Some are already done. Some are going full bore. Some are just starting.
We fall into the latter category.
Last year at about this time I was taking mental-health breaks from daily and day-long attendance at the Heart Institute. Two blocks west of the hospital I discovered a slightly scruffy but entirely magnificent magnolia tree in its full-bore stage. That stage never lasts long, but it’s wonderful while it does.
Your password has been successfully changed.
I wonder in passing what an unsuccessfully changed password would look like, but I keep reading.
If you did not make this change . . .
Guys. How could a change I did not make be described as “successful” in any way? I keep reading.
If you did not make this change
or believe your account has been accessed
by an unauthorized person,
please contact . . .
We have a green plastic patio chair in the scant half of our barely double garage that stores various non-vehicular stuff:
And she calls right at 8:00!
I’m kinda eavesdropping as one member of a small-group Zoom call quietly advises a potential member of said group about . . . what, exactly? That I start the calls on time? What in the world are the options?
Calling even a few minutes ahead of the appointed hour would be rude: Folks might not be ready to take the call. Oh, no! That’s my call! Ack! Followed by a mad dash from the microwave where a cup of tea is re-heating to the desk with the laptop.
Calling anytime after the appointed hour would also be rude: Folks who’d been ready on time would be kept waiting and wondering. Do I have the wrong time? The wrong day? Have they decided they don’t like me?
The conclusion is obvious, innit? Call at the appointed hour. Start the 8:00 call at, well, 8:00.
Ah, those pesky clouds of winter: flat layers of darkness. What are they still doing in the sky above me in late April?
Offering me a face, maybe.
A face easier to see in real life than in a photo, as is often the case. Something to do with the contrast, maybe? Anyway, here’s the key:
I’m Rh negative, too.
We are three women chit-chatting over coffee after our synagogue choir sang for a United Church worship service (part of an effort to forge community links). How the conversation moved from “Aren’t the acoustics great?” to “I’m Rh negative, too” will have to remain a mystery. I was there and I have no idea how it happened. I mean, I know how the last step happened: One of the others mentioned their Rh-negative status and the other two of us chimed in. But how did we get to that first comment? I forget.
Worldwide, only 7% of the population is Rh negative, but in Western populations the percentage is higher. About 15% is usually given as the norm, with some groups as high as 25%. So, although it seemed weird to us to be in conversation with two other antigen-type outliers, our group of 30 people might have been expected to have 4 to 7 RH-negatives based on the underlying population.
My niece moved to Berlin, too.
I don’t know.
Is there anything you can do?
It’s a smart-alecky scene from an iconic movie franchise, and worth the minute.
It’s not a perfect match, but this scene crossed my mind when a friend sent a link to a cogent gut-punch of an article on helping the “co-survivor of a cardiac arrest”, as the author describes herself. The article starts this way:
“Let me know if you need anything.”
A moment of brutal honesty: I grew to despise that phrase over the course of Will’s cancers and after his sudden cardiac arrest.
It feels like a real anniversary this year,
because it falls on the same day of the week
as the day we got married.
It was several years ago, but I still remember how one listener nodded, and one looked at me with an oh-good-grief face. You may know that face; I certainly do. It often appears after I’ve said something that I will admit is illogical, but that I would contend is not unreasonable because it captures exactly — Exactly! — how something feels.
I’ve commented before on the devilishly clever algorithms that underlie the online shopping experience. It’s the Since-you-like-that-howzabout-this? approach to marketing:
Wait, what?
