Coffee heat rising

Workin’ Again

One of the full-time faculty at Heavenly Gardens having fallen ill, the chair called to ask if I would substitute in her course on world mythology. There’s some possibility that she may have to sit out the semester, in which I case I would end up teaching the rest of the course.

Well, sure…long as it’s not freshman comp! This will pay for the Thos. Moser chair I bought in hopes of easing the excruciating back pain.

So yesterday morning I showed up out there. Some 25 people are registered. This is the fourth week. The students have missed a week and a half of class, during which several papers were due, none of which have been collected. A 1,000-word paper is due in the next two weeks, and it has yet to be explained to the students — nor is there any clue in the syllabus as to what it should address. The students turned in a pile of papers, which I need to read by tomorrow morning! And of course I have choir tonight and a meeting at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I have to read the textbook, catch up with what the stoonts have been reading, and then try to get ahead of them.

And as I’m reading the damn thing’s introduction, what do I find but a lengthy passage positing, with a straight face, that ancient Greek societies were matriarchies until 2400 B.C., when their way of life was supposedly extirpated by invading tribes. The entire two-page section, wholly undocumented with not so much as an allusion in the narrative to some proof of this assertion, suggests that Greek mythology reflects a traditional pre-Bronze Age matriarchal arrangement.

Holy sh!t.

I go to look this up and discover that by 2007, the idea had been discredited. So I’ll have to spend half a class period referring them to Cynthia Eller’s Myth of Matriarchal Prehistory and explaining how this particular crackpot hypothesis came about.

Wow. A textbook whose introduction promulgates a defunct and patently false second-wave feminist theory is not exactly designed to promote confidence among the students.

This could be a challenge…

The ailing faculty member’s syllabus is quite good, by the way: elaborately structured to train students in good study skills, which sadly lack among our constituency. It led me to think about how different mine would be, if I had been asked in advance to teach the course: a difference engendered by the difference between full-time and adjunct hiring practices.

Welp, I’ve now been sitting here for almost two hours. I’ve written a lecture and this post, with the result that my back and hip hurt so much I can barely walk. Given the amount of work pounding down at me, it’s unlikely I’ll be back here for the next couple of days.

So…enjoy life! 😉

Dishwasher Conundrum, Updated

Soooo… I decided I wasn’t nuts, after all, about the TSP that I ordered up by way of making the dishwasher work in the absence of effective dishwash detergent. After a few washes, the stuff was leaving a white, powdery residue on all the dishes. It could be wiped off with a towel, but…eeeewwww! Who wants to ingest whatever that is?

Tried to get my hands on some commercial-grade Cascade through Restockit.com but that little deal fell through with a frustrating runaround.

dishwashermagicThen remembered that the last time the dishwasher was stumbling, a repairman advised using a product called Dishwasher Magic. So, tiring of washing all the dishes by hand and using the washer as a giant dish drying rack, I picked some up at the local Ace Hardware and, following the instructions, ran it through an empty wash cycle.

Wow!

This stuff is fantastic! Last night’s glasses came out perfectly clean and clear — no spots, no sticky white film — with just the usual weak-sister detergent and a cup or so of vinegar. The problem must have been that the washer was just dirty.

Dishwasher Magic comes in a container with a wax lid. You remove the plastic cover, then turn the bottle upside down and place it in the utensil rack. Before hitting the “On” button, turn the washer to its hottest cycle, and also run hot water through tap into the kitchen sink until the tap does run hot.

The wax plug then melts and the toxic contents are released into the washer, where they evidently dissolve everything that even faintly resembles dirt or grease. If your washer has a stainless steel tub, as mine does, the thing glows in the dark by the time you’re done.

The repairman who recommended the product suggested getting a couple of bottles, since a really dirty washer may require more than one effort.

Pay attention to what the store is selling. The guys at the nearby TruValue tried to sell me a product for cleaning and deodorizing stinky front-loading clothes washers — they didn’t understand that there’s a difference. Then I found the product locally at the Ace and got the last bottle on the shelf. Amazon carries it in gay abandon, though.

Buy Local First.
🙂

Rainy Day of the Skinny Migraineur

w00t! It’s raining! A lovely, slow, deliciously drenching rain. The dog is furious. The plants are vibrating with vegetative joy.

yellow waspToday’s the first performance of the fall choir season. Yay! Life finally restarts. 🙂 I love choir and the weekly rehearsals, because they insert some structure into my daily routine. Without those two signal events, I just kind of float along like a yellow wasp skating on the surface of a slow stream.

This morning I went to find some sort of clothing adequate to the task of showing up in church. Nothing, other than a couple pairs of new Costco jeans, fits anymore! Pairs of slacks that were so tight I had to sew the pockets shut so they wouldn’t gap as I was waddling along last spring are now four inches too big in the waist. Finally found an old pair of black woolen slacks that I haven’t been able to wear in years…and they not only fit, they look amazing! An expensive  belt that barely stretched around my capacious gut is actually a little too long now, but this pair of pants has belt loops, so it worked.

Even though I still need to lose another three or four pounds, because the pants are black they create the illusion that the belly is stone flat like a 20-year-old girl’s! LOL! Imagine that!!

With a black cami, a sheer silk blouse over the top jacket-style, and a flashy hand-made sterling silver cross, I actually looked almost human!

Amazing.

Last night the choir had a kick-off potluck (what could be more classically churchish, eh?). I took a large vegetable salad so as to have something to eat. People brought a lot of really delicious-looking goodies, notably some spectacular smoked barbecued ribs. But when you’re off salt, off sugar, off potatoes, off breads, off pasta, and off all processed food, a potluck doesn’t offer a lot to eat. 😉 That was OK: the salad is what I would’ve had for dinner, anyway, and it was pretty darn good.

As we were sitting at the table, though, I started to get an ocular migraine. Goddamn.

migraineblindAt first I didn’t realize what it was…I’m sitting there wondering if a retina is detaching, or maybe I was having a stroke? For awhile, about a third of my field of vision was gone. But while I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get home and whether I should try to get to the ER instead of the house, the tell-tale pinking-shears zig-zag line appeared, and then I knew it was a migraine.

And so, in characteristic style, it subsided after about 20 or 30 minutes, to be replaced by a mild headache and a runny nose. Most people who get ocular migraines don’t get the excruciating headache that normal migraine sufferers enjoy, mercifully. I usually get an unremarkable headache that hangs on for awhile…it was still around this morning, followed, as it faded, by an uncontrollable spate of the yawns.

At any rate, at least it explains the tingling fingers that came visiting while I was in Yarnell on Friday. SDXB thought that was a heart attack symptom. Lovely.

Honest to God! If it’s not one damnfool thing, it’s another!

“Have a Great Week”…gimme a break!

Our neighborhood group e-mails its current newsletter:

Sonoran Palmetto Neighborhood Assocation
Safety Alert

Please be careful and aware of your surroundings!

From a neighbor: 200 block of West Shady Way. Our friend’s mom, was the victim of an armed robbery outside of our house this evening.  At 5:55 PM, she was getting some things out of her car in front of our house and a guy walked up with a shotgun and told her to give him her purse.  She held on to it, but he pulled hard.  He also grabbed her keys from her hand.  A white 4-door sedan had dropped the guy off, pulled up to the front of her car, and then he jumped in and they sped away.  I saw the guy approach her with the shotgun and ran to the front door in time to see him jump in the car (AZDL BAA6440).  She is shaken but okay.  Police reports were taken, credit cards canceled, etc.  Chances of them hitting this neighborhood again are slim, but thought you all should know.

From a neighbor: Our Jetta was ransacked last night 8/28/2013. Several items stolen from inside vehicle  and trunk. We are at 5xx W. Go Ask Alice Avenue.

From a neighbor: I want to let you know to let others know that we were burglarized on Monday afternoon. Corner of 17th Dr. and Feeder St. Broke in window and grabbed cash and things to hock. My husband saw him running down our alley after he got startled by him coming home and jumped out of our bedroom window. He was Caucasian, dark, long sideburns, blue flannel shirt. He jumped into a 4 door gold Mitsubishi sedan with a Mexican male driving it. Police have info.We will be buying security screens now.

GOVERNOR’S ADVISORY COUNCIL ON AGING
INVITES YOU TO JOIN US FOR:
SENIOR ACTION DAY
Thursday, October 3, 2013
10:00 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.
Here’s an opportunity for you to have a dialogue with Advisory Council members, invited legislators, local officials and have your input shared with state agencies for planning purposes.
Beth El Congregation
1118 West Glendale Avenue
Phoenix, Arizona 85021
Questions? Call 602-542-4710 or
e-mail us at: gaca@az.gov .

Thank you to everyone who has contributed to this alert.

Please keep your eyes open for similar situations and call
Crimestop at 602-262-6151

Have a great week!

{snark!} “Have a great week.” Indeed.

Honest to God. This kind of stuff invariably gives me a gigantic jerk in the direction of selling my home and moving somewhere else.

I like living in the central part of the city and I love my house, but sometimes I feel like fleeing to North Scottsdale, far away from the slumlords’ properties that infest the mid-town area (this scene took place about two miles from here; I could walk or bicycle there if I felt like toting my Ruger that far). As long as the city allows the blight along I-17 to fester, the middle-class neighborhoods that house the city’s main tax base are endlessly put at risk.

The family whose mom encountered the armed purse-snatcher probably lives in a house with a carport. Homes in that neighborhood were built in the 1950s and early 60s, when the North Central area was pretty much out in the country, and overall crime was not much of a problem here. Most houses had carports in those days — no one felt a need to lock up their car behind a garage door.

Also, absent an HOA, quite a few naïfs jam their garages with junk and then park the rolling stock on the driveway or even on the yard. Then they’re surprised when their cars are broken into or stolen, and when someone accosts them as they’re hauling the groceries in the front door.

There aren’t many gated communities in this part of town. Those that exist are mostly apartment complexes, or small housing developments way outside my price range. I’m not interested in living in an apartment, and I don’t much care for gated communities, either. Anyone can jump a six-foot wall or simply meander in behind one of the residents; and I can’t think of anything less inviting to one’s friends than to make them punch in a secret code to get to your front door.

Really, all the housing east of 15th Avenue and west of 7th Street between Bethany Home (about as far south as one would like to go, until one gets into the downtown historic neighborhoods) and Dunlap (the northern border of North Central) is astronomically priced. Because my neighborhood is just on the fringe of that district, property values here are slightly lower. If I sold and got full price, I probably could afford to buy something in some treeless tract halfway to Yuma, under the F-35 flight path. Ugh.

Maybe what I need to do is unsubscribe to the neighborhood association’s newsletter. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, eh?

Holy Sh!t Moments

You know, two of my dear friends have arrived at points in middle age where their husbands are…well…annoying. And the men? They seem to have something in common.

I think that as time passes men must experience what we can best describe as holy sh!t moments.

• The kids go off to college.
• The son leaves the city, maybe even the state. Maybe even the country.
• The daughter marries. He doubts the young husband’s suitability. She doesn’t.
• The son gets a job that pays more than he, the father, ever dreamed of earning.
• The daughter gets a job that pays more than he ever dreamed of earning.
• He looks at his wife and realizes she looks younger than he does.
• He goes to his 25th high-school reunion and fails to recognize the girl who had that crush on him all through senior year. He figures it’s not his fault she put on all that weight.
• He looks down at his feet and realizes he no longer can see his dong past his belly.
• The daughter has two kids. He begins to appreciate the son-in-law: at least he’s brighter than the other set of grandparents. Grandparents?
• He needs dorkish-looking glasses from the drugstore to see to read the computer.
• He arrives at the age when his father died.
• His doctor prescribes blood-pressure pills for him.
• He’s working 18-hour days at a job that no longer fires him up the way it once did.
• His doctor prescribes cholesterol pills, and adds that it would be wise to take a baby aspirin each morning.
• He realizes he’s going to have to retire pretty soon.
• He and the wife keep getting notices from the Social Security administration going on about how much they’ll be entitled to, one of these days.
• His wife says his inability to hear the female voice is no longer selective deafness. His annoying doctor agrees and sends him to get hearing aids.
• His sciatica hurts. Most of the time.
• He retires. Now what? Old age is no country for young men!

Well. Into each life some holy sh!t moments must fall. Women probably expect them because we anticipate menopause and see it coming, long before seniority and retirement arrive. Except for a spreading waistline, thinning hair, and maybe having to listen to their wives complain about mid-life changes, men have no sharply delineating physical manifestation to serve as a stepping-stone to full maturity. It’s like not noticing the force-field that surrounds the solar system before running your spaceship right into it.

We’re told men are as likely to experience depression as women — this insight is presented as a news flash! And now it is revealed: men’s depressive symptoms can include “anger attacks, aggression or irritability, substance abuse, risk-taking behavior and hyperactivity.” No kidding?

Much more dire, we learn that veterans, largely  men, are committing suicide at the rate of 22 a day. That’s one self-inflicted death every 65 minutes!

A returning war veteran has a whole set of difficult issues to handle that don’t apply to ordinary working stiffs — although it should be noted that almost 70 percent of suicides among veterans have been men aged 50 and older; most of them, one might guess, back in the country long enough to readjust to civilian life. And retirement is a particularly difficult holy sh!t moment, when a man and a woman who, most of the time, have spent at least 12 hours a day apart, suddenly find themselves facing 24 long hours a day together. Think of it: twenty-four hours a day with a person who no longer looks, thinks, or acts like the one you married and who’s richly accustomed to ruling his or her own domain.

If you weren’t already depressed, that prospect will do it!

What can people — whether male or female — do to forestall or at least ease the depression that naturally must follow from one too many holy sh!t moments?

One strategy might be to avoid going to high-school reunions… 😉

Another — probably more effective — is to try to anticipate, to the extent possible, what sources of angst might afflict us in the normal course of life. For example, it’s pretty obvious that various health problems will arise with age. Some of them can be delayed or avoided fairly simply:

• Quit smoking
• Limit drinking
• Avoid recreational drug use
• Eat healthy foods, by and large
• Get regular exercise

Harder to conceive is the likelihood that one day you’ll have to spend most of your time in the company of your spouse. To make that transition more or less smoothly, both partners will need to work at the relationship over the years. When my son was an infant, a pediatrician remarked to me and my husband that the pair — man and woman — is more important than the parent/child dynamic because the kid will grow up and leave, while the parents will have to spend the rest of their lives together. He advised keeping that in mind over the years. Among the many things you can do to keep sight of that fact:

• Spend time together one-on-one — as a regular thing.
• Develop common interests that don’t necessarily include the kids.
• Build interests with the kids that can continue happily once the offspring grow up and go away.
• Create a social life independent of the office and of child-rearing.
• Commit yourselves, as a couple, to volunteer activities that can continue all your lives.
• Enjoy a sport or activity together, one that you can reasonably expect to continue into your older years — such as hiking, fishing, or golf.
• Also develop interests in things you can do separately, so that when the time comes you’ll have a handy reason to spend some time away from each other.
• Don’t be afraid to take separate vacations now and again.

Men I’ve known have reported they found losing a job or retiring deeply depressing because they so identify themselves with their work that without that work, they felt, as one man said, “worthless.” A way to avoid that sense of loss — of value, of personal identity — is to start building a side gig some years before retirement actually descends on you.

A friend of mine, for example, expanded his interest in metal-working into gun-smithing. He started taking courses in the art of gun-smithing and, in an informal way, began working on friends’ hunting weapons. Recently he established a small corporation, and, as retirement looms, he plans to turn this enterprise into a going business. He’ll be doing something he enjoys — an outgrowth of a hobby — and he’ll earn enough extra income to make himself feel that he’s still got an edge…one that gives him a sense of “worth.”

These represent just a small sampling of the possible depression-avoidance strategies that might help any of us keep a grip. Most of them require some advance planning, though: recognizing that anyone can suffer depression — that it may even be a normal part of life, which truly is infested with holy sh!t moments — and starting early to build structures to help defuse sadness, exhaustion, or frustration.

What strategies to you use to maintain your equilibrium as you journey through your life?