But first... On ceiling fans and survival of the fittest

Forward Dawson is the best person ever. Read this now - she will save you from getting killed TO DEATH. ~ A. Duck (Scary)
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In which I describe how I saved my entire family from decapitation just now, and how I prophylactically saved my children from Ann Boleyn syndrome.
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As you all know, I live in the almost frozen north, where real summer temperatures hardly ever happen. Installing an air conditioning unit for the 3 1/2 days when we have sufficiently high temps to need the thing just isn't worth the trouble or expense. So we mostly employ fans, ceiling fans/light fixture combos being quite excellent as they not only cool the house in summer, but can be set to run in reverse in the winter to push the warmer air near the ceiling down and help the house feel warmer.

Several years ago, I found two such beauties on sale and promptly had them installed in the kitchen and my bedroom. I didn't put any in the girls' rooms because they had bunkbeds at the time and with their penchant for switching rooms, there was no way to predict where the bunkbeds would actually be located at any point in the future. Bunkbeds + ceiling fan = HORRIBLE, BLOODY, HEADLESS DED TO DETH OFFSPRING. And I am loathe to see either of my children walking about with her head tucked underneath her arm, Ann Boleyn-like .

I hired an electrician to do the job. While my talents run to installing a regular light fixture, I draw the line at installing ceiling-based guillotines for the possible future decapitation of my children. Should something go wrong I want someone to sue other than myself.

Even with them firmly attached to the ceiling 8 feet away, I have a love/fear relationship with these fans. While I love the cooling/warming effect, I live in mortal terror of one of the blades flying off and slicing one of our heads into deli meat. The blades are all attached to the arms by 3 screws and then the arms to the motor with two more screws. That's five opportunities for mechanical woe to set in, times the five blades on the fan. And those odds are a bit high for my taste.

Lately, the fan in the kitchen has been making a rather distressing clicking noise. Sometimes the shades on the lights rattle a bit, but this was different. So, after turning off the wall switch and turning the fan off on the fixture so as to eliminate all chances of giving myself a handectomy, I bravely climbed up onto that time-honoured handyman's aid - a kitchen chair - screwdriver in hand, and checked each of the screws that attach the fan blades to the fixture.

THERE WERE TWO LOOSE ONES.

Check your ceiling fans people. You can thank me later.

A tale of woe. No mirth, just woe. Okay. Maybe a leetle bit of mirth.

Can't go into too many details as it involves work but the long, woe-filled tale of my weekend is soon to come. Once I get caught up on my sleep.

Who, me?

Yes. I know. Mea culpa.

More soon.

Have new camera. Yay!

Silly season at work soon to finish.

Have been taking notes. Tales to tell. More soon.

Trust me to be extinct

What Animal Were You In Your Past Life?
	You were unicorn. You were mysterious and noble. You have fairytale traits, and other people can only dream in envy. Your nature is completely impossible to decipher and behind all that, you know that you shine bright, for only the luckiest people get the chance to know you.
Find Your Character @ BrainFall.com

Happy Mother's Day

Still miss you. Always will.

The freak has been shod

So. It appears some stores actually exist to provide customers with product. The service still left something to be desired. Although the clerks were very pleasant and polite and it didn't seem like waiting on me was the most dire situation they'd ever been in or they were just waiting to escape to the store room to attempt seppuku by shoe horn, they tried to wait on everyone at once, which doesn't really work. But they were patient and knowledgeable.

And even though I have freak feet with THE SMALL and THE WIDE, they had several styles for me to choose from and quite happily offered to order something in if I saw a style they didn't have in my size or the colour I wanted.

And they didn't once try to offer me sandals, even though they had lots of them in stock.

They had pretty darned fashionable shoes, too. I bought very plain serviceable ones to start (because you know I'm stuck with expensive shoes now for the rest of my natural life) and they look much better in real life than the photo above. And boy are they comfortable. They are wide where I have TEH WIDE and narrow where I need TEH NARROW (Did you read that, Jenny? And they have stores all over the US! Rejoice!) and small where I need TEH SMALL. They are leather. They are black. They are both suitable for the office and compatible with jeans. Sadly, they are slip-on but you can't have everything.

My shoes. They are full of win.

Also. Today I held in my hot little hand a size 20 (as in TWENTY) man's shoe. I thought it was a display thingy, but it was a real shoe. Biggest shoe I've ever seen in my LIFE. Not sure why, but I thought of Rik... *waves Wales-ward*

How not to buy shoes

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Customer Service is Ded to Deth

Having recently purchased a fine pair of implements of torture orthotic insoles, (which appear to be doing the trick, thank God THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS!!! wibble) I went today in quest of suitably over-priced supportive shoes in which to wear them. They're fitting in my Sauconys and Earth Shoes, but I can't wear the Sauconys to work and the Earth Shoes are slip-ons that, while fairly comfortable, aren't quite stable enough to provide the kind of support I’ve been advised I need.

So. To the self-styled purveyor of "innovative products for personal health care" who is "committed to customer satisfaction and follow-up," I go on my lunch hour.

They have one (1) person qualified to fit shoes (at 1:30 p.m. in the afternoon). I fill in the form given me by the clearly wishing she was dead rather than working in this store clerk at the counter, giving more information than any shoe salesman has ever asked of me and sit down to wait. And I wait. And I wait. I check my email. I check my calendar. I check my urge to set fire to something.

You remember Goldilocks? She of the "too big," "too small," "too hot," "too cold"... Yeah, her. Well she was shopping for shoes today. And you guessed it. Nothing was suitable. I'm not sure how long she was there, but she took up 20 minutes of my life that I'll never get back trying on every shoe they had. Then said, "I don't need them until next week anyway." And then I killed her to save her the trouble of picking out shoes because they bury you shoeless...

No. I took my turn. Explained the orthotic situation and that I was looking for shoes suitable to wear to work. Leather. Laced or buckled or velcro. Preferably black, but brown or oxblood would work. The clerk then asked, "Do you have the orthotics with you?"

"No. I thought I'd shop for shoes to fit my orthotics WITHOUT the orthotics, just for the entertainment value."

I didn't actually say that, but it was a close call there for a minute. Then she said, "I'm going to have to measure your feet."

"Brilliant idea! You will no doubt be the next Nobel prize winner for brilliance!"

Again, not my out loud voice...

I was then told, "Oh. You have small feet."

I'm 5' 2". She was expecting clown feet?

"And your feet are wide."

"Look lady, I didn't pick these feet out. They came as a package deal with the small, wide body."

No. Not out loud. I wish.

She tells me she has almost nothing to show me. "Because it's spring and we mostly carry sandals this time of year." You don’t say. If we are lucky, there are perhaps two dozen days during which we can comfortably wear sandals around here. Shoes are a year-round requirement.

She brought out a pair of shoes that were almost identical (except for the extra $100 on the price tag) as the ones I was wearing. Which, frankly, if they were okay, would I be in her overpriced shop? I would not.

I explained that I was looking for a shoe that was a bit more supportive (and let’s face it, a bit of support from the clerk wouldn’t have gone astray at this point, either).

"Well, I don't really know what you're looking for." Let's see, I’ve said ‘suitable for office wear, leather, laces or buckles or velcro straps, black or brown.’ I think that's pretty descriptive.

“We have mostly sandals. Because it’s spring…” I’m beginning to detect a theme, here.

She then brings out the most hideous-coloured shoes I have EVER seen IN MY LIFE. And I lived through the 70s and 80s. I know from ugly. I don’t even know what that colour would be called. Perhaps, “I would be brown but they ran out of pigment and I’m a strange gold-y kind of… yellow.” UggLEE.

Yes. Yellow shoes. For when I enter CLOWN SCHOOL. She WAS expecting clown feet! Oddly, they were comfortable enough. Until I walked in them and they slipped up and down on my heel. Apparently ALL of my foot isn’t wide. She seemed to think they should be suitable on account of the WIDENESS of my foot and all. And with the WIDENESS they should fit and do I always buy WIDE shoes?

No. No, I do not. I buy shoes that fit my feet. Which I do, miraculously from time to time, given my freakish feet that are so very SMALL and so very WIDE, manage to find. Often in a colour that will not make small children cower behind their mother’s skirts because of the UGGLEEEEEE.

“I will not buy yellow shoes, as I am not a clown, Madame. And even if I could abide that colour, which I cannot, I could not possibly buy those shoes because if I did every night I would lie in my bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling saying, ‘Can’t sleep. Clown shoes will eat me.’ Followed by, ‘Either those shoes go or I do.’ after which I would have to kill myself, saving the clown shoes the trouble.” Again, only in my head.

“Well, I don’t know that I can even order anything in. Because you don’t want slip-ons … and it's spring and we mostly carry sandals this time of year." Yeah. So I’ve heard.

“Well, unfortunately for me, I’ve only recently been diagnosed, and I’ll need a good pair of shoes before I can even think about buying sandals. I’ll just have to keep looking.” Which is Canadian for, “You stupid, lazy, incompetent female canine. Stuff your slip-ons where the sun don’t shine!”

And then I left the store before I beat her to death with my orthotics.

The Bergs are Back

More at my Flickr page. The link is over there on the right... somewhere...