Ponderings and Musings

There is a fairly popular Italian restaurant situated at the end of the plaza that I park near during my lunch hours during the week. From my vantage point I can see dozen of people walk in and out of the restaurant, going about their daily business and doing their thing. For the most part they seem content.

Near the end of my lunch hour yesterday, I noticed an older woman walking out of the restaurant by herself. From what I could tell, she seemed to be in her 70s. I’d guess her around 75 or so. She was dressed fairly nice. Her hair was covered in a scarf in such the fashion that older women of a previous generation tended to do. I noticed she was wearing a pant suit. She wore glasses. She moved without mechanical assist, but her step wasn’t overly lively. She walked slowly, which is understandable for a woman of the age I perceived her to be. She looked pleasant.

As she walked towards the parking lot, I expected her to stop at the Taurus that was parked in the handicapped spot. In this part of the state, when you reach a certain age you are an absolute no one until you have a handicapped tag hanging from your mirror. It doesn’t matter if you’re actually handicapped or not for this tag seems to have an air of status about it for a certain set of people. I envision folks sitting around a cup of coffee during their seventh hour at Dunkin’ Donuts comparing the date that they obtained their handicapped privileges. He or she with the most junior date has to pay the check and ward off anyone that may suggest to them that they may be loitering.

The pleasant looking woman with the scarf walked right by the Taurus and continued her trek up the parking lot aisle. I was quite surprised when she stopped and hopped into her vehicle. There was no handicapped sticker on her ride, for she had hopped up into a late 1990s Jeep Wrangler soft-top with the side and back windows removed. Once situated in her Wrangler, she tightened up her scarf a bit, donned a pair of sunglasses, started up her Jeep and proceeded to head out of the lot. The sound of her engine indicated that she was driving a stick. And like all good Jeep Wrangler drivers, she waved at me as she passed by my Rubicon. I smiled and waved back.

And that, my friends, is how one stays young.

Well today is Friday and there is much rejoicing in my head about this. I am working from home today, which makes my day much brighter. It’s not that I don’t enjoy working in the office, it’s just that I am easily distracted (surprise!) and when I have people constantly jumping in and out of my cubicle with questions, comments, retorts, etc., I find myself losing track of where I was, what I was doing and for that matter, who I am and why I’m sitting at the 1990s styled cubicle desk.

Ain’t technology amazing? I have a Skype account dedicated to my work connection and I’m able to forward my work phone to my Skype phone number and all works brilliantly. I can send, receive and regurgitate email just as if I was sitting at my desk back at the office and all the while I can sit in the comfort of my home office, listening to nothing but Donna Summer playing from my computer (which sits on the other desk) and just barrel through my To Do list that is slowly becoming more backed up than a toilet stuffed with too much toilet paper.

The sun is shining brightly. The lawn is mowed. The weekend looks to be a good one and for the first time in a long while, I’m remembering what it’s like to work while not being stressed out beyond my personal comprehension.

To me this is just one of many reasons to feel celebratory. Have a wonderful day and enjoy your weekend.

So it has been raining since yesterday afternoon. And I’m not talking about a mere shower here and there; I’m talking about a steady, soaking rain. Last night I almost had to pull over to the side of the road and wait for a passing downpour to do its thing on a couple of occasions during the ride home, but I usually don’t do that sort of thing, I tend to drive into the middle of storms and make sounds of elation.

Folks have talked about how mild last winter was (we barely got enough snow to say so) and now they realise that this is the price we pay for it. This is the snow we were suppose to get, it’s just a little bit late. Mother Nature always wins.

At least we won’t be in a draught conditions anytime soon.

The rain isn’t bothering me all that much. The only nature related thing that has bothered me in the past week or so is that our lilac bush didn’t produce that many flowers this year. I don’t know if the late frost in April put a damper on it or what, but the tree that is usually covered in lilacs only produce a few displays here are there on the tree. The ones that did appear smell and look beautiful, though, so I can’t complain. The lilac is my favorite flower. It makes me think of my Grandma City.

I think the constant rain has put a damper on the mood at work a little bit, but I’m feeling more like my sunny self today. Making forward progress on work projects is more than important to me, it is exciting to me. It’s important to have excitement in my life. It’s just the way I’m wired.

Originally posted in 2005, this sums it all up perfectly!
~~~~~
She’s a little whacky. She hears her own drumbeat. All the kids in school wanted her as a chaperone, because she was the cool mom. When we were kids, she could rattle dishes in a two-mile radius when she said “no”. She was and is always there to listen. She’s always has accepted me as I am, regardless of my age. Yeah, she’s pretty neat. Happy Mothers’ Day, Mom.

So last night the surf was up on the Internet and I was bombing around from site to site, app to app doing nothing constructive. This usually leads me to YouTube where I watch something that will make me smile. The chosen videos usually have to do with old television shows; I find it a hoot to watch veteran actress Reta Shaw throw herself between Majors Nelson and Healey and scream “Dominate me, boys! I’ve always wanted to be dominated!”

Anyways, somewhere along the way I found a quiz to test for ADHD. Now, I’ve been tested for ADHD before and I’ve always passed with flying colors, so I was interested to see what this little internet gem was going to determine of me. Luckily, there were only six multiple choice questions, so I was able to focus long enough to determine that “ADHD may be likely.”

Well, duh.

The thing about ADHD is that it kind of falls into that whole label thing, where I don’t want to be a person labeled with ADHD. I just like to thing that these tendencies of mine are just part of that big label called “Me” and I am quite comfortable with that. I can deal with the rest of the stuff. I know what distracts me. I know when I’m going to get stuff done and when I’m not and I adjust my schedule and deadlines accordingly. Earl learned very early on about the way I tick and he’s always been patient. There are still a few areas of my life where I could make a sizable adjustment so I could be more productive and less ADHD like, but for the most part I’m getting through just fine and that’s alright by me. I don’t need a chemical assist to keep things on track. I wish others could be as lucky.

Heh, I have to admit that I was distracted and forgot what this paragraph was going to be. Well, that happens sometimes.

The other night I had a dream that involved, among many other odd things, my eighth grade music teacher and choral director. Now, I haven’t thought about this person in a good many years so I am at a loss as to why she suddenly appeared in my dream on Friday night, but there she was. This got me to thinking about her. The last time I saw her was after my last performance as Mr. Whitney in the musical “Anything Goes” during my senior year of high school. Somehow I had managed to get the three music teachers that I had during my high school years together in the same room and back then I thought that was kind of neat.

Thinking about this teacher reminded me of the few days I had as an introduction to student teaching when I studying music education at SUNY Fredonia right after high school. I’ll never forgot the feeling that I had when I stood in front of a room full of seventh and eighth graders at Cassadaga Valley. I perceived them as hostile, though in retrospect I didn’t really have a reason to think this way as I was only going to be around for a day or two. But it was right then and there that I knew that teaching junior high students was not going to be in my future.

Back to the teacher from my dream.

At my hometown one moved from the “little school” (K-6) to the high school (7-12, actually Junior-Senior High School). At the high school we were all mingled together, there was no separation by floor or wing. When I entered the high school at 7th grade, the choral and music teacher was a well-liked woman who was kind of built like a tank with an attitude to match. She was very popular, always had command of the room and a very talented woman. An definite alto, she could easily fill a room with her voice. I’d enjoy crossing paths with Miss Whitney again.

This favorite teacher decided to take a year sabbatical to pursue a degree in school administration. The school granted her the year off and for my eighth grade year, they hired a brand new, just out-of-college teacher to handle the music classes and choral duties for the year. Miss Moonan was somewhat soft-spoken and as a soprano she had a beautiful voice. She had a decidedly different way of teaching and handling the chorus. Since everyone in town knew everyone’s business, everyone knew that Miss Whitney would be back the following year, so essentially Miss Moonan was a substitute teacher for a whole year.

Now let’s think about that. Think about the horrid things that have been done, both in fiction and in real life, to substitute teachers. I vividly remember an English substitute teacher sitting in a corner, nearly in a fetal position because all hell had broken loose in the classroom to the point that the movable partitions between that separate the room from the adjoining classroom had started falling down. I remember another completely losing her breath and fleeing the room because someone had poured a bottle of cheap perfume in the ventilation system. I don’t even want to talk about the Home Economics incident when the microwave caught fire under a substitute teacher’s watch. Being a substitute teacher is a horrid position for those that are not built Ford tough.

I really think some wanted Miss Moonan to fail. I know that many classmates wanted her to fail. What did they have to lose, after all, Miss Whitney would be back the next year. Folks from the village came to the school musical (it was “Oklahoma” that year) hoping for a catastrophe. But there was none. The musical was wonderful, and while the chosen favorites may not have been in staring roles that year, the show went on. I have to hand it to her, Miss Moonan stuck it through and though students did their best to make her life miserable, she didn’t flee, she did her job to the best of her ability and she even continued her teaching career (albeit opting to move to the elementary school level). I believe she is still teaching today.

So I guess I dreamed about Miss Moonan the other night because I admired her for her tenacity. She stuck it through when the chips were stacked against her. And I admire that in a person. It’s a trait that I strive to find in myself. Stick it through and do what you got to do. I should have remembered that back in college. Perhaps I needed that reminder, the other night.

Thanks, Miss Moonan.

For the past couple of years, Earl and I have had a lawn service doing the mowing and the landscaping around The Manor. The reason for this is two-fold: 1. we are very busy people with our work lives and 2. I’m lazy.

Now I enjoy spending time outdoors but I have remarked in the past that I would rather push the snowblower up and down the driveway in lieu of driving the lawn mower around in circles so when given the choice of paying a service for either, we opted for lawn care. Earl made a call in the mid part of last week to see if they were available to take care of our lawn again this season and they answered in the affirmative.

As of Saturday the lawn service had not come to take care of the lawn and it was looking wicked shabby. Now, I’m not one that has to have a perfectly manicured lawn, but having a presentable lawn is important to me so it started bugging me a little bit when Tom (the cat) went out into the back lawn and all we could see was the tip of his tail. Luckily, his tendency to use his tail as a compass gave us the luxury to know which direction he was headed. I thought I saw the tips of his ears for a moment, but that was just wishful thinking. When he finally made his way back to the back patio, he gave me a dirty look.

I knew it was time to do something about the lawn.

I hauled the riding mower into the garage so I could get it going and I felt a certain amount of satisfaction when I could get the mower to make noises. It is on the battery charger as we speak and I am hopeful that tonight or tomorrow the lawn mower will be fully functional.

I looked around the garage for the push mower, figuring I could at least get some of the lawn under control using that but I was reminded that we ditched that wretched piece of machinery a few years ago. (I swear the wheels were from a shopping cart because they all wanted to go in a different direction. We were the only folks on the block that had a lawn with zig-zagging stripes.)

Earl and Jamie went out and bought us a new mower, which was assembled and put to good use. I felt great satisfaction as I pushed the mower all around the house, taming the lawn in the process. I was quite pleased with myself and it felt good to be doing something other than staring at a computer screen.

This morning Earl notified me via email that the lawn service was out finishing up what I hadn’t tackled yet with my new found piece of machinery.

I have to admit, my first reaction was “bummer”.

Now the lawn service was doing what we asked them to do, but we have decided that they’re only going to do it this month and then we are going to tell them that their services are no longer required. We want to make sure that the riding mower is actually going to start up as planned and then I will take on the taming of the lawn myself. It’s something that I really want to do. I have decided that this is an indicator that I am starting to approach middle age and that in a few years time I will probably be one of those annoying neighbors that mow three times a week, each time at 6 a.m.

It’s good to have something to look forward to.

I just awoke from a full night’s sleep. That’s right, a full night’s sleep. I slept the entire night through, without interruption and I slept nearly eight hours. I have not accomplished this feat in many months and I have not had a full night’s sleep on a Sunday night in many years.

I feel amazing. This is going to be a good week.

I was a pretty young kid when I first noticed the ringing in my ears. It’s a constant sound that I hear and I’ve heard it since I was pretty young (pre-bunk beds, which means since I was in first grade or so). My left ear rings louder than my right, but luckily both ears ring at the same pitch. I would go crazy if the ringing was at two different notes. It’s really high pitched and it’s not a note that I can identify. Sometimes it feels like it’s coming from the middle of my head but aimed at my left ear.

I have noticed that over the past couple of months the ringing has gotten a little louder and a little more noticeable, especially when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. I have to sleep with a fan on to provide white noise to mask the sound of the ringing in my ears or else it feels like the ringing is becoming overpowering as I start to drift off and then I get a little worked up about it. It’s loud enough where it can be distracting in overly quiet situations. Perhaps that’s why Earl has commented on more than one occasion that I have a tendency to fill in blank pauses during a conversation with my own brand of chatter. Perhaps that’s why I say “um” or “em” a lot between words.

I suppose that years of wearing headphones while I was on the radio and listening to music really loud as a club DJ (so I could seamlessly align the beats of dissimilar records) has taken it’s toll on my hearing. I’m saying “say again?” more than I used to. I know some folks find that annoying. I find it annoying. I try not to say it. I read lips more than I used to. I guess it’s part of the aging process.

A few years ago I went to an ear, nose and throat specialist to find out if there was anything that could be done about the ringing in my ears. He told me that there was little that he could do because that kind of thing is usually damage that can not be reversed. He offered to peel back my face and scrape around my sinuses if I wanted to. Apparently he had heard me make a sniffly noise that I didn’t notice. I declined the offer. That just sounded too weird.

I’m hoping that science will perfect that bionic hearing I’ve wanted since I was a kid before my natural hearing ability is completely interrupted by the constant whine in my ears. I’m not expecting a lot, just the ability to hear someone say my name from a half-mile away. The “doo doo doo doo” sound is completely optional.

It’s a well known fact that I stop by the Dunkin’ Donuts closest to the workplace on a daily basis to pick up a large, unsweetened iced tea with lemon. The fine staff behind the counter are always pleasant and usually have my iced tea ready and waiting when I walk into the store. I like being served in this manner.

For the month of April, like every other Dunkin’ Donuts I have been to in the past year, they have charged $0.99 plus tax for this large unsweetened iced tea with lemon. There isn’t really much involved with making unsweetened iced tea; pour some hot water over tea bags, chill it to a non-hot temperature, add a lemon wedge and voila, it’s done.

Now that it is May, this particular Dunkin’ Donuts jacked the price back up to $2.69. The total for just an unsweetened iced tea with lemon today was $2.86 (including New York State Sales and Use Tax, otherwise known as legislated rape).

This does not make Daddy happy.

Now I like the folks that work at this Dunkin’ Donuts, so I didn’t get cranky about it, but when presented with the total for my large unsweetened iced tea with lemon ($2.86), I simply said, “every other Dunkin’ Donuts still charges $0.99 plus tax.” The pleasant girl responded with, “we know, but none of us know why we don’t.”

It’s because the franchise owner is a greedy bastard. I don’t care if my cup says “Men In Black 3!” on the side with matching straw, I don’t care if my tea was selected by scantily clad virgins that were dancing in the moonlight and then brewed with ambrosiac water that had been boiled by a volcano. The fact of the matter is, it’s tea leaves, add water, stir and voila.

Now, the McDonalds across the street offers any sized unsweetened iced tea with lemon for $0.99. The problem is, it’s handed out in a styrofoam cup (the gift that gives for generations) and let’s face it, you can’t trust anything that is claimed to be suitable consumption when it’s coming from a McDonalds. So I won’t do that.

I think I’m going to start bringing my own iced tea again and I’m going to skip my daily DD visit for a while. I’ll still go to every other Dunkin’ Donuts like I always do, but I’m crossing this one off the list.