I dreamed last night that I bought food from a place that was kind of a takeout restaurant version of Trader Joe's. Having already heated up the food, I read the ingredients and found that one just read "cornbread." In waking life, there would be another set of ingredients in parentheses, but in the dream that was all it said. In both dream and waking life, I've learned that cornbread usually includes wheat flour and is thus something I can't eat. So I went to Mary's house and tried to palm it off on her. She wasn't interested, so we went over to Robert's house to see if he wanted it.
Now in real life, Mary lives in Philadelphia and Robert lives in Vermont. And in the dream, I think I knew this; it was just that Philadelphia was maybe five miles away and Vermont maybe 10. Of course, I had dreams like this before Facebook, like the one where I got on a tram in Columbia, passed through Philadelphia and wound up in London. (I've still GOT to find that tram!) But I still feel like the sense of virtual proximity is partly due to the feeling of mental proximity engendered by Facebook interactions. And that's a good thing, right?
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Kind of a warm day...
No no no, I don't propose to do another weather report. Note the ellipses. It was kind of a warm day to leave frozen food in the trunk for, uh, I think 5 hours. We've been having adventures. Not exciting adventures, but at our combined age of 140-odd, we don't really need any of those.
Dad had an appointment with the gastroenterologist today at 3:30, and I needed gas. I also needed a few items from Aldi and wanted to take my daily walk. So I went to Aldi, getting the produce I needed and some frozen fruit I'll need soon, got gas and took my walk. When I got home I only had minutes before I had to go get Dad and I needed to go to the bathroom. So I completely forgot to unload my groceries. Oh well.
The appointment was a trial, a grueling test of our patience such as it is, a reminder of the B. Kliban cartoon about the boredom of St. Cecil by the Turks. You'll probably have to cut and paste the link: http://www.gocomics.com/kliban/2013/06/14#.Unrb3-KQORM We were prepared for a pointless one-hour wait; we were not ready for 2 1/2 hours. In a chilly room. I complained and at least was granted the right to open the door. Thus I overheard it when one of the staffers said something like, "We should have told them in advance it was going to be a two-hour wait." I said, "No kidding!" and went out and said my piece. I received profuse apologies and, after asking permission first, kicked the wastebasket. I felt much better.
Eventually, the doctor came to talk to Dad. He tried to explain to Dad that the laxative he's using (Senecot) would eventually quit working and when it did, so would Dad's bowels. A colostomy would then be unavoidable. He couldn't persuade Dad, but did suggest and prescribe a different laxative, of which Dad approved. So hopefully Dad will get off Senecot and the other one will work as well or better. He also prescribed Dad another course of antibiotics, and gave us an appointment in February. We are not unhappy not to have to come back before that.
On the drive home, I got a call from a frantic Margaret wondering where Dad was. I told her it was just a colossal wait and that we were on our way. I got home to an equally frantic kitty who has just about calmed down. I ate supper and finally remembered that I had frozen foods in my trunk. Or rather that I had had frozen foods in my trunk. Oh well; there are worse fates than eating refrozen peaches and strawberries. On the whole, not at all a bad ending to a trying afternoon.
Dad had an appointment with the gastroenterologist today at 3:30, and I needed gas. I also needed a few items from Aldi and wanted to take my daily walk. So I went to Aldi, getting the produce I needed and some frozen fruit I'll need soon, got gas and took my walk. When I got home I only had minutes before I had to go get Dad and I needed to go to the bathroom. So I completely forgot to unload my groceries. Oh well.
The appointment was a trial, a grueling test of our patience such as it is, a reminder of the B. Kliban cartoon about the boredom of St. Cecil by the Turks. You'll probably have to cut and paste the link: http://www.gocomics.com/kliban/2013/06/14#.Unrb3-KQORM We were prepared for a pointless one-hour wait; we were not ready for 2 1/2 hours. In a chilly room. I complained and at least was granted the right to open the door. Thus I overheard it when one of the staffers said something like, "We should have told them in advance it was going to be a two-hour wait." I said, "No kidding!" and went out and said my piece. I received profuse apologies and, after asking permission first, kicked the wastebasket. I felt much better.
Eventually, the doctor came to talk to Dad. He tried to explain to Dad that the laxative he's using (Senecot) would eventually quit working and when it did, so would Dad's bowels. A colostomy would then be unavoidable. He couldn't persuade Dad, but did suggest and prescribe a different laxative, of which Dad approved. So hopefully Dad will get off Senecot and the other one will work as well or better. He also prescribed Dad another course of antibiotics, and gave us an appointment in February. We are not unhappy not to have to come back before that.
On the drive home, I got a call from a frantic Margaret wondering where Dad was. I told her it was just a colossal wait and that we were on our way. I got home to an equally frantic kitty who has just about calmed down. I ate supper and finally remembered that I had frozen foods in my trunk. Or rather that I had had frozen foods in my trunk. Oh well; there are worse fates than eating refrozen peaches and strawberries. On the whole, not at all a bad ending to a trying afternoon.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Camden liquor run
In the What The Hell Were We Thinking Department, there was the time that Robert and I decided that we needed to go to Camden, New Jersey to buy liquor. We were sophomores at Penn, putting the "moron" in "sophomore." The young people out there need to know that 21 was not always the legal drinking age everywhere. In South Carolina, by coincidence, the age was raised, one year at a time, from 18 to 21 when I was, you guessed it, 18 to 21. In Pennsylvania at that time it was already 21 but in New Jersey it was 19 and we were 19. Now, people know themselves. I have to believe that Robert and I knew that we both looked about 30 so long as we didn't open our mouths.
However, Pennsylvania has or had another eccentricity. Booze was sold in State Stores, liquor stores run by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. I guess we didn't think we would pass muster and we aren't or in any case weren't fake ID type peoples. Goodness knows why we were so hell-bent on buying retail liquor; we weren't heavy drinking peoples either. Maybe we just wanted an adventure.
We got one, but no liquor. Memory draws its usual gracious curtain. I remember that the only professions evident in Camden were storefront churches, liquor stores (all closed), and the world's oldest one. There was a LOT of that. I was reminded of this trip when the American Top 40: The '80s rerun played "You Can Have It If You Want It" by Kool and the Gang. We heard that many, many times on that particular evening. Women on the street walking in front of us slowly singing it. Eventually we got tired of freezing solid and stopped in at a bar to call a cab. (No cell phones in '81, y'all!) The ladies there put the Kool and the Gang number on the jukebox. Subtlety is not a big thing in Camden, apparently.
We got this psycho cab driver. He was not happy to be taking a couple of college boys back to Penn from Camden, but that's not why I call him psycho. He kept telling us about belting his wife. We aren't the two most courageous guys in the world, but we did tell him that, uh, you shouldn't be doing that. The worst we got out of it was him spinning his wheels after dropping us off at the dorm. As far as I can remember, I never intentionally returned to Camden again.
However, Pennsylvania has or had another eccentricity. Booze was sold in State Stores, liquor stores run by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. I guess we didn't think we would pass muster and we aren't or in any case weren't fake ID type peoples. Goodness knows why we were so hell-bent on buying retail liquor; we weren't heavy drinking peoples either. Maybe we just wanted an adventure.
We got one, but no liquor. Memory draws its usual gracious curtain. I remember that the only professions evident in Camden were storefront churches, liquor stores (all closed), and the world's oldest one. There was a LOT of that. I was reminded of this trip when the American Top 40: The '80s rerun played "You Can Have It If You Want It" by Kool and the Gang. We heard that many, many times on that particular evening. Women on the street walking in front of us slowly singing it. Eventually we got tired of freezing solid and stopped in at a bar to call a cab. (No cell phones in '81, y'all!) The ladies there put the Kool and the Gang number on the jukebox. Subtlety is not a big thing in Camden, apparently.
We got this psycho cab driver. He was not happy to be taking a couple of college boys back to Penn from Camden, but that's not why I call him psycho. He kept telling us about belting his wife. We aren't the two most courageous guys in the world, but we did tell him that, uh, you shouldn't be doing that. The worst we got out of it was him spinning his wheels after dropping us off at the dorm. As far as I can remember, I never intentionally returned to Camden again.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Housebreaking
I had to help somebody break into a house last night. Fortunately I had permission. The somebody in question had locked himself out and couldn't reach a locksmith on a Sunday evening. Two things were funny. One was that I just happened to be wearing a knit cap, a black sweater, and rubber soled shoes. The other was that the locked out person had already tried my method of access, knocking out a window with uhhhhh, I guess you'd call it a flagstone, and couldn't do it.
Now he's just as strong as me, and probably stronger at the moment since I've been a bit fluey lately. I think it's psychological. You just don't want to hurt the home place; you don't want to break a window. So he tried, maybe half-heartedly, and said to himself that this window's unbreakable. Since he had told me that, too, I was freed from all restraints (I mean, the window is UNBREAKABLE) so I put the flagstone right through it. It was very dramatic, and fairly funny. Getting the window replaced no doubt will be less so, but much easier on a Monday (or whenever he gets around to it) morning than on a Sunday evening.
What isn't funny is that my phone refused to work in a crisis. Three people called me a total of at least four times to let me know about the situation. The phone froze on the first call, never ringing or vibrating. (Well, more on that later.) It was plugged into the wall, so it definitely wasn't a battery situation. In fact, I had to pull the battery, put it in again and restart and then I got another call, this one I could answer. I later found that somehow the phone had been set to vibrate; I'm pretty sure I didn't do so intentionally, though I get so few calls I might have done so at a show or a movie and then forgotten about it. It's possible that the first person who called did so as part of a three-way call (as she is wont to do) and it was just too much for my phone's little brain. But it certainly shouldn't be. So, I'm considering ditching T-Mobile and the fairly well-liked Windows Phone. At least I got all the messages. Since I check the phone frequently, I wouldn't be too late responding to a crisis. But still.
Now he's just as strong as me, and probably stronger at the moment since I've been a bit fluey lately. I think it's psychological. You just don't want to hurt the home place; you don't want to break a window. So he tried, maybe half-heartedly, and said to himself that this window's unbreakable. Since he had told me that, too, I was freed from all restraints (I mean, the window is UNBREAKABLE) so I put the flagstone right through it. It was very dramatic, and fairly funny. Getting the window replaced no doubt will be less so, but much easier on a Monday (or whenever he gets around to it) morning than on a Sunday evening.
What isn't funny is that my phone refused to work in a crisis. Three people called me a total of at least four times to let me know about the situation. The phone froze on the first call, never ringing or vibrating. (Well, more on that later.) It was plugged into the wall, so it definitely wasn't a battery situation. In fact, I had to pull the battery, put it in again and restart and then I got another call, this one I could answer. I later found that somehow the phone had been set to vibrate; I'm pretty sure I didn't do so intentionally, though I get so few calls I might have done so at a show or a movie and then forgotten about it. It's possible that the first person who called did so as part of a three-way call (as she is wont to do) and it was just too much for my phone's little brain. But it certainly shouldn't be. So, I'm considering ditching T-Mobile and the fairly well-liked Windows Phone. At least I got all the messages. Since I check the phone frequently, I wouldn't be too late responding to a crisis. But still.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Inchworm commando
I was walking along Lake Weston loop trail at Congaree National Park when I noticed an inchworm dangling over the trail. I'm not sure they're inchworms, but they do move like inchworms when they land on you. Green animals that hang from silk for some reason, maybe looking for a ride. More like a centimeterworm anyway...
REGARDLESS, it was a danglin' and I didn't feel like giving it a ride. So I waved my stick above it with the idea of catching its strand of silk and then setting it on the ground. But NO! It came with the stick, but it would not be set down. I would lower the stick and the inchworm would go sideways instead. I couldn't and can't figure it out, I mean the physics. Maybe he was an inchworm commando on a little inchworm zip-line. Eventually, I moved my stick away and he stayed where he was and I decided that the inchworm and I would just have to accept one another. So long as he didn't try to follow along, he was welcome to go wherever he wanted, horizontally or vertically. I wish him well on his commando mission.
REGARDLESS, it was a danglin' and I didn't feel like giving it a ride. So I waved my stick above it with the idea of catching its strand of silk and then setting it on the ground. But NO! It came with the stick, but it would not be set down. I would lower the stick and the inchworm would go sideways instead. I couldn't and can't figure it out, I mean the physics. Maybe he was an inchworm commando on a little inchworm zip-line. Eventually, I moved my stick away and he stayed where he was and I decided that the inchworm and I would just have to accept one another. So long as he didn't try to follow along, he was welcome to go wherever he wanted, horizontally or vertically. I wish him well on his commando mission.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Stress dreams that just... aren't
Last night, I had some classic stress dreams. Except they didn't bother me at all. For some reason I was in New York City with Dad and Margaret. I guess it's a big step for my subconscious that Dad had a walker and my late mom wasn't present. They didn't play a big part in the dream though. As in real life, I was mainly trying to take cool photographs. For some reason, I was hanging around something my brain had invented as the Time Warner Tower. It was more or less intertwined with what appeared to be an abandoned hotel, which was the cool building I was trying to photograph. I went into the abandoned hotel and found a diner. The diner had a senior citizens' menu. It didn't give discounts; instead, it was supposed to be a bunch of items old people would like, but it didn't make any sense.
I pretty much figured that Dad and Margaret wouldn't be interested, and they pretty much vanished. The hotel then became an apartment house where I was living. I was in the basement, rooting around and noticed a stick holding up the whole building. Naturally, I pulled it out, and the entire building fell over. It was pretty cool. Somehow I escaped and also got to watch; some other how nobody got hurt, and some other other how, I still had an apartment.
I took the elevator up, but of course this being one of my dreams, I couldn't find it. Instead I walked into somebody else's apartment, thinking I was opening a door to a corridor. A bunch of people were sitting around in their underwear, but they weren't embarrassed so I wasn't either. I just apologized and moved on. It was all like that; episode after episode of stuff like in a stress dream, where you'd normally be gritting your teeth even in your sleep, but again and again, I'd just be amused. Awake, though, I'm definitely going to look into amending my Dream New York City Building Code!
I pretty much figured that Dad and Margaret wouldn't be interested, and they pretty much vanished. The hotel then became an apartment house where I was living. I was in the basement, rooting around and noticed a stick holding up the whole building. Naturally, I pulled it out, and the entire building fell over. It was pretty cool. Somehow I escaped and also got to watch; some other how nobody got hurt, and some other other how, I still had an apartment.
I took the elevator up, but of course this being one of my dreams, I couldn't find it. Instead I walked into somebody else's apartment, thinking I was opening a door to a corridor. A bunch of people were sitting around in their underwear, but they weren't embarrassed so I wasn't either. I just apologized and moved on. It was all like that; episode after episode of stuff like in a stress dream, where you'd normally be gritting your teeth even in your sleep, but again and again, I'd just be amused. Awake, though, I'm definitely going to look into amending my Dream New York City Building Code!
Friday, November 1, 2013
Bad hair day
Circumstances conspired to make me head to Publix prior to taking my shower. Thus I was out in public with stupid hair. And it occurred to me that you know that the crises in your life have receded somewhat when you start worrying about things like bad hair days. Or in my case, being amused by them.
Not that it was ever a crisis, but I'm thrilled to say that the assorted weirdnesses associated with taking probiotics seem finally to be at an end. Along with identifying better than I would have preferred with Ernest Hemingway's amoebic dysentery reporting from Tanganyika, there was the matter of still another odd pins and needles sensation, this one where my spleen is supposed to be, or possibly used to be. All gone now, hopefully for good. Remind me not to take probiotics daily again, ever. Though let's face it, who ever uses their spleen anyway?
Not that it was ever a crisis, but I'm thrilled to say that the assorted weirdnesses associated with taking probiotics seem finally to be at an end. Along with identifying better than I would have preferred with Ernest Hemingway's amoebic dysentery reporting from Tanganyika, there was the matter of still another odd pins and needles sensation, this one where my spleen is supposed to be, or possibly used to be. All gone now, hopefully for good. Remind me not to take probiotics daily again, ever. Though let's face it, who ever uses their spleen anyway?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)