Mail pondering - snail and otherwise

Why did someone invent envelopes with windows?  What happens to all the paper cut out from the envelope? Have you ever inserted something into one of these open-faced windows upside down, sideways, backwards?  And, if you did, was it accidentally mailed?  Why does one open-faced envelope not fit another's contents?  Is it a conspiracy to keep the envelope from falling into the wrong hands?

What about Dead Letters? Years ago while I was living in North Carolina I put an unstamped envelope into a mailbox. The minute it dropped in I realized my mistake.  Luckily, the mail carrier who came to empty the box possessed genuine Southern-gentleman-manners, and let me rummage through the stack and stamp the envelope, avoiding a long wait for its return from the Dead Letter Office.  Do they still call it that?

Are lost letters or strayed packages "returned to sender"  nowadays? Or do they pile up somewhere in a musty warehouse? Occasionally I have been contacted about the non-receipt of something which I am certain I mailed.  Validates "the check is in the mail" belief, but causes frustration for me, and the non-recipient.

Mis-addressed emails are no longer returned "unable to deliver."
Either there were too many for our ISP's to handle, or someone lost his/her job programming the software to return them.

This time of year my mail box overflows with catalogues -  obviously many companies have yet to stop printing - even though they all have comprehensive websites - and often suggest that there are more
items to view on the internet than in the catalogue.  Covering their bases no doubt.

Film critique - Girl with Dragon Tattoo

Catching up with friends who read them years ago, I recently finished the spell-binding Swedish trilogy -
starring Lisbeth Salander - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.  Regretfully, the author, Steig Larsson, died soon after completing the third. (Some speculate that he planned a series of ten volumes.)

I have just watched the Swedish film version of the first, and am baffled by it.  I would love to talk to others who have read the books, and then viewed the film/s.  Throughout,  all I could wonder was: how in the world could anyone get caught up in this story? The film is quite episodic and fails to covey the suspense, the characterizations, the nuances which as a reader I found compelling - and haunting. I am also disappointed with the actor cast as Lisbeth - she is too pretty, not as edgy as I expected, nor as diminutive. Larsson makes a point of her size frequently  - with comments on the strength such a tiny person exhibits.

I expect to view the other two films - just wondering how I will react.  It has been ages since I have seen a film 'based on a book' which I had read, consumed, and enjoyed.  Recollection informs that this was among the most disappointing.

Urban drama on a drizzly day - it takes a force

I telephoned our local police department today to report a late model 4-door BMW which had been parked in front of my home for several days - with four pavement-touching flat tires.  I was told that the police were busy on calls, but would attend to it as soon as possible.  In less than half an hour, a police car, a fire department tow truck, a police tow truck, a fire engine, a van with a flashing red light over the dash, and a pickup truck  arrived. At least fifteen minutes of manly discussion resulted ultimately in the beginnings of an Official Police Tow,  stopped when the truck driver got on his cell phone, apparently trying to figure out how to drag a car on its rims - carefully.

A young man in a white hoodie seems to be involved.  He may be the car's owner because after all the excitement, with official document in hand, he trudged into the apartment building across the street.

Another police car has arrived -apparently the police department photographer. The tow truck driver continues to struggle with the proper placement of the tires - using miniature tires on an axle.

A lot of manpower to remove one car .

Darby finds it barkingly entertaining.

The apparent owner has come back out - he looks a little mournful.

The car may have been leaking - the tow driver has sprinkled a bucket of sand where it had been parked which he is spreading with a broom.

Urban drama on a drizzly day - it takes a force.

Water aerobics at the Rose Bowl

The Rose Bowl Aquatic Center, Pasadena, Ca, offers water aerobic workouts - early mornings for seniors, evenings for anyone, including seniors. The evening group (almost entirely female) is more I-fit-in than I expected - age range mostly middle and up, sizes from very 'fluffy' to solid and toned (more of the former than the latter) - many proclaim their long-time attendance, year round, even on the coldest days.  Yes, the pool is outdoors and temperatures drop, even in sunny southern California.

The two regular instructors, Alanna and Tracy provide a full hour's workout.
Alanna, Mondays and Wednesdays, a chunky ball of fire and sass - a grandmother, Harley cycle spokesperson, owner of various exotic vehicles including a Corvette, and a luxe camper.
Rock music, lots of fast movement.

Tracy, a retro-look, curly hair in ultra-long pony tail, so thin her shorts threaten to slide down her hips,
entire session from the pool's edge - using  pantomime ala Marcel Marceau to indicate tummy in, head up, back straight, legs straight, toe pointed - a spellbinding routine.  I hear that she is a physical therapist and a dancer.

I have been introduced to websites featuring water wear for cold climes - not quite wetsuits, but designed for year-round outdoor swimmers, and websites featuring every possible shape, color, size and type of swim suit, coverup, sandal, and beach towel.  All sorts of new fibers - micro, poly, bamboo, hemp -

I am determined to continue, on into the cold - providing I can find a suitable,  affordable garment to ease me into goose-bumpy water.

Family swimming begins the minute our group of fifty to sixty aerobicists climb out.  The families often consist of a father who sits and watches, a mother who plunges in with a reluctant infant, siblings shoving and splashing - so many that there is only space to jump up and down - not stretch out and paddle.

A new sign appeared this week  - "Absolutely no boy over age three allowed in Women's Locker Room."  Wish I had seen what prompted this.

After the first day or two of damp floor, damp air, damp hair, damp infants, damp bodies, wet benches,
wet towels, wet howlers, I changed my routine.  Wear swimsuit to Center, towel off poolside, use alternate bathroom to change into dry panties, put suit into plastic bag, don coverup, drive home sitting on additional towel if necessary.  I notice a number of aerobicists with the same plan.

Darby tries to trick me

Wednesday is Farmer's Market day in Sierra Madre.
Although we have only a few faithful vendors, I am addicted.

This afternoon I brought home a crisp round loaf of bread wrapped in cellophane. I also brought a delicious crepe -filled with fresh herbs, tomatoes, ham, chicken, cheese, spices, on  spinach-dough - the aroma heaven-scent (sic).

First, Darby eyed the crepe, under my nose, and his.

Next, he dashed by heading for the stairs -with the loaf of bread in his mouth, snitched from the counter. I no sooner grabbed it than he dashed for the table, and began to gorge on the crepe.  Made a great dinner for both of us - I won.

Television cartoon featuring onset of labor pains - a new trend?

Martha Speaks is a book about a talking dog.  I discovered it at a local library during one of the Barks and Books sessions my labradoodle MaeRose and I conduct on behalf of the Pasadena Humane Society's Companion Animal Program.  Because I have written a book about a cook in an alphabet factory who makes all the letters for alphabet soup, Martha Speaks spoke to me. (groan)

That is, until last week when I viewed a cartoon episode featuring a flashback to the day one of Martha's human family was born.  Martha sat in the back of the car, driven by the father.  In the car were an obviously pregnant woman who spoke with an hispanic accent, and one young child.  The weather was cold.  The mother was stuffed into a puffy down-filled jacket - with her oversized tummy showing.

I am a little fuzzy about all the details of this episode, but the scenes which I found remarkable showed the pregnant woman announcing the onset of labor pains, and the subsequent race to the hospital, with several mishaps, changes of types of transportation, and an arrival at the hospital just in time for the birth.  Martha was responsible for finding each new mode of transport, while the anxious father- and mother-to-be discussed the ensuing labor pains, their frequency, and their urgency.

I am curious about how often this event is portrayed in cartoons for the young.  I don't think I am uptight, just wondering.

In fact, it is not the pregnancy so much as the birthing prelude which seemed a new topic for Saturday morning cartooning.  Or am I way behind?

Give a dog a bone

Yesterday Darby and MaeRose had their annual veterinarian's visit - routine shots, and a discussion about teeth getting tartar scaled (they need attention).  The vet suggested that I purchase beef bones, boil them till they are "powdery white" and give them to the dogs as a stop-gap to expensive teeth cleaning.

I went to our local butcher - with real over-the-counter butchers, and meat which is fresh, not packaged,  and asked if they had beef bones, expecting to be told they were scarce, or not available at all.
Instead, off the butcher went to the freezer - returning with a cardboard box filled with humongous
bones - I had no idea they were going to be so big.  He asked what size I wanted.  My baffled look was enough to have him disappear to the back room where he sawed one of the two-foot long, four inch thick bones into seven or eight formidable chunks.

They never actually turned powder white after boiling for hours, but seemed properly tooth-gnawing ready.  This morning I gave each dog one of chunks. (I planned to do some sweaty gardening, and did not want to be interrupted.)  MaeRose began immediately to suck, gnaw, nibble, gnash, savor her bone. 

Darby, on the other hand, went into a frenzy of pacing back and forth, up and down the garden stairs, round and round the flower beds, right and left, over and under.  River rocks, flagstone slabs, potted plants, and bushes made excavation almost impossible.  He plowed out a pile of dirt from an empty pot, and uprooted a kefir lily. And still he kept pacing.  Once he even let me take the bone from his mouth, reluctantly, but with grace.  By this time it was covered with mud from all the aborted digging.  I scraped off as much as I could, and gave it back to him.  Finally, after at least 45 minutes he decided it was time to sample his prize.  And so he began a lengthy munching.

Meantime, MaeRose had cleaned her bone inside and out - turning it into a beautiful white napkin-ring
size trophy.

When I finished in the garden I wangled the bones from each dog, and put them in the freezer (the bones, not the dogs).

This evening Darby explored the entire garden, nose to the ground, looking for any possible remnants from his morning promenade.  No luck. Tomorrow I will let each dog have his/her leftover bone.
And, then I will boil two more.