Taxing

In high school, when I was fifteen, I wanted to be friends with Angie H. and this other young woman whose name I no longer remember. In between classes, they would go into the fire escapes or out the back door of the school and smoke. The other young woman smoked camels. I don’t remember what Angie smoked. I went with them to talk sometimes, and I’d join them in a cigarette. I was 15 and pretty soon I was smoking Marlboro Reds (Boxed) in school, out of school, in the car, out the back door of work in the freezing cold where I was working as a dishwasher and my wet clothes would freeze solid, you get it.

I never really tried to quit – by that I mean I never went more than 24 hours without a cigarette for the next 13 years. I gave a half-hearted attempt a few times, but really, I didn’t want to stop smoking. I liked smoking.

Around the age of 27 I started thinking about smoking more. I worked for a woman who was dying of emphysema.  Every once in a while she’d ask when I was going to quit.

I’d also noticed that I got a little rush from nicotine – and it was producing anxiety. I would smoke and be uncomfortable for the next 5-10 minutes until it wore off. Smoking was no longer a guaranteed relaxation sport.

Then, at the age of 28, I was in Mexico and I got sick. Really sick. Really, really, really sick. I got so sick I didn’t want a cigarette. I remember sitting on the little porch of the hotel room and looking out over the mountains and smoking even though it was making me more nauseated if that was possible (because I was addicted and its pretty unpleasant after a few hours without nicotine) and thinking, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I quit, that was 8 years ago.

And ever since I quit I’ve been looking forward to the day when I can become one of those obnoxious, self-righteous people who declare, “That price is absurd! I smoked for years but I would never pay that for a cigarette!”

Yesterday I noticed cigarettes in a convenience store here for $5.52/pack. I was paying $32 or $33 bucks a carton (10 packs) when I quit. I was shocked. $5.52 is a LOT for cigarettes. Even accounting for the slight price break you get on a carton you’re talking over $150 a month for smokes. I considered my plan to be obnoxious and self-righteous but I couldn’t quite get there. Maybe you think, well, when costs go up, smoking goes down. That’s true. There’s a public health benefit to raising cigarette taxes.

I know smoking is a sin sport. It may annoy you in the few restaurants or bars that still allow it. I know its unpleasant to walk through a haze of cigarette smoke walking toward a public building. I find it annoying myself – except on the occasions when I still miss it. I know making laws against it protects general societal health and raising taxes helps a lot of things (in a way). But y’know, we’re just more controlling about it than I’m comfortable with. It’s all become just a little much.

Bethesda’s Lion Cut

Success

I’m finishing up my second week in PT now. Two days a week I’m in traction followed by 45 minutes of pool exercises. The traction is marvelous. The pool exercises are somewhat more frustrating.

The first day in the pool I noted that I was the youngest person in the water. I have noted this on each subsequent visit. Last time, the woman beside me was almost 90. Not that I have anything against older people, just, y’know, I’m accustomed to being able to move better than they can.

The pool exercises they have me doing are really simple movements. I took water aerobics for several years in my 20s. I’m used to movin’ in the water. In PT we’re supposed to warm up by walking backward, forward and sideways across the pool for 10 minutes. I started out doing it the way I had in water aerobics. Quickly, with a little bounce to my step, knees up. Higher! Higher knees! OK, that hurt immediately. Note to self that this is not water aerobics anymore.

I asked on that first day, “So, the deal with the pool is that you get a little stronger and then move to land exercises?” “Yes,” I was told.

The Gym, with their variety of land exercise equipment such as mats and elliptical trainers, has become my goal. The SnakeLady shall matriculate in the gym. The pool is a warm-up – not “real” – just a short stopping point before I’m playing with the big boys. I shall succeed. I shall move up in the world. I shall show substantive progress. My paper reports will show that the SnakeLady “got stronger.”

The first time I asked to move to The Gym was at my third visit. “But you said that the last two times you were in the pool you had to take Vicodin when you got home?” “Yes,” I said, nodding blankly. What does that have to do with moving up in the world?

I asked again on my fourth visit. “But didn’t you say last time you were in so much pain you had to lie down for the rest of the evening?” I shrug. They obviously do not understand how important it is to me to Succeed at physical therapy. “And you’re in pain every day still?” “I’m not in as much pain,” I say.

My physical therapy has been renewed for another 4-6 weeks and they’ve still got me in the pool. Indefinitely, apparently. But they did increase the reps of my exercises from 10 to 12. The 90 year old does 15.

Sunflowers

Browsing Find

Last week I went browsing at the East Lansing Public Library and found a superb book. I finished it in a couple of days but I think it will remain with me for a long time. If you’re looking for a good read try “The Remains of the Day” by Kazuo Ishiguro – it won the 1989 Booker Prize.

John’s on the Phone for You

John, a student at my alma mater Michigan State, called tonight. He was a little nervous at first. He was calling from the College of Arts and Letters to confirm my information in the alumni database and started off by asking what my major had been; I said English and Women’s Studies. He confirmed my address and occupation. When I confirmed that I’m a Web site administrator he pondered aloud with all innocence and sincerity that my English degree must help with that but what had my Women’s Studies degree done to help me with my job? Ooops! I thought, they don’t give y’all enough training before they put you on the phones.

“It helped me with my life,” I told John kindly. “Wow,” he said, impressed. I added that they didn’t have courses in Web site administration when I was at MSU in 1990, at first trying to account for why I wasn’t working “in my field” but ending up sounding like someone who is roughly 36 and working in technology.

I told John that I was still paying on my student loans and had decided not to give money to MSU until they were paid off. I told him I didn’t want to mess up his quota by making him waste his time on the call with me. He told me they were also supposed to be telling us about what MSU was doing and the length of the call was important, too. Good enough.

He started off by telling me about a new, 5-story, very cool art museum that was being built to replace the Kresge Art Museum. “Not that Kresge isn’t already an art museum,” he said at one point. “It’s OK, John, Kresge is an old classroom building with a few galleries,” I said. I asked where it was going up. He said on Grand River. I pondered. There isn’t much space on Grand River. “Where on Grand River?” I said. He said they were tearing down a building near Berkey. “Morrill Hall?” I asked. He said yeah. “No, John, say it ain’t so!” I said, “Morrill Hall is my favorite building on campus. Did you know that when women students were first admitted to MSU, Morrill Hall was their dormitory? And the English Department is there. Where is the English Department going to be now?” Somebody behind him heard enough of the conversation to correct him. Some building meaningless to my history at MSU was being torn down. “Oh, Ok,” I said.

John told me they’re trying to raise enough money to bring J.K. Rowling to campus. I said that would be very cool and that I would be happy to pay for tickets to that event. People say an English degree is worth nothing? Hah! Have MSU give College of Arts and Letters alumns a first shot at the lottery for those tickets!

In the end, John told me I was the best call he’d had all day. I told John that I loved MSU and my time there, that I’d gotten married on campus, had an MSU license plate (Michigan has a program where college plates donate money back to the school each year), that I hoped to work for MSU some day, and that I hoped he’d have good memories after he graduated, too. He repeated I was the best call he’d had all day.

Good night, John, and best of luck to you. I wish you a high enough income that you can pay your student loans and give money to MSU at the same time.

A Roof Is No Laughing Matter

When we moved into the New House, we knew that we’d need a new roof in about 3 years (that’s one year from now). We started a savings account at the credit union called The Roof Account. We haven’t saved what we were hoping – to put it in the most mild terms possible – but hey, friends and family had gotten roofs and based on what they’d paid we were feeling pretty OK about the whole thing.

OK, let’s be honest. I was feeling pretty OK about the whole thing based on one thing: the cost of my mother’s roof years ago. She didn’t need a tear-off, has less roof square footage, and didn’t do the garage at the same time like we will. I had convinced myself, nevertheless, that we would pay “not much more” than she had. Hubby was more realistic.

So, this year, a year early! we Good and Prepared Home Owners, we got a couple of estimates.

A friend of Hubby’s – not yet mentioned in this blog but whose name is Hunk Poet Electrician – got a roof a few years ago. He had called EVERY ROOFER IN THE YELLOW PAGES. He got quotes from EVERYONE WHO SHOWED UP except the ones who showed up late to give an estimate as that was Test One. So, obviously, we called the roofers he ended up using to give us an estimate.

We liked them. We liked the woman who came to deliver the estimate. She had examples of pretty roofing shingles. She remembered Hunk Poet Electrician. And at the end of the hour she spent wooing us we got to the actual estimate.

Adjusted for inflation, they were asking for the approximate cost of Noah’s Ark.

Did you know that roofing materials are based on petroleum products? I asked her if costs might go down after Labor Day (y’know, when gas prices traditionally fall). She looked at me kindly but with that crinkle around the eyes that said I was a wee bit naive.

I was so taken aback by the price that I put the papers in a drawer when she left, announced to Hubby that we were not going to talk about it again, and drank two glasses of wine. She’s said the price was good for 10 days. I was just fine to let that 10 days come and go.

The next week, Hanson’s knocked on our door out of the blue. They’re a big deal construction place around here. They announced we had a lot of roof damage and offered to come back with an estimate on a new roof. Hubby said why not. We confirmed a time and they gave us a coupon for $300 off the cost of the roof. The day before they were due to come the office called and said they needed to change times. I was not in a mood to return her customer service politeness on a par basis. She said they needed to pick a new time and would offer us a $300 off coupon for the inconvenience. I said we already had one of those, what else could they do for us? She tossed in tickets to the Renaissance Festival.

Hanson’s showed up on time and the salesman said yup, it was time for a new roof. Had it started leaking yet? Like a doctor rushing to the rescue! he would save us. “No, it’s not leaking,” I said. The roof is not close to leaking, folks.

I kinda liked the guy nevertheless. I guess mainly I liked my stunning performance during his hour and a half long sales pitch. From what I’d learned about roofs from the other saleswoman and hubby, I made a few wry, worldly comments that put me right on the top of the heap of roof buyers he was going to deal with that week. That’s right, Hanson’s, watch out, ’cause the SnakeLady is all cha-ching on roofing.

At the end of The Performance he called in to report the pricing. This was necessary because his price was good for 24 hours and they had to get it in the computer right when the estimate was given.

24 hours. Like people aren’t going to get more than one estimate when buying the modern-day equivalent of Noah’s Ark. Like Hubby and the SnakeLady are going to be pressured by some guy they’d met an hour and a half ago.

At some point during the phone conversation he gave a Secret Signal to the person on the other end and discounted shingles magically appeared. A most unfortunate customer had bought the same shingles we were looking at for their garage but the garage had burned down before the roof went on. Would we care to purchase these shingles at a discount? We’d have to move faster than 24 hours, though, these shingles would go to the first customer who snapped them up. They could go in the next 10 minutes. There were a dozen salesman in houses like ours right then.

I wanted to ask, How big was his garage that said Unfortunate Customer had needed enough shingles to cover what would be our entire ranch house plus our attached two car garage? I said nothing. I didn’t feel wry and worldly but a little dirty now. Rode hard and put away wet, Hubby said.

I looked at his price. It was still higher than the other place. We wished him a good evening.

I didn’t need a glass of wine that night. Hubby and I will do what we planned before we got the estimates: wait a year. But damn, we are not in a good mood about it.

Fascinating

Hubby and I spent Saturday at the Frederick Douglas branch of the Detroit Public Library for a disabilities fair – Hubby went to talk about adaptive technologies. There were lots of vendors, plus free hot dogs, face painting, kid’s crafts, eyesite screening for kids, one of the new voting machines for the blind for trying out, etc.

And I saw something fascinating.

People were carrying things. Mulitiple people, in fact. Young, old, men, women. Like, they carried small tables or chairs. And in order to carry them, they had to pick them up first. And they did. I mean, they just picked things up, like chairs. A whole chair, with four legs. I actually saw one person carrying four stacked chairs at once but I’m hesitant to mention it for fear you’ll all think I’m making that part up.

Also, people sat. For, like, a half hour at a time. A whole half hour. Without standing up once. No, I am not kidding.

Here’s where it got scary. People BENT OVER. Like, from the waist. Like, without bending their knees.

I saw no one seeking out patches of grass to lay down on their sides, with or without a pillow between their knees. And I’m fairly sure that people were not eating hot dogs solely for the purpose of being able to take a Vicodin without throwing up because Vicodin completely kills your appetite so you’re not actually interested in food beyond what you eat so you can take it. I saw no one check their watch to see if they could have more Ibuprofen.

I didn’t see anyone do therapeutic stretching of any kind at any point. Not even calf stretching. We’re talking NO STRETCHING for hours on end.

Fascinating.

As the Olympics Begin We’re Almost Clearing the Fence