1992 Beeson Banner 
    
   4 January 1992 
      Today Dave bought a new toaster.  
   Important Tip #2 tells you not to 
   toast broken pastries, because they 
   may lodge in the toaster wells.  
   Important Tip #3 tells you how to 
   remove broken pastries lodged in the 
   toaster wells.  
      I had ten or eleven people at my 
   New Year's Day Ride, depending on 
   whether or not you count the fellow 
   who didn't sign in.  They carried 
   off all but a few of the fruitcakes; 
   I think we can eat the remainder 
   before they go stale.  I've got them 
   in the upstairs freezer and keep one 
   or two on the table.  
      I learned that one gallon of 
   cocoa will not fit into a five-quart 
   kettle.  Turned out quite good, 
   though.  Dave has been amply willing 
   to drink the leftovers (less than a 
   quart) at breakfast 
      Did I ever describe the Christmas 
   party at the Westons?  I wore my new 
   sweatshirt and Dave wore his new 
   green socks.  I took my shirt off as 
   soon as we got inside; Dave retained 
   his socks.  
                                                           
   6 January 1992 
      It appears, to my great surprise, 
   that all the Bikeabout is going to 
   fit into sixteen pages, and without 
   awkward holes to fill up.  
      I haven't started trying to fit 
   in the pictures yet, though.  
      Got the minutes to the January 
   meeting in today's mail, but 
   realized that I'd forgotten to fill 
   page 2, so that works out.  
      Above sentence interrupted to 
   take a want ad over the phone.  That 
   page is finished, but he also 
   cancelled an ad, so that should work 
   out too.  
      I wanted to go riding and get 
   some headlines copied tomorrow, but 
   I haven't monotyped them yet.  
                                                           
   7 January 1992 
      I figured the first thing I'd do 
   today would be to clear off the 
   table so that I could use it for my 
   drafting board.  To do that, I had 
   to dispose of all the papers that 
   have been shuffled back to deal with 
   later --some of them souvenirs from 
   the NSS Convention last summer.  
   While doing that, I found a 
   photocopy of some Life formations 
   that may rattle around in to-be- 
   disposed-of files indefinitely, 
   since I don't want to throw it out 
   and there's no logical place to file 
   it.  (Under cross-stitch patterns?)  
   I figured it was harmless to check 
   X-tree to see if we still had the 
   program . . .  
      Well, that wasn't so bad; I only 
   wasted half an hour or so staring 
   glassy-eyed at the patterns shifting 
   on the screen.  The trouble was that 
   Life.exe is in directory QB, so far 
   down in the alphabet that there 
   remained very few directories that I 
   hadn't read by the time I found it.  
   (Mem: games are to be found under 
   "Quick Basic," the BASIC compiler.) 
   So I read on through the z's, 
   including ZFICTION.  I ended up 
   spending the rest of the day 
   polishing two stories that I long 
   ago abandoned as unprintable.  
      Worse, it was a series of at 
   least three, so I'll be going 
   through my paper files one of these 
   days.  That can be *real* time- 
   consuming, because I see the text 
   every time I hunt for a title.  Some 
   of them don't even have labels.  
      And when I finally got to work 
   this evening, I realized that one of 
   the pictures that Darryl C. 
   belatedly sent me just had to go 
   next to the 1992 Century report, so 
   I tore up two filled pages and only 
   one of them got filled again: I'm 
   progressing backwards.  
      And somehow, despite having added 
   material, now I've got awkward 
   holes.  
      Maybe I can shift "Other Club's 
   News" from p. 9 to p. 7, and put the 
   other photograph on page 9.  
      Well, I got the table cleared 
   off.  The to-be-disposed-of pile is 
   now on the printer, but it's only 
   five or six sheets now, including 
   "Fig. 1.3 Life Configurations".  
      And I actually remembered the 
   trash in time to take it out this 
   week.  Handed it personally to one 
   of the two guys who ride on the back 
   of the truck, though.  I happened to 
   see it coming out of East Road; 
   since that is an awkward turn for a 
   truck that size, and it has to pause 
   at the Lawrence's, Child's, and 
   Campbell's, I had time to wait for 
   the garage door to open and dash 
   down the driveway.  
      Scanner says they are salting and 
   sanding in the hills tonight.  Was 
   quite pleasant, though nippy, down 
   here today.  I'd have done well to 
   forget the indoor work (since I 
   didn't do any anyhow) and move some 
   mulch and prune the grapevines.  
      It was getting gloomy and dismal 
   when I went out in late afternoon 
   (about 3:00 nowadays; how grateful I 
   am that the days are getting 
   longer!) to pick up some milk and 
   eggs.  Forgot the eggs, but it isn't 
   urgent yet.  
                                                           
   9 January 1992 
      Dave's only going to be gone 
   overnight, but it made me feel 
   kinder lonesome to know for sure 
   that he wouldn't be home for lunch.  
      That didn't stop me from 
   indulging in a mess of grits.  
      At 1:00 pm I've just finished 
   page eight of sixteen.  If the pace 
   doesn't pick up, I'm not going to 
   deliver before the shop closes at 
   5:00.  
      Made it by fifteen of three.  Not 
   sure I want to go out on those wet 
   roads, though.  
      Better get changed, examine the 
   sheets one last time, and get out of 
   here.  
                                                           
   10 January 1992 
      I called the publisher before I 
   left for the print shop, and I 
   remembered to wear my watch, but got 
   to the shopping center and found 
   that I was still wearing my ragged 
   house shoes.  Just as well, because 
   I'd have had to remove my sneaks 
   each time I tried on a pair of 
   pants.  In Penney's, I looked in the 
   mirror in the dressing room and said 
   "What the heck; it's only $20."  
   Turned out to be on clearance at 
   $13.90, which makes me wish I'd 
   looked harder at the other pants.  
   The pants I took are elastic-waist 
   pull-ons -- but have a fake fly to 
   achieve all the disadvantages of 
   having a zipper.  But they have 
   usable pockets -- including a hip 
   pocket -- and they sit comfortably.  
   Most of all, both my other pairs of 
   pants are hanging up wet right now.  
   Both had been in desperate need of 
   washing, and one pair stank.  Now 
   I've got something to wear around 
   the house.  
      Still need go-to-meetings pants.  
   I found a nice-looking pair tagged 
   $31.  The all-polyester twill was 
   almost as heavy as pants fabric 
   ought to be, and there were good 
   deep pockets in the side-seams.  
   Alas, when I looked at the rear 
   view, the drape strongly resembled 
   that of a diaper improvised out of a 
   dish towel by a singularly inept 
   nanny.  
      I can look around in Colonie 
   Center after the Board meeting 
   tomorrow.  I'd love to ride my bike 
   to the meeting, but on a Saturday, 
   I'll be doing well to get up soon 
   enough to drive there by 10:00, even 
   though we're meeting at a restaurant 
   so I don't have to eat breakfast.  
      I didn't make it out of bed until 
   9:00 this morning.  Should have 
   obeyed the urge to go to bed at 8:00 
   last night.  
                                                           
   12 January 1992 
      I woke up from an unusually 
   prolonged afternoon nap to see an 
   unusual sight: Fred sleeping on the 
   bed beside me.  Much of the time 
   that I'd been lying down, I hadn't 
   been so much sleepy as reluctant to 
   pull my icy feet out from under the 
   blankets, so I guess I didn't make 
   as stable a mattress as usual.  I 
   recall one incident in which I was 
   trying to roll over and Fred, as if 
   playing lumberjack, was trying to 
   birl me through the blanket.  It 
   wasn't working out at all well for 
   either of us.  
      Delighted, upon rising, to find 
   that there was a box of paper 
   handkerchiefs on the counter in the 
   bathroom.  For the last few shopping 
   trips, I've been passing by the 
   Florelle, remembering that the stack 
   of it was getting hard to find room 
   for.  Yup, yup; Dave and I both came 
   down with colds, and when I went to 
   get a new box of handkerchiefs for 
   him to take with him, there was 
   nothing on the shelf but paper 
   towels and toilet paper.  I gave him 
   the box off the fridge, reflecting 
   that there were three boxes in the 
   bedroom -- one on his side, one on 
   mine, and one on the dresser.  Alas, 
   the next time I used a handkerchief 
   out of my box, it was the last one, 
   Dave's was less than half full, and 
   the one on the dresser was nowhere 
   to be seen.  Figured I'd have to go 
   shopping long before I felt up to 
   it.  
      I guess Dave must have been 
   clogged enough to want a box by him 
   while he shaved.  
      This morning, Dave, Fred, two 
   other firemen, and the salesman met 
   at the diner in Voorheesville for 
   breakfast, drove out to Fred's, and 
   piled into his brand-new mobile home 
   to go out to look at the ladder 
   truck they are having built.  I 
   never quite caught what they are 
   looking for, and suspect that the 
   main purpose is for four or five 
   guys to take three days off work and 
   pile into a mobile home.  Dave says 
   that every man that's going has a 
   cold.  I sure hope they all have the 
   same cold.  
      This is the second day that I've 
   worn my new pants, and they are 
   pilled already.  I'd hoped that 60% 
   cotton would wear better.  Guess I'd 
   better shop some more.  
      The board meeting lasted until 
   one, so after it broke up a bunch of 
   us stayed for lunch, then I walked 
   across the road, thinking that would 
   be easier than trying to make a left 
   turn onto Wolf road.  Turned out to 
   be much easier crossing Wolf than 
   Colonie's parking lot, and a shorter 
   walk from Platt's Place to Colonie 
   Center than from the middle of 
   Colonie to the end.  I was tired by 
   then, and still sore of throat, and 
   they had hidden the only water 
   fountain when they remodeled.  I 
   found a Customer Service and asked, 
   but decided that I'd rather go home 
   than hike back to the middle of the 
   center, and then hike out through 
   what appears to be a tunnel as long 
   as the one that used to lead to the 
   parking lot at Ayres, and 
   considerably less interesting.  It 
   led to the back entrance, the 
   Barnsider, and the theater before 
   the remodeling; now I think it's 
   dead-end.  I gave up on it when I 
   got to the rest rooms.  The customer 
   service guy said I stopped a couple 
   of corners too soon.  
      If I ever go again, I'll take my 
   bottle in with me.  
      I didn't see anything of 
   interest.  It's mostly fashion 
   shops.  World of Science is in the 
   process of relocating from 
   Crossgates, where the clerk recently 
   informed me that her shop was soon 
   to close, and gave me a coupon good 
   at the new one.  The display of 
   chemistry equipment is even skimpier 
   than the vestigal display at 
   Crossgates and there is no hope that 
   they will resume supplying those 
   convenient little plastic bottles.  
   All the lab equipment is stuff you 
   might want to buy to set on the 
   mantle or use for an "imaginative" 
   vase.  They have eschewed 
   educational toys in favor of 
   gimcracks, and are striving for the 
   popular "rainforest" atmosphere.  
   Lovely to walk past, but no fun to 
   go through any more.  
      I heard one of the other 
   customers oohing and ahing over the 
   wonderful supply of "grab bag" 
   stuff; it's beyond me why anybody 
   would want a steady stream of gifts, 
   or, for that matter, why anyone 
   would buy as a gift something that 
   had no other use.  The store was 
   filled with similarly purring women, 
   so I suppose there is no hope that 
   they will switch back to children's 
   stuff.  
      I didn't realize until I started 
   to check over the contributor's 
   labels that I had forgotten to stop 
   at the library on my way to the 
   printshop and make a file copy of 
   the Bikeabout.  Pity; I'd wanted to 
   take it to the Board meeting, and 
   going through the magnetic copy for 
   outside articles not only takes 
   longer than glancing over a paper 
   copy, it requires some actual 
   reading.  I found several typos, 
   including one so scrambled that I 
   had no idea what had gone wrong.  
   The incomprehensible clause didn't 
   appear to be critical to the 
   author's argument, though.  
      I've typed in two committee 
   reports and an announcement of the 
   ride-leaders' meeting for the March 
   issue.  Haven't sent the proofs back 
   yet.  When I'd pulled the proofs, I 
   ran out of intelligence and went up 
   to bed.  
      My cold started with a sore 
   throat Friday night or in the wee 
   hours of Saturday morning.  I'd been 
   more lethargic than usual for 
   several days.  Dave got it a day or 
   two before I did, and his nose has 
   started bleed again.  
                                                           
   14 January 1992 
      Woke up this morning feeling 
   better, to find it dark, gloomy, 
   overcast, and raining.  (Why can't 
   we get the precipitation on the cold 
   days?  Rain on frozen ground is 
   creating a mess.)  Then emergency 
   control sent everybody's tones and 
   said there were going to be high 
   winds and power outages in the 
   afternoon.  "I'd better do my typing 
   in the morning," said I.  Then it 
   started thundering 
      Now it's afternoon and we've got 
   fluffy white clouds and bright 
   sunshine.  I wonder whether the 
   storm warnings have been cancelled?  
   Haven't heard any activity lately 
   even though I haven't gone upstairs 
   to switch off the amplifier to 
   Dave's pager.  (The tones switch it 
   on -- and it's designed to wake you 
   out of the soundest sleep.)  
      When I noticed that the rain had 
   increased to a downpour, I opened 
   the garage door and invited Erica 
   in; she said she was perfectly happy 
   crouching under the car.  When I 
   noticed that the sun had come out, I 
   picked up some letters -- I finally 
   put those proofs into envelopes, and 
   also the Recreationway report that 
   came in later -- to take out to the 
   mailbox.  Now Erica wanted in 
   desperately!  
      I towelled her thoroughly, picked 
   up the letters again, and went to 
   the mailbox.  When I came back, she 
   wanted out again.  
      If I set a bowl of cat chow under 
   the car, I might never see her 
   again.  
                                                           
   15 January 1992 
      We got the predicted wind during 
   the night, and about as much snow as 
   there is sugar on a powdered 
   doughnut.  It was calm and sunny 
   again, if very cold, in the morning.  
   I kept strictly indoors even though 
   I woke up feeling much better and 
   it's time to go shopping.  
      Now that I'm moving around more 
   and blowing my nose less, I keep 
   forgetting where I've left the only 
   box of paper handkerchiefs 
                                                           
      Dave flashed through about eight 
   o'clock.  I said I thought he'd be 
   at drill; he said he had to go 
   straight back to help unload the 
   mobil home.  He didn't even drop off 
   his suitcase.  I presume that it's 
   one of the things that are to be 
   removed from Fred's mobile home.  
      His car wouldn't start.  He put 
   the battery charger on it, then took 
   off in mine -- after some 
   difficulty.  The thermometer stands 
   at a shade over 20, if I've 
   remembered correctly as to which of 
   the figures stands where.  The 
   thermometer has big print, but no 
   light; I can see where the numbers 
   are, but not what they are.  I 
   haven't started the car once since 
   last Saturday; he started it the 
   third time before it stayed started.  
   I'll bet he misses his seat-warmer!  
      The Toyota is full of stuff I 
   haven't bothered to take out.  
      Dave says there was nothing much 
   to inspect when they got to the 
   factory; it's going to be a long 
   time before their truck is ready.  I 
   wonder why the salesman wanted them 
   to see a naked chassis?  
      Hope somebody took a snapshot to 
   pin up on the firehouse bulletin 
   board.  
      This trip is not to be confused 
   with the two-day trip he took for 
   R&P last Thursday and Friday.  He's 
   had a busy week.  
      And I suppose there will be a 
   backlog at R&P tomorrow.  
      I don't think I got as much done 
   today as I did when I was feeling 
   poorly.  I did punch in a book 
   review, a safety article, and a 
   classified ad; all came in today's 
   mail.  
      Also pulled the proofs, wrote a 
   cover letter for one, and put them 
   into envelopes.  
      We still haven't got a 
   replacement for the mousetrap where 
   we used to put outgoing mail.  I've 
   been dropping it into the pannier of 
   my bicycle; if I need it for a 
   pannier, I can take the letters with 
   me.  
      Now, do I find and revive my 
   knitting or read Uller Uprising?  
      It *is* a classic.  
                                                           
   16 January 1992 
      A: neither.  
                                                           
      Dave gave more details when he 
   got back: the cab of the truck is 
   finished -- beautifully, he says -- 
   but from there back there is nothing 
   on it but a water pump.  They took 
   the boys around to different 
   factories to show them the ladder 
   and other parts that are to be 
   installed.  They found that some 
   coat hooks they had ordered had been 
   omitted, imagined turnouts hung in 
   the space, and told them to go right 
   on overlooking them.  They had 
   forgotten to order two electrical 
   outlets & those will be added, and 
   found a couple of switches they want 
   omitted or moved; there was 
   something or the other that they 
   thought should be available only to 
   the driver on a console or whatever 
   you call it that can be swung back 
   and forth between driver and 
   passenger to let the driver delegate 
   the lights, siren, and radio when 
   he's got a passenger.  
      At this moment he's talking to a 
   bank official who seems to want to 
   know when the truck will be 
   delivered.  
                                                           
   17 January 1992 
      I believe that when I reported 
   the temperature as twenty, that I 
   thought that 0 was where -20 is.  
   This morning it was snowing again 
   and the needle still pointed at 
   zero, but it's clearing now and the 
   paper says that the high today will 
   be in the twenties.  
      When I saw the state of the road 
   while fetching in the paper, I was 
   sorry that I hadn't thrown my bike 
   into the car before shopping 
   yesterday, and run over to 
   Klarsfelds to drop it off for an 
   overhaul.  Looks as though driving 
   won't be any particular problem 
   today, though.  
      I was thinking about overlooking 
   the overhaul this year, since there 
   doesn't appear to be anything wrong 
   with it.  But I couldn't find the 
   receipt from last year - - I must 
   have forgotten to put it into the 
   file -- so I don't know how old my 
   cables are.  I don't like to use a 
   cable more than two years old; the 
   consequences of having a cable snap 
   on Pinnacle Road are too extreme.  
      Especially if it's a brake cable.  
      Hmm.  One of the receipts has no 
   date, and does indicate new cables.  
   If the checkbook for January or 
   February of last year includes a 
   check for $44.00 to Klarsfeld . . .  
                                                           
      ...I thought Dave was keeping the 
   old check registers.  He thought I 
   was keeping them.  
                                                           
      "Clearing" developed into a 
   "light snowfall" that looked pretty 
   heavy when I was listening to the 
   forecast.  Hadn't been any new 
   flakes for quite a while at bedtime, 
   though.  
                                                           
   20 January 1992 
      I was told that there was a "911 
   meeting" yesterday, and I ought to 
   come.  So I turned up, wearing my 
   pretty shirt and dainty slippers -- 
   it turned out that we were meeting 
   to divide up into teams and go out 
   to measure the roads.  Luckily, I 
   got the job of driving, which wasn't 
   too difficult in a stick-shift car.  
   Most of the automatics I've driven 
   have been hard to keep down to 
   walking pace; I just put the Toyota 
   in first and let it idle along.  Had 
   to use the four-wheel drive and EL 
   to make the first turn-around.  I 
   still think we measured from the 
   wrong end of the road --I'm pretty 
   sure the road was the branch to the 
   left and we were in somebody's 
   driveway.  
      The surface was worse than 
   unimproved; I think from the ruts 
   that the fellow who lived there must 
   have been in the habit of backing 
   all the way to the road.  
      If I remember when we get warm 
   weather, I'll ride out Bullock and 
   see if the other branch has the 
   turn-around circle shown on the map.  
      Amazing how thickly populated all 
   those little back roads are -- 
   surprising numbers of new homes.  
      E911 will never fly.  
                                                           
   21 January 1992 
      SIGH.  I planned to spend all day 
   today catching up on the laundry, 
   but I was absent-minded enough to 
   pump all of the water out of the 
   sink the last time, and now the pump 
   is airbound.  Sometimes letting it 
   set for an hour or so will clear it 
   up, but so far, no soap.  Or rather, 
   still soap.  
      Good thing the first load I put 
   in was white.  I'd hate to have 
   prints soaking all day like this.  
      One of the dispatchers that's on 
   now -- the sheriff, I think -- 
   sounds surprised every time he 
   announces the time.  
                                                           
   23 January 1992 
      I did get all three loads through 
   before 5:00.  I was very careful to 
   leave some water in the sinks every 
   time!  
      Erk went out for a few minutes 
   this morning.  Dave said that she 
   slipped and slid on the ice.  
      The weather prediction is that it 
   is going to get warm and rain, and 
   then freeze up again tonight.  
   Yecch.  
      I suppose I'd better scrape 
   myself together and go buy that cat 
   food and visit the gym before it 
   gets nastier.  
      We still have snow, but it is 
   very thin.  Grass blades show all 
   over the lawn.  
                                                           
      Dave borrowed my car while his 
   was getting a tune-up, and says that 
   mine needs work too.  He wasn't sure 
   it was sluggish --it's supposed to 
   be feebler than the SAAB --but it 
   seems to me that I used to get more 
   acceleration out of it.  When I 
   notice a machine's symptom, it needs 
   help.  
      He says that there is a foreign-
   car garage across from the library.  
   I thought I'd been to the library 
   more recently than to let something 
   that big escape my notice.  
      Be a good excuse to stop at the 
   library on my way home.  
      Good grief, I've got a book due.  
   Didn't take it back when I was done 
   with it because I was hoping to 
   persuade Dave to read the 
   Thiotimoline paper and tell me 
   whether it's funny.  
      It isn't on the end table where I 
   last remember seeing it . . .  
                                                           
   24 January 1992 
      I thought we had eaten up the 
   last of the frozen fruitcakes, but 
   Erica just asked to be let out into 
   the snowstorm.  
                                                           
   25 January 1992 
      For a long time the skin on 
   Dave's feet has been peeling.  It 
   finally got so bad it hurt him to 
   walk, so he went to Casey, who 
   called it a very advanced case of 
   athlete's foot.  That was a figure 
   of speech, the infection being some 
   other fungus entirely -- I wonder 
   how they can tell which fungus is 
   which?  It also accounts for a scaly 
   patch on Dave's arm and the reddened 
   end of his little finger, and may 
   account for the sore spot on his 
   nose.  
      Casey also said it was very 
   contagious; I've been itching ever 
   since even though Dave says that he 
   has never itched.  I think maybe I 
   had it and got over it without help, 
   though.  I woke up one morning with 
   an unhealthy-looking red patch on my 
   shoulder, and it took it several 
   days to go away.  Casey prescribed a 
   toxic ointment -- toxic only to 
   fungi, we hope -- and Dave's lesions 
   looked better the very next day, so 
   we hope that he won't have to take 
   the systemic medicine.  He's to go 
   back in a week.  
      My toes itch.  
      Returned my book on the way to 
   buy cat food -- the day *before* the 
   pet shop gets its Max Cat Lite in, 
   but it was canned food we were out 
   of, and they had that.  I found out 
   why I hadn't seen the Import Motor 
   Service place.  Just before it 
   heaves into view, I start peering 
   intently at the other side of the 
   road, because it is almost 
   impossible to see where to turn into 
   the library before it's too late.  
   Import Motor Service is also a 
   discreet building that looks as 
   though it belongs there, not 
   something to make you turn around 
   and say "what was that?"  
      They plan to do some landscaping 
   at the library when the weather 
   warms up; I hope that it will make 
   the driveway easier to tell from the 
   ditch.  A low bush on each side of 
   the entrance might do the trick.  
      They did finally drive two wooden 
   stakes in, so now I know whether or 
   not I've seen it.  
                                                           
   27 January 1992 
      I got a shock when I was 
   gathering up materials to make a new 
   master for the labels I put on MHW 
   correspondence: Not only is the 
   original artwork for my letterhead 
   missing, I don't have a full-size 
   copy of it.  I can only conclude 
   that it must have been thrown out by 
   mistake.  
      The current supply of letterhead 
   will last longer than our current 
   address anyway.  
      The master for my personal return 
   labels didn't need re-doing, but I 
   got another surprise when I took it 
   to the copy shop: they don't print 
   on labels any more.  I can buy my 
   own stock and bring it in, but it 
   will be a long time before I get to 
   Delmar to visit the area's only 
   remaining stationery store.  
      Besides, the whole point of doing 
   it on a duplicator is that I can buy 
   them 33 at a time without buying a 
   whole box of stock.  
      Perhaps the new place in 
   Stuyvesant Plaza or one of the 
   places way over in Colonie can do 
   it, but surely they would have run 
   into the same problem as Sir Speedy: 
   there are too many different label 
   stocks on the market, and no two of 
   them use the same master.  
      I figured I'd stay a while after 
   supper at the Superbowl party in the 
   fire house, and got myself 
   comfortably settled in the back of 
   the room near the refreshments, 
   crocheting under the only light in 
   the room.  But when the game 
   started, for some reason somebody 
   got up and turned out that light.  
   So I went upstairs to finish turning 
   the heel before I forgot what I was 
   doing, and found myself so 
   comfortable beside the fire that I 
   finished that bootie and worked 
   another one up to the start of the 
   edging.  I was kept company by 
   people occasionally passing through 
   in search of leftover pie.  I 
   believe the first four actually got 
   some.  
      I thought I'd figured out why the 
   booties were coming out with sixteen 
   holes around the ankle instead of 
   twelve, was one reason I kept on.  
   Tried out the idea and got fourteen 
   holes, which is progress.  
      I came down at half-time, ate a 
   few crackers and things, and told 
   Dave I was leaving.  He left before 
   the game was over too, and got home 
   about nine.  
      Dave's fungus is still getting 
   better, but not as rapidly as the 
   first day.  He's to see Casey again 
   on Thursday.  
                                                           
   31 January 1992 
      We've been invited to the ice 
   races this Sunday.  I'd better find 
   some silver thread to crochet bolts 
   for the cleats on the booties I plan 
   to give to Mary Riley.  
      I've been cleaning at the spare 
   room a little, and have gained 
   access to the attic.  
      Dave went back to Casey 
   yesterday, and was told that the 
   topical cream was doing the job on 
   his fungus.  He's sending him to a 
   specialist about the nosebleeds, 
   however.  He doesn't have any as 
   spectacular as the one that scared 
   his nurse into fits when he was a 
   child, but he's getting awfully 
   tired of it.  I found a humidifier 
   we'd forgotten about in the attic, 
   and started it going in the bedroom.  
   The first half-gallon of water is 
   still sloshing, so it can't be doing 
   much.  
      A bunch of stuff for the 
   Bikeabout came in this afternoon's 
   mail, and I got it all typed up, 
   addressed, stamped, and in the 
   bicycle basket where I stash the 
   outgoing mail.  
      The wall pocket for outgoing mail 
   just got harder to find: I've 
   realized that we need at least two 
   compartments in it, to separate 
   stuff Dave is taking to the 
   firehouse from stuff that goes into 
   the box by the road.  
      They have a city-type mailbox on 
   the wall in the firehouse for 
   members to leave each other 
   messages.  Dave leaves a lot of 
   envelopes because anybody who buys 
   anything has to get a check from 
   him.  
      We've got four letters in the 
   letters column of the March 
   Bikeabout.  I think that's a record.  
                                                           
   1 February 1992 
      Dave is ready to settle for a 
   mousetrap nailed to the panelling.  
                                                           
   8 February 1992 
      I asked Dave how I get into these 
   things, and he said, "You said 
   'yes.'" No sympathy whatsoever from 
   my helpmeet.  
      I felt like a fifth wheel during 
   the preparations for the shower this 
   morning, though I did help to set 
   the tables, come up with a way to 
   cut the plastic we were covering the 
   tables with, and fetch a pitcher of 
   soda.  
      I haven't the foggiest idea what 
   I'm doing this afternoon, but I'm 
   going back at 2:45 --less than half 
   an hour from now --to do it.  I 
   don't even know who the shower is 
   for.  The name has been mentioned 
   several times, but it didn't mean 
   anything to me.  
      I thought helping to cater a 
   shower was harmless, but it seems 
   that nobody thought to tell the 
   director of house that we were using 
   the room, and she rented it to 
   someone else!  The other group had 
   to go to the Senior Citizen's 
   Center.  
      I tried to get into the bake 
   booth to retrieve the soup thermos 
   presumed to have been fermenting 
   there since last June, but the key I 
   borrowed didn't work.  
      Looks as though there is going to 
   be a nice coat of snow on my car by 
   the time it's time to leave.  At the 
   moment, it's still melting as it 
   hits because the car is warm from 
   having been driven this morning.  
                                                           
   12 February 1992 
      *SIGH* I've been putting off 
   finishing up the Bikeabout ever 
   since I found out I had to tear it 
   up and start over, and tonight it 
   got absolutely urgent -- I might 
   have to turn it in tomorrow.  So I 
   sat down to organize it.  The first 
   thing I had to do was to type in the 
   page of meeting announcements that 
   came in Monday's mail.  I must have 
   gone through the stack of papers it 
   is supposed to be in fifteen times, 
   and in the intervals went through 
   every other stack of papers in the 
   house and the wastebaskets.  I've 
   turned the stack over and examined 
   each sheet on the back before 
   turning it over to look at the 
   front.  I've looked inside every 
   folded paper, I've been looking into 
   magazines and notebooks and the box 
   of junk paper.  I've lifted up the 
   computer and looked under the piano.  
      Whoosh!  If Dave had been home, 
   he'd have left, for I can't replace 
   it and I can't do anything without 
   it.  While looking through the clip 
   art file -- where it couldn't 
   conceivably be -- I discovered that 
   I was also missing our two display 
   ads for the month.  While trying to 
   trace those, I remembered that I had 
   shoved a stack of art into the 
   glass-fronted bookcase to make sure 
   the cats didn't mess it up, and most 
   of that stuff was for the Bikeabout, 
   and the program notes went along 
   with the other irreplaceable papers.  
      Now to get that stuff punched in 
   and make a couple of backups.  
                                                           
   14 February 1992 
      The following day, I found that 
   the cover picture was missing.  It 
   took only half an hour to find it 
   mis-filed with the advertisements, 
   and I didn't have to have it before 
   going on with my work, but it was an 
   unnerving experience.  Then I went 
   out to run some errands, and when I 
   started to leave the post office, I 
   put my hand in my pocket and there 
   weren't any car keys in it.  After 
   frisking myself and checking all the 
   horizontal surfaces in the post 
   office, I found the keys on the 
   floor in front of the driver's seat.  
   Good thing I decided not to lock the 
   car door!  
      Feels like a good time to go back 
   to bed.  
      After I paid for my letters, the 
   clerk showed me a letter someone 
   else had mailed.  Someone has a 
   program that prints a beautiful 
   design on an envelope and addresses 
   it at the same time.  A nine-pin 
   printer could handle the design, but 
   Dave's nine-pin would never consent 
   to print on envelopes.  You're 
   supposed to be able to hand-feed 
   sheets, but the instructions for 
   doing so are extremely complicated, 
   are impossible to find except by 
   reading the entire manual, and don't 
   work.  
      Dave's still having fun with his 
   program for receiving faxed weather 
   reports.  Now he wants a good radio 
   receiver.  He says they cost nearly 
   as much as good transceivers.  I 
   asked him if that was why he sent 
   for "Nuts and Volts", a shopper that 
   arrived yesterday.  He hadn't seen 
   it and thought I was saying "Nuts 
   and Bolts", so we did a short comedy 
   routine.  
      He is also starting to feel 
   crowded on the disk.  I went through 
   my files and found only a couple of 
   directories that could be archived 
   without inconvenience.  Also found 
   that I was down to my last high-
   density floppy, which I used for the 
   new archives.  Guess I'll have to 
   order more.  I can't steal from Dave 
   because his are only double-density.  
   Pity I didn't know I was out when I 
   sent for the ribbons.  
      It was inconvenient to have the 
   catalogs always falling off the 
   shelf onto the computer, and 
   inconvenient to have the disk boxes 
   and some of the documentation in the 
   living room, so I swapped them.  I 
   find, to my sorrow, that the shelf 
   lacks just a sixteenth of an inch of 
   being able to take two Inmac disc 
   boxes one on top of the other.  
   There's still room left over, but 
   one's collection of disks tends to 
   grow.  
                                                           
      Dave complains that his fungus 
   has stopped improving, but the 
   doctor prescribed four tubes of 
   fungicide and we're working on the 
   second.  I think it's smaller than 
   it was a few days ago; what remains 
   is mostly on the parts of the foot 
   where your socks wear through 
   fastest, which may be why it 
   responds more slowly than the rest.  
      The specialist put caustic on 
   Dave's nosebleeds, and the last time 
   I asked him, his nose was still 
   sore.  He said that if he'd known 
   how sore his nose would get and how 
   long it would stay sore, he wouldn't 
   have done it.  And a couple of days 
   ago, he had another nosebleed.  
      In between the fungus and the 
   nosebleeds, he caught a stomach flu 
   that was going around his office and 
   missed three days of work.  He went 
   in on the afternoon of the third 
   day, but only because he was sick of 
   being sick.  Dave is not having a 
   good winter.  I missed out on the 
   stomach flu, for which I am 
   grateful.  
      The Bikeabout is wrapped up and 
   in the car.  I ought to change my 
   clothes and deliver it.  Decided not 
   to suit up and ride despite the 
   pleasant weather, then when Dave 
   came home for lunch and a session 
   with "AEA-FAX," he said that a big 
   storm is headed this way.  
      I went to the gym yesterday, and 
   at bedtime my hands ached so much 
   that I took an aspirin and still had 
   trouble getting to sleep.  Thought 
   I'd overdone the hand exercises, but 
   when I went through the motions it 
   didn't hurt.  Tried everything else 
   I'd been doing yesterday, and 
   finally bent my hands back and 
   pushed on the palms -- Bingo!  It 
   must have been standing on my hands 
   and knees to do the back-loosening 
   routine that did it.  The back 
   really needed loosening, too; pity I 
   never think to go through my warm- 
   up at home.  
      Maybe I should get a wall-size 
   mirror at home.  
      It didn't help that some beggar 
   came to the door after I'd settled 
   down for the evening, and I got my 
   hands thoroughly chilled disposing 
   of him; I wasn't about to let him in 
   just so I could shut the door.  It 
   was some cause so worthy that when I 
   said "no" he gave me the same 
   astonished look that a cat does when 
   you step on a tail.  All I remember 
   of his spiel is that he claimed 
   credit for the bottle bill, which 
   has been a great personal 
   inconvenience to me.  I prefer soda 
   in reusable bottles and that kind 
   has become harder to find and more 
   expensive since the bill was 
   enacted.  
                                                           
   15 February 1992 
      Found the piano-tuner's receipt 
   this morning, and brought the 
   checkbook up to date.  
      While I was reading the paper and 
   Dave was sleeping in, somebody's 
   chimney caught on fire.  I just 
   heard 2320 returning to quarters, so 
   I suppose he'll be home for 
   breakfast eventually.  
      Maybe I'd better lay a venison 
   patty out to thaw and count on 
   giving him lunch.  
      Last night I pulled last Sunday's 
   paper out of the stack and settled 
   down to work the crossword puzzle.  
   I somehow persuaded Frieda to stop 
   licking my fingers and settle down 
   quietly, opened the paper -- and 
   discovered that I'd worked the 
   puzzle last Sunday.  Knowing that 
   I'd have to start over with Frieda 
   if I got up to fetch another puzzle, 
   I tried the TV remote and found a 
   pretty-picture about some sort of 
   babboon.  This was followed by even 
   prettier pictures of weaver birds -- 
   some of which had been used in a 
   previous nature show with a home-
   building theme.  This was followed 
   by "Lovebirds," a Valentine special 
   apparently made by culling courtship 
   and mounting scenes out of other 
   nature shows.  It included weaver-
   bird scenes that had been in the 
   home-building show.  
      I did learn something: the bird-
   porn show included a bird called a 
   "ruff," the hen of which is called a 
   "ree."  A popular cross-word puzzle 
   clue suddenly made sense.  
      By this time Frieda had gone from 
   relaxed to comatose, but I woke her 
   up and went to bed.  
      I'm still on a roll.  Dave and I 
   discussed what to do with my CD and 
   decided it was best to send the 
   letter back to the bank with 
   instructions to put the money into 
   my savings account.  I said I'd 
   better get it into today's mail 
   before I forgot about it, kissed him 
   goodbye, went to the basket where 
   I'd noticed that letter when I was 
   returning some recently-paid bills 
   to Dave's jurisdiction...  
      At least this time it isn't me 
   who lost it, and I presume Dave 
   knows where he put the letters from 
   the bank.  
      Found: a disk I'm responsible for 
   under a stack of Dave's.  At first I 
   was afraid it might be something I 
   should have put into the Bikeabout 
   that just went to the printer; 
   turned out to be last month's 
   President's Writeabout.  It was in a 
   mailer with the Ride Calendar 
   Editor's return address -- who do I 
   return it to?  
      Must be Jeff's disk, because 
   Bob's always include a "READ.ME" 
   file.  
                                                           
   16 February 1992 
      Dave noticed a flock of robins in 
   the front yard this morning, and was 
   astonished to see that one of them 
   was taking a bath!  We watched them 
   a while and saw that they all wanted 
   the same little puddle even though 
   the lawn was covered with puddles; 
   they were actually fighting and 
   chasing each other out of it.  A 
   sparrow that happened along tried 
   the same puddle, then made himself 
   scarce.  
      Dave suggested that perhaps that 
   puddle had already been warmed up.  
      Later on I went out to scoop up a 
   couple of gallons of water for my 
   house plants, which don't like tap 
   water.  I found that I was bumping 
   my plastic pitcher on a patch of ice 
   at the bottom of my chosen puddle.  
   Perhaps the puddle of contention is 
   free of ice.  
      Nobody is using it at the moment.  
   The thermometer says 40ř now.  No 
   doubt it was colder when the robins 
   were here.  
      I finally washed my cheap pink 
   jacket today.  The top stitching at 
   one end of one of the bound-
   buttonhole style pockets will have 
   to be replaced, and I think it's a 
   lighter shade of pink than it used 
   to be, but it seems otherwise 
   undamaged.  I had been afraid the 
   fuzzy lining would disintegrate.  
      I've got ten peat pellets soaking 
   in melted snow, and plan to start 
   some kenilworth ivy plants to set 
   out in the raised flowerbed.  I 
   expect that I ought to start the 
   nicotina the same way, later on.  
   I'd better find out what the 
   germination time of nicotina is 
   pretty soon; the direct- seeded 
   plants didn't come up until I'd 
   given up on them.  
      I've been looking for gardening 
   magazines in every display I came 
   across; the nearest I came to a 
   garden publication was an exterior-
   decorating magazine.  Finally found 
   a copy of Organic Gardening at the 
   library, but couldn't remember why I 
   wanted it.  I noticed an ad for 
   seeds that come in small packets 
   while leafing through it, but didn't 
   write down the address.  
      Since the magazines at the 
   library are arranged by title, not 
   topic, I'd do well to scrutinize all 
   the others.  Or ask whether they 
   index them.  
      A few days ago I saw a fellow on 
   rollerblades going down the road, 
   using ski poles.  Yesterday Dave 
   called my attention to what looked 
   like the same fellow.  A cyclist in 
   a lavender rainsuit appeared to be 
   trying to pass him.  Later on I 
   noticed him coming back, still 
   trailed by the lavender rider, so I 
   concluded she or he must be an 
   escort.  
      A few minutes ago the rider 
   passed by alone, riding no whit 
   faster than when she was pacing the 
   skater.  Perhaps it is because she 
   is overdressed for the weather.  On 
   a day this warm, I wouldn't put my 
   windbreaker on unless it was raining 
   hard enough to get things wetter, 
   and I don't even own wind pants.  
      I haven't seen anything out this 
   window as interesting as the red-
   tailed hawk gutting a small bird 
   that I saw through the window that 
   faces the windbreak, but interesting 
   sights pass by the front window more 
   often.  
      My own bike is still serving as a 
   letter rack.  I've decided to go out 
   tomorrow, which is predicted to be a 
   pleasant day, but I've said that 
   before.  
      Last night, Dave said, "Come on, 
   Eric.  You know that was your 
   original name, don't you?" Nobody 
   would take her for a tomcat now.  
   When we have them neutered so young, 
   it's amazing that sex makes so much 
   difference.  
                                                           
   17 February 1992 *SIGH* Yesterday 
   they were predicting glorious 
   weather for today, followed by 
   absolutely horrid weather for the 
   rest of the week.  So I decided that 
   today I'd hop on my bike and ride to 
   Voorheesville, look up "cotton" at 
   the library, have a round robin and 
   some installments of the Banner 
   weighed at the post office and then, 
   if I still felt strong, ride to 
   Guilderland and pump iron.  
      When I woke up, it was 
   President's Day.  I'd been reading 
   frothing accounts of the big sale at 
   Cohoes all week, too.  
      I suppose I could go to Cohoes 
   with everybody else.  Cain't hardly 
   get there from here; you have to use 
   the interstates or go through 
   Albany.  Interstates are mighty poor 
   at short trips even when you are 
   accustomed to them, and the streets 
   of Albany don't exactly go through, 
   except for the recreationway & I 
   know for sure I can't ride that far 
   on a bike.  
      Even the recreationway doesn't go 
   to Cohoes from here; I have to zig 
   on Russell, zag on Western, and 
   backtrack on Broadway to get to it.  
   There's a slightly shorter and 
   considerably more complicated route 
   I would probably use instead.  
      Another route to Cohoes bypasses 
   Albany by way of Shaker Pines.  I 
   wonder whether the quilt shop is 
   open today?  
                                                           
   25 February 1992 
      Ever feel like a dog just for 
   fixing yourself a little lunch?  I 
   got the casserole of bean soup out 
   of the fridge and put it on the 
   stove over a very low fire.  I 
   peeked inside to see whether it 
   wanted stirring and thereby rattled 
   the lid.  The clink caused a "thump, 
   thump" overhead, followed by the 
   rattle of little paws down the 
   stair, followed, before I could get 
   the lid back on the pot, by two 
   shining, hopeful little faces 
   staring up at me.  
      Their bellies are dragging the 
   floor, and I still felt that I was 
   starving them.  
      Sunday night, I figured that 
   first thing Monday morning, I'd hop 
   on my bike and go work out at the 
   gym.  In the grog of Monday morning, 
   it seemed much more sensible to go 
   by car in the afternoon, so I could 
   lay out and hardcopy the first 
   installment of an article I promised 
   to Paul Doerr and have it copied on 
   my way to the gym.  It started to 
   snow during the morning, and I 
   congratulated myself on not being 
   out in that on a bike.  When it was 
   time to go, I decided that I didn't 
   want to drive the car either.  That 
   evening, I heard a deputy chicken 
   out and return to the station.  
      When I told Dave the deputy had 
   said "these tires are totally 
   unsuited to this weather," he said 
   it wasn't the tires, but the big, 
   rear-wheel-drive cars that are 
   unsuitable.  
      On "President's Day," I rode my 
   bike to Stonewell, ten whole miles, 
   and got to the gym twice in the 
   following week.  
      This week isn't starting off as 
   well.  
      Did I mention that we had two 
   fires last week?  A hay fire on 
   Thursday and a kitchen fire on 
   Friday.  Each fire interrupted my 
   plans to go to the gym, so I went 
   after the house fire as a public 
   service.  Figured if I postponed to 
   Saturday, the nursing home would 
   catch fire just when it was time to 
   start getting ready.  
      The hay fire was two haystack-
   size bales -- out in the middle of a 
   very wet field.  The boys nosed into 
   every road in the county trying to 
   get at it, and ended up stringing 
   every foot of hose they own.  Took 
   about an hour to reach the fire, two 
   or three to wash the hose and put it 
   back on the trucks.  
      The trash truck just went by, 
   reminding me that it's Tuesday.  Ah, 
   well, we only have one bagful this 
   week and I didn't want to wade 
   through snow to the end of the lane 
   anyway.  
      I think I could walk it in my 
   house shoes, because the drive was 
   plowed sometime in the night and 
   it's still below freezing out.  I 
   did go out earlier and sweep my car 
   off.  Then I opened up the garage 
   and swept out what melted off Dave's 
   car during the night.  He swept his 
   car before backing in, but couldn't 
   get all the snow off.  
                                                           
   27 February 1992 
      I made an expedition out of going 
   to the gym yesterday -- by car.  
   Stopped at the bank to get money and 
   close out my CD (savings is paying 
   better nowadays), stopped at the 
   printshop to get the Bikeabout 
   originals, stopped at Clapps to get 
   the book I ordered.  It's still in 
   the original sack!  (Don't know how 
   long it will stay there.)  Afterward 
   I stopped by Buyer$mart because my 
   work-out pants are getting thin.  
   They had some black knit cotton 
   pants that fit, but there was a hole 
   in the knee and there wasn't any 
   price tag.  I thought I could get 
   two or three dollars' wear out of 
   them, but I didn't feel like 
   tracking down a clerk and haggling.  
   I bought a package of irregular 
   underpants with some trepidation; 
   the manufacturer must be fussy, 
   because I haven't found the flaws 
   yet.  Haven't had them on yet, 
   either.  Also got three more of the 
   $1 radio tapes.  I got Fred Allen 
   and Stan Freberg last time; this 
   time I got Henry Morgan, Jack Benny, 
   and Groucho Marx.  I didn't even 
   know Henry Morgan had a radio show, 
   but I used to see him on "What's my 
   line" or maybe it was "I've got a 
   Secret."  
      Last night I studied the 
   Broadfalls pattern I bought from the 
   Friends Patterns mail-order company, 
   and it's going to be easier to 
   modify them to fit a female than I 
   thought.  Luckily each pattern makes 
   two sizes, with two waistbands and 
   instructions to adjust the seams, 
   and I take the smaller of the two 
   waistbands, so I might not need to 
   add anything at all around the hips.  
   That's mainly because I've gotten so 
   fat that there is only nine inches 
   difference between my waist and 
   hips, alas.  
      I didn't think to measure the 
   rise, but I think the best way to 
   check that is to baste a pair 
   together and wear them a while.  
   "Beyond the Tollgate," is having a 
   clearance sale on their winter 
   cottons this coming Saturday, which 
   I think well-timed.  I can get 
   sheet-weight fabric and make a pair 
   of pedal-pushers to wear in the 
   garden.  
      I had thought broadfalls might be 
   complicated, as old patterns often 
   are, but it looks as though it will 
   be easier to assemble than modern 
   pants would be.  No fussy fly, among 
   other things.  
                                                           
   28 February 1992 
      While delivering the cookies, 
   another member of the auxiliary and 
   I argued over whether this was the 
   third fire.  I said the hay bales 
   counted, she said that this was the 
   second structure fire on a Friday, 
   and expected another.  
      I'll be careful not to postpone 
   working out next Friday, as I did 
   this morning.  
      Started before 11:00 AM and when 
   I decided to track Dave down at 
   6:00, he was still in the engine 
   room.  They appeared to be resting 
   up, rather than washing hose, 
   though.  This one was up on the 
   hill, and Dave says about a third of 
   the house was destroyed.  
   Yesterday's Enterprise (which we get 
   on Fridays, because it is delivered 
   by mail) says that no structural 
   damage was done to the house that 
   burned last Friday, but there was 
   extensive smoke damage.  
      I didn't go to the fire itself, 
   but was left to tend to the standby 
   crew from Voorheesville.  After 
   delivering the coffee and cookies, 
   we decided that we could be on call 
   at home just as conveniently as in 
   the firehouse and left, and Patty 
   never called, though Dave says that 
   he never got any lunch or supper.  
   There were still some cookies in the 
   engine room when he got back, 
   though.  
      Now's a fine time to think of it, 
   but when they sent me for the 
   doughnuts, or when they sent me for 
   the cookies a little later, I should 
   have suggested getting a half-gallon 
   of milk.  
      I suppose I'd better run down in 
   the morning and wash the coffee 
   jugs.  
                                                           
   29 February 1992 
      It was bitterly cold, and right 
   windy, but I rode to "Beyond the 
   Tollgate" anyway.  Didn't get 
   anything frostbitten, but I feel 
   tired and sleepy -- always did after 
   being out in the cold, as if my 
   strength melted when I came inside.  
   There were lots of lovely wools, but 
   I don't know how much to buy yet.  
   Cotton flannel was $3/yd & I thought 
   I'd make pants to wear around the 
   house in the winter, but I didn't 
   want white or pastel, and there was 
   about a yard and a half of the red.  
   I'd been thinking of making short 
   pants to test out the pattern, but 
   short flannel pants would be no use 
   to anybody.  I did find a quilt 
   print of tiny flowers on a black 
   ground, and the piece was 2 3/4 
   yards, so I took it.  If that's not 
   enough, I can make pedal pushers.  
   Pity I didn't start sewing *before* 
   this sale.  They'll have another 
   clear-out in late summer.  
      That thin, bright-red wool would 
   have made me a lovely winter shirt, 
   had I had a pattern suited to it.  
   Maybe I should nose around in the 
   pattern drawer, then drive back this 
   afternoon.  
      !  I could use another scarf!  
   Not seriously enough to make a 
   special trip for it, though.  The 
   challis scarf I have is in perfect 
   shape, and I think I still have the 
   other half of the piece I made it 
   from around somewhere.  
      Today's Times-Union says that the 
   house that burned yesterday was 
   destroyed, but Dave says that they 
   saved about two-thirds of it.  He 
   was very proud of that when he came 
   home last night, and repeatedly 
   informed me that the living room had 
   already fallen into the basement 
   when they got there.  
      They called an arson 
   investigator, but he said it was 
   entirely the woodstove.  The fire 
   had appeared to have two points of 
   origin, which in this case was hot 
   gases collecting elsewhere and 
   finding something to ignite.  
                                                           
   4 March 1992 
      Today I got a response to the ad 
   I placed in the L.A.W. bulletin, 
   "Bicycle USA."  I'll be mailing 
   issue #11 of How to Edit Your Club's 
   Newsletter tomorrow.  
      Since the ad was in the December 
   "Almanac" issue, other orders may 
   trickle in during the year.  
   Inspired by this success, I wrote an 
   ad to place in "The Pragmatist," 
   which costs only 10›/word, which 
   suggests that I won't get in over my 
   head on the response.  Also the 
   articles appeal to the sort of 
   person likely to get stuck with 
   being the editor.  
      Yesterday I rode my bike to the 
   gym.  Tom said he expects to see me 
   again tomorrow.  
      I weathered the trek well enough 
   that I think that I could go by way 
   of Stuyvesant Plaza next time, but 
   I'm going by car tomorrow, because I 
   have a bicycle-club meeting that 
   night.  I plan to leave for the 
   meeting early and stop at the club 
   on the way.  
      Maybe I can go riding the 
   following day; the newspaper says 
   that I shouldn't use the computer on 
   Friday anyhow.  
      I haven't cut my calico yet.  
                                                           
      I'm not sure that I remember all 
   the ads that have been submitted for 
   the April issue.  I do hope we 
   recruit an ad manager soon.  Dare I 
   hope to hear something at the 
   meeting?  
      I hope to get the 'zine organized 
   enough to have proofs to take to the 
   meeting, so I won't be cutting my 
   calico tomorrow either.  May take it 
   off the line and iron it, though.  
   Or burrow around to see whether I've 
   got that brown synthetic twill still 
   stashed away.  
      I'm giving serious thought to 
   taking part in the 24-hour casual 
   this May, but I haven't mentioned it 
   to Al yet.  I've definitely decided 
   not to attend the beginners' ride 
   that takes place the same day.  I 
   don't think there will be room for 
   kibitzers.  Perhaps I can watch one 
   of the smaller learning rides that 
   Mike intends to schedule later.  
      I got an intriguing ad, and typed 
   it up for the Bikeabout -- oops, I 
   forgot to put the college on the 
   contributor's list.  Paul Smith 
   College, on Regis Lake, is selling 
   two nights lodging and six meals for 
   $55/person on Memorial Day and 
   Fourth of July weekends.  It came 
   with a note from the president 
   saying that he and the special- 
   events chairman intended to organize 
   something to take advantage of the 
   offer.  The lunches are in a sack, 
   so it suits bikers (and "hikers and 
   paddlers") perfectly.  
      Pity Cobleskill SUNY doesn't do 
   that; I'd like to ride up the hill 
   and spend the weekend.  I've still 
   got the maps from the NSS convention 
   and could take the waterfall tour.  
   I'm probably the only person in New 
   York who thinks Cobleskill is a 
   great place for a vacation, though, 
   so I don't suppose it would pay them 
   to do it.  
      Paul Smith's could advertise 
   their weekends as being for 
   "Pedallers, Paddlers, and 
   Pedestrians."  
                                                           
   6 March 1992 
      ahhhh.  I got every page but page 
   one hardcopied tonight.  
      I haven't the foggiest idea how 
   to fluff up the stuff on page one to 
   fill the space, short of using a 
   larger reproduction ratio, and it 
   isn't skimpy enough to fit anything 
   that would be easy to calculate, but 
   I'm sure I can keep my promise to 
   deliver on Monday.  
      The structure fire didn't 
   materialize, and neither did the 
   Michelangelo virus.  Dave said he 
   learned today that my computer 
   couldn't catch it, because you have 
   to have an infected floppy in drive 
   A when you boot to infect the hard 
   disk, and since my first computer 
   was a TRS-80, I never, never leave a 
   floppy in the drive when it boots or 
   is switched off.  
      I wonder if resetting counts?  
      Dave learned about virus today 
   because the desktop-publishing 
   computer at R&P went down, so they 
   downloaded a virus- finder from 
   Norton and discovered that the 
   office manager's computer was also 
   infected.  Now they are trying to 
   figure out how they picked it up.  
      The guy who uses the desktop 
   publisher didn't have anything 
   backed up.  I consider the episode 
   educational, because when I 
   freshened my back-ups on Thursday, I 
   found that I had two or three files 
   that had never been backed up at 
   all.  Maybe I can't catch 
   Michelangelo, but there are lots of 
   other viruses, and viruses aren't 
   the only things that can trash your 
   data.  
      Dave said that what the virus 
   does is to format your hard disk.  
   That would be much easier than 
   writing random bits, as the TV said 
   it did.  
      I'm going to ask the MHW to buy 
   me a laser printer, as soon as I get 
   one picked out.  The president 
   thinks the motion is a shoo-in.  
      At the moment, I'd rather have an 
   ad manager, but I don't think it 
   will be as difficult next month, 
   because I have a better idea of what 
   to do with un- organized ads.  
      I did get to the gym on the way 
   to the meeting, and the place was 
   jammed with people.  Towards the end 
   of my workout, I was looking around 
   to see what machine was unoccupied 
   instead of looking to see what was 
   next on my card.  Did get them all 
   in, though, and got through in forty 
   minutes; maybe it's good for me to 
   have people breathing down my neck.  
      Now I have to get there again on 
   Monday.  Since I have to go to 
   Guilderland to deliver the 
   reproduction copies, it shouldn't be 
   difficult.  
                                                           
   8 March 1992 
      Oh, arrr!  
      I was working, I believe, on page 
   10 when Dave came to take me to 
   pizza yesterday evening.  Off I 
   went, merrily forgetting to cap my 
   white paint and my glue stick.  We 
   decided to have a white pizza for a 
   change, with broccoli and garlic.  
   The place was incredibly stuffed 
   with people, but the entire 
   children's room cleared out at 8:00 
   when the Vegas Night at the 
   Voorheesville firehouse started.  We 
   decided to go to Vegas night too.  
   The check came to precisely ten 
   dollars; Dave paid with a twenty and 
   was much annoyed to get a ten in 
   change.  Waiters usually think about 
   those things, but with the unwonted 
   crowd, she was kinder harried.  I 
   had ones in my purse, and after I'd 
   given him some, he decided to 
   contribute the ten to the 
   Voorheesville fire department.  The 
   best laid plans of mice and men!  He 
   kept returning to the Wheel of 
   Fortune to put ones on the one-to-
   one payoff.  Now there were fifty-
   four numbers on the wheel, arranged 
   in nine groups of six, which made it 
   easy to see that there were two one-
   to-ones fewer than fair odds called 
   for.  Nonetheless, when we got so 
   bored that we could no longer stand 
   it, his stake had increased to 
   eleven dollars.  I told Dave that he 
   should buy me some stock while his 
   luck was running.  
      Egad.  When we got home, my 
   clothes were so foul with cigarette 
   smoke that I couldn't stand them -- 
   and I forgot they were in the washer 
   while the other stuff I meant to 
   tell you about was going on.  That 
   was the third load, though, and the 
   underwear and the shirts are all on 
   the line (except those that I hang 
   in the doorway on hangers).  
      Well, as I said, I'd finished 
   page 10, and 10 was the hardest, and 
   I was working from the front, so 
   there wasn't a whole bunch to do.  
                                                           
   10 March 1992 
      Had I known that story was so 
   long and complicated, I'd have never 
   begun it.  I never even got to the 
   beginning of the reason for the "oh, 
   arrr," and I'm completely out of the 
   mood.  
      I thought that 10 was the hardest 
   page, but when I got to 14, the 
   other small-ad page, it was harder.  
   There were only three pieces to 10's 
   five, but not one of them was the 
   right size.  I managed to fuss them 
   into a presentable arrangement, but 
   while getting the pieces out of the 
   file, I discovered that on page 10 
   I'd used the old Adirondack ad 
   instead of the new Adirondack ad.  
   It was comparatively easy to paste 
   it over the old one, but provoking 
   to have to re-do a job I'd thought 
   was finished.  This was the last 
   leg; 15 is only the membership 
   application, which I'd added when I 
   discovered that we were three pages 
   short and there was no way I could 
   remove one page and get us onto 
   three sheets instead of four.  Two 
   of the odd-sized ads were fillers 
   from L.A.W., which got in the same 
   way.  And on the back cover, I found 
   that I could edit our old address to 
   our new one instead of re- 
   monotyping the whole thing.  (Bob 
   finally got the new post-office box 
   we've been talking about for two 
   years, and we want to start people 
   using the new address as soon as 
   possible.)  A couple of hours 
   fluffing the page-one material up to 
   fill the page (I finally pasted in a 
   picture of "a wild hare in his 
   chamois shorts," with the caption 
   removed, and just where am I going 
   to get a contributor's address for a 
   fellow I haven't heard from since 
   the early 80's?).  Endlich!  I put 
   the drafting stuff away, balanced a 
   drop of water on top of the glue 
   stick and carefully set it on a 
   shelf, hoping that it would de-
   shrivel and knowing that it would be 
   at least a couple of days before I 
   wanted it again.  
      Then, before switching off the 
   computer I decided to delete some 
   now-useless files from C:\ZMHW -- 
   and discovered that one hadn't been 
   incorporated into the April issue, 
   and it was not something to postpone 
   until May.  
      So I re-edited page 11, including 
   a totally unnecessary paste-in 
   heading to allow a little fitting 
   ease.  I towelled off my glue stick, 
   pasted the forgotten item and a 
   filler over "Sometimes it Pays!" and 
   a shorter filler, pasted a new Table 
   of Contents over the old one, and 
   wrote "oh, arrr!" in the Banner.  
      I've been dueless and dilatory 
   about getting to the only store in 
   town that carries professional-grade 
   rubber cement because the glue-stick 
   isn't *too* much extra trouble, but 
   I'm starting to feel motivated.  
      My uncalibrated odometer says 
   that I rode a shade more than 15 
   miles to deliver the Bikeabout 
   yesterday.  I had to get off and 
   rest for a while on the gentle slope 
   between the apartment complex and 
   the print shop.  Then I had a fairly 
   decent workout at the gym -- 
   certainly more pleasant than when I 
   stopped by on the way to the 
   Wheelman meeting and discovered that 
   everyone wants to work out at 6:00 
   on Thursday evening.  Business at 
   Capitaland must be picking up.  
      Then I came out of the gym and 
   realized that I had made no plans 
   beyond that point.  Wasted some time 
   in 20-mall, which isn't exactly the 
   entertainment capital of the area.  
   When I realized that I was too tired 
   to try on clothes in Buyer$mart (I 
   hadn't had the sense to change out 
   of my cleated shoes, which make 
   standing and walking strenuous), I 
   got back on the bike, came home, and 
   drove to Stonewell for milk, bread, 
   and pork chops.  Could have stopped 
   on the way home, but I didn't think 
   I had the extra five miles in me.  
      Next trip I'll take four high-
   calorie muffins instead of two.  
      If I'm going to go to the 24-Hour 
   Casual in May, I'm going to have to 
   ride two days in a row Real Soon 
   Now, but I don't think I'll do it 
   this week.  
      The laps on the 24-Hour are 42 
   miles.  Can I go from 15 to 42 in 
   two months?  
      Oh, yeah.  When I unloaded my 
   satchel after the meeting, I went 
   through the papers three times, 
   thinking that someone had given me 
   something on yellow paper.  Finally 
   decided I was thinking of the two 
   yellow papers I'd already disposed 
   of.  When I was putting a bandanna 
   in my pocket before delivering the 
   Bikeabout, I remembered that I'd 
   thrown a lot of bandannas in the 
   wash lately and checked my purse to 
   make sure it still contained one.  
   There was a sheet of yellow paper in 
   the handkerchief pocket.  
      Luckily, it was timeless, and was 
   handed to me after deadline.  I'll 
   tell George I saved "Bike Tour 
   Etiquette" for the Bike Month issue.  
                                                           
   11 March 1992 
      The weather outside looks 
   pleasant, with a very light snow 
   falling out of an overcast sky, and 
   cold enough that the roads, if not 
   good, aren't getting any worse.  
   Though the tree branches are waving 
   vigorously, the house isn't rattling 
   any more.  The winter storm warning 
   was downgraded to "advisory" around 
   noon.  
      It was different when I went out 
   for the mail about two hours ago; 
   pellet snow was falling, the 
   driveway was slick, the shoulder in 
   front of the mailbox was mushy, and 
   the wind was so fierce that I had to 
   shield my eyes to see.  
      Erica had come in with Dave when 
   he came home for lunch -- it was 
   raining then --and when I went into 
   the entry to suit up, she was 
   begging pitifully to get out.  I 
   opened the door, she dashed out onto 
   the walk, and stopped with an 
   astonished expression on her entire 
   body.  When it comes to expressive 
   gestures, Red Skeleton and Marcel 
   Marceau rolled together aren't a 
   patch on your garden-variety cat.  
   After at least five hundred 
   milliseconds of leisurely 
   contemplation, she dashed back in as 
   eagerly as she'd gone out.  I 
   decided to sweep the walk-off mat 
   before going out, and propped the 
   door open.  Erica dashed out again, 
   but was back inside before I 
   finished sweeping the mat and the 
   last time I saw her, she was under 
   the bed.  As far as I know, she's 
   still there.  
                                                           
      Having worked out on Monday, I 
   was due again today.  I figured 
   there would be no problem, because I 
   had to deliver my car to the new 
   shop in Voorheesville, so I'd be 
   suited up and on the bike and that's 
   the hard part.  That was before the 
   winter storm advisory was issued; 
   during breakfast it was raining fit 
   to drown geese.  I lingered over the 
   paper, then before I'd reached the 
   funnies, noticed that the rain had 
   slacked off, so I hastened to change 
   into woolies, clean out the car, and 
   shove the bike into the back.  The 
   receipt from Klarsfeld that I was 
   looking for last January was stuck 
   in the back seat; I was relieved to 
   see that I had the cables changed 
   and the wheels trued in '91, so 
   skipping an overhaul this winter 
   shouldn't get me into any trouble.  
   Dropped off the car, refused an 
   offer of a lift, and suited up -- 
   had to put on shoes, a second pair 
   of socks, two pairs of gloves, and 
   helmet.  I always find it 
   embarrassing to hang around after 
   I've said goodbye.  The rain 
   remained light until after I got 
   home, and my clothes were scarcely 
   damp.  Got my left lens spattered so 
   that I couldn't see my mirror, let 
   alone use it, but I was half a block 
   from home by then, so I didn't stop 
   to clean it.  
      At lunch Dave remembered that the 
   corned beef and cabbage dinner is 
   tonight.  I emphatically informed 
   him that I wasn't driving in this 
   kind of weather and he agreed to 
   pick me up at six.  I don't feel any 
   trepidation about going out in what 
   we're having now, but an hour or so 
   ago Dave called to say that the shop 
   called to say that I wasn't driving 
   in any kind of weather before 
   Friday.  The radiator is shot, and 
   my back brake shoes were so worn 
   that they were chewing up the disks.  
   And something else was wrong, but 
   I've forgotten what.  It's going to 
   be expensive.  
      I threw my pink jacket into the 
   wash a couple of days ago, and still 
   haven't gotten around to washing it.  
   Since it needs mending, and I got a 
   coffee stain on it at the fire 
   before last, I don't want to fetch 
   it out of the basket to wear to the 
   dinner.  
      Ah, well, my jersey is warmer 
   anyhow.  
      5:00.  I'd wanted to wash my hair 
   before the party, but I'd never get 
   it dry enough to go out into the 
   cold.  
      The new Threads came yesterday or 
   the day before.  I was flabbergasted 
   to see a picture of a fat woman with 
   her bare face hanging out.  They 
   made up for it by using sketches of 
   someone in the last stages of 
   anorexia, and giving her a face that 
   appeared to be made entirely of 
   paint.  
      The painted part is all right: a 
   false- looking face is easier to 
   draw, and the sketch didn't need any 
   face at all to carry its point.  
                                                           
   15 March 1992 
      Still haven't sketched out my 
   cutting pattern.  Did locate the 
   fabric I mean to cut, and I repaired 
   my old black slip this morning -- I 
   meant to do that *before* I wore it 
   to the Installation Banquet.  I do 
   hope I get around to getting a new 
   slip before June, the next time I 
   plan to wear a dress.  Also must 
   remember to cut off the hook on my 
   dress and sew the neck closed; I the 
   neck is plenty big enough, and the 
   hook is always coming undone, 
   catching in my hair or shawl, and 
   generally annoying me.  I thought 
   I'd already done it, but that must 
   have been some other hook.  
      My left ear still hurts; we were 
   sitting right next to the band.  
                                                           
   18 March 1992 
      Friday I finally got around to 
   darning the place where I snagged my 
   fingering- wool tights on the clamp 
   that holds my frame-pump to the 
   frame; it had needed doing since 
   Monday.  The new darn was corner-to-
   corner with an old one of exactly 
   the same size and shape, so I 
   decided it was high time to do 
   something about the protruding bolt 
   on that clamp.  There didn't seem to 
   be any way to tape over it, and I 
   was pretty sure the bolt was smaller 
   than the bolts that hold my brake 
   shoes.  Thinking it worth a try 
   anyhow, I ruddled around in the junk 
   basket until I found a cap nut off a 
   brand of brake shoes I used to use, 
   and found that the nut was so much 
   too big that it not only covered the 
   entire exposed end of the bolt, it 
   formed a guide over the nut and 
   clamp.  
      So I filled the nut with Elmer's 
   glue and clamped it with a clothes 
   pin, and so far it seems to be 
   working very well.  
      I meant to go to the gym after we 
   picked up the car on Saturday, but I 
   went to Stuyvesant Plaza instead, 
   thinking to look into Alfred's to 
   see whether they had any safety 
   cloth; I want to find out how much 
   it costs and design an apron before 
   the next Auxilliary meeting so I can 
   propose that we buy the cloth for me 
   to make three fire-committee 
   uniforms.  I have in mind a waitress 
   apron hanging from a highwayman's 
   vest, with "NSVFD" in reflective 
   tape.  Forgot to look to see whether 
   Alfred had tape, but I wouldn't buy 
   it there anyway.  I did find 
   something that looked like sturdy 
   nylon mesh, and it washed all right, 
   so now I have all the ingredients 
   for a summer jersey.  (If I can 
   remember where I put the yellow 
   interlock, and buy a suitable 
   zipper) 
      Except the pattern.  I'd have to 
   fit one so extensively that I might 
   as well draft my own.  Should have 
   bought some of Alfred's cheap 
   interlock to practice with; I can 
   use some garden-variety summer 
   shirts.  
      I got the pants pattern modified 
   and cut out yesterday, and have 
   enough of the brown stuff left to 
   cut another pair.  I had thought it 
   was some sort of synthetic twill, 
   but the way it handles, I'm 
   beginning to think it's cotton.  If 
   so, it's too thin to last very long, 
   and it seems to have been subjected 
   to a "permanent press" finish, which 
   weakens the fiber.  
      When I get it sewn together, I 
   may think that's just as well.  I 
   had to add two darts to the back to 
   keep the side seam from coming out S 
   shaped.  I hope they are big enough 
   through the hips; I can always make 
   bigger darts in back, but I can't 
   think of any way to make the front 
   even an eighth of an inch bigger in 
   the hips without making it bigger in 
   the waist.  Egad.  I forgot to 
   modify the pockets to match the new 
   side seam.  I didn't even check to 
   see whether they match the old side 
   seam.  
      Now I wish I'd sewn today, so I'd 
   know how it worked out.  I succumbed 
   to the temptation to do one little 
   chore at the typewriter first.  
      I've decided to make the black 
   calico into cases for the pillows I 
   carry in my car.  
                                                           
   22 March 1992 
      The good news: it seems to fit in 
   the back and sit comfortably, as 
   near as I can tell.  In front, 
   wrinkles gave a pronounced diaper 
   effect, there was about four inches 
   too much waistband, and the middle 
   of the waistband lacked three inches 
   of reaching my waist.  Pinching the 
   excess waistband into pleats 
   miraculously stretched the front 
   seam to reach the waist, and 
   somewhat reduced the diaper effect.  
   It fits well enough for the garden, 
   and I have clues to make the next 
   version better.  
      Pity I haven't gotten around to 
   stitching the pleats, sewing the 
   hems, and putting in buttons and 
   buttonholes.  Dave is getting tired 
   of having the ironing board set up 
   in the bedroom.  
                                                           
      Finally got the Writer's Exchange 
   Bulletin Annual Issue done, and 
   ready to copy and mail.  Even have 
   the envelopes stamped and 
   adddressed, and the WE Bureau Report 
   pasted up and in an addressed 
   envelope: all ready to go to the 
   copy shop, library, and post office 
   in the morning.  
      There are storm warnings out.  
      Before going to Alfred's the 
   Saturday before yesterday, I dropped 
   in at Dandelion Green and bought 
   some winter shoes --now that it's 
   March.  The "jazz boots" are put 
   together with water-soluble glue, so 
   I can't wear them in snow or mud, 
   but it is something that's not 
   slippers, sandals, or sneakers to 
   wear with pants.  When Dave reminded 
   me of the Installation Banquet that 
   evening, about thirty minutes before 
   the bus left, I was sorry that only 
   Olive Oyl would wear them with a 
   dress.  Got to wear them a day or 
   two later, and I find them very 
   comfortable.  I think they would 
   have been longer-wearing, though, if 
   I'd insisted on ordering a "wide" 
   instead of accepting the "medium" 
   that was in stock; they fit only by 
   virtue of lacing to the toe.  I was 
   so surprised to find that I could 
   specify a size, have it brought out, 
   and not only get my foot into it, 
   but walk around in it, that I wasn't 
   thinking straight.  I'm not 
   accustomed to being able to ask for 
   more once I've found shoes that are 
   tolerable.  
      I was chirping and twittering 
   over how elegant they are -- well, 
   you have to have spent a few years 
   going to restaurants in black and 
   white gym shoes to *appreciate* a 
   plain black pair of lace-up shoes.  
      I wore them to the gym and 
   decided to wear them upstairs 
   because they are so thin and light.  
   Reverted to my gym slippers the next 
   trip, because the boots are also 
   very warm, and the designers assume 
   that you'll take them off and air 
   them out as soon as you are through 
   sweating; the recent disintegration 
   of my house shoes makes me very 
   aware of that water-soluble glue.  
      When I saw myself in all those 
   full- length mirrors wearing a gym 
   suit, I saw that the boots bear a 
   startling resemblance to the gym 
   shoes seen in photographs of old-
   time prizefighters.  
      While I was waiting for the clerk 
   to take care of the previous 
   customer, I picked out a $12 pair of 
   tights.  I was much less pleased 
   with those.  I expected stockings 
   that expensive to at least have 
   heels, but they were two ankle-width 
   tubes sewn to each other at one end 
   and seamed shut at the "toes".  The 
   only difference between them and 
   fifty-nine-cent pantyhose is that 
   the fabric is heavy enough to make 
   the seam under the toes lumpy, and 
   heavy enough to make stretching them 
   on a chore.  About halfway through 
   putting them on, I re-read the 
   package thinking maybe "L" stood for 
   "little." Reassured that they were 
   supposed to fit women even taller 
   and fatter than I am, I resumed my 
   efforts & when I finally got inside 
   the tights, I was out of breath.  A 
   couple of hours later I managed, by 
   pinching fabric at the ankles and 
   working it up the leg, to get them 
   all the way up so that they didn't 
   feel funny when I walked, but they 
   crept right down again.  
      Beats me how anybody can dance 
   wearing those.  
      Maybe muscle is easier to sausage 
   into them than fat is.  
      I've seen the fellow on 
   rollerblades several times.  I still 
   can't decide what color the rainsuit 
   on his escort is.  Somewhere in the 
   neighborhood of purplish pink.  
                                                           
   28 March 1992 
      On the way out of the village 
   after taking care of the Writers' 
   Exchange Bulletin, I met the guy on 
   rollerblades -- minus escort.  
   Somewhere around Meade's Farm, I was 
   much surprised to see him behind me.  
   He passed me *before* I slowed up to 
   turn into our lane.  I wasn't 
   exactly exerting myself, but for 
   skates, that's *moving*.  
      He's been getting more practice 
   than I have.  
      Yesterday I went to Guilderland 
   by way of Stuyvesant Plaza.  About 
   nineteen miles, and I was beat when 
   I got back.  When I was climbing 
   past Griffin Labs, I badly missed 
   the "sprint" I'd left in the weight 
   room.  
      Remember a passage about how I 
   got a new card and came home with 
   aching wrists and couldn't think of 
   anything but standing on my hands 
   and knees that might have done it?  
   The very next trip, I realized that 
   when thinking over the 
   possibilities, I'd overlooked the 
   bench press because it isn't 
   supposed to stress the wrists.  I 
   had been holding the dumbells 
   incorrectly.  
      That all started when I sprained 
   both thumbs before I realized that 
   my brake levers were too big.  I 
   started using a monkey grip on the 
   dumbells while my thumbs were sore 
   and never had any reason to change 
   back --until the bench press was 
   added to my routine.  
      I was surprised to see on my 
   chart that I have been there several 
   times in March, almost as often as I 
   should have gone.  My weights have 
   been going up, too.  
      And I think maybe my mass has 
   *stopped* going up.  
      Now if we get some warm weather 
   before the steambath is fired up for 
   the summer ...  
      One thing I did in Stuyvesant was 
   to buy my airline ticket.  They are 
   holding it for me until time to pick 
   up the boarding pass.  I also 
   ordered a rental car (subcompact) 
   and Dave has ordered a credit card 
   for me so they will let me have the 
   rental car.  I guess that afterward 
   I can stash it in the little drawer 
   until I go travelling again.  
      Now that I've been wearing my 
   homemade pants for a while, I think 
   better of the fit than I did at 
   first.  Remarkable considering that 
   they are men's pants, and I didn't 
   measure anything but the waist and 
   hips to alter the pattern.  
      I finally remembered to give Dave 
   the cleaner's ticket, and he picked 
   up his suit today.  Later he went 
   out to pick up a card for a birthday 
   party we are attending tonight, and 
   made a little detour to a grass 
   fire.  It was Voorheesville's fire; 
   New Salem was called by mistake.  He 
   says that they stood around and 
   admired it untill Voorheesville got 
   there.  The affair was complicated 
   by a semi-trailer somehow stuck on 
   Voorheesville Avenue, which caused a 
   train to park in the village until 
   they could get the truck off the 
   tracks.  The fire was close to the 
   parked train.  
      I wonder how it got stopped in 
   time; they go pretty slow through 
   the village, as I've had cause to 
   notice whenever I was waiting for 
   one to get out of my way, but a 
   thing two or three miles long does 
   not stop on a dime.  They must have 
   had advance warning somehow.  
      Couldn't that guy respect 
   tradition and get stuck in the 
   underpass on Maple Avenue like 
   everybody else?  
      It was reported as "truck in the 
   underpass" at first; you hear 
   "truck" in this town, and 
   "underpass" just naturally tacks 
   itself on.  
      I wonder if stopping the train 
   might be what started the fire?  
   There were puddles all over 
   everything yesterday, and the sun 
   just now came out for the first 
   time, so the grass can't have been 
   tinder-dry.  
                                                           
   31 March 1992 
      They had another brush fire 
   today.  Didn't sound like much on 
   the scanner.  Dave hasn't come home 
   yet.  
      Dave heard a rumor that sparks 
   from the train's emergency brakes 
   started the fire, but it didn't come 
   from an authentic source.  
      I'm all stiff and sore because I 
   decided not to go to the gym and 
   work out.  Hauling tree branches out 
   to the burn pile didn't hurt because 
   I quit when I got tired, and hauling 
   another layer of leaves from the 
   pile under the windbreak to the 
   compost line in the garden didn't 
   hurt because the activity was 
   varied, but once I started raking 
   mulch off the asparagus- and-rhubarb 
   bed, I had to finish.  
      It was four when I came in.  
   Heard the five-o'clock siren, 
   noticed that the noise was unduly 
   persistent, and came in to find that 
   it was only four.  A fireman pretty 
   soon asked what was the nature of 
   the call.  
      I never noticed the five-oclock 
   siren.  I can't hear it when I'm 
   indoors unless the windows are open, 
   and it's not *that* warm.  
      This was a decent spring day for 
   a change.  I hope I wasn't previous 
   in raking the asparagus.  Found a 
   chunk of ice under the mulch.  Most 
   of the crocus have survived their 
   premature emergence and are putting 
   on a pretty good show.  Hope I 
   remember to divide them this year.  
   By the time the bulbs are ripe, I've 
   pretty much forgotten that we have 
   crocus.  Seems to be quite a few 
   tulips coming up.  
      Alas, what we have most of in the 
   flowerbeds is sod.  I pulled a few 
   grass plants out, but there's no way 
   I'll remove a substantial amount of 
   sod before the ground gets hard, and 
   some of the grass is already too 
   firmly rooted to pull out by the 
   leaves.  
                                                           
   1 April 1992 
      I thought it acceptable to use 
   single letters for cities in my 
   "shorthand" file, because I never 
   type isolated consonants.  Then I 
   edited the letter I'm going to send 
   to the new ad manager if we ever get 
   one, and found that there was no way 
   I could avoid signing myself "Mrs. 
   delmar, New York.E.  Beeson."  
   Finally had to exit the program to 
   switch shorthand mode off.  It's as 
   easy to turn it off as to turn it 
   on, but it's easier to exit and 
   reload than to find out how it's 
   done.  
      I explored the shopping center 
   behind K-Mart today, and found some 
   red Cebelia in the craft store.  I 
   got two balls, and plan to be less 
   lavish with these than with the last 
   one, which I bought before the color 
   was discontinued.  
      Who'd a thought they'd 
   discontinue red?  
      I don't think they still make 
   black, either.  They did keep white.  
      Astonishingly, another product 
   that has vanished is dried beef.  I 
   don't like to make gravy from 
   ground-and-formed beef, and they 
   don't pack the lunch-meat slices in 
   jars that I can stash in the cellar 
   until an emergency.  It comes in 
   envelopes that you'd want to use up 
   pretty soon for fear they'd get 
   punctured.  
      Spam is still on the market.  
   (Knock wood.)  
      Decided to use a #7 crochet hook 
   today, and discovered that I don't 
   know where I stashed my unfinished 
   cycling mittens, which I'm pretty 
   sure are in Dave's red gym bag with 
   my crochet hook collection and my 
   sock-needle collection.  I'll have 
   to buy a flashlight and search 
   Dave's closet, though I don't think 
   I would put it there before I took 
   my knitting out of it.  I'd assumed 
   it was in the small suitcase with my 
   yarn collection.  
      Dave brought home a catalog which 
   lists the computer he wants to buy 
   when the fire-department computer is 
   moved to the engine room.  The 
   catalog also lists a small Epsom 
   laser printer which looks pretty 
   good, but it doesn't give enough 
   detail.  
      I went to Office Max today, and 
   finally found the printers, but did 
   not find any information about them.  
   I brought home a "Quick Max" 
   catalog, but it doesn't tell you 
   anything except the prices.  
      I dropped in at Builder's Square 
   while I was there, and they played 
   an April Fool joke on me.  The first 
   thing I saw when I stepped inside 
   was, on shelves on the far wall, a 
   bunch of kitchen stools exactly like 
   the one I want, and a sign saying 
   "$9".  Got closer and saw that the 
   sign referred to the soft-topped 
   stools; the all-wood stools were 
   twenty dollars.  Still a bargain, 
   and I took one down intending to 
   take it to the check-out.  For some 
   reason I decided I ought to sit on 
   it before I decided to take it, so I 
   put it on the floor -- one leg was 
   half an inch shorter than the 
   others.  So I put it back and 
   checked the other stools on the 
   shelves; some rocked less than 
   others, but if any of the stools 
   that I could reach was tolerable, 
   those shelves were a lot bumpier 
   than they looked.  I know how to 
   shave one or two of the long legs, 
   but who knows what *else* is wrong 
   with the stools?  
      Dave is attending a town board 
   meeting tonight, where they plan to 
   vote on the new ladder truck.  I 
   hope they don't play an April Fool 
   joke!  
      After the town board meeting, he 
   has a fire department board meeting, 
   so I don't expect him back any time 
   soon.  
      I went to the gym, where I found 
   my mass down by one pound.  I was 
   also short one pint of water, 
   because I forgot to refill my bottle 
   and there wasn't any water at the 
   deli where I had lunch; I weighed 
   myself again after the workout, and 
   found my weight precisely where it 
   has been.  
      Weighed myself a third time after 
   dressing, and was surprised to learn 
   that my street clothes weigh three 
   pounds more than my gym clothes.  I 
   suppose most of that is the 
   sneakers.  
                                                           
   8 April 1992 
      I read in this morning's paper 
   that a great athlete named "Bailey" 
   had died, and wondered whether he 
   might be a relative.  That set me to 
   thinking about the supposition that 
   the Lovelesses and the Lovelaces are 
   the same family, and Dad's 
   speculation that the Lovelesses had 
   passsed through an illiterate 
   generation.  Considering the 
   character of our ancestors, it is 
   also possible that one of them woke 
   up one morning and said "'Lovelace' 
   is a stupid way to spell 'Loveless,' 
   and I'm not going to do it."  
      I swept Dave's gym bag out from 
   under the bed a few days ago.  It 
   contained a couple of balls of 
   thread and a pair of capilene long-
   john pants that I've never worn 
   because it never got that cold this 
   winter, but there were no mittens 
   and no needles.  
      Maybe one of the sacks of books 
   in the spare room is really a sack 
   of needlework?  
                                                           
   9 April 1992 
      Bikeabout all wrapped up and 
   ready to deliver.  (Whew!)  
      The search for the laser printer 
   has hit a snag before it has begun: 
   Dave brought home a sheet of paper 
   which has convinced me that what I 
   really want is a wide- carriage 24-
   pin dot-matrix printer.  
   Unfortunately, the program that runs 
   the dot matrix printer won't fit 
   into my present computer and not 
   even the Chief knows when I'll be 
   getting the new one.  
      Since I need only two or three 
   fonts, and two sizes of type will do 
   (if they are the *right* sizes!), a 
   smaller program might do the job in 
   the meantime -- if I can find it.  
   (Brief excursion to rescue a 
   software catalog out of the trash).  
                                                           
   10 April 1992 
      By force of will, I managed not 
   to type "cd\zmhw" instead of 
   "cd\zjoy" when opening this file.  
   I've already got stuff to do for 
   June, though, and I've some 
   cleaning-up to do after May, so I'll 
   be typing "cd\zmhw" almost as often 
   as before.  
      But for the rest of the month, I 
   can open other directories too.  
      The sheriff's dispatcher has been 
   persistently calling for "Deppity 
   Doodah."  If only they also had a 
   Deputy Day, my oh my, what a 
   wonderful day!  
      It *is* a lovely day outside.  
   I'm thinking of running a load of 
   hot-water whites and hanging them 
   outside.  
                                                           
   14 April 1992 
      I told Dave this morning that if 
   I'd known how good "Ponaris" was I 
   wouldn't have bought a bottle of it.  
   Two or three drops seem to have 
   broken the cycle of dried blood 
   causing irritation causing bleeding.  
      I've been suffering from dry-air 
   epistaxis all winter.  There has 
   never been enough leakage to dignify 
   it as "nosebleed," but it has caused 
   an overwhelming urge to pick the 
   crystals out of my nose, which has 
   been a great embarrassment.  I had 
   to leave the writer's meeting last 
   Thursday and dash to the ladies' 
   room.  
      A few days ago I read the label 
   on Dave's Ponaris and told him to 
   get two bottles the next time he 
   bought some.  The active ingredient 
   is iodated cottonseed oil, with 
   traces of Pine, Eucalyptus, 
   Peppermint, and Cajeput oils to let 
   you know where it is.  As far as I 
   can tell, the only side effect is 
   that if you take it just before 
   eating, your food tastes like 
   eucalyptus.  
      I wonder what it would taste like 
   if I took "half a dropperfull each 
   application"?  I looked at the 
   dropper and decided "half a 
   dropperful" must be a misprint for 
   "half a drop."  
      Speaking of the Writer's meeting, 
   it was a great surprise.  Several 
   months ago, I went to the first 
   gathering of poets the library 
   sponsored, and instead of discussing 
   the art of poetry, the "poets" took 
   turns reading trash and expecting 
   applause.  When I noticed that there 
   was a writers' group, I figured it 
   for more of the same, but last 
   Thursday I dropped in and although 
   they are all reading poetry, they 
   are quite serious about it.  For 
   example, one poem presented as 
   exactly the sort of thing you'd 
   expect from an amateur author: a 
   very "poetic" account of life inside 
   a cultish commune as depicted by 
   someone who has never set foot 
   inside any such place.  The 
   discussion revealed that the picture 
   was drawn from life, and intended to 
   represent a home for the mentally 
   disabled which a mentally disabled 
   man had created.  Though it failed 
   utterly to communicate, it was an 
   honest effort and the author 
   honestly wanted to make it better.  
      As if that were not enough, one 
   of the poems was actually printable; 
   indeed, when I see the author at 
   next month's meeting, I intend to 
   ask for permission to print it in 
   the Writers' Exchange Bulletin.  
                                                           
   Evening: 
      When the mail came, I put the 
   June "V.P.  Land" on my copyholder 
   so I wouldn't forget to punch it in.  
   I read snippets of it more or less 
   accidentally while firing up.  Mike 
   must have been cross when he wrote 
   it.  
      As is suggested by its weeks-
   early arrival.  
      I'm typing left-handed again.  
   Maybe I should have stayed switched 
   after Smoke clawed me.  
      This time it's only the bandage 
   that's slowing me down, and I expect 
   to take it off in the morning, if I 
   leave it on all night.  
      The story starts a week or few 
   ago, when I decided to crochet a 
   lace curtain for the downstairs 
   bath.  I used a pattern I'd seen on 
   a pair of curtains Mom had, rows of 
   square holes alternating with rows 
   of rectangles.  I recall that they 
   were getting shabby when I was in 
   college, so I suppose the are no 
   longer around, but I've been 
   wondering what became of them.  More 
   particularly, I've been wondering 
   how the heading went!  I improvised 
   one by leaving out every third spoke 
   of the row of rectangles to make 
   large square holes to poke the rod 
   through.  I worked that first row 
   onto a strip of skimpy mile-a-minute 
   to give it a finished edge.  I 
   should have worked the mile-a-minute 
   in the air instead of into a chain.  
      After the tiny things I've been 
   crocheting -- stuff that fits into 
   my purse for pulling out at odd 
   moments -- it felt very odd to start 
   wondering, halfway through, whether 
   I had enough thread.  However, the 
   curtain is only to cover the lower 
   half of a narrow window; I cut it 
   off the skein with a lot of thread 
   left, and tonight I tucked in the 
   ends of the thread and boiled up 
   some starch.  
      After stirring the curtain with a 
   spoon for a while, I picked up the 
   pan to slosh the water and sloshed 
   some right out!  I got my whole 
   right hand wet, but I dashed to the 
   sink and ran cold water on it and 
   only a patch on the outside of my 
   thumb was injured.  It smarted quite 
   a bit and I didn't want to spend the 
   rest of the evening with my hand in 
   the sink.  While trying to think of 
   a way to keep the outside of my 
   thumb cold and wet, my eye fell upon 
   the aloe plant and I realized that 
   this is why I've been keeping it 
   around all this time.  I hacked off 
   a leaf that had started to wither at 
   the tip.  The gel relieved the pain 
   instantly, but the thumb started to 
   hurt again when it started to dry, 
   so I split the leaf and had Dave tie 
   it to my thumb with a strip of rag.  
      And that's why I'm typing left-
   handed.  It's easier this time than 
   it was before.  
      Then I pinned the curtain out on 
   the box Dave's leather jacket came 
   in -- I had saved it because I need 
   large pieces of corrugated cardboard 
   to carry the Bikeabout and other 
   reproduction copies around.  I used 
   the "Grabbit" pincushion Dave's 
   mother sent me for my birthday (I'm 
   impatient, and opened it a day 
   early) and found it remarkable; if 
   you drop a pin, it not only lands on 
   the Grabbit, it lines up with the 
   other pins.  When I ran out of the 
   large-headed pins that came with it 
   and started using my silk pins, 
   pinning was rather painful until I 
   remembered that I have a quilter's 
   thimble.  I was afraid my stainless-
   steel pins wouldn't stick to the 
   magnet, but they lined up 
   enthusiastically.  
      So I finally got a pin in both 
   ends of every chain both up-and-down 
   and across, and all the squares are 
   square, and all the rectangles are 
   rectangular.  
      The kittens are in a heap of 
   trouble if they mess with it while 
   it's drying, and I do hope I guessed 
   right as to how much cornstarch to 
   use and don't have to do it over!  
   15 April 1992 
      I expected the burn to blister, 
   but there is only a small area 
   that's a bit red, right where I 
   expected the blister to be.  
      After breakfast I unpinned the 
   curtain and hung it up.  It 
   stretched more than I figured on 
   when I was crocheting, but it looks 
   fine.  
      It's a lovely day to go for a 
   ride.  I feel like staying home and 
   working with the computer.  Wish I 
   knew whether Altamont's two little 
   stores were open on Wednesday.  I 
   could ride out to look at the signs 
   on the doors!  There is a thrift 
   shop and a giftte shop.  
      I'm sure the convenience grocery, 
   the Stewart's, and the pizza parlor 
   are all open but those are no fun.  
   But then there is an Agway store up 
   one alley, and it's interesting to 
   look through once in a while.  I 
   might even buy some onion sets or 
   some seeds.  
      I think I'll do garden work today 
   and go to Altamont tomorrow.  The 
   burn pile is so high that I can't 
   haul any more prunings until it's on 
   fire, but there's still old leaves 
   to be hauled.  
                                                           
   17 April 1992 
      Tomorrow is my birthday 
   (celebrated).  We are going out to 
   eat, but haven't decided where.  
   Perhaps one of the oriental places 
   on Central Avenue.  
      The prediction for the sixteenth 
   was cooler, with a high in the 
   fifties and a chance of showers.  We 
   got an inch of soggy, heavy snow.  I 
   shivered out through the falling 
   slush to get the June Analog -- 
   which includes a "Probability Zero" 
   based on the assumption that 
   somebody in the Albany, New York, 
   area is messing around with the 
   weather in order to win bets.  
      I bought some Nicotina seeds 
   while I was at Stonewell buying 
   bread and lettuce, and I've put some 
   peat pellets to soak in melted snow.  
   It says fifteen days to germinate; 
   surely the weather will have settled 
   by the time they are big enough to 
   set outside.  
      Knock wood.  
      Today was cold, but more like 
   April -- soggy and wet, but all 
   liquid.  Except I think I saw a few 
   flakes of snow just as I was turning 
   into the lane after shopping.  
                                                           
   19 April 1992 
      We settled on Hiro's, which is an 
   oriental place on Central, but not 
   one of those I was thinking about.  
   We went there about fifteen years 
   ago and Dave was not impressed.  I 
   forgot the place entirely, except 
   for a dim idea that we had been 
   there before.  
      This time we were impressed.  
      This was the first time I ever 
   saw Dave eat his rice in a 
   restaurant.  I ate mine without 
   burying it in sauce first, which is 
   also unusual.  The food was very 
   good, and the "full course dinner" 
   was exactly enough; we came away 
   stuffed but there was none of the 
   ostentatious waste that I find so 
   disgusting.  Our waitress was 
   wearing an authentic kimono, as were 
   the other Japanese women on the 
   premises, but the haole waitress 
   made no pretense beyond wearing a 
   Japanese-looking shirt with her 
   slacks.  The waitresses drew the 
   line at wearing authentic Japanese 
   hairdos, which looked rather 
   peculiar from the back -- the collar 
   of the kimono goes to incredible 
   lengths to expose the back of the 
   neck (I once read a book which 
   explains what all they wear 
   underneath to get that effect), and 
   then the hair hangs down into the 
   gap thus created.  
      We sat at a regular table.  
   Larger parties may sit around a 
   glass cooktop, where a waiter in 
   white coat and chef's toque puts on 
   a show.  
      We took one of each soup; the 
   clear soup was water with garnishes, 
   and the bean-paste soup wasn't much 
   thicker.  It tasted like shoyu to 
   me, but was too light in color to 
   contain much; I wonder if they 
   ferment the bean paste.  Another 
   appetizer was a fried thing on a 
   stick, about the size and shape of a 
   fudge bar.  Turned out to be 
   alternating strips of pork and 
   onion; if you like onion rings with 
   your pork tenderloin, you would love 
   it.  
      The dressing on the tossed salad 
   was sesame oil and not much else; it 
   looked naked to the eye.  Tossed 
   salad has been the bane of every 
   elegant meal I ever attended, 
   because it's impossible to eat it 
   without stringing greens down my 
   face like an old cow.  I discovered 
   yesterday that all I've needed all 
   these years is a pair of chopsticks!  
      Also a salad cut into decently-
   small pieces.  
      Dave's pork entree turned out to 
   be very like the pork appetizer, 
   with a ginger sauce for dipping.  
   The sauce was too good to skip and 
   the meat was too good to sauce, so I 
   dipped my broccoli.  My chicken was 
   also on skewers; I suspected a heavy 
   proportion of food-on-a-stick out of 
   sympathy for people unfamiliar with 
   chopsticks.  It was broiled and 
   served in a puddle of a sauce that 
   definitely contained shoyu.  The 
   sauce was boiling when it came out 
   on a hot platter of the sort used 
   for steak.  
      We both chose pistachio ice cream 
   for dessert; I didn't quite catch 
   what the other choices were.  
      I asked Dave whether he wanted to 
   come back for his birthday; alas, 
   he'd already made plans.  
      Tonight, we ate meatballs.  
                                                           
      I got my plans for earlier in the 
   day announced on the radio.  
   Unfortunately, I was outside trying 
   to set fire to a soggy brushpile 
   when the chief radioed in the 
   "controlled burn at the Beeson 
   residence."  I stuffed bushels of 
   crumpled newspaper into the pile, 
   but only a tiny blaze resulted, near 
   where I'd stuffed a paper grocery 
   bag filled with grease-soaked paper 
   towels.  I fed it twiglets for an 
   hour, then it got enough of the pile 
   dried out to take off.  Wore myself 
   out trotting back and forth to move 
   the remains of the other brush pile 
   and the stack of rotting aspen logs.  
   I had expected to have some he-
   person type muscle when it came time 
   to move the logs; there were three I 
   couldn't lift at all.  My cart 
   stands on its nose for just such an 
   emergency, and I was able to roll 
   them more-or-less into the fire.  
      Much to my surprise, I not only 
   carried off the rest of the limbs 
   which had been piled too close to 
   the oak tree, I got the broken 
   pieces raked up and thrown into the 
   fire, which was much harder.  I'm 
   far from sure that I raked it well 
   enough to make it safe to mow the 
   site.  
      In the afternoon I came in, 
   intending to go back out every half 
   hour to rearrange the fire and keep 
   it burning -- and went to bed and 
   slept for two hours.  Raked the 
   stuff together afterward, threw in 
   some dry twigs I'd overlooked 
   before, and got the fire going 
   again.  It was still smoldering this 
   morning, even though it had been 
   raining long enough to make puddles 
   by the time we left for Hiro's.  
   Dave went out and overhauled it with 
   the rake.  
      Now I suppose we ought to plant 
   something on both brush-pile sites.  
   I'm *finally* going to ride to 
   Altamont tomorrow, and I can look 
   around in the Agway store to see 
   what's available.  
      An ad in the Enterprise suggests 
   that the Penguin ice cream stand has 
   changed its name and expanded its 
   menu.  I hope they are open for 
   lunch tomorrow -- bit early in the 
   year, though, so I'd better pack the 
   remaining high-calorie muffins 
   along.  
                                                           
   20 April 1992 
                                                           
      Maybe I should look around for a 
   circle of chicken netting about a 
   yard across while I'm at Agway.  
   I've been smoothing out the raised 
   flowerbed that conceals the birch 
   stump every time I pass near it with 
   a rake in my hand.  Today I looked 
   out the window and saw Erica climb 
   in to enjoy a good long excavate.  
   After I fill it up with Kenilworth 
   ivy and nicotinia, I'm in trouble.  
      Might help to put a box of 
   compost under the trees after I 
   clear out the last of the leaves 
   "temporarily" parked there last 
   fall.  
      It will be hard to compete with a 
   box of dirt that's loose better than 
   a foot deep.  
      I wonder if I can call her 
   attention to the pile of compost in 
   the garden, over three feet deep and 
   more than two yards square?  Now 
   there's excavation!  
      Getting past time I fired up the 
   lawn mower to make sure it works.  
                                                           
   22 April 1992 
      I really did go to Altamont.  I 
   discovered that there had been two 
   giffte shoppes; I had forgotten "The 
   Elegant Touch" because it was never 
   open when I was there.  This time it 
   was the only one of the three that 
   was open, and appears to have 
   transmuted into a lunchroom or bake 
   shop or something.  I stepped 
   inside, wondered how such a place 
   could make a living in Altamont, and 
   went to the Penguin for lunch.  
      There was an A-frame sign in the 
   Penguin parking lot announcing that 
   they are now the Altamont Diner, but 
   the old Penguin sign was still up.  
   My lunch made me ill, but it wasn't 
   the diner's fault; I know very well 
   that a small ready-serve milkshake 
   will make me sick when I am riding, 
   so what did I do but order a full- 
   size genuine malt.  The old-
   fashioned kind; they not only make 
   it in a mixer, they bring the 
   container out and set it down beside 
   your glass.  As if that were not 
   enough, I ordered a three-decker 
   sandwich when the regular kind were 
   on the menu, and ate all of the 
   quart or two of potato chips they 
   used as a garnish.  
                                                           
      I hit Agway in between the two 
   lunch places; having just discovered 
   that my foot tub had a pinhole in 
   the bottom, I was pleased to find 
   that they are still making 
   "galvanized scrub tubs."  Now that 
   they mention it, I hardly ever use a 
   foot tub for soaking feet.  I also 
   looked over the lawn seed.  The 
   front part of Agway is all pet and 
   garden stuff now, and the farm stuff 
   has retreated to the back room where 
   you have to ask after it.  I didn't 
   at the time think that spring would 
   come so suddenly, and I haven't 
   measured the two bald spots in the 
   field, so I didn't inquire after 
   birdsfoot trefoil.  A box that said 
   it was a cover crop for gardens 
   looked promising for the bald spots, 
   but there was no hint as to what was 
   in it.  Verra curious: the 
   "guaranteed analysis" included five 
   percent "other crop seed" -- how can 
   it be "other"?  Maybe they are 
   covering themselves in case some 
   perennials creep into the mix.  
      While loading the tub, I 
   discovered that I have three bungees 
   where I thought I had four, and one 
   of them is stretched almost beyond 
   use.  Managed to secure it anyhow.  
      There was a "closed" sign on the 
   little drugstore, and it looked 
   permanent.  Such a fuss the papers 
   made when Altamont lost the 
   supermarket, which was promptly 
   replaced by a convenience grocery 
   and a pizza parlor, and not a word 
   about the uncompensated loss of 
   something important.  
      I plugged the lawnmower battery 
   in Monday -- hey, I could have 
   tested it today; I thought it had to 
   wait until tomorrow.  Unless it is 
   raining, I can go out and mow when 
   testing it -- spring sprang this 
   year.  Last week it was winter and 
   today I picked some catnip and 
   brought it in for the two younger 
   cats.  
                                                 
   24 April 1992 
      I went to Delmar yesterday, and 
   accidentally discovered that Hudson 
   Avenue bypasses both the Four 
   Corners and the awkward underpass.  
   I must have made this discovery 
   before, because I knew that I could 
   get out by Gardener Place on the way 
   back.  The crossing on Adams Street 
   is easier to find on the way in.  I 
   wonder if a better map would reveal 
   a way to get to McCormack without 
   crossing the railroad at all?  I 
   looked, and that was the only road 
   to the right any time soon after I 
   re- crossed the railroad by bridge.  
      I didn't find any of what I'd 
   come for at the hardware store, but 
   noticed that they have storms for 
   basement windows, which we have been 
   wanting for a long time.  Did not 
   think to look for a rail to keep my 
   bike from scratching the paneling.  
   I did get some stuff at Johnson 
   Stationery: numerals and letters for 
   the mailbox, removable labels I've 
   been out of for some time, and a pen 
   to keep in my jersey pocket so I 
   won't keep mislaying the one that 
   belongs in my purse.  Quincy was 
   missing, having slipped his leash, 
   but I heard two people I couldn't 
   see discuss having found him before 
   I left.  One spelled out the name of 
   his treat so she could ask whether 
   he'd already had it without getting 
   him excited.  That didn't work with 
   Claude; there was no way to smuggle 
   a word for "food" past him.  
      Pity I never thought to spell out 
   a word that didn't mean food -- 
   though I think he knew t-u-n-a from 
   c-h-o-w.  
                                                           
      I came back by way of Stuyvesant 
   Plaza, where I had a bowl of chili 
   that hadn't settled by the time I 
   got to the gym.  (I thought that was 
   what it was at the time; during the 
   night, I learned that it was the 
   cramps.)  According to my un- 
   calibrated odometer, I put in 26.3 
   miles.  Stopped at the health-food 
   store and stocked up on nuts, then 
   after the gym I stopped at Star to 
   buy peanut butter and lunch meat.  I 
   got a pound of sliced ham; of course 
   Dave brought home two of the three 
   slices of ham he'd had for dinner on 
   boys' night out.  
      We split a little over half of 
   one of them for breakfast.  
      Haven't tested the lawnmower yet.  
                                                           
   25 April 1992 
      Soggy and wet today, with mood to 
   match.  It's supposed to be the same 
   again tomorrow.  
      We were supposed to get the new 
   mailbox up this weekend -- if it 
   didn't rain.  The door fell off the 
   old one several days ago, so this 
   was a disappointment.  
      I discovered that the numerals I 
   bought at Johnson's are the wrong 
   size, because Dave plans to switch 
   the boxes to match them up with the 
   houses.  I said that that would get 
   them out of numerical order & he 
   pointed out that we were getting new 
   addresses pretty soon anyhow.  The 
   door of the box is completely 
   covered with an embossed "US Mail," 
   so I need very small numerals to 
   label it.  I plan to put the 
   stickers I bought on the downstream 
   side of the box for the benefit of 
   people who are looking for the 
   house.  
      I was puzzled that the stickers 
   say to put them on a *wet* surface.  
   On second reading, I see that it's 
   so that you can slide them around to 
   get them perfectly lined up.  
      My hair looks and feels pretty 
   good today, which is a novelty for 
   the week.  On Tuesday, I discovered 
   that it was still wet from Monday; 
   on Wednesday I washed it and 
   afterward found it so sticky at the 
   back of the neck that I kept trying 
   to figure out that I'd somehow 
   forgotten to wash it while I was in 
   the bath.  Even assuming memory-
   editing, I had to rule out the 
   possibility.  On Thursday I got it 
   sweaty again; on Friday I put a 
   generous coat of olive oil on it, 
   let it soak for a while, and then 
   lathered it up three times.  
      On Monday, I can go out and get 
   sweaty again.  
                                                           
   26 April 1992 
      Grump.  The sun is coming out.  
   At the rate we are going, the lawn 
   and garden will be dry enough to 
   work on tomorrow, and I had just 
   decided that I'm strong enough to go 
   to Lodge's to buy some underwear; 
   it's a shade over 30 miles if I go 
   straight there and come straight 
   back.  
      Also, we discovered that the lawn 
   mower battery has died and I 
   incautiously promised to stop at 
   Myers and buy a new one, forgetting 
   that I pass nowhere near his shop on 
   my way to Albany.  I was thinking of 
   the route to Delmar.  
      Well, one *can* get to Albany 
   that way, but the last time I was on 
   New Scotland Avenue, it was horrid.  
   It used to be more or less tolerable 
   coming back, though ...  
      I've got a note on the computer 
   saying "Kill Myers."  He didn't 
   order the ad we have been printing.  
      I want an ad manager.  
                                                           
   29 April 1992 
      I'm not hitting on all my 
   cylinders.  I just pulled a proof of 
   "Special MHW Events Coming Up This 
   Summer" and tried to mail it to 
   Dave's mother instead of to Cyndy 
   Wahn.  
      And the reason the proof hadn't 
   gone out in today's mail is that I 
   put two sheets of paper in my copy 
   holder, typed in two of Cindy's 
   announcements, then spent *hours* 
   searching for the third 
   announcement.  Finally looked in the 
   envelope where I'd put the originals 
   to send them back with the proofs, 
   and realized that the first two 
   announcements had been on one sheet 
   of paper.  
      Busy days Monday and Tuesday.  On 
   Sunday, we decided that Erica is 
   definitely limping, so Monday 
   morning I made an appointment for 
   her at 4:40 that afternoon.  Made 
   appointments for us to get our eyes 
   examined next month while I was at 
   it.  Wasted a lot of time making the 
   vet appointment, because they leave 
   the phone off the hook for some 
   weird reason, which left me thinking 
   that I was in line behind all the 
   other people who had saved up 
   trouble over the weekend, and when I 
   figured out that they weren't in 
   yet, enough five minuteses had gone 
   by that I might be in line at 9:30, 
   and so on until 10:00.  Why on Earth 
   can't they disconnect the bell, if 
   they don't want the ringing to wake 
   up the patients?  
      Anyhow, after a thorough 
   examination, the vet said that he 
   couldn't find anything but a swollen 
   right front elbow, prescribed some 
   arthritis medicine, and said to 
   bring her back for X-rays if the 
   pills don't clear it up.  
      We could be stuffing Vetalog down 
   Erica every morning for the rest of 
   her life, but he said that with warm 
   weather coming on, the ten days' 
   worth he gave me might clear it up 
   until fall.  They're all due for 
   shots in August, so he'll follow her 
   up then, if we haven't been back.  
      Erica is good about taking the 
   pills.  Helps that I butter them 
   well.  She ate the first one 
   voluntarily, but only washed the 
   next two.  I find that in addition 
   to making the pills slide down 
   easier and making the cat more 
   amenable, butter glues the pill to 
   my finger while I'm putting it into 
   the back of the throat.  Why didn't 
   I think of this years ago?  
      Other Monday projects were doing 
   up the wash, and calling on Myers to 
   buy a new lawnmower battery.  Turns 
   out that he doesn't keep them in 
   stock, but Dave says that he knows 
   where to get one.  Grass is getting 
   tall; Lawrence and Margie have both 
   mowed already.  
      I cultivated the garden after 
   Erica's appointment, and planted my 
   Stuttgart onion sets, some dutch 
   shallots, and two rows of 
   multipliers.  With the fall-planted 
   multipliers and the garlic, that 
   fills up the L of the garden.  I'm 
   putting sunflowers in the rest of 
   it, but Dave wants space for a 
   tomato and a melon vine, I think he 
   said.  
      Tuesday, after making a U-turn 
   and coming back for the trash, I 
   went to Lodge's, and added three-
   tenths short of thirty miles to my 
   odometer.  That included at least a 
   mile from forgetting to turn off 
   Normanskill-Johnston onto Krumkill.  
   I came back by way of Western Avenue 
   so that I could work out before 
   coming home, but I'm not sure it's 
   any longer, and I'd probably save 
   distance as well as time if I cut 
   over to Western on Russell instead 
   of following Krumkill to the end and 
   backtracking on New Scotland to 
   Whitehall-Second.  I'd save a nasty 
   stretch on Pearl street, too.  As if 
   potholes and heavy traffic were not 
   enough, I met a pair of wrong-way 
   riders on South Pearl.  
      Lodge's didn't have any of their 
   99› briefs in my size, so I got a 
   half-dozen pairs of $2 briefs.  I 
   don't like them because you can't 
   inspect them first, but the three 
   packages that I've opened have been 
   all right.  It's a good thing I 
   didn't read the packages in the 
   store beyond identifying the 
   contents, because the size chart on 
   the back says that a size 6 is four 
   inches too small for me, and a size 
   6 is a smidgeon loose.  
      Bought an XL undershirt, and 
   think I'd have been happier with an 
   L.  I may go back and get an L, 
   because I can use more than one 
   undershirt.  Also bought four $2 
   sunbonnets, because I'm always 
   mislaying them.  Now I've got a tan 
   hat in the car, a yellow one (the 
   old one) on my bicycle, and a navy, 
   a white, and another tan hanging on 
   the coat hook.  All 100% cotton, so 
   they will get less inclined to muss 
   as they wear.  Right now they are 
   starched too stiff to take kindly to 
   being stuffed into a pocket -- all 
   but the yellow one.  
      Bought a 1950 book on animal IQ 
   at Nelson's bookstore, read it that 
   night, and now wonder how to get rid 
   of it.  Haven't Got a Clue takes 
   only mysteries, and Canterbury Tales 
   takes only paperbacks.  
      Could try taking it back to 
   Nelson's, along with other white 
   elephants.  I didn't get a headache 
   or an irritated nose or any other 
   unpleasant symptom despite having 
   been trapped behind a bus on Pearl 
   street.  To get away from the bus, I 
   dismounted, changed my shoes, and 
   walked the rest of the way to 
   Lodge's.  By then I was wanting to 
   look into what remains of the 
   storefronts anyhow.  
      Shortly before that, I passed the 
   infamous Knickerbocker Arena, and 
   was not impressed.  It appears to 
   have been designed by the same 
   demented architect who did the Troy 
   Atrium.  I hope those little pointy 
   roofs go out of style before many 
   more are built.  They look good on 
   the Leathers playgrounds --which are 
   depressing in their uniformity, but 
   I don't suppose children get around 
   enough to know how many of them 
   there are.  And the playgrounds seem 
   to work; at least the playground in 
   Voorheesville is covered with 
   children every time I pass, unless 
   it's after dark or the weather is 
   awful.  
      The first row of pointy dormers 
   was striking, but the elevendieth is 
   B O R I N G.  
      Finkle's is close to Nelson's, 
   but though I noticed the watch in a 
   cylinder of water in the window, I 
   didn't see the "Finkle" until I was 
   in the street mounting up, so I 
   didn't look at Marty's store.  No 
   parking spot anyhow; Nelson invited 
   me to bring it in, but you can' 
   expect a jewelry store to invite a 
   greasy bike to lean against its 
   glass cases.  
                                                           
   4 May 1992 
      Dave got a battery, & Friday 
   morning, which was a vacation day, 
   he figured out how to attach it -- 
   just backwards of the way you'd 
   expect it to go -- and fired up the 
   lawnmower.  It smoked a bit, then 
   settled down to work & I mowed until 
   it choked on some orchard grass; it 
   was set at B, and I decided to leave 
   it set that short, at least in 
   front, but this mower can't mow 
   short without the bag unless the 
   grass is almost withered; in 
   addition to frequent choking, it 
   makes grass pur‚e that dries into 
   paper mach‚.  
      Then I knocked off to hang up the 
   shirts that had been about to come 
   out of the washer when Dave started 
   working on the mower.  When I came 
   back to mowing in the afternoon, I 
   found that waking up the mower had 
   used up the factory charge.  You 
   have to leave it on the charger at 
   least 24 hours the first time you 
   plug it in, so that was that until 
   Sunday.  
                                                           
   6 May 1992 
      Sunday night, I think it was, I 
   wrote the final scene of "The Dying 
   Demon."  I've written that scene 
   before, but this time it's connected 
   to the rest of the story.  Tonight I 
   started reading through the story, 
   and discovered that somewhere along 
   the line the number of King 
   Augustus' echo-men dropped from four 
   to two.  I already knew that I was 
   going to have to alter all 
   references to metal; the final scene 
   revealed that Kiranta couldn't tell 
   cast iron from wrought iron, because 
   she had never seen any metal object 
   bigger than a paring knife.  But I 
   had said that she carried a cast-
   iron bowl around with her, and that 
   she didn't blink at the sight of a 
   steel post six inches thick and over 
   two yards long.  
      I mowed the back part of the back 
   yard yesterday, having decided that 
   the middle part didn't need it quite 
   yet.  
      Today I altered my pattern and 
   cut out a new pair of pants; there's 
   still yards and yards of the brown 
   stuff left; I wonder what I meant to 
   make when I bought it?  It makes 
   comfortable work pants, anyway.  I 
   basted the pants together and tried 
   them on; sure enough, they don't 
   fit, but I haven't the foggiest idea 
   how they don't fit.  I'll have to 
   re-read the articles on pants in 
   Threads before sewing.  Anyhow, they 
   don't-fit less than the pair I've 
   got on, and not a bunch worse than 
   my store- bought pair.  Much to my 
   surprise, the non-stretch waistband 
   on my Broadfalls is less restrictive 
   than the elastic waistband on my 
   pull-on pants.  I hardly ever notice 
   it.  
                                                           
   8 May 1992 
      Upon thought, it's inevitable 
   that a rigid waistband, if it fits, 
   should be more comfortable than an 
   elastic one: if an elastic band is 
   loose enough to be comfortable, your 
   pants will fall down.  
      It's time to mow the front lawn 
   again.  
      I was amazed to wake up hungry at 
   6:00 this morning.  After the 
   meeting yesterday we stood around 
   and gassed for so long that Bob 
   Bump, Peggy Day, and I went out for 
   breakfast before going home (none of 
   us had had a proper supper).  It was 
   today, and nearly 1:00, when I got 
   home.  
      I rolled over and waited until 
   the alarm went off at 7:00.  
      Dave wanted sausage gravy this 
   morning and we didn't have any 
   sausage, so I used half of the half-
   can of corned beef left over from 
   the hash.  Dave says I've invented 
   something.  I put in two rings of a 
   small onion slice and a few drops of 
   shoyu.  
      The gravy mostly tasted like 
   butter.  
      I ordered milk with my french 
   toast this morning, and was shocked 
   and astounded when I tasted it.  
   We've been drinking skim milk for 
   several years now, and I'd forgotten 
   there was another kind.  
      During the business meeting, it 
   was suggested that we stage a camp-
   in at the Voorheesville sub-station; 
   I exclaimed, oh no, that's close to 
   my house & a member said in that 
   case they'd count on me for hot 
   cocoa.  (I didn't realize until 
   later that it was a reference to the 
   New Year's Day ride.) Others said 
   that sending a sternly- worded 
   letter to the Albany County sheriff 
   was much too tactless.  The board 
   has decided to consult our former 
   publicity chairman, who is a 
   professional lobbyist, and do 
   something effective in the way of 
   persuading law-enforcement agencies 
   in all MHW's counties that running 
   over law- abiding cyclists is not a 
   legal and harmless amusement.  
      Don Birn, in a sense started it.  
   He was run over by a pickup truck in 
   front of Long's Lumber on 85 a few 
   weeks ago --for a while there they 
   wondered whether he would live, and 
   I haven't heard any word on how much 
   he'll be crippled.  It was revealed 
   at the meeting that the truck 
   driver's first words, upon spotting 
   the broken body in the ditch, were 
   "Sorry about that, but you weren't 
   in the bike lane."  
      The statement is even more 
   peculiar when you consider that 
   there is, thank God, no bike lane on 
   Route 85.  
      What has the club steamed is that 
   the deputy who took the report wrote 
   down the truck driver's obviously 
   nonsensical account of what had 
   happened, made no effort to 
   interview Don, and didn't even look 
   at the scene to see whether there 
   were skid marks.  
      Given the driver's remark, the 
   lack of oncoming traffic, the 
   unusually long sight distance at 
   that spot, and the unusual lack of 
   bumps and potholes along the white 
   line, the most likely explanation is 
   that the driver tried to frighten 
   Don or force him off the road, and 
   mis-judged his aim.  
      Luckily for the club, Don's wife 
   is a lawyer, and she is steamed.  We 
   may hope that steps are being taken.  
   Whether or not this yahoo is sued is 
   entirely up to the Birns, but I hope 
   that Bob (the president) made it 
   clear to her that any help the club 
   can give is theirs.  
                                                           
   Thursday, 14 May 1992 
      I added only 26.4 miles to my 
   odometer Tuesday, but got so tired 
   that I slept all afternoon 
   yesterday.  I don't think I'm ready 
   for the 24-Hour Casual this 
   Saturday.  
      On the other hand, it was all in 
   the city, and it might not be 
   irrelevant that I had to stop at the 
   Auto Werks and the dentist before I 
   began, or that I'm out of training 
   for lawn mowing, which is how I 
   spent yesterday.  I didn't think to 
   refill the tank before going back to 
   work in the evening, and it ran out 
   of gas just before I finished the 
   last two little disconnected patches 
   in the back yard.  It was nearly 
   dark by then, and I intended to mow 
   again today, getting the part beyond 
   the garden, so I left it at that.  
      On Monday I finished the 
   Bikeabout except for two headings 
   that I needed copies for; luckily 
   they were 100% and 50%, which I can 
   do at the library, and I set out for 
   the print shop by way of the library 
   with barely enough time to get 
   there, and the noises from my fan 
   belt became truly alarming.  Also by 
   good luck, the Auto Werks (From 
   *where* did they get "werks"?) is 
   across the street from the library, 
   so I slowed down and turned the 
   heater on high wondering whether 
   either precaution would do any good 
   or maybe hurt, and continued on my 
   original path.  After inspecting the 
   problem and tightening the ragged 
   belt (neither of which was as easy 
   as it sounds), Mark told me to go 
   straight home and bring the car back 
   in the morning; I walked to the 
   library and got my copies first.  
   Discovered that I'd forgotten to put 
   an essential stick of stickum into 
   my purse; don't think I could have 
   done the job with white tape alone 
   anyhow.  
                                                           
      Also did some frantic re-
   scheduling; I'd meant, after my 8:45 
   appointment with Ellenbogen, to go 
   on a big-loop shopping trip and get 
   some labels made at Hidden Shopping 
   Center.  (It does have a here-we- 
   are sign on Central, but I always 
   come in from the K-Mart side, and 
   can never remember its name.) How to 
   carry the car along, and throw in a 
   trip to the printshop, puzzled me 
   for a while.  Luckily, I could just 
   hand over the key to the car, and 
   leave it there before they were 
   actually open, and Dave had to get 
   up an hour early, so I ended up 
   getting to the dentist's office half 
   an hour early.  Forgot to take my 
   muffins, which may be why I got so 
   tired.  Then I went around the big 
   loop backwards, which took me by the 
   printshop first, and had a half-sub 
   at the new shop at 20-Mall.  It had 
   too much meat in it -- a complaint 
   that would surely astonish the 
   proprietor and most of the customers 
   -- and didn't set as well as the 
   bagel and soup I get at Stuyvesant 
   Plaza when I go out by 
   Normanskill/Johnston Road.  
      I couldn't remember which of the 
   two copy places at Hidden charged 
   $1.00/sheet and which charged 
   $0.30/sheet.  I decided to go to the 
   copy-and-print shop first, and if 
   they were the $1.00 place, I'd get 
   one copy to see how it compared with 
   the cheaper job.  
      To appreciate the following 
   paragraph, you have to know the 
   usual drill at a copy shop: I walk 
   in, hand my originals over, and say 
   what I want done with them.  If I 
   ask for something other than white 
   20- pound 8«x11 paper, the clerk 
   grabs it from a rack of bins handy 
   to the copier and puts it into the 
   paper feeder.  He makes the copies, 
   brings the copies and originals back 
   to the counter, I pay for them.  
      I walked into the copy place, and 
   confidently asked, "What do you 
   charge for copying onto 33-up label 
   stock?"  The question threw the 
   clerk for a loop.  Then, inspired, 
   she got out a book and leafed, and 
   leafed, and leafed.  Finally she 
   asked someone in the back room.  He 
   said "It's in the book."  She leafed 
   some more.  Finally she discovered 
   that the price for "labels" was on a 
   page headed "transparencies".  I 
   should have noted the price for 
   transparencies, because I might want 
   some one day.  She expressed 
   disappointment at the small size of 
   the order, and went into the back 
   room.  I looked through the book 
   while waiting, and noticed that 33-
   up was the only label stock they 
   offered.  
      The clerk was no doubt new on the 
   job, but I don't think I got 
   anything extra for my 70›.  
      The clerk at the copy department 
   in Paper Cutter took my order and 
   filled it without any fuss or starts 
   of surprise, and showed me samples 
   of the two other label stocks they 
   offer.  30-up is only 33-up with a 
   row of half-labels at the top and 
   bottom, but 24-up is eight rows of 
   three, a convenient 2.8333" x 1.375" 
   that I might want to use when I re-
   work the Bikeabout label master and 
   get new labels.  (I'm not happy with 
   the way the current master worked 
   out, so I only got one sheet of them 
   and need to get more RSN.)  
      28-up -- four rows of seven, used 
   sideways -- would be better for my 
   purpose, but it would be no earthly 
   use for the mailing lists that label 
   stock is made for.  
      Both shops, by the way, use 
   Dennison label stock.  When Sir 
   Speedy did that work, they used 
   Avery.  The labels look the same, 
   except for the backing sheets.  The 
   Dennison glue is lighter in color, 
   but I think that's because Sir 
   Speedy was using old stock the last 
   few times.  
      When I left Hidden, I wanted to 
   turn around and go back the way I 
   came, but I've broken my left cleat 
   again, so I needed to stop at 
   Klarsfeld's, and we were out of 
   saimen and hot oil, so I set off 
   down Central.  I'd thought Kim's 
   Oriental Groceries was expanding 
   when I was last there, but they were 
   moving to one side to make room for 
   a store which is now offered for 
   rent.  The new layout makes it 
   difficult to find a place to leave 
   my bike that doesn't block a 
   doorway.  
      Canterbury Tales was unchanged, 
   save that there were two racks of 
   new funnies instead of one; the 
   proprietor says that he may have to 
   move to larger quarters again, and 
   hates to think about it.  I got nine 
   funnies, six F&SF books, and two 
   mysteries.  When I was looking for 
   something to read in bed yesterday, 
   I realized that I should have looked 
   closer at the mysteries, for "The 
   Recycled Citizen" isn't as 
   unfamiliar a title as I'd thought.  
      Kim's is right by an 
   intersection, but I had to ride on 
   the sidewalk to escape from 
   Canterbury; it's definitely easier 
   to ride this loop counterclockwise.  
   Klarsfeld would have been on the 
   left, but one can cut the corner of 
   Fuller and Central on residential 
   streets and ride back to 
   Klarsfeld's, so it's necessary to 
   cross Central only once.  
      I need one-line correction tape, 
   so I stopped at Arlene's even though 
   I was pretty sure that six-line was 
   all they stocked.  They'd completely 
   re-arranged the place to add a 
   "clearance room" and I couldn't find 
   the tape, and the clerk I asked 
   didn't know what it was, and showed 
   me some ecru "artists' tape."  I 
   found some fineline ball-point pens 
   at a quarter each in the clearance 
   room, and bought a black one and a 
   red one.  
      Then, when I was approaching the 
   most-unpleasant part of Fuller, I 
   noticed the unmarked entrance to Six 
   Mile Park (it has a marked entrance 
   and an unmarked entrance), and 
   remembered that the unmarked road 
   tapers down into a bike path that 
   comes out on Rapp Road.  Except for 
   the very short stretch of Rapp 
   between the dump and Washington, I 
   could get back to the gym on 
   residential and rural roads.  So I 
   executed an instant right turn and 
   read my odometer so I'd know how 
   long the bike path was, but I forgot 
   to read it at the other end, being 
   distracted by the heavy coat of 
   coarse gravel that had washed down 
   onto the path.  I was tempted to 
   knock at the dump and complain that 
   they didn't drive their trucks on 
   the bike path enough, but (a) they 
   don't have a door to knock on (b) 
   the clear tracks I saw in the gravel 
   on my previous trip were probably 
   left by someone inspecting the 
   Interstate.  I can't think of any 
   reason the trash people would drive 
   along the Interstate into the park.  
      I had the path to myself except 
   for fishermen standing by the lake; 
   I can't think why anyone would drive 
   out here to ride to the dump and 
   back, and it must be rare that 
   roadies find themselves on Fuller 
   wanting to be on Rapp.  It's a nice 
   place to walk, though, and connects 
   to some unpaved nature trails in an 
   adjacent park.  The trails might be 
   of interest to muddies, but they 
   would park at the muddy end.  
      Drat.  I think the grass is dry 
   enough that I can go out and finish 
   the mowing.  
                                                           
   21 May 1992 
      I had a pleasant ride and a 
   successful shopping trip last 
   Tuesday, adding 26 miles to my 
   odometer.  Wednesday and Thursday 
   didn't go as well.  
      I needed some reductions made, 
   most notably the reproduction copies 
   for the Writer's Exchange Bulletin, 
   and meant to go out Monday to do 
   that and get some exercise, perhaps 
   going by way of Altamont to get some 
   miles in even though the gimcrack 
   stores in Altamont don't open until 
   Wednesday.  Monday opened damp and 
   soggy, so I postponed until Tuesday, 
   & in the meantime cleaned up the 
   spare room enough to accumulate half 
   a grocery bag of paperbacks, so I 
   decided that a side trip to 
   Canterbury tales would put some 
   miles into the trip -- which didn't 
   work out, as you will see.  
      I opened with a trip down 
   Normanskill- Johnston to Stuyvesant 
   Plaza, because I never get going 
   until it's getting on towards time 
   for lunch, and because my dress 
   shoes are getting ratty and I've 
   decided they are half a size too 
   long, so I wanted to order a new 
   pair.  Alas, the store called up 
   this evening to say that they were 
   backordered and won't arrive until 
   after the wedding.  I should have 
   taken care of that a couple of 
   months ago.  
      After turning off Normanskill-
   Johnston onto Church, I usually cut 
   through Woodlake Apartments and 
   follow Schoolhouse, which comes out 
   on Western close to Stuyvesant.  On 
   Tuesday, the narrow, twisting, 
   crowded, badly-paved Schoolhouse 
   didn't appeal to me, it is shorter 
   to stay on Church, and Western has 
   just been repaved, so I passed 
   Woodlake with scarcely a glance.  
   Alas, you have to already be between 
   the right-turn lane and the 
   straight-through lane on Western 
   when you reach Church if you want a 
   reasonable chance to avoid ending up 
   on the Northway.  When I approach 
   that intersection on Western, I can 
   study the traffic for blocks ahead 
   of time, and ignore the bike lane; 
   when I came in off Church, I got the 
   full benefit of bike-lane designers' 
   faith in cyclists' ability to 
   teleport -- the painted bike lane 
   between the right-turn lane and the 
   straight-through lane starts well 
   beyond the place where you've 
   committed yourself to going up the 
   ramp.  Pity I didn't write an 
   editorial for the Bikeabout while 
   the experience was still fresh.  
      After eating a bagel and some 
   ratatoule (a spicy vegetable stew 
   which has become fashionable), I 
   went around the circumference of 
   Stuyvesant to Dandelion Green, 
   studiously avoiding the Book House.  
   I stopped at Cramer's and noticed 
   that they still have those dramatic, 
   poncho-like, knee-length blouses, 
   but I thought the necks too wide and 
   passed them by again.  After 
   ordering the shoes, I cut across the 
   lot back to Cramer's and tried one 
   on after all.  It looked even worse 
   than I thought it would, and once it 
   was on, I could see that it was 
   intended to be something to throw on 
   over a bathing suit.  But on the way 
   out of the dressing room I noticed a 
   bright blue blouse that isn't 
   visible from any other angle, and it 
   was opaque, and it didn't have any 
   shoulder pads!  I tried it on and it 
   fit perfectly, which pleased me so 
   much that I went back and bought the 
   flowered skirt that went with it.  
   In the process I nearly strangled at 
   the sight of a flowered skirt over 
   black tights, white socks, and black 
   boy's sneakers with white soles and 
   toes.  Cramer's has a *functioning* 
   three-way mirror, and in addition 
   the side panels are on hinges so 
   that you can adjust the angle of 
   them, so I got the full benefit of 
   the sight.  
      Three-way mirrors are a nearly 
   extinct breed, witness the 
   proliferation of "office- wear" 
   shorts this spring.  I saw another 
   mirror in Sears today, and it was 
   much larger than Cramer's, but the 
   angles were carefully adjusted so 
   that you couldn't possibly get a 
   look at your back.  Maybe Sears has 
   been selling shorts suits.  Even if 
   shorts looked good from the back, I 
   can't think of anything sillier than 
   wearing shorts with a jacket.  And 
   the suits feature *long-sleeved* 
   jackets.  
      From Stuyvesant Plaza, I went to 
   Canterbury Tales, and was surprised 
   to discover that by way of Rapp 
   Road, it's no farther from 
   Stuyvesant Plaza to Colonie than 
   from here to the village.  I made up 
   for that to some extent by exploring 
   Cook Park and the Colonie nature 
   trails on the way back.  What I saw 
   in Cook Park was mostly ball 
   diamonds, at least two of them with 
   spectator stands, and least one tiny 
   diamond for "tee ball."  I'm sure 
   there was the usual city park stuff 
   too, but I was interested only in 
   the possibility of a connection with 
   the nature trails, and the 
   regimented-recreation stuff was on 
   the trailward side of the park.  I 
   found a path along the Interstate 
   that looked promising, but it also 
   looked like a tight squeeze.  I've 
   often said that I could take my 
   loaded touring bike anywhere the 
   muddies can take their mountain 
   bikes, but I've never once said that 
   I *wanted* to.  When I crossed the 
   railroad, I looked down to the 
   bridge where the Interstate crosses 
   it, and that view did not look 
   promising, but one may be sure that 
   the fence is uninterrupted, so 
   there's a chance that a path pressed 
   up against the fence also goes 
   through.  
      I didn't, of course, noticeably 
   advance the dials of my odometer 
   while I was exploring the nature 
   trails, but I did penetrate far 
   enough to find a lovely billboard 
   with a map of the trails painted on 
   it.  One trail does pass close by 
   the intersection of the railroad and 
   the interstate; if I lived in that 
   area I'd put on my walking shoes and 
   look into it, but my curiosity isn't 
   strong enough to take me there when 
   Bear Swamp and Five Rivers are 
   bigger, better, and more convenient 
   to get to.  Not to mention less 
   crowded!  
      Might could be one could cross 
   the interstate at the railroad and 
   gain access to Northway Mall.  I 
   must check the maps.  
      The rest was the usual shoot 
   through Rapp, Gipp, Turnpike, and 
   Sherwood Forest to the copy shop.  I 
   got there plenty early to get my 
   reductions, but by the time I 
   finished working out it was after 
   five, too late to pick up my 
   originals.  I went past the print 
   shop anyway, because that route 
   avoids a nasty stretch of broken 
   pavement near the middle school on 
   155.  I'd have turned off at Nott 
   anyhow, because the subsidence just 
   before the bridge on 155 has gone 
   from nasty to impassible.  I have 
   decided that Rifle Range is quite 
   safe now that I can take the hill in 
   one sitting, because the dangerous 
   stretch is less than half a mile 
   long; I can get through it in less 
   time than it would take a pervert to 
   stalk me.  
      I was overtaken by a racing club 
   on the hill; I thought it might be 
   the CDBRC, but I got a copy of their 
   May newsletter at Pedal Power today, 
   and their Tuesday-night training 
   rides are in Scotia.  There's a ride 
   that starts in Voorheesville on 
   Wednesdays, but no hint on whether 
   they'd come up Rifle Range.  I doubt 
   that my bunch started in V'vlle, 
   because it was still early (for an 
   after-work ride), and they were 
   headed toward Voorheesville.  
      Somehow I got tapped for picking 
   up the dummies for New Salem's CPR 
   class on Wednesday afternoon, and 
   taking them back to REMO on Thursday 
   morning.  Didn't think to stop by 
   the print shop either time.  
                                                           
   23 May 1992 
      Went to the parade in 
   Voorheesville, which started very 
   early in the morning, then bought a 
   sackful of books at the Friends of 
   the Library sale and came home 
   grumpy because all I'd had for lunch 
   was an ice-cream cone and I didn't 
   feel like cooking.  At two or so 
   Dave called to ask whether I'd 
   forgotten about the deck party -- 
   the food was a bit picked-over by 
   the time I got there.  I hung around 
   until after eight, and made two 
   place mats for Erica out of the red 
   "Brilliant" that I carry in my 
   purse.  Still haven't worked out a 
   graceful increase for shell stitch, 
   and got a sore hand because I seldom 
   crochet for more than a few minutes 
   at a time.  Pleasant to finish a 
   piece while I still remembered what 
   my plans were, though!  
      The coaster I leave on the 
   bachelor chest to keep Erica's dish 
   from scratching it looks odd when 
   not in use, & I thought to make a 
   larger one.  I think that what I 
   really need is a bolder pattern.  
      The "Brilliant" is hopelessly 
   heavy and stiff for the bootees I 
   meant to make when I bought it, but 
   makes better coasters than 
   "Cebelia".  
      I see that despite a plethora of 
   pages, I didn't finish the previous 
   discussion.  I don't know what-all 
   went on Wednesday, save that I had 
   to shoo a wasp out of the car before 
   I could start, forgot to go by the 
   fire station to dump my newspapers 
   first, and forgot that there'd been 
   a rollover in front of Gifford Labs, 
   tried to use 155, and had to cut 
   back to Normanskill on Wormer.  Also 
   planned to stop at the pet store for 
   chow and canned food on the way, but 
   couldn't think how to do it and 
   still avoid 155.  (I later 
   remembered that Grant Hill is open 
   to cars, if you cut over on Nott 
   instead of going through the 
   apartments.)  I did remember to stop 
   at the library to make mailing 
   copies of WEB #31, and mailed the 
   issue the following day.)  
      Anyway, I had to go back on 
   Thursday, and by then 155 was open, 
   so going to the pet store was no 
   problem.  I didn't even see any 
   dents in the guardrail that I could 
   be sure were new.  I might spot some 
   if they ever open 155 to roadies 
   again; since I ride very slowly up 
   that steep stretch, I'm right 
   familiar with that guard rail.  
      Since I was unloaded on the 
   return trip, I shopped at Colonie 
   Center for the first time since the 
   remodeling.  I don't count the time 
   I had to leave because of the 
   remodeling fumes, or the time I had 
   to leave because I couldn't find any 
   water.  Got pretty dry on this trip 
   too; I should have taken my bottle 
   in with me.  Didn't see anything 
   worth trying on, except one fancy T 
   shirt that they called a cotton top.  
   I refused to consider it because it 
   was black; it has so often happened 
   that the only decent-looking shirt 
   on display was the black one that 
   when I look in my mirror, my outfit 
   seems to require a silver- concho 
   gunbelt with pearl-handled 
   revolvers.  Later on I realized that 
   if the shirt did fit, it would look 
   good with my new flowered skirt, but 
   by then I'd forgotten which store it 
   was in and couldn't find it.  Also 
   didn't see anything appetizing to 
   eat, and I'd forgotten to wear my 
   watch, so I didn't realize that I 
   ought to push myself.  I didn't feel 
   hungry or weak, but I astonished 
   myself with some of the stupid 
   things I did on the way home.  
      Sysco is close by REMO, so before 
   going to Colonie, I stopped in to 
   buy the can of baking cocoa that's 
   been on my list for a long time.  
   Never found it, though I found both 
   the baking supplies and the 
   chocolate.  Gave up and settled for 
   Price Chopper cocoa on the way home.  
   While in Sysco, I found a two-quart 
   flour sifter for $20, and couldn't 
   resist buying it even though my 
   three-cup sifter has been doing fine 
   for a quarter of a century and is 
   still going strong.  Told myself I 
   needed it for making muffin mix.  
      I suppose I ought to make some 
   muffins --after I figure out where 
   to put the new sifter.  
                                                           
   31 May 1992 
      I forgot to fetch the dummies 
   last Wednesday.  The instructor 
   reminded me of it -- when he called 
   to say he was sick, so don't fetch 
   the dummies.  
      I still haven't read my homework.  
   I may be leafing through the last 
   few pages while waiting for class to 
   start this Wednesday.  
      I spent today assembling a blouse 
   I cut out last night as a test for 
   my new jersey.  When I finally got 
   around to searching my pattern 
   collection for one I could modify, I 
   found that when we were keeping bees 
   I made an unbleached muslin shirt 
   with no buttons below the veil, and 
   it happened to be just the shape of 
   a long-sleeved jersey without 
   pockets.  So yesterday I spent an 
   hour or two drafting a mandarin 
   collar & then cut the cheap knit I 
   bought to design a jersey with.  
   I've gained some weight since I last 
   used that pattern, but the bee shirt 
   was meant to be loose, a jersey is 
   supposed to be tight, and knit 
   requires less ease than muslin.  The 
   tape measure showed that it would be 
   about right.  Being chicken, I cut 
   the sides a quarter inch outside the 
   cutting lines at the hem, tapering 
   to nothing at the waist, then sewed 
   the side seams an eighth-inch 
   outside the stitching lines.  I 
   think that if I had taken neither 
   precaution, the blouse would still 
   be a bit loose.  It came out 
   actually wearable, though I want to 
   narrow the shoulders an inch when I 
   make the next one, and curve the 
   collar a bit more at the back of the 
   neck.  The sleeves should be an inch 
   shorter, and the bottom should a 
   hem-allowance longer.  
      And I'm going to have to work 
   another buttonhole onto the 
   prototype.  
      I hope I can find some more cheap 
   knit pretty soon.  I don't think 
   Beyond the Tollgate, the closest 
   place, sells knits.  I don't trust 
   Alfred's labels, but I don't care 
   much what the fibers are & I'll 
   probably get out that way fairly 
   soon.  And I might stop at Fountain 
   of Fabrics after I return the 
   dummies next Thursday.  
      I may try making it in one of the 
   muslin-type fabrics I've already 
   got.  
      I figured out where to put the 
   new sifter.  Now I've got to figure 
   out where to put the old sifter.  
                                                           
   6 June 1992 
      Today I put away my May Diary, 
   which says that I haven't written 
   anyone since May tenth.  Seems to me 
   I mailed a bunch of letters last 
   Saturday; perhaps I erased the 
   originals.  
      Last Wednesday I fetched dummies 
   from ARC instead of REMO.  I think 
   carrying them down two flights of 
   stairs at REMO was easier than 
   pushing that huge cart through the 
   airlock doors at ARC.  Not to 
   mention maneuvering it into the 
   close- fitting elevator; I remarked 
   to one of the employees, "I think 
   they measured that elevator and then 
   built the carts."  She replied, "No, 
   I think the elevator was here before 
   the carts were."  
      One or the other of us needs an 
   ear exam.  
      When I arrived on the floor where 
   I was to return the cart, I found 
   two men attempting to push a cart 
   into the elevator that I was trying 
   to push a cart out of.  We traded, 
   and I returned their cart instead of 
   mine.  
      When I took the six dummies back, 
   I trotted back and forth to carry 
   them two at a time (one at a time 
   through the airlock).  This was 
   easier, especially since a woman 
   also going up held the elevator door 
   open and carried the last pair of 
   dummies for me.  
      I figured then all I had to do 
   was to hand over the check for the 
   dummies and books, but first she had 
   to help two hundred and fifty girl 
   scouts find a life guard for a beach 
   party.  She referred the caller to 
   an institution in the town where the 
   party was being held.  Eventually.  
   Then it turned out that the bills 
   were filed under Dave Okrent's name; 
   when the numbers did not look right, 
   she found that the bills she had 
   were for something he'd done in 
   Guilderland.  When she finally 
   obtained the correct bills, they 
   added up to the amount on the check, 
   which she found very satisfying -- 
   the more so because the calculator 
   had wandered off (one did not have 
   that problem with adding machines!) 
   and she had added the hard way.  
      Which reminds me, I never did 
   give Dave the receipts.