Category House and Home

Never Can Say Goodbye

Michael 1 Comment

As we get close to saying goodbye to 2016 I have discovered that we suck at saying goodbye.

In this last month of the year I spent a lot of time on the phone. I had to pick a new insurance and because it is a milestone change I used a broker. I have a car due for service and inspection. I was in the hospital, a couple of times, so I got a couple of “Hi! How are we doing?” calls, and I had to make a couple of rounds of followup doctor appointments. And it was the holidays so I had to check in with some folks to see how they were doing. So, when otherwise I might use my phone primarily as an alarm clock to not miss any of the several doctor appointments throughout the year, this month I used it as an actual communication device.

And thus discovered that we suck at  saying goodbye.

All the calls started out right. And calls with people who actually know my first name as opposed to those reading it from a computer screen were mostly able to successfully end a call. But the others. Oh, the others. It was like the final dress rehearsal for the bad movie scene in every bad movie where two people try to go through a doorway at the same time. After you. No. After you. No, no. After you.

It seems that those who have been trained to make appointments had training stopped somewhere before “Thank you for calling. Have a nice day. Good bye.”  Instead it goes more like this.

“You’re all set. Is there anything else I can do?”

“No, thank you. Good bye.”

“Well, thank you. And don’t forget to bring your insurance card.”

“Right. Good bye.”

“And please arrive 15 minutes early.

“Got it. Good bye.”

“Well then, you are all set. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No thanks. Good bye.”

Thank you for calling. If you need to cancel, change, or…”

–click–

See you next year. Probably 15 minutes early. Good bye.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

 

 

 

Cloudy With a Good Chance

Michael 1 Comment

It’s just a couple days to Christmas and that means children and romantics are asking will there be a White Christmas this year. Today’s weather people can pretty much tell you within one or two percentage points if it will or if it won’t wherever you are. It wasn’t always that way.

I remember many years ago there weren’t weather forecasts on the evening news. There were weather reports. TIROS I became the first weather satellite to watch over the Earth’s climate conditions when it was launched in 1960. Before that the weather segment was what happened, not what to expect. Probably the only weather men willing to take a risk and “predict” tomorrow’s weather were those in San Diego, or perhaps Phoenix, where you could say it’s going to be warm and sunny and get it right almost every day. Where I grew up the weathermen spoke of today’s weather in the East being pretty much what yesterday’s weather was in the MidWest. And if one wasn’t sure, it never hurt to predict “partly cloudy.”

One December back then we were closing in on Christmas Day and it looked like the only White Christmas we were going to see was the movie of the week special presentation. It was all but confirmed when the reigning weather champ said out loud, on TV, for all the world (or at least the local metro area), the next few days before the the holiday would be at best – “partly cloudy.”

I believe that was two days before Christmas and we kids sighed our sighs that even if we got new sleds (which we never did, now that I think about it), we’d not be racing downhill on them. So off to bed we went. And we woke up the following morning to about 6 inches of fresh fallen snow! Woohoo!! (Or Yippee!! as we would have said back then.)

Later that day on the local evening newscast the regular anchorman introduced a fill-in weatherman for the evening weather report. “And tonight we have John Smith filling in at the weather desk. Joe couldn’t make it in today. He’s still at home shoveling the partly cloudy off his driveway.”

So for all of you wishing for a White Christmas this weekend, I wish for you as much partly cloudy as your driveways can hold. Yippee!! in advance.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you.

Making the Case for Glitter Free Decorating

Michael 1 Comment

You all know I am just out of the hospital a few days now. I was out only a few hours when I discovered that my fingertips shimmered in the dark. No, it wasn’t some reaction to a drug I was given. It wasn’t a remnant of some procedure done. No, it was glitter. Glitter. That shimmery, flaky stuff that adorns cards, bows, wreaths, probably even some brands of toothpaste for all I know. Oh how I hate glitter.

While protected under the blanket of sterility and cleanliness of the hospital I was able to enjoy a couple of weeks knowing my immediate environs were blissfully glitter-free. Then I got better. I was released to the world overrun with those sparkly specks. Oh how I hate glitter.

Why do I so hate glitter? First consider that I too recognize the prettiness of light twinkling from multiple surfaces. I just wish one of those surfaces wasn’t me! Once I come into contact with glitter it is with me forever. I can’t wipe it off. I can’t blow it off. It doesn’t wash off, scrape off, or soak off. It doesn’t even loofah off. Glitter on me is like iron filings on a magnet.

I think we need to establish some glitter rules. First, no surprise glitter. If I see a glitter gilded wreath on a door I will gladly climb through a window to get into that house. But if you send me a glittery card in a plain, white envelope – that’s just not fair. Second, manufacturers of shiny objects must identify the presence and level of glitter used in the making of said sheen. And third, stores, particularly card and home good shops, must provide a glitter free zone for glitter magnetic consumers.

I’m sure working together we can have a glitter free society where sparkly prettiness and good mental health can coexist.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you.

Shower Power

Michael Leave a comment

Yesterday I had more fun naked than I’ve had in years. I took a shower. Talk about good, clean fun!

To many of us, pretending to be the recipient of an automatic car wash might not seem to be epitome of carnal satisfaction. But I had just been released from an 8 day stay at one of the cleanest places on Earth, a hospital. And boy did I feel grungy.

I am not at all unfamiliar with America’s health care system. For almost 40 years it provided me my pocket change as I toiled on the provider side and for almost 4 years it provided me a place to hang out and spend said hard-earn pockrt change on the patient side. I am very aware, and very appreciated of the advances it has made. Technically, that is. Humanly, maybe not so much. Consider the following.

With modern imaging they can see tiny slivers of our insides down to the 32nd of an inch in detail almost better than lifelike. They can see with sound. My surgeon worked to delicately open my abdominal cavity, clean and repair the offending parts, and then put me back together using a camera through a couple of holes not much bigger than one made by a flu shot needle. Yet when all of that was done I was left to recover in a room with a TV the quality almost as good as a 1960 portable set with rabbit ears wrapped in aluminum foil. (Ask your granfather. He’ll explain.)

I was attached with the necessary wiring so my pulse, heart beat, breathing, and temperature could be monitored from a station 80 feet away. But the aforementioned television was controlled by a remote that contained only Power, Volume Up/Down, and Channel Up/Down buttons. This in a housing that also held the Nurse Call button and, for some reason, a button to set the room lights to three different brightness levels. All that looked much too alike.

And of course, unlike even the smallest movement towards improvement the silly remote has provided to the patient since I started my career those years ago, the one thing that hasn’t changed at all is the hospital gown. The famous see-through garment with non-sleeves that nobody can get their arms into, a neck fastener reminiscent of a backward bow tie, and all in an indecent package that only makes it 80% of the way around your body. And of course the remaining 20% is not on the side.

Yet given all this, on my return I was not overcome with the urge to finger my high tech remote, triggering the high def TV and the surround sound, grateful for work done to keep me going for another 4 to 40 years. It was to strip off those clothes that completely covered me and bask in joy of hundreds of gallon of hot water pouring over me, drenching every pore, soaking every personal nook and cranny. Thank all that is holy that one imorovement we’ve never had to endure is the restorative power of water.

It was enough to make me want a cigarette.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

Visions of Fall

Michael 1 Comment

Each season has its own personality, its own identity, its own character. Fall is inexorably marked by the colors of the leaves, the aroma of burning logs in backyards and fireplaces, the promise of family gatherings, and the growing piles of laundry that threaten to lay ruin to your detergent budget.

It’s almost cruel that a single autumnal wash load comes close to equally all of summer’s dirty clothes. Think about it. Summer’s wardrobe is all the same fabric, all the same color, and in smaller pieces. Whites, pastels, t-shirts, shorts. If it wasn’t for sheets and towels I could probably go through an entire summer month on a single large load.

But fall, fall starts out ok. You trade in the shorts for khaki slacks, t-shirts for golf shirts, and you add socks to the mix. But in a couple of weeks you’re in to long sleeve shirts, polos, and jeans. Another week goes by and now you start layering. In one day between undershirt, shirt, sweatshirt, and hoodie you’ve worn – and dirtied – what would take almost a full week just 3 months ago. And all the different fabrics and colors. Everyone has to be checked for what can be washed with what at what temperatures in which cycles. It’s enough to make you breathe a sigh of relief when you find a care tag suggesting not to be machine washed.

And it’s not just the volume of laundry that torments your sanity. It’s the additional danger the fall wardrobe poses to your health and safety. Long sleeves and trouser legs get wrapped around the agitator causing you to wrench your back or possibly dislocate your shoulder trying to extract them from the machine. (And you wonder why they named that part an agitator!) Socks that are optional equipment in the summertime become entangled in other laundry pieces from the time you toss them into the hamper until you’re returning to the dresser. The only thing lost more regularly in laundry rooms is your temper when you realize you missed the beginning of the rinse cycle and your last opportunity to add fabric softener to the mix (an essential component to minimizing the chafing you’ll certainly encounter when untreated broadcloth rubs across the back of your neck).

But I digress. I was talking about the visions of fall and breathing in the sweet smell of burning logs while walking along the lane wrapped up in a warm, snuggly sweater. I hope it’s Dry Clean Only.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

 

I’ll See That

Michael Leave a comment

Now that the airspace during our favorite television shows have been returned to consumer advertisers I can return to hating to see a commercial come on simply because it’s annoying. Given that I spent a fair amount of money on my daughter’s degree in advertising and that hopefully it will be remembered fondly when she someday selects my nursing home, I should probably be more grateful that businesses are still advertising. But that hasn’t yet stopped me from uploading a couple dozen posts that rant on about ads.

My favorite ad annoyances are fine print on television commercials and pictures of things that don’t quite look like what is being sold. Apparently in an effort to make my annoyance easier to manage, advertisers combine the two topics onto one image allowing me to create a multi-tasked rant. Yes, small print that actually says the picture is not quite what is being sold.

In a TV commercial for a mattress sale I noticed the disclaimer in small white font that said, “Mattress photographs are for illustration purposes only.” What does that mean? I hope it’s not their way of saying look at this pretty mattress and look at this great price, and if you just come into the store we will be happy to show you what mattress you really get for this price.

matressad

Car makers have been good about adding fine print to their ads for years. It’s often only a half a shade darker than the background making it effectively illegible even if it wasn’t sized smaller than a well-proportioned dust mite. In addition to disclaimers that models shown may be of a different model year than the current, that some equipment is optional, and that dealers set the actual prices, I spotted one that actually said the one pictured is nice but is roughly $13,000 more than the big numbers that you can read.

carad

I suppose those who are responsible for the fine print (aka corporate lawyers) can argue that we should be happy that they are encouraging their clients to be forthright and truthful in their advertising. But I’m willing to bet that when they submit their bills to their clients that they make sure the total due is in a pretty good sized font.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Getting Even

Michael Leave a comment

It’s time to do it again. This Saturday we go through the twice yearly resetting of the clocks returning from Daylight Saving Time to Standard Time, reclaiming the hour lost six months ago. Almost 3/4 of the world move their clocks back and forth each spring and fall so there’s little I can say to add to people’s already well-rehearsed feat. That didn’t stop me from chipping my 17 cents (inflation) into the pot a handful of times already but I was certain it would be enough to stop me from a sixth time. And it would have been but for an article I saw in yesterday’s paper. (Now that I think about it, quite a few of my most recent posts have been prompted by something I saw in the paper. I wonder what that says about me, other than that I still get my news from the paper?)

changeclockAlthough I’ve poked fun at our semi-annual temporal shifts, this particular article that I read was quite serious about the effects of, and tips to adapt to, the change in time, comparing it to the effects of jet lag. Uh, hello. We’re talking about an hour, not having to deal with the effects of not sleeping through a flight from New York to Brussels. Is it really necessary to go to bed 15 minutes earlier each night for 4 nights so that by Saturday we’ll not subject ourselves to the drama of shifting an entire hour as a single event? I seem to recall quite a few nights in my life when I went to bed an hour earlier or later, or mornings when I arose an hour after or before I intended and life still went on. I can tell because my life went on.

The author suggested that a consequence of the fall time change is a greater number of accidents because people stay up later, sometimes drinking, and end up driving sleepier or more intoxicated. Again, we’re talking an extra hour, not an extra evening, and I’m certain there are many, many more people spending this extra hour at home in bed rather than imbibing in an extra fall cocktail. As far as those who are out and about guzzling pumpkin ales at 2 o’clock this Sunday morning, I really don’t think this Sunday morning is going to be unique among Sunday mornings for them and we should be thankful that we’re one of the many, many more who spent that extra hour in bed.

I may be all wrong about this but I think that the greatest consequence to the time change is that some people will forget to re-set their clocks and will end up an hour early for church this Sunday. Perhaps those folks can spend that extra time there praying for the roustabouts who spent an extra hour socializing the night before.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Uncovering a Hidden Harvest

Michael Leave a comment

Every now and then, someone does something so terrific you have to sit back and say to yourself, “Wow, there are some really good people out there.” I recently saw a story in the news about what I hope isn’t a unique program to rescue food right from our collective backyards.

Every major metro area has some kind of food rescue program where restaurants and retailers donate unused prepared food or near to expired meats and cheeses or bruised produce to local food banks rather than toss it all into the dumpsters. In Pittsburgh there is a group that is rescuing food going to waste right under their noses. Or rather, above their heads. That is the unharvested fruits and nuts from neighborhood trees.

fruitThere probably isn’t a neighborhood in the country where fruit and nut trees don’t provide shade and beauty to their homeowners. But how often does anybody consider how much food those tress, so often considered solely ornamental, bear? Apparently the Hidden Harvest Pittsburgh group, and now as part of 412 Food Rescue, has considered just that since 2014.

Considering that there are fruit and nut trees all over America there must be similar programs elsewhere. But a quick internet search came up pretty empty. In fact, I had a hard time finding much information about the Pittsburgh group and I was certain that I hadn’t imagine the news report during some weird dream filled night. If that was the case, I would have given up trying to find out more about them. But I pressed on, or more accurately, clicked on.

What I did find out about them is that 412 Food Rescue’s Hidden Harvest team uncovered 2300 pounds of food from backyard and city park trees this year. Now that’s a ton of rescued food. Literally.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

To see the news cast that I didn’t dream up, click here.

Just Shoot Me

Michael Leave a comment

I’ve been shot. I suppose it was about 10 days ago now. I got my flu shot. I can probably count on one hand the number of years I didn’t get a flu shot all the way back to when I can remember doctors keeping lollipops on their desks for the good boys and girls who got their flu shots.

For years I worked in a hospital and getting a flu shot was just something you did every year. It went along with doing annual evaluations, decorating for Halloween, complaining about getting a lousy turkey for a Christmas bonus, and renewing your parking permit. Everyone grumbled about it but everyone did it.flu

Now that I’m not working I have to remind myself to get a flu shot. And while I was busy reminding myself I thought I’d remind you. Get your flu shot.  If you are a southern hemisphere resident hold that thought for 6 months.

I never understood people who would come up with a dozen different reasons not to get a flu shot when it’s so effective at preventing the flu and when getting the flu can be so devastating. No, you won’t get the flu from the flu shot. You can’t get the flu from a flu shot any more than a zombie will eat your brains. The virus in the flu shot is dead – even more dead than an undead zombie. It can’t come back to life and infect you. What can happen is that you can get a cold or a fall allergy or a seasonal bacterial sinus or respiratory infection coincidentally to when you get the flu shot but it’s not the flu.

You can get the flu in the same year that you get the flu shot if you don’t get it at the right time. Now is the right time. The flu shot doesn’t start working the instant the needle pierces your skin. It takes about two weeks for the vaccine to work its magic on your immune system so it is at its peak in protecting you against a live flu infection. You should schedule your shot about a month before the anticipated beginning of the flu season. If you wait too long to get a flu shot and you are exposed to the flu virus before your body can adequately prepare enough antibodies to repel an assault you can get the flu. The high dose version of the flu shot may provide effective resistance a bit sooner but should not be used as an option to timely inoculation.

You can also get the flu late in the season even if you got a flu shot if the circulating viruses mutate more quickly than expected and if your immune system is weakened by age or compromised by other diseases or conditions. For individuals with compromised immune systems the flu vaccine should be active for about six months. If you have weakened immune system and the active flu season in your area is expected to last past March or April you might consider asking your physician if you should repeat the flu shot six months after your initial vaccination.

Sorry if this post sounded too much like a public service announcement. It’s probably just a result of those years I spent in public service.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Just Like Mom Used To Make

Michael Leave a comment

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when I ask where your favorite food comes from?  Now, what is the first thing that you think of when I ask where the best food comes from? Although not mutually exclusive, they are also often not consistent.

Often, though not always, a favorite food is home cooking. This makes sense since you are your best personal chef. If not you then your mom, dad, spouse, child, significant other, or, for some, your personal chef knows what you like, how you like it, and makes it often enough and well enough that you probably have a recipe file full of favorites. But the best stuff is partly the best stuff because it isn’t done at home. It’s something you can’t make, can’t get the ingredients for, can’t master the technique of, is something special, is a treat, is made, served and cleared by somebody else.

My favorite food is pizza. Any pizza, though I have a soft spot for pizza margherita. I’ll make it, I’ll buy it, I’ll fashion it out of foods that probably shouldn’t even go together. Chicken, bacon, spinach, and ricotta with garlic ranch dressing come to mind. There’s something quite comfortable about pizza. There must be. It’s managed to work its way into a few handfuls of posts, including one devoted entirely to pizza.

Where do I feel the best food comes from? Mind you, not the best single dish I ever had but in general the consistently best food I can count on having at any given time. It’s not at home. I’m pretty good but I can screw up a meal on a frighteningly regular basis. (And I really have to move that smoke detector a little further away from the kitchen. The neighbors always know when I’m working on a stir fry.) The best food I ever and always have is at a little neighborhood diner. In general I like diners. They also have appeared in more than a few posts here including one that combined diners and pizza (before this one). But this particular diner is the best of the bunch. The gravy is a cardiologist’s nightmare (or dream if he happens to need to make a couple of boat payments), and everything has the option to include an egg on it, including the pizza. I have never walked out of there without saying to myself, “I’d order that again” yet have never ordered the same thing twice. I’ve tried to order the Reuben omelet twice but it’s only available on the second Saturday of the month and I usually sleep in on that one.

What’s your favorite food choice? What’s the best food to you? Are they the same? Try answering those questions without thinking. Just jot down the first thing that comes to your mind. Then give it some thought. You might find yourself spending more time that you think over that one.

And you might find me having pizza for lunch today.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?