Author: anthony Page 7 of 73

I got a text yesterday morning from Jeff’s sister and learned that their Aunt Peggy had passed away.   It had been quite a while since I’d seen or talked to Peggy and I knew she was getting on in years, but it was still a blow to find out.  I wanted to take some time and process the news, but work consumed my day and then continued through the evening with a last minute project. I went to bed and still hadn’t really taken time to grieve. 

So, tonight, I’ve decided to write down my memories of Peggy and try and sort out the confused mass of feelings that always pile on when I lose someone. 

I met Peggy at a family function with Jeff not long after he and I started dating.  She was famously known for having bad knees and for telling very long and detailed stories to anyone that would listen.  To the point where her family members would sometimes set down the phone and just let her talk – checking in every so often to see if she was done.  If it became clear they weren’t paying attention, she would tell the story again.

Jeff had her over for dinner once and she cornered me while he cooked.  Instead of tuning her out, I engaged in the conversation and contributed – and she was delighted to have a fresh audience.  On another occasion she tried to repeat a story to me again, but I countered early on by recalling some of the details – proving that I had been listening.  She was pleasantly taken aback and the rest of her family was amazed at my skill of, apparently, just paying attention.  

Peggy had us over to her house sometimes since she lived near Jeff  or we would meet up for dinner. She was very matter of fact about accepting Jeff and I and I think she doted on us a bit. 

When her husband Cliff passed away, she tried to be the strong matriarch, but it was clear she was hurting and missing him.  Jeff and I went over to her house with Cliff’s ashes after the service – Jeff was a funeral director – and Peggy offered us some tea on her sun porch while Jeff was dividing the ashes, some to be buried and some to be spread.  We declined, but when I saw how rough this was on her, I took her up on the offer since that took us into the kitchen.   I stood so that she had to face away from the window to talk to me and we chatted while Jeff did his work outside. 

At one point she stopped and looked me right in the eye and said, “I know what you are doing,” and I knew it meant a lot to her. 

I smiled, shrugged, and told her it was good tea so she could keep up her brave face since I knew that was important to her.

When we left that day, she thanked us both for being there and we got fierce hugs.  I think it was one of the best things I’ve ever done for someone.

Kindness isn’t a thing to be repaid, but years later she did anyway.

When Jeff passed, I was at the calling hours with his family – alternately forcing myself to keep it together and by turns completely falling apart.

One of Jeff’s friends came up to me and suggested, not very subtly, that it was my fault that he died alone.  When they saw the horror on my face they tried to back-pedal, but the damage was done.  

Peggy took me aside – as I had done for her when she needed it – and gave me a hug, and told me that they were completely wrong and none of this was my fault.   She wasn’t part of my family, but for the moment she was. 

With her kind reassurance, I got through that terrible day.

I visited her a few times after that, but we were both busy with our own lives and drifted apart.   As it happens.

I hope she understood and remembered what she had done for me.  Funerals are about the dead, but they are for the living.  I think we both understood that and it was part of our unconventional friendship.

So, the grand dame and matriarch Elizabeth “Peggy” Queen is gone.  I hope she has a good audience now – she has a lot of stories to tell.

She was kind and accepting – and I miss her.

Today was the Service Awards reception for employees celebrating a milestone anniversary working at the University of Akron.  And while my official date isn’t for a few months, I was recognized for working at UA for 25 years.

Crazy.

A quarter century working at the University of Akron.  From a student assistant in Telecommunications (switchboard operator and office assistant) to the IT helpdesk to 2nd tier support and lab support.  Then the webteam, as a developer, then Assistant Director (and manager of the switchboard, ironically) and now Director of Web Services.  Or, unofficially but far cooler, The Webmaster (™)

I’ve weathered several re-orgs, including the one that moved the Webteam from IT to Communications and Marketing.  As well as two major staffing cuts, a pandemic, and remote/hybrid work.

There is one person in my division that has been there at least as long as I have, but he’s retiring at the end of May.  Making me the “elder statesman”, as I’ve been called.

While we were waiting for the program to start, I caught up with some folks that I hadn’t seen in person in a while – talking about how we got started at UA and missing folks that were gone.

When it came to be my turn to go up on stage and have my photo taken with the president, a few people in the crowd cheered for me – enough that the president remarked on my fan club.   I got a “fist-bump” from my VP as I made my way back to my seat.  And afterwards, several people sought me out and came up to me to thank me for all the help I’ve given them over the years – including some I’d never met in person but knew me only from email. 

Getting recognized for the years was nice, but getting recognized by my peers was pretty amazing.  Made me feel like I was really making a difference.

——

I also had a more personal milestone to celebrate this week – 1500 haiku/tweets.  

When I started my twitter account back in 2009, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it since there was a strict character limit and I’m…well…verbose.

But, I liked the format of a Haiku and thought the syllable limit of those meshed well with the character limit of a tweet.  So, I decided that all of my tweets would be in the form of a haiku.

I did a few, then I stopped, then I decided that I would write one every day.  And, this week, I hit 1500 Haikus on my twitter account.

It’s been a challenging hobby to come up with something new every day and then compress it to the bare bones of a story.   I share these on my website and on facebook – and a few folks will respond in kind.  

Tiny stories – but a lot of them. Doing my part to make the internet a little less terrible.

I think that, if you’re going to talk about a situation where your house could have exploded, you should start off with some clarity.

The house didn’t explode.

So, the story:

Last Friday was the scheduled appointment for the gas company to come to the house and check the gas meter in the basement.  I had this done at my prior house and it seemed like a huge waste of time. The technician takes this hissing box with a hose on the end of it to the basement where he waves it around near the gas meter and then that’s it.  The appointment window is 4 hours long and you have to be home – and be a responsible adult.  

Which, for me, seems like a lot.

But I work from home on Friday’s and set the appointment up.  The dude arrived right after I let the dogs out so that worked out.  I guided him to the basement and he did the “wave the hissing box with a hose around” for a bit, and then went “humph” when it beeped.  It kept beeping whenever he waved it near where the pipe came into the house. 

The box had found something. 

He did a little more testing, then told me that he thought that there was a leak in the service line and that the gas was traveling along the outside of the pipe into the house.  Not a lot, but enough that it needed to be addressed.

He went outside and tracked down where the service line was, next to the mailbox.  He did some more checking, then turned off the gas entirely. 

So much for my mac and cheese on the stove.

He then made some calls and told me that a crew would be out to replace the service line – hopefully today. 

Then was on his way. 

I let the dogs back in and got back to work.  Jim had a half day in the office and when he got home he came upstairs to my office and asked if we were getting a new gas meter.  Apparently, the crew had shown up with no prior call this time and were already digging up the front yard.  And one of the guys had followed Jim into the garage to get access to the basement. 

We went out and talked to the crew and got the gist.  They would need to dig up the lines near our mailbox and on the other side of the street and would replace a section of the line.  Then, another technician would come out later to turn everything back on. 

I got back to work again and Jim took a nap.  When the crew was done they gave me the update and were on their way. 

When I logged off for the day I let the dogs out again and the last technician showed up.  He checked the new gas meter, lit the pilot lights on the furnace and gas heater, and then came up to light the stove.

And here is where I thought we would have an explosion.  He turned on all the burners and left one of them on “light”.  And then we waited.

He stood right there at the stove and as the burner continued to click I started to step back.  Then I started to smell gas and wondered what I would look like without eyebrows.

Still, we waited.  By this point, I was at the door to the kitchen and wondered if I would hurt my shoulder when I dove out of the doorway from the inevitable explosion.  

And then, a quiet “whump” and all the burners lit.  He turned them all off and was on his way. 

The yard is a little torn up, but the house didn’t explode at all.   

Call it a win.

Jim and I were both off work around lunchtime today and decided to stop at what had been a cheese, deli, sandwiches, and wine shop.  The place had been closed and reopened as a cheese, deli, sandwiches, and wine shop – but with a new name.

We went in and went up to the deli counter, straining to read the menu board.  The couple in front of us tried to order sandwiches and were told those could be ordered at the bar.  They were escorted back past the front door to a small bar and given menus. I got menus for us and glanced at it and decided on a turkey wrap – and noted that it came with chips.  I grabbed us cokes from the cooler and we set those down on the counter of the bar to save seats while we went and picked out our chips. 

With chips and drinks, we sat down at the bar to order our sandwiches.   The clerk at the bar seemed surprised that we were sitting down and said we could sit there if we wanted to, but that there was more seating in the back and that the bar was for waiting for the to-go orders.  We asked if we could order and take the sandwiches back to the seating area, but were told that there were waitresses there. 

So, we got up and headed to the back seating area where we were told we could sit where-ever we wanted. 

Note that this was the first thing we had done that we couldn’t have gotten wrong – though we did get some dirty looks from the guy at the table near the one we picked once we started to – gasp – talk quietly to each other.

The waitress comes over and we’re ready to order, except that the sandwiches come with chips and the bags we picked out could not be substituted.  We could get the bags of chips as well, but would be charged separately.    I offered to put them back but the waitress said she could do that.  She asked if we had already paid for the bottled drinks, since we should have ordered those with our meal instead of bringing them with us from the front of the shop.   She offered to add those to our meal.

We agreed to that and noted that this whole experience had been confusing – she said that a lot of people get confused. 

Jim and I sat quietly, brooding as she went to put the order in.  Both of us wanting to vent, but were mindful of the small restaurant and the proximity of the waitress.  

Our food arrived and we cracked open our sodas and started on the sandwiches.  We ate in peace for the most part, though the waitress kept coming over to see how things were  – but I think secretly hoping we would wrap things up and leave soon. 

The to-go box she brought over for Jim at his request was almost too big for the table and my card didn’t work at the register – she had to take it to another machine to run it.  

When we were done, I considered the tempting door near us labeled Exit, but decided to track back through the shop to the way we had come in – that near Exit was likely a fire escape or something.   I also kept my receipt in hand in case we were challenged on our illicit sodas.  

We got out to the car and remarked that while the food was good – if a little pricey – the experience of being so wrong about everything for so long meant we weren’t likely to go back anytime soon. 

Though I guess since I’ve written this down we should be prepared for the next trip. 

Maybe we’ll get it right – or maybe they will have put up some signs in the meantime.

I broke my watch.

I was reaching into my pocket and missed, catching the edge of the watchband on my belt instead.  There was a tiny snap and then the watch was hanging halfway off my wrist.  

I took it the rest of the way off and realized the pin holding the watch to the band had snapped. This wasn’t a ‘quick-pop-it-back-into-place” repair – it was broken.

And it really – really – bothered me. 

I sat down with the broken pieces in my hand and considered the ruined timepiece.  It was a great watch – waterproof, a nice shade of blue that went with all my blue shirts, digital (because I don’t like guessing what time it is), and a good size that didn’t make my skinny wrists look even more skinny.

I half-heartedly looked for replacement pins online, but when I looked more closely at the band to get the size I realized the plastic was damaged as well.  A new pin wouldn’t stay in place. 

So, that was it.  The watch was done.

Until I got a new watch, I would have to rely on other instruments to keep track of time.  Which, I know, are everywhere.  My phone, in my car, every computer, the appliances in the kitchen, and the clocks on the wall (analog, but I can make do).  

But not the same.  Not the same as that familiar and reassuring weight on my wrist.  Always knowing at a glance exactly “when” I am. 

A bit obsessive, granted.

For the past few days I’ve caught myself checking my bare wrist.   I’ve looked at a few stores and gone online – not finding anything that really caught my eye.

And so I’ve been a little bit…off.  And not quite sure “when” I am. 

—–

This week also marks the anniversary of Jeff’s passing – 10 years ago.  

His brother texted me just to check in – we traded a few messages as we do until we both faded into each other’s backgrounds again.   There’s never much to say, but we try.

I’m noting the absence of the weight of time on my wrist – and feeling the weight of it in my head.

Last weekend, as my family was getting ready to head home after a visit, the snow began to fall in earnest.  It was pretty, but it just didn’t stop.  

That was Sunday.  

On Monday, I spent 6 hours shoveling out the driveway.  I tried to clear a path for Jim to leave and while his 4 wheel drive car got him down the driveway and to the street, it wouldn’t have been enough to get him out of the unplowed parking lot at his office. So, he turned around and came home.

I eventually got the rest of the driveway clear and thought I would be ready to go into work the next day.  Classes were canceled that Tuesday but the campus was open.  I got out the shoveled driveway and about 10 feet down our unplowed street before I got stuck.  With a shovel and a lot of swearing, I managed to get back in the driveway and out of the way – but I wasn’t going anywhere.  I worked from home that day.

The plows finally got to our street and it was sort of clear and on Wednesday I tried again.  I got to work, but it wasn’t a quiet ride.  The skidplate/undershield under my car – already not in good shape – had been obliterated by my attempt to get unstuck and was now dragging on the ground.     When I got home after work I was able to get partly under the car and got it partly bent back up, but it was a lost cause.  I worked from home the rest of the week.

This past weekend, more snow.  I was out shoveling again for a few hours – trying to keep up – and the best I can say is that it wasn’t as heavy.   The piles of snow were getting so big I was running out of places to fling it. 

I worked from home again today and afterwards I was out again with my shovel. I was almost done with the driveway cleared again and saw my neighbor across the street shoveling.  

He’s 80.

I hustled over there with my shovel and got the bulk of it for him.  He slowed down and chatted while I shoveled and we got it done soon.  

And as I was wrapping up my driveway again for what seemed like the thousandth time, I stopped and leaned on my shovel and looked up at the sky as dusk began to settle in.

For all the work – and it’s been a ton of work – it really is quite beautiful out there.

I was reminded of another snowfall  – many years ago. 

Jeff and I had just moved in together and it was our first winter in the apartment.   We didn’t know the area well yet and decided after the first big snow of the year to go for a walk down the unplowed streets.  This was out away from the city and the only light was from a full moon.  The snow muted all the noises and while it was cold, there was no wind to make it intolerable.   

We walked maybe a mile down this quiet road, marveling at the crisp air and a sky full of stars.  It was incredibly peaceful.  

Something broke the spell – I don’t recall what.  Maybe we got cold or realized how far we had walked.  Perhaps there was a car or maybe the wind picked up.    In any case, it was time to walk back home.

We didn’t walk much and never went again in the winter.  And enough time has passed that my memories are fading, as they do.

But, standing in my driveway looking up at the cold sky, I remembered a happy time.  And it was enough.

When that spell was broken, I went inside to check on the dogs and have my dinner.  And wait for my husband to come home. 

From winter to winter.  

Feeling the weight of the years tonight.  

I had a rough swim on Friday.  The only open lane – thanks, high school swim team – had two people already swimming there.  And we couldn’t do a circle swim since one of the women was doing the “I can’t get my hair wet” breaststroke. Sigh.

So, I waited for about 15 minutes before one of them got out and then started my laps.  The “can’t get her hair wet” woman remained and she took up most of the lane – crowding me near the barrier between us and the swim team.

And, of course, I got kicked.    Not enough to hurt, just enough to throw me off my stride.

I kept at it, though, and finished my laps.  

In the parking lot, I ordered dinner for Jim and I and then headed out to pick it up.  There were several routes I could have taken, but the most direct route was right through the middle of town.  At 5:15 on a Friday. 

But, the likely delay with the traffic meant I’d arrive just as the food was ready.  So, I headed out, picked my lane, and turned on the music and heater. 

I was comfortably loose from my swim and the car warmed up quickly.   The music was from my collection and the songs were familiar to sing along with, if the mood struck me.  And it did, from time to time. 

I made my way through town at a steady and unhurried pace, safe in my warm mobile cocoon.

And it was peaceful.  As much as driving can be – I didn’t take a nap or anything.  But, I didn’t get upset or swear at any other drivers.  And the density of traffic didn’t bother me.  I knew my route, I had a plan, and the drive was unremarkable. 

I pulled into the lot of the restaurant with 1 minute to spare and the food was just being put on the shelf as I walked in. 

As I made my way home, a curious thought occured to me.    That I could just keep driving and hold onto this peaceful feeling.  I could tap in any destination to my GPS and just…drive.   I strangely didn’t want it to end.    Everything was just lined up and simple, with easy goals and no conflicts.

Remarkable.

But, I was down to a quarter tank of gas and Jim was waiting at home for the food slowly cooling in my passenger seat. 

Instead of some far-flung destination, I tapped the “home” button and dutifully followed that route.  I knew my way, but the GPS has a nice voice and I like to give her easy routes occasionally to make up for all the construction detours she’s gotten me through. 

And as I pulled into my driveway, the moment passed.  It was time to take the food inside and end the quiet adventure. 

A few miles of road in a warm car with good music and an easy destination.  

We take our peace where we can find it.

I recently finished up a giant origami wreath to donate to the Akron Holiday Tree festival and posted a photo on Facebook.  This is something I’ve done for a few years now – I usually get some help from a committee at work and the donated wreath is auctioned off to benefit Children’s Hospital. 

My friends and family liked the photo and had really nice comments to say – and I feel like I contributed in a positive way to the conversation online.  

At the same time, though, I also got a direct message that was… less pleasant. 

When Jim and I started dating, we would occasionally hang out with one of his friends from when he was younger and with her boyfriend.  We didn’t have a lot in common with this couple, but tried our best to find some middle ground.  When we got invited to Hilton Head for a week by one of my former co-workers, the trip coincided with this couple’s wedding, which we went to.    And on a later trip, we shared a condo with them. 

Instead of getting closer to them, though, the gap began to widen.  

We rarely saw them during the beach trip – they stayed away from the beach and indoors most of the day.   Dinners were strained from lack of common topics. And, as a game night was wrapping up, Jim’s friend turned out to be super-duper racist.   

Later on, it turned out that her husband had a sort of “inapropiate relationship” with someone he’d interacted with on Second Life, but never met in person.   I’m not sure which is odder – the interaction or the fact they’d met on Second Life.   I mean, really? Second Life?

From there, it was full-on Trump – and Jim and I casually backed away from them both with regret but a sense of relief.

So, in the middle of enjoying sharing some fun artwork, I got a direct message from this couple.  They share a facebook account – and an ideology – so it was impossible to tell who it was from. 

The message suggested that Jim and I should be regretting voting for President Biden and that if we were still “riding with biden” we are responsible for the increase in gas prices since the president was planning on shutting down a pipeline from the north.   The rest was Pro-Trump and something about being “woke”.

I hadn’t posted anything political in eons and nothing about gas prices.  I’m not friends with them on facebook and we don’t have any friends in common.  And we’d never had a conversation by messenger – this was the first connection in literally years.

I read it a couple of times and didn’t respond.  I didn’t want a conversation with them – though I was a little curious as to why.  Why any of it, really.

I told Jim about it and he suggested I block them.  I didn’t – because that could also be communication and I thought the best response was none at all.  

It was just this unpleasant and slightly toxic  – completely random – message from people that I had nothing in common with and hadn’t spoken to in years.

I suppose they intended to ruin my day – that was the tone of the message – but I had no idea why.  Nor did their opinion of me matter enough to bother me.  It was just mean, and pointless.

There is so much bad and negative in the world and the thought of making it worse for anyone just strikes me as so very sad and exhausting. 

So, the message sits in the app.  

Read, but unacknowledged. 

For my third eye appointment I went to a new eye doctor – a “second tier”, I suppose since my regular doctor wasn’t quite sure what was on my eye.

The new doctor, while knowledgeable, was kind of an idiot.  Or at least really bad with people.  He was half an hour late getting into the exam room and spent the entire time spouting medical jargon at me.  Well, except for when he gave me the treatment options and said “this next part is going to scare you.”

The diagnosis is proteinaceous deposits caused by a breakdown of the membrane in my eye.  The treatment is to scrape the cornea and put a contact lens in while it heals – and hope it doesn’t get infected. 

I’m also “pre-glaucoma”, so, added bonus there.  He didn’t find that out until they dumped a bunch of drops in my eye to dilate, then had me stare into the sun (or the eye doctor’s exam room equivalent).  And then he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.  

I went in there feeling anxious and cranky – and left feeling anxious, cranky, and confused.

With throw-away sunglasses in place, I headed back to work. 

For the fourth appointment, I had another follow up with my regular eye doctor.  She explained that I don’t need to do the keratotomy right away and that while my optic nerve is “bigger than average” (I’m not boasting or anything), it also doesn’t mean I’m going to get glaucoma.  

But, I did need to get progressive lenses for my new glasses.  Sigh.  I might have the butt of a 20 year old, but my eyes are almost 50. 

Kinda makes you think – all that our eyes have seen and taken in. So much light over all those years.

I had narrowed down the frames to two while I was waiting for the appointment – because I’m very efficient – and had my decision in a couple minutes after sitting with the clerk.  Medium progressive, no to the transitions, and yes to the anti-glare. My new glasses will arrive in a couple of weeks. 

That will make 5 trips to the eye doctor before I have new glasses.  Too bad they couldn’t just give me a shot of Retinax – though I’d probably turn out to be allergic.

I broke my glasses.

I had been due for an eye exam before the pandemic, but put it off until a week ago – when I broke one of the nose pieces off.  I always thought they were flimsy, but they lasted me quite a while as it turned out.

Anyway, I made an appointment, took some time off, and headed to the eye doctor. And resigned myself to the fact that I would likely have to get bifocals.   Over the past few years I’ve found myself having to take my glasses off to see up close.  Eh, it happens.

During the eye appointment it turned out that my vision in my right eye was much worse than I thought.  Upon closer exam, using a light source that was brighter than the damn sun, the doctor found…something.  Corneal deposits was her best guess and instead of new glasses I was sent on my way to use over-the-counter gel “tears” for a week to see if that would wash them away.

They also couldn’t fix my existing glasses.  Of course…

So, I did the drops three times a day for a week and went back in yesterday.  And there was no change – which I had guessed even on my own just by looking at things with one eye and then the other.

I’ve got another appointment, with another doctor in another office, on Wednesday to get the deposits addressed.  I’m hoping it’s just another kind of slightly stronger eye drop, but no way to know until I get it checked. 

Once that is done, then it’s back to the primary eye doctor to get a prescription and then new glasses.   

Oh, and my first copay was $10 since it was an eye exam – but the second was $45 since it was a “medical appointment” .  They did the exact same thing at both appointments, naturally.   Could have been much worse, I guess.

I’m vaguely worried about this whole thing. I’ve worn glasses since I was a kid and while I wasn’t looking forward to bifocals it wasn’t a huge deal.  But this unknown, like so many unknowns, has me a little disconcerted. 

Nothing to do until I get it checked so it does no good to dwell on it.  The one-nose-piece glasses aren’t as uncomfortable as you’d think and I’ll get by. 

For now, I’m going to go stare intently at some sandpaper and see if that helps smooth things out.