I'm back. But I haven't really gone anywhere. I just needed a break. A break from the news. A break from thinking and writing about it. A break from blogging, though I've still been talking to folks. That has been enough brain activity for the last week.
Anyway, here I am. Back. And so is Mallard Fillmore in the Oakland Press. I have no idea why he disappeared from the editorial page. I had seen letters from liberals complaining about his conservative views. So, don't read the comic if you don't like it. Just because you get a newspaper does not mean you have to read everything in it. Let alone agree with or believe everything you read.
The last two days the cartoons have revolved around the new CFL lightbulbs. I already blogged about this, but not quite so cleverly as Mr. Tinsley. Today's comic was about starting a car with CFL technology. I am sure those of you who are my age will still remember the days when we depressed the accelerator and then waited before turning the key to start the car, always being careful not to 'flood the engine'. I can still hear my father yelling at me. Mallard envisions cars starting this way again.
So, welcome back Mallard. I don't always agree with you, but at least you make me think. And chuckle.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Tax Time is When?
I do my own taxes. I always have. They are not that complicated, with the exception of one year a long time ago when I sold some stock and had to report a long history of buy and sell prices. Anyway, now with TurboTax even a cave man can do it.
So, at the end of January I was still missing some info I needed. My broker had informed me that it would be another two weeks before I had my statement in the mail, but that I could download it sooner online. I actually knew exactly what would be on it, but still wanted the copy for my records.
Eventually, I thought I had everything and then yesterday I received a notice from my bank telling me that what they sent me was incorrect. They also informed me that what they reported on my statements during the year was incorrect, so don't use that figure. Another two weeks and I should have a corrected statement.
I think I am just going to start entering my information. I'll fill in the blanks before the due date. Hopefully, I won't be one of those people running to the post office to drop it off in time.
Hey, it's my refund and I need it now.
So, at the end of January I was still missing some info I needed. My broker had informed me that it would be another two weeks before I had my statement in the mail, but that I could download it sooner online. I actually knew exactly what would be on it, but still wanted the copy for my records.
Eventually, I thought I had everything and then yesterday I received a notice from my bank telling me that what they sent me was incorrect. They also informed me that what they reported on my statements during the year was incorrect, so don't use that figure. Another two weeks and I should have a corrected statement.
I think I am just going to start entering my information. I'll fill in the blanks before the due date. Hopefully, I won't be one of those people running to the post office to drop it off in time.
Hey, it's my refund and I need it now.
Where's My Pen?
This morning's Oakland Press has a story about missing equipment in Independence Township. Seems that a tractor and an aerator have gone missing. The story reminded me of 'things that went missing' when I was at West Bloomfield.
I had a practice of leaving my very nice Cross pen on my desktop each night when I left for home. It was always right there when I came in the next morning so I could write up all of my bank transfers and investments.
One morning I sat at my desk, went to grab the pen, and it was GONE. I looked everywhere. I even asked my counter staff up in the front of the office to look and see if I had left it on someone else's desk. No luck.
Being more than a little upset (read loud), other co-workers heard me. They then informed me that they too had items missing. One was missing a pair of ladies slacks that were on a coat rack in the hall. The other was missing her sports bra which was in her gym bag in her office.
I put a call in to the person in charge of the outside cleaning crew (my suspicious nature arises) at Town Hall. We did a little investigating (too many crime shows) and found out that other departments also had problems. A digital camera, a stepladder, and some make-up were also missing.
At this point we involved the Police Department. And we fired the cleaning company.
We came up with some interesting scenarios for someone who steals a ladder, camera, ladies clothes and make-up, and a pen. You are free to come up with your own stories.
As for Independence, you have to admit that a tractor is a little big to stuff in your pocket or make a quick getaway in.
I had a practice of leaving my very nice Cross pen on my desktop each night when I left for home. It was always right there when I came in the next morning so I could write up all of my bank transfers and investments.
One morning I sat at my desk, went to grab the pen, and it was GONE. I looked everywhere. I even asked my counter staff up in the front of the office to look and see if I had left it on someone else's desk. No luck.
Being more than a little upset (read loud), other co-workers heard me. They then informed me that they too had items missing. One was missing a pair of ladies slacks that were on a coat rack in the hall. The other was missing her sports bra which was in her gym bag in her office.
I put a call in to the person in charge of the outside cleaning crew (my suspicious nature arises) at Town Hall. We did a little investigating (too many crime shows) and found out that other departments also had problems. A digital camera, a stepladder, and some make-up were also missing.
At this point we involved the Police Department. And we fired the cleaning company.
We came up with some interesting scenarios for someone who steals a ladder, camera, ladies clothes and make-up, and a pen. You are free to come up with your own stories.
As for Independence, you have to admit that a tractor is a little big to stuff in your pocket or make a quick getaway in.
Making one Think
Four years ago today, I was here at home with all of my family and friends. We were eating take-out food, something that doesn't happen too often at my house. The reason was simply that I was out of commission and out of the kitchen.
The day before, February 22, 2007, I slipped on the floor at Town Hall and suffered a tri-maleolar fracture of my left leg. In simple English, I fractured the tibia, fibula and ankle bones. A steel plate and nine screws were used to repair my leg. While in the cast, I broke a bone in my other foot. I was out of work until June. I was in physical therapy for several months and then in April 2008 I had another surgery to remove all the hardware and then another round of physical therapy.
It was during that time at home that I fully realized how much stress I was under at work. While I was connected to the Town Hall computers from home and did my daily work, I totally ignored what transpired at the Board level. Never watched a meeting, never read my packet, never asked questions. I was cool. I also decided that I no longer wanted that level of stress in my life and made a decision not to run for election in 2008.
I thought of all of that again this past week after I learned that another of my former co-workers at Town Hall had passed away. It was the third person to die within less than two years and all were in their mid-50's.
The obituary written in the Oakland Press for the Budget Director, Steve Brideau, quotes his wife as saying he was under stress. I do not doubt that at all. He had a stressful job in a very stressful time.
I have often referred to Town Hall as being 'toxic'. Those who are there or are familiar with the situation know exactly what I am talking about and I feel sad knowing that it exists. My thoughts are often with them.
The day before, February 22, 2007, I slipped on the floor at Town Hall and suffered a tri-maleolar fracture of my left leg. In simple English, I fractured the tibia, fibula and ankle bones. A steel plate and nine screws were used to repair my leg. While in the cast, I broke a bone in my other foot. I was out of work until June. I was in physical therapy for several months and then in April 2008 I had another surgery to remove all the hardware and then another round of physical therapy.
It was during that time at home that I fully realized how much stress I was under at work. While I was connected to the Town Hall computers from home and did my daily work, I totally ignored what transpired at the Board level. Never watched a meeting, never read my packet, never asked questions. I was cool. I also decided that I no longer wanted that level of stress in my life and made a decision not to run for election in 2008.
I thought of all of that again this past week after I learned that another of my former co-workers at Town Hall had passed away. It was the third person to die within less than two years and all were in their mid-50's.
The obituary written in the Oakland Press for the Budget Director, Steve Brideau, quotes his wife as saying he was under stress. I do not doubt that at all. He had a stressful job in a very stressful time.
I have often referred to Town Hall as being 'toxic'. Those who are there or are familiar with the situation know exactly what I am talking about and I feel sad knowing that it exists. My thoughts are often with them.
Remembering
There are some days I have trouble remembering if I have gotten out of bed. OK. It may not be that bad, but you know what I mean. If it is just not that important, it is easily forgotten.
If you want to know what is going on in the world, I am the wrong person to ask. I peruse the news reports and relegate most of it to the trash heap. I've told people that when they put a red phone next to my bed, then I will worry about carrying my cell phone and actually having it turned on.
Today they are asking on the internet 'Where were you when the Challenger disaster occurred?' It used to be that they asked 'Where were you when Kennedy was shot' (getting on the school bus to go home from class). I guess that there are too few younger people who have an answer, so now it is a question more relevant to my children.
I was totally unaware of the 1986 disaster until I arrived a pre-school to pick up my youngest son. I had been out running errands, not listening to news radio, obviously. When I got to Ealy School, everyone was gathered around crying. When I asked what had happened, I was chastised for being uninformed. Was I not watching TV all morning? No. Was I un-American? No. I just had other things to do with my time. Being a stay-at-home mom did not mean I ate bon-bons and watched TV while my children were in school.
The thing is, I can probably remember very little of what happened in 1986, up until I started back to college for my MBA in the fall. Even then, I cannot remember any particular day of an event. But, I do remember walking into that school that day and seeing all those sad faces. Especially the children.
So, I remember where I was when Kennedy was shot, and the Challenger disaster, and getting ready for work with the TV on the Today Show when 911 happened. And sometimes I wish I didn't.
If you want to know what is going on in the world, I am the wrong person to ask. I peruse the news reports and relegate most of it to the trash heap. I've told people that when they put a red phone next to my bed, then I will worry about carrying my cell phone and actually having it turned on.
Today they are asking on the internet 'Where were you when the Challenger disaster occurred?' It used to be that they asked 'Where were you when Kennedy was shot' (getting on the school bus to go home from class). I guess that there are too few younger people who have an answer, so now it is a question more relevant to my children.
I was totally unaware of the 1986 disaster until I arrived a pre-school to pick up my youngest son. I had been out running errands, not listening to news radio, obviously. When I got to Ealy School, everyone was gathered around crying. When I asked what had happened, I was chastised for being uninformed. Was I not watching TV all morning? No. Was I un-American? No. I just had other things to do with my time. Being a stay-at-home mom did not mean I ate bon-bons and watched TV while my children were in school.
The thing is, I can probably remember very little of what happened in 1986, up until I started back to college for my MBA in the fall. Even then, I cannot remember any particular day of an event. But, I do remember walking into that school that day and seeing all those sad faces. Especially the children.
So, I remember where I was when Kennedy was shot, and the Challenger disaster, and getting ready for work with the TV on the Today Show when 911 happened. And sometimes I wish I didn't.
It's Worse than Mom Thought it Could be
When I was growing up, we had a neighbor who owned the local gas station down on the corner of the street. The couple had five sons, all of whom at one time or another worked at the station.
The older boys were close in age to my sister and I. My mother called all of them 'grease monkeys' (OK, not PC) and told us we had better not marry any 'grease monkeys'. Well, there was no possibility of that, but...
Now I have become one. I've been pumping my own gas for what seems like forever. Of course, I remember paying 19.99 cents per gallon at one time and someone pumped it for me, but that was a very long time ago. I refused very early on to pay more to have someone come to my car and pump it for me when I could just as easily get out and do it myself. Call me cheap, I didn't care.
So, I thought of this today when I got in line at Costco to get gas and pulled in behind someone who seemed clueless about the process. First she fumbled around in her car doing god knows what. The she came out talking on the cell phone, then she appeared to be texting, and then finally she figured out how to get the gas cap off.
She walked over to the pump and inserted her card in the slot where the receipt prints. Man, this was going to take a long time. After several feeble attempts with two different cards, she was finally ready to pump gas. By then the person in front of her was pulling away and I had to drive around her to get to the pump.
Pumping gas is not rocket science. And I don't care if my mother would think I was a 'grease monkey' for doing it. At least I know how. Geez.
The older boys were close in age to my sister and I. My mother called all of them 'grease monkeys' (OK, not PC) and told us we had better not marry any 'grease monkeys'. Well, there was no possibility of that, but...
Now I have become one. I've been pumping my own gas for what seems like forever. Of course, I remember paying 19.99 cents per gallon at one time and someone pumped it for me, but that was a very long time ago. I refused very early on to pay more to have someone come to my car and pump it for me when I could just as easily get out and do it myself. Call me cheap, I didn't care.
So, I thought of this today when I got in line at Costco to get gas and pulled in behind someone who seemed clueless about the process. First she fumbled around in her car doing god knows what. The she came out talking on the cell phone, then she appeared to be texting, and then finally she figured out how to get the gas cap off.
She walked over to the pump and inserted her card in the slot where the receipt prints. Man, this was going to take a long time. After several feeble attempts with two different cards, she was finally ready to pump gas. By then the person in front of her was pulling away and I had to drive around her to get to the pump.
Pumping gas is not rocket science. And I don't care if my mother would think I was a 'grease monkey' for doing it. At least I know how. Geez.
Going too Far for Green
I have been complaining to friends for some time that the quality of toilet paper (TP) in public restrooms in this country is deteriorating. Laugh if you must, but this can be an uncomfortable problem for some.
As background: Back in the 60's when a friend and I left for a 'European 'tour' of three months, we each packed three rolls of TP in our one and only suitcase. It was well worth it. Most European TP was dreadful if not sometimes 'non-existent'. Once, in Spain, we had to pay for TP at a public restroom. Our worst disaster of the trip was forgetting to pack a half-used roll of TP when we departed a hotel in Majorca. European TP was so bad that we brought home samples to show our friends.
Several years ago my doctor told me that my skin irritation was probably due to an allergy to TP. Sure enough, they had changed suppliers at work. I started bringing in my own TP until they agreed to buy stuff I could use in my private bathroom that was not allergenic.
Since that time, I have noticed that TP is getting thinner and thinner and rougher and rougher. Then, this week, I received my latest copy of National Wildlife magazine. There on page 16 is an article titled 'Why Soft Paper is Rough on Forests'. The article points out that Europeans are happy to use rough sandpaper TP because it is better for the forests and that Americans should do the same.
I think not. How about, in the name of saving trees, we stop printing so many magazines, stop sending out so many requests for donations in the mail, (including unsolicited calendars, address labels, and greeting cards) and just publish everything on the internet. Just leave my sensitive skin alone.
UPDATE: After posting this I came across an article saying that the Newark, NJ Mayor is trying to close a $70 million budget gap by eliminating items like 'toilet paper'. BYOTP to Jersey. What next?
As background: Back in the 60's when a friend and I left for a 'European 'tour' of three months, we each packed three rolls of TP in our one and only suitcase. It was well worth it. Most European TP was dreadful if not sometimes 'non-existent'. Once, in Spain, we had to pay for TP at a public restroom. Our worst disaster of the trip was forgetting to pack a half-used roll of TP when we departed a hotel in Majorca. European TP was so bad that we brought home samples to show our friends.
Several years ago my doctor told me that my skin irritation was probably due to an allergy to TP. Sure enough, they had changed suppliers at work. I started bringing in my own TP until they agreed to buy stuff I could use in my private bathroom that was not allergenic.
Since that time, I have noticed that TP is getting thinner and thinner and rougher and rougher. Then, this week, I received my latest copy of National Wildlife magazine. There on page 16 is an article titled 'Why Soft Paper is Rough on Forests'. The article points out that Europeans are happy to use rough sandpaper TP because it is better for the forests and that Americans should do the same.
I think not. How about, in the name of saving trees, we stop printing so many magazines, stop sending out so many requests for donations in the mail, (including unsolicited calendars, address labels, and greeting cards) and just publish everything on the internet. Just leave my sensitive skin alone.
UPDATE: After posting this I came across an article saying that the Newark, NJ Mayor is trying to close a $70 million budget gap by eliminating items like 'toilet paper'. BYOTP to Jersey. What next?
The Medical Marijuana Debate
OK. Let's start by saying I have no opinion on this issue, true for this blogging purpose. Rather, I have a little story to tell.
Last Saturday I had a get-together for family and friends. Topics of discussion were all over the place as is likely to happen with a large group of folks. Some of my neighbors were there and we were discussing the furniture sitting in the driveway of what is certainly the largest home in our subdivision. We had not seen anyone at the home for several months.
We began by talking about one of the former residents of the home. The doctor who lived there had lost his medical license for writing prescriptions for controlled substances and then selling them, or so we read in the papers. That led to a neighbor telling her story of the family.
Seems she, her husband, and daughter were sitting in their home when they heard the water running outside. Looking at each other, they wondered who was using the water. When they looked out the back window, they saw the son from the aforementioned house and his friends emerging from the wooded area behind their home. The water soon shut off and then the daughter proceeded to walk into the back and investigate.
There she found an aquarium with a healthy crop of marijuana. The West Bloomfield Police were called and the officer came out and removed the plants and left his business card in its place, informing the owners of the plants to 'give him a call'.
We were laughing about this incident from probably 15 years ago. My son said if the father and kids had just waited they could now have set up their own shop for growing and selling their crop legally.
My how times have changed.
Last Saturday I had a get-together for family and friends. Topics of discussion were all over the place as is likely to happen with a large group of folks. Some of my neighbors were there and we were discussing the furniture sitting in the driveway of what is certainly the largest home in our subdivision. We had not seen anyone at the home for several months.
We began by talking about one of the former residents of the home. The doctor who lived there had lost his medical license for writing prescriptions for controlled substances and then selling them, or so we read in the papers. That led to a neighbor telling her story of the family.
Seems she, her husband, and daughter were sitting in their home when they heard the water running outside. Looking at each other, they wondered who was using the water. When they looked out the back window, they saw the son from the aforementioned house and his friends emerging from the wooded area behind their home. The water soon shut off and then the daughter proceeded to walk into the back and investigate.
There she found an aquarium with a healthy crop of marijuana. The West Bloomfield Police were called and the officer came out and removed the plants and left his business card in its place, informing the owners of the plants to 'give him a call'.
We were laughing about this incident from probably 15 years ago. My son said if the father and kids had just waited they could now have set up their own shop for growing and selling their crop legally.
My how times have changed.
Generational Differences
There are differences in work style, motivation, technological skills, and personal values among the various generations in the workplace. We must be aware that it's essential to adapt our methods in order to best reach this talented upcoming generation of public servants and finance officials and to continue to get the best from more experienced public servants.
The above quote is from an email I just received from the Government Finance Officers Association. They have prepared a report on the topic of 'Generational Change' which is available on their website for free at http://www.gfoa.org/.
Let me start by saying that I have not read the report. But, I did have lots of thoughts about generational differences when I read the email. Some background:
Last week my oldest son came for a visit. Now that we no longer have the, "Mom, when are you going to retire?" discussion, we are able to move on to the "Mom, when are you going to move out of Michigan?" discussion. This usually starts a whole round of questioning about my retirement and what my plans are. And eventually leads into why am I not travelling more, buying a new television (this is popular with all my sons), still have a landline phone, don't have an iPad, etc. All of these questions certainly show the difference in generational thinking. I wonder if any of my sons could use a slide rule?
I grew up in the 50's. While I don't remember the post-Korean War Recession on 1953, I do remember the one in 1957. My father was a tile setter and 'no construction' meant 'no work.' In those days, accepting government welfare meant picking up boxes of food containing dried eggs, powdered milk and stew in a can, suitable for feeding the family pet. Those experiences had a lot to do with shaping my ideas for my future.
I also remember a world of air-raid drills in school and envying my friend whose family had a real air-raid shelter in their front yard. Remember sitting in the halls with your head between your knees? We all knew that some crazed political leader could end life as we knew it with a push of a button. I remember going camping with the Girl Scouts in the Utica area and being told there was a Nike Missile site nearby. I wasn't sure if I felt safer or not. And then there was the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Vietnam War.
When I graduated from high school and then college, I, like many of my friends, thought that I would remain in the same career until retirement. (Some did, I didn't.) And finally finding myself in a good-paying job, our President enforced a wage-freeze.
My sons all grew up in the 80's and 90's. Not exactly the environment their mother grew up in. They lived in the suburbs and had a pretty comfortable life compared to me. Their opportunites were endless. No welfare, no air-raids, and no war until the Gulf Crisis.
The differences in thinking are apparent when we have conversations about my life choices and how I spend my money. My parents grew up in the Great Depression. That certainly contributed to my fiscal conservancy along with my own experiences. So, it is no wonder that today's young workers, those 30-somethings, have very different ideas about their working and leisure lives than we did.
Their 'work style' includes tele-commuting, something we never heard of in the 60's and 70's. Their motivation to do a good job includes their own personal satisfaction in doing so, something I strongly encourage. While they may not be able to use a slide rule, their technological skills far surpassed mine back to when they were in high school. And their personal values? They seem just about right to me. They seem to have a much better hold on balancing work and leisure than I did at their age. And that ain't all bad.
The above quote is from an email I just received from the Government Finance Officers Association. They have prepared a report on the topic of 'Generational Change' which is available on their website for free at http://www.gfoa.org/.
Let me start by saying that I have not read the report. But, I did have lots of thoughts about generational differences when I read the email. Some background:
Last week my oldest son came for a visit. Now that we no longer have the, "Mom, when are you going to retire?" discussion, we are able to move on to the "Mom, when are you going to move out of Michigan?" discussion. This usually starts a whole round of questioning about my retirement and what my plans are. And eventually leads into why am I not travelling more, buying a new television (this is popular with all my sons), still have a landline phone, don't have an iPad, etc. All of these questions certainly show the difference in generational thinking. I wonder if any of my sons could use a slide rule?
I grew up in the 50's. While I don't remember the post-Korean War Recession on 1953, I do remember the one in 1957. My father was a tile setter and 'no construction' meant 'no work.' In those days, accepting government welfare meant picking up boxes of food containing dried eggs, powdered milk and stew in a can, suitable for feeding the family pet. Those experiences had a lot to do with shaping my ideas for my future.
I also remember a world of air-raid drills in school and envying my friend whose family had a real air-raid shelter in their front yard. Remember sitting in the halls with your head between your knees? We all knew that some crazed political leader could end life as we knew it with a push of a button. I remember going camping with the Girl Scouts in the Utica area and being told there was a Nike Missile site nearby. I wasn't sure if I felt safer or not. And then there was the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Vietnam War.
When I graduated from high school and then college, I, like many of my friends, thought that I would remain in the same career until retirement. (Some did, I didn't.) And finally finding myself in a good-paying job, our President enforced a wage-freeze.
My sons all grew up in the 80's and 90's. Not exactly the environment their mother grew up in. They lived in the suburbs and had a pretty comfortable life compared to me. Their opportunites were endless. No welfare, no air-raids, and no war until the Gulf Crisis.
The differences in thinking are apparent when we have conversations about my life choices and how I spend my money. My parents grew up in the Great Depression. That certainly contributed to my fiscal conservancy along with my own experiences. So, it is no wonder that today's young workers, those 30-somethings, have very different ideas about their working and leisure lives than we did.
Their 'work style' includes tele-commuting, something we never heard of in the 60's and 70's. Their motivation to do a good job includes their own personal satisfaction in doing so, something I strongly encourage. While they may not be able to use a slide rule, their technological skills far surpassed mine back to when they were in high school. And their personal values? They seem just about right to me. They seem to have a much better hold on balancing work and leisure than I did at their age. And that ain't all bad.
A Thank You to the Folks Who Help
I intended to get home early this evening and write about my trip to Oak Park, IL for the WrightPlus Weekend. That will have to be put on hold while I thank the people who offered their help in time of need.
To make a long story short about how it happened, suffice it to say that I had a tire blow-out upon entering the Skyway in Chicago for the trip home. I pulled over on the emergency ramp and dialed for Roadside Assistance. Originally being told that someone would be there in 25 minutes, we waited and told three different motorists who stopped that we were 'OK'.
Then we got the call that said, because we were on the ramp, they needed to send someone else and it would be 45 minutes more. I said I would try to back down the ramp - traffic was extremely light for Chicago.
Once I got down the ramp, I dialed in again to let them know what I did at the same time that a young man on a bicycle said he could go get someone to change the tire from down the street. I told the operator what was happening and she said if someone got there before the tow truck, just let her know.
So, the young man left on his bike, another young couple stopped and offered assistance, the young man came back and said the man coming down the street would help, and we started unloading the luggage to get the spare out.
Now, how many young and helpful folks have you ever met in the space of 30 minutes just by chance? We were pleasantly surprised. The tire got changed. We chatted with the young couple who were thinking of moving to St. Joseph or anyplace along the Michigan shoreline. We were on our way within an hour of the incident occuring.
What could have been an unhappy ending to a wonderful trip turned out to be a reaffirmation of faith and trust in the American public. Way to go Chicagoans! Thanks to you all.
To make a long story short about how it happened, suffice it to say that I had a tire blow-out upon entering the Skyway in Chicago for the trip home. I pulled over on the emergency ramp and dialed for Roadside Assistance. Originally being told that someone would be there in 25 minutes, we waited and told three different motorists who stopped that we were 'OK'.
Then we got the call that said, because we were on the ramp, they needed to send someone else and it would be 45 minutes more. I said I would try to back down the ramp - traffic was extremely light for Chicago.
Once I got down the ramp, I dialed in again to let them know what I did at the same time that a young man on a bicycle said he could go get someone to change the tire from down the street. I told the operator what was happening and she said if someone got there before the tow truck, just let her know.
So, the young man left on his bike, another young couple stopped and offered assistance, the young man came back and said the man coming down the street would help, and we started unloading the luggage to get the spare out.
Now, how many young and helpful folks have you ever met in the space of 30 minutes just by chance? We were pleasantly surprised. The tire got changed. We chatted with the young couple who were thinking of moving to St. Joseph or anyplace along the Michigan shoreline. We were on our way within an hour of the incident occuring.
What could have been an unhappy ending to a wonderful trip turned out to be a reaffirmation of faith and trust in the American public. Way to go Chicagoans! Thanks to you all.
What Time is it? Really! My twice Yearly Rant.
I hate Daylight Savings Time. To me, DST is a four-letter word. It takes my body weeks to adjust and just when I am comfortable with it, it all gets changed back to Standard Time. So, I guess it is not DST so much as fooling around with the clocks, period.
I have always wondered why the USA has four different time zones anyway. We no longer travel by train, we fly in most cases. I can fly to Chicago in one hour and gain it back when I get there. What for?
Just having two times zones separated by the Mississippi seems to make more sense to me. Way back when I was working for the City of Detroit, this subject came up in the women's locker room. I was advocating one time zone for the entire country. One of my co-workers objected and said that she couldn't eat lunch unless the sun was overhead and it was noon. I won't even get in to how ridiculous the statement is, but I know lots of people whose lives are tied to a clock 24/7/365, and not always out of necessity.
If you live in this area and look outside in the summer right at noon, you will not see the sun directly overhead. Why can't we just adjust our school and work schedules to reflect the daylight hours instead of being slaves to a clock?
It is not just since I retired that I feel this way, it goes way back. I like to wake up when the sun comes up and go to bed whenever I get tired. The last three days have been hell. Thank goodness that I have no morning appointments this week. I have until the 26th of the month to get my body used to this. When November comes I can go through the agony all over again.
I have always wondered why the USA has four different time zones anyway. We no longer travel by train, we fly in most cases. I can fly to Chicago in one hour and gain it back when I get there. What for?
Just having two times zones separated by the Mississippi seems to make more sense to me. Way back when I was working for the City of Detroit, this subject came up in the women's locker room. I was advocating one time zone for the entire country. One of my co-workers objected and said that she couldn't eat lunch unless the sun was overhead and it was noon. I won't even get in to how ridiculous the statement is, but I know lots of people whose lives are tied to a clock 24/7/365, and not always out of necessity.
If you live in this area and look outside in the summer right at noon, you will not see the sun directly overhead. Why can't we just adjust our school and work schedules to reflect the daylight hours instead of being slaves to a clock?
It is not just since I retired that I feel this way, it goes way back. I like to wake up when the sun comes up and go to bed whenever I get tired. The last three days have been hell. Thank goodness that I have no morning appointments this week. I have until the 26th of the month to get my body used to this. When November comes I can go through the agony all over again.
Some days you are just losing it
Today. I think my brain went on vacation a few days early.
First, I called Visa to question the reward points calculation on my statement. It was pretty obvious after the young woman explained it, and kinda funny when I got it, but boy, for a minute there I felt like a complete dunce.
Then, knowing I had to go to the grocery store, I started making a list of what I needed. At the top of the list was dropping a book at the library that I had finished. Finally ready, I got in the car, drove out to the main road, and went left instead of right. OK. I can drop the book off on my way home. NBD.
Get to the grocery store and look for the list. Can't find it. Figure I must have left it at home, though I was sure I put it in my purse. So, up and down every aisle looking at items and trying to make sure I don't forget anything essential. Check out. Reach into my coat for my keys and 'guess what'? List. I never put lists in my coat so I never though to look there. Luckily, I had remembered everything, so to speak.
These senior moments happen more and more, but I think the bigger problem is the constant multi-tasking all of us try to do. I am sure you have all started out doing one thing in one room and, thirty minutes later, you have not accomplished it, but have started ten other things.
Hopefully, when I finish this post, I will remember what brought me into the computer room in the first place.
First, I called Visa to question the reward points calculation on my statement. It was pretty obvious after the young woman explained it, and kinda funny when I got it, but boy, for a minute there I felt like a complete dunce.
Then, knowing I had to go to the grocery store, I started making a list of what I needed. At the top of the list was dropping a book at the library that I had finished. Finally ready, I got in the car, drove out to the main road, and went left instead of right. OK. I can drop the book off on my way home. NBD.
Get to the grocery store and look for the list. Can't find it. Figure I must have left it at home, though I was sure I put it in my purse. So, up and down every aisle looking at items and trying to make sure I don't forget anything essential. Check out. Reach into my coat for my keys and 'guess what'? List. I never put lists in my coat so I never though to look there. Luckily, I had remembered everything, so to speak.
These senior moments happen more and more, but I think the bigger problem is the constant multi-tasking all of us try to do. I am sure you have all started out doing one thing in one room and, thirty minutes later, you have not accomplished it, but have started ten other things.
Hopefully, when I finish this post, I will remember what brought me into the computer room in the first place.
Follow Up
Well, just when you thought no one knew her, Stella Paris, that is, here comes her son giving an interview to the local paper. Turns out that Stella was a mail-order bride from Greece in 1938. An unhappy bride. She had three sons with her husband; one son is now deceased. She left her husband and children in the 50's and started living in Greektown. Sadly, until reading their mother's death notice in the paper, they had not known of her whereabouts for the last 15 years.
Thanks to the Greektown merchants, Stella was laid to rest at their expense this morning. May she truly rest in peace.
Thanks to the Greektown merchants, Stella was laid to rest at their expense this morning. May she truly rest in peace.
The People you Meet - or not
Live long enough you will meet plenty of characters, or at least get to see them; everyday folks who wander past your life, through your life, or hang out there in your peripheral vision. Forty some odd years ago (gee, that makes me sound ancient) a 'character' occassionally passed in my periphery. I say in my 'periphery' 'cause if I saw her I trekked to the other side - of the street that is.
I never knew her full name until today when I read her obituary in the Detroit News. Her name was Stella Paris and she died at 97. She was one of so many homeless people I would see hanging around the Greektown area where I spent most of my time from 1966 til 1977, either attending classes at Wayne State's Medical School or working at Detroit Receiving Hospital.
Frankly, Stella scared the dickens out of me. She reminded my of one of our old neighbor ladies who chased kids with a rolling pin. Not that Stella was violent, she was more 'creepy'. Standing on the corner yelling in some strange language, some of it Greek, some not. One of my co-workers used to give her money. Me, I never got that close. You just never knew.
When I read the paper this morning and saw the story, I realized that never once did I ever think about the homeless folks who would often sleep in front of the heat vents in front of the hospital after I left my job. I never wondered what happened in their lives that caused them to be on the streets when I was working there. Was it their choice, or someone else's?
As for Stella, no one sems to know what her story really was. I would hope that at some point in her long life she was important to someone. And that whatever demons seemed to haunt her all those years on the streets found their rest long before she finally did.
I never knew her full name until today when I read her obituary in the Detroit News. Her name was Stella Paris and she died at 97. She was one of so many homeless people I would see hanging around the Greektown area where I spent most of my time from 1966 til 1977, either attending classes at Wayne State's Medical School or working at Detroit Receiving Hospital.
Frankly, Stella scared the dickens out of me. She reminded my of one of our old neighbor ladies who chased kids with a rolling pin. Not that Stella was violent, she was more 'creepy'. Standing on the corner yelling in some strange language, some of it Greek, some not. One of my co-workers used to give her money. Me, I never got that close. You just never knew.
When I read the paper this morning and saw the story, I realized that never once did I ever think about the homeless folks who would often sleep in front of the heat vents in front of the hospital after I left my job. I never wondered what happened in their lives that caused them to be on the streets when I was working there. Was it their choice, or someone else's?
As for Stella, no one sems to know what her story really was. I would hope that at some point in her long life she was important to someone. And that whatever demons seemed to haunt her all those years on the streets found their rest long before she finally did.
Best Laid Plans - or Waylaid in this case
When I was planning my retirement in 2008, a big question from friends was 'What will you DO??? Actually, not doing anything sounded pretty good to me. But I did have some serious plans to spend my mornings drinking my coffee and reading my newspapers. I had not done that for twenty years. I could do my NY Times Crossword puzzle in the morning. Who had time for that with a full-time plus job and three kids?
So, there I was a few short months after retirement, when the Detroit News and Free Press, who had already merged their Sunday editions, decided to only home deliver three days a week. The other days were available online. Sitting in front of the computer with coffee is not exactly what I had in mind. Plus, I can be a bit of a klutz. Coffee + keyboard = potential disaster.
To my surprise, I actually enjoy the online edition (after I drink the coffee in the kitchen, just in case). I hit the highlights: major news, editorial, Frazz, Dilbert and anything else that may look interesting. I also get the Oakland Press everyday for local news (and aforementioned NYT X-word). A major benefit to not having the daily paper in 'paper' form is fewer bags of newspapers to recycle each week.
As for the NYT X-word, did you know that Alpo was the first sponsor of '60 Minutes'? I had the four-letter word starting with A and I am like 'Alpo? You must be kidding. Must be something else'. Nope. Alpo. So there. See how invaluable it is get a newspaper and have time to read it. If you are on a game show and they ask that question, now you know.
So, there I was a few short months after retirement, when the Detroit News and Free Press, who had already merged their Sunday editions, decided to only home deliver three days a week. The other days were available online. Sitting in front of the computer with coffee is not exactly what I had in mind. Plus, I can be a bit of a klutz. Coffee + keyboard = potential disaster.
To my surprise, I actually enjoy the online edition (after I drink the coffee in the kitchen, just in case). I hit the highlights: major news, editorial, Frazz, Dilbert and anything else that may look interesting. I also get the Oakland Press everyday for local news (and aforementioned NYT X-word). A major benefit to not having the daily paper in 'paper' form is fewer bags of newspapers to recycle each week.
As for the NYT X-word, did you know that Alpo was the first sponsor of '60 Minutes'? I had the four-letter word starting with A and I am like 'Alpo? You must be kidding. Must be something else'. Nope. Alpo. So there. See how invaluable it is get a newspaper and have time to read it. If you are on a game show and they ask that question, now you know.
You're running a 'Little Late'?
Breakfast once a month is always at the same place. This month, 'Our leader' suggested we try a new restaurant. We planned to meet at ten when the restaurant opened. I arrived about ten minutes til and saw no cars in the parking lot. I wondered where all the staff was. The others arrived and we made the brilliant decision that the place was closed (Hint: no lights and the door was locked). We were discussing going back to our usual hang-out when a young man walked up and said they were 'running a little late'. Hah!
What were they planning on serving? Toast and coffee? Maybe they only have continental breakfasts. Anyway, breakfast and girl talk was fun and relaxing at our usual haunt.
I, on the other hand, was not running late this morning. I was up and cooking the beef at 7 am for beef burgundy. Had everything in the slow cooker by 8. I'm cooling it down now for lunch tomorrow. The house smells sooo good. You know stews of any kind always taste better the next day.
What were they planning on serving? Toast and coffee? Maybe they only have continental breakfasts. Anyway, breakfast and girl talk was fun and relaxing at our usual haunt.
I, on the other hand, was not running late this morning. I was up and cooking the beef at 7 am for beef burgundy. Had everything in the slow cooker by 8. I'm cooling it down now for lunch tomorrow. The house smells sooo good. You know stews of any kind always taste better the next day.
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