Moving Stats

Jumped out of bed this morning (not literally) all spitfire and reeling to go (mentally but not physically) so I zapped a cup of yesterday’s coffee and looked around thinking “okay, what next?  What can I do sitting down?”

I’m packing.  No, I have not yet been offered the apartment but I cannot wait until the last minute.  Or even the last week.  I have too many days like this one, where the mind and body refuse to sync. 

I went shopping yesterday down at the Almighty Walmart on South Avenue in Boardman.  I hate that store because I never, ever get a motorized cart there.  Either they are all dead because no one puts them on charge, or they are all in use.  The store up in Liberty seems to have more motorized carts AND greeters who tend to them, make sure they are plugged in between use.  The entrance is nicer up there, too.  I only went to this store because my daughter asked me to meet her there.

I thought I was in luck because two customers were parking carts when I walked in and there were two ladies  who looked like sisters waiting, one seemingly very abled bodied and the other questionable, she might have something going on so I assumed they would take one cart and I would get the other.  Wrong.  Apparently the healthy woman likes to get a motorized scooter to go joy riding around the store with her sister.  There’s nothing wrong with that, if there are plenty of carts for disabled shoppers.  Even the woman getting off the second cart assumed that I would be the one who got it as she patted my arm and said, “honey, there’s still a good charge on there for ya.”

I didn’t say anything.  My son-in-law did.  He went over to talk to them and came back shaking his head while I was getting a regular cart.  I hate it when I can’t get a scooter cart because it limits my shopping time and area (can’t walk all over the store) and usually means that I am going to hurt something fierce and have to deal with limited mobility that night or the next day. 

I also hate that store because they remodeled it backwards.  Every other Walmart around here has “ladies to the left” as you enter the restroom.  This one has the mens room on the left side so I have, on more than one occassion (including yesterday), accidentally walked into the mens.   Their restrooms are another “pet peeve” for disabled people because most able bodied Walmart shoppers believe the handicap stall is the best place to poop.

Oh well.  So, what can I do sitting down today?  It drives me nuts to be all stiff and sore, to wake up feeling like a rusted tin man, when I want to get things DONE! 

I’m packing down to essientials, like I am not going to be throwing any dinner parties so I don’t need stacks of plates or a cupboard full of pots and pans.  I kept out my colored pencils, packed other art and hobby supplies.  I could go months living with just bare basics.  In fact, that has me debating almost every item, what to pack and what to part with.  There is something very liberation about living with less stuff.  If I continue to downsize every time I move, I should be a complete minimalist someday.  Right now, I am debating on whether or not I really need a microwave.  The buttons are screwed up on this one (most don’t work) so I see no sense in paying to move it to a new place.  The question is, should I buy a new one after moving or just go without?

Hopefully, I will get a call soon… the lady from the  apartment building told me to go ahead and give notice where I live now so I will have the required 30 days in to get my deposit back, so it kind of sounds like she will be calling me sometime in October to offer an available unit before November first.  I gave tentative notice here, which I can extend another month or whatever.  Worst case scenerio is the deal falls through and I will have to find somewhere else to live as I don’t want to stay here.

Guess I could pack up non-essientials in the living room today, go through all the little bin drawers in the secretary hutch, as that thing needs to be empty to move it.  I can do that sitting down.

I lit a candle for some scent therapy. 
Okay, I just like the way it smells.

Hummm….  I wonder if that nice candle man from Toledo will return to Youngstown next year.  He sold hand poured candles at the YSU art festival, forget the name on his banner.  I looked it up once, looked on the festival’s list of vendors and googled to see if he sold online.  Oh yes, Curb Candles.  Guess he used to have a candle store in Toledo as I found a newspaper article about his store closing, with a little blurp about why he had named it Curb Candles, something about if he lost his business, he would be out on the curb.  Perhaps a little tongue and cheek humor that became a self full-filling prophecy, but the date of the article was years ago so I’ve got to hand it to him… the man held onto his dream, continues to make and sell candles, even though he had to find another way to do it.  Obviously, selling at farmer markets, festivals and other events would have less overhead than a brick and mortar store.  If he comes back next year, I am going to stock up on votives.  I wish he made matching scented tea lights as that is the size that fits my favorite candle holders. The man blends some unusual scents, like an “orange & hot pepper” that smells fabulous, and I generally don’t care for fruity scented candles.

Well, the sun is up.  I should get busy, if I can will my body to move.  Maybe I should put on a fresh pot of coffee.



I blew my phone up, not literally, just blew off everything that could possibly clog up the memory so I could text again.  Clearing all data from email was a dumb idea, as it required setting it back up again.  It did not like my password.  My attempts to make it take it, along with failed steps to recover/change my password (in case I was trying to enter the wrong one) simply resulted in tripping the security features. 

They locked me out, with the promise that I would have the opportunity to answer a secret question if I wait at least 24 hours.  HA!!!  I am right back where I started… so if I keep trying, odds are that I will be locked out AGAIN.  Errr. 

The problem with the password recovery process is that it is NOT phone friendly… if I were sitting at a PC with multiple windows open, click on this one, click back on that… I could get the code AND enter it into the proper box.  That window auto closes, even if I open a new window on the phone, when I go to the alt email site to GET the code.  Bookmarking it let me reopen the right page… but since it was not left open as you can do on a pc, it refused the code.  INVALID.

Of course, I could set up a new email… but that is my fave email addy… it is on my rubber stamp, on all my handmade biz cards, etc.  I use it for all artsy things, blog things, facebook things, etc.  I don’t want to blow it off… OOOOHHHhhhhhh… easy op change, brb… done. 

I have a new email addy!!!

It is the old one with an N in front… Nbarnbees.  I can sharpie marker the change onto cards (not yet… might just remember the old password, got a clue setting up the new one, capital letter required, lol) but in the meanwhile, I can update email addy here and on facebook, etc so I can get notifications again.

Technology sucks… give me a human to fix problems, the machines drive me nuts.


I ducked under a window awning to avoid raindrops before noticing the address stenciled on the door. 

“Thursay Afternoon” popped into my head, along with a flash picture of myself living there, an apartment no bigger than a motel room with a kitchenette and bath tucked behind a little storefront.  I heard the soft tinkle of bells as someone entered the door, greeted by the heady scent of hand poured candles and soft music, old tunes, CSNY’s Suite Judy Blue Eyes.

    “Will you come see me, Thursdays and Saturdays, what have you got to lose?” 

What if…

Nah, what would I sell?  Handmade things, old junk? 

Every biz on that strip of storefronts ends up relocating to greener pastures where customers actually shop, just shop keepers trying to make a living.  The last of the real stores is moving this month, leaving only the artsy places that are not open every day, like a photographer’s studio with hours by appointment only.  There is not enough foot traffic to substain a brisk business selling anything there. 

So, what am I doing?  Dreaming out loud?

Dreaming out loud ignores realities.  I am not physically capable of doing much of anything, have mobility issues, nerve games, bad days when I make art, use the pencils to take my mind off the pain.  If I could work again, I could make some serious cash with my skills and experience.  I miss the money, but more than that, I miss the work… there is no way in hell I could do that kind of work again, but could I be a shop keeper? 

No… not 8 hours a day and not everyday.  My life runs in slo-mo now.

Little birdy whispers, “The street address is Thursday Afternoon, it wouldn’t have to be open every day.”

Just Thursday afternoons? Handle that okay, add another day?

“Thursdays and Saturdays, what have you got to lose?”

Nothing… I’ve got nothing to lose, done already lost everything – health, home, relationships, driving, etc.  Oh yeah, life slammed me upside a wall, spun on a dime.  Gotta love when insurance sales reps call trying to sell me a policy for “life’s unexpected events” or however they word it.  I just laugh…  those life’s unexpected events just make you re-evaluate your life, what’s important and what’s not.  Then you have to make a choice… roll with it, be happy regardness of whatever, or spend the rest of your days wallowing in misery.  I didn’t come out unscathed as I am physically disabled and I do have a bit of an attitude about some things… I don’t care about the same things anymore, they don’t matter.  I learned to roll with what comes.

In some ways, I am a better person now… I laugh more, feel more at ease with myself and other people, more open and friendly.  I can live a creative life, slo-mo creative, takes me forever to do some things but that does not matter.  Only strangers flash sympathy in their eyes now, but not as often.  Life is not measured by comparing yourself – what you can and can’t do, how you look, stand, whatever – to other people.  So what if I’m crooked? So what on so many things… yes, life is better in many ways.  I see things differently now.


Okay, so my view of life may be a tad distorted now, if my art offers any indication.  This is a landscape, lol.

But what about that stray thought?  A flash image of seeing myself at Thursday Afternoon?

It won’t hurt to check it out, find out if it is do-able.

It all hinges on do-ability:  the only way I could afford the rent is to live there, too.

That is a big IF with serious odds stacked against it. 

But, it does not hurt to ask… to check into the possibility.  I will let you know if it is do-able after I talk to the landlord.  Maybe it is just a stray thought, a flash idea, a dream out loud, but maybe… just maybe, it’s my next thrill on this ride called life.

To prove I’m not crazy, I will snail mail a small piece of art to the first person who figures out the correct answer to the following question here in the comments… do NOT include your snail mail address with your guess!!! The winner can send that to me later via email.  (This is the internet ya know… there are nuts out here.)  Okay, here’s the question:

What number is equivalent to “Thursday Afternoon” in Nancy’s head?