Questions. I have questions.

Can I request more than 24 hours in a day? I can’t get everything done in 24.

Why does Amigo insist that I blog regularly?

I’m shopping online for the holidays – birthdays and Christmas. I’m shopping small businesses, not the Big Ones. Does that count?

Is the 2020 election cycle ever going to start for real?

Why do football players fight on the field? They’re all so padded, they can’t possibly hurt one another.

Is Houston really ahead of New England? Please, let it be true, if only for a few minutes.

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Stormy Weather – oh, my.

Amigo kept asking me, “Mom, have you blogged the storm yet?” I finally asked him to offer his point of view. The entire family had a tough time with the recent storm and the following power outage, but the situation was hardest on him.

Amigo’s Saturdays are usually quite relaxed. He sleeps in, listens to Public Radio, and around noon will make his way downstairs for lunch. On this particular Saturday, it was between 11:30 and 12:00 when the skies became very dark, the outdoor sirens began howling, and all of our phones honked their noisy weather alerts to tell all within earshot that a tornado had been sighted nearby. Chuck poked his head into Amigo’s bedroom where Amigo was getting dressed and told him to hurry. Both of them hustled. When they arrived on the main floor, I guided Amigo down the awkward stairs to the basement to take shelter.

Our basement is more of a cellar. It’s not the modern finished basement with playroom or place to hang out; it’s cellar, storage, pipes hanging from the ceiling. Amigo and Chuck have to duck going down the stairs and watch their heads while walking around. Amigo almost never goes downstairs – unless a serious storm is on the way.

We sat in a sheltered corner on extra kitchen chairs. All three of us had our smart phones, for what it was worth – wifi went out suddenly when the power did, and we weren’t getting much cell phone bandwidth in our thick-walled cellar. We watched the wind whipping through the one accessible window, and Chuck and I took turns poking our heads upstairs to monitor the storm. I brought Amigo’s shoes and socks to him on one of those treks. He wondered why; I told him it was because the basement floor was cold. The truth was that the storm was bad, very bad, and if we ended up with shattered windows, I didn’t want anyone in bare feet. Fortunately, that wasn’t a problem.

Well, our home and immediate neighborhood fared well. We had branches down, many of them, but mainly medium and small ones. Chuck put on a raincoat (we were still getting steady rain) and pulled the brush off the street. We noticed a lot more traffic than usual on our quiet block; we soon found out that ours was the only street in the area clear of wires and trees immediately after the storm. Two blocks away, the cul de sac would need four new utility poles and multiple tree crews.

But back to Amigo. He is blind and has a high functioning form of autism, Asperger’s Syndrome. His phone and his computer are his windows on the world. Without power and wifi, he was lost. No social media, no podcasts, his audio book app wasn’t accessible – and on top of all that, no television for the sports he loved to watch.

We did what we could. Both Chuck and I needed to check on our elderly mothers, and we needed lunch. Amigo doesn’t like cold food; peanut butter and jelly wasn’t a valid option. I couldn’t get a text message out to Petunia, so we decided to combine a trip. We piled into Chuck’s car and plugged in all of our phones to charge. We traveled to the far north side of town, where a Hardee’s had power and was open. Crowded, too. We watched the gas station next door through the window. There’s a guy filling three gas cans; he must have a generator. Oh, there’s someone buying multiple bags of ice; their power must be out, too. Wow, it’s busy in here. The staff is doing their best to get everyone served.

After lunch, we drove to the rehab nursing home where Petunia was staying post-surgery. Chuck and Amigo stayed in the car and charged all the phones while I ran inside and checked on her. The home had its emergency power generator on leaving the hallways darker than usual and a wee bit spooky . Her room was fine; a lot of natural light through a window, and an outlet that worked to keep her phone charged. In general, all was well in the rehab world. Chuck called his mother and found out that she also did not have power. She was going to stay with Chuck’s younger brother in Nearby City with its power grid intact.

The outage was hard on all of us. Chuck and I made a side trip to his mom’s condo to borrow her small generator, and we stopped on the way home to buy a few batteries for radios. Eventually, we made our way to Nearby City for supper at Culver’s. Ah, Culver’s – comfort food in (or after) a storm!!

It had been a rough week for Amigo all around. He’d gotten some bad news regarding a summer camp, lost contact with his friends due to the outages, and was just overall miserable. He couldn’t even turn on a fan to create white noise or keep cool. We helped where we could, taking him out to charge his phone and get a hot meal, picking up batteries for radios, finding a battery operated handheld fan (overpriced but totally worthwhile). He was the most relieved of all of us when the power came back in the wee hours of Monday morning.

Stormy weather isn’t unusual in our neck of the woods. We’re considering getting a generator slightly larger than the one we borrowed so we can keep the freezers and refrigerator cold and keep the wifi running for a least a few hours a day. In our home, it’s not just a luxury. With Amigo’s needs, a little power means a lot.

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In Which Daisy Continues to Worry Unnecessarily


Measles is back in the country, and it’s back with a vengeance. I’m amazed and appalled at how fast the illness can spread and how it spreads before symptoms appear. I’m appalled, not amazed, at the number of people who think vaccines are more dangerous than measles itself.

Here we are, at the end of a school year, with huge gatherings ahead: our end of year amusement park celebration, complete with 8th grade certificates, and the high school graduation. Both of these events will include families who claim either religious or personal exemption from vaccines. How do I know that? Never mind.

And then I heard that baby boomers might be at risk because our vaccines were the early ones, the immunizations that weren’t fully effective yet. Add to that: I’d been taking a medication that both upset my stomach and weakened my immune system. If I encounter measles, it could be bad. If I need the vaccine, I may have to wait.

My doctor’s office came through this time. They ordered a measles titer to see if I had immunity or not. The results were positive: I do have immunity to measles. My vaccine, however early in development, apparently worked.

I can check this worry off my list.

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In Which Daisy Worries about all the Wrong Things

We heard scratching and bumping noises in the chimney. Oh, dear, something was living in there! We called an exterminator. He said nope, can’t help with that. We called the chimney cleaning crew. Nope, they didn’t deal with live animals. We investigated animal control and found out they would charge $150 to set a trap and hope the critter wandered into it.

Then the noises stopped for about a week. And then I noticed an odor in the room. Oh, dear, something had most likely died in there! So we called the chimney crew and got them scheduled. The earliest date on their schedule was two weeks out. In the meantime – I duct taped the door to the fireplace in the hopes that I could contain the odor and still watch my HGTV and Jeopardy without a clothespin on my nose or a full fledged gas mask. And I worried – what if we had a storm with a power outage and we needed a fire for heat and cooking?

We didn’t have any bad storms. And it turned out that there were no animal carcasses in the flue. Aw, heck. Maybe Amigo had BO that day. Heck, maybe I did! Maybe I didn’t change the litter box soon enough. And so on, and so on, and so on.

But all is not well in the O.K. Chorale’s fireplace. The crew couldn’t inspect the outer ring of the chimney, the opening for fresh air to get in. Our neighborhood electric lines are in the way. They have to come back another day with their full equipment so they can climb up the other side of the roof to get at the chimney.

Meanwhile, I hope we don’t have a major storm that would take out our power and make necessary a fire in the fireplace for heat and/or cooking. Oh, gee. What else could go wrong? Wait, no. I didn’t say that. Nope.

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Random Thoughts of – spring?

Someone called me the Compost Lady recently, and I realized I hadn’t written as ComposterMom in ages. A lot of my shorter posts end up on Facebook. I’m on the computer all day at work, so I don’t automatically pick it up when I come home. I need to be offline for a while every evening.

But anyway, random thoughts.

Shopko is bankrupt and going out of business. Their clearance and liquidation sales are disappointing a lot of people. I haven’t even stopped in to check it out, to be honest. They’re at the point where the liquidation company, not the Shopko corporation itself, is running the show, and shoppers can tell. Discounts are weak, inventory isn’t very high quality, and there are more complaints than deals. We did get lucky with the smaller Shopko Express’ clearance. They transferred most of their inventory to other stores before the ax fell, but they couldn’t do that with their liquor stock. We picked up wine and specialty beers for pretty darn cheap. And that was all.

Meanwhile, we reminisced about the irony that is our kitchen. We bought some very high quality pots and pans and other equipment dirt cheap from not one but three high end kitchen stores that were going out of business. One was in Green Bay, one in my little burgh, and one in Rochester, Minnesota (we were there for a barbershop chorus competition). Those were small shops, not corporate entities, and the owners were interacting with customers as they made deals.

Oh, what a difference! Cast iron cleaning tools, towels, scrubbing cloths, and the best, a really nice wok. The Wire Whisk had used the wok for cooking classes, so we made an offer. The owner accepted the offer and reluctantly let it go. She talked about cooking classes, gave me good advice about seasoning it, and I think she shed a tear or two as I left with this wonderful piece of cookware in my arms. I hope she knew we’d treat it well – literally and figuratively speaking.

Meanwhile, we are appreciating the newly remodeled kitchen and especially the storage space. The pantry cabinet has so much room it feels like a luxury. We have cupboard space for basic everyday goodies, and we have room to stock up when there’s a sale. I haven’t reached prepper stockpile level (yet), but it makes more room for my own canned goods, too. No longer do we have to trek down the basement for a new jar of jam or pickles.

So on we go, my friends and family. It’s a crazy world out there, and I hear there’s a possibility of another late snowstorm next week. I hope the forecasters are wrong, but you know the saying – whether the weather, we’ll weather the weather.

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Provide ID – easier said than done

Chuck added me to his employer-sponsored health plan at the start of 2019. In order to add me to his employer-sponsored plan, we need to verify that we are, in fact, married. To prove that fact, we need more than a wedding ring or an album of pictures. We need the official, certified marriage certificate. Easy? Well, not exactly. Read on.

We thought we had a copy in the house with our other important documents. We don’t. There may be a copy in our safe deposit box at the credit union, but we’re not venturing out in Snowstorm Destiny (local name) unless we have to brave the roads. We searched online and found the information for ordering a copy (or two) by mail. We gathered what we needed, and Chuck dropped it off in a mailbox on his way to work.

You see, friends, we were not married in the same county in which we live. We were married in the state of Wisconsin, but not exactly where we now reside. We tied the knot in a county about 35 miles north of here. If ordering by mail doesn’t work or takes too long, one of us will need to take a day off from our job to make the road trip during business hours. It would be an inconvenience (read: Royal Pain), but we could do it.

I keep thinking of those for whom this would be more difficult, even darn near impossible. We have the spare change to put gas in the minivan and head north to visit the register of deeds’ office in the county known as Packerland. We resent taking time from our jobs, but we have the option of using a paid day off for this errand. Not all working people have that option. Not all have reliable transportation, either, especially in a Wisconsin winter.

This is a pain for us. It’s a bother. The situation is awkward and potentially a waste of a personal day for one or both of us. However, we can do it. We will do it. What about those who can’t? What if we’d gotten married in another state? What if we’d moved to a location farther away or, unlikely but not impossible, to Nova Scotia, where Chuck has extended family? How do people cope with a records request like this when they don’t have the options we have?

That’s a long list of what-ifs. In our world, many people fit the what-if categories. And that’s just for health insurance. We won’t talk about voter I.D. At least I won’t bring it up today.

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How Cold Was It?

It was so cold —

  • Schools closed for two days.
  • Mail delivery stopped.
  • Newspaper delivery stopped.
  • Utilities company asked customers to turn their heat down so there would be enough natural gas to go around.
  • Utilities company threatened to levy fines on Chuck’s workplace for using too much natural gas in keeping the plant operating!
  • It was so cold that a hawk stopped in to keep warm over lunch.
A hawk came to visit. Seriously.

Yes, she was that close – and that big. We think she caught a sparrow for “lunch” and then found a somewhat sheltered spot to dine on it – next to the house, close to the door. The bird could have knocked on the door and asked to come in.

Oh, yeah, people. It was that cold.

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I still can’t get the hang of Thursdays.

It all started when I came home from the pharmacy on Wednesday with all of Chuck’s refills but without the Claritin that helps him prevent migraines.

Thursday after school I went to Walgreen’s. I noticed several shelves full of Mucinex, our medication of choice when the flu-like viruses hit the O.K. Chorale. Yea, I thought, they have every variation imaginable. Chuck can pick out the best kind next time he’s here.

Unfortunately, there were as many or more Claritin variations, some of which required identification and promises of spinning straw into gold before actually buying the drug. I looked them all over, and I panicked. I grabbed the store brand in a small box (in case I bought the wrong dosage or type) and rushed away to check out and save my sanity.

My next stop was a local family restaurant to buy soup for supper. I pulled a quart out of the cooler, then thought, “I should get two.” But the cooler wouldn’t open again, so I gave in and checked out. Well, I waited to check out. There were three of us in line when someone finally came out to take our money. I used a gift card – used it up, in fact. I had to pull a few bucks in cash out of my wallet, too.

Soup in hand, I went out to the van and put on my gloves. Er, glove. One was missing. I dug around the minivan, looked outside under it, and hoped like crazy that I hadn’t left it at the drugstore. When I went back into the restaurant, there were two workers at the cash register. What? At least my glove was there – on the floor next to the counter.

As I left the parking lot, my hearing aid battery on the right went dead. Beep-beep-beep-beep! And of course, I can’t dig in my purse for a new battery and replace it. I drove home on one ear, so to speak.

All this – at least I did one thing right. I got a drugstore rewards card for our family. Now we can actually get the bargain prices posted on the shelves when I bring Chuck back to pick out his favorite Mucinex and Claritin.

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The Year Without a Canning Season

It started with kitchen construction. It ended with a brain aneurysm treatment. It makes sense; I didn’t can very much last summer. I’m still a little bummed.

With a major kitchen remodel in progress, I got up by 7:00 every morning even after school let out in June. I moved both vehicles out of the driveway so the carpenters could pull in. Then I would start my coffee, watch the morning news, and all the rest. I didn’t make jams or jellies because I didn’t have a stove in June and July. One result: rhubarb takes up much too much space in the freezer this year. I must find a way to use it up. Maybe in May. But anyway, no stove? No canning in early summer.

Later on I went under – not under the knife, but under a catheter. Part I: cerebral angiogram to determine the size of the aneurysm. The nurse wore Crocs with the Swedish Chef on them. How awesome is that? But I digress.

You can guess what followed – an overnight in the hospital after a three hour surgery to line the aneurysm so it will not get bigger. I had this done on a Thursday, and then headed off to school meetings the following Monday. And yes, I was tired.

But back to canning. In between the two events, I managed to can a batch of sweet bread and butter pickles and a batch of kinda-meh dill pickles. I put up one batch of tomato sauce – only one batch, and it shows. We opened a jar of store-bought tomato sauce last night. I used commercially canned tomatoes last time I made chili. All the homemade ketchup, the last jar of enchilada sauce – it’s all gone.

I’m a little sad looking at all the empty spots on the shelves that usually overflow with the goodies from the garden and the farmers’ market. Next June, I’m going to start canning like crazy. Canning like crazy and loving it, too!

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A New Year, and New Advice

Dear Congresswoman Ocasio-Cortez; Hire a researcher. Consult this researcher before you make a public statement. No matter how sincere, if your announcement makes you seem uninformed, you will take unnecessary heat for it. -From one on your side, Daisy Democrat.

Dear Hillary; You remain my idol. Your interview with Christiane Amanpour once again reinforced your intelligence and grace. Those who follow may or may not recognize your contributions, but I know you blazed trails and opened doors for many. Thank you for your dedication to our country. -Democrat Daisy

Dear Green Bay Packers Administration (Mark Murphy et al); Please choose wisely. That’s all. –Another shareholder

Dear Pharmacy that Shall not be Named; You really turned around. The customer service and accuracy have come miles in a few years. Just in time for the higher-ups to sell you out to Kroger, too. Sigh. Thanks for the assistance, the flu shots, and the attention to details. –Always pursuing wellness, Daisy

Dear Governor-elect Evers; we’ve got your back. Do what you need to do. Sincerely, the state’s teachers.

Dear Dr. Footwork; Thanks for the help. And thanks for the laser treatment. And please keep on pushing the insurance companies to cover laser treatment, too. Sincerely, Hopalong Daisy.

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