You are currently browsing the daily archive for January 12, 2022.

What’s top of my mind: Health insurance. I am working with an insurance broker on finding some sort of coverage before the deadline this Saturday. There is hope; there are some options. He didn’t conclude it was useless. The ones offered will be expensive but far less expensive than paying out of pocket for meds for twelve months – and I will have insurance if I have to go to hospital. Someone and I will still have to mind expenses but we won’t have to resort to extremes. Let’s not count our chickens; this isn’t a done deal.


Where I’ve been: The dentist. I lead a dull life that this is the only place I’ve been really since last Wednesday. It was a routine appointment. I was told it was time for x-rays. I replied I no longer have dental insurance and I was paying out of pocket today; unless things were absolutely necessary, I would prefer not to do them. He said matter of fact that was OK and he cleaned my teeth without fuss. This interaction made me wonder: how many things are ordered at the dentist that aren’t really necessary but done to make money?


Where I’m going: Nowhere. I have no plans to go anywhere and I am almost ready to call it quits going to the gym. I need the exercise but the place is crowded with New Years resolution types and none of them are wearing masks. Are these people so stupid to work out huffing and puffing without protection? Am I stupid if going although I dress as if I worked in a nuclear laboratory?


What I’m watching: My weight. The Good Doctor last November advised me to lose weight on account of my glucose so every Friday morning I go to the master bathroom and take out the scale from underneath my vanity and weigh myself. I weigh myself in kilos. 1 January 2022 saw I was 78 kilos, which is what I weighed on 1 January 2021. I should be about 75. I plan on losing this the sensible way via diet, portion control, and exercise. It’s boring and slow, but it is the only way I know to actually works in the long run.


What I’m reading: The history of Tom Jones, a founding. The prose of Mr. Fielding, the author, is clever but often I want to box his ears to stop the rambling and get to the point. Mid-18th century prose is more wordy than a Dickens novel, and that’s saying something. I’m several chapters into it and the hero is still an infant. All the same it is amusing and that’s the point I suppose of reading something like this.


What I’m listening to: Frank Sinatra. I got a collection of his work at Christmas time and I downloaded them all into the iPhone. Mr. Sinatra’s songs come up randomly and I am continually amazed I recognize some of them but I hadn’t connected the dots they were his. “Love and marriage” came up the other day. causing me to stiffen and leap up to turn off the television only to realize we don’t have one. Mercifully I cannot remember the awful comedy show for which this song was its opening. I remember the deplorable family on that series could have been candidates in the Monty Python sketch “Worse family in Britain award” and they would have won too. I may eliminate this song from the repertoire lest I develop a PTSD situation.


What I’m eating: The last of the meal kits? Looking to cut costs to cover Rx prescriptions we are considering discontinuing Hello Fresh and Blue Apron. By now I have how to cook them down pat, and the best ones I saved the recipe cards. They can be easily imitated by buying the ingredients at Uncle Albertsons, and probably cheaper too .However, the kits are convenient and I don’t have to think or plan anything. They are more nutritious and better portion sizes too. To discontinue them means of course, I need to start planning meals and do more grocery shopping . Thanks to blogger buddies who are experts doing just this, I think I can pull it off.


Who needs a good slap: Myself. Despite the mentioned hope, there will be consequences from my bungle for missing the deadline for applying for at-work health insurance. My health care is still in jeopardy; it feels like driving without a license, hoping you won’t get into a car accident. My hopes for house repairs and travel plans may all have to be canceled. Our savings will take a blow. I feel great a fool and at home I feel shame for having put Someone in a such a spot.

I give myself on a 1-5 scale, five slaps.


What I’m planning: Cutting up the Christmas tree. The plan was to slowly unwind the faulty lights from the tree prior to putting it away for a year. Unfortunately the strands are tightly wound about the branches, and trying to undo their Laocoon-like grip results in frustration and stripping the tree of its plastic boughs. They will have to be snipped off. This will take some time to do it properly – goodness knows how long. I hope it’s done and the tree put away by Lent.


What’s making me smile: Saskatoon jam. Last month Glen W. of the “Season’s Eatings” podcast did an episode on Canadian Christmas Cuisine. He mentioned a berry I have never heard of, the saskatoonberry. He said they are especially popular in the western provinces. I emailed Debra had she ever heard of such a delicacy. She replied certainly and they are scrumptious; she eats them with relish. A few days ago I received in the post a parcel of jam made from such lovelies. Debra (the dear!) sent me some. Thank you D!

An additional thing that made me smile: Norm (who is another dear, who also lives in Canada)* told me the berries are known by other names, including a ‘politically incorrect one’. I texted him to clarify. He texted “When I was a kid … they were commonly called ‘Indian pears”. I responded I was disappointed and had hoped for something more dirty. He replied:

“Oh all right then, they were actually called ‘Those @#$!% Indian Pears” 🙂

*I know several Canucks and all of them are dears. Apparently to be so is a pre-requisite to living there, or maybe the climate makes them that way. I would presume all Canadians are happy folk but perhaps this is selective bias on my part viz. I don’t interact with the less-than-dear ones, the truculent types who hang out in Tim Hortons or live in bad parts of New Brunswick. I would add they are all well over four feet, but they are not, and ‘well over one meter” doesn’t sound so sonorous.

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