As the song goes, "I worked hard for my money" and ink cartridges for printers are pricey. My newer (to me) model has warned of low ink levels long before the print quality is affected. No reason to change the cartridge until necessary. It's good for a few more copies.
Until it isn't and you're supposed to be at your writing group to share your latest opus. Everyone has seen the blurred lines that result from printing when the ink really has run out. It's not something you can inflict on others; you can't even read it yourself. Yesterday I set my story to print while I washed my face and applied a minimum of make-up.
The print finished and when I came into me "office", the paper had spewed forth onto the floor - unreadable. With my "deadline" looming, I had to replace the ink cartridges. I had new ones on hand but the instructions for the operation were MIA. How hard can it be? First, I couldn't remember where to open the printer to get at the ink. Once it is open, I remove the spent cartridges. No wonder the printer was on sale. If your hands were much bigger than mine, they wouldn't fit into the cramped space. Can I see what I am doing? Nope. I push the new ink in and hoped for the best.
Back to my document, after reloading the paper. If I used the other side of the sheets, that would make up a little for the waste. I try to print one copy and the message pops up to tell me either that there is no ink cartridge or that it is improperly inserted. Nothing to do but open the printer and fiddle with the cartridges. Finally, I click one into place and then the other. Holding my breath, I push print. Haleleujah. Pages spew forth again and I have forgotten to number them. I'll keep the un-numbered copy for myself. I put in numbers and print the other three copies I need.
All-in-all, I save nothing by trying to get every last bit of ink into use. Paper is wasted as blank pages are picked up in the print run. I am almost late and don't have time to grab paper clips to secure the pages. When I relate my struggle with ink, my good friend says, "If you prop the cartridges on their end and let the ink drain, you can get another couple of days from a cartridge." I don't think I'll try it. In fact, I might pick up more ink today to have, just in case.
Amid the Trumpisms abroad, the budget from the Alberta legislature, and the dismal world situation, in my little corner, things are looking up. It's +6 and windy but the sun is bright. Water is laying around in the streets and in the backyard. It won't be for long; we didn't have much snow.
For me, there's nothing quite like running water to evoke spring. There was a trickle down the road and if you look closely, you can see that it's coming from farther up than it looks at first glance. When I was a kid, the spring run-off, created the "crick" that ran as the snow melted. I can't even guess how many hours my brother and I spent in rubber boots (which the water had, of course, overflowed into) trying to dam that water (we never did), wading through it, and gazing at the grass and other vegetation waving with the current. Dogs, of course, don't care and to the left they are both entranced by something on the ground recently released from the snow. It could be a gopher track?? a chipmunk? On the other hand, knowing my dogs, it's likely excrement of some kind.
This would be Patch. She's thirteen and feeling her age. However, she loves the water and even though it was likely the same temperature as glacial run-off, she had to try it. On the way back, I did notice she took the high ground. Overhead there was a single Canada goose, honking plaintively. Had he already lost his mate? Had she dumped him? He flew past, high in the air, at least twice.
The hills are all but bare. They do face south and didn't have a heavy snow cover. There might be snow this evening according to the resident weather nut. I'm not listening. It was great out today and even in the car, it seemed springlike. Nothing like the smell of muddy, wet dog.
I don't think about being old until it smacks me in the face or often in the mirror. I'm this 25 year-old inside looking like an elderly on the outside. An elderly is an old person; the term coined by my 9 year-old grandson. A typical conversation with him goes (we have driven up to see his neighbour, an even older lady than me out cleaning her walk), "You elderlies all get along. Like you and Irene."
Me: "I like Irene. She's a nice person."
Sash: "________________"(names town where I live) "is a place for elderlies and Grandma, you know them all."
My granddaughter (age 6) says, "Grandma, if you just had a slurpee, your wrinkles would disappear." (I suspect who wanted the slurpee.) When I don't bite, she adds, "But I like your wrinkles and your skin is soft." She strokes my wrinkled cheek.
My son suggests installing a walk-in bathtub because, "You will need it." What??? I have been trying to stay spry.
Clothes aren't made for elderly females. Wrinkled cleavage just doesn't cut it. Tight pants do nothing for the sagging ass. And displaying a midriff? Some things can't be unseen. Wouldn't it be possible to have fashionable clothes that aren't faddish and that have more conservative tastes in mind? And I DON'T want to hear about Tan Jay. I'm not into floral blouses just yet.
Every time I mislay something or forget it, the spectre of dementia rises. I take the memory quizzes that are posted on Facebook and am delighted when I have the Einsteinian memory. Yet, yet, I know that no quiz is going to say "sorry, you've lost it." It's like the IQ quizzes, no message will announce cheerily, "o, dear. IQ 87, dull, normal."
I could go on. Instead I will remember the good things about being an elderly. I'm around to visit my grandchildren. I'm spry enough to go on good long walks. I can still enjoy a glass or two of wine, although soon after, I'm enjoying a nap on Mr. Couch. I'm adjusting to being "an elderly."
I know about climate change, I know that this winter has been mild here, and I know that I live in a northern climate BUT, people, it's March. I swore I wouldn't write about weather or complain about winter this year. Last week, Mother Nature played a trick; it was warm enough to evoke spring and make me think, that's it, winter is over.
Then the cold air moved in AND it is here to stay for the next 10 days. Just when I had started to think about painting my toe nails, when I took out my flip-flops and tried them around the house. I have a couple of new shirts- kind of flowing, kind of Golden Girls, but they're for spring. I can see them fluttering in the spring zephyrs.
Last week we walked the dogs down by the Battle River and it was so nice we talked about having the first wiener roast of the season. Perhaps we were a little over-excited but it was warm and nothing feels like that spring-ish air after a Canadian winter. The sun was shining, water was gathering on the ice on the river, and the snow was all but gone.
It got cold this weekend. Cold enough to show winter isn't done with us. Last night it snowed. Not a lot but enough to "make the yards look all nice and clean." Some demented woman remarked about the lovely whiteness today. Bah! It just means that we have that dingy brown and mud again soon. Not that soon. I did mention the 10 days of below normal temperatures.
When I passed my closet, I noticed those spring tops hanging in dejection. The flip-flops looked like cheap rubber and my toes? No use getting them pretty just to hide in socks and boots. It's not that bad. March isn't spring in Alberta but it felt like it for a while.
When it warms up this time, it could be spring for real. Ten days isn't that long but it's time. Driving through snow with poor visibility isn't fun. Roads can be slippery with ice. It can even be a risk just to go for a walk.
C'mon, Mother Nature. I'm ready.
I've been married a long time and often write about everyday events.