And call me in the morning . . .

Science does not ratify the 5 second rule for dropped food. Dropped is not clean, period. With the possible exception of M&Ms?

M&Ms aside, what does one do with dropped medication? Aspirin or Advil are easy. Toss and take another from the bottle, being more careful. But, what if the dropped pill is prescription medication? What is the protocol for handling dropped, say, antibiotic of which there is a set, finite dosage amount?

Personally, I treat 'em like M&Ms . . .

Our customer service represen . . .

I am a bit spoiled by the tracking systems of UPS and FedEx which state when and where a package is received by an interim facility. Then the systems let you know when the package is shipped forward and where it lands, next. The USPS provides less information: when they have the package and when the recipient does.

I have only lost one package after shipping. It was a knife sent back to Cutco for resharpening. Luckily I had insured the package and asked for delivery confirmation. So it really wasn't the post office who lost the package. Cutco did.

They sent me a brand new replacement . . .

Caesar's sidekick? Coca!

Today's crossword was a learning experience. We discovered that paeon is a real word and not an error. Indri is a lemur in Madagascar and the River Erne is in Ireland. Previously, I had thought that an Erne was a sea eagle, which it is, but knew of no other Erne.

Just incidentally, we knew that the Feast of Esther is Purim but were not sure it fell in the month of Adar. Now we know.

And just so no one has to look it up, paeon is a metrical foot composed of four syllables: one long and three short. Only one of them is stressed.

But, you knew that . . .

We receive the Scouting magazine even though the most recently anointed (so to speak) Eagle Scout in the (extended) family is at a university and soon to graduate. BigEd and S-the-Guru are other Eagles. J is the most interested party here. Being an Eagle himself and a volunteer for most of his adult life, this is understandable.

In this Scouting issue, there is notice of a commemorative coin for BSA which will, incidentally, raise money for the organization. He asked me to pull up the web site which was cited in the magazine article. I have to admit, the silver dollar is beautiful.

It will not be available until the 23rd of this month, at noon sharp. I know what I will be doing then, with him looking over my shoulder and wishing I could type even faster.

Ordering . . .

Where's my hour? Gimme back my hour!

I feel as if the red eye to California was the location of my last night's sleep. Talk about jet lag while not going any place.

Heartily dislike this time change!!!

Exactly so . . .

We used to know a really good window and glass place down off the Dixie. I could take anything there and be sure of bringing home the parts (or even a reglazed window) that we needed. Screens, too, for that matter. But Lee retired and sold the place. The new owners moved the business away, eventually. My good connection was lost.

Most of my errands at Home Depot have involved a guess that what I am considering in the genre of home repair is actually what we need. Ominously, the gear in one of our window closing mechanisms had begun to slip.

After enough annoyance at the situation had built up, I took the window operator along to HD to see if it was still being produced. I did call first and was told that the item (if they had one like mine) would be in the Hardware Department, on aisle eleven, not in the Window Dept. The gentleman sounded mildly annoyed, himself, that I had not known that.

In aisle eleven, there was a multitude of packages of window operating mechanisms. Immediately, I picked up one that had the handle on the wrong side. Aha, this was my first elimination factor. After finding one that looked like ours, I read the back of the package which told me to select by a different criterion. All the Screw Holes had to align with the old one. Good info.

More looking, comparing, and annoyance at myself. Evidently spacial comparision of hole position by eyeball is related to lack of a sense of direction. I am challenged in both categories.

I ended up by holding up the bottom of the packaged mechanisms to the bottom of the old one to see if light came through all the lined up openings. Many were called and one was finally chosen. In this one shining package, even the hole in the arm that attaches to the window was the same size as the one I carried in. I had not even considered that necessary option.

A conversation behind me called attention to a Home Depot employee who was attending another confused customer and this customer was a man. Feeling marginally better about my own situation, I asked the employee if he thought THIS ONE was the replacement for my in-hand sample.

"That is EXACTLY the one." he beamed at me.

Feeling as though he had applied a gold star to my forehead, I took the exact one home.

It was, too . . .

Oops . . .

Yesterday's post was deleted. The sad thing is that o1 Doc's comment was deleted, too. Delete, delete, delete. Dumb duh dum-dum.

That'll teach me not to try and blog with dilated eyes. Note to self: was that dumb? Answer to self: accidents happen but, yes, that that falls into a suspiciously brain-dead category.

Cold Murder . . .

If you like Tony Hillerman's mystery/police procedurals about the Navajo Tribal Police, I have a suggestion for you. (Hi, o1 Doc)

Stan Jones writes in the same genre about the Inupiat (Eskimo) people of Northern Alaska. The first in the series is White Sky, Black Ice. To the people of the far north, black ice on a body of water is the kind that you can fall through. The kind that kills you.

The main character is Nathan Active who is a full blooded Inupiat and also is an Alaska State Trooper stationed near Chukchi. He was raised by step-parents in Anchorage and his birth mother is in Chukchi. Chukchi is the far-backside of the beyond.

Jones and Trooper Active have a new aficionado, here.

Toughing it . . . out

Like a hermit, I really don't want to go outside. Not even stick my nose out the door, considering the wind chill. But, I need to make a routine visit to the pharmacy.

We will just see how tough I can be.

It may amount to a chorus of: not very. I can hear it now.

Withdrawal pangs?

With the Olympics over, why would I pour that first cup of morning coffee with the music of O Canada stuck in my brain? I found I was humming it as I poured.

Strange . . .