Absurd Challenge

I wanted a ballpoint pen for two reasons – to address an envelope and to work the Monday crossword puzzle.  John was nearby, so I said I was looking for a pen, not specifying one that would work.

“There are a bunch on the dining room table,” he said helpfully.

My eyesight wasn’t the best, or at least the connection from eye to brain wasn’t working well.  I walked around the table and finally spotted a packet with a bunch of black pens.  Taking one, I scratched on the edge of the newspaper without result.  The second pen made deeper grooves in the paper corresponding to my impatience.  The third one was also totally unresponsive.  Leaving the useless instruments on top of the package, I went to my pocketbook and withdrew one that worked a week or so ago.  Success!  I addressed the envelope and opened the Times to the puzzle. 

John strolled by and picked up one of the non-writing pens.  I thought I ought to tell him that they didn’t work.  He was already poised to scratch when I finished my sentence.  What is it about defunct ballpoint pens that one is compelled to make an attempt to conquer them?  I worked on three, and after my warning, John was satisfied with testing one.  He said he’d found this bunch when he emptied one of the drawers in the buffet.  He was more ready to write them off than I was.  He thought he’d found a treasure trove, but they must have dried up.  Still in battle mode, I offered to look up remedies.  The tablet was handy, so I Googled a question, “How do you make a ballpoint pen work?”

I began reading some of the answers as John finished his writing task using a functioning pen.  You can hold a pen under cold running water, soak it in warm water, or put it in a Baggie and leave it in boiling water for 3 to 5 minutes.  Rubbing alcohol might work.  Shake it like a thermometer with the point furthest away from your hand.  Apply your mouth – suck on the tip or blow on the open end, if it is available.

Now at the computer, I asked the tablet the same question to refresh my memory.  This time I must not have spoken clearly, because the first answer was, “How to perform a tracheotomy: 5 steps (with pictures) – wikiHow”.  That seemed to be overkill.  Correcting the question, I found a suggestion to rub the pen on the bottom of your shoe or write on an eraser.  You could rub the tip on an emery stick or, more dangerously, sic a lighter to the tip.  I dismissed a paragraph that suggested using a drop of nail polish remover on a wire because it warned outright that it gets messy.  The article ended with sage advice: remember to carry an extra pen with you, and don’t be afraid to buy another one.  If I were smart, I’d go down the stairs right now and throw away all 7 dried up pens before they send out another silent, compulsive challenge to ruin my day.

Flemish Flake

For years I’ve scanned the nearest berths at the marina for rope circles.  Some people always stow their ropes in neat coils, while others wrap the ends around the dock cleats until they look like beehives.  On the internet there was a picture listed under knots that labeled such a rope coil the Flemish Flake.  Several years ago I began counting the circles as I walked toward the boat ramp at high tide.  There were never more than 9 or 10.  A few days ago there were 16.  I wondered if the neatnicks had shamed the lazies into curling up.  Evidently the circling habit has a powerful force far beyond the pier.  After I fell under its influence, I took a picture of my computer in the office where I had stowed the printer cable neatly out of the way.  Yes, I had succumbed to pier pressure.

 

Poisoning at 2:17

I must never again start an action in the middle of the night before my brain is engaged.  Evidently, the shift from night to morning comes between 2 and 3 for me.  I made a mistake that could only happen while in a late night, zombie state.  The error was compounded by the fact that I shifted things on the bathroom counter the day before.  Although I always brush my teeth before going to bed, my mouth felt stale.  It would be refreshing to swish with a zingy mouthwash.  I picked up a bottle of blue/green liquid and didn’t stop to wonder why it had a flip top instead of a screw cap.  I tell myself to check out all medications carefully, but this wasn’t in that category.

 Yuck!!!  Spit came before swish.  What was this awful stuff?  My eyes were wide open then and read “Astringent Skin Cleanser; Deep Cleans and Refreshes.”  Deep cleans, yes.  I thought it had reached my toes and come back on a roller coaster.  Refreshes?  No way!!  I don’t know how many times I rinsed with water before I found the mouthwash in the drawer.  The next morning I looked at the label and found the instructions to contact a poison control center immediately in case of accidental ingestion.  Well, mine seemed quite deliberate at the time, but at least I didn’t swallow.  I’m sure I didn’t swallow for a full five minutes.  There was also a warning to keep out of the reach of children.  Obviously, they should add warnings about sleepy adults, too.

Human Touch Screen

My husband and I take our morning walk at the same time, but separately, because he walks so much faster than I do.  One morning rain had already started when we set out.  He ended up walking around a town parking lot with me so that we would be close to the car if it began to pour.  We were joined by a friend who often walks at the same time.  I had no idea it was going to turn into a history lecture.

John is a person born before his time.  Before touch screens were invented, he was one.  Poke him anywhere, and an interesting history lesson will come out.  He said something about sailing ships near where we were walking in Stony Brook NY, which our friend Nancy questioned.  John said, “I’ve seen a picture taken about 150 years ago from across the street, showing a masted vessel tied up there.  This area was almost denuded of trees because firewood was shipped from here to New York City.”

Nancy said something about coal, and John talked about different types of coal, some more polluting than others.  Nancy thought it must have stunk.  John said, “Coal wasn’t the problem.  There is a quote of someone saying they could smell New York 15 miles to the west – horse manure.  One of two major companies had 15,000 horses in the lower half of the island, and that’s not counting horses belonging to individuals.”

You can see why I threw away our encyclopedia.  You don’t need one with John around.  The history discussion ended when lightning began to penetrate the heavy fog.

A Threat in the Village

It was after daylight savings time began and almost light enough to see the ducks in the water near the sidewalk.  I stopped to look, and when I began walking again, I saw a furtive figure slip behind a large bush in the park.  My impression was that it was a slight person dressed in white and wearing a turban.  Experts say you should follow your instincts in uneasy situations, so I was definitely on the alert.  I put my cane on notice to be ready to strike if the need arose.  I argued with myself that no Eastern foreigner would wear a white turban at 6:45 in the morning if he were up to no good.  He would be too easy to identify.  The split rail fence was another deterrent for mayhem, because it would be between me and the assailant.  My ears were focused on the leafy bush as I walked steadily forward.

Suddenly a series of fierce barks burst from the bush.  It was a little yappy dog that thought itself as big as a horse.  The rebuke was short and swift. 

“NO!” hissed the woman. 

I could see then why she wanted to shush the dog.  She was dressed in a white robe with a towel wrapped about her head.  Evidently she had come from a house across the road, letting her dog use a public bush instead of defiling her own yard.  What I did probably would not pass an etiquette test.  I smiled sweetly and wished her a good morning.  I got what was coming to me – total silence from under the white towel, a woman who wished herself anywhere but where she was.

Avian Celebration

What a raucous place the beach was just before dawn!  The gulls were wheeling about and screeching louder than I have ever heard before.  Granted, the sky was flooded with predawn light, and it was low tide.  Mussel beds were exposed, and I presume fish were visible to the gulls from their vantage point in the sky.  I was reasoning all this out to explain the extreme volume of sound when it occurred to me that it was the day before Ash Wednesday.  That’s it!  I was an observer of the seagull parade for Mardi Craw!!!!!