l--L P--1----+----2----+----3----+@10-4----T----5----+----R----r----7--T-+--r 1994 Beeson Banner 2 January 1994 We had perfect weather for my New Year's Day ride, but only Vic Skowronski and the Mansbachs showed up, presumably because the day was in the middle of a long weekend and folks found other things to do. Just three of us went to Altamont, because Sonya is only a few weeks past knee surgery. She's already well enough to forget where she put her cane, though. I was surprised that none of the cats came out during the party, though I saw Freida skulking in the office after I saw Vic out, and presume that she'd been around but discreet. Erica missed her chance at stereo petting: I found her on the bed doing a creditable imitation of a small bolster later on, when I went up to change before going to the fire company's "Get Well Party." It, like the New Year's Day Wake Up Ride, started at 1:00 but the firehouse party was still going strong at 3:00. I left the party early, being tired, and vegged out at the computer games for lack of energy to go to bed. Besides, it was too late to nap and too early to lie down for the night. Dave came home a while later, just before cat-feeding time, which is 6:00. I dished up the food and Fred didn't show even though I had Freida up on her hind legs yelling vigorously. So I put the food back in the fridge, to the consternation of Erica and Freida, and went Fred hunting. He was in the first place I looked: on the beam on top of the foundation, where it meets one of the beams that hold up the floor, just where the water heater makes it hard to get at him. I invited him down, I tried to pull him out, and I held his supper up in front of his nose. Dave pulled while I pushed, and opined that he must be wedged in. An hour or so after the other cats had eaten, I saw him on a different part of the beam, but he still didn't want down. He was willing to be petted in situ, though. I got stomped on during the night, so I guess he didn't spend too many more hours up there. I'm sure he didn't get that freaked out the last time we had company. On Friday, Dave took me to Latham to buy buckles and webbing, but I'm not making much progress on the overcoat. While going through a Blair ad before ordering Dave two more shirts, I found an ad for a washable silk jacket and ordered one in black. Hope I guessed the size right. I made sure it closed with a zipper, because I can't do the snaps on a man's coat. I wonder when the fur freaks are going to start spray-painting silk? Sometimes reading the news makes me think that the grammar schools ought to teach all the children to knit so that they'll have something to do with themselves when they grow up. 3 January 1994 Yesterday was bright and sunny and a great deal of the snow melted. Today it's in the neighborhood of ten degrees and a light snow is falling. I'm beginning to wonder about the truth of the first line in my new poem "She doesn't know a word of English/But she has her Sign down pat/She doesn't need two hands/She uses one expressive cat." Erica followed me out when I went to put letters in the box. On my way back, I saw her under the car and said, "Are you sure you want to stay out? I'll be working in the living room and won't see you to let you in." She jumped up and ran to the door. 4 January 1994 The winter storm warning said that later on the wind will come up and blow the snow off the plants and into the roads, but when I went out a little after ten, the snow was coming down in pellets. Gave me hope that it would be too heavy to blow around, but right now it's coming down like flour out of a vigorously-cranked sifter. John plowed our drive this morning, which made it easier to take the letters out to the box. The overcoat is still giving me deep depression, and Dave and Larry are getting antsy. Evening: Discovered that it's easy to pull a thread in pack cloth, which helps a lot. 5 January 1994 I see the point of sun-dried tomatoes as a gourmet food. The seasoned rice I'm boiling up for lunch would be much better with a little dab of tomato, but I don't want to open a great big can. Things were going great guns on the overcoat until I reached for my dressmaker's carbon paper. Wasted fifteen minutes looking for it, and another fifteen trying to do without it. Then I was too hungry to think straight, so I knocked off for lunch. Erica wants back in. She loves to frolic in the snow, but she hasn't any mittens. The snow wasn't as much as predicted, but neither were the winds. We did get high winds, but it didn't blow the snow around much. (But then I haven't seen the road in front of the high school yet!) The snowplows were rumbling all night. Evening: snow hasn't blown *much* here, but Dave says that it's terrible in front of Falvo's (the meat market), and a snowdrift in Knox was reported on the sheriff's channel. One reason that I'm having such a terrible time with the overcoat is that I'm out of shape. It's been years since I did any serious sewing, and I never did sew more than an hour or two at a time, so I can't do much in a day. I'm still in the decisions stage, so I can't do anything when I can't think. I sure hope the next forty-nine are easier! 6 January 1994 Opened the wrong menu when trying to quit Word, and nearly clicked "split" instead of "exit." I shall have to find out what that means; "split" isn't among the control-menu commands in the Windows book. "Control key" is indexed in the Publisher book, though. Refers you to "For example, the Control key is shown as CTRL; the Escape key is shown as ESC." I think I had fried rice for supper. I got tired of eating bread when I wanted a hurry-up meal, so the last time I cooked rice, I made two servings and put one in the fridge. While scrounging for something to flavor the leftover rice, I found two bites of excellent ham, a quarter of an onion, a tablespoon of mushroom gravy, and a package of swiss cheese. So I chopped the ham and onion and fried them in butter, then stirred in the rice and gravy and some chopped cheese. I presume the official recipe evolved from such incidents. Dave was summoned to a "fully-involved" trailer fire at Kissel's shortly before he was ready to get up this morning. Turned out to be only full of smoke; something about heater tape on pipes under the trailer. When he came home for breakfast, he said that the newspeople missed a good photograph: firemen peering through the windows of the trailer while a little old lady stood out in the snow in her pajamas. She had taken refuge in a neighbor's trailer, but came out again when the firemen got there. 7 January 1994 Sigh. About thirty seconds after I remembered Victor's disk of statistics, Drive B died again. I suppose I'd better change all my back-up files to 3 1/2" disks. But I've only one 3 1/2" file box and cannot organize them properly. Floppies are much easier to file, and hold nearly as much data; it's a shame I can't trust that drive. Dave says that the little old lady who came out of a neighbor's trailer was a neighbor. That wouldn't have spoiled the picture, though. Dave says that Fred says -- he doesn't say how Fred knows, but it's such a good story that it needn't have happened. How the heating tape filled the trailer with smoke is that it quit working, and the pipe froze and sprayed water on a fuse box, which started burning up inside the wall, then the pipe broke more and put out the fire. If so, what happened would have been that the thermostat turned itself up a while before time to get up, and thawed out the broken pipe. And once the pipe started to flow, it would thaw faster. The bruise I got yesterday (by trying to close the tailgate while backed into a snowdrift) has begun to show, but appears to be brown instead of purple. Vurra strange. Doesn't hurt when I lift things, as it did when it was fresh. 8 January 1994 When I undressed last night, I saw that the peculiar color was a combination of bad light and the hasty glance caused by difficulty in pushing up my sleeve. Arachne ran only nine pages last year, so this year I'm going to shuffle it in with the banner. Those of you who aren't interested can skip the book reviews. I found a hardcover called Brother to Demons, Brother to Gods (Jack Williamson, 1976) while poking about the shelves for some other reason. I don't know how come I hadn't read it; perhaps I was put off by the sans-serif type, but the type wasn't bad once I got into it. Brother-Brother is the old sure-fire pitiable orphan who grows up to be the son of Zeus or Pendragon or whatever's in this millenium -- in this case, the two kids are descended from genetically engineered cells hidden among the despised "premen" just before their creator was murdered. The plot is one adventure after another until there are enough pages, then r'ar back and pass a miracle. Would have gone over better if I'd read it all in one sitting; the story wasn't intended to stand up to a pause for reflection. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ I missed telling the best part of the story of the trailer fire. When they returned to quarters, they started to wash 2370 -- and when they sprayed water on it, the water stuck. So they waited for the truck to warm up a bit. 9 January 1994 Now that the skin behind the purple streaks has turned green, my bruise looks brown in good light -- if viewed from a few feet away. 10 January 1994 Now that the snow is over a foot deep, and Doug has built a wall around the parking lot, I realize that I forgot to provide an indoor compost heap last fall. 11 January 1994 When Dave got his new "volunteer fireman" plates, the number turned out to be 392. That caused a little comment around the firehouse, but he found that having a low plate number has a down side. The deputies sometimes call for identification of a vehicle before they pull it over -- eminently sensible, I think -- and they call that "rolling data." One day Dave was listening to his scanner and heard a deputy a few cars back say "I want rolling data on Volunteer Fireman three nine two [long pause] four five six." He was after a fellow from Voorheesville. ... Moan. Yesterday I struggled and struggled to sew the outer cover together; though I'd had little trouble with the corresponding seam in the lining, this seam proved so stubborn that I ended up sewing the corners by hand. (Maybe it's because there were no chunks of foam insulation attached when I sewed the lining seam.) Then I found that I couldn't measure the foam interfacing to be sure that I was sewing the bottom seam in the right place without the monitor. They were making an empty box up just for me, so that Dave wouldn't have to keep trotting the test unit back and forth, and it wasn't ready until Dave came home for lunch today. Then I had to go to the grocery to get milk and meat for supper, and then I was overdue for a nap and overslept and it was after five before I took up work again. By which time it was decidedly gloomy in the living room. When I started to pick up the dummy monitor to bring it into the dining room, which has a light, I asked myself "Why don't I have to un-velcro my clever doors to get hold of these handles?" Because I was reaching through the uncovered holes left for the ventilation hoods. I'd sewed the cover on upside down. And I'd done the hand sewing good and proper; I had to cut every stitch. I found it unnerving how easy the machine stitching came out once I'd got the hang of it: cut the thread every half inch, then zzzip! Ah, well, there shouldn't be any stress on any of these seams. Happy event during the shopping trip. When I last went to the post office, I asked for 52s, 23s, a sheet of rocks, and a book of violets. I got the large-letter stamps without trouble, but the clerk on duty was out of rocks and all the violets were in the safe, and the woman behind me was staggering under the weight of her package, and I wasn't quite out of 29s, so I left without them, thundering "Why *won't* they make a plain old gray-on-gray first-class stamp AND KEEP IT AVAILABLE?" So I had to stop at the post office on the way to the grocery, and lo and behold, on the new-stamp board there was a sheet of plain, one-ink-color, definitive-size Thomas Jeffersons! It has been so long since they had first-class definitives that it took the shock of estimating $60 minus $2 to remind me that I didn't need two sheets. The rocks and the violets are still theoretically available. And now I've got it re-sewn, and tried on the monitor -- and it turns out that the reason the corners gave me such fits is that I had a half-inch seam allowance at the front of the top piece and an inch at the fronts of the sides. There's an extra half inch gathered into the corners. But it looks as though the foam slabs are going to fit nicely when I've got it re-re-sewn. But I should have left an inch at the bottom of the outer cover, and I left only half an inch. I planned for the seam to run along the middle of the slab, and it needs to be along the inside to allow for turning the corners. Here comes another boxing strip. And I didn't have to do any hand sewing this time. But pinning by that puny reading lamp in the living room is a pain, and there isn't any table to work on in here. There is a table, but it would be cramped even if a computer didn't cover most of it. 12 January 1994 Snowing again. Haven't heard a prediction of how much. I've begun the hand-sewing around the holes. It's surprisingly physical, because it's a strain to reach the hole -- and thank goodness three of the six hand-sewn holes are covered by nice neat flaps! I did figure out a way to do the chimney hole entirely by machine. But by the laws of topology, it's a trick you can do only once per doughnut. ... Sigh. After basting two holes, I discovered that the second one, which had taken over an hour by itself, had to be taken out and done over. While puzzling to see what had gone wrong, I realized that all six of those carefully-sewn 1 1/2" bias strips actually measure 1 1/4". When I contemplate trying to re-sew them with all that stuff attached to the cover, I know I've got to try to use them anyhow, and when I contemplate trying to sew them without that extra quarter inch, I know I've got to pick them out. Four of them. The two on the back are simply impossible without disassembling the entire thing. I've completed the one under the flap, rather messily -- at an hour and ten minutes for the second round of stitching. The other -- I guess I'll sew it and then bind the raw edges with a separate strip of bias. Means three rounds of stitching instead of two, but it's *possible*. Having already cut, pressed, and basted the replacement strips -- I think I'll go back again and make some one-inch tape and bind all of them that way. A round of hand-sewing takes longer than a round of machine sewing, but wrestling the nearly- assembled overcoat under the machine might destroy it, and I'm not sure that machine sewing is even possible; the long, straight seam around the bottom was extremely difficult with only one slab (and that the smallest) getting in the way, and the holes catching on everything. And Larry wants the prototype last week. Not to mention that I can't think of a way to bring them in at $150 with all that hand work. At least the order has been changed from fifty in one year to forty in two years. 13 January 1994 I didn't mention the kicker in the tale of the mis-cut 1 1/2" strips: when I pressed them, I put one under the sleeve board to hold the crease, and overlooked it when I basted them. Since the longest strip did both the smallest holes, I never came back for it. *That* one was cut properly. I was working on the first round of that second hole this morning, and going great guns when I stopped to inspect my work and my needle slipped out of that slippery nylon fabric and slid off that slippery polyester thread, and I just hope it doesn't turn up in delicate electronics sometime. I still completed the stitching in forty minutes, including one interruption to let Erica out and empty the cat-food can under the drip, and another interruption to tell Olan Mills that I don't pay people to bother me. It didn't include pinning, which takes about ten minutes. Forty minutes is better than one hour ten, but it's not good enough. Not when you multiply it by twelve. Weird, man. The checkbook balanced on the first pass. Told Dave I'd used up all my mistakes on the overcoat. 14 January 1994 I'd be a lot more eager to get the tedious chore of stitching those last four holes over with if it didn't look as though they don't fit. 14 January 1994 Four holes down, three to go. I figure three hours stitching each. I found the missing needle while sweeping the floor and put it on the pincushion, but there is only one needle there now. Though it isn't doing it in this particular instance, I found that a very narrow bias binding can be elegant. Must remember that if I ever get to work on my own sewing. I did sew the missing button on my jeans before going to the poets' meeting yesterday. Also got the third of four issues indexed for Women's Household Crochet. One more and I'm done indexing for the year -- 1993, that is. Might be done forever if the editor and I can't synchronize our computers. She uses Mac and I don't even know anybody who knows anybody who uses Mac. Her publisher is putting her on a new word processor, so there's no point to worrying about it until next fall. And to think I used to do all this with file cards. I don't think I repeat patterns as much now that all I have to do is push a couple of buttons as I did when I had to re-type the whole entry for each occurrence. 15 January 1994 I dropped my silver pencil this morning, and when I bent over to pick it up, the missing needle was lying beside it. Maybe I should keep it on the floor so I can find it. One and two-thirds holes to go. I moved from the table onto the windowsill, which much improved the light -- until I put the second side on and was working inside a black cave much of the time. The sun is setting now. I told Dave it is mathematically possible to get the thing done by Monday. That calculation doesn't take fatigue into consideration. I find it convenient that the metal cap on the silver pencil sticks to my magnetic pincushion. The pins Dave bought me aren't as magnetic as the old ones; they stick, but don't line up -- and I've gotten into the habit of tossing pins in the general direction of the cushion and expecting it to snatch them in mid-air. The needle that I'm using has acquired a definite north and south, and behaves rather oddly if I hold it by the thread near the pincushion. I wonder what surprises I'll find when I go to attach the door? Dave finally got some wood to put our mailbox back up. He went out to look at the post and came back saying "guess what?" "Margie's box is gone?" "No, I have it with me." Broke the post right off. Box didn't seem to be in any worse condition than yesterday, but Dave may have straightened it out yet again. We haven't retrieved the newspaper box yet, it being too cold to wade in snowdrifts. To make a long and very chilly story short, we got the box up just before the mailman turned into Woodwind Drive, but it's only tacked in place because the smaller screwdriver wouldn't turn the screws hard enough, and the point of the larger wouldn't go into their slots. I think we should leave it lightly nailed so it won't get broken when it's knocked off again. Our box appears to be in perfect condition; perhaps because the spliced arm on the post was weak. Or it may have been buried in snow before it was broken off; it was only a lump in the snowbank, and quite a surprise it was to find the lip of the paper box and pull out everything all in one piece: paper box, mail box, and post arm. We've decided not to try to put more than one box up before spring; the stump of Margie's post is tall enough to hold a paper box. I think we should get a big box and share it; it will be easier to keep putting back up. Now that it's finally bedtime, I'm not as sleepy as I was. I should have gone straight to bed when we got back from Smitty's. We had an unusually long wait for our pizza because our waitress was alert --she brought our salad with her when she came to take the order, so we finished it sooner than usual. I think I refer to Smitty's as Jon and John's once in a while, just as Dave refers to the Maple Inn as Joe's. Joe's on Thursdays and Smitty's on Fridays -- we're in a rut. I don't think the boys always go to Joe's, though. 16 January 1994 Yesterday I could have gone for a round or two more stitching, but when I couldn't find anything but short ends of one-inch bias and had to go cut another strip, it broke my momentum & I looked at the sun nearing the mountain and decided to quit now instead of working until the light failed. Which took more than an hour, since the sun sets slowly at this time of year. And then when I cleared up to start working this morning, I found a strip of tape on the floor -- I don't think it was there yesterday. When I tried to work by morning light in a west window, I regretted that lost hour -- I was in the middle of the hole in the darkest corner. By climbing into the window entirely, I was able to get some light on the subject. Lunch break now, and only one more hole to go. Then I sew some straps to the door, maybe some velcro to the sides of the cover -- a hand job by virtue of thinking of it so late in production, but small --and there will be nothing left but making the fly and sewing on the door. 17 January 1994 While stitching yesterday, I heard a joke on Radio Moscow that I got and Dave didn't -- but I'm not sure the story I got was the story that was told; the radio was in the next room, and the Russian style of storytelling appears to have developed in the days when the end of the story meant that everybody had to go back out into the blizzard. Gorbachev and Raisa got separated in the crowd at the airport while leaving Latvia. Gorbachev asked to have his wife paged. "But if her interpreter is with you, what good will paging her do?" "You will have to page her in Russian, of course." "Oh, no, this is a Latvian airport and we must speak Latvian." Gorbachev called the airport manager, and he, too, said "this is a Latvian airport; we must speak Latvian." So he called the KGB, only to be told "this is Latvia, and we must speak Latvian." Now it was only half an hour before departure, and Gorbachev could think of nothing else to do. Then Stalin appeared. "You are in trouble," he said, stroking his mustache. "Let me help you." He picked up the phone and said, "This is Stalin. If Raisa isn't found within thirty minutes, half of Eastern Siberia will speak Latvian." I spent ten minutes wrestling a seam into position under the presser foot, then when I tried to start the machine, that silly spool the Metrosene comes on spontaneously and without provocation spun out three yards of thread and made such a tangle that I had to cut it out. Which leads me to wonder what marketing genius put a thread which is obviously not suitable for hand sewing on a spool which is obviously not suitable for machine sewing. 4:50: "all" I've got left is to bind the seam on the left side, sew the flap across the top, and attach the door. There's that little matter of the door-seam being where I can't possibly put a sewing machine on it. Hope I think of something by the time I finish the flap. Or at least before we go into production. Either half is almost sewable alone. Maybe I could attach it by way of a separating zipper. 6:45: An hour and ten minutes later, I'd pinned for the last row of stitching on the first of the three edges that I mentioned at 4:50. Then Dave came home bearing groceries, and I knocked off for the day. I thought I'd have done with this thing by noon today. 18 January 1994 1:30: It's done, it's done! Just a little too late, alas, for Dave to take it back with him after lunch and get it out of my sight. So tomorrow he'll take it to work, and Larry will put it in the environmental chamber, and find out whether it will keep a monitor's electronics warm at fifty below. In the meanwhile, the Bikeabout was due last week and the index to Women's Household Crochet was due last month. And I'm going to take a nap. 5:05: My cough is much better today, as it should be -- I practiced all day yesterday. I can talk, today. I was much surprised, when Dave came home from work yesterday, at the way I sounded when I spoke to him. Sunday was pretty much devoted to blowing my nose. My nose and upper lip got pretty sore, but late Sunday I happened to notice a box of Eucerine, a heavy-duty hand cream I hardly ever use because it is so stiff and sticky. I smeared that on so thick it looked white, and it fixed me right up. (Time out to put on another coat, as a preventive measure.) The MHW board meeting is tonight, and serving free pizza and soda, but I just called up to beg off. I feel contagious, and don't feel up to a long drive after dark. Even though Dave dug my car out and made sure it runs properly. Not to mention that they'd probably ask what happened to the February Bikeabout. Looks like a good yard of well-settled snow piled up on the picnic table. I've no intention of wading out there to measure it. Only ridges mark the seats, and the level snow is within inches of the top. The last time I looked out the window by daylight, the air was full of falling flakes, but I don't think it meant it. I don't see as any has fallen since Doug plowed our driveway this afternoon, and it shows pretty quick where I've swept the steps. 20 January 1994 Herb called yesterday, and was delighted that I'd dallied about the Bikeabout, and said he would hasten to get the data for the Banquet announcement -- whereupon I wrote a notice that February had been delayed for the banquet announcement. But today he called to say that there is no way they can get it firmed up in time for March, -- so I guess that's not my story and I'm not sticking to it. I got the 1993 financial statement, though. Meanwhile, I promised John that I'd go to the printshop on Monday. Hasn't snowed any more -- not to notice -- but Erica has stopped asking to go out. It was bright and sunny and cold today. I mailed the index to Women's Household Crochet today -- or rather, Dave mailed it; a 9x12 envelope won't fit into our dinky mailbox. The next time, I'm going to choose too big instead of too small. (I wonder why there isn't any medium?) 21 January 1994 Upon nagging, I got up the nerve to add up my bill. 71 hours, and because of sloppy bookkeeping, I didn't count all the time I spent. I typed it on my last sheet of letterhead, except the one I'm saving to copy. Since you can hand feed paper, I'm also taking the packet of 100% cotton parchment bond I bought a decade or two ago and never found a use for. Hope the county tells us what our address is soon; there's only a handful of printed envelopes left. And I can't run *them* through a copier. There is a piece of black taffeta draped over the daisy wheel printer. Why, I don't know. Time to gather up all the bits and put them away. Larry is going to ask Tough Traveller for a bid. Though the elimination of three holes leaves only one per panel and makes it possible to make all of them the way I made the chimney hole, I'm hoping that TT comes up with an acceptable bid. Y'know, I kinder wish I did have the proper equipment to make these things. But even if someone else makes them, it will be my design. I forgot to sign it. Dave said that Bernie could repair Grandpa's old reclining rocker, so today I brought it downstairs. I had to put a great deal of stuff away so I could get it out of the sewing room and through the hall. In addition, the last time someone borrowed our down sleeping bags, they lost the stuff sacks. I dropped the loose bags onto the chair while I was thinking about what to do about it, and neither the chair nor the bags were required again, so there they remained, accumulating lengths of cloth I was about to use until the pile was shoulder high. The cats managed to shed all over the black corduroy for my new winter pants anyhow. They didn't shed on the cheap muslin that could use another washing to soften it -- not soft and fuzzy, I guess. Underneath the sleeping bags, I found my balaclava, and a pair of mittens I've been looking for for two or three years. I didn't think it had been that long since we lent our bags. The reflective tape on the mittens needs some stitching, which explains what they were doing in the sewing room, but how did the balaclava get there? And how did a hat that comes down to your chest come to be named "Balaclava" -- isn't that a town in Crimea? Right, for a change. The desk encyclopedia says Balaklava is a seaport village in the Crimean region, and was the site of Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade." I presume Oct. 25, 1854, was right nippy in the Crimea. 22 January 1994 I found Taipei on the screen when I sat down here -- no wonder Dave sounded as though he were playing a computer game! But he was chortling and AArging the same way when I knew he was playing with LabView for Windows. He described it to me as a language that would let you program just by drawing flow charts. When he brought the demo home, I saw that it was more complicated than that -- and more limited. The sub-title is "Graphical Programming for Instrumentation." 25 January 1994 Just made my first phone call on the new phone. Got into trouble -- I forgot that I wouldn't be able to walk over to the cupboard when I wanted to read Erica's pill bottle. The old cord was twelve feet, coiled; the new one is four feet, stretched. Ah, well, it tangles less. The new cord has modular connectors at both ends, but the old one appears to be soldered into the phone. Were it a power line, I'd cut it and solder on new connectors, but phone connectors look rather dainty. I'm a grump, and was determined not to pay a penny extra for touch-tone service until they got nasty about it. Dave decided he had to have it -- why, I don't know, because he hardly ever dials anybody and our pulse phone does have push buttons, so you don't have time to forget your number while waiting for the dial to return. The new phone can be switched back and forth between pulse and tone, so if you are using it on a pulse line, you can still call 800 numbers. Remember all the fuss about caller I.D. and how it would enable salesmen to get your phone number off 800 and 900 lines? We got an announcement that I.D. is being introduced in our area, and the offer of "call restrict" said that call restrict won't stop those people from getting your number because they are already getting it by methods that have nothing to do with caller I.D. The flyer said that if you don't subscribe to call restrict, you can make individual anonymous calls by dialing *67 first. Seems to me that there also ought to be a number that you can dial to un-restrict individual calls, when you want to make a call from a restricted line to someone who has been rejecting anonymous calls. Maybe the next advance will be letting you dial a word between the *67 and the number, to be displayed instead of "private." The new phone has nice big buttons that you can punch without your glasses. I told Dave it was a mistake to get buttons Erica could push, but it's a wall phone, so she can't reach it to call the A.S.P.C.A. when we stop petting her. She might be able to carom off the counter and hit the button with the blue shield. We are going to give that button to a relative, since the fire number covers police and ambulance. And we are getting E911 Real Soon Now. Meanwhile, I'm making sheets of letterhead one at a time with Publisher, until I get to the library to copy my last sheet of engrossed letterhead. Bernie picked up Grandfather's chair yesterday, to see whether he could repair the reclining mechanism. If he can, I hope to have it re-upholstered and put it in the living room. 28 January 1994 Sigh. The *good* news is that the temperature is supposed to be above freezing when the rain gets heavy this afternoon. Our thermometer is already pointing in the general neighborhood of 30 (I can't read it closer than five degrees), so I guess it will be true. For a change, it's supposed to get warm in the hill towns first. We had a little freezing rain yesterday, but it was snowing when I came back from the poets' meeting. The auxiliary meeting was cancelled -- the girl who called me had a lot of calls to make, so I didn't ask for details. It's to be re-scheduled for next week; if it's Thursday, I can't go. Dave said that at Joe's people were bragging about how cold it had been on their thermometers, and it has been cold for so long that nobody bothered to say "minus" or "below." These 60 temperature swings can't be good for houses or anything else. My new jacket came the day before yesterday. I'm not happy with it. The "sand washed" silk looks shabby and dull. Someone ought to make a jacket with a silk lining and a nylon outer shell. I can't say this one is made inside out, though, because the lining, though glossy and pretty, doesn't look as though it would turn wind or stand up to wear. Sorted all my old manuscripts yesterday, to find five poems to take to the poets' meeting as a contribution to the anthology. I was assured that they do intend to edit the thing, though at first they thought I was asking whether they were going to mess with my inviolable art. While searching, I found a diary I'd kept while making the purple sweater with the spider on the front. I should fish that one out again and read it to see whether I can make something of it. Just in case they are rejected by the anthology -- I wish I thought I had a serious chance of being rejected, so I could feel honored if one or more is accepted -- here are three of the poems I culled out of the old mss. (The other two have lines too long for these columns.) Until the Next Time Hello, Doggy, Well Hello, Doggy, Gee it's nice to see you tied up on a chain. You're staying home, Doggy, Using your dome, Doggy, That could save you from a bullet in the brain. I pass you by a-flyin' With no fear of dyin' 'Cause Doggy tried to bite me on the shin, so Forget his last assault, fellas, Holster up your Halt, fellas, Doggy will never bite my leg again. The Dickensonian Institute of Poetry The honest thing to do, when your work is just for you, and nobody loves it but yourself, is to type it up neatly, and file it discreetly, and let it stay forever on your shelf. One Small Step I called the man Columbus, "He's that unknown Indian," I said. I called the man Columbus. Columbus was Eric the Red. It is the custom at these meetings for each member to read a poem, then someone else reads the same poem, then we talk about it. I chose "Hello Doggy" for my poem, but asked for the second reading first -- that is, to have someone else read it for me. Larry read it, then while I was postponing my reading, very conscious that I can't carry a tune, someone said "Helllloooo Dogggy!" and everyone else jumped in and we sang it en chorale. Then we laughed for a while and didn't bother to discuss it. On the other hand, Barbara said that she'd got permission to stay on after the library closed; I don't think I'm the only one who feels that two hours is quite enough, and nine O'clock is plenty late to be driving home in the dark on slick roads. 1:25: I sure hope that this warm spell lasts long enough for all the ice dams to slide off the roof. Luckily, I was sitting at the computer when the leak in the east window of the dining room broke through, and pulled the printer and the boxes of paper back before anything was damaged. That set me off window-inspecting, and found that the west window in the bedroom had been leaking quite a while. However, the only thing near it was a plastic cat cage, easily cleaned. 5:05: When I woke up from my nap and found the dripping nearly stopped, I hoped that the ice dams had melted, but it was only that the rain had stopped; in the front, at least, the dams are *all* that's left on the roof. The garage, oddly, has it the other way around: snow on the roof, and melted back from the edges. That includes the entryway, so it can't be because the house is heated. They promise us a sunny Sunday, and (as near as I could make out) a non-rainy Saturday, but it's so foggy that I can't see much farther than across the parking lot. Hope Dave makes it home all right. The prediction was to stay warm all night and drop below freezing when the sun comes up, which will be just right if we get it. 31 January 1994 While mailing a letter, I noticed that Margie's newspaper box had melted free of the snowbank. I tested the snow, found it capable of holding my weight, climbed the bank, and gingerly made my way toward the new neighbors' lawn -- I forgot all about trying to learn the name of the folks who moved in when the Campbells moved out. It can wait until spring. After a few cautious steps, I sank in to my knee -- it was hard only where the snowplows had packed it. But by then it was only one more step to the paper box, and the box was loose, so I brought it in. We had Pollard in this morning. He says we need a new pressure-control valve -- or something that sounds something like that. It's on the water tank in the furnace. He also says that he doesn't want to let air into the pipes until he has plenty of time to get it out again, so he put some more water into the tank to run the pressure up, and says that that will hold us until spring. Dave had been complaining bitterly. The highest convector -- the one that wasn't getting any hot water -- is in the bathroom. Arachne I've been hearing a lot about the new show "Babylon Five," so I was disappointed to learn that it's on Saturday at 5:00 -- during my only regular appointment of the week. And I was delighted to learn, while looking for something else, that WSBK repeats it on Sunday at 6:00. So yesterday I left the Super Bowl party early -- which I would have anyway; football parties get really boring after the game starts -- and settled down in front of the set to look for 38. After twenty minutes of channel-surfing, I concluded that we don't *get* 38. So I tuned to Channel 5 which, had been "blacked out" by the FCC and was quiet, and darned my tights while waiting for Deep Space Nine to come on. I liked this episode better than last week's Attempt to Kidnap Dax. The Jadzia-Dax show appeared to take place on a ship much smaller than the Enterprise, with no passengers and a crew of about six. It firmly stated that the Chief of Security was the only cop on board. This week's show -- a Cardassian political plot using a kidnapped boy who had been passed off as an orphan -- managed, with very few actors, to convey that the events were taking place in a full-sized spaceport, capable of handling a stream of traffic that regards the planet of Bejore something the way the Thruway regards Fultonville. Except that the authority running the space station doesn't try to keep the passing spaceships from noticing that Bejore is there! One thing I liked about the show was that each Cardassian had a different mask; they seemed to vary as much as the faces of real people. For those who haven't seen the show, I should mention that, faced with the problem of depicting dozens of non-human races, the producers had the sense not to try. Given a large budget and plenty of time, even the movies find it difficult to produce even one honestly alien alien, and even those are properly convincing only when seen in glimpses, as in the famous spaceport bar scene. So DS9 puts lumps of putty on each actor's face, paints him up in colors that don't look *too* unnatural with red blood, and lets it go at that. You keep track of the aliens by the distinctive patterns of bumps on the heads. The Cardassians in this show had individual patterns of bumps; all clearly Cardassian, but no two the same -- not even in the brief pan over a crowd of orphans. Or at least they created the illusion that the orphans were all different, which is artwork in itself. Tonight I tried to read Elizabeth Scarborough's The Phantom Banjo, part I of the Songkiller Saga, and couldn't. That isn't at all like Scarborough. Perhaps it's because this book tries to be serious; all the others I've read have been frothy romps such as The Drastic Dragon of Draco Texas. The premise is promising: the devil tries to wipe out folk music. All the bits are very nice. But after reading each page, I had little or no desire to read the following page. How'd Elizabeth know in 1991 that our fluffy-headed Clinton was going to be elected? Though I wouldn't call him a *former* model. More like a current mannequin. Dave found another showing of Babylon 5 on Wednesday at 8:00. It better be a good show after all this! If the FCC doesn't black it out again. Could the Songkiller be at work? @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ 1 February 1994 Trash day! The "recyclables" bin was rather light this trip -- all the tin cans are strategicly placed on windowsills. The windows never leaked but the one day, and didn't leak long then, but I don't feel like throwing out the cans or shoving the printer close to the window until the dams are gone. It promises to be sunny again today, but the sun can't get a grip on the dams. In the morning, the shadows of the trees in the front are on the roof, and the sun doesn't so much rise as move south this time of year. Then about the time it moves far enough west to shine on the other side of the house, it starts to slip behind the mountain. Still, the dam on this side is thinner on the south end. May have to put on my snowshoes and look out back soon: the bucket I collect the compost in is getting full. Be easier to go to the hardware store and buy a small garbage can. And that option wouldn't track up the snow, which despite the rain still looks pretty good. Except along the roads, of course. 1 February 1994 This morning I went to R&P for a consultation with Larry, and we turned all the remaining holes into notches, except for the chimney hole -- which must have a gaiter added. When we added the last notch, Larry said we should call it a vest. After much studying, we decided that if we could find or make just the right clips to hold the overcoat door to the box door, we could make the overcoat much simpler to assemble -- and then after I'd put my hat on and was on the way out, he added the proviso that it must fold flat, since the instruments won't wear overcoats in the summertime and the customers have to put it someplace. I shall have to go back sometime and see whether there is enough slop in the joints of the prototype, or I have to design a new way to sew the corners. But we have to find a source of Cordura. I persuaded Larry to stick with the "packcloth" -- a moderately-heavy taffeta -- for the lining, saying that Ripstop would be harder to sew. (On the other hand, Ripstop does come marked with a handy grid . . . ) After the consultation, I went to Crossgates on general principles, and found that Ups'n Downs was selling all-cotton turtlenecks for $5, and just about everybody in the mall was selling silk shirts for $10. Cotton shirts cut to the same pattern as the silk shirts were $15. I suppose a shirt suitable for everyday wear is easier to unload. Silk shirts made to look like cotton shirts were $5. I rejected those on sight, but in retrospect, I should have tried some on, if they were washable. It's silly to make silk look like cotton, but silk wears well and is warm. I tried on a splashy silk print in Ups'n Downs, the only print I saw all day, and was disappointed to find that the neckline was much too low and wide. But I found a good yellow turtleneck, an acceptable red turtleneck, and a white one that will do as underwear. At $5 each, I should have gotten more, but they had already sold all the L and XL in black, and the yellow is too garish to repeat. I can use any number of red shirts, but the red one *looks* like a $5 shirt. And one white undershirt is enough. Later at Lerner's, I thought of trying on a red silk shirt over the white undershirt I'd just bought, and found that it looked good -- except for the white sleeves sticking out; I'll have to find a short-sleeved dicky. Should have gone back to UpsNdowns to try on the print silk in Large. (In that brand, size M fit nicely, except for showing most of my bra.) Also bought four breakfast plates, as I've broken most of my Blue Denmark small plates, and we use small plates every day. Couldn't find cereal bowls anywhere. Just about every other piece of china in just about every sort of store, but no cereal bowls. Dave got a fax program with his modem, and wants to send me a fax RSN so he can see how it works. I want to get the hang of it soon enough to tell folks they can fax contributions to the Bikeabout. I'd better also learn how to receive files. I don't have to print out and re-punch files, so I'd rather get files than faxes. 2 February 1994 Dave discovered that Babylon Five is also on on Wednesdays, so I set my calendar to alert me when it started -- only to find that the FCC had blacked out this showing too. What on Earth can it have *said*? This show must be *really* good. Good thing I didn't go back for the print; I find that all my white blouses have long sleeves. Tried it on with my black polo shirt, and found that it looks good with black, but horrible with that collar. Tried it with my mandarin-collar shirt that I made as a prototype for the jersey I never got around to, and it looked good except that the large print looked queer in such small patches. Then I pulled my long skirt over it and liked the outfit so much despite the clashing shades of red that if I thought there were any chance that anybody in the mall still had a black one, I'd go back and get it to wear to the installation banquet. They might have something in blue or brown . . . 3 February 1994 Just got back from mailing a letter -- a big expedition these days. It seems to me that there is more difference between the east and west sides of the road than there is between the north and south sides of the driveway. I hadn't realized the mountain made so much difference in our insolation. There is a wide strip of dirt showing along the west side, and the snow still encroaches on the pavement on the east side. The ice is still firm on the edges of the roof, but there might be channels under it to allow rain to reach the gutters -- which are overflowing with ice. Is it possible to design gutters that catch rain but don't catch snow and ice? Maybe bi-metallic supports that fold them under the eaves when the temperature drops below freezing. 5 February 1994 Stop the presses! First the mail came, and all of it was for Dave -- if you don't count one piece that went straight to the junk-mail basket. Then I took down the Windows manual, looked up "terminal" in the index -- and found it! Arachne I finally was at home when Babylon 5 was on -- and forgot to tune in until the show had been going on about fifteen minutes. I didn't make much of the plot of "The Soul Hunter," perhaps because I'd missed the beginning. I give Five much higher marks than Nine on sets and makeup; the aliens look like aliens, not like actors, and even act alien -- though, perhaps, not as alien as your average Italian. There was even a fellow who *wasn't* a human in costume, though he had a bit part and stood in one place through his entire scene. And what I made out of the plot seemed much more like SF than DS9 does. Which was on immediately after, and as if to point up the contrast, showed a human and a Trill -- a "joined" Trill at that -- having a decidedly non-platonic interest in each other. Friendship, partnership, and a feeling of mental kinship are possible, and many an SF tale turns on the theme summed up in: "Why didn't you stick with your own kind?" "I did." But the rose-covered cottage and the patter of little feet are simply out of the question. The fellow would have more luck trying to date a rutabaga. The plot on DS 9 seemed to be the US helping Israel and Iraq sign a peace treaty, and learning the hard way that Middle Easterners have ruthless methods of seeing to it that nobody cheats. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Last year's president is this year's Safety and Education chairman. After we had failed miserably to communicate with Terminal because neither of us knows which buttons to click, Bob made a special trip to give me his lengthy inaugural report on disk. He said that after he copied his file, he'd put a copy of QMODEM on the disk; he thought we might try again with a program one of us had used before. I suspect that we'd do better for him to use Qmodem to send to Terminal. After Babylon Five and DS, I decided to go to bed before I fell asleep, but when I finally pried myself out of the big leather chair and began walking around, I decided that I wasn't all that sleepy and came in here to copy Bob's file into the Bikeabout. I couldn't find the S&E report on the disk; had some hopes of an explanation in README.NOW, but it turned out to be part of Qmodem. Finally, I tagged all the files and told X-Tree to search all of them for "Flanders," a word which I knew was in the file I wanted. It wasn't in any of the files. Bob put Qmodem on the disk and forgot to copy his file! I suppose I really ought to call him. 6 February 1994 Did call Bob, and we managed to transfer a file -- but the one that was missing was in a subdirectory on the disk he brought me. Don't know how I overlooked it. I *think* the modem is now set so that it will answer the phone if it is turned on and Terminal is running. The weather promises partly sunny and not too cold for the first part of the week -- and then on Thursday it's gonna rain. I do hope they are mistaken. The ice dams looked as though they might respond to a whap, but the snowbank is no longer high enough for me to reach them. Considerable reduction of the ice on the driveway today. I can't chip at it much because I chipped too much earlier this week and my hand is still sore. I edited the face out of TASKJUGM.CGM from the Clip Art Gallery and put it on "Ask Dan Flanders." I think it looks very good. Dave asked how I did it -- it wasn't easy! Then I went back into Microsoft Draw again and changed the pattern on his tie, because the one they used was so fine that it printed plain gray, which won't print right without screening. Anyhow, this guy looks like someone who would wear a loud tie. Clip art seems to shrink each time you edit it with MS Draw, but I don't think it did when I used the edit menu instead of the clipboard to get it into Draw. Have to use the clipboard the first time, because it isn't a Microsoft Draw Object until it's been edited. I think. 7 February 1994 One of the piles of paper in the office isn't going to accumulate any more. The modem, telephone, and joystick don't leave any room for documents on the computer. So the pile on the old printer is going to be more miscellaneous. I bowed to reality and put a sheet of corrugated cardboard down first, so I can lift the pile off in one piece on the rare occasions that I use the daisy wheel. It is twenty on the thermometer, but there is a stream of water running away from the patch of ice in front of the garage. I parked on bare pavement the last time I came home, which was silly, because the shadow of the car is on the ice in my usual parking spot. Dave came back from getting the paper to complain that it felt a lot colder than the thermometer said; I had the same impression when I went out to mail the letters. Not much wind, but I noticed the difference between walking with the wind to investigate some trash on the road, and walking into it to get back home. Turned out to be a plastic bag. I looked inside, but could not identify the contents, so I put my split mittens on the washing machine when I got back, and wore Dave's to chip ice in. Those are warmer anyway. I was wearing my wrist-length mitten liners; made of a single-strand of "persian" embroidery wool, and very warm for no thicker than they are. I don't often wear the overmittens. Dave's split mittens are made of old-fashioned knitting worsted -- left over from when you could buy it everywhere -- and worked in a thick pattern in which every stitch is knitted twice. Mary Thomas calls it "double rose;" I think Walker calls it "honeycomb." And the ribbing comes to the elbows. Will wonders never cease! This afternoon, I decided to empty my basket of junk mail at the "recycling" hut on my way to the store, and lo and behold, the place was clean! The only bin with any substantial amount of paper was the junk-mail bin. I'd have brought all the scrap paper if I'd known my only problem would be keeping the door open so I could see. Seems to me they could have left a hole under the peak of the roof, or used translucent fiberglas roofing or something -- but I didn't have any trouble opening the door (save that occasioned by trying to work a bolt wearing mittens (my own worsted mittens), and, moreover, it was easy to close *and* bolt the door. When I was buying milk at the Mobil station, the clerk opined that it was cold for the temperature, and I overheard people at Stonewell complaining of the cold. Maybe we're losing our adaptation. A high of twenty should feel balmy. I should be nearly done with the Bikeabout, but haven't the president's message or the banquet report. And I forgot to call the Advertising manager today. Probably nobody but our faithful Dr. Brad Elliot. Latest prediction is snow and bitter cold tomorrow through Thursday. It's worth losing the partly sunny to miss the rain. It's going to ice all over Alice -- as usual. Mom used to goggle at trees whenever we left central Indiana. 9 February 1994 This was a well-behaved snowfall, in that it didn't get serious until after dark, and was over when we got up. I'm not sure how deep it is, but it was thicker than my push broom on top of the car, and when I pulled it into the garage, the undercarriage planed the snow off between the tire tracks. Had to shovel behind it before I could get out of my parking space, and even then I rocked back and forth and forth and back, and killed the engine several times before winning through to where Doug had plowed. When shoveling, I meant to park in a spot he's already plowed, but he didn't plow anything not needed for getting out of our garages, so I parked inside. Surely Doug will plow before Dave wants the space, and the lot has got to be easier to clean with the furniture gone altogether. Last I heard, it's supposed to be sunny and cold tomorrow. That sure beats rain! The banquet announcement came in yesterday's mail, but I still don't have the President's Message. There's a member of the tour committee missing from the back cover, but I think the post is mentioned in this month's V.P. Land. The snow began again soon, but has been fairly steady and seems to be less than an inch; it's dry and easy to sweep off the step -- and it's about time I did that again. The Tools Committee report and the Mountain Bike Clinic announcement came in today's mail, but still no pres. mess. Doug came in just as Dave was going back to work after lunch. So I suppose I ought to move my car back outside. I'll wait until Dave comes home. 10 February 1994 I was planning, when I took Grandpa's chair in for refinishing, to say "Now don't go hog-wild sanding down those arms -- this is an old chair, and I want it to look old." The uneven surface of the arms on that chair is one of the things I remember from my childhood. When Bernie brought the chair back today, he had *replaced* the arms. The damage had already been done, so I didn't say anything. I should have gone to his place to consult, instead of just okaying the extra expense, when he said there was more to it than he had expected. It's a tall man's chair, alas; I'm going to have to put a pillow at my back when I sit in it. However, it was designed for putting your feet out in front of you, and the height is just right. Bernie found a label underneath with a name and address and credit terms -- but no city. Now that is old, when people felt no need to specify the city when saying where you could find them! 12 February 1994 Ahhh! Bright sunlight! Sharp shadows! Temperature a good twenty degrees above zero! I did some entirely unnecessary snow-shoveling just to stay out in it. And got my stage boots wet. The last time I went shopping, I saw a woman wearing boots that looked like mine, but had thick soles. I should have accosted her to ask where she got them. Jeff said that he was mailing me the ride calendar and it would get here Monday or Tuesday -- it came in today's mail! So I've got to cobble the Bikeabout together and take it to the printer on Monday -- maybe I should go to Crossgates afterward and see whether there are any of those T-necks left; I should have gotten three or four of the red, since what I'm short of is slopping-around shirts, not good ones. It's not likely, since only one store had T-necks, and they didn't have many. Might be some of those ruffled V-neck silk shirts, though; everybody had scads. So it might be well to take my long skirt along. And there might be other shirts that would go with it. I have small holes on four pages, and one entire page to dispose of. I really don't want to cut three pages, so I hope I've got some decent filler on file. If all else fails, there's the membership application form. I do wish I could remember where I stashed the cryptograms. Found my pattern and brushed the cat fur off the corduroy, but haven't cut my pants yet, and now it's time for my nap. Noticed a couple of days ago that I ought not to turn my back on anyone while wearing my slopping-around pants, and my "good" pants aren't really fit for any occasion more formal than pulling weeds, so I'd best get on with it. And wear the mock-wool pants if Dave takes me to Smitty's tonight. 14 February 1994 Be careful what you ask for . . . The Bikeabout is wrapped up, and I sincerely don't want to go out into that bright sunshine to deliver it. We've also got a right smart of wind, and it's blowing the end of the driveway shut. Ah, well, with all the nasty weather we've had, this is the first day of seriously-blowing snow. And as for all those ambulances -- they were all for the same 97, and it was up in Knox. The weather is always worse in Knox. Not to mention that this sounded like a stupidity-type smashup; as a rule weather-caused crashes result in calls for a tow-truck, not in calls for the "jaws" and Advanced Life Support. "Incoherent" people were trapped in two different cars. And that disabled tractor-trailer was on the Letter S, I think. You can get into trouble on Letter S in July. (Hyperbole.) I wonder whether the "code 98" was weather-related. We're all ready to believe that an advanced case of cabin fever could have the ambulance crew begging the sheriff to release a deputy to ride in with them. 15 February 1994 Laundry day, and if I hadn't gone to Crossgates yesterday, I don't know what I'd be wearing to wash the clothes in. Good habits do persist after all -- on the way to Crossgates from the printshop, I had to suppress the urge to turn onto the road to the gym. Ups N downs not only had some T-necks left, they'd knocked another two dollars off the price. So I bought three of the red, two fairly-decent maroon, and a dark-blue poly-cotton I liked the color of. If it's too pilled to wear after a few washings, I'll have gotten three dollars' use out of it. All the black silks and white silks were too small, and "sand-washed" black looks horrible anyway, but as I was about to settle up, I noticed a green shirt that hadn't been sand washed. Upon looking closely I found that my skirt has some green in it, and not enough green to be sure it doesn't match, so I tried the ruffled shirt on -- only to discover that I'm much too fat to wear a predominately-red skirt with an emerald-green blouse. I bought it anyway, thinking it would look good with my new black pants. Which I did finally cut out last weekend. I do hope I've got some black thread. Besides that "subsilk" basting-and-embroidery thread, that is. Had a horrible time getting into the driveway yesterday evening. Partly because I'd gotten confused as to which way you push to shift into four-wheel drive. When Dave came home, I asked whether he'd had a problem, and he said "No, I just followed your tracks." But while I was taking the trash out this morning, I saw that I'd turned too sharply and gotten into the deep part of the drift, while he came in square. The parking lot was so clean that, forgetting there was no entrance, I thought Doug had been here. By daylight, I can see that it is smaller than it used to be in a few spots. And we have daylight. It's zero out, but not as cold as on that 20 day mentioned above. Checked again. It's now over ten degrees. No wonder it felt warm! 16 February 1994 Yesterday was sunny and pleasant, as near as I could tell from in here, and today looks like more of the same, but Dave says there was a howling wind when he went out for the paper, and it had clogged up the driveway. The bank thrown up by the snowplows seems to cause an eddy that dumps snow right at the join between drive and road; if you wait until nobody is around and take a run at it, you can break through -- but Dave called Doug and he's out there now (a little after nine a.m.). . . . Almost time to leave for the Auxiliary salad-making. Tonight, I sewed the hem in the shirt that I made for Dave just before I let out the pattern two inches. I put the corrected pattern into my little trunk; I'll try again after finishing my corduroy pants. The shirt is blue chambray, 100% cotton, short-sleeved, open at the neck -- suitable for work in hot weather. Size XL, which Friends say is chest 44-46. If one of you boys answer that description, I'll bring it with me in June. Looked at the pieces of my pants today, and pressed the pockets so that I can cut them. I tore them out so the straight parts would be straight, so I had to press them before cutting the curved parts. It shouldn't take terribly long when I finally get with it. I do hope spring doesn't come on as suddenly as winter did; we would drown. Albany should be all right; having no place to shove it, they truck their snow to the "snow dock" on the river. I'd like to stand on a bridge downstream when they are doing it. I wonder whether it ever piles up on the ice until they can't dump any more? 18 February 1994 Sunny and warm today -- but, knock wood, nothing coming in through the windows. Yesterday I noticed that the ice on the eaves -- in front, at least -- was transparent, and hoped that today the sun would get trapped under it. But when I looked up today, the ice was entirely white. I think the sun slid the snow on the roof down over it. Did get some seams sewed today, but when I stopped for supper before sewing the inseams, I cut my finger and it's just now getting fit to work with again. I'm typing rather gingerly. As an experiment, I'm sewing the inseams before the center seam, which all authorities say makes pants hang better. Thought at first the broadfall technique would prevent that, but all that is necessary is to sew the side seams before the inseams; the center seams don't matter. The center seam has to be sewn before the waistbands are put on, and it is easier to put the waistbands on before the front is sewed to the back, but doesn't make much difference; It's easy to fold the back out of the way while working on the front and vice versa. I'd be happier with the way the pants are developing were I not constantly reminded that this is shirt-weight corduroy that won't wear long. I ordered five yards of "bull" denim -- whatever that is -- to make two pairs of garden pants. That's a quarter yard too much, but I thought it might shrink. Noticed some "canton flannel" in the same catalog, and got enough to make an ironing-board cover. More like three ironing board covers, since it's *almost* wide enough to make the cover crosswise. Our little Frieda tore a hole in the old one; it was stained and scorched and wearing thin, but I do so little ironing it would have lasted years. She also clawed a hole in the old tablecloth I draped over the rollaway bed. This kid is cruising for a permanent manicure. I sent off for a "Wilderness Fabric" catalog today, and ordered a sample of Cordura from Top Value Fabrics. Hope I think of a way to make the overcoat fold flat soon! 21 February 1994 This morning's paper says that anything that doesn't melt today isn't going to melt, so I'd better go out and chip away at the few remaining patches of ice on the driveway. 22 February 1994 It's still bright, sunny, and above freezing -- I wonder whether that prediction of six inches of snow has been rescinded? Let it snow: we've finally got the ice dams off the roof. At least, on the side of the house I can see. I'd be sorry that I didn't clean all the jackets etc. off my bike and ride to Stonewell, were it not that I went back to bed after breakfast and slept until time for lunch. Dreamed that I woke up -- twice. Without the usual difficulty in getting my eyes open, but one of the times that I "woke up," I couldn't find my glasses. Must have been just what I needed, because I got the kitchen floor mopped during the time I usually have my after-lunch nap. I'm looking forward to spring, when I won't have a mailbox and a newspaper box among the stuff that I have to move! Since we've decided to put up a new box, I suppose I ought to detach what's left of Margie's old one and hang it up in the garage somewhere, to be a back-up next winter. But we intend to put the paper box back up. The second time I "woke up" I explained to Nancy (my sister) that I was in bed because I had a sinus infection -- and I think that that is exactly what is wrong with me. I don't feel it right now, though. Must have drained it out during all that trotting around to get the rugs, step stool, wastebaskets, etc. out of the kitchen, cellarway, and entry. Today's paper has a picture of speed-skater Hunyady kissing her medal. At first glance, she appears to be eating a cookie. After reading the biography below the picture, I wonder whether we ought to encourage Olympic-level dedication. If the gold-medal winner thinks that it wasn't worth the sacrifice, what about all the people who never even get to try? The sun set in a clearer sky than it rose in, but a while ago the dispatcher played his little symphony and said that the winter-storm warning is still on. I got around to that after-lunch nap after a hot bath, but it was more a matter of principle than of necessity. Erica took advantage of the occasion to demand a rubdown. Then I finished washing the "blacks," which I'd started after splashing bleach-spiked dishwater on my brand-new "old" red shirt. All of my black socks were in the wash, and a black hand towel, but the body of the load was two red T-necks, an old red-print T-neck, a navy blue T-neck, and my worn-out pants. I have decided that the pants aren't worth mending, but I'm putting them away in case I need something to mow the poison ivy in next summer. Yesterday or the day before, I noticed a scratch I couldn't account for on the less-injured of the two fingers I cut Friday. I officially pronounce that the third accident, and the set closed. I pinched a finger hunting for the pilot light of the oven on Wednesday while "making salad" at the firehouse. Though the bruise isn't sore any more, it's a brilliant shade of blue. I suppose I'll have to wait for the nail to grow out -- and the blue spot is at the absolute root. Times like these, I wish I could wear nail polish. Polish makes my nails feel so queer that I scrape and scratch at it whenever my attention isn't concentrated on leaving the paint alone. Oh, well, said the fox, paint wouldn't help much while you can see the blue through the cuticle, and by the time it grows out to where paint could cover it, I'll be used to it. It seems to be quite round, maybe I can paint a happy face on it. 23 February 1994 The good news is that our belated January Thaw got all the ice off, so it's easy to sweep the snow off the steps and walkway. (And am I glad that my walkway is only a landing between the steps and the driveway, not a long flagstone path like Margie's!) The bad news is that the "snow, heavy at times," is supposed to mix with sleet and freezing rain. But the time predicted for the rain is also the time the "storm" is supposed to taper off into flurries, so we might get lucky. Trimmed the broken piece of nail off my middle finger this morning, so I don't have to wear band-aids any more. Great relief. Seems like I my hands put my hands into water every five minutes when I'm wearing something that's yukky when it's wet. The Cordura sample, alas, arrived yesterday. The price list that accompanied it included "bull denim," but didn't say what it is, aside from $1.21/yard when you buy 5,164 yards. This is not a retail establishment. How on Earth do you *move* a bolt that big? I must have misread their cryptic notations. But if it comes on 100-yard and 50-yard bolts like the Cordura, how could they have 5,164 yards left? I wasn't surprised to see that neon colors of Cordura cost extra, or that "woodland camouflage" costs more than neon, but I was surprised that "white/ white" is the most expensive color of all -- and why "white/white" rather than "white"? And why is teal more expensive than kelly green, but less expensive than neon green? And why is there no yellow, and neither of the oranges is international? Good thing all I need is black. The bull denim I ordered is $3.50/yard, and 45" rather than 50 1/2" wide -- but you don't have to take the whole roll, and Top Value doesn't say what color theirs is. I wonder what a "leno selvage" is. Could it be the fringed selvage which mysteriously appeared a few years ago? Page 17 and it's still February? Last year's resolution to write a shorter Banner seems to have expired. If you wanted a copy of WEB #37 and didn't get it, send me a card. 24 February 1994 I resolved to wear my new pants to the poets' meeting tonight, and despite doing this and that first, I did finish them. Put them on and started getting dressed as soon as I sewed the hems in. Had to sew the hems without pressing them first: When I plugged in the iron, the joint between the plug and the cord started fountaining sparks -- made of molten insulation, judging by the deposit on my thumb. I hearby declare that the scratch doesn't count, and *this* completes the set of three. I taped a split aloe leaf to the burn & it feels as though it's going to be all right in the morning. Haven't untaped it to look yet. Good thing I went out soon afterward; at home, putting my hands into things, it's hard to keep an aloe leaf on a finger. I'm awfully glad that I got the shirts ironed before starting work on the pants. All four of his cotton shirts are clean and ironed, so with a couple of permapress shirts and some knits, that gives me a week to find a new iron or put a new cord on the old one. The ad for Sterling Labels came today. In addition to the printed labels mentioned in the ad, they have one- and two-line woven labels. I may buy some name tapes. Dave is going to order fifty yards of Cordura tomorrow. I was so happy when I found that you could pull threads in pack cloth -- the Cordura is *coated*. Not as thick as some, but one definitely isn't going to pull a thread. I explained and explained to Larry that coated fabrics are for tarps and ponchos and the like, and would do nothing for our overcoats except keep the water that gets in from getting out again, but he is hipped on having it, so I'll have to work with it. I may make pack-cloth linings to provide ventilation. 27 February 1994 It's truly nasty out, and Dave had to punch through the driveway in my car before he could escape in his even though Doug cleaned it all out after it stopped snowing yesterday, and I'm typing with a shawl around my shoulders, but Spring is sproinging: I just moved the bread and butter off the eating table to keep them out of the sun. Won't be long before I put the china salt shaker away and put out the one with the screw-on lid. Dave didn't order the Cordura Friday, or show Larry the label ad that came in Thursday's mail. Every winter he talks and talks about going up to Lake Placid, and I say "go," and he doesn't. This year he told me when a particularly interesting bobsled event was happening, and I told him that he'd come home to find the door locked and his suitcase on the steps. I never meant to go quite that far, but Thursday morning I asked him which suitcase to pack, and he said that he'd decided against taking Friday off. Friday morning he woke up feverish and clogged up, and realized that he was going to have to take Friday off after all. Whatever he's got, George Rupprecht has it too. To my relief; when he called back sounding terrible, I thought he'd had a relapse, or hadn't recovered as thoroughly as I'd thought. Good thing the following day was Saturday and he couldn't go back to work. Alas, he didn't go to Lake Placid either; it didn't sound like any fun at all to him. Since his sinuses are swollen, I think it's the same thing that knocked me down for a couple of days last week. There seems to be nothing left of my burn, except a slightly-rough patch in the callus. The two cut fingers have regenerated the skin and you have to look closely to see that it isn't a simple case of nail-biting -- but the bruise is uglier than ever. It looks bigger, because more of it is out from under the cuticle, and the color has changed from blue to black and is now a particularly yukky purple. When I peeled the aloe off in the morning, it was just a thin membrane, hardly more than a green stain on the paper tape. And there wasn't a trace of the black from the burnt insulation; I presume that it came off on the first aloe leaf; I changed the dressing hastily just before leaving for the meeting, and didn't examine the one I threw out. I appear to have volunteered to to the typesetting for the Thursday Poets apazine anthology. I volunteered Barbara to do the cover. Discussion was tabled before we got around to choosing a name for our Amateur Press Association, because it was taking too much time and people wanted to read their poems. So I don't know when they are going to call me on this. I did emphasize that I wanted mailing addresses for everybody. Frankly, my dear, had I realized that it was an apa, I wouldn't have joined. I thought that it was a juried show. 28 February 1994 When I'd just started writing the following entry for Arachne, Dave came home. Wondering why I hadn't heard the car before I saw him through the window, I dashed to the door thinking Smitty's pizza. Turned out he'd hiked from the end of the driveway, where he was stuck in a drift, and wanted me to pull him out with the Toyota. But neither of us could remember where he put the tow rope. So we took the two snow shovels out to try to dig it loose, and we tried him spinning and me pushing, but I couldn't get any traction pushing back, and the car couldn't get any traction pushing forward. A couple of passers-by stopped and joined in, and we all had a great deal of fun, and finally, with the aid of a little cat litter, the two boys got it loose and into the parking lot. I decided to fry club steak for supper, and Dave is thinking of buying a new tow rope. (I'm wondering: we looked in the back of the Toyota, but did we look in the back of the Saab?) I'm thinking that I ought to go out and buy a new iron -- Doug came later in the evening, and Dave said that it hasn't blown in much since then. Not to mention that my car is four-wheel drive. I had to engage it to get into a parking space at Stonewell Saturday; the lot slopes slightly, and I didn't pull up quite far enough. The front wheels couldn't start moving on the ice, and rolling back didn't help, but the back wheels were still on snow. That was after fighting out of the deeply-covered lot at Beyond the Tollgate, where I found that none of the winter- clearance fabrics were suitable for pants, but bought a seam gauge. I can't use the old one because I can never find it, and thought one for the sewing machine and one for the hand-sewing basket might help. I wanted to make new aprons yesterday, but after cutting a strip to make ties with, I didn't know how to press it. So I didn't cut any more for fear of losing the pieces. Or forgetting what I had in mind. With the October storm in mind, when I couldn't sew with my treadle sewing machine because I didn't have a treadle iron, I was thinking of ordering a pair of sad irons from Lehman's. Changed my mind in a big hurry when I found that two bases and a handle cost nearly sixty dollars! Who said simple living is cheap? Come to think of it, if I wanted to iron bad enough to use sad irons, I could take the cord off the broken electric iron and heat it in a skillet. Arachne I've read a book and seen three TV shows since last writing an episode of Arachne. And did I ever mention that the row of @ signs meant that Banner was about to resume? Feeling shut-in, I not only watched Babylon 5 Saturday, but stayed for Star Trek Deep Space Nine and Star Trek the New Generation. The two Trek shows suffer considerably from the contrast. DS9 had a lulu of a follow-up for the implication that Doctor Bashir, the human, wanted to romance Jadzia-Dax, the inhabited Trill. Saturday's episode opened with Jadzia-Dax trying to matchmake between a woman whose species I didn't catch and Odo, the shapeshifter who "doesn't do faces very well." Odo doesn't even know for sure that he's male! His species might reproduce by fission, for all he knows. At least Jadzia-Dax *looks* like a suitable romantic interest for a human male. Jadzia, the host, appears to be an unusually attractive human woman with a strange pattern of freckles -- reminiscent of Ruferto, the spotted dog in "Groo". Jadzia sometimes refers to Dax' age, but she isn't convincing as someone who has been around for a while. By contrast, one of the alien ambassadors in Babylon 5 has a penchant for human females, and it is regarded as a harmless-but-risible perversion by the other characters; it is obviously rude to mention it, and no romance is involved. In addition to having alien aliens, Babylon 5 has a premise that makes it logical that most of the crew on the station are human -- which saves a lot on make up! Also, even though this was my first complete episode (and I tuned in too late to catch the complete premise), I got the impression that events that happen in each episode will have happened in the following episodes. The old flame who turned up in this episode left at the end of it -- but promised to be back. I expect the snake-like ambassador's new aide to appear in next week's episode -- I certainly hope so, because she is an engaging character. The plot -- unseen by the commander as he renews auld acquaintance -- is the tried and true tale of the professional assassin who cleverly gains access to the snake-people's ambassador, then is even more cleverly foiled by the new aide (who had been cleverly set up as a decoy), and then the ambassador deposits a large sum of money to the assassin's account and puts him on a space ship. It was established, during a scene in which the ambassador tried to buy him off, that accepting a bribe is painfully fatal for an assassin. In the continuing story of the peace treaty, the proposed signatories hold a festival of culture in which each holds a ceremony illustrating its dominant belief. The John-Belushi people present a pig-out banquet celebrating their extermination of the other race on their planet; the metal-haired people hold a wedding, I didn't catch the snake people's entry. Maybe it was last week. The human commander's turn is last; as Earth's entry, he presents a mile-long row of holy men and women, each from a different religion. Beginning with an atheist, which will no doubt infuriate Madelein Murray O'Hare if she knows someone who watched the show. DS9's plot was a silly but engaging discovery that an old man who had been eating holograms for twenty years is still real; the sub-plot shows Quark trying to take advantage of Odo's absence by getting someone who owes him money to invite the assistant security chief's lover to speak at a banquet or ceremony of some kind; the lover isn't, of course, quite diverting enough. (Don't any of these people have *staff*?) The lovers are the same species -- I wonder how that came about. Too much time has elapsed for me to talk sensibly about the TNG show; something about a sun goddess being tamed by a moon god and everything ending up exactly where every week's episode begins. But Picard looks more like a commander than Kirk ever did. The book was Advance Agent by John August; copyright 1941, and internal evidence suggests that it was written before Pearl Harbor. Events take place in the summer of 1941. I found it on the bookshelves and don't remember having read it before -- and I certainly don't remember where I bought it. It's been a long time since I saw a hardcover used-book store. I found the economic history as interesting as the war propaganda; even though I can remember when a hamburger with all the trimmings was twenty-five cents, I was startled when the escaping pilot paid for his "coffee and sandwiches" and got change back from a dollar. Having stolen a pair of coveralls and three dollars Canadian, he was pretty well set up. The pro-war propaganda isn't as blatant as in the Outdoor Girls (where a girl's first thought upon spotting an eligible bachelor is "Do you suppose he is one of these insects we term *_slackers_*?"), but anyone who isn't eager to join the fray and dash off to fight the evil Hun must be a Nazi in the direct pay of Hitler, and isolationists are all scum. Lots of fun showing the reporter as heroic enough to win the girl and at the same time sick enough to stay out of the army. "I'm a crock," he says upon getting out of breath, "All crocks ought to be shot." The escaping Luftwaffe pilot -- who isn't definitely revealed as a heroic CIA agent until at least a quarter into the book, though someone of the time would have been sure as soon as he is shown forging bravely on even though he has injured his wrist and ankle -- is also matched up, less convincingly, but more romantically. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Looks like a bright and sunny day out there. We are promised more clear weather before the next storm -- which is following the track of the storm that Dave was disappointed at missing when we were last in Indiana. Fred Carl, Dave's playmate, also had What's Going Around, while he was at a race in Florida. Spoiled his vacation. Dave didn't feel like going back to work this morning, but went anyway. It was as much Monday as flu, I hope. I'm feeling rather Monday myself, as evidenced by this lengthy entry when there are dishes to wash. 3 March 1994 Yesterday I asked Dave whether Margie's paper was missing before I called her. This morning I know she's up -- I heard her water running. Margie's well has been out of service for a week, and when they dug it up, they found that they need some parts that aren't being made any more, and things are getting complicated. So the day before yesterday, she asked me to open the valve between her water system and ours; I told her that the village had made us cut the connection. But that night Dave went down and noticed that there is a hose fitting on the stub of pipe -- there had been a drainage valve on her side of the place where the pipe was cut. So the following morning I called Margie and that afternoon Danny bought a double-female connector at the Phillip's that used to be Crannel's, and ran a hose from the laundry sink to the faucet on the connecting pipe. Much to my surprise, the faucet opened at once when he turned the handle, and water drained out. That valve has been totally ignored for twenty years that I know about personally, and is at least forty years old. When Danny left, he said that this had been the only easy part of the emergency. I presume Margie immediately flushed all the toilets and took a bath. She had been melting snow to flush with, and trying to get clean with a damp rag. When Dave came home from work Monday, I asked whether he'd given Larry the label catalog I'd sent in with him. He said no -- Larry was also out with What's Going Around. Dave took his case to Casey yesterday, and was told that it was pneumonia and ordered to stay home today. A little before dawn this morning, Dave's pager went off. He said "Oh, s--t!" but I don't know whether it's because he forgot he was shut in, or because he remembered. Maybe he was just annoyed at the noise. I was startled when a tanker responded to a car fire in a driveway, and even more surprised when they had to refill it. Hope the snow lets up soon enough for Dave to go gossip at the firehouse tonight. Not to mention that I'd like to go to the Wheelmen meeting tonight. Doug came while I was typing this, and his tracks are already rounded off. I picked up the broom, opened the door, looked at the steps -- two corners do stick out on the sheltered side -- and shut the door again. I'll go out for the paper when Dave wakes up and gets bored. Wearing waffle stompers. I've been going out in my indoor boots and getting them wet, but the right shoe split open between upper and sole the day before yesterday. The split boot is more comfortable than the other one, so I presume that it tore because it's too narrow, and my new ones won't do that. They aren't any wider in the sole, but have more leather in the upper. The pattern leaflets in the recently-arrived Wilderness Fabrics catalog (which I had ordered before we selected a source of Cordura) reminded me of a pattern for mittens that I wrote several years ago, which turned out too long to sell to a magazine and got filed. I dug it out and intend to re-write it as a leaflet. I'm only on page three in re-reading it -- counting the glossary, it runs twenty manuscript pages -- but I see that I've learned a *lot* about writing how-to articles since I wrote "Split mittens." And I need to sort the two boxes labeled "needlework mss." Might be some other goodies in there. Also useful to separate tatting, crochet, knitting, etc. Sigh. It's time to start dressing, car-excavating, etc. to go to the MHW meeting and what I want to do is to go back to bed. Seems to have snowed only an inch since I swept my car this afternoon -- finished just as Doug came to plow the second time, by good luck. I pushed more than a foot of snow off the hood, and when I went around to dig out the driver's door so Dave could move the car for Doug, I found the snow I'd pushed off the hood piled to the top of the fender. The car backed out without any rocking when it was time to move it; four-wheel drive is sure nice. Doug did plow fairly close to the back bumper first, so there was only a narrow wall of snow to push through. A few days ago Dave said that at the beginning of the snows he had thought Doug silly to plow so far into the lawn; now you can't tell that he did; despite the withdrawal during our belated January thaw, and a clever trick for piling it higher -- Doug is getting really good at moving snow -- the bank has encroached far into the parking area. Good thing we share a driveway and have pavement to spare! 4 March 1994 Be careful what you *don't* ask for! When I got back from the MHW meeting yesterday, it appeared to be starting to rain and I said, "No, No! We don't need rain on top of this!" In the night, the wind got to howling so loud and constant I got up to see whether the faucet in the basement had broken open, but went back to bed when I found that the noise was no louder in the bathroom. And this morning all that shovelling I did to clear the doorway is undone, with (I presume) hard snow instead of fluffy. We *did* need rain on top of this. The garage door looks usable, but there is no doubt more work for Doug at the end of the driveway. I wonder whether it would help to plant a big clump of bushes on the corner? But something blocking the view when I pull out wouldn't be good. Darryl forgot to give me his pictures at the meeting. It was rather abbreviated. I arrived at St. Michael's Church to find that I had my pick of such parking places as weren't occupied by snow, and saw someone walking & thought maybe the lot on Fuller wasn't as blown-in as the lot on Killean Park, but it was obvious that people had made it in and out of the places on St. Michael's Terrace, so I didn't go look. Turned out the pedestrian was Glen Kuhles, who lives around the corner on Tattersal. The church had left the outer door unlocked for us -- we usually have to wait for the member who has a key -- so we went into the vestibule and gossiped until we were sure nobody else was coming, then went out and found Darryl stuck in the snow: having seen me parked, he thought he could park, but the snow was thicker on that side of the walkway. And he doesn't have four-wheel drive. It was just that his front wheels, which are his drive wheels, couldn't get any purchase, so with Glen and Darryl pushing, I was able to back it out into the road, and we all went home. I really ought to call Trudy Van Ryn. When she told me that there were going to be no refreshments, and I told her there would probably be no speaker (Cindy had called earlier), she said that nobody in his right mind would come to the meeting. I'll have to tell her that *Glen* was in his right mind. I sure wasn't, and I may write something for the Bikeabout on the theme of "what's bad for bikes is bad for cars." Cyclists hate the stretch of 155 between Western and Central because the break-down lane looks like a usable shoulder to motorists, but is passable only to mountain bikes, and there is a drop-off or other dangerous irregularity between the travel lane and the break-down lane almost continuously. Well, one of those edge defects snuck up on me under cover of the snow -- I'd been thinking too hard about not travelling too far to the left on the markless road, and was too far to the right -- and the next thing I knew I was in the oncoming lane pointed back the way I came. All I remember of the interval was being on a collision course with a house-high snowbank that didn't look the least bit soft. I had at least a block of four-lane road all to myself during this dido, and I think that uses up all my grace for the whole year. I considered a U-turn for about half a millisecond, then proceeded back to the stoplight in second gear, without the least show of impatience from the fellow behind me, and turned around in the industrial park. If I'd been smart, I'd have gone home while I was pointed that way -- but who would have gotten Darryl out of the snow? 5 March 1994 We enjoyed a sunny day yesterday, but when I got up this morning it was snowing like a Noreaster, except with wind -- and the wind seems to have dropped. Dave thinks it's just a flurry. The prediction was for partly cloudy. Though there is getting to be a shortage of places to put the snow, what's wearing is that we haven't been getting any other kind of weather. But, unlike the Thursday Poet who wrote "Warm Spring Rain", I'm hoping that the rain predicted for Thursday doesn't develop. We would drown. The day turned out to be sunny -- but removing the snow from the roads hasn't improved some of them very much. When we first moved here, Grant Hill Road was in such bad shape that we said that the National Guard (which has a rifle range on that road) must have been firing artillery shells at it. Today, Fuller Road, the main connection between Central and Western, was *worse*. I finally got off on the expedition that I've been postponing -- and forgot to take the check when I went to the bank. Can't take care of it until Monday, now. Rejected the expensive irons at Lechmere -- including a "cordless" iron you heat between swipes, like a sad iron except that you have to be careful to seat its connectors into the base unit. Bought a $13 Proctor Silex iron, then blew $60 on a Farberware double boiler. Total check was $58 -- I'm going to have to find the register tape and read it. Thence to Northway, where I bought some shelf paper to make patterns with at our remaining Woolworth store, and nearly fainted when I found there was no restaurant where MacDonald's used to be. Since a "Rush Room" at Northway has been advertising on the radio, I had been confident of being able to eat. I did pass a pizza shop on the way out, but by then I was too stupid to negotiate a menu and too weak to stomach pizza -- and it was quicker to go to Price Chopper and buy some overripe bananas. I must remember to put some mints into my purse. I hit Paper Cutter on the way to Lechmere, and got my return-address labels -- a great relief -- and bought another box for 3 1/2" disks. And on the way back, I stopped at Price Chopper -- no relation to Paper Cutter -- but I appear to have left my shopping list on the checkout at Lechmere, so we still don't have any canned soup. Got most of the other stuff that can be got at the places I went. Also took a lap through the two fabric shops on the Northway parking lot, and was tempted by some lovely blue acetate satin at $2/yard. At that price I wouldn't mind that it was good for only one or two events, but I envisioned it in the style I'm planning to use with the print, and realized that I could never get a satin dress designed by Saturday; satin is supposed to drape, not pleat. Sunday, 6 March 1994 Greenish-beige "flesh colored" knee socks look dreadful with Mary Jane shoes. After a winter of wearing soft-soled boots, the clatter of those plastic heels is distracting. And the ribbon binding is tearing away and I don't know how to repair it, so I haven't tried to cover up the places where the black has worn off either. I do hope I don't forget to change my shoes before I go anywhere! I'm impressed with the "Catspaw" non-skids that Delmar Bootery put on. They're no thicker than the cardboard on a cheap tablet, but they look good for at least as many more miles as they have already traveled. When I drove down 155 yesterday, I not only didn't see any impressive banks like the one I noticed on Thursday, for long stretches there were no banks at all, just dirty ridges to show where they had been. Today is predicted to be even warmer than yesterday, which is too warm. We had water across the road in several places. At least it isn't blowing or promising to rain. Paper says we had fifteen major snow "storms" this winter. Seemed like more than that. Ironed two shirts, six yards of print, two yards of canton flannel, and five yards of bull denim. The new iron doesn't get nearly as hot as the old one. That didn't matter on the shirts, except it took a while to get the nerve to crank the setting high enough -- but it was a real pain when I was ironing that bull denim! The weft threads are thicker than #10 crochet cotton, and it's woven real tight. It takes a lukewarm iron a long time to flatten it. I wonder whether it's because it's a $13 iron -- or OSHA has struck again. I may yet have the old iron repaired. 7 March 1994 If I push the cuticle back, I can see the bottom of the bruise on one side; I can hope that it isn't going to get much larger. The current color is black shading into maroon. 9 March 1994 I was surprised when I looked at my back in the mirror this morning -- except for one tiny red spot, it was clean. Last night Erica started bugging me while I was trying to punch in Cindy Perlin's letter, so I picked her up intending to try to sic her onto Dave, who was reading funny books in bed. On the way up the stairs I tripped and ended up with an elbow and knee on the steps. The baby-carrying reflex safeguarded the cat -- but cats have reflexes of their own. Erica didn't release her grip until I reached the bed and put her paws within reach of terra firma (the more firma, the less terra). But apparently she drove her non-skids straight in and backed them straight out again -- and I wish Freida knew the trick of that. One of her hind claws did punch a hole in the front of one of my $3 shirts. One day one of my programs was behaving oddly, and I said "I think I'll have to close and re-boot." Then I bethought me that "reboot" meant you had shut down the whole machine, and asked Dave what they call it when you fire up a program. He thought for a while and said "I think they call it 'instantiate'." I don't think "re-instantiate" is going to catch on. 3:38 -- strange; the snowflakes are shaped like snowflakes. I got out of the car, looked down, and the pavement was covered with six-pointed stars about the size of sequins. I decided to make a special trip to deposit that check I've forgotten so many times, and copy some illos for "Shuttle Solitaire" and an ad for the Bikeabout. Dave said that he was going to have to get a prescription filled, so I took that too. I passed by Stewart's on the way from the bank to the library, so I traded in the six-pack of seltzer bottles I've been carrying around for months. When I take the carton downstairs, I'll be able to fill it up with empties and put it back into the car. Another noreaster. Boooring. It's supposed to mix with sleet, rain, and freezing rain tomorrow -- which is why I dashed out today. Didn't buy food, having bought ground chuck and three chicken thighs yesterday. And some canned soup! At lunch today, Dave said "remember the cream of chicken and mushroom soup with a fried cheese sandwich I wanted yesterday? I'm ready!" This is bound to be our last "winter storm." The one we have next week will be a *spring* snowstorm. While at the library I made nineteen copies of one of Rex Babin's few intelligible cartoons, and plan to enclose it in the next addition of the Banner. There are twenty of you, but I've no use for the original. My burn is peeling. What with slashes, scratches, burns, bruises, and punctures, I'm sure glad that the robots of "With Folded Hands" can't check out my physical condition. I wonder why I haven't seen "With Folded Hands" in any classic collections? It's got to be the most horrifying horror story ever written. Arachne While at the library, I was inspired by the falling flakes to search the General Fiction shelves for something interesting, though I most certainly have enough needlework to keep me occupied through this storm and the next two too. But after supper, I was too stupid from an overdose of corned beef -- J.J. packed up our dinners, and I brought them back here -- to sew or read Threads, so I read all of Willa Cather's Sapphira and the Slave Girl, 1940, after supper. Curious volume; no real plot -- what the veddy litawawy people think they are doing when they write "character sketches," except that I kept turning the pages because I was interested in these people. Takes place not too long before the War Between the States, in a backwoods community in Virginia, where slavery doesn't make any sense, there being no good plantation land, but all well-off people own a few blacks anyway because white people are too lazy, dirty, uncouth, insolent, and unreliable. Noted members of the household: Jezebel, who was kidnapped in Africa and died, at eighty or ninety, early in the story, her granddaughter Till, who was brought up by an English housekeeper and has very strict ideas about how to be a servant, Nancy, Till's daughter by a passing portrait painter, Lizzy (who gets away with murder because good cooks are hard to find), and Sapphira, the owner of all the above, who married "beneath herself." Sapphira notices that Nancy has grown up while her husband still regards the girl with avuncular affection; consequently, she makes the girl's life so miserable that the postmistress and Sapphira's widowed daughter smuggle Nancy into Canada to keep her from throwing herself into the millpond. Not much of a plot, but I read every word of it with much interest. My only complaint comes in the epilog, when "I," then five years old, sees Nancy come home for a visit twenty-five years later. I kept waiting for clues to who "I" and "my father" were, and why they were living with "Mrs. Blake," Sapphira's daughter. I never got them. Thought at first that "I" was Molly's daughter, but then she would have called Mrs. Blake "Grandma." I particularly liked the part of the epilog about the difficulty Sapphira's husband had in persuading lazy, trouble-mongering Lizzy to leave after he inherited and freed the slaves. He finally carried her off physically and left her at a hotel that needed a cook. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ 10 March 1994 While I was wading out to move my car so Doug could plow the slush, I decided that I preferred snow. Ah, well, the freezing rain was over by the time people started using the roads, and the flooding (so far) doesn't seem to be any worse than wet shoes. After his first foray into the slush, Dave decided that it was time to buy new waffle stompers. I'm still getting on fine with the "Cascade" boots that I bought at R.E.I. on the way back from Hawaii. Could use a low-topped pair like Dave's, though. When the storm was first announced, I started fretting and fuming over whether the roads would be fit for me to go to the poets' meeting tonight. When the time came to leave, the roads were quite clear -- but I decided that I'd rather stay home and work on my new blouse. 11 March 1994 Yesterday wasn't much of a day. I decided I'd begin by packing up all my Miracle Maid cookware to give to the Salvation Army -- I still have the instruction book. But it appears that I don't have the one-quart saucepan. The lid was there, but no pan. It must be in the house somewhere, and I can't see how it got out of the kitchen. I've been looking under furniture and in cupboards where I'd have needed a ladder to mislay it. Since I have the Magnalite pan and the little iron saucepan, I haven't been using it, but I'm pretty sure I've been seeing it in the drawer; I would stand it on edge when I put the three-quart pan back in after making spaghetti. I wish I could tell Mom I'm throwing it out -- she told me it was a mistake to buy a set of pots and pans, instead of open stock. I had to wash the "inset pans" before I could wrap them in newspaper, and they had been dusty so long that they didn't come clean. Then after giving up the packing project, I incautiously started trying to make the scanned copy of Bikeabout's nameplate that Bob gave me into something that I'd dare to put into a document I meant to use. After fooling around all day, I still don't have a usable copy. I've an idea involving the Clip Board Viewer, but even though it would take only five minutes to try it out -- I think I'd better wait until I've gotten some work done on the dress I mean to wear to the banquet tomorrow. Which may be wasted effort. Dave is thinking of using his pneumonia as an excuse to skip the banquet. Since the banquet runs on and on and on, and the band is invariably deafening -- I usually sneak out to the bus and take a nap during the installation banquet -- he probably really shouldn't go. But I've got an awards banquet in April, and I may not have any time for my personal sewing after Monday. Wish I had thought about pins before saying I could handle Cordura. I ran the sample through the sewing machine, but didn't think about how I'm going to pin seams in coated fabric. There was a hint about sewing Cordura in the latest Threads; I must re-read it. Noon: I spent most of the morning working on my poncho shirt, and have it nearly finished. The plan for the dress was to be a broadfall skirt, a short-sleeved blouse with a mandarin collar, and a poncho shirt I could wear over the blouse when I wanted long sleeves. Though I still haven't adjusted the pattern for the blouse -- I think I've found the mistake, though -- I figured I could get the skirt and shirt made, and wear them with my black mock turtle. Since the insides of the sleeves show, and I'm not fond of "deconstructed" fashions, I decided to line the sleeves with a scrap of corduroy from my pants. Though I'm doing everything by machine and top-stitching all the hems, the print folded back over the black corduroy looks elegant, like velvet edged with gold embroidery. I'll have to do something with corduroy bound with home-made bias. There's enough scraps of the black cord to make a vest. Might be enough of the print left to trim it. If I ever get to make anything besides overcoats, that is. I've got until Larry makes me a dress dummy. 12 March 1994 This week's Enterprise says that I'll know what my address is by October. We could use a few more days like this: bright sun all day, and never much above freezing. We went for pizza in lieu of the banquet -- but would have preferred the prime rib! 13 March 1994 Snivel. Nobody brought us a doggy bag -- we should have asked someone. They probably would have forgotten about it when Glen broke his hip, though. When I heard the Albany paramedics being called to the Polish Community Center, my first thought was that next year we should invite them to the party and save time. It was Glen's mother who fell the other time Albany firemen crashed our party. I wonder whether his brother is getting nervous? I was sitting at the computer and Freida was doing her best to drive me berserk. Finally she succeeded, and I told her to get lost. Dave said, "What was that?" "I was getting rid of Freida." By this time Freida had transferred her attentions to Dave. He said, "You've got to understand, Freida, that it's that time of the month -- she's working on the Bikeabout." 15 March 1994 Bikeabout safely delivered, just before closing time yesterday. Remembered to pick up another pack of ledger paper, but forgot to ask for the originals of the previous issue. Now that I'm not pasting anything except the ads, it doesn't matter a lot -- but this month we actually had ads, so I'm better remember to go back and get the reproduction copy. I tried the file Bob gave me of Bikeabout's nameplate, and it worked -- but I deleted it before archiving the issue, because it takes up three or four times as much space as the whole sixteen pages without it -- including other illos, but not, come to think of it, including the back cover which is a separate "publication" and contains another scanned file. Anyhow it was nine hundred thousand bytes with the nameplate and one-fifty thousand without it. An illo that big makes the program so slow that there's risk the screen saver will erase the screen and make it start painting over again. So I added it just before printing. Didn't do much but fiddle around today. I've the contributor's list ready to print out and mail to the publisher, and sorted a few of the papers cluttering the floor in the office. I can see the tops of the oregano, and half one of the seats on the picnic table, and the ground shows under a few of the trees -- but the pile of snow on the driveway hasn't shrunk much. Layer of ice about three inches thick on the bottom. Late in the afternoon, I took the ice scraper out and chipped chunks off the ice so that it would melt faster tomorrow. 17 March 1994 I've been drinking orange juice and seltzer because I don't want to go out into the cold to buy milk. I think I'm getting withdrawal symptoms. We didn't get much snow yesterday, but a high wind made the most of it. I was apprehensive when I started for the Ride Leader's Meeting, but (if you don't count a humongous pothole on Route 20) the only really nasty part was from our house to the corner -- snow blowing off the high school. Snow was falling horizontally when I woke up this morning. At breakfast, I looked out and commented that the snow was now falling at forty-five degrees. Dave said "It's not *that* warm!" Downright cold, in fact; it's still (10:23 am) below twenty, and still windy -- though snow isn't falling at all at the moment. It's rising now and again, though. The wind did blow practically all the snow off my car; I really ought to suit up and go get milk. I wonder whether there's another can of juice in the freezer? Dave said that we *had* invited an Albany paramedic to the party. Now that he mentions it, the first call said "paramedic on the scene." I ran into Sandy at Stonewell when I hauled myself out into the blustering wind, and picked up some gossip about her brother-in-law, who is at home already. She says that she thinks the hip only badly bruised, but her description sounded more like a hairline fracture, as earlier reported. She said he requires a strong chair; I was surprised that he's sitting up at all. You might say that I've caught Dave on the rebound. All his playmates are at a chief's meeting he wasn't invited to, so in a few minutes he's going to pick me up and we're going to Smitty's for corned beef and cabbage. One year they had real soda bread with it, but I think that that cook left. 18 March 1994 We got there five minutes too late, and had to settle for sliced-sirloin sandwiches. I had german potato salad with mine, which made Dave regret having ordered macaroni salad. To add to my oxymoron collection: "natural cultures." 19 March 1994 When Dave got up and said "I'm hungry!" I said "Me too. Let's go to June's." Which reminded him that it had been a long time since he'd had breakfast at Pixie's, and he likes their sausage, so off we went and forgot to give Erica her pill. Come suppertime, I mentioned my marvelous recipe for stew and he took me out for pizza. 22 March 1994 When I went out for milk and meat yesterday, I noticed that a wide strip of our lawn has thawed back from the road. Seemed to me that the exposed area was the exact extent of the patch of weeds that look a bit weedier than the rest. Only a thin film of snow fell last night, but there is a fresh dent in the mailbox. I must remember to tell Dave that I've been thinking that we ought to keep the broken post (the bottom part is still firmly planted), and use it to erect a sign with our box numbers in the middle and reflectors all around the edges. It would hide the flag from the mailman, but I suppose he doesn't need to see it until he's pulled up in front of the box anyway. Or we might put a second flag on the sign: put one of the reflectors on a hinged stick. Der groschen geflt. I thunk up a filler today, and didn't want to fire up "word" to put it in the document SCRATCH and wanted even less to fire up Publisher to put it into the filler file in the publication MAY, so I started a PC-Write file and found a writing-hand icon to represent it on the "desktop." But I'll have to change its extension to ".txt" so that Word and Publisher can import it, since neither program takes kindly to having text appended to one of its files. There is still snow in the flowerbed, but I see crocus poking through. Perhaps I should rake up the remaining snow so I can loosen the matted leaves. Margie is out shoveling. Earlier today I scraped the white film off the dirty snow so that the sun can get at it. The most obtrusive part of the bank blew in instead of being piled up, of course, so it is white to the bottom. 23 March 1994 Upon noticing that the snow was all gone from the sheltered flowerbed, and that tulips as well as crocus were poking through, I got a little weeder (having forgotten where I put my three-finger hoe last fall) and picked out a cartload of matted leaves. Which exposed sprouting woodruff and some slightly-disheveled Joe Rickets' strawberries. Then I surveyed the other two beds, noted that I could get at all of one and most of the other by going out the front door, but didn't need to because the leaves didn't blow in there as much -- and then saw, up against the foundation in the farthest bed, a purple crocus and a yellow crocus in full bloom. Over the bed I'd just cleaned, where the first crocus usually bloom, circled a bewildered bee. Over the last week, I've chipped at least a yard off the bank in the parking lot. Melting rapidly today -- where I've broken off small pieces. In the afternoon I excavated my bike from the pile of stuff that has accumulated in the entry since New Year's Day, and rode it to Indian Ladder for some apples and oranges. While I was dressing, the UPS man brought me a mailing tube, which surprised me: I had thought I'd ordered folded maps. No wonder they cost $4/page. I bought Voorheesville and four of the adjoining quadrangles from NYSDOT -- more recent than USGS maps. They are planimetric, but have the contours from the USGS maps overprinted. The tube was the new-fangled three-cornered kind, which seems to be a tremendous improvement over round mailing tubes. It's got to be cheaper to cut and fold cardboard than to wind a round tube, corrugated is lighter than solid carboard, a triangle is much less likely than a circle to be crushed in shipping, and it can be shipped and stored flat. Not to mention that it won't roll out when I open the map cupboard! I'm going to keep it and put all the rolled maps in it. 24 March 1994 I was considerably surprised when one of the rolled "maps" turned out to be a pattern for the bike shorts I made for Isabel Nirenberg, and another was a pattern for shorts for Pete Hutchison. I figured that if I ever saw those people again, let alone sewed for them, I'd want to start with fresh measurements, so I threw them out. I kept the roll marked "Joy's riding shorts," but it was too long to put into the map case. Also found a 1:75,000 Albany and Schenectady Counties map that I'd forgotten ever buying, inside a packet of NYSDOT Map Information Unit order forms. Noted that the index map showed half as many quadrangles as the one that came with the quadrangles I had just bought, and threw the packet out -- after putting Albany-Schenectady with the other county maps, of course. Map cupboard is much neater now, and my maps should be more useful. Need to divide them into smaller categories, though. Naturally, I couldn't find any of the plastic envelopes our last few funny books came in, and had to make do with what bags were in the cupboard. Luckily, I seldom bother to take the plastic bag off a map when I put it back into the cupboard, so there were some. I was astonished at the number of MHW ride maps I found -- I didn't think I'd gone on very many rides. But then, when Dave was still riding, we went fairly often. If he was driving, it would explain why I don't remember ever having been some of those places. But what am I to make of a receipt for advance payment on lodging at a hostel in Rochester, Vermont? I've stayed at only two hostels, neither in Vermont. Indeed, my only excursions into Vermont have been with the Wheelmen: twice to Arlington and once to Stowe. And there were no maps of Rochester, Vermont in the collection. Receipt says it was months in advance: Maybe that was the year I went to Lake George. Might have decided I wasn't in shape to ride all the way to Rochester. But then I also found notes I took on the trip to Lake George (they were in the provisional wastebasket, which I cleaned out to empty a folder to file the MHW maps in), and I was in pretty good shape that year. Rode from Saratoga to Lake George in one day, through a ferocious thunderstorm, interrupted by a three-mile hike in Glens Falls (carrying a flat back wheel for a mile and a half, and a repaired wheel the other mile and a half) -- and then the next day I "got carried away" while looking for a place to eat breakfast and rode to Warrensburg, wearing walking shoes because my riding shoes were still wet from the storm. 27 March 1994 The cover of this week's "Parade" claims to quote Speilberg: "There is a fine line between censorship and good taste and moral responsibility." [Barnyard expletive tastefully deleted.] The line between censorship and good taste looks more like the Pacific Ocean, or like the line between mayhem and surgery. Good taste and moral responsibility are the standards by which you decide what you are going to do and say, and what you are going to accept and reject. Censorship is the act of deciding what other people are going to do and say, and what other people are going to be allowed to see and hear. The comment is also badly expressed. "Censorship" and "good taste and moral responsibility" are not as parallell as the ideas the phrases express, and only knowing in advance what he is trying to say enables you to refer "between" to the correct "and." A few days ago I noticed that my aloe was looking peaked and gave it a cup of water -- its first drink in several months. Despite such treatment, I think that there is more than one plant in there; I'll have to repot it when it gets warm enough to work outside. I'd better put "cactus mix" on my shopping list. 28 March 1994 Saturday, Dave stirred some non-hydrogenated peanut butter into his ice cream; Sunday, I got to wondering what sort of ice-cream sauce one could make by putting peanut butter into cocoa syrup. So I whomped up half a batch of syrup and tried it. Been a while; after stirring in two-thirds of the water, I kept stirring and waiting for it to boil, as if making cornstarch gravy. After a while I dumped the remaining water in and it hissed when it hit the hot syrup; when I stirred it in, the whole mass began to boil. A rather counter-intuitive result to get by adding cold water! The peanut butter made the cocoa syrup unpleasantly gritty, alas, and it didn't taste of peanuts at all. But at coffee-break time this morning, I found that once chilled, the mixture makes an interesting spread for toast. Arachne Mixed emotions upon viewing Babylon Five the day before yesterday: disgust that they are showing the episodes out of order, delight that I can tell. This one seems to have been near the beginning, since two regulars were introduced, and they made a point of informing me that the snake people are "Norns," the John-Belushi people are "Centarii," and the metal-haired people are "M'barri." (Spelling not guaranteed.) They also revealed that the second-in-command, the one who reminds me of Jadzia-Dax (which may be why I didn't catch her name) was the daughter of a telepath who was tortured to death by Psy-Corps rules. Set up for some of the by-play concerning PsyCorps in later episodes -- one whole plot concerned nefarious and inevitable PsyCorps doings. False note when Sinclair insisted that M'barri were too "honorable" to conduct a sneak attack. No species can be devoid of defective members and deviant offshoots. Also, an experienced military commander should have a more realistic view of sneak attacks -- the one in question was not like Pearl Harbor. Pearl Harbor had a realistic chance of destroying our ability to retaliate -- in view of our industrial might, Japan's only chance, once committed to fight us, was to knock us out at the first blow. Attacking an agricultural colony angered the Centarii without in the least reducing their ability to fight -- I kept expecting the revelation that the Norns knew something about the colony unknown even to the Centarii ambassador. Though I dispute some of his lines, I approve of the actor. Commander Sinclair looks and feels like a fighter pilot aged before his time. In later episodes, the Norn ambassador is shown to be as wise as serpents. I wonder whether the reminder of the Norse Fates is deliberate. This episode had a wide assortment of aliens, not just the three usually shown. One excuse for the anticipated economy was given when Sinclair put on a gas mask before lobbying an insectoid ambassador for his vote. Council scene showed everybody breathing the same air, though. Somebody should have been in a protective suit, or attending by television. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ A few days ago Dave reminded me that I never got around to putting Steve & Martha on my mailing list, so I addressed two envelopes -- one for immediate use and one for the stack in the pigeonhole -- and ran off the Banner since January. Then I realized that that mess wouldn't fit into a #10 envelope, and had to print a label for a catalog envelope. From now on, Steve, you'll get folded carbon copies like everybody else Those appear to have been my last two printed envelopes, so all of you are going to be getting a look at my return-address stickers. I can't order stationary before October, if then, & using Publisher to address envelopes is a lot more trouble than using PC-Write. Cain't figure out why my envelope-blank file is twice as big as my letterhead-blank file; each is just two text frames, one filled and one empty for the envelope, while the letterhead has a larger version of the envelope's filled frame, and another frame with a little text in it. On Saturday, Dave bought two mailboxes -- a black steel parcel-post box for us and a matching letter box for Margie -- and put them up. And before the mailman came, too. Afterward, I scrawled our numbers on a left-over board and nailed it to the upstream post. Also gathered up the CPSC reflectors I took off my bike to make room for real reflectors, and bolted them into the leftover holes in Margie's box (which is upstream from ours). Dave says that they show up pretty well; I have the front, back, and pedal reflectors all together. Only half the pedal reflectors -- the two that could do you some good. I left the reflectors on the fronts of the pedals, but those on the back, which show up so well when someone is on the same side of the road as you, were incompatible with toe clips and cleats. I tried to dangle the spoke reflector from a hole in our box, having used up all the holes in Margie's, but the bolt wasn't long enough. I did nail the reflector from our broken driveway stake to the sign in such fashion that it can be seen from both sides. May not stick, as the frame cracked when I drilled a hole in it. I still have two nail-on reflectors that I bought by mistake for bolt-ons, but Margie's post is too splintered to accept the short nails that fit the holes. Dave sawed off our post to match Margie's, which had broken square because of the notch for the arm, and lightly nailed a board across the two posts. He's hoping that snowplows will knock loose the board instead of demolishing the boxes. 29 March 1994 Sigh. I finally got around to cutting out my new pants -- now that my last everyday pair is dirty and I need something to do the wash in. The good news is that the denim is wider than the catalog specified -- so wide that I can get four pairs instead of two, with a little fiddling and maybe using scraps of the previous denim for pockets and waistband on the fourth pair. The bad news is that the cloth was so long and wide and heavy that it didn't open up in the dryer and straighten its grain -- it's a good four inches out of true. And it's so heavy and wide that I can't straighten it without help. As I work away from the corner, I start getting no effect when my hands are about two feet apart -- and that's not even getting started in working across this piece, even though I tore it into quarters before starting. Well, into halves and one of the halves in half again. 31 March 1994 I wonder whether there is some way to keep the cats off the mouse pad? Aside from the inconvenience of having someone sit on your hands, the fur gets carried inside and winds around the gears. Dave says that the new mouse is easier to clean than the one that died. I asked Dave to help me straighten the denim, and we got a good workout but had no effect on the cloth, so I took drastic action: I sewed the edges together -- using my longest stitch and widest zig-zag to make it easier to get out later -- and ran it through a rinse cycle. Unfortunatly, I dilly-dallied on the way back from buying pills -- bought two L.P. Davies books from the Bethlehem Library's discard shelf -- and didn't have time to run it through the dryer at the laundromat. So it's still wet. I'll try ironing it flat, but when I ironed the shirts, my little iron set as high as it will go wasn't too warm for Dave's polyester pullovers that I didn't dare to iron at all with the old iron, so I'm not cheerful about drying bull denim with it. Might work up enough heat to flatten it so I can air it dry, though. Dave asked after the jacket for the air monitor this morning. I haven't even plotted out how to cut the interlining yet. I am not looking forward to this. Especially since I still haven't figured out how I'm going to make it fold flat when not in use. Arachne The second issue of "Between Dimensions" came yesterday. (I don't subscribe, but it mentions the Writers' Exchange Bulletin.) The TV reviewer doesn't share my opinion of the actor playin the weary Commander Sinclair -- he says "Low key is one thing, brain dead is another." I had an insight concerning "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" while watching an advertisement for "The Flintstones" -- all that interspecies dating is taking place because these aren't separate species at all, but different cultivars of humans. The action no more takes place on a space station than "The Flintstones" takes place in pre-history. Once one realizes that the action isn't taking place in the future, it makes a lot more sense. But I continue to turn the T.V. off after Babylon Five. The ads don't help -- Quark in love? and with a Cardassian? In *some* hands, playing against type that way would constitute complex character development and reveal Quark as more than ten pounds of makeup on a shallow buffoon. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ 1 April 1994 The weather man on today's wake-up show predicted a large snowstorm coming up the coast. Then he said "What day is this?" I got April Fooled too. The T-U wrote an article about personal-defense sprays (aka Mace) and said that Halt was one of them. That mistake is frequently made, and causes cyclists all kinds of hassle at airports etc., so I wrote a letter saying that the Halt company does mean it when they say their spray is a dog repellant. Dave read the letter while I was preparing breakfast, and disagreed with me. Which isn't surprising, but it seemed odd that he harped only on the theme that Halt can be used for bluffing. I had listed a half dozen ways in which being well-suited for repelling dogs makes Halt ill-suited for repelling humans. The editors had cut the letter to "a human is unlikely to be deterred by a spray which can't do any permanent harm." Arachne Last night I read The White Room (1969), one of the two L.P. Davies that I bought from Bethlehem's discard shelf. I must have read it before, because I picked up immediately on the solution to the mystery. Which meant that I didn't pick up on some of the anomalies. That is, I knew what was going on, so I didn't think the oddities were odd, and didn't realize that the characters should have thought them odd. L.P. Davies is a recycleable author. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ I wonder whether any of you care who else is on the mailing list? It's Phyllis Randal, Rick Brooks, Chuck Sarles, Cindy Coffman, David & Jeanie Beeson, Mark & Sherry Klemme, Larry Penrose and Sara L. Lecklitner, Joe Beeson, Mary Loveless, Alice Lecklitner, Nancy Rundell, Evelyn Beeson, Ann & Scott Musser, Dave & Debby Lecklitner, Donnald A. Lecklitner, Darryl Lecklitner, Christopher & Kathy Brown, Janet Gagneur, Tim and Linda Francis, and Steve & Martha Beeson. 2 April 1994 The last bastion is falling. Fred and Freid were terrified of us when they were brought into the house in a cage. They discovered that we were harmless when asleep, then decided to remain in view until we stood up, and gradually expanded the range of behavior they would tolerate. Today I sneezed. Frieda looked startled, then got up and trotted out of the room. For a long time, when I opened my eyes after a sneeze, they were gone. Arachne Last night I read the other Davies, Possession, (1976). I didn't find the books as exciting as I remember, perhaps because I'm familiar with the pattern now: something supernatural seems to have happened, but it has a mudane explanation. For example, the time-traveller in What did I do Tomorrow? had walked out on his shrink during a hypnotic regression. Davies is big on hypnotism; I was surprised to learn that the actor in Possession was really acting, and not under hypnotic compulsion. And his baffled hero is always helped by a remarkable woman; I presume this is meant to titilate the gentlemen and flatter the ladies. Today's entry for Babylon Five was "The Soul Hunter" again, so when Dave came home just at 5:00, I turned it off and ran out for pizza. Seems odd that they'd be in re-runs when they haven't been on the air long enough to warm up. And annoying that the repeated show is one of the few that I've seen. According to Between Dimensions' Scott Gregory, last week's episode was the opener -- so maybe Five isn't as sequential as I'd hoped. And the John Belushi people are "the Bozo-like Centauris," the metal-haired people are the "slightly-erotic Mendari," and the snake people are "the scaly Narn." Well, I guessed the spelling fairly close on *one*. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ 3 April 1994 I've been browsing the disk in the hope of finding that I had a program that would allow me to edit a non-text file. It is astonishing how many READ.ME files fail to mention the name of the program they are supposed to accompany, and don't give even a hint as to what the program is supposed to do. Today I remembered that PC-Write will send a file to the printer without processing it, and decided to print my letterhead to a file. Prints just fine -- but neither Publisher nor Word can be persuaded to refrain from tacking on a form-feed, so I'm no better off than printing directly with Publisher -- except that PC-Write is much faster. Which is why I was looking for a way to snip a character off a non-text file. 4 April 1994 Got rid of the form feed -- now I can't get rid of the extra top margin. I'll fiddle with it some week when I haven't got three full-time jobs to handle. The paper boy has been putting our papers in the mailbox all winter -- and a tight squeeze it was on Sundays during the time that there was only one little box for both of us. Saturday morning Dave came in with the paper and said "You know how I meant to put the paper boxes back up today?" In conditioned reflex, I wailed "But there wasn't any snow last night!" Nope, the paper boy was out there putting up new boxes. These are white, which should be easier to see than the old black boxes. I intend to hang the old boxes up in the cellar beside the better of the old mailboxes. I have a feeling that we'll need them come January. The steel boxes work better than the aluminum boxes. Whoever made the aluminum boxes used a steel-box pattern, and aluminum isn't steel. Today Dave went to Sears and found that they aren't making parts for my iron any more. One would think that a power cord was standard! But in taking it apart, he found that the rest of the cord was in good shape, so he bought a replacement plug and put it on. There were two plugs in the package, so I put the other one on the vacuum cleaner, which is nearly as old as the iron, though it hasn't had as much wear, and the cord was looking shabby at the base of the plug . When I tried to cut the old plug off, I found that the insulation was a long, long way from wearing through! Worried through it with dykes and a scalpel, eventually. I'm glad to have the old iron back; straightening denim with a lukewarm iron was even worse than I expected. When you struggle and fight and wrestle to get something flat, you want an iron capable of making it lie down and stay put. And having stretched it so much to get it flat, I now feel obliged to shrink it again. If it sproings back diagonal, I'll throw it out and start over. I've finally grabbed myself by the neck with both hands and started work on the monitor jacket. Haven't cut anything yet, but I've drawn two of the four new patterns I need for the first and easiest of the four phases. Wish I knew how I'm going to make it fold. I'm going to try just sewing it up with no hinges & hope there's enough slop at the corners. How do I make it stay put when the top isn't sewn to the rest of it except at the back? 5 April 1994 Still haven't cut anything, but have the patterns for the interlining made, and cutting it should take less than an hour. Good thing I didn't have the fourth piece of cardboard; had I had it, I'd have finished the patterns yesterday, and this morning, I thought of a better way to do it. Sinking the door between the two side pieces, instead of having it overlap on the hinge side, also makes the two side pieces mirror images, so I can use one pattern for both. Yesterday I went to the recycling hut intending to steal a piece of cardboard for that fourth pattern and thinking that this time it would be freshly-cleaned instead of stuffed full. It was so stuffed that I couldn't take anything out! Like unto never got the door open, but the last person to add something had wedged it in well enough that nothing fell out. Today I saw the basket of "recycleables" in the entry & thought that checking on the hut would be a good excuse to take a little exercise, so I suited up and rode my bike to the fairgrounds. The door was still bulging at the bottom, so I didn't try to open it, just turned around and headed for Picard Road. (Can't come back the way I came.) On Picard, I saw an oncoming car pull over into my lane. Wha? He was pulling out to get a square shoot into his driveway, threading his way between snowbanks which are probably in the Hudson somewhere around New Paltz. We still have snow on our parking lot -- Doug packed it hard and high, trying to make it take less space. Less than knee high now, but it's the densest part that's left. I'd say it covers half its former area. A third, it's narrower as well as shorter. The snowbank in the yard is so flat that the cat no longer bothers to walk around it. I do -- I would sink in and get ice in my slippers. 6 April 1994 Today we are getting the sort of long, slow rain we will be longing for in August. Pity I didn't carry the used wood chips out yesterday; I've been meaning to pile the remaining litter up somewhere and let it get rained on a few times before I put it into the flowerbed. 8 April 1994 I got a surprise today. I bought a bottle of sorghum molasses quite a while ago. When it got down to about a quarter full, I filled up the bottle with an extremely thick and completely tasteless "malt syrup" that I bought at Kim's Oriental. That diluted the sorghum just right to have on pancakes and the like, though I haven't made pancakes in ages. Good on ice cream too, but it solidified. Anyhow, today I put a little of the mixed syrup into some milk and warmed it in the microwave. Tasted it, found that I liked it better than cocoa, and decided to mix up a whole mug. There was still syrup in the bottom of the mug, because the thick malt didn't dissolve easily, and stirring tends mainly to collect it on the spoon, so I put more syrup into the remaining milk and put it back into the microwave, meaning to dissolve it before I added milk. When I took it out, the syrup had dissolved -- and the milk had coagulated! The curd was downright tough, like good bread dough. Must be quite a lot of acid in sorghum. Tonight the important question arises: What does one wear to a contra-dance? April 11, 1994 I wore my black polyester blouse and my long print skirt. There's a backhoe using its front-end loader to fill in the hole left from repairing Margie's well. They couldn't finish the job at the time because the excavated earth was mixed with snow. The snowbank is quite flat now, and (because it melted faster from the back, where it was packed less firmly) looks like an amoeba crawling from the lawn onto the parking lot. Just saw the backhoe operator take a shovel out of his truck. Must be time for hand finishing. ?? I see only one man out there, but that big backhoe couldn't have been carried in on that little pickup truck. Must be another driver around somewhere. And from Normanskill Road to here is a long way for a backhoe to drive. Two mysteries equal one solution: the other guy must have left in the truck that carried the backhoe. WORDS.MAS stopped loading a few pages back. The spelling checker still works, but flags everything because nothing is in the dictionary. Thirty-three pages ought not to fill up the memory -- and it doesn't help to close Windows and open directly in DOS, which doesn't seem right; Windows is such a hog that closing it should leave me enough memory to load a novel. A fellow at the party told me that if I go to the library and get a real Windows book, not the leaflet that came with the program, I'll find out how to arrange my font menu conveniently. I hate having to page clear to the end of the list for the font I use most often, and having the other font in the middle means paging several times to change from one to the other. "Customizing Menus" in the Word book covers only command menus. There are two men working on the hole now. The one without a beard may have been hidden behind the pickup all along. I'm sure this will be a great relief to Margie; she hasn't been able to use her front door since the well was dug up. The snowbank and the dirt made an impassble wall across the end of her walkway. And sometimes the snow was level from the top of the wall to her doorway! And now I notice that the backhoe has a license plate. I'm dying to hear a deputy say "I want rolling data on SOI720 -- should come back to a yellow Ford bucket." I doubt very much that it will be caught speeding. 12 April 1994 When the bucket left, it turned toward Normanskill Road. I changed the bed this morning. Since Dave and I both sleep hugging pillows, I thought I just had to buy one of those great long "body pillows." Every time I wrestle it into a clean case, I wish I'd bought just the case, and dropped two standard pillows into it. There are still three little pancakes of the snowbank left on the parking lot. Could shove them onto the grass, but I think I'll watch to see how long they last. I think the patch of muddy ice left across Margie's walkway when they put the dirt back into the hole has melted, but that area still looks muddy and churned up, and her flagstones have been disarranged. When it got toward mail time yesterday, she came out the front door and waded through the mud: first time in months she didn't have to go to the back of the house and come back through her garage. Had an eye exam this morning. I knew I'd need new glasses long before he told me; seems to have changed a lot since the last time. And this is the exam our insurance company thinks unnecessary. (We pay for every other exam ourselves.) Came home and took a nap; I'm ready to believe the story about the hired hand who passed out while sorting potatoes. ("It was all those decisions.") Sometimes you see glasses on little babies -- I know there are special charts for children who can't read yet, but how on earth do they measure someone who can't even *talk*? The fourth time is the charm, and that led to the unusual case of coming back the way I came. It's about the same distance to Stonewell whether I turn left or right, but when you turn left, you have to go past the grade school, through the village, and under the railroad bridge we call "the tunnel." I usually go out through the village so I can buy milk at the Mobil station, and come back by 85. Today I meant to go the other way around so I could leave my "recycleable" paper in the shed said to be behind the town hall, or at least go inside and scream hysterically -- I'd made three trips to the firehouse paper shed without being able to leave so much as an envelope, it was that stuffed. But much to my surprise, the shed at the firehouse had recently been emptied; there was nothing in there but one bundle of magazines and a plastic box. So I turned around and went through the village after all, because I'm apt to forget the milk if I leave it until last. Then when I was ready to leave Stonewell, rush hour traffic waiting for the light was backed up far beyond the easternmost entrance on 85, so I left by the 85-A entrance and came back through the village again. This rain has completely removed the snow, except what is under bushes on north sides of things. It hasn't done a *thing* for the mud. Sure wish I could bottle some of April's weather and save it for August. We don't have to shovel the rain, but we are running out of places to put it. There was an article in yesterday's paper about some people who have built summer places in the bed of one of the lakes. A few of them are shocked and indignant about what happens every spring, and think the state isn't managing its dams properly. Others calmly supply their customers with rowboats. 13 April 1994 Busy day already, though I've just finished breakfast. About four in the morning, NSVFD was toned out for wires down "at the S-curve on Thatcher Park Road." I heard where it really was later, but was too groggy to remember. Soon after Dave left, I heard white noise on the scanner, and after several repetitions, pried my eyes open to notice that it was accompanied by white light on the ceiling. Wondered what the boys at the highway department were doing that broadcast so much energy on so many frequencies & went back to sleep. In the morning, I learned that "county communications" were out, and they weren't re-connected until the middle of breakfast. Whatever happened to back-ups and redundancy? There wasn't any significant wind, it wasn't raining hard, and I never heard anything about anybody crashing into a pole. Took NiMo hours to get to the original arcing wires, and Dave got home just in time for breakfast, then went straight to work. Complained of feeling sleepy, and no wonder. I'm feeling groggy, and I got to sleep until I woke up. I did have to get up to turn off the TV, which turns itself on when the power goes out, but I believe the clock radio had already gone off then. Thought it had been just a glitch, because the clock on the radio was still working, but I just now remembered that we put a back-up battery in it a few months ago. But I thought I heard the scanner a few times after the white noise stopped. However long it had been off, it had been on less than five minutes, because I saw Garfield on the computer screen when I went to turn off the light Dave left on when he thought he would be back before dawn. Darryl just stopped by with the stuff he didn't bring yesterday. I feel not too much better than I did last night, when I decided I couldn't do anything with the Bikeabout and started writing a letter, but I seem to be perking up. Maybe my breakfast is kicking in. Then again, maybe it isn't. I just tried to put his 3 1/2" disk into the tape slot. 14 April 1994 When I wondered at the energy being put out, I didn't know the half of it. When I heard that county communications were out, I thought I'd seen a transformer near the county building blow. It was the radio repeater that was out -- I'd seen the sparks from the "wires down" on the hill! Dave says that Harvey says that the light woke him up, and he lives even farther from the hill than we do. Could have been better-placed clouds, I suppose -- the light seemed to come from the southeast (I thought it was near the county building) so I must have seen a reflection. The back-up generator failed, which I presume is being investigated. The nearby amateur repeater functioned perfectly, Dave said. I asked, joking, why they didn't borrow the hams' generator and Dave said that in a way they did. Co-ordinator One is a ham, and came on duty shortly after the emergency began, so he took his radio with him and talked to a ham at the scene. It wasn't necessary, since the land lines and the cellular phones were working, but I imagine nobody was in a mood to knock redundancy. A tree limb had fallen onto a high-tension line. I presume it was an elm, since eucalyptus don't grow around here. Our living room has a large window in the east wall, and two windows in the north wall, and the west wall is practically all window -- yet it's dark in there. I've been complaining about the lack of an overhead light and the teeny puddles of light under the table lamps ever since we moved in; once I bought some swag lamps -- table lamps you hang from the ceiling -- but I somehow chose lamps that had yellow-coated glass globes; they were hardly bright enough to serve as night lights. Dave has been wanting a floor lamp; I vetoed it as no better than a table lamp -- we once had some pole lamps, and they weren't fit for anything except illuminating a single page of a book when you sat in exactly the right spont. So a few days ago, he brought home a box and said "You're going to hate this." It was a halogen floor lamp. It doesn't flicker the way sodium-vapor lamps do (I wonder which halogen they use? A mix of all of them?) and when you point it at our white ceiling, you can sit anywhere you want to. Sigh. A cyclist in a red rainsuit just went by. And here I sit working on the bicycle-club newsletter. And worrying about the %#@! air-monitor jacket. Which is several weeks overdue, and all I've done is to cut out the interlining. Sure hope the Ride Calendar is in today's mail. And I hope I've left the proper size and shape of hole for it. 15 April 1994 Spelling checkers are noted for funny suggestions, but grammar checkers have their moments too. I was running the spelling checker over some imported text which still contained one of PC-Write's ruler lines: a row of hyphens and digits that helps you count columns. Word flagged the ruler line and gently suggested "It is preferable to avoid using too many dashes in one sentence." 16 April 1994 Yesterday was a glorious day, May in the morning and June in the afternoon. And there I sat, working on the bicycle-club newsletter. I didn't even run a load of wash, which I badly need to do, because I wanted to finish early enough to deliver it by bicycle -- a birthday treat. But with fiddling and faddling and postponing "E.C. Notebook" to make room for the banquet pictures and two pages having to be reprinted et and cetera, it was after two before I left, so I drove. There was enough time to accomplish it, but it would have been cutting it close -- as it was, I was still lacing up my boots when Dave came to pick me up, and I'd have wanted to lie down for a while before going out to dine if I'd made an unprecedented bicyle ride. We went to the Swiss Fondue, formerly the Auberge Suisse, formerly the Heavenly Inn, formerly the Convent of the Mill Hill Sisters. I figured that after living around the corner from it for twenty-five years, it was time we set foot in the place. Though expensive, it was quite pleasant and the food was good -- they cooked my duck a la orange *after* I ordered it, and the waitress apologized because it took so long. Dave ordered Beef Wellington, and like a fool, ate all of it. I left half my duck, and they really do twist up aluminum foil into the shape of a swan. Struck me as quite practical -- though it would take practice to learn how, wrapping that way doesn't take any longer than popping it into a box, a sheet of aluminum foil costs less than any pre-formed container, and it keeps the food better by including less air, They also include the "gratuity" in the bill, which I think sensible. The vegetables were on a separate little novelle-cuisine type plate: a few strips of garlicked zucchini, a little dab of mashed sweet potato put on with a pastry bag, and a little dab of scalloped potato that appeared to have been baked in individual servings. Pretty as a picture, and Dave ate all of it except for half a stick of zucchini. Moreover, the rolls were hot and the waitress offered to bring more of them. I had intended to go whole hawg and wear my skirt -- I don't have to say "broadfall skirt" any more, because on the way back from the poet's meeting the day before yesterday, I threw my off-the-rack skirt into the Salvation Army box. But before going out to deliver the Bikeabout, I absent-mindedly threw on the same outfit I've been throwing on all winter, namely a turtleneck shirt and a heavy wool vest. I nearly suffocated while waiting in the sun for that long, long light at 155 and 20. Even though that experience was followed by a nice long bath, I didn't feel like wearing my long-sleeved black polyester blouse, the only shirt I've got that goes with the skirt. And it took me nearly five minutes to find my short-sleeved black polo shirt to wear with my gray pants, and I'd already gotten out the shoes that go with the skirt, which is why I was still lacing my boots when Dave came for me. Slacks were more suitable for the occasion anyway. On the way back from the printshop, I stopped at 20-20 to pick up my new spectacles. To my astonishment, the frames fitted instantly, without any fooling around with a bath of hot beads. Since, like most people, I have one ear higher than the other and don't know which one, that's amazing. I also adapted to the prescription instantly -- I'd been having trouble with the old one -- but when I went out into the sun, it bugged me that the edges of the lenses aren't where they used to be. This isn't going to be a problem in the forecastable future, for the weather reverted to normal this morning, with wind. And I still need to wash clothes. Dave has no shirts except the two I forgot to iron, and I've been using hand towels in the kitchen for a week. Going to have to start using bath towels in the powder room as a result. Fortunately, the linen closet is *jammed* with bath towels. I've stopped taking my specs off to read, but now I'm leaning closer to the computer. I may have to get a special pair of medium-distance glasses like Dave's. Horrible thought. Several years ago I put my glasses somewhere unusual before taking a nap, and had to dust the room by touch when I woke up, and that is the only time in -- must be about forty years -- that I haven't known precisely where my glasses are. Bear in mind that I spend about half of my waking hours hissing, "Thirty seconds ago it was in this hand, this hand right here, AND I HAVEN'T MOVED MY FEET!" Despite a really virulent case of absent-mindedness combined with chronic amnesia, I've kept track of my glasses because I've only one pair and they are part of my face. A variable-distance monitor stand seems like a brighter idea. 18 April 1994 Now I hate to use the computer, because touching it will send "Satori" (a module of After Dark) back to the beginning, and it's really complex when it's been running all night. Dave did something or the other that increased the resolution of the monitor, and it turned "Satori" into a completely different program. I'll have to run through all the modules of After Dark again. An unexpected result of the new resolution is that everything in Windows is smaller -- you get the same pixels closer together. I like having the group icons smaller even though it makes them harder to read; we have two icons more than the old resolution could fit into a single row. Howsumever, it makes the game pieces for "Solitaire" and "Taipei" so small that it is no longer any fun to play with them. Hasn't affected DOS programs at all, since the change was in the Windows screen-driver. I haven't fired up Publisher or Word since he did his fiddling. When I didn't get anything done Saturday or Sunday, I figured I was exhausted from all the excitement on Friday, but just before dawn this morning, the cramps woke me up. I've been perfectly regular ever since I reached the age of menopause, but I've not yet learned to use the information. Once you've learned to ignore the future, it's impossible to learn to anticipate it. Friday was exciting -- I sprained the big toe on my left foot, and never got around to mentioning it. Did consider making the incident into an essay for Writer's Exchange Bulletin on the complexity of causation: Erica stayed out all night Friday night because I picked up the wrong hat Friday afternoon. On the way to the printshop, I noticed that I'd grabbed my dirty garden hat instead of my beige tennis hat, but I didn't want to go back, and the sun was glaring, so I wore it anyway. This is the hat I wear when I've pinned my hair up off my neck, so it was more like balancing it on my head than wearing it. Since the optician's drivway is hard enough to get into when it's a right turn, I didn't attempt it when I came back the other way, but parked in 20-Mall and walked across the road. Despite the unintended safety island in the middle, Western is difficult to cross, so I was a bit breathless and keyed up when I set foot -- my left foot -- on the farther shore. Just then that ill-fitting hat blew off, I pivoted to grab at it, and somehow twisted my foot. Hasn't interfered with my activities any, but I have to be careful how I put my foot down. If I hurry, my foot rolls to the outside to keep my weight off the big toe, and pretty soon I've got an assortment of muscle strains and repetitive-stress bruises. This morning I noticed that my feet were icy cold, and realized why the sprain feels worse in the morning than it does when I've been walking around on it. Tonight I'll arrange the blankets more carefully, and put a sock on the injured foot. Anyhow, when bedtime came and Erica said, "This is the first decent weather we've had and I'm not coming in," I didn't go out and chase her down. It got colder overnight, but it didn't rain until after we let her in in the morning. She spent all of Saturday in bed, and on Sunday she was careful to make curfew. Yesterday someone's automatic fire alarm went off when Dave was three bites from finishing his pork chop. (Plate's still in the fridge; I think I ought to give it to Frieda.) The lady tried desperately to turn the boys back, but you just can't do that. Once they are called, they roll. Dave says she was upset to have all those flashing lights gather around; lovely, says I: maybe the trauma will inspire her to say a few nasty things to her fire-alarm company. 20 April 1994 Sigh. I can't work on the overcoat because I get dizzy and sick when I think about looking at it, and I can't work on anything else because I feel guilty about being weeks overdue with the overcoat. I don't know what I'm doing with this thing, and I don't know how to learn -- I don't even know what it is I need to learn. Later: got one flap-cover cut out. Made it half an inch too short, and will have to cut another. It's strenuous crawling around on the floor; that 50-yard roll is too big to put on the table. I must have never moved a Publisher icon before. I have three Publisher icons in my personal-document group: one to print my name and address on business letters, a copy of that one re-arranged to fit the decorated paper I bought from a Neffer, and one to print matching return addresses on envelopes. I decided that "N3F head" should be in the middle instead of the end, and was thoroughly startled when the square icon turned into a pencil. It was a while before I realized that the pencil was part of the original icon -- they all lose detail when dragged, but most of them stay the same shape. 22 April 1994 Poor Smoke! I saw Rascal in a confrontation with another cat; because the other cat was in a patch of shade, all I could see was that it was lighter in color than Rascal, and jumped to the conclusion that he was faced off with Erica, so I walked over to break up the fight. By the time I saw that it was Smoke, Rascal had seen me. Since Rascal is more afraid of me than Smoke is, that upset the balance of power and I didn't dare to go back for the broom, so Smoke didn't get the aerobic workout he was looking forward to. He tried screaming at the pine branch I picked up on the way, but it was nothing he could sink his claws into. When I got back to the house, I dug the cat-chasing broom out of the garage and hung it in the entry -- another sign of spring. 11:42: Sigh. I struggled and squirmed and squirmed and struggled and strained and fought, and finally got the boxing strip sewn into the notch on the door, and I tried it on the interfacing, and tried the interfacing on the door, and everything fit, and just as I was about to pin the top and bottom seams, I said to myself, "Isn't there supposed to be some Velcro appliqud to this?" Sigh. It's at least possible, but sewing Vecro to a flat piece before sewing the notch would have been easy, and now it's going to be some more struggle-and-squirm sewing. And I'm not at all sure where I want to put it. I wanna go back to bed. Dave says the boys are desperate to get my dress dummy back. 8:05: Since we were out of milk and oranges, I indulged in a ride to Voorheesville by way of Indian Ladder this afternoon. On the way from the orchard to the post office, I stopped at Stewart's to buy a package of plastic cheese, then headed straight for the Mobil to buy the milk, and didn't remember post cards again until I got home. Ah, well, we have one left and don't use many. Upon putting the milk away, I noticed the check for the Crochet World indexes posted on the fridge; if I don't deposit it soon, they'll think I don't want the money. Also, a refund check for the socks I'm not going to get came in today's mail, so I'll have an excuse to go back tomorrow. At Mobil, I noticed that they are test-marketing a beverage called "Butterfinger": chocolate milk with peanut-butter flavoring added. Had to buy a pint. It's sweet and thick and tastes like cardboard container with a slight hint of cocoa. I don't detect the faintest trace of peanut flavor, nor yet any resemblance to Butterfinger bars. I doubt that Butterfinger will go into national distribution. 23 April 1994 Dave said that it tasted exactly like a Butterfinger, and drank the rest of the carton. Where did it go? I set a packet of line-hole stubs on the table and fed one end over the edge. Fascinated by the slithering paper, Frieda leaped onto the table for a closer look -- and kept one back foot on the strip of paper. 24 April 1994 That fifty-yard roll of Cordura defies the laws of physics. Every time I heave it onto the floor and cut a little piece off it, it gets heavier. Just left it on the floor this time. Still got exhausted cutting two pieces off to make the sides-and-back cover; I'm too old to crawl around on the floor. 27 April 1994 I've been combing Fred. I wonder who started that silly story that cats don't like to have their fur rubbed backward? A good tail-to-nose combing gets all that itchy loose fur out. Of course, they do trust me to smooth it back when I'm finished. On Monday, we had the tiles broken out of the chimney and a stainless-steel flue put in. Fred and Freid re-appeared soon after the sweeps left, and seemed perfectly normal. After the way they behaved when I had a few people sipping cocoa in the living room for an hour, I thought I wouldn't see them until next week. Yesterday the prediction was thundershowers, so I postponed the wash. So this afternoon we got the thunderstorm. I could have folded outside, though. I got nervous and bundled it into the blanket and folded inside -- but did sort on the picnic table, and put the pins back into the bag, instead of walking around the line frantically stuffing everything into the basket, as I sometimes do. Of course, the reason I used a freshly-washed blanket to carry the wash was that the basket was in the cellar, where I was half-way through taking a load of wash out of the machine. But I'd been forethoughty enough to do the black-and-red load last; except for four pairs of socks and a hand towel, I dried it all on hangers. Having unplugged the computer, I decided I'd get some exercise and also mail two letters to Canada, buy some postcards and stamps, deposit my checks, and get some cash. This was the first time I've gone out without tights over my shorts this spring, and I'm not in summer mode yet. Took a big clean bath first, and oiled my hair and washed it, but didn't think of shaving my legs. The storm was over by the time I got dressed and in gear, but a passing car spattered a puddle on me. Went to the post office first -- and they were closed for the funeral. Another would-be customer was equally disappointed. Then I arrived at the bank, and discovered that I'd read an out-dated schedule and they are open until six only on Friday, not on Friday and Wednesday. The bank closed at three and it was then about five -- which I noticed when trying to make a left turn out of the bank. I decided to make it a literal water haul, and went to Stewart's for a bottle of seltzer and a bottle of tonic. 29 April 1994 Before picking up the groceries today, I went to Olsen's -- Olsen bought out Jeffers -- to get a pound of potato sets (that's three potatoes) and two pounds of onion sets. While there, I fell prey to a pot of lemon balm, a six-pack of johnny jump ups, and a red lily. Then I came home and searched in vain for a spot suitable for lilies that didn't already have a lily in it. Finally dug up a cluster of crocus, which led to digging several more holes -- and to a trip out to the oak tree to dispose of a violet I found in the debris. I guess I can put the lemon balm near the sweet cicily. The sweet cicily survived the winter and is growing well -- a surprise, because it looked very sick last summer. Went back to Voorheesville yesterday -- somewhat earlier in the afternoon -- and took care of my errands at the post office and bank. Went to the poets' meeting that evening, as I hadn't heard from the telphone committee and supposed that there was no Auxiliary meeting. Good thing I didn't go, as we had cake -- a housewarming party for Mildred -- at the poets' meeting, and someone called me up today to say that nothing but marching was discussed at the auxiliary meeting. (None of the other members can imagine that someone might not be eager to be in a parade.) Next meeting is to be half an hour earlier than usual, in the flowerbeds. I set my calendar alarm to make sure that I wouldn't forget to help plant. I begged off the trip to Mildred's new apartment after the meeting, saying I was too sleepy to drive that far. It would appear that that was a wise decision -- a deputy stopped me for drunk driving on the two-mile trip home! He said it was because I was crossing the white line, but I think it was because I was driving ten miles under the speed limit in an area where people normally drive ten miles over. I didn't do anything erratic until *after* his flashing lights startled me out of my wits. Having a clear conscience and very little experience in being pulled over, I thought he wanted me to get out of his way. So when I pulled off the road, I didn't leave room for him. While driving the remaining few feet home -- I had stopped in the driveway to the sub-station -- I looked forward to telling Dave my story. But when I saw him sitting at the computer (playing Hoyle, I think), I realized that he'd heard it on the scanner and probably knew more about the incident than I did. But the deputy hadn't said where we were, and Dave was surprised to see me home so soon. Pulled all of Dave's pants out of the closet because he said that he wanted to throw some of them out, and was surprised to find a capri-length pair of mine I'd forgotten owning. They appear to have been ankle-length before being patched. I hung them on the peg & when I went to bed, I threw my everyday pants in the wash -- they're weeks overdue; I kept forgetting to take them off and throw them in. So this morning it's rainy and a wee mite chilly to be running around barefoot in pedal-pushers. My sprained toe hadn't been healing, in part because it doesn't hurt enough to get its share of attention. But everything else below my knees ached miserably! Tuesday night, I had to go back downstairs after getting ready for bed, and noticed that my legs got remarkably less tired after I took off my shoes. So I've been refraining from putting on my shoes until I go somewhere, and it seems to be working; the sore spot is smaller and less tender, and I don't limp when I'm barefoot, so my legs don't get sore. It's the first time I've gone barefoot since discovering dancing shoes, and I find that I don't like it one little bit. Especially when cultivating that rocky garden! Went out for the first time yesterday, thinking to get ready to plant the onions and potatoes, and had to stop before I got tired because I was wearing the pampered skin off my feet. Got about three-fourths of it cultivated, though. 2 May 1994 Keep hunting around for my shoes in the morning, forgetting that I don't wear any. Maybe I should get used to going barefoot -- I've only two pairs of socks I could walk any distance in, and the store tells me that they are out of stock and can't buy any more. Who'd have thought that buying a plain pair of size ten socks would get to be a major undertaking? You can still get heavy athletic socks -- maybe I should buy bigger shoes. Made a start at sorting the clothes in the closet this morning. Dave threw out two pairs of pants, one of them mine. I didn't throw out the Hagar Reflections when I outgrew them because I wanted to remember the brand name -- and at the time, it seemed possible that I'd lose that extra half inch. They lack a good three inches of meeting at the waist now. Arachne Saw the Christian Science episode of Babylon Five yesterday. (Didn't catch the title.) The writers seemed to be taking the subject seriously; nobody was dismissed as bigoted, ignorant, superstitious, overbearing, or the like. Though in retrospect, they were so busy showing that it was a belief of the doctor's that children ought not to be allowed to die that they had him saying "I took an oath" in places where he should have been saying "this kid is going to die!" Makes more sense when the parents say "it would violate our beliefs" instead of "the operation will destroy our child's soul!" because they speak only to people who can't be expected to understand. Howsumever, Dave said "pizza," so I didn't wait to see how the sub-plot with the freighter Asimov turned out, or how the writers managed to keep Doctor Franklin from being sent back to Earth. "My bags are already packed," he said, while preparing for the operation. No mention was made of the consequences to his assistant, in the part I saw. I left during the scene where the boy's corpse is laid out under so many candles that they should have been melting each other down, setting off the station's fire alarms, and giving off a blinding glare. Skillful photography or computer graphics? @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ 6 May 1994 About four O'clock this morning, an aching left arm woke me up. I spent the ten years it took for the asprin to take hold wondering what I'd done yesterday. I did carry two baskets of laundry up the cellar steps, but not for the first time this spring. Finally remembered that at the MHW meeting, instead of wandering around during social hour, and setting up the folding chairs in stiff rows for the business session, we all sat around a horseshoe of tables that was already set up, and Cindy set up her demonstration in front of us -- was very little business to conduct, and our president was at Eastern Mountain Sports trying to recruit. So I put my feet up on a chair and crocheted through the entire meeting; I remember chortling that I'd finally finished the pair of booties that I've been working on for months. And if it's taken me months to make a newborn-size pair of booties, I'm obviously not accustomed to crocheting.