Bergadian

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

The Sewing Box Saga

When I was in my teens, many years ago, Mother bought herself a new sewing box, and one for me. A pink plastic box, with louvered shelves. I kept mine for nearly 50 years and it went with me during countless moves. About a year ago it started falling to pieces - first one, then another of the hinges broke. So I decided it was time to send it to the big sewing box in the sky, and bought a small plastic tool box to use in its place. The original sewing box came with a little leather needle folder, which is still in one piece - can't remember if the box came with anything else.

Anyhow, the first visit my twin made after she had moved to the United States, she brought for me a load of reels of sewing thread in every colour imaginable. Why? Well, in one of the stores where she lived there was a special offer - a dozen reels for one dollar. I think she got maybe two dozen for me, which included 3 or 4 black, and the same white. In all the years since then, I am down to just 2 black and 2 white, and even though some of the others are getting rather low in thread, I still have the others with years of thread left. More than enough to last for another lifetime, and I've never had to buy any sewing thread since.

Not that I make clothes any more, haven't for years, but I always made my own curtains, and even fitted covers for furniture. In any case, my daughter made off with my sewing machine a few years ago, but no way would I part with my sewing box. I don't think my daughter ever sewed but she wanted my machine, and I haven't a clue what she did with it. Funny things, habits. If I have to throw out clothes that are not good enough to pass on, I always remove the buttons and zips, and keep them. Some times when I've bought a blouse or something which has buttons I don't like, I'll buy a pack of nice buttons. Usually the pack has more than I need, so the spare ones go in my button box with all the other buttons.

Sewing thread, buttons, zips, packs of needles, packs of elastic in various widths (black and white), various sizes of press studs and hooks and eyes, who knows when I might need them, but when I do, it's nice to know that I have them. I might not be able to do much these days, but can and still sew on a button, replace a zip, and repair hems and minor tears.

Old habits never die.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

How to ignore things and keep sane at the same time.

Well, any suggestions people? It started with Google, who decided to change their format, and stated that I had to log-in to search anything. And then informed me that my e-mail address did NOT exist. Tried to put in a new application. Same response. So I gave in, and sent e-mails to all the addys of all the whatevers on Google. From my e-mail addy, which they kept telling me didn't exist.

Guess what, they e-mailed me back, AT THE E-MAIL ADDRESS THEY SAID DIDN'T EXIST.

Duh?

Took them a couple of hours to see sense, and finally all was OK. And, best of all, they have reverted to their previous format, or whatever it is called. But it not only took me hours to get that sorted out, but also meant that the Group I have been a member of for the last few weeks, thought I was no longer a member "because Google told them I didn't exist".

Eventually got that sorted out, without too much trouble. The one good thing that came out of it was that I'm now able to IM with people in the Group,if wanted and agreed, as well as our usual postings on the site. Trouble is that I ended up yesterday evening IM chatting to the Moderator of our Group who, living 8 hours before time here, doesn't get on line until evening. Yet another evening missing my regular stupid TV programmes.

Then, this morning, had a bit of a yell at the Company who deliver the large bottles of mineral water for my water machine. It rarely happens, but today was one of those times. The delivery guy didn't turn up at the agreed time. Waited an hour. Then another hour. And then phoned. Usual response - sorry, he's on Miluim and the the replacement driver is running a bit late............

How come, on the maybe once a year I have to call the water Company with problems, I always get the same response? It isn't the same driver - they tend to change days, times, and drivers every so ofter, but whatever day, whatever time, whichever driver, if something goes wrong, it is ALWAYS "sorry, he's on Miluim".

Sunday, April 17, 2005

The Little White Plastic Thingy

I have three proper toolboxes. A large one for large things. A medium on for things too small to go in the big one but seem to need a box of their own. And a small one for - guess what - small things. I also have a special box with compartments for all sizes of nails, screws, hooks, etc. Why? Well, who knows when I might need a nail for this, a tack for that, a srew here, one there - etc.

But I have a habit of finding little things around the house, so put them all in a container until I either find out what they are for, or give up and chuck them out. At which point I then discover what there were for and I should have kept them. Typical.

Some months ago I found a small, white, plastic thingy. Hadn't a clue what it was from or what it was, or why it was on my kitchen floot. Forward wind a couple of months and I realised that it actually belonged to one of the plastic bulldog-type magnet clips on my fridge door. Went to fish it out of the odds and sods container - and it wasn't there. Except I KNOW I put it there.

Forward wind until yesterday, when I put a foot on my bedroom floor carpet during the long process of getting out of bed and into my wheelchair. Ouch, that hurt. No guesses as to what it was. The little white plastic thingy. Only one question. How did it get from a fairly deep container in one room, onto my bedroom rug?

Only one answer. Those diabolical mice had been it again.

Again? I also found the button that had fallen off my housecoat, and couldn't find anywhere. Where did I find it? Well, Small Dog did her usual "I see a mouse and I'm going to chase it" and as the mouse disappeared behind the rubbish bin in the kitchen lo and behold IT DROPPED THE BUTTON!

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

VITAMINS and all that JAZZ

I can't remember exactly when, but my (then) doctor suggested that "elderly" people really should think about taking a multi-vitamin/mineral supplement. Elderly? To hell with what my birth certificate says, as far as I am concerned I am only 29. Again. But, as I didn't want to offend him, I checked the local drug stores and looked into the numerous multi-vits available. Being rather confused by the multitude of the miriads of makes, and prices, I asked the pharmacist for a bit of advice.

Oh well, she said, this is the one that everyone buys. Oh yeah? So I asked what was the difference. Nothing. They are all the same, but most people think that the more expensive, the better it must be. But they are all the same. You pay your money, you get what you want. Better or not, they are all the same.

Out with my magnifying glass to check what was in everything and in what quantity. And realised that they ALL had the same things, in the same quantities. And guess what, the one that cost the least, has exactly the same as the one other people feel that they need to spend nearly four times as much on. Unfortunately, when I went to buy a second bottle of the least expensive vits, there weren't any. Luckily, the bottle I had first bought had the telephone number of the importers/supplier. So I phoned them. Well, wouldn't you?

Ever since then I have never bought any multivits, or any additional supplements that my current doctor recomments, from anywhere but directly by phone from the lovely people in the Health Food Store who were so nice when I first called them. I've never met them, never seen their store - I know they have a big warehouse and supply a lot of other Health Food stores with the products they import. I also know that there have a lot of private customers who, like me, only buy from them via phone calls. And for those of us who do, we get a special discount, which can be as much as 50% of their shelf prices. Not only that, but because they keep computer records on their regular phone customers and what we buy, whenever they have extra special offers, as soon as I phone they know exactly what I want and what special offers they have on my needs.

I'm not really lazy, but isn't it nice to be able to just pick up the phone and know that what is wanted will be here the following day.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

GUESS WHO IS NOW ON A DIET

With three months to go before Small Dog's yearly check-up, I was already dreading what her Vet would say when she got on the scales to be weighed. Not that she eats much - in fact she eats very little for her size, and definitely no "I want some of your food" when I eat. She learned early on that my food is MY food. However, two years ago her weight had gone up 700 grammes from the previous year and did I get told off. No doubt it was because she doesn't get enough exercise, although no way was she fat. Not even tubby, and her spine and ribs were easily felt. Last year her weight was down by 400 grammes, to a reasonable 7 kilos, which is fine.

But, at 7 years old now, I know that she really shouldn't get any heavier. The only problem is that I can't weigh her. Sure - get on the bathroom scales and weigh myself and then pick her up and weigh both of us - deduct one from the other, but the only problem is that I can't see the stupid scales to read what weight they register. And I did have the feeling that she was getting a bit heavier.

So, the last time I phoned Yehuda to bring some food for her, I asked if he had any diet food. Not geriatric food - just diet food. Dry food, as that is what she has always had. That was about three weeks ago, and guess what, Lexie loves the stuff. She does't even demand the previously usual teaspoon of chicken soup on it, and in fact is satisfied with even less than the small amount she used to need.

Has she lost weight? I'm pretty sure she has. She certainly feels a bit lighter, and is as bouncy as ever. I still can't pick her up, but then with my lousy arms I can't pick much up, but when she takes a flying leap onto my lap at least it doesn't make me yelp as much as it used to. Mind you, she still insists on taking up most of the bed, and is difficult to shift when I politely request her to move so that I can get up!

Oh Lexie, love of my life, what wouldn't I do for you?

Friday, April 08, 2005

Oh how I hate to get up in the morning

Not always, but sometimes I really want to stay in bed for just another minute. Or two. Or three. Small Dog is quite happy to wait until I finally surface, unless something outside convinvces her that she should rush into the salon, leap onto the chair by the window, and make her feelings well and truly heard. At which point I either have to call her and ask her to please be quiet, or just get up. As most of the television programmes that I really want to watch are on late in the evenings, I frequently don't get to bed until quite late.

What a change from when I was able to work. Then, I had to get up at 4.30am to catch the first of the six buses everyday - three in the morning, three after I finished work, and frequently didn't get home until it was almost time to go to bed. No time to watch TV. In fact no time to do anything. Needless to say, Small Dog wasn't around then, in fact I never even contemplated having a four-legged companion.

Maybe I'm just being lazy, but bad nights are sometimes only too frequent, so a good night is something to be treasured. The only problem is my "little sister" next door. If she doesn't see my bedroom shutters open by what she thinks is a reasonable hour, she phones to make sure I'm ok. When I first moved into this house, nearly four and a half years ago, it took me ages to convince her that if she doesn't see that I'm up at what is, to her, a "normal" time, not to worry. As long as it's no later than 10am. Usually I am up well before then, but the other day Lexie and I didn't surface until nearly 10.30am and I think poor Malka was on the point of getting someone to break my front door open!

Well, it wasn't my fault that all the phone lines were down and she couldn't call me was it? Ah, but isn't it nice to know that people care.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

TWO STEPS FORWARD, ONE STEP BACK,

Just when it seems that I have finally sorted out various problems, something else turns up. One thing goes wrong. Get it fixed. And then something else decides to hit me. However, being a stubborn person I refuse to give in. If it doesn't work the first time, I try to do it again. And again. And yet again. It really does at times seem as if for every step forward I end up on the floor!

It's been a funny old day. Small Dog managed to get herself tangled up having squeezed into a corner that she couldn't get out of, and ended up with me having to drag her out backwards by her tail. Luckily she has a very good nature, and apart from a couple of yelps, she forgave me and jumped on my lap for a cuddle. Mind you, by the time she was untangled, I wasn't just on the floor, but was flat on my back. As we were both on the patio outside at the time, when she jumped on my lap it was extremely difficult for us both to get up! Luckily no-one was walking past at the time.

Most of the time it takes a lot to annoy or frustrate me, but when something does - I do tend to blow my top. Not often, and only for a few minutes, but I just can't stand stupidity, inefficiancy, and sheer disregard for peoples' feelings and/or destruction of peoples property. Just as I dislike the fact that too many people don't seem to know the words "please" and "thank you". Maybe that's because that was the way that I grew up and the way I taught my children.

One thing that is really a nuisance is the fact that one of the local Banks (not my Bank) just doesn't seem to realize that my fax line, which is on a separate phone line and not the line used for regular phone calls, isn't the fax number for some of their customers. I have phoned them numerous times but still get faxes from them that aren't for me. Each time I tell them they seem to listen, but at least once a week they send faxes to my fax line that isn't for me. I don't blow my top, but after the latest one I informed them that in future I had no intention of telling them that they had made a mistake yet again. Their response? It won't happen again. Oh yeah? I'll believe it when I see (or rather don't) it. But I can't help feeling sorry for the people who are supposed to get the faxes and are no doubt STILL waiting for them, while their Bank keep re-sending the faxes to me. I used to send the faxes back to the Bank, saying "this is not for me", but I just tear them up now. The faxes, I mean.

My regular phone line is unregistered. My fax line is, for the simple reason that I don't see why I should pay for it to be unregistered. Now I keep the ringer on my fax machine permanently off. Not because of the Bank, but someone kept calling me on that number every morning at a time when I am still in bed. It rang twice before the fax machine took over, but still disturbed me. The phone company promised to do a trace on that line and stop the nuisance calls. Maybe they have. Maybe they haven't but at least with the ringer off I'm not disturbed any more.

Still, wouldn't life be boring if there was nothing to complain about!

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

IS IT ME or am I just being paranoic

On second thoughts, paranoia isn't really my thing. The fact that the bin men always chuck my wheelie bin wherever they feel like it - sometimes half way down my ramp/path, and sometimes on its' side down the steep slope of my front yard, shouldn't really be that surprising. They do it to everyone. Maybe not to such a degree, as my house IS set quite low down from the pavement, and my ramp is the only one around, but those bin men just can't be bothered to think. What on earth do they think a ramp is for? If the bin isn't half way down the ramp, it blocks the top of it.

They know what the ramp is for - I've told them time after time. They know that I am disabled and that the ramp is for my wheelchair and/or my electric vehicles. The little one, Tonto, and the big one, Bronco. I supposeI should count myself lucky in that the bin men do turn up twice a week, as they should do, even though at times they turn up at 3am and wake me up, instead of their usual time of about 9am.

I'm just a bit p'd off because my wheelie bin is MY wheelie bin. Until a few months ago I used to share a bin with my neighbour, bins only being supplied by the local authority to one "plot" however many houses are actually on that bit of land. My neighbour and I both live at #7, even though we live in separate houses. Being a bit fed up of our shared bin not being convenient for me, I bought my own bin from the local authority. So it is MY bin, and it SHOULD be where I want it.

Oh well, at least it isn't always too full of other peoples' garbage for me to put mine in. But why, oh why, can't the bin men respect it?