Budgets, How to Save $$, and Lent

Posted on March 26, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

I spent most of today fiddling with my budget spreadsheet, shifting things around so the numbers worked … you know, kinda like statistics. After a while, it all started to click into place which concerns me a bit because I’m a terrible accountant type person. So, the proof of whether or not it’s going to work will be determined when we run our of money on our vacation.

On the upside of the money issue, I got a call today from Hudson Garbage to ask me if I knew I had a large credit balance on my account. I didn’t know that. The lady told me it was in excess of $500 which took me a bit by surprised. Learning this, you may wonder why I’m the one paying the bills, right? Well, turns out the $45 bill I’ve been paying every month, for a long time, only has to be paid every other month, on the odd ones. Plus, the bill is $52 and change, not $45. The lady asked if I wanted to just apply it to the next year’s worth of service. I told her no, just send it back so I can factor it into my budget as newly found money. The question I should have asked is “why did it take so long for you to discover this?” That’s a moot point at this time.

So, for those of you who wish to stash away a few bucks, just double pay one of your bills and let it ride until they figure it out. The danger is, of course, they may never find out, or may to just choose to ignore the overage. It’s a crap shoot, perfect for the garbage company account.

Diane cut her lip today opening a zip lock bag. Now, I’ve injured myself in some pretty interesting ways over the years, but that’s a new one. I must take a step back and humbly bow to one who totally outdid me on creative ways to make yourself bleed. In her defense, she didn’t have to show me, but she did so it’s fair game.

At 1600 I had to get dressed for church to attend our Lenten service. I spent the day in my pajamas. While talking with the Comcast Lady, to arrange a cable install at the church, I mentioned that I was in my pajamas and she proclaimed that she, also, spends most of her work day in hers. We had quite a long, revealing conversation.

Now it’s late. We’re leaving for vacation right after my 1100 orthopedic appointment tomorrow, and I haven’t packed yet. Think that’s going to wait until tomorrow. I can’t tell you where we’re going, or how long we’ll be gone because Diane doesn’t want anyone to empty the place in our absence. Rest assured, however, they neighbors keep a close eye on strangers and they all have guns.

In parting, here’s a picture of the lunch Diane made me. It’s 5 pancakes, two eggs, and three pieces of bacon cut in half. I cut all the bacon in half so it would fit into one of those large ziploc bags.

Losing Things, Nicks & Dings, and a Sandwich

Posted on March 5, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

This morning, when checking my email, I was once again amazed to discover that someone took the time to read what scribble. That happens every day, actually, but this morning’s offering caused me to consider putting more thought into what I share. I can only believe that adding the word “Karma” into the title prompted a look by Gede Prama. Whatever the reason, it added another layer of blessings onto my already overflowing life. Check him out and let me know if you think I’m nuts.

No, scratch that … just let me know if you find his messages helpful.

Now, about pain …

I endure it every day in some manner, as I suspect pretty much every one does. Sometimes it’s so faint I barely notice it. Then there are times when it becomes the only thing I can think about, willing it to end, willing myself to get beyond it and move along. We’ve all had those, I know. Like, when you stub your bare toe, really hard, into an immovable object. That hurts like crazy, doesn’t it? I’ve done that. I’ve also hit the end of my big toe with a hammer, so hard I actually thought I was going to die from the pain. This is a story I’ve told before, buried in an ancient post, so will not repeat it.

A lot of the pain I experience, however, isn’t self-inflicted because of stupid things I do, but rather as a result of Karma, I believe. I’m being punished for some deed that I failed to recognize as one that was not aligned with universal acceptance. Sometimes the sin isn’t readily apparent, taking days, perhaps, to resolve into a meaningful understanding of what I did wrong. Consequently, I’m fated to repeat the errors until the consequences of my actions are hammered home, so to speak, until I’m forced to consider my moves carefully.

That’s tough for me to do because I’m a pretty spontaneous person. That trait is directly attributable to many of the injuries I’ve sustained over the years. I just didn’t think ahead far enough to figure out the possibilities of my actions.

I drop and spill stuff all the time, but not all of those events cause me to change directions like that socket did. Like, a cup of coffee, for instance. Granted, it makes me immediately change direction to seek something with which to clean it up, but it doesn’t deter me from my primary object which was probably getting to the bathroom. before something more exciting took precedence. Sometimes the spilled coffee is ignored for a moment, or two, before getting adequate attention.

During this downhill side of life the spontaneity is less physical and more spoken or written. The physical side has shown me that, since moving from vertical to horizontal is becoming increasingly more difficult because of complaining joints, it’s not a good thing when I drop “stuff.” Like that socket I spoke of yesterday. I’m confident I’ll find it, eventually, but dropping it caused me to move on to something different. This half of the journey has proven to be a bit less painful, also. Partly because I’m slower, and actually think about what I’m going to do, most of the time. And, partly because many of the pain receptors in the parts I’ve injured the most, over the years, no longer transmit. They are simply worn out. Oh, they let me know I’ve done something wrong, but not to the point of hopping up and down until the pain subsides. It’s more of a warning that I should look, for instance, at the elbow side of my right arm after slamming it into the bracket that holds the hood up on my pickup. I did that yesterday, too. It was a warning shot, I’m sure, just before dropping the socket, but I didn’t recognize it as a message at the time. It hurt, I looked, and didn’t see any blood seeping into my long-sleeved short, so went about business.

Then, dropped the socket. A more stern warning from my limbic system that things aren’t going well.

Then, last night, after a pretty successful period of time playing with power saws in the basement, I received another shot across my bow, the reason for which I have not yet discovered.

We were eating dinner. Jeran was there. Diane had cooked up some really great pieces of deceased chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. We all sat down at the table and things were progressing well until I was compelled to rise out of my chair to visit the kitchen for some reason which I can’t remember.

Attaining a vertical position from a seated position, especially while sitting on a chair, is not a complex move because you have both arms and legs to use to make it work mechanically in a symmetrical manner. I, however, was forced to make the move with only one leg, because the pain receptors in my right foot went on full alert.

After a rapid intake of air, the body’s response that enables one to vocally alert any one in the vicinity about the severity of the situation, I reached down to investigate the cause.

Here’s what I found firmly attached to the bottom of my foot …

I had to yank it out. Kinda reminded me of the time Mike Friday jumped off my bed (we were kids, and he’s a cousin) and wound up with an embroidery needle stuck all the way through one of his toes.

Kinda makes you want to hop around on one foot, doesn’t it?

The immediate message I received, and the one that is probably the one intended, is that I actually should wear something on my feet, even in the safety of my own home. There could be, however, a more meaningful meaning that I’ve yet to realize. I’ll let you know if I ever figure it out.

Yesterday, for lunch, Diane made us a “Fat Tuesday” meal of pancakes. She made enough of them that we were able to do it again today.

Since I don’t have a photo of that meal, I’ll share this one of the supper I had night before yesterday …

Jewel will appreciate this one because it’s your standard fried egg, potato patty, and spam sandwich. It was awesome. A Hawaiian favorite, at least from the spam perspective.

Coffee Makers, Hot Tubs, and E. Collars

Posted on December 19, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

I’m here to tell you that I’m bona-fide expert on the inner workings of Bloomfield Model 9012 coffee maker. I really am, and I’m really sorry I didn’t become an expert on it far sooner. You see, for years the church ladies have been mopping up water that’s been leaking from it, and complaining about how it doesn’t brew a full pot of coffee. It just didn’t work like it was supposed to. With my newly acquired expertise I discovered that the problem was three aging silicone tubes that cost a total of $14, including shipping. Over the years the ladies have probably mopped up 3 times that cost in wasted water. So, if you happen to own a non-functioning Bloomfield Model 9012 coffee maker, I bet I can fix it. Maybe not for $14, but I can fix it. Some of the parts cost $150 but they are stainless steel and not likely to fail unless someone, you know, hits it with a nail gun, or maybe it gets dropped in the parking lot just in time for the garbage truck to run over it. Things like that. Something unusual. Something rare. I know I’m getting all cocky about this, and I’m just guessing because the parts are in transit and have yet to be installed. I know, however, deep down in my troubleshooting soul, that they will solve the problem. Here’s the coffee maker when I had it all ripped apart …

Now, about that hot tub. I’m sure you are all wondering what’s going on with it, right? Well, it’s been driving me nuts for about a week. Really. Absolutely nuts! I don’t know if I mentioned that I got a new pump for it or not, but I did. It arrived very quickly after I ordered it online. I love shopping that way and it’s surprising how often I order the right ‘stuff’. This time, it was the perfect fit and the pumps went back in just great. I plugged everything in, energized it, and watched it go through the start-up process then actually start priming. I was more than excited, as I’m sure you can all imagine. The tub has been unusable since mid summer because of many error codes, and the one of the pumps failed in a magnificent, really noisy manner. I still kinda worked, but you needed earplugs if you had any desire to sit in the water. Then the error codes stared up. I got new temperature sensors hoping to resolve the error codes, because that’s what the internet told me to do. When I replaced them water squirted up out of the holes in the heater, which is located inconveniently directly below the circuit board that controls everything, and drenched it. Yes, I had the power disabled, and tagged out so I could be reasonably sure I wouldn’t get electrocuted. Still, I was careful, except for the water. My compressor was upstairs, in the garage, and the hose wouldn’t reach anyway, so I could use it to blow the water out of, and off, the circuit board. Working with computers, however, has caused me to ensure I always have a can of compressed air lying around somewhere, so I used that to dry things off. In my experience, you can recover from things like that if you clean it up quickly. After blowing it all out, I left the cover off and didn’t go near it for a few days. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer and had to turn it on to see what would happen. Sadly, it worked just like before, but with more noise. That’s when I ordered the pump. I guess that brings us up to today, in a roundabout manner. As stated above, everything appeared to start-up properly, then I got the dreaded “dy” error code which the internet told me means the heater doesn’t think it has enough water in it. Then I started playing with the wires, switching them around, trying to make the new motor run at both speeds, but couldn’t. I spent a lot of time on the internet researching this, moving the plugs all over the place, but couldn’t get it to work like it used to. It would heat for a bit, then error out and stop. Frustrating. Then I did a really brave thing and swapped the pump connections on the circuit board as a last-ditch effort before emptying the tub, pulling it out into the yard, and giving my chain saw a little workout as I cut it into tiny little pieces that would fit in the recycle bin. But, wonder of wonders, it worked. I was hung up on the belief that the motor I replaced was Pump 2 when, in fact, it’s apparently Pump 1. It’s been running for a few hours now, and last time I looked the temp was up to 88. So, there’s a very distinct possibility that Diane is going to get her one and only birthday wish. All she wants is for the hot tub to work. She just loves that thing and sits out there in the freezing cold, reading books on her iPad as it floats around on the styrofoam float I made for her.

Her birthday, incidentally, is tomorrow, December 20th. I forget how old she is but it really doesn’t matter because she’ll always be 21 to me. That’s how old she was when we got married, I think.

I learned something new today when I fell up the stairs. Yeah, I know. That’s pretty lame, but it’s less damaging than falling down the stairs, believe me. What I learned was that in a fraction of a second you can hurt multiple parts of your body at exactly the same time. I was carrying something, apparently heavy, and when my right foot slipped, I simultaneously stubbed my left big toe really hard, smashed my right thumb between a step and whatever I was carrying, and slammed my left elbow into another stair. All at once, and they all hurt equally so I couldn’t figure out which one to be more concerned about. Ultimately, I just serenaded them all with the sucking ‘S’ noise you are supposed to make when you get injured. I was unable to get up and hop around, so I just sat there making that noise. I don’t know why because there was no one around to hear me. Still, it’s the right thing to do, and it helped give me something else to concentrate on while the pain subsided, as it eventually did.

Then I went on about my business, doing whatever it was I was going to do, whatever that was.

This afternoon I made a trip to ACE to get “stuff” and got to talk with Jack for a while. That’s always a plus when I got to ACE. Some times he’s not there so I have to find things all by myself. One of the things I needed was a large wood bead-type thing so I could repair a nut cracker Diane got for Jeran. It needed a new hand, which are made from large wood bead things, and it needed something to hold. So, I got dowels at ACE, too, to make that happen. Now the nut cracker is holding a staff atop which sits a brass fitting used to unite two pressure hoses, a wire nut, and a silver bell-shaped piece of metal I found. Here’s the result.

Yes, his right hand is way bigger than his left.

On the way home from ACE I stopped at Diane’s Mom’s house to fix the lights I strung up for her. She wasn’t worried about them, but I was and, by golly, I was going to fix it. Oddly, I knew exactly how I was going to do it, too. The problem was I had six of strings of lights connected in series and the first string kept blowing those tiny little fuses in the pronged end. So, I got an adapter that would accept three plugs and hooked them up so only two were connected. Now they work. Then I helped her clean her bathroom fans. The one in the bathroom she uses was a little dusty, but the one in the guest bathroom looked brand new. I didn’t find that odd at all.

After getting all that stuff fixed, I decided to start tearing my work bench apart. I took out almost two dozen lag bolts from the boards then pried them off. Under the first couple of boards is a two foot section of a beam that was placed, I presume, to add substance to the 2×6 planks above them. There may be another couple of spots that have a beam underneath, but I haven’t checked, yet. To get the back surface board off requires me to remove the peg board. To get the peg board off required me to remove all the tools on that side. Additionally, I had to relocate the shop light that’s been hanging from a couple of peg board devices for a couple of years. I was attempting to nail it to a beam in the ceiling when it ripped itself from my manly grasp and smashed up against the wall, shattering both lights and covering the old Playboys I forgot I had with tiny pieces of glass. I could see the Playboys once I removed the top boards. Once the light fell, I just called it a day and quit. It was almost 2200 anyway.

Here’s how I left it …

Oh, ya, almost forgot. Today was the day that Panzee’s PCP said we might be able to remove her cone of shame. The doc never called back so we just decided to do it and see how things went. Instead of being really happy about getting it off, so she could lick her butt, or scratch her neck, she immediately went to work on her knuckle and quickly had it all irritated again. So, I put the cone back on. She sat very calmly through the process as if it was something we do every day.

Also, here’s a photo of the little gloves to which I added beads. Normally I just work in solid colors, so the designs on these posed a singular problem with regard to bead colors. Still, I think they look OK … as little beaded gloves go …

Fire & Snow

Posted on December 3, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

OK, Randy. I get it. So, in an effort to assuage your unfounded fear of me using a chain saw on my mountain of tree limbs, I decided to leave it in the basement. Instead I used my reciprocating saw, which works better for my task, anyway. So, instead of a chain going round and round I had a blade that just went back and forth. It makes a much neater incision.

I sustained no injuries, today, even though I spent about 2 or 4 hours in the middle of the pile of branches whittling them down to a size that might more easily ignite when stacked on a bag of burning paper. Although I tried, I was not able to create a sustainable flame because the wood is green, I didn’t have enough paper, and my heart just wasn’t in it. The latter was caused by the frigid nature of the air surrounding me, blowing through my hair, ruffling my short scrawny eye brows, tickling my nose hairs, snuffing out my matches, etc. So, I quit.

There is, however, always tomorrow, and as long as we have electricity, and a can of gas, danger lurks. I’ll keep you posted.

That’s about all I got done today. That, and pay some bills.

Then it snowed.

Well, maybe not quite that much … but it snowed.

A little.

Happy Thanksgiving

Posted on November 28, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Once again, it’s time to celebrate, give thanks, and eat more turkey than we should. This year I think I’ll go a little easier on portions. Either that, or I’ll ditch my belt and wear suspenders on a very large pair of pants.

Speaking of pants … a pair of socks, or shoes, I get. But a pair of pants just doesn’t make sense to be even though that’s what I’ve called them my entire life. Well, my entire life after I started speaking.

Jack told me my first words were “shut up” because he and Jim used to babysit me and apparently I heard that more than anything else. I wonder why.

I’m getting off topic, here. Sorry. A little bit of schizophrenia seeped into my brain. This is about giving thanks, so I should be saying things like, “I’m thankful that I have a large pair of pants,” and “I’m thankful to my brothers for teaching me to speak.”

I’m especially thankful for my beautiful bride of 45 years, 7 days, 15 hours, 8 minutes, but who’s counting. Every second is precious. They tick, one to the next, and each is more meaningful than the last.

Our lovely daughter, Jennifer, gave herself a challenge to share reasons she’s thankful each day this month. It caused me reflect on my own reasons to be thankful but I couldn’t match her method. She’s really good at it while my thoughts are typically scattered making it difficult to share a coherent statement that makes sense. Then, too, I tend to ramble a bit and lose track of what I’m talking about. So, my challenge is to do short thankful statements, which I will do now …

I’m thankful for …

my family …
- just because …
my friends …
- because they love me but don’t have to
my senses …
- especially when they work
pets who love me …
- even when I forget to give them treats
each morning I wake up …
- on the green side of the grass

I can’t think of any others worth mentioning because they are just sub-categories of all those. Expanding on them would simply progress into a very detailed list of things like, “I’m thankful for each moment I sit quietly on the couch, holding my bride’s hand, sharing a box of kleenex, as we watch some sappy movie.”

Yea, I’m ‘that guy’.

Yesterday afternoon I decided to do a little Zen Pruning on our fruit trees. That involved getting two long extension cords because I have this handy little electric chain saw on a stick that makes getting high branches easy.

Starting with the oldest plum tree, I began whacking off offending, and broken branches that should have been removed about 15 years ago. I’ve never ever pruned it. As each branch crashed to the ground, I dragged it out of the way so I wouldn’t get my feet tangled up and fall down as I worked my way around. I continued the same process with the other four trees, ending just before it got dark, so I didn’t have a full appreciation of what had transpired until today’s morning light.

Remember all those pretty trees, full of nice green leaves, apples, and plums? Well, here’s how they look now …

Just before I finished Diane yelled down to me, asking if I was sure this was the proper time to be doing all that. I told her that it didn’t matter because I would have done it anyway. I was in the mood.

I must also share that the pruning went nicely until the last tree. It was a vicious attack by a very flexible, whippy branch about 8 feet long that was attached to a much larger branch that I had just cut off. As the big part fell, the whippy branch was temporarily delayed in its descent by another branch that I chose to leave in place. When the branch got past the ‘saved’ branch, I was treated to one of the most painful experiences of my entire life. That branch, with un-erring accuracy, snapped forward, striking me across the face at an angle across my tender lips and right cheek. It was worse than a slap. I have experience so know the difference. There’s a mark, but Diane was unimpressed because it didn’t bleed, so there will be no photo.

Jennifer stopped by on her way home from work so we had a little visit which is always nice. She asked me if I had made her window table. That caught me off guard and I blurted out that I was working on it, spoiling the surprise. When Diane heard that the beans had been spilled, she actually yelled at me for doing that. Maybe all she did was proclaim loudly, but it sure sounded like yelling to me … and all I did was give an honest answer.

Then, Diane went to her Avon Stash and produced a tiny little pair of slippers which she gave to Jennifer to try on. They were, like, 5-6 inches long, and they fit her perfectly, even with her socks on. There was another surprise spoiled, so I guess we were even. Seizing the opportunity, I yelled at Diane for doing that. Jennifer, of course, was delighted because she got to take them home.

So, now I’m not going to make that table for Jennifer. I’m going to make something else so it will be a surprise and I will no longer be in trouble. Maybe a doily.

To end, I must share another ho-hum sunrise coming up behind Mt. Hood …

I hope all of you, wherever you are, stay safe today and always. We all have reasons to be thankful no matter who we are, or where we are in this life. As Jennifer shared her daily Thanks, so should we.

I wish you all peace, every day

Bad News (3) – Good News (1)

Posted on November 15, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

The truck is stuck for a while. I fiddled with the starter again this morning, inserting shims and making sure all the wire connections were tight. The last problem, yesterday, was that the starter motor gear was not meshing with the fly-wheel. Instead, it just made a soothing grinding noise as it whittled away precious metal required by a proper connection. The shims were a last-ditch effort to make it work. And, it did. I actually got the engine started, but it ran like a one cylinder John Deere tractor and quickly quit when I attempted to let it idle thinking I might have time to dive under the hood and adjust the distributer. Turns out it’s not a one-man job. I should engage an expert, but I hate bothering those guys. I should be able to do this.

During the course of installing the shims in the starter, one of the starter mounting bolts, which was still in the starter, resting comfortably against one of the rigid transmission coolant lines, lost it’s mind and dropped out. I suppose I should have taken it out, but I didn’t want to have to search around on the ground for it when I needed it. So, I left it in the hole. When it dropped, my face was in the way and it bounced right off one of my front teeth. because I had absolutely no way to dodge it. Picture this … the truck is about 8 inches away from the curb, the right front tire is low on air, and the exhaust on that side hangs down a few inches below the frame. That’s the side where I had to go to do this intricate work.

To get under far enough to reach the starter, I had to squeeze myself under the exhaust, and work with it pressing into my abdomen. All the while I’m working I’m sending kind thoughts to all the tires for not going flat because if any of them did, I would have been squished like an unwary ant on a sidewalk in front of a home in which small children live. Seriously. No one was watching me so dropping that extra six inches would have been the end of me. Dumb, I know, but I like living on the edge.

Now, teeth are tough customers and can really take a beating, but the bolt dropped about a foot before it hit. The damage is minimal, with only a little chipping on the biting edge which I smoothed up with an emery board at Diane’s suggestion. That worked nicely to remove the sharp edge of the chipped area making my inquisitive tongue less interested in the damaged area. Funny how that works, isn’t it? Tongues ignore smooth areas, but gravitate to the sharp ones like a magnet, especially new sharp areas. I guess our tongues are really a security system that ensures nothing gets passed them that isn’t authorized by the brain. If it’s sharp, the brain forces the tongue to investigate incessantly until the owner does something about it.

So, here’re the Bad News issues indicated in the title of today’s non-verbal soliloquy.

The truck still doesn’t run
I nearly broke a tooth
I think there’s now a flat spot on the fly-wheel from all that grinding

The Good News? After getting home from this futile effort, I made a sandwich, which will please Diane, and took another tour of the 1968 Truck Service Manual that I happen to have, thanks to Jeff. Way in the back I found an entire section on the windshield wiper motor which wasn’t there the first six or seven times I did this. I’ve been looking for the location of that motor for years because it has never worked. Ever. I just haven’t driven it on rainy days for the last 20 years or so. Then, there it was with instructions on where it resides, how to tear it apart, and everything. To ensure future access, I dog-eared the page.

I discovered where the wiper motor is and how to dismantle it

I’m sure I can fix it.

The Injury Gene

Posted on October 16, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Lydia has it.

When I mentioned Lydia’s game yesterday I failed to mention the ball that she took in the face. It was actually supposed to be a header, to a ball that was falling from about 200 feet, going 115 mph, but something in the wind caused her to misjudge, just a teeny bit and it hit her on the forehead …

… then her glasses …

… which slammed down onto her perky little nose …

… and finally the ground.

She didn’t skip a beat, and kept right on playing, after bending her specs a bit so they stayed on.

She told her parents that it didn’t even hurt because it went numb right away, so she just shrugged it off and continued playing for the remainder of the game. This morning, however, it’s a little more colorful and she reported that her teeth hurt when she sneezes.

My nose hurts just looking at it. I fear she has a genetic disposition for injuring herself, and things. A couple of days ago she stumbled in their newly refinished bathroom and ripped the towel bar off the wall. So, next Saturday she’s going to learn how to repair sheet rock.

Back to the glasses … Lydia has a pair of sports goggles that would have resulted in a less dramatic injury, but she doesn’t like to wear them because they block her peripheral vision. They also fog up on rainy days. We’re not sure if the injury is going to change her mind, or not.

This week at school is all about Home Coming, so each day the kids dress up as if they are going to one of their dances … prom, stuff like that. Cedric didn’t do it last year, but is this year because Lydia is. Jennifer said Lydia got all dressed up then went to school with no bandage on her face, the mark of true jock.

Gotta leave the skid marks out there for everyone to see.

She’s playing again today, against Scappoose. Should be fun because the more I learn about soccer rules, the less I understand it. So, I’m going to devote one of these entries to how I think soccer should be played.

Angry Bees

Posted on October 9, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

Today was totally awesome, right up to about 4-5 hours ago.

I’m better now, but still recovering. Here’s what happened …

First thing this morning, about 8:30 a, I donned my work clothes, using my nifty yardstick suspenders to hold them up because they are too big now. That’s not totally true, of course, because I always use those suspenders on my work pants. It’s kind of like a trade mark. Jennifer gave them to me as a joke, but I wear them almost every day when I’m working. I love those suspenders.

Before doing garage ‘stuff’, I hitched the trailer up to the mower because it was full of wood, from a dismantled couch, and I didn’t want it to be that way. So, I carted it down to the burn pile and tossed it all out. On the way back, I stopped along the fence, over which hangs our neighbor’s walnut tree, and gathered up a little more than one Avon box lid of walnuts. The last time I did that, I had about 5 lids full, one layer.

The walnuts got me into the ‘picking’ mood, so I moved on to the two apple trees that still have fruit on them, and added them to the trailer. There were at least 10 dozen apples, many of which will be converted into applesauce.

Shortly before 9:50 am, Diane took off in a panic because she had an appointment to get her flu shot at her doctor’s office but she couldn’t find her purse. She drove herself anyway, which is definitely against the law. I briefly considered calling the police to turn her in but figured that wouldn’t end well for me. So, I ignored her infraction and got busy moving ‘stuff’ around in the garage, something I do once in a while that looks like work, but actually isn’t. In this instance, however, I actually did some constructive rearranging, moving a pair of captain chairs, that Diane bought at a yard sale a couple of years ago, to get them into a location less annoying to me. They were destined for the ’79 Winnebago, but I actually like my seat so stalled her out. When we returned from vacation, those chairs were right smack in the path we use to get to the Yogurt Refrigerator in the garage. It’s imperative that we be able to get to that refrigerator in the morning, especially when it has yogurt in it.

While I was doing that, Jeff appeared out of nowhere to pick up those very same chairs. If I had waited just a bit longer, I wouldn’t have had to move them at all. Still, it was a good thing to see Jeff, as it is to see all relatives. In this case, if you don’t know, Jeff is our son. I helped him get the chairs to his van then offered to give him the Garage Organ, also. He accepted so, hopefully, that will go away soon. At this rate, in another couple of years, we might have the other side of the garage cleaned out to the point where I can actually park my car in there. Diane’s been using the garage since we moved in because it was a rule that I make that so, or she would make it necessary for me to employ a lawyer to talk over how to divide up the property. So, she can drive in and out at will. Sometimes that’s what she does on a rainy day. She’ll get in the car, back out into the driveway, sit there for a moment, then drive back into the garage. I don’t know why she does that. Kinda quirky.

She really does do that, but only when one of us forgets something. She didn’t do that today. She just drove off without her license. As soon as she was gone, I found her purse laying on the printer. Actually, it was one of the many purses she leaves lying around the house, but I know the one on the printer was the one she wanted because it had her wallet in it.

Jeff left with the chairs, then Diane showed up shortly thereafter with a Buick full of food because she took her Mom, Jean, to Safeway to restock the depleted larders. We don’t really have a larder, but we have empty shelves and drawers where food used to be. Now the Yogurt Refrigerator actually has yogurt in it. And, I have milk to drink. She bought me a couple of bagels, too. I love those things, but can’t eat too many of them because they make my pants too tight.

After unloading the Buick, Diane checked her cell phone messages and discovered she had missed a call from KayKay, Ozzie’s hair dresser. He gets a poodle-do about every 36 days, and he always needs it. When the yard is wet, he probably should have one a week because he’s so short that I can’t cut the grass low enough to keep it from hitting his belly. He’s a mess for most of those 36 days, but for the first few he looks great and actually smells good. So, off Diane went to get him back. He was wearing a cute little neckerchief with Jack-o-lanterns on it which I took off right away. He and I have talked about those things and he’s let me know he really doesn’t like them. But, KayKay always puts one on him.

Somewhere during the afternoon the guy from the Habitat For Humanity Restore Store showed up with his trailer to pick up our incredibly heavy dining room table and the couch Diane didn’t want any more. After those things went away, Diane strongly encouraged me to mow the yard. The grass was actually almost dry so I took the hint and fired up the lawn mower, pumped up the front tires, which always almost go flat in a couple of days, attached all the required parts for sucking up the cut grass, and got to work.

I went real slow, and only put the mower deck on 5 instead of 4, like normal. I’m not sure if those numbers relate to inches or not. For me, it’s just a ‘setting’ I use. Seems to be a good one, especially when the grass is dryer. I apparently went slow enough to keep the output tube from clogging up, because I didn’t have to stop one time. I just mowed merrily along, without a care in the world. Well, that’s not entirely true because I really do have cares. It’s just that I really like mowing the yard. Really odd, isn’t it?

When I was done I took the clippings down to the burn pile, around which I have a very nice arc of years worth of grass clippings. I’ve never turned it, ever. I just keep adding to it, and it just seems to sink into the ground. I’ve discovered that under all that grass is some really great dirt that Diane won’t use. She still insists on buying dirt at Wal*Mart for the things she puts in pots. I’ve given up on trying to convince her to use MY dirt. So, it’s just going to continue sinking into the ground, making more and more terrific dirt.

I drove around the back of the grass clipping arc, near our lower fence, and backed the mower up over a low spot. This makes it easier to dump the bags, of which I have three. When I empty them, I always rotate them so they all get equal time getting filled up. In a cavalier fashion, I flipped my seat up over the steering wheel, like I always do so the bagger lid will stay open, and walked around behind the mower. Then I dumped my bags.

On the third bag there appeared before me an angry herd of yellow jackets, the kind that live in the ground. I guess they discovered all that great dirt and decided to call it home and were just a little ticked when I dumped more grass on their entry. Blocking their doorway created a situation where those on the outside, who wanted back in, went into attack mode and started dive bombing me.

Bees have never bothered me much, especially when Diane is with me because they like her better. This time, however, I was the only target. The first indication I had that I was in peril was the critter stabbing the back of my right hand through my work glove. He was really digging in when I flicked him away with my left hand, so I thought I probably should vacate the area, which I did. But, the bees followed me all the way back to the house, which is about 150 feet from the burn pile. I thought they’d give up, but they didn’t, so I ran up the stairs to the kitchen door, opened it briefly to call for help.

Diane came right away, but she wouldn’t come out, and I don’t blame her. She’s very allergic to stings. Me? I’m impervious to them, I though. I just kept swatting them, and turning around so Diane could see if there were any bees still clinging to my clothes, which they weren’t because in a coordinated assault they targeted my uncovered neck where they stung me about 6-7 times. They also got my right arm 3-4 more times, in well-selected locations all the way up, and one of them got me on my right side, just below my armpit. I think one also gnawed through my jeans and got me on the toughest part of my knee. That one must have been a dare between two of he attackers, or perhaps some sort of initiation.

Once Diane confirmed that she didn’t see any more bees clinging to me, and I didn’t see any buzzing about, I shed my clothes right there on the porch and rushed into the house. Diane was thankful that I had forgotten that today is Underwear Optional Day. It’s something I started when I was working at PGE, but it never seemed to catch on. You know, kinda like casual Friday, but different?

So, that’s what I’ve been recovering from for the past number of hours. The sore places where I got my shots yesterday, and the bee stings today just kinda made my day a whole lot more interesting. If I had thought quick enough, since they were already biting me, maybe I could have convinced one of those bees to give me some cute, pouty lips. Instead, my right hand is about twice the size of the left, but the fingers still work, and the remainder of my right arm is a mess. I can’t see my neck, but my nerve endings are, even right now, making it abundantly clear that I have been seriously assaulted. It hurts, but I didn’t cry. I just made the “Sucking SSS” sound for a bit, then decided to just tough it out.

To help me, Diane cooked a really good steak, which we shared. I love steak.

After dinner we sat on our couch and watched some of the shows that recorded during our absence last week. Afterwards, Diane held my hand until it quit hurting. She’s good to me that way.

Now you know. Please don’t feel sorry for me, unless you really want to. I actually discovered those bees when I burned down the burn pile a couple of weeks ago. Then I forgot about them.

Silly me.

Home Sweet Home

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

OK – we’re back!

Got home last night after 2300, and actually made it to bed before midnight. The dogs seemed happy to see us which is good because we weren’t sure what kind of reception we’d get. Sometimes they can be down right mean when they want to be. Not mean in a physical way, but more mental, like ignoring you, or looking out the side of their face at you without actually turning their head in your direction. It’s very disconcerting when they do that. Ozzie does it best. But not last night. He was a happy little dog.

Perhaps he was most happy because when we got to LA, Diane texted Jennifer and asked her to please turn the heat back on in the house. It was off the entire time we were gone and I think Oz got chilly. Panzee? No way. She has fur to spare so she just doesn’t get cold. Ever. She doesn’t even get very wet when it rains. I think she may have duck feathers scattered in amongst the fur somewhere.

Sleeping in this morning wasn’t an option because I Diane forced me to go with her to the VA to get my flu and shingles shots – one in each arm. It’s been 7 hours since I got the shots and now my little skinny arms really hurt. Fortunately, I had the flu shot in my left arm because it hurts the worse than the shingles shot. The reason is because the flu shot had to be in the muscle, but shingles is subdural. That simply means the flu shot needle has to be, like, 3 inches long in order to get past the layer of fat on my arm, but the shingles was only about half an inch long. There actually isn’t a lot of fat on my upper arm, and there isn’t very much muscle either, so the nurse, Beauty is her name, had to go at an angle to ensure she could get the entire needle into my arm. Then she hit the plunger and pressed it as hard as she could. I could tell because she was gritting her teeth. It kinda makes you forget about the needle pain when the medicine squirts out of that tiny little needle hole into a space that’s just not big enough for the syringe contents. That’s why she had to grit her teeth, to get the medicine to rip into my muscle fibers.

For the singles shot Beauty grabbed a chunk of that flabby area on the back of my arm, where there isn’t any muscle, pinched it up to make a good target, then jammed that little short needle into my tender skin and forced the shingles killer stuff into my arm causing the same problem as with the other shot – not enough room for the syringe contents.

Now that it’s been a few hours, you’ll be happy to know that both arms hurt about the same since the shots. The “fortunate” part about getting the one that hurts the most in my left arm is that my right arm hurts all the time any way, so now they hurt about the same. It hurts to use either of them so there’s no immediate danger of favoring the right arm over the left. Maybe in a few days I can switch back to that routine.

Tonight I must facilitate our church council meeting, as I do every month. So, there is no resting this evening until I return around 2030. I might have to go a little early, with my propane torch, so I can seal up a leaky part above the narthex. As everyone knows, there’s absolutely nothing worse than a leak in your narthex. It’s very unsettling, and makes the carpet all wet unless you can get the buckets aligned just right. Since he leak is right smack in the middle of the doorway to the basement, getting around the drips becomes a challenge for those who wish to partake of after service snacks. And coffee. It’s a Lutheran church, so coffee is an absolute necessity. I say that, then must share that our Pastor does not drink coffee. Never has as far as I know. All the other Lutheran’s in the world, however, drink coffee. Just ask one of them.

I need to rest now because my arms hurt, and I’m hungry. I believe I’ll go smash a few eggs and make a sandwich. That’s one of the things we missed while in Mexico. I know, they have eggs down there, but we didn’t want to eat theirs and we didn’t think it would be a good idea to pack eggs in the food suitcase. Diane was really thinking when packing for the trip home because she knew we didn’t have any bread in the house, so she packed the few remaining pieces of the loaf of Bimbo bread we bought in Mexico. We’re not sure if we violated any immigration laws by importing bread from Mexico, but no one said anything. Hope they’re not reading this. If they are, I know a lawyer who may, or may not, be able to help extricate me from whatever jail into which “they” decide to incarcerate me.

Perhaps I should start a fund …

To end this, I’m including a couple of pictures from the trip. The first one was taken while we were waiting for the airport shuttle to arrive. The shuttle, by the way, was a very nice tour bus instead of a crampy little van like we had the day we arrived.

This next one is two of the 4 ‘greeters’ we met each morning when heading for the stairs or elevator. The rest of their families is scattered all over the place. They really aren’t a bother, but if you stop to look at them for very long, they come right up looking for something to eat.

My Dentist

Posted on September 9, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

It’s 0850 when I open the door to enter the office. There are 4 people already there which isn’t a surprise since the office opens at 0700. One of the staff members was talking with one of the ‘waiters’, and everyone in the place seemed to be joining in, making it a happy place to be. However, as soon as I stepped through the door, all talking stopped. I’m sure they were all talking about me before I got there, and hadn’t expected me to be 10 minutes early, so felt confident they could get there ‘digs’ in before I arrived.

That isn’t true, of course. I’m sure the merriment ceased upon my arrival because they didn’t know me and were a little concerned about how I might react to a waiting room half full of laughing people. So, to defuse the situation, I accused them of all of talking about me and that they could continue with no concern for me. And, they did. I didn’t know any of them, and my delivery was accepted the way I intended, that they needn’t stop just because a new stranger walked into their midst. I’m not shy that way.

I also talk to people in elevators which makes most of them uncomfortable. On a good elevator trip, I’ll be the last one aboard a loaded car. I’ll step in and remain facing the back of the car, making eye contact with anyone willing to look at me, then smile. Sometimes I attempt to get them all to sing “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands … CLAP CLAP,” or I might simply start humming “It’s A Small World”. There’s generally no response to the former, but the latter creates a light-hearted atmosphere that causes people to thank me for planting that song in their heads for the remainder of the day as they leave the car. Most of the time they all get off at the first stop whether it’s their floor or not.

Things in the waiting room returned to normal and I assumed my waiting position and … waited. My appointment was for 0900. My dentists name is Dr. Grimm. That’s not a joke. It’s really his name. He’s a nice guy and very good at what he does. I like him because he’s not a pretentious person.

I’ve visited this office a number of times, and have been placed in different work stations, so I know he’s not a Lutheran. If he was, I would be assigned the same operatory every time. No moving around. No sir. Just like church. His assistant today was Tyra, a very nice young lady with excellent teeth … a pre-requisite for anyone working in a dental office. In my experience, all dental assistants and chairside people are adorable young ladies. In all the years I’ve been going to the dentist, I’ve known of one male assistant, and he was gay. The gay part isn’t significant, just fact. Could be some of the female assistants are also gay, but it’s not so evident with them, and I don’t particularly care, or mind. They are all adorable. Even the gay guy assistant was adorable.

Tyra taped a large napkin to my chest, and had me sign something that gave them permission to pull a tooth. The choice of which tooth was mine to make, but they had a suggestion. Considering that I was dealing with experts swayed my decision in favor of their choice which made them happy. Dr. Grimm, however, was open for also pulling the other tooth I was sure I didn’t need. Clearer heads prevailed, however, and we settled on the one they chose. It was in sad shape and just had to be put down.

I was reclined back so far I couldn’t relax because my tongue kinda slid back and prevented me from breathing unless I sent it a continuous stream of commands to remain firm, which it did. Then Dr. Grimm took hold of my right cheek and started wiggling it as a diversion then stealthily slid his syringe full of numbing agent into the area, on the outer part of the top right tooth, and slid it slowly, oh so slowly, into my flesh. Because he did it slowly, and was also wiggling my cheek, I didn’t feel a thing.

Then he went away to let things go numb, and I read my iPad for a while. When he returned he reported that he needed to give me shots on the inside of the tooth also, in the roof of my mouth. He needlessly warned me that such shots are normally pretty uncomfortable for most people, but it had to be done or the sound of my shrieking, as he removed the tooth, would bother his other patients. I already knew this, of course, so relaxed as much as I could, and opened wide.

The shot itself isn’t really all that bad. It’s the sensation of him moving the syringe all over the place that concerns me the most because I know he’s moving it around without taking the needle all the way out. He just punched through the crunchy part in the roof of my mouth, causing a considerable level of pain, maybe a 6, squirted some of the contents in, pulled the needle back out a little ways, then moved it to a new angle and pushed it in again. Thankfully, the numbing agent acted quickly so the level 6 was as bad as it got.

Thinking he was going to depart and let the last shots go to work, I was surprised when he rattled some tools and went right to work. Memories of the last tooth I had pulled, many, many, many years ago, caused a brief moment of panic because it wasn’t a pleasant experience. During that operation, after deadening the area, the dentist simply clamped a set of pliers to the offending tooth, and yanked it around until he got it out. There was nothing gentle about it. Dr. Grimm, however, took one of his tools and just started pushing on the tooth, one way, then the other, loosening it very gently. Once he had it wiggling, he got his pliers and gently twisted it until the tendons broke, then pulled it free. When tooth tendons break, by the way, it sounds like the crack of a whip all over inside your head and it kinda makes your eyes open a little wider, to see things more clearly. It’s brief, and he explained it, so I felt no need to panic.

Once it was removed I was asked if I wanted to keep it. Of course I did. I keep all my teeth. Besides, if I didn’t keep it, someone else would give it to the tooth fairy and cheat me out of money I had rightfully earned.

I was retained in the chair for a pre-determined amount of time, to allow the first wad of gauze to absorb the blood seeping out of the new hole that was created in my mouth. Tyra called time, and took the gauze out, and replaced it with another wad. The first one had surprisingly little blood on it because I, being familiar with bleeding injuries, intentional or otherwise, know that pressure on the wound is the key. So, I was biting down hard the entire time. Also, I clot up quickly, which helps.

After paying my bill, $300 and change, I was given a schedule for my next appointment that will cost almost $1000. It’s supposed to be a crown, but I’m thinking that we might just yank that one out, too. It’s a lot cheaper and, let’s face it, I’m OK with soft food. I don’t need all those fancy teeth to eat a banana. I can just chew on stuff until it gets soft then swallow, or, if it’s something that absolutely must be masticated a great deal, I can use the other side of my mouth. Ya, I think I’ll just skip the new crown and go for the extraction.

Now I’m home, resting. I told Diane I was given three days bed rest, but she didn’t believe me. She’s worked for a number of dentists during our travels and knows how it works so it was foolish of me to try to trick her. She did, however, concede that I could have one day off to rest before taking on the projects already started, or new ones making themselves known.

Now I must change my gauze and rest.