dose #2

My second vaccination of Moderna is today. Four weeks and five days after the first. 

I wake up excited. 

I pack a small bag of the things I'll need:  photo ID, confirmation document, kindle (in case the line is long— I waited 90 minutes for the first shot), phone, and AirPods.

I also need to consider attire. When I walk I get hot, but when I wait in line in 35-degree weather, I get cold. Last time I was freezing.

First, I wear a loose-ish cotton long-sleeve tee, so it'll be easy to expose my arm.

Next I put on a lightweight down coat. Of all the coats I have (and I have many), I probably wear this one the most. And, it's probably the oldest.

I pack a down vest (that I wear more than I ever thought I would when I bought it).  If I need to layer up, I can. 

And then, just in case, I throw in a hat; I never wear hats.

Ok, I'm ready. I have enough to keep me occupied (music and book) and enough to keep me warm if the wait is long.

The walk over is beautiful. It's a gorgeous, sunny, crisp winter's day. The park is filled with people enjoying it. Soon, I am hot. And the one outfit I hadn't planned on wearing is the one I end up with. Vest only.

But the best part? I arrive and there is zero wait.

And the walk home is made even better by having the knowledge and comfort of being done.

In two weeks I should have about 94% immunity.  The positivity rate in NYC is now less than 5%.  I already feel this veil of anxiety melting away. And that feels very very good.

one-year anniversary

Today marks exactly one year since I last had my hair colored. 

I had expected that in one year's time, my hair would be gray, and I could then assess if I wanted to keep it gray or not 

I was wrong.

I am nowhere near a full head of gray hair.

I read online of some woman with similar length hair as mine and it took her 18 months to grow it out.

It's not just about the time and money I'm saving. I love the freedom of not being a slave to monthly colorings. 

I also think that my hair is in better condition since I stopped coloring it.

My one fear is that it will make me look old. Forget the fact that I am old (oh how much I hate to say that). My intention, in the end, is to not have boring, elderly-looking, gray hair.

But I am getting tired of the way it looks now — silvery gray on top and an ugly brownish-reddish on the bottom. I've considered lots of things to help it along (NOT including going for a short haircut). But all of them involve some kind of bleaching and that would be bad for my hair.

So for now, I am continuing as is.  And really, since I barely see anyone, it's mostly me who doesn't like what she sees.

I pulled some photos from the past 12 months. It's a slow slow process, made tolerable by the new look I imagine having one day.

July 25, about 5  1/2 months out

August 30, 6 1/2 months out

October 2, almost 8 months out

So at one year, I still have very far to go. I'm losing patience and am considering accelerating the process. 

Here's my aspirational look. 

And though  I'll need a lot more than a new haircut, evenly dispersed gray hair, and blue eyes to achieve this look, it's nice to have a goal —even an unachievable one.

the kid vs the GOAT

I've never been much of a football fan.

But then in high school, my son started playing, so my interest in the game went up ever so slightly.

And unless the Giants or the Patriots (in the good old days, prior to this season) were playing, my primary interest in the Super Bowl has always been the ads and half-time show.

But not this year.

I know a little about the game. And I mean little. 

I do know what a down is. In fact,  I pride myself in being able to understand the meaning of, say, for example, 1st & 10, or 4th & goal, or even something as crazy as 3rd & 15. My son, who probably knows the stats of every NFL player who has ever lived, is not impressed. When I call him with some stupid question, he barely condescends to answer.

All that being said, I am really looking forward to tomorrow's Super Bowl game when the Buccaneers play Kansas City in Tampa.

Unlike my son who knows the history of the teams as well as the players, I pretty much know the quarterbacks. Not so much their stats, but their characters.  

First, how can anyone not love Patrick Mahomes? He's 25. A smart and respected leader.  Calm under pressure. Humble. Decent. Oh, and adorable.

The same can be said of Tom Brady, except that he's 43, and more handsome than adorable.

I know Mahomes is young and likely has more Super Bowls ahead of him (though my son argues against this logic and points to Russell Wilson as an example).

And Brady. This will be his 10th time playing in a Super Bowl.  He's won 6 of them, and was MVP 4 times. If his team wins, no one can reasonably argue again that he's not the GOAT. 

So I don't know. 

I would love to see Tom win his 7th ring. And I do believe that Patrick won't be retiring with only one.

Still, it's hard to root for one when it means rooting against the other.

They both deserve the win. And whatever does happen in tomorrow's game, for a myriad of reasons, it will be a Super Bowl like no other.

I will be at home, in comfy clothes, cheering alone.

a mysterious-sounding ailment

Sometime in September my left shoulder begins to hurt.

At first I think maybe I slept on it funny. But a month later, when I'm still having pain, I go to see my internist. That appointment leads to an x-ray, the results of which are troubling.  My shoulder shows nothing wrong, but there appears to be something on my chest. 

I then have a cat-scan on my chest which shows pleural thickening on the lining of my lung. Both the radiologist and my doctor conclude that it's probably from old scarring and not to worry about it.

But there's still that shoulder thing. 

In December I get an MRI. This shows no tearing of the rotator cuff (am so grateful for that).

I notice the pain mostly when I am putting a coat on, or bending my elbow backward. I make an appointment with Dr. Alton Barron (highly recommended by my doctor) who can see me in about two months.

That two months is today.

I walk to the doctor's midtown office. It feels good to be out walking as the snowdrifts and puddles at every corner have prevented me from doing this all week.

I get to my appointment a little early. The waiting area is clean and mostly empty. And the office personnel are friendly and efficient.

Within minutes I am escorted to a room. Dr. Barron arrives soon after. He, too, is friendly and efficient.

He moves my shoulder into a few different positions and tells me he didn't need an MRI to make his diagnosis: adhesive capsulitis,. Or, as it's more colloquially known —  frozen shoulder. Something I had never heard of until recently when one of my friends tells me she has it in both shoulders, and another friend tells me she once had it.

The good doctor gives me a cortisone shot, which hurts. But he's injecting into an inflamed joint so of course it's going to hurt.

I have slightly more mobility after the shot, but moving my shoulder is not pain-free. I guess I was hoping for immediate relief. 

I walk home and sign up for PT.  I deliberately choose a place (Spear Center) about two miles from my apartment, in the Plaza Hotel (may as well get some walking in).  A friend of mine recommends this place. I even choose Ryan Coye, the same therapist she has and loves.

I begin next week.

GE: such astoundingly inept service I just had to write

There are many bad customer service stories. 

But this one has to be one of the worst I've ever experienced.

I'll try and make it brief.

On January 6, I am making a single piece of bacon in my microwave. I've done this before with no problem. 

But this time, I hear a very loud pop and discover my glass microwave plate split down the middle.

I call GE Appliances (now owned by Haier). 

COVID or no COVID, it should not take over two hours for someone to pick up.

Finally I reach Jonathan. He tells me that the next step requires a technician to come to my house to assess the situation. Why? We are talking a broken plate. I tell him I don't need a technician. He tells me I have to have one. He assures me there will be no charge. I have no choice.

The next day someone does come. He asks me for a bowl. He fills the bowl with water. Puts it in the microwave for two minutes. The bowl doesn't explode. He concludes my microwave itself is working fine. He really had to visit my home for this?  

My microwave (and plate) are out of warranty. Nothing is covered anyway, making it all the more puzzling why Jonathan told me a technician visit was required.

I call back to a different number. Sales this time. They of course answer quickly. The only solution I'm offered is that I can buy a replacement plate for $120, and GE will, as a courtesy, reduce it by 25% to $90 (plus tax). 

I don't want to deal with this anymore. I need the plate. I give them my credit card info and hang up.

A week later I get an email from Jonathan telling me the plate I want is out of stock and he doesn't know when it will be back in stock.  So instead, as a solution, he offers me a discount on a new microwave.

It then takes until January 27, three weeks from when this all started, for Jonathan to reach me. He offers to sell me a new microwave for $160 plus tax. 

Why can't someone just take the friggin glass plate out of a new microwave and sell me that instead?

I decline Jonathan's offer.

But really. 

The plate breaks, which it should not have.

It takes two hours to reach someone.

The replacement plate costs $120.

Then it turns out to be unavailable.

And GE's solution is for me to buy a new microwave for one that isn't broken.

Ridiculous!

I go on Amazon.

Find a compatible replacement.

Pay $42.

And have it the next day. 

End of story. 

Well, it should be.

But...

Addendum:

Today (January 29) I get my mail and see something from GE. It looks like it could be a check. I'm thinking, they're reimbursing me for all the trouble they've caused me. 

 I open the envelope and see this:

OMG! A bill for $140.01 for the service call I didn't need and didn't ask for.

There is no one to write to. 

I have no choice but to call and wait. It takes an agonizing 94 minutes.

But I am rewarded for my patience. I get Ann in South Dakota. If only I had started with Ann. 

She is knowledgeable, empathetic, and quickly solves my problem.  She emails GE's Accounting Department to reverse the charge.

Ann is great.

She should be training everyone at GE.

Now my fear is that Accounting will ignore Ann's request. I guess I'll know in a month.

In the meantime, my new $42 plate from Amazon is working just fine.

a new obsession

I'm a game player. As in, I literally like to play games.

I used to love Backgammon, and played for hours and hours in college with my good friend Jean. We were taught by our Turkish friend Toni.

I've always liked gin, but have transferred my card allegiance to Canasta.

Mahjong never interested me much.

Growing up, my sister Valerie and I used to play marathon Monopoly games lasting days.

I still play Words with Friends and still really like it. In fact, I've become very close friends with someone I barely knew before we started playing.

I do the Times crossword puzzle daily, but use autoheck after Wednesday (sometimes before).

And just recently, two good friends introduced me to Spelling Bee. It's another daily NY Times game where you try to reach a certain level called, of all things, Genius. 

The rules are simple, so it's easy to learn. You just make words using the 7 letters you are given. Words must be a minimum of 4 letters, and must include the middle letter. You can use the same letters multiple times in a word. Here's an example of what a game looks like. 

So every day, after reading through emails, I sit with a cup of coffee and start this addictive game.

Some days I get to Genius level relatively quickly. 

While other days it takes me hours and hours (on and off and while I do other things).  

But the worst are those days where I become frustrated and utterly stressed, trying to find the last one or two words to make Genius level. 

And some days I just have to give up.

Two of my good friends also play, and when we get to Genius we post our score. If my friends make it and I don't, I feel stupid. As if by not making Genius, I truly have sub-par intelligence.

Here are just a few of the texts that reflect our feelings on various days this month.

I know there are worse obsessions. 

And I can argue that it's good for the brain. 

But in the end, I just really want to make Genius, especially, and most importantly, if my friends have.

a good night's sleep

I love sleeping in a very cold room.

Senior year of college, I had a small single with a window above my bed. I remember opening the window, turning on an electrically-heated blanket, and then crawling into bed. 

But now, I can't even fathom the idea of an electric blanket. Do people still buy these?

My apartment is hot. I even had the radiators in my two bedrooms removed years ago. When I used to have friends over (ah, I long for those days), the first thing they'd ask upon entering my apartment was, "Why is your apartment always so hot?"  It could be any time of year. The date never mattered; the question was the same.

I run my AC every night of the year in my bedroom. It goes on when my light goes off.

Even still, I decide I'd really like a duvet.

In March of 2017, I get in touch with Meryl at Harris Levy, my go-to place for most bedding. She recommends an all-season duvet, adding, "The summer weight ones are too flat; you won't be happy."

It takes me a while to come to a decision. 

But I finally do. More than three years later. 

I buy the all-season, 38-ounce Hungarian goose-down, 650-fill power duvet. 

The first thing I do when it arrives is put on a duvet cover — no easy task. It's then that I realize that this duvet is going to be too hot. I have no explanation for why I didn't realize this before the strenuous, complicated effort of putting on its cover.

So I return it for the same duvet, instead with a summer weight of 28 ounces. I am sure by now Meryl must hate me.

But this one is great. Definitely puffy enough for my taste — not at all flat.

Last night the air was perfect. Crisp and biting cold. I open my windows wide and let the city air (and noises) in. 

I sleep well, awakening to an over-chilled room.

Yesterday morning my room was 49 degrees. Even better.