The frustrations of a power outage

An unwelcome but powerful lesson today in the perils of being electronically dependent. My morning was going smoothly—I was working, someone was cleaning the gutters on the house, someone else was cleaning my cottage, Lewis Bundock fixed the shelf that I had loosened from the wall, and all was well`. Suddenly, the cottage went dark. I suspected the gutter man had tripped something and caught Lewis before he left, thinking he’d go fix the breaker switch. But then Jordan called from the main house—power out inside too. My alarm system alerted me belatedly and then sent me an email that fewer than 5% of houses within a mile were affected. I found that cold comfort.

But there I was—no computer, so I couldn’t work. No TV to distract me. Even my land line didn’t work because it relies on an electric power source. And I hesitated to use the cell phone for fear of using up the charge in the battery. Even the books I’m reading are on the computer. And cooking was out of the question, even cold dishes because I didn’t want to open the refrigerator unnecessarily.

I considered just going back to bed, but the sheets had been stripped and were in the washing machine—wet and soapy. Along with the extra set of sheets because Colin and Morgan slept out here Saturday night. I could file all those papers in my “pending” file, but without light I couldn’t really see the files in the drawer well enough.

I sorted a thick file of recipes and patted myself on the back because I cut its size by half. Did so by making myself realize that I am not going to cook big dishes that feed eight because eight would not be comfortable in the cottage, and the days of burner-to-oven skillet cooking are behind me. I cannot use an iron skillet on my hot plate, and the skillets I must use are not ovenproof. A year and a half into cottage living, I realize that dishes I’ll make out here and send inside to be cooked are few and far between. Many of them don’t fit the diet Jordan and Christian are following, and scheduling is a problem—to send dishes inside I have to choose a time they’re home and not cooking. Few and far between.

Belatedly I realized that I could unhook my computer from the remote monitor, so I could write but nothing else. No connection for internet or email. For some reason, the remote keyboard still worked. Small blessings. So I did a little writing.

Suddenly, after about three hours, it came back on. And from then on, the world seemed to get better. The dealership called about repairing my car (I’d been waiting since Saturday to hear from them); my Austin son-in-law, the computer genius, called and quickly walked me through erasing emails that had been stuck on my cell phone since December—I’d erase them, and they’d come right back. Now they’re gone! He also gave advice on cutting my Kindle backlog. I thought of two niggling things that had been in the back of my mind and dealt with them. I had the inspiration to ask for TV tray tables, nice wooden ones, for my birthday, because I’m really tired of asking guests to hunch over the coffee table to eat. It was like a whole new fresh start.

So here I am in this bright, new, electronically-restored world. Ah, what to do next? So many opportunities. Life is good. I think I’ll start by charging my phone and iPad.

Staring into Space

I’ve noticed this tendency in myself for the last few months: I tend to stop what I’m doing and stare off into space. It happens any time of day but particularly in the morning. With my leg either in a boot or brace and my other leg compromised by pain, I dawdle over getting my pants and shoes on in the morning. I t has to be done in ritual order—left (sore) leg first, because it hurts to lift it—so that leg goes into underwear, pants or shorts, sock (now that’s really a challenge) and shoe; then the right leg and add to the ritual these days buckling into the brace and fitting it into the shoe. Sometimes it may take me a half an hour to get to that point because I stop to stare into space—and because I put off standing up because it hurts my left hip. Doctor, home health nurse, everyone tells me I have to do it because walking on that hip is the only way to make it better, but damn!

I find myself staring into space at other times during the day too. I’ve always wondered about people who say they meditate—how do they get their mind to fix on one topic and stay there? When I gaze at the far horizon or whatever, I have no conscious thought in my brain, though I often sense that an idea comes into my head and instead of continuing what I’m doing, I follow that idea off into wherever,

I’ve blogged about and most of you are aware of the major changes in my lifestyle I’ve experienced lately—health and mobility, living quarters and cooking accessibility, independence (I’ve had to give up ideas about that). I’ve tried to meditate, but I simply couldn’t or wouldn’t focus on one subject.

It occurs to me however that in those times I drift into space I’m really meditating, working on the issues in my life I need to sort out. Jordan was upset last night that I was upset (I know, bad sentence) over the prospect of limited mobility in the future-tonight she made it a bit worse by saying she doubted I’d ever drive anywhere by myself again. And she may well be right, and it may turn out to be a blessing for which I will forever be grateful for good friends who take me hither and yon, but what Jord didn’t understand in her quest to make everything better, is that I need to work all that out in my mind and it isn’t going to happen overnight.

So if you see me staring off into space just think that maybe I’m driving my VW on a scenic backroad, top down, my dog Sophie at my side.

It’s all going to work. It just takes time.

Cats, clowns, water bottles, and bacon

Another insignificant day in the life of Judy Alter, wannabe rich and famous author. I have decided that the world is going crazy. It’s not just the Trump scary silliness—though I’m sitting here ready to watch the Veep debate. But take for instance the current craze with water bottles. Yep, recyclable plastic water bottles. Jacob and his buddies fill them halfway with water, put the tops on, and practice flipping them. The object is to make them land right side up. It sounds really boring to me, but they spend hours at it, both alone and with each other.

But then they branch out. One afternoon I woke from a nap to hear strange noises on the roof. Turns out Jacob and a friend were lobbing bottles onto my roof. I reminded them it was a new roof, and I didn’t think that was a good idea. A few minutes later I watched Jacob lob a bottle toward the back fence and then cover his mouth with amazement. Yep, he’d broken a title in the patio table. We stressed how expensive those tiles are. Those incidents have not deterred him—I sit at my desk and watch him lobbing bottles, though for now to less sensitive places.

I am subject to this idiocy. I got a new pack of bacon out tonight and was horrified that it said, “Use or freeze before October 29” I hadn’t even frozen it. How sick would it make me if I went ahead and made a BLT? Slowly, it dawned on me that’s it’s only early October. I whipped the remaining bacon into the freezer and made my sandwich. It takes me a long time to cook though I admit I wasn’t hurrying tonight—still it took me over half an hour to make a half BLT.

I find the same thing sometimes in the morning. I’m prone to sit on the edge of the bed and stare into space. I’m not sure if I’m procrastinating or just enjoying the luxury of not having to rush. Some mornings it’s 30 minutes between waking up, doing my morning ablations—teeth, etc.—and getting to my desk. Add twenty minutes for washing my hair.

Two scary things loom on our horizon. One is the national problem of scary clowns. Jacob really grilled his mom tonight about the clowns and why she had warned him about them. She did it of course to warn him in the unlikely case that he ran into one of these creatures. Jacob is sometimes a bit scared, and this is one of those times.

Which means it’s good we didn’t tell him about the coyote(s) who apparently roam our neighborhood at night. In past months we’ve heard of an occasional cat killed, but last night, if my reading of the bulletins was correct, two cats were killed. And friends in other parts of the city have lost outdoor cats in the same manner—what you find is mostly a furry of fur. The south end of my neighborhood has a creek and wooded area, and we figure one or more coyotes are coming from there. But it could be a bobcat. We keep our animals in at night, but I know some people with feral cats can’t do that and these are scary times. When our dogs are out in the evening I have a birds’-eye view of the backyard so I’m not worried, but I hate to hear about other animals killed.

My verdict on the veep debate: pretty boring, but Kaine has a nice, open personality. Pence is a smug, supercilious piece of work.

Over and out.

 

October 4.2016

Another insignificant day in the life of Judy Alter, wannabe rich and famous author. I have decided that the world is going crazy. It’s not just the Trump scary silliness—though I’m sitting here ready to watch the Veep debate. But take for instance the current craze with water bottles. Yep, recyclable plastic water bottles. Jacob and his buddies fill them halfway with water, put the tops on, and practice flipping them. The object is to make them land right side up. It sounds really boring to me, but they spend hours at it, both alone and with each other.

But then they branch out. One afternoon I woke from a nap to hear strange noises on the roof. Turns out Jacob and a friend were lobbing bottles onto my roof. I reminded them it was a new roof, and I didn’t think that was a good idea. A few minutes later I watched Jacob lob a bottle toward the back fence and then cover his mouth with amazement. Yep, he’d broken a title in the patio table. We stressed how expensive those tiles are. Those incidents have not deterred him—I sit at my desk and watch him lobbing bottles, though for now to less sensitive places.

I am subject to this idiocy. I got a new pack of bacon out tonight and was horrified that it said, “Use or freeze before October 29” I hadn’t even frozen it. How sick would it make me if I went ahead and made a BLT? Slowly, it dawned on me that’s it’s only early October. I whipped the remaining bacon into the freezer and made my sandwich. It takes me a long time to cook though I admit I wasn’t hurrying tonight—still it took me over half an hour to make a half BLT.

I find the same thing sometimes in the morning. I’m prone to sit on the edge of the bed and stare into space. I’m not sure if I’m procrastinating or just enjoying the luxury of not having to rush. Some mornings it’s 30 minutes between waking up, doing my morning ablations—teeth, etc.—and getting to my desk. Add twenty minutes for washing my hair.

Two scary things loom on our horizon. One is the national problem of scary clowns. Jacob really grilled his mom tonight about the clowns and why she had warned him about them. She did it of course to warn him in the unlikely case that he ran into one of these creatures. Jacob is sometimes a bit scared, and this is one of those times.

Which means it’s good we didn’t tell him about the coyote(s) who apparently roam our neighborhood at night. In past months we’ve heard of an occasional cat killed, but last night, if my reading of the bulletins was correct, two cats were killed. And friends in other parts of the city have lost outdoor cats in the same manner—what you find is mostly a furry of fur. The south end of my neighborhood has a creek and wooded area, and we figure one or more coyotes are coming from there. But it could be a bobcat. We keep our animals in at night, but I know some people with feral cats can’t do that and these are scary times. When our dogs are out in the evening I have a birds’-eye view of the backyard so I’m not worried, but I hate to hear about other animals killed.

My verdict on the veep debate: pretty boring, but Kaine has a nice, open personality. Pence is a smug, supercilious piece of work.

Over and out.