My place of employ is housed in an older building, but it’s been renovated decently. That is with the exception of one of the women’s restrooms. There are two ladies’ rooms, one is newer and nicer to use, the other has seen better days. I’m fortunate that the nicer one is close to my office, while the other is across the building. The older one is tiny with three stalls, while the newer one is large, tiled nicely and has six stalls. The roomiest is the handicapped stall in the nicer bathroom. You could stretch out and take a nap in it if you were so inclined.
But I digress.
Yesterday I felt the need for a “health break”, so I got up and made my way to the nicer ladies’ room, unfortunately it was closed for cleaning, so reluctantly I trekked over to the older facility. I walked in and saw that the two end toilets were not useable. The first had a wad of toilet paper in it the size of a large cantaloupe, and the other looked like someone had been ripped inside out and died in it. So it was a no-brainer, I opted for the center commode. I was in and out in a minute, I pulled the flush handle and went to the sink to wash my hands, and it was at the sink that I looked in the mirror and realized that all three toilets had decided to overflow onto the floor. I was horrified, but I had enough smarts to realize that I’d better escape before I was trapped by a sea of sewage! I ran out and down the hall to get help from our maintenance man, who came running when he heard my cries.
After listening to him parse out a string of expletives for crimes I did not commit, he blocked off the entrance with an “out of order” sign and called Roto-Rooter.
And as I walked back to my desk several things came to mind. First, “now I know those ugly drains are functional and not for looks," second, “yuck, I'll never invite any of the women from the office to my home," and lastly "how does one extract a wad of toilet paper that large from the toilet?" Makes one shudder just thinking about it.
Sigh, never a dull moment.
CD~
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Pro..cras..tin..aaaa...tion, it's makin' me wait (sung to the tune of Anticipation)
Giving a gift certificate to a procrastinator in this economic environment can prove to be problematic.
Take me for instance, for the past five Christmases I have received gift certificates to a wonderful arts and crafts store located in a little city about a half hour's drive from my home. Now this little shop carries everything that an artist dreams about, but a fifty dollar gift certificate probably would only purchase a few tubes of artist grade oil paints. So, I have been saving them up and was planning on using them as soon as I had a reason to schlep to town. In my own defense, I have to say that I’m not entirely certain whether I’m a procrastinator or simply so busy that I can’t see straight. Perhaps it’s a little of both?
Anyway, up until this past weekend I hadn’t had a reason to go to the city, so when it occurred to me on Friday that Mr. T’s birthday was on Sunday and knowing I wouldn’t have an opportunity to bake him a cake, I planned the next best thing; I would make a side trip on my way to his house on Sunday and buy him a fabulous cake from a fancy bakery (read expensive here). And then I remembered that I’d be passing the art store, so when Sunday rolled around I put his gift and birthday card in the car, scooped up the gift certificates and sped into town. My first stop the bakery, and then I would swing down Pine Street for a quick stop at the art store. Yeah!!
So I first bought this fabulous vanilla and chocolate layer cake covered with butter cream icing, topped off with a layer of ganache and lovely hand piped sweet peas. It was a work of art in and of itself, and looked too good to eat. I handed the cashier a king’s ransom, took the cake out to my car and then drove over toward the art store. Now you have to pass the store front before you turn into the parking lot, and so as I passed the store window I looked in to see all the fabulous goodies they had to offer, but instead was horrified to see a HUGE SIGN with red letters saying CLOSED OUT OF BUSINESS. I was so shocked I would have choked on the cake if I were eating it.
All I could think of, as I slowly drove by and on up to Mr. T’s place, were the gift certificates stuffed in my lime green pocketbook. I guess I could continue to beat myself mentally, because it was my own fault I’d missed the opportunity to go hog wild in an art store, but being human I rationalized the situation as it occurred to me that it was cruel to give a procrastinator a gift certificate. Nonetheless I needed to make a plan so I would never again be thrust into a situation like this one. And with that I developed a plan…in the future when I receive a gift certificate I’ll not let time slip away until it’s too late as in this instance, I’ll do what every other procrastinator should do, and that is box up the gift card and give it to someone else! Yes, that’s it, regifting! I just need to make certain they’re not a procrastinator too! Sigh.
CD~
Take me for instance, for the past five Christmases I have received gift certificates to a wonderful arts and crafts store located in a little city about a half hour's drive from my home. Now this little shop carries everything that an artist dreams about, but a fifty dollar gift certificate probably would only purchase a few tubes of artist grade oil paints. So, I have been saving them up and was planning on using them as soon as I had a reason to schlep to town. In my own defense, I have to say that I’m not entirely certain whether I’m a procrastinator or simply so busy that I can’t see straight. Perhaps it’s a little of both?
Anyway, up until this past weekend I hadn’t had a reason to go to the city, so when it occurred to me on Friday that Mr. T’s birthday was on Sunday and knowing I wouldn’t have an opportunity to bake him a cake, I planned the next best thing; I would make a side trip on my way to his house on Sunday and buy him a fabulous cake from a fancy bakery (read expensive here). And then I remembered that I’d be passing the art store, so when Sunday rolled around I put his gift and birthday card in the car, scooped up the gift certificates and sped into town. My first stop the bakery, and then I would swing down Pine Street for a quick stop at the art store. Yeah!!
So I first bought this fabulous vanilla and chocolate layer cake covered with butter cream icing, topped off with a layer of ganache and lovely hand piped sweet peas. It was a work of art in and of itself, and looked too good to eat. I handed the cashier a king’s ransom, took the cake out to my car and then drove over toward the art store. Now you have to pass the store front before you turn into the parking lot, and so as I passed the store window I looked in to see all the fabulous goodies they had to offer, but instead was horrified to see a HUGE SIGN with red letters saying CLOSED OUT OF BUSINESS. I was so shocked I would have choked on the cake if I were eating it.
All I could think of, as I slowly drove by and on up to Mr. T’s place, were the gift certificates stuffed in my lime green pocketbook. I guess I could continue to beat myself mentally, because it was my own fault I’d missed the opportunity to go hog wild in an art store, but being human I rationalized the situation as it occurred to me that it was cruel to give a procrastinator a gift certificate. Nonetheless I needed to make a plan so I would never again be thrust into a situation like this one. And with that I developed a plan…in the future when I receive a gift certificate I’ll not let time slip away until it’s too late as in this instance, I’ll do what every other procrastinator should do, and that is box up the gift card and give it to someone else! Yes, that’s it, regifting! I just need to make certain they’re not a procrastinator too! Sigh.
CD~
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Love my dog, love me
While out and about this past weekend I watched as an older man leashed to a small white poufy dog, trailed slowly down the street after it, cleaning up the little presents the dog erratically left behind here and there. It brought back memories of a short-term director we were subjected to a few years ago. This older little man would bring his quiet little white Bichon Frise, Sasha, into the office, because he didn’t want to leave it home alone when his wife decided to go out for the day. Invariably this became a constant occurrence, and he would keep the poor little thing sequestered in his office for the entire day. Occasionally you’d see this well dressed leader outside walking this white puff-ball of a dog. What a kick we’d all get out of watching him through the plate glass windows as he cleaned up after her. It gave us a great amount of satisfaction seeing him perform this menial task wearing his Armani suit. Is there anything lower than cleaning up after a dog? I think not.
In any event, all of the staff got attached to Sasha, what a sweet little dog; we would all sneak in and pet her while her “father” was in some meeting or what not, it really broke up the day. She became a fixture, and everyone loved her. One of the gals even would walk her when her father was tied up for the day.
About six months later I was on my way home from work and stopped off at the local grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. As I headed toward the checkout line I passed some fun looking dog treats, so I picked up a bag for my favorite pooch in the whole world, Mr. T’s black and tan dachshund, Tyler. Then I noticed that they were buy one, get one free, so I thought what the heck, I’ll give the other one to Sasha, she’s been such a good dog.
Next day at the office it wasn’t until about half way through the day that I remembered I’d bought the dog some snacks. So I pulled the package out of my bag and walked over to Sasha’s office at the end of the aisle. The door was open, so I wrapped my knuckles on the door jamb to make my presence known. Sasha looked up and wagged her tail, while her dad looked up at me and smiled. I held out the bag and explained that I’d bought extra dog treats and thought Sasha might like one now and then. As I handed him the bag, believe it or not, his response to me wasn’t “thank you,” it was, “I’m married.” I laughed out loud and responded as any other red-blooded American woman would have, I raised my eyebrows and said, “I bought them for the dog, not you, but if you’d like a few, feel free.” With that I laughed out loud, turned and walked away shaking my head. Anyway, I told my fellow Sasha fans and we all got a huge chuckle out of it. One of my co-workers, Sevein even said he was going to add that to his pick up tactics.
I guess I was naïve to think that one can show kindness for kindness’ sake without having an ulterior motive.
CD~
In any event, all of the staff got attached to Sasha, what a sweet little dog; we would all sneak in and pet her while her “father” was in some meeting or what not, it really broke up the day. She became a fixture, and everyone loved her. One of the gals even would walk her when her father was tied up for the day.
About six months later I was on my way home from work and stopped off at the local grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. As I headed toward the checkout line I passed some fun looking dog treats, so I picked up a bag for my favorite pooch in the whole world, Mr. T’s black and tan dachshund, Tyler. Then I noticed that they were buy one, get one free, so I thought what the heck, I’ll give the other one to Sasha, she’s been such a good dog.
Next day at the office it wasn’t until about half way through the day that I remembered I’d bought the dog some snacks. So I pulled the package out of my bag and walked over to Sasha’s office at the end of the aisle. The door was open, so I wrapped my knuckles on the door jamb to make my presence known. Sasha looked up and wagged her tail, while her dad looked up at me and smiled. I held out the bag and explained that I’d bought extra dog treats and thought Sasha might like one now and then. As I handed him the bag, believe it or not, his response to me wasn’t “thank you,” it was, “I’m married.” I laughed out loud and responded as any other red-blooded American woman would have, I raised my eyebrows and said, “I bought them for the dog, not you, but if you’d like a few, feel free.” With that I laughed out loud, turned and walked away shaking my head. Anyway, I told my fellow Sasha fans and we all got a huge chuckle out of it. One of my co-workers, Sevein even said he was going to add that to his pick up tactics.
I guess I was naïve to think that one can show kindness for kindness’ sake without having an ulterior motive.
CD~
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Happy Fourth of July!
What a fabulous day to sit and reflect on this great nation and to celebrate the freedoms our forefathers fought so hard to gain. Thank you great-great-great-great-great grandfather, when I think of your sacrifice at Valley Forge and Morristown it makes me proud to be a free American.
And mostly thank you God for setting up this nation...one nation under You. We are truly blessed!
CD~
And mostly thank you God for setting up this nation...one nation under You. We are truly blessed!
CD~
Monday, June 22, 2009
One man’s trash…sold for a song!
Over the weekend I had the pleasure of working a tag sale hosted by my church. It was a fabulous time; the two women I was teamed up with had a great sense of humor. We laughed at inane things, all focused toward the items people chose to purchase. Stuff we considered worthless was flying off the shelves and of course we couldn’t understand it, because we wouldn’t have given a second look at most of the things we had put up for sale. We weren't offering trash, everything was in good working order and the clothes were clean and wearable [no rags!], it's just that there was so much "stuff" it was overwhelming.
This was a two days affair, everything was laid out and priced low so it would sell, and to help clean out the items quickly everything became half price at noon on the second day, and then at 2:00 PM, to ensure that as much as possible was cleared out before we closed up, you could fill a grocery bag for $5.00, $10.00 for a garbage bag. It was a lot of work and a lot of fun!
On Saturday it was about 10:00 AM, we’d had our doors open for an hour and were having a great time, people were streaming in and we were very busy. Then two nurses [the scrubs they were wearing clued us in on that] walked in to look around. One was a tall brazen woman, the other small and seemingly shy. As they looked things over they spoke loudly between themselves in their native tongue, and the tall one [who was obviously the spokesperson] would look in our direction, hold up an item and shout out a discounted amount in English. She didn’t pose this in the form of a question; she was stating it as a matter of fact. It was obvious that she wanted to haggle, but if a perfectly good duffle suitcase on wheels is priced at only $2.00, don’t tell me that you’ll give us $1.00 for it, especially if the room is full of other treasure seekers who would want the same treatment! I’ve been in countries where it is the norm to negotiate a price and that is acceptable [can be very fun too], but this is the USA and it's a church hosting the sale for charity for crying out loud. Regardless we were very polite and kind. We’d simply respond to her with a no, whatever the tag states is the price. It was amazing! At the end of a forty-five minutes of going through everything the vocal gal ended up buying three bags of clothes and two boxes full of glassware and dishes for a total of a mere twenty-seven dollars. She pulled out a wad of cash [which made me wonder why she was haggling over such small money], paid me and then two were their way.
All in all we had a great time, the people that attended were a great bunch of folks and we are very grateful for their patronage. We raised a little over $2,000, which will be used to help those in need in our area.
I’m starting to look forward to next year’s sale already! LOL!
CD~
This was a two days affair, everything was laid out and priced low so it would sell, and to help clean out the items quickly everything became half price at noon on the second day, and then at 2:00 PM, to ensure that as much as possible was cleared out before we closed up, you could fill a grocery bag for $5.00, $10.00 for a garbage bag. It was a lot of work and a lot of fun!
On Saturday it was about 10:00 AM, we’d had our doors open for an hour and were having a great time, people were streaming in and we were very busy. Then two nurses [the scrubs they were wearing clued us in on that] walked in to look around. One was a tall brazen woman, the other small and seemingly shy. As they looked things over they spoke loudly between themselves in their native tongue, and the tall one [who was obviously the spokesperson] would look in our direction, hold up an item and shout out a discounted amount in English. She didn’t pose this in the form of a question; she was stating it as a matter of fact. It was obvious that she wanted to haggle, but if a perfectly good duffle suitcase on wheels is priced at only $2.00, don’t tell me that you’ll give us $1.00 for it, especially if the room is full of other treasure seekers who would want the same treatment! I’ve been in countries where it is the norm to negotiate a price and that is acceptable [can be very fun too], but this is the USA and it's a church hosting the sale for charity for crying out loud. Regardless we were very polite and kind. We’d simply respond to her with a no, whatever the tag states is the price. It was amazing! At the end of a forty-five minutes of going through everything the vocal gal ended up buying three bags of clothes and two boxes full of glassware and dishes for a total of a mere twenty-seven dollars. She pulled out a wad of cash [which made me wonder why she was haggling over such small money], paid me and then two were their way.
All in all we had a great time, the people that attended were a great bunch of folks and we are very grateful for their patronage. We raised a little over $2,000, which will be used to help those in need in our area.
I’m starting to look forward to next year’s sale already! LOL!
CD~
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Along the road of life, stop to smell the roses...
What a great morning! As I tooled along the back roads on my way to work I cracked the window open for some fresh air. The scent of the wild roses was overpowering, and although it was a little chilly I opened the sunroof and the windows to capture as much of the perfumed air as possible. It was fabulous!
They say that smells conjure up memories and emotions. I thought back to when my folks, on some warm evenings, would pile us in the car and take us for a ride [my parents liked to go for rides]. On those warm evenings as they drove us through the countryside, the ditch alongside the paved road would be filled with mounds of white wild roses, and the sweet fragrance would waft through the windows as we sat and scanned the scenery for something out of the ordainary. What peaceful, simpler, less stressful times those were.
Some of the best things in life are free.
They say that smells conjure up memories and emotions. I thought back to when my folks, on some warm evenings, would pile us in the car and take us for a ride [my parents liked to go for rides]. On those warm evenings as they drove us through the countryside, the ditch alongside the paved road would be filled with mounds of white wild roses, and the sweet fragrance would waft through the windows as we sat and scanned the scenery for something out of the ordainary. What peaceful, simpler, less stressful times those were.
Some of the best things in life are free.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Another juicy one...
Don’t mean to belabor the topic of one of my previous posts, but wouldn’t you know it? After mentioning the pear episode during dinner one evening my sister took great delight in sneaking back to the grocery store to hunt down more of these bizarre butts! Unbeknownst to me she found one, snuck it home and set it on top of the pile of ripening fruit on the counter to surprise me. And she waited…
And she waited…
And she waited…
Until one afternoon over the weekend [Mother’s day actually] I innocently reached for a pear and true to form looked at it before washing it. It gave me a start when I saw that tell-tale crease, and my mind wondered how probable it could be that there were two of these out there and that both ended up in our house. Then I realized my sister was watching me intently, and looked up to find her laughing at the puzzled look on my face.
She laughed…
And then she, mom and Silly laughed…
And then we all laughed!
Silly was standing there chuckling, and he started to sing “fat bottomed pears…” and asked me if I had read his comment to my post. Of course I had, but I didn’t realize it was from the song by Queen, “Fat Bottomed Girls”… And I thought, hmm, I’d never heard this one, I wondered why that was, because I grew up listening to Queen’s music playing on the radio.
So I went off and searched the web for the lyrics to see what they were about, all I can say is poor little boy, if they were based on his experience. But the modified chorus really did fit the pear!! Gave me quite a chuckle actually when I understood it [note to all, I'm slow...thankfully it was still humorous after it was explained]! LOL!
“Oh you gonna let it all hang out
Fat bottomed pears
you make the rocking world go round yeah
Fat bottomed pears
you make the rocking world go round…”
Oh by the way, I couldn’t eat this pear either.
CD
Monday, May 4, 2009
Yeah!!
Well, just to follow up on the Comcast installation.
Comcast sent out a technician to my house on Friday; he had to fix/rework everything the contractor had done. He was there for 5 1/2 hours, had to run all new coax cable, install a new signal booster, personall;y went through the channels to make certain everything was there, even got us three months free movie channel access from Comcast, because of the bad installation, and then all was right with the world. Everyone at home is happy and I don't have to field any more complaints.
The moral of the story is to request [read demand] a Comcast technician, because they're employees, the contractor I had couldn't care less that service wasn't working, he just gets paid for showing up. And the tech was a gentleman, he didn't ask me whose bedroom was whose [that still creeps me out when I think about it].
Kudos to the Comcast guy, he was fabulous!!! Even put little booties on over his shoes so my carpets stayed clean.
CD
Comcast sent out a technician to my house on Friday; he had to fix/rework everything the contractor had done. He was there for 5 1/2 hours, had to run all new coax cable, install a new signal booster, personall;y went through the channels to make certain everything was there, even got us three months free movie channel access from Comcast, because of the bad installation, and then all was right with the world. Everyone at home is happy and I don't have to field any more complaints.
The moral of the story is to request [read demand] a Comcast technician, because they're employees, the contractor I had couldn't care less that service wasn't working, he just gets paid for showing up. And the tech was a gentleman, he didn't ask me whose bedroom was whose [that still creeps me out when I think about it].
Kudos to the Comcast guy, he was fabulous!!! Even put little booties on over his shoes so my carpets stayed clean.
CD
Thursday, April 30, 2009
“A TALE OF TWO SIGNALS” by C. D. (Crappy Digitalization) Or “Don’t Worry” I’m unhappy
***WARNING - This saga is not intended for the easily bored***
The deadline of February 17th came and went without much fanfare. For all of you with TV antennas fastened to your roofs [does anyone still have one besides me?], you know that the stay of execution for broadcasting stations to transition from the ill-fated analog to digital signal has been moved out to June 12, 2009.
In preparation I dutifully purchased two converter boxes, connected everything as directed, pressed the ON switch on the little black box and voilá…it was horrible!! I couldn’t believe it, we no longer had access to the basic channels the way they were previously set-up; instead what we had was a bazillion Korean and Spanish channels as well as a clear view of a traffic camera positioned on 5th Avenue in NYC.
My mother is a sweetheart, but she has a penchant for always stating the obvious as if it were a new revelation, this tends to get my blood pressure up when I’m already stressed about the situation. Well, she stared at the TV as we repeatedly pulsed through the channels trying to force it to work. I knew she was frustrated too, because about the third time through, we returned to the surreal black and white pictures of 5th Ave. She said in her aggravated tone, “I don’t care about the traffic, I want channel 2, 4 and 7!” DUH I thought, that’s what we’re all hoping for! So I did what every other person in this situation would do, I calmly detached all the digital converter boxes and temporarily reinstated the antenna. Mom was happy, that’s all that mattered.
Since that frustrating day in February I’ve been anguishing over the looming June deadline, hence when I received a card in the mail from Comcast about their cable service I saw this as a sign and called them. Now you have to keep in mind our house is 100 years old with high ceilings, plaster and lathe walls, and a basement filled to the gunwales with treasures my brother and his wife have collected over the past 25 years [one should interpret this to be a disaster zone]. So when the gal went over the installation requirements to put in an installation work order I let her know in no uncertain terms that this was a huge job, because the house has never been outfitted with anything other than a few telephones. She seemed nonplussed and set the date for the following Thursday.
Installation day arrived and a cable consultant [versus a Comcast technician] showed up at 11:40 AM, of course he was scheduled between 8 and 11 [reminds me of that Seinfeld episode with Cramer and the cable guy]. I took him through the house, showed him the six TVs and when he saw the antenna connections on all the TVs he wanted to see the hook up. So we trudged outside to the back of the house where an antenna guy [versus the cable guy…always seems to be a guy] had brought the coaxial cable down off the roof to a juncture under the eave of the house on the second floor. The guy stood there staring at it for quite awhile and when I queried him he responded “Don’t worry, let me get started.” It was then I showed him one of my prized hostas in the garden below one of the connections (I collect these magnificent plants) and asked that he not step on it. He assured me that he would not, so I went inside and let him do his thing.
A short while later he asked if we had some twine, so my mom gave him some, I asked him if he had everything he needed, his response was, “Don’t worry,” and he disappeared outside again. That should have been my first clue that we were in for an eventful day.
He returned a half hour later to borrow our extension ladder and then spent hours, pulling cable from the telephone pole, running it to the newly installed grey “box” on the house, splicing it into an electrical ground, stringing it across the outside of the house along the eave to the wiring juncture at the back and integrating it to the pre-existing antenna cable. At intermittent times I would check on him and he response was always, “Don’t worry.”
After three hours he was ready to work indoors to install the cable boxes. I thought this would be quick, but in all this took him another two hours. While in the upstairs bedroom he asked me, “Whose bedroom is this?” AGH!!! I was totally creeped out!!! I responded that it was mine and changed the subject. It was while he was connecting one in the next bedroom that it became evident that we weren’t receiving all the channels I‘d subscribed to. When I questioned him about this, he responded with, “Don’t worry.”, and “Oh, by the way, I stepped on your plant, I’m sorry.” Hmmm, was it my imagination, or did he just change the subject by remorselessly apologizing for stepping on the hosta that I had specifically asked him not to step on? Wow, was I annoyed, I was looking forward to seeing how this plant had fared over the winter, and besides ‘Sea Gulf Stream’ had set me back a pretty penny. Groan!
At this point all I wanted was for this guy to be done and to get out of my house. Thankfully when he got to the last TV I started to be less stressed. This final one was the main one in the house, and of course it wasn’t getting any signal. So he hurried back outside, changed a connector and miraculously the picture appeared. We were still not receiving all the channels, and when I pointed this out again he said, “You have to pay for those channels”, which silenced me temporarily, because off the top of my head perhaps I was mistaken.
He finished up, and then instructed me to leave all the TVs powered on. I had looked at the channel guide while he was working and saw that channels I should have been receiving were not coming through, so again I inquired about the missing channels, and he responded with, “Don’t worry, leave the TVs on and they will come in.” “If they don’t, when I come back tomorrow I will run some new cable wires.” And with that he got in his little grey truck and drove away. Well, I wasn’t happy with the cable connection, but I was glad he was gone.
After he left I surveyed the damage…he didn’t close the gate to the 6’ fence in the rear [keeps the big brown rats from eating my collection of 200+ hostas], he left our extension ladder up on the house, he squashed my $45 hosta, he failed to put a cover on the grey cable box on the house, he disconnected every DVD player and left them lying on the floor, he failed to tuck all the wires back in place, and I didn’t get what I was paying for. What a disaster, I guess when someone says, “Don’t worry”, you should worry!
Day two of the installation arrived and he had said he’d be there in the morning.
So I waited…..
And I waited…
And I waited…
Finally I phoned the cable company at 11:00 and the service rep told me that he was scheduled to be there between 8 and 11 [déjà vu…sigh]. When I told her the signal wasn’t coming through she disagreed with me, saying that from her end, we were receiving everything. Regardless I still had the blue screen of death staring me in the face. I gave her one of the serial numbers off the bottom of one of the cable boxes and she keyed it in the computer, pulsed a signal to it, but nothing happened, still the dreaded blue notification. I mentioned that the cable guy had offered to replace cable today, and she informed me that if he did I would have to pay for that, because I don’t have a maintenance contract.
Maintenance contract!!!????
I reminded this nice lady that the man hadn’t finished the installation, how was it I should pay for maintenance? He was contracted to put new cable in and all he had done was to use pre-existing antenna cable. Maintenance? I hung up with her and reluctantly phoned the cable guy [he’d left me his cell number]. He was short with me, said he didn’t have much time to spare, that he was stopping by to change out two of the boxes; he’d have to see if his schedule could afford any time beyond that for me. I told him that he was scheduled here between 8 and 11, obviously he then realized I had called the cable company, because he asked, “you called Comcast?” to which I responded with a “yes.” He said he’d be out as soon as possible and hung up.
He showed up around 2:00, buzzed in with the two boxes, changed them out, brushed me off with, “I’ve got too much to do to run new cable,” and “it took me an hour to get here” [please note that yesterday he said he would only be in the town next to mine]. At this point he must have noticed the sheer and utter disgust displayed on my face, because he stopped and instructed me to, “call Comcast, but don’t tell them that you don’t have full service, tell them that you want a new outlet installed.” “Ask specifically for me, and I’ll come back to run new wire, but whatever you do don’t call today, because I’m working on Saturday and don’t want to come back on Sunday.” With that he vanished and was gone.
I stood there perplexed, and decided that whatever happened, that miserable man wasn’t setting a foot in my house. So I waited until Monday morning and I called Comcast. Have you ever noticed that search as you might through phone menus, there usually is no option offered to speak to a live person, and so it was with Comcast’s answering system. So I employed a trick I’d learned when I was exceedingly agitated with a 401K administrator a few years ago, you simply start pounding on the pound key.
And pound I did, until the phone said transferring your call. I was connected to a woman that fully understood my plight. She too was disturbed that he had asked me whose bedroom was whose, and assured me that he would not be coming back, and that I would not be paying for any maintenance costs. With that she scheduled a Comcast technician to come to my house.
Tomorrow is that day, groan! He’s scheduled to be here between 8 and 11, sigh! Can you tell the anticipation is overwhelming me? The saga goes on.
CD
The deadline of February 17th came and went without much fanfare. For all of you with TV antennas fastened to your roofs [does anyone still have one besides me?], you know that the stay of execution for broadcasting stations to transition from the ill-fated analog to digital signal has been moved out to June 12, 2009.
In preparation I dutifully purchased two converter boxes, connected everything as directed, pressed the ON switch on the little black box and voilá…it was horrible!! I couldn’t believe it, we no longer had access to the basic channels the way they were previously set-up; instead what we had was a bazillion Korean and Spanish channels as well as a clear view of a traffic camera positioned on 5th Avenue in NYC.
My mother is a sweetheart, but she has a penchant for always stating the obvious as if it were a new revelation, this tends to get my blood pressure up when I’m already stressed about the situation. Well, she stared at the TV as we repeatedly pulsed through the channels trying to force it to work. I knew she was frustrated too, because about the third time through, we returned to the surreal black and white pictures of 5th Ave. She said in her aggravated tone, “I don’t care about the traffic, I want channel 2, 4 and 7!” DUH I thought, that’s what we’re all hoping for! So I did what every other person in this situation would do, I calmly detached all the digital converter boxes and temporarily reinstated the antenna. Mom was happy, that’s all that mattered.
Since that frustrating day in February I’ve been anguishing over the looming June deadline, hence when I received a card in the mail from Comcast about their cable service I saw this as a sign and called them. Now you have to keep in mind our house is 100 years old with high ceilings, plaster and lathe walls, and a basement filled to the gunwales with treasures my brother and his wife have collected over the past 25 years [one should interpret this to be a disaster zone]. So when the gal went over the installation requirements to put in an installation work order I let her know in no uncertain terms that this was a huge job, because the house has never been outfitted with anything other than a few telephones. She seemed nonplussed and set the date for the following Thursday.
Installation day arrived and a cable consultant [versus a Comcast technician] showed up at 11:40 AM, of course he was scheduled between 8 and 11 [reminds me of that Seinfeld episode with Cramer and the cable guy]. I took him through the house, showed him the six TVs and when he saw the antenna connections on all the TVs he wanted to see the hook up. So we trudged outside to the back of the house where an antenna guy [versus the cable guy…always seems to be a guy] had brought the coaxial cable down off the roof to a juncture under the eave of the house on the second floor. The guy stood there staring at it for quite awhile and when I queried him he responded “Don’t worry, let me get started.” It was then I showed him one of my prized hostas in the garden below one of the connections (I collect these magnificent plants) and asked that he not step on it. He assured me that he would not, so I went inside and let him do his thing.
A short while later he asked if we had some twine, so my mom gave him some, I asked him if he had everything he needed, his response was, “Don’t worry,” and he disappeared outside again. That should have been my first clue that we were in for an eventful day.
He returned a half hour later to borrow our extension ladder and then spent hours, pulling cable from the telephone pole, running it to the newly installed grey “box” on the house, splicing it into an electrical ground, stringing it across the outside of the house along the eave to the wiring juncture at the back and integrating it to the pre-existing antenna cable. At intermittent times I would check on him and he response was always, “Don’t worry.”
After three hours he was ready to work indoors to install the cable boxes. I thought this would be quick, but in all this took him another two hours. While in the upstairs bedroom he asked me, “Whose bedroom is this?” AGH!!! I was totally creeped out!!! I responded that it was mine and changed the subject. It was while he was connecting one in the next bedroom that it became evident that we weren’t receiving all the channels I‘d subscribed to. When I questioned him about this, he responded with, “Don’t worry.”, and “Oh, by the way, I stepped on your plant, I’m sorry.” Hmmm, was it my imagination, or did he just change the subject by remorselessly apologizing for stepping on the hosta that I had specifically asked him not to step on? Wow, was I annoyed, I was looking forward to seeing how this plant had fared over the winter, and besides ‘Sea Gulf Stream’ had set me back a pretty penny. Groan!
At this point all I wanted was for this guy to be done and to get out of my house. Thankfully when he got to the last TV I started to be less stressed. This final one was the main one in the house, and of course it wasn’t getting any signal. So he hurried back outside, changed a connector and miraculously the picture appeared. We were still not receiving all the channels, and when I pointed this out again he said, “You have to pay for those channels”, which silenced me temporarily, because off the top of my head perhaps I was mistaken.
He finished up, and then instructed me to leave all the TVs powered on. I had looked at the channel guide while he was working and saw that channels I should have been receiving were not coming through, so again I inquired about the missing channels, and he responded with, “Don’t worry, leave the TVs on and they will come in.” “If they don’t, when I come back tomorrow I will run some new cable wires.” And with that he got in his little grey truck and drove away. Well, I wasn’t happy with the cable connection, but I was glad he was gone.
After he left I surveyed the damage…he didn’t close the gate to the 6’ fence in the rear [keeps the big brown rats from eating my collection of 200+ hostas], he left our extension ladder up on the house, he squashed my $45 hosta, he failed to put a cover on the grey cable box on the house, he disconnected every DVD player and left them lying on the floor, he failed to tuck all the wires back in place, and I didn’t get what I was paying for. What a disaster, I guess when someone says, “Don’t worry”, you should worry!
Day two of the installation arrived and he had said he’d be there in the morning.
So I waited…..
And I waited…
And I waited…
Finally I phoned the cable company at 11:00 and the service rep told me that he was scheduled to be there between 8 and 11 [déjà vu…sigh]. When I told her the signal wasn’t coming through she disagreed with me, saying that from her end, we were receiving everything. Regardless I still had the blue screen of death staring me in the face. I gave her one of the serial numbers off the bottom of one of the cable boxes and she keyed it in the computer, pulsed a signal to it, but nothing happened, still the dreaded blue notification. I mentioned that the cable guy had offered to replace cable today, and she informed me that if he did I would have to pay for that, because I don’t have a maintenance contract.
Maintenance contract!!!????
I reminded this nice lady that the man hadn’t finished the installation, how was it I should pay for maintenance? He was contracted to put new cable in and all he had done was to use pre-existing antenna cable. Maintenance? I hung up with her and reluctantly phoned the cable guy [he’d left me his cell number]. He was short with me, said he didn’t have much time to spare, that he was stopping by to change out two of the boxes; he’d have to see if his schedule could afford any time beyond that for me. I told him that he was scheduled here between 8 and 11, obviously he then realized I had called the cable company, because he asked, “you called Comcast?” to which I responded with a “yes.” He said he’d be out as soon as possible and hung up.
He showed up around 2:00, buzzed in with the two boxes, changed them out, brushed me off with, “I’ve got too much to do to run new cable,” and “it took me an hour to get here” [please note that yesterday he said he would only be in the town next to mine]. At this point he must have noticed the sheer and utter disgust displayed on my face, because he stopped and instructed me to, “call Comcast, but don’t tell them that you don’t have full service, tell them that you want a new outlet installed.” “Ask specifically for me, and I’ll come back to run new wire, but whatever you do don’t call today, because I’m working on Saturday and don’t want to come back on Sunday.” With that he vanished and was gone.
I stood there perplexed, and decided that whatever happened, that miserable man wasn’t setting a foot in my house. So I waited until Monday morning and I called Comcast. Have you ever noticed that search as you might through phone menus, there usually is no option offered to speak to a live person, and so it was with Comcast’s answering system. So I employed a trick I’d learned when I was exceedingly agitated with a 401K administrator a few years ago, you simply start pounding on the pound key.
And pound I did, until the phone said transferring your call. I was connected to a woman that fully understood my plight. She too was disturbed that he had asked me whose bedroom was whose, and assured me that he would not be coming back, and that I would not be paying for any maintenance costs. With that she scheduled a Comcast technician to come to my house.
Tomorrow is that day, groan! He’s scheduled to be here between 8 and 11, sigh! Can you tell the anticipation is overwhelming me? The saga goes on.
CD
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
A well seated pear
My sister went grocery shopping over the weekend and came home with a bunch of fabulous looking pears. So the other day I grabbed one of these beauties out of the fruit bowl on the counter, popped it into my lunch bag and happily went off to work. About mid afternoon I was in need of a snack so I took the pear in to the cafeteria to wash it. As I dried it with a paper towel I looked at it closely for the first time. It was a good example of a pear, good color, fresh smell, but it had an indent, or a "seam" running down the one side causing the piece of fruit to resemble a large, well rounded, plump derrier.
Now,like my father, when I see something comical it triggers this little button in my brain causing me to break into a song that aptly captures the spirit of the situation. And of course a song came to mind in this instance, although I was loath to sing it out loud. It was a song, a stupid, idiotic song. A song that shouldn't be rattling around in my head. A song that [fortunately] I'm only familiar with the first line of the lyrics. A demeaning and crude song. This song with it's jaunty rythm said it all...
"I like big butts and I cannot lie..."
Then I held the pouty fruit up so my friend, Sevein, who was also in the lunchroom, could peruse it closely and asked him what song came to mind. The strangest look crossed his face and he started to laugh. Obviously he caught the resemblance, because he started to sing...
"I like big butts and I cannot lie..."
Sigh. I won't say any more other than I couldn't eat the pear.
CD
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Winner, winner, one sea pod!
Are artists collectors or are we simply glorified packrats? As an artist I’ve collected enough “stuff” to keep me occupied even long after they put me in the home! I’ve amassed piles of reference materials and all the different medium that’s necessary to create everything imaginable. Paper, oil paints, watercolors, ink, pencils, charcoal, clay, papier mache, etc., you name it and most likely I have it.
Have you noticed that quite a few stores have gone out of business in the past decade or so? I’ve, in most cases, let the packrat in me override the sensible part of my brain when I go to check out what’s left on the shelf at those wonderful rock bottom prices. Its almost as if a tiny voice in my brain cries out in the midst of a sale "LOOK, LOOK, LOOK", “You never know when you may need this!!”, and “BUY, BUY, BUY!!” Albeit some things are necessary, like tee shirts and underwear, but there was the time I went to one of these closeouts and bought, bag after bag after bag of silk flowers, I wondered if I had a problem. But in my defense, it was too good a deal to pass up, items were marked down to 95% off, and I only ended up spending $100.00!
There was another chain that closed shortly after that which carried a side line of artist supplies along with their seasonal inventory. They had everything you needed to do any craft devised by the human mind. When they went out of business I made daily trips to the store on my lunch hour and bought massive quantities of water colors, pads of paper, beads, jewelry findings, skeins of yarn, embroidery floss, piles of felt, and the wax, dyes and stylus to create those beautiful Ukrainian Easter eggs. The savings were phenomenal, but I was so embarrassed by the amount of things I’d bought that after the third trip I left all of the “finds” in the trunk of my car (some of them stayed hidden there for over a year), besides, my room is to the point that it can’t handle one more bag of anything, it‘s ready to implode.
Sigh, what fond memories of these final sales. And as I think back it was at one of these shopping episodes that my sister and I started a friendly competition. It very simply boiled down to whoever spent the most money won. Now keep in mind that she and I are really frugal, so we never really spent a lot of money, but regardless of the small amount expended invariably, for some odd reason, I always seemed to win!
I thought about this a few Saturdays ago when I went to a ceramic supply store with my brother and our friend. We had a great time! I bought little odds and ends, ribs, texturing tools, sponges, a rasp, ribbon tools, trimming tools, a dozen bottles of underglazes and 50 pounds of a low fire porcelain. Now because the place was only open to the public one Saturday a month, they gave everyone a 10% discount. I was in my glory so to speak, because all of the items were discounted between 10 and 50 percent, nothing was full price. It was a heady experience, until much to my dismay I paid the gal and realized that the $170 I’d spent only amounted to half a plastic grocery bag of stuff and a 50 pound box of mud. I screwed my face up into an inane smile, looked at my brother and said, “I win”. Well of course he laughed, and then thankfully he took me to a terrific Indian restaurant afterwards to assuage my sorrows. Ah, the nan and that hot cauliflower dish, to die for!! But that’s another post altogether.
Although I felt like I’d lost at the checkout counter on Saturday, during the following Thursday pottery session the tools I’d gotten turned out to be fabulous and I realized I had won. Once again I’d sculpted something very organic, but this time it had a textile quality about it. Proudly I twirled it on the banding wheel. The teacher loved it and I was very pleased indeed! It was definitely sci-fi, and worthy of being considered a sibling to the Audrey sculpture I’d made the week before, but sadly my brother once again put everything into perspective and compared my masterpiece to Sponge Bob squarepant’s pineapple. Then much to my dismay he heartily sang the accompanying tune. Sigh, $170 to make a pineapple from under the sea! Oh well, I can’t wait to hear what he likens the next creation of mine to. I must say he does have a creative mind, which of course dictates that he’s a packrat too, so he’s not all bad and that’s probably why I love him as much as I do.
And so in deference to everything subsea that inspires us and to my beloved brother we all break into chorus, "We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine...!" LOL!
CD
Have you noticed that quite a few stores have gone out of business in the past decade or so? I’ve, in most cases, let the packrat in me override the sensible part of my brain when I go to check out what’s left on the shelf at those wonderful rock bottom prices. Its almost as if a tiny voice in my brain cries out in the midst of a sale "LOOK, LOOK, LOOK", “You never know when you may need this!!”, and “BUY, BUY, BUY!!” Albeit some things are necessary, like tee shirts and underwear, but there was the time I went to one of these closeouts and bought, bag after bag after bag of silk flowers, I wondered if I had a problem. But in my defense, it was too good a deal to pass up, items were marked down to 95% off, and I only ended up spending $100.00!
There was another chain that closed shortly after that which carried a side line of artist supplies along with their seasonal inventory. They had everything you needed to do any craft devised by the human mind. When they went out of business I made daily trips to the store on my lunch hour and bought massive quantities of water colors, pads of paper, beads, jewelry findings, skeins of yarn, embroidery floss, piles of felt, and the wax, dyes and stylus to create those beautiful Ukrainian Easter eggs. The savings were phenomenal, but I was so embarrassed by the amount of things I’d bought that after the third trip I left all of the “finds” in the trunk of my car (some of them stayed hidden there for over a year), besides, my room is to the point that it can’t handle one more bag of anything, it‘s ready to implode.
Sigh, what fond memories of these final sales. And as I think back it was at one of these shopping episodes that my sister and I started a friendly competition. It very simply boiled down to whoever spent the most money won. Now keep in mind that she and I are really frugal, so we never really spent a lot of money, but regardless of the small amount expended invariably, for some odd reason, I always seemed to win!
I thought about this a few Saturdays ago when I went to a ceramic supply store with my brother and our friend. We had a great time! I bought little odds and ends, ribs, texturing tools, sponges, a rasp, ribbon tools, trimming tools, a dozen bottles of underglazes and 50 pounds of a low fire porcelain. Now because the place was only open to the public one Saturday a month, they gave everyone a 10% discount. I was in my glory so to speak, because all of the items were discounted between 10 and 50 percent, nothing was full price. It was a heady experience, until much to my dismay I paid the gal and realized that the $170 I’d spent only amounted to half a plastic grocery bag of stuff and a 50 pound box of mud. I screwed my face up into an inane smile, looked at my brother and said, “I win”. Well of course he laughed, and then thankfully he took me to a terrific Indian restaurant afterwards to assuage my sorrows. Ah, the nan and that hot cauliflower dish, to die for!! But that’s another post altogether.
Although I felt like I’d lost at the checkout counter on Saturday, during the following Thursday pottery session the tools I’d gotten turned out to be fabulous and I realized I had won. Once again I’d sculpted something very organic, but this time it had a textile quality about it. Proudly I twirled it on the banding wheel. The teacher loved it and I was very pleased indeed! It was definitely sci-fi, and worthy of being considered a sibling to the Audrey sculpture I’d made the week before, but sadly my brother once again put everything into perspective and compared my masterpiece to Sponge Bob squarepant’s pineapple. Then much to my dismay he heartily sang the accompanying tune. Sigh, $170 to make a pineapple from under the sea! Oh well, I can’t wait to hear what he likens the next creation of mine to. I must say he does have a creative mind, which of course dictates that he’s a packrat too, so he’s not all bad and that’s probably why I love him as much as I do.
And so in deference to everything subsea that inspires us and to my beloved brother we all break into chorus, "We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine...!" LOL!
CD
Thursday, March 19, 2009
"Bok Choy" anyone?
Yesterday for lunch I enjoyed my favorite Chinese dish, Sesame Chicken over brown rice. It was fabulous, I savored every bite.
Ahhhh, the broccoli was al dente...
the chicken was all white meat...
it was cooked to perfection...
the sauce sweet & tangy...
it was tasty…
it was yummy…
it was delicious!!!
And then to complete the epicurean experience I opened my fortune cookie. Hmmm, I thought its missing…perhaps it was caught in the cellophane wrapper…no, perhaps tucked into one of the cookie folds…no. There was no fortune! Wow I thought, am I unfortunate? But then G wisely pointed out that the real issue is that I'll never learn to speak Chinese without the fortune in the cookie to teach me. So true I thought, how am I to learn Chinese without those translations on the reverse side? Looking at the wrapper again, hoping that the small strip of paper would appear, I noticed the printing clearly stated “Fortune Cookie”, well, I thought indignantly, that was false advertising. Its bad enough that the dessert they offer at the conclusion of every meal is a stale dry folded up crepe thing, but no fortune, unconscionable!
Oh well, I figured I’d expended enough energy on that topic, so I turned my attention back to work and tried to focus on a very complex excel spreadsheet. Wouldn’t you know it, there was a piece of broccoli stuck in between my back molars, how annoying! Instead of getting out the floss I stuck a piece of gum into my mouth thinking that chewing it would dislodge the offensive remnant without disrupting my work. After about the fifth chew there was a “POP!” Rats I thought, what was that. Then I felt a hard something in my mouth, so I spit it out and realized that my rear crown had come off. What a pain (in the tooth)! Of course I picked up the phone and called my dentist right then and made an appointment to have it glued back into place. I hung up and sighed, I’m all set, with a 10:00 AM appointment the next morning, everything will be rendered as good as new!
Later on as I slaved over that unbalanced budget I remembered I’d bought some fabulous T-bone steaks for dinner. How was I going to chew a luscious steak with no tooth, and it was a tad sensitive to boot. I looked at the clock, there was only another 10 minutes remaining before I usually left for the day, so at the set time I left, drove to a local drug store to pick up a package of temporary dental glue and then found my way home. Once home I read the directions, they stated that you’re not to eat on it for at least one hour. Mom told me not to worry, we wouldn’t be eating for at least an hour, and she encouraged me to go glue it on.
So upstairs and into the bathroom I went to re-crown myself. I followed the directions,
remove as much of old glue from crown as possible…okay…
clean crown…okay…
dry crown…okay…
wash tooth & leave wet…okay…
Take a small amount of glue and brush onto the underside of the crown….okay…
Rewet tooth…okay…
Put crown into place….okay…
AGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wanted to pass out on the floor, the pain was instantaneously excruciating!!! The glue must have hit some exposed nerve and I was seeing stars! It was all I could do to drag myself to my room and lie down on my bed. The whole side of my face was throbbing at this point. I laid there for what seemed an eternity, but looking at the clock it was only ten minutes later that the pain subsided. So I got up changed out of my work clothes, went downstairs and after the hour was up we sat down to beautifully grilled burnt offerings. Unfortunately I only half heartedly enjoyed it, because the mere thought of this thing popping off again made me cringe. Thankfully I made it through dinner and the evening, and went to bed that night with no other tooth related issues.
This morning I showered, dressed and drove off to the dentist. They just moved into a new facility a few months ago and when I walked in I was really impressed! The place looked fabulous, and they told me that they’d retained an interior decorator, who specialized in dental offices. I thought how strange, someone really specializes in this? Go figure.
Anyway once in the chair, the dentist pops off the crown with ease and commented that the glue was pretty weak. All I could think of was the pain I’d experienced last night with this weak glue and started to sweat at the thought of what the strong glue was going do to me. My fears were assuaged, because once he smeared the cement on and put the cap back in place I suffered no ill affects and was good to go. Or so I thought, while I was still laying captive in the chair the dentist reminded me that I needed to replace a cracked crown (on the other side) and have another tooth fitted with one as well. Rats, I was having no problem with those and my motto is "if it ain't broke don't fix it," but he was so persuasive that by the end of the appointment he’d scheduled me for two new crowns and a night guard. I figured at the price these crowns were going to cost me I’d be grinding my teeth at night and a night guard should at least halt any further tooth degradation. Then they gave me the estimate for the out of pocket amount and I almost cried. $1,500! Wow, and what thought ran through my mind? Well, they have to pay for that dental interior decorator somehow. LOL! Sad but true!
Oh well, I'll bet Confucius would probably advise anyone with a strong desire for Chinese food to check the cookie first, and if the fortune is missing consider something a bit less crunchy than broccoli like Italian spaghetti and meatballs.
CD
Ahhhh, the broccoli was al dente...
the chicken was all white meat...
it was cooked to perfection...
the sauce sweet & tangy...
it was tasty…
it was yummy…
it was delicious!!!
And then to complete the epicurean experience I opened my fortune cookie. Hmmm, I thought its missing…perhaps it was caught in the cellophane wrapper…no, perhaps tucked into one of the cookie folds…no. There was no fortune! Wow I thought, am I unfortunate? But then G wisely pointed out that the real issue is that I'll never learn to speak Chinese without the fortune in the cookie to teach me. So true I thought, how am I to learn Chinese without those translations on the reverse side? Looking at the wrapper again, hoping that the small strip of paper would appear, I noticed the printing clearly stated “Fortune Cookie”, well, I thought indignantly, that was false advertising. Its bad enough that the dessert they offer at the conclusion of every meal is a stale dry folded up crepe thing, but no fortune, unconscionable!
Oh well, I figured I’d expended enough energy on that topic, so I turned my attention back to work and tried to focus on a very complex excel spreadsheet. Wouldn’t you know it, there was a piece of broccoli stuck in between my back molars, how annoying! Instead of getting out the floss I stuck a piece of gum into my mouth thinking that chewing it would dislodge the offensive remnant without disrupting my work. After about the fifth chew there was a “POP!” Rats I thought, what was that. Then I felt a hard something in my mouth, so I spit it out and realized that my rear crown had come off. What a pain (in the tooth)! Of course I picked up the phone and called my dentist right then and made an appointment to have it glued back into place. I hung up and sighed, I’m all set, with a 10:00 AM appointment the next morning, everything will be rendered as good as new!
Later on as I slaved over that unbalanced budget I remembered I’d bought some fabulous T-bone steaks for dinner. How was I going to chew a luscious steak with no tooth, and it was a tad sensitive to boot. I looked at the clock, there was only another 10 minutes remaining before I usually left for the day, so at the set time I left, drove to a local drug store to pick up a package of temporary dental glue and then found my way home. Once home I read the directions, they stated that you’re not to eat on it for at least one hour. Mom told me not to worry, we wouldn’t be eating for at least an hour, and she encouraged me to go glue it on.
So upstairs and into the bathroom I went to re-crown myself. I followed the directions,
remove as much of old glue from crown as possible…okay…
clean crown…okay…
dry crown…okay…
wash tooth & leave wet…okay…
Take a small amount of glue and brush onto the underside of the crown….okay…
Rewet tooth…okay…
Put crown into place….okay…
AGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wanted to pass out on the floor, the pain was instantaneously excruciating!!! The glue must have hit some exposed nerve and I was seeing stars! It was all I could do to drag myself to my room and lie down on my bed. The whole side of my face was throbbing at this point. I laid there for what seemed an eternity, but looking at the clock it was only ten minutes later that the pain subsided. So I got up changed out of my work clothes, went downstairs and after the hour was up we sat down to beautifully grilled burnt offerings. Unfortunately I only half heartedly enjoyed it, because the mere thought of this thing popping off again made me cringe. Thankfully I made it through dinner and the evening, and went to bed that night with no other tooth related issues.
This morning I showered, dressed and drove off to the dentist. They just moved into a new facility a few months ago and when I walked in I was really impressed! The place looked fabulous, and they told me that they’d retained an interior decorator, who specialized in dental offices. I thought how strange, someone really specializes in this? Go figure.
Anyway once in the chair, the dentist pops off the crown with ease and commented that the glue was pretty weak. All I could think of was the pain I’d experienced last night with this weak glue and started to sweat at the thought of what the strong glue was going do to me. My fears were assuaged, because once he smeared the cement on and put the cap back in place I suffered no ill affects and was good to go. Or so I thought, while I was still laying captive in the chair the dentist reminded me that I needed to replace a cracked crown (on the other side) and have another tooth fitted with one as well. Rats, I was having no problem with those and my motto is "if it ain't broke don't fix it," but he was so persuasive that by the end of the appointment he’d scheduled me for two new crowns and a night guard. I figured at the price these crowns were going to cost me I’d be grinding my teeth at night and a night guard should at least halt any further tooth degradation. Then they gave me the estimate for the out of pocket amount and I almost cried. $1,500! Wow, and what thought ran through my mind? Well, they have to pay for that dental interior decorator somehow. LOL! Sad but true!
Oh well, I'll bet Confucius would probably advise anyone with a strong desire for Chinese food to check the cookie first, and if the fortune is missing consider something a bit less crunchy than broccoli like Italian spaghetti and meatballs.
CD
Monday, March 16, 2009
Thoughts of Paradise
One of the engineering managers greeted me as I was going for my second cup of coffee the other morning and I asked him how he was doing. His response was, “Another day in Paradise.” That gave me such a chuckle! Although the folks here are great and the work somewhat interesting, this is far from a sea shell littered beach on the equator. And as I walked back to my desk I thought of how I’d much rather be strolling carefree on a beach sifting through shells, as I used to as a kid, than drinking my second cup of coffee at the office.
My mind wandered for the rest of the day to thoughts and memories of beaches from vacations past, Sigh, what great memories! Shells, sand, sea, sun, dolphins, pelicans, palm trees and did I mention shells? I was still waxing nostalgic that evening and reminisced about vacations in Paradise with my mother. Then my mind turned to another exotic family memory, and I asked her if she remembered the marlin. "Of course," she said, and we laughed! Years ago when I was in grade school my father had come home with a ten foot long sail fish. It was a vibrant looking beast, shiny blues and greens, with a long beak and a magnificent dorsal fin opened to its fullest. It was a piece of art crafted by a taxidermist who really took pride in his work. My dad, who was a builder, had done a job for someone and, because the fish no longer fit their decor they were throwing it out. True to form, as was the result of many a job, dad would bring home things that, although they were like new, didn’t “go” and weren't wanted any longer. He picked up a lot of good things over the years, but we kids thought this was la crème de la crème of finds!
So when dad brought home his catch of the day mom loved the fish so much it was relegated to the basement. The poor beauty was banished, but in support of mom’s decision it really didn't go with the Queen Anne style furniture we had in the house. And so he lived there for many happy years and became a fixture. Then the day came when our basement flooded (a few feet deep) and the poor fish feebly tried to swim, but to no avail, he drowned. He wasn't ruined, but he went out to the curb with the rest of the basement items that had suffered the water. Mom reminded me that when the garbage men arrived that morning, she was reading the paper on the porch and heard their comments. One of the guys exclaimed, "Man, a real sport must live in that house!!" We laughed as we thought about it, dad was a sport indeed.
What great memories of days past in Paradise.
CD
My mind wandered for the rest of the day to thoughts and memories of beaches from vacations past, Sigh, what great memories! Shells, sand, sea, sun, dolphins, pelicans, palm trees and did I mention shells? I was still waxing nostalgic that evening and reminisced about vacations in Paradise with my mother. Then my mind turned to another exotic family memory, and I asked her if she remembered the marlin. "Of course," she said, and we laughed! Years ago when I was in grade school my father had come home with a ten foot long sail fish. It was a vibrant looking beast, shiny blues and greens, with a long beak and a magnificent dorsal fin opened to its fullest. It was a piece of art crafted by a taxidermist who really took pride in his work. My dad, who was a builder, had done a job for someone and, because the fish no longer fit their decor they were throwing it out. True to form, as was the result of many a job, dad would bring home things that, although they were like new, didn’t “go” and weren't wanted any longer. He picked up a lot of good things over the years, but we kids thought this was la crème de la crème of finds!
So when dad brought home his catch of the day mom loved the fish so much it was relegated to the basement. The poor beauty was banished, but in support of mom’s decision it really didn't go with the Queen Anne style furniture we had in the house. And so he lived there for many happy years and became a fixture. Then the day came when our basement flooded (a few feet deep) and the poor fish feebly tried to swim, but to no avail, he drowned. He wasn't ruined, but he went out to the curb with the rest of the basement items that had suffered the water. Mom reminded me that when the garbage men arrived that morning, she was reading the paper on the porch and heard their comments. One of the guys exclaimed, "Man, a real sport must live in that house!!" We laughed as we thought about it, dad was a sport indeed.
What great memories of days past in Paradise.
CD
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Contaminated again!
Well, I’m just getting over a second cold in three weeks! Unbelievable! Here I am a veritable germ-a-phobe, one who washes their hands to the point of having them become chapped and bleeding, contaminated with someone else's disease. AGH! How can something like this happen to a squeaky clean person like me?!
Hmmm, there are only two groups of people that I could possibly blame. It’s either the engineers at work, some of whom tend to be slobs, or the sweet old nuns in my church. Which do I entertain in my mind as the culprit? Is it the hugs and kisses showered on me after the church services are over, or the coughing and spewing of infectious germs by some of the engineering enigmas who don't believe that cleanliness is next to godliness? That’s tough, but I think I’ll pick the vicar’s virus. There’s a lot of hugging and kissing going on Sunday afternoons, and I’ve noticed that the sniffles don’t hold any of those tiny old ladies back from showing their affection.
Sigh, now all that remains is a sinus infection. I should go to the doctor , but I’m too cheap, I don’t want to spend the $95 office visit fee to have a doctor write a prescription for an antibiotic. Instead I’m spraying my nostrils with saline and today I tried homeopathic remedy of a few drops of “oil of oregano”. I made this delicious beef, barley and vegetable soup the other night, and today I brought some in for lunch. So I thought it might not be a bad idea to put three little drops of the oil into the heated soup. I figured it would be a nice touch and who knows, maybe it would prove to be the natural antibiotic that its touted to be.
Well, am I ever glad I didn’t put those drops under my tongue as the directions recommended, it was so strong I couldn’t tell the difference between a carrot and a piece of beef! The little dropper should have been my first clue that it was potent stuff, LOL! But here it is a few hours later and the whole sinus thing seems to have abated considerably. I’ll have to take the bottle home and drop a few drops on my dinner, although I’m hoping we’re having Italian, I can’t imagine this on my mom’s wonderful meatloaf! Perish the thought!
CD
Hmmm, there are only two groups of people that I could possibly blame. It’s either the engineers at work, some of whom tend to be slobs, or the sweet old nuns in my church. Which do I entertain in my mind as the culprit? Is it the hugs and kisses showered on me after the church services are over, or the coughing and spewing of infectious germs by some of the engineering enigmas who don't believe that cleanliness is next to godliness? That’s tough, but I think I’ll pick the vicar’s virus. There’s a lot of hugging and kissing going on Sunday afternoons, and I’ve noticed that the sniffles don’t hold any of those tiny old ladies back from showing their affection.
Sigh, now all that remains is a sinus infection. I should go to the doctor , but I’m too cheap, I don’t want to spend the $95 office visit fee to have a doctor write a prescription for an antibiotic. Instead I’m spraying my nostrils with saline and today I tried homeopathic remedy of a few drops of “oil of oregano”. I made this delicious beef, barley and vegetable soup the other night, and today I brought some in for lunch. So I thought it might not be a bad idea to put three little drops of the oil into the heated soup. I figured it would be a nice touch and who knows, maybe it would prove to be the natural antibiotic that its touted to be.
Well, am I ever glad I didn’t put those drops under my tongue as the directions recommended, it was so strong I couldn’t tell the difference between a carrot and a piece of beef! The little dropper should have been my first clue that it was potent stuff, LOL! But here it is a few hours later and the whole sinus thing seems to have abated considerably. I’ll have to take the bottle home and drop a few drops on my dinner, although I’m hoping we’re having Italian, I can’t imagine this on my mom’s wonderful meatloaf! Perish the thought!
CD
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Ode to the artist
Have you ever considered superheroes? When did they first realize they had super human abilities? Perhaps Superman tumbled out of his crib only to fly back to the safety of his blankets. Well, there are those of us who aren’t so super human, but possess extraordinary talents and abilities. When did we first get a sense of our prowess? At what point in life do artists realize they’re endowed with creative abilities? For me personally it was never a realization, it was simply me being me, it’s the way I’m wired. Art flows outward as an expression of the inner me, sometimes effortlessly and sometimes not.
My parents’ first exposure to the reality that their child possessed any kind of artistic talent was during their very first parent-teacher night. It was the elderly kindergarten teacher that excitedly directed them to a display table. The class project was to “sculpt” a candle in a candleholder out of clay. Well, after receiving a clueless response from my folks she proudly directed their attention to my creation, a detailed chamber stick, outfitted with a perfectly modeled candle, topped off with a flame on the end of the wick. She told them that my exceptional fine motor skills and ability to translate the conceptual image into concrete form with such realism was beyond a normal 5 year old. She declared to them that I was an artist. Well, my parents were thrilled and of course as a result gave me every opportunity to “ create”. You probably wonder if it was the opportunities that cultivated talent, or whether it's innate. My response is that if I were only given a tube of Crest toothpaste as a child I would have created something glorious out if it (which I did, but we won’t go there, LOL!).
Of course I’m no superhero, and you probably think I’m a bit off, even arrogant, to insinuate that talented people are extraordinary, but if you’re talented, I mean beyond the normal person, then you understand. There’s something special about knowing that you excel above the rest in a certain field. But you also have to look at it realistically, we’re all equal there are just some people in life that are gifted, but no one is better than anyone else.
Hopefully over time, as this blog unravels, there will be opportunity to discuss some of the things brought to life through the paint brush and a wad of clay. Since my art comes through in everything I do, from gardening to pen and ink drawings, there will be a lot to look at. By the way “Clay Doodles” was inspired by some fanciful little creatures I put together one night while I was waiting to be inspired, it was like I was doodling in clay as someone would doodle with a pencil on a scrap piece of paper. You should try it when you get the chance, there is something very therapeutic about molding clay with one’s hands. To me its almost as if I’m back in kindergarten rolling snakes and making candles.
Welcome to my blog!
CD
My parents’ first exposure to the reality that their child possessed any kind of artistic talent was during their very first parent-teacher night. It was the elderly kindergarten teacher that excitedly directed them to a display table. The class project was to “sculpt” a candle in a candleholder out of clay. Well, after receiving a clueless response from my folks she proudly directed their attention to my creation, a detailed chamber stick, outfitted with a perfectly modeled candle, topped off with a flame on the end of the wick. She told them that my exceptional fine motor skills and ability to translate the conceptual image into concrete form with such realism was beyond a normal 5 year old. She declared to them that I was an artist. Well, my parents were thrilled and of course as a result gave me every opportunity to “ create”. You probably wonder if it was the opportunities that cultivated talent, or whether it's innate. My response is that if I were only given a tube of Crest toothpaste as a child I would have created something glorious out if it (which I did, but we won’t go there, LOL!).
Of course I’m no superhero, and you probably think I’m a bit off, even arrogant, to insinuate that talented people are extraordinary, but if you’re talented, I mean beyond the normal person, then you understand. There’s something special about knowing that you excel above the rest in a certain field. But you also have to look at it realistically, we’re all equal there are just some people in life that are gifted, but no one is better than anyone else.
Hopefully over time, as this blog unravels, there will be opportunity to discuss some of the things brought to life through the paint brush and a wad of clay. Since my art comes through in everything I do, from gardening to pen and ink drawings, there will be a lot to look at. By the way “Clay Doodles” was inspired by some fanciful little creatures I put together one night while I was waiting to be inspired, it was like I was doodling in clay as someone would doodle with a pencil on a scrap piece of paper. You should try it when you get the chance, there is something very therapeutic about molding clay with one’s hands. To me its almost as if I’m back in kindergarten rolling snakes and making candles.
Welcome to my blog!
CD
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