Who cut the cheese?

It’s Cheese Gromit!   I know I don’t talk in details about what I do at work, but I just had to show what I was doing the other day.  I take this exercise, task, whatever, for granted because I’ve done it a million times over.  I’m not sure if you knew or not, but I get paid for “cutting the cheese”. I know, it sounds like the dream life of an 11 year old boy.

This particular cheese is from a 175 pound wheel which is about 3 feet across.  What you see are the quarters, which are approximately, 32.5 pounds each.  When I was introduced to this piece of cheese, it was still in it’s half form and needed ‘washed’.    I’m 5′2″ and this cheese is on an average sized table, the cheese comes up to my shoulder which makes it a bit awkward for handling, turning, or cutting.  The cleaning solution in the bottle is water, salt and a very small amount of apple cider vinegar.  I spray the rind of the cheese, saturating it to loosen any mold and then use a brush to get the remaining bits of mold, wiping it all clean with a cloth towel.  If I had not done that, the mold would have been passed to the cheese as I cut through it, thus reducing the shelf life of the cheese.  It took me about an hour to wash the cheese.  You will want to thank your local cheese steward for doing this EVERY time with wheels of parmesan or large Swiss.

The ‘tool’ sitting on the table with the gray handles is the wire that I use to cut the cheese. (I hear giggling every time I write ’cut the cheese’ ).  It took me another 2 hours to bust this dude down to managable 8oz portions.  I was located in a very prominent part of store so I also got to sample to customers, who then went on to purchase, completeting  the perfect retail circle of life.  Someone else got the honor of wrapping, and pricing the cheese.  The next step would then be displaying it in the cheese case, which I also didn’t have to do.  My time was up at that store and I needed to move along to the next opportunity.

This is not the largest piece of cheese I’ve cut.  Any guesses as to how big the largest piece was?  There will be a gift of cheese coming your way if you guess correctly.   Come on, say cheese.

Party of One

 

My life lately has been consumed with work and since I generally don’t write about work, I haven’t written much.  So instead I’ll entertain you with some new choice for the blog layout and photos.  In fact if you like to participate in this blog layout, suggest a photo, or send me one.  If you don’t have my email addy, it’s over —–>>> beneath my photo.  If I pick your photo, I’ll also send you a PRIZE!!!  Did I say prize?  Yes I did, oh what could it be? 

I like change.  That word alone causes trama and panic in a lot of people, but I am not one of them.  Perhaps it’s my gypsy like nature, the nomad in me, or I simply get bored quicker.  But I like to tweek my environment, by moving furniture, painting walls, or doing a remodel, most likely to the chagrin of my Sweet Husband who will most like be recruited to ‘help’.  Yesterday I brought home a side table that needed to be assembled.  What is not told in the instructions are any tools you might need and the fact you will need the arms of Kali to minimize the frustration level.  Insert piece Q in tab B, but only after you have to redrill the hole in piece C.  After a few choice moments we finally accomplished this task and we now have matching end tables, like real grown ups, with matching furniture.  Hell it only took just a little over 50 years to not look like the early college collection from the Goodwill.

So about the change thing.  We’re going to paint the living room, mostly because it needs it, not because I really have a burning desire to remove everything in the living room and dining room.  But it will be fresh and clean and new.  I also like new.  That doesn’t mean it has to be ‘brand’ new, but simply new to me.  Yes we will use new paint, I do have my limits, and, and, and… and what? I’ll just post some photos when we are done.  You’ll like it I promise.  And if you don’t, you come here and paint it.  Now that’s a prize I can live with. 

Happy Halloween

Our best sides!

Helooo kitty

How can a cat so small, Meoww SO loud, have Poops bigger than my arm, and be so in want of food she will bite the hands that feeds her. She’s still for sale…

EYE couldn’t be happier

 

I have to say,that I am VERY happy with the results of my recent cataract surgery.  Oh my Gawd!  I can’t believe how awesome it is to see actual detail without having to squint and peer through soup.  I’ve been back to two different eye doctors already and they are especially pleased with my progress.  I have to go back in 3 weeks and then I will get a new prescription for contacts and glasses.  Because only one of my eyes needed the cataract repair, I opted to have the surgeon correct my vision so both eyes would match in their near sightedness. 

Dr Doogie, said that he could correct my vision so that I wouldn’t need glasses.   In. One. Eye.  Let’s think about this for a second.  It’s been a while since we’ve see Monocles in fashion and I suppose I could start a new trend, but I said no, let’s stick with the glasses.  Besides, I don’t think I could wear mascara anymore with a monocle, I’d be right back where I started, seeing through goo.

That’s my latest update for eye health….bottom line is I’m HAPPY!!!  Tomorrow I’m off to Houston, lucky me!  I did see that the weather is in the 80’s so I’ll take one for the team and suck up the sunshine.  The past two days we were in Leavenworth for October Fest.  The weather was total crap, but we managed to down a few beers, margaritas, champagne and some wine.  No wonder I’m tired.  I’ll catch up with you soon, with what I’m sure will be a very interesting update about Houston….hmmm, we’ll see.

The eyes have it! Part Three

To catch up, you might want to read Part One and Part Two.

Well here I am, ready to go under the knife, as it were.  Notice the obvious disregard for ‘no photos’?  We are such rebels.  When we arrived at the appointed check in time, Sweet Husband was well prepared for the duration.  We were to be at the facility for 2-3 hours, yet the actual surgery was to be complete in less than 10 minutes. I knew how I would be spending my time.  But to occupy his time he had a book, a Zune with podcasts of Rachel Maddow, an FM radio, and a plothera of the standard selection of office magazines,  produced in BIG print.  Yet what did he do?  He watched the giant screen which is showing a big blue dot where my eyeball was soon to be.  He was asked when I was checking in, if he wanted to ‘observe’, to which he responded with a quick ,”‘uh, no, that won’t be necessary”.  I wasn’t hurt, I wouldn’t want to ‘observe’ either.  But as other people, (all much older than me) toddled in and  their ‘ride’ was asked if they wanted to ‘observe’, they all quickly said “Yes”.  I guess guilt got the best of him, so he muttered something about “well if everybody else is ‘observing’ then I guess I should too”.  I didn’t realize this was a competitive spectator sport.  So observe he did, and I’m glad he did or he wouldn’t have this ill gained photo of me at pre-op. 

Our Sweet Daughter was VERY nervous about me having this procedure, even with  us reassuring her and poo-pooing the possibility of something going wrong.  Perhaps I am a much stronger person than I realize, but several people asked me if I was nervous about having cataract surgery?  Uh, nope!  Not until I was actually sitting in the chair and all of a sudden I could feel my heart rate go up by just thinking about was going to happen.   Yeah, things happen all the time, but isn’t that why we there are eye patches?

From what Sweet Husband said about ‘observing’ the procedure, it looked like there was some brutality going on.  He said that from the movements it looked like the Dr. was vacuuming the carpet.  Sweet Husband said he didn’t know that garden trowels and giant hooks were going to be used.  But let’s keep in mind that the surgery was being shown on a 36in monitor so that might have something to do with magnification of size and movement.  I had been issued pretty good drugs so I wasn’t paying too much attention, but I did feel a slight pressure at one point, but nothing else.

I was done before I knew it.  I was ushered out of the room, stripped of my IV, downed some orange juice and was walking out the door in less time than what it takes to drive home.  My lovely parting gift, consisted of  an eye patch to wear at night, a pair of almost-as-large-as-my-head less than fashionalbe dark  glasses, 3 different vials of eyedrops  and the urging to take Ibuprofen if I had any pain. They were very efficient in this office, there were no less than 6 patients in varying stages the whole time I was there, quite impressive.

This morning was the follow up appointment (man these doctors are young) today I saw Ms Doogie Houser who kindly signed me off to my regular eye guy, after a thorough checkup.  My eye is progressing well, I’ll have wonky sight for a while (wonky being my word not theirs) as the prescription will need to be changed for my glasses/contact lenses.  I’m happy with the procedure but really wonder how I will get by for the next few weeks with blurry eyesight , yet without that bothersome cloudiness.  But you know me, I’ll keep you posted.

Collection agency, I’m not!

 

A long time ago when I thought I had a lot of space, free time and extra money, I collected copper.  Not the wire from electrical motors that my dad used to take apart, but cookware, plates, knick-knacks, you know, dust collectors.  I was introduced to this accumulation by a friend when she gave me duplicate pieces from her copper collection. The green tarnished seed had been planted and there was no getting around it. I was a woman obsessed with obscure and weird peices. The weirder the better.  I had a collections of copper horns that bespeckeled my wall, and yes they did make noise when blown into.  My dad had given me an old oil funnel made of copper and when I found out how much it was worth, I told him no when he asked if he could have it back.  He was kidding of course and in his adventures he now had something else to look for when he went to estate sales and auctions.  I had my second enabler….go me!

Over the course of a couple decades, my pile of boxes of copper grew.  The pieces decorated the walls, counters and shelves of my home, wherever that home was, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, or two different places in Ohio.  A friend even bought me a very expensive set of copper cookware, but I returned the set and that is a what we call ‘a whole nuther story’.  Needless to say I had a bunch of copper.  Then one day I quit, cold turkey.  I grew weary of polishing, and dusting and cleaning and moving them.  I started diminishing the pile with trips to the goodwill or various friends and today I am down to a few pieces scattered around, and a few in a box in the attic. I kept the pieces that are unusual and some day when they are all near a camera at the same time I might have my Sweet Photographer Husband take some groovy photos.

I’d say I don’t collect things but click on either one of these photos and you will see what I can’t get rid of.  I keep little things that remind me of certain days or situations, or they simply make me laugh.  Go ahead, ask any question about anything you see on these boards, I’ll answer, but first you have to tell me why you think that piece is there in the first place. 

 

Actual conversation

It's my birthday and I'll party if I want to

 

We are having an extended summer with temperatures higher than usual, which I find quite nice.  It won’t be too long before I’m bitchin about the rain and cold, so I’ll take as much sun and warm as they want to send me.

With this nice weather we continue having as many meals as possible outside.  Last night was no exception.  As I started to clean up the table after dinner, so we could move to the other end of the yard and enjoy the evening, this is the actual conversation that occured.

“Honey, I’ll clean this up, don’t worry about it. Afterall this is your Birthday week.”  I said to Sweet Husband.

 ”Is that like Shark week?” he asks with a grin.

Me back at him, “Yeah, just like that, but different”.

Join me in wishing my Sweet Husband a Happy 51st birthday today.  But don’t wait for any biting or creepy shark music, we don’t celebrate that way.  We will have carrot cake though, stop on in if you’re in the area.

At the Fair

The eyes have it! Part TWO

Just to catch you up, you might want to read part one. 

About two years ago I was being fitted for new contacts and the fit was never correct on my left eye. Try this new lense, how about this new lense? Does this new lense work? None of these corrections seemed to help.  On top of that the woman in charge of the contact lens department was a crank and rude.  Ok, I wasn’t the valedictorian at any of my graduations, but I’m not stupid either.  This woman treated me like I was stupid and that I didn’t know my own eyes.  I grew weary of her attitude so I eventually  left that practice and went to another optometrist.  I limped along with the contacts they provided and tried to make it work.

For your edification, let’s pretend that someone was walking toward you with an open container of petroleum jelly.  Just as you pass them, an earthquakes occurs, causing their hand to dislodge a blob of said petroleum jelly where it is launched and lands directly in your left eye.  Your vision is now a constant blur, it does not sting, it does not cause you headaches. Your vision is now compromised.  You now may have a keener understanding of  Impressionist Paintings.  You are now in sync with what I have been going through for the last few years and you now see how I’ve been seeing.  The earthquake did not cause any additional damage.

Let’s slow forward to December ‘08.  I’m at the new place seeing, (get it, seeing) the new Doc, getting all tested. I’m given contacts, with instructions to wear these for a couple of weeks, then I’m to come back in for a follow up and viola’, life is good.  But it’s not, I go back to be refitted, none of these lenses are working.  This happens 4 times.  Let’s do the math….4 appointments with an average of 3 weeks in between, because we have to include Christmas closings, vacations and New Years closing, that is about 12 weeks. AUGH!  A couple of days before my NEXT appointment I have this epiphany that perhaps it’s my eye that is out of whack and not the contact fitting.  On top of all the waiting I was being shuffled between Doctors, who weren’t very good at writing notes, because I had to keep reminding them as to why I was there….again. 

I settle into the chair and tell the Doc about my thoughts on having a whacked out eye.  For the record, I don’t think “whacked out” is an actual medical term, but I’m not all caught up on that like some people I know.  The Doc started poking around with different lights and lasers and stuff.  He sits back  and says that he is going to send me to a retinal specialist because he sees something on my eye but isn’t sure as to what it might be.  It could very well be the beginning of a cataract. well halla-fuckin-looo-ya!  Now we’re getting somewhere, my blurriness might end…..eventually.

I know this is getting long winded, but please stay with me.  After a few weeks of the ’scheduling dance’ with the retinal specialist, the day is set.  Sweet Husband comes along to drive me home since my eyes will be dilated.  Here’s the part that makes us sound like OLD people.  I asked if would he come into the appointment with me, because I wanted him to hear what was said, so I wouldn’t have to repeat it. I have a good memory, it’s just short. I am SO glad he was there to hear it with very own ears.

I’m given a myriad of test with lights and lasers and dancers.  Just kidding, there weren’t dancers, I wanted to make sure you were paying attention.  I want to go on record that not once did this “retinal specialist’ physically look into my eyes. It was her 18 year old assistant that did all the testing.   We asked about the possibility of a cataract and she said no, there was no cataract.  (For the quoted part think with a Russian accent)

” Also, plus you will need to take vitamin.”

Um, excuse me, what do the vitamins do, I asked her. 

 ”They will be like other vitamin, it will help eye” 

So how does this help my sight right now, I ask. 

” It does not help now, it makes time to end of sight longer”

END OF SIGHT????  WTF!?!

“You should not stress,  is only 10% of vision.  I see patients every day that lose 50-75% of vision, so take vitamin.”

 Don’t STRESS?  Don’t fucking STRESS?  So there’s nothing you can do to help me, I implore her.  My head is about to explode which would make the point of seeing, useless anyway. 

“No, just take vitamin, assistant get vitamins and make an appointment for 6 months to check up again.”

Like hell, I’m coming back to this place,we walked out of the office, I am stunned and sobbing.  I turn 50 and this is what I have to show for it, loosing my eyesight?  While I was still in the office with her, I told her that I was not going to accept her diagnosis.  Her body language showed me she couldn’t care less.  And if you’ve been reading carefully you’ll notice that I didn’t write what her diagnosis was, it’s because she never said it to me.  The diagnosis came in the form of a report back to my referring dr who then shared it with me.  It seems that I have macular degeneration.  I urge you to click the link, in case you don’t know what that is.  There is no cure, and that makes me sad. 

HOWEVER, not one to be deterred by bad news, I get an appointment with my first original eye doctor and request the records from Dr Killjoy be sent to his office.  I went back to this office as they had eye mapping records that went back for a few years.   I go in we have a lengthy discussion, I tell him the reason I left was because of the Contact Nazi and he assured me that situation would be solved.   I go through all of his eye tests, and we come to the conclusion that a second opinion is needed.  YEAH!

I am set up to go to a different retinal specialist for my second opinion.   The day arrives, Sweet Husband again needs to take me as I won’t be able to drive.  This appointment is WAY different, I was tested, tested and retested.  Dr Cute-young-thing is looking into my eye with a very strong light when she, exclaims, “oh, I see what it is, you have a cataract that is very hard to see on the front part of your blabbity blah blah blab”  We’ll take a picture so you can see it. And they did, and there it was, in high definition color, a half moon of cataract in my left eye.  It was a beautiful thing.

So I don’t have macular degeneration, I ask.   No, not one sign of macular degeneration.  You’ll have to see a cataract specialist but no, you don’t have macular degeneration.  I was ecstatic, I was going to be able to wipe the petroleum jelly out of my eye and not be annoyed by that need to see.

I’ve since been to the cataract specialist.  There was a show about him a little while back, called Doogie Howser, M.D.  This guy was young, I wanted to ask him if his mom knew where he was.  But the first thing out of his mouth was, “You’re kind of young to be having cataracts” to which I instantly cut him some slack.  Yes I am young, and once surgery is completed in October, I think I will feel even younger.  I was told that everyone gets cataracts and that it is the easiest correction to make.  I will be very happy to be able to see clearly, that too is a beautiful thing.

I recently got the bill from Dr. Killjoy for the amount that the insurance didn’t cover.  Do I still have to pay it if the diagnosis was wrong?

 

this is a perfect example of how I've been seeing