Bitter Pills

Friday, March 08, 2024

Today, an installation crew has arrived to replace my home heater. They’ll change all but the heat pump. This fix has been waiting for months, a holdoff forced by our very cold weather. Severe cold prevented technicians from adequately assessing why the reduced heat output. While we waited for warmer weather, my home was on “emergency heat,” generated by electricity and outrageously expensive. Plus, my part-time job makes it like pulling teeth to get time off in these days of too few workers.

Finally, all is coming together. Hopefully, the heating system will become operable today.

It’s nagging me that the failed heater problem falls squarely on the shoulders of an independent electrician who replaced my heat pump five years ago. I understand now that the pump he installed generated higher pressure on the heater lines. The independent workman didn’t address that problem. Over time, higher pressures blew holes in the heater lines. My system failed and became unrepairable.

This changeout is an expensive process.

I don’t recall the name of the independent contractor who installed the heat pump. He seemed knowledgeable and probably was. I’m stuck with guessing why he didn’t complete the work of correctly adding a significant new component to an old system. I’ve been angry at that independent contractor since the leaks were diagnosed.

This is an expensive lesson. The upshot is that I’ll not hire another independent worker, regardless of how capable one might seem. Today, Bend Heating is changing the heater. The company has been around for years, has an excellent reputation, and will be available to fix anything that might eventually go wrong in the new heating system.

This little Central Oregon city has always been a boom-and-bust environment. It’s growing like Topsy, and many independent contractors are around today. Well, not for me. No more.

Dear Friends: Some episodes call for “biting the bullet” and moving on afterward. Diana

Peachy Pie

Thursday, March 07, 2024

This morning, while I brewed coffee, an old song entered my mind and got me singing aloud. Now, hours later, I can’t recall that song, but I remember delight upon hearing my cockatoo, Peaches, join in and sing along. I love it when Peaches sings and makes sweet sounds.

It’s very different from Peaches’ typical screams, which sometimes continue for what feels like forever. He’s an excellent watchbird and warns when anything different appears beyond the windows he’s parked beside. He becomes alerted to happenings not in his vision by noticing differences in my dogs’ sounds. If the dogs are barking in alarm (it’s always evident), Peaches joins and barks along with them. Yep, Mr. Peaches is a fine watchbird.

After years of living with this boy, I’m more or less accustomed to his noisiness. I’m used to his noisy gusto greetings to the changing lights in dawnings and evenings. I usually ignore his screamings, but not when trying to concentrate on something totally non-Peaches. If his screams get to me, there’s no use telling him, “Quit.” Peaches is his own being; he does his thing.

His singing is something else—almost lyrical and always smooth; his sounds could accompany some lyrics. I can’t recognize the songs, but clearly, Peaches is copying “his humans” that preceded me. Cockatoos are natural copiers.

This makes me wonder what he’s learned and copied during our years together. Maybe barking like a dog is new, and maybe he has new sounds from our singing duets. I ought to mention that Peaches has great rhythm; he dances to music like a bird on fire. Mr. Firebird!

Dear Friends: Bird intelligence encourages our admiration of the entire species. Diana

Visions

Wednesday, March 06, 2024

I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than giant snowflakes falling and fluffing on the ground. However, there usually is a point of “too much,” and now, enough is Enough. Seeing through a window the many tree branches piled heavily with white is lovely. All’s peachy unless one needs to head outside to work in the snow and cold. That outside work could be as little as removing snow from a vehicle and driving someplace. However, my outside work includes feeding horses and chickens, all hungrily waiting and spotting for me, kicking downhill to the barn.

This rough spring has lasted too long, and happily, it’ll soon be Daylight Savings Time. The lengthening natural light will ease my early morning and late evening animal feedings. I can’t wait to dump my headlamp and walk without kicking through snow or wading in deep mud.

One of my “inside activities” has been looking through old, forgotten photos. I stumbled across today’s header of Kinny, a capture that surprised me. I quickly ordered a print for framing.

I inherited Kinny from my elder sister when she couldn’t continue caring adequately for him. He was seven years old and had always been kenneled inside a run. Kinny had never had a dog buddy; he became aggressive on seeing another dog. It took weeks to introduce and integrate him with my other dogs.

Kinny especially feared my horses, and at first, behaved very aggressively toward them. The horses, in turn, aimed to kick his daylights out. Eventually, Kinny “got it” and joined my other dogs. He learned to run with them on trails and alongside the horses. Kinny turned into a loveable pet, and I still miss him.

The header is a worthy capture of the dog and his shadow. He’s playing and having fun; it’s pure Kinny!

Dear Friends: Sun is shining to melt the snow, ahead of coming bitterly cold days. Diana

“Magical Mom”

Tuesday, March 05, 2024

My mom’s birthday is today, on a date she selected. I never asked why she self-selected the date, and much later, after she was gone, wished to know. By then, I wanted to know more about her early life and realized that many other questions never got asked. I’m always a little sad about my knowledge gaps.

Especially these days when the war in Ukraine raises questions about my maternal family’s life in that part of the world. Back in the very late 1800s, fearing Russia’s recurring violence toward Ukrainian Jews, they sailed to America, winding up in O’Fallon, IL, where my mom and her siblings grew up.

They lived in the most dire poverty. To survive, my grandmother made ice cream and my grandfather traveled into neighborhoods to sell scoops from an ice cart. My mom described her sheer unhappiness while a little girl, for having to go regularly to the local welfare office and request family existence money. When she was very young, her father passed away from TB.

Afterward, her mother found a job as a kosher cook in Oklahoma City and had to move there. She put her small children into an orphanage. Before long, her eldest child, Ruby, got married and became qualified to remove the children from that orphanage. Later in their lives, every single one spoke of Ruby as “a saint.” While still very young, Ruby, too, succumbed to TB.

That family history captured my attention many years ago when a Ph.D. candidate from New York phoned to ask me about the family during its O’Fallon time. While researching its Jewish immigrant community, she discovered in O’Fallon’s newspaper a contemporary article quoting my grandfather’s description of Ukraine’s dire anti-Jewish situation. The researcher sent me a copy of the article. It recreated the reality of my mom’s family in those times touching and blowing me away.

By then, my mom and her siblings were gone, and sadly, no one to question remained. Fortunately, I’m close to my cousin, Mary (her dad was my mom’s brother), and we often speculate on our family’s history, trying to fill in gaps with our combined knowledge.

So, Happy Birthday, Mom. If you could return, you’d find that your known world has evolved into a nearly unrecognizable social and political environment. Plus, these days, you’d not button up and avoid recalling an unhappy past; instead. like most of us, you’d be spilling the beans.

Dear Friends: Our moms–mostly intelligent and capable beyond what their times allowed. Diana

Little Bits On Being

Monday, March 04, 2024

I’m thinking of using today’s title on my WP Page, as a subtitle, to describe these morning blogs. Writing them began many years ago in order to communicate to close friends that all was okay here where I live alone and care for horses. Worries about perhaps tripping on a rock, becoming injured, and maybe needing help made me write, and friends were encouraging. My early blogs were simple hellos, but eventually, a growing readership and feedback stimulated ideas.

Much has changed, from readers’ feedback and modern communication technologies. We all share expanded understandings of the larger political and social worlds and the changing climates. Many modern topics are complex, and variations keep them in our sights for very long times.

I tend to explore ideas and topics from my life experiences and their emotional impacts, always hoping readers may resonate with that personal perspective. Evidence of more reader subscriptions seem to okay my style; so nowadays, the early launched “observations from a retiree in Central Oregon” are more like, “little bits, on being.”

Dear Friends: I’m always exploring and welcoming feedback. Thanks for reading! Diana

Tying Up

Sunday, March 03,, 2024

Yesterday, my job in a large department store had me working in the Men’s Department. I met a couple examining suit jackets, and the man was trying on some. They were preparing to leave in April on a cruise ship that’s headed to exotic places. He’s not bought new clothes in quite a while, and although not particularly happy or comfortable, dutifully tried on shirts and jackets.

I’m very slightly aware of trends in men’s clothing, but did assisyt the couple by searching for sizes and colors they wanted. They proceeded slowly, we became acquainted, and I enjoyed helping them. At some point, they had selected jackets, shirts, and pants and asked me to select some neckties.

I know too little about neckties and approached several large tables. Each was covered in a seemingly endless bunch of neckties, an astonishing array of colors and patterns. Here’s the thing, I like neckties, but have clear preferences and opinions about them as fashion. I enjoy looking at ties and imagining clothing they’d go well with.

However, working in Men’s has taught me that someone might sound casual, as in, “Find me a tie,” but he actually has opinions and preferences. So staring at ties, I’m pushing aside my preferences as too confident for my customer’s comfort. Finally, I picked out a few ties with subtle patterns that color-wise blended with his clothing selections. In the end, that couple themselves selected his ties.

I needed some training on necktie selling and asked a savvy coworker to help me. We went to the tie tables. He chose several he liked and explained why, saying red is a power color, and certain blues go well on the blue shirts he loves, and to him a very subtle paisley is playful. I realized that he plans carefully for wearables at meetings and casual gatherings (typically, he doesn’t wear neckties).

I pointed to my favorite tie, covered in a “tiny flowers” design, and no surprise, he wasn’t interested in it. Earlier, I had sensed that my customer would avoid a flower pattern. My friend and I stared at the tie; it’s not particlarly feminine but has tiny flowers.

This is Women’s History Month. Back when social changes began evolving, socially awakened men wore neckties sporting complex designs and patterns. Back then, tiny flowers would have fitted into modern wardrobes.

At that moment, I decided to start on a learning journey–by buying that tie and wearing it to work. My friend gave me a lesson on necktie tying. Then, the tie’s price made me gasp; Who knew! Maybe expense is one reason men very carefully and specifically select ties.

I brought the flowered tie. Today, I will practice tying and arranging it on a boy-style shirt.

Dear Friends: Working offers learning and fun challenges, so make things happen. Diana

Unequal

Saturday, March 02, 2024

This is Women’s History Month, and that’s cool. Last night, a PBS piece reopened my memories by covering early and evolving passenger aircraft technology, and the airline passenger business. Particularly, the then new role of Airline Stewardess. Some of my friends became early stewardesses and were envied. They routinely flew to exotic places, met and dated handsome pilots, and often married and moved into new life phases. Those were ladies who accomplished what little girls were programmed to do.

That PBS piece reveals a nasty back story to the enviable stewardess role, in a time when most airline passengers were men. The ladies’ work was to ensure men’s comfort. A stewardess’s training for her role was demanding, and it was abusive. She had to perform her stewardess work perfectly, and also, had always to appear beautiful. She had to be slender and physically fit, well-coiffed and perfectly dressed, always wearing specific makeup, and also well-mannered. Oh yes, she couldn’t be married; a stewardess had to be single.

There was more stress because upon turning 32 years old, a stewardess was considered too old for the role. Airlines pushed every birthday girl out of her job. Some of the early stewardesses were college graduates and felt abused. And some stewardesses were secretly married. The formally educated ladies, and those married to attorneys, began learning about unions. They openly started to question the airlines’ goals and personnel management. The work of those bold stewardesses initiated critical changes in the industry.

I’d go on, but you get it, and the story is easy to stream on PBS. What makes it more fascinating, is that the Stewardess history parallels more changes, beginning in the sixties, that altered women’s roles. Not enough, however, because America still lacks an Equal Rights Amendment.

Dear Friends: March’s videos will remind us of more history and revive our memories. Diana

In Motion

Friday, March 01, 2024

March is blowing in and, no surprise, bringing new snow. Here in Central Oregon, we had a very mild winter that kept us dozing. We weren’t dreaming of a coming spring so harsh as this one. For weeks now, we’ve almost constantly battled snow–this is a tiring spring.

March is the transition month. We’ll return to DST, happy, happy! Then, natural light will linger longer. It’ll get warmer, drying the ground so it’s easier to walk in my “dry” lot. Finally, and joyfully, we who watch for greens will start seeing them pop.

Yesterday’s Leap Day was snowy and the department store where I work practically had no customers. Understandable, for in this weather I’d not have gone shopping myself.

I’ve been enjoying my part-time job, but working lots of hours, and I’m feeling a little burned out, especially while anticipating summertime. My chickens, responding to the changing season, are starting to lay. I’m responding to changes, too, starting to adjust my wishes.

I want lots of time to be out and smack in that coming sunlight. I want to refresh my horses’ dry lot and want to go horseback riding. I’m eager to take walks with my dogs and to photograph the waters starting to run and the springing greens.

Dear Friends: Seasonal transitions generate urges to rethink and reprioritize. Diana

From Time Immemorial

Thursday, February 29, 2024

Happy Leap Day!

I was having “the dickens of a time” recalling what Leap Years are all about. Soon, I began wondering what “dickens” may mean. I assumed it refers to Chas. whose stories contain worlds of woe and wonder. After some research, I learned that the origin isn’t that Dickens, because way prior Shakespeare had used the phrase.

It turns out the general assumption is that “dickens” originally was a euphemism for the word “Devil.” Back in the history of time, ‘What the Devil” or “the Devil take you” were very serious curses, however, in those very old days, “the dickens” could be freely used.

My mom often muttered, “What the dickens!” The phrase became woven into my learning DNA, and I have loved it. The words perfectly highlight my confusion and struggle to comprehend something complicated or make difficult choices.

Yesterday, somebody at work pointed out to me, that I “overthink things.” Well, maybe so, and maybe that prevents me from quickly processing some kinds of information. From one perspective, it’s a disability, and from another, an asset.

I overthink, indeed! Now, an equally famous phrase, “Face the music,” comes to mind. I am okay with processing thoughts slowly. That lets me separate the thought elements, turn each upside down and around, and examine it from various perspectives. Upon reweaving the elements, I wind up with a decent handle for taking them forward or dropping them.

Dear Friends: What the dickens–it’s snowing again! Enjoy this leap day. Diana

Ice Glass

Wednesday, February 28, 2024

This dawn is lighter, and it’s cold outside with winds moving tree branches. “Oh, wind, If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” (As a note, I love Percy Bysshe Shelly’s poem “Ode to the West Wind;” but its famous line evokes ongoing curiosity about: How can spring be “far behind”?)

Consider that an introduction to the header photo. It’s one of my more artistic captures. “Ice Glass and Shadow on Ice Blanket.”

While treading on the icy ground near the barn, I managed to tip over a little bowl. Something fell out looking like a partial glass. Made of ice, fragile and pretty, evoking potential and my imagination. My favorite view is the glassy form and its shadow on icy ground.

Now, balancing things by shifting from poetry and art; here’s my little Mitzvah.

Mitzvah doubts she will dare to climb all those steps to the loft where I’m running the Singer. Ultimately, sorry she was stuck on the scary steps, I went down and lifted my wannabe shadow, and carried her up to hang out beside me.

So, those are early thoughts ranging from the rare to the mundane. That sort of thinking will continue all day for self-amusement while I’m at work.

Dear Friends: Oh, where is the coming spring! Diana