Ch...Ch...Ch...Changes

I don't want to be one of those people who resist change.  Makes me feel so old.  But I also don't believe in change for the sake of change, especially when it comes to technology.  So I wasn't too keen to switch out my 2 year old PVR for the latest edition.  Some background...

Remember how I changed my cell phone plan, saved a bundle, and announced the cable bill was next?  Well, I finally got around to doing that yesterday after receiving my latest statement showing a $16/month increase.  I have my cable, Internet, and home phone (yup, I'm a dinosaur...still like the old land line) bundled together and the monthly bill has been creeping up ever so slightly over the past couple of years.  But a $16 increase?  So I took a long hard look at our cable package and realized we don't watch even one third of the channels we pay for.

Off I toodled to the Shaw office and, lo and behold, they have some better packages than they used to.  You know the ones I mean -- you have to take a gazillion channels you don't want to get the one you do.  Now they have some smaller packages, some of which you can break down even further.  We pared it down and I ended up with a package that would cost $65 instead of $93 including a couple of new hockey channels I didn't have before.  And the recent increase in my bill?  Attributed to my 2 year service contract expiring and my now having to pay for the PVR box.  But...if I signed a new 2 year contract it would be free again.  No brainer.  But did I want to upgrade to the new box?  Nope, I didn't.  The old one worked very well, thank you very much, and did everything I needed.  But oh, what's this?  I can't sign a new service contract unless I upgrade the equipment.  Which, I'm assured, I can take home right now and install myself.  Yeah, right.  But for $15/ month I guess I can figure out a new machine -- which now records 6 programs at the same time as opposed to the 2 on the old one.  Just how much TV do they think I watch?

Home with the new machine, remove the old one, hook up the new, improved version of exactly the same thing.  Except now it won't do what the instructions said it would do upon plugging it in.  Push this button, unplug that wire, start again, and nope, still won't do what it's supposed to.  Put in a call to service and push this button, unplug that wire as instructed.  Then wait for 30 minutes while they do whatever they do on their end.  And then -- success!  I have picture. Thank you very much.

Until I start to explore around the dial.  (The dial? That doesn't make me sound too old.) And what's this? The HD channels are fine but all SD channels are coming in fuzzy and the picture does not fill the screen.  Not like with the old machine where everything was crystal clear on every channel.  Call service again.  Explain what's what. Oh, we can fix this over the phone.  Hit the Menu button.  Oh, the Menu button isn't bringing up the right screen? Hmmm... well... guess we'll have to send out a technician.  I express my displeasure at being forced into the new equipment which is apparently not as good as the old, and the fact that if we stretch the picture to fit the screen, it will only be taking a fuzzy picture and making it fuzzier.  All said in a very nice way, by the way, because I do like the always helpful people who work for Shaw.  But I'm frustrated so I think I'm entitled to a mini rant.

And now I have to reschedule my day around waiting for a technician.  He arrives, fixes my screen aspect ratio or whatever it's called.  But he just can't seem to grasp what I'm saying when I tell him all the channels used to be clear with the old box.  We go back and forth on this topic until I pull out the old remote control and he has an AH HA! moment -- the old box was an even older piece of equipment than their newest old piece of equipment even though it was only two years old.  He tries to reassure me that there are some great new things coming for these new boxes.  Will it make and serve me a drink? I ask.  Reluctantly he shakes his head.

Bottom line?  I've now wasted the better part of two days pissing around with something I didn't want in the first place to save about $25/month while sacrificing ease of operation and quality of product.

Technology.

Ok, maybe I am getting old.

Testing The Waters

Okay, I know I live in a rain forest.  I know I live in a valley that makes it difficult for some weather systems to penetrate, but also makes it equally difficult for some to get out.  And normally I like rain. But this rain, this bucketing down day and night rain?  Well, it's all getting a bit much.  But we're west coasters, a little -- or a lot -- of rain isn't going to stop us.  So when we say we're going for a hike because the weatherman says the morning will be dry and the showers won't start until the afternoon and by noon it's painfully obvious that he lied, well, damn it, we just go anyway.  Because hey, it's a perfect opportunity to test drive the waterproof hiking gear.

Luckily rain was a rarity on my Camino.  I can count on one hand how many times I had to haul out the raincoat and cover the pack.  And by the time the coat was on and the pack covered the rain would have stopped and the procedure reversed.  But that was late summer / early fall in Spain -- I'm walking in England in the spring this time.  Not holding out high hopes that we'll get that lucky.

So off we trekked in full wet weather gear for an 11 km round trip hike to the top of a local hydro cut.  At least there was no wind, no sideways rain.  It was coming straight down and didn't let up the entire time, not even under the trees.  And what did we learn? Well, let me just say that waterproof is a little too broad a term.  Maybe it should be waterproof under moderate conditions.  And granted, some of the dampness may have been excessive sweating.  Because even though my raincoat is advertised as waterproof and breathable, it's damn near next to impossible to have it both ways.

Here's how it all stood up...

Eddie Bauer raincoat, layered over Eddie Bauer First Ascent lightweight down jacket and Eddie Bauer quick dry hiking shirt -- damp all the way through.  And they're right -- once down is wet, there's no warmth.  My upper body was the only part that got cold, which probably isn't a good thing considering the location of all the vital organs.

Arc'Teryx water resistant pants layered over Icebreaker merino wool base layer -- soaked through the pants, merino wool damp but still warm.  Even my Exofficio underwear were wet.

Vasque gortex waterproof hiking boots -- soaked through, Wigwam socks were wet when boots came off but didn't feel wet when walking.  Feet stayed warm.

Gaiters -- unused since my cross country skiing days, actually kept the bottom of my pants clean and mostly dry.  They're a keeper.

Basically the only part of me that stayed dry was my Icebreaker merino wool bra.   So I guess I need to fine tune some things.  Or pray for a dry stretch of English weather.  Either way, a little -- or a lot -- of rain won't dampen my excitement for hiking the Cotswolds.

After all, I'm a wet coast girl.


Book Review:  Wow...two good reads in a row, this one non-fiction.  The Devil in the White City by Eric Larson was meticulously and impeccably researched. There was nothing dry in this account of the designing and building of the World's Fair in Chicago in 1893.  Add to this the parallel story of H.H.Holmes, a serial killer operating in the vicinity at the same time.  Fascinating reading on both parts.  The names from history associated with the fair and the inventions that debuted there were astounding.  A real history lesson.  I couldn't have enjoyed this book more.  Highly recommended!

Together Again

Me and Gregory...Gregory and me. Together again.  Two months from today we head out on our next adventure so we've been getting reacquainted over the past couple of days.  I loaded him up with some weights, nothing too heavy duty, we'll increase the load as we go along.  And nothing too strenuous for terrain, just some urban hikes so far.  A few hills, some mucky trails.  And it's through no fault of Gregory's that he's a major pain in my ass. Literally.

Seems my butt slide down the neighbour's stairs did more damage than I first thought.  When I wasn't totally immobilized the next day I figured I'd dodged a pretty high caliber bullet. Apparently not.  Coming up to two weeks later and I'm a hurtin' unit.  Not all the time.  Mostly bending over.  Or kneeling.  Or getting up from either of those positions.  Or doing anything that requires using my quads, like walking up hill. Today I added getting into and out of the car to the list.  Lying on the floor to do any kind of ab work? Fuhgeddaboudit. The pain when trying to roll up into a sit-up could not be any more excruciating.  Like a knife...with a twist at the end. I think I may have even screamed out loud.

And it's not like I can pinpoint where the pain is.  It just aches -- my lower back, my entire butt, the tops of my legs just below my butt.  I'm going with a bruised tailbone.  And no, I'm not going to the doctor to confirm or deny.  Remember the foot?  "It's tendinitis, doc."  "No, it's gout."  "Pretty sure it's tendinitis."  "No, it's gout."  "You sure?"  "No, it's tendinitis."  Besides, he'd just give me his usual advice -- if it hurts to do something, stop doing it.  Like walking?  Ain't gonna happen.

So Gregory and I are toughing it out.  Sure, it hurts where he sits on my lower back.  But I can deal.  And I figure I'm probably not doing any further damage. Probably.  Maybe.

Hopefully?

Book Review:  For those of you who think I don't like many books without the name Stephen King on the spine, well...I do.  Here's one -- Time of Departure by Douglas Schofield.  Without giving too much away, it's a genre bending mystery that left me wanting to go back and reread it knowing everything I did at the end.  Well executed and a good fast read.  I look forward to Schofield's next book.

The Blitz

Have you ever looked at your calendar and realized you have a whole week open without one single commitment? No appointments, no assignments, no obligations.  When I saw the big blank that was the first week of February, I decided it was time to put the purge into high gear.  No more one drawer here, a closet there.  Sometimes slow and steady wins the race, but in the game of high stakes purging, it just seemed like it was going on forever.  Like all I was doing was cleaning out stuff and accomplishing little else. Time for drastic measures.  Time for...The Blitz.  That the first day of the week was also the first day of the month was too good to pass up. It's a psychological thing -- fresh starts and all that.

On Monday February 1st I put aside all thought of doing anything else and waded in. My previous efforts in the main floor rooms meant I was starting well ahead of the game.  In two days I declared the kitchen, living and dining rooms, bathroom, and bedrooms done. There is nothing left in those rooms that I don't absolutely need, want, or love. For now.  Despite my blitz mentality, minimalism is an ongoing process.

The basement? Not so easy.  Part of that is due to the fact that all of the kid's stuff from her year of living away is now stored in the rec room.  Part is due to the set up of the basement -- mudroom (aka storage room); workshop (aka storage room); storage room (not to be confused with the mudroom and workshop); laundry room (aka storage room); bathroom; workout room; and rec room (aka storage room). Do you detect a pattern here? Has the word storage appeared at least four times too many?

To top it off, the official storage room is where all the boxes of sentimental shit ends up.  The stuff with a past, a history, an emotional attachment -- that you're perfectly happy to leave in a box for the rest of eternity.  So here's the question -- if you don't want to have this stuff displayed in your house, if you have no intention of ever letting it out of the box, why hang on to it? Because when you're dead and gone the person who opens the box will have no attachment whatsoever and will promptly donate or sell it.  That's what I kept telling myself as I opened box after box after box.  And I did pretty damn good. I'm almost positive that I wasn't hurting my dead grandmother's feelings when I relegated her bits and pieces of china to the garage sale pile.  Ditto my collections of salt and pepper shakers and Coke trays, remnants of my younger self.  Oh, there were a couple of things that tugged on my heartstrings, that yes, went back into a box.  But that box is so much smaller and there's only one.  I'd call that progress.

I even hauled out the bins of Christmas decorations of which I am quite sure I own more than the average person.  Because Christmas was always my thing. But now that it's not my thing it was oh, so easy to dispose of more than half of it.  Same with the Halloween and Easter decorations. Yup, I was the mom who decorated for every occasion, trying to create life long memories for the kid. Turns out they'll remember what they remember for reasons you can't direct or control.  Lesson learned.  

Now, with one day left in this weeklong blitz I know I'm not gonna make it. Because there's still the rec room.  And that's where I've dumped every single thing I've designated garage sale worthy.  But I'm on a roll so there's no stopping now.  A couple more days to organize the boxes for a spring garage sale and then that's it.  I'm out from under.  For now.  Because I think living with less is kind of like weight loss.  You loose a few pounds then stay there until your body gets used to being that weight.  I'll need to get used to the new weight of the house.

Before I shed a bit more.


Book Reviews:  Golden State by Stephanie Kegan is the story of a crime and its repercussions as told by a family member of the accused.  Unfortunately I grew tired very quickly of the narrator as the victim.  Overall I didn't see much growth in her character.  I like the premise of flipping the story to reveal how the family of the accused is impacted but it was done much better in Jodi Picoult's Nineteen Minutes and Lionel Shriver's We Need To Talk About Kevin.

Initially I wasn't a fan of Jessica Treadway's writing style in Lacey Eye but I got used to it, or it grew on me.  Either way, I enjoyed this tension filled story of a mother struggling to support her daughter, who many believe was involved in her own father's murder.