Friday, May 1, 2009
Blue Sweater Revisited
My lovely daughter has pointed out to me that the origin was not Old Navy, but rather American Eagle Outfitters! I checked the label, and my goodness gracious, she's right. No wonder I haven't been successful finding a replacement at Old Navy.... This reminds me of the TV commercial about the man and his son who go to Norway to discover their roots, only to find that, once they arrive, the family tree originated in Sweden. At least Norway and Sweden are close geographically.
Blue Hooded Sweater
Sometimes it's the smallest, must unassuming things that give us the most pleasure in life. For example, a couple of years ago when my daughter lost a ton (well, not that much) of weight, she brought me a big bag of cast-off clothes. Among the items 35 years too young for me was a navy blue, cable knit sweater with a hood. It zips up the front and has a couple of deep pockets. Little did I know when I pulled it out that it would become so dear to me, so essential, so necessary!
My home office is in the basement. Although it is plumbed and has furnace ducts, and the walls are studded in, it is basically a big, cold cavern. Even when I turn the heat on down there, it probably doesn't exceed 60 degrees. To achieve a comfortable 70, it would cost us $3000 to heat it for the winter. One morning I grabbed the Blue Sweater, and it's been my constant companion since. Sometimes I even wear it in the summer because my office is never warm.
As with any child's "blanky," Blue Sweater is beginning to show signs of age and wear. I pluck tiny balls of yarn off the floor and have resorted to rolling the sleeves up because of the fraying. Every time I'm close to an Old Navy, Blue Sweater's origin, I look for a replacement. I fear I will not find one that will meet its perfection. What else would afford pockets just right for my personal and business cell phones? In what will I find comfort and warmth?
I may think seriously of retirement when Blue Sweater ceases to exist.
My home office is in the basement. Although it is plumbed and has furnace ducts, and the walls are studded in, it is basically a big, cold cavern. Even when I turn the heat on down there, it probably doesn't exceed 60 degrees. To achieve a comfortable 70, it would cost us $3000 to heat it for the winter. One morning I grabbed the Blue Sweater, and it's been my constant companion since. Sometimes I even wear it in the summer because my office is never warm.
As with any child's "blanky," Blue Sweater is beginning to show signs of age and wear. I pluck tiny balls of yarn off the floor and have resorted to rolling the sleeves up because of the fraying. Every time I'm close to an Old Navy, Blue Sweater's origin, I look for a replacement. I fear I will not find one that will meet its perfection. What else would afford pockets just right for my personal and business cell phones? In what will I find comfort and warmth?
I may think seriously of retirement when Blue Sweater ceases to exist.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Book Club---or Ponzi Scheme?
A few weeks ago I received an envelope in the mail with the return address of an old friend in Indiana. Usually I hear from her at Christmas, so I was indeed curious. Inside was a single sheet of paper, a somewhat tired photocopy, instructing me to send a paperback book I have enjoyed to the person whose name and address appeared on the back of the instructions. Then I was to send copies of this letter (with my Indiana friend's name and address on the back) to six people who enjoy reading. The promise was that I'd receive 36 books.
In the past I've received chain-letters with promises of recipes and dish towels. Never once have I acquired a single item in the mail as a result of my participation. How would this be different? I can't explain it, but book lovers must be a special breed; so far I've received two very nice books (one is a hardback), and one of the recipients of my letter told me yesterday at work that her aunt is mailing me another. Whoa.....
So, now I'm trying to make mathematical sense of this process. I sent one book. Getting even three books in return far exceeds even the miracle of compound interest. Maybe I'm suspicious and jaded about "get rich quick" and "too good to be true" propositions since I deal in my work with the sad consequences of being sucked into scams. Did I unknowingly participate in a Ponzi scheme? I think I need to develop a schematic of this process. What if a person were to initiate multiple letters like this, and then sell the crop of books received on eBay?
Perhaps I should just stick to reading the books.
In the past I've received chain-letters with promises of recipes and dish towels. Never once have I acquired a single item in the mail as a result of my participation. How would this be different? I can't explain it, but book lovers must be a special breed; so far I've received two very nice books (one is a hardback), and one of the recipients of my letter told me yesterday at work that her aunt is mailing me another. Whoa.....
So, now I'm trying to make mathematical sense of this process. I sent one book. Getting even three books in return far exceeds even the miracle of compound interest. Maybe I'm suspicious and jaded about "get rich quick" and "too good to be true" propositions since I deal in my work with the sad consequences of being sucked into scams. Did I unknowingly participate in a Ponzi scheme? I think I need to develop a schematic of this process. What if a person were to initiate multiple letters like this, and then sell the crop of books received on eBay?
Perhaps I should just stick to reading the books.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Good Reads
While I was recovering from my foot surgery, I found much more time to read than normal. I won't waste time and space commenting on the books I'd give "thumbs down" to, but I will recommend a couple of worthwhile works, in my opinion.
Fannie Flagg's little A Redbird Christmas was a delight, as well as Can't Wait to Get to Heaven.
Tallgrass by Sandra Dallas was thought provoking. The effect of a World War II Japanese internment camp on a small southeastern Colorado town is seen through the eyes of a thirteen year old girl.
I've just begun She Got Up Off the Couch (and Other Heroic Acts from Mooreland, Indiana) by Haven Kimmel. She is the author of A Girl Named Zippy (Growing Up Small in Mooreland, Indiana). I feel a kinship with Haven Kimmel; we share small town backgrounds, although in her view, a town the size of Williamsport (population 1200) dwarfs minute Mooreland with its mere 300. (I've added her blog to my list.)
Fannie Flagg's little A Redbird Christmas was a delight, as well as Can't Wait to Get to Heaven.
Tallgrass by Sandra Dallas was thought provoking. The effect of a World War II Japanese internment camp on a small southeastern Colorado town is seen through the eyes of a thirteen year old girl.
I've just begun She Got Up Off the Couch (and Other Heroic Acts from Mooreland, Indiana) by Haven Kimmel. She is the author of A Girl Named Zippy (Growing Up Small in Mooreland, Indiana). I feel a kinship with Haven Kimmel; we share small town backgrounds, although in her view, a town the size of Williamsport (population 1200) dwarfs minute Mooreland with its mere 300. (I've added her blog to my list.)
Thursday, February 12, 2009
And Yet Another Birthday
On Monday I celebrated/endured another birthday--the end of the fifth decade of my life. One happy consequence is that now I'm only one year away from being "eligible" to retire. Also, many restaurants will be giving me the "senior discount" this time next year! (Oh, a sad state of affairs when that's something to look forward to...)
The birthday caused me to think about the days of my youth in Williamsport, Indiana. I looked on Google images to try to find photos of places from my past, and I was surprised to be able to find so many.
The hospital where I was born was the former home of a Prohibition-era bootlegger. Only the bottom floor of the building still exists, along with several more modern wings added over the years. This is also where I had my tonsilectomy in 1961--and nearly bled to death at the tender age of 11.
When I was very young, I remember walking over one of the "Twin Bridges" on Monroe and Fall Streets in the dark with my parents, returning to my Grandma's house on Boyer Street after having seen a movie at the theatre "uptown." The sound of the falls terrified me, and the stench was overwhelming. In those early days in the 1950's, the falls were not only the highest in Indiana, but also the state's largest open cesspool. Fortunately the environmentalists cleaned it up later.
I attended Williamsport School from 1956 (as a first grader--we had no kindergarten in those days) through second grade. Then we moved to Attica, Indiana, for three years. I completed 7th through 12th grades in the old Williamsport School, graduating in May 1968. The building was demolished in the 1980's, I think, and a new elementary school was constructed on the site.
In 1974, all three of the Warren County school districts consolidated into the Metropolitan School District of Warren County (my first professional employer--but that's a story for a future posting).
The birthday caused me to think about the days of my youth in Williamsport, Indiana. I looked on Google images to try to find photos of places from my past, and I was surprised to be able to find so many.
The hospital where I was born was the former home of a Prohibition-era bootlegger. Only the bottom floor of the building still exists, along with several more modern wings added over the years. This is also where I had my tonsilectomy in 1961--and nearly bled to death at the tender age of 11.
When I was very young, I remember walking over one of the "Twin Bridges" on Monroe and Fall Streets in the dark with my parents, returning to my Grandma's house on Boyer Street after having seen a movie at the theatre "uptown." The sound of the falls terrified me, and the stench was overwhelming. In those early days in the 1950's, the falls were not only the highest in Indiana, but also the state's largest open cesspool. Fortunately the environmentalists cleaned it up later.
I attended Williamsport School from 1956 (as a first grader--we had no kindergarten in those days) through second grade. Then we moved to Attica, Indiana, for three years. I completed 7th through 12th grades in the old Williamsport School, graduating in May 1968. The building was demolished in the 1980's, I think, and a new elementary school was constructed on the site.
In 1974, all three of the Warren County school districts consolidated into the Metropolitan School District of Warren County (my first professional employer--but that's a story for a future posting).
Friday, January 23, 2009
In Recovery
Day 8 of my post-op recovery. On January 15, I went under the knife again for the 5th time in my long life. This time it was for PTTD, posterior tibial tendon dysfunction. Wondering how a perennial couch potato acquired such an athletic-sounding problem? It's a long story, but boiled down to a few words, it's the sad result of neglect.
I have a big, bulky splint on my left foot that gives the appearance that it's at least 4 times its normal size. On Wednesday I visited the doctor so they could change the dressing and check for any signs of infection or rejection of a titanium implant between two bones to, hopefully, put my deranged foot back into a more normal configuration. It looked good, if two bloody incisions with hairy stitches can look good. The nurse proclaimed, "It's beautiful!" Dr. Heninger, a wonderful young man about my oldest son's age, came in and agreed whole heartedly. I go back next Wednesday for stitch removal, and hopefully the okay to start some weight bearing. (I don't do well with crutches. Most couch potatoes don't.)
My wonderful husband has been waiting on me, literally hand and "foot", during this ordeal, to the extent of even carrying me on his back to the truck to take me to my doctor appointment! He'll be happy with a swift recovery, too.
I have a big, bulky splint on my left foot that gives the appearance that it's at least 4 times its normal size. On Wednesday I visited the doctor so they could change the dressing and check for any signs of infection or rejection of a titanium implant between two bones to, hopefully, put my deranged foot back into a more normal configuration. It looked good, if two bloody incisions with hairy stitches can look good. The nurse proclaimed, "It's beautiful!" Dr. Heninger, a wonderful young man about my oldest son's age, came in and agreed whole heartedly. I go back next Wednesday for stitch removal, and hopefully the okay to start some weight bearing. (I don't do well with crutches. Most couch potatoes don't.)
My wonderful husband has been waiting on me, literally hand and "foot", during this ordeal, to the extent of even carrying me on his back to the truck to take me to my doctor appointment! He'll be happy with a swift recovery, too.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Back to the Salt Mine
My vacation is drawing to an end, so I won't be able to devote as much attention to my blog as I have during this first week of its life. Ah, I did accomplish something on my long, long list while I was off work, even though I still have 102 pages of my book to re-input. (I marvel at the people I know from work who have retired and complain about being bored with nothing to do!)
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