CRS Again

Yesterday  6:07 PM

Trish: ‘Oh!  I forgot to put the sheets in the dryer.’  She was in the kitchen making BLTs.

Mike: ‘I’ll do it.’  I stepped into the laundry room and discovered that the sheets were already in the dryer but still wet; I informed Trish.

Trish: ‘Jamie (our housekeeper) must have put them in the dryer.’

Mike: Seems odd she’d do that, not part of her job. I threw in a cling-free dryer sheet and asked, ‘What settings do you want?’  (I’m not allowed to make those decisions.)

Trish walked into the laundry room: ‘I usually put it on the ‘cotton’ setting.’

9 Days Ago

Trish: ‘There’s something wrong with the dryer.  It’s making a funny noise and smells like something’s burning.

Mike: ‘I’ll look at it.’  Which I did: the duct had become disconnected behind the machine. 

When I installed the machines 5 years ago, we wanted the washer/dryer doors to open outward like French doors, which meant the washer had to be on the left, the dryer on the right.  That way, the wet laundry could be moved laterally from washer to dryer without having to lift it up and over the open doors.  But – the plumbing, electrical and duct connections were set up to have the washer on the right, dryer on the left.

 

So, Houston, we had a problem: the dryer duct connection was behind the washer instead of the dryer, and wall clearance was too tight to use flex duct.  Instead, I had to use a telescoping rectangular metal duct and a mess of duct tape, and the install was loosey goosey.  Now that the darn thing had come lose, I decided that the only way to safely secure the duct was to move the dryer to the left side so it lined up with wall connection.  So, move it I did: now the dryer is on the left, washer on the right.

Yesterday  6:08 PM

I looked at the controls: no ‘cotton’ setting.  What the hell?  Trish and I looked at each other, me with this look of total bewilderment.  Finally, the dime drops.  Dumb shit!  You moved the dryer to the left side.  The clothes are still in washer.

We both broke out into uproarious laughter, which went on for some time.  Best laugh I had all week.

Arizona Storm

For all my friends and relatives who live up north and who have endured one of the nastiest winters in recent years, I want you to know that you are not alone.  We who spend the winter in Arizona have also suffered terribly. 

Urban

This was inspired by an artist whose work I really like: Soraya French.  I stumbled on her Dynamic Acrylics book in the library a couple years ago and have checked it out several times to study her technique.  One of her favorite subjects is nighttime city scenes, in semi-abstract style with vibrant colors.  My painting has a similar background to one of her works but is less abstract.

Urban

Acrylic on Canvas.

18" x 24"

  

Totally Nuts IV

The dirt path is bordered by thick, 4' high vegetation on both sides.  I'm riding my bike along the path, turn a corner and there's a group of 20-something guys sitting along the path, shooting the breeze.  I say 'hi', they say 'hi', I dismount, pick up my bike and weave my way through them.  Just beyond where they're sitting, their bikes are strewn along the path.  Weird bikes: all pink, all plastic, with small oval-shaped balloon wheels.

I continue riding down the path, which comes to an abrupt end at a closed door.  The door opens into a middle school.  Upon entering the building I find 3 teachers and 2 policemen standing around a table, studying and discussing some papers that are lying on the table.  I pause at the table and ask for directions to wherever it is I'm going.

All this time I'm carrying a stack of paperwork, applications for something unknown from people unknown.  I'm supposed to deliver them.  Somewhere.  One of the teachers makes a grab for the apps and I slap her hand.  Then, one of the policemen makes a grab and succeeds in getting the top sheet of paper - which is all beat to hell and ripped in half diagonally.  I grab the paper back and chide the officer, tapping him on the chest and saying, 'Serve and protect.  Serve and protect.'

I wake up.  The apps never got delivered and frankly, Charlotte, I don't give a damn.

108 & 115

A month ago I did a post titled 120 Degrees, which is the post-op goal in the bend angle on Trish's knees.  She had physical therapy today and was measured at 108 left and 115 right.  So, she's come a long way from the 65 degree angle where she started.  Those last few degrees are a bitch, however.  Major hurt!

She set aside the walker several days ago.  She now uses a cane some outside but rarely inside.  She's back doing household stuff and she started driving again this week.  She'll see her doctor in a few days to review progress and find out if her thrice-weekly therapy sessions need to be extended beyond 6 weeks.

This afternoon she checked out her kayak access ability - on the gravel, not in the water.  She got in okay but needed a helping hand getting out.  She plans to give it a go next week, accompanied by her brother, Doug.  He and wife Jan arrived last week and it's good to have them back.  They have a 5th wheel trailer they live in when they're here.  They stay at an upscale RV park north of town, where they bought a lot several years ago, and really enjoy it.  Rumor has it they party hearty at that park - as they do at most parks that have long term folks.

Totally Nuts III

It's quitting time.  Carrying my briefcase, I head for the parking lot, only to find that my humongous RAM pickup is totally blocked in by other vehicles.  Not a problem.  Magically, the truck shrinks down to 3' in length, I pick it up, turn it around, and carry it to an open area.

The truck morphs back to full size, at which time my old friend John hops into the backseat.  'Where's your car?' I ask him.  He replies, 'It was stolen!'  John opens up a folding map, places it on his lap and starts studying it intently.  Then, he opens the flip-top console, which has a dashboard mount-style floating compass inside.  He continues to study the map, pausing every few seconds to slap the compass.  He doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at the map and slapping the compass, over and over.  You're one weird dude, John.

I get into the truck on the passenger side to find Ranger napping in the driver's seat and Artie standing on the floor beside him.  Then, Holy Crap! I realize the pickup is moving.  But nobody's driving!  What the hell?  Panic!  Gotta get the dogs out of the way and get into the driver's seat before we crash into something!

I solve the problem by waking up.  Mr Totally Nuts strikes again.

The part about the truck moving along, with me not in control, is a recurrent theme.  Sometimes it's because my legs weigh a ton each and I can't move them to the foot pedals.  Other times, the brakes don't work - or I'm dozing and can't seem to wake up enough to take control, even though I know I have to.  I always wake up before I run off the road or crash into something.

Totally Nuts II

Several of the strange brews concocted by Mr Totally Nuts (see last post) are recurrent.

Flying
Sometimes it's high above the ground, other times it's only a few inches above a paved highway.  I'm riding on something that performs like a magic carpet.  It's not carpet, though.  It's more like a thin piece of plywood; I'm lying on it face down and it's quite comfortable.  Whether high or low, it's always fun.  When it's high, there's not much sensation of movement, but when I'm 'on the road' I'm going like a bat out of hell, power gliding into the turns, doing a slalom ski slope kind of thing - and having a really great time.  I'm going nowhere in particular, just out for a joyride.

Vietnam
I'm about 50 years old and I'm going back into the military.  I have no idea why.  The Vietnam war is still going strong and my assignment will be to lead a small bunch of elite troops far into enemy territory, hunker down in the weeds and do some serious damage.  But first, I have to go through all the training again: basic combat training, advanced infantry training, infantry officer school and, finally, jungle warfare school in Panama.  The training takes a full year.  When it's done, I will be reinstated to my real-world final rank/MOS: captain/infantry.

The fact that I have to do the training all over again concerns me nearly as much as the Nam assignment.  It's not the training itself so much as the time it takes to do it.  This is nothing like the post-Vietnam nightmares I had for several years after I returned from Nam.  It's a little stressful, yes, but it's very matter of fact: I don't like it but I gotta do it so let's get on with it.  Regardless, if this dream never returned, I wouldn't miss it.

Restroom Search
I'll bet I'm not alone on this one!  These mostly occur in the offices of the company where I last worked.  The company has moved since I was last there, and, although I did the tenant improvement layouts on lots of offices, I didn't do this one.  If I had, the friggin restrooms wouldn't be so damned hard to find.  So, I'm wandering up and down the halls, going from floor to floor, looking for a restroom cuz I've really gotta pee!  I always wake up before I find a restroom.  Good thing, too, don't you think?