Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
  • Monthly Archives: August 2020

    • Slim Gym

      Posted at 4:56 pm by kayewer, on August 29, 2020

      New Jersey’s gyms will be opening in a few days, finally. I decided to commit and sign up for one. My company likes their associates to sign up for using a gym, and they offer perks. There is nothing like incentives to help people break bad habits or start up new ones. If there was one for mask wearing, we’d have our current problem licked in a week!

      Anyway, a gym close to me is a rebuilt former movie theater. Back in the good old days before multiplexes, my town had a single-screen theater, and back in 1973 they showed The Exorcist. That movie came out years before the first true summer blockbuster (and it came out on the day after Christmas at that), but it was quite a phenomenon. The lines to see the film stretched for nearly half a mile. The theater closed in 1986 and sat as an aging reminder of bygone days until a popular purple-themed fitness chain bought it, restored the original facade and turned it into an ideal spot for the exercise crowd.

      I’ve been to gyms a couple of times over the years, but until recently no fitness center really seemed to like a less-than-fit person to work out. The problem is that nobody is interested in the Before, only in the After. I’m definitely a Before. But hey, you have to start somewhere.

      Years ago, I tried to enroll at a now-defunct gym which had offered a special of twenty visits for $20. The sales associate, however, played dumb and didn’t want to give me the special. He sat me in a sweaty closet of an office and tried to intimidate me into a much more expensive deal: he even brought in a muscular hulking behemoth of a workout lug standing what seemed to be seven feet high (and about five feet wide: the man had arms that could feed a family of eight), who stood over me as if I would only leave with my life if I succumbed to their will.

      “I want twenty visits for twenty bucks,” I said levelly. They let me go with no enrollment and seemed disappointed. I was not quite the Before I am now, but they’re out of business, and I still have my self-esteem.

      Walking has helped keep me in decent shape, but there are times when hitting the streets for a stroll may not be wise, so a gym seems like a great way to work out safely. Shorter days are coming, too, so once daylight goes, I can think of no place better to get fit than a secure facility.

      Buying workout gear, fortunately, is still the same, and I’ve bought a trio of outfits for this venture, including moisture-wicking tight but colorful tops and bottoms. The sneakers I think I have covered, along with socks. I made sure to get pants with pockets; I don’t think hanging a purse on the equipment is a good idea.

      Of course there are now stringent rules when going to a gym. Masks are required, and one is expected to wipe down the gear after using it. No problem. I have my anti-bacterial gel handy, a good supply of PPE and determination.

      I may not be a six-pack After, but I should feel better after a workout. And it is even less than that twenty bucks I wasn’t conned into all those years ago.

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    • You Flower

      Posted at 4:32 pm by kayewer, on August 22, 2020

      A flower blooms every morning. It starts out curled up asleep, but the light appears and it opens up to start its day. It may be the first time, or the last time, or somewhere in-between, but it blooms just the same.

      Nobody may notice it at all; it might be in a field of millions of other flowers, and nobody sees just one. It may be alone in a place you would not expect to find a flower, but it blooms just the same, for the same reasons as all the other flowers.

      It may get rained on, or a cold spell may cause it to droop. It springs right back up again and keeps being what it is. A vehicle may run over it and flatten it, or an animal may relieve itself on it. It blooms just the same.

      A flower doesn’t put on extreme makeup or clothes; it stays true to itself, and it looks just fine the way it is. Nobody judges its color, its petals or how tall or short or big or small it is. It still blooms.

      When you get up in the morning, remember that flower. Open up to the start of a new day. Don’t worry if nobody notices you; you have a purpose, and that purpose matters. Do it as you would any other day.

      If you get rained on, don’t worry; you’ll dry off. If it’s cold, you’ll warm up.

      If somebody tries to put you down, spring right back up. They don’t know anything about you, but you do. You are a flower, and every day you are part of something special. Go ahead and bloom.

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    • Penny For Your Thoughts

      Posted at 4:33 pm by kayewer, on August 15, 2020

      So there’s a coin shortage. We were not spending in stores until recently, so that interrupted the supply chain by which coins flowed through the commercial merry-go-round, and now there is little to go around.

      Just a day or two before the announcement about the coin shortage came, I had taken some $40 worth to one of those big green counting machines (you know, the brand whose name reminds you of the solar system). With my coins I got a voucher for Amazon, because everybody shops at Amazon, and I’ve also been pulled into its web of plenty.

      Coins used to be more than just weight in your purse or pocket. In the old days, people counted their coins, wrapped them up in specified rolls and took them to the bank for deposit or paper currency. That hobby seems to have vanished and now is as rare as the coins.

      For awhile, nickels were the hardest to find, but now I seem to have as many of them as quarters. Unfortunately I have no pennies right now, and if any coin has an image problem, that’s the one. Sales and income taxes force us to deal with pennies more than we would like, and we never are happy with how many pennies we have to pay. One or two cents, either paid out or received in change, seems to cause discontent. There is always too many of one or too few of the other.

      The obvious solution would be to round sales figures up or down: down for one or two cents, and up for three or four cents. Pennies should go into charity or fundraiser jars, or thrown into fountains.

      Recently I found I had a considerable amount of change, so I’ve been giving exact change while shopping. Nobody seems to mind if I take a moment to prevent them having to give me coins back, and it puts the change back into circulation.

      Speaking of circulation, I’ve gotten some more exercise recently, now that the weather has cooperated. So far, everybody I’ve seen has worn a mask and respected personal space, so shopping has returned to my repertoire.

      That, and using up dollar bills I’ve gotten instead of coins, because I’ve been using exact change there, too.

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    • It’s the Little Things

      Posted at 4:54 pm by kayewer, on August 8, 2020

      My arm was killing me. Suddenly it hurt so much, I couldn’t raise it above my shoulder without excruciating pain. A mystery began.

      Some people might pass off such a mishap and either assume it was a sudden injury without an explanation, or it might be something which could be found on one’s favorite symptom tracking website. I knew it had to be a muscle strain, but how did it happen?

      I became Shirley Holmes.

      I had not fallen or lifted anything heavier than a high-calorie ice cream sundae, which would make my hips bigger but not my arm painful. I went to bed with the pain, so I didn’t sleep funny and wake up that way.

      Suddenly, I came upon the possible answer, and in Shakespearean fashion I cried out, “It is the cause, my soul!” (although I could also attribute this to Anthony Hopkins as VanHelsing in Bram Stoker’s Dracula, I went for the original out of respect for my fellow writer). I then set about to do a comparison of two chairs.

      Why? Earlier in the week, I had a visit from the upholsterers I had hired to repair the cushions on the dining room chairs. Since I then had a collection of chairs with no cushions (reminiscent of a scene in the new version of Casino Royale), I elected to sit in a kitchen chair to work from home. After a few hours, I started to feel the discomfort, but attributed it to sitting at a new chair at a bad angle, but then the a-ha moment kicked in, and I grabbed one of the dining room chair skeletons and set it next to the kitchen chairs.

      Chairs is not chairs, to coin a phrase.

      The kitchen chair seat was a few inches lower than the dining chair, even without the cushion! This meant that I was raising my arms at a higher level to work at the same table as before, and putting additional strain on my mouse arm.

      Fortunately I had some tie-on cushions, and used them and a quick guide to ergonomics to bolster the kitchen chair to a height at which I could sit comfortably. The pain has lessened but is not completely gone because my poor muscles need healing time. So I’m on over-the-counter stuff and cold packs while trying to do entertaining things with my own computer, and I’ve been chiding myself for overlooking something that had such an effect on my life. But then, who thinks of the height of the seat on a chair?

      If you have, raise you hand because you can. I sure can’t right now.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged arm pain
    • We Didn’t Deliver

      Posted at 5:01 pm by kayewer, on August 1, 2020

      Somebody goofed big time. A package I ordered from Amazon was supposedly delivered: to St. Louis, MO. I don’t live in St. Louis, MO. I live in a comfy part of southern New Jersey. It’s kind of hard to confuse the two, but something went wrong somewhere, and now for the first time since I became a customer, I’ve got a big problem.

      Unless I want to go to St. Louis, MO.

      The first thing that comes to mind when I think of that state, is that Peter Quill, the fictional Star Lord of the Marvel franchise Guardians of the Galaxy, is from Missouri, as was President number 33, Harry S. Truman. One was a great leader, and the other was instrumental in causing half the universe to be wiped out because of anger issues (it’s a long story: see Avengers: Infinity War). I learned that the pony express ran from there to California starting in 1860. Budweiser is there, Mark Twain was there, and a big arch welcomes visitors to St. Louis. Methamphetamine made the state infamous as a top attraction for the drug crowd, and Branson is a big tourist attraction if you’re into classy performers rather than drugs.

      And now my package is on somebody’s doorstep.

      At least it isn’t the size of a packet of seeds, of which many apparently are showing up in mailboxes nationwide, coming from China unsolicited and causing quite a stir. We’re advised not to open unusual packages, so I wonder what will become of mine when it’s examined.

      Maybe the residents will be suspicious and they’ll summon a bomb squad. Maybe, with luck, they will find it harmless, open and be able to use it, or they’ll take it to the nearest postal facility. I’m not holding my breath for that, nor will I do so awaiting word from the merchant, whom I contacted through Amazon’s handy feature.

      How, when my address was on it, would it wind up in Missouri, for goodness sake? It’s quite a mystery. And if my address is indeed on it, isn’t delivering it like that an invasion of my privacy?

      I choose to remain calm and see what happens to this debacle. If customer service goes the way it should, I will get a replacement item. That is, if the pony express stays sober and doesn’t hire Peter Quill to reroute the package. I think I’ll have a Bud.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged Amazon packages, Postal errors, S
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