Adventures in Cold and Fear

Around 8:00 last night, I started to smell a chemical like smell, which no one else smelled, but then they smelled it too: burning rubber or plastic, kind of like melting crayons. Long story short, although the furnace itself did not smell, it was coming up through the vents with the hot air. I called the furnace repair after hours number, and someone called back and said he would be here in a half hour.

At which point the fear set it. I am so much better with this stuff now, but I completely slid back to the old me: holding so still that I was nearly paralyzed with fear, fear of the furnace blowing up or the house burning down, or both. It sounds ridiculous to say this is something I've always been afraid of, but it is. I don't know why. My parents, who were so fearful of many things, must have instilled it in me somehow. Many years ago, when R was a baby, we felt the tremor of a small earthquake, and the house shook, and I was convinced it was the furnace blowing up (it was where we lived before here) and I fainted.

I was very, very scared. Although I stayed at my desk, waiting for the doorbell, I quietly shoveled things into a tote bag, planning to push my computer and the various chargers in at the last minute, whenever the repairman said "Get out!" He never did, of course.

He was very nice, especially for a guy who had been called out of home on a cold Saturday night, and the Hubs dealt with him, which was also nice for me. The motor is dead. We'll have a new one tomorrow morning -- Monday -- and in the meantime, it's getting colder. It's quite cold outside today, actually, and there were flurries this morning. It's very windy.

Once I lost the fear of imminent fiery destruction, I was fine, although it did take me sometime to lose the physical tension I had built up. But I wasn't worried about the cold. We all put layers on and burrowed under blankets. The family room, which is where I've been sleeping, has its own electric baseboard heat, which the rest of the house is bleeding out, but it's not so terrible in here, and I slept great, til 9:00 even, warm and cozy. The front of the house is down to the low sixties, which is what some people set their houses to, I guess. It'll get colder tonight, and the bathroom is already plenty cold, but you know, we're not living in a box under a bridge; it's a house with sturdy walls and a roof, and it can't go down to an unlivable temperature in just 36 hours, so we'll be fine. Although I already have so many layers on, it's getting hard to set my hands on the keyboard.

So there you go. Keep warm out there in Internet land!


WATCHING HARRY POTTER AND SOMETHING OR OTHER :: ENTRY #1931
READING: The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards

Eh?

I just read Horton Hears a Who. I was showing a class some children's books for an assignment they had, and I picked this one up to look through because the movie is coming out and I don't know if I've ever read this one, or maybe I just haven't read it in a very long time. (It was published in 1954, so I could well have read it when I discovered Dr. Seuss four years later, when I was in kindergarten.) My personal favorite, and prominent on my shelf at home, is Horton Hatches the Egg. Funny, I liked the book, but from the clips and such I've seen of the movie, the movie looks better, and I say that rarely. Certainly I thought the recent Grinch movie was a travesty of costume and special effects. Maybe this looks better to me because it's animated; I think it seems to resemble Dr. Seuss's later, more developed, drawing style.

Speaking of which, I saw a clip from the Where the Wild Things Are movie that's being made, and it was fascinating. (I tried to find it again now and link to it, but it's been withdrawn from any site that was playing it.) It is not animated, but is live-action, with known actors supplying the voices of the wild things. They are certainly going to have to flesh out the story more, or at least, the dialog, since the book itself is quite concise, not to mention perfect just the way it is, but the clip had a very charming feel to it.

We actually have an English department elective in this school called Children's Literature (although that's not the class I was working with this morning), which I think it about the dumbest elective a high school can offer. We don't have an elective in Shakespeare, or the short story, or modern drama, but we haver children's literature? This is because a former department chairman had to design an elective for a college course she was taking, I think, and she became enamored of the idea. I've always been amused by it, probably because of all the staff members in the building, I'm the one who's most qualified to teach it, since I'm a certified English teacher and I minored in Children's Literature in graduate school, but no. And anyway, I think it's ludicrous. But enough of that. On to other foolishness.

I was feeling very bleeeeeh last night and this morning, but now I feel fine except that I am RAVENOUS. Lunch in ten minutes, and I have lovely leftovers from last night's jaunt to the Macaroni Grille. Dinner with the girls was very nice, although it was so loud in there and hard to hear, and coming out into the parking lot I had another one of those weird cold experiences, where I started to shake and shiver and I was so cold that I could hardly function. I couldn't survive up in the wilds of Minnesota and Wisconsin and Alaska where some of you folks are! (Although it was maybe about 15 degrees last night, and the wind was blowing up a pretty big chill factor, so I'm not as much of a sissy as you might think.) The first time I experienced this was a few years ago as we were leaving my sister's house after Thanksgiving dinner, and it sparked a kind of panic attack, but last night I was able to keep that in check, since I knew I was getting in the car and driving home. Maybe the first time it caught me off guard, I don't know. But I was terribly cold, and couldn't warm up all night, until maybe two a.m., when I started pulling off layers. Spring is only three weeks away, you know, at least on the calendar. And it is sunny today, although there's a bit of snow coming later tonight, they say.

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Home now. I had to stop on my way home and pick up a pound of sliced turkey, since I have that for lunch every day (unless I have pasta leftovers.) There are probably a dozen delicatessens in town of one ilk or another, but the best turkey, I've discovered, is at The Swiss Pork Store (We're More Than Pork!) This place has always intrigued and delighted me, and I think that's been the general take on it for everyone in town. It has an incredibly good and distinctive aroma; it sticks with you after you leave the store. And now, because in his last year or so my father had me bring him there weekly for those few specialties he couldn't get at the kosher deli, just going inside and inhaling that smell reminds me of him.

Here's the legend of The Swiss Pork Store. It has been there forever, or maybe at least since its little strip mall was built in the early 1930s. Or, possibly, it came into existence shortly after World War II, when the population of Bizarro Town exploded. Actually, the MIL would probably know, since she moved here as a kid in the late thirties. I'll have to remember to ask her. Anyway, when I would go in there with one of my parents when I was a kid, the place was packed; you could barely open the door and squeeze inside. And once inside, you would realize that almost everyone in there was speaking German.

Some people found this a little unsettling in a post-war heavily Jewish suburb, but as the sign reminded us, these people were Swiss, and some of the people in Switzerland, as we all knew, are German-speaking. So, okay. But my friend E, who was born in Brooklyn to German-Jewish refugee parents, had spoken German before she spoke English, and in later years, she would go into The Swiss Pork Store and carry on conversations in German with the various butchers, and she assured me, these were no kind of Swiss people; they had good country German accents. As everyone suspected all along, Swiss, in this case, was a euphemism for German. Which would explain why the store also has racks and stacks of German magazines, candy, and other delicacies. (I need to bring K a kinderegg whenever I go in for my turkey.)

Anyway, so that's the story, such as it is, just an amusing local legend. When I go in now, it's practically empty, and no one is speaking German, or even English with a German accent. I can't imagine who's going in there to buy all those German delicacies these days, unless they're drawing from all over the county. These days in B-Town, the two or three Russian delis are doing a much bigger business. Times, as we all know, change.

I'm in a pizza mood for dinner, but I think, not just yet. Hey, I could always have a turkey sandwich or two.


WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS :: ENTRY #1690

They're Killing Me

I'm not saying my kids and I don't have some sort of co-dependent thing going on, although I'd prefer to say that we are "close." Either way, I'm happy I have a good relationship with them, and that we are friends, and that they feel they can talk to me when they need someone to talk to.

All that aside, they're killing me.

It's been a tough week for them. K, as you know, is sick. She is sick because the kid she tutors Saturday mornings has a mother who doesn't know that she's supposed to keep him home when he's sick. Maybe his 13 year old immune system can throw it off, but K's cannot. This is the beginning of her last week of classes for the semester, and she's missed class, hasn't gotten a paper done, and so on. Her nose is so messed up inside that she cannot eat without choking for air, because she can't breathe through her nose at all when she eats, which I guess is what normal people do. Anyway, she's not the world's best patient, as we all know, so it's been trying.

As for the other one, who is, in fact, the world's best patient, her problem is not that she's sick. I think her problem is that she's stressed. She called me last Friday morning, having a meltdown over something or other, and again this morning. Her little cat, it turns out, is not a good patient, and chewed open her stitches the other night, having had her lady parts removed last Friday. So far this week, R has had to go in late to work twice and had to leave early twice, all for emergency vet appointments. And the cat is basically okay, and hopefully will not damage herself this time, but last night, they sent the cat home with new stitches and the warning "Don't let her lick them!" So of course, R was up all night making sure the cat didn't lick her stitches, and had to take her back this morning anyway to get a cone or something put on her. And I got the meltdown call.

Honestly, I don't know how people have their children later in life. I don't know how they have the stamina to put up with it. It isn't even just the toddler chasing when you're 45, it's the teenage thing when you're 60 -- how horrible that sounds -- and then whatever you've got for however long it goes on. I was thinking yesterday, if I won the lottery, I'd set K up in her own apartment before I even paid a bill or bought a car.

Okay, so, much later.

I had a very hectic afternoon, with one errand or another, out of the house, and in the house. I did have the luxury of the house to myself, up until the minute I was finishing with phone calls and was going to have some peace and quiet and then K came home early from class. Ah well, she went to class, and although she looks miserable, she must be feeling better because she's waaay less sick-y tonight. And R's evening is better -- talked to her twice, once she had a nap in her -- and the cat, hopefully, will deal with it all and let her sleep.

It is freaking cold out there. Possible rain and/or snow tomorrow, ick. I have so much less patience for winter as the years go by: don't wanna wear a coat, don't wanna drive or walk in the snow, don't wanna wear bulky layers and still be cold! I went to the ATM on my way to school this morning, but my window wouldn't open. Horrors! Electric windows not working is what killed my last car, you may recall. (Car was too old to get replacement parts for the third time.) But it worked fine after school, so I guess it was just frozen. Damn. That never happened before.

Oh, happy third night of Chanukah. We're doing very well this year; we've actually lit the candles all three nights and I've even said the prayer, which is not to say that I'm praying, just that I know, more or less, the right sounds to make when the Chanukah candles are being lit. My mother had a pamphlet with the phonetic pronunciation on it, which is how I learned it, although I think the prayer has two parts and I only know the first one. And unlike French or even Spanish, I cannot pull off a reasonable Hebrew accent, so it all sounds very un-official, if you know what I mean. But I say it anyway. On the sixth night, I also especially remember my Grandpa Sam, whose birthday was the sixth night of Chanukah. He only ever knew the real date of his birthday because once he got to America, he went to the office of a Yiddish newspaper and asked them to look up the date of the sixth night of Chanukah for the year he was born. (He knew how old he was, exactly, because he had been Bar Mitzvahed just before leaving the old country, so, 13.) It was December 16, 1892, just in case you're keeping track.

Well, I have rambled on here a bit more than I meant to, and now I'm off to change into my jammies and settle in for Ugly Betty.

WATCHING LAW AND ORDER :: ENTRY #1642

What Are You Going To Do ...?

[copied from dland]

I was born during a January blizzard and have been cold ever since. Well, nearly ever since. I was cold from the minute I was born until I had my first hot flash, and then all bets were off. Now, I'm generally too warm or too cold, but rarely in between, which is not that big a surprise, I guess. Even so, I can't stand to carry around bulk. This weekend, I washed both my winter jackets -- the warm one and the really, really warm one -- and put them away. I don't care if it snows, I am not bringing those mofos up from the basement until next year.

When I was a kid, and I would bundle myself up for a trip out into the winter wonderland, my father would say "What are you going to do when it gets cold?" Keep in mind that he would say this during, say, a January blizzard when I was going out to shovel snow. He personally shoveled snow wearing ordinary clothes, a twill windbreaker, a hat that used to be known as "a Rex Harrison hat" and his Army boots. Jack did not experience cold as we know it, at least not until years later when he was taking a blood thinner and was thereafter cold all the time. Even so, this was just one of his jokes. Reminding us, in his way, that no matter how bad it seemed, it could still get worse. He grew up in New England winters, after all.

This morning, I put on a t-shirt and a cardigan, and threw my heavier weight denim jacket on over it when I went to take out some garbage. Then I left the jacket home before heading off to work. Yes, it was about 40 degrees, but it's going up to 70, they say. What did I need a jacket for?

On my one-mile way to work, I passed several people walking who were wearing down parkas, all zipped up, and wool hats pulled down over their ears. Let's be realistic, people. Seriously. What are you going to do when it gets cold?

My weekend was as dull as dishwater. Not negative in any way, just very duuuullllll. The one thing I really wanted -- sleep -- eluded me for the most part, and I am exhausted. Once again, I wake up in the morning and my first thought is I'm so tired! It's on my list for the doctor. Maybe I have some kind of iron or magnesium or some other deficiency. Maybe they'll tell me take a vitamin and suddenly I'll have energy and be like a kid again! Hey, don't laugh, it could happen.

By the by, here's the result of an itty bit of research I've been doing today. Did you know that peppermint is good for a whole host of complaints, especially stomach-aches? Well, I did know that, but never cared much because I'm not a fan of peppermint in general. Even so, lately I've been enjoying peppermint life-savers for some reason, and they have practically no calories so I have maybe one a day. Sometimes more. Now here's the kicker: did you know that if you have GERD (which is Gastric Reflux something or other) you are supposed to AVOID peppermint because it causes ... wait for it ... heartburn? Learn something new every day! I never even noticed that peppermint was on the list of foods to avoid because I avoided peppermint anyway when I was first diagnosed with the GERD. So there you go. Mystery solved. My heartburn last week was caused by life-savers, which is certainly ironic. (I actually remember having more than usual that day, because I'd had a coughing spell and was trying to soothe my throat afterwards.)

In other news, I have my new hearing aids back -- I've decided to call them Rose and Ben, after my late aunt and uncle -- and so far, so good. Everything sounds the way it should sound -- I guess; how would I really know? Okay, everything seems to sound all right. I need to wear them in many more situations before I pass judgment, but it looks like things are good.

On another note, something or other prompted a discussion in the faculty room this morning -- all *ahem* older women -- about being worried about your kids or something, and I told them the story I told you yesterday about being nuts because R's cellphone went to voicemail so naturally I assumed she was dead, and their reaction was pretty much Oh, yeah, that happens to me all the time. !!! I was not the nutso in the room! You coulda knocked me over with a feathah. I guess I am a more typical nutso than I ever imagined.

Speaking of which, K's train is due in from DC ... let me see ... now, exactly, 3.51 PM. I expect a phone call from her within the half hour telling me that she's gotten her car out of the parking garage and is about to start the ride home up the Parkway. So within a half hour I will either be a) fine, or b) insane. It's a crapshoot. We'll see what happens.

WATCHING DR. PHIL :: ENTRY #1419

At School

[copied from dland]

I am typing with gloves on, which means hunt-and-peck, so it's slow-going. The library is without heat today, and the temperature outside is 18, up from 15 an hour or two ago. I wasn't here in the library all morning because I was proctoring a test in another room, but when I came back around noon, I heard the proctor in here tell the kids that if there's no heat tomorrow, he'll bring them someplace else. (Which should be interesting, since I was told emphatically that there was no place else; that's why they're using the library. But I digress.) I'm wearing my warmest sweater, and long-johns under my jeans, and currently have my jacket -- zipped -- , gloves, scarf, and hat on. And a space heater blowing in my face. And my nose is frozen. It's actually 50-something in here, which is too cold for people to sit in. I had a kid here with medical problems; I sent her to the nurse's office. I don't know what to do now, although I called and left a message for the principal to come up and see what it's like here.

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Later, at home.

The principal did not come up to share the joy that is the library, but the head custodian -- who, I guess, gets into his office more easily than the head librarian -- went down and pleaded our case. There was at one point today a heating engineer in the library; the bottom line is that they don't know what's wrong. On paper -- on readouts, actually -- it's a balmy 68 in the library and everything is working fine.

Enough of that.

So I came home and K wasn't feeling well; she had left work a little early and had stopped to pick up some chicken soup and was already napping. She seems a little better now. I went out again in the cold to get a few things for her and picked up some lottery tickets while I was out, so maybe tomorrow, I will be the mega-millionaire! Hey, it's gotta be someone, sooner or later. If I win, there's a big diary-con in it for you guys, on me.

I just had my White Bean Pesto for dinner, a bit of a disappointing meal, although the pesto itself wasn't bad. I bought whole wheat spaghetti the other day, only to discover when I reached for the box just before that one end was opened and taped shut. Ew. Since no one ever tapes a pasta box shut in this house, and no one else would eat whole wheat pasta, that means I bought it that way, so I dumped it. I had some whole wheat penne in the house, so I tried that. Did not love it. And the nutrition values on the box came out to more points than WW said it would be, which is what I planned on. So I feel totally gypped here.

Speaking of which, is that a bad word now? I guess it must be. To say that one had been "gypped", does that have the same ethnic affront connotation as saying that one has been "jewed down" on a price? If so, I deeply apologize. I think I've gone through this particular crisis of conscience before, but memory being what it is, I'm not sure. It's a word that I didn't even get the ethnic connection to until not all that long ago, which is no excuse, I suppose, but an explanation. Must. Work. On. Vocabulary.

The coffee in my new machine was actually pretty good this morning. I've got it set up to try it with the DD coffee tomorrow, at least for my first cup at home. Once I see how that comes out, I'll see what to put in my thermos. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call minutiae.

I have no idea what to wear tomorrow. And I can't believe April is only a few weeks away! And we're changing the clocks this weekend! Nothing makes sense anymore!


WATCHING REBA :: ENTRY #1393

Back to School

[copied from dland]

Isn't there a movie called that?

Okay, I'm tired of blowing my nose now, can I stop? This cold never got to be too terrible (now I'm a Zicam swab convert), but it's enough already with the congestion and the blowing. I swear, I would have the sinus surgery, but the thought of coming out of anesthesia unable to breathe through my nose scares the crap out of me. K, however, must have that surgery at some point, and since this starts her last year on my health plan, I'm guessing it's coming sooner than later. Maybe she won't be as freaked out as I am by it, I can only hope.

The big news at school today is that they finally put a lock on the inside of the door of the new faculty ladies' room. Hey, it's a big deal to me!

R was here this afternoon (K's working until 8:00) and we went around and did a few errands and then had some nice dinner out. I had an excellent salad with chicken, and have enough left over for lunch tomorrow.

Heavens, I am boring today. Is that good, having a boring day? Better than too exciting a day, eh? I have absolutely nothing of interest to report. If I were you, I wouldn't even read this entry. I'm going to the gym tomorrow after school, though, so there's always the chance that tomorrow's entry will be more ... exciting.


WATCHING RAYMOND :: ENTRY #1338