My solution

I've been diagnosed with chronic pain for twenty odd years. It began small and then kept adding on through the years. 

First that crushed disc at C3 and a degenerated hip. Had those repaired. Then lumbar stenosis and L1 crushed in a stupid accident. Physical therapy and a brace for a long time.

Then the litany of minor things, like rheumatoid and osteoarthritis. No cure there. Left shoulder replacement. Then a tibia fracture, couple of years later my femur. Add to all this, acquired leg length discrepancy, now about an inch. Every step hurts my back.

I consumed a lot of ibuprophen and went to physical therapy. Eventually I cycled through rheumatology and on to pain management. Pain management began about ten years ago.

I started with Lyrica and then a "mild" opiod. I researched the bejammers out of the latter before I agreed. I was prescribed Belbuca, "the drug we prescribe for withdrawal from addictive opiods".

For the first time in a long time my back was manageable, my arms, legs and hands quit hurting. I took up weaving again because I could catch and throw a shuttle. Life was just fine.

I moved from my township in Summit County in 2022, to this senior complex in Portage County. I drove the twenty or so minutes back to my Summit County doctors until I decided the car was becoming too expensive. I traded out all my old doctors for doctors I could access from my new residence.

My first pain problem was that not one of the new doctors would prescribe Lyrica. Either they were not authorized or just would not. I was referred to at least four new pain practitioners, none of whom prescribed pain medications. I could explain their reasoning but don't care to. It basically came down to what I call "old people medicine."

And I no longer have Belbuca to keep me moving. I was still seeing my old pain management practice, but the price of Belbuca was rising exponentially. By 2023 my co-pay was $300 a month. Way out of my ballpark. The pain folks had no alternative. So, I quit.

It wasn't the worst thing I've ever been through, but it did remind me of all the reasons I always refused prescribed pain meds. If you take them you must withdraw if you stop. So, I spent a sleepless week. But that was a couple of years ago.

I went back to my ibuprophen habit. 400 mg in the morning, 400 at night. When doctors complained and had no alternative I said "Deal with it". The same thing I told my primary years ago, when she thought I should quit butter. "I eat butter. Deal with it."

Sadly, my self prescribed doseage no longer works. I seldom sleep the night. I have not seriously thrown a shuttle in more than six months. I've switched from my walker to my rollator so I can sit down on my way to anywhere.

When I was young I occasionally heard my father say "I've dug a hole and pulled it in behind me." I feel like I've done that myself, and I like it less and less. 

I've arranged to get a new shoe lift to ease walking a bit. I've had them in the past and hated how inefficient they are. But my daughter located a supplier who purports to make a more flexible lift, so I'll give it a try.

And, I've make an appointment to see a new rheumatologist. Maybe I'll find some help. That appointment isn't until July. In the meantime, I'm avoiding typing. I'm looking forward to being done with this confession. My hands hurt, my arms, my shoulders, my back. It's such bullshit.

Long story short, I'm mostly off posting. I'm still at the head of the activist rolls, letting my fellow senior anarchists know what boycott is in effect and what issues need letters. Would you believe my MAGA state government is trying to move libraries from independent funding to a line item in the state budget. Bastards. When the federal funds to Ohio are gone so is Peninsula's library.

All is not gloom, however. It is spring, snow nothwithstanding. The daffs are up, the birds are back. From a window I can see through at supper there are a lot of hawks riding the air currents. 

On my way to breakfast I generally stop and rest at the big windows overlooking a court yard. It's where I can see the white cat, Happy, if he's soaking up rays in his window. But this week a hawk landed on the retaining wall outside Happy's window.

A plethora of sparrows live in the row of arborvitae past the wall. I've seen several hundred shoot out of the row of arborvitae, like a curtain of birds. Suddenly the hawk dived into the greenery and came out with his breakfast. I think it's a Coopers Hawk. He's been here before and a hall mate took this picture.

 

PSA's

The location for recycling prescription bottles is here in Ohio, a little south of me, in Dover, Ohio. Dover is a bucolic little town, so typical of the Connecticut Western Reserve (though the Reserve may not have extended to what became Tuscarawas County).

For due diligence, I googled "recycle prescription bottles", in the event there are more around the country. Only the Tuscarawas service was returned. It is through the Matthew 25 Ministries. That is the pill bottle address. Here is the site of the ministry: https://m25m.org/

They accept over the counter plastic bottles, too. Aspirin, supplements, all those pesky bottles that I'm sure are not recycled. 

Moving right along, here are the roll brim hat instructions. I have not found out how to get pictures back into the instructions. The yarn is wool, worsted weight (4 ply), but any worsted weight will do.

ROLL BRIM HAT

The pattern is for adult small, medium and large.  The top of the hat is decreased in six sections, or gores, which produces a very attractive swirl.  This kind of decreasing is a simple formula.  The number of gores must divide evenly into the original number of stitches.  When decreasing, knit together the last two stitches in the gore.  It can be helpful to place markers.  At the end of the pattern I have included number of stitches to cast on and the number of stitches in the gore sections to make the hat for infants and children.

 To fit sizes:  Small (20”), Medium (21 ¼”), Large (22 ½”).  These sizes are fairly nominal; if the hat is knit in wool, which is very forgiving, a small will also fit a medium.

 Materials:  1 skein, 110 yards, Ewe Tree DK to Worsted weight

16” circular #6, 1 set #6 DP needles

 Gauge:  4.5 sts = 1”

 Instructions:

With 16” circular needle, cast on 90 (96, 102)sts.  Join.  Place marker for beginning of round.

Work in stockinette stitch (knit every round) for 6”.

Decrease top as follows:  (if necessary, place a marker after every decrease to denote gore section)

 Round 1: K13(14, 15), K2tog.  Repeat to end.

Round 2: K

Round 3: K12(13,14), K2tog.  Repeat to end.

Round 4:  K

Round 5: K11(12,13), K2tog.  Repeat to end.

Round 6:  K

 Continue in this manner until 48 sts remain, then decrease every round until 6 sts remain.  Break yarn, draw through the 6 sts, pull to inside through the center top.  Work in ends.

 To make this hat in smaller sizes:

                                                Infant              3 to 6 years      7 to 10 years    11 to 15 years

 

Cast on                                    66                    72                    78                    84

 Knit 5 to 6 inches

 Stitches in gore                       9                     10                    11                    12       

 

And another thing...

I'm still on Facebook and Instagram. I tried to make a Bluesky account, but messed it up so completely I can no longer access it. Maybe I'll straighten that out some day. We all seem to hang out on Facebook and Instagram. So what the heck.

Except of course, all those ads, across several platforms, just because I looked up something. Or bought something. I bought a new bra recently and everywhere I go now, an ad for that bra that I already bought.

Recently a gratuitous clip from Jon Stewart popped up, featuring John Oliver on data mining and an address for his site about social media regulation. The website is How to change your Meta settings.

I do not find programs "intuitive". I have wasted near an hour trying to figure out screen shots, but that obviously needs to be done on my own time. I can make links, so there you go. It tells you how to stop Meta from feeding ads based on data collection, how to stop Meta from using data to help advertisers target you on other apps and how to unlink your account from your data that other companies give to Meta.

So, that's my public service announcement for today. The YouTubers call them PSA's and a popular one going around now is called "I was today years old when I learned!" and goes on to tell us something we learned fifty or sixty years ago. However, my daughter sent me one recently and it was new.

She collects old prescription bottles and sends them to a charity that provides them to hospitals in Africa, where prescription bottles are hard to come by. However, the labels must come off first. That's a job I hate, so I pass mine along to her, label intact. Here's what she learned:

Put the bottle in the freezer. I forget how long; let's say overnight. Next day, roll your finger or thumb over one corner to lift the edge, then pull off the label, easy peazy, as they say.

Since I will be putting some time into learning screen shots, I think I'll tackle another housekeeping job. Sort of like getting the genealogy in order for the children (I've done that.). When searching for the pictures I used to take of my knitting projects I found most of them are only printed on the instructions I used to write up. The original pictures are on thumb drives stashed in a basket. My kids can go through them if they want, like I went through all those census records.

The problem with the instruction sheets I made, they are in long defunct programs like WordStar or Publisher. I'd like to convert them to something accessible now. There are patterns for sweaters (mostly children's), mittens, gloves, hats, ponchos. Imagine a pair of gloves in two afternoons. If I do this, anyone interested? I'll put them in a post. 

Be the resistance

I've struggled these last months. Even lost my mojo. Seriously, I've woven less than a dishtowel over so many weeks they've become months.  

Some time ago I read Ellen's call to action. The national 24 hour Economic Blackout on February 28th:

I will participate.

The 24 hour Economic Blackout

As our first initial act, we turn it off.

For one day we show them who really holds the power.

WHEN:

Friday February 28th from

12:00 AM to 11:59 PM

WHAT NOT TO DO:

Do not make any purchases

Do not shop online, or in-store

No Amazon, No Walmart, No Best Buy

Nowhere!

Do not spend money on:

Fast Food

Gas

Major Retailers

Do not use Credit or Debit Cards for non essential spending

WHAT YOU CAN DO:

Only buy essentials of absolutely necessary

(Food, Medicine, Emergency Supplies)

If you must spend, ONLY support small, local businesses.

SPREAD THE MESSAGE

Talk about it, post about it, and document your actions that day!

WHY THIS MATTERS!

~ Corporations and banks only care about their bottom line.

~ If we disrupt the economy for just ONE day, it sends a powerful message.

~ If they don't listen (they wont) we make the next blackout longer (We will)

This is our first action.

This is how we make history.

February 28th

The 24 Hour Economic Black Out Begins.

A day of rage will be cathartic, and I'm looking forward. And then, thinking backward, I thought of the boycotts I've been part of in my lifetime, and many I've not. I wasn't there for the Montgomery bus boycott, but I have participated in many consumer boycotts.

Remember supporting the United Farm Workers by boycotting produce? Grapes and lettuce. Other movements we helped as we could. The ending of apartheid. Greenpeace. Heinz. More I can no longer remember. The National School Walkout. (Another damn cold day!)

Here's a list purportedly posted by Heather Cox Richardson, but actually by the Heather Cox Richardson Community. You can find it on Facebook, if you still have an account.

It's a list of Project 2025 adherents. It doesn't include the big guys, like Amazon and Tesla; it's the minor players, who equally do not deserve our support. Use Ctrl+ to enlarge the print, if necessary.

This list is published by democratsabroad.org, a good place to look for resistance efforts. Sadly, about half our country could be on this list, which seemingly halves our available world. Or not.

Most of us are no longer raising children, managing households. We still control our purse strings and can make informed purchasing decisions. Research products before you purchase. Purchase locally. Use renewables and reuseables. I gave up most paper products years ago. Buy handkerchiefs. Buy kitchen towels. Be thoughtful about cleaning products.

Be vocal. Don't buy a Tesla, but also don't boo the Canadian national anthem. And don't begrudge them the opportunity to vocalize their displeasure with our government. That's all.

Anamneses

I can scarcely pronounce that title. It refers to a memory, probably of another lifetime. This is about such a memory; I am now so far removed from most of my past, it seems like another life time.

For many years I was a prolific knitter; the art I learned from my mother. I started in college, age 18, and truly stopped only a couple years ago, when I bequeathed the last of my yarn, all my patterns and needle stash to Caroline, the last grandchild.

Even before Jan and I left our "civilian" jobs to form a weaving studio, I was waist deep in yarn. Basically I had come to dislike most synthetic yarns available in the seventies and not able to afford the beautiful wools out there.

What to do? Make it yourself, I concluded. I bought a wheel and figured it out. Actually, I bought several wheels before I settled on my favorite, a wheel made by a weaving friend's son-in-law. Beside being a practical tool, it was a woodworking bit of art. This is the only picture I can find of me and that wheel, spinning at a show in Boston.

After we ended our weaving careers in 2003 Jan and I took separate artistic directions. She became an accomplished and acclaimed quilter and I became a dabbler, a dilettante. There were pounds and pounds of carded wool in the studio that needed spun, a neat task while watching TV. So, I spun and spun.

What to do with the yarn, except knit it. So, I knit it and sold the garments in a local gallery. 

But I could spin faster than knit, so why not sell it! I explained what an electric wheel would look like to my brother Walt, and he made one. Here's a picture of it.

You can see the bobbin with some yarn in the middle and the unit around it is called the flyer. It distributes the spun yarn onto the bobbin. A typical flyer uses hooks to distribute the yarn along; you must stop the wheel and move the yarn to the next hook. 

This flyer had something I discovered shortly after I began spinning, a travelling screw. A continuous screw in that black tube carried the yarn constantly. I'm notorious for cutting to the chase and it took me no time to find a fellow who made travelling flyers.

My wholesale yarn business was off to a great start with the addition of Walt's electric wheel, comprised of parts from my old mechanical wheels and a sewing machine motor. I sold to knitting shops all over Ohio and Wisconsin.

That is the whole lead-in to my anamneses moment today. Beth had asked to come visit and at once sat us down and opened her tablet (the electronic one). Pretty soon we were on a face time (I think that's the name) with Caroline, who had a mystery box from her mother to open.

Out came two great bundles of yarn.

"OMG, that's my old label!"

Beth is a great fan of Facebook Marketplace and one day, unsolicited, this yarn for sale came up. Probably because she occasionally searched for yarn. I suspect it came from a yarn shop in Columbus. The owner was so delightful I even shared my Aran Aran pattern with her. If I can find a picture, I'll post it.

So Caroline has enough yarn to make a lovely sweater. It's in good hands.

I made and sold yarn for about a year. Then we took in three grandchildren. They take up a lot of room, and the wheels had to find a new home. I sold them all, in one fell swoop.

No direction home

Beth and I went to see A Complete Unknown this afternoon. I won't lie, this was me in the sixties and later. I teared up several times, but didn't need a tissue. I remembered my twenties (and my motorcycle, for some levity).

More than once lately I have wondered, "Where are the kids?" Why aren't they in the streets, blocking traffic, holding up signs, chanting? But I've come to terms with some of it now. 

Back then, we didn't affect change. We didn't effect change. It ground along at it's own pace, swelled occasionally by the undercurrents of the time.

That war in Vietnam lasted almost fifteen years, and that was just for us. The French and the Russians had their go for years before that. When I started college in 1961, Kennedy had just sent some advisors. My own children were in school when it ended.

All those students who protested the Gaza war, Columbia, George Washington, California, Ohio State, are looking at passport revocation or worse. As are their parents. At least four of them did not wind up lifeless on a Kent State campus.

When I protested the bombing of Cambodia, wrote letters, joined protest groups at CWRU, the worst that happened was the IRS audited my puny twenty grand tax return. The stakes are far higher this time. 

It has been this bad in the past, and cycles around to the next spate of badness. When my grandparents were starting out, there was war, there was poverty, there were oligarchs in charge. Carnegie, Rockefeller, Morgan and Gould controlled supply chains and wages. Men and women organized and fought and died for rights that were gradually built into the law. 

We all know the history. The depression, the fight for rights, the fight for the future of the world. Next the triumph of the middle class, the rise of the unions. Love them or hate them, unions made regular citizens of millions of people in this country who could own homes and send children to school, not to the factories at ten years old.

And here we are back to dark days again. It didn't need to happen. 

I fear we will stumble in this wilderness long past my life time to sort the current idiocracy. There has been violence for no good cause. Capital police were injured and died four years ago. The men (and women) deluded to think bullets trumped ballots are up for the next round. There is plenty of mental and physical violence to come.

It's just so stupid to do it over and over and over. 

I can't fix it. I can only work against it. My grandma used to say "Pull up your corset strings girls, we have work to do."

I see much of northeastern Ohio has ordered ICE not to enter safe places (schools, churches, designated areas) without a search warrant, and they cannot carry guns. It's just a middle finger, but an excellent start. 

Still sobbing

Yesterday I sat down to rest my stupid leg on my trip back to my room. Sometimes I break out the phone and read some news while I wait. This time I pressed the Local tab, and for fun selected Akron.

Akron, Ohio that is. The home of every important tire company when I was a child. Goodyear Aircraft, who employed my father all his life to work on, first blimps, those wonder aircraft that escorted ships across the Atlantic during the war, and finally space craft. What a city.

I've written about growing up in North Hill, home of all the Italian immigrants and infiltrated in my childhood by immigrants from all over the country and world for employment in the factories. We had to tell mom if we were going to the black Wagners for the afternoon, or the white Wagners.

The International Institute of Akron was on the other side of the street from my junior high school. It welcomed immigrants and refugees from around the world to their new home in Akron. We went to school with children for whom English was a second language. I walked to school with Sonja Jones, who lived with her grandparents a street behind me. Sonja's family was from East Germany.

Where am I going with all this? The headline on the local, Akron news yesterday was the lockdown at Forest Hill Elementary School because ICE was patrolling the neighborhood. Driving their stinking cars up and down Damon Street, so the kids couldn't go out for recess.

Tears rolled down. A friend stopped and asked and I told her, the effing feds are trolling for immigrants at my elementary school. She said "Well, they voted him in!" and I lost it. I have not checked, but I sincerely doubt Akron voted red. Never, ever! Those children did not vote. They just went to school, like kids. Babies, five year old kindergartners. Ten year olds off to middle school in a year. Still walking to school, no one lives far enough away for the bus. She apologized.

I am overwhelmed by the knowledge I cannot throw enough sand, support enough marches, write enough letters, weave enough towels to abate this cruelty from the capital.

Such a week or so

Too much new going on. I was a couple of weeks without the new computer. It was set up, and transferring the data, but silly little glitches held up progress. First, Beth assumed I had a monitor, but the old computer actually was self contained, and the monitor left with the CPU (if that's what it's still called). 

New monitor arrived, synching set up, but it took some time for the new kid on the block to absorb all the information. Beth came back in a week or so for the wrap and all seemed well. But soon I realized my new monitor had no speakers. Back to the well. I expedited the speaker; back in business.

Then...ever since that high blood pressure attack several months ago, I've been plagued by my startle response. An unexpected noise and I jump. I threw my Chrome button off the screen when my phone rang yesterday. I can still use the start function to access Chrome, but I simply could not drag and drop that shortcut to the home screen.

I cleverly decided just to download Chrome again. Bad choice All my old Chrome settings are lost. That's enough of that. I am leaving well enough alone. I can still get around until my computer guru's reappear.

In the meantime, I saw on this morning's news that Anna Maria of Aurora has been named by Newsweek as a (the?) number one in their "America's Best Nursing Homes of 2025". I certainly have always been impressed by the services. Decent food, good staff, good housekeeping. My only complaint is that people keep dying.

We have one resident who, to me, epitomizes the sort of care at Anna Maria. Bill is a Vietnam veteran, who has PTSD. Bill never stops talking, except to listen a bit and then rejoin with his knowledge. He is a very well read man who knows and pretty well understands 20th century history. He can hold forth for hours, and does.

Interestingly, he has a core of friends and acquaintances who keep him company much of the day. If they don't know WWII, he fills them in. WWI, the same. Don't know what each president accomplished, well, Bill does, and he'll get you up to snuff. A happy, harmless veteran who does need reminded to change his clothes.

That same resident who cannot be responsible for her walker also believes Bill should be in a veteran's home, "where he can get the help he needs." She's pretty adamant about that. She's bothered that he talks so much.

Veteran's homes are not run by the VA; they are administered by the individual states, under their nursing home regulations. There are two in Ohio. Ohio does not have a sterling nursing home reputation. My knowledge is limited to two veterans I have known before and after they lived in a veteran's home in Ohio. From my experience with them I think Bill would be chewed up and spit out in such a facility.

I disabused Jean of her belief that the VA runs veteran's homes, at least in Ohio. I think Bill's family did well to place him here in such mixed and accepting company, and asked her to just stop listening to him at the next table if he interrupted her thoughts that much. Sadly, he's not the only resident on her last nerve.

All that's left is the weather. We had ten inches of snow, and though it's sagging, it's still here. Daily flurries and temps from twenty down have seen to that. It will not change in the next couple of weeks. So, let's see if I can dig through Windows 11 and find a picture.

Here's one. I'm currently weaving the purple. It's lovely!

A bus trip and any other news

Living in an old folks home certainly limits my adventures. The most I generally have to discuss are my gripes, and who wants them! Not to mention, I cannot remember what I've already complained about. 

Here's one, just to flesh out my post. When you were young, did one or both of your parents make sure you didn't inconvenience other people?  Stand back, stay out of the way, watch where you are going, etcetcetc! My parents, my grandmother, my neighbors, even strangers. So, does courtesy abandon people past a certain age?

Many of us here in the OFH use devices to get around. Walkers or Rollaters. I have the former. Also the later, but am not confident in controlling it. Anyway, they take up space. In our breakfast area most tables seat four. I deduced early on I had to keep the walker tucked close to me to allow aisle access to everyone else. About three of us figured this out; most everyone else just leaves their device in the aisle.

I try to get to breakfast early, to avoid the rush. Last week I was alone at the table, but Marcia soon joined me and then Maureen. Device abandoners, both. My egg came. It was the usual cook's regular day, and I ordered a poached egg. The cook who cannot was on that day, unbeknownst to me. He thinks vinegar will save him. So it was a semi raw egg, steeped in vinegar.

I gagged, shuddered, stood and took my plate to the trash can, then ordered a bowl of oatmeal. Returned to my seat and found Jean in the third seat, walker in the aisle. I literally could not go around the table to my seat. I said "The table cannot take four walkers!" and asked Jean to hand me my coffee cup, which I could not reach. I went to an empty table.

After breakfast I refilled my coffee and passed the old table on my way out. Jean caught my eye and said I had been extremely rude and cold in taking leave of the table. Surprise! I said I was sorry her feelings were hurt, and kept on going.

The next morning she stopped me and said I had the right to sit anywhere I wanted, and we should talk about it. Told her I had nothing to say and sat down. She stopped me again later and said she wanted to talk. So, I told her that three extremely rude people had blocked all access to the table with my cup and silverware; I even had to ask her to reach my cup to me. I expected an apology from her for thoughtlessness. 

No response. So I wished her a good day and left. Sadly, I am assigned to a dinner table with Jean. I am polite, but no more. I enjoy Marcia and Maddy's company and have no intention of leaving unless I am reassigned. Marcia, Maddy and I leave devices at the edge of the room and shuffle back to our table. Jean still uses the aisle and has not apologized. The End.

Last Monday I had a doctor's appointment about fifteen miles away, so I scheduled a PARTA bus. Portage County senior transport system. They gave me a pick up time and a return time, with instructions to be waiting thirty minutes before the scheduled times.

The outbound trip was a woman in her forties or fifties, I'd guess. Very polite and attentive (I need the lift to enter and leave the bus). I was the only passenger. She never exceeded the speed limit, and there was a plethora of 25 mph zones. 

The return trip was a young man. I thanked him a couple of times before we left and his response was I needn't to that, it was his job. He drove his bus like I used to drive my extended van. At least ten miles over the speed limit, and strategic lane changing. He was very chatty and fun to talk to. When we got back I told him he was as good a driver as I had been. And "Thank You!" We had a good laugh.

Beth was here most of the afternoon, installing a new computer. Better her than me. All is now in the cloud, whatever that means. All because Microsoft will no longer support Windows 10 after this year. So, a new learning experience for me. There may be some complaining.

CleveNet, from whom I download books, stopped supporting Overdrive for downloads. Now it's something called Libby, which, I've learned, does not load to MP3, which tiny player I carry in my pocket. Apparently I need some Adobe interface to get the job done.

I put my grandson on it. His solution: get Alexa. I can even interface it to my hearing aids, which he will do. Not so fast, young man, I said. So he is in charge of a cheap Alexa and blue tooth headphones. I never thought I'd be saying "Shut up, Alexa!"

Here's a sweet picture of France and Caroline, the day he began kindergarten and Caroline started pre-school. He was five and she was three.