What do you think this is?

I took a picture of this brick structure with the tower entrance because it was being put to an unexpected use. It is deceptive because, taken from the side as it is, one can't see the sign with the name and function of the building. Any guesses?

I confess, before this picture was taken the camera was set to video by accident. I have some very moving video of my shadow and my hand.

And no, I won't post it . . .

There and Back Again

J and I have been gone for over two weeks. BigEd was away for part of the time and Mew boarded at the vet's office while he was away at the same time we were.

A week of the time was spent at 3,600 feet, in Roaring Creek Cabin between Maggie Valley and Waynesville, NC. The cabin was halfway up the mountain via a gravel road with winding (and one hairpin) turns. But it was beautiful being up on the side of the overlook with trees originating well below us and stretching the canopy up to surround us with flowing, light-spattered green. We rocked on the screened porch and felt the stress melting down between the floorboards under our feet.

Being sea level dwellers, at first we felt the effects of the altitude. The local populace calls it mountain sickness. After we acclimated, we did not want to leave. There was no cell phone signal in the cabin but there was a land line, satellite television and wireless internet.

My kind of roughing it . . .

Better than asking directions . . .

We have decided to look into owning a GPS. Not knowing anything about the differences between types, research seems appropriate. The easiest sort of research, asking around, is my method of choice, today.

Any ideas? Would Zeta ask the Guru what he thinks? I value his pronouncements immensely.

Meanwhile, if WOOT dot com would hand me one, I'd be happy . . .

Who's that knocking at my door . . .

AT&T is teasing us without mercy. Another of their representatives came a-knocking, well, ringing our doorbell, to offer us U-verse.

We explained that a previous U-verse purveyor had actually written up a work order. We had happily chosen the service which was a good fit for us. There was even a rebate offered to us for signing up.

But we had our hopes deflated when. first the automated system, and then a live customer service person, said U-verse is not available where we live.

Where we live is a Twilight Disappointment Zone.

After we explained he was not the first to bring us such an offer, the second visitor then asked if we wanted him to check on the availability status.

We said, "Sure you can."

We said, "Come back if you find out that it is available, here."

No one has contacted us. No one came back. Sad . . .

Do you believe . . .

The Camry is not a mode of transportation so much as it is a mobile thermometer. One-hundred-and-three-degrees, day before yesterday. When I came home, J said to me that, after all, this is August. You'd expect it to be hot.

Yes, you would. But I think I was better off not knowing exactly how hot it really gets in our immediate vicinity.

Maybe, if we could get the car to fib like the weather people do: Report, say, a few degrees lower . . .

Dum, da duh-duh

This was another extreme temp day. I went out in the early (well, 7:15) coolth to take a car to the Mac Genius of mechanics. He is a car whisperer who knows us, the vehicles, and his business. Among other things, I asked him to check the valves on our tires as there has been a spate of cracked valves on some tires.

Want to feel like a naive infant? Have your mechanic tell you that the valves in your tires are metal and contain sensors which let you know when they are low on air. I knew this, I swear. After he said it, I even recalled what the picture of the icon looks like in the manual.

He said that kind of valve almost never fails.

There was no extra charge for the education . . .

Second, Best . . .

Many mango seasons ago, J and I bought a console stereo which, upon delivery and set-up, was discovered to be broken. The store exchanged it for another one which worked for years.

Similar experiences have happened with various other purchases: an air conditioner lost its coolant a week after installation, new television set with a lovely picture but no sound, a refrigerator would not get cold enough, the A/C on a brand new van quit while we were taking it on its first summer vacation. It began to be funny. We began to laugh about it as the circumstances were enacted again and again with a clothes dryer, coffee maker, toaster and blender.

But now, it is not so funny. The wonderful washer that we have had for two days and which cleans our clothes so well does not approve of me, personally. There is a sharp area on the underside of the door that actually grabbed my nylon robe. The robe was dangling from the base of the door in a strange manner - as if it did not want to be washed. I freed it and I now have a little cut on the tip of my thumb as a souvenir of the encounter.

I telephoned Best Buy and they are going to exchange it for another one.

What do you want to bet that the exchangee will last forever, almost?

Adventures in laundering . . .

This is Ole Faithful. It is of a venerable age and would still have a good home if it had not decided to succumb to stubbornness.

It notified us by a burning electrical odor. We had never smelled that before, in all its life. It was more likely to remove than to produce smells.

It was a Maytag when it worked. Now it is one of the largest paper weights in the world. It died (moment of silence) yesterday around mid-day.

J said it was not revive-able due to its great age. Also said that perhaps I should decide on a new one. Huh, comparison shopper is one of my middle names. So is emergency shopper.

Now, this is the unbelievable part: a Maytag, which used to live at Best Buy, is being adopted by us and will is scheduled to arrive today between noon and two. Today? Yes, the next day.

There is more goodness. The specs on the 'net site said that the new one does not have a hand wash cycle. Other cycles yes, but not that one. Except, except, when BigEd and I went to actually meet it in person, we found that it does! Same model number. I checked.

Oh, yes, someone who had rated a washer for Best Buy bragged wrote about having the delivery and installation fee waived at the register. I printed the review and showed it to the salesman. He took it to his manager. They waived my fees at the register, too.

It is ironic that, after being so pleased about the hand wash cycle, the first load is going to be a bunch of towels . . .

Unpaid pronouncement . . .

We have always liked to watch Julia Child do her cooking thing. We used to watch the live programs where kitchen accidents were incorporated into her performance with superb aplomb.

Recently, our PBS channel reran an episode in which she touched a casserole, with her finger and thumb, after she had just removed it from the oven. She said, "Oops, I forgot." and stuck the burned hand behind her back while continuing the demonstration. Occasionally it sneaked out from behind her but was quickly tucked away again. I am sure she had blisters.

Late in her life, Julia wrote My Life in France with the assistance of her husband's great-nephew: Alex Prud'Homme. (I should add it to my favorite books list.)

There is a blog which details the effort of a young woman named Julie to cook her way through Julia Child's cookbook.

The biography and the blog, together, are the basis for the new movie Julie & Julia, which I have yet to see.

How-some-ever. I have located the blog and am working my way through the archives. Reading the first few entries with the knowledge that it will eventually provide a sort of freedom for the author is fascinating.

Click on Julie/Julia Project to reach the first entry, dated August 25, 2002. Use the navigation calendar, on the right side of her page, to read additional entries. The further you read, the better it gets.

PS: Julie throws the F-word around some, on the blog. Not sure why. I try to ignore it, though. Maybe it's a New York thing and not understandable by southerners who would never . . .

Supermarket Serendipity . . .

Sabor is a Spanish word for flavor or taste. So it makes perfect sense to name a food market Sabor. The newest one is on our way home from church if I take the route down 87th Avenue toward Coral Way. Sabor is on the southwest corner of a mall that used to contain a JByrons and KMart. Also, Sabor is run by, or is a subsidiary of, Publix.

The whole, eastern, half-or-greater part of that same mall is razed to rocky ground level and fenced off. There are the beginnings of construction visible but nothing is posted to let anyone know what is being built.

I stopped at Sabor because, being new, the restrooms should be nice and clean. Correct. Being new, the selection should be varied until the management figures out what sells and what doesn't for the neighborhood. Also correct.

I may do this agan. The ice cream (sugar free) did not melt by the time I got home so I know it is not too far to carry perishables. And I even stopped afterward at a BK Steakhouse for Juniors to go, heavy onion.

It is fun to find a new foodie place where the layout is semi-familiar while actually being different. The eye seems to see more with each sweep.

Perhaps the powers-that-build are going to erect a Wal-Mart at the other end of the property. I'll just have to contain myself.

Oh, and keep going home from church that way . . .

Is there a doc in the house?

There is a new sheriff in town.

I am such a Sherlock myself (and who is Watson?) that it took me four days to tumble to the fact. The new sheriff is ol doc and you can discover for yourself by clicking on the link.

There is so much fun ahead. o1 doc is funny and wry in person and I expect the blog to be no different.

So, let's hear the sound of one hand clapping: In welcome . . .

Rainy day . . .

There is something in the air, today. Something that makes sleeping so seductive that I could almost sit upright and do it. Having better sense than to try, I succumbed to a flat-out nap attack.

Our cat suffers from that malady, too . . .

The Jeopardy category for today . . .

I had a spot on my forearm that needed to be looked at, I thought. So I made an appointment with a dermatologist for this morning. I was a new patient. Didn't have a regular dermatologist. I do have one now.

She was thorough and reassuring. It was just a benign keratosis. Age related, she said. And then she did a skin patrol. No result there, either.

This is just another fun milepost for my younger siblings to anticipate reaching, down the years . . .

Where coffee . . .

We heard the alarm at six this morning. One of us had an early eye-check appointment, which went well. The only thing not well was getting up at six. If I wake up that early and can't get to snooze again, that's one thing. Having to rise on command is quite another.

Former years of early rising formed a habit that has taken me additional years to break. I consider myself a morning person. It's just getting to be mid-morning on some days.

Mid-morning does not come at six . . .

From the twilight zone . . .

As I got older, I developed a head of hair that reacts in a strange way to salon products. De-tangler makes it lie totally flat. Root lifter takes away any body that it might have possessed. I can not persuade new-to-me hair stylists of this fact. I take along with me the product that I found works best. They use it but they also sneak in some de-tangler which defeats the purpose. Then they struggle to create an effect that does not fall over my eyes if I tilt my head down.

It takes me two shampoos to return to what passes for normal. Right now, my hair is so light and airy that I might as well be on the space station. Gravity has little effect on this result. Wisps float around when I turn my head. Hairspray slides away from it as if repelled. If it isn't floating around, it is hanging straight down or flipping sideways instead of turning under.

It is so annoying. Next time I need a trim, I will make the stylist swear that she will not try to de-tangle me.

I am not exaggerating. Much . . .

She must use a pocket watch . . .

We are now doing Mew's mouth irrigation three times a week. We moved it to mornings instead of evenings so we could get it over with, for the day. That way, she doesn't have all day to dread the procedure. Believe me, she knows when the appointed day arrives. She keeps her calendar with more regularity than we do our own.

Routine is paramount with her. One could set a watch by her eleven a.m. morning nap.

Funny thing. After a week or so, she adjusts to the time change when we move away from standard time or back to standard.

I am sure that, for a while there, she thinks our watches are broken . . .

Too hot to title

The temperatures here makes one believe the global warming warnings. Perhaps everyone could take a deep breath and blow some cooler air in our southerly direction? If you are in the triple digits, never mind.

Yesterday, a lady at the library came out of her office and said it was cold back there. I invited her to step outside and warm up. I told her that our exterior house thermometer (in the shade) and our car's thermometer agreed at 97 degrees F.

And to think I was complaining about rainy days . . .

Not cold fired . . .

* *Happy (Extended) Birthday Mark* *

Tomorrow evening, we shall gather. No, not at the river. J and I will try again for a coal fired pizza. Last time, BigEd went but J was below weather level and I stayed behind with 'im.

This is Marks's choice of venue as he is the birthday person.

I expect to enjoy it, too. We all have to do our share . . .

Used breaker panel, cheap

The electrcian just left. Doesn't that sound ominous?

Our circuit breaker panel is a mere 33 years old. It has given its all and requires replacing. We do have restored service until the ominous appearance is necessary, again, for the full face-lift.

We started life here with a fuse box in the good ole days. Moving up to circuit breakers felt so modern, 33 years ago . . .

Parlez vous?

Evidently, it is not wise to ride a stationary bike while watching the Tour de France peleton horsing their bikes up a ten to twelve percent grade. They were in the Alps. Climbing. Accelerating.

I helped. Found myself pedaling faster in sympathy. Only remembered to slow down during commercial breaks.

Today, I pay. Taking Advil and using mineral ice on a hip. Today, it is annoying.

But, for a while there, I was on a roll . . .