Monthly Archives: June 2010

Gosh … A Half Hour

It’s necessary to wait for a tv dinner to heat up.  Some might call that cooking, but it’s probably already cooked enough.  Recently they have been heated in the stove oven rather than the microwave oven simply because using the real oven creates an illusion of real cooking.  Microwaving something can carry the sense of beating the whatever to a pulp, and then only in spots.  So, just a quarter of an hour ago there was a period of forty-five minutes during which to do something.  The first thing done was to try (sit on) the new air beds (plural). 

Given that the chain drug store has “one layer” air beds at a fairly reasonable price, the homemaker aide was sent to buy two.  The idea was to put one on top of the other to make it high enough to get up off of it easily.  The two together cost less than any previous one that had more than one section in the construction.  The down side is/was that the air pump is a separate unit, each box having one – yours truly now has two air pumps and any replacements will net another.  They are inflated already and the deal shall be tried as soon as the dinner is consumed. 

Now, there are things to do (and more developing concerns), like the hand, the foot, getting stuff from the drug store again because the homemaker aide’s list was deliberately reduced to absolute essentials and more.  And there are many things on the horizon, such as getting downstairs tomorrow to pay the rent.  but, for the moment, the scooter has energy (it was recharged last night) there is some cash in hand, and the most troublesome problem, getting some rest without winding up on the floor and being unable to get up, may be okay for the moment.  And the half hour is about up. 

Strong winds do die down. 


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Two years ago, at the old apartment house, a lady told yours truly that there was a “new place” (newly established apartment house) in the next town.  She had put in an application there, but she was anxious to get out of where she was and didn’t wait until there was a vacancy.  In hindsight, she had serious regrets and urged a look into the matter.  But, the only information given was a street name (a long street) and two churchy names that seemingly belong to two apparently nearly defunct churches. 

Being severely rushed even then, there was no opportunity to do any exploration.  By a year ago, however, there was chance to try to find the place, only there was no likely listing anywhere.  After much digging, the operating authority, which isn’t any church, and the actual address were located.  Now, recently, elsewhere on the same street, buildings had been demolished and new houses had been built.  There is no interest here in the likes of a house.  There has been a need of sorts to see if the recommended place was any part of the new housing and to get an application if not.  The taxi fare to just go look at the outside would have run to about $20. 

Given the chance, the homemaker aide early this year (that one was competent) was sent to get an application.  The place, still unseen, was down to the $20 an a chance to go there.  Well, there has been enough chance recently to get online to do more than just scan the list of email and headlines.  Yesterday it dawned that the online map satellite pictures would show whether the place was part of the new houses or not.  It’s not.  It doesn’t look particularly great online, but has good recommendations.  Regardless, the online maps have been used to look at other things, and it finally kicked in that the obscure apartment house could be viewed. 

It can be a while before things fall into place.  

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Emergency! …The Last Thing….

The most recent event occurred last evening.  After returning from the bank (money order for July’s rent is in hand) and putting in an appearance at a birthday party that was a social duty as well as a party to attend, yours truly, by then quite tired, sank down on the bed only to find it sank nearly to the floor.  There has been a hint it might be developing a leak.  Fortunately nothing happened before the trip to the bank, or a most frantic state might have developed.  A tiny crack was found soon enough.  Most of today was devoted to trying to patch it. Nothing, including patches provided, has worked. The floor is likely cement.  It’s hard.  And, of course, that’s not the only recent event. 

Very late Thursday evening there was a fire in the microwave – the stuff was pulled out actually flaming.  More than an hour was spent scratching melted hard plastic from turntable glass, nearly grain by grain.  It was thought there was enough water in the dish.  What settled around the inside of the appliance is still there.  Wednesday wall paint was damaged by the homemaker aide.  Extermination services sprayed liquid insecticide over some areas of the walls. As there is smoking residue also on the walls, there were faint runs ending in dried brown drops in places.  Explaining that brushing spots with alcohol dissolves most apartment paint enough to cover such things, the woman was let loose.  She evidently leaned on the wall with wet tissues in her hand, as the paint was taken off in two places.  It still faintly shows. 

Tuesday it was necessary to vacate the apartment for a couple of hours.  See, last Saturday, with near 90 degree temperatures at hand, the air conditioner died.  After it was established that it was dead, Sunday there was effort to get emergency maintenance via two people who weren’t too helpful.  Maintenance finally got the word late Sunday, came by and dragged all the filthy dirty insides of the thing out on the rug so they could be replaced.  As it was late, he promised to return and clean it up on Monday.  He didn’t, and in anticipation there was no stirring from the apartment.  After staying put all day Monday, maintenance was hunted up Tuesday. The clean up would be in the afternoon.  During lunch a knock on the door was not maintenance with a sweeper but the commercial rug cleaning service that got the rug all wet scrubbing…. 

Riding the waves may take luck.  


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It’s Getting Scary

Well, there’s no doubt about the fact that yours truly has finally, it seems, been knocked off balance, at least for the moment.  After a 2:30 a.m. awakening today, and a few hours of online activity, and another hour’s sleep, and some breakfast and the like, and some more time with the computer, there was a trip to the lobby area.  The notion of going downstairs sprouted about 12:15 p.m; but, to make it some time after a cigarette, the trip was after 1:00 p.m.  The point of going, of course, was to see if there was anything new or changed as well as satisfy the idea of going out.  Being in the lobby, it didn’t hurt to go on outside to see who/what was there.  

Getting out of the apartment is a good thing every so often.  The world exists outside of the apartment, and it’s in a constant state of change.  Often the trips include some pretense, for example, if there are other people around, there can be a check of the mail box, even though the mail is in the post office in the box there.  It looks like a usual reason for being in the lobby.  Besides, there can be some mail in the apartment building mail box, and it needs to be emptied.  One lady was just sitting in the lobby, so the mail box was checked before a “scoot” outside.  Some people were sitting on a bench to the south.  With no intention of socializing, the scooter was turned north, to an apparent river viewing. 

The view of the river and riverbank isn’t worth the effort of looking; it’s some trees and some industrial stuff.  Soon, there was a glance up river, not that there was anything expected there, either.  At the sight of two tall buildings, one nice-looking and one considered an architectural monstrosity (blue with white stripes), the thought was, “What’s that?”  “That” isn’t even across the river.  It’s in downtown Covington, and it isn’t two buildings, it’s three.  The nice building is a high-priced hotel; the monstrosity is an even more high priced “something.”  Although the buildings are not only in view from the entry to the apartment building and are passed on the ground, they had been completely forgotten. 

Forewarnings are important. 

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Black Coffee And Colby Cheese

So….  It’s June 16, almost June 17.  By the time some people read this it will be June 17, or maybe the 18th or19th or later.  Spring is gone.  Half of June is gone.  Half of the week is gone. And, for that matter, half of the natural year – the positive, developing half – is gone.  And, what’s to show for it?  The exterminator is done with, at least for the moment.  The government is done with, at least for the moment.  Even the homemaker aide is done with, at least for the moment.  It’s a time to do something special to uplift the spirit a little.  Black coffee and Colby cheese might do it. 

Coffee is consumed in many ways from straight, unadorned black to stuff that may not even resemble coffee.  At times something a little different (like cinnamon or nutmeg) in it is fun.  When yours truly is of a mind to tackle part of the world, it seems it’s a time for straight black coffee.  Black coffee is also fitting with certain things, like powdered sugar donuts.  And, there was a time (a time with promise ahead and a powerful drive in the soul) when just black was a common way to go.  It’s pretty good with cheeses, which, if you come right down to it, is a variation of cream…. 

There’s lots of kinds of cheeses in this world.  The Italians seem to know more about it than others, but that may be imaginings.  Swiss is a particular favorite on the table or elsewhere.  Cottage cheese, cream cheese, and Wisconsin Colby all have special memories with them.  There’s such a thing as real, deli cut Colby.  Since packaged sliced cheese was not on sale, it was decided to indulge.  Deli cut cheese slices are most rarely (if ever) bought.  Such is considered too expensive.  But, if it helps to enliven a sagging spirit, an extra dollar might be worth it.  Sure enough, the deli Colby had the faint wrinkles and pinholes as remembered in much happier settings. 

Little joys have their value. 

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A Bit About Memory

Forgetfulness knows no age or social status.  Or, perhaps, it would be best to say, “Forgetfulness knows every age and social status.”  If there are a thousand children at hand, any one of them or even all of them might say at one time or another, “I forgot.”  It might be the truth; it might be an excuse.  A straight out adult might easily forget anything from a bill that was set aside for some reason to an item at a store when there was every intention of following through on the thing.  People might be less likely to forget at certain times, like at work; but, even there they forget. 

For various reasons alarm bells especially ring when elderly people forget.  They might forget for the same reasons others forget, like being too much in a hurry or being ill.  Or, they might forget as the mental faculties are deteriorating.  This past Friday yours truly lost track of a cigarette.  Alarm bells went off profoundly – such is the source of fires.  It’s impossible to easily investigate dead cigarettes when a soft drink can is used for an ashtray.  About the only thing that can be done is carry out a serious search all around the area.  Since nothing was found, the conclusion that could be drawn was that it was instinctively put out and dumped.  With no recollection or evidence of that, it’s a shaky conclusion. 

It’s hoped the current unsettled state of affairs is the reason for the forgetfulness of yesterday evening….  Although the hand is now as worrisome as the foot, yesterday evening the scooter was set up to recharge the battery.  It didn’t look like it would last until Thursday (until after the homemaker aide activities) on the power there was.  The thing has an automatic shut off if it sits, but not everything is shut off.  It has to have the button shut off before all of it shuts off; and, somehow, shutting it off last night was forgotten.  The all night “hibernation” used up close to half of the power of the recharging.  It is used in the apartment. 

Getting old can be a surprise. 


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More Hanging On Threads

The breakdown of civilization continues.  The casting about trying to find a straw to grasp continues.  The sometimes extra-ordinary, sometime outlandish, sometimes downright ridiculous alternatives continue.  The wondering about what is going to cease (or desist) next continues, but not so much as the constant wondering if any ordinary fundamentals are still possible.  The state of “Now what can be done?” continues.  The ordinary living objectives continue, but of necessity always ride the back of the mind. 

The missing item yesterday (Sunday) was the grocery advertising.  There’s no easy way to contact a restaurant for carry out food or the drug store for paper products (etc.) without a telephone.  So, the grocery shopping, which has been somewhat supplemental due to the poor homemaker aide service, has become fundamental.  To figure out what to get (and/or maybe ask someone else to get) is a top priority, especially since it’s likely to cause trouble if there is a small bunch of money involved.  The week’s advertising had not arrived in time for either of the two two trips to the front door.  It was there this morning; but, in total it took an extra day and three times the energy in the scooter battery. 

The plan for yesterday was simple enough.  The first thing on the agenda was to see about the advertising.  Although most often it comes on Saturday, sometimes it doesn’t; and, yours truly wanted the best chance of getting it the first time down.  Then there could be some attention to the foot (and right hand) as there was none on Friday, Thursday, or before.  Then the scooter could be set up to recharge the battery.  Well, Monday afternoon, the hand’s in a vinyl glove and a mess, the foot is untouched, and the scooter still needs recharging.  Things have to be readied for the homemaker aide; she may be prompt on Wednesday morning.  The emergency room seems more likely each day. 

Being sick is a big annoyance. 

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