When I dropped off books for resale at the Kona Book Store on Sunday, there was a sign saying they no longer accepted CDs or DVDs. Great! I have about 1,000 music CDs, 99.9% with classical music. Anyone out there have any ideas of how to get rid of them other than throwing them in the town dump?
I was also worried about dealing with the carpet store people and trying to extract the information I wanted from them without getting into an argument. I had three questions I wanted to be answered. If they redirected me away from my questions, I would say, "Thank you for the advice. Is there any reason you're not answering my questions?" I had already decided that if they refused to answer them, I would post information on their behavior on Facebook and tell everyone I knew. I also had already lined up a prominent citizen, Sandor, to speak to them on my behalf. I think Sandor has become my go-to-guy when I need a male voice to back me up.
Bikram was a relief from my preoccupations. There I focused on my body. It serves as a meditation. It was wonderful. I thought my back was straighter, and Heather agreed with me.
After I left there, I went directly to Habitat to Humanity to deliver all the items I had loaded in my car for donation last Thursday before I got sick. They don't take just anything anymore. They refused a rarely used sponge mop and some Pyrex dishes, saying they are not accepting dishes anymore because they have too many as it is. The Restore in Ohio took cans of half-full paint. This Restore exams each piece and decides whether it's worthy of donation. I suspect Mike is behind this change. Not only has he left me with an excessive amount of stuff, but he had also worked to make sure that I couldn't donate to Habitat. It was he who redesigned this organization and how they function. He had little tolerance for leftovers and the Gerry rigged. Me, I operate on the secondhand and the Gerry-rigged.
Before I went home, I stopped at Home Depot to check out the toilets. The beige color on the toilets is subtle enough to fit into my bathroom décor. There were some toilets for $100 more than the others. I found an employee and asked him what the difference was. He said, "It's just like with cars." I wondered what I would be getting for that $100. He said, "Brand name." I'd like to think there is more of a difference between a Hyundai and a Porsche, but who knows. I asked him if he thought they would provide the same service. He said, "Yes." However, I will have to order my toilet online because they didn't stock the beige one in the store.
I had already bought a new lid for my current, very white toilet. That alone cost $35. Once I return that, I will have a new toilet with a brand new lid for only $100 more than I was planning to spend anyway.
I texted B. to ask if he could install the new toilet. He said yes. We're good. Now I have to order it online.
My final stop was Costco for salad and probiotics. The probiotics were on sale; $5 discount on up to fifteen items. I got five; that was still a $25 savings. I went to get the salad. I had had a disappointing and frustrating morning. No, nothing major, but in the mood I was in, it was those little straws that were breaking this camel's back. Truth is, I also had other things on my mind. Conflicts abound. But this issue with the floor is the worst by far. I passed the cheese counter and thought, I need some Brie cheese. So I bought a $9 chunk of it.
When I got home, the first thing I did was crack open that Brie. I had about a teaspoon full, and then another. The first was satisfying. The second made me nauseous. On, well. I think I'm going to give Judy half of that chunk of cheese. What am I going to do with it? There is no way I can eat a Costco portion of cheese designed for a party on my own in a timely way.
After I showered, I started my phone calls regarding the flooring. I finally got hold of Victor. He answered the phone. I told him I was trying to get hold of him for five days. He was genuinely surprised. Who knows what happened? He had the answers to my questions. No, he did not think the squeaking was coming from loose subflooring. Yes, he had walked on the floor after he had raised the Pergo and before he had laid the carpeting. And he had even stepped on the floor after laying the carpet to check again. He didn't hear anything that sounded like loose subflooring.
He also said yes, he had glued down the acoustic insulation material, but it was easy to peel up. It is only held down with double-sided tape. While the carpet store said that the carpet could be lifted and re-laid, Victor strongly recommended against disturbing it. He suggested that I put insulation into the ceiling below. I told him how expensive that would be. He argued with me. I told him I didn't want to argue with him about it, thank you, and good-bye. At least, I hope. I also said thank you.
I called the carpet store and asked for the name of the manufacture of the acoustic material. How much will the acoustic material's effectiveness be compromised by driving screws through it every 5 inches along each joist? I was told that this thin acoustical material is effective because it directs the sound waves along a horizontal path instead of a vertical one. The screws must make some difference unless the heads break off right on top of the subflooring underneath the acoustic material. In that case, there would only be small holes in the material impact its effectiveness. Moan-groan. So much to think about.
I went off to school for the first time since before Christmas. I was exhausted and seriously frazzled. When I arrived, while the parking lot was full, I didn't see a single child. I went to the office to check. Yes, tomorrow was the first day back to school for the children. I have some vague memory of having seen that online.
As I got in the car, my friend Jean called from Arizona. We met here at Bikram before she and her husband moved back to Tucson. We talked about this and that, comparing notes on our respective lives, playing catch up. She told me that she reads all my blogs but realizes that I leave certain details out. When I feel I'm having trouble with other people, I usually try not to include that. I do when I think we're both at fault, but I have had complaints from people saying that it doesn't look like it's equal because I'm writing it. That's not a healing position and not one I want to take.
While I was talking to her, finding a solution to the floor problem came up. We could mark the spots where we hear the squeaking with tape and drive a few screws with the through-the-carpet process to see if there is a change in the situation, either eliminating the sound or shifting it to another location. If not, then we know we have to look elsewhere.
On the way home, I made a quick stop at Matsuyama's, our local bodega, to pick up an apple. $2.56 for ONE apple. Granted, it was a big one.
I went down for a nap shortly after I entered the house. I was utterly knackered. As I lay down, I thought of Mike speaking to me, comforting me. I told him to tell me that he loves me. What I heard was Mike saying the words very slowly in a forced, deep gravelly voice. The first smile of the day crossed my mouth with a hint of laughter right behind it.
One day in our first few years together, I went up to him and asked him to say that he loved me. Now, these were common words from his mouth. I just had a need to hear them at that moment. He said, "I'm not feeling it right now." I said, "That's okay, just fake it." He threw out a perfunctory, "I love you." I said, "No, say it like you mean it," and he said it in that slow deep gravelly voice. It was comforting then, and it remained so for the rest of our lives. I never questioned his love for me. Sometimes his like for me was strained, but never his love, admiration, and deep respect.
I had defrosted some fish I found in the freezer that a friend had given me many years ago for dinner. B. packaged them in some air-free process that helped preserve them. I cooked both of them tonight. I had no idea what I was doing. I put water and butter into a frying pan and threw the fish in. Whatever, it was good enough, along with more broccoli and salad, and of course, my limeade.
After dinner, I hauled out some clothes to give to Memory Lane. I don't think a men's dress suit would be suitable for either the homeless or the Ula Wini crowd. Dress suits are not typical wear in Hawaii. An aloha shirt and shorts are suitable for all occasions." After dinner, Elsa and I headed for the library. I started watching "The Good Place." Damon had recommended it ages ago. I heard a radio commentator saying it was one of his favorite shows for 2019. It's a profound ditzy comedy. An interesting combination. It's about people who did not live good lives who wound up in 'the good place' by accident and want to stay. It beats 'the bad place.'
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