The Silver Lining

A lifetime ago, maybe 30 years or so, people at work used to call me "Pollyanna" because I always found the silver lining when life was not going so well. It was not always meant as a compliment!  About a dozen years ago, all I could see were the clouds.  For about five years, all the clouds were gray.  Finally, I met a psychiatrist who spent more than five minutes with me and discovered a whole lot of junk in my head that all those misfiring synapses had created.  After that, my outlook improved tremendously and not only could I see those silver linings again, I saw the occasional "hand of God" through the clouds.  (The picture above is what I refer to as the "hand of God.")

We've had a lot of storms lately in the Chicago metropolitan area.  Just like with the snowy winter, I predict record-breaking rainfall for this summer.  Or at least close to it.

Last week, I had a huge part of a tree to move out of the backyard after one of those severe storms.  But I was prepared to meet the challenge head-on!  Sunday, after breakfast, I donned my "work" shoes and heavy duty gloves, grabbed the chainsaw and prepared to face the enemy.  With great confidence I strode briskly to the back of the yard, pulling a 30-foot heavy-duty extension cord along.  The neighbors to the South were in their backyard, a couple about my age with their 11-year-old triplets, Eddie, Danny and Katie.  Oooooh, I had an audience.  Well, be prepared to be impressed, people!  I plugged the chainsaw into the extension cord, revved her up a little and got to work.

It started out well.  From the large piece of tree, I cut smaller sections off, just small enough so I could drag them to the street.  As I cut each new section off, I pulled it out of the way, creating a big pile in front of the shed. The two boys next door were tossing a baseball back and forth, but I could tell they were watching and I felt smug.  (You would think that at this point in my life I would've learned this lesson already.)  Then, as I started cutting another branch, the weight of the whole piece of tree caused the branch I was cutting to twist, trapping the chain of the chainsaw in its fibrous grip.  Hmmm.  This was a problem.

I retrieved a handsaw from the garage and, after unplugging the chainsaw, I started to cut away the branch on one side of the chain.  It wasn't loosening its grip.  Of course, I had trouble controlling the handsaw for two reasons:  one, I had too big of a saw, and two, I didn't know how to hold it properly.  The handsaw kept getting stuck in the branch.  After I yanked it out for the fifth or sixth time, I decided to get a smaller saw.  (See, I'm not totally inept, just mostly.)  The smaller saw wasn't even cutting through the bark.  By this time, it was getting hotter, the sun had come out and I was muttering all kinds of imprecations.

All of a sudden, my neighbor, Dan, came up to me and asked "Did it [something]?" which I took to mean "Was it stuck?"  I felt like saying, "No, I just like to cut branches with dull knives on a sunny Sunday when the heat index is about 100 degrees."  But I bit my tongue.  Good thing I did, too, because he had come armed with his own handsaw and offered to help.  First, he lifted the main part of the tree off the ground which caused the branch to release its grip on the chain.  After I extricated that, I saw the chain drooped from the blade.  Great, now the chain on the chainsaw was no good.  *sigh*

I found out from Dan that the piece of tree in my yard was actually the smaller part of a much bigger piece.  He said he had seen it break and fall from the tree.  The neighbors behind us had cut up the much larger section on Saturday.  I was incredulous!  What I had in my yard was big, we had lost a lot of tree.  It was an  Ash tree, too, which is a very slow-growing tree with hard, dense wood.  It is coveted by people who burn wood because it lasts a loooong time.

After that, things went fairly quickly.  He cut while I dragged branches to the front.  I was breathing heavy after a fairly short period of time, but as long as Dan was working, I felt I couldn't rest yet.  He pulled some branches to the front and then took the trunk to his other neighbor, who has a wood-burning stove.  When he returned to his own yard, I collapsed on the bench outside.  Then I dragged more branches.  Then I rested again.  Then I dragged more branches.  Then I . . . well, you get the picture.  Finally, I cleaned up the tools.  My father would be pleased to know that all his years of drumming into me "Always clean up and put away the tools when you're done for the day" has stuck with me.

I guess I was still pretty red in the face when my friend stopped by not long after I'd gone in the house and drank a quart of water.  Took quite a while to get back to my normal, pasty self.

The "clouds" in this tale would be:  the storm, the loss of part of a valuable tree, the heat and humidity, and, well, my own stupidity in getting the chain caught and ruining it.  The silver linings would be:  we didn't lose the whole tree, we didn't have the bigger piece to cut up, I had help from my neighbor and it wasn't raining.

We had another storm Wednesday during which we lost power and didn't get it back until Thursday afternoon, but that was rather anticlimactic after the previous week.  I don't think I'll even mention it.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . ." (Charles Dickens, "A Tale of Two Cities")

Actually, I've never read that book.  Except for "A Christmas Carol," I'm not a big fan of Dickens.  I had to read a couple of his books in high school and I wasn't impressed.  But the quote is exquisitely appropriate to describe the past week.
I had good intentions, but you know what they say about the road to hell.  I intended to get those last couple boxes from my closet emptied.  I intended to get outside and do some intensive weeding.  But last Sunday, I was revisited by an old malady that hadn't bothered me in six months.

It stayed through Tuesday.  I had every symptom known to accompany this affliction over the course of the three days.  On the flipside, I got the three best nights' sleep I'd had in ages.  And my mother was thrilled because I lay on the couch and watched TV with her.

By Wednesday I was feeling good and would have started on those boxes, except that I had an appointment at 2:00 p.m.  I hate afternoon appointments.  I end up killing time before I have to leave, but get nothing accomplished because I don't want to get dirty or sweaty.  But I don't want to go anywhere because I'm afraid I'll be late for the appointment.  By the time I got home and we ate dinner, I was just too tired to clean out boxes.  Besides, I had crops to harvest and baby animals to feed!

  

       

On Thursday, my mother had an appointment with her doctor.  That went well, actually.  It was a late morning appointment, so I was happier about that.  We got right in and the doctor was in the room within minutes.  He took her concerns seriously and gave us a 'script for a test.  But going anywhere with my mother is, well, tedious.  Mostly because she's very slow.  It's not her fault, but it is what it is, so there you are.  We got home by noon, but then I had another problem to deal with.

My cat, Chloe (who's 16 years old) has not been doing very well.  She's lost some weight and she didn't have very much to start with!  So I spent the afternoon encouraging her to eat some canned chicken and turkey.  No, not canned cat food, real chicken and turkey.  And I had to watch her because the other "old girl," Jessicat, kept wanting to steal it.  (FYI, Jessie is stealing Chloe's chicken right now as I type this.  But no worries, there's not much left and it's dried out now.)  But, on the plus side, Chloe did eat.  And she's drinking and using the litter box.  I'm still prepared if she declines again, but I'm hoping she's got another year or so.

Friday started out warm and got hotter.  I got a pretty good routine going for Chloe's feedings, but it was just too hot to work upstairs.  When it did start to cool down, wow!  Mother Nature really let us have it with both guns!  First, the sky got that funny color like a tornado was coming.  The wind whipped the trees around and the I prayed the banging on the roof was twigs and such and NOT the shingles coming off!  Thunder sent most of the cats into hiding.  The rain was so hard, it sounded like hail.  After the first wave passed, I checked the weather, but it was still kind of warm and had added humidity to it.  There was a short time when I opened the window and had delightfully cool breezes blowing through the upstairs.  But it was getting late by then, so I didn't want to start anything I couldn't finish the same day.  Then it rained again and I had to close the window.

So this morning I got up to a bright, sunshiney day.  I opened the window but within an hour I could feel it getting very warm.  When I looked down on the driveway, I could see the garbage container lids, twigs, leaves and other debris strewn from one end of the driveway to the other.  And everything was soaking wet. Lovely.  After breakfast, I grabbed my library tote bag full of books to return, told my mother I would "pick up some of the bigger twigs" in the driveway and go to the library.  "I won't be gone long."  I said.  Hah!  Famous last words!

The view from my bedroom was just a small piece of the mess good ol' MN had made during her tantrums the night before.  There should be a word to describe enormous twigs.  Oh yeah, they're called branches!

I don't know how my daughter had been able to drive on this stuff without puncturing a tire!  I spent the next half-hour picking up the biggest pieces.  That would be anything bigger than say, an inch around!  Then I went into the backyard.  *I need to pause here to say "thank you" to my father for putting up two sheds in the backyard.*  Okay, I'm back.  The electrical wire that was draped over the sheds had been knocked down by a falling branch.  Oops, did I say branch?  No, what fell on the wire, then tumbled to the ground behind the bigger shed was a tree!  Well, it wasn't a whole tree, but the piece of tree that fell is definitely bigger than my car--both in length and in breadth!  I think the wire and the shed worked together to keep either from being totally ruined.  The shed kept the wire from being pulled out of the house and the wire kept the shed from being smashed in.

By this time, I've been out of the house for 45 minutes and I haven't even left yet!  I picked up a piece of branch about four feet long and maybe three inches in diameter.  I went back in the house with it.  Tabitha stretched up on her hind legs to inspect this strange thing that I dared to bring in.  My mother was still in the kitchen so I just stood in the doorway between the utility room and the kitchen, holding the branch.  When she looked up, I said, "This is a tiny piece of the mess that's out there."  Then, as an aside, I said, "Please call ComEd and tell them we have a line down in our backyard."  I went out the door to the driveway, shoved the branch in a garbage can (no, it didn't fit, but I didn't care) and left for the library.

When I got back, I thought about those pictures you see on the news when they show an area that was hit by a tornado.  Or the aftermath of a hurricane.  Lining the street on both sides, my busy neighbors had cut and dragged their own downed branches to the edge of the street.  (We don't have curbs.)

Tomorrow, I'll get up a little earlier, grab the chainsaw and have at that sucker in the back yard.  I'll drag the pieces to line them up along the street like everyone else.  Monday is yard waste pickup.  I think they're going to need a bigger truck.  And the wood chipper.  These guys are in for some serious overtime!

Now THIS is some serious wood chipping!  (Click the picture to play video.)

More Decluttering

Friday I pulled the last box out of my closet and sorted through it.  Yay!  The only things still in there were a couple of oil paintings and a small architect's table (don't ask).  Saturday, I decide I'm going to get in there and wash the floor and walls, so I can put the stuff I'm keeping back in there.  First things first--I have to sweep.  There was a lot of cat fur and other, uh, things that needed to be disposed of.

The back wall of my closet is actually a door.  A kind-of pocket-door that leads to more storage under the eaves.  The only thing in there was a very old window-unit air conditioner.  That's what I thought anyway.  In my efforts to eliminate any loose pieces of, uh, matter, that were hiding between the door and the little threshold, I pushed the door open.  I was stunned.  Maybe that sounds a little dramatic, but it's the truth.  In the storage area, were three large boxes filled with books.  There was some type of little cabinet with a key in it's lock.  There was a lamp. There was also a laundry drying rack (for hanging delicates to dry inside).  The laundry rack is the only thing I was pleased to see.  I could barely move the boxes, but I dragged everything (except the aforementioned air conditioner) into my closet.  My almost-clean closet.  Tabitha and Chloe had to check the storage area and Khai came up to supervise.  Fortunately, Bebe waited until I was done for the day before investigating.

When I opened the first box, I found old computer information.  My dad had worked with computers since the 70's.  He had binders and folios with information.  Old computer manuals.  Reports on projects.  These were all stored in these boxes.  My first thought was to just throw everything out.  Then I realized there might be some historical value to some of the stuff.  So I'm going to have to sort through the three boxes.  That's bad enough.

The condition of these boxes is, well, hmmm, I guess I'll have to go with "yucky."  Or
"icky" would work, too.  When the roofers replaced our roof four years ago, they also had to replace a lot of boards that were rotting.  So these boxes and things were exposed, albeit briefly, to the elements.  Also to the dirt and dust that accompanies the replacing of a roof.  I'm thinking a pair of disposable latex gloves will not be up to the task.  I think a pair of rubber gloves would be appropriate.  A long pair of

rubber gloves.  Some coveralls would be nice, too.  And those little bootie things you put over your shoes.  Maybe I should just get myself a Hazmat suit?  Actually, I could have used all that in the closet.  When you have a cat that hides in said closet when she gets sick, well, I'll leave you with that mental image. *shudder*  I have already gone through a 10-pack of disposable gloves and started on a new one.

I'm discouraged.  Daunted.  Vexed.  I realize my plans have been derailed by others factors before this.  But I was so sure that there was nothing in there.  Why?  Because my father had told me so.  About a year before he died.  It makes me sad that he fibbed, that he couldn't confide in me, and that he died so I can't even go and give him a piece of my mind!  Of course, I really can't afford to give away pieces of my mind.  It's already crumbling as it is.

So tomorrow, or rather, today, I am going to start going through these boxes.  Since I can't lift them to carry them out to the garbage, I have to break it up anyway.  I might as well give at least a cursory exam to each box, just in case.  In case of what?  You might ask.  I don't know.  Like I said, historical value?  Probably not, but since my father thought they were important, I feel it's the least I can do.  I should take a flashlight and check to make sure there's nothing else hiding back there.

The scrubbing of the floor and walls will have to wait a couple of days.  I'm just devastated about that--NOT!  My knee joints and my Gluteus Maximus are grateful for the reprieve.

Cleaning . . .With Cats

Above:  The cat with the attitude?  That's Tabitha Darling.  She had not given me her permission to take a picture.  The look on her face is reminiscent of how the teacher would look at the class troublemaker. The fat, lazy cat in the box?  That's Khai Namh.  He couldn't care less if you take his picture, unless it causes him discomfort or to miss a meal.  Sadly, there was no rescuing that box for future use.  When Khai lays on it, it is thoroughly smushed!

These two are part of the trio of cats that live downstairs.  Tabitha is Alpha Cat.  It means just what it sounds like.  Even though she's the youngest, she's the boss and she reminds the others of that frequently.  She also spends a lot of time patrolling her territory, checking out anything new brought into the house and supervising us humans when we are occupied. She even follows us into the bathroom!  I don't know what she thinks we would do in there if she left us alone.  Maybe sneak out the window?

My daughter wants to move her bedroom downstairs.  She figures with the cleaning out, she'll be able to make a smoother move from the large, slanted-ceilinged upstairs room to the smaller, normal-walled downstairs room.  Seems unrelated, huh? Well, remember, she has her own cat, Bebe Bonita.  Bebe is 17 pounds of wimp.  (Just for comparison, Tabitha weighs about 11 pounds, Khai, about 13.)  That's Bebe to the right, in the bathroom sink.  Yes, it is a small sink, but it's also a big cat!  Anyway, the plan is to get all the cats to accept each other.  *snort*   To that end, my daughter has us leaving the door open that separates upstairs and downstairs.

Now Alpha Tabitha is perfectly happy with this arrangement.  She loves getting upstairs.  She eats my plants, knocks stuff off my dresser, scratches on boxes, hisses at and chases my cats (except Chloe) and generally tries to take over.  Khai comes upstairs infrequently, tends to hunker down in the hallway and growl.  For hours.  Literally.  Yesterday he came up when I was reading.  Anything short of a loud, sudden noise does not get my attention when I am reading.  I was aware of his arrival, because Jessicat (one of the two "old girls" upstairs) made a beeline under the desk.  I paid no more attention to the cats until, about two hours later, when Chloe jumped off my lap to get a nosh and a drink.  Khai's growls rose in volume, so I noticed him again.  Of course, his growling means nothing to Chloe.  Chloe is hard-of-hearing.  But she sees just fine and she saw Khai in the hall, who hissed in her face. How rude!  My mom's third cat, Emmy, has never been upstairs.  I doubt she's even noticed that the door is open.  Emmy is the singularly most uncurious cat I have ever known.

Okay, so you have the background.  You also remember that I've been cleaning out my closet for what, two months now?  Well, in a spurt of energy yesterday, I pulled three of the last four boxes out, cleaned the plastic bins, sorted through the contents and stacked them in my room (of course).  But this was the first time I'd cleaned like that since the whole leaving-the-door-open thing started.  Now, I'm used to Bebe getting her bulk in my way when I'm working.  And I'm accustomed to Chloe perching on top of stuff I'm trying to move or get at.  Chloe is no big deal, though.  She weighs about six pounds.  (Jessicat is too much of a scaredy cat to get involved.)  But, both Tabitha and Khai came up to see what all the ruckus was about.  Because they were more interested in what I was doing, there were no confrontations--at first.  I had the three bigger cats pushing in front of me, jumping on the bins I was moving and generally making nuisances of themselves.

I'll give you one guess who started the altercation.  (Ha, there's a "cat" in the middle of altercation!)  I was sorting through a box of scrapbooking supplies when the caterwauling started.  In the hall.  Where I couldn't see.  All of a sudden, a very large, striped cat flew through the boxes on the floor and whipped around a corner of one stack.  She peaked out, but I had effectively blocked Tabitha's attack when I yanked a box in front of her.  (Sometimes my reflexes are still good!)  In full piloerection (no it's not a bad word), Tabitha looked like a Halloween cat.  I'll never know what happened, but I was tempted to pick up Bebe and beat Tabitha with Bebe's paws.  I keep telling Be, "You're strong!  You're bigger than she is!  You are Bebe the Bad!"  But, it doesn't seem to bolster her confidence.  Bebe just looks at me like, "uh-huh, whatever you say, crazy lady."

Today, I changed my sheets.  Sounds like another aside, you think?  Not really.  Since my bed is pushed into a corner, and I have my end table and chair at the foot of it, I have just the one side to work from.  I have to lift the mattress slightly in order to tuck the sheet and blanket under the end.  Did I mention how much Bebe weighs?  Yeah, about 17 pounds.  You ever try to lift a mattress with 17 pounds of anything on it?  Well, make that 17 pounds into a playful, leaping cat and then try to get the job done.  Now, imagine a six pound lump (that would be Chloe) under the sheet you are tucking in and that 17 pound leaping cat landing on said six pound lump.  Well, basically, Chloe ripped the sheet right out of my hand and screamed at Bebe.  Yes, screamed.  Chloe has absolutely no patience with her younger companions.  I think she looks at Bebe as if Be was Baby Huey.  You remember, the big, dumb duck in the cartoons?  Or was he a chicken?  Poor Bebe.

I did finally get my bed made.  We repeated the whole process with the summer-weight quilt I also put on the bed.  I was very tired by the time I finished.  I settled into my recliner, put the foot up, pushed the back down and took a nap.  But not by myself.  I am never truly alone.

Below:  Chloe Elizabeth Victoria is not happy unless she is as close to my face as possible.  Good thing she's only six pounds.  Could you imagine if it was Bebe?  Yikes!  I'd probably suffocate!

When a Door Closes . . .

. . .most people want it to stay closed.  Watch our fearless feline foil his captors:


My second foray into the world of early technology concerns another item we take for granted.  That most fascinating yet simplistic fabrication of machinery--the door knob.  Or doorknob.  Separately, or combined, the words mean the same thing: a handle for opening or closing a door.  My emphasis is on doorknobs that latch.  (Latch: a device used to hold a door, gate or the like, closed, consisting basically of a bar falling or sliding into a catch, groove, hole, etc.  [Well, I never said you didn't know that, I'm just covering all the bases.])


Back when man was learning about fire, doors were made of hides, but people wanted a way to secure their doors even then.  The earliest latches were probably made of leather loops and notched wood.  Most likely, they didn't hold up to a strong wind, but people persisted.  

Door knobs have been used around the world for centuries.  As hides gave way to wood and stone, people needed something to grab in order to manipulate the door and then, to latch it.  At first, simple handles were used with separate latches.  Usually the latches were placed high on the door so that children could not reach them.  A string or chain was hung from the latch so that when you pulled on it, the rod lifted out of the catch.  Somewhere along the way, somebody  was clever enough to put the latch on the inside of the door, with a lever or knob on either side of the door to work it.  We know this because that is what we use now.  Unfortunately, there is little documentation to show the progress of these door knobs.  

We do know they were first manufactured in the United States in the mid-nineteenth century.  U. S. patent records show the first patent for a door knob was issued to Osbourn Dorsey on December 10, 1878.  And we know Mr. Dorsey was an African-American inventor.  No, we certainly don't know much, do we?

Though spherical or ball-shaped door knobs are considered the hardest to turn, this shape was the most common for years.  Doorknobs have been made of many materials, including wood, ceramic, glass, plastic and different types of metal. Brass is one of the most popular materials because of its excellent resistance to rust.

Since the 19th century, people have been more concerned about how their doorknobs looked, than how they worked.  There are dozens of patents on record regarding doorknob designs, starting in the 1830's.  I have to smile when I watch the old TV shows from the late 1960's.  Somebody thought putting the doorknob in the middle of the door was the height of fashion!  Looks silly to me, but then most stuff from the 1960's and 1970's looks silly to me.  And I lived it!

To this day, I cannot stand any of this "retro 70's" look fashion.  I hated it then and I hate it now.  But I digress.

Now, many doors don't need doorknobs.  In 21st century techno-advances, we have doors that open for us by sensors (well, grocery stores have had those for years), electronic keypads, even handprint and corneal recognition.  All very sci-fi, or rather sci-non-fi.  Those futuristic doors from the original Star Trek are now becoming common, except without the zigzag pattern.  Thank goodness!  Part of this wave of "hands-free" door opening is due to the increasing numbers of physically disabled people who want to live alone, or, at least, not be dependent on others.  But workers around the world need ways to move materials without needing someone to hold the door.

Did you know that egg-shaped, or elliptical shaped door knobs are the easiest to use?

At this point, I'd like to include several puns as I did last week.  Fortunately for you, I can't think of any.  Maybe, I hope this opens your minds to the possibilities?  Blech, that's pretty lame.  Oh well, I'll have to work on that part more for the next posting.  I'll leave you with this thought, the next time you say someone is as dumb as a door knob, have a heart!  Door knobs are smart, nifty  things.  Don't insult them!


Watch this canny canine create his own egress: