quick story

Strictly look but don't touch

I bought a bike on Friday--

Pertty cool, eh? I love bikes, but I haven’t ridden much lately because I can’t tolerate leaning down with all my weight on my wrists, as you do with most bikes. But with this bike, the saddle is low slung and the pedals are shifted forward, so you’re almost in a reclining position when you ride--very comfortable.

As .rz and I rolled along the canal path on Saturday afternoon near Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, a swirling in the water caught our attention--a big sea otter was lollygagging around in the Delaware and Raritan Canal square in the center of Trenton, NJ! It twirled gracefully just below the surface of the water, and every once in a while a great big paddle of a clawed hand would emerge and then submerge as it twirled some more. But then we noticed long jagged ridges along its back—no, definitely not a sea otter. Its gigantic triangle-shaped head broke the surface and was about the size of a Rotweiller’s head. Then in slow succession: head, hand, tail, long jagged back ridges, head, hand, tail, long jagged back ridges. Two big, bad Jurassic Park-looking love-struck snapping turtles were making the beast with two backs. We watched for quite some time while they performed their incredible dance together in the murky water of the DnR canal. Very cool.

Ick girl

It's a stark parenting moment when you realize that the compassionate, nurturing words of advice to a sick child were wrong. Dead wrong. (Oh calm down, I didn't kill her.)   

It started as a headache--*dramatic sickly voice* "Mom, I think I've got a migraine."
Mom: "Did you take some aspirin?"
Katie: "Noo-o."
Mom: "Well do it."

A couple of days went by and she still complained of the headache, and I still prescribed aspirin. On day 4, with the headache now entrenched and encompassing her eyes, jaw, and ears, I determined that she was suffering from a sinus headache. Prescription: sinus headache tablets.

Day 5 brought skin lesions. Spotty, red and raised, they showed up on her forehead. Well that's no sinus headache, so off to the doctor's we went. Diagnosis: shingles. Therapy: an antiviral and a pain killer.

It continued to progress with increasingly painful headaches and eye and jaw pain. And the lesions grew to monstrous proportions. Covering the whole right side of her head, her face became inflamed and blistered. The lesions around the eye and the angry red of the eyeball freaked out our general practitioner, so off to an ophthalmologist we went. The ophthalmologist peered into her eyeball with a very bright beam of light. Diagnosis: shingles inside the eyeball. Therapy: 2 types of eye drops 3 times a day each. 

She awoke 5 days later, with greasy hair and an enlarged egg-shaped iris. Trying to seem casual after peering into that weird, bottomless eyeball, I popped into the kitchen to call the ophthalmologist again. "Oh that's ok, her iris will dilate and become misshapen." Oh. "I also told her that she won't be contagious once the lesions crust over, and once the scabs fall off wah wah wah wah." I didn't hear a word he said after that, and apparently concluded the phone call.

Immediately, "Katie, what'd you doctor tell you about once the scabs fall off?"
Katie: "I have NO idea. As soon as he said the scabs will fall off all I could think was they were gonna fall off into my mashed potatoes at dinner, or pop off when I was talking to someone, or fall down my shirt or something."

"Ick, gross. Don't get any on me." 

Who you calling...

I've been accused of 3 things in my life that I didn't like too much. As it turns out, at least 2 of them are not true.

1. "You turned left in front of me and made me hit you!!"
2. "You're damaged goods."
3. "You stole plants from my garden and put them in your garden."

Number 1 was yelled at me by an elderly driver and his 2 elderly passengers. When they reported this to the traffic officer, the cop asked, "but then how did you end up across her lane with a dent on your passenger side door?" Exactly.

Number 2 was some crap yelled at me by my ex-husband in a moment of extraordinary malignancy. He wanted to reconcile, but then stood me up on our "date." I cried, mad as hell that I let him hurt me yet again. His explanation--"you're damaged goods em."

And 3. A recent accusation made by my neighbor. "I see those poppies and other plants and rocks from my garden in your garden."
me: "What? Why would I take your stuff?"
her: "I've been asking myself the same thing."

This could not stand. I didn't steal anything from her garden, and I had to make her understand that. So I returned in a couple of days to discuss it with her.
me: "Barbara, what in the world makes you think I would steal things from you? I bought all my plants at the store in Pennington--"
her: "You and I both know you can't buy poppies in a store!"
me: "--What the...? OK, whatever. I bought my plants at the store in Pennington. I was with my mother at the time. Would you like to speak with her?"
her: "No, that won't be necessary."
me: "And anyway, here are your poppies right here, in this overgrown section."
her:  "You and I both know that I had lots more poppies than that. I also had garden lamps--where are they then?"
me: "Are you crazy?!

Yes, I still needed to convincer her that I didn't take anything from her garden. So I sent my mother over on Saturday while Barbara sat on her porch to explain that we shopped together recently for a variety of plants, including poppies.
Mom: "Hello Barbara! How are you? Now what's this misunderstanding about poppies all about?"
her: *dramatically ignores my mother*
Mom: *uses her measured mother-voice* "Barbara, em and I bought her poppies and some other things recently at Stony Brook..." 
her: *whistles in her over-cooked depiction of one person ignoring another*

That does it. You've been disrespectful to my ever-polite and friendly mother. The gloves are off and Plan: Make Barbara Feel Foolish is in full swing. When I drove by yesterday evening and she was outside I slowed down and told her that I’ve got a new Astilbe plant still in its container in my garden...
her: “A wha?”
me: "An ah-still-bee, Barbara. It's a perennial. A friend gave it to me the other day; please don’t decide it’s yours.” Then I pulled away while she crabbed nonsense at the back of my car.  I might just stop by every time I get something new and show her the receipts.

Why she would ever jump to such conclusions, and then hold tight to them despite all the reasonable arguments to the contrary is just beyond me. Newsflash! There’s a thief in Trenton! Must be em!

Silly girl

She got my attention by trotting along on the side of the road next to me as I jogged down the park road, meowing away in short bursts, then trotting along to catch up, then meowing some more. A young black kitty with white feet, she insisted that I stop and pay attention, so I did. She looked cleanish and healthy, like maybe she was once a house pet but was now lost, abandoned. And if she was one of the feral cats, well, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because I would have only caught sight of her fleeing rosebud.    

She soooo wanted to get her back scratched. I sat down in the middle of the road in an empty Cadwallader Park and tried to look nonthreatening. Circling around and around me, she'd close to within a foot, lie down on the warm pavement, and knit knit knit with her paws like kitties do when they're purring loudly and in a lovin' mood. So I'd reach out and wiggle my fingers in the universal "c'mere kitty!" sign, and she'd get this look like all she wanted to do in the whole world was connect, but then she'd get scared and freeze and quick hop up and step off to a safer (2 foot) distance. So I'd pull away and talk soothingly in universal "'tso kay kitty" tones, and she'd edge back to within a foot, so I'd reach out, but she'd scoot away--you get the picture.

The picture is me.

Now what was I saying..?

I went into social faux pas panic mode today. I was looking at the photos from Assistant Editor Eye's wedding, and got to thinking that I should probably give her the same thing that I gave to Assistant Editor Dea when she got married coming up on 2 years ago. Now how much did I give those 2 kids?? Hmmm, let me just consult my checkbook register. . . where I found nothing, no evidence that I had given them anything at all as a wedding gift. Did I completely space out and stiff them? I mean really, how rude is that!

It's a sad day when you realize that, at times, it's necessary to employ memory aids (where 'at times' = 'always'). I'm big on notes to myself, and Post-Its rim my computer at work. I also will call home from work and leave myself messages to get [whatever] done at home. (This has the added benefit of making me feel less friendless, as I come home to a message machine that happily flashes at me.) My latest addition to the armamentarium is a Sony digital voice recorder. This gizmo is less than 3 inches long and weighs about half an ounce. The instructions however are epic--they unfold to poster-size, and both sides are dense with minute type. I glanced at them and said to myself, "the other side of that's the Spanish/French/German versions, so don't fret," but I was wrong. Fewer than 10 buttons and I have to read this tome? I don't think so. So anyway, I can get it to record and play back, and that's good enough for me.

Boy do I have a weird voice.

Just a bit of mop up

I'm trying hard not to burble and babble on and on endlessly about this flood thing, but just a couple of quick stories. I will return to my regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

1. Access to the neighborhood was restricted for several days, even well after the flood waters had receded, and nobody was allowed to go home to check out the damage let alone begin cleaning up, which let me tell you made for restive refugees; it was also the source of much mayor-heckling. The Trenton Police Department had every point of access covered and blanketed the neighborhood with mounted patrols and squad cars. I got in on Tuesday. It was easy.  Good thing I'm not a looter. Or am I? I did end up with a suspiciously abundant amount of firewood. . . . 

2.  I've begun replacing lost items in the basement. Had to replace the furnace, which was installed in 1955. This furnace was the size of a Volkswagen. The new furnace, which is the size of a carry-on suitcase, is alarmingly clean and sparkly. New washer/dryer came today--yay! I've got 2 tons of dirty laundry. I"ll get to it later. . .   

3. My employer is generous when it comes to travel, so we stay in 5-star hotels. In Orlando, where I was during the evacuation and most of the actual flooding, I stayed at The Peabody, a deluxe hotel that is known for its ducks--every day at midday the concierge rolls out a red carpet, and 4 ducks waddle across the main lobby and into the lobby fountain, where they splash about until, on cue,  they waddle back down the red carpet and return to their personal suite.  The rooms are spacious and well-appointed--in fact, I somehow ended up with a large suite that included a living room and wet bar; also a TV in the bathroom, so you can watch soaps while soaping up--nice. When I got back to Trenton and realized that we would not be able to go home, we rented hotel rooms. Cheap hotel rooms. Hey, I'm happy to be extravagant with accommodations, when it's not my money. So we stayed at a series of totally crap discount chains. The rooms were nasty and dingy. And there was no mini bar. :-( Joey however *loved* being in these hotels. As we checked out one morning, I was mushing everyone to hurry up and get your personal belongings together, and Joey asked. "Where are we going?" We're checking out Joey, "What!? and leave this paradise?!!" He was totally serious.

4. The boy has his own way of doing things. I called to him from the yard, "Joey, come outside and get some fresh air! C'mon and get your sneaks on and get outside!" Eventually, he came outside, but instead of sneakers, he put a pair of yellow rubber gloves on his feet.

Oh concierge, where's my red carpet?         

Next up--2 fun facts: Barbarella is an expert juggler, and Greavsie does not appear to have an I've-been-in-way-too-may-boutiques!! boiling point. :-)

Soggy blogging

How the heck can a New Jerseyan complain about being in sunny Orlando, Floridia, in early Spring? By the way, hi Diann! *waves madly* Well leave it to me to complain about just about anything, but I really truly didn't want to leave today.

That beautiful yet deeply consternating (is that a word?) river that I live on is acting out again, and if I may remind you, WE HAD OUR 100-YEAR FLOOD IN SEPTEMBER! It's up to its tricks again, however. NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) predicts that come Sunday at about 3 am it will crest at the same level as it did in September, which put it inside everyone's home. Yes, I tried to slide out of going, but I was met with a complete lack of understanding.

me, Friday: "Boss, I'm seeing a problem develop..." *presents NOAA graph showing trajectory of river rise*

Boss: "OK em, no problem, just leave today and get there early."

me: "But it's going to storm like hell and flood again."

Boss: "What's the problem? You'll be in Orlando!"

me: "Well, it's a problem only in as much as it's going to wash away my children and my elderly mother who watches them while I'm away and my home."

Boss: "Ha ha! You can pick them up on the Florida beach!" *shrugs* "What do you want, em, I should cancel the meetings?"

me: "No... I guess I'll take a wait and see approach..."      

And now, I can not STAND it that I am unable to check the river level every 10-15 minutes, consult with my neighbors who are doing same, and in general keep a very close eye on things. Kids and elderly mother are stowed safely, but I still just need to be there, to stand guard or something.   

Amusingly self-deprecating or low self-esteem?

They pop out of my mouth unbidden--jokey remarks tweaking my own foibles, knuckleheaded maneuvers, and clumsy pratfalls.

One faction in the personal em advisory cabinet declares repeatedly that I need to stop any and all non-self-reinforcing talk. It sets a tone.  And as it turns out, certain junior elements in the professional em editorial support crew have become skillful in anticipating my self-referential teasing and *beat me to the punch.* So instead of me turning a humorous phrase on my own forgetfulness, I get scooped while assistant #4 cracks wise, "em, memory banks filled up with more important trivia?" ha ha haaaaa. so funny. BOING! Uh oh, the shark ears again.

I guess assistant #4 is on to me. I forget reams and reams of things. Important things. Assistant #4 really has no idea just how much I have forgotten. *wags finger* In fact, I've forgotten more than assistant #4 will ever know! Yeah right. Assistant #4 knows better. In fact, assistant #4 probably knows that I keep forgetting to go to my mother's house to change the light bulbs in her kitchen. And that she has to get her dinner by the light of the open fridge door. That is just pathetic. Assistant #4 also probably knows that I left a gas burner in the 'on' position all day today while I was at work, so that when I got home tonight, the house was filled with the heavy/sweet stink/taste of natural gas fumes. That is bad. Really bad. So bad that it should have killed the parrot, Rummy, but somehow, it did not. Assistant #4 probably also knows that I . . .

Ah crap. I've got so many competing whacks to take at myself right now, I just don't know where to start/stop.    

Hello, my name is em

and I’m an addict. I can get addicted to almost anything. I guess you could say that I have one of those “addictive personalities.” I'm not talking about heroin here people, although there-but-for-the-grace-of-God and all that. I'm talking about simple mundane things in life to which I readily become addicted. Like a bottle of water every morning as I get ready for work. I must have one and don't you get in my way. As they say, a [bottled water drinker] fears nothing 'cept running out of [bottled water]. OK, a case could be made that water is necessary for life itself and hence can't be counted as an "addiction," but what about these obsessions:

• Blistex Herbal Answer lipstick—I buy it in bulk; apply it maybe 30-40 times a day, which I suspect might be excessive.
• Scented candles--what could be nicer? So I've got a closet full of them. What of it?
• Blogging—yeah, well, so are you.
• Gardening—the rare healthy addiction, but I will admit it abates by mid-August; the weeds tell the tale.
• Tuna—a person can’t go too long without a restorative tuna sandwich on toast.
• Back scratches—absolutely anyone can apply.
• Alias, season 1—NetFlix is the best invention ever. I can rent *anything* and it magically appears in my mailbox 2 days later. Yes, I watch a lot of TV…
• Drama--I have quite the cast of characters in my wake--Mr. Barrel Chest, Evil Creepy Skeevy One, my children, Rovey etc etc etc.
• Fires in the fireplace—The soothing warmth on my skin, the golden light bouncing around the room, the spicy smell of burning cedar--intoxicating. But I ran out of wood the other day, and I’m down to my last dining room chair, those antique Stickely's that I got from my grandmother burn good. ;-)

Let this be a warning to you kids.

Thank you Mr. Police Officer

I think I've mentioned that crime is a problem in my neighborhood. Well imagine my surprise when I got a phone call in my office this afternoon from Harried Neighbor Around the Corner--"Em, when I drove by your house just now there were 2 police cruisers out front and the door was wide open!"

Please, no.

I'm a 45-minute drive from home on a good day, so a moment after I launched myself toward the office exit, I reconsidered and decided to make a call to the Yuptrenton police department.

"My...I... I think there's... I got a call here at work from my neighbor and she says there's police in my house which I think should definitely be empty right now except for my parrott..."

"Address?"

"1514 Rivery Place"

"Yes, the police officers are trying to phone you at Ex Med Ed Co--they  found your name on note paper in the kitchen..." [They're in my kitchen looking at at the note pads from my last job?] "... The officer was on rounds and observed that your front door was wide open..."

"What!?"

"...and they entered the premises to investigate."

[My stuff!] "Was anyone seen leaving with TVs and computers and couches and stuff?"

"No. They observed the open door and are investigating. When they have finished they will need  someone with a key to come and lock the door."

"What's going on? What did they find? Was anyone in there? What should I do?"

"Ma'am. Can someone come immediately with a key?"

[Don't call me ma'am.] "I'll have to call someone--I'm at work up the Turnpike."

"OK, Please call me back and tell me the name of the person and when they are coming."

Long story quick, there was no burglary. Door blew open in the harsh wind--it was 25 degs with a wind chill of like 5--brrrr. How'd it just blow open, you ask? *Someone* forgot to secure and lock the door.

Friendly Officer Joe, on his rounds, spotted the gaping door, and for this I am most grateful. I am also enormously relieved that the cold arctic air didn't kill the bird, because she's fragile and sweet. And I'm hoping that Friendly Officer Joe wasn't too put out by the *eNORmous* strushy that is my home right now, although he did make mention of the large note on the chalkboard in *Someone's* bedroom that says "Clean Your Room." And finally, I am thankful that Friendly Officer Joe did not uncover my secret stash. ;-)