Whole lot of nothing going on

Last week, I got covid. For the third time, and this one was unpleasant in ways that I don't really want to talk about. (Life tip: NO ONE wants to hear about the bathroom, ever, not even your most dedicated and trapped audiences. Just NO.) So, while I was at home, languishing away, I had an expensive bout of car trouble, my husband lost his fledgling job, and my job took a side-step into the realm of the probably-gonna-be-okay-but-ABSURD-right-now.

Of course.

I am so, so lucky that I have a family that will listen to me blather on about should I go? Should I stay? without wincing, and lucky I have friends that keep me grounded.

So today was my first day back to work. Several Bad Things had happened last week while I was gone, and I made some headway on clearing those up, and helped with a sudden Bad Thing that cropped up today. I also watered the plants.

And now, I'm home, with the fan going, and there's

...a whole lot of nothing going on.

And I LIKE it.

the horror of it all

We're moving the office at one of my jobs - started this morning, will probably take another stab at it and complete the move next week. We're moving into some offices in the same building as the public library - I don't think I need to tell you that I'm looking forward to this!

But today was moving day, and it was sweaty and grunt-y and not-so-much-fun, made even less so when it was discovered that our secure locking storeroom....wouldn't unlock. So I had to babysit the document boxes until a solution could be found. "No problem!" I thought. "I'm AT THE LIBRARY. I"ll just grab something to read."

(There was a certain amount of glee running through my psyche at that moment.)

Really, what could be better? I'd just.....

Then I realized I was too early and the library didn't open for another hour and the earth wept and teeth were gnashed and a storm blew in. Or maybe that was just me.

Yes. I was LOCKED OUT of the library.



Thank God I have a Kindle app on my cell phone.

{wink}

I love how the slightly mismatched windows of the old yeast factory wink in the morning sunlight.

sitting on the side of the road

I ran out of gas today.

Really.

There was a little bit of spousal involvement (Honey? You are always welcome to take the car I'm going to take to work the next day if you pay attention to how much gas is left in it when you get home, m'kay?) but I can't kick too much - he's the one who came and rescued me.

It was beautiful there - I was close enough to the side of the road so I didn't have to worry about being smushed, and close enough that I could (sneakily) people-watch. It was a sunny afternoon, clear and crisp. (This would be an entirely different post had I spent the time waiting for Galahad wet and shivering.)
Instead, though, I spent the time watching the people on the outdoor track, how busy and industrious and happy they looked, like a gaggle of robins, and made out a mongo shopping list.

I'm beginning to enjoy my enforced car time - Tuesday night is C's judo night, and the studio is juuust far enough away that driving home is ridiculous, so I've gotten quite happy with a book and a coffee and the stillness of the night around me. (I saw the most gorgeous moonrise last week. It hung in the trees forever with a pumpkin-orange glow, and took my breath away every time I looked up.)

Life lately seems to be a lot of hurry. Sometimes it's nice to sit and sip and stare at the moon and do nothing.

transitions

So. daysgoby looks different.

It's not that I hated the old set-up (I liked it! Basic! Easy to fool around with!) but I couldn't set my pictures to 'biggun' size and when I tried to fix it, I.....broke the old template.

So! Here we are. And I (to my surprise; I can be a trifle curmudgeonly when it comes to new-fangled things) .....really like it!

I've got a ten-minute window between cooking and serving dinner, let's see if I can bang out a readable post.

I worked at the hospital today. It was a long, slow (ish) day, which was good because I couldn't find my notes. I've had a little notebook that I've carried around since I started there, with reminders and names of tests and extension numbers and such, and I can't find it.

Well, crap.
I managed not to hash anything up, since I remembered passwords from Friday (the last day I worked) but if I go another three month stretch without working there, it's going to be painful.

I need to have another scour around the house, then I'll panic.

And if the external stuff wasn't enough to drive me nuts, the child factor is killing me.

Rosey: (earnestly) You know Friday? The day after my leg hurt and I came home from school and the day I went to the museum and saw all the trees and the toys and made reindeer food? The day before Saturday which was yesterday?

me: (pouring water down my throat in long smooth gulps and wishing it was vodka) ummm...I think?

Rosey: I remember that day.

ARGH! She lay on the floor the other night and told the dog all about her day and read him several books and asked his opinion and babbled on happily for an HOUR. (Much to the dog's consternation. He tried hard to understand but was too fixated on the word 'treat' which didn't fall from her lips once.) Her brother went through this stage when he was three. I thought we were safely away from it, since she's six now.

Hmph. My grandfather nicknamed me 'Bobblegush' when I was about her age.

 A girl and her captive audience.

 Jasper: There had better be a Milkbone at the end of this story.

Gasp. You don't think I'm raising a blogger, do you???

dear people, I am insane

Insane? but why? It's almost C*H*R*I*S*T*M*A*S!!!

To which I snort Christ.

I need a year to get ready for Christmas, and I never seem to find one. Oh, I start out the year with plans! Big plans! Plans about how this year I will buy only meaningful things! We will give more, spend less! This year will be the one my children have less under the tree, but more in our hearts!

And while we're doing more as a family and being careful to be more in the moment, do you know what I did? I went on Chapters last night and bought not only a paper electric guitar (I have no idea either) but an accordian. For a child.

Insanity runs rampant around here at Christmas time....

Add to the usual holiday psychological mish-mash the fact that beginning next week, I will be unemployed, and you begin to see why an accordian seemed like such a good idea last night. I'm out of my mind.

(Unemployment short version, minus the wailing and knashing of teeth: Agency re-structuring and not renewing my position. They gave me a month's notice. I bear them no ill will.)

But it doesn't do much to lessen stress levels. Or obviously, my insanity threshold.
Step away from the Chapters website, Jess.....

all thumbs

The copier broke again at work. Well, sorta.

Toner out! it insisted, and when I obligingly slid the  new one home, it burped and chuckled for a moment and then smugly asserted I'd done something wrong.

IMPROPER CARTRIDGE! the screen shrieked. ERROR CODE! DOOOM!

(Okay, I made that last bit up.)

I looked through the (copious) literature that comes with the beast, flipping through MAINTENANCE, and TROUBLESHOOTING, and WHAT TO DO IF YOUR COPIER IS BEING A BUTT, and could find no mention of the corresponding error code. Okay, maybe there was something online.

Well. The Sharp website? Lovely. Sleek, even. But trying to find the model number I needed in a three-page list written in tiny type? IRRITATING. But I kept on, found it, downloaded....and the instructions for changing the toner were different than I needed. Same copier, and the illustrations matched, but no mention of the code, and no clear this is what you do NOW step-by-step stuff.

So, I did what I probably should have done from the start. I called the technician.

I have a lot of sympathy for these guys. They've got all the answers, yes, but they're trying to diagnose a problem over the phone.


So when he hemmed and hawed and finally said the words I somehow knew were going to come out of his throat:

'Did you turn the machine off and back on again?'

I did not blast him. (However, the wind generated from the rolling of my eyeballs sent all the notices pinned in the lobby a-flutter.)

Why yes, I said, I did! and resisted the urge to say 'Next!'

"So," he went on, "are you sure you put in the magenta toner? Could you go get the box the toner came in and read me what it says?"

The box for the magenta toner has magenta writing on it. And the cartridge itself is edged with bright PINK plastic edges. This would be hard to screw up. But, again, he's not there, in the room, he's on the phone, so I dutifully fetched the box and read the part number off, trying not to sound resentful that something in my tone apparently led him to believe I was both touched and colourblind.

We bandied on back and forth (I HAD the right toner, surprise!) and he promised to send a new toner to see if that would fix the problem and we hung up, without an answer to the problem, but thinking we were on the right track.

Half an hour later, in walked our usual copier repairman. D the Copier God. (This is said with love, because lord knows he's saved my bacon several times, and he always admits when he doesn't know the answer, which I find admirable.)

And once again, he tried and couldn't replicate what I had seen on the screen. He had some ideas, though, and after some futzing, the great beast obligingly rolled over and began working again.

I still think if I read my manual word-for-word I'd find somewhere a small section titled 'PRANKS TO PLAY ON THE CHICK WHO IS LOW ON COFFEE'.

driving along in my automobile

And after a day of driving rain and gloom, the sun is out and the world is gold and blue again.

I've been listening (yes, still! Holy schmoley, there are FIFTEEN CDs!!) to the 19th Wife and am amazed at the differences between reading a book and having the story told to you. I think about this book in the characters voices, which helps give body to the story, but I find I'm imagining a lot less about the scenes (what did a hot, still day in the desert sun look like in the pioneer days? What were the houses like in the small town?) even though I wouldn't get any more description from actually reading the book.

I wonder if this is why both my kids can disappear into a book they're reading on their own?

Yesterday I was booming down the road, listening, and there was a house coming down the road. A house, cut into two, still looking cheerful and pleased to go where it would be used (if sunny yellow paint and white trim can be said to have an air of excitement) - not an everyday occurrence on these roads, but still common enough so you glance and go on, and directly after that came an enormous round silver tank of some sort, shining in the  (brief) sun. I watched it pull under the overpass and registered wow, there's not a lot of extra room there, better steer toward the side of the road a bit

and started to do so, and

And then there was the deer.

Late Spring/early summer is a hard time for critters around here. The young'uns get the worst of it - they're nearly grown and out on their own, and have no idea of what that big expanse of hard-packed tarmac is (smash)

If I ate roadkill, this would probably be called the buffet season.

So, to recap -

Shiny instrument of hugeness on road to one side, dead (pre-killed) deer on the other.

I think I had about three inches clearance. The driver of the semi had dark hair, horrified eyes,  and a huge Adams apple that bobbed when he realized I wasn't scooting to the side.

And then we passed each other, and I went on, listening to my tale of polygamist woe and feeling very, very lucky that not only I wasn't a character in the book, I wasn't being smooshed on the highway either.

woes is me

Three-fourths of the major players are gone from work today - not illness, but scheduled things (which means no one is calling looking for them) and the phone is quiet and the day is subtly gray and drippy and we're all stifling yawns. Hitting the coffee hard and hoping for four-thirty to come, quick and painless.

(bugger, bugger, bugger) After assuring the man at the copier repair shop that YES, I turned the damned thing off and turned it back on, the copier guy came and...I don't know....rubbed his thumb and fingers together and look! Now the copier is working!

It's more aggravating than trying to explain 'that noise' to the car mechanic.

(Anyone else besides me astounded that the technology has come so far - I mean, the copier machines now can fax and scan and upload and download from flash drives and print on both sides and staple, for cripes sakes,  a far cry from the ones in the past, where collating wasn't even an option - and the first advice from the repair shop is still unplug it and plug it back in?!?!?!)

I'm getting a haircut after work, and am stupidly excited about this. I have so much hair I'm lost in it, (a cold-weather trick of mine, grow out the mop) and need a shearing. Also some highlights.

Okay, the copier fella (he's a nice guy, really) is still in there, futzing. So he can't have sprinkled pixie-dust in all the right places. Actually, he's conferred with a colleague, so maybe I didn't make a bad call after all????

Ooh, and the sun is coming out. My haircut awaits (well, okay, in a few hours.) But the day is getting better.

splenda is nasty, nasty stuff

The latest in the long list of terrible, horrible things I've done/am doing to my body:

I'm not eating sugar.

Yes, I know it's Easter. (I never claimed to be terribly bright.) And (trust me!) my whole body is (hyper) aware of the chocolate it's not getting.
And it resents that.
Hoo boy, does it resent that.

(So far [we're whispering so that my brain doesn't register that we're talking about contraband] it's not been too hard. The hardest things seem to be buying food outside the home - like lunches and things -  and not offending Rosey when she wants to share her goodies.)

This isn't the result of a bad medical report or anything of that ilk, just the realization that I was either adding sugar to my coffee or drinking regular coke or having ice cream every day, and that can't be healthy.

And I'm not setting myself up for failure by saying never. I'm not eating sugar right now. I had my coffee with a shot of 2% this morning (yes, yes, lactose, but I'm not adding to that) and it went over surprisingly well.
Then after lunch I figured hey, why not, I haven't tried fake sugar since before I was pregnant with Rosey, I'm sure it's better now, immediately followed by cough cough gag gag wheeze


and I think I'll stick to the plain-and-bitter kind, thank you.


Maybe the Easter Bunny can bring me some nice fruit. Y'know, or something.

mr mom

I went back to work this week.

I've been working part-time (very part-time) all along but this is the first I've worked full-time since before Miss Rosey was born.

And while it feels awesome! and very grown-up! and it's nice to talk to adults all day! and do things! That aren't necessarily kid-related! it feels STRANGE to leave the household in Bear's (admittedly capable) hands.

Now he's making supper, getting the kids off to school and making them do their homework at night, listening to stories about their days and doling out snacks. Yesterday he mixed up a batch of bread dough for me, had supper waiting in the pot when I got home, and had done a load of laundry and washed the dishes.

It was nice (heaven!) to come home to but it felt...odd, you know? To walk in and hear that the homework was done and here-have-your-supper and realize that another adult had very competently taken over my mom and homemaker duties. Odd...and displaced.

Yes, I know that I'm special to my kids, and that no one can take my place in their hearts. This post isn't about that. It's about feeling maybe that the world isn't going to stop if I'm not in the house, or if I'm not the one serving up snacks and stories, and how that makes me feel.

Smaller, a bit, and glad that they're with someone who loves them so much, and still....a bit displaced.


(Note: This is a three-month term position which may or may not be extended. Hats off (really, I mean that) to moms and dads and single parents everywhere who do this full-time, all the time.)

heartsore

My heart is sore today.

I walked into the manse and immediately shot into what is that mode - the sounds of a waterfall where there should be none greeted me.

Oh, dear lord. The recent cold had broken a pipe, and there was water everywhere. Several inches deep in the kitchen, it had gone through the ceiling from the upstairs bathroom and was busily rushing into the hall. The dining room was awash. The basement ran with water. Saddest of all was the kitchen, where part of the ceiling had fallen and the pattern on the lino had disappeared, worn off by relentless streams.

Through it all, the furnace chugged along, merrily trying to keep the house warm.

I'm not sure what's going to happen, or when. I'm just saddened that it happened. It seems a very dreadful thing to happen to such a beautiful, history-filled place.

5:54 a.m.

It's really early.

Okay, so B wouldn't agree. He's used to being up and productive at all hours of the day and night, though, while I am more of the glazed-over, holding-slopping-cup-of-tea the sky isn't up yet? type.

I'm bleary in the morning. Especially windy cold days where the unfairness of being vertical makes me want to gnash my teeth and fall down weeping.

But...Productivity Ho!
Off to gather clothing and do the morning math, to shoo the cats away from where they've got the dog backed up in the corner (do they do this every morning? No wonder he eyes them with a terrible stare)

to find hairbrush and gargle, to be presentable.


Good morning! It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day.

ch-ch-ch-changes

When I got to the manse this morning there were men inside.

It was a little shocking, since I've been working here for I-don't-know-how-long and it's always been me and the empty house. But here was a face at the door, letting me in!
A surreal moment, to say the least.

(I checked to make sure he was wearing clothes appropriate for this century - who's to say this old house doesn't have spirits? Although why they would appear now after all this time would be puzzling.....)

He's a contractor. He's here to build a bathroom in the office. Which means the church is one more step closer to either renting out or possibly selling this lovely old building.

Which makes me very sad.

It's a hopeless longing, because I'd never a) get B to move here and b) never get the money together in time, plus it's c) in town and B will combust if hemmed in with other houses (I kid. Sorta.) and I'd rather the chilluns grew up out country than here (not to slag on the school system here, but have I mentioned how much I like the little schoolhouse?)

But on the other hand, someone should love this house. And live in it.

Bring laughter to it again.

things I have learned this morning

* My husband rily, rily likes redheads. Who knew?

*Flavoured coffee and raisins DO NOT MIX. So much for the healthy breakfast.

*Excited dancing around the room can result in bruised shins. I'm hobbling a bit today. (And I'll share the good news soon. I'm still hugging it to myself in sheer delight and stunned disbelief. And no, am not with child.)

*An excited doctor who just came back from a conference? Will talk your ear off, conveniently forgetting you know nothing of what he is speaking of.

shocking journalism

There was much rustling of the newspaper today at work, tight knots of people drawn into huddled conversations, hushed voices exclaiming disbelief, outrage, and sorrow.

The murder of a little girl hit this area hard. It was the first homicide since 1993, and matricide made it particularly shocking.

The papers have written graphic accounts of Statements of Facts given at the courthouse, and now the entire province knows exactly what happened the night of January 27, 2008.

I understand that knowing, facing the demon, lets us excise our own fears of what happened (although I doubt many of us thought anything worse that what actually did)
- and this is the axe of journalism; 'How can you know if we don't tell you?' the whitened teeth and artfully lacquered hair of what makes the news disturbing, and makes people sit up and take notice and want action! and to change the world!

but still

but still



I daresay many of us would have felt compassion for the victim and outrage for the criminal without the mental picture of Winnie The Pooh underpants on a crumpled body.



God save her family.

did you just call me ma'am?

Today I did something I never thought I'd do.

I never, in a million years, thought I'd be begging off writing something. Citing work and responsibilities and a thousand other things. Turning down the stuff I love for a paycheck.

I feel so....Republican. (Okay, cheap shot.)

But it's true. I've taken a leave of absence (taken leave of your senses, cries my brain, what are you doing??) from Better Than A Playdate.

Because I'm busier than hell right now, and crafting is somewhere waaay down on the list of things to do between call the dentist about Cass's teeth and schedule a pap smear.

I'll come back, if they'll have me, in the spring. Fresher, and ready to pick up my tools and craft again.

Or something like that, anyway....

contrasts

Today at noon Cass's class went ice-skating at the local rink. We were in town at the same time, so we went in to see him. I stepped inside and was (except for the blast of cold air up my nose) swept back to roller-skating when I was young - although older than Cass, at any rate!

Lots of small determined bodies hurling themselves around while tinny music brayed from overhead speakers. Lots of colorful clothing and happy shrieking.

At least they weren't playing The Go-Gos. That would have meant I was experiencing either déjà vu or a break with reality, and I would have to had searched the place for my favorite skates, my Goody comb, and my hairspray.

I'm sure they were around there somewhere.

As the horn blew for times-up and the kids came off the ice, the thick rubber mats placed around the rink made them 'mince' on their skates, and suddenly I was behind this rushing wave of exuberant children, rosy-cheeked and swaying like debutantes wearing high heels for the first time.

Although come to think of it, I've never seen debutantes wearing snow pants....

Contrast that with the party I went to in the evening, where crowds of grown-ups discussed policies and stood in groups, little trays of canapes and bottles of wine, chatting and laughing while the Christmas lights shone down and painted everything.

Funny, though, the debutantes there? Were way less fun.....

my heart, it is full

Also my time card.

Good grief, I've been working a lot. Well, maybe not a lot, but enough so I fall into bed at night and dream rushed dreams and daren't go near the computer for fear I'll give in to blogging and Scrabble and (oh, GOD) Bloglines (I haven't been on Bloglines in DAYS. I'm scared now to look at how many hundreds of posts I've missed.) and stay up all night.

And tonight I've had the company of not only my two, but an extra boy.

Yup. Cass is having his first sleep-over.

(And the small girl? Rosey, who gets crushes on all of Cass's friends? Loooves this one. She finally had to be put to bed about an hour ago, loudly protesting. As for the boys? I think they'd happily play Playstation all night.)

Me? Oh, I'll be playing Scrabble......

working in the dungeon

I was putting the dead people xrays away today down in the basement.

(Hospital basements? Miles of corridors, exhaust fans, flickering lights, broken equipment and old furniture squatting along the edges waiting to be sent to the dump, and a slight chemical scent in the air that leads you to suspect the morgue is probably next door, behind one or another of these odd locked doors.)

We've been culling the deceased from the Xray department from awhile, making space for the films of visitors who've slipped beachcombing, the MVAs, the basketball injuries and bar fights, the wrenched knees and unsteady hips of the arthritic.

I've been down in the basement a few times now, hauling the enormous folders, slipping them into their new shelves. Giving them new people to talk to. The room is warm and smells of cardboard dust and forgotten things, but has good light - useful when trying to decipher the four, five, or six digit numbers emblazoned on the yellow film cases with their peeling stickers.

It's hot work, and it's almost eerily quiet once the door swings shut.

I read a Clive Cussler novel today - I'd never read him before - and while I was thumping things into place, thought how easy it would be to create a character for that type of book (Secret Service, espionage sort of thing) that took on a new identity....perhaps one she found while shelving the xrays of deceased people in a hospital basement?