Needle in A Haystack

   Maybe not literally true, but close enough.  "Have you seen my ring?" he asked, as he was getting ready to leave.  "I'm pretty sure I put it on the top corner of the desk in the bedroom.  I know I had it at J's house last night."  This didn't sound too encouraging to me, especially since I'd noticed the night before, at the restaurant, that he'd been wearing the ring on his little finger, irritating to his ring finger, he said.  He'd made a cursory, rushed search of the area where he thought he'd  left it, and came up empty.  He had to leave to catch his train, so now the search is up to me. 
    I started with the bed, stripped it of sheets and cases, ran my fingers through the bottom rail of the innerspring bracket, moved the bed out  from the wall, pulled away as best I could the old trundle bed frame still beneath  the mattress and box spring.  Nothing, despite my lying on the floor with hand vacuum and duster.  Next I attacked the bookcase headboard, removing each book to make sure the ring hadn't slipped between its pages.  No luck.
    Back to the desk, already searched, but not that thoroughly.  I took every single item off the desk and out of its cubbies with no success.  I pulled the desk out from the wall, thinking maybe it had fallen behind.  To move the desk, I had to take out from under it all my file boxes and bags that I'd used over the last 15 years in my job. A formidable task that yielded nothing.  Of course I'm thinking he lost the ring at the restaurant or somewhere outside my house.  He did not sound completely confident as to where he put it.  I start to put the stuff back, to where it's been stashed for years now, and then I have the thought that maybe I should look inside the boxes and totebags, just because I've been so thorough up to now.  I look through a few with no results, not that I'd really expected any by now.   As I looked in the largest box, the one holding folders and notebooks, I see in the corner a rounded object-----the ring!

Moon Landing

     Where was I to vividly remember the Apollo 11 moon landing?  In Waterford at the pediatrician's office for a 2-month well-baby checkup.  Infant and I were already in one of the examination rooms when Dr. Grattan came in and invited us into his office to see the extraordinary event, live as it happened.    I remember us mothers positioning our infants so they could see the TV screen.  We wanted them  to witness history in the making.  We wanted to be able to tell our children that they had borne witness.  Everything then was still so new and shiny.

I'm sorry, BUT...

I absolutely hate it when people preface their statements or opinions with these words.  Often in such non-debatable  context, as "I'm sorry, but I think equal rights should apply to all."  Or, "I'm sorry, but I don't think a person should be allowed to kick a puppy to death."   But take away these words and you'd take away about a third of Whoopie Goldberg's vocabulary.   I'm sorry, but that's just how I feel. 

Lettuce

  Some weeks ago, as noted, Blog, I found a bunch of old seed packets from 1999 to 2001, and put them in the ground, one plot for flowers and another for vegetables.  Not a single sprout.  Among the old envelopes were 2 small packets, about an inch square, probably complimentary offerings.  They were labeled BURPEE LIFELOCK.   I decided to challenge them and put them in a separate pot, outdoors of course.  Something sprouted in each, probably a growth for each seed, but I didn't know what it was at first.  Turns out it's lettuce!  I ate some this morning---kind of bitter, but it would need dressing.

Washed Away

  I finally went downstairs last night and met out new washing machine.  It's supposed to have the same capacity as our former washer.  I look inside and it seems  larger.  Much larger.  Then I realize that there is no agitator in the middle, just a large open drum.  I guess I'll have to read the manual....

July 8, 2014

   It's 1:47 in the morning, and I feel itchy.  Maybe it's the antibiotic soap or maybe it's nerves.  Nothing is the way I would have thought.

The Winter That Will Not End

   Winter started a long time ago, and I have been cold ever since.  The cold brought with it death, and sickness, and losses of all types.  It seems at times if the warmth will come to stay for a while, but it is a false hope, and soon goes away.  The song of September is already in the air, and any warmth will end as it always does, but this time with a difference somehow.

Big Gulp

     There are about 8 people in the waiting room when I enter.  All but one are at least of "that certain age,"  and the one who is not is a health aide, accompanying a wheelchair-bound patient.  All but 2 of the patients are what I would consider grossly overweight.  By that I mean I can, in comparison,  exclude myself from that category.  All the women, except the aide, are mobility impaired to some degree, and again I exclude myself from that category also, being without cane or wheelchair or noticeable affliction (or so I like to think.)  
    I ponder the age old chicken or egg question.  Could Mayor Bloomberg be right and we should ban those large sugary drinks?  Has obesity contributed to or caused these people's physical disabilities, or are they overweight because they can not move their bodies around freely?  No one is eating or drinking anything; office policy prohibits that, but no one looks as if  it's been very long since their last meal either. 
   Today is the day Joey Chestnut will try to eat 70 hotdogs, without dying.  Mayor Bloomberg, stop him!

Prohibition

    A new caveat issued for candidates for surgery:  "Do NOT shave or remove hair below the neck for five days before surgery."   All in the interest of preventing infection, from self-inflicted wounds.  I guess they're unaware of  the safety record of electric razors.  For the better good, I'm sure, but.....stupid. 
      

Chairy

     It's a perfectly good office chair, the one that sits in front of the computer.  Well, I suppose perfect is too strong a word to use in describing it, because, for about the last year, the leatherette upholstery  has been flaking off, onto the floor mostly, so it's been easy to vacuum up.  But since the weather  has gotten torrid and I've taken to wearing shorts (only in the house for decency's sake),  I've had a few scary moments.  It has seemed as if the skin on the backs of my legs was peeling off, some new kind of affliction.  As it turned out, the peeling skin was pieces of the leatherette that had adhered to my legs.  The clue was that the flaking skin was dark brown. 

Counterintuitive Contrariness

     How anyone can prefer to use the string dental floss over the plastic, handled floss picks  is beyond my comprehension.  Why saw away, holding a piece of string between both hands, grimacing into the mirror and spraying forth the effluvia when you can discreetly hold a flosspick with one hand, with your mouth almost closed, and all the loosened materials remain inside your mouth, where they belong, until you rinse. Resistance to something as modern as the floss pick is tantamount to denying the advantages of the horseless carriage.  I can't think of a single reason to deny the use of the floss pick.  Just open the pack, remove, use, discard.  They're very economical and even if they were more costly, it beats tearing off a piece of string, and as for disposal of said strings:   they should  NOT  be flushed, and who wants to see them hanging off the edge of the wastebasket?  Not me.  I know I should keep my advice to myself, but WTF.

Mayhem Pending

    Do the dog days of summer justify an excuse to kill?  Is it possible for a dispute over feeding a cat to turn deadly?  I need to know.  I am so sure I am  right  that I can't even see another side to the issue.  I've put up with it for a long time, but this year's circumstances have brought me to the breaking point.  He feeds the cat too often;  that's a given, despite the veterinarian's telling him the animal needs to lose weight, but we'll overlook that for the moment.  The issue is the actual act of feeding.  He feeds from the small cat food can, half a can at a time.  He insists on using a spoon to divide the contents and I want him to use a table knife.  For so many good reasons:   1) a knife separates the contents and the desired portion slides off smoothly, whereas it sticks to the spoon and part is wasted.  2) we own more table knives than teaspoons, and 3)  most importantly, I don't ever insert a knife into my mouth, as I do a teaspoon.  Even though all utensils go through the dishwasher, sometimes a little morsel becomes lodged in the bowl of a teaspoon, never on a knife.  If I ever find myself eating a bit of catfood, before the weather cools off,  there will be hell to pay.  Fair warning.