Susan's Scribblings the Blog

Monthly Archives: October 2020

• Among the Elect

  Posted at 4:57 pm by kayewer, on October 31, 2020

  The year ends in 61 days. Election Day is also upon us, so this year has a curtain of doom over it like no other year past. Many people await the end of one or more ill-received things by December 31, such as 2020 or the current presidential administration or the pestilence. There has certainly been a thing or two to not like about this year, and the depression has grown month to month like a creeping terror threatening to devour us all. The Blob that is 2020 creeps along, unstoppable except by time. And unlike the one Steve McQueen battled, we have not come up with a secret weapon.

  December 31 will arrive whether we notice or not. Also, January 20 will arrive whether we’re happy about it or not. Whomever’s hand is on that Bible on inauguration day, 2021 will plod along, and we’re in for the ride.

  I was glad to see Halloween come. I put out pre-packaged bags of treats (with and without chocolate for diet diverse kids), and they disappeared promptly. I didn’t hover to watch who took what, but I hope that everybody was honest and took one bag each. It seems people have not been so honest lately, probably because we have seen so much dishonesty from places where we expect to see integrity and decency. However, we know better than to follow bad examples, but some folks choose to take the bad way.

  The disease which is devouring the population of the world will come to an eventual end, whether it’s because our scientists finally find a vaccine or it simply runs its natural course and finds nobody else to infect. Meanwhile, we are exposed to everyday people having public meltdowns over being asked to cover their mouths and noses with a mask. If you watch these wildly gesticulating numbskulls in action, it’s obvious they’re afraid beyond reason, making them desperate to be right about there not being a medical emergency at all. I’m sure psychologists are having a field day about this.

  If Heaven has a bar, I’m sure God sidles up and belts down a few at least once a day, and the angels sing tons of inspiring shanties to try to cheer Him up. It can’t be joyous up there watching us all going through what we have down here.

  And it is our doing, after all.

  We picked who is in the big seat in the big building in our nation’s capital. And we became lax about keeping our planet cleaned up. We’re paying for it now; the high and the low, black and white, guilty and innocent.

  Whatever caused this disease, it will see an end. Whomever we vote into office, we must deal with the future their way.

  When 2021 comes, whatever happens, we’re all going to be part of it.

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• The Weight of It All

  Posted at 4:56 pm by kayewer, on October 24, 2020

  Defining a blanket is harder these days, because somebody came out with a weighted blanket, so that changes things. In the realm of bedding we have comforters, coverlets, bedspreads, quilts, throws and blankets. All of them are designed to go on top of you when you’re sleeping, and try to decorate the bed neatly when you’re away, just in case a lifestyle magazine photographer stops by.

  I originally bought the weighted blanket for my mother, but it wasn’t the right fit for her. After keeping it stored away for a while, I finally took it out and put it on my new bed, which just arrived after over a month of waiting (you may remember I ordered it on Labor Day weekend).

  The new bed is an adventure, because it’s much higher than my old mattress set. It seems the manufacturers decided to make beds the height of a small hill, and for the average human it requires climbing into. My feet don’t touch the floor anymore! The old sheets are too shallow to fit, so my collection of nice bedding is obsolete. But I have handled these issues, with new sheets, and a foot stool on order from Amazon. So getting into and out of bed will become akin to mounting and dismounting from the examining table in the doctor’s office.

  This new innovative blanket is weighted with glass beads which add (in my case) fifteen pounds to it, but some weigh less or slightly more; the idea is that a blanket which weighs about ten percent of your body weight provides comfortable pressure which aids in sleep. Studies seem to indicate that feeling the heft of the blanket can reduce anxiety and help produce natural chemical reactions which speed getting to sleep.

  The first night I put it on, I felt its pressure on me and wasn’t sure if it would be comfortable, but I did fall asleep and stay asleep for hours. That’s a good point in its favor.

  The bad point is that it slides. All my sheets seem to slide now. And I know it isn’t an overuse of moisturizer because no matter how much I put on, my skin slurps it up. There is a unique sound when a weighted blanket plummets to the floor, rather like a small thud. Though not so loud as if I fell out of bed. Which I may do at least once on this new bed, because it’s so darned high. The house might shake with that thud.

  The blanket is really dead weight, too. Sort of like a dog when they don’t want to go to the vet, and they get so rigid they seem to gain ten pounds, or that they seem to be glued to the ground.

  Picking up a weighted blanket is a different experience, too. Any other bed cover is just fluff and bulk; this thing oozes out of your arms and doesn’t take well to containment. I’m reluctant to try laundering it yet, because I think my washer will not like it. My washer is ancient, but sturdy, and hearkens back to the days of shallow beds and sheets. I suppose I should throw it in and stand by in case I experience the uneven load dance my washer may do if things don’t go well.

  So I’ve upgraded and adapted with a new bed and new accessories, and my sleep seems to have benefited from it. Small price to pay for staying healthy. If I don’t plummet to the ground.

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• How Many Hundred Channels?

  Posted at 5:18 pm by kayewer, on October 17, 2020

  My TV is eight years old, but it’s been reliable through staying at home in a quiet house on a quiet block while working every day. Recently I had the warranty folks come by and look at it because it had an issue, and they replaced the motherboard. This means I’ll have the TV for another few years at least. By the time I replace it, two hundred models will have become obsolete.

  Lately, however, I’ve only watched a half dozen networks out of the hundreds on my cable. Sure I get the standard channels, but somehow they have even managed to resume sports broadcasting on at least ten of them. Sorry, I don’t watch college football, and by avoiding pro sports I hope to give our home teams a shot at winning a few games (or at least they might lose by fewer points).

  Some networks just don’t suit me. I wouldn’t watch true crime, and I can’t process spreadsheets and learn to cook at the same time (my Food Network viewing is nights only). Hallmark has a few networks, but I can’t do an emotional workout and type at the same time.

  In the afternoons, once the music networks become a bit much, I try to tune in animal shows, so then my favorite networks are Animal Planet and Nat Geo Wild. The wildlife and vet shows don’t command my attention while I’m working. In the afternoons I listen, more than watch, The Incredible Dr. Pol, and the show’s narrator, Ari Rubin, manages to make the programs seem like I’m listening to radio. Of course it’s unlikely that anybody could obtain a veterinarian’s license just by watching multiple seasons of a vet show, but in these past several months of isolation I have seen Dr. Jan Pol do some amazing things with animals of all kinds, and on occasion I find I can accurately “diagnose” the problem.

  Naturally the layout of the show is such that a regular viewer would likely predict a type of case within a minute or two anyway, but it’s interesting to play an occasional round of “Guess the Ailment.” Cows in particular are a fun challenge. Apparently their anatomy can do strange things like one of their stomachs twisting itself over, necessitating a procedure called a “flip and stitch.” It is what it sounds like: the vet and a few strong hands lay the cow down, turn them over to un-kink the stomach, then put a needle through the hide into the stomach so it’s anchored to the skin and won’t overturn a second time.

  And don’t get me started on prolapses or using a weird device to ratchet a calf out of a mother cow having labor issues, not to mention pet emergencies in the aftermath of fights or tangles with porcupines, and occasional abscesses. My after-work evening fare has included Dr. Pimple Popper on TLC, so if a horse has a lump filled with pus, it’s just like Dr. Sandra Lee working on a human with a skin disorder. Bring on the gross footage! I’ve got a few hours until dinner.

  Some people may wonder why these shows are so popular. Probably due to the aspects of life we don’t get to see. Sure it’s edited and carefully packaged for television viewers, but we don’t have what our grandparents had: documentary short films in the cinema such as “The March of Time,” or looks into everyday suburban life imparting life lessons. That was then: now we have vets on camera.

  I’ve also listened in on Game Show Network, enjoyed the narration of Mike Rowe as he performs another Dirty Job and tried to not raise my blood pressure with the news. The sounds coming from my television help mark the hours and half hours, and I learn things while getting my work done.

  I’m glad my reliable old TV will teach me about pets and livestock. Not that I’m planning to put on a glove and explore the inside of a cow after dinner.

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• A Cart Full

  Posted at 4:38 pm by kayewer, on October 10, 2020

  Amazon’s rich: I’m broke. In fact, I have so many merchants who are happy to see my online presence, this year has turned into the year of supplies. It’s not toilet paper, since I bought a multi-pack back in February and am still little more than halfway through it. It’s not food, because I’ve managed to shop every week during the “special” early morning hours (or, as they put it, the elderly and immune compromised). As I’ve been sorting, cleaning and removing clutter, I’ve found some things that had long outgrown their usefulness, so I had to restock.

  Today I think I finally finished, having gone to the “all mart” and gotten a new hand-held vacuum. When I entered the living room this afternoon, I found my carpet filled with tiny natural hitchhikers from outdoors: twigs, dead grass, seeds which came unstuck from the bottom of my shoes. Breaking out the big canister, with the long hose and unbalanced stick attachment, was low on the exciting list for me, somewhere between cleaning the fish tank and the toilet. Actually, with beta fish, the fish tank is also the toilet. But I digress.

  Now I have what I will call (to avoid trademark trouble with “White and Docker”) the crumb collector. It looks like it has everything from a brush attachment to a crevice tool, and it beats having to stand in front of a wall of Hoovers, Sharks and Dysons and try to figure it out on the fly. If I want to go that route, I’ll consult the monthly product testing magazine first. That’s smart shopping, better than picking a model from a display wall.

  Actually, the crumb collector was on a display wall: I went with the name and reputation.

  Some things one just can’t buy in a store anymore, such as landline phone cords (believe me, I need to keep that until either it or I go obsolete). That’s where Amazon comes in. I did indulge in a Prime membership, so I have reasons to spend more money there. On the plus side, they have darned near everything and ship fast.

  They should: I pay a monthly fee for that.

  A commercial for financial services features a woman saying she needs to put less in the cart and more into savings. That is what the rest of the year will be for me, since I’ve already shopped about three holidays ahead.

  Except the food, which goes into a real cart.

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• Down (With) Comfort

  Posted at 4:53 pm by kayewer, on October 3, 2020

  I can’t get a mattress! The day before Labor Day, I took advantage of a mattress sale at one of the major specialty chains. It was great to get out of the house, even if it’s still necessary to mask up and be alert for body language outside of normal facial expressions. My sales associate was helpful, but didn’t hover, as I tried out some reasonably priced displays. When I finally settled on the one that felt the best, my hope was that I would soon alleviate my back pain on a nice, comfy new bed.

  Unfortunately, not only do we have trouble sleeping these days, but it’s hard to find something to have trouble sleeping on.

  It seems the manufacturers have fallen behind in supplying the demand for new bedding, and truckloads of mattresses and box springs cannot meet the back orders or special orders such as mine. For the third time in a row, my associate called to tell me that my order didn’t arrive. A truck finally did come this past week, but mine wasn’t on it.

  Maybe my mattress took the right turn at Albuquerque, and Bugs Bunny has it now.

  It’s not as if the things are made of harvested grass, straw or feathers as in the olden days, but what is holding up production is a combination of shut-down factories, from the basic components to the assembly lines, and reduced staff to release inventory already in stock.

  The recommendation is to replace a mattress every five to seven years, so mine is definitely overdue. In ten years, a mattress can gain dead skin, traces of sweat or body oils, as well as dust mites (and possibly their droppings), and succumb to our daily (or nightly) abuse as we toss and turn on them and other, to put it politely, activities. Hope may spring eternal, but mattress springs don’t last forever.

  So I’ve already paid the bill, and am making do with my old standby mattress, but my associate, feeling rather unhappy about the situation, says he will call me again mid-week about what to do going forward. This delay is certainly not his fault, so I don’t feel inclined to cancel the order. It’s a matter of waiting it out.

  The dust mites’ days are still numbered.

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  	Eden on The Poison Field
  	Eden on Final Tally