Operation.Boot.Return

It sounded like a CIA operation. It was not what I intended.

My operation was a simple and straightforward return. Amazon has certainly spoiled us for that; no bag, no box, no return label.

This shipping and shopping behemoth spoiled us with quick heck even same day delivery. There was a portent in this order; it took weeks to arrive.

My complaint wasn’t the delay; even the vagueness of who the merchant might be didn’t rile me. Yes, portents and mystery came with this transaction.

I was promised an infomercial’s worth of ‘great for wearing in the snow’ and ‘so comfortable for older women’ that the stiffness of this boot irked. Of course, the boot looks great from its forest green exterior and nice design to the neat angle of its raised heel. It doesn’t feel great.

So, long story short [I hear you saying ‘that ship has sailed’] I called customer service. “We’ll call you in 26 hours; if you don’t answer, we’ll send an email with the address for the return.”

I asked about the logistics of my return.

“You’ll get an email  telling you all about that.” Click.

The address for the return is somewhere in Guangdong Province China. I am not kidding.

Shipping charges would fall to me. Unheard of in the annals of easy returns!

Included in this email was this wisdom: “We advise you to stay with the product and we can give you a $ 18 dollar refund otherwise continue to send the product back to us.”

Always accept good advice when it’s generously offered. At least I shall.

A little gift

My Starbucks addiction has to do with the app and rewards. Now that the new CEO has cut back the company give-backs, I am weaning myself.

For a while, I accepted every challenge [and met most].

Let’s face it, my (bought) loyalty garnered me 100 points here and there. In real life, that’s the occasional free iced coffee.

To get the full bang for my buck, I always ordered the Trenta.

That’s a lot of coffee, and a lot more than doctor- recommended.

As a once staunch critic of the brand, I should have eschewed these prizes. As a gamer, I had to play.

No offers.

Oh, good. I can get a cup I might actually enjoy elsewhere.

I am missing out on the points that come automatically from each purchase. A pass, I am willing to make.

In the pod

Huddling with podcasts has become a source of comfort for me. I spend a part of my respite time under earphones and tuned to one of these specific three.

At the moment, that rotation is led by Julia Louis Dreyfus. I am caught up on Wiser than Me, which gladdens me (I have been enriched), and I can’t wait for Wednesday.

Anderson Cooper offers wisdom on grieving; perversely, I find tremendous uplift in listening to All There Is with…. I am far from done with the seasons of this series.

Somehow, Brooke Shields snuck on to my listening cycle. On Now What? she interviews people who have dealt with moments of transition. (Who hasn’t?) These shared pivotal moments are  enlightening.

I found myself listening to one of the most distinctive voices the other day. [Bebe Neuwirth has a special timbre when she speaks.]

I appreciate her work as a dancer and actress, but I love her for a moment at a Broadway Cares event some 4 years ago.

The audience was instructed “cell phones off.” A routine command in the theater. Within minutes, a phone went off. 

Ms. Neuwirth rose to the occasion in righteous outrage admonishing the offender.

I hate hearing ringing during a performance, don’t you?

Apparently, she and I are in sync on this one.

For love of country

Patriotism is something that Conservatives “owned” or thought they did. Then along came the crazies in the GOP. Matt Gaetz (not unlike his boss) is a destroyer. The only pledge of allegiance he’ll have to sign is to (ugh) the president elect.

Patriotism runs deep in all Americans who understand the values that are fundamental to the United States of America.

It’s love of country, not fealty to a would be strong man. We, the people, are not bossed by our leaders. We choose them to serve us.

Fight fire

For those traumatized by the blazing forestland in New Jersey and California, the appeal of flames rising is probably gone.

Fire can also be a metaphor. Fire in the belly signifies ambition and the Doors sang of stoking desire.

There is passing the torch, a  tradition exemplified in Paris this summer. Fire also captures the idea in getting burned [or its alter ego, not].

Fires give heat and light. The campfire is benign and contained and well-loved. Fires can rage, giving birth to an angry modality.

Pastel crayons are waxy. I also used red pencil for definition and outline.

Our art therapy/connection group used it as a metaphor symbolic of what moves and inspires us. 

Mine kind of, you know, “wrote itself.”

A collage occupied me while we did our introductions. I was multitasking.

Thank you

We are thanked for voting.

Voting is our privilege, a right that comes with democracy.  We should treasure it. No thanks necessary.

The video artist I passed in front of our local school[slash]polling place seemed to share that p.o.v.

“In Argentina,” I think I heard her say, “You have to vote.”

Apparently, it’s beyond your right  so that it’s illegal not to cast a ballot.

Hmm.

Run run run

It’s not like I’m crazy for the big footrace that is the NYC Marathon as it has disrupted my 1st Sunday in November for about 50 years.

Let me explain.

I moved to the other side of the race’s course in 1974. On the day of the Marathon, I am confined to staying east of its long, long path. That confinement lasts from appx 10 am until 4 or 5 pm. 

The closest to normal for me is to walk along the east side of 1st Av, avoiding crowds. I can walk past the 59th  Street Bridge and start across town there.

Busses did not run down York for many a year; perhaps because their terminus is at 91st and 1st. I am not sure why I was able to get one once; call it a fluke.

This year, I watched the festive firework display as runners gather in the Park. My perch was my window overlooking rooftops and clear to the site. 

I also captured the smoke as the show ended.

Every year since 1974, I have been trapped between the East River and 1st Avenue.

That was fun.