Susan's Scribblings the Blog

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.

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.

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.

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.

With seeds or without seeds, double wrapped or single? Twist tie or one of those funny little tags with a slot in it? Looking for a new loaf of bread is not just about the product itself, but how it’s presented. I’m not totally sure if I shouldn’t just stick with the bread I have already been using.

The choices are too many; even when you look at the selection other countries have, they’re blown away by how many different breads we have. I recently saw an article containing questions about whether we actually have entire supermarket aisles devoted to cereal, or if that’s just in the movies? I hate to tell them, but I think the bread aisle is second only to the cereal aisle; at the local Acme, one is two thirds of an aisle, and the other has the whole side to itself. That’s without even looking at the frozen food.

The reason I’m looking at bread is that my doctor told me my carb and sugar intake needs adjusting. The bread I’ve been eating is 100 percent whole grain wheat and comes with an inner and outer wrapper for freshness. It also has seeds, which seems to be the thing to do today: decorate your bread.

My first alternative was something called Dave’s Killer Bread. Reviews supposedly say it’s healthy. I found it a bit denser and seedier than my original choice. They have two varieties of seeded breads: “Good Seed” and one which boasts 21 grains. Unfortunately one cannot choose which grains to eat, so I suppose my body would just do it for me in my digestive tract. Also, I must remember that, if it contains poppy seeds, I should follow that old wives’ advice and not go for a drug test.

I don’t see as much white bread on shelves lately, possibly due to supply and demand problems, or due to changing health concerns. When I was a kid, the two big breads were Wonder and Stroehmann’s. One featured colorful dots, and the other a kindly looking grandpa who seemed happy to spend endless hours standing watch over bread ovens.

Those days are over. Since I became an undeniably senior adult, I even put my burgers on whole wheat buns. One time I couldn’t find any and bought brioche as a treat. You know you’re having a rough time when upgrading your hamburger bun excites you, but it did add to the experience.

After finishing up Dave’s brand of bread, which didn’t kill me, I decided to scour the shelves for some more choices before I make up my mind. I have a list, thoughtfully compiled by medical sources, of healthy breads to try. To help move the process along, I also stocked up on peanut butter and am cooking up some spaghetti, which will require bread for dunking sauce (or gravy).

The birds may also take to some killer leftovers.

I saw an advertisement on social media for a giant blanket, offered by Big Blanket Company. It’s ten feet by ten feet, prices start at $160 and go up to over $200 for denser models. That’s one big blanket. It would hold two of me at least, and still have some fabric dragging.

When you look at the amazing amount of stuff available for sale online, I’m amazed we haven’t merchandised ourselves off of our own planet by now. The biggest problem with global commerce is that everything seems to be non-reusable or recyclable. The volume of discarded clothing alone is enough to make a Mount Fuji out of it all at least twice, yet fashion, rather than practicality, dictates replacing your wardrobe annually. Whatever happened to classic pieces that lasted decades?

The idea of reclaiming used stuff seems destined for those willing to take the time to do the work on it. Often it’s folks who have the time, such as people who don’t have a job or one that doesn’t pay all the bills, who create their own lifestyles from the casual discards of others. Imagine if the Big Blanket Company made ten blankets for new mothers with infants and empty wallets, or even five regular ones for homeless shelters instead? Someday that ten foot blanket will go into the charity bin, and maybe wind up becoming a makeshift shelter for some poor man sleeping over a street vent.

My recent big steal bargain at the grocery got me some huge boxes of cereal, but they don’t fit in cabinets which were originally built for standard boxes. Our stuff is growing, and so are we, proving that bigger things don’t always make sense. My being smaller would make sense, too, if more food came in single servings, instead of a month’s supply.

I would be happy with just a blanket I can use on my new mattress which won’t weigh a ton, washes easily and doesn’t discolor like the last one I bought: it came from a trusted manufacturer, but they may be using lesser quality dyes. Which is another flaw in commerce today: their mantra seems to be build cheap, profit to the most vulgar extremes possible.

So I’m using a slightly discolored blanket instead of a huge one for $200. It still keeps me warm.

If smaller works, go with it. The planet will thank you.

After hours of flying, hotel rooms and a variety of culture and experiences, I have returned from a week’s vacation.

Of course, now I need another week to recover.

I had not left the comforts of my homeland since I last flew to Los Angeles in 1997, so this was a treasured break from things. The plans were originally made for March of this year, but we all know that nobody was dumb enough to travel then. This month, as a second choice for the same vacation, was for the only slightly batty like me. It was worth it.

Tourists are needed desperately everywhere, but while we are still waiting for an ease in the numbers of sick people (and higher numbers among those electing to–finally–take the shots), the places are the same, but access is limited. I found no shuttle rides were available, and one key attraction had a mechanical issue which needed fixing, so I couldn’t go there. Still, I was able to relax for once and take my time getting familiarized with places I feel sure I will visit again at a later date, when things get better for good.

So what can I talk about here? I can save people like me, who don’t get out much, some headaches by making some observations about my experiences flying these days.

First, not every airport is accommodating when it comes to an orderly method of getting checked in for a flight. On one occasion I found myself needing to rush to the ticket counter for a boarding pass so I could pass through the TSA screening, which was the reverse at another airport. I highly recommend using apps to get boarding passes when possible, even though this means making sure you have a fully charged device which will enable you to flash it at the right moment. Barring that, try to print a paper ticket in advance (and ignore the commercials’ pooh-poohing that idea from actor Bill Glass’ Dr. Rick and his “becoming like your parents” schtick) to avoid having to go to a kiosk or counter for one. Have one spot for your ID and keep it there at all times, because you will flash identification often. If you don’t have a passport, even if you would only use it for domestic travel, get one. Also get Real ID when you can, on your driver’s license.

Second, wear comfortable shoes that don’t need a lot of effort to put on and take off, because TSA screening requires shoe removal. Also, feet can get tired on long flights, so you can flip your feet out of the shoes and let everything air. Don’t put your tablet or other devices in the bottom of the bag, either; you must remove them for screening.

Third, women beware of the airports where they will argue with you about whether a purse is a third carry-on item. To be safe, leave space for it in one of your allowed carry-on bags so you can shove it in for screening and take it out when you board the aircraft. I actually took a lesson from an old movie to get myself through this snag: The Three Musketeers (1973) featured a scene in which Michael York’s hero, D’Artagnan, had to take a boat to England with his servant Planchet (Roy Kinear), but he managed to nab a single signed pass, so when they were challenged at the dock as being two people, he explained that he is one person and Planchet is a servant. So when the agent said I was allowed two bags, I said, “These are two bags; this is my purse.” My smaller carry-on did actually have room for the purse, but who wants to start stooping, bending and shoving in a moving queue while in unshod feet?

Fourth, if you get cabin fever, my experience revealed that not all airport hotels are good for stepping out and taking a walk. There may not be anything outside the buildings except more hotels, restaurants and bars. This can cause hunger pangs if you were on a late flight and/or one not serving anything beyond snacks.

Fifth, airlines don’t really feed you. It’s not their fault that changes forced them to do this, but I must say I have had more pretzels, Stroopwafels and little bottles of water in one week, it was hilarious. The mini pretzels come in a bag and are about the size of a finger digit. Being salty, the folks are smart and give you water to wash them down and keep you hydrated at 30,000 feet. One flight also offered cookies, for which I was grateful and anxious to find them in the store. Only my one overnight flight gave me a meal, and it was quite good. For better fare, download the app and keep a credit card on it, as airlines are getting into specialty meal services and accepting payments that way rather than cash or credit card swiping.

Sixth, airports are not all equipped to handle connections with the current security issues. My best connection was at the Denver airport, which enabled me to leave one flight on the left side of the terminal, and simply walk around the moving sidewalks to the right side for my next flight without having to undergo TSA screening again. And they had open restaurants and shopping, plus I was able to grab my daily potassium (bananas) and a vitamin water.

Seventh, the interiors of airplanes are refrigerators, so bring something with long sleeves and be ready to tuck your hands inside while napping.

Eighth, in-flight entertainment is great, and I enjoyed some of my favorite movies and shows (on United they offer podcasts, too) while confined for hours, but the earbuds left me sore. The screens on the backs of seats may not be on smaller aircraft yet, though. Bring something to amuse yourself, with an Internet connection, or be ready to enroll and pay for access for the flight’s duration.

When Frank Sinatra sang in “It’s Nice to Go Trav’ling” that it’s fun, but so nice to come home, I never knew how much that would mean until I stepped into my home again. I do feel recharged and ready for more of the old routine starting Monday.

But I do want to get more of those cookies.

I have not taken a day off without posting something in a while. The last day I didn’t post an actual blog entry was November 3, 2019, but even then I posted something to say I wasn’t posting anything. Not taking days off from blogging was a resolution which has gone way beyond what one might expect, so it’s time to leave a gap.

I will be taking September 11 off, not just because it’s the 20th year after domestic terrorism destroyed lives in New York, Washington DC and in a field in Pennsylvania, but because I have a week off, and I realized I should use it to do things to recharge my spirit. That means putting regularly scheduled things aside to change my routine. I will get back to posting on September 18 and let you know what I did.

I’m calling it an Edward Lewis Day after Richard Gere’s character in Pretty Woman, a corporate “garage sale guru” (read takeover mogul) who never took time off, until the right person came into his life and helped him see the futility of always laser focusing on one purpose which cannot provide any lasting memory or positive effects on his life. He went out for a “snap dog” with Julia Roberts’ character Vivian, copped a squat under a tree and did essentially nothing constructive except relax, and he had fun.

Nobody has come into my life and done that, but since I’m not dead yet, I feel there is still time.

Anyway, it’s always good to do nothing when your entire week has been devoting your brain matter to other things, like the workplace, the home, the bills, how to shop safely and when to fit the car’s maintenance into the calendar. Health, lifestyle and psychology studies have shown that our current lifestyles are not helping us live well. Obesity, insomnia, poor nutrition and related physical ailments are becoming a big problem. Heck, being big is a big problem.

For the past few weeks, I haven’t stepped on a scale; I did track steps for a company walking challenge (we surpassed the goal by a huge margin), but I allowed myself to fit fun into my diet and distractions into the day. So far I’ve managed to stay sane, and the clothes still fit, but having only taken a day or half day here and there has not helped recharge myself, so I’m going to find my own private island of contentment and sip cold drinks for a few days.

Maybe I’ll grab a snap dog.

See you when I return.