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?
  • Author Archives: kayewer

    • No Questions Asked

      Posted at 4:35 pm by kayewer, on December 11, 2021

      My relationship with social media is a strange one. Facebook doesn’t want to boost my posts–imagine, they don’t want to take my money–because in the past year I used a totally harmless word in the context of saying it was a part of our lives and affected things. They’re too busy to filter out content that isn’t violating the rules and let it go through, but at least I’m not in “Facebook Jail” and forbidden to do anything at all. When I’m not trying to make sense of how my blog posts fit into the grand scheme of worldwide readership, I also post general observations inside the site itself, just like everybody else, and try to figure out what people are thinking and what makes them tick.

      Sometimes I get them ticked off for little or no reason.

      Somebody recently posted a large image which said rather negative things about our nation’s head of the current administration. Since it came from a woman, and I had grown tired of trying to have a decent conversation with men who just seemed to want to pick a fight, I replied and asked what she had to say about the previous administration. I think I worded it as “What did you think of the last guy?”

      Well folks, you would think I had disparaged her mamma. Not only did she not produce a word in answer to my question, but a man came in swinging in defense of her going off about how things are so bad now. He added similar observations. I felt like I was in one of those movie tropes in which I suddenly found myself outnumbered by a growing mob of unsavory characters smacking two-by-fours in their hands and producing brass knuckles from their pockets. And I didn’t say anything negative at all! I just asked, “What did you think of the last guy?”

      She wanted me to go first instead, so she could shoot down whatever I said, and I wasn’t taking the bait. He then questioned my overall mindset, suggesting I am supporting the collapse of the world as we know it and so on. In the end, I simply apologized for asking a simple question and let it die down.

      This is the kind of attitude which will continue to hold our society hostage to fear, prejudice and ignorance. When somebody asks what you think about something, if you’re so worried about being thought poorly of because of your opinion, maybe it’s time to think about the cause you are embracing. If I had received some response such as “I thought he did this right,” or “He certainly did better on this topic than the guy we have now,” it would have made for an interesting discussion. Instead, she stayed behind a curtain of uncertainty and poked her head out to pick on me instead.

      Another example of when asking a question is a bad thing, along with those old questions about why is the sun in that position at that time of day, how do we sail our ships to the New World, or why did milkmaids with cowpox never catch smallpox? Don’t ever ask questions, unless you want to not be cheated out of possibly discovering something. What is this world coming to?

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    • Twelve Repeats of Christmas

      Posted at 8:07 pm by kayewer, on December 4, 2021

      The first sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: the strangest of Christmas trees (including those cute Charlie Brown versions with one red ornament, along with themed artificial trees, colored tinsel trees, skinny trees, fat trees, and plenty of rotating bases to set them upon).

      The second sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: two-hour TV specials (every prime time show has one, and every pop culture trend makes its own, plus all the Rankin-Bass classics and oldies on public television), and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The third sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: three tiered candles (in battery or corded varieties, not to mention the single versions), two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The fourth sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: four extra circulars (even stores that rarely run ads will flood your doorstep, mailbox and inbox with advertised specials), three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The fifth sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: five repeated songs (“Jingle Bells” and “Winter Wonderland” are high up on the list), four extra circulars, three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The sixth sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: six mall merchant carts (they pop up with tons of holiday themed knickknacks, and conveniently position themselves near the mall Santa), five repeated songs, four extra circulars, three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The seventh sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: seven traffic jams (especially in mall parking lots), six mall merchant carts, five repeated songs, four extra circulars, three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The eighth sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: eight credit card bills, seven traffic jams, six mall merchant carts, five repeated songs, four extra circulars, three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The ninth sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: nine charity bins (for everything from Toys for Tots to pet food, which you can feel good by filling), eight credit card bills, seven traffic jams, six mall merchant carts, five repeated songs, four extra circulars, three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The tenth sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: ten different Santas, nine charity bins, eight credit card bills, seven traffic jams, six mall merchant carts, five repeated songs, four extra circulars, three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The eleventh sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: eleven extra hours (including 24 hours for some major chains), ten different Santas, nine charity bins, eight credit card bills, seven traffic jams, six mall merchant carts, five repeated songs, four extra circulars, three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The twelfth sign of Christmas that you are sure to see: twelve bad parking spaces (made by those who park crooked), eleven extra hours, ten different Santas, nine charity bins, eight credit card bills, seven traffic jams, six mall merchant carts, five repeated songs, four extra circulars, three-tiered candles, two-hour TV specials, and the strangest of Christmas trees.

      The most important thing you are sure to see is humanity in all its forms. How it plays out is based upon what you do. Enjoy the craziness of it all and bring some joy to your life while it lasts.

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    • One Man’s Trash

      Posted at 4:41 pm by kayewer, on November 27, 2021

      When my office building was shut down in favor of permanently working from home, some of the knickknacks we had accumulated over the years had to go. Just like at home, we had amassed a horde of items in need of new places to hide in; being a customer service environment, we stored paper plates, utensils and cups, along with table cloths for the occasional massive eat-in lunch orders for which we set up tables and serve-yourself items. We also had seasonal things to decorate the departments, and from that group I inherited a large metal lighted snowman.

      He stood guard near the vice president’s office in front of a post for years, and he was frequently decorated with flower leis and suited up for various occasions. Unfortunately he is missing one arm which apparently was never found when we scoured the place to clear it out, and once an item like this is sold out, replacement parts are impossible to come by. The idea is that you throw the old one out and buy new. Since I am one of those people who doesn’t believe in hopeless causes, and since I even managed to retrieve the box for the thing (imagine that: somebody kept the box!), I figure I may be able to fix the snowman by creating a new arm for him.

      This poses its own set of problems, because I really don’t know what size wire this creature is. I searched the question “How do I determine the gauge of a wire” and received a rocket scientist formula in reply. Not happening: I was a lost soul from the New Math generation who got by college math with barely enough sanity to remember what numbers are.

      The next best thing is to go to a hardware or craft store and try to find a similar wire there. Then I can buy the correct length and bend it to shape in my late father’s cellar workshop. Or at least that’s my first plan.

      Since the other arm is just wire, I could always fake it as a last resort, and just mock up a hand and cover them both with something resembling a pair of mittens.

      Then comes the act of setting the thing out on my front lawn. I’ve never put out decorations in front before, because for years they were destroyed or toyed with, and it wasn’t worth the effort. Now that the block has a much different vibe, I think it may be worth trying again. At least I didn’t pay for the snowman. I will pay for a cord and a timer so it will come on at dusk. It will still be a bargain.

      But I’ll say this: if I plug it in and it comes to life saying “Happy Birthday,” I’m out of here.

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    • Unbe-Leaf-Able

      Posted at 6:38 pm by kayewer, on November 20, 2021

      Autumn leaves are a menace. At least that’s what the general opinion is among society. Actually my neighbors, but to me they are the society that matters. I live close to them, and it’s important to maintain stability with one’s neighbors.

      I was away for a few hours at a show, and while I was gone, the general alarm went out that the leaves on our lawns needed to be raked to the curb for pickup immediately. I didn’t get the memo, but in the four hours I was gone, neat piles of leaves appeared curbside. Mine is untouched, so I am temporarily out of compliance with the general neatness of the block. It’s dark, so I can’t rake now, unless I want to find myself in a padded cell somewhere, being tested for soundness of mind, so it looks like I will spend tomorrow morning raking.

      I don’t know who decided nobody can keep leaves on the lawn in autumn. Left unattended, they degrade into a nice fertilizer for the grass. Forests don’t get raked, and they do just fine, but we spend weeks every season trying to stay ahead of the lemming-like mass leaf suicide.

      Men rake or blow leaves; a popular commercial (for a law firm, no less) features a fellow with a super-sized pair of massive high-powered blowers with which he takes charge of his leaves in full bravado mode while a neighbor watches. It’s a control thing for men to have the most efficient blower.

      I rake, and I have an adjustable rake with a lever that widens or narrows the prongs for optimal coverage. Leaves quake when I approach, and I go into full girl-power mode while the neighbors sleep in. Hey, I’m not a showgirl; I just go to them in the city once in a while for entertainment.

      My lawn care guy has kept ahead of the leaves very well, considering he is still forced to work alone because of support employee issues. Still, I will get my front lawn looking naked so nobody will have an issue with the care of my front. We may have trees, but gosh gee, we don’t let them make a mess.

      Once the warm weather returns in spring, we will have springtime droppings from those same trees, and nobody rakes or complains about them, so I’m guessing the cause of the discord is the fact that autumn leaves are dead, dry and subject to moving around during wind or rain, causing slippery conditions and unsightly detritus all over.

      It seems we don’t even enjoy jumping in leaves anymore. We want them gone, so we rake them up for collection and admire our naked lawns with yellowing autumn grass feeling we have done our part.

      I’d rather leaf them alone.

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    • Hot Pantser

      Posted at 4:51 pm by kayewer, on November 13, 2021

      I’m doing NaNoWriMo this year; short for National Novel Writing Month, I decided to try this year to take on the challenge and write 50,000 words within the month of November. Even though I have fewer obstacles in my way this year, at least in terms of everyday things, life still throws unexpected roadblocks into the mix, and over a two-week period, I’ve had quite a time just trying to put 1,700 words (or more) on a screen every day to keep up.

      My first week went very well. Starting on day six, I had an overnight trip to New York, and the WiFi failed on the bus on the journey in, and didn’t do much better on the trip back. Add to that my return to work, evening meetings, a birthday and a complete Windows update, and I fell short of my daily word count.

      The real challenge is whether I can continue chugging on or not. I took advantage of a write-in on Wednesday night, and cranked out another 1,500 words. And that made me feel like I’m still in the running. Not giving up is the key, first and last on the list of unwritten rules of writing commitment. Another rule is that it’s okay to write crap, as long as you’re writing, darn it.

      Since I’m not an outline writer but a pantser–one who writes by the seat of my pants–and I suffer from first draft perfectionism, it has always been tough for me to just write everything down without regard for spelling, punctuation or grammar. Imagine being your own worst writing partner. I have perfection as the angel on one shoulder and the urge to write it all down and the heck with it as the devil on the other.

      This is why I blog with a time limit, so I can try to unbind myself from those restrictions and learn to edit later. If spell check doesn’t catch it, I try to let it go, or I’ll find it later on and fix it. With a daily expectation of writing 1,700 words, however, when there is no daily time factor (only a deadline of November 30), but there is regular living on the line, I’ve found that my self discipline comes in spurts, and I have to take advantage of them. A few times that has meant the 11 o’clock news has ended and I’m still cranking out crap absentmindedly.

      This morning I did a quick free-flowing write-in and did over 500 words. This evening I will do another 1,000 or more. Tomorrow I’m sitting and writing 3,200 more along with some other torture-minded writers in a virtual group meeting. The life of a writer, especially when you’re working a “real job” and writing on the side is a test of writing character, an inward look at one’s commitment, and an opportunity to actually focus on something of value which may go unfulfilled when everyday life gets in the way. I consider the time writing to be a gift, so this is thirty days of gift-giving.

      When it’s finished, I can add an award to my writing credentials, and I may have a good deal more of a first draft on record than before. What comes afterward is taking time off (yes, they encourage this) and then editing what I’ve written. That’s when I’ll glower at misspellings and mentally flog myself for bad punctuation. Like Leonardo daVinci, I have a bad habit of never declaring something finished, but I may find myself one step closer this time.

      Excuse me, but I have to produce more free-flowing crap.

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    • Welcome Back and Mask Up

      Posted at 2:47 pm by kayewer, on November 7, 2021

      I’m excited to finally have the opportunity to attend shows again, and I’m not wasting any time padding my schedule with whatever I can get. I go to the movies with a friend all the time, and I was even able to attend a screening last year while using the recommended procedures. The crowds aren’t back there yet. Live shows, however, have been reborn. Enthusiasm for theatre, opera and other performing arts is surging, and I am glad to surf that wave.

      When the chance finally came to go back to New York City, I happily accepted. A few places comped tickets for patrons who had been part of the previous season, or held funds on account in the event of cancellations, for when live performances returned, but the catch was that I had to use mine for an evening performance.

      In case you didn’t notice, guys, I’m a matinee person. Home before dark.

      It couldn’t be avoided, so I made arrangements and soon found myself in an orchestra seat surrounded by a variety of patrons either decked out beautifully or understated as if they just came from raking leaves. It didn’t matter: we were together again for something we all love.

      My choice of outfit was in the grey area between Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman and business casual, and it worked just fine.

      Three women seated in front of me were gowned up, but one wore a hard molded plastic face covering which did not fully seal under her chin and left room under the eyes for gaps. I figured that she probably had her own idea of what safety is for her and others in her circle.

      Venues are checking for vaccinations and protection in New York, because if anyplace can be considered a soup of viruses and bacteria, that’s the place, simply because of the humanity from around the world who pass through if they’re not staying. The authorities are broadcasting messages about keeping up immunizations and staying protected, hoping for an eventual normalcy to return. I can’t wait for that, either.

      We’re all looking forward to being free of the burdens of global disease, and being able to sit together in a theater while keeping some rules in mind is a step in that direction.

      Since we’re used to what we have right now, step on out and see something. And don’t wear hard molded plastic.

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    • Paws and Claws Clause

      Posted at 4:56 pm by kayewer, on October 30, 2021

      Two friends of mine just got a dog and a cat. One is allergic to cats and also owns a bird, so of course she is the one who got the dog. They live together like a half Golden Girls sitcom, sharing space and trying to make the current economy work for them. I visit them once a week and feel like the Dorothy Zbornak (played by Bea Arthur) of the group, and if I have any skills in identifying personality traits, I feel safe to say the one cast member we’re missing is Betty White’s Rose Nylund. We three are a feisty group.

      It seems that everybody is getting pets to fill voids during these crazy times, but I’m not sure if it would work for me. I did spend over a year with the office beta fish before handing him over to his owner at last. When our office closed down to work from home in March 2020, I was asked to take him home for a while, which turned into a longer stretch than anticipated. Finally we were both back in the building for clean-up at the same time, and the fish went home with her and a grateful young man anxious to tackle the responsibility of fish ownership.

      There are few places I visit regularly in which the people there don’t own pets, so I know plenty of animals, and I watch a lot of cat videos, which seem to outnumber dog videos for some reason. When I visit the new pet home this week, it will be the first time both have been in residence. The cat came in first, so the poor dog is probably having territory issues already, and the bird anxiety disorder. Fortunately the cat is not allowed in the bird’s room, and my allergic friend is unlikely to go around where the cat is. Somehow it will be organized chaos.

      Homes with animals usually are hectic because dogs get the zoomies (racing around at high speed in circles for nothing) and cats, when startled or frightened, simply teleport elsewhere at the speed of light. We may then spend the rest of the visit coaxing Moxie down from a high bookshelf or out from behind an immovable heavy piece of cabinetry.

      Fortunately many homes proudly decorate with signage to let you know, before entering the premises, that a dog or cat owner lives inside. Since we’re wearing mouth and nose coverings, we probably all look like potential burglars to a dog in a new home. Cats don’t care and simply walk away.

      One thing I excel at is getting pet treats. One particular top rated kitty treat is tube food. It’s a soft pasty concoction one can squeeze out to be licked at a maddening pace by felines suddenly seized by a compulsion similar to an addiction; they gobble this stuff up, and it isn’t cheap, as it comes in small packets and are charged by the ounce by the inventors who are raking in profits.

      Toys are fine for dogs, but cats often don’t care much for them unless they fulfill a specific need for that individual cat. The old adage “dogs have owners, cats have staff” is no more true here, and the staff is expected to work out to entertain the cat. Flicking feathers on strings around for a cat to jump at is all part of the commitment to owning a feline.

      The Golden Girls also had adventures with dogs and cats in a few episodes. But you never saw a dog bowl or litter box. If I settle how to handle that part of the deal, that’s when one or the other will find a new home with me.

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    • On Whose Authority?

      Posted at 5:04 pm by kayewer, on October 23, 2021

      Our lives are based upon beliefs. Everything we do starts as an idea which we build upon and adopt as a way to accomplish life’s tasks. Sometimes we simply go with what people around us believe, rather than formulate our own opinions. When we do decide on what path of belief to follow, even if it’s just whether to wash our face or brush our teeth first, we can be stubborn about what we believe in. Take, for example, when we go to the pizzeria and order specific toppings because that is what goes on pizza in our opinion, it’s what we have always put on pizza, and we tend to not deviate from what we believe is the way to order a pizza, we restrict ourselves by our need for a concrete principle (this is what goes on pizza).

      How strong is this stubbornness? When somebody posts on social media about pizza with anything else on it, people feel compelled to challenge it. Sometimes people reply, “That’s not what I order: I put this and that on pizza,” while other replies attack the individual for their choices: “What an idiot you are, when you know that was never designed to go on pizza.” The other tactic is to put down the concept, as in how cheese on pizza exploits the cows whose milk is stolen from them to make the cheese. I still haven’t figured out who originally put anchovies on pizza, and I have never known anybody to use them as a topping, but I don’t counter opinions on it or call somebody who would use anchovies an idiot. And quite frankly, I’m not sure if anchovy exploitation is a thing in the pizza industry. If I were like some of the upset masses out there, I would storm into the nearest chain pizza joint and demand they remove anchovies from the menu boards, but somebody I don’t even know probably wants them on their pizza, and I’m fine with that. If you don’t like them, that’s fine, too.

      It’s a shame to turn everything into confrontational cannon fodder, but our fears, anger and frustration over the past (nearly) two years has made all of us edgy, and we forget our manners. This is why we’re dealing with hyper Karens (and their male counterpart Darrens) with their sense of calmness gone out the window, and our teenagers trying ridiculous social media challenges to find some humor at the expense of others (and frequently causing injuries to classmates). We’re desperate for some sense of order so we can find solace in the certainty of believing in solid, proven ideas which are less vulnerable to challenge.

      Strangely enough, the very persons in authoritarian roles, who can best guide us with truth and logic, are being challenged by the hyper Karens and Darrens in our society, and panicked throngs are going mad with confusion because of all the unrest. The biggest challenge right now is to medical science. Suddenly the thousands of years into which men and women have pored over observations, experimented, calculated and saved countless lives through the use of pharmaceutical breakthroughs and groundbreaking technology have been downplayed by distrust and misinformation. Much of the misappropriated hearsay doesn’t even come from reliable scientific sources, but from soapbox speeches delivered by ordinary people with no background in the medical arts. The masses are trusting politicians over masters of medicine.

      When political figures become trusted to extol the virtues of snake oil, just because they say it works, and people believe that, we are truly going down a tunnel of doom. The people who know are those who have started at point A with the problem and seen it through to solution Z. They are the ones who work long hours to find out not what they believe, or what somebody wants them to believe, but what evidence-based studies lead them to conclude, and so they believe.

      I could type here that anchovies are the healthiest thing to put on pizza, but I haven’t a single qualification to do so; however, I could lead you to believe me by going down one of two paths. I could extol the virtues of eating fish, tell you how many anchovies are available to feed the entire world population, discuss their costs against other toppings like pepperoni and mushrooms, and I could color my presentation with lots of beautiful words, and you might want to believe that putting a little fish on a food which is not exactly soundly dietary would help it along. Or I could, instead, ask a foremost authority on fish to speak about what benefits an anchovy offers, in plain language, and more of you would be likely to think about the facts and believe them.

      It is always helpful to know from where a person is speaking; whether they are experienced in the subject matter, and can tell the truth without personal feelings getting in the way. It is how our Supreme Court operates, and medical science–solid, proven, medical science–also is done in this fashion. A politician is experienced in how to give convincing arguments and act as a bridge to settle disputes through their words, but without the MD by their names, they should not guess at how to deal with diseases.

      If you sit down and ask yourself what you believe and why, you may find some answers creeping in such as “that’s just how I do it,” or “I just know it’s that way.” That’s when it’s time to look deeper at who is helping you believe what you believe, and put something new on your pizza.

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    • All About Dials

      Posted at 4:36 pm by kayewer, on October 16, 2021

      The electric company switched out my meter this week. Gone is the good old familiar meter with dials and needles rotating merrily around, and in its place is an updated digital model. “You had an old model with only six digits,” the installer told me, “and now you have one that reads up to nine digits.”

      If I didn’t need nine digits one day, and then needed them the next day, should I wonder about that?

      It only took about three minutes to change the system, but it can seem like an uncomfortable time when you have no power while it’s going on. I had to tell my boss I’d be offline, and the entire house went silent for those three minutes, which is unusual except when I’m in bed sleeping and unaware if I snore.

      When modern replacements take the fun out of everyday life, I wonder why we have to improve things by making them so neutral and cold. Occasionally I think we all stopped to marvel at the meter dials and analog numbers with fascination. From now on, it probably won’t even draw my eye, with its digital numerals made up of brackish logs ending on a bias cut.

      Another dial in my house went on the fritz; it’s an old landline phone with a numeric dial, so it’s of little consequence, but I was reminded of its absence when I recently saw a video involving two modern teens who were tasked with attempting to use such a device to place a phone call. Just to show how dials are becoming extinct, the fellows had no clue how to use a rotary phone. To start, they have never dealt with picking up the receiver to achieve a dial tone. Then they didn’t understand what the finger stop was for and simply wiggled the holes some distance around and gawked at the inefficiency of it all.

      So our modern times seem to have reduced the word “dial” to a name for soap.

      When I had to undergo a procedure, the doctor gave me prep instructions which demanded I use Dial soap to wash prior to surgery. It’s supposed to be a deodorant soap, but it has a scent itself which I didn’t find pleasant. Nothing throws one’s game off more than a scent which lingers unwanted on your person for hours. I spent my recovery under the curse of Dial.

      Would those teenagers offered any sympathy?

      Eventually I will replace the old phone or, perhaps, get rid of it forever. My dials are dialing out.

      Does this mean my life is becoming so modernized, I can phone it in? With a cell phone?

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    • Appointment Reminder

      Posted at 9:45 pm by kayewer, on October 9, 2021

      Life is trying to return to normal, but apparently it’s not as easy as riding a bike. Trying to plan any event is an exercise in not only logistics–guest list, food, venue, coordinating one date–but public safety. Protecting the masses just so we can gather is something we will have to stumble through, and sometimes it’s a slow stumble. We have to get back into it as if we’ve all got brain fog, and not assume anything until we’re sure.

      Why? We’re having trouble with remembering how it’s all done, as well as finding out what is not done the same way as before. It’s not just what was, but what is.

      I went on my first trip to New York City in nearly two years, and just getting a morning bus was difficult. Instead of a generous schedule, only two morning departures made up the itinerary on a Saturday, when NYC wants people to come on up and get Broadway back in the black. The bus companies need to remember that some performances are earlier than 2:00. Mine was set for 1:00, and had I taken the later bus, I would have stood an eighty to ninety percent chance of not making it. Cabs were not as plentiful, and my walk was a good 45 minutes. This meant taking an early bus at an ungodly hour and killing a couple of hours in which the only things open were eateries serving breakfast and pharmacies. Ten thousand steps? Yes, got that done.

      Performances and even restaurants may have pre-admission checks in which you are asked to present proof you got your shot. Faces must be covered for the whole performance. I could unmask at Starbucks and use a table for my breakfast, which was a treat.

      In the city’s many blessedly open spaces, it was possible to unmask when crowds were not milling about. Most people were resigned to wearing protection pretty much everywhere, and nobody grumbled about it. I did encounter a Darren (guy Karen) at the bus terminal who was a bit miffed at missing his bus by minutes. That’s one thing you can count on: the busses are punctual to a fault. Be there or wait awhile.

      Doing something scheduled outside of working from home has been strange, but I felt good working it all out, following the new policies and being rewarded with an entertaining afternoon. We will see more of this as we start to fully emerge from isolation.

      And as we relearn how to use and fill up appointment books.

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