One Minute

This is one minute before I ate the tomatoes!

There are four or five green ones below the ripe two.

So, o.k., I know I'm not the greatest farmer in the world, but it sure is fun to eat tomatoes that you grew!  Mom told me to get them before the birds and I did!  I figure the birds have plenty to eat this time of year.  I just wish I had more bats -- the mosquitoes go nuts eating me every time I go out to the garden.  The darn things think it's a jungle and I don't know why.  After all, the humidity was only 84% today.  Of course the thunderstorm and down pour last night added to the steamy conditions.

See the solar globe at the top right? When I bought it last year, I didn't realize that it changes color.  When it hits green, it's lightning bug green.  Last night, there were a zillion fireflies in the back yard.  Of course, you know, when they blink -- they are looking for love.  So I could see a zillion little thought bubbles over them when the globe went green:  whoooah!  Baby's got game!

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I got a check in the mail for a small portion of the dissertation work that I and others did.  I'm just glad to be done with it.  I learned my lesson: get half upfront.  I think he responded because I sent him a second bill with more hours on it -- and still not the full amount of time we had put into it.  Oh, well.  It's his karma, not mine.

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I was disappointed when I went to pick up my new glasses -- the reading glass part was in the wrong spot.  One woman said, 'That doesn't look too bad.'  

'Yeah, but I can't read,' I interjected, 'That's the whole point.'  Sigh.  The former person who had marked them, had marked them incorrectly.  While I was there I ordered some sunglasses (with bling, of course).  They were only $30 because now they make them with over the counter (non prescription) reading glasses.  Yay!!

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So  my latest series is Longmier.  I have to prepare for the New England Crime Bake in November.  Craig Johnson, author of the Walt Longmier series of books, will be the weekend featured speaker/guest.  And they have added something new: a crime scene for us to parse the forensics.  I can't wait.  I wonder if there will be blood ...

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Time for dinner.  Yay!

Sunny Simple Saturday

Saturday 
How come as soon as I hit the "Open Door" button on the garage door, that's the time my body whispers to me, "I told you 45 minutes ago in the supermarket that you had to go now."?  As you can imagine, this makes it imperative that I exit quickly with the grace of a ballet dancer in order to leave my cloth seats dry.

Mission accomplished but then there is the unloading and stowing of the foodstuff.  I always swear that I won't wait so long to shop, but I didn't and now I have a lot of food to put away.  I have to put it away because I'll need a rest before the marathon.

That's the cooking marathon.  If I buy it, I must cook it on the weekend or it doesn't get cooked.

Well, putting away the perishables was an adventure.  I had thought the bagger (an older gentleman) knew what he was doing.  But, it quickly became obvious to me that he did not see the need to put 'refrigerator stuff' in one or two bags.  So each of the many bags had at least one perishable item.  I say many bags because when I realized that he was packing 25 pound bags to get everything into the recyclable bags, I said, "Not too heavy, please. I have a bad back."  Then he proceeded to put one (count it, one) item in each of four or five plastic bags.  Oh yeah, the bar soap was snuggled up against my splurge cookies.  Sigh.  I wonder if I like soap flavored cookies.

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Break for many episodes of Scandal.  I am addicted and intoxicated by this show.  

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Back.
Currently, there are two quiche with Hadley asparagus in them, some dry rub ribs, and two chicken hot Italian sausages in the oven. I may hull some of the California strawberries to go with my next round of Scandal.  (The watermelon has been divested of its rind and is chilling in the fridge.)  :)

Above is the famous Hadley Asparagus.  The pen is to show you how young and small the stalks are.  They had some white asparagus, but that's just asparagus abuse and wrong!

No, I did not take pictures of the quiche or other food.  Just imagine little pieces of asparagus in the quiche!

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Friday Rollback

Friday after work we had the volunteer party for those who worked on the Sammy awards.  It was fun, particularly since I got to buy a whole Samuel Manhattan.  It's a perfect manhattan aged in a cherry cask and served with a black cherry and a twist of orange.  Yum! It tasted like more, but one was sufficient for a nice buzz while I munched on chicken, beef, or shrimp on a stick.  We had an amiable group at the table so people just loaded up a plate and we all got to enjoy.  Somebody said, "I wonder if there is dessert?" and went to look.  She came back with -- are you ready? -- a stick with a one inch square of thick cut bacon with chocolate on one side of the bacon, topped with a black cherry.  I thought it was more work (and cholesterol) than it was worth.  But someone was creative!

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So here it is Sunday.  I have continued my Scandal marathon to ridiculous heights.  Finally, I shut off Netflix and went outside.

Can you see the flower on the pepper? I am excited.

We have tomatoes!  They are cherry tomatoes and a bit hard to see, but they are there!

After spreading some more marsh grass, I got out the hedge clippers.  Everything is pretty well trimmed, but by the time I got done, I didn't have any more oomph to pick up the branches and twigs.  Another day perhaps.  I'm hoping it will rain, otherwise I'm going to have to water and that means hooking up the hose.  (I unhooked it so my lawn mowing guy wouldn't run over it.)

I did want to see the peonies though -- almost missed them entirely.

One last bud (above).

I just realized that my glasses are in my garden bag in the garage.  Darn! (I'm using an old pair that I keep behind my computer.)  I went to the eye doc on Thursday for a checkup and he said, "Hellooo, Stranger!"  I didn't realize that it had been 5 years since I had been.  [Insert sheepish face here.]

When I went to get the new lenses, with an old frame, the technician agreed that I should not have the night time coating. I had told her that I can see better at night without my glasses.  My nearsightedness is very little -- it's the reading glasses that I really need.  The technician told me that when light hits the windshield of a car, it diffuses; when it hits the coating on the glasses, it diffuses, and then the lens in the eye, etc.  So I had instinctively hit on the right solution in taking off my glasses when driving at night.  Yehaw!  So much for people who said, "That's impossible!"

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So, no.  No word from the jerk who owes me a lot of money for editing his dissertation.  It turns out, other editors have told me that I shouldn't have felt obligated to do that formatting.  He should have done that or hired someone separately.  So I did not fail.  But I was decidedly taken advantage of.  Next time I hear that someone 'works for the government,' they will have to pay first.

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I am very grateful for how much we have.  I read about a well project and the celebrity connected with the project asked a little girl what the new well in her village meant to her.  She told him she would save three hours a day on fetching water for her family.  What would she do with that extra time? She was going to play.

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It's time for me to hit the shower.  I hope you have a wonderful rest of weekend!  P.S. They liked my ghost writing promoting Don Berwick for governor -- so they gave me more to do! :)

Dissertations, Democrats, and Delicious

Okay, so I took a job to edit a dissertation a week ago.  It had to be done by Friday.  No problem, it was only 100 pages and should, 'only take 2 to 4 hours.'  It's true, my review with grammatical corrections and spelling corrections took four hours.  I was halfway done by Tuesday.  Then I realized that there were 4 pages of formatting fixes that needed to be made which the client hadn't mentioned. Someone had gone through the whole paper and had listed four pages of  the APA style errors.  At that point, I realized that this was going to take a lot longer than I had thought.  

On Thursday night, after struggling with pagination, which kept changing even though I had saved it, I begged the husband of a friend to come and give me a hand.  One would think pagination would be simple.  This guy, who teaches people how to do it, had a struggle, but we finally finished at 11:30 p.m.  So the next day (Friday), I went to look it over one last time before work -- only to find that the pagination had messed up again.  Overnight.  Many of the changes that I had saved on this document had kept undoing themselves.  (How can boldface disappear in only one place? How can it disappear at all?)  It was as if it had been cursed.

So in the end, I had screwed up.  I hadn't realized that I hadn't made all of the changes.  (At this point, I was donating over five hours of work.  I'm ignoring the fact that when I asked questions the first time, I didn't get a response for hours and my window of opportunity for working on the job had passed.)  But I was frantic because ...

On Friday, I was scheduled to be a delegate to the Massachusetts Democratic Convention in Worcester. 6,000 delegates (and 2,000 others also attended) were to pick the Democratic candidates for Governor, Lt. Governor, Attorney General, and Treasurer. The doors opened at 4:00 p.m. and you could pick up your bag and lanyard (and a bottle of water, it turns out) and wait a bit for the uncontested runners to speak.  

I checked my email when I got to the DCU in Worcester and I had received an email from the very unhappy client at 4:45 p.m.  Since I had sent him the job at 7:30 a.m., I had thought that he might have responded sooner.

Anyway, I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach: I have failed.  I didn't even care that he threatened to not pay me -- I didn't like the fact that I had failed. And I was frantic because after Friday night, I was going to be completely unavailable until 8:00 p.m. on Saturday. Of course, the client stressed how critically he needed it within 24 hours (that would make it Saturday).  I just couldn't deal with it then.  I had gone to the DCU to get some issues cleared up because the number one thing stressed during orientation had been, "Don't be late to check in with a teller on Saturday or you cannot vote."  I wasn't going to be denied my vote after having taken vacation time, driven 50 miles, and ... blah, blah, blah.  So I needed to get the lay of the land and I wanted the full convention experience.  (Very few people attend on Friday, but instead they party.  I was being a very good girl.)

I pulled into the parking garage ($5 all day) and, as I had been told with my delegate instructions, I had my handicapped placard ready.

"How close to the entrance can I get?" I asked the parking attendant.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"You still have to walk outside," he said as he put the ticket on my dashboard.
"Is there any other garage that connects directly to the DCU?"  (Is it unreasonable to think that there is a connecting tunnel?)
"You want to leave? This isn't just for you -- it's for everybody." 

 After thanking him for being so sweet (insert sarcastic font here), I left and had to go up to level 3.  There was a handicapped space next to the elevator, luckily.  Also, luckily, there was a sign at the elevator to TAKE YOUR TICKET with you.  Normally, you pay before you leave; however, the ticket did get me $2.50 off my bill at Mezcal.

You have to cross the street diagonally to get to the DCU and there were so many campaign workers holding signs, it was difficult to get to the curb to wait for the light.  (Did I mention it was raining buckets?)

At that point, I still didn't know where I would be sitting and I was worried about too many stairs.  I was very glad to have my cane because those long corridor walks, which are easy for most people, are very painful for me.  

Finally, I get in and walk the long corridor and I go to the table staffed with fresh bright-faced young people that has a sign "Access Issues."  Or something like that.  I can see headphones and wheelchairs, and maybe a couple of walkers.  So I say, "I have trouble climbing stairs and I don't know where I'll be sitting.  Is there an elevator?"

"Do you need a wheelchair?"
"No, I can walk. Is there an elevator?"
"So you don't want a wheelchair?"  Her friend says, "She needs an elevator."
"How do I find out where I'm assigned to sit?"
"You need to go to guest services."

I go to guest services and remember my other question.  "Will you allow me to bring a carry on bag?" I figure I can put my wallet, sweater, Kindle, camera, and net book in it and have an easier time pulling the case. I ask the cleanly scrubbed young man at the table.

"I don't know.  I'd have to ask someone like my supervisor."
"Could you do that?"
"No, she's not here.  Oh, wait.  She's over there." He points in the distance.
"Could you go over there and ask her because I have some mobility issues."  

Understand that at this point, I'm an early bird and the six (yes, count 'em, six) people at that table are doing nothing.  They are waiting for the non-credentialed people in order to register them.  The supervisor shows up and she says, "I think so, but I can't say definitely.  But I don't really think they would turn you away."


Toward the end of the evening, I  called Emily and suggested that she cab over and meet me when the convention session was over and we would eat a bite at Mezcal before the after party hosted by the Democratic Party.  Mezcal is across the street from the DCU. The food was wonderful and we had shredded short rib stuffed masa corn cakes, spicy mole negro sauce, crumbled bleu cheese, cilantro crema  along with pork sliders.  Oh, yes, and the best guacamole ever.  

We left the party fairly early to go back to Emily's house and fix what needed to be done to the dissertation, which was to insert some pages and re-do the pagination.  I am so lucky that Emily loves doing that kind of stuff although I was a bit nonplussed to realize that she has a much newer version of MS Word and I had no clue how to use it.


We went to bed at 1:30 a.m.  It still wasn't done.  I had to be up at 7:00 a.m.  Emily said she would work on it some more.  We couldn't get the pagination right.

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Saturday arrived way too quickly, but I shower and dress and wait until the last minute to wake Emily.  She has promised to drop me off and she puts a jacket over her jammies and we fly out the door.  She even stopped at Starbucks to get me coffee and a muffin.  (Both are greatly overrated, imho.)  Emily promised to get the document to him come hell or high water.  And she does, including her phone number in an email if he has any questions.  [He responded with the equivalent of, 'I'll get back to you.'  He hasn't so far (it's Sunday) and at this point I have given up caring,]

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From the day before, I know how to get into the DCU, but I still don't know where I'll be sitting and I'm worried about too many stairs.  I am very glad to have my cane because these long corridor walks, which are easy for most people, are very painful for me. 

However, not wanting to be stopped with a too large bag (they had said no back packs, no duffel bags), I have brought my net book bag which I made and the convention bag that they had given me the night before.  Both are heavy.  I had put my wallet in one.

At that point, I run into Bonnie McCracken who's pushing an old friend of mine in a sit down walker and she tells me we are on the ground floor just through those doors. Great!  Well, sort of.  It's another long, long corridor, and first you hit the campaign/cause tables and then the snack area.  I sat and drank some coffee and ate my muffin.  They had said you can't bring in food, but I figured I could always hit them with my cane.

At this point, I'm over-tired and anxious.  So I sit down on an end chair thinking that I'll just compose myself. And a woman comes and says, "You are in my seat."  I said, "You mean the seat with nobody in it?"  She says, "You are in my seat. I was sitting there."  I note that she has a cane too and I'm envisioning a close quarter fencing match.  

However, I have my limits and the third time she said, "That's my seat," and she started poking and pushing me, I said, "I can understand English.  Are these empty seats also occupied?"  And she says no so I move in.  It's then that I realize that the whole freaking row of seats is attached.  Anytime anyone from the middle wants to get out, we all have to get up.  Now add two bags, one of which doesn't have a zipper (I have to fix that!!), and you have a really aggravating situation.  At one point*, the net book bag fell behind me onto the floor and a woman was standing on my phone! I had to whack her in the ankle to get her to move her foot.  Thanks to the Otter that Emily had ordered for me, the phone was unscathed.

I noticed that Lynne Weintraub was about 6 seats down from me.  Unable to move, I have to play telephone poke to get her attention and she tells me to save the empty seat next to me.  I do and it turns out I was saving the seat for Rep. Ellen Story.  And that's o.k., because she is a delight to talk to.  

O.k., it's true that this picture is from the Kanegasaki dinner, but Ellen always looks this good.  (My hair is way shorter now)

Imagine my embarrassment when Ellen tells me the woman on the end is Judy Brooks whom I have known for years.  I hadn't recognized Judy because she has lost so much weight.  So I introduced myself and apologized by bringing her some puffed chips some time later. We chatted amiably as the long day wore on.

Finally, everyone was there and we had all checked in with our teller.  Every section had its own teller and the teller had a list of voting delegates and alternates.  Then the speeches began; each was preceded by someone introducing the candidate and then a video.  

Above is during the speechifying.  See the jumbotron on the right? There was one in the center of the ceiling, but it gave me a pain in the neck to look up at it.
There were five candidates for governor and a couple for each of the other offices. 

Below, the voting is about to begin.  People are a bit restless, since by then, it's close to 3:00 p.m. 

Alice Swift center, bottom and Lynne W. right behind her.

* Then the voting began. There is only one way to describe voting.  It was a cluster fuck.  Big time.  The teller stood in one spot, luckily behind me (and I was in the last row of the Hampshire, Franklin, Worcester section) and everyone had to go to her.  Can you say "crush of people"? All of us expected that our names were alphabetical.  Nope.  So right after the b's she called me.  It was pandemonium, but nobody could move.  (Thus, when the woman had stepped on my phone, she couldn't move her foot any place but up.)

Aforementioned CF (above)

The Teller is on the far right in white shirt with a notebook.

Above, you can see the Teller who had to HEAR your 5 votes even though some people tried to give it to her written on a piece of paper.  Then she repeated your vote so you were sure she got it right.  It was almost impossible to hear anything except the din of the crowd.

The voting took forever.  Really.  What about the Electronic Tellers?  They were practicing.  It occurred to me (and I told everyone) that a cruise ship with thousands of passengers checks them off ship when they dock in Mexico and checks them back on board with a bar code on a plastic card.  Why didn't the Dems put a bar code on our credentials?  (Our $75 credentials, by the way, were a piece of card stock) The bar coded credential could be used for check in and voting.  Some people said that was too easy.

After the voting, naturally, was counting.  In order to get on the ballot, each candidate had to receive a minimum of 15% of the vote.  The voting and counting took hours.  Really.  Finally, we were down to Grossman, Coakley, and Berwick for Governor.  Luckily, no candidate wanted a second ballot and the Convention declared, by acclamation, that Grossman is the Democratic Party's endorsed candidate.  There will still be the three on the ballot but Grossman got the most votes at the convention.

I am exhausted, but had promised Emily whatever she wanted for supper.  Still in her jammies, she picks me up and we get WONDERFUL Italian take out of shrimp scampi, fried calimari appetizer, and eggplant parmesan.  Mmmm mmmm good!

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It's Sunday!  Emily was a tad tired and slept until 10:30 a.m. which is o.k. because I got to watch CBS Sunday Morning. I love that show.  Then I watched the Phantom Gourmet and they suggested the Twisted Fork in Worcester for breakfast or dinner.  By the time we got there, it was almost 1:00 p.m.

I had my favorite: Irish eggs benedict.  His twist? He added mashed potatoes and spinach.  Emily had bananas foster French toast.  Really.  It was very sweet with brown sugar and banana liquor.

After that it was back to Em's house where we "mowed" her "lawn" with a weed whacker.  Her lawn is a triangle about 5 feet on a side.  And we cut down a lot of bamboo.  It's too bad she's not a panda bear because she would be set for food for life.

And now I'm home blogging to you.  It occurs to me that I did not show you my plants (which I forgot to go look at while it's still light).  So this pic is two weeks old.  I think. I'm chronologically challenged.

There's still more to go in the garden, but that's later.  Cheers, I'm off to watch Longmier at 10:00 p.m. on A&E.
                               
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Monday Aftermath:  Wrong night for Longmier.  Client said he had to make changes and will keep me posted.  Why? 

Not Quite End of the Week Rant

So I decide to go for a walk on this lovely spring day this afternoon.  I admire the blooming rhododendron, lilacs, and other stuff in bloom.  I'm happy that my 24 hour Claritin D worked this morning and I don't actually have a heavy cold.  All is right with the world. And then I get back to the Library.

On the front walk is a young man with a clipboard.  His friend, a young woman, also with a clipboard, is on the grass of the Library. Both are earnestly promoting their petition, trying to get signatures.  I don't know what the petition is, but I politely (really) go up to the young man and say, 'You probably don't know the rule, but you can't be on Library property with a petition.  You can stand on the Town sidewalk if you wish.'

"According to the Secretary of State, I can petition on any public property."  [Yeah, Kid, try that on the steps of Town Hall.]

"This is not public property, it's owned by the Corporation of the Jones Library, Inc."

"Call the Secretary of State ... I can ... wah, wah, wah ..."

"I will express your feelings to the Director."  I walk over to the young girl and say, "You probably don't know this, but you cannot be on Library property with your petition."

"Can I be on the sidewalk?"  "Absolutely.  You can be on the Town sidewalk, just not on the Library property.  And, by the way (looking at her empty coffee cup laying on its side on the grass), we have a trash barrel right over there."

"And just so you know," said the jobless self important young female, "most libraries are welcoming places for people to learn and express opinions."

"Thank you for telling me that," I said as I take a deep breath.  Since I have been at the freakin' Library since before she was born, I did not feel the need to debate her obviously newly acquired information about the mission of public libraries.

"You learn something new every day, " said the young man who at this point is beginning to look like something that should be sprayed down with Lysol. 

I go in and report the exchange to the Director and she goes to see if they have moved when the aforementioned young man walks in.  I introduce him to the Director.  He does not offer a name but proceeds to say multiple times, 'Call the Secretary of State, I can do whatever ...'  The Director, to her credit remains calm and says she's not going to call anyone.  She knows the law and knows that it is there to protect Library patrons, some of whom may disagree with his petition.  

(I forgot to mention that these two earnest young things had formed a gauntlet at the front door that patrons had to go through, which is not welcoming in our opinion.  When my friend and I left the Library to go for a walk, they saw our name tags and did not approach, clever beings that they are.)

So the fourth (or was it the fifth?) time he goes into his 'Call the Secy. of State, there is case law ...' dance, my boss says, "I have been a Library Director for over 20 years and I know the law.  You need to stand on the sidewalk.  Have anyone you want call the Library Director and I'll be happy to speak with them."

He left still proclaiming his 'right.'  I sure hope he gets stopped for speeding.  Wonder how that self righteous blather would sit with a cop.  Better yet, it should be a State Cop.

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So, tonight, I answered.  Every night for the past five nights, I have received a call which registers an 877 number with the words "Local Call" on my caller i.d.  And I know what it is. It's someone's campaign trying to get me to vote for them.  

In a fit of "I must be freaking crazy," I became a local delegate for the state Democratic Committee.  June 13 is the beginning of the state convention where we delegates will choose which Democrat will run for Governor (and the Atty. Gen. and others).

So for the past five nights, I have ignored that call.  Last night, they called twice and the second call was at quarter to 9 -- too late in my opinion.  Of course I was up, but I was heavily into watching "Sherlock" on Netflix.  

Tonight, I answer.  And the voice says they are calling me as a delegate to the Democratic Convention. (No shit! I thought you wanted a date.)  Now, he doesn't identify his affiliation but launches right into, 'Who are you going to vote for, Grossman ...,' and he lists the myriad of candidates.  THIS really burns me up.

"I do not want to answer your survey.  And your company has called me every night for the last five nights. I had thought you would have gotten the idea that I did not want to talk to you from the fact that I did not answer all of those times!"

Do you know what his answer was?  "We're not a company."  Unexpectedly, my phone went dead.

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Even chocolate ganache cannot make a gluten free doughnut good, in my opinion.  The texture isn't right.

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So the guy who tried to throw me under the bus for his mistake a couple of weeks ago tried it again today. He told me to do something that I know would have resulted in a fubar situation that could potentially cost the Library a lot of money.  Ha ha.  I dumped it in my boss' lap. I'm thinking he might stop underestimating me soon.  It's cold comfort because he makes a lot more money than I do while blaming people such as myself for his mistakes and lack of doing what he should do.  That's o.k.  I'm patient.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Emily, my younger daughter, just found out she's getting a 19% raise because they are moving some people from Boston into the new lab building and the company doesn't want a mass exodus from the Worcester people to the higher paid Boston people's lab.  Let's hear it for pay equality!  Yay!
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I go now.  Supper is ready. :)

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I'm back after three episodes of "Luther" from PBS.  I love it, but it sure is scary at times.

So about Pinterest: why is it that people think they are so freakin' creative when they sprinkle cheese on a tomato slice?  AND they have to share it with me because, obviously, I couldn't figure this out.  I'm thinking it was their Moms who thought rolled up bologna with a cheese hunk was so sophisticated.

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It's happening again -- the letters are wearing off my computer keys.  The "n" is incognito.  I think it's my acid personality.  Anyway, it reminds me of the time my friend sat down to my computer (the old one).  Pretty soon, he's swearing up a blue streak.  I ask him what's wrong and he said, "I can't see what the keys say!!"  He was really ticked off because he's a hunt and peck man.  I laughed because it doesn't bother me.  The only things I can't touch type are the numbers and those don't wear out so I can see what I'm looking for.

Simply Saturday

True to his word, Miguel showed up at 8:40 a.m.  We had had torrential rains last night so my over the calf garden boots squished as we walked to the back yard.  Here's what poor Miguel saw:

Two Beds and More Before

By 10 a.m., this is what Miguel had accomplished with his trusty pick axe. This included putting together the raised bed kit.  That soil (with landscaping cloth underneath) is 12 cubic feet (12 bags weighing about 40 pounds each).

After Miguel's Hard Work

I am so happy with the results.  I wasn't much help because I had hefted 3 bags of soil onto the yellow plastic Little Tykes wagon that is now about 30 years old.  My back told me to not do that again.  I did a lot of bending to bring the weeds to the composter.

In the past, I have failed at compost.  No more.  That is "dry" that you see on top from last year.  It lived on the ground under the lawn cart to the left of the composter.  Most of it is filled with the green from today's efforts.  And I dumped some compost helper onto it and stirred.  I have no idea what compost helper is and I don't think I want to know but it almost looks like rice-like pods of graham crackers.

After that I was pretty pooped but made coffee -- COFFEE!!! -- I couldn't believe I was functioning.  Did a bunch of dishes, played some computer games.  Gave Ann a call and she came over.

Neither of us had had lunch so I made penne pasta with pesto (store bought) and shrimps.  On the side, I made hot chicken Italian sausage with onions and mushrooms.  The shrimp and sausage had been frozen and I had the pasta.  Not bad for someone who didn't shop!  Of course, after chatting ourselves out, we had to go to Flayvors (Cook Farm, Hadley) to get ice cream.  I had cow spot ice cream which has lovely small chocolate disks filled with peanut butter and Sally's coffee grounds which is coffee ice cream with very fine chocolate cookies making the "grounds."  We had fun watching the chickens wander around but we didn't visit The Girls.  I don't know if you know what a cow farm in spring smells like, but the ice cream stand was close enough.  

I had been kind of embarrassed for Ann to see my place.  The lawn mower guy hadn't come since Mothers' day and it looked like an abandoned house with high grass and even higher dandelions gone to seed.  But when we got back from Cook Farm, I was delighted to see that Lawn Mower Guy had come and gone!

The poor guy next door is still mowing his lawn with a motorized push mower.  He goes BRRR BRRR BRRR BRRR for about 20 to 30 seconds and then it dies because it is so clogged with wet grass.  Can you say annoying noise?  But I am so tired on his behalf (I think he's only 30 something) that I can put up with the noise for a while.

When I took the picture of the new beds in back, I had to bring the wagon back and I stopped at the lilacs to the left of the garage as you face the house.  This year is weird -- I thought all of the purple double lilacs had left.  But no, I saw one (count 'em one) clump of purple.  You will have to look really hard to the left.

See it on the far left.  It's way too high for me to cut and (obviously) difficult to see.  That's o.k., the lilacs have increased my allergy misery threefold.  They remind me of some people: I like them a lot, but after a while they are really irritating.

Here's a shot of the (single) white lilacs which have taken over.  Yet another instance of the whites bullying the neighbors of color.

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Now that I am "House of Cards" -less, I have just watched my first episode of "Orange Is the New Black."  That's definitely a must watch series.  But, wow!  I may never get my laundry done at this rate.

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It's time to go put my camera batteries in the recharger.  I know, I know: will the excitement never cease?  I also have to decide whether to finish the Evanovich book or to watch more Netflix.  (Yes, I actually read.)  

In fact, reading caused me to Google the definition of "schadenfreud."  For the life of me, I can't figure out how to work that into a conversation -- especially since I'm alone.  Not so sure it will fly after church tomorrow.  I'll bet Emily will like it.  She's coming tomorrow and we're going to see the new "X Men."

I also may take a bath in linament.  Wait a minute.  I don't know what linament actually is.  But it sounds like it will fix my aching muscles.  Ciao. I'm off to Google.

Falcons Are Us

In 1989, peregrine falcons built a nest outside of the 21st floor at Monarch Place in Springfield.  Now there are 4 chicks.  Over the years, the falcons have produced more than 30 offspring. 

According to the Channel 3 (Springfield, MA) web site: "A nesting box was permanently attached to the side of the building to safeguard the eggs and falcons.

The 21st floor is occupied by Bank of America, but they were willing to set aside one office entirely for the falcons so they are not disturbed."  

Can't you just picture it?  A BOA supervisor speaking to an employee he's not to fond of:  "O.k., Harris, we're having a bit of a space crunch so we're giving you a roommate.  Actually, it's more than one.  We're moving you to the office with the peregrine falcons.  You don't faint at the sight of blood do you? These raptors eat a lot and they do a heck of a good job keeping the in-house mice down.  The techies coming in to adjust the camera shouldn't be much of a bother.  Oh yeah, they will be bringing back the chick they had to take out for medical assistance tomorrow.  The parents might be a tad upset, so we've issued you this leather face mask and gloves."

You can see the Falcon Cam at the link below:
http://www.cbs3springfield.com/category/263498/cbs-3-falcon-cam

Needless to say, you need to look when it's daylight (Eastern time). Why did I say it then (if it's needless)?  Because I'm a dufus who tried to see it at night.  The car lights were interesting ...

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A couple of days ago, our very nice copier technician came and eliminated the unwanted pink stripes from our copies.  In the process, he created a plastic bag o' crap, a.k.a. extra toner in a reservoir.  He carefully put the unrecyclable toner bag into a cardboard box from the new part he had installed.  Then he put it in the trash outside of the office.  A couple of hours later, a check out desk person brought said box back into the office saying, "A patron thinks you might need this."  Well, duh.  The patron (who is 'known to us' for always giving "helpful" suggestions) had taken it out of the trash.

We do recycle the toner when one of the colors runs out. But this was waste.  What puzzles me is why the staff person might think we need something from the trash.

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Today, that same patron came into the Office when I was alone, subbing for the Receptionist.  I could hear my phone ringing.  She was carrying a cardboard turkey. It soon became obvious that she wanted "the Library" to call those people who put up the display of children's artwork in the atrium.  She wanted us to tell them that they should put the real age of the artist on the works because "it's and insult to them -- the sign says ages 4 to 8."  I wondered how much of the exhibit she had dismantled after I saw the turkey.

"I don't think they would appreciate your taking apart their exhibit," I observed calmly.  Then she turned ugly, hissing, "I only brought it in to show you."  At that point, I was yessing her to death as I herded her out of the door.  I was in no mood for diatribes.  We have already heard her wax for 20 minutes on the bathroom cleaners we should use ...

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Another time suck that I enjoy is Pinterest.  I don't actually pin things, but I do enjoy reading some of the funny ones.  My latest fave:  If it looks like I'm staring off into space when you're talking to me, it's because I'm staring off into space when you are talking to me.

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At a meeting the other day, I heard someone say, 'But they are in the weeds, not seeing the overarching picture.'  I just stared at the woman who was deriding the only people on that project who were producing.  People such as herself who may (or may not) have been able to perceive "the big picture" were not getting the work done -- it was those 'in the weeds.'  To me, this phrase is akin to 'down in the trenches' and I'm pretty proud to be in that category.  We are the ones pushing the work product out the door.  We actually get things done as opposed to talking about what needs to be done.  O.k., I think I'm done with that rant.

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I went to Home Depot after work and so did everybody else.  The garden shop was a zoo. But I did manage to get a raised bed kit, landscaping cloth and 12 bags of garden soil (one cu. ft. each).  The cashier had made a mistake and charged me for 18 bags.  Meanwhile, Jose and Manuel were loading the stuff into my car and when Manuel said, "She's gonna blow her tires with the weight," I decided to take only the 12 I had wanted and get a credit for the cashier's goof.  

Tomorrow, "early," Miguel is coming to dig up the weeds.  He's bringing a pick axe because he knows it's clay soil. I tried to rent a small rototiller (such as a mantis) and the only one I could find was a 200 pound rental.  I figured that would be a bit much for Miguel to heft.  Anyway, knowing how hard it was to dig out a tiny square, I'm thinking maybe the landscape cloth will come in handy.  He might not have to dig so much.  I'll let you know if I actually come up with something plantable.

I'm going to hold off until Monday to plant anything.  Tonight we had about 2 to 3 inches of rain.  The downpour caused a lot of flooding, especially under bridges in Springfield and Chicopee.  It's supposed to rain again tomorrow.  It also has been in the 50's but is supposed to go to 80 on Monday. I'll wait to plant. I can be patient.

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Gorgeous Sunny Saturday

After rain most of yesterday, and torrential rains overnight, it is sunny and in the 70's.  I went out to the back garden, squishing through the grass.  The weed cover is so dense I only manged to clear about a 2 x 2 foot square.  Then I went around to the front, which is in full sun (except under the ornamental crab apple tree).

Every time I managed to get up a dandelion -- root and all -- I thought of it as tossing one more problem on the rubbish heap.  I cleared a lot of tall grass up against the house and it was around then that the sweat got into my eyes.  I hate that.  Of course, you can't wipe your face with your muddy gloves, but from experience, I know that I have to wear two pair of gloves.  I either use disposable food handling gloves or, today, my under gloves have rubberized palms and are reusable.  I do this because I hate it when the soil stains my nails!

Speaking of a pair of gloves: I am so annoyed with ads that offer me two pairs of something.  Don't they know that it's a pair? Obviously, they don't, but I wonder how much these illiterates are getting paid to write this ad copy.

It tickles me that I'm NOT the demographic marketers are targeting when, in reality, I probably have a lot more disposable income than a 20 something.  That 20 something has student loans, a car loan, rent, etc. Oh well, I guess it is true that I need to get out more if my amusement is spotting grammatical errors in online ads.

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I am totally hooked on "House of Cards."  I've been watching it on Netflix on my computer, which is not very comfortable.  But my friend's husband, the Computer Whiz, couldn't figure out how to get Netflix to my TV and also be able to switch back to "regular TV."  He rigged something with an XBox to their TV.  It seems to be the incompatibility between the Internet (PC) and the TV cable.  My other friend who got me hooked on Netflix has a dedicated Apple TV.  Sheesh.  Emily said she'd try to walk me through it over the phone, but my brain has melted in the sun so that will have to wait until later.

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So I went to see "Harvey Allen, A Living Pioneer Valley Icon" at the Library today.  If you Google Harvey Allen, you can see the movie too.  It was great and Harvey was in the audience.  He goes to the South Amherst Congregational Church which is where I met him.  He's a very nice man who does lots of the cooking for the huge (3 seatings) church suppers.  The next one coming up is asparagus, chicken salad, strawberry shortcake.  His trick is to put some stems in the bowl (it's served family style), then some asparagus tips, then LOTS of butter.  It's yummy.  (He says the tips cook quicker, so he cooks them separately.)  He worked in food service for many years in various places.  But now he's really into conservation.  Check out the movie if you get a chance.

French Lilac to the Left of the Main Library Door

Flowering Dogwood to the Left of the Main Library Door