Glorious day in the neighborhood

Perfect day for spending another three hundred bucks on my baby Buick. Now the window goes up, the window goes down, and the interior stayed dry during yesterday's rain. Used a variety of art supplies to wrap the gap -- clear cellophane, graphic acetate rejects, packing tape, even some iridescent "opal" cellophane. No duct tape or trash bags. This was an arty car window party wrap. Christo and Jeanne-Claude woulda been awed.

Perfect days are not usually associated with January, but we get some real sparklers this time of year. Absolutely gorgeous blue sky, bright sun, light wind, and temps roving from 45 to 60 degrees F. My walks from and to the repair shop were not walking meditations, although I paid attention to my feet, my steps, the rhythm. It was very restoring and peaceful.

 

In between the dropping off and picking up of my dear, if occasionally aggravating vehicle, I watched "Napoleon Dynamite" twice. Once didn't quite do it justice. The movie unwrapped some long buried junior high and high school memories. These were not peaceful and rainbow sparkly!

There is one positive development that might improve the teen years:

Hail to the Spartans.

© 2013-2017 Nancy L. Ruder

Trade-offs before breakfast

Ya gotta git up mighty early to wrangle with the US Postal Service about re-delivery of a previously attempted delivery of ten pounds of bird feeder seeds. Do not attempt the email query function at the website. Typing in the twenty-one digits of the tracking code before the first coffee of the morning took too many tries.  Deanna at the help phone line may have solved the problem. Or not. At least the re-delivery confirmation number is only eleven digits.

Lately the benefits of online shopping seem offset by the time suck of dealing with the post office, UPS, FedEx, Amazon, and the apartment management office that sometimes receives my packages and grudgingly releases them to me. I even had to track down the delivery of postage stamps purchased through the online postal gift store. They are really cute stamps, though, from one of my very favorite picture books, Ezra Jack Keats' The Snowy Day.

E-gift-giving seems cold and impersonal. Yet there's a lot of family togetherness during all those phone calls asking "did the gifts for Duane arrive?" The group texting about "who sent the cute hippo onesie?," was as heart-warming as caroling with cocoa.  Amazon's failure to send the witty gift enclosure forced me to speak one-to-one with a son about sentimental memories of Grandma Fritzi's joy of birdwatching.

The balance sheet was at work again when a thoughtful friend flagged me down to tell me my headlight was out, probably sparing me a traffic stop and warning or ticket. On the downside, after I talked to her the Buick side window would not go all the way back up. On the upside, we've come out of a very cold snap for Texas. My Christmas bonus will go for window repair.

Stopped at AutoZone on the way home to get the headlight bulb. Sometimes the salesperson will help with the bulb replacement, but the guys were in a hurry to eat their po'boys. Plus, it was dark. Early this morning I tried my Helen Reddy imitation again, but the bulb would not fit. Arrgh.

Did those guys sell me the wrong bulb? No, they did not, and AutoZone opens at eight on Saturday morning. An extremely polite salesperson tactfully explained that I was trying to put the low-beam bulb in the high-beam gizmo. And the high-beam bulb did not need to be replaced. By 8:10 all lights were working, and my day was on the positive incline.

Which brings me to the Blue Cheese Story, but not the bleu cheese story. One of my sons, who shall remain nameless, lives in a really nice house formerly home to a tenant who left abruptly with some unfinished financial business. It's always nice to NOT be the person with whom the IRS wants to chat, or the sheriff when they are standing on your porch.

The former resident's generous great-auntie Louise placed an online gift order of Newton, Iowa's famous Maytag blue cheese for her great niece. But, wait, auntie didn't know about the recent skedaddle. So a big misdirected box was left on the porch:

The simple thing would have been to just open it and see what was inside, but none of us were fond of blue cheese. So my son called UPS and spent over half an hour convincing them to send a driver to retrieve the blue cheese. Which they did, but they weren't pleased. When you need them, where are the porch pirates and thieves?


© 2013-2017 Nancy L. Ruder

Modern dance in the workplace

Caught. Snagged. Hook, line, and sweater. Whirling dervish with hanging file folder.

Ooga-chaka Ooga-Ooga
Ooga-chaka Ooga-Ooga
Ooga-chaka Ooga-Ooga
Ooga-chaka Ooga-Ooga

In a Duchamp-Meets-Circulation-Desk moment my attempted sneak behind a coworker resulted in a close brush with a hanging file folder on the counter. Next I knew, the folder was hooked on my sweater and spilling papers as I spun to untangle myself. At least I was clothed, unlike the nude on the staircase.

Laughter is good medicine and even an adhesive for workers still forming a cooperative relationship. Too bad we don't have a slow-mo to replay at staff meetings.

Laughter contagiously forms social bonds. The endorphin effect described above also explains why social laughter is so contagious. Spreading endorphin release through groups promotes a sense of togetherness and safety. Each brain in a social unit is a transmitter of those feelings, which triggers the feel-goods in other brains via laughter. It’s like a game of endorphin dominoes. That’s why when someone starts laughing, others will laugh even if they’re not sure what everyone is laughing about.

This time of year I remember my dad's first positive comment after Mom died: "I'll never have to watch ice skating again." Dad would have enjoyed lightly belittling my graceless performance. Perhaps tomorrow I'll move through the library with effortless elegance, but don't hold your breath.

© 2013-2017 Nancy L. Ruder