The Balance Test of What Is "Normal" when standing on one leg with hands on hips:
Ages 40-49 42 seconds with eyes open, 13 seconds with eyes closed
Ages 70-79 22 seconds with eyes open, 3 seconds with eyes closed
No cheating!
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Monday, September 28, 2015
Rodent Control
I stopped at Lowe's today and invested in a supply of mousetraps. We have had no signs of mice for 10 years, when our new 4-month old kitten, Maybe, caught a mouse as it emerged from beneath the oven door. I keep our fall decor Indian corn in a mesh bag in the basement. During the few years when we were catless, some of the corn would be nibbled off the ears. But for the last decade, we've been able to use the same corn. Until this year. One ear was completely stripped of its kernels. Well, down in the cellar, who cares? But the mice moved upstairs, a whole litter of them apparently. Oddly enough, they haven't gnawed into any of the sealed cartons or boxes of food. Everything else is in the refrigerator so the only thing they've nibbled on is the tomatoes I've left to ripen on the kitchen counter. It appears that Maybe has retired from catching mice; she only stares in the direction where she senses they are, quite accurately too. I suspect the mice are eating her catfood at night. Her dish is cleaned out in the morning, unusual for her.
In the past few weeks I've collected all the unused traps from the basement, the cabinet and even in the outdoor shed. I've challenged myself to bait and set them and even remove the little coffins from the counters after they snap, but there is no way that I can bring myself to remove the carcass from the traps, so mouse and trap goes into the garbage. So I ran out of traps.
Today I bought different versions of the mousetrap. They are by TOMCAT, and one set of traps is billed as disposable and the other as reusable. They are guaranteed to kill mice, have a one-touch set, and offer clean disposal. They are plastic and almost attractive. The disposable traps contain the trapped mouse after it triggers the spring, and you can throw it away without ever laying eyes on the body. The reusable model is black plastic, and after the mouse springs the setting, you can release its body by pressing the lever on the closed, opposite end, or else throw the whole thing away.
Right now, I have 3 traps set, baited with peanut butter. I have a minor panic attack whenever I hear the loud snap. I'm hoping the mice have all been eradicated, or have moved away.
I have the thought that when Pope Francis said that there was a place in heaven for all God's creatures if that would include mice, and if so, how will they react meeting those who killed them. And what about termites and cockroaches?
In the past few weeks I've collected all the unused traps from the basement, the cabinet and even in the outdoor shed. I've challenged myself to bait and set them and even remove the little coffins from the counters after they snap, but there is no way that I can bring myself to remove the carcass from the traps, so mouse and trap goes into the garbage. So I ran out of traps.
Today I bought different versions of the mousetrap. They are by TOMCAT, and one set of traps is billed as disposable and the other as reusable. They are guaranteed to kill mice, have a one-touch set, and offer clean disposal. They are plastic and almost attractive. The disposable traps contain the trapped mouse after it triggers the spring, and you can throw it away without ever laying eyes on the body. The reusable model is black plastic, and after the mouse springs the setting, you can release its body by pressing the lever on the closed, opposite end, or else throw the whole thing away.
Right now, I have 3 traps set, baited with peanut butter. I have a minor panic attack whenever I hear the loud snap. I'm hoping the mice have all been eradicated, or have moved away.
I have the thought that when Pope Francis said that there was a place in heaven for all God's creatures if that would include mice, and if so, how will they react meeting those who killed them. And what about termites and cockroaches?
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Documentation
I got up early this morning and the house was cold. I wrapped myself in a blanket and turned on the TV to the early news, as usual. The meteorologist said it was so chilly that he had turned on the heat in his house. AHA, I thought and turned the heat on. What a breakthrough!
And then this happened
I had a dream that I sawed a black and white rat in half with a wooden stick.
Social Interactions
Since mine are rare and sparse nowadays, I probably pay attention to those which I used to ignore---back in the days when I had regular contact with more or less normal human beings, who welcomed social interactions.
I was on an outing the other day, a rare enough event, a medical visit, unfortunately not rare at all. I had in my possession a Handicapped hangtag, fully legitimate too, from the Town of Pittstown, valid for my passenger. On the way home, we stopped at Walmart, and I pulled into the nearest handicapped parking slot, as close to the store as possible, wanting to lessen the walking distance. As I got out of the car, a tall, white-haired woman who had parked in the aisle across from me called out that I had parked wrong. Actually, I was in the lined part that I think is meant for lowering wheelchairs. I started to turn back, thinking I'd move my car over a few feet, but a man approached from further down the parking lot, and told me I was fine, that I didn't have to move my car. I'm so darned polite these days that I'd already thanked the white-haired woman for her input, and now I thanked him for his. He then crossed over to where the woman was, and started telling her his opinion. I didn't stop to listen, just walked into the store. When we came back out, my car was just as I left it, no problems. The worst that had happened was that during the brief exchange, Dave had entered the store and zoomed off out of sight in the motorized shopping cart, and to locate him, I had to ask a clerk where the Printer Ink section was.
Almost as exciting a conversation as when he was getting a haircut and I was reading the newspaper. A man came in and sat next to me, and evidently glanced at the paper. "Is Yogi Berra dead?" he asked. I answered yes, that's why everybody on TV is recalling his quotes. He didn't watch TV, he said. I handed him the newspaper so he could catch up. He took it, but said he didn't read the papers either.
I was on an outing the other day, a rare enough event, a medical visit, unfortunately not rare at all. I had in my possession a Handicapped hangtag, fully legitimate too, from the Town of Pittstown, valid for my passenger. On the way home, we stopped at Walmart, and I pulled into the nearest handicapped parking slot, as close to the store as possible, wanting to lessen the walking distance. As I got out of the car, a tall, white-haired woman who had parked in the aisle across from me called out that I had parked wrong. Actually, I was in the lined part that I think is meant for lowering wheelchairs. I started to turn back, thinking I'd move my car over a few feet, but a man approached from further down the parking lot, and told me I was fine, that I didn't have to move my car. I'm so darned polite these days that I'd already thanked the white-haired woman for her input, and now I thanked him for his. He then crossed over to where the woman was, and started telling her his opinion. I didn't stop to listen, just walked into the store. When we came back out, my car was just as I left it, no problems. The worst that had happened was that during the brief exchange, Dave had entered the store and zoomed off out of sight in the motorized shopping cart, and to locate him, I had to ask a clerk where the Printer Ink section was.
Almost as exciting a conversation as when he was getting a haircut and I was reading the newspaper. A man came in and sat next to me, and evidently glanced at the paper. "Is Yogi Berra dead?" he asked. I answered yes, that's why everybody on TV is recalling his quotes. He didn't watch TV, he said. I handed him the newspaper so he could catch up. He took it, but said he didn't read the papers either.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Another Drop in the Bucket
Pretty soon I'll need to bring in the Spider Plants, about eleven of them, and subject the now healthy-looking plants to nine months of miserable confinement in the depths of the basement, from which they will emerge pale and emaciated next spring, if all goes as routine dictates. In order to clear a little space, I tried to reinstate the cellar-cleaning process I began this spring. I realize there is some market for metal, so last evening out went a number of curtain rods, large and small, two old metal shovels, a broken tool, a piece of plumbing hardware, an old badminton set with metal posts, some metal mop and broom handles and some other unidentifiable pieces. I put them in a cardboard box on the edge of the lot. This morning, all that is left is the box.
A while ago, I watched an episode of "Hoarders" where the affected woman went out to the dumpster and pulled off any of the trash that was metal, insisting it should be recycled, that people were desperately poor and would willingly claim it. She must be right. I guess one man's trash really is...oh, you know the cliche.
A while ago, I watched an episode of "Hoarders" where the affected woman went out to the dumpster and pulled off any of the trash that was metal, insisting it should be recycled, that people were desperately poor and would willingly claim it. She must be right. I guess one man's trash really is...oh, you know the cliche.
Friday, September 18, 2015
Crossing the Bridge
That sounds so symbolic. I know all the good little doggies cross the Rainbow Bridge to their Forever Homes, but I'm referring to the Valley Falls Bridge. And by crossing that bridge, I don't mean driving over it, but walking across it. Time was walking across the bridge was a common occurrence for us. We used to walk to Dwyer's Pond for ice skating, though since my sister and I didn't own skates, we must have just watched. Some years later, a younger group of kids was enroute to the pond when a child ran to the woman in the house next door crying that her daughter was "stuck on the bridge." The mother thought that her daughter had tried to climb over the rail and under the bridge like the boys used to, but she found out that it was her daughter's tongue that was stuck to the iron railing, the result of curiosity and a dare. She took off in her car with a teakettle of hot water, and solved that problem.
When we were really young, I remember walking to Brackley's house with my brother. I think his parents must have thought it a good idea, the time we were recent citizens of the Village. The sidewalk over the bridge then had a lower and narrow curb alongside it. My fear of heights made me walk across that first day on the very narrow side curb. I didn't want to be close to the rail of the bridge.
Later on, the bridge was just a place to walk. We walked kids we were babysitting over it just for another place to go. I remember a few times we walked home from the movie theater in Schaghticoke at night, after the show, the times when we could get a ride over, but not a return trip. During our high school years, it was a common practice for boys in cars, from neighboring vicinities, to cruise around and talk to girls through their rolled down car windows, and the bridge was the ideal place for a confrontation of that sort. A little exhilarating, but perfectly safe, back in those days. No one, of us anyway, ever got IN the car, or were even asked to. And of course we walked to the Schaghticoke Fair---nobody ever had a car, and all the fathers worked. When Ben Geren opened a small grocery store in his home, we would occasionally shop there if Sammy's was out of a certain product.
Some of the kids, boys naturally, used to climb over the rail of the bridge and lower themselves down onto the beams underneath where pigeons nested. What they did to those pigeons is best left unsaid. Another boy was a springtime visitor, carrying a bag of kittens, ordered by his parents to dispose of them. I suppose the requisite rock was also in the bag. I never asked or wanted to know. One interesting thing about the old Valley Falls Bridge was the stairway. That was a favorite adventure, a good place to occupy the walking skills of the kids we were watching; all kids loved climbing. The all-metal stairway wound down along the west side of the bridge for the convenience of the mill workers, and there were many who utilized it regularly.
By the "old bridge," I mean the one built in probably the 1940's or maybe even the 30's. The original bridge, before our time, was lower and carries a sad connotation for our family, as it was the bridge my Uncle Joe's only child, Joseph, fell from and drowned at the age of eleven. Tragically, the boys he was playing with ran home, frightened, and hid in their bedrooms, afraid to tell what they had seen. Or so the story went, along with the speculation that they might have contributed to his fall, but that was of course a possibility that was never pursued, not in those days.
I crossed the bridge today. I walked across it. I don't know how long it has been since I last did so, but it was a long time ago. It seemed a shorter walk somehow. Probably the last time I crossed the bridge there was a sidewalk on either side, but I had to return today on the same side I walked over on. So I missed some of the view. The view of the trees along the river, toward where I live, borders on the spectacular, even though this September is still green. I don't know when my next walk across the bridge will be---we'll cross that bridge when...
When we were really young, I remember walking to Brackley's house with my brother. I think his parents must have thought it a good idea, the time we were recent citizens of the Village. The sidewalk over the bridge then had a lower and narrow curb alongside it. My fear of heights made me walk across that first day on the very narrow side curb. I didn't want to be close to the rail of the bridge.
Later on, the bridge was just a place to walk. We walked kids we were babysitting over it just for another place to go. I remember a few times we walked home from the movie theater in Schaghticoke at night, after the show, the times when we could get a ride over, but not a return trip. During our high school years, it was a common practice for boys in cars, from neighboring vicinities, to cruise around and talk to girls through their rolled down car windows, and the bridge was the ideal place for a confrontation of that sort. A little exhilarating, but perfectly safe, back in those days. No one, of us anyway, ever got IN the car, or were even asked to. And of course we walked to the Schaghticoke Fair---nobody ever had a car, and all the fathers worked. When Ben Geren opened a small grocery store in his home, we would occasionally shop there if Sammy's was out of a certain product.
Some of the kids, boys naturally, used to climb over the rail of the bridge and lower themselves down onto the beams underneath where pigeons nested. What they did to those pigeons is best left unsaid. Another boy was a springtime visitor, carrying a bag of kittens, ordered by his parents to dispose of them. I suppose the requisite rock was also in the bag. I never asked or wanted to know. One interesting thing about the old Valley Falls Bridge was the stairway. That was a favorite adventure, a good place to occupy the walking skills of the kids we were watching; all kids loved climbing. The all-metal stairway wound down along the west side of the bridge for the convenience of the mill workers, and there were many who utilized it regularly.
By the "old bridge," I mean the one built in probably the 1940's or maybe even the 30's. The original bridge, before our time, was lower and carries a sad connotation for our family, as it was the bridge my Uncle Joe's only child, Joseph, fell from and drowned at the age of eleven. Tragically, the boys he was playing with ran home, frightened, and hid in their bedrooms, afraid to tell what they had seen. Or so the story went, along with the speculation that they might have contributed to his fall, but that was of course a possibility that was never pursued, not in those days.
I crossed the bridge today. I walked across it. I don't know how long it has been since I last did so, but it was a long time ago. It seemed a shorter walk somehow. Probably the last time I crossed the bridge there was a sidewalk on either side, but I had to return today on the same side I walked over on. So I missed some of the view. The view of the trees along the river, toward where I live, borders on the spectacular, even though this September is still green. I don't know when my next walk across the bridge will be---we'll cross that bridge when...
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