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errands / Friday / Rowan — Comments Off
23
Jan 26

Winterpalooza is coming

With the beginning of a new semester — we wrapped the first week today — comes a whole slate of meetings. Friday is a big meeting day around here, and you can see them coming. Meetings, I mean. Sometimes, the Fridays are obscured. You can see the meetings coming. Mostly, because we have too many calendars.

So, today, I had meetings two and three of the semester. It was a faculty meeting Wednesday. Today I had a committee meeting I sit on a university-wide committee that aspires to work with students, helping them interact with other elements of the university. We meet every other week. We talk about helping students. And that is what we did today, most successfully. We also established the next two meetings, and some of the things we might work toward.

That was this morning. In the afternoon I had a sustainability meeting. It was a meeting about sustainability, but not, necessarily, a meeting about sustainable meetings. (Those usually come in the middle of the term, when we’re delirious, but not yet worn out.)

I wrote my online classes. They’ve heard from me three times this week. Usually it is twice a week. But, today, after sending normal class stuff Monday and Thursday, I sent out a campus resources email. I like this email. Shows you care. One of the great things about the university, the note starts, is all of the resources they devote to you. And then I just start listing them, with links, contact info, and details, until I’m worn out. Then, at the end, I remind them that this is not a complete list. There are always more services! I offer to help them find those things, because I care. I am also now in charge of our department’s running list of campus resources, because I volunteered, because I care.

It’s Friday, you can do a lot of caring on Friday. Monday night, Tuesday morning, all day Thursday, not quite as much.

We are bracing for weather. This is how I am bracing. I went into the laundry room and rearranged two cabinets. The idea was that the handwarmers can be right up front, right in the center of the room, and easily accessible in the dark.

I pulled the phone bank chargers from their storage space, because I had the bright idea sometime back that all of these should be in one place should we need them, or if we are packing for a trip. I got four of those. I need to grab the one out of my backpack to complete the set.

I dug out the battery-powered lantern that I bought from a closing K-Mart in 2016. I grabbed every AA battery we have to power that lantern. Next to it is a lithium-powered work light that was a Christmas gift a few years ago. I pulled out the running headlamps. I got my bike flashlight and two backup batteries for it. (Others are stored elsewhere, and I can get to them if it gets desperate.) I made a note of where a few other little emergency lights are hanging around, should we need them.

I started charging all of these, and made two neat piles on the bar. Charged, and waiting in line.

Two shovels and the snowblower are in the garage. There’s a new quart of oil waiting to be put to use. I’ll top off the gas tank in my car and the gas can for the blower tomorrow. The fridge is also getting stocked tomorrow, if there are any groceries left to be had. The university announced today — and this is no easy decision, multiple campuses in various places, a hospital, commuters, etc. — that most of its operations will be closed Sunday and Monday.

We have one thing to do tomorrow, but we’ll beat the weather back home. Winter rolls in tomorrow night. We will be getting somewhere between two and 84 inches, depending on which forecast you check, and when you look.

Here’s my prediction: this will be one of the first big clues that killing so many of our national weather resources last year was a fundamentally stupid idea.

If you’re getting bad weather this weekend, I hope you can stay indoors, safe and warm. See you Monday, when we will hopefully all begin digging out.

adventures / cycling / errands / photo / Rowan / Wednesday — Comments Off
21
Jan 26

From my well to Norway

Got around to calling the well guy today. Your well is due an inspection every two years, turns out. I’m only a few weeks behind. We had them out to do the inspect in 2023, and not a minute too soon. The old one was about to rust out and explode. What had started as a well inspection appointment grew a bit alarming for me in the days running up to the actual visit. When the crew got here the guy said I could replace the tank now, or wait until it exploded, which would, he said, be soon.

Thanks for the options, pal.

The guy had a new one right there on the truck. These, he assured me, are much better. Fiberglass never rusts. Well sign me up, and keep the water off my floor. And you might think this sounds like a very sophisticated confidence game from the well guy, but the rust that was everywhere looked plenty authentic.

Anyway, time marches on. The well provides water. Many showers were enjoyed, dishes washed, water bowls filled, etc. Everything behaves more or less as it should. We are pleased with this sequence of events. We made the right choice in replacing it that November day.

But now I have to call to set up that inspection. Because they don’t have a service calling to remind people, which seems like an opportunity lost, if you ask me. Also, the water running through our house is making an odd noise just now, which seems like the beginning of a problem, if you ask me. Also, as I noticed this morning when I went down to the well to verify I had the right phone number, I noticed that there was suddenly an error code on the water softener device. Error 102, which I’ve since looked up, could mean any number of things.

So I called the guy.

And he’s a genial fellow. He is also slammed because of the snowpacolypse rolling in this weekend, and can we schedule something next week?

Sure, I say, but first you have to convince me that these problems I’m telling you about aren’t going to do me in between now and then. He assures me with the practiced, steady tone of a man who’s been dealing with all of this for too long.

And what he’s dealing with here is that fiberglass tank. He said he bought a bunch of those. All but two of them went back to the manufacturer, because they’re krep. Guess who has one of the two. The guy said he’s taken it in the teeth on these things, and he’s going to again. This is under warranty.

He tells me we can live our lives for a few more days and nothing we’ll go wrong and I guess we’ll see. He’s getting another phone call as soon as the roads clear.

I had a checkup at the dermatologist late this morning. Good thing I took all of my skin with me. This was a simple follow-up after they carved a little piece of my back off last fall. I think it took longer for me to take off and put on clothes again than the whole of the appointment.

I got the once over, under a flashlight. He froze one little mark off my shin. It’s nothing, probably stays a nothing, but just in case. Would that all of life’s problems could be dispatched so quickly. But if you can avoid getting that frozen spray in life, do that. That stayed with me for most of the afternoon.

Turns out they left a sliver’s worth of stitching in the skin on my shoulder The assistant tweezed that out before I even realized she was back there.

I set up another appointment for the summer. Because of the spot they took off last fall they want me back every six months to study my alabaster skin. The doctor would not commit to how long we’ll be running at this pace. You’d get the sense from talking with them that being dismissive of it all is SOP.

Guess what conversation we’ll be having with them at my July appointment.

My lovely bride and I then had a nice lunch date. We enjoyed a few minutes of not doing other things at Chick-fil-A. It seems a good prescriptive. I’m glad I thought of it.

Since we were there, we stopped at Lowe’s. I picked up some 4SL 5W-30 oil for the snow blower. “Everyone’s getting ready,” said the woman who was working in the outdoors section.

I thought she could put that perfunctory cheer away, put a little panic in her voice, and help goose this week’s sales figures.

We cruised the light fixture aisle, because that’s what one does when one goes to a place with many fixtures and bulbs, but one also did not think to bring the TWO different specialty bulbs (for comparison) that need replacing. Then we went to the tool section. Brad nails, if you please. And hey, since I’m here, a few new fine-toothed jig saw blades.

One impulse purchase isn’t terribly impulsive, particularly if it A.) won’t spoil and B.) you have an eventual need for it’s use. (Just as soon as the weather turns.)

Then we headed to campus for a late afternoon faculty meeting. While working in the office, I received this email.

I wondered How far from the base of the building can I fling my computer? A good way, I’d imagine. My office is on the 6th floor.

Look, it’s one thing for young people and/or whining adults to mangle the language, turning an adjective into a present participle, but I am going to demand a little more from the marketing whizzes hired by the health system.

And don’t think I won’t bring that up to them, the next time I go to see my doctor and run into the direct mail tech team.

At our faculty meeting, well, faculty met. Things were discussed. Successes celebrated, grievances distributed. New policies were announced.

Then at home, in the driveway, I just missed the sunset, and the Canada geese.

Oh, they honk and they honk, they can’t help themselves. But while you can discern the direction, at that time of night you can’t get everything to work just right, camera-wise. I have a cool blurry one though, if anyone is interested.

I decided to take an FTP test. Your classic functional threshold power test, a ramp test, is a way to gauge your current level of fitness. I don’t really need to take this because my current level is: unfit. On a ramp test, and this is oh-so-interesting, you add power every minute and keep riding until you can’t. I sat up a bit early, I could have done more, maybe a little bit more, but I wanted to also cover some casual miles. Besides, this test showed an increase of 15 percent in my recent FTP.

I was riding somewhere in Norway.

Not very well, mind you, because, again, see above, unfit. But a January baseline is established. And now I can ride and see if it will improve.

And then I did the 10 miles or so around Plum Island, Massachusetts. Wikipedia:

The island is named for the wild beach plum shrubs that grow on its dunes, but is also famous for the purple sands at high tide, which derive their color from tiny crystals of pink pyrope garnet.

And it all sounds lovely. Looks it, too!

A bit farther down the Wikipedia page, there’s a list of beach and dune pests. And while, just a moment ago I wanted to go to northeaster Massachusetts and see this barrier island, I have now realized that things are so bad that each of these have subheadings on Wikipedia: Greenhead flies, ticks, mosquitoes, poison ivy.

That same place on the island, on Google Maps.

Want to see where I was on the FTP test? Somewhere just outside of Hjelle.

My avatar is riding in the Strynefjellet Mountains:

Here you will find a true wilderness, inhabited only by birds and animals adapted to an arctic climate, perhaps a predator in search of prey, a wild reindeer, a golden eagle, or sheep in summer pastures. Here there is plenty of space – and plenty of time. Change down to a lower gear and head into the mountains.

You think, “Norway in January, brr and no thank you.” Their weekend forecast and mine is about the same temperature. We’re expecting all of that snow — or maybe some of it, truly, no one knows, because who needs robust weather forecasting capabilities in the 21st century? — but in the Strynefjellet Mountains, they are under a Yellow Warning for Avalanches. I clicked that, and I am left to conclude that this is so commonplace that they don’t even include details. The blurb basically says, Don’t do it if you don’t have experience.

Not to worry, Norway, not to worry.

errands / Thursday — Comments Off
8
Jan 26

It’s true, you really can — and also moats, and a hardware store

There were actually more interesting parts to yesterday. I just didn’t tell you about them because I had the parts that I wrote about on my mind. Also there were parts that weren’t worth telling, so I didn’t tell them. The opposite is also true.

But the other parts of the day were like this. I had to drive somewhere to return something. The recipient was not home, which was my fault. We’d vaguely said “afternoon” and that was it. So I left the thing on the guy’s front porch, just beneath his Ring camera, which I’m sure saw me walk up, press the ring button, ran a series of not-at-all-intrusive algorithmic searches and cross-database and multinational platform searches. Also, three satellites were contacted in informing the guy that a person was on the porch.

People, you can just get a dog.

It was not intrusive because I was, of course, in this person’s yard. On his porch, to be specific. I very carefully avoid the yard in case people are put off by that. If a man’s house is his castle, then his yard is his moat. His driveway and sidewalk, though, are asking for it.

So ring the Ring. Rang the Ring? Rang the Rang? I pressed the button and waited for an appropriate amount of time. Left what I came to leave, and then returned down the sidewalk and driveway to my car, and tried to exit the neighborhood in a different way, in case I just caught him off guard and he came out and we had to have an awkward yard exchange. “Good to see you, and, dude? You’re standing in a moat right now. I mean, it’s your own moat. This is embarrassing for both of us, I should think.”

I composed a quick text message apprising him of the situation his non-dog doorbell had already told him about. I complimented the holiday decorations. It’s a classic white house, black shudders style, and they have really tasteful wreaths on the windows. Nicely done. You deserve compliments even after Epiphany, I think.

Anyway, I could not exit the neighborhood the way I went. So I had to turn around and race up the street, just in case he was on the porch, or in the drive. Or in the moat. I ducked down low, holding my cell phone up, with the camera acting as a periscope as I drove by because, please no eye contact, not now. None of this will look suspicious. None of that happened.

Except the part about having to drive right back by. That part definitely happened.

An hour or two later he returned my text. He’d had to run an errand which took longer than normal and nice job staying on the sidewalk.

Part of that text didn’t happen, either.

I went to the hardware store. I had two things on my list. Two! And this is where the day gets interesting.

Oh, now, 493 words in, now it gets interesting?

Hush, you. Just read the thing. Comments go below.

I walked up the stairs of the porch to the hardware store, because it is designed in that style.

“Riveting.”

Seriously.

Walked in, and at first glance it looked like they’d taken away the checkout island. That threw me right off. Now there’s a guy there, leaned all casual on a stack of whatever and we’re doing the eye contact thing and he is not in a moat, and now we must speak.

Some warm kinda day out there, I said, because it was that precise level of mild that, standing under the sun made you feel like it was a perfect temperature.

“Wait until you see tomorrow,” he said, “and the next day. I was going to go skiing, but not now.”

Sure does look like great weather ahead, I said, or something like that. I don’t know. I wasn’t taking notes. I agreed that forecast was surprisingly wonderful for early January, and what am I even doing here anyway?

(Update: What I am doing here is shaking an ancestral fist at the forecast algorithms. Nothing of what we’d been promised for days came to pass on Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. First it was cold. Then it turned gray, and also damp.)

I was there for two things. I wanted to stock up, perverse as it sounded with weather like this, on snow blower oil.

They did not have snow blower oil.

I wondered if all oil is the same? Sure, there are different weights of oil, owing to viscosity and their purpose, this part I know. But is there snow blower oil? Is that different than car oil? Does that suggest there are snow blower oil tankers? And car oil tankers? Are there snow blower oil fields somewhere? How far away are they from the car oil derricks?

So I wandered over two aisles to look for brad nails. The hardware store had two options for brad nails on their shelf. Neither of those two sizes will suffice for the intended project. (I did the math.)

So I left the first hardware store empty-handed.

(Told you this was the interesting part!)

I did the math twice because this means I’ll now have to go to a big box store. I’d much rather just go to a hardware store. But everyone’s needs are different to the point of exotic, and every store’s inventory space is finite.

Well, there’s one other ma’ and pa’ hardware store I can visit first. Its name hearkens back to a time when you went into town to pick up your order of coal and/or ice. The marquee out front, the last few times I passed by, proudly boasted of having Ivermectin in stock. Surely, they have the longer brad nails.

And, then, back home to the emails I can’t do anything about, and also the ones asking ‘Should we meet?’ And also the class prep. Most of today has been in that same vein. These are lost days, then. I’ve hit a bit of a wall, this week. I’m predicting a breakthrough tomorrow.

It’s interesting, how you can see motivation coming.

errands / Monday / photo — Comments Off
14
Jul 25

Just a little pinch

This week I’ll get back into school work with a gusto! he told himself, until he told himself something else, different, a bit later. It’s really just a question of which day I tell myself that, and the gusto which takes place between now and then.

Let us begin with the site’s most popular weekly feature, checking in with the kitties.

We have a nice picture window in the library, which sits on the front of the house. And there’s a little bench or a shelf there. I thought about putting some cushions down and turning it into a pleasant little reading area. Phoebe beat me to it.

She sits in this box, on a little cat blanket, and enjoys her afternoon naps in the sun. It’s adorable, of course. And reliable. At certain times of day, that’s where she is. (Usually I don’t disturb her as I did for this photo.) And of all of the jealousies between the two cats, this is one place where her brother leaves her alone. And so there will never be a reading nook there, because that is going on.

And here she is looking all cuddly on top of the comforter.

The theme here, then, must be comfort. Here’s Poseidon, who usually tries to eat the plastic, using a resealable bag of trail mix as a pillow.

(Keep that life hack in mind, hikers.)

He came out from his usual afternoon napping spot, wherever that is, to watch a bit of the Tour with me. He likes bike races. Must be the colors and the motion.

So the kitties, you can see, are doing well. We all are just peachy keen. My lovely bride is nursing a calf twinge she got on a run. I am suffering through a bad streak on the bike. Let me tell you about it.

I went out Saturday evening, intending to do about two hours or so. Instead I did 4.3 miles. I got a flat on my back tire. This is the calculus you go through.

Item 1: I am close to home. Given the hour of the day, and the PSI limitations of my small handheld pump, I can’t change the tube and complete the ride I’d intended.

Item 2: Given the hour of the day, and how close I am to home, there’s no need to change this tube here, in this little neighborhood. I’ll just re-inflate the tube and nurse it home. And stop and reinflate as necessary. (Never let me talk myself into that again. — editor.)

So I pumped the tube to about 50 PSI, owing to the limitation of my pump, and set out for home. A quarter of a mile later, I’m doing it again. And in another quarter of a mile, again. Now we know the rate of air seepage. It’ll be every quarter of a mile. The direct route is 3.5 miles home. OK then.

Some kind soul stops their car asking if I’m OK. I’m OK. Another cyclist comes from behind and checks in. He patiently waits to see me on the road again and I take off, knowing he’ll be catching me again in a quarter of a mile. And what do you know!? There I am and there he is. This time he uses his pump, which is better. More air. Maybe I can go a bit longer. Another car stops. Still great! Anyway, my new cycling friend, a pleasant fellow named Mike who rides with a speaker lashed to his handlebars, helps me inflate the tire and off I go again. Now we both know the score. I am just trying to ride this flat to the top of the hill to stop in the shade once more. Because, after that, it’s a downhill and an uphill and, anyway, I stop and he catches me for the third time. He is very kind and if I’d known he’d been back there I would have just changed the stupid tube three miles ago because this has gotten awkward. One more inflation, one more round of sincere thanks and my encouraging him to not stop for me next time because I’m almost home and, anyway, he’s trying to go somewhere too. And so I mystify him with the parlance of my people …

“Ppreciate it.”

… and we each pedal on.

So my 30-some mile ride Saturday turned into a 4.3-mile ride and a 3.5-mile return farce.

This set up nicely for a Sunday afternoon ride. The Yankee has decided that she can try riding again with her calf and so off we go. She’s fine. I know this because she passed me at one point and I said What happened to taking it easy? She looked down at her computer and said “I’m only doing 130 watts.” I looked down at mine and said, I ask because I’m doing 21 miles per hour and getting dropped, so …

And about 10 miles later she did drop me, and I started feeling the heat.

Or, put another way, it was hot outside. I went through three water bottles in an hour, which is a really high rate for me. And I eased up a bit on the way back home because I didn’t like how it all felt and I know better. And I still had a (relatively, for me) good speed.

This evening we were supposed to go for a ride with a neighbor, but then the lightning and the rain showed up.

So, then, the highlight of the day was heading over to the medical laboratory this afternoon. They have the right sort of name to be a thinly veiled, not-very-well-thought-out evil henchman front in a movie. It’d be cooler if they had a few Tesla coils with surging electricity zipping through the place. Instead, it’s an old brick building, sharing space with a tanning salon and a kids dance studio. It’s a five-star dance studio, though, and that somehow offsets the two stars that the blood lab receives online.

Does anyone take online reviews seriously? I don’t. I would say something like “Is that really a four-star pizza place, or is that a Martinsville four-star pizza place?” Meaning, all of this is relative. That’s usually a good joke and a wry observation, but in this case, a woman is going to stick a needle into my arm …

Anyway, standard issue blood draw. Checking the numbers. Prove I’m healthy and blessed, well, not beyond measure because every one of these tests is measuring something or other, and all on different scales — including a Martinsville scale! — to throw you off as a patient and consumer.

I had the paperwork. The website for the testing place said I needed an appointment. My lovely bride, who has been there before for similar basic tests, said that’s not necessary. So I fasted the requested amount of testing time and then went in. The woman at the desk finally got around to me. I said, I have these orders, but otherwise no idea what I need to do. She pointed me to a little tablet kiosk. So, on the one hand, I don’t have to hand over my documents, and on still another hand, she did not give me a clipboard. On a third hand, the check-in process was done at my speed, which is reasonably fast. But, on a third, another place to scan your insurance card and type in more emails and phone numbers and … look, last year some place scanned my palm to establish my identity in the system and, off putting as that was, maybe it was better.

Anyway, a young man was called back for whatever was required of him there. When they built this office they did dry wall about 80 percent up to the ceiling, so you can hear everything, both over the lid and through the thinnest gypsum board on the market. He was having a tough time. The woman said, “Stay with me. Stay upright. I’m here by myself and don’t want to pick you up.” She kept his attention. He kept complaining. Which, I guess, gave him something to focus on. But it was pitiful when he said “Can we just pause?” and she the technician said “You can’t stop blood.”

And he was just doing a simple blood draw. I know this because the technician, who was also working the desk, was the woman who drew my blood. And don’t you know I wanted to cause a scene so as to cover for that young man. I did not, though. This poor woman, working solo while her trainee was actually out to lunch, was dealing with enough.

Instead, when I exited through the lobby I looked to the old man in a neck brace awaiting his turn and said, It’s brutal back there!

He just smiled and pointed to his walker.

After which I raced home to have lunch because my food fast was about 15 hours old.

He wrote, just before dinnertime.

cycling / errands / Friday / photo — Comments Off
28
Jun 24

The quiet parts are always the best parts

As a friend of ours says, I have been underneath the weather. Sinuses. Allergies. Head cold. Some combination therein. All three. Who knows. I think I might have been running a slight fever at times yesterday. I didn’t feel quite as bad today.

I had an early lunch, mid-day cuddles with kitties, read a bit. it was relaxing.

This afternoon the tree people came by to chip up the brush from last weekend’s storms. They were fast, efficient. It’s a time-is-money business, one supposes. And it was just the first step in a process that will later break my heart. I’m dreading all of it.

Later I visited a store, a mom-and-pop shop. I’ve been in four times in the last year. The first three times I met the wife, who is very kind and struggles with the technology. Today I walked in and … no one was there. I walked to the back office. No one. I walked back up to the checkout counter to make sure no one was in a heap. No one.

The door was unlocked. No signs of struggle, other than the open sign sitting on the floor. I stood there for a minute or two, long enough to pull out my phone to see the time, and wonder how long I should stand there before beginning to call people.

I saw a camera just above the cash register, and if it is real, there are probably others, so there’s that.

And then the restroom door sloooowly cracked open and a man walked out.

“It’s always a risk, picking a time to go to the bathroom.”

He needs a BRB sign, and a door lock. I have, after all, been told by Republicans that the country has gone to hell. Over and over.

Anyway, he seemed like a nice fellow. We conducted our brief business and I left for my next stop. I hit up a Walmart. I don’t go to Walmart that often, or any great big store, really — nice, medium-sized grocery store is my biggest shopping experience these days. So this isn’t snobby. Probably it is my routine. Simon Pegg should set his zombie sequel at Walmart. Any Walmart. Maybe the most charming and disconcerting thing about the store is that customers are exactly the same, everywhere in the country. They are out and about, living the lives Springsteen sings about.

“Born to stand in the crosswalk, as a family, staring up into the sky as if looking for an eclipse for 45 seconds” is a great song. Everyone thinks of the classic, “Dancing at the end caps.” And, of course, “Sad eyes can’t see that I’m in the way of everyone” is an underrated deep cut.

And then I visited the medium-sized grocery store. Aisle one for granola … they’ve apparently stopped carrying one variety I prefer. Aisle two for raisins. The produce section for strawberries. In, out and on to the car wash. Ahhh, the finer points of life.

When I got home I set out for a bike ride. It’s been two weeks — our recent trip, the weather, the aftermath, being underneath the weather — and I have lately realized that if I don’t go, I can’t ride.

And maybe, I rationalized, this will help my nose and cough.

I set out around 6 p.m., by which time everyone has gotten to where they need to be and all of these country roads are free of traffic and it is quiet. There’s just the breeze, a perpetual headwind, the humming of the wheels, and the creaking parts of my rusty old bike. I love that feeling, those minimal sounds. Well, maybe not the creaking my bike makes.

Even the cows were quietly appreciating the silence.

This was the big traffic jam, and not the biggest tractor I saw.

Not too long after that, I had a flat. Rear tire, and there was no inflating the dead tube to limp home. So there I stood, swapping out Contis, pumping, and failing at pumping, until I was finally able to get a little air in the new tube. I need to add a mini-pump to the things I need to buy. Mine is almost 12 years old, I guess, and it’s served it’s purpose. Hand pumps fit in the pocket. They are small; they are light. Most won’t fully inflate a new tube. What you get is enough air to ride carefully home. And a good bicep workout. This one has become a frustration. It seems now I have to hold it just so to get any air into the tube at all. Just another thing on the list of old and worn out things I need to replace. It’s a list that’s now far too long.

The scene of the re-inflation … sort of.

So now I’m shopping for a pump. If anyone has any recommendations, or wants to buy one for me, the key features are they must fit in a jersey pocket, and it shouldn’t make me want to quit riding bikes when I have to use the thing.

Anyway, have a great weekend! Riding and swimming and cleaning around here. Back to normal next week.