Things You Shouldn’t Have to Tell People

Yes, I know.  We tell people over and over, and yet . . . . they still don’t get it.  They think they’re just a bit smarter than the experts.  They have an edge when it comes to background and knowledge.  Like Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. and vaccines.  Sometimes, you can tell people and tell people, and they just don’t understand. The other night on the news, there was a video clip of a small child falling out of a moving car on a busy street.  How does that happen?  No car seat?  Seatbelts are optional?  Here’s a brief compendium of advice that, really, we shouldn’t have to enumerate, but we do.

Travelling abroad.  You are an American, and you’re hoping to travel abroad.  To answer your question, yes, the State Department issues warnings for places that Americans more than likely won’t be received hospitably.  Like Russia, even if you’re a women’s basketball player.  We don’t care how much you’re being paid to play there, if we have to have a prisoner exchange to get you back, you really should have stayed home.  Or you’re visiting the Korean peninsula and you make the thought-provoking choice to sneak across the border into the North.  A few years ago, there was a news item about a trio of American young men that liked climbing mountains.  They made the unfortunate choice to scale some slopes on the border of Iran.  Even more unfortunate was their capture by Iranian security forces.  Should we really have to have our dedicated folks in the State Department spending their time and energy trying to extract Americans from places where they should not have been in the first place?  Where common sense would tell us . .? Isn’t there a little voice in their head that says, GAZA – Don’t Go There?   And yet . . . . .

Medications and Medical Care.   I’m often amused by the commercial warning:  “Tell your doctor about all the medications you’re taking.”  Are people self-prescribing medications about which they know little?  Are people watching medication commercials and thinking, “I might have that.  I think I’ll try . . . .”   And yet, some must be doing that, and hence, the disclaimer.  Now, it may just be me, but I tend to rely on my doctor’s advice when it comes to my conditions and treatments.  I tell him what’s wrong, he does some testing, and then he recommends what I need to take.  A representative from a health care provider will call to advise me to get “regular check-ups”.  Or even better, they’re going to send me a packet of papers to fill out.  No, thank you. I check with my doctor every six months, or sooner if something untoward pops up.  Sadly, with cuts to health care premium subsidies, perhaps there will be many, millions in fact, that may not be able to do this.  And, while we’re on the subject, a round of applause and a shout out to all those folks who decided not to vaccinate themselves and their children.  The recent spikes in flu, measles and other cases of highly contagious diseases are directly attributable to your “dark web” sources and the power of misinformation.  Well done!

On the Road in Bad Weather.  Can someone tell me why, when the news crew is interviewing people driving snowplows, there are numerous drivers on the road, generally getting in the way?  There have been warnings from television anchors, meteorologists, civic leaders, all the way down to the casual observer like me looking out the window, telling these folks to stay home.  And yet. . . . . We had a doozy recently – almost two feet of snow and, before the crews had had a chance to clean out and clean up, my neighbors, who are delightful people and both in retirement, were out and about. We get regular messages from our property manager reminding folks to move their cars so that snow removal on roadways and driveways can be done.  And yet again, . . . . .  we see snow-covered cars in driveways while their owners complain on Facebook that their driveway was late being cleared. We see on the nightly news, pictures of highways in the Midwest, the Northeast, even lately in the South, where cars are off the road and into a ditch.  Large pileups.  Folks that figured driving their usual excessive speeds might be too much, so they cut it back to 60 mph on snow-covered highways in blinding white-out conditions.  Very sensible, people.  If you’d just stayed off the road, your car wouldn’t be headed to a crusher and your insurance company considering you an added risk.  

Please, Please, Please Take Down your Christmas Decorations. I was driving home from a medical appointment the other day, and as I drove through a largely residential area, there it was.  Waving to me.  I gigantic inflatable Santa.  My faithful readers know how I feel about outdoor inflatable decorations anyway. Yes, there should be 5,000% tariffs on them, along with severe fines for displaying them.  These are the visual equivalents of “disturbing the peace”.  I will concede that it’s nice to enjoy the holiday season, which now begins on Columbus Day weekend and completely overshadows Thanksgiving.  In the near future, every turkey will come with a red bow and sprig of holly.  For any of us sensible people, those of us displaying a wreath or two, perhaps a tasteful swag on the door, the joy of Christmas has run its course by the time we’re watching the Tournament of Roses Parade.  And the light displays too.  What’s with that waste of electricity?  At any number of houses I see, they are too lazy to take down the lights before and after, so you see strings of lights dangling from the rafters year-round.  Now, it seems, they’re even too lazy to turn them off.  So, I don’t want to hear anyone complaining about the high cost of energy.  If we shut off all the Christmas lights in March, we’d cut electric consumption in half. There’s a tradition in our house – if the tree and other festive trappings of the holiday aren’t down and packed away on New Year’s Day, somebody please call 911 because we’re probably dead.  

Dress Warmly in Winter.  Should we really have to say this?  At the grocery store the other day, a woman had her small child in a cart going across the parking lot to her car.  The child – maybe 18 months to 2 years, was in a t-shirt.  No hat, no mittens, no boots, just socks.  I gave her my look of stern disapproval, just short of my “band director” look, but beyond that, I couldn’t do much.  As my father used to say, “what she lacked in intelligence, she more than made up for in stupidity.”  For the record, might I suggest, and again, this goes without saying, shorts and t-shirts won’t keep you warm in a New England winter.  Snow and sneakers don’t really work well together, and sandals even less so.  

Every so often, we’ll read reports of someone that had to be rescued from a wilderness area, a mountain, or some other remote location.  They were hiking, and not prepared for the blizzard that was coming their way, that had been predicted for days.  So, while I shouldn’t have to tell people this, Mount Washington gets just a bit chilly, sometimes a little blustery, and gets the odd bit of snow and ice this time of year.  And there are so many other things we shouldn’t have to tell people.  If you’re getting older, have had three hip replacements and still live in your three-story house, it probably won’t end well for you.  If you’re feeling lousy, have a persistent cough and runny nose, don’t go out and share that joy with others.  Stay home and use a delivery service.  If you didn’t save any of your tax receipts or other documents, don’t expect the IRS to be sympathetic and understanding.  And finally, if you walk around with a constant frown or scowl on your face, don’t complain on social media about how unfriendly people have become. 

Warmest regards (and dress warmly) on a chilly day!

While We’re Land-grabbing . . . .

President Trump has made no secret of late that he’s looking to expand the borders of the United States. He’s identified several potential “targets”, and as he’s built his business empire on acquisitions of property, he must know what he’s doing.  His latest target is Greenland, which is apparently rich in natural resources and in a strategically important location.  But, let’s face it, it’s cold – most of it frozen.  How in the world can older Americans flock to a place like that, with few tropical amenities?  Has he never heard the term, “Snowbirds”? We’d assume as his primary residence is now Florida . . . From what I’ve seen, there isn’t a golf course in sight on Greenland.  No pools with swim-up bars.  Its waters are infested with icebergs, and we all know what happened to the Titanic.  Could this be a port of call for cruise ships?  I don’t see it myself.  I say, let the Danes keep it.  Not worth the trouble.

The Canadians too have overwhelmingly resisted joining the United States.  Apparently, the thought of becoming part of the United States of North America hasn’t quite the appeal Mr. Trump envisioned.  Canadians are sticking tenaciously to their sovereignty, along with “O, Canada” and the Maple Leaf.  I have to say, too, that the Canadian Parliament building is a beautiful, old-world edifice, but it does lack a grand ballroom.  Any renovations that Mr. Trump would make, including renaming it “Trump Castle” and converting it to a luxury hotel, would be seriously reduce its value.  That and the fact that Mr. Trump doesn’t speak French.  In fact, his English is barely passable, if his tweets are anything to go by.

Mr. Trump spoke early-on about bulldozing Gaza, relocating the Palestinians, and converting that into a resort area, as it has miles of lovely beaches on the Mediterranean. He dropped that plan when the world expressed a fair bit of outrage, particularly as the Palestinians have been there for thousands of years.  There is the question of where to relocate them.  There are a number of red states that we could make autonomous and give away, although that might meet with resistance from the locals.  

The recent “head-of-state snatch” from Venezuela, followed by Trump’s announcement that the “US would be running Venezuela” in the near future, suggests another option for a 51st state.  Dipping our toe into South American waters, as it were.  A major problem, though, is that ICE agents are deporting Venezuelans currently in the US back to their home country.  If it becomes ours, then where do we send them?  The other big issue, of course, is that, while a certain volume of drugs brought into the US may, or may not, be on those speedboats we’re blowing up in the Gulf of Mexico America, far more is coming through Mexico, assembled from chemicals made in China.  So, if we truly want to cut down on the importation of illegal, lethal drugs, we really should make a play for Mexico.  That’s quite a bit more difficult.  Mexicans are even more resistant to foreign takeover than Canadians.  We’d do well to remember how well Emperor Maximillian, an Austrian prince installed there, worked out in the 19th century.  Although, in fairness, I’d be willing to give them back Texas, if we added Ted Cruz and Governor Abbott into the deal. 

In a recent speech to the World Economic Forum, Mr. Trump awkwardly confused Iceland and Greenland.  True, they’re both ice-covered islands in the North Atlantic.  We also know that, from his first term, when Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico, he didn’t seem fully aware that PR is actually part of the United States.  Rather, he thinks it’s an island from which waitstaff and housekeepers come.  Oddly, geography isn’t his strong suit, which is puzzling for someone that has a global empire of often bankrupt resorts.  Perhaps he subconsciously is planning to take over Iceland as well, with its spectacular scenery, hot springs, and all.  Yes, I can just see Trump-Iceland becoming as popular as Trump-Gaza.  

America’s record of empire-building is spotty at best.  We acquired the Philippines, along with Puerto Rico and Guam, only to have to let them go to independence.  We had South Vietnam in the palm of our hands, only to let it slip away.  We installed the Shah in Iran, and that too didn’t work out too well for us.  Nor did Afghanistan.  In fact, the only real land acquisitions we’ve successfully made were the Louisiana Purchase and buying Alaska from Russia.  We could point to the hostile takeover of Hawaii too, where we deposed and imprisoned the Queen, but why quibble over details.  Conquest is conquest. If anyone is up to the task of recreating the great, worldwide empires of the past, a latter-day Napoleon Bonaparte, the very person to lead that charge is Donald J. Trump.  

So, if we’re to recommence adding territory to the United States, my firm recommendation is that we take over warmer lands that we seniors can enjoy.  Tahiti, for example, is isolated and probably unarmed.  It’s ripe for a takeover. Aruba and the Virgin Islands.  I’ve always wanted to go there, but don’t want to have to renew my passport.  We could buy Bermuda from, well, whoever owns it now.  In fact, anything in the Caribbean, or as it will henceforth be known, the Trumpibbean, flowing into the Gulf of Mexico America, is fair game.  Let’s make Jamaica and Cuba Great Again!  Let’s start printing up those new maps and atlases now, and get those hats and t-shirts into production. 

The Afterglow of the Holidays

Now that we’re well into the new year, having celebrated Christmas and New Year’s, watching “Muppet Christmas Carol”, “Holiday Inn”, and the Tournament of Roses Parade (which was a bit soggy this year – marching bands in rain slickers just isn’t the same), it’s time to regroup, take a deep breath, and return to our normal living patterns.

Yes, we all know the holidays are stressful.  For those of us that are, shall we say, a bit older and therefore may not be as severely caught up in the anxiety, or so we tell ourselves, there is still just a bit.  Where did we put all the sales slips in case something needs to be returned?  They were right in the drawer over . . . . . . I know I saved them. How much wrapping paper is left?  Should we restock, or wait until next year?  What color bows should I buy – I don’t know what colors will be stylish in 2026.  Oh, God. Did we get everything put back in the right place?  Should we get rid of some of the decorations that now fill closets and most of the basement?  No, because they’re all treasures. Inherited, or someone special gave them to us.  Made in Kindergarten by someone now in their forties. All those car commercials – should I replace ours?

As a child, I can remember the tremendous letdown the day after Christmas.  I know, we had all that new stuff to play with or wear.  That was exciting, but opening all the presents was spectacular, and now it’s over until next year.  Can we wait that long without our heads exploding?  There would be a birthday in there somewhere, but that wasn’t quite the same.  My birthday is in early December, and while it was never overlooked – my parents were good about that, it did get lost a little in the energetic runup “whoosh” to Christmas.  Nobody ever went caroling with “It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Tom’s Birthday”.  Let’s face it – for kids, there’s a definite letdown after Christmas. Memories of that feeling on Christmas night lurk in my brain. The presents are opened and used, the surprises are gone, and an emptiness exists that New Year’s Eve can’t hope to fill.  (Plus, we were going back to school the day after, so New Year’s Day is a lot like the last Sunday night of summer.)

As adults and young parents, that letdown is mixed with a certain sense that life can return to some form of normal when the Christmas tree goes to the curb and the decorations back into boxes.  A brief, modest sense of relief.  Whew, we made it again this year. It’s mixed with some anxiety.  Did I get enough stuff for everyone?  Did I spend enough, even though the credit cards won’t be back to zero until June. Some of the “Did I do enough?” recedes into darker regions of our consciousness.  It’s too late, so we have to try to let it go.  Parents too have anxiety about balancing the numbers of presents for each child.  Were they equal, or did we show favoritism?  My parents agonized about it every year – particularly my father, who didn’t do any shopping except for my mother.  My secretary, one hilarious year, had bought one daughter a set of tires for her car.  Did that count as one gift or four?  We have an only child, so balancing wasn’t an issue so much as a deficiency issue as it was (and still is) “holy crap – look at all the stuff she’s getting.”  The Head Shopper does it all online now, so we don’t see the piles collectively until the wrapping starts.  At that point, it’s hard to pull out packages because we’ve gone overboard.  It’s difficult giving as a reason to retailers for returning items, “We’re so sorry – we just had too much this year.  Do you mind taking these things back?”  That and the fact that many of Herself’s purchases end up coming from obscure Asian countries, which seldom have friendly return policies. Children usually focus single-mindedly on the holidays themselves, not understanding that adults have holiday preparation on top of everyday living.  Like meals, jobs, and laundry.

We’re now into the retirement phase of life, when Christmas becomes a pleasant diversion.  We can go to the stores during the day or shop online at reasonable times.  No shopping at 10 PM, when the kids are asleep. Prime shopping for Her Ladyship is just before lunch, unless she’s into “Price Is Right”.  Then, it can be moved up.  We decorate at our leisure.  In fact, each year we tend to scale back the house decorations to special items, special gifts,   It’s all about choices and living in the moment. There are boxes of tree ornaments in the basement that we haven’t used in years because, well, honestly, we have enough to decorate the woods behind the house. I didn’t put up the outside lights either because we had major snow that came early in December and caught me by surprise.  (Secretly, I thank the Weather Gods.) There’s a small window of opportunity for setting up outside lights – too early and they step on Thanksgiving’s toes – too late and the heck with it. Also, I don’t like running electrical cables across piles of snow.  In truth, I don’t fully trust outside electricity.   Another disappointment for the Princess, who, even in her forties, asks if I’m going to put up lights outside.  

The house now returns to its fairly peaceful self.  I get my couch back, for example.  We return, as the broadcast networks say, to our “normal programming”.  We tend to watch our television shows on their duly appointed nights.  The occasional DVR, but mostly what’s on at that moment.  The Daughter watches virtually nothing in real time except for award shows.  The Emmys, the Oscars, the Golden Globes, and the Patriots – that’s pretty much it for her, and everything else is in electronic storage.

Last week, we took down the tree and packed up the decorations. Most fit in the containers from whence they came.  Some didn’t.  Did they reproduce while exposed to air and sunlight? Some folks like to keep their things up well into the new year, the more persistent ones until Valentine’s Day. I still see some lights in the neighborhood and we’re almost halfway through January.  For us, the sooner they’re safely away, the sooner the transition to normality is complete.  Here again, is New Year’s Day too soon, and is the following weekend too late?  Then, if New Year’s Day is on a weekend, we’re totally flummoxed.  What happens to uneaten Christmas cookies?  (Yes, you’re right – that never happens.).  Oh, God.  I ate all the Christmas cookies, and the fruitcake, and the plum pudding. Just kidding – I hate fruitcake, and Her Ladyship isn’t a fan of plum pudding. Is the eggnog past its expiration date?  (Throw a little alcohol into it and that will kill the germs.)  The Princess flew back to Atlanta yesterday, but I had to ship two boxes of stuff that wouldn’t fit in her suitcase and backpack.

As we ride off into a new page of the calendar, actually a whole new calendar, making resolutions we probably won’t keep, let’s all remember to “make the New Year bright” and put the anxiety of Christmas behind us.  God rest us, merry Gentle People.  I think I’ll take a nap.

Christmas House Tours – We’re not on them!

The weekend newspaper is once again featuring “home tours” – houses that are decorated to reflect the owners’ taste, refinement, and yes, excessive amounts of time and money.  One featured today is a stately older home in Salem.  It looks really quite impressive – a tree in every room, greenery and bows sweeping up a regal banister.  Sprays of holly and evergreen bursting from vases that were probably picked up at Southeby’s. Dining table displays that leave little room for Christmas dinner.  That family must eat on tray tables in the basement.  Even the kitchens and bathrooms are decorated.  This family has graciously “opened their home”, as many affluent residents of equally affluent communities with impressive antique homes do, to visitors wishing to see the fruits of their, or their designers’, labors.  

We’re not doing that again this year.  Our daughter lugged the artificial tree up from the basement over Thanksgiving so I wouldn’t break or dismember something attempting it myself.  We have two sets of house decorations – those that we actually use each year, stored conveniently in a closet, and then a major warehouse in the basement.  Some folks have entire Christmas villages in storage somewhere – most likely the attic or the basement warehouse.  They command prominent real estate somewhere in the house for all to see.  They might light up, or have miniature trains passing through. We don’t.  Even the stable, built for our nativity scene is really too big to be placed anywhere prominent now.  We still keep the ceramic figures, which are beautiful, but they’re grouped where they’ll fit. Most of the basement decorations haven’t been seen in years, as I have adopted an “out of sight, out of mind” philosophy.  

I guess that overdecorating is a tradition that’s been building for generations.  We see pictures of Victorian England, where even the streetlamps wore festive bows and greenery. Houses had wreaths and “boughs of holly” draped across windows and doorways.  Candles in the windows.  Early New Englanders, with their Puritan outlook, didn’t do much decorating for Christmas, and as I get older, that works. Today, there are more and more enthusiasts that “go big” outside, because technology – in particular, electricity, has advanced their holiday vision.  They feel a compelling need to share their joy with everyone, much like those that have a theatre sound system in their cars so we all can hear. Their every wish has been fulfilled by the manufacturers of inflatable Christmas Characters.  Their front yard lights up like the Strip in Vegas and would certainly bring a smile to Clark Griswold’s face.  One home in town was a showcase of lights and every imaginable decoration.  The irony was that there were so many lights, the owner could only afford to turn on this extravaganza for an hour or two each night.  The good news about this extensive display is that their handiwork will hopefully come down soon after the holidays. The bad news is that they’re already planning something equally lavish for Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, or an equally tasteless Easter.  (On a side note, these are often the same people for whom the community fireworks aren’t good enough, so they blow off hands, feet, and the back deck expressing the exuberance of July 4th.)

As I wrote before, when the Princess was little, she desperately wanted to have lights strung on a large fir tree in the front yard.  She’d express this desire every year without fail. As the tree was two stories high or more, that was daunting and a bit impractical without renting a cherry-picker.  We compromised by my putting a small, elegant string of lights on the lilac bush next to the house.  It was quite striking for passers-by, I thought. Not a view that’s universally shared, though. It’s still referred to in our house each and every year with derision as the year of the “sad clump of lights on the lilacs”. 

So, we’ve managed to pare down the house decorations to some treasures.  A couple made by the Princess in her early days – a milk carton Santa, a reindeer from a brown paper lunch bag. You know those things.  Products of school classrooms to cherish.  I remember, growing up, a wall-sized mural of Santa’s sleigh and the reindeer flying overhead that I’d made in about first or second grade.  It’s most likely gone to a fiery inferno someplace, but my mother hung it up faithfully each year.  All sweet memories, but not really suitable for a “house tour”.  

In the early days of our life together, we started on the road to “collectibles”.  There were the yearly purchases of Norman Rockwell ornaments.  They somehow ended up in the basement warehouse, in a box that sadly was placed under a leaky pipe.  They are barely recognizable now, and at some point, I’ll take them up to the dumpster.  There are other boxes of tree ornaments too, because, as Her Ladyship and I were both teachers, we’d get either ornaments or Christmas coffee cups from our students.  Lovely and thoughtful, but at one point when we were moving, I took three or four boxes of cups to a local thrift shop.  I do hope someone is using them somewhere.  And too, that’s how decorations seem to accumulate.  We find something we can’t live without at a craft fair.  The angel that tops our tree each year came from a church fair, and it’s beautiful – almost 40 years old.  The face was made from a nylon stocking, and Elizabeth, in her innocent and socially unaware childhood, named her “black baby”.   When Lizzie shipped off to DC for college, we started collecting White House tree ornaments because we wanted something DC-ish, and have continued each year.  We now have over thirty.  Enough for a couple of good-sized trees.  We’ve also collected ornaments from our various trips, and the Princess has done the same, so we have some from England, from Prague, Paris, Vienna, and most recently Berlin.  (The one in Germany, not northern New Hampshire). Life comes full circle.  When we’re young, we collect what we can.  As we get older, and have expanded the collections, the displays get more elaborate.  And finally, moving into, well, senior-hood and downsizing, we either pass them on or toss them out, expediency triumphant over sentiment.  Elizabeth tends toward a minimalist approach to Christmas.  We’ve suggested regularly that she take some of what we have to decorate – currently an apartment in Atlanta.  She’s declined the offers. Funny story, though.  When she was in DC, she was living with her dear friend, Jackie, who loved decorating for the holidays, and insisted that they get a tree.  Not just any tree, though. Jackie wanted one roughly the size of the one at Rockefeller Center.  They settled on a live tree about 9 feet tall, which they then had to get home on the subway.  If you’ve seen the Griswold’s “Christmas Vacation” movie, where they go into the wilderness to cut a massive tree, this was the subway version. The two of them received a lot of surprised and amused looks from other Metro riders. 

I’ve developed a tendency to think ahead – not in all areas, but this one.  Whatever goes up must ultimately come down and be packed away, and if you’re like us, the space where they went is now filled with more stuff we got for Christmas.  More decorations, new clothes, or stuff that can’t be used until the warm weather.  More books, so another bookshelf is called for.  There seems to be an elastic relationship between trying to get rid of ”stuff” and buying more.  There was a time when Her Ladyship was collecting, or was given Dreamsicles. They lived in every room on every flat surface, and my niece remarked that we had more than the Hallmark store in which she worked.  Most are gone now, but the Christmas ones are still around and, I think, reproducing in the box where they’re kept.

So, as the holidays rapidly approach, and they certainly did this year, we’re hoping to survive.  That we haven’t overdone the gifts, and that they’ll fit under the tree.  It’s been snowing again and the holly bushes are buried, so we’ll skip the traditional mantle greens.  The tree is up and looks good, but that’s about the only thing that would impress anyone on the house tour.  I threw up some wreaths yesterday, with a couple of bows I managed to find at Walmart.  So, again, not The Breakers, Marble House, or Biltmore.  Not enough to sell tickets to the tour.  Just enough for the few friends and family that might drop by.  But the tour is cancelled.  Visitors are not welcome. We’re turning off the lights and locking the doors.  Joy to the World.

Miscommunications

Most of us have received that phone call from a number we don’t recognize.  My wife and I look at it, asking each other if it’s a name we recognize.  We answer, and a voice says, “Dave?”  No, there’s no Dave here, so I inform the caller.  If he, she, or they happen to have been brought up with some sense of telephone etiquette, they’d apologize that they had the wrong number.  If not, they’d simply disconnect.  

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The Joys of Medicare supplements

Yes, it’s “enrollment” time again.  Actually, we all get Medicare at age 65, but as we now know, it doesn’t cover everything.  So, we need to get a supplemental plan.  My wife and I are covered by one that is subsidized by the state, because Herself was a public employee.  That’s the good news.  The bad news, of course, is that there are thousands of “Medicare Advantage” providers, separate, private insurance companies eager to “enroll us in their added programs, or really to snap us up in their claw traps.   I know this because they all call us – daily.   They come in not from the company names that show up on caller ID, but from private numbers, routed through cell phones, and often something our recognition identifies as “possible fraud”.  Yes, it is. 

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Catalogs: Coming Fast and Furious

Some years back, when this blog was in its infancy, in 2018, and yes, I can’t believe that I’ve been writing this now for eight years, I wrote about the wonderful influx of catalogs, mostly clothing, that we get on a weekly basis.  Now that the holidays are approaching, well, that influx has swelled into a flood worthy of the Mississippi delta.   The season has officially begun.  

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Am I Bothering You?

There was a curious letter to the advice columnist, Dear Abby, in today’s paper.  People living in a condo, which means in close quarters, use their fireplace as a heat source for their living room area.  A neighbor with severe respiratory problems has asked them to stop burning, which has put a strain on what we presume is their friendship.  They asked for advice, and Abby gave it.  Give up the fireplace and get an electric heater if you need it, because you’re causing a serious health hazard to your neighbor.  She’s quite right, of course.  Condos represent communal living, whether we like it or not.  I’m guessing that the folks with the fireplace like the ambiance that a fire in the fireplace creates, and they’re reluctant to give it up for that reason, because a fireplace is a notoriously inefficient way to heat a room.  We sometimes forget that our wants, likes, and behaviors can have an impact on those around us, unless we’re living on a mountain top in a cabin by ourselves, or in prison in solitary confinement.  

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