I was going to an empty house, I asked to be taken to get some groceries. I bought plenty. We then went to the house. Remember, this is a New House.

It has No Furniture yet. Last trip, a refrigerator and much basic house stuff was added. There are two beds, one for Late and one for her son. There are 4 folding chairs. I stayed in the casita, without a bed. I needed several comforters, a pillow, and some sheets. Of course, I wasn't able to pack that into a small pilot bag and a carry bag.

My friend forgot to bring me some bedding. No problem, I figure....at least I will have someone to talk to until Late and her son show up at 2 am. I was content to visit with my friend and to enjoy the weather.

We put the groceries away and went for a walk.

My friend left not long after that.

I was a bit disconcerted. I had hours and hours to spend alone in the empty house and I didn't have a car. Late was getting the car. We had decided we didn't need two cars this trip.

I unpacked, wandered around the house a while, tried without success to get online with my computer, made a few phone calls, received a few phone calls. Finally, I went for a long walk.

The weather was just perfect. It was 90+ degrees, dry, nice little wind. I had left home just as a storm was hitting my area. The winds had picked up big time, and the temperatures were dropping well below freezing. Snow was expected. I lifted my face to the sun in the Tucson area and smiled. I might have been on my own, but I was happy.

Eventually, I got a little tired after reading for a few hours and taking a second walk. I hadn't slept at all the night before. I wandered into Late's son's room and stole his comforter. He still had a quilt. I went back and pilfered a pillow.

After dark, I went outside and looked at the stars. It's very dark there at night. They don't have street lights and they try to keep the night dark. The stars just seem to jump out of the sky. I found Orion immediately, complete with sword, which I cannot see at home. I just see the belt, the hands, and the feet. I found the Big Dipper, and the North Star. As before, I was unable to find Cassiopeia. I think there are just too many stars visible. Memories of constellations came back to me as I gazed at the sky - Pleides, Crab, Gemini...but no huge W in the sky that I could find.

I put the comforter and the pillow on the floor in the casita, took a sleeping pill, and went to sleep. Eventually. The windows were open in the casita, and a nice night desert breeze was washing over me. Oddly, I slept quite well on the floor.

 

If you don't know what a casita is, in Spanish it's literally 'little house.' It's sort of like mother-in-law quarters. In this house, it had a separate entrance, and a bedroom with a bathroom. Entirely private and separate. It's _mine_. Or so I keep saying...

 

Flying while black

Out of consideration for others, I tried to keep my Pre-Travel Freak Mode Dance to myself this time. I just came home from a week in Arizona. Eight days, really, since I got there very early on a Wednesday and left very late on the following Wednesday. I pay my dog sitter by the day, so I know how many days I am away. I arrived home early on Thursday morning, so it was a nine-day trip to him.

There are a lot of stories from this trip. Some are happy, some are funny, some aren't. I came home very tired and haven't perked up much yet, so I am just going to tell one little story tonight.

On the way home (sure, let's start at the end), I was in line at the security check at Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix. This time I was better prepared to half-strip down naked, get my computer out of the case and out of the sleeve and my shoes off and my phone out and everything potentially explosive, like lippy, into a small baggie.

My shoulder has really improved in the last two weeks. I can now put the dishes away in stacks - not just one at a time with my left hand. Such progress!

I worked very hard at getting everything liquid or gel into that baggie. Remember, last time I was almost strip searched because I forgot to hand over the perfectly packaged baggie in my struggles with the sling on my arm while trying to get everything on the counter for the security people?

I made sure that baggie was in clear sight. I took off everything necessary - purse, shoes, phone, jacket. I had my ID and boarding pass in my hot little hands. My feet were bare. Yuck. I remembered I was wearing an ankle bracelet, but figured it was small enough not to beep, since my watch doesn't. I smiled engagingly at the security lady.

No beeps, no threats, no harrassment. How boring. As I started to try to collect my stuff from the moving belt, I hear, "Whose bag is this?" I think, "Oh, shit." Who else's could it be?

The lady behind me speaks to me softly, "It has to be mine."

I was curious. "Why?"

"Because they will profile me for Flying While Black."

"Oh, OK. Good. I figured it was me."

We both look back to see who owned the bag being waved around.

It was me.

She looked mad. What could I do but smile? I was Flying While a Redhead. She shrugged, grabbed her stuff, and took off, leaving me literally holding the bag.

I shuffle up to the next security lady and look guilty. I ask if I may put on my shoes. She said of course, and she was very sorry, and obviously I do not look like a terrorist and they should be profiling and may she look in my bag and is there anything in there that is dangerous or might hurt her?

"Thank you, and no. I have no idea what came up, but I tried hard to pack correctly."

"Maam, I am sure you did. I am very sorry for this delay. We shouldn't be bothering people Like You." (Redheads? Short people? Michiganders? White people? Beagle owners? Condo dwellers? People who speak only American plus about 12 words of Spanish?)

She then pulls out my travel-sized mascara and a very tiny, almost empty, sample-sized bottle of make up remover. They are so small I had missed them when checking for potential explosives. She looked embarrassed. I was embarrassed. She put them in a second baggie for me (I thought we were only allowed one?), apologized a few more times, and that was that.

I walked off with as much dignity as one can have after being searched again, and headed to the bar. Last time, nothing was open and I had to use a drinking fountain to take medications. Ewwww.

Beer works much better. I sat down next to the Flying While Black lady and we had a good laugh. I asked her what she does - she is a sports referee.

Yikes. I behaved myself. I followed all the bar rules, too.

Do I really look subversive?