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Musings on anything. |
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My blog was filled up. I'm too lazy to clean it out. So I started a new one. |
| This year I'm doing our traditional cookie decorating a little differently. The kids are growing up and always have sports or other duties, so they are limited in time. Their mom has remarried and doesn't need me to babysit, so we have less time together. I not only made the dough in advance, I rolled them out and cut out Christmas shapes and baked them. Usually the kids cut their own. This way they are all evenly shaped and ready for decorating. They are in the freezer. I have plenty of sprinkles and will make some royal icing before they arrive. They will have a step brother and sister with them, so that's more to help decorate. They will be coming after school, so this is an evening project rather than a Saturday morning project. They will keep their cookies, not share with others as we started out doing. Last year, I discovered they didn't want to share. They wanted to keep their creations. So, I'll settle for the abbreviated creative process. It will feel like Christmas, sprinkling sparkles on trees, snowflakes, and bells, etc. I will clean up after they are gone, but we will all feel the air of Christmas. I might even get them to sing a chorus or two, probably not. I might even fix spaghetti for a Christmas meal, if they don't convince their mother they need pizza on the way home. |
| Back when food stamps were paper, I worked in a grocery store in a so-so part of town. The alcoholics shopped there regularly, if you call buying cheap liquor shopping. They would come in the morning, buy an onion or a cucumber but not both. Prices were low then, so frequently it was only a nickel. The lowest denomination of a food stamp was $1. That meant giving back real change. They'd go to another store about 8 blocks away, downhill and up again, and do the same thing. They might beg or pick up trash somewhere for small change. In the afternoon, the same man would be back in with enough coins to buy his bottle of Boone's Farm or whatever. It was quite a system they worked out. Food stamps enabled their drinking addiction. Then along comes EBT. Not to mention prices had gone up on everything. You can't get an onion or cucumber for a nickel anymore, so there would not be as much change. I think they really ate the cucumbers, so they were getting a minute bit of nutrition. But with EBT, there is no change. It just reduces the month's balance. The plan definitely did not deceive store workers who could not police the use of the stamps. EBT put an end to that deceptive game. Now it may be worse in other ways. The homeless population has increased and includes women. They tend to congregate. Whereas the alcoholic men from decades ago would rake leaves or do other menial one=time jobs to make a few bucks, they just join the others and lay about in public places. They beg a lot. It amazes me how many men and women refuse free shelter because of rules or curfews. As for EBT, it is no longer up to a cashier to simply take the paper food stamp instead of cash, the computer analyzes what had been purchased. A ready made sandwich is not acceptable. Hot chicken or grocery salad bar are not payable. They are restaurant type items, and the law says they not covered by SNAP. Thus, the homeless person with no means of refrigerating or cooking cannot have a hot meal or a quick dinner. It's an ongoing problem. You hate to see fraud, laziness, or lack of self-pride, but you still want those people to be safe from extreme temperatures and to get at least passable nutrition. We do the best we can. |
| Go to your doctor as soon as you notice a problem. Warning signs that are easy to excuse or overlook are body aches, like you're getting the flu, or you exercised a muscle too much. There's usually no fever or nausea. It may start with a small red dot or big red blisters. The doctor will prescribe something for the actual virus, but the rest may depend on your situation/health and the doctor's reluctance to prescribe drugs, even creams. When you go to pick up the prescription, look for lidocaine. It may be prescribed in greater strength. The store brand my be pure lidocaine and it comes in sprays or creams. You don't want the patch version to place on blisters. Other big brand names include some lidocaine but will have other things. My doctor simply told me lotion or anti-itch creams were acceptable. But the pain is too much for an anti-itch cream. I needed something to numb the skin, and you will, too. The medicine is for 10 days. The doctor said the sores would scab up and pop off. Wrong. They get more painful with time. The nervous system just goes wacky. A slight wave of the t-shirt fabric sends shooting pain in all directions and lasts a long time. Pressing your hand hard against it hurts but doesn't send a shock through your hold body. Lying down or sitting against a padded chair a long time aren't as bad as having your clothes brushing against you. You will not be contagious, so you are safe to mingle if you are able. Don't go around newborns or small children who have not been vaccinated for chickenpox. My neighbor, a doctor, said as long as the blisters are covered, you cannot pass the virus. The blisters are usually only on one side of the body at a time. They form a band. Mine are right at the waist, so every bend, reach, twist pulls at them. The first time I had them, over 30 years ago, they were on my chest and rib cage. I had a friend who had them in her hair, which fell out; it grew back over the following year. If you have not been vaccinated, do so as soon as your insurance allows. I've been vaccinated twice. The first time was the old method, one shot which only lasts about a decade. The second one was supposed to be permanent-a two-part series of a breakthrough medicine. Dada! My doctor told me now the vaccine doesn't guarantee prevention. It just lessens the possibility. I have been stuck in a chair, moving as little as possible, sometimes screaming out in pain. Today after a second dose of Tylenol, I went to the store and bout Lidocaine. I am guessing I'm on the uphill climb anyway, but I am sprayed enough to feel itching setting in. Itching is a less intense kind of pain, so I guess the spray is working. |
| With no children of my own, I place a lot of importance on my great nieces and nephews. I've tried to make memorable moments by baking and decorating cookies. Or going places with them, or special games. On Thanksgiving Day, the ten-year-old didn't feel well and was lounging on the couch next to my niece. She told me he had told her that one Thanksgiving, he spent the night before at my house, then on Thanksgiving Day, he got up and helped me cook the turkey. I know he was using that story to be able to help his stepfather deep fry the turkey this year. He has always liked to cook; so did his late father. I can't remember the incident. It was nothing planned or elaborate. He usually got up early when he stayed, which has only happened once since he got a stepfather. He was probably 5 or 6 at the time. I can't imagine that he was a lot of help. He probably watched everything. I would have prepped the turkey the day before and have it in the refrigerator. I may have called him in to peak under the foil to check for brownness or something like that. But to him, it was a big deal and he remembered it. We try so hard with the big moments, but it's the little things they remember. Parents spend a lot of time with their kids, grandparents maybe a little less. Great aunts and uncles don't get many opportunities. I had great aunts who were very dear to me and have big places in my memories. Maybe small gestures are all they need to remember you. |
| For the second time, I have shingles. The first time was about 30 years ago. I've had the old vaccine. I've had the new 2-part vaccine more recently. I am probably going to be housebound for Thanksgiving because being bounced around in a vehicle hurts. You don't realize know how bumpy the paved roads and parking lots are until you've had an injury or a disease. The blisters are all sizes in all stages, red and painful. A few are itchy. It will take about 10 days to heal with the medicine I'm on. Sometimes you just wonder, How did I get to be so lucky? |
| If you have the chance to view "All Her Fault". do so. It is spell-binding. I couldn't wait to see what happened next. It was based on a book by that name. the stories are layered and intertwined. Everyone appears to be the boy or the girl next door, but they all have their secrets and are capable of horrible things. I did learn a new term, Tran sensory. That child appeared to be normal, and we were told he would be no trouble and have a "normal" life. By contrast there was a child twice as old, but maybe emotionally younger. They never used the word autistic, but he appeared to be. The focus wasn't on the child as much as it was on the parent who loved him. If you have to have a moral to the story it would be "Don't lie." They certainly spun a dangerous web of lies. |
| Heading to an oyster party. I plan to stay inside as much as possible, although the kids and a few of the adults will have a small fire. I'm not really into oysters unless they are stewed, maybe fried or in a dressing. They will be eating them raw by the bushel. There will be raw veggies and Brunswick stew. I'm taking a dessert. I don't know where this tradition started, but they do it every year. It's a long drive for me, so I need to start soon. It's a fair but dry day for it. |
| Many years ago, I worked in a grocery store, smaller than today's supermarkets. It is still around and sits in an odd section near a rich neighborhood and in a poor neighborhood. It draws people in with its prices, service and location. When I was there, we still had paper food stamps, which were replaced a long time ago with EBT. We had a large number of winos, the original homeless. When the downtown branch burned down, all the winos had to walk the extra blocks to get their cheap alcohol from us. We sold Boone's Farm, Wild Roses, and MD 20-20 (Mad Dog). It was very cheap and did not have to be controlled by the state alcohol board. Most of these men were smelly and dirty. One day a fellow smelled so bad, you could smell him in the aisles even after he left them. Once he was out of the building, a young manager went up and down the aisles spraying disinfectant before other customers could start complaining. They sometimes paid in coins and would slowly count out the exact amount. Most people would drop the coins in your hand or possibly lay it on the counter. This one guy was determined to touch your hand before he released the money. I didn't want him to touch me. I could see how dirty his hands were. I held my hand out flat, to avoid contact. His nails were long, and he kept lowering his hand. I lowered my hand, but he didn't get the hint. He wanted to put the money directly on my hand. The lower my hand went, the lower his hand went. I finally gave up and let him brush his fingertips into my palm. Sometimes the paper money they handed me was wet. In a down moment with no customers a few cashiers were standing there cleaning or stocking the endcaps and the subject came up. I said something like "They must sleep in a gutter or they get rained on." They broke up laughing and one of them said, "They peed on it." I was dumbfounded. They teased me for what seemed like ages because I reacted with such a shock and was speechless for a moment. I started looking. Sure enough, some of them came into the store with the inside of one leg wet. They were so out of it, they either didn't know what they had done or did it in their sleep. It never occurred to them to get dry before going around women, or they just didn't care. I was always careful about washing my hands. I had no choice if I kept working there, but to handle their money, make conversation and be polite. I felt sorry for them. Today, I suppose those types-the hopeless alcoholic- are still around but have more options for shelter. They are joined by a lot of people who can control their drinking a little better and by families that don't have permanent housing. Despite all the negative things you hear, the city does do a better job of protecting these men and making help available if they want it. |
| Let me start out by saying that I believe in the power of prayer. If you don't agree, stop reading here. I see street beggars everywhere I go. They stand in the median of busy intersections and hold up signs and take handouts. They might walk down the line while the light is red, hoping someone is going to pitch in while just idling the car. They may have a coat or a lunch bag or backpack which they leave at starting point. I don't give because we've been told it's bad for them psychologically. We are to find some other means of helping, which range from supporting the homeless shelter, giving to the food bank, or creating new entry level jobs. I can't pull over my car and give advice about places they can go. (I have found most needy people don't want your advice of agencies or procedures to get help.) I can pray for them, which they will never know. Every time I see one, man or woman, I am reminded to pray. I ask that the individual will not be hurt in traffic and will be safe this day from all harm. I ask that he or she find some better, more productive way to spend his time. I pray for their employment, shelter, medical assistance, mental and spiritual needs. They also have social needs; they still want to mingle and interact with others in a non-judgmental environment. Reporters tell us that some of them make a killing which they could not make on a low-level job. So, they get used to the degradation and disregard the stigma. We've even heard of a beggar who had a really nice new car parked a few blocks away. But I also met one who slept under the bushes outside my employer's door. They are not all alike. We've even been told that they work for a "pimp" who delivers them in the morning and picks them up in the evening and takes a cut of what they've collected. Maybe some do. Regardless of his or her circumstances, and "business" arrangements, they are still children of God and in need of His peace. I can pray for them until they disappear or I do. |
| In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields, the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. by John McCrae, 1915 This poem is for those who have died for their country in a specific time and place by a Canadian soldier. But it stands the test of time and honors all who lost their lives. It honors the living who carried on the battle, and those who have not been to battle yet, but want to carry on the legacy. I like to read this every Veterans Day. Those of us who never go to battle can honor them and do what we can to pass the torch. |
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