The Great Scanning Project of 2023 Continues...

I had lunch the other day with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while and, during our conversation, she mentioned that I hadn’t written much lately.

 

True.

 

But that’s the kind of thing Vince would have said to me that would’ve spurred me on to write a blog – mostly because if I didn’t, he’d keep after me about it until I did.

 

But he – like my friend – only did it because he thought I had a talent and he wanted me to share it with the world. Or at least my little corner of it.

 

And, clearly, it works. Because here I am – writing.

 

I have written before about my photo scanning project. Yeah, that’s still happening and has seemingly taken over my life lately. The project feels interminable. I would estimate I’ve scanned maybe 4-500 photos, and I feel like I've only just cracked the surface.

 

Yikes.

 

If I were simply scanning them and throwing them all into a single computer file, that’d be one thing. But I’m scanning them for other people, too – so I’m labeling each one and adding them to multiple folders for multiple people.

 

Sometimes the ol’ memory isn’t what it used to be so I can’t always remember the year the photo was taken.

 

It’s a good thing we have the Latin word circa meaning around or about. It’s used in history to indicate an approximate timeline or date. And, sure, it’s used a lot to describe major historic battles or events that changed the history of the world during which accurate records might have been lost.

 

But I say I can also legitimately use it in Jane’s Domain to indicate when an epic Halloween bash was held and I can’t remember the exact year.

 

Not having to think so hard makes my head hurt a little less anyway. Seriously. I study the photo, analyzing the clothing, hairstyles and background and then I hypothesize about the season and year it may have been taken. It would have been SO MUCH EASIER if I had simply written the year and occasion on the back when I took the photo.

No wonder this project is going to take forever.

 

Sometimes it's not the year that stymies me - but the names of some of the people IN the photo. For example, I was scanning a photo from a friend’s wedding in the early 80s. There was a photo of me with two of our guy friends from the dorms at Ohio State. I could clearly recall the one guy’s name, but the other one eluded me. I was determined to remember it (and came close to calling my college roommate because I knew she would remember), but in the end I just didn’t include his name. Figured if it came to me, I could go back in and add it.

 

And then, a few days later I was at the doctor’s office – and the mystery guy’s name suddenly popped into my head and I actually blurted it out loud. Fortunately, I was in the inner sanctum by myself waiting for the doctor to come in. Had I said his name out loud while she was in there with me, she may have ordered a complete set of other tests that had absolutely nothing to do with the reason I was there.

 

Anyway, my “little” photo project is still ongoing. But I have had some fun moments reliving old memories and I’ve actually enjoyed the experience. Sort of. If only I didn’t have such a mess of containers in my office and living room. I’m afraid if I put them out of sight each day, I might not feel the urgency to continue the job.

 

One of the hurdles I managed was to get through the dozens and dozens of small photo albums of my parents’ travels. Little Post-Its are sticking up in the books of the photos that I intend to scan because they are good pictures of my parents and I think my siblings would appreciate having them.

 

My dad took the time to label almost every photo using the old manual typewriter he bought back when I was a kid and he hired me at a buck a page to type the abstracts he wrote and submitted to the Chemical Abstracts Service for publication.

 

Anyway, some of those photos made me laugh only because of my dad’s subtle sense of humor. I took a picture of the picture in the album (so don't judge me on my scanning skills - the following are not technically scanned!).

 

In one photo, Dad was standing in a pair of huge clogs typical of Holland. Dad typed, “My, what big feet.” I love the smile on Dad's face!

 

In another, they were sitting in an open safari vehicle in Africa when dad took a shot of a hot air balloon up ahead. He wrote, “At $360 a Trip, I would Rather Ride the Rough Roads.” Ha-ha.

 

My dad. Always the frugal one.

 

But I found myself a little verklempt when I saw a particular photo from a trip to Ireland that my sister and I took with mom and dad. It was a photo of mom, Denise and me in front of one of the many castles in the country. And dad wrote, “My three lovely ladies at Kilkenny Castle.”

 

Awww.

 

I had a copy of the very same photo, but I had never seen his caption before.

 

Dad didn’t always have enough travel photos to fill up each album, so in some of them he’d insert some random family photos. Various family gatherings that I had forgotten about, or hadn’t remembered we had taken photos.

 

So that was a nice surprise.

 

And then I came across a photo of Vince and me. It was the weekend Vince and I had driven to Alliance for my mother’s birthday and it was the first time he’d met my parents.

 

Vince had made it a wonderful birthday celebration for my mom (I’ve written about it here). And after dinner we were sitting in the family room and apparently my dad had taken our picture. He also took a photo of my brother and his wife. I had completely forgotten that they had come over after dinner to meet Vince, too.

 

I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to have found this photo as it brings back such happy memories. Which makes me exceedingly happy I didn’t just chuck the entire bin of travel photos when I was cleaning out Mom and Dad’s house.

 

Plus, Dad worked so hard on his little photo captions. I’m glad I was able to have one last look at them all.

 

So, anyway, that’s my update on the Great Photo Scanning Project of 2023. And speaking of…I should probably get back to it so that I’m not still writing about this in 2024.

 

Besides, those photos from that epic Halloween party circa 1983 are not going to scan themselves!

 

A Fun-Filled Weekend in Jane’s Domain

It’s Monday afternoon. I’m still finishing my morning coffee because, well, I slept over 10 hours last night. I kind of have a rule of not drinking coffee in the afternoon because I don’t want to be awake all night from the caffeine buzz.

 

Guess I’ll be testing that little theory tonight, won’t I? If I’m able to fall asleep with no interruptions, I may have to change my ways. You’ll see me with my hot pink coffee mug permanently attached to my fingers guzzling java at dinnertime.

 

Anyway. WHY am I drinking coffee in the afternoon and WHY did I sleep over 10 hours last night?

 

Well, it’s because I went to Steubenville for my friends’ daughter’s graduation party over the weekend. That’s the quick answer. The long answer follows.

 

See? Long time friends.
Nick had hair and I was cute!

I’ve written about him before – but I’ve known Nick since my first year at Ohio State and we’ve been friends ever since. Time used to be measured in years, but now we measure it in decades.

 

Yikes – how is this possible? And when did we get so old??

 

But it never matters once we all get together because we just fall right back into our decades-long friendship. Other OSU friends were there, too. Nick’s twin brother, Joe (of course) and Charisse from Cleveland and Butch and his wife Dragana from Columbus. (Whom I never see, by the way, even though we live only about 15 miles from each other.) 

Other friends I’ve known seemingly forever – the two Mikes and Randy and Chris and Deena and Nick. (I hate when I name names…I’m always worried I’m going to leave someone out. Plus, I’m never sure if people actually want me to name their name!)

 

Nick and Beth’s daughter is heading off to college in the fall and I just wish so much for her in her college experience. I hope she learns a lot. I hope she has fun. I hope she makes mistakes (because we all do), but I hope she accepts those mistakes and learns from them.

 

But, mostly, I hope she meets a group of friends that she will be able to laugh with, lean on and grow with for the rest of her life.

 

The party, by the way, was amazing. The decorations were incredible. There were so many pink balloons, my little heart was overwhelmed with joy. But, truthfully? I got tired just looking at them all because I know how much time and effort went into all that decorating. 

But Beth did not act exhausted in the least. (Unlike me during some of the mega-parties Vince and I used to throw. I’d sit down somewhere during the middle of the party wishing I could just take a nap!)

 

But I also know they had a lot of help and support. That’s the kind of people they are – will step in and give anyone a hand – so others want to do that for them, too.

 

They had food catered from all sorts of local eateries (Pastaio and Scaffidi's – if you’re ever in the area, you should definitely check ‘em out). Other places, too, but I don't remember their names. Nick prepped some of the food himself. And there were cakes and cookies and tiramisu, oh my! 

The pool table was covered in pink plastic and then covered again with snacks and crackers and meats and olives and other appetizers. So much food that I actually thought that was the party food.

 

How am I still making this rookie mistake? Italians do NOT stop at mere appetizers!

 

I only found out later that the lasagna, meatballs, chicken limone and all manner of Italian foods and pastas were being served in their outdoor kitchen. (I used to think we had a lot of space in our house what with our two kitchens both upstairs and downstairs. Yeah, right. We were rank amateurs. Nick and Beth have three…!)

 

But as the party progressed, we toasted our friendships with limoncello shots. We took lots of photos. I drank more wine in one night there than I had in the entire previous month. We got into serious conversations. We got silly and laughed. A lot. We chatted and caught up with one another’s lives.

 

There were a couple people there I hadn’t seen since before Vince passed who gave me reassuring heart-felt hugs and also gave me a chance to talk about him a little bit. So, even though I missed him (as I do every single day), I didn’t have too much time to be sad.

 

But he would’ve loved being there in the middle of it all. And he would’ve taken far more pictures than I did.

 

And it was after 3 a.m. before I headed upstairs to crash on the couch.

 

I slept for a few hours only to get up in the early morning, head out to the patio near the pool and hot tub – and do it all over again. Well, except for the limoncello shots and the wine. For me, anyway. Driving back to Columbus later in the day precluded me drinking anything but coffee and my ever-present 24 oz drink bottle filled with water.

 

Everyone else waited until the afternoon before they broke out more bottles of wine. And they also brought out the trays of leftovers for an afternoon meal.

 

I was inside looking at the pool table once again covered in pink plastic and large trays of foil baking pans. I laughed and said, “This would be the party food I had for one of my parties. Here, it’s your leftovers!”

 

Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Vince was of the opinion that it was far better to have plenty of leftovers than to run out of food to serve your guests.

 

He did not subscribe to the Anne and Henry Domian Food Serving Rules. Wherein a person was offered either a hamburger or a hotdog during a Saturday cookout.

 

That used to make Vince laugh as he and his friend John used to cook burgers and hot dogs and steaks and chicken AND crab legs on the grill. Concurrently. But, on the other hand, mom and dad didn’t used to waste food, either.

 

Anyway, it was a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. Nick supplied me with enough leftovers to last the better part of this week. And I drove home exhausted but smiling thinking about the conversations we had and my friendships with these special people.

 

How ‘bout you? What fun thing did you do this past weekend?

A Big Project in Jane’s Domain

Earlier this past week I had one of those days where I had many things I should have been doing, some things I needed to do and a few things I wanted to do. Instead, I sat here at my computer and started to write.

 

But, then, writing is something that combines all of the above. So that can’t be a bad thing, can it?

 

It was the 28^th of June, and if my parents were still alive, they’d have been celebrating 71 years of marriage. As it was, they were able to celebrate their 63^rd anniversary and were literally three days shy of their 64^th when Dad passed in 2016.

 

I still think of them every day and am so glad they lived good, long lives. And they were able to show us what a happy, healthy, loving marriage looked like.

 

That day I also learned that a high school friend, who has been fighting pancreatic cancer, found out the cancer had spread to his liver. Pancreatic cancer is one of those scary ones. But he was truly fighting – and I believed he was going to beat it. I still believe he can, but the news brought tears to my eyes. And this is a person I haven’t seen since I was seventeen. I can still picture him in Mr. Seavy’s World History class, giving me grief because if I didn’t know the answer to a question, Mr. Seavy was going to give the entire class a pop quiz.

 

(And, c’mon. I knew the answer!)

 

But if anyone can beat cancer, he can, so I’ll continue to keep him in my prayers. If you can, as well, I’d appreciate it. And if you don’t pray – then send good thoughts, vibes or whatever voodoo you do out into the cosmos for healing.

 

The subject of the blog I was intending to write escapes me now as I’ve just gotten back to my computer to finish it. Since I’m not a duck, I guess sad news is harder to slide off my back than, well, water would.

 

Or something like that.

 

Anyway, I ended up spending the day working on a project I’ve been meaning to start for more than six years when I cleaned out my parents’ house. And that is – to organize the boxes and bins of photos I have stashed away in the spare room closets. I want to sort through, toss the blurry or bad ones, scan the good ones, and then get rid of the hard copies.

 

These aren’t only my parents’ photos, but those two or three extra boxes and bins were enough to add to the scope of the project and make it really challenging.

 

Because I, myself, took many, many photos through the years. And in the thirteen years we were together, Vince took even more. But so did my dad. He brought his trusty camera with him on every globe-trotting trip he and mom took. And after he got those photos developed, he carefully labeled each one and placed them in a small album dedicated to that particular trip so that they had photographic evidence of them all.

 

If something came up in casual conversation about a name of a town in a foreign country, Dad would excuse himself, find the album and bring it down to show us the photo and describe the significance of that town.

 

When he met Vince and learned the spelling of “Cordova,” he stood up and left the room. Dad was not someone anyone would ever describe as rude, so I just looked at Vince and shrugged. But soon Dad came back to the family room with an album showing numerous photos of Cordova, Alaska, from a cruise he and Mom took years prior.

 

Sadly, these photo albums don’t have the same significance to us as they did for mom and dad – and no one wants a shelf full of travel photo albums to places that we didn’t travel.

 

That breaks my heart a little bit, but I simply don’t have the shelving real estate necessary to keep them all. And my closet space is at a premium, too, and I’d like to free it up for, oh, I don’t know, clothes, maybe. Or shoes. You know, stuff that’s supposed to go in a closet?

 

So my plan is to look through the books and find photos of mom and dad that we might like to have – photos from a time when they were healthy and able to enjoy and remember every moment of the particular trip they were on. Then I’ll scan those photos for my family members.

 

Great plan, eh?

 

Yeah, well. I’m now in the thick of this great plan and my living room is filled with small bins of photos that I have separated into categories. Photos from my childhood years. College years. Adult years. Family photos. Friend photos. Vince photos.

 

My living room looks like one of those old Foto-Mat kiosks exploded. (Remember those?!)

 

Yikes.

 

Now, of course, I’m torn because I have other things I need to do. There’s a stack of financial paperwork on my dining room table for a project I’m working on. There’s a stack of clothing in my bedroom that I started to sort for donation or resale purposes.

 

And there’s a stack of large, unmarked bills in a duffel bag that I need to count and then launder.

 

So I have a lot of projects going on.

 

Yeah, yeah. I know. Obviously that last one isn’t true. I was just checking to see if you were still paying attention. Besides, I’d be the person who’d actually put the bills in the washing machine because I didn’t understand the concept of “money laundering.”

 

Crime would NOT pay in my case.

 

Anyway, I digress.

 

And I procrastinate, too. So I’d better get back to those photos. Since I’ve gotten this far, I can’t stop now. It absolutely cannot be six more years before I start scanning them.

 

Wish me a little luck – and a whole lotta perseverance.

 

I Got the LG Washing Machine Blues

I’m kind of proud of myself right now. Well, I think I am. Probably I should give it another 40 minutes or so to be sure.

 

But I’m gonna jump the gun anyway.

 

See, I was minding my business the other day getting lots of fun chores done, including the laundry. I was on the last load – meaning that the three baskets I have (for lights, darks, and towels/sheets) were all empty.

 

At the same time.

 

This is a rare occurrence in Jane’s Domain.

 

I’m really not that fond of doing laundry, but I do it so people will continue inviting me to join them in public.

 

Oh, who am I kidding? I do it because I love that April Fresh scent of freshly laundered clothes.

 

Anyway, my carefully planned day was rudely interrupted by a strange chime coming from the washing machine. And when I went to investigate, there was an even stranger sight on the machine itself. A code was flashing and I wasn’t able to open the door to the machine.

 

Hunh. That never happened before. I have no idea where the manual is to the washer, and, frankly, I’m rather doubtful that it even came with a manual.

 

Also, you should know that the washer and dryer are only a year and a half old, so it is far too soon for any codes to be flashing on them.

 

Eventually, I was able to open the door to the washer. Inside, the sheets I was washing were pretty soggy, so I decided I’d run a spin cycle and finish up. I decided that the washer was just having a little temper tantrum over having to do so many loads in a row. And so I forgave it and we each went about our business.

 

Until I next went to the laundry room expecting to pull the sheets from the washer and place them in the dryer.

 

Instead, I found the sheets not only soggy – but sopping wet as there were several inches of water in the bottom of the machine.

 

Sigh.

 

Eventually, I managed to find a leakproof plastic container big enough to hold the sopping wet load of laundry and I pulled them out intending to wring them out provided my arthritic old fingers could find the strength.

 

But that was the extent of my energy in dealing with the temperamental washing machine right then.

 

Until today. When I realized I was getting low on certain things – like pajamas and some unmentionables.

 

So I took a photo of the name of the washing machine. And I Googled the particular code that had been rudely flashing at me.

 

Turns out the Error Code wastelling me that the washing machine is unable to drain the water during the wash cycle.

 

Well, no duh. Even *I* knew that – mostly because the washing machine had water in it after it supposedly finished the cycle.

 

But then I learned the problem could be a kinked drain hose or a clogged drain pump filter.

 

The kinked drain hose seemed like a major problem – since I needed to (a) unplug the machine and (b) look around the back to check the hose.

 

My washing machine is tucked into a very small laundry room. I figured the delivery guy put it in there and it won’t come out of there until a mover figures out how to load it on a dolly to remove it.

 

Besides, how the heck am I going to manhandle a washing machine to get to the back of it?

 

Anyway, I chose to address Problem #2 – the clogged drain pump filter.

 

Mostly because the filter is located in a little window on the bottom front of the washing machine. Easy access.

 

So I carefully watched the YouTube video telling me how to drain the pump making sure to have a pan or some such implement to catch what could be a lot of water (providing I hadn’t cleaned the drain pump filter “in a while” – or, in my case – “ever”).

 

So I did that. And, yes, there was a lot of water draining out of that little hose.

 

Then I followed the instructions on pulling the filter out of the machine.

 

What it looked like...

Can I just say, “Ewwwwwwwww”?!!

 

That filter was just plain nasty. I don’t know what kind of goop builds up on that thing, but it took a whole lot of time to get it all cleaned.

 

And who knew one is supposed to clean a drain pump filter??

 

In all the years I’ve had a washing machine, I never knew this was a task one is supposed to complete “every few weeks or so.”

 

What it's supposed to look like...

Our other washing machine was still going strong eleven years later and the only reason I didn’t bring it with me when I moved is that the new owners wanted the washer and dryer to stay with the house.

I can only imagine what the drain pump filter on that machine looks like.

 

It made me wonder if perhaps Vince furtively got up in the middle of the night every couple weeks with a flashlight and a scrub brush and cleaned out the drain pump filter so our washing machine kept working without a problem. Because I promise you I never even inadvertently cleaned it out as I didn’t even know it was there.

 

On the other hand, I tend to be the sort of person who presses the “On” or “Go” button – and if doesn’t come on or go – then I’m stumped.

 

Anyway, once I completed that task and got the filter back in place, I was supposed to run a few cycles on the Tub Cleaning setting.

 

Which is what I’m doing now. Things seem to be going well. And I’m happy to report there aren’t six inches of water on the floor of the laundry room.

 

But the real test will be when the cycle is finished and there is no standing water in the bottom of the washing machine.

 

Because if there is, I will be forced to call in an expert (aka my brother-in-law). Or whoever will take pity on me.

 

And once the darn thing is working again, I’ll be adding “Clean Drain Pump Filter” to my “To-Do” list.

 

 

Another Year Gone By

It’s hard to fathom that my Vince has been gone two whole years as of today. Two long years that have flown by in the blink of an eye – and yet the days and lonely nights have sometimes seemed interminable.

 

Yeah, good luck getting me to explain that so it’s a little more understandable.

 

I know time has passed because my home is no longer the same – physically as well as metaphorically. I don’t have the same sense of peace I once had thinking that we had “many” more years together.

 

When Vince and I got married, he was 50 and I was just about to turn 50. My mom – even in her dementia – used to tease us and say that we’d probably never get to celebrate our 50^th wedding anniversary. This, after asking how long we had been married versus how long she and my dad had been married as she couldn’t remember either number. (She and dad, by the way, were just days shy of their 64^th wedding anniversary.)

 

Vince would tell her that while he was sad that we’d probably never get to spend 50 years together – he was happy that we could make the best of every single year we did have together.

 

And, boy, did we.

 

This morning Maggie got me up before 6AM for her first walk of the day. Normally, I grouse and complain because that’s wayyy too early for me. If I need to bring a flashlight to see her and what I’m picking up, then I say we have to wait at least until the break of dawn.

 

This morning, though, I promptly got up, got dressed and was out the door with her in record time. Why? Well…uh…mostly because she was eating a lot of grass yesterday, which indicated that she had an upset belly. And last night she had the most god-awful gaseous emissions I’ve ever smelled. Especially outta her since she isn’t normally a gassy kinda dog.

 

I brought along two doggie waste bags – just in case. (And, believe me, they were needed.)

 

But I digress. And, plus, that’s way more about my dog’s digestive system than you ever wanted to hear.

 

(Ooh, except one more thing – what in the WORLD did she eat? It wasn’t something I gave her as I’ve been gone most days lately and she hasn’t gotten any people food. Must’ve been something outside that I don’t even wanna know about.)

 

ANYWAY…

 

I ended up staying up when we got back from our first walk. I brewed a cup of coffee and sat in my chair looking out the patio at the rainy, dreary morning, thinking about life and loss.

 

And, for the first time, I read the Facebook comments people wrote when I posted that my Vince had suddenly passed on April 28, 2021.

 

Well, I take that back. I do think I read them back then. But I guarantee you, in my grief and devastation, I didn’t remember a single one.

 

So – two whole years later – I can appreciate the outpouring of love and support. And I thank you for every one of those condolence messages.

 

Last year on the one-year anniversary of his death, I knew I didn’t want to be alone, brooding and sad about his being gone and missing him. So I asked friends to come out for a drink so we could toast him and celebrate his life. We had a lovely evening (in shifts because I could only have so many people in the room I’d reserved before I’d have to pay to rent the room). (Vince, by the way, would have approved of my ingenuity in getting out of paying extra charges…!)

 

But it is so comforting to know I have people in my life who continually send me love and support during this grief journey.

 

To wit, I was invited to get together with some good friends tonight so I wouldn’t be alone. We’ll have a toast to Vince – and we’ll talk and laugh and enjoy our time together. And it will make a sad day just a little more bearable.

 

And yesterday morning I got a text from my friend Lynn who asked if I’d like to meet for breakfast. Yesterday morning.

 

You should know that Lynn and I are not normally spontaneous in our get-togethers. We do the initial texting to suggest getting together sometime soon for a meal. We check our calendars. We have back-and-forth negotiations on the best place, the best date and the best time before finally getting something scheduled.

 

Nope, we’re definitely not spontaneous!

 

But I know how much she and Steve have missed Vince – and I figured they wanted to get together to commemorate the anniversary of his passing – and the love we all have for him still.

 

So I made myself just enough presentable to pass muster in a public place (though hair washing was eschewed as that would have required another 45 minutes of prep time – and it would’ve resulted in a lunch situation instead of a breakfast.)

 

Anyway, we met up, said a prayer, had a toast to him, and enjoyed a meal together. Had it not been for Vince, I would never have met this lovely couple.

 

So thank you, my Vince. The reverberations of your life are still being felt to this day – and will continue, I believe, for years to come.

 

I know others miss him – family, friends and people with whom he worked or went to school with or lived by through the years. People I barely know will tell me they miss his frequent phone calls asking about their day or getting together for a little fellowship. His brother talks about him and his dad surely misses him as he often tells me how he can’t believe his son is gone.

 

So I know without a doubt that I’m not the only one grieving. But losing a spouse is so much different than other losses. They’re all just different. And I’m in no way trying to lessen the impact that those losses have.

 

All I know is that I miss him – and the life we had – and I grieve for the future together we will no longer have.

 

But I also know how much he enriched my life. The things he did and said that I can easily recall that make me smile or laugh. The things he did and said that even now can make me roll my eyes. (But, y’know, I’m an eye-roller from way back.)

 

I miss holding his hand. I miss his hugs. I even miss his crazy driving – turning left into traffic and teasing, “Your side!” as I hang on, squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact.

 

Well, maybe I don’t miss that last thing so much.

 

But I keep his love for me in my heart and, even through tears, I know I have been blessed.

 

So do me a favor? Hold someone you love close. Tell them how much you love them. And give ‘em a hug. Trust me – it makes the world a brighter place.

 

Stuff from a While Ago that Struck me Funny...

 Sunday, April 23, 2023

 

I’m not sure what is happening with my “stuff” on Blogger.com and Facebook – but the following blog, which was written in 2010 and which I was trying to repost today because I thought it was funny – seemed to be blocked.

 

Come on, people! Am I suddenly being targeted as a problem? ‘Cause, honest…I’m not. I’m just a woman who wants to write about her goofy life. And life back in 2010 was clearly goofier than it is today.

 

So I’ll copy and paste. And we’ll see if it works this way. Otherwise, I dunno what to tell you. I’ll have to resort to writing you all individual letters. Which will cause all sorts of issues with carpal tunnel, and then I’ll be having to buy a lot more paper and stamps and envelopes. And then I’ll be labeled “anti-trees...”  

Not good.

 

And, well, let’s just say I’m not any too anxious to go back to the Pre-Computer Era. So – fingers crossed!

 

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

 

The Office

 

I think my boss is trying to kill me. I’m not even kidding you. Maybe he’s tired of paying the ever-increasing health insurance premiums and this is the best way to get rid of me? Or maybe this is payback for that one error I made back in 2002?

 

Or maybe he’s just tired of my perfectionist-never-makes-a-mistake attitude?!

 

I’m not sure what the reason is, but it seems like he’s trying to tell me something when there are so many noxious chemicals in the air that I seriously need a gas mask to breathe. And, no, I am not being paranoid.

 

As you know if you’ve read any of my blogs for the past five years, I’ve been dealing with a cold. And, okay, so it has only been a couple weeks, but it sure feels like we’re closing in on five years…

 

And I’m not the only one around here who is sick, either. There’s an awful lot of hacking and throat-clearing and nose-blowing occurring in this office and it’s not all coming from me, although I could easily snag the prize for being the loudest and most obnoxious.

 

So why on earth would he choose today – of all days – to repair the floorboard in the empty office near mine? We only keep catalogues in there along with our water fountain. But we’re all used to straddling the broken floorboard when filling our water bottles, so it’s no biggie. Besides, that floorboard has been broken since before I arrived on the scene – and that is going on eight l-o-n-g…I mean, eight magical years! No telling how many decades before that it was broken. 

 

Apparently, my boss decided that the work couldn’t be delayed any longer when the flooring in another office the next building over gave way and created a gap big enough to allow infiltration from four-legged creatures that rhyme with “cats” but are not cute household pets wearing pink collars with tinkling little bells. No, these creatures belong in a landfill or a sewer somewhere far away from the inside of an office building. Or at least far enough away from the likes of me.

 

So, okay, I’ll concede that there is a valid reason for the urgency in having the repairs made. It’s an old German Village office and stuff happens. And I appreciate the effort to keep said creatures from entering the office, which would cause me to screech like a banshee should I ever spy one in here.

 

But the guy doing the repair work (who is currently outside on his third smoke break in an hour), is using some sort of horrendous-smelling glue to fix things. It’s making me a tiny bit lightheaded. This would be bad enough, but now I’m smelling the smoke from his cigarette, which is somehow drifting into my office from the outside. And it’s making me cough, which I’m really tired of doing, thus it’s also making me a little cranky.

 

Perhaps I should also have copped to that one error I might possibly have made in 2005? You think that would return things to normal around here where the worst smell I have to deal with is that which emanates from the break room after some bad Thai food at lunchtime?

 

Probably not. Because that’s not the end of our problems. Seriously, it’s like some cheesy disaster movie around here today.

 

We also have an infestation of flies in the basement. I kid you not. I refused to go down there to see what was meant by “infestation” because, to me, anything more than two flies qualifies as an infestation. Besides, if I saw a roomful of swarming flies, I’d be traumatized for life and you’d find me trembling inside a little white padded room swatting at imaginary flies and drooling and mumbling to myself. So I think I’ll just take their word for it.

 

So what did they do? They set off some foggers down there to eradicate the flies. Which is great, but now I swear to you, the toxic chemicals are filtering up through the vents into my office. You have got to be kidding me!

 

I’m telling you, it’s hard to concentrate on how best to respond to a customer who wants to know if it’s okay to give her 5 lb. mini-pretend dog one of our Meaty Y dog bones that are about the size of a dinosaur thigh and have to be twice the size of her dog. Would it be too sarcastic to simply write back, “Hey lady…duh!”? No, I’d better not. Mostly because then I would have to admit to making another mistake. Darn.

 

So I have a few questions: Is it bad to breathe in the fumes from those bug bombs? How about someone with a temporarily compromised immune system? And, most importantly, shouldn’t all this qualify me for some sort of additional hazardous pay?? 

 

If only I’d known I’d be dealing with all this cigarette-smoking, bug-bombing, super-glue fumigating, fly-infiltrating craziness, I would’ve just called in sick this morning.

 

Gotta admit, though, there’s never a dull moment around here!

 

The Office

I think my boss is trying to kill me. I’m not even kidding you. Maybe he’s tired of paying the ever increasing health insurance premiums and this is the best way to get rid of me? Or maybe this is payback for that one error I made back in 2002?

Or maybe he’s just tired of my perfectionist-never-make-a-mistake attitude?!

I’m not sure what the reason is, but it seems like he’s trying to tell me something when there are so many noxious chemicals in the air that I seriously need a gas mask to breathe. And, no, I am not being paranoid.

As you know if you’ve read any of my blogs for the past five years, I’ve been dealing with a cold. And, okay, so it hasn’t been five years, but surely we must be getting close.

And I’m not the only one around here who is sick, either. There’s an awful lot of hacking and throat-clearing and nose-blowing occurring in this office and it’s not all coming from me, although I could easily snag the prize for being the loudest and most obnoxious.

So why on earth would he choose today – of all days – to repair the floorboard in the empty office near mine? We only keep catalogues in there along with our water fountain. But we’re all used to straddling the broken floorboard when filling our water bottles, so it’s no biggie. Besides, that floorboard has been broken since before I arrived on the scene – and that is going on eight l-o-n-g…I mean, eight magical years! No telling how many decades before that it was broken.

Apparently, my boss decided that the work couldn’t be delayed any longer when the flooring in another office in the building near ours gave way and created a gap big enough to allow infiltration from four-legged creatures that rhyme with “cats” but are not cute household pets that wear pink collars with tinkling little bells. No, these creatures belong in a landfill or a sewer somewhere far away from the inside of an office building. Or at least far enough away from the likes of me.

So, okay, I’ll concede that there is a valid reason for the urgency in having the repairs made. It's an old, German Village office and stuff happens. And I appreciate the effort to keep said creatures from entering the office, which would cause me to screech like a banshee should I ever spy one in here.

But the guy doing the repair work (who is currently outside on his third smoke break in an hour), is using some sort of horrendous-smelling glue to fix things. It’s making me a tiny bit lightheaded. This would be bad enough, but now I’m smelling the smoke from his cigarette, which is somehow drifting into my office from the outside. And it’s making me cough, which I’m really tired of doing, thus it’s also making me a little cranky.

Perhaps I should also have copped to that one error I might possibly have made in 2005? You think that would return things to normal around here where the worst smell I have to deal with is that which emanates from the break room after someone orders bad Thai food at lunchtime?

Probably not. Because that’s not the end of our problems. Seriously, it’s like some cheesy disaster movie around here today.

We also have an infestation of flies in the basement. I kid you not. I refused to go down there to see what was meant by “infestation” because, to me, anything more than two flies qualifies as an infestation. Besides, if I saw a roomful of swarming flies, I’d be traumatized for life and you’d find me trembling inside a little white padded room swatting at imaginary flies and drooling and mumbling to myself. So I think I’ll just take their word for it.

So what did they do? They set off some foggers down there to eradicate the flies. Which is great, but now I swear to you, the toxic chemicals are filtering up through the vents into my office. You have got to be kidding me!

I’m telling you, it’s hard to concentrate on how best to respond to a customer who wants to know if it’s okay to give her 5 lb. mini-pretend dog one of our Meaty Y dog bones that are about the size of a dinosaur thigh and have to be twice the size of her dog. Would it be too sarcastic to simply write back, “Hey lady…duh!”? No, I’d better not. Mostly because then I would have to admit to making another mistake. Damn.

So I have a few questions: Is it bad to breathe in the fumes from those bug bombs? How about someone with a temporarily compromised immune system? And, most importantly, shouldn’t all this qualify me for some sort of additional hazardous pay??

If only I’d known I’d be dealing with all this cigarette smoking, bug-bombing, super-glue fumigating, fly-infiltrating craziness, I would’ve just called in sick this morning. Surely I wouldn't have been required to bring in a doctor's excuse.

I'm telling you, though, if I see a swarm of locusts approaching, I'm outta here!