Photo Sunday

Today, I'm giving us all a break from my babbling and am going to post some pictures instead.

Delilah has gotten very used to me pointing a camera at her. She doesn't even flinch and look away any more, since there's enough light in the new place take pictures without the flash.



In profile. I had to move my hand around just off camera to keep her looking that way:


I love this one:


And here's the dreaded Claw. She was in mid-knead when I snapped this one:


Finally, she got bored with all this and went to sleep...


..which didn't stop me taking more pictures, of course.


Next week: Proof that I really do go outside once in a while.

Buffalo-style tulip bulbs

Okay, so last night after work I bought a bottle of cayenne pepper sauce (Frank's Red Hot) at a little grocery store downtown. I looked around for squirt bottles, but they didn't have any. Drat. Spraying for squirrels was thereby postponed 'til today.

This afternoon I went somewhere else and got myself a squirt bottle. Came home, mixed the cayenne pepper sauce with a teaspoon of dish-washing liquid, and then mixed that with a gallon of warm water. The result is this orangey-red liquid with foam on top. If I ever need to do this again, I must remember next time to add the soap after the pepper and water mix.

I filled the spray bottle with the cayenne solution and sprayed it anywhere I'd planted bulbs. About halfway through, I began to flash back to the restaurant my parents used to own in upstate Pennsylvania. One of the items on the menu had been hot wings--deep fried chicken wings covered in a hot sauce. This stuff smells just like that sauce, all spicy and vinegary.

Ditter, if you're out there and reading this, do you remember the label on the jugs of hot sauce we kept in the store room? Was it Frank's Red Hot? I think it was. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that it was. I wonder if that's why I picked this particular hot sauce, out of some sort of subconscious brand loyalty.

So now every time I pass the flowerbed, I'm going to be hungry for chicken wings. Great.

Not nuts

To the squirrels that keep digging in my flowerbed:

They're tulip, hyacinth, and crocus bulbs. Same ones as yesterday. Which were the same ones as the day before. They're not magically going to turn into walnuts or something. Quit digging them up and then leaving them lying around.

Don't make me break out the cayenne pepper. You will not be happy.

Edited to add: I found a recipe online for a cayenne pepper squirrel repellent. As a stopgap until I get to the store for a small bottle of hot pepper sauce, I've scattered ground black pepper all over the flowerbed.

Wish me luck, people. If decades' worth of Warner Brothers cartoons are any sort of indicator, this battle is going to end with a large smoking hole in the ground, me sitting on a cloud wearing wings and playing a harp, and a squirrel covered in soot, holding a crocus bulb in his little paws.

40 years old, and I still get homework

Look at Vee, such the little joiner.

In 2006, Matthew Baldwin of defectiveyeti put his own little spin on NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo, and decided to start NaNoReMo -- National Novel Reading Month. He was going to read Moby Dick all month, and post his progress on his blog. I sat back and watched the fun. It reinforced my lack of desire ever to read that book. I'm not sure, but I don't think he finished it. It's 500+ pages, in that dense, wordy style I find particularly off-putting. Like Henry James, only worse.

In 2007, he asked readers to join him, and to pick which book to read. Votes were cast and tallied, and in the end they chose Catch 22. I'd read that for a class in college, I don't remember which one. I didn't join in, mainly out of laziness. I did follow the blog, though, and bits of the book came back to me as I read his comments.

This year the group chose Lolita. I managed to make it through a college career as an English major without having to read that book. I don't know how. I picked it up on my own about ten or fifteen years ago, and every once in a while I go back and read it again. I'd like to hear what other people have to say about it. I think I keep going back because I'm puzzled about why it's considered "great." All I see is a pedophile, crying over his lost prey. There has to be more to it than that, and I'm just missing it. I am famous for letting symbolism go flying over my head. Occasionally I'll look up distractedly and ask, "What was that whooshing noise?"

So I'm joining in. According to the syllabus, I need to have Part 1, chapters 1-13 read by tomorrow. Fortunately, this is one of the books I've already unpacked and put on my bookshelf. And today, I managed to remember to take it off of the shelf and put it in my purse. If I'd been thinking, I could have brought it with me to read while I was waiting to vote on Tuesday. Instead, I was reading They Came to Baghdad by Agatha Christie.

Off to lunch, and to read.

Proof! I can actually finish something

When it got so bitterly cold here two weeks ago, I dug out a project from one of the many (still) unpacked boxes in my craft room and finished it so that I could protect my face at the bus stop. I was nearly done with the scarf when I'd packed it -- only had about six more inches to add on it.

I bought the yarn from Patternworks. It's called Boku, and is a mix of wool and silk. I'd originally bought it to make a pair of fingerless gloves to wear at work, but then I was moved to an office that doesn't make icicles grow on my nose come November, so I decided to use the yarn for something else.

A couple of Christmases ago, using a pattern from knitty.com, I'd made a scarf like this in oatmeal-colored wool for Ditter's father-in-law. I had a hard time giving it up. I could only make myself do it by promising that someday I'd make one for me. When I was looking around for something to do with the Boku yarn, I remembered the wavy scarf. I thought the variegated stripes and the waves would go nicely together.

I'm tempted to get more and make mittens now. I suppose I should learn how to make mittens before I start buying yarn to make 'em with, huh?

I finally found a LOLcat I like

more animals

This points out exactly what bothers me about those things. My cat, if she could speak, wouldn't talk like an idiot. She'd sound like Blanche DuBois.

Vote!

It's Election Day here in the U.S. I am up at the crack of dawn so I can be at the polls as soon as they open. They've said on the local news that more people registered to vote in this county than they've ever seen before, and that's an indication that the lines to vote are going to be longer than usual.

On the one hand: Yay! People are voting! Seriously, I don't care who they vote for as long as people make a choice. Even if you don't like the people running for the two main parties, there are other parties out there that rarely get mentioned--Green, Libertarian, Communist, even. And if you still don't like anyone, write a name in!

I did that last time. What I really wanted was an option that said, "None of the above, go out and find me better candidates," but since there isn't one, I wrote my own name in. It was a protest. I didn't trust anyone else, and I knew no one else would vote for me so I didn't have to worry about getting the job.

On the other hand: Ugh! Crowds. I'm probably going to be late for work. And double ugh! People with leaflets, trying to change folks' minds at the last minute. Mom and I were discussing this on Saturday. She said where we used to live the campaigners were very aggressive right outside the polls. She had one guy try to stuff leaflets in her pockets when she refused to take them. When she turned around and shouted at him not to touch her, one of the election officials was right behind him asking her eagerly if she'd like to press charges. I don't think she did. She should have. Nobody ever bothered my dad, though. Probably because when anyone approaches him with stuff like that, he gives them The Look: equal parts warning and annoyance. It's enough to make anyone hesitate.

I've got a book in my bag in case the lines are long. Provided there's light to read, that is. The polls open at 7 o'clock. I should probably go get dressed and get out there.

NaBloPoMo

I must be crazy. Either that or incredibly ambitious. I've finally decided to try my hand at National Blog Posting Month. It was started by Mrs. Kennedy of Fussy, as a sort of companion to National Novel-Writing Month. By joining, I've committed myself to posting once every day this month.

I've been thinking seriously about doing this since September, and started writing down ideas for posts. I don't have thirty, but I think I have enough if I intersperse them with whatever life offers up along the way this month.

Wish me luck. Please pray for my sanity. I've read through the Novembers of people who tried this, and by the end of the month most of them are ready to stop blathering on already.

Must remember to pack the laptop when I go home for Thanksgiving.

My first ever association meeting

Being an owner of this townhouse means I'm part of an association. Once a year all the owners in my development get together and go over the budget, elect officers, talk about anything that needs fixing or improving. If any of the owners can't make it, they're supposed to send in a proxy notice saying which of us can vote for them. If they don't do that, then they're bound by whatever the rest of us decide. The notice of the meeting was mailed out months ago, so it's not like no one had time to send a proxy if they didn't want to come themselves.

The annual meeting was today, at 5pm. I got to meet some more of my neighbors, one of them being a woman I already knew slightly. She has a miniature schnauzer that I sometimes see her walking with when I'm waiting for my bus in the morning.

This year there were three bylaw amendments on the agenda: pet policy, satellite dishes, and replacement windows. Apparently the pet policy really is "no pets," but the association decided years ago not to enforce that. Some people (tenants, we think, not owners) are letting their dogs out and leaving messes. And someone's tom cat is spraying near someone else's house. So we've decided to amend the bylaws regarding pets; something about them needing to be spayed or neutered, and something about dogs needing to be on a leash and cleaned-up after. The representative from the company that does the administrative stuff for the association is going to write something up based on what we discussed, and then we'll pass it around and probably okay it.

We also have no written policy regarding the placement of satellite dishes, mainly because when the association was created back in 1986 there was no need. We decided this evening that they definitely shouldn't go on the roof or the exterior walls--makes holes, damages the roof. And they just put on new roofs for some of the units. The other units are due for new ones in the next couple of years. The whole thing is kind of tricky, so rather than make up a whole set of if/then rules we're going to state that if you can't get reception in a couple of places that we will list, you should contact the association, and we'll see whether we can accommodate that without damaging the building.

I brought up that the people who used to own my unit attached a dish to the far wall, and that I don't use it and wouldn't mind if it left. They're going to see whether the dish company will take it down, and if they won't then the president of the association will see to it that it's gone. That's great. I thought I was going to have to ask my Dad to take it down or something, or maybe call the handyman who did my electrical work and ask him how much it would cost to remove.

The other thing was replacement windows. Apparently the original living room windows to the units weren't very good quality, and some owners have opted to get them replaced. They wanted to put in the bylaws that the first time the windows get replaced, the association will contribute $400 to the cost (since that what they did with everyone who has opted to do it so far), but that if you decide to replace them again, you're on your own. That was more documenting a past practice than adding something new. According to the president, it was a previous owner of my unit that started the whole window-replacement thing, so I know mine are new. I knew that anyway. They looked a bit upscale for a building that was mass-produced. They tip in so that you can clean both sides without leaving the house.

And that's pretty much all I did today. Did I mention that last weekend I spent sorting out the flower bed? I don't think I did. Yep. I took out the hollyhocks by the front door, harvested the seeds from 'em. I think I got all the root system out. They were pretty, but by the end of summer they got very messy. They really aren't a front-door kind of flower. I'm going to plant some of the harvested seeds on the side of the unit, or maybe by the shed.

I also took out this sad scraggly looking thing that hasn't done much this year. If it ever took hold, I think it would have turned into another tree, and I didn't really want that. I think I'm going to put a butterfly bush there next year.

I planted a bunch of bulbs. Just in time, too. It's starting to get very cold now. I planted hyacinths near the front door, crocuses around the base of the tree, and then pink and white tulips under the windows and on this little rounded area at the end of the unit that didn't seem to have anything growing in it. I had a lot more crocus and tulip bulbs than there was room in the plot, so I scattered a few crocuses on my side of the sidewalk, and put some tulips and crocuses near the shed in back. Mom says the crocuses will naturalize and reproduce, but that after a few years the tulips will probably need to be replaced. I'll be interested to see how all this planting turns out.

While digging holes for the crocuses, I unearthed a few acorns. Whoopsie! Squirrel cache! I tried to put them back roughly where I found them. I just hope the squirrels don't go after my bulbs.

I can write this now without fear of jinxing myself

I would just like to say that for the first time in quite a while I have made it through the month of October without my allergies weakening my immune system so much that I wind up with bronchitis.

Huzzah!

I guess that's what happens when you stop living in a dark, dank, almost windowless hole-in-the-wall. Maybe by next October, after a year and four months living in a better environment, my allergies will bother me hardly at all. One can only hope.

Happy Hallowe'en!

Trick-or-Treating is done a little differently around here than it was where I grew up. In the suburbs of Philadelphia, you went out in your costume on the 31st of October, always. And you stayed out until you'd either run out of doors to knock on, or you were tired, or your parents called you home. The 30th of October was called "Mischief Night," and people would get up the next morning to find their car windows soaped up (or maybe even egged, though that didn't happen often in my neighborhood), or the tree in the front yard festooned in toilet paper, or maybe the mailbox covered in silly string.

Around here, the night of Trick-or-Treating gets decided at the township level. A lot of the surrounding areas had theirs last night, from 6pm until 8pm. Tonight was my borough's night, again from 6 to 8.

The apartment where I used to live was in an area that was kind of dark and creepy at night. In all the time I lived there, I never had one little kid on my doorstep asking for candy. I bought something every year, just in case. Towards the end there, they were kind of lame treats -- sugarless gum, granola bars, bags of microwaveable popcorn. Well, if I wasn't going to have anyone show up, it should be stuff I don't mind having around the place, right?

There are a lot of children on this side of town, so I just assumed I'd have Trick-or-Treaters this year. I had no idea how many to expect. From the Tweets I was reading last night, some of the folks nearby went through 8 bags of candy before they were done. Yikes! I'd only bought one big bag, a mix of Starbursts and Skittles. On the way home from work today, I stopped and picked up a couple of bags of Tootsie Pops, just in case.

It's quarter to nine now. Wanna see what my candy bowl looks like? Here ya go:



I think I may have overestimated just a tad. I had ten kids, total. Still, that's ten more than I had last year. Guess whose co-workers are going to have sugar highs come Monday?

Avalanche!

I'm feuding with my freezer.

There's an ice and water dispenser on the door of the freezer, and when I first moved in I was all, "Oooh! I have an ice maker! " I envisioned myself never having to make do with warm soda just because I'd forgotten to fill the trays and to chill the new bottle when I noticed the old one was getting low. Making smoothies would no longer require having to make ice for them the day before. I can have a spontaneous smoothie! I was in beverage heaven. And the cat likes that I get her water from the fridge instead of from the tap (she's so spoiled), so the water dispenser is another plus.

Here's the thing, though. This ice maker was made for a two(or more)-person household. I don't go through the ice fast enough I guess, and the dang thing doesn't have a sensor to tell it when it's made enough. It's like the broom in the Sorcerer's Apprentice. So I either have to fill a glass or two full of ice and toss it into the sink daily (wasteful), or reach in and turn the thing off periodically (which is fine until suddenly there's no ice and I'm all waah! I want ice!). 'Cause if I don't, the result is something along the lines of what happened a few minutes ago:

It's lunch time. I decide I'm going to have one of the Lean Cuisine single serving pizzas that I bought Wednesday. I open the freezer and shout words that would make my mothers lips go very tight if she heard me as I am bombarded with ice. The freezer door has been holding it in position, waiting to smack me with it. Kind of like the Three Stooges bit with a bucket balanced on top of a slightly open door. When I try to reach into the machine to get at the shut-off lever I am hit with more. And more. And more. Big chunks formed from smaller bits that have fused together hit me, separate into slightly smaller chunks, hit the floor, break, and scatter everywhere.

I slam the door shut and chase down ice bits, particularly the ones that have bounced over to the laminate flooring. I have been warned by my realtor and the inspector that laminate shouldn't be allowed to have puddles on it, that would ruin it.

In all the fuss, I forgot what I was in the freezer for. Oh! Pizza. Dare I try again? I open the door slowly this time, hiding behind it, and, when nothing falls out, cautiously peek around. There is ice all over the inside of the freezer. I clean that out, manage to get to the shut-off lever without a second bombardment, then collect my lunch. After I shut the door I hear the ice inside shift.

As I'm writing this, the fridge just kicked on, and it sounds like it's laughing at me.

The name game meme

By a rather convoluted path (okay, maybe not so much: Whooppee to The Bloggess to Biddy) I found a meme I'm a-gonna answer. It's called The Name Game. Here we go:

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)
Needles Buspass

2.YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
Moosetracks Nilla Wafer ('Sup, yo?)

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
V-All

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Det. Rose Leopard (Pink Leopard sounded like a drink)

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Anne Meadowbrook

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
Lenva (that sounds like a cleaning product)

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
The Green Sea Breeze (Oooh, that one worked nicely)

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)
Alfred Darwin

9. STRIPPER NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)
Lilac Candied Orange Peel --no, no, no. How about Jasmine Toffee? No, that sounds like some sort of hippie-trippy band from the 60s or 70s. Diorissima Peppermint (the perfume is Diorissimo, I switched it so the gender would be right). I guess that will have to do.

10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names )
Ruth Charles

11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
Roland Raleigh (it sounds better the other way around : Raleigh Roland)

12. SPY NAME/BOND GIRL: (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
Summer Rose. (Another one that would sound better backwards: Rose Summers)

13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + “ie” or “y”)
Strawberry Socky

14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
Fiber One with Dried Cranberries Oak

15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)
The Embroidering Sunshine Tour (Ooh! I need to form a band just so we can go on this tour!)

Anyone else want to try his/her hand at this? Like you have nothing better to do, I know.

I decided to avoid the rush, and have my Monday on a Wednesday

I have said jokingly to a number of people (though apparently not here. I just did a search and came up empty) that it wasn't going to hit me that this townhouse of mine was really mine until I locked myself out and realized there was no one else who had keys for the place.

Guess what? Running around like a nut this morning, trying to make the 7:25 bus, I lock the doorknob, slam the door shut behind me, and swear profusely. The keys are on the kitchen table. I put my forehead to the door and say, "You're mine. All mine. Damn it."

Two doors down, I can see the flickering of a TV behind mostly closed curtains. I knock, introduce myself, and ask to borrow a phone book so that I can call a locksmith. Fellow invites me in. I've already met his wife and the dog--little cute loud fluffy thing, who growls and barks and then, if you decide to pet him, wags so hard his feet lift off the ground. His name is Scooter, but I think a better one would be Fizzgig. That's who he reminds me of.

I choose a locksmith at random, call, get their answering service. They say they'll call someone who'll call me right back. I hang around at the neighbors' for a little bit and chat, mainly about the upcoming annual owners' meeting, which is the first Sunday of November. Then I decide I've intruded long enough, thank him for his help, and go back outside in the bitter cold to sulk. I call work and tell our receptionist that I'll be in later.

I get off the phone with her just in time. The locksmith calls right then, saying he's 45 minutes away, quoting me the price for a home lock-out, and informing me he'll need proof that I live here either before or shortly after he lets me in. I have my ID on me, and luckily I've gotten all the address and voter registration stuff changed months ago, so this isn't going to be a problem. Next I call a member of my team to let her know what's up.

"Oh, Vee!" Lana says. "And it's such a cold morning!"

"Yeah. Well, my neighbor said I could stay there til the locksmith shows up, but I didn't want to impose."

And so I sit on the edge of my flower bed (the wooden logs the inspector said I should replace. Haven't gotten that far yet. Still sorting out the inside of the house) and read the book I have in my purse. Until my fingers get too cold to turn the pages, that is. Then I wander around looking at the flower bed itself, and do a little bit of impromptu weeding.

45 minutes and $55 later, I am in my house. Grab my keys, head to work.

And the day goes downhill from there. Today is the start of what our tech services people call "life cycle," which means some of us get new terminals, and all of us get new images for our workstations. They have some sort of order that they do this in, starting with the folks who get new equipment, and then moving on to reimaging. I'm on the equipment list this year. So most of the morning I wait for the tech guys to get to me (I guess they stopped by first thing, but I wasn't there. They need me to log in so they can check some things before they shut everything down and cart the machine away), then the rest of the morning I wait for them to go away. Only they don't go away, because the new CPU keeps freezing during start-up, and Jay can't figure out why. At 11:30, he unplugs everything, tucks the CPU under his arm, and announces he is taking it back downstairs to reimage it. He'll be back after lunch.

Whose lunch? His? Mine?

He shows up again about quarter after one with the CPU again, plugs all the cables back in, and we have the same problem. He fiddles around with stuff and gets it to work. He leaves to go set someone else's replacement in motion, and I start to do my part--restoring things from a back-up file I made the day before--when Windows kicks me out and reboots. And freezes. I chase Jay down, bring him back, and he fiddles around again, trying to figure out what is causing the problem. Gets it to work. I go back to restoring, and then at the end of everything Windows has a ton of updates to install. After that, the system needs to restart again, and three guesses what happens next. Yep. Freezes. It takes another half hour before he figures out it's a bad cable connecting the CPU with these two little USB ports on the side of the monitor. He pulls that, and everything is fine. He's going to find me another cable, but it's not something I can't work without.

It takes until about 2:30 to get everything back the way I had it, and then I finally can do some work...uh-oh. I can't find the files for the database we all use to catalog. I call over one of the tech liaisons (people in my department who've been trained to handle the more minor tech-update stuff, so the tech services people can move faster), and he can't find it either. So I go off in search of Jay again.

I find him in the head of the department's office, talking her through setting things up on her terminal (she was on the new equipment list too). He notices me in the doorway and says something like "aaaand there's Vee, trying to get my attention."

"I miss you," I reply.

"I'll be over in a minute."

I finally do find what I'm looking for on my own--it's not a folder, just an icon. Once I click it, a whole bunch of stuff gets downloaded, and then I have a folder. I jump up and call to him as he's coming down the aisle, "Nevermind! Fixed it myself!"

I settle down to work, and am reminded by my scheduling program that I have to be somewhere in ten minutes. Sigh. One hour-long meeting later, it's four o'clock, and I'm firing up the cataloging program, only to find that I have to do the same thing to that that I had to do to the whole computer. My preferences have all vanished, along with the custom toolbar I made a while back. Argh.

It's 4:45 before I get anything worthy of the word "work" done. Quitting time is at 5. I stay until quarter after 5, because I was an hour and a quarter late, and you can only apply vacation time in half-hour increments.

They sure didn't get their money's worth outta me today.

New friends, old frenemies

Bumped into Jane today. Realized recently that I haven't seen her since just after Easter, when she rained on my parade, house-wise. I didn't avoid her, but I didn't seek her out, either. I could've called or emailed. I just didn't.

Anyway. I was headed into an on-campus eatery for lunch and I saw her sitting with someone we both knew. Popped over to say hey. She heard about the move, and congratulated me (!). Then she told me how her summer has been. A college she once applied to informed her a few months back that their database got hacked into, and someone may have her name, birthdate, and social security number. (!!) Then her house got broken into (totally separate group of criminals, she's sure), and they stole tons of antiques that were in the attic, cash, her father's war medals, and her bank statements and credit card bills (!!!) Holy freaking crap. She's pretty sure they'd been watching her for a while, and when she went off to her mother's for the evening they broke in and cleaned the place out. Odd thing is, they left all the electronic devices. Digital camera, mp3 player, laptop.

She's taking it pretty well. Was talking about it like it was an adventure. Well, it was months ago now, she's had time to process it. She's got a credit watch out on her name to make sure no one tries any funny business. And she changed over all her accounts pronto. She had to get back to work, so our conversation was relatively short, but she promised to get together for dinner or something sometime this month.

And then when I came back from lunch, one of the people I follow/who follows me on Twitter who happens to be local suggested lunch on Friday for all of the local Tweets (I guess that's what we're called? I've heard Tweet, Tweetpeeps...not Twits, though. At least, not to our faces), and after a moment's hesitation (oh no, my anonymity! Ah, stuff anonymity), I said, "OK."

So I'm about to meet some of the folks in my area who use Twitter, face-to-face like. I feel like I should make a little badge with my Twitter avatar on it. Nah. That would be silly.

Yarn!

Recent additions to my stash
Originally uploaded by JugglingScarves

This is the problem with moving into a larger space, one where you have designated a room just for crafts. Suddenly there's all sorts of room for more supplies. I recently got bit by the yarn bug again -- must have something to do with the return of colder weather -- and in the past four weeks I bought all the yarn in this photo.

But! I am using it. Really, I am. See that knitted thing at the top? That's a scarf. I'm using another of the off-white skeins at the bottom for it. And then I'm doing a hat and mittens in the same yarn. I got the hat pattern from Antonia of Whoopee. She started knitting after her daughter was born a couple years back, and after making a bunch of things for other people, she decided to make a hat for herself. Not liking most of the patterns she saw, she decided to make one up. I'm in awe. She's a relatively new knitter and she's already designing her own things.

The pattern is on Flick'r, accompanying a photo of Antonia modeling the hat.

I'm also going to learn how to make socks, using the long skinny red skein. And there's a hooded scarf in the works for that bumpy red stuff in the lower left corner.

Okay, the blue skeins are an extravagance. They are so soft! I couldn't let go of them once I picked them up--a combo of wool, alpca, and silk, hand dyed in Chile. Yummy. I am very glad the little shop I went to is as difficult for me to get to as it is. If it were easier, I'd be broke.

That other stuff? That's viscose. I bought it as part of a kit, and now that I've read the instructions, I think I'm going to do something else with the yarn. The instructions are very vague. Maybe I'll do it. We'll see.

Ambush Vacay

I'm on vacation. I didn't tell anyone (outside of my coworkers, who kinda need to know why my cubicle will be empty for a solid week) that I was taking it, as I didn't want to have to make plans. Selfish, I know. But you know what? Don't care. Again, selfish. Again, don't care.

I sort of had to take it, actually. I earn 16 hours of vacation time a month, and am allowed to accumulate up to 240 hours. After that, I won't earn any more until I use some. It adds up fast. I was getting rather close to the upper limit, so I decided it was time for some time off.

Friday afternoon Cheryl, a friend of mine from college, called me at work to let me know she was going to be in town Saturday. She's a substitute teacher in the Wilkes-Barre-Scranton area during most of the year, but on weekends and in the summer she travels around doing demonstrations for a company that specializes in foods for dogs and cats on a raw diet.

Yep. Raw. 90% raw meats, 10% fruits and vegetables. It purports to be what dogs and cats used to eat before they met man, and is better for them. I've seen the results. Cody, Cheryl's oldest dog, had a skin condition when he was a one-year-old. She switched him to a bones-and-raw-food diet, and the condition cleared up. Now she won't feed her dogs anything else--she owns and breeds Shetland sheepdogs now.

Anyway, Cheryl was in town with a friend/co-worker/fellow Sheltie breeder (whose name just fell out of my head. How embarrassing), doing pet food demos at a natural food store in town. I stopped by to say "hi," and pet good ol' Cody, who is 14 and 1/2 now, mostly deaf, starting to go blind (Cheryl thinks) and is still a sweetheart. Got to meet another of her dogs, Banner, and three others owned by her friend (Kim? Kelly? Dang it, she had on a name tag, even): Libby, who is Banner's litter-mate, Angel, a daughter of one of my friend's other dogs, and Bella, Angel's mother. They bring their animals with them to show folks what dogs that live on a raw diet look like. They also had a three-week-old kitten with them, not as part of the demo or pet food thing. Dexter is a found kitten, three weeks old. His mama got hit by a car, and he had no one to take care of him so Kim is doing it (I've decided that until I remember her name, she will be Kim). He needs a lot of attention right now, and a number of feedings, so he got brought along. He's a sweetie.

It was customer appreciation day at the store, which is what Cheryl and Kim were doing there. There were free samples all over the place, as well as representatives from a lot of different companies. We had some local folks with food products (I've bought the jellies of the one company when I find them at the farmer's market. Good stuff. Ever had raspberry and chipotle jam on your morning toast? Wakes you up faster than coffee), and some other folks selling good-for-you energy drinks (anybody ever heard of Brain Toniq?), food supplements featuring the antioxidants found in pomegranates, something called cell food (I think), and then Cheryl and Kim with the pet food. I didn't taste any of the samples because I had peppermint gum in my mouth, and I was sure that'd throw off my taste buds. Everything in the place was 20% off, and though the aisle of herbal remedies, vitamins, and supplements had me scratching my head, there were tons of foodstuffs I need to remember to tell my family about. They have this beverage called Dandy Blend that my parents drink, it's made from dandelion root, chicory, and a number of other herbs and spices. Tastes just like coffee, but with no caffeine. All sorts of wheat- and gluten-free things that I should send to the Virginia relations--my uncle has a wheat allergy. Something called Better'n Peanut Butter, a peanut butter substitute made from peanut flour that has 1/2 the calories and about 1/4 of the fat of peanut butter. My mom had bought something similar from another company and served it with breakfast the last time I was home. 2 tablespoons are 100 calories. Well, I'm not sure what the calories were on her product, because hers was a powder you mix with water. What I was looking at yesterday was reconstituted. Hers may have had fewer calories.

There were so many things in there that I wanted to try, but I hadn't brought much money with me. I had trouble choosing. I ended up buying some crystallized ginger, some fair-trade vanilla extract, and a little bottle of maple flavoring for Cheryl's Dad. He's a diabetic who misses being able to put maple syrup on his oatmeal. He's found if you mix a little bit of maple flavoring with some artificial sweetener you get the same taste. Cheryl has a hard time finding it where she lives. So I gave that to her to give to him.

I was only planning to stop by and say hi, but wound up hanging out with Cheryl, Kim, and the animals all day. Helped out a little bit (a very little bit--mainly background stuff, aiding little kids who wanted balloons, giving the dogs water, taking them for walks, finding ticks on them (!!!That made me a little itchy), helping pack up), talked and visited a whole lot. I can't remember the last time I saw Cheryl. It's been years.

I have pictures of everyone, I'll download 'em to Flick'r just as soon as I get them off my camera.

Came home around 6:00, caught a look at myself in the bathroom mirror. My face was very pink. That's what I get for standing in the sun for four hours (their station was outside, what with the animals and all). It's gone tannish now, and probably will be back to normal by Friday. The cat spent the evening sitting next to me on the sofa, sniffing my shirt all over--four dogs she didn't know, one she might vaguely remember, not to mention the kitten. Quite a bouquet.

And that was Ambush Vacation, Day One. Day Two has been quiet, consisting of me, knitting needles, a sofa, and a TV. Don't know what I'm doing tomorrow. Which is kinda the point of not making plans.

Edited on 10/17 to add: Emailed back and forth with Cheryl last night. Her friend's name is Kim. So the name fell out of my head and reinserted itself, and I just didn't trust it.

Fiddling around with Photoshop

I love the filters on Photoshop. I can take photos that I'd love to see as paintings and, well, make 'em paintings. My favorite is still the very first one I did -- the one of a washed-out photo of my parents' dog, Pippin. Somehow or other Adobe took a slightly off, bluish picture of the dog on the porch and turned it into a watercolor done in blues. I was stunned. I liked it so much I took it to Kinko's and had them print it on watercolor paper. I then framed it and gave it to my Dad for his birthday last year. It hangs in their bedroom now.

This past Christmas I turned a photo of my second cousin Austin, asleep on my sister's chest and smiling, into a fresco. About a month ago I used the palette knife filter to make a painting out of a photo I took of one of the cats I met outside of the shop where my Dad had left the generator to get fixed. We were there to pick it up. This was Good Friday, the Friday before I took it into my head to go buy a house. Completely forgot all the pictures I took that weekend until I found the card they were on a few weeks ago. There are also some of Dad and Stretch putting up the tongue-and-groove paneling in what will be the dining room of my parents' house. Haven't downloaded them to Flick'r yet, because I need to clean them up on photoshop first.

And this morning I took the shot from the last post, applied the accent edges filter to it, and got this:



Neat, huh? Looks like I've been playing with pastels or something.

Fall foliage

My sister & her hubby had a wedding to go to back home, a friend of Ditter's from high school. They swung through my town and picked me up on their way there. We also celebrated my dad's birthday while we were there--it was yesterday.

We drove up in the dark, got in around 1:00 a.m. and I spent the rest of the weekend hanging around the house, so I didn't get to see how gorgeous the countryside looked until we left Sunday afternoon. Up north, the leaves are already turning. Usually when I go to visit in the fall, things are either just about to turn or have already hit their peak. I lucked out this time, and even managed to bring my camera with me. Mind you, it was in the trunk for most of the ride home. I was kicking myself about that. Stretch offered to stop the car and get it out, but I didn't want to be a bother.

Then we went down Route 44. We got to a spot called Water Tank Hollow, and I said, "Aw, man!" Stretch offered again, and this time I took him up on it. We stopped at a little lookout spot and I took some pictures like this:



It is just begging to be run through a Photoshop filter, but I can't figure out which one I want to use.

I feel like he drew this one just for me

Yes indeed. I believe I've mentioned in my Tweets that I have an over-the-wall team mate who is extraordinarily noisy with her morning tea. Just the morning one, though. I think it has to do with the cup she buys it in. Her afternoon tea she makes herself, and it is had in a mug. I wish she'd transfer the morning tea into this same mug, because the noise she makes is driving...me...crazy! Not like it's a long trip. Some days I can see crazy from here.

Oh, there she goes. Ssssslluuurrrrp. It makes my toes curl.

And I can't tell her about it, because even though the noise will stop, it will hurt her feelings. I know this because I've seen the coldness with which she greets someone else who asked her to be quiet (on a completely unrelated matter).

It only lasts about an hour. I just wish I could remember to bring my headphones in to work.

Cliché buster

Hey, you know that saying, "Even a broken clock is right twice a day?" I just found a broken clock that's never right. Its hour hand is always stuck at four, and its minute hand is about twenty minutes fast. So even when the actual time is sometime after four, this clock isn't displaying the right sometime after four.

Just thought I'd share that.

To the young lady on her cell phone in the public lavatory

You know the person in the next stall who kept flushing until you finally hung up? Yeah, that was me. And I'll do it again, so don't try calling someone else when it starts to get quiet over here.

[200th post! Woot!]

Just dancing through

I have started this post twice in recent weeks, and had to delete and rewrite both attempts as they got out of date before I finished. Three times lucky, right?

Just got a check from the office of the place I used to live for approximately 2/3 of my deposit. More than I was expecting, until I realized it was the pet deposit increase that they demanded two years ago that they were now treating as my full deposit. What happened to the original deposit from 1990? I don't know. I think it fell off the books. I've decided to treat that as some sort of lease-breaking penalty fine, because I don't want to talk to them again. Also, I have no receipt for the original deposit (1990, right? My bank stopped sending me my cancelled checks in 1988, and switched to microfiche that I could request print-outs of if I wanted them. Those fiche supposedly get destroyed after ten years. And that's if I knew the check number), and I don't quite remember how much it was. I think it was $200, but I'm not sure.

I also found a gift card to Lowe's that I was given a month or so back--a housewarming present from the folks I used to work with a few years ago. Not the place I transferred to after the two libraries split, the other folks. The ones I'm allowed to talk to now that I don't work for Pinky and the Brain. I was very touched that they decided to give me a present, particularly considering how nasty things got during the split. My colleague and I were used as weapons against these people, though we didn't see it at the time. That library is so much happier now without the influence of the two nutcases who left. I think the only regret they have is that their processing unit got disbanded too. Ah well. At least where we are now we can all work together on the government documents-related work issues without fear of Snarling Retribution (another pet name for my old supervisor).

But I digress.

Last week was move-in week for the students. They started trickling in on Wednesday, but the majority of them (and their parents) arrived on the weekend. Most of the grocery, home-improvement, and "big box" stores were hopping as anxious parents bought their youngsters one of everything. Because I am a lunatic/glutton for punishment/poor planner, I found myself at a grocery store Saturday afternoon with a front row seat for all the fun: shopping carts full to overflowing, parents piling more stuff into the carts and saying, "You'll need this," kids shrugging and knowing it's pointless to argue. Very little milk, bread, rice, soup, soda, or cereal left on the shelves.

I remember those days. Actually, I remember moving my little sister into the dorms more than I remember moving myself in. The memory that shines brightest is of Ditter and me tangoing down the cereal aisle of the Lock Haven Weis Market while my mother pretends she doesn't know us. Of course, this makes us turn into four-year-olds, and we chase her down the next aisle calling, "Mommeeee! Mahhh-meeeee!"

I don't know what it is about store aisles that bring out the dancing goof in me. I am always doing that. Never by myself, of course, because that would make other shoppers nervous, and probably make the employees call Security. No, it involves a partner in crime, and that partner tends to be my sister. This past June in Wal-Mart, after placing the order for the paint, my family scattered to the far corners of the establishment -- Dad and Stretch to the hardware section to look for new locks, Mom to the clothing section (I think), Ditter and me off to housewares to pick up a ton of stuff I'd forgotten the night before when I was in that exact same store. As we headed away from the paint counter, I couldn't help it. I started to do the conga while pushing the shopping cart, singing:

"Doot-doo doot-doo doot DOO! Doot-doo doot-doo doot DOO!"

And there was my sister ahead of me doing the same thing. We'd even kicked out our feet to the same side without looking at each other.

What is that, anyway?

There was a point to this post, I think. I started it so long ago, I can't remember. Oh! Wait! Money-Lowe's card-shopping-dancing, got it. I'm going to take that check, cash it in, take the money to Lowe's along with the gift card and go shopping--though not for a few more weeks. Shelves are probably still decimated right now. My sister was saying something about coming up to visit this Fall. I'll probably wait until then. So it looks like we'll have more aisles to dance in. What's a good dance for Lowe's? Cha-cha? I don't know the merengue. Jitterbug? Viennese Waltz? No, I get dizzy on the spins and might go whirling off into some unsuspecting passerby.

Password, schmassword

I got an email from the university's server that my password expires October 1. However, the message said that if I didn't change it by 9/1/2008 I won't be able to get into anything. Doesn't that mean it expires September 1?

Well, whatever. I finally changed it this morning. Now logging in takes twice as long, 'cause I don't remember to use the new one until I've already typed the old one in, hit enter, and gotten an electronic Bronx cheer from the machine. Nerts.

I don't think that's what he meant

Went to a place on campus for lunch where they play the oldies radio station over the loudspeaker. As I'm drinking my soda and reading my book, the strains of Tony Orlando and Dawn's "Candida" attract my attention:

Oh, my Candida
We could make it together
The further from here, girl, the better
Where the air is fresh and clean

Um. D'you think he knew he was singing to yeast?

Drill bits and body wash

Decided to go to the mall yesterday. While waiting for the bus downtown I got an earful from the relatively new sidewalk preacher. He hangs around on the main street that divides campus from town, standing at the ornamental gate on campus and shouting that we're all going to Hell.

You can't help but hear him. He holds his Bible up to one side of his mouth, making a sort of megaphone out of it. First time I saw him do that the phrase "Amplified Bible" popped into my head. I've never seen him open the book and read from it. The reason he does his hollering from campus and not from town is that in the borough it's considered disturbing the peace. Or maybe it's street-performance, and you need a permit. Whatever the reason, people who try street-corner preaching in town get shooed away by the police. The university doesn't do anything. Free speech and all that.

The thing I went to the mall for was a set of drill bits. I have a cordless drill, but when I bought it I got a set of screwdriver bits to go with it. 'Cause I didn't need to make holes, see, I was trying to put together furniture. Now I need to put up curtain rods and add little thingies to the bottoms of chair legs (to keep the color from rubbing off onto the laminate flooring), things like that. So I got drill bits yesterday.

Tool-selling sure is a racket, isn't it? Why doesn't a drill come with bits? Without them it's just a big, funny-looking paperweight.

Only had that one purchase to make and an hour until the next bus, so I wandered around some.

I'm amazed by the number of things I find out there that I don't want in my house. Lately I've been having a lot of "Ew, yuck." moments. Furniture that looks like it was designed by people who never sit down for very long. Muddy colors. Appliances that look like alien space ships. Maybe it's just that I'm paying more attention than I used to because now I'm actively looking for things to put in my house.

Even the stuff at Bath and Body Works makes me stop and scratch my head. I'm always on guard for the young ladies with the baskets who want me to try their newest "flavors." I haven't been accosted by one lately. Maybe they discontinued that because they got one too many pedants pointing out (like I did) that unless I'm supposed to ingest the product, it's not a flavor. Scent, yes. Fragrance, yes. Variety, sure. Flavor, uh-uh. I'm not gonna gnaw on a candle or use shower gel as toothpaste. Stop injuring my language, please.

There was a huge display towards the front for some new fragrance called "Sea Island Cotton." Having no idea what they meant by that, and wondering if cotton flowers and has a nice smell, I tried the tester. Know what it smelled like? If you read my Twitter updates at the top of the page you do. Smelled like something pulled right out of the dryer. Why would I want to smell like the laundry room?

I have a hard time finding scents I like in there, and yet I still go back. I keep looking (in vain) for something rose-scented. They did have one thing with roses in it--Moonlit Path (or something like that)--but they went and threw lavender in as well. Like the color, hate the smell.

A lot of their things are food-scented (perhaps that's why they call 'em flavors, eh?): blackberry, apple, mandarin orange, spiced fig, vanilla, caramel, melon...I don't want to smell like dessert, people, where are the flowers? Gimme some lilac, some roses, some orange blossoms, carnations, chrysanthemums! Eventually I settled on something called "Rainkissed Leaves." Smells like a garden after the rain. It's a nice clean smell, and I decided to buy some of it. I just now looked at the label and...oh, for pity's sake! They got me. There's food in it. Watercress.

Free to roam about the house

I tried to post this yesterday, and just as I hit the "Publish" button, the server at Blogger got taken down:

I gave myself a wireless router for my birthday. This means I no longer have to check my email while sitting on the floor in the bedroom--unless I want to, that is.

Of course while trying to install the software I got a funky error message about the "target blocking an invocation." ¿Como? Was the software written by Dumbledore? One hour-long tech support phone call later and a few experiments on my own and I finally got things configured. Yay!

Other than that, it's been a slow day. Got the windows measured, started moving things around in the craft room. I'll commence painting later on in the week. It was too humid today, I thought the paint would take forever to dry. That, and I just really didn't feel like it.

The movie I went to yesterday was "Mamma Mia." It was a toss-up between that and "The Mummy." I was worried that seeing that movie would give me an ABBA earworm, and then I thought, "Well, I already have one just from the trailers. If I go see it, then I'll have the whole ABBA catalog in my head. Give the worm a little bit of variety." I'm glad I went. It was a good time. Julie Walters is so funny! Well, the whole cast was great, but I love her. There's a movie I keep catching bits of with her and Rupert Grint, it's called "Driving Lessons," and I wonder every time I see it how weird was it for them to be in a movie together where they aren't playing mother and son? I have to try to catch it from the beginning, it looks like fun.

Landmark

I'm on vacation all week. When people at work asked what I was doing on vacation, I said, "Well, I'm turning forty on Monday, and I'm taking the rest of the week to recover."

Really what I'm doing is taking a week off to make this place look less like I'm living in a warehouse. I Twittered to my sister sometime this past week that it feels like I'm living in a fort made out of cardboard boxes.

Step one: Measure for curtains!
Step two: Finish the second coat of paint in the living room!
Step three: For pity's sake, set up the craft room already.

That all starts tomorrow. Today I'm going out to lunch and the movies, and at some point I'm going to wander around the neighborhood. There's a park a few blocks over that I keep meaning to visit and never quite manage to get to. Must remember to bring the camera.

Everyone oohs and aahs over the years that end in zero, and I don't get why. I'm only a day older than I was yesterday.

That doesn't sound like denial or rationalization at all, does it?

A little wildlife show in the front window

For most of this month I've had a robin and her babies living in the tree by my front window. I think she may have moved in about the same time I did, but I only noticed her after the cat did.

Everybody's gone now. I guess they don't use the nest much after the babies are born. I'll leave it there in the tree, in case anyone else wants to use it. Now that they're gone, maybe I can weed and prune without scaring anyone.

Parting shot

I got a phone call yesterday from the office of my previous residence. It was some woman I've never met. Either they hired the idiot manager some help or they replaced him.

Anyway, she was calling to ask if I returned my keys. I said yes, over two weeks ago. Apparently they can't find them. I told her I gave them to the manager the same day my apartment got painted. He was seated behind his desk when I handed them over. At that same time I also gave him my new address, along with the phone number she was using to get hold of me.

She said, "Okay, sorry to bother you."

If they can't find the keys, are they going to take some of my deposit money to replace the locks? They'd better not. I have no proof I gave them to him, though. I should have asked for a receipt. Especially since I knew I was dealing with a doofus.

I certainly hope this is the last I hear from those people. I'm beginning to feel like Michael Corleone in Godfather III -- every time I think I'm out, they pull me back in and tick me off some more.

In other news, just sent off my first mortgage payment. I now own the weather stripping around my front door.

If you've seen Juan...

This was the first item in my "In" box when I fired up the email program at work this morning. It's from a member of a listserv I belong to. It's not a very active listserv any more. I tend to forget it's still out there most of the time. Anyway, this email made my day:

Subject: Puns

1. A vulture boards an airplane, carrying two dead raccoons. The Stewardess looks at him and says, 'I'm sorry, sir, only one carrion allowed per passenger.
   
2. Two fish swim into a concrete wall. The one turns to the other and says, 'Dam!'
3. Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly, it sank, proving once again that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.
4. Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says, 'I've lost my electron.' The other says, 'Are you sure?' The first replies, 'Yes, I'm positive.'
5. Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal? His goal: transcend dental medication.
6. A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. But why, they asked as they moved off. 'Because,' he said, 'I can't stand chess-nuts boasting in an open foyer.'
7. A woman had twins and gave them up for adoption. One of them went to a family in Egypt, who named him Ahmal. The other was taken in by a family in Spain; they named him Juan. Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his birth mother. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Ahmal. Her husband responds, 'They're twins! If you've seen Juan, you've seen Ahmal.'
8. A group of friars were behind on their belfry payments, so they opened a small florist shop to raise funds. Since everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, a rival florist across town thought the competition was unfair. He asked the good fathers to close down but they would not. He went back and begged the friars to close. They ignored him. So, the rival florist hired Hugh MacTaggart, the roughest and most vicious thug in town to 'persuade' them to close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed their store, saying he'd be back if they didn't close up shop. Terrified, they did so.... thereby proving that only Hugh can prevent florist friars.
9. Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time. This produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet he suffered from bad breath. This made him (Get ready...)) a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.
10. And, finally, there was the person who sent ten different puns to friends with the hope that at least one of the puns would make them laugh. No pun in ten did.

Miss Fixit

I'm feeling all-powerful today. Just did my first home-maintenance job. The fill valve on my upstairs commode needed replacing, and I did it myself--not without a little sweating and swearing and fighting with tools in tight places. But I did it, and now my bathroom is silent. Finally.

Incidentally, while searching for the picture I used in this post I found out it's not really called "Rosie the Riveter." People started calling it that in the 1970s, but at the time is was painted, the woman in it had no name. It was a poster painted for Westinghouse, probably as a war effort morale-booster. The real Rosie the Riveter painting was done by Norman Rockwell as a cover for the Saturday Evening Post, and can be found here. Makes more sense, really, since the woman in the picture above isn't riveting anything.

Twitter

I just joined Twitter. This has the possibility to be either:

a) Fun and useful. For when I'm out somewhere and see something I want to blog about, but don't have my laptop with me. I send random texts to my sister's cell about stuff I see, why not branch out?

b) Yet another online thing I join and ignore. Take Myspace, for example (I just heard Henny Youngman: "Take Myspace, please!"). Or Bebo. Or classmates.com. I will not join Facebook, mainly because a lot of people at my at-work knitting/crafting group keep pressuring me to do it. Also, I don't like that they won't let you see what you're joining until after you've joined. But I digress.

There's an option or a script or something to have your Twitter updates feed to your blog. If I find I'm actually using the service, I'll probably do that.

Last hurdles

I did a ton of cleaning at the apartment this weekend. I thought I'd be done on Sunday. One of my buckets sprang a leak halfway through Sunday, though, so I only had the one container with which to clean the floors and catch water from a defrosting fridge. The refrigerator took a lot longer than I expected, so I only got the bathroom floor washed by Sunday evening. I had a few things left to do in the kitchen, and I had Monday off (reinspection that morning, thought I might as well take the whole day in case I needed to clean some more. Hurray for planning ahead!) so I knocked off about six Sunday evening, went home, and collapsed.

Monday morning I got reinspected, so that the lenders would have proof that the electrical and water heater issues have been fixed. Took about ten minutes, got a thumbs-up from the inspector. Second-to-last hurdle cleared. I headed back to the apartment to finish up and hand in my keys.

Upon arriving at my place, I found the door and window open, all the lights on, and the place reeking of fresh paint. There was a paint roller in the kitchen sink, junk all over the living room floor (3 ten-gallon paint containers, the bits and pieces of what used to be the brackets for the Venetian blind, curtain rod...), and all of my things dumped unceremoniously into a corner "out of the way." Needless to say I was highly miffed. The complex handyman was nowhere in sight (of course), so I took all the stuff that was in my way and deposited them on the sidewalk. Put some paper towels under the paint roller before I put it outside, more to make a point regarding courtesy and care of other people's things than because I cared if the roller got dirty. I'm sure the message flew right over their heads. I finished what I had to do (taking frequent trips outside for gulps of fresh air) and was vacuuming the living room floor when the handyman came back.

I told him I'd asked Jim to wait until I'd finished. I told him it was partly because of my asthma, and that I never knew what would trigger it. He apologized, said he had no idea. He just went where he was told to go. I figured as much.

Why did I expect that man to honor my request, when he's shown me all along the only agenda he's interested in is his own? Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?

Because I just wanted to get out of there, I didn't make a fuss with the manager about the paint when I handed back the keys. I told him the place wasn't as clean as I would have liked it to be, but that I was done. The oven, for example. I did that twice and still wasn't happy with it. He said not to worry, a lot of that stuff was going to be replaced anyway -- the vinyl flooring, the toilet, and probably the stove. Wish I'd known that before I spent most of Sunday scrubbing and swearing at marks I couldn't get out and wasn't sure I'd made to begin with. He made it sound like I'd get my deposit back. I'll believe it when I see it. My experience with landlords has been that once they have your money, they don't give it back. I'm treating that money as long-gone. If I get anything back, I'll use it to buy curtains, I guess.

So that's it. Last hurdle to home-ownership cleared, all loose ends tied. Now all I have to do is figure out where I'm putting everything.

Three last little things I want to mention:

1. The sellers made absolutely no attempt to forward their mail. For a few weeks there until my change of address paperwork went through, I was getting tons of mail for them. Credit card offers, bills, packages even. I gave that all to my agent yesterday, for her to give to their agent.
   
2. Another thing I passed on? An envelope containing four cards I found in one of the master bedroom's closets: a Barnes & Noble membership card, a Turkish driver's license, an employee ID (also Turkish), and Target credit card with an expiration date of next month--unsigned on the back. These people are really lucky I'm honest.
   
3. While I was gathering my stuff together prior to quitting the apartment for good yesterday, the handyman asked me how long I'd lived there. I told him 16 years. "Wow," he said. "This place looks really good, considering how long you've been in it. I've worked on some where they've only been in 2 years and the place looked like hell. This one only needed one coat of paint." That made me feel a little better. I've always been a little insecure about my abilities in the cleaning-and-maintenance department.
   

Give him an inch, he thinks he's a ruler

When I went to pay my last ever rent (yee-haw!) and check on the apartment a few days ago, I found a note taped to my door. The manager had noticed I moved out and was hoping I remembered that I wasn't released from my lease until August 1. He also wanted to ask if he could come in now to do the painting and recarpeting instead of waiting until I gave the keys back to him. I think that's what he was asking, anyway. He's a stream-of-consciousness writer, and if I didn't know better I would swear English isn't his first language.

I am planning to take part of July to clean and was going to give the keys back to him around the middle of the month. That's always been the plan. It's what I told him when I asked to be let out of my lease. I tried to call him to let him know that yes, I remembered I still owed rent (I was there to pay it, after all) and remind him of what we'd talked about in April. Of course the answering machine cut me off right after I identified myself. "Messages full," it said. The office closes at 4:30, and by six pm the answering machine was already full? What's he do, never delete messages so that he can't be bothered by new ones?

So I emailed him. Got a garbled response in reply (big surprise). He really doesn't care whether I've cleaned first, he wants to do the painting and carpeting now. Yeah. That's what I want to deal with: dust, mold, fumes from cleaning products, and the smells of fresh paint and new carpet. What's he trying to do, kill me?

I told him, no, wait for me. There's still stuff on my floor. I don't think he's happy, but I'm past caring. He keeps on rushing me, I won't give him the keys back until July 31. It's still my place after all, even if I'm not living there any more.

Jeesh.

Really effective way to communicate, by the way, via a note on the door of an apartment you know is empty.

I didn't even know there was a word for this...

Coprolite. Today's word from A Word A Day. My goodness. I can think of at least five people I could describe using this word.

Photos of the new place

Hi home, I'm honey!
Originally uploaded by JugglingScarves

Just posted a few photos of the new place onto Flick'r. Most of the rooms still look a bit disordered and I really didn't want to record that so...there are some shots of the cat, of the kitchen, of the exterior and of the plant life in my garden. There's one that I haven't posted yet. It's of the ceiling in the craft room--I wanted to get a day shot and a night shot, but I keep forgetting to go in there after dark. As soon as I remember to do that, I'll post those two pictures.

From under a pile of boxes...

...I send you greetings. Am currently digging out from moving in. Will be back posting when I can find the living room again.

Let me give you the edited highlights, though:

• There was a brief last-minute to-do about the truck we'd rented. My sister was supposed to pick it up at an office near them, but the place had no reservation listed. I had to sort it out long distance over my cell phone, but it turns out whoever I'd talked to on Thursday had reserved the truck for the wrong location. Fifteen minutes later (through the magic of computers), the reservation was in the right place and she could drive away with the truck.
• My family was amazed at the amount of stuff I'd managed to cram into that tiny apartment. At one point Stretch asked me: "Do you have a door into some other apartment that you're taking stuff from?" Come on, gang, I'd been in there a decade and a half, and I have pack rat tendencies. What did you expect? And why did you think I've been packing for two months?
  
• I need to get the townhouse reinspected now that the work required by the lenders is done. Before I call my realtor and say it's okay to call the inspector, I need to clear a path to the breaker box, which is surrounded by very heavy boxes of books. Guess what I'm doing Saturday?
• The hollyhocks by the front door are starting to bloom. The tall one is hot pink, and the one next to it is a deeper pink, somewhere in the magenta range. Must take a picture and post it.
• My third day in the new place I got my first door-to-door evangelist. Thought he'd be sneaky about his pitch and start by talking about Noah. Noah? Trying to tie in with the Mississippi floods? I didn't wait to find out. I'd answered the door covered in lilac and green splotches and brandishing a paint brush. Told him I was in the middle of something and then politely but firmly refused his offer to come back and talk to me later.

That's about it for now.

Hey gang, I'm a mortgagor!

This is the first moment I've had where I could fire up the ol' laptop without feeling guilty because I should be doing something else. So here's how it all went down:

Friday: Up at the crack of dawn. Examining, pitching, packing things until about nine, when I figured I should probably get myself ready. J. arrived at ten and took me to my soon-to-be townhouse. She said when she brought the electrician over there Wednesday the sellers still hadn't packed, and Mrs. Seller said she was taking the day off of work the next day to do it. As we pull in, we see a U-Haul parked out front. They're still moving things out and cleaning. Turns out the sellers left the day before, they're returning home to Turkey (I thought so! I'd said as much to J. at one point), and have given/sold the contents of their house to some other Turkish folks still living here. Friends of theirs, I think. We look around, everything is fine. One of the two men clearing out hands me the keys to the front door and to the mailbox. J. drives me off to the bank for settlement.

At settlement is the nice lady from the bank who got me the PHFA and county loans, the realtor for the sellers, a representative from a settlement agency, my realtor, and me (of course). The woman from the bank hands me a sheaf of papers. These are all my copies of the documents I'm about to sign. And away we go. She hands me a paper, explains what it means, I sign it. She takes that one away, hands me another one, explains it, I sign it. And so on until she runs out of papers. Then she switches chairs with the settlement agent and we start again. We go through the statement that says what I owe. I hand over a cashier's check for that. She hands me two checks: one from the county and one from the bank. I endorse them and hand them back to her, stopping to remark that quite a lot of money just passed through my hands. After the last piece of paper is signed and notarized, she folds her hands over the whole sheaf of them, smiles, and says,

"Congratulations, you are now in debt."

"Oh, I've been here before."

"Well, welcome back!"

We all shake hands, and J. drives me off to the Wal-Mart so that I can make copies of the keys. She gives me a hug and a present, a binder with all sorts of tags and labels in it, all set up and ready to be filled-- a sort of home documents organizer.

I call first my Mom and then my sister to let 'em know I'm now a homeowner. After I get keys made, have a celebratory lunch in the Eat 'n' Park, and buy a bottle of sparkling white wine for later on that night (Asti Spumante), I head on back to my apartment for more packing. At about three I call a taxi, and drag myself, a suitcase, a duffel bag, and a canvas shopping bag full of stuff over to my townhouse. From there I do laundry, and while I'm waiting for it to finish I sit on the steps and stare at my living room through the bars of the banister. I did take a few pictures, and just as soon as I figure out what I did with my memory card-to-USB converter, I'll post them to Flick'r. Mom and Dad had said they'd be here by 7, Ditter and Stretch thought they'd be here by 8. At 7, Mom calls to say that they're just leaving now--there was a terrific thunderstorm that they didn't feel comfortable driving in, and it just let up.

When Ditter and Stretch show up, I show them around the place. We take a look at my little front garden patch. There's an almost dead rosebush that she thinks she can show me how to bring back. There's also a huge hollyhock by the front door that Stretch thought was a weed. There's also all sorts of weeds and unidentified vegetation in there, and a small tree in need of pruning. I have no idea how to do that.

Ditter takes me shopping for all sorts of stuff I need and didn't think about--also, we're going to swing by the apartment and pick up the cat. While we're in the store (we were there a very long time. It was 10:30 when we hit the check-out line) Mom calls to say they hit fog so they had to go around "the long way," and they'll be another 45 minutes or so. After picking up the cat (and my sleeping bag, and a couple other things) we head on back to the house to find that my brother-in-law has weeded the patch, fixed a window screen that needed attention, and done a couple more minor fixes. He joked that if I'd already bought the paint, he'd have started one of the rooms already.

I let the cat out of her carrier and watch her slink around the place, investigating everything. She stays close to the wall--it must feel safer that way. We just get dinner started (at 11 at night!) when my parents pull in.

Upon crossing the threshold, Mom and Dad give me a golden dollar coin, two loaves of bread, and bottles of soda--some sort of tradition called a "first-footer," though it's usually a New Year's Day tradition. A dark-haired man is supposed to enter your house and give you money, drink, and bread.

Dinner is ready-made pizza bought in a grocery store and baked in 12 minutes and a glass of Asti Spumante to toast the new house. We finally go to bed around 12:30.

Saturday: I take my painting crew out for breakfast, then we buy paint and all sorts of other stuff: a flashlight, new doorknobs and deadbolts, all kinds of things I can't remember now. The previous evening, Ditter had whipped out a steno pad and a pen and wrote down everything I said in passing that sounded like something I needed. It reminded me of when she got married and I was her maid of honor--I had done something similar. Then we take it all home and paint. And paint, and paint, and paint. Then, just for grins, we paint a little. The tangerine dream master bedroom is hit with a coat of primer, and while that dries we paint the future guest bedroom "Violet Devotion" (lilac). Then some of us paint the master bedroom "Summer Ivy" (medium dark green), while others start to tape the living room. And by the way, it's humid and stinkin' hot, so we're all doing this and dripping with sweat. The new place has no air conditioning. The cat spends most of the day lying in the bathtub. Poor kitty is very hot. Her coat is too heavy for this heat.

Sunday: Ditter has an open house to run back in Lancaster, so she and Stretch leave around 8. Mom, Dad, and I paint the living room "Honey"--it's supposed to be a gold color but is a little more yellow on the wall than it was on the card or on the sample daub the mixer put on the lids when he was done. Maybe it's because it's going on top of a pale mint green, no primer in between. Doesn't really matter. I like this color too. Then we go back upstairs and do touch-ups of the lilac room and the green room. My parents leave around three.

Most of the rest of the week has been spent either clearing out and packing up the old place, waiting for one technician or another at the new place (cable guy yesterday, electrician today), or touching up the paint. I keep finding spots that need more paint. The green room is especially tricky. We were having trouble seeing what we were doing--there was a glare from outside that interfered with how well we could see the walls. I've had to wait until the sun goes down, turn on the overhead light, and dab, dab, dab away at the walls. I was doing that last night until 11. Did something similar today with the lilac room. I dragged a lamp in there 'cause there's a bit that anyone painting would have trouble with--to paint, you have to stand between the wall and the window, effectively obscuring your only source of light. There's no overhead light in there. I should go check it now that it's getting dark out and I'm not getting interference from the sun. Haven't even gotten to the living room yet. Need to do the same paint-at-night routine in there as well.

Couple of little irritants: the guys who bought/were given "everything" were extremely literal. They took every single curtain rod, and I think they took the toilet paper dispenser in the bathroom. Also, I found that I have only one working light bulb in each light fixture. If there are sockets for more than one, they're filled with burnt-out bulbs. Nice, huh? I don't care that much about the bulbs, I'm changing them all over to those fluorescent ones that use less energy. But the curtain rod thing irritates. Those are fixtures, they were supposed to stay. So when I painted my bedroom last night I got to do it in full view of anyone who happened to glance out the window. Everyone knows the master bedroom of #10 is green.

Ah well. Back to work, now that it's dark. Time to show folks what color the living room is.

Squeeee

I just went to my bank and got a cashier's check for the amount I need for settlement tomorrow.

My realtor is picking me up at ten for a final walk-through of the property. This is to make sure it looks the way I expect it to--no damage since I last saw it, nothing removed that is supposed to be there, that rickety island in the kitchen gone. We had a brief to-do over the breaker box. The agreed-to repair of the test breaker never got done. Never a dull moment. J. had an electrician look at the box, and he said that the part he'd need is no longer made. The current breaker box is an old technology that still works but is no longer standard. The part would cost about $300, and that's only if someone somewhere had one in stock. Instead, he's putting in the new kind of breakers, and he's also going to change the outlets (boxes?) by the kitchen sink and in the bathrooms. He gave J. an estimate, and the sellers will be putting that estimated price into an escrow account to use for the repairs.

After I look around and agree that yes, this is what I am planning to buy we head off to the bank for settlement, which is set for 11 a.m. I'd say that by noon or 12:30 I will have signed my life away and been given a set of keys. At this point I'm going to want to sprint out of there before someone reconsiders and tries to take 'em back.

Cat will be transplanted by around three-thirty, four o'clock. Family should arrive between 7 and 8:30. I have no idea when I'm going to be online again. Sometime Tuesday the cable guy will be coming to set up my new cable/digital phone/high-speed internet service. Yay! Finally switching from dial-up to broadband! I'm guessing that the next post will be shortly after he leaves.

Time out for a post

This whole packing things reminds me a little bit of the frenzy I whipped myself into when my apartment got inspected a couple of years ago. Especially the bit about the socks. Crikey, do I have socks. What do I think I am, a centipede? Who needs that many socks?

I'm finding other people's stuff in here as well. A dinner plate of the Chief Loon's (I think). After one of our game nights, she handed me a whole plate of teeny tiny cupcakes. Looks like I never gave the plate back. I also found some books people loaned me eons ago. One of 'em I thought I'd lost, seriously, irretrievably lost, and bought a replacement copy to give back to the lender. Found the replacement copy, too. Sent the better-looking of the two back to the lender via one of her cousins, with whom I work. Found Christmas presents I thought I mailed. Uh-oh. Found about a dollar and a half in pennies--not all at the same time, mind you. More like, "hey look, another penny!" Found so many knitting needles and crochet hooks of varying sizes that they have their own packing box now. I think I'm going to have to do that with scissors, too. And a small one for pens. If I had the time, I'd check each pen to see if it works first. But I don't have time. I'll do that when I unpack. Sure I will.

And Holy Mani/Pedi, Batman! I have tons of nail polish. Most of it was given to me as gifts--stocking stuffers, Easter basket filler. I think I probably bought the bottle of clear nail polish myself, and that was probably to do with a beading project where I was trying to secure a knot.

Lilah has tired of climbing on all the boxes after I close them up. Good. I was worried she'd knock something over. I've taken down the posters and framed pictures. I'm saving the framed embroidery for last. I am ruthlessly ditching stuff that I haven't used and/or don't really like and/or is getting a bit shabby. There's a sort of unwritten protocol to throwing things out in apartment complexes: anything that is probably still usable (in your opinion) you put next to the dumpster for someone to salvage who thinks he can use it. Yesterday morning I put out a framed picture of a black-and-white print that someone gave me a decade ago when they were clearing out, and when I came out again half an hour later with a bag of true trash, someone had already adopted it, and put a beat-up old computer monitor in its place. Came out half an hour after that, and the monitor was gone, too.

That reminds me of a story an ex-coworker told me about clearing out her apartment when she and her life-partner moved here from Alabama. They had a bunch of bookcases that they didn't want to take with them and that were too good to just throw out. So they put them by the dumpster at their apartment complex. After they put the first one out and walked back, they saw a young couple go over and take it to their place. Same couple took the second. And the third. Dee finally walked over to their apartment and offered to bring the two remaining bookcases right to them saving them both time and energy. They accepted, and came back to Dee's to carry one while she and Em brought the other one. She said the look on the guy's face was priceless when he opened the door to find her standing there. Surprised and guilty, like he thought she was going to yell at him for trash-picking.

Well, that's enough of a break. Time to go put some more of my apartment into small boxes.

T-minus one week and counting...

This time next week I will probably be sitting, shocked and amazed, in the middle of the floor in my new living room.

Either that or I'll be furiously folding laundry, as I just this moment realized I need to buy queen-sized sheets for the air mattress I just bought, and that sounds like as good as anything for an inaugural load in the new-to-me washer and dryer. That I won't need to go on a cross-country trek to use.

I probably need pillows, too. And new towels. Well, I don't need new towels, but I'd like to have at least the first few I put out in the new bathroom match both the room and each other.

Pondering change

Been saying this phrase a lot lately: I'm not going to miss that.

I've been saying this one, too: I am going to miss that, though.

For example:

At the bus stop: I'm going to miss that youngster I've been watching grow up. He's shy and bookish, and right now he's in that awkward, geeky phase boys go through right before they turn into either Adonis or one of the Goth teens--all piercings, black clothes, and eye makeup. Can't tell which way this one's going to go, and I wonder what he'll look like when (if) I see him again.

I am most decidedly not going to miss the creepy guy I call Twitch (only in my head. I'd never call him that to his face. I try not to address him at all, actually). I don't know whether he's OCD or something more serious. He never stands still at the bus stop, does the same series of moves and gestures over and over. He carries on muttered conversations with himself, and (here's the creepy part) pays way too much attention to me. Looks at me a little too long and hard when I walk up to the bus stop. Listens too closely to conversations I'm having. When I stand there reading a book, I can see him out of the corner of my eye cocking his head sideways to read the spine. The few times I've gotten on the bus ahead of him (instead of staying behind him so I can see him), I have to make sure I sit somewhere there isn't room for him to sit beside me. 'Cause given the opportunity, that's what he does--too close, of course. Bye, Twitch. Won't be seein' ya.

Laundry: I'm not going to miss dragging my dirty clothes across the complex to wash them. But I will miss random conversations had while waiting for a dryer to become available.

Utilities: I will miss having my utilities included in my rent. I won't miss sharing a water heater with three other apartments, however. Nor will I miss substandard electrical wiring. The lights dim for a fraction of a second when I turn on the power strip that I use for my computer equipment.

Neighbors: I have a nice upstairs neighbor. Friendly, polite, considerate, quiet. Gonna miss her. I won't miss hearing her every footstep, though.

Animals: I know more of my neighbors' dogs by name than I do the people who own them. Peanut, the cocker spaniel on the other side of the building. Pebbles, the tiny Yorkie next building over. Tucker, who I first met as an 8-week old puppy, now grey around the muzzle and getting decidedly fat. The beagle next door, however, I will feel no nostalgia for. He bays incessantly when his owner's away too long. (Bowwww! Bowwww! Bowwww! All. Night. Long.) I won't miss that.

The joys of renting: I will not miss this cramped little apartment, with its one window, no airflow, no sunlight (unless it bounces in off the snowy hillside at wintertime), tiny kitchen, and weird electrical set up -- the light switch for the kitchen is in the bedroom. Huh? Nor will I miss the maintenance folks who wander in whenever they feel like it, maybe giving you a day's notice if you're lucky. (Note to self. Stash an extra key in desk at work, to guard against locking self out of nice new home that no one else can get into without permission). One thing I will say for my little mouse-hole: it has a nice built-in bookcase that I'm definitely going to have trouble replacing. Just Cabinets, here I come again!

Good news and idiot moves

The mortgage originator at the bank I'm using just called to tell me my loan's been approved. Huzzah!

Good thing, too, considering all the packing and planning I'm doing. Not to mention the lease I broke and the insurance I bought. And the table I bought, too. Where the heck would that go otherwise, huh?

I injured myself slightly on Saturday by being stupid. I went to Dick's (a sporting goods chain in the U.S.) to buy an air mattress so my parents have somewhere to sleep when they come help me paint/move in. The box was rather small, and I wasn't expecting it to be quite as heavy as it was. The first attempt at lifting it is what hurt me, though I didn't feel it right away. The next day, my back and my front hurt in about the same place, and anytime I leaned down and to the left my body informed me quite loudly that I should not do that. It still hurts, but not nearly as much. Bending forward is fun, too. 'Cause, well, gravity drags on the ol' shippetaries (as my grandmom used to call her, um, front), and my back shouts, "Hey! What are you doing?"

So basically, if I drop anything right now it has to stay on the floor unless I can pick it up with my toes. Either that or I drop to the ground, crawl over to it, and hold it in my teeth while I climb, crab-like from the right side, back to a standing or sitting position.

The packing routine has altered a little bit because of this. Instead of building the box, packing it, closing it, and stacking it I now build the box, stack it, fill it, and close it. That'll work. Getting things in low places is a bit tricky. I guess they'll have to wait.