Thursday, July 10, 2014
CAN'T YOU SEE THIS SIGN? WELL?
A very strange thing has been happening in the dental office where I go to have my teeth cared for. This is not a new dentist nor is it a new office, But over the 4-year span that I've been going there, I have noticed that either the dentist is getting crotchety or the office staff is trying to change the office ambience. Either way, it's bad enough to have to go to the dentist, but when you start finding the office becoming oppressive, it's more than a little bit disconcerting.
The outer office is quite small, I'd say possibly 12 feet square. There is room for 5 people to sit. There is a large corner table between two sofas, a coffee table stacked with magazines, a television set high up in a corner, a door to the outside, a door opening to the patient rooms, and a counter, behind which the office staff works. It is a single dentist office.
When I went for my first appointment I noticed two signs: one was scotched taped to the TV set and said "DO NOT TURN THE CHANNEL". Understandable, I thought. Someone might not like what was being shown, but it was not their decision to make. Leave the TV set alone. There also was a sign near the counter that said "We do not take Credit Cards." OK, I thought. A bit strange in this day and age, but I could live with that.
Yesterday I walked in and the proliferation of signs just hit me smack in the face. It was not like I had not seen them before, but for some reason yesterday the negativity of these signs -- all done by the computer, plain heavy black lettering on white printer paper, and either scotched taped or pinned to the wall -- just jumped out at me. OH, SO MANY SIGNS!
I counted:
No food or drink allowed - 1 sign.
No credit cards accepted - 1 sign
Payment must be made before treatment begins - 1 sign
Restroom not available to non-patients - 1 sign
No changing of TV channel - 1 sign
Seating is limited so do not bring non-patients with you - 2 signs.
No smoking - 1 sign
Take crying children outside - 1 sign.
Right to refuse service to anyone - 1 sign
and worst of all........
No cell phone use while in this office - 5 SIGNS
Let me be clear, what I have listed above is just the "gist" of the signs. They are all forcefully stated and are written in a very authoritarian way: YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE FOOD OR DRINK OF ANY KIND IN THIS OFFICE AT ANY TIME!
Considering there are 4 walls, and all are fairly close to where patients sat, you can imagine how it wouldn't take a person very long to see that apparently this is not a happy office. Whether the signs are the idea of the dentist or the staff, there really is just too much NO, NEVER, STOP, FORBIDDEN, DON'T, etc.
Although re-wording the signs would be helpful to take away some of the negativity (i.e., Please step outside if you find it necessary to use your cell phone.) I'd guess someone doesn't want to be bothered. And my feeling is that if it is necessary to continue putting up cell phone signs, those signs just aren't doing much good! FIVE CELL PHONE SIGNS! For crying out loud.
I am not likely to change dentists. My strategy is to get either the first appointment in the morning or the first one after lunch, so I don't get caught having to spend much time in the waiting room. But frankly, I just shake my head at how some people go about trying to solve a problem. Hitting people over the head with another sign is certainly not the answer.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
5TH OF JULY THOUGHTS
Each year our "Senior" apartment complex produces
a very large celebration to commemorate Independence Day. Neither Jerry nor I much like a bunch of hoop-lah
so we usually don't get involved in its production, opting instead simply to
bring out some chairs to set along the parade route and watch what goes
by. It's not like a small town parade;
ours, being celebrated by oldsters, features decorated golf carts, flatbed
trucks carrying various residents in historic costumes, a few local dignitaries
interspersed between our leasing agents riding in convertible cars, and more golf carts; we usually have a
single band from one of the high schools (or intermediate schools) in the area,
a few horses, and a cub scout or brownie scout group marching in the 90 degree
heat with their tongues hanging out. The
best part is the plethora of cop cars and fire engines that start off the
parade with sirens ablast! And then bringing
up the rear is the local old car club, not driven by old folks but by young men
who, with spit and polish and a great talent with hydraulics, making those cars
able to stand up, lean over, drag their heinie and do cartwheels. When the old '57 Chevy Bel Air goes by, I
always kick myself for not keeping the one that I owned, although at the time
we never gave it a thought!
This year the Riverside Transit Authority let their
beautiful bus (shown above) come join the parade. I'm telling you, that bus is a standout! How lucky we were to see it "up close
and personal" as it lumbered along between an old style military jeep and
a car featuring a World War II vet living in our facility, dressed in
his full white Coast Guard uniform, and surrounded by vets from the Korean War,
Viet Nam, Desert Storm, and Afghanistan.
Later in the day, our great-grandson Tyler got to sit in a helicopter
that landed on the property, flown in by one of these vets. Because we wanted Tyler to experience all
this, we were far more involved this year than we have been previously. I wore a hat that shaded my face (I don't
EVER do that!), we slathered our arms and legs with sunscreen (I don't EVER do
that either) and carried water bottles with us, because the temp was in the
scorching 90s and we are really too old to be out and about in it for very
long. But I confess, it was a much
better day because we got off our duffs.
Earlier Tyler had asked me what was the funniest thing I'd
ever seen. I didn't have an answer for
him, but when we had to sit on the grass to eat the free hot dogs offered by
"management" I told Tyler to watch, because me trying to get up after
sitting on the grass was going to be PRETTY DARN FUNNY! (And it was!)
Anyway, Happy Birthday, America.
***
One of the genealogy projects I've been doing since the first of the year is
transcribing parts of old books and documents to be placed on various state web
pages to aid in genealogical research – all volunteer work and mostly very,
very interesting.
Yesterday I was doing one on Pinella, Florida written in the
1890s but describing some of the happenings that took place during the civil
war. I was to transcribe 10 pages – and
the first of those 10 pages started in on the middle of a story. It was an bad thing to have to type – about soldiers,
after burning down a house and barn, took target practice on the barnyard
animals, shooting at chickens, ducks, and pigs mostly, and leaving them dead if
they were lucky, but wounded and in great distress if not. The words were graphic and I wished it hadn't
been my lot to have to type that particular section.
But the worst part of it was realizing that these soldiers
being talked about were the Union men.
Why would I think that Union men wouldn't do that (and unsaid was that
Confederate men might?). Fie on me! And it reminded me of my shock and surprise
when I first read "Son of the Morning Star" by Evan Connell, his
dynamic book of the growth of the West leading up to Custer and the battle of
the Bighorn. I was astounded to read of
what society expected, and allowed, and justified time after time after time as
we grew into what we considered a great, civilized county. It wasn't only the "bad guys" that
did bad things. Pogo wasn't too far off
when he said, "We have met the enemy, and he is us."
***
In this morning's L. A. Times I read that "Lockheed
Martin Corp. is developing a system that will revamp the way the U. S. Air
Force identifies and tracks dangerous space debris. Millions of pieces of man-made junk –
including disabled satellites, rocket parts and debris from collisions – are orbiting
close to earth." I always laugh
when I read things like this. I know it
isn't likely that any one of us is going to be klonked on the head by a piece
of space junk. But someone is worrying
about it besides Chicken Little, else why all the effort to track it? And it makes me wonder at what the powers
that be have up their sleeves/sights to deflect a large asteroid that may head
our way one of these days.
Oh, but then I think of the middle-east…..
***
On that cheery note, I'll tell you one of my favorite jokes:
Scientists at NASA built a gun specifically
to launch dead chickens at the windshields of airliners, military jets and the
space shuttle, all traveling at maximum velocity. The idea is to simulate the
frequent incidents of collisions with airborne fowl to test the strength of the
windshields.
British engineers heard about the gun and were eager to test it on the windshields of their new high speed
trains. Arrangements were made, and a gun was sent to the British engineers. When the gun was fired, the engineers stood shocked as the chicken hurled out of the barrel, crashed into the shatterproof shield, smashed it to smithereens, blasted through the control console, snapped the engineer's backrest in two and embedded itself in the back wall of the cabin, like an arrow shot from a bow.
The horrified Brits sent NASA the disastrous results of the experiment, along with the designs of the windshield and begged the US scientists for suggestions.
NASA responded with a one line memo: "Defrost the chicken."
British engineers heard about the gun and were eager to test it on the windshields of their new high speed
trains. Arrangements were made, and a gun was sent to the British engineers. When the gun was fired, the engineers stood shocked as the chicken hurled out of the barrel, crashed into the shatterproof shield, smashed it to smithereens, blasted through the control console, snapped the engineer's backrest in two and embedded itself in the back wall of the cabin, like an arrow shot from a bow.
The horrified Brits sent NASA the disastrous results of the experiment, along with the designs of the windshield and begged the US scientists for suggestions.
NASA responded with a one line memo: "Defrost the chicken."
Friday, June 27, 2014
A LAUGHABLE MATTER - OF SORTS
I am not going to ask you to understand why I needed a death
certificate for my grandma's cousin, Blanche Stevens Thompson, who died in 1910. Just accept that fact that for genealogists to learn about
people in the family who have been long dead, it sometimes is necessary to get
death certificates and/or obituaries.
This blog is about the funniest and most frustrating try for a simple
death certificate that in 25 years of genealogy has happened to me.
In a nutshell, my great- grandma Nellie had a brother George
Stevens just a tiny bit older that she was.
George married, and Blanche, born in 1889, was his first child. Blanche was my grandma Jessie's cousin. Down
the road George moved to Oklahoma, and in my research I discovered that Blanche
married in 1909. In my research I also
found a tombstone indicating she died in 1910, one year after she was
married. Why? I wondered. In childbirth? A disease?
Or maybe even murdered? A death
certificate might give me an answer, so I went online to find out what Oklahoma
required to provide me a copy of her death certificate, if one existed.
I knew that such certificates were not always available that
early, but the Oklahoma website said there actually were some as early as
1910. I had to fill out a form, making
sure I answered every question, and then send the completed form with a $15
research fee to the address at the top of the form. I did exactly what they asked. These instructions made it clear that the $15
was simply a research fee for their work in looking for a death certificate; if
one wasn't found, they would not return the $15 to me. I understood this, and was willing to risk
losing the $15.
I sent the form and the check off on January 23, 2014. The check was cashed on January 27, so I knew
the form had arrived.
When no answer had come by the end of March, I sent a follow
up request, nicely worded, simply noting that I was still anxiously awaiting
word from them.
On April 23, I received a request from Oklahoma to provide
documentation for my relationship to Blanche.
I opened my file cabinet to the "Stevens" file and photocopied
my birth certificate showing my mother's name (Virginia), my mother's birth
certificate showing her mother's name (Jessie), a delayed death certificate filed
by my grandma Jessie showing her mother as Nellie, a Census report showing
Nellie as belonging to the family of Chester and Ellen Stevens, and showing
George as Nellie's older brother. Then I
photocopied a census report showing Blanche as a child of George. These documents were among those specified as
acceptable as proof by the State of Oklahoma.
On June 16, almost two months after sending them all my documentation, I received a letter from Oklahoma
saying NO birth certificate was found.
The end.
What can I say? They
did their part, just as they said they would; I did mine. That it took almost 6 full months to hear
"no" blows my mind! Was I
surprised? No. Disappointed? Yes. But that's all part of the genealogy game.
What I find hard to understand is this: Did they not have an index anywhere that
could have provided a "yes" or "no" in less time? And preferably before I had to dig up and
send copies of all my files? I have bit
my tongue every time I come close to saying something like, "Well, what do you expect from ........" No, I won't say it. Oklahoma has a bad enough rap as it is.
And that is why I laugh.
In my own mind the whole thing is simply preposterous. There is a way of doing things, and a way NOT to do them. But I consider that life is full of little quirks, and in
genealogy we run into lots of "nos" - usually just a little bit faster, however, so I need to explore other ways to find an answer to why she died. Poor Blanche. Truly gone, but not forgotten!
Monday, June 23, 2014
JUNE THIS 'N' THAT
For the past couple of years I have had a sneaking hunch
that barring my sudden demise, it would be my knees that gave out first. I did have a frozen shoulder a few years ago
that was quite satisfactorily unfrozen through some good physical therapy
sessions at a nearby clinic. But the
knees have never got to the point where I felt they needed help. Going up and
down stairs is where I have a problem, and I simply avoid stairs if possible
and if not, I take it slow and easy like an old person would do. So far the knees and the tiny bit of pain
they cause me has pretty much remained stable.
After seeing my oldest daughter through a total knee
replacement this past week I have decided to rethink my own knees. I do not want to EVER need that particular
surgery. No way, no how! No stairs.
No squats. My knees henceforth
are going to be cared for and babied so as to extend their natural lifespan. Rather than replacement, should that ever
come to pass, I'll opt for a wheelchair instead of a replacement. That is one nasty surgery, and I don't want
it! Ever!
* * * * *
I'm having some trouble getting projects to the completion
stage. Part of this is caused by the "Do
It Twice" syndrome that has become standard operating procedure since the
advent of something…..maybe the electronic age.
I am presently trying to buy a battery for my camera. I went to Radio Shack to order one; they were
out of them but said they could order one for me, which would be sent to their shop
within 3 to 5 working days. The order
would be confirmed by e-mail and I would be notified by e-mail when it
arrived. I had to pay for it first. By the time I got home, the confirming e-mail
had arrived, giving me an order number and saying I could track its progress. On day 5 I had not received notice of its
arrival at the shop, so I checked their website. Lo, it said my order could not be filled
because they no longer carried that battery.
I called the shop and asked what was going on? No one knew.
They made a phone call and confirmed that my order had been cancelled,
which was the reason I didn't get an e-mailed notice of its arrival! Was no one going to let me know?
I understand from reading the business section of the
newspaper that Radio Shack may not be long for this world. That might account for their not carrying the
item I needed any more, but couldn't someone have notified me? I AM keeping my eyes on my AMEX bill to make
sure they cancelled EVERYTHING. And now
I've tracked down another place to get the battery and placed another
order. I haven't seen anything in the
news about the financial health of Samy's Camera. Hopefully it is just fine, thank you. In the meantime my camera sits idle, which is
about like losing the use of my computer!
* * * * *
The other project I am having trouble with is getting wi-fi
into my house so I can utilize my iPod in ways other than music through the
ear-buds. The start of this project
began in January with good intentions of everybody involved. It has yet to be completed. Everybody is busy, which I understand. I'm reconsidering my original plans and am
close to hiring someone from the Geek Squad to get me set up. I've set Aug 1 as the point of switch.
* * * * *
Has anything pleasant, anything good, anything exciting
happened to counter-balance all these little irritants?
I'm thinking hard ……..
Friday, June 13, 2014
EMBRACING CHANGE FOR A CHANGE
I have always thrived on change. When I worked, I loved Mondays because I hit the ground running and felt energized by having projects to do and phone calls to make. I loved Fridays because change - a weekend - was on the horizon. There were chores to accomplish at home and grandbabies to visit. If it was different, I loved it!
Now retired, I look at handmade quilts and think, "I have time to do that now!" But change comes slowly to a quilt, and I understand myself well enough to know any quilt would end up half done in one of my drawers alongside the other started and now languishing projects in my craft drawer. I have no business tackling large projects! A small patch of quilt turned into a wall hanging might be a possibility, but certainly even that is kind'a "iffy."
So imagine my surprise when I found myself offering to create an index for a 600 page genealogy book. That meant finding every name in the book and inputting it along with each page number where it appears into a computer database. It was a long project that needed doing, and since I was one of the few who had ever had any experience indexing on a computer, it seemed only right for me to loan my fingers to the project.
If I had any doubts about my ability to stick with it, I knew that my sense of responsibility was stronger than my dread of sameness. If an index was needed, I would see that one was available!
The final count of names was somewhere around 15,000. My fingers flew on the keys. I zipped through those pages one by one - staying up sometimes well past my bedtime just to get another couple hundred into the database. I canceled lunches with friends because I wanted to get more pages done. During the time I worked on the index, I left my books unread and my social life unattended. I can't remember when I had such fun! That project took a while to finish, but doing it was as much fun at the end as at the beginning. Next to counted cross-stitch, it was the most repetitious thing I had ever done. Amazingly, I loved every minute of it.
In fact, since that time I have indexed many more books. Of all the hobbies I have had in the course of my adult life, and there have been many, far and away the most satisfying to me has been this one - indexing.
To all appearances indexing names should be a monotonous, no-brainer job. It looks like the very kind of job I should stay away from, the very kind I always have, in fact, hated to do. But there must be something inside me that really likes to bring order out of chaos, that likes to grab the thrown gauntlet. Maybe it is doing something that no one else can or wants to do. Maybe it is just ending up the hero.
Now I don't think that I have changed, but I do know I have found another dimension of myself that I had not known was there. I have always maintained that as we age, we had best look for all the new experiences we can find. But I had more been thinking in the line of finally being brave enough to tackle riding a roller-coaster. Nevertheless, we older folk needn't allow ourselves to be rigid and predictable, always doing the same things because we have always done them.
Up against something we have never done before, we might as well give it a try. Seniors need not always be the same people we think we are, and the change coming around the next corner may just hold a wonderfully soul-satisfying surprise. Maybe it won't be indexing, but then, who knows?
Now retired, I look at handmade quilts and think, "I have time to do that now!" But change comes slowly to a quilt, and I understand myself well enough to know any quilt would end up half done in one of my drawers alongside the other started and now languishing projects in my craft drawer. I have no business tackling large projects! A small patch of quilt turned into a wall hanging might be a possibility, but certainly even that is kind'a "iffy."
So imagine my surprise when I found myself offering to create an index for a 600 page genealogy book. That meant finding every name in the book and inputting it along with each page number where it appears into a computer database. It was a long project that needed doing, and since I was one of the few who had ever had any experience indexing on a computer, it seemed only right for me to loan my fingers to the project.
If I had any doubts about my ability to stick with it, I knew that my sense of responsibility was stronger than my dread of sameness. If an index was needed, I would see that one was available!
The final count of names was somewhere around 15,000. My fingers flew on the keys. I zipped through those pages one by one - staying up sometimes well past my bedtime just to get another couple hundred into the database. I canceled lunches with friends because I wanted to get more pages done. During the time I worked on the index, I left my books unread and my social life unattended. I can't remember when I had such fun! That project took a while to finish, but doing it was as much fun at the end as at the beginning. Next to counted cross-stitch, it was the most repetitious thing I had ever done. Amazingly, I loved every minute of it.
In fact, since that time I have indexed many more books. Of all the hobbies I have had in the course of my adult life, and there have been many, far and away the most satisfying to me has been this one - indexing.
To all appearances indexing names should be a monotonous, no-brainer job. It looks like the very kind of job I should stay away from, the very kind I always have, in fact, hated to do. But there must be something inside me that really likes to bring order out of chaos, that likes to grab the thrown gauntlet. Maybe it is doing something that no one else can or wants to do. Maybe it is just ending up the hero.
Now I don't think that I have changed, but I do know I have found another dimension of myself that I had not known was there. I have always maintained that as we age, we had best look for all the new experiences we can find. But I had more been thinking in the line of finally being brave enough to tackle riding a roller-coaster. Nevertheless, we older folk needn't allow ourselves to be rigid and predictable, always doing the same things because we have always done them.
Up against something we have never done before, we might as well give it a try. Seniors need not always be the same people we think we are, and the change coming around the next corner may just hold a wonderfully soul-satisfying surprise. Maybe it won't be indexing, but then, who knows?
Friday, June 6, 2014
BEEPING FROM THE BOWELS
Don't let the "headline" or the graphic lead you
astray. I wouldn't be so crass as to lay
out a medical problem – unless it was a true story about a child (or a crazy
adult) who swallowed some kind of electronic item and while it was mid-body in
its travels started losing battery power and was trying to let someone
know. Now THAT would be a reportable
item for my blog.
But no, the bowels I am mentioning today are merely either the
area deep inside my very large purse, or in my very crowded apartment. You would think a beeping signal would be
easy to find. Now if Jerry were the only
person living in this apartment, a single heard beep would lead him to exactly to the sound. He has lots of
"plusses" in his make-up; among the best is that he always puts things back where they
belong – you know, one of those "a place for everything and everything in
its place" kind of person. He has the DNA
of an engineer. (I have always said that
it is lucky he married me because I have spent all this time trying to teach
him to be a little more loosey-goosey – a release of his more creative side.) But he is not really amenable to that, as he
likes order very, very much!
Early this morning a single beep from somewhere in our
aural vicinity presented itself. I was
on the computer and I did not
hear it. But Jerry did. What could it be, he asked me? He and I both know that it has to be either one
of two cell phones, my iPod, our landline handset, or, quite possibly, from a
piece of equipment that we didn't know ever beeped.
We each have our strong suits that help us navigate through
life, but dealing with electronic things is not one of them. Right now we have hopes of someday being
hooked up to Wi-Fi so I can use my iPod for something other than listening to
music. I have several family members
working on this, but when they arrive to get me set up they find I
am missing another VIP (very important part).
We are now into month 6 of this effort. ( I do think it is a shame to be so dumb as to need grandchildren to keep
one relevant!) In the meantime, a tiny
airplane icon has arrived on the top left side of my iPod screen. Perhaps it beeped when it arrived and it was
one of the beeps we had to ignore because we couldn't find it. This makes me wonder why I put my family
through all this for Wi-Fi when I don't really know what something as simple as
an airplane icon means.
So sometimes it may be the iPod beeping, but sometimes it is
one of the phones. We are smart enough
to know that if we can't find our cell phone we can use our land line to call it, and if the battery is still running we'll have it in no time. However, we did not know that our land line
also has a built in beep, so mostly we remain in a state of confusion.
Occasionally, and what must have happened this morning. is
that some extraneous beep from outdoors happened to be loud enough for Jerry to
hear it and assume it was one of our pieces of equipment trying to get our
attention. This has happened in
restaurants too, and when it does, I spend 15 minutes or so digging through the
bowels of my purse trying to locate either my phone or my iPod, only to
discover it was not my beep!
Ah me, life has become so complicated. Think of life before beeps. It was a simple life. We didn't feel deprived. But having once experienced little machines
that do good things in between beeps, we just can't go backwards to
simplify our existence. The simple solution
to most wayward beeps is so easy: put things in their place when you set them
down! That's not a hard thing for Jerry
to remember, but oh,doing that is SO out
of character for me!
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
I DON'T HOARD, BUT I DO SAVE!
I am fascinated by hoarding.
No, I don't hoard, and I don't think I've really ever known a real
hoarder….but I've known people who come close!
The way I understand it, when the objects of their hoarding, their
"things," cause them to not be able to use their basic necessities in
a normal way (like not being able to sleep on their own bed because of so many
"things" being stored there, or needing to eat meals at a nearby
diner because their own kitchen is not accessible because of "things"
– then those are true hoarders. So just
an overblown collection of certain things does not a hoarder make.
However….
Sometimes I wonder about my files.
I love files. A file
for everything, and everything in its own file.
And whenever there are too many things waiting to be filed, then a
single file labeled "To be Filed" will certainly suffice. My main problem is that I may never see the
contents of that file again, because it too easily ends up underneath a pile of
folders that accumulate on my desk.
But this blog is not exactly about that.
This blog is where I relocate some of the interesting
things I've been saving to use in a blog sometime. So sit back and read. You'll just get a small taste of what all it
is I have saved in this particular folder marked "To Be Filed."
PROCRASTINATORS
1. John Perry, at
that time and perhaps still, a professor of philosophy at Stanford wrote a good
article back in 1996 that explains how we can procrastinate and still get things done. His premise is that the thing you
most need to do should be put at the top of a "to do" list, and
following beneath that are a whole bunch of necessary but not critical things
that also must be done. You can be a
procrastinator and feel darn bad about it, but if you do a whole bunch of the lesser chores, you can still feel that you are
making great headway by getting the closure you have made. You can pat yourself on the back for a day
well spent – and know that you will get to the #1 on the list tomorrow. That's not exactly procrastination, he
says. Self-deception, maybe.
Read his funny essay in full here: http://chronicle.com/article/How-to-ProcrastinateStill/93959
COLORBLIND
2. Political
correctness appears to be colorblind.
Some time back Michelle Obama went to a state dinner at the White house
wearing a dress described by the Associated Press as "Flesh." The designer called it a
"sterling-silver sequin, abstract floral, nude strapless gown. Was it flesh colored? Not Mrs. Obama's flesh, obviously. Associated Press changed the wording to
"champagne." And is the color
"nude" a single color or a relative color?
Which reminds me, many years ago I had a nice tan, and a
co-worker asked me if I tanned easily. I
assured him that I had to really work hard to get any tan at all, that actually
the skin on my stomach is as white as a snake's belly! (He wanted to see it, but I declined!).
But getting back to the color nude, champagne, sand, flesh,
or blush, peach, eggshell or cream – or for darker tones chai and darker yet
"espresso" (all colors in the decorator's pallet) – I think probably
nude and flesh should be retired and let the foods of the world dictate what
color a dress is.
Jerry is color-blind; not the traditional red/green that
many men have, but he has trouble differentiating between pastel colors. He does not identify any difference between
beige and gold, lavender and light pink, silver and grey, and other tones. In one of his retirement jobs he worked for a
police department following street sweepers and ticketing cars which had not been
moved off the street before the sweepers came by. In several instances people who
received a ticket huffed into the Police Department indicating that they got a
ticket but their car was not gold/beige/tan/ivory/silver or whatever color it
was that Jerry saw and put on the ticket.
His spirit was willing but his eyesight was –well, not weak, but not 100%
right on!
MEALY WORMS
3. Some time back
there was a great article in the LA Times about a man in Compton who has made a
good living for himself - in fact, good
enough to put both his son and daughter through College, he says. He indicates that for 50 years, he has been raising
colonies of crickets, Madagascar hissing cockroaches – and mealworms – piles of
squishy, wiggly, red-orange mealworms.
They are his best product.
He has not suffered at all through any of the
recessions. He has 60 employees, most of
whom are related to each other. He
started his business in the early 1960s and is still going strong.
I guess if one has the stomach for it, one might do
well. As for me, I don't put bait on
fishhooks and I don't pick up mealworms or any cockroaches, whether they hiss
or spit. Sure, I'd like a fool-proof way
to increase my income a bit, but this is definitely not my project of choice.
4. If you are looking
for something different to do with your honey in tow, I suggest the Hotel
Kabuki in San Francisco. Many years ago,
when Jer and I were younger and more romance-able, we went to the then-called
Miyako Hotel; the touted draw was a 2-person Japanese deep soaking tub, and it
turned out to be a wonderful experience just as the book in which we read about
it said it would. (I think the book was
something about 100 Things to do for Valentine's Day.) This hotel has not been the Miyako for many
years now; but the Hotel Kabuki goes a step further than only the deep soaking
tub (which it still has): it has a
relationship with the Kabuki Springs and Spa communal bath which is merely two
blocks away from the Hotel. Hotel Kabuki
now is part of the Joie de Vivre hotel chain and if you book a hotel visit
through the Joie De Vivre chain directly, you receive a complimentary pass to
the Kabuki Springs and Spa.
Now understand, I have not visited it under this new
ownership. Romance-able now pretty much
involves not having to sleep with the cat on our bed. So I can't tell you exactly what this all
means:
"The
baths are open for women only Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays,
and open to
men Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays.
Tuesdays are co-ed.
Bathing
suits are required on Tuesdays."
I leave it to you to snoop around on the Hotel Kabuki
website and make your own bed & bath, which you will, of course, either lie
in or meditate in, Japanese style, with or without Bath Butler Service and
soaking salts.
And do have fun!
So I now have cleared out part of one file folder. That enables me to toss away four papers that
I swear I have been keeping at the ready for five years or so. No hoarder lives at THIS house! Just a saver!
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