Nina Lewis

Archive for the ‘Misc.’ Category

The other day I was doing some light reading — an article published in the PLoS Medicine magazine. (That’s the Public Library of Science Magazine in case you were wondering. What? You weren’t wondering? I just can’t believe that!)

Now, where was I?  Oh, yes.  The article.

The article gave a “short list” of factors that predict a person’s odds of living or dying.  (What.  As opposed to a long list?  Are they afraid that people won’t live long enough to read a long list? Whatever.)

Back to the article.  The one with the short list.

This article reported that social connections (with friends, family, neighbors, and yes, even the pesky co-worker in the cubicle next-door) improve our odds of survival by 50 percent! (Well, that pesky cube-mate might not impact your odds of survival that much.)

The article claimed that low social interaction compares to these widely known risk factors:

• Equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day
• Equivalent to being an alcoholic
• More harmful than not exercising
• Twice as harmful as obesity

Whaddy think about them thar statistics, matey?

It’s a good thing that my sweetie and I are practicing at being retired by going places with friends and family.  According to that article, those good feelings I had pulsating through my veins were feelings of love and goodwill from the great social interaction I had.  And I thought it was just cholesterol from the decadent, rich, and high-fat content foods I had consumed . . .

My dear friends, I’m tellin’ ya, my life is in your hands.  You gotta socialize with me.  You just gotta!  If you don’t, you’ll literally take years off my life.  Years that I could spend dancing on the tabletops ’til dawn, swigging Geritol, and eating foods high in fiber instead of lying cold, in my casket, in a grave. I don’t want to die an early death because nobody would come to my house and play.

If people refuse to socialize with me, I might as well stop exercising, put on a few hundred pounds, and take up drinking and smoking.

Last week, we had a grand time having fun with a vengeance.

(’Fun with a vengeance’  is a phrase that I picked up from a book I read that encouraged people to take their nose off the grindstone and enjoy life.  Fun with a vengeance is what I try to do with my husband on a weekly basis.  Many times, it is going to the grocery store on a Friday night.  Sigh . . .)

Our fun with a vengeance started by going with friends to the Tuacahn, an outdoor theater in St. George, to see Cats.  Man oh man!  Rum Tum Tugger can sing and dance for me any day of the week!

The day after we saw the show, we had breakfast, took a dip in the hotel pool (and the hot tub where the others couldn’t stand it as long as I could . . .), and visited the St. George Temple visitor center.

When we got home, we saw Shrek 4 in 3D.  Amazing!

The next day, we went with my husband’s sister and her husband to the Olympic Museum in Park City and watched a skiing exhibition performed by future Olympic skiers in training.  (Boy howdy!  We went from one end of the state to the other!)

On the way home, we meandered through the elegant homes in Midway.  We ended the day by sitting on my sister-in-law’s front porch, eating watermelon, and looking at the fabulous view of the valley.

If the saying ‘practice makes perfect’ is true, then we’ll keep ‘practicing’ at being retired so that when we finally do retire, we’ll be professionals!

Dear Mr. Air Conditioning Maintenance Man,

May I point out one or two things to you?   Thank you.

First.  Do you see the employees that have layers upon layers of hoodies and sweaters?  Regardless of whatever perception you may have of current styles, this is NOT a new fashion off the runways in Paris.  It is an attempt to maintain a minimal basal temperature regardless of how hopeless that dream might be.

Second.  Do you see the employees wrapped up in fuzzy fleece blankets?  Our boss is not pleased about this.  It is not professional.  Not in the least.  He only allows it because it staves off illness and death.  Allowing employees to wrap up in their blankies is more cost effective than paying hospital or funeral bills.

Third.  Can you see the brown pieces of cardboard that is jammed into the ceiling by all of the air conditioning vents?  You, with your vast interior decorating knowledge, might believe it an attempt at avante-garde design.  It is not.  It is to deflect the Arctic air gushing out of the vents.

Fourth.  Do you know why the water bill is so high?  (Silly me! Of course you don’t!  Your responsibility is only in making sure the air conditioning is working.)  If you would periodically check the restrooms throughout the day, you would see staff members stumbling into the bathrooms like frozen zombies to put their frozen hands under the warm water in an effort to thaw their fingers.  So far, only 14 employees have had finger amputations.

I plead with you.  I beg you.  I beseech you in the name of decency and kindness to mankind (and employees in the building that you are over).  Read my lips: TURN DOWN THE AIR CONDITIONER!

Wait.  You can’t read my lips, can you?  Of course not.  My ice cube lips are not limber enough to perform linguistic or verbal acrobats. (You know, I’m getting rather fond of the translucent blue/white post-frostbite look on my lips, nose, and cheeks.)

Here are the benefits of turning down the air conditioner:

1. Less electricity would be used to maintain that balmy weather found only at the South Pole.  You would save our office lots of money.
2. Less money would be spent on hospitalization, amputations, and/or funerals.
3. You would save the lives of many staff members.
4. Less hot water would be used.  Again, money would be saved.
5. You would become the office hero and would have a national holiday named after you.

If you would consider my request for turning down the air conditioner, I would be in your debt forever.

Sincerely,
Ms. Counts-the-minutes-till-closing-time-so-she-can-go-home-and-thaw

P.S. If my son-in-law had your job, he would do a much, much better job at climate control.

Natalie was an inch worm.  Little Simon is a swimmer.  He’s learning how to do the swimmer’s crawl stroke.  But he’s doing it on the floor instead of in the swimming pool.  He’s little cheeks are going to have a rug burn until he improves his stroke . . .

He’s got a great motivation to crawl — gaining access to the wireless mouse to a Mac computer!

First I had the episode of the feathers.  Floofy feathers everywhere — thanks to my washing of a down filled coat that didn’t hold in its feather guts.

And now this.

Rubber.

Bits and pieces of rubber.

Several inches deep.  Smirking up at me from the bottom of my washing machine.

Let me explain.

I have a rug by the back door.  People wipe their dirty feet on it.  Day in.  Day out.  Week in.  Week out.  The original country blue color was held hostage by the grunge brown from daily use.

I thought that it was time to wash the rug so I tossed it into the washing machine.  Soap and warm water sloshed the rug.  Then round and round the spin cycle went, wringing out the water - and ripping the rubber backing off the rug by an exceptionally strong centrifugal force.  Into hundreds and hundreds of tiny bits and pieces of rubber.

There was one silver lining to this rubber fiasco.  Rubber does not cling to the sides of the washing machine like soggy feathers do.

I filled the washing machine with water.  I grabbed my strainer.  Over and over I filled it with rubber pieces and then dumped those pieces into the garbage.  Half an hour of filling and dumping.  Does anybody realize  just how much rubber backing there is on a 2′ X 4′ rug?  Way too much if you ask me.

Now, the rug sits limp in a spineless heap in the back entry.  It slips this-a-way.  It slides that-a-way.  Not very safe for an old geezer like me — or wee grand babes when they come to visit.  (I have gone shopping a couple of times to find a replacement but haven’t found anything that I like  . . . )

My Whirlpool washing machine was transformed into a cesspool.  Feathers.  Bits o’ rubber.

What next?