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  • Hop Woof

    It was cold and dark and late. I bundled up, put boots on Indy, and took her out to the backyard.

    I let her out the door first, and before I know what’s up, she dashes down the stairs and bounds across the yard.

    That is when I spot the rabbit leaping frantically away.

    Indy: BUNNY!
    Rabbit: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

    The rabbit dashes across the yard and slams head first into the chain link fence and bounces off.

    Rabbit: WTF?!
    Indy: BUNNY!

    Rabbit turns and runs the other direction, toward the wood fence.

    Indy: You want to be my friend?
    Rabbit: Holy shit! Fence! Dog!

    Rabbit turns and runs the other way.

    Indy: Whoa. Where’d you… Oh, okay! Tag! Fun!
    Rabbit: OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!

    Rabbit slams head first into the chain link fence and bounces off. Rabbit is dazed.

    Rabbit OMGWTFBBQEXCLAFUCKINGMATIONPOINTELEVENTYONEEXCLAMATIONPOINT
    Indy: BUNNY! LEMME SMELL YOUR BUTT!

    Rabbit shakes it off, turns again and runs straight toward me. Old lady dog clumsily changes course and tries to keep up, but is slowing down.

    Rabbit: OW MY HEAD! AAAAAAAAH! DOG PLUS HUMAN!

    I quietly try to get Indy’s attention, before the rabbit has a heart attack. The rabbit finds a pile of wood to hide under. Indy goes to sniff everyplace the rabbit was.

    I don’t think we woke any neighbors up.

  • Friday, December 4th, 2009

    Almost every night of my life I go to bed with a plan as to what I will be doing the next day. Almost every single day, something goes awry.

    Thursday, December 3rd, I went to bed, and my Friday looked like this:

    • get up
    • have breakfast
    • go to hand therapy
    • get out of hand therapy and go to the vet to pick up medicine
    • get gas
    • go home to have lunch
    • go to see Little Women (The Musical)
    • go home to drop the kid off
    • run to Costco
    • take kid to the show she is assistant stage managing for
    • go home and get more work done
    • pick kid up from the show
    • eat dinner
    • go home

     

    On Friday I got up and I had breakfast and went to hand therapy. Hey, so far, so good.

    I sat and waited and waited. Hand therapy has never started late before, but I used the time to contact the person who had my play tickets. I had forgotten to get them from her when I saw her on Saturday, so the new plan had been she would hand them off to somebody else who was going to the play. I wanted to find out who had the tickets.

    She still had the tickets.

    Hand therapy finally started, late, and of course, ended late. Instead of heading to the vet, I needed to go pick up the tickets. At breakfast the kid had suggested we could go out for lunch, but on the way back from getting the tickets (ticket holder and I don’t live near each other) I called and told the kid to just eat. We were going to be very tight getting to the play.

    Got home and looked up the address from the place the play was held, because the tickets just said the name of the theater, assuming I’d know. I got the address and went out to the car. The nav system was unfamiliar with the address. It knew the street, but the construction was too new to have the address listed. That got me close. We sorted out the rest and pulled into the parking lot 5 minutes before the show was scheduled to start.

    Little Women happened. It ran A LOT longer than I was expecting. We rushed home so she could get ready to leave for the show. I wanted her to go with me to gas, Costco, and the vet because I didn’t think I’d have time to come back for her and still get her downtown for her show.

    I went upstairs to use the computer for a few minutes while she gathered her snack and stuff for the show. I was sitting at my computer when I heard crashing and thudding. I yelled out to her… got up and started moving, and yelled out again.

    In response, I hear, “It hurts.”

    Fuck. So, I’m moving faster, but not sure where she is. It sounded like something tumbling down the stairs. She wasn’t at the bottom of the first set of stairs. “Where are you?” I yell, as I am about to open the basement door to look, but she made a groaning noise from the kitchen so I went in there, to find her sprawled on the floor, kind of sitting, with her legs akimbo and tangled in the barstools. “What did you do?”

    “I fell, and my hand is stuck.”

    “What?”

    “I tried to stop myself from falling, and I can’t get my hand out.”

    I got closer to her and moved the barstools out of the way. Her legs were REALLY tangled up in them. Then I took a look to see what she was talking about. Her right arm was up and twisted around and her hand was palm flat against the fridge with the hand through the refrigerator handle. Her fingers were through the freezer handle (side by side).

    “You have to get up, you can’t move your arm from that position. You’ll have to lift with your body.”

    “I can’t. I’m stuck. It hurts.”

    “What hurts? Your elbow?” (things are twisted around really awkwardly)

    “No. My hand.”

    I try to lift her off the floor by her armpits to give her a better angle on moving her hand. She shrieks at me. I let go. I move a barstool and tell her to use it to lift herself up. She tries but collapses in pain.

    I look at her hand again. It seems… fine really, just in the door handle. It went in there. Take it out.

    I tell her I’ll try to move it. I touch it. She shrieks. I try to slide it. She shrieks. I poke at her shoulder and elbow again and ask where it hurts, and again she tells me her hand. I get some ice out of the in door dispenser and put it in a baggy to put on her arm.

    “Look, you’ve got to get your hand out before it swells up and really gets stuck.”

    “Believe me. I’d LOVE to,” she snarls.

    I begin looking at the door handle to figure out how to remove it.

    Now I may as well take a minute to point out something you might already know. I’m not soft and cuddly. It isn’t that I am bad in a crisis. I’m just not very comforting. This makes me bad for some people. I like information. Then I want more information. Then I want a plan of action. Then I want action. I’d like all this extremely rapidly. I’m not warm and nurturing, and I don’t do “everything will be just fine” unless I have some kind of proof that things are going to be fine.

    My kid tends to get a little anxiety filled in a crisis, and with the anxiety comes a lack of clear communication. I want a description of the pain so I can try to figure out what is happening. She just keeps letting me know there is pain. We’ve been having this same thing happen since she was little.

    It isn’t that I am completely lacking in maternal instincts, but… it is kind of overrun by my instinct to, “leave the squawking one before the noise and weakness and fear draws predators to the rest of the pack”.

    So, because I cannot get a good assessment of pain out of her, I try threatening her. “Do I need to call 911?” One of the things I passed onto my daughter through a lovely combination of nature and nurture is a complete dislike for strange people invading our home, and any medical person ever touching us, ever, but especially when they are unknown, and we are in pain and feeling vulnerable.

    “Well I can’t stay like this!” she snaps.

    Oh. Interesting. She is open to the concept of needing to call 911. That has NEVER been her response.

    I decide it is time to call her father. He’s nicer in situations like these and has more of a calming effect. I do this while digging out the refrigerator manual in hopes of finding some instructions on how to remove the door handle, but my initial examination of the handle has not left me feeling hopeful.

    Him: Hello?
    Me: I think you need to come home. I’ve got a bit of a problem here, and I actually think I’m going to have to call 911.
    Him: What?
    Me: It’s fine, but Z fell and is in pain and she’s kind of stuck… you should just come home.
    Him: Okay. But, what’s going on?
    Me: I don’t know! She fell and she got her hand (I start laughing) stuck in the refrigerator door (I say, laughing all the way HOHOHO).
    Kid/Regan MacNeil (and yes, I think her head might have spun around) screams: Yeah it sounds fucking funny, but it fucking hurts!
    Him (who cannot actually hear WHAT she is screaming): Stop saying 911, you are freaking her out.
    Me: Just come home.

    I look through the manual, but it has no instructions for the door handle. I continue to encourage her to keep trying to get out. This continues to annoy the shit out of her. I tell her I that I didn’t bring any of my saws from California, so I think I’ll need to call 911 so they can saw it off. “But, I still need my hand,” she informs me. I try to reassure my suffering from shock child that the saw would be for the handle, and not her arm, and I laugh at her a bit more. She tells me she needs to call her stage manager, because she won’t be able to do the sound board like this.

    I again try to ascertain what type of pain she is feeling, is it deep bone pain, or surface pain. She tells me she can’t feel her hand at all anymore.

    Well, fuck.

    I explain to her that I think it is time to call 911, and she doesn’t argue in the slightest. I pick up my phone to call, but there is an incoming call.

    Me: Hello? Where are you?
    Him: I’m on my way. WHERE is she again?
    Me: In the kitchen.
    Him: I don’t understand. What’s going on?
    Me: Look, you are just going to have to see it. I need to call 911 now. Are you almost here?
    Him: Are you sure?
    Me: I’ll see you in a few minutes.

    I call 911, and start my call with “This is going to sound really strange, but…” and proceed to explain that my daughter is stuck in the refrigerator door handle. Blah blah blah. Help. She tells me she is sending the police and paramedics and that they will get her out.

    I look through the manual again. Troubleshooting does not cover this issue. At all. Fuckers.

    Her father arrives home, gives me a WTF look, and I wave him toward the kitchen. I hear him trying to convince her to, you know, just take her hand out. More anger and pain and frustration (and possibly pea soup) spurt out of her. He laughs at her less than I do, because he is much nicer.

    I go out to look for the cavalry. The first to arrive is a police officer. He tells me to give him a couple of screwdrivers, and he’ll get her out. He asks how she is doing. I tell him she is freaking out. He tells me to take care of her, and he’ll take care of the handle. I don’t bother to explain to him that it would actually be more efficient to switch roles. I give him the requested screwdrivers and go out to meet the pulling up EMTs.

    The police officer is totally unable to get her out.

    The EMTs (3 of them) come in and check her shoulder and elbow and then poke at her fingers a bit. They slather lubricant all over the bits of her hand they can reach, the door, and the handle. Then one guy tries to brace the door and pull on the handle, to flex it and give her a bit more space. He slips and just opens the door a bit instead. More screaming. Later she told me it took everything she had not to kick him. He got the door shut again, pushed his fist against it with more force, and pulled on the handle again. Another guy grabbed her arm and hand and forced it up, and she was free. There was a valley in the back of her hand, near her thumb. At the deepest part it was about 1/2 inch in.

    They tested everything and determined that it wasn’t broken, and we all chatted as the officer worked on the police report. They’d never seen anything quite like it before. They admitted to being very curious when the call description came up on their screen (maybe that’s why they sent 4 guys?). One lamented not getting a photo of it with his cell phone before they got her unstuck. Uh huh. Internet, anyone?

    Anyhow, soon the emergency services crew were gone, and the family tried to salvage what we could out of our day.

    By Monday we did end up needing to take her in to have her hand checked because she was complaining so much of cold intolerance, and her hand was often physically colder than the other one. The doctor ordered x-rays which verified the previous determination that nothing was broken. She said the cold intolerance was due to crushed nerves and capillaries. Supposedly she should be in good shape in about two months.

    So, yeah, neither one of us have proper use of our right hands.

    Give me a fucking break.

    I had to invite strangers into my house.

    To rescue my teenager from the fridge.

    Seriously.

    This is my life.

     

    ETA: I did get the handle off later. It would not have helped. Actually, it just would have injured her more.

  • An Incident

    I don’t know what happened.

    I know a few facts, and then I have my imagination.

    The new house has a large laundry room, upstairs. It is the largest laundry room I’ve ever had, with storage and counter space for folding. It is also where we have chosen to keep the kitty litter and where we feed the cats. It has a linoleum floor, so it was a sensible place for that.

    Indy likes to eat cat food, both before the cats have eaten it, and after. After is a special treat. Ugh.

    So, we do not want Indy to have access to the cat bowls or the litter box. This has been handled a variety of ways in the past, but at this house we went with a barrier method.

    We have a metal gate, like a baby gate, but it is a little bit taller, and it has a cat door built into it. We keep that in the laundry room door. The cats can get in and out through the door, and Indy cannot get in and out. She isn’t spry enough to jump it, and she is too large to fit through the cat door.

    One night this week we went out to dinner. When we got home Indy was downstairs. I went upstairs and found a slightly bent and dented metal gate on the floor at our master bedroom door, down the hall from the laundry room. There were a variety of dents, scrapes and gouges in the hallway wall. Willow was hiding under the master bedroom bed, shaking and traumatized. Xander was locked in the office.

    Xander being locked in the office is to the best of my knowledge and imagination, unrelated, other than it apparently being a lucky circumstance if Willow’s current state of sanity is any indication.

    What I envision happening is Indy thinking that there were tasty treats on the other side of that gate and giving a shot at getting in the way the cats do. It failed to work in her favor, and she got stuck and freaked out. At which point I think she managed to rip the gate out of the doorway (bending it a bit). Then I picture Freaked Out Dogzilla, with a giant, sharp cornered, metal collar staggering frantically through the hall. I wish we had video.

    Somewhere in this story is Willow. I’m not sure where, but the cat is NOT HAPPY. It took about 20 hours before she would willingly leave the space under our bed. She doesn’t want to be in the laundry room. I think Dogzilla with the metal collar destroying the walls was SCARY.

    I have another, insane cartoon vision, where the cat door was nudged shut. Willow tried to sneak between the posts and got stuck. She freaked out and caused Indy to investigate. Indy got stuck in the cat door, ripped the gate out of the doorway and went raging down the hall wearing a giant sharp cornered metal collar with a cat dangling from it. I don’t really think this happened, but it makes me laugh when I think about it. (I cringe too, I am not 100% cruel and coldhearted, but come on – It looks hysterical).

    Now, whatever happened, I’d like to believe that Indy will never do it again, but sadly because of the senility, I’m not so sure. Ugh

    Of course, it is also possible that somebody let themselves into the house, carefully removed the gate, bent it up and damaged our wall, locked Xander into the office, tortured Willow, and then left the house and locked up behind them.

    Willow knows what happened, but she isn’t talking.

  • Substantial Dissatisfaction

    Tonight we had a “get to know you” potluck at an acting program the kid is considering joining.

    There is good luck and bad luck, but for some of the worst kind of luck is potluck.

    I hate it. I just do.

    When I go to a potluck event, I plan to eat either before or after, depending on the time of day. I bring something that I am sure I am willing to eat, and that is unlikely to spoil, no matter how annoyingly they’ve set up the table or the timing of the event. Then I pretend I am eating while there, while occasionally actually consuming a little of the thing I brought.

    So, we got invited to this event – evited, actually. They requested that in the comments section of the RSVP we say what we will be bringing. I took a quick look at the other items people were bringing.

    Brownies
    Chips and cheese dip
    Snickers Salad!!! *
    Tuna sandwiches

    … wait – Snickers Salad?
    So, I googled because WTF? but they were excited about it.

    I read recipes, and I was like
    OMFG WHUT? NO!

    (recipes varied, but basically, chopped Snickers candy bars, fruit and Cool Whip)

    *shudder*

    And then, I blocked it out.

    But, when I was there tonight, I heard people talking. They were so excited that somebody brought Snickers Salad.

    And I try to have an open minded policy about trying new food.

    Since I wasn’t planning to ever make it, I decided I should try it, since there it was, conveniently on the table.

    Just in case I was wrong.

    Snickers, apples, Cool Whip, something I couldn’t identify, somebody else mentioned Nilla Wafers…

    The kid found a grape in hers. She announced, “I found a grape.” It sounded neutral and polite, if you didn’t know her, but to my ears it sounded a lot like, “I found a booger, in a pile of gross.”

    My food horizons have been expanded. I resent this expansion. I probably should have stuck to my pretend to eat policy.

    * Yes, the !!! was part of the comment about what they were bringing

  • Lenovo Sucks

    On May 23rd I ordered a new laptop from Lenovo.com, while I had been planning to get something cheaper, a good sale on the Ideapad Y550 was available, and Lenovo had a good reputation and reviews and I decided to go ahead and spend a bit more to get this system instead of a lower end laptop I was looking at elsewhere, that was cheaper, but not as powerful.

    The computer shipped far earlier than estimated when I ordered it. Three days instead of two weeks. Had I known it would ship so much earlier than estimated I would have waited to order it until the end of the sale. The new timing was very inconvenient as I was out of town. A shipping estimate is only an estimate, and I get that, but the difference between 3 days and two weeks pretty much speaks of them not really bothering with estimates, and they are simply supplying random information which they think is least likely to make customers angry with them.

    At first the timing only seemed annoying. It meant that nobody was home to get the delivery, so my husband was forced to leave work and chase a FedEx truck around while on the phone with the FedEx dispatcher in order to try to meet up with them. It took over an hour out of his day, but he got the computer and it sat at home waiting for me.

    When I returned from out of town and was able to check out the new computer, it would not work properly. The DVD burner was unable to burn. I spent a great MANY HOURS troubleshooting the problem, not that I should have to troubleshoot a brand new computer, but I did, because I’d rather fix it myself then deal with support. Eventually it became clear that it was a hardware problem and I looked to submit a trouble ticket. I was horribly disappointed to discover you do not offer online tech support. I tried posting in the forum to no response. After a week, I gave up, and had to resort to calling tech support.

    The person at tech support was very polite, which is lovely, but I do not want to have to make phone calls. I purchase online so that I can deal with things online. The first thing she wanted to do was to take control of the computer using showmypc.com. Because I had never used the computer, I went ahead and agreed to this, but if it was a computer I had already put into service, this would not have been acceptable to me, especially not as a first step. While polite and helpful, she was not overly knowledgeable. For instance, she typed in ‘rededit’ and then when surprise surprise that did not work, she needed me to hold on while she looked up the command she needed to type. I didn’t bother to tell her the command and waited for her to figure it out herself. She found the right word and then found that it did her no good. She put me on hold to ask somebody else what to do and was then able reach the same conclusion I had. She said that the part could be sent to me, or I could send the machine in for repairs. She went to look up the part information, and determined that the DVD drive was unfortunately not in stock and not customer replaceable on this model, and while I could send it in for repairs, this was a brand new computer that I had never even used, so I decided to return it instead. She then was forced by policy to make a sales pitch for an extended warranty. It was embarrassing.

    She gave me the case number from support to use when calling sales to return it and told me what number to call, but I wasn’t able to call until Monday, because they were closed on the weekend.

    Unfortunately the return center cannot actually look up case numbers. I am then stuck waiting while the return center CALLS technical support to ask them about the case number, and apparently they don’t have any better of a connection to technical support than customers do, because they were put on hold for a long time before they could get through.

    Then customer support came back on the line to ask me what was wrong with the computer. I asked, doesn’t tech support have it in their notes? Yes, but they need to verify.

    Now they are making me talk to tech support yet again, because apparently you hire tech support that your other tech support doesn’t trust.

    Now I am having to jump through those hoops again.

    All I want at this point is to return this defective machine. Which is what I called to do. Even if I should choose to give Lenovo a second chance and have it replaced, this excessive handling as I try to manage it, is making it less and less appealing by the minute. In the literally dozens of laptop purchases that I’ve made in the past, not even beginning to count all of the desktop purchases, really, this is the most unhappy with a computer purchase that I’ve ever been.

    So, tech support guy number 2 says, oh, it is totally customer replaceable “you just need to remove one screw”, and we have it in stock. The thing is, because of the shipping early while I was out of town, I am now on the final day of being allowed to return it. I point this out, as at this point we are only assuming that the DVD drive is the only problem with the unit, I haven’t actually worked with it further.

    Both sales and tech support say that I will be able to return it beyond the normal return time, if I will accept the option of trying to replace the part. I agree to it because I believe American Express will back me on the matter should it come to that.

    Tech support tells me the drive will arrive in two days.

    It doesn’t.

    I call back to ask about the drive and am told it isn’t in stock. I am told it should be in within a week, and I agree to give it a little more time, because other things in my life were becoming very complicated and I didn’t have enough energy to fight with them about it right then. He verified my email address (which was wrong, STILL – I had actually already been through the email address thing 3 times before, and every time I corrected them, and they said they would fix it, but it was still wrong in the exact same way it was the first time the read it back to me. “So, your email is F – O – R – E -M…” “No! It’s FAMILY F – A – M – I – L – Y the word, ‘family’” “Okay, I’ll change that”.) and said he would send me shipping confirmation.

    A week went by and no sign of the drive or the shipping notification arrived. I called again and was told it was still out of stock and to give it two more weeks. I refused and told them that it needed to be returned. I was told that somebody would call me back to start that within 72 hours, but hopefully sooner. Yeah. Hopefully sooner.

    The next day, the drive appeared on my doorstep.

    It is nice to know how organized and on top of things they are. Obviously, not at all.

    I was able to install the replacement drive, but it was not just “one screw”. I’ve done a lot of repairs and replacements on laptops and am comfortable mucking about with the hardware on a laptop. I’d have to say that for the average consumer, that was probably not really a consumer replaceable part.

    I got it put back together and it didn’t work properly AT ALL. I fought and fought and fought with the system, and eventually after much fighting with drivers and updates I was able to get it working. The brand of the replacement they sent was different than the one I pulled out, although according to online research the core manufacturer was the same. Lenovo really should be shipping with all drivers and software installed that is needed to make the basic functionality of the product WORK. After all, the first thing THEY recommend that you do is burn recovery discs, so…

    Yeah.

    Well, that is more or less my tale of Lenovo woe.

    I am not a fan.

  • I Am

    I am really pissed off.
    I HATE being interrupted.
    It is so fucking rude.
    And the thing is, I wasn’t done.
    I had stuff to tell my friend about still.
    We had plans.
    We had things to talk about.
    I am really really pissed off that he is dead.
    Because –
    The thing is
    The week prior?
    He wasn’t dead.
    The week prior?
    He was talking to me
    And he didn’t bother to mention,
    “Hey. This is the last fucking time we are talking. EVER”
    Bastard
    He didn’t say,
    “By the way, this stupid hospital stay,
    that I am being released from today,
    supposedly all better,
    even though they couldn’t figure out the CAUSE,
    but hey they treated the symptoms.
    Well, THIS stay, gave me an infection
    that is going to lead to my death.”
    Nope.
    He failed to fucking impart that information to me,
    and
    I am FURIOUS.
    I am raw and rage filled.
    I am very very tired
    So tired I can’t remember how to rest.
    I know
    I am supposed to learn from this.
    I am supposed to learn things like
    Don’t go to bed angry.
    I am supposed to learn things like,
    Let people know all the time how you feel about them.
    I am supposed to learn things like,
    Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today.
    I am supposed to turn this into a fucking motivational poster.
    What I am inclined to do is lock myself in the basement
    and not speak to anybody
    ever again.
    In the end, everything ends.
    At some point, this mood of mine will end too.
    That is how it goes, in the end.
    I am well fucking aware.

  • Happy Father’s Day

    My father taught me a lot of things over the years.

    The thing that has stood out the most though, was simple.

    “Back up as far as you need to, or at least as far as you can, to start with.”

    It makes good sense. Driving in reverse is more difficult than driving forward. Your body position is less comfortable. You sight lines aren’t as clear. The best way to spend as little time doing that as possible, is to get it right the first time.

    Why does this stand out the most? I guess that makes sense too. I back up pretty much every time that I drive. It also occurs to me every time I am in a parking lot watching somebody back up two feet, pull forward a little, back up two more feet. They are hesitant and want to back up as little as possible to get on their way, and in doing it in this fashion they just lengthen the amount of time they are in the way and more likely to encounter, or cause, a problem.

    A while back I mentioned it to him. That out of all his advice, and all his teachings, this is the one that I firmly attribute to him and has stuck with me all these years.

    He laughed, and at first I thought maybe I had insulted him a little. Surely he had shared more important things with me in our time together.

    He said, “Well, that’s really interesting, because I’ve often thought it was the most useful thing your grandfather said to me.”

    And so it goes.

    I love you, Dad.

  • Northwest Airlines/Delta

    MSP is a major hub for NWA, so we use them more than we have for a long time. Many years ago, I liked them fairly well, but not so much these days.

    Now, I do prefer them to Sun Country, which is a locally based airline. In a world where I hate to fly, and I think customer service has plummeted in general, airlines have taken a really spectacular nose dive in my book.

    Actually, I guess it has been a long time since I flew actual NWA, because NWA is in the process of being assimilated by Delta (it grows and grows with each passing flight) and I have NEVER liked Delta.

    I hate flying, and could go on and on about it, but I have other things to do today, so I will try to stay focused.

    NWA (like many of the others) is all about nickle and diming you to death now. The price for the ticket is not the price for the ticket as it used to be to travel. I know many of the others are charging for food and for checked luggage now, so I will leave that for another ranty post. One of the things that has really been bugging me about NWA is that they are holding so many of their seats aside now as preferred seats, so it is almost impossible to choose a seat when you book unless you are willing to pay extra. They hold them back until the last minute, and then seemingly randomly assign them to passengers.

    The Boston flight, the number of people who were traveling together, who were not assigned seats with each other was just shocking. There we all are on the plane, making trades with people, so they we could sit with traveling companions. Bad enough to be in such cramped quarters, I’d really prefer to be pressed uncomfortably close to somebody I know, instead of a stranger. It is like in the seat lottery they are not even taking tickets purchased together on one reservation into account.

    On the flight to California, the seat in front of me was completely fucked up. It was leaning to the right, and slightly back. One of the support bars was broken. A second one appeared to be missing. It was held partially back together with a zip tie. Seriously, I took a crappy cell phone photo. That zip tie was what was keeping the tray sort of vaguely… less broken. The tray was unusable. It was completely crooked because the seat it was attached to was crooked, and then further broken because the support bolt was gone. It was straining at the latch and bowed out badly. I had to keep adjust the latch to keep it from popping open because of flight vibration. I did try to open it to put water on it and work on a Sudoku puzzle, but it wasn’t usable, and then I had a horrible time getting it closed, totally pissing off the person in front of me.

    At my destination, my suitcase (which I paid extra to be able to travel with) was broken. Just a big gaping separation along one seam, and from the placement it seemed pretty obvious that they had caused it by picking it up by the rolling handle inset, instead of by one of the two actual suitcase handles.

    I reported it to somebody, who tried to convince me not to file a claim.

    “Well, you know, it takes like 12 weeks.”

    “Umm, okay.”

    “I mean, they try to repair it for you. You don’t even get any money unless they can’t repair it for you.”

    “Okay.”

    “I mean, is it even… I mean, how old is it?”

    “Less than a year.”

    “Well, how much did it cost?”

    “$150”

    “Is it even worth the trouble for you?”

    “Umm… yes.”

    “Well, you have to fill out a form.”

    “Okay. Then what? You keep my bag?”

    “Yes. We send it off, it will be gone about 12 weeks.”

    “How do I get my stuff home?”

    “You have 24 hours to turn it in. You fill out the form, and then empty your stuff and bring it back within 24 hours.”

    “But, this isn’t home. I don’t go home for two weeks. How am I supposed to get my stuff home?”

    Delta lady calls somebody to ask about this problem. How can this be an unusual problem? Am I actually the first person ever who has persisted in filing a complaint who actually had the problem on the front end of their trip?

    Eventually she determines that I can turn it in within 24 hours of my return flight. They have no solution as to how I get my stuff safely home in a broken suitcase.

    Then we go to fill out the form. It turns out I have very little to do. She must type a whole lot to fill it out. I don’t write a thing, or sign a thing. I mostly just stand there and tell her some addresses and phone numbers. It takes a long time.

    When I opened it last night, several little things inside were broken. Like my plastic pill minder was broken and pills were all over the inside of my suitcase. It was aggravating. They obviously treated it fairly roughly.

    Bah.

  • I haven’t made many food posts lately

    I have been cooking lately, but it hasn’t been particularly fulfilling.

    I’m glad to eat at home more often than we eat out, because it is better for us where both our budget and our health is concerned.

    However, a lot of the enjoyment I usually get from cooking has been missing. My kitchen is not at all what I would like. I still haven’t gotten the hang of the stove. It doesn’t heat evenly and just isn’t very consistent.

    I did get a convection oven set up on the counter, which has helped a bit, but it doesn’t work as well as I had hoped. It does work better than the main oven, and having two helps. Two good ones would be better. I haven’t found my oven thermometer yet. I might just have to buy a new one. That way I can figure out just how off things are.

    On top of the kitchen issues, I am still really bothered by how much more expensive grocery shopping tends to be here. It makes the shopping stressful for me and that hangs around as I work with the ingredients while cooking.

    Still, slowly, I’ve had some meals that turned out okay.

    Last night we had company for dinner. I invited over the woman who is going to house and pet sit for us, and showed her around the house, let her meet the animals and bribed her with food and drinks. I made some spicy mango margaritas, which were very tasty, but I also broke my blender, which was really annoying. I had to make the drinks in the food processor, which made a bit of a mess.

    I made salad, green beans, cauliflower and butternut squash pureed with goat cheese. For protein, I went with a surf and turf, rosemary boneless beef short ribs and bacon wrapped scallops. Before wrapping the scallops, I coated the bacon in garlic powder and paprika.

    bacon-wrapped scallops.

    Today we got our first CSA delivery.

    Overwintered parsnips
    Red Sunchokes
    Ramps
    Sorrel
    Overwintered Spinach
    Rhubarb
    Burdock
    Chives
    Black Radish
    Decorative Willow

    Tonight I cooked a quinoa pilaf with ramps, parsnips and green beans. I hadn’t used all the scallops I bought yesterday, so I seared them in butter, olive oil and chili oil, and served those atop sauteed spinach.

    Spicy Seared Scallops and Quinoa Pilaf

    I’d like to feel better about cooking again, and get more joy out of it. It is one of the bright spots in my life, so I am working to find a way to really make it work for me again.

    Now it is time for my midnight dog walk.