Autumn blues

I'm going to write about this and then try to forget it. Like that'll happen. But I don't want to go on and on all fall/winter/chilly spring about how much I hate cold weather, so I'll do it now and maybe get it out of my system.

I hate cold weather. I hate wearing coats. I hate wearing hats. I hate running to the car, shivering and swearing, before the sun comes up. I hate not seeing the sun before I go to work and only seeing it for an hour and a half after I leave work. I hate having to turn on the heat in the house and pay the ridiculous amounts the gas company will charge this winter (even though we keep the temperature around 66 degrees). I hate having to wear sweatshirt, t-shirt, sweatpants and heavy socks in the house, sometimes having to wrap up in a blanket to keep from freezing.

Poor Tom is already wearing a hat (that I knit) while we're home, and it's not that cold yet. He really feels the cold, while I'm always (almost) too warm. One would think that a post-menopausal woman would be happy with cooler temperatures. Not so in my case.

As the days get shorter, I can feel that ol' melancholia stealing over me, stealing my energy (what energy that I have), my motivation, my life. By December or January I'm ready to hibernate. I don't want to get out of bed. I hate wishing my life away, waiting for warm weather again. I feel like I'm just enduring six or more months of the year, waiting to feel alive again.

Thank goodness for trips to Florida to see my daughter and her family. Not only do I get a good dose of being MomMom (or Nanamarana, as last January), I get a dose of sunshine and warmth. Green grass, flowers blooming, trees with actual green leaves on them. Life. Sun. It keeps me from wasting away inside while waiting for warm weather at home. Even if it gets down into the low 30s at night while I'm there, I know that it won't last long, and even if I miss the nice, warm days, I know that they'll come back quickly, unlike in the mid-Atlantic states where it's winter for six months.

Thank God I have an understanding husband. It bothers him that I sleep so much, even in the warm weather, but that's my natural rhythm. Always has been, since I was born. I'm not finding that I need less sleep as I get older; for me, it's the opposite.

I've been diagnosed with Chronic Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Depression is so much worse in the cold times of the year, but increasing my antidepressant turns me into a zombie, so I just have to endure. I don't want to risk changing antidepressants; I don't have six months to live in bed while waiting for one to get out of my system and another to get in, then finding that it doesn't work well, and having to go through it again.

I will not miss the seasons. There are only two seasons I want to have: summer and almost-summer. If it never got colder than 60 degrees, I'd be a happy camper. I have to force myself to see the color changes in the leaves; I can acknowledge their beauty only after I've forced myself to notice that they're no longer green. Snow is beautiful when it's falling, but it soon gets grubby, and living on the side of a mountain isn't the best place to be in an ice or snow storm. Working on the other side of a mountain, where the roads are maintained by two states, one of which (and it changes) is always more on-the-ball than the other, is a royal pain when the roads are slippery. Tom's site never closes, no matter how bad the weather, and being the maintenance manager, he has to go in even if there's a foot of ice on the road (a slight exhaggeration). I work for the city schools, in a city where school is rarely closed due to inclement weather and only once in a while opens late. Doesn't matter. We leave home at 6 each morning, and if we hear that school has been cancelled or will open late, no matter. I'm on the way at the regular time anyway. The weather at home or on the mountain may be treacherous, but we chose to live where we do, so we have to deal with it.

I'll just have to endure. I'll have happy times; I won't mope around for the next six months. But I will complain about the cold weather, the short days, no warm sun. It's my nature. Again, thank God that Tom feels the same way about cold weather and wants to move south when we retire.

South, as in South Florida, where there's no (or maybe a tiny bit, once in 25 years) frost, where there's almost always sun (HOT sun), where most places are air conditioned so there's somewhere cool to go when it's too hot in the sun. Where we can grow tropical plants outside, not in pots that have to be dragged out in the spring and back inside in the winter where the poor things just endure until spring. Where we can see my grandkids and Tom's daughter (who was smart and moved to Ft. Lauderdale when she was 18). Where there's a beach within an hour's drive east or west.

Where maybe I can defeat this cold-weather melancholy and feel alive year-round.

About Verizon

We live in the sticks, so our internet options are limited. 1) dialup 2) satellite 3) dsl. Number 1 is completely unacceptable now that I've had high-speed access at work and at home. We tried satellite; it's very expensive, not that fast, and every time a cloud went by the signal was dropped. So, when Verizon offered dsl in our area in January (everywhere else in the world had dsl two years ago; like I said, we live in the sticks), Tom ordered a modem and we switched over.

We've been pleased with the speed; it's better than the satellite connection was, and it hasn't gone out once. Until this weekend.

We left home Friday morning and didn't get home till 7 Sunday evening. I noticed that the lights weren't glowing on the modem. I immediately checked the computer (which had been left on all weekend); it was fine. Printer fine. Answering machine fine. Phones fine.

Back up. The phone worked. This is dsl, which comes in over the phone line. The phone line works. No dsl. The answering machine is plugged into the same outlet as the modem. Tried plugging modem into another outlet and resetting it. No lights.

Damn. That means a call to customer "service". It took me hours on hold and then talking to an actual human back in January when we installed this thing and then hooked it to the wireless router. I just didn't think I could go through that frustration again.

But. I'm working at home off and on during the summer. Without internet access, I'm screwed. I can't even check my email to see if my boss has any updates for me. So I called customer "service".

I didn't have to wait too long for a real human voice, but the stinking menu requires oral communication, not button pushing. I don't like that. I don't like phones. Talking to a computer without cursing is not easy for me. "I'm sorry, I don't understand that response" just brings forth more cursing and more "not understand"ing.

So the human was nice and very helpful; he informed me that my modem was dead (Einstein that he was) and since it was out of warranty, I'd have to WAIT A FREAKING MINUTE HERE. It's out of warranty? We've had it for 5 freaking months. We're under obligation for 12 months, and their modem craps out after 5?

So he kindly transferred me to billing where I could hash it out with a woman who spoke heavily accented English through a tin can and unwaxed string from another country. It made communication difficult, although she "feels the same as you do, ma'am" that I have to buy another freaking modem and don't think I should have to pay for it since it was ONLY FIVE MONTHS OLD and we have to keep paying for dsl through them for another 7 months. (If I want to be totally accurate, I have to say that we're going to have to keep Verizon dsl forever or until another option comes along in the next century or so.)

So the Lady of Spain checks with her manager, but even though her empathy was oozing through the tin can and string, she couldn't do anything about it. She could have a new modem to us in "only 3-5 business days". I asked if I could go to a local Verizon store and pick one up. "Oh yes, you'll have it in 3-5 business days." If I actually went in and asked for one? "Yes, in 3-5 business days. May I order one for you?" No, I'll go to Circuit City and see what they have. "Oh, but I must inform you that you'd have to have the same modem." The same modem that crapped out after only 5 months? I think not. I'll buy another brand. "Then I must inform you that Verizon cannot guarantee that this modem will work." They can't guarantee that the piece of crap they sold us earlier would work longer than three months, either. Our old wireless router that we bought when we had the satellite access installed is still working, even with Verizon's choice of modems, so I really don't see a problem using a different brand of modem.

The best thing about the call was hearing over and over, "If you don't want to wait for a human representative (my paraphrasing), you can solve all your problems by going to www.verizon.com. No amount of shouting that I couldn't go to their freaking website without freaking internet access seemed to faze the disembodied voice, either.

P. S. I'm at work now, but it's my last day until August, so the freaking internet access must be fixed. Today. I didn't realize just how freaking dependent I am on it.

Opportunities lost

Sorry, I just haven't had time or the motivation to write this week. Work has been busy, although yesterday we went to a workshop in Winchester at the Handley Library. I highly recommend visiting it if you're in the area; it's an architectural delight.

And of course I didn't have my camera with me (or my jacket, but I didn't think I'd need that, either). I always have my camera with me. It's one of those Don't Leave Home Without It things for me, but the new one is too big for my purse, and I've stopped carrying the old one because it made my purse so heavy, and I just didn't think I'd need one for a workshop.

Wrong. Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong.


This isn't a great photo of the place. The second I saw it, I was in love. Inside it's even better. The rotunda is the entrance; it's three stories high and has stained glass inside. I can't begin to do it justice by describing it. I have to go back and photograph it.

After the workshop, Mary and I ate lunch at the pedestrian mall a couple of blocks away. We ate at a small bakery/cafe and sat outside. Again, gorgeous architecture all around, trees just beginning to leaf, lots of restaurants with outside seating, people walking by with their dogs. So many photo opportunites, and me with no camera.

We got back to school just in time for me to go to Claudia's to work, so I didn't go back upstairs to get my bag. (It's a long long loooonnnnnnggggg walk from the parking lot to my office.) It wasn't till I was on my way to pick up Tom that I realized that my camera was in that stinking bag in my stinking office (well, the office doesn't stink; I have my little Ionic Breeze on my desk and I forgot to turn it off before we left for the workshop, and there are lilacs on my desk.) and didn't have the stinking camera all evening.

Which sort of didn't matter, as it turned out. Claudia didn't need me to work, but she wants me to knit some test garments for her new book of patterns. I cleaned my glasses, which had been filthy for several days, and they. snapped. at. the. nosepiece. In half.

Now, I'm extremely nearsighted, and I really can't read just using my left eye anyway (macular degeneration, 20% blind in that eye, the rest blurry, blah blah blah), so I was fortunate (?) that it was the left lens and earpiece that broke off. I tried to superglue it together, but that didn't work. It glues my fingers together, so I thought it was worth a shot.

I could wear the right half of the glasses, since the nosepiece was still intact for that much of the glasses. I drove to pick up Tom, very carefully, and we went to Costco to see if they could fix them. I was sure they couldn't as they don't keep actual stuff there; everything has to be sent off for a week to ten days.

I couldn't possibly go without them for that long, and I'm not sure where my old glasses are.

Anyway, long story shorter, they were able to take the piece off another pair of old glasses they had lying around. I can see again. And I've made an appointment with my regular eye doctor (retinologists don't "do" glasses prescriptions) for another eye exam and prescriptions for both glasses and contacts. It's not till May 9, so I hope my glasses will hold up till then. I hope they'll stay clean till then.

And this time I'll buy a back-up pair of cheap glasses.

P. S.

We're home. There's also a big difference between 85 degrees and 40 raw, damp degrees.

Do I really HAVE to go home?

We spent the day in the truck, 14 hours' worth, which should have put us within a few hours of home. But it seems that the entire East Coast had spring break this past week and was heading home, too.

In front of us.


In back of us.


For hours the traffic was more parking lot than actual driving. If I hadn't had my knitting, I'd have gone insane, and I wasn't even the one driving. I was just along for the music and company.

Not only was the entire East Coast on I95 in Georgia and South Carolina, there were miles and miles of road work, which meant that at least one lane was closed for 30 miles or so, and which also meant that many of the idiots going home had to rush to the front of the closing lane and then push into one of the two available lanes. I did a lot of screaming and gesturing.

For some reason, this sign amused me; check the photo that follows it and you'll see why.




Heh. I have a sick sense of humor, and I needed that today. Poor Tom. He didn't complain. I did it all for him. See what a good wife I am?

To add insult to injury, it started pouring right around dark. We were really lucky; it was the first rain since we left home on Good Friday. But back to bad luck; everyone on the East Coast decided to call it a night and stopped at hotels. Every hotel at every exit for two hours was full. Every. Flucking. One.

But by that time, we were listening to XM radio's uncensored comedy channel and laughing ourselves silly. At least, I laughed myself silly. It was dark. I couldn't see to knit. So I laughed.

Finally found a hotel with one unrented room, and here we are.

I'm going to bed. Knitting content will follow when I'm able to get online again.

The knittin' blues

Right now there's nothing that I want to knit. I hate it when that happens. I think it was caused by having to knit 4 pairs of socks from the same yarn. I have nothing against the yarn; it's soft and pretty and I enjoy knitting with it. But 4 pairs of socks in knit 3 purl 1 ribbing? I want to try something different, something for ME. Something of bright colors.

By the way, I'm so over those little doggie legwarmers. I tried the one I'd sorta finished on a little Yorkie, and it was too small. Damn. Just FIDO.

Ten degrees

That is all.

Whaaaaaa?

Some comments that I swear were there last week have disappeared. What is going on???

Phhhtttttttthhhhhbbbbbbbbttt

*sigh*

That gorgeous hat turned out to be big enough for a 3-year-old. I was so disappointed. I've made that hat before and it's always been infant-sized. I used the same needles and similar yarn. Not that I'm an expert knitter or anything, but I usually get the same results.

So Saturday night Tom and I went to a teeny tiny restaurant in town to hear Tony Furtado (there was a total of 44 tickets available, 34 were sold, and I don't think the place could have legally held 10 more people). I took my knitting; I don't care how good the music is, I can't just sit. And I have what my sisters and I call that "uptight white ass" thing going on, so I simply cannot dance through a show. Can. Not. Much as I want to. So I knitted.

I knew that the hat was too big, but it was so pretty. I had to finish it. I did, and I immediately knew that it was going to be torn up and reknit. But instead of simply doing that and getting on with it, I had to take a new hank of yarn, wind it into a ball (while sitting in the "front row"--all five chairs of it, not that I was sitting in all five chairs) and make an incredible mess of it. It took me an hour to get all the knots out of the last few yards.

So I started a new hat, one from the Toast colorway. It's okay; it's not my favorite, but it's got brown, blue, and cream in it, or maybe it's gray instead of brown, I'll have to check the photos, so it's an okay hat for a little boy. It's just not gorgeous.

Another woman came up to me at the break and thanked me for knitting there; she felt then that she could get out her knitting. Huh? I got over that a long time ago. I knit everywhere. She was older than I am, too. Hell, I knit at a Billy Joel concert. (That's true, but meant to be sarcastic.)

See? Just not gorgeous.



I ended up sort of making up a pattern and combining it with one I already have. Okay, I just ripped off the pattern. I didn't like the rolled edge of the first one and I'm not particularly crazy about the eyelet row and tie in the original pattern. It's cute, but not boy-cute. I got the pattern as part of a kit on ebay years ago and I've used it many times (like I said, it had always come out the right size before), but I like a ribbed edge better. And I like the fit of the decreased top.

And I like the way the top swirls.

The show was wonderful. The audience was appreciative. I knit three inches of a hat in the dark. Good night all around.

Even if the hat isn't gorgeous.

Hamster wheel, part deux

Tom and I left work early yesterday afternoon to go to our dr. appt with our new GP. This is a big deal. I've had a difficult time finding and keeping GPs for the last few years. First there was the lady doc who left without any notice after three years in the office. I saw her on a Wednesday and found out two months later, when I called for an appointment, that she'd just up and left town the next day. I liked her; she always listened to me and was helpful.

Fortunately (I guess) another doctor had bought her practice. I made an appointment for a prescription refill visit, left work, and sat in his waiting room for over two hours. During that time I heard all kinds of griping from his nurses. When he finally saw me, he bitched about the help, told me that he didn't have time to discuss my meds with me, and anyway, he didn't think I should be taking those meds. I calmly told him that the doctor who had the practice before he did had prescribed them, my psychologist had recommended them, and I intended to keep taking them. He hastily scribbled out prescriptions for 30 days' worth and tossed them at me, sneering. The man sneered at me. He then told me to make another appointment to discuss these things.

On the way out, I once again heard the nurses discussing Dr. Charm in low voices. When one finally asked if she could help me, I told her that I wouldn't be returning and would soon have my records sent to another doctor. She was sympathetic.

Tom suggested that I make an appointment with his doctor, whom he liked. I did, and I liked him too. He was always on time, he was thorough, he listened to me closely and was willing to try new ways to manage my cough.

Unfortunately, it turned out that he liked women and self-prescribing drugs, not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily legally. After his first trial was delayed a couple of months, the state medical board suspended his license for a year.

So another doctor came in to fill in for him until he could regain his license. Unfortunately (again), another woman accused Dr. Lover of sexual impropriety in his office, then he was arrested for forging prescriptions for narcotics, and regaining his license became an improbability. Doc Crazy filled in for about 8 months. Doc Crazy was old, very old, and very hyperactive. He couldn't stay in the exam room for more than a couple of minutes before he was up and running to find his prescription pad, some book or other, or to ask the staff a question. He was also extremely slow. The average appointment with him lasted about 2-3 hours. It got to the point that I wouldn't make an appointment unless I was dying. Forget refills.

Last week that office called me to tell me the results of my chest CT scan that Dr. Pulmo had ordered (and who hadn't bothered to call with the results). The nurse said that they had a new doctor, so I made appointments for Tom and me.

We left work early for appointments starting at 3. We shouldn't have done that.

Of course some sickie lady was sitting in the waiting room moaning and groaning and they took her in first (had worked her in). I can understand that, but. Our appts were at 3, and it was 4:45 before the doctor came in. We'd already expressed our displeasure at having to take sick leave and then sit that long, and the nurse said that this was the first time he'd been late in the two weeks he'd been there. Well, the last new doc to come in, Crazy Doc, took 3 hours with my first appointment with him and they'd had to work someone in there, too. But, Dr. New Doc actually listened, even though there were patients waiting after us (he damn well better take time with us). I'd taken in a number of things I'd printed from the internet about my cough, and he read the email from the dr. in Warrenton (who emailed more info today for the GP) and prescribed a low dose of Neurontin (I thought it was for seizures, but it's for neuropathy) that can be increased up to 10x this strength. He said it's well-tolerated by most people, and it shouldn't make me stupid. He told me to stop taking benedryl because it's drying me out, to keep water or warm tea with me all day, and to stop talking as much as possible. (Ha! I answer the school phones for 25% of each day.) He said to start taking Xanax again in combination with Neurontin. Also, his recommendation is to move somewhere it's warm and humid. I told him I can't do that for another 5-8 years, but I'll keep that in mind.

He said that he thinks that my bronchial sacks are probably inflamed and that's what's causing the cough. Water doesn't help because the tickle isn't in my esophagus. He thinks that it might be time to do a brochioscopy to see if my lungs are inflamed. I asked why on earth no doctor had said that before since I've had just about every stinking test other than that; he said that it's invasive and more dangerous because they put a big tube down the throat and into the lungs to take a sample. It can collapse a lung.

So I'll try Neurontin first. I took the first one today. I don't feel too stupid yet.

At least, not much more stupid than usual.

Doggie Knitting

After quite a long break, I'm knitting doggie sweaters again. For a while, when my left eye was so bad, it was difficult to knit with needles smaller than 13 or 15, but now I'm back to knitting with smaller ones. I've knit three doggie sweaters, small ones, in just over a week. They're different colorways of the same yarn, Moonlight Mohair I think it is (I could lean over and dig into my bag and check, but that would involve, well, leaning over).

I think that I blogged the pattern last week sometime, Penny from knitty.com. It's the easiest and fastest pattern that I've found yet. After the first sweater, I've modified the pattern a little to add a little tail or skirt at the bottom after binding off at the rib cage. It looks a little more finished to me that way, like a little more time went into knitting it, and it was maybe an hour more time. These sweaters will all go the UYR. If you check that page, you'll see some sweaters that I knit last winter: the blue tweed, bright green fur, Kooky black, and turquoise with fur trim. That pattern is similar to Penny but uses straight stockinette stitch, while Penny is all 2x2 rib.

This is a photo of the latest one, in Purple Mountain; the others were Rainforest and some other poetic name; the yarn is by Lion Brand. I'm not a fan of the yarn, but then I'm picky these days.



But you know what yarn I hate the most? Lion Brand's Homespun. It has a twist in it of some kind of string along with really fuzzy (almost squeaky to me) acrylic, and the acrylic slips and slides along that string and clumps up in knots. I'm knitting some scarves for the teen moms' program at the high school, and I really wish I hadn't promised to knit them. I didn't know what yarn they'd give me or I'd have said no. I finished one and have two more to go. I really hate touching that yarn, much less knitting with it.

Tonia, what we discussed last week? I took your advice. *wink wink*

Things I hate

1) Having to act like a semi-responsible adult. Making and having the money to do things I want to do is great, but it really sucks when I have to say goodbye to my grandbabies and see A crying as they drive away from the curb at the airport.

2) Crying. I always cry when I say goodbye to them. Good-type crying is okay, but even then I'd rather not, because my eyes puff up, my nose turns red and I'm stuffy for hours.

3) Getting up early. That means any time before noon. Unfortunately, school systems don't seem to want to accommodate my needs.

4) Going to bed early. Of course, since we get up before 6 to go to work, and since I need 10 hours of sleep to feel semi-human, I have to go to bed by 8:30 or 9, at the latest, on work nights. I still don't get enough sleep even when I go to bed by then, but it's better than coming straight home from work (we get home around 6-7 p.m.) and going to bed.

5) Having to work. I love my jobs, I love the money, I love the health insurance (when I'm not cursing the copays), I love what little retirement money it'll give me, but it would be so nice to be able to retire now. I think I have only 5 more years before I'll have enough time in with the schools, but since Tom still has 8 or 9 years, I'll probably keep working till then.

6) Cold weather. I really, really, really hate cold weather. I much prefer hot weather, and by hot, I mean not any colder than oh, 60 F for a few days in the dead of "winter" and at night. Even though menopause hit me with the hot stick and I can't stand to wear sweaters or even long sleeves most of the time, I'd much rather live where it's hot year-round. There's always air-conditioning. It's just as hot and humid in WV in the summer as it is in Florida, but there's no beach within a couple hours' drive, and the hot weather doesn't last long.

Okay, enough whining. Care for any cheese?

Snow days

As a teaching assistant, snow days are still exciting for me. I'm one of the lucky ones (and I'm not being sarcastic there) whose work goes by the school calendar. As a result, I'm still like a little kid when we have bad weather.

Since Monday night, I've been checking and rechecking the school's website and the local tv station's closing and delays page about every two minutes. Living in the boonies like we do, we don't get any local tv or radio stations. We have satellite internet access, which is wonderful unless there's, oh, for instance, snow or ice.

On Tuesday our school's tech guru emailed me to let me know that school was closed. Of course, due to problems that we've been having with our new school's email server, I didn't get it till Tuesday night. However, I'd decided that with what sounded like a really nasty ice storm heading our way, I wasn't going in to work that day anyway. For once I called it right.

Wednesday was the same. The weather wasn't changing, but still, our school system didn't call it a day off until 6 Wed. morning. Every other school system (and all in our portion of the state) called it Tuesday night by oh, 6 or so. Fortunately, yesterday morning we were able to pick up one of the Harrisonburg fm stations so I got the word that way.

So Thursday, today, emerges. Our school system is running one hour late today. As much as I've enjoyed our enforced vacation (we have 4 days built into our school calendar, and I think we'd only used one up till this week), I didn't mind--too much--going in today. I just went to McDonald's and bought breakfast and high-tailed it to school.

So this is what was waiting for us:

The parking lot was fairly well scraped, but as usual, the sidewalk that about 95% of the faculty and staff use to get into the school hadn't been touched. And this is ice, not nice, fluffy snow. This is almost always the case when we have bad weather.

I'm willing to bet that the sidewalks used by the students have been treated in some manner, but not that one.

We know just where we stand in the bosses' eyes.

And we're just hoping that it's not on our backs out on that sidewalk.