At least I'm not going to write about funerals today. I have been busy packing. Have I said that before? It seems like packing is a new career for me. Books look very nice on shelves, but when you take them off the shelves, they fill an alarming number of boxes. Things in cabinets fill boxes. Things in closets fill boxes. Our mover dropped off 40 boxes today. When I originally told the sales rep how many boxes I thought we would nee, he laughed and said we would probably fill at least 200 boxes.
I have been transporting fragile and delicate items myself, mainly so that I don't have to pack quite as carefully as if the mover was taking them. Then I wonder, where will all of those other 200 boxes go in the new house. Will there be room for furniture? Will we be able to walk around? How long will it take to get them empty? Will it all fit?
The buyers' bank's appraiser is coming tomorrow. The municipal inspector is coming on Monday. We haven't heard about the house inspection yet that was done on Friday. I don't know what's taking so long. I arranged for our New York auto insurance today, so that's one more thing to scratch off the list. One problem is that a great number of residents (and relatives) in our new town seem to be Buffalo Bills fans. I'm not sure I care about them (the team, not the residents or relatives). Of course, the do have "Bill" in their name, but, nevertheless. Maybe I should just be silent about the whole thing and smile when they begin to get all excited. Sigh! Nothing is easy.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Thoughts at a Funeral
Yes, I am sorry to say that we attended yet another funeral today. This time for my cousin, Liz, who had battled breast cancer and lung cancer for 23 years. The thing about Liz was that she never showed her pain. If you asked her she would tell you about it, but she never moaned or volunteered information. The church was packed and I found out that Liz was a regular volunteer for various ministries. She never mentioned that either. She married an Italian fellow, Harry. Her sister, Rosie married an Italian also and his name was Harry too. He died two months ago. Italians know how to throw a funeral, or at least the luncheon after the funeral. The selected restaurants are good and the food plentiful. That's not to say that other ethnic groups, including us German - Irish don't provide plentiful and good food, but, when it comes to food and drink, the Italians excel.
After listening to the eulogy and the stories at the restaurant, I came to realize that we don't really know people, at least I think I don't We get together with cousins maybe once or twice a year, recently more frequently at funerals. We see them for a short time and then we all go back home. When we see them again, we start up where we left off and I, at least, forget that these people have been living their lives every hour, every day, just the same as I am. They go shopping, watch television, read books, volunteer, interact with children and grandchildren, get sick, take vacations, perhaps feel lonely, happy or depressed and sometimes they die. All without any approval from or consultation with me. Of course, I do the same things. Then we come together and our view of the other person probably hasn't changed. Do we know about the good things they have done, before they're in the box at the foot of the sanctuary? I keep saying "we" when maybe I should say "I." Maybe it's my fault that I don't know these things. Maybe you, gentle reader, have a greater interest in people or have a better information network than I do. I think I will begin questioning people more about what they do. I am interested to know, although I have always been afraid of being thought nosy. I also don't want to embarrass anyone. If I go up to Mary and say, "So, Mary, how are your volunteer activities going lately," and Mary does not now and has never volunteered for anything, she may feel uneasy at the question. Once I have information about what Mary has been doing in her spare time, the problem is to remember it so when I meet her again I don't make the mistake of asking her how her husband, John, is, when she told me at our prior meeting that she had gotten a divorce and was now dating Larry. If we are having a conversation and you see me mumbling into a tape recorder or surreptitiously taking notes, you'll understand.
After listening to the eulogy and the stories at the restaurant, I came to realize that we don't really know people, at least I think I don't We get together with cousins maybe once or twice a year, recently more frequently at funerals. We see them for a short time and then we all go back home. When we see them again, we start up where we left off and I, at least, forget that these people have been living their lives every hour, every day, just the same as I am. They go shopping, watch television, read books, volunteer, interact with children and grandchildren, get sick, take vacations, perhaps feel lonely, happy or depressed and sometimes they die. All without any approval from or consultation with me. Of course, I do the same things. Then we come together and our view of the other person probably hasn't changed. Do we know about the good things they have done, before they're in the box at the foot of the sanctuary? I keep saying "we" when maybe I should say "I." Maybe it's my fault that I don't know these things. Maybe you, gentle reader, have a greater interest in people or have a better information network than I do. I think I will begin questioning people more about what they do. I am interested to know, although I have always been afraid of being thought nosy. I also don't want to embarrass anyone. If I go up to Mary and say, "So, Mary, how are your volunteer activities going lately," and Mary does not now and has never volunteered for anything, she may feel uneasy at the question. Once I have information about what Mary has been doing in her spare time, the problem is to remember it so when I meet her again I don't make the mistake of asking her how her husband, John, is, when she told me at our prior meeting that she had gotten a divorce and was now dating Larry. If we are having a conversation and you see me mumbling into a tape recorder or surreptitiously taking notes, you'll understand.
Friday, October 14, 2011
The Heavenly Closet / Garages
I call it the Heavenly Closet because it was built to last for eternity. It was really overbuilt, in my opinion. It had painted plywood sides, 2x4 framing, sliding doors, adjustable wire shelving and was really put together very nicely. The only problem with it was that it took up almost the entire back end of the garage and prevented me from driving a car all the way in. I agonized over whether or not to remove it. Would it serve a purpose? It obviously served a purpose for our sellers. Should I get new, smaller cars? No. So, it took me a day and a half at least to get the thing down. Wherever there was a place to put a screw, they put a screw. If they could hide a screw, they hid it. If they could hide a nail, they hid it. I used screwdrivers, both powered and manual, hammers, crow bars, a reciprocating saw and brute strength, but I finally got it down and the car fits in. My back and arms will never be the same, but the cars fit in.
I learned an interesting thing in my agonizing over the closet. Most people that we know in the Rochester area don't put their cars in the garage in the winter. I found that very puzzling, but I was told that the road salt is very hard on the garage floors. My son had a three car garage built next to his house in PA a couple of years ago and he confirmed this. Our new house had a large piece of indoor-outdoor carpet laid down in the garage and I guess I now know why. I know they had a large SUV which they never put in the garage, so maybe they had a small car that was compatible with the Heavenly Closet. I like the idea of storing my cars in a garage. Even on this latest trip, we were constantly brushing leaves off the windshield and the rest of the car that fell as it sat in the driveway. I will have to research the salt / garage floor issue since it seems somewhat defeatist to me to have to scrape ice and snow off your car all the cold winter long when you have a perfectly good building to store it in that you don't want to make into a family room. Someone probably makes some sort of coating for the floor for this purpose, or, maybe a piece of carpet is a good solution. I guess you change it every year or take it out and wash it off, preferably on your neighbors driveway.
I learned an interesting thing in my agonizing over the closet. Most people that we know in the Rochester area don't put their cars in the garage in the winter. I found that very puzzling, but I was told that the road salt is very hard on the garage floors. My son had a three car garage built next to his house in PA a couple of years ago and he confirmed this. Our new house had a large piece of indoor-outdoor carpet laid down in the garage and I guess I now know why. I know they had a large SUV which they never put in the garage, so maybe they had a small car that was compatible with the Heavenly Closet. I like the idea of storing my cars in a garage. Even on this latest trip, we were constantly brushing leaves off the windshield and the rest of the car that fell as it sat in the driveway. I will have to research the salt / garage floor issue since it seems somewhat defeatist to me to have to scrape ice and snow off your car all the cold winter long when you have a perfectly good building to store it in that you don't want to make into a family room. Someone probably makes some sort of coating for the floor for this purpose, or, maybe a piece of carpet is a good solution. I guess you change it every year or take it out and wash it off, preferably on your neighbors driveway.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Where Have All the Young Folks Gone?
We went to another funeral yesterday. My cousin Rosie's husband, Harry, died. He was seventy five. That's not real young, but it's not terribly old either. He had Parkinson's disease. He was diagnosed with it when he was forty nine, but you wouldn't have known it until later years. He was a quiet, gentle man. After the Mass, there was a luncheon at a nice restaurant. What was disturbing to me was the gray hair on my cousins' children. Some also had receding hairlines and children of their own, the eldest of whom were now preparing for college. I remember as a child romping around with my cousins, all of whom, except one, are older than me. My aunts and uncles were the older generation. We were the kids. I remember my cousins graduating from high school. I remember them getting married. Life moved on and we're clearly not the kids anymore. We have become the older generation, the old folks. When did this all happen? I don't remember it.
Sometimes I forget how old I am. When I was at the doctor's office a few weeks ago, I had to do some quick math to answer a standard inquiry as to "how old are you?" It turns out that I am a year older than I thought, so I don't think about it anymore. Age is nothing really but a number. Because you are a certain age doesn't mean that you can't do this or that. I still think I can do the things I did when I was twenty. Some I can do, a lot I can't. My body quickly lets me know which ones I can't. When I think about a number associated with my age, I think, "No, that can't be right. That number doesn't apply to me." Well, it does apply to me. Four of my nine cousins have now died and two husbands of the remaining ones are gone. They all had higher numbers than me, though. But where have all the young folks gone? They're still with us, but they are different people. They are the kids we used to be and we're not the kids anymore.
Sometimes I forget how old I am. When I was at the doctor's office a few weeks ago, I had to do some quick math to answer a standard inquiry as to "how old are you?" It turns out that I am a year older than I thought, so I don't think about it anymore. Age is nothing really but a number. Because you are a certain age doesn't mean that you can't do this or that. I still think I can do the things I did when I was twenty. Some I can do, a lot I can't. My body quickly lets me know which ones I can't. When I think about a number associated with my age, I think, "No, that can't be right. That number doesn't apply to me." Well, it does apply to me. Four of my nine cousins have now died and two husbands of the remaining ones are gone. They all had higher numbers than me, though. But where have all the young folks gone? They're still with us, but they are different people. They are the kids we used to be and we're not the kids anymore.
Monday, September 26, 2011
The Microwave
Our new house has a microwave / convection oven built in over the range, so the small counter top one we have here would probably not be used very much there. Unfortunately, it recently stopped working and since it is handy for a lot of things, we reluctantly decided that we should get another one. You would think that buying a microwave would be a simple thing. Maybe it is for most people, but not for us. I found one on line at Target that was reasonably priced and looked nice. Since Walmart in Old Bridge is closer than Target in Middletown, Anne though that we should look there. She found one on line that she liked and the site said that it was in stock at the store. We got to the store and the first thing I noticed was the large number of people standing in line for customer service. The second thing I noticed was that the microwave was nowhere to be found. A lady employee, who was very pleasant, but ineffective, said that she bet she knew where we got the idea that it was in stock - from the internet and cautioned us not to believe such things. She didn't work in microwaves so tried to conjure up someone who knew about them by speaking into a little box. After several attempts without success she wandered off. We wandered to Home Depot and Lowes where it was difficult to pair the boxes with the actual microwaves with the prices tags on the shelves. By the way, as we left Walmart, the customer service line was now about half of what it was when we went in. We continued to drive south on Route 9 until we were at the Target in Manalapan where we found the one I had first mentioned. It is a little smaller than what Anne wanted, but we got it. We can now microwave things again. Yippee.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Ramblings on a September Evening
Once again, I have been admonished because I have been derelict in my blog postings. It would be nice if the complainers would themselves post something, or even get a blog, but no, I alone am admonished as though I were the blogger in residence or blogger laureate, expected to provide new and scintillating material for the enjoyment of my readers. Very well, here goes, but remember, I am not Noel Coward (thank God) or John Wayne, or anyone of serious note and nothing much that's exciting happens to me. I suppose that's a good thing for me for the most part, but it makes it difficult to get enthused to write about the normal hum drum of daily life, but I will try.
On Friday I visited my old place of employment because I had a luncheon with Mr. Michael K. I enjoyed my lunch and our conversation, but my real love is seeing the ladies of ETA, my former co-workers. I do miss them. Having said that, I want to assure my readers and myself that I don't miss work and that retirement suits me just fine, thank you very much. Most of my working career I have worked primarily with women and have had mostly women bosses, when I have had a boss. Maybe that gives me a different perspective on things. I have liked almost all of the women with whom I have worked and still keep in touch with some of them through the wonder of Facebook. Maybe I fancy myself as a modern day Gardner McKay sailing to Tahiti with an all girl crew. Hah! What did I have to drink today? Anybody want to go on a sailboat ride?
So, last evening Anne and I went to Best Buy to look at televisions. We need to get one or two eventually for our new home. We have been putting off buying HD TVs in anticipation of our move, so we thought we ought to go look at them and see what we could learn. At first we were struck by the similarity in the pictures between the 720 p and the 1080p sets until we found out that the signal that they get in the store for all sets is 720p. Well, gee whiz, how the heck are you supposed to make a decision on that basis? Even at that, all the pictures looked pretty good. Then there's the thing about smart TVs and do you want Google TV, Netflix, Hulu, Pandora and what do all of these things do and who cares. What about 3D? Everybody wants you to pay money to watch or listen to entertainment today. We didn't buy anything, just looked. I need to find a sixteen year old to explain it all to me before we buy anything.
Tomorrow is my father's birthday. He would have been 105, but he died in 1987. We went to the cemetary this afternoon, because I got confused and though his birthday was today. The cemetery isn't being kept up very well, which is disconcerting. The headstone seems to be leaning a little also. I don't know what I can do about either thing. I guess and hope it doesn't matter to my parents. If it does, we all have a lot more trouble than we realize.
Peter is finally in Mexico. Last week they finally got shipments of all of their goods, all on the same day and found themselves somewhat overwhelmed. They don't know where they will put it all because their house is not quite as large as previous ones. Peter's delay in getting there had to do with the government's language school and their insistence that he achieve a high level of fluency in Spanish. Since he's been there he said that he hardly has to speak any Spanish except if he goes to a grocery store.
I know that there were other things that I was thinking of adding to this post, but I don't remember what they were. I believe that will allow me to write another post when I remember them and if I remember that I am supposed to blog about them. So, good reader, you will have to be content with this content for the time being.
On Friday I visited my old place of employment because I had a luncheon with Mr. Michael K. I enjoyed my lunch and our conversation, but my real love is seeing the ladies of ETA, my former co-workers. I do miss them. Having said that, I want to assure my readers and myself that I don't miss work and that retirement suits me just fine, thank you very much. Most of my working career I have worked primarily with women and have had mostly women bosses, when I have had a boss. Maybe that gives me a different perspective on things. I have liked almost all of the women with whom I have worked and still keep in touch with some of them through the wonder of Facebook. Maybe I fancy myself as a modern day Gardner McKay sailing to Tahiti with an all girl crew. Hah! What did I have to drink today? Anybody want to go on a sailboat ride?
So, last evening Anne and I went to Best Buy to look at televisions. We need to get one or two eventually for our new home. We have been putting off buying HD TVs in anticipation of our move, so we thought we ought to go look at them and see what we could learn. At first we were struck by the similarity in the pictures between the 720 p and the 1080p sets until we found out that the signal that they get in the store for all sets is 720p. Well, gee whiz, how the heck are you supposed to make a decision on that basis? Even at that, all the pictures looked pretty good. Then there's the thing about smart TVs and do you want Google TV, Netflix, Hulu, Pandora and what do all of these things do and who cares. What about 3D? Everybody wants you to pay money to watch or listen to entertainment today. We didn't buy anything, just looked. I need to find a sixteen year old to explain it all to me before we buy anything.
Tomorrow is my father's birthday. He would have been 105, but he died in 1987. We went to the cemetary this afternoon, because I got confused and though his birthday was today. The cemetery isn't being kept up very well, which is disconcerting. The headstone seems to be leaning a little also. I don't know what I can do about either thing. I guess and hope it doesn't matter to my parents. If it does, we all have a lot more trouble than we realize.
Peter is finally in Mexico. Last week they finally got shipments of all of their goods, all on the same day and found themselves somewhat overwhelmed. They don't know where they will put it all because their house is not quite as large as previous ones. Peter's delay in getting there had to do with the government's language school and their insistence that he achieve a high level of fluency in Spanish. Since he's been there he said that he hardly has to speak any Spanish except if he goes to a grocery store.
I know that there were other things that I was thinking of adding to this post, but I don't remember what they were. I believe that will allow me to write another post when I remember them and if I remember that I am supposed to blog about them. So, good reader, you will have to be content with this content for the time being.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
A Walk on the Beach
We took a walk on the beach last evening, Anne and I and our friend Alice. The weather was about as good as it gets; a slight sea breeze and no bugs. I always find the wave action calming and restorative, but it's not just that. I think it also has to do with the sun on the water, the birds swooping after their dinner, feet touching the sand and water, the immensity of the ocean. I was thinking that we have made a decision to move away from this, so I hope that Lake Ontario has some restorative properties. I believe that there is nothing quite like the ocean, though.
I have lived near the ocean all of my life. I started out in Newark, NJ, which isn't quite what would be called "near the ocean," but we spent many weekends at the shore when I was a child, then moving to Sea Girt when I was in my last year of high school. Thereafter, I never considered myself a "Day Benny." I believe that I will be closer to the water at our new house. It is about two miles to the lake straight up Holt Road. It's a pretty big lake. Not big as far as the Great Lakes go, but big, nevertheless. You can't see across to Canada. All you can see is water, so, except for your knowledge of geography, for all you know, it could go on forever. But, I don't know if it will be the same as the ocean. There's something about the beach. There was one sight, however, that somewhat marred the experience and that was the lady in the bikini. An older woman who had no business being in a bikini because a good portion of her hung over the bottom part of it. Shouldn't there be a naturalist or someone to point out to people that they are disturbing the balance of nature, not to mention the view.
I have lived near the ocean all of my life. I started out in Newark, NJ, which isn't quite what would be called "near the ocean," but we spent many weekends at the shore when I was a child, then moving to Sea Girt when I was in my last year of high school. Thereafter, I never considered myself a "Day Benny." I believe that I will be closer to the water at our new house. It is about two miles to the lake straight up Holt Road. It's a pretty big lake. Not big as far as the Great Lakes go, but big, nevertheless. You can't see across to Canada. All you can see is water, so, except for your knowledge of geography, for all you know, it could go on forever. But, I don't know if it will be the same as the ocean. There's something about the beach. There was one sight, however, that somewhat marred the experience and that was the lady in the bikini. An older woman who had no business being in a bikini because a good portion of her hung over the bottom part of it. Shouldn't there be a naturalist or someone to point out to people that they are disturbing the balance of nature, not to mention the view.
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