A Lesson to Learn …
… every time you learn something new is:
how stupid you were before you learned it!
— Cecil Scaglione, Mature Life Features
What Else can an A**hole Say …
.. after he’s told you to go to hell
(or wherever) and your response is,
“OK”?
You’re Never Too Old To Learn . . .
. . . has been hammered into heads for millennia.
Since I’ve become a SENIOR CITIZEN (with papers to prove it), I’ve learned how to get JUNIOR CITIZENS off my back by resorting to stereotypical old-people habits, that the body doesn’t repair itself as fast as it used to, that little bits of Scotch tape are impossible to remove from electronic-device keyboards, and a multitude of miscellany.
Just recently, however, I learned something useful: how to shampoo carpets and rugs.
A dear friend of Bev died a few years ago. Part of her legacy to Bev was her Hoover ShampooVac. It looks like a bulkier brother of the image of the vacuum cleaner atop this note. It sat in the garage for many, many months because it looked intimidating.
After all, I figured if I loaded its plastic tanks with soap and water and attempted to restore some original color to the carpet that’s been unscrubbed for the past four years, disaster or a backup could swat the operation and there’d be water flowing all over the house. I was going to wait until after the holidays to call a professional service to come in and flush the floors. The wood flooring is fine because our cleaning lady refreshes it every two weeks and we Swiffer trouble spots as needed.
Then, a couple of months ago, The Kids visited from Phoenix and son-in-law Steve decided to do his mother-in-law a favor and shampoo the living room rug. First off, our carpet is not shag or deep pile but a tight office-looking type, so it dries more quickly than many.
Everyone else went to bed before he and I moved all the furniture out of the living-room — it’s more of a TV-watching area about 14-feet by 14-feet as defined by the carpet because the rest of the main house — dining room, kitchen, hallways, etc — is wood flooring. Carpeting is in the master bedroom, Bev’s sewing room/guest room, and my office.
Steve stepped on the on/off switch and pushed and pulled the shampooer over the living-room carpet. When the lower tank (with the used water) filled up, he removed it, I poured the black water down the laundry-room sink while he refilled the clean-water-and-soap tank, and then he resumed pushing and pulling. We spent a bit more than an hour going over every square and round centimeter on that carpet. And it glistened, even though the water being poured down the sink was still a bit gray — indicating there was still some dirt in the rug.
We decided to let it dry overnight and it still beamed in the morning when we reinstalled the furniture. Through it all, I learned how to push and pull the machine, apply extra soap and water and elbow grease to high-traffic spots, and remove and reinstall both tanks.
This week, we decided it might be a good idea to work some of the dirt out of the carpet in the rest house. I started with the bedroom at the rear the house, which was the least dirty of the remaining carpet. We removed all the furniture, except the bed, and went at it. Bev gave it a few turns but her back started to complain so I jumped in and reignited the color in the carpet. It’s not that colorful, it’s sort of a pale avocado, but it does get brighter when it’s clean. The water poured down the laundry-room sink was also a strong color — black. We opened the bedroom door and window to let the Santa Ana dry it out all day and replaced the furniture that night. I gave the high-traffic entrance another going-over a couple of days later when I also did the high-traffic entrance to my office, which is probably the dirtiest of the bunch. I’m going to do Bev’s room next week when she plans to be out all day. And I’m going to give my office a one- , two- and probably three-time going over.
The instruction booklet recommends doing the carpet in sections. That doesn’t mean one section today and another tomorrow, etc. But it does point out you can do one total room shampoo to suck up most of the dust and detritus and then work on busy-traffic areas regularly after that. We’ve taken a lot of dirt — black oily grit — out of the carpet thus far.
What I’ve learned is not to be intimidated by the machine. And to push and pull slowly, much slower than a vacuum cleaner — although you should vacuum the carpet, rug or furniture before shampooing.
It’s rather user-friendly. I’ve added the stairs/furniture tools and tube to get familiar with that so I can do the high-traffic steps — all three of them– leading into (and out of, of course) the bedroom. Bev also wants to try that out on one of her armchairs.
It’s got me thinking that I could put together a business plan and start knocking on doors around the neighborhood to see if they need their carpets cleaned.
Cecil Scaglione, Mature Life Features
– 30 –
Obstreperous October
It’s been a bumpy ride through this normally pleasant orange-colored time of the 
year, the time we’ve found to be the best time to travel, to get things done, to stretch after the hectic summer and before the stiff winter.
October this year was grueling.
Its began benignly. Bev wanted a new refrigerator. The “old” one wasn’t old. She just didn’t like it. The freezer compartment was on the top and she didn’t like bending down to get into the cooler portion and then bump her head on the freezer door. She began shopping the outlets and online for a refrigerator. It was a project.
As part of the prep work, son Mike ripped out a shelf above the fridge to make room for a larger one. (He does that kind of work. He builds sets for commercials and movie and TV productions as well as doing home remodeling and renovation. He’s currently building the interior of a new restaurant in San Marcos.) Payment for his work here is the fridge we’re replacing, the one with the stainless steel front and freezer compartment at the top.
Then the dryer started acting up. It wouldn’t start when we wanted it to, and would stop when it wanted to. Bev started shopping the outlets and online for a dryer. She thought she might put off the fridge until after she got the dryer. But she kept putting both off.
Bev finally went out and got her fridge. She got a larger fridge with a black front, with the freezer drawer on the bottom. It’s been delivered and looks swell and swanky in the kitchen. Mike now has the “old” one.
She kept putting off the dryer but kept shopping outlets and online. Then the dishwasher went down the road of disrepair. That was more than two weeks ago and we’ve been eating on paper plates since then.
Bev called a repairman who charged us $85 to tell us there’s a water leak and it would cost as much to repair as the price of a new one.
So she shopped outlets and online to determine which model she wanted. We went out and bought a new dishwasher with a black front to match the new fridge. While at the store, I talked her into getting the dryer at the same time. The dishwasher was due for delivery Nov. 4 but, somehow, we were called yesterday and it was delivered today.
The dryer was delivered more than a week ago but — hold on — the installers discovered the “old” dryer had not been vented properly by the crew that delivered it about a decade ago. When the house was remodeled in 1987, the contractor bored a hole in the floor behind the dryer for the flexible 4″ venting tube to run under the house to a hole in the outside wall. When that dryer was replaced, the installers didn’t connect the replacement to the vented tube under the house. They just jammed the venting tube into the hole in the floor without making sure it fit and was attached properly. That contributed to the demise of the dryer we just replaced because the lint and heat kept backing up into the dryer.
So we had a contractor rectify the situation. He switched the dryer and washer positions, moved the dryer closer to the wall in the laundry room and knocked a hole in the wall for venting rather than attempt to repair the stuff under the house. He said he would charge the same either way, but this way, he moved the washer and its splash pan next to the laundry room entrance and the dryer closer to the outside wall and the counter for folding the clothes.
But hold on. When the contractor was here last week to look at the job and give me an estimate — $700 to $800 — he smelled gas from the gas meter just outside the laundry room window. He said a call to SDG&E would get someone out here and, if there was a leak, he (the contractor) could fix it. “It would be handy if we could be here when he comes to check this out.”
He said he could only smell the gas outside and not in the house so there wasn’t a critical need but it should be checked. After recounting this episode to Bev — she who can pick up a scent quicker than a bloodhound — went out and said she couldn’t smell anything. After consulting with Mike and our neighbor, who is a contractor who also does home remodeling, I sprayed soap and water over the entire apparatus around the gas meter and could spot no sites where bubbles formed — evidence of a gas leak.
So I called SDG&E Tuesday (hoping they’d send someone Thursday) and they said someone would be out immediately and, if there was a problem, they’d shut off the gas. I had a handful of medical appointments (more on THAT later) to get to and said I would be home after 3 p.m. I was told they had to send someone “immediately” and if no one was home they’d leave a “doorhanger.”
As it turned out, the trouble-shooter arrived about 4:15 and begin his processing. (I’ve convinced myself that the nice lady at SDG&E sympathized with my need to get to the doctor and may have passed my predicament on to the trouble-shooter.) He sprayed the apparatus with soap and water, waved a wand-like device over it and the surrounding area, and he sniffed and looked and poked and prodded. Then he leaned over the fence a few times and finally took a long hard look and sniff of the yard next door. He asked if they had dogs. I said yes: a couple of little guys and they’re in the house. He went out to his truck again and returned with long probes that he stuck into several spots in the ground and took readings and did the same in the back yard and other-side yard.
About the same time, he noticed someone next door moving around. It was a cleaning lady in their laundry room, which is right by their gas meter. He asked if she would let him in the yard. She did and he found a small leak in the neighbor’s gas meter and plugged it. No problems on our side of the fence at all. The following morning, another SDG&E gentleman arrived and took some readings around the premises, found nothing and gave us a clean bill.
So all my fretting and sweating about a gas calamity was for nil.
Woven into all this late-breaking good and not-so-bad news is the following medical report.
I got a series of blood tests done a week ago Monday. The main reason was to get readings and followup appointment with my liver specialist regarding a decreased dosage of a steroid (prednisone) I’m taking along with my prescription for handling my autoimmune hepatitis.
This Tuesday, I got pictures taken of my eyes, vision checked and met right after with the eye specialist who took over my case after I had the stroke in my left eye a little more than a year ago. News was mixed. The good news, which I already knew, was that the blot in the lower left quadrant of my left eye (caused by the damage to the optic nerve) is not as large as it was because I have a wider field of vision. I knew that because on an afternoon at home I suddenly could see things more clearly and the size of the blocking blot decreased to that of the end of a Q-Tip from that of my little finger. The unnerving news is that a mesh-like membrane that we knew had grown on the retina of my right eye is growing on my left-eye retina also. They don’t affect my sight but they can affect my ability to focus quickly. The good news is that these membranes can be removed if they become problems.
Then on Wednesday, I met with my ear/nose/throat and liver/hepatitis specialists and results were positive with a couple of hitches. My GP had suggested the former after I complained last summer about a bump on my palate. It had since subsided but I went anyhow, which turned out to be a good idea. The bump is no problem so the doctor decided to check out a few other things since he’d checked out my nose and ears a few years ago. When he shoved the camera up my nose and down my throat, he found esophagus damage from acid reflux and put me on a two-week regimen of no coffee/booze/chocolate and daily Zantac (to be taken as needed after the two weeks). He also told me, because of my diabetes and stomach issues, to snack during the day instead of settling on just three meals, and to eat and drink nothing for three hours before bedtime from now on. He said the esophagus damage is about 3 on the 1-to-10 scale and should heal fine and disappear within the 2 weeks. How will I know if I need Zantac in the future? I will feel the need to clear my throat, like all ex-smokers do.
My liver-doctor visit was also positive. All the lab numbers are fine (my GP told Bev they were “excellent” during an appointment she had with him last Friday) BUT in light of my esophagus report a few minutes earlier that came up in conversation (and because I have never had one done) he ordered an upper endoscopy to check out my innards. We’re going to do that in January when I go for my semi-annual blood-work and liver sonogram. I’ve already booked Bev as my caregiver/chauffeur that day and a follow-up appointment with the specialist to review results.
I just hope they don’t shove the same tube down my throat that they used for my colonoscopy.
-30-
Loan to Family Member Is Money Down the Drain
By Cecil Scaglione
Mature Life Features
Neither a family borrower nor a family lender be, to paraphrase Shakespeare.
The Bard also wrote that lending money to a friend is an excellent means of losing both your friend and your money.
With family, you lose your money but you’re still stuck with the relative. It’s been estimated that as much as $65 billion is outstanding between family and friends.
Before you dig into your pockets to bail out a relative, ask yourself a few questions. First of all, do you need the money? If you do, how are you going to be able to go after it when your relative shows no sign of repaying you? If the borrower-to-be has a history of overextended credit cards, late rental payments, or job-hopping, what makes you think you’re going to get your money back?
What’s the money going to be used for? If the loan will enable a family member to complete a college education or help elderly parents keep their home, you might give the matter serious thought. But making a loan to a grandson and his wife so they can splurge on an anniversary cruise or to a daughter who collects race horses makes much less sense.
Parents have another concern. Lending to one child may spark jealousy in your other
children.
Family and financial experts agree on one major point: worse than the loss of money in any of
these person-to-person transactions is the rupture of the relationship. Putting things in writing can avoid some of the personal pitfalls.
Lender and borrower should agree upon and write down the amount of the loan, interest rate, and payment schedule. It’s a good idea to have the signing of the loan document witnessed or notarized. If you need to run it by an attorney, do so.
If a family member or friend who approaches you for a loan doesn’t want anything in writing, you can explain you need it for tax purposes in case you’re audited, that your accountant or tax preparer requires it.
When you do make a loan, charge some interest because the Internal Revenue Service will assume the loan earns interest and will expect you to declare that as income. And it’s up to you to record every payment made as well as giving the borrower a receipt each time.
It’s a financial transaction so treat it as such. If the person making the request for money doesn’t see it that way, you can suggest bluntly that if he or she wants charity, ask for it.
Incidentally, these suggestions also apply to coworkers, colleagues, neighbors, and anyone else who’s going to be around you for any length of time.
Mature Life Features, Copyright 2004
Independent Identity Cornwall’s Charm
Bordering Plymouth Sound is the port’s promenade called The Hoe that includes a bowling green like that used by Sir Francis Drake before sailing against the Spanish Armada in 1588.
Story & Photo
By Pat Neisser
Mature Life Features
PENZANCE, Cornwall — England’s southwestern tip is the magical territory where Gilbert and Sullivan set their classic fun-poking operetta, The Pirates of Penzance, and the village of Mousehole is celebrated in the tale of Tom Bawcock and his cat, Mowzer. It’s a scene fostered by a citizenry battling and beating the elements that prides itself with its own identity and keeps a wary lookout for doubters. The fishermen are serious about their livelihood and don’t brook interference. But once they’ve finished their tough day, they’re ready to befriend the visitor. The Cornish peninsula is less crowded than better-known areas of the country and its towns hug the sea with an age-old love-hate relationship. I took the train from Southampton to Exeter in County Devon and drove to Penzance after an overnight stay. Cornwall’s and Devon’s history goes back more than 4,000 years but written records reach back to 30 B.C. when seafaring visitors came looking for tin. The Spanish invaded in 1595 but were driven back into the sea, marking the last landing on English soil by invaders. Cornish miners emigrated to California and Colorado to teach silver miners a thing or two and took with them the famous Cornish pasty meat pies. Penzance and its sister villages along the coast are loaded with things to do. Even if you aren’t fond of pilchards (large sardines) don’t miss a visit to the Pilchard Factory and Museum in next-door Newlyn where we were shown how the fish are salt-cured and packed for shipping all over the world. In Newlyn, one of the largest fishing harbors in England with eateries scattered along the beaches, we visited Trinity House National Lighthouse Centre to learn how the famed lighthouse saved so many sailors. A highlight of our visit was the Eden Project, which is housed in acres of environmental domes, each offering a different climate. Actors and scientists interact to explain the place of man and nature in the environmental universe. Next we visited the tiny coastal communities of Fowey, home to Daphne Du Maurier and her famous acting and writing family, and St. Ives, which romance novelist Rosamunde Pilcher calls home and where Barbara Hepworth created many of her magnificent sculptures. St. Ives is a fairy-tale seaport town with lanes that wind up and up. One of its most famous creations is the Tate Gallery St. Ives that shows modern art from local as well as international artists. Tropical plants, such as palm trees and cacti, cover this part of England thanks to the nearby Gulf Stream, bringing a California look to the terrain. Finally, it was back to neighboring County Devon and the south-coast seaport of Plymouth. This was Sir Francis Drake’s place of business and the site of the Mayflower’s departure. We stood on the famous steps where the pilgrims boarded their ship. The old town near the water is filled with 17th century memorabilia.
Mature Life Features, Copyright 2004
If you don’t want to get yelled at . . .
. . . keep an abundant supply of hearing-aid batteries on hand at all times wherever you are.
— Cecil Scaglione, Mature Life Features
He Was a Buddy…
REEVES, Gerry — Worked for The Union, 1969-1979 as assistant city editor (day), county editor, state government writer, Chula Vista office bureau chief, writing fictitious rainfall figures. Doing a lot of photo and video work, some freelance PR projects. Very active in community theater publicity. Travel a lot. Contact: GeraldR5@aol.com; 1318 Pine Drive, El Cajon, CA 92020; (619) 447-2582
That’s how he described himself in the San Diego Union-Tribune alumni directory. He hired on a year before I did and left a year before I did.
We got to know each other covering the South Bay and each other’s back for a few years. When he moved downtown, he would bug me about moving there but we always agreed that the absence of editorial-room politics made the bureaus exceedingly attractive. It was his nudge to City Editor Walt MacArthur that got me to join the financial department with Don Bauder, Denise Carabet, Jim Mitchell, Helen Call and Mary Russell. Charlie Ross and Fred Muir came later. That hiatus taught me to embark on a public relations career to finance my retirement.
Gerry left the Union to become an editor in Tucson and then moved into public relations in Los Angeles before returning to San Diego to manage PR matters at Cubic Corp. Again, he was a booster. I was hired as a contractor and, as well as doing other jobs that cropped up with regularity, I was editor of the company’s in-house monthly magazine for several years. This contributed to the financial health of my PR agency — and my retirement.
We had breakfast/lunch a couple or three times a year. He suffered some severe medical problems over the years. Among them were lung cancer that required surgery, diabetes, and the last time we talked he was losing weight at an alarming rate and didn’t know what was causing it. He had a doctor’s appointment the following week to discuss it.
He didn’t spend much time talking about all that. He liked to expound the benefits of his latest toy — a camera or computer or whatever — and the latest developments with the acting troupe he was working with. We always talked about “the good old days and the good guys” and caught each other up on names and faces we had kept up with. Sometimes we’d wonder how politicians keep getting stupider and stupider.
We were due to nudge one another to set a date for our pre-Christmas brunch. But he died last Wednesday (Aug. 27) in San Diego’s VA Hospital.
– 30 –
We Found It!!!
Or rather, The Box we mailed to ourselves turned up. It took almost three weeks to get across country.
From the beginning: Bev almost always mails a box home from Pennsylvania when we go back there to shop the Reading outlets between visits to her relatives. This time, she had her uncle mail The Box — about 25 pounds — at the Leesport post office. The postage cost $37 and change and it was mailed Wednesday, Aug 6, the same day we flew back home from Toronto.
After getting our luggage unpacked and the laundry done, we reviewed what goodies we still had coming in The Box. Among other things, Bev had several tops and a jacket she unearthed at bargain prices in eastern Pennsylvania and some bottles of specialty syrups and sauces from Canada (we flew to Toronto and drove to Leesport and back to Toronto this trip). I had acquired a driving cap made of denim — they’re more scarce than a kid without a cell phone — and tucked it in The Box with some clothes I’d over packed.
Bev’s folks were told by the Leesport USPS people The Box should arrive in San Diego Wednesday, Aug. 13. That meant a week in transit. It was a no-show.
We got The Box’ invoice number and began Internet tracking from this end. We found it had been “accepted” at Leesport, PA 19533 Aug 6 at 9:08 a.m. and had “departed Post Office” Aug. 6 — the same day — at 2:32 p.m. And that was that.
A couple of days later, we managed to catch our postman and asked if he had a box for us. He said he hadn’t, would check, and keep an eye out for it. Then we got “arrived at USPS facility” Aug.19 at 1:35 p.m — IN JERSEY CITY, NJ 07097!!!
It took almost two weeks to move 120 miles. The postal service must have used its Tiny Tot Tricycle Team.
I caught the mail man that day and asked who I could talk to about getting The Box out of New Jersey. He said visit the local Post Office and ask for a customer service supervisor. We decided to let the weekend pass and, if The Box didn’t arrive, we’d start shaking trees at the Post Office. We received an alert that it “arrved at USPS facility” in Bell Gardens, CA, 90201 Saturday, Aug. 23 at 1:19 p.m. The great thing about this tracking process is you’re notified as soon as any action occurs. I assume the electronic reading of the mailing label bar code scampers throughout the system.
The next alert was “departed” the Bell Gardens USPS facility Sunday, Aug 24, at 5:20 a.m. Things tumbled quickly from there. It “arrived at Post Office” San Diego, CA 92109 Monday, Aug. 25 at 8:25 a.m., “sorting complete” at 8:41 a.m., “out for delivery” at 8:51 a.m., and “delivered” at 9:42 a.m. — that’s when the mail man who said he’d keep an eye out for it rang our front door bell with The Box in his arms.
Our reaction throughout this process ranged from “hunh?” to “wot the F—?” and, finally, “It Got Here OK.” As I wrap this up, I’m wearing my denim driving cap. They’re more scarce than … but you know that already.
— Cecil Scaglione
Take the Red Eye …
… if you’re traveling during the summer — or any peak travel season — to avoid getting jammed into a packed jetliner wedged between a dozen or so screaming, yelling, crying, complaining and bawling kids. Toddlers may be cute when they’re playing hideyseek around the airport boarding gate but they can throttle any pleasure out of your flight because you can’t escape the destruction they do to the decibel level at 35,000 feet.
This jaunt was our first summer one in a few decades and I discovered they’re also making the little people a lot louder these days. The red-eye out was peaceful and permitted us passengers to nod off for a few hours so we could enjoy the arrival day OK. We began the return flight to the West Coast from Back East at 3 p.m and were left with no doubt it’s the last midsummer flight we consider for leisure travel. It was even difficult to read.
I did learn something else. While the arm rests in middle seats can be lifted out of the way simply by pulling up, the ones on the aisle always stubbornly refused to budge for me. A friendly fellow passenger showed me there’s a little button at the rear underside of the aisle armrest that you push to pull the armrest out of the way. It makes getting in and out of the seat much easier.
The hiatus in Pennsylvania and Canada was wonderful fun but it’s grand to be back home.
Mature Life Features 