Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Home Work
We are down to just a couple of days before the moving van shows up at our door to load up all of our possessions. That means I am finally getting around to the remaining items that need attention around here. I think it would have been prudent to get more things done by now than I did. Suddenly, it feels like there is too much to do, and not enough time to do it. Sound like a familiar predicament?
I’m discovering how long it takes to shred documents. It takes longer than I considered. The shredded remains also take up more space than I anticipated.
Luckily, we do have a place to store some of the miscellaneous things we aren’t set on keeping, but haven’t yet properly distributed, so the movers don’t need to haul the stuff all the way to Wisconsin.
Since I decided to claim the entirety of the coming week from the day-job, I should have the hours available today to accomplish the bare minimum required to have us ready for Tuesday. However, I expect it will be a rather long day.
I may prefer to have stayed at the day-job. It will probably be less work.
Midnight Drama
It was 1:30 in the morning, and our phone was ringing. It was on Cyndie’s side of the bed, and she wasn’t moving. I jumped out of bed and headed around to get it, then she popped up and grabbed it.
“It’s Trans-Alarm.” she says, after looking at the caller ID displayed.
My response was, “Dammit.” I didn’t realize Cyndie had already pushed the ‘Talk’ button when I uttered it, and the gentleman on the other end of the line seemed extra-apologetic, so I’m guessing he heard my exclamation.
“Alarms on the perimeter doors and internal zones have been triggered. Police have been dispatched. Can you meet them there with a key?”
I am second in line to receive calls from the security company when my workplace alarms trigger. If the owner is unavailable, or he simply doesn’t pick up, they move on to my cell and home numbers.
It has been a tough month. A week or so ago, we were awoken two nights in a row by an indoor motion sensor alarm call. The message from the alarm company this time was different, and I knew the owner was out-of-town.
“Yes, I can be there in about 15 minutes.” He asked me what make and model car I would be driving. Geesh, was I at risk of getting hit by friendly fire? Cyndie offered to come along, and questioned how I would get the place re-secured if doors or windows had been broken. It is interesting how fast your mind paints a picture of wild possibilities when a phone call interrupts your slumber in the middle of the night, and involves the word, “police.”
I hustled to get dressed, and pushed my little Subaru around corners with purpose. As I closed in on the location of our building, I took a couple cleansing breaths to prepare myself for a calm and controlled conversation with the officers on scene.
I turned into the parking area on the front of our building, and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, continued around to the back, where I saw… absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. I went through a variety of intellectual and emotional responses, essentially boiling down to: “It figures.”
I drove all the way around and parked at the front door. I got out of my car, paused to contemplate my life, the universe, and everything, and then called the alarm company.
I asked them about the police: “Maybe they have been there and gone. I can connect you to them.” I hemmed and hawed a bit, asking whether I should go in and check, or what options or advice our alarm company might suggest. Of course, she wasn’t going to suggest anything. It was up to me whether I want to go in or not. She was more than happy to get the police on the line for me.
What the heck, I needed to talk to them anyway.
“911 emergency…” I guess I expected she was going to connect me to a person who had a clue what I was calling about, but, no, this was like a cold-call to the 911 dispatcher. I explain that I had arrived at the building to meet the officer(s) who responded to our alarm call.
“We have no calls to respond to that address.” Did I say, ‘it figures’ earlier? Now I was feeling like the brunt of some practical joke. A half an hour ago, I was warm and snug in my bed, soundly enjoying a good night’s sleep. That was a far cry from standing outside my workplace in the blustery chill of the middle-of-the-night darkness, wondering if I dare open the door, or not.
I asked the dispatcher if I should go in. That had to be entirely up to me. She offered to send a squad car. At this point, it just didn’t seem worth it. I told her I would take a look myself, and if I found anything, or needed help, I would call 911.
I pulled on the outer door to find it securely locked. I opened that and stepped up to our front door, peeking in to see if the alarm was flashing red alert, or anything else. I couldn’t see a thing. I unlocked that door and pulled it open to find the display completely blank. Hmm. I flipped the light switch. Nothing.
Power was out. That’s all it was. Or was it? There goes the mind again, racing to all manner of possibility. Ultimately, I think that is all it was. We’ll find out on Monday. I double-checked to ensure all the perimeter doors were secure, called the alarm company back, asked why they couldn’t have detected it was a power failure incident, and reported that everything appeared in order. I went home and tried to get a half-night’s sleep.
That universe sure has some sense of humor.
Lessons Learned
We are learning some unpleasant lessons by way of Cyndie’s falling prey to the malicious marauders soiling the online communication world. The full extent of their devious intrusion is yet to be determined, but, like so many violations of our trust, it is the psychological damage that probably takes the greatest toll.
Finally, last night, I discovered that filters had been created on her account, which were routing some messages around her inbox, so she would never even see them, and deleting them. There were a curious select few, which created the question of whether it was random or with some evil intent.
One address being filtered seemed to be understandable. It was the friend who, prior to Cyndie, had likely fallen for the same trap. Thus any subsequent communication attempts from the previous victim, like maybe to alert Cyndie, would go unseen and be deleted.
I have learned a lot more about Google’s email features and how to quickly see information on my account, like, if there is any other activity, and if it is from a location other than my own. Conveniently, there is a button there to immediately log out all other sessions.
Now I know exactly where the “Report Phishing” link is, in case I do receive any suspicious messages.
I don’t know why the thug(s) took the step of deleting all of Cyndie’s contacts. Google offers a simple button click to restore contacts within the last 30 days. There also seems to be an odd number of emails missing. It is difficult for Cyndie to be sure, since there appear to be some visible, but certain specific messages she is looking for do not show up in a search.
While scouring everything I could find, related to being hacked, I stumbled upon the place to request Google to search for lost messages. Overnight, they obviously restored quite a few, but there are still specific messages missing. Their report indicates that if it doesn’t show up after the restore, it is not retrievable. I have no understanding of what step differentiates deleted messages from ones Google can retrieve, from those which even Google is unable to restore.
There is plenty I don’t understand about all this, but I have recently learned a lot more than I knew before.
Unexpected Complications
Some things go right, some things go wrong. We have got a lot going on at the moment, and amidst all that is going on, two things you never welcome in the best of times, have picked this most complicated time for us, to appear in our lives. Hospitalization and email hacking.
Cyndie is busy trying to manage the last critical steps of getting our lives packed for the move, and suddenly one of her relatives is unexpectedly needing hospitalization. Cyndie is repeatedly being called upon to fulfill her role as guardian and advocate. In the middle of dealing with that, yesterday, her email account was hacked, and who knows what personal information compromised.
It is getting difficult to discern which way is up around here.
In addition to all of that, Cyndie has also agreed to take on new employment, and will start as soon as we get to our new home. There isn’t much in the way of spare time showing up for her. I’m thinking it sounds a lot like her last year in Boston. Maybe that experience was a training run for the challenges she finds herself facing now. As stressful as it all is, she seems equipped to deal with it. Still, that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant.
We did have one thing go right yesterday, which Cyndie deserves credit for. Wednesday afternoon, we had packed the back of my car with all of the 25-plus years accumulation of household hazardous waste we uncovered in the basement and garage. My plan was to multitask and take advantage of the Wednesday evening hours at the County drop-off site. That plan failed as our first task of the evening ran us past the closing time.
Cyndie then volunteered to drive it over during the daytime on Thursday, while I was at work. I had warned her that they might not accept everything, as we had neglected to do any research and just put it all in the car. I discovered that we exceeded our allotment of a year’s-worth of allowable 5-gallon cans. Somehow, she worked her magic and convinced the staff on hand to take every last item out of the car for her and sent her on her way, free and clear.
That is a major item off our to-do list.
.
…All of you can add this little tidbit to your “do-not-ever-do” lists: Never, ever fall for the phishing trick where you click a link in an email because it appears to have come from someone you know well, and it requires you to log into your email account to see what they sent you. **IT IS A TRICK!** Plain and simple, don’t ever fall for a request to enter your account name, email address, or user name, and a password, when it is inside an email, or the result of a link in an email you receive. Resist the urge. Just don’t do it.
Trash Talk
Today is trash pickup day for us. Trash day becomes a monumental occasion when you are in the process of clearing out 25-years worth of accumulation from a home.
A year ago, when Cyndie moved to Boston, I called our trash company and asked that our service be reduced to the smallest bin they offered. They seemed reluctant to drop down to that size for a house in our neighborhood, but I reported there would be only 1 person living in the home, and they gave in.
Most weeks, I was unable to fill even one bag. It was embarrassing carrying this half-filled bag out to drop in the tiny bin. It was hardly worth the walk to roll it to the end of the driveway. I bet the pickup arm of the truck didn’t even register any weight when it hoisted it.
Now we find ourselves wrestling to put 10-pounds of trash into a 5-pound bin. It is comical, the amount of stuff we have been trying to force into that teeny, tiny bucket. Last week I was having difficulty rolling it to the end of the drive, because it was so top-heavy it had become tippy. We had more crap in bags stacked above the rim, than we did underneath it.
After the effort to process everything in the garage last weekend, it became no contest on trying to use the mini-bin. We called our trash hauling service and reported our predicament. They were very accommodating, …for a fee. We received authorization to pile extra bags beside the bin today.
Yesterday we got an extra refrigerator removed from the basement and sent off to a new home. All the hazardous waste was loaded into the car for a trip to the Hennepin County drop-off facility. Somebody picked up 3 boxes of stuff I had posted as give-away on craigslist.
The progress thus far is laudable. I believe we are in reach of actually being ready by the time the moving van arrives next Tuesday. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean we get to rest between then and now. We still have a LOT of work to do. But, it is a reasonable amount of “lot.”
Worth It
It occurred to me yesterday that our new living environment will be one which is surrounded by wood-paneled walls. I have been in a house with painted drywall for 25-years.
We did not set out to find a log home. It was quite a surprise to discover the property listing which most appealed to us included a home that looked like our “cabin” at the lake. Bonus! I think the new environment will do wonders for my state of mind, even though I haven’t particularly noticed a problem. It just feels like an improvement to me.
Add to that, the fact that I won’t look out the window and see the side of my neighbor’s garage, but instead, a forest of trees, and I will be experiencing a double-dose of state-of-mind improvements.
But it doesn’t end there. I will be able to step outside and not hear the sounds of auto traffic. That’s a luxury we don’t even enjoy at the lake.
On the way home from the day-job yesterday, I contemplated the duration of my current commute, and imagined how different a frame of mind I will have when that section of the drive becomes just a fraction of the total trip. Already, both Cyndie and I have recognized a shift in our perception of what constitutes a long duration of travel.
Having the destination be such a dream-come-true, does wonders for the amount of driving we find ourselves willing to consider accepting.
Getting Closer
The reality of my situation is, I have only 1 weekend left to finish packing. Since we were off gallivanting around the countryside this past Saturday, I was left with only Sunday, to tackle something significant. I chose the garage. Next weekend, it will be the remaining portion of the basement that gets my full attention.
I’m feeling okay with the progress in the garage, but I didn’t quite complete the task of getting it ready for movers to just pick things up and load. What I did accomplish was, getting my hands, at least once, on everything stored along the walls, or on a shelf. Some things made it no further than to a pile on the floor, but at least they are accounted for and are now moved from where they were previously stored. I still need to bind handles together, and otherwise wrap things for maximum carrying efficiency.
While going through drawers in a cabinet at the back of our garage, I discovered one of my stashes of zip-lock bags. Then I found another stash, and then another. I seem to be a hoarder of zip-lock bags! At the day-job, there are a wide array of sizes of heavy-duty bags that I hang on to for general storage, or for camping and bike trips, and even for moving! Just last week, I brought home a new pile of really good bags, thinking I could use them to dump all the things that have collected in my top dresser drawer.
Obviously, I had lost track of the fact that I already have bags upon bags stored up for just such an occasion. Maybe I should let Cyndie in on the whereabouts of my zip-lock bag stashes, so she can actually put them to use, instead of my just storing them indefinitely.
Let me take this opportunity to say that for every one thing I pack, Cyndie is doing tens of things. She helped me in the garage some on Sunday, and then scoured the yard to claim every last item we had outside that wasn’t a permanent fixture. She drained and coiled all our hoses, which I particularly appreciate.
Every day, she is packing more things than I even knew existed in our home, while I am stuck toiling away at the day-job. Meanwhile, she is managing the communications and documents involved with our closings.
Yesterday, I watched a handful of emails that she copied me on, as she continued to carry out the navigation of demands from agencies trying to get everything they need for our two closings in one day. I am at a loss as to who is who, what documents need to be prepared, and in what order.
The closer we get to the big day of name signing, the more I realize that I couldn’t have accomplished this without her.
Fascinating Stuff
In the process of packing up two-and-a-half decades of accumulation around our house, Cyndie has uncovered reams of precious records that document our children’s young lives. Fascinating stuff, all of it. She has an excellent ability to quickly browse through mounds of documents, which is a good thing, since she is so good at saving mounds of documents. I’m a bit more clumsy in my review. Progress would slow to a crawl if it were left for me to sort through it all.
We are at that point when it is time to choose whether to continue to save, or to finally discard. It has me wondering about the ultimate value of keeping pieces of ourselves from the past. It is a bit of a conundrum for someone with an interest in genealogy. In generations to come, such records will offer valuable insight to any descendents engaged in research of their ancestry.
Reading some of the things our children wrote for school assignments also has me thinking about what it must be like for teachers who process hundreds of kid’s thoughts, year after year. A saintly act. I have the benefit of knowing how the kids turned out, so the drama and angst of the young, developing minds is somewhat muted. I can’t imagine having to read the writings of vast numbers of frustrated students, in real-time, that teachers annually face.
The papers I found myself reading may have been assignments to practice writing, or demonstrate grammar, and seemed to capture a snapshot of a young person’s developing mind. When I read what our children wrote, I became aware of how far they have come since that time. These childhood writings no longer applied to them. It felt almost unfair to their present adult selves, to be reading what they thought back then. I say ‘almost,’ as in, not entirely. Part of me, certainly, as a parent, thoroughly enjoys the experience of witnessing the range of growth they have achieved.
If Cyndie hadn’t saved it, I wouldn’t have been given this chance.
So, do we continue saving it?
I’m torn. A large part of me is of a mind to leave all that behind and focus on living in the current moment. Most likely, if our kids don’t choose to hang on to any of it, we will pare it down to a fraction of the total, and preserve just a few pieces. A compromise, to appease the sentimental parent in both of us. However, I sense doing so would just be delaying the inevitable moment when we have reason to purge accumulation again sometime in the future.
It will be fine with me if we never have to pack for a move like this again!
Regional Exploration
Yesterday, we drove to visit our property with 4 friends, and then explore an art tour in the region. While walking around our property, we witnessed our first snowflakes in the air. Here’s hoping for many more!
The precious people selling the place were in the final stages of packing and moving out. The timing of our visit was perfect, because we were able to offer assistance in carrying a large television and its base down from the loft for them. Made our umpteenth visit feel less like an intrusion, being able to contribute our labor.
After showing our new property to our friends, we set off on a drive to check out nearby establishments, and then the art on display in towns along the Mississippi River. First stop was the Mecca of cheese curds, the Ellsworth Cooperative Creamery, then a neighborhood pub in Beldenville, Clyde’s Corner. An order of deep-fried cheese curds was consumed there with liquid refreshments. We were welcomed to the community.
We drove the Great River Road to linger in Maiden Rock, Stockholm, & Pepin, eventually making it all the way to Nelson. We stopped for a light lunch at the Nelson Cheese and Creamery. Notice a theme here? This spot in Nelson is no longer functioning as a creamery, but has been renovated to be an attractively popular destination.
I brought my camera along on the expedition, but I ended up taking only 1 picture. The Men’s room in the Nelson Creamery. Specifically, the mirror over the sink in the Men’s room. Perfectly suited for the target audience, don’t you think?
Embracing Mystery
I am comfortable embracing mysteries of the universe. In my view, it is not my purpose in this life to solve them.
What makes me uncomfortable, is trying to imagine how we could possibly get our new place ready fast enough to accept all the horses being offered to us as gifts. We are already up to 7. Yep. Count ’em. Seven. That is not including the one that begged Cyndie to take him home with her from the barn where she has been taking dressage lessons. He had a price tag that disqualifies him from the list of gift offers.
I can honestly say that a year ago, in my wildest dreams, I did not imagine the universe presenting the scenario that I find myself living today.
I kinda like not understanding it all.
