Longest Week

The week between the day my mother entered hospice care and the day she died is easily the longest and worst week of my life. This week (oddly enough, very nearly the same set of days six years later) comes in at a very close second.

Earlier this month our condo building was deemed uninhabitable by the village due to the absence of running water. Mind you, we've been existing without hot water for months prior to this new designation; a fact the village was maybe not so blissfully unaware.

The water shut-off is due to polar vortex-induced busted pipes leading to water spilling about the village street. Something they frown upon.

The times, they have been hard.

Over the past several days I (we) have been furiously endeavoring to relocate before the village takes the next step, whatever that is upon a domicile being deemed uninhabitable. How many more days will they allow? I don't know. I can't afford to care. Particularly since the association is broke in every conceivable way. It. Is. Time. To. Go.

Thanks to the very fine and furiously expedited help of two local social service agencies and a very good friend, relocation is mere hours and some heft away for the daughter and me. The son is making his own arrangements, finding his own way. Happy Birthday to him, by the way.

The anniversary of my son's birth not-with-standing, I can say with fervent candor that February is doing its damnedest to earn the position of my least favorite month.

But then again, maybe this move, these series of events, will prove a very positive turning point in our lives.

We'll see.  March On!

Polar

 The Arctic. Icy. Frigid. Cold.

Much to my surprise, my employer sent a message on Tuesday that the office would close on Wednesday, 

"due to the extreme weather . . . " much like many entities. Then later Wednesday, another message: closed Thursday as well. Open on Friday again, "due to the extreme weather . . . "

Woot: two days off. Except . . . not a. vacation!  You may have heard, we've had ourselves some

C O L D  

We are coming out of the arctic temperatures now and while work resumes tomorrow for me and many others, there are other issues looming for me that will require more of my mind, energies, and resources.

Those things too, like the cold, will have an end-point, some kind of outcome. I can't see it now but IT whatever IT is will be made known to me.  In the meantime, I celebrate a return to a more normal winter.

Yay to 20 degrees on the positive side of zero. Happy Friday.  

End of Season

Someone in my building or someone (at the very least) with access to the front hall of the building sliced down more than half of the sunflower stalk growing, flourishing out in the front yard. I'd left my pruning shears sitting on one of the tables (holding my indoor plants) planning to use them at some point during the week to touch up some of the shrubbery following some aggressive growth following all the rain we've had. 

My usual practice is to put all the yard tools away in one of the various storage nooks that populate the first floor of the condo building. But since I was planning to do some (light) weekday work, I'd left the shears at an easier access point. I'm trying not to take as a coincidence that the chopping down occurred during or just after  Moe, Larry, and Curly of twenty-first century plumbing were in the space to replace a blown water heater. THAT, is another tale. 

To say that I'm incensed over the incident is putting it mildly. I'd said a few of these: 

upon leaving for work Friday morning and seeing the mutilation of my stately sunflowers.

Our small, nine unit condo building is self managed. I get a break on my assessments for caring for the common areas; sweeping, mopping, wiping down the halls and caring for the grounds. I shovel snow and clear ice in the winter, care for the yard , and keep the rear court-yard clean.

I tend to every plant and shrub (most of which I purchased out of my own funds) weeding, watering, and pruning as needed. I never maintained a yard before moving into this building. I've been an apartment dweller (mostly surrounded by concrete or yards "hands off" to tenants) my entire life. This little patch of earth was a new, exciting experience for me. I work diligently to clear trash, reset stepping stones, eradicate weeds (and mushrooms) and generally keep the area as appealing as possible given the limitations of time and budget.

For someone to rudely attack my work, my investment is beyond mean and it makes me want to

SCREAM

 I did scream. Ask Neta, she'd called early Friday morning as I was leaving for work. I walked outside, saw the mutilation and . . . yeah, WTF'D all over the place. 

I'm better now, though. It is September and soon the thoughts will turn to preparing the ground for winter, planning for next year, buying and burying bulbs. And yes, marking the spot of the current sunflower yield and devising a plan, for electrocuting anyone who touches protecting them, as well as, other yields from the savagery of neighbors? or their kids, or the friends of their kids. 

In the meantime I will enjoy what is left of  the summer, left of the various colors of our my yard. 

Welcome To Wednesday Rambling Randoms

Wednesday. I'm never 100% positive I'm spelling that right the first time. You'd think it be etched in my memory after all these years, but no, I have to stop and think, for at least a fraction of a second, to be sure it is correct.

It is annoying. I do get annoyed I misspell (or mis-type) something, especially something simple or relatively routine, like "music". I discovered recently I left off the "c" on a piece of work correspondence. And of course I didn't catch it until it was too late.
Color me e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y annoyed with myself.

Speaking of annoyed, how about coming home from work to find you have no running water. Zippo. AND to find out the water is off because the treasurer didn't respond to notices and of course, didn't pay the bill. Seriously people? Not to worry, service was re-started within an hour of my arrival, thanks to a neighbor's son who is employed by public works. He called in a favor. Otherwise, things could have gotten ugly. Very ugly. And nasty.


Mom will be having dinner with me on "our" day. This is my treat to her. Going out these days is just too complicated and stressful. Mom can be a . . . difficult diner and what with the transportation issues, well, it is simply easier to play hostess. My kids will treat me some other time. The son is thinking burgers and the daughter hasn't chimed in yet. In either case, on Sunday we'll all be together for a bit and that can be counted as a treat.

And speaking of treat. Look at this great tee shirt:
The treat? I WON the shirt. You see, TLQ ran a contest. I entered and my name was picked from the hat, bowl, pot used for baked beans . . . I don't know the vessel of the picking, but I was picked and I'm tickled nearly pink. Well, not quite nearly. Actually, pretty darn far from pink, but I'm pretty tickled. And honored. And happy.

I so anxious to receive and then to wear my new tee.

Check out the site sometime, there is a widget there in the margin.

It takes a village.

Peace.

Dear Some of Our Neighbors:

The task of breaking down cardboard cartons is herculean. The difficultly level ranking right up there with the likes of brain surgery. From the intricacies of slicing reinforced tape to the precision needed to massage creases to fold in on themselves, the entire operation is a daunting challenge.


Daunting, yet many of your neighbors met the challenge with an eye toward tidiness and compacting limited trash space and learned how to intricately and precisely break down cardboard cartons.

In the spirit of neighborly acts, those neighbors who have perfected box breaking down techniques are graciously offering workshops for those of you interested in learning the most useful and esteemed skill. The workshops will be held in the lobby for the next three Saturdays.
Bring your own boxes, blades will be supplied.

You may choose not to participate in the workshops and that is fine, however, be advised that disposing of your shoe, gift, furniture, appliance, and other assorted cartons un-broken down is seen by your fellow neighbors as rude and unseemly.

So please, take advantage of the workshops, or locate a self-help book or video--whatever method you choose to learn, please do--learn and utilize your skills. Over time, with practice, you'll one day be able to count yourself among the exclusive and elite, box break down club.

You can do it. We know that you can.

Signed,

The Other Neighbors

Two Words

To the owners, tenants, residents (whatever) of units 2B and 3C I have two words for you: Boot Tray. Or, perhaps you could put your funky, gunky boots on the inside of your unit. Or better yet, you could put a boot tray by your door, inside the unit (the mother is inside the park)* and then rest your funky, gunky boots there.

Some people.

*Jaw 3D , a sad, so sad obsession.