B.o.B

The song of the day is 2010's Don't Let Me Fall by rapper, singer, and songwriter B.o.B (Bobby Ray Simmons, Jr.). Some scenes were filmed at Red Rocks Park and Amphitheatre.

Choices

I study Spanish every day. I use a website called Duolingo. They have "leagues" for their users, depending on how smart the user is and how quickly he learns the new language. The leagues have names like gold and silver and diamond, etc. I'm in the "screwdriver" league. I don't know what that means. Are they saying I'm a "tool" ... a slang word? Or are they saying I'm a vodka and orange juice? I never drank vodka and orange juice in my drinking days. Too fruity. But I enjoyed vodka martinis—vodka and dry vermouth. I loved dirty martinis with three or four large stuffed olives. To be fair, I liked gin martinis, too.

Once I went into a Chinese restaurant and ordered a gin and tonic. The waitress brought me what looked like a gin and tonic. I sipped it and I thought, "Wow, this drink is strong!" I sipped it again and I thought, "This drink is very strong!" I called the owner to my table. She was a Chinese woman that I, as a regular customer, knew well. I told her the drink was overly strong. After a short discussion with her, I realized she had put only gin and ice into the glass. It may have been an alcoholic's delight, but no thanks.

By the way, today's slang word of the day is vaxhole. "What is a vaxhole?" you ask. A vaxhole is someone who goes around bragging about being fully vaccinated from the Covid-19 virus. The things you can learn from the Internet! I've had my first vaccination. I suppose that makes me a vaxhalf. 

The daytime temperatures are rising. Today was 84°F in central Virginia. The weeds in my yard are growing out of control. But were it not for weeds, my yard would not be green at all, so I shouldn't complain too much. When hot weather arrives, the grass will sprout and the weeds will die. Mostly.

It's nearly midnight. By the time I click the Publish button, a new day will be here. I have lots of chores to do before my guests arrive in ten days. I should do the dishes tonight. But ... you know the saying, "Why do today what can be put off until tomorrow?" I've lived by those words. They should be carved into my tombstone, were I to have such an outdated contrivance placed upon my final resting place. 

I'd like to get a good night's sleep but it's after midnight and I'm not sleepy at all. What I need now is three or four vodka martinis. But ... sigh. I can't do that. I've done my riding with that particular devil, and I knew when it was time to end the ride. I won't go back. My future is in front of me, not behind me. I know where I've been, and I choose to be in a different place. Everyone has to choose at some time. Should I take this new path, or remain on the one I've been on? Choose wisely, people.

Happenings

I haven't blogged in a week. I had a few chores. These chores go back to when I had a new roof put on my house. That was in 2012, I think. Maybe 2013.

The new roof wasn't installed properly and it leaked when rain fell. That caused damage to my living and dining room ceilings and to the bathroom ceiling. Over the years since, I've called multiple roofers to come and stop the leak. Most of them failed completely. One or two of the roofers succeeded in stopping a leak, but other leaks remained.

At last it seemed like all the leaks had been stopped, so I called a friend who is a Jack-of-all-trades but is an expert at repairing walls and ceilings. We spent a week working on my damaged ceilings. I don't mean we spent 40 hours; we worked 2 or 3 hours a day. We would work until we reached a point where we couldn't continue until something dried (for example, joint compound, which can require multiple thin applications over several days if you want a good job).

There was one place in the bathroom, on a wall near the ceiling, that had rainwater damage but I wasn't certain when that damage occurred—before roof repairs or after—so I patched and painted it and crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

Today it rained and the roof above the bathroom leaked and caused damage to the outer wall of the bathroom. It also caused visible damage to the area on the ceiling that had the worst damage prior to the repair work. I could call a roofer, but I've already done that seven or eight times and the roof still leaks.

I also got a Covid-19 shot last Sunday. I had registered with the local and state health departments for a Covid shot but I hadn't heard back from either. Then a friend living in Costa Rica texted me that I could get a shot at my local CVS. I checked and sure enough, they were offering the Moderna vaccine. I signed up online and went to the store at the appointed time. I had to wait in line about 20 or 30 minutes, but the time passed quickly and I got the shot. They told me to wait in the store for 15 minutes. I thought, "Yeah, that'll happen," and I drove to Food Lion and bought a few items and then I drove home. On Monday, the next day, my arm was a little sore, but otherwise I've had no side effects. 

I've got a sink repair to do in the upstairs bathroom. The lavatory faucet leaks badly when the water is turned on. So that's waiting to be fixed. I will have two guests come April 6th, and one will be using the second floor bathroom. So time is growing short as I dawdle at writing blogs and watching YouTube videos. 

I watched the nightly news and saw the story about the Colorado grocery store shooting in which ten people were killed. I have a solution. That's right, I have a solution to the gun problem in America. Maybe it's not the best solution, but it's a solution, it's simple, and no one else appears to have thought of it. Maybe I'll write about it in my next blog article.

To-Do List

Have you had your Covid-19 shot yet?

If not, are you signed up for your shot?

If you're like me, you signed up weeks ago through your local or state health department and you've been waiting to hear something from them. But I've heard nothing. This morning, my Costa Rican friend texted me and told me that my local CVS is giving Covid-19 shots. So I went to their website and signed up. I'm getting shot #1 this Sunday. Shot #2 will be 28 days later. My local and state health departments have been silent, but a friend living in another country can tell me where to get my shot. I find something just a bit ironic in that fact.

Butch, a friend who lives a few houses down the street, has been stopping by every morning this week to make some repairs on my ceiling, which was damaged by rainwater after roofers installed a new roof. You read that right: I paid for a new roof and after it was installed there were leaks all over the house. Ceilings in the living room and dining room, a downstairs bedroom, and the downstairs bathroom were damaged and/or stained by leaking rainwater coming through the new roof. I had to get another roofer to repair the leaks, and after a few attempts I think he did repair them — at least, I haven't seen any leaks after he did the work, but the damage to the ceilings remained. I live alone and the ceiling damage didn't bother me, but my lady friend prompted me to have the damage repaired. So that job is almost finished. Butch has been coming by every morning to work and I've been trying to stay out of his way. I would like to help him, but we both know that were I to help him, the job would take twice as long.

It's almost 11AM and the temperature outside is 43°F. There will be two more rainy days and then a sunny weekend. Hopefully, the major repairs will be done by the end of the week. But not all the needed repairs will be done. Houses always need repairs. As soon as you finish one repair, another part of the house needs a repair. There is an old saying about owning a wooden boat, and it goes: "A boat is a hole in the water, surrounded by wood, into which one pours money." The same can be said of owning a house.

I have a to-do list, but it is growing faster than I can check off the to-do items. As Pete Seeger sang in the late 1970s, "My get up and go has got up and went." Ain't that the truth, Pete, ain't that the truth!

The song of the day is Get Up and Go by folk music singer and songwriter Pete Seeger.

Secret Blogger

I went to Walmart yesterday morning. I bought some items I needed, but soon the store began getting crowded, so I paid for my purchases and I went home. I stood in the register line about 15 or 20 minutes before I got to the register. The checkout registers were severely understaffed.

I returned to Walmart this morning to pick up a few items I didn't buy yesterday. I needed two coin cells for my Jeep's key fob. Coin cells are sold in the watch department. That department sells cheap watches, earrings, and other adornments. They sell coin cells for the watches. But there was no one in the watch department. There was no sales clerk. I wandered around for a few minutes, vainly hoping that a clerk would see me and come help me, but it was to no avail. They keep the coin cells locked up. I imagine they are a shoplifting magnet because they're a tad pricey.

I gave up on the coin cells and went looking for the men's wear department. I wanted to buy new jeans. I found the ladies' wear department with no problem. It was huge. I had trouble finding the smaller men's wear department, but I finally found it. I wanted to buy Wrangler jeans, but they didn't have my size. I ended up buying Rustler jeans, but my experience is Rustler is a little smaller than Wrangler for the same "stated size" on the tag. So I went to the fitting rooms to try on the pants, but the fitting rooms were "temporarily closed." 

So I wandered here and there in the store, picking up items I needed — when I could find them. With the help of a store clerk, I located the Swiffer pads.  If you're not familiar with Swiffer pads, they are pieces of fluffy paper that attach to a special mop head made by a company called Swiffer. There are lots of different Swiffer pads, too numerous to mention here, but check out this Walmart page, or just go to the Walmart website and search for "Swiffer pads." I wish I was selling Swiffer pads. The box I bought contained 52 sheets of fluffy paper for $11.97 plus tax.  

I went to the self-checkout and paid. I left the store and went straight to where I parked. I remembered where I parked because across the aisle from my parking space was an orange sign with the number 7 painted on it in white. It was a reserved parking spot for people who order online and go to the store to pick up their order. The sign was easy to find, but my Jeep was nowhere in sight. I wandered up and down the aisle looking for my Jeep but it wasn't there. I thought, "Who would steal a 26 year old Jeep?"

Finally, my brain clicked into gear and I recalled that the parking spot I remembered was where I parked yesterday morning. That triggered a memory of where I parked this morning, and I went straight to my Jeep. I drove home and put my groceries away. I tried on the Rustler jeans. They were too tight, even though I bought the same size I always wear. Size means little unless you buy the same brand. On the other hand, I have a pair of Wrangler jeans hanging over my bedroom door and their waist is five inches smaller than the size stated on the label. I measured the waist from button to buttonhole with a tape measure and yep, the waist is five inches too small. I've had them too long and don't have the receipt. Mental note: take 'em to Goodwill. 

I used to get exercise by walking around the neighborhood, but after a few hundred trips, that got to be very boring, so I quit getting exercise that way. I think my new exercise plan is a daily walk around the inside of the behemoth Walmart store while pushing a grocery cart. Walmart Security may wonder, who is this guy who comes in every day and pushes a cart around the store for an hour and leaves without buying anything? What's he up to? 

Some stores have a "secret shopper." Maybe I can be the local Walmart's secret blogger.

Immigrants

Farron Cousins, host of the Ring of Fire YouTube channel, recently commented on the poor taste shown by Fox news host Brian Kilmeade when he (Kilmeade) commented on the deaths of 13 people killed in the collison in California between a Ford Expedition and a gravel truck. The people killed had apparently just entered the U.S. illegally, and Kilmeade seemed to think this deadly event was therefore worthy of humor. If they had been been American citizens their deaths would have been a tragedy, but because they were undocumented immigrants, they got their "just desserts." That is the gist of what I can interpret from Kilmeade's remarks.

Cousins goes on to point out that we know nothing about the people who died. They may have been have been victims of human trafficking, for all we know. They may have been trying to join family already in the U.S. — in fact, some of them definitely were doing that. I don't know much about the victims of this crash, but I know a little bit about two of the victims.

This is Yesenia Magali Melendrez Cardona. She was born in Guatemala. She was 23 years old. She lived in a village ravaged by Covid-19 where there were no jobs and the streets were unsafe to walk at night. Yesenia was in her fourth year at the University of San Carlos — where she was studying to be a lawyer — when she and her mother decided to leave. The young woman was being harassed and threatened, according to her uncle, Rudy Dominguez. Her father lived in America and she was trying to reach him.

This is Yesenia and her mother Verlyn Cardona who was also in the Expeditiion and was knocked out by the collision. When she awakened, her daughter Yesinia was lying on her, dead. Verlyn suffered a severe blow to her head that caused a cerebral hemorrhage. She’s since been released from the hospital.

So we have a young woman who was in her fourth year of study to be a lawyer, trying to escape from a situation where her life was at risk every day. What would you do if you were in that same situation? Would you have the courage to risk your life for a better life?

Yet a certain Fox News host seems to think it's funny that these immigrants forfeited their lives trying to reach a land where they could breathe freely. I think mocking their deaths is disgusting, and I hope that before the end of his life, Kilmeade and those who think like him will find a little bit of compassion in their hearts for the plight of their fellow humans who made the unforgivable mistake of being born in a third-world country and of wanting to have a better life. After all, it's the same plight that drove his ancestors to these shores.

Lazy Day

After lunch I lay down and took a nap. This nap was a mighty nap. I lay down at 12:15 and got up at 4:45. 

I dreamed. Several times I awakened and looked at the clock beside my bed and I thought, "I must get up. I have things to do." And then I would return to sleep.

In truth, I had nothing to do that could not wait another day. I had intended to go to the grocery store, inasmuch as I am almost completely out of comestibles. But I consoled myself by telling said self that the store will be running a sale tomorrow, as it always does on Thursdays, and so it would be better to wait another day to buy food there.

So I slept and I dreamed. Even when I awakened for a brief dose of mental self-flagellation for being such a lazy dawdler, I still could not rouse myself to get up and get going. Every time I woke briefly, sleep would reclaim me a half minute later. And each time I slept, I dreamed. It was the same long dream, interrupted by short interludes of guilt over being lazy.

I dreamed I got on a motor scooter (a scooter, not a proper bike like a Harley or Scout) and an anonymous friend helped me load it for a trip to visit another friend, someone I know in "real life." We loaded the scooter with all kinds of junk I would never need. I guess there is some kind of message in that part of the dream. We even strapped my living room sofa onto the poor scooter, and off I went with all my stuff. 

After hours on the road I reached my friend's domicile. No sooner than I had unpacked than I realized that I had to pack up again and return home at once. Which I did, except I had lost something important, and spent a lot of time looking for it without luck. By now it was raining, and that mean a long ride at night with all my belongings being rained on. I think a good psychiatrist could probably have gotten enough material from this one dream to write a book. He may even have named some kind of disorder after me.

But I was able to rouse myself at 4:45. I walked from my dim bedroom to the sunny living room. The sun was low in the west so that rays of sunlight shone under the awnings and through the Venetian blinds to cast horizontal stripes of light onto the far wall. As I sit at my computer table, bright stripes of light illuminate one shoulder of my t-shirt. The light is dimming — sunset is inching closer.

I still have to squeeze in my daily Spanish lesson and do yesterday's homework. And I have to find something to eat for supper. I have a can of Brunswick stew, which is healthy except for the huge dose of sodium it will deliver. But then, nothing's perfect.