Oops

     Yesterday at work about did in my legs.

     It should have been no big deal.  I've done it dozens of times: we change all the replaceable light bulbs on the tower in late Fall, breathing on the dice to shade the odds of having to send a rigger up there in the worst of winter to relamp a dead beacon.  The steady-burning sidelights are almost optional.  Each level has three of them and we don't even have to report them if they fail.  A single one out can safely be left for better weather.  But the flashing beacons are a different thing.  They're the brightest lights on the tower, each one with a pair of 640 Watt light bulbs the size of a child's head.  You can lose one of a pair and it's still okay, but if both go out, they've got to be replaced as soon as it is practical.

     So the workers go up with a big bag of new bubs and work their way down.  It takes a few minutes at each level, working in the chill wind, opening the red glass covers on the small side lights, unlatching and hinging open the big beacons, hundreds of feet in the air, careful to not drop anything, swapping the new for the old.

     The tower has an elevator, but the elevator doesn't have any controls in the car.  It's barely got a door, just a scissors gate that pulls across the open side like an old-time baby barrier.  Down at the base of the tower, in the big box that houses the 1950s relays that control the hoist, there's a narrow panel that opens to reveal a disconnect switch and three big push buttons with molded-in labels: UP, DOWN, STOP.  The crew carries radios and I get one of my own.

     Under normal circumstances, once the initial long ride to the highest light is done, I clip the radio to my belt and go on about my other work.  When it's time to move, they call me and I doubletime outside to the controls.  "Ready to move?"
     "Down!"
     "Heading down," and I push the button.
     There's a reason for all that back and forth: there aren't any second chances.  Clearance is tight, with the ladder zipping past a couple of feet from the scissors gate.  Any bit of kit sticking out, a big clip, a loop of rope, can become lethal.

     This time, the crew had three radios.  Two were charged up and ready to go.  One had a bad battery, or maybe it hadn't been seated quite right in the charger overnight.  It worked okay sitting in the charger, but it had to be in the charger or it was inert.  I needed to be within earshot of it.  Outdoors.

     The tower crew layered up before they climbed: long johns, work pants, T-shirt, a heavy shirt over it, coveralls and short jackets, knit caps, gloves.  I was dressed for the site, where the inside temperature runs 60 to 65°F, and I had a winter coat, about mid-thigh length.  My work pants are pretty good, but I haven't had nice heavy ones since Carhartt redesigned their women's double-fronts with lighter denim.  My legs got very cold and I dealt with it by ignoring it.  I was pretty creaky by the time the relamping was done.

     I wasn't in much better shape at the end of the day.  I limped through the grocery picking up stuff for supper.  Pain in my knees woke me up a couple of times overnight.

     This morning I limped my way through a quick shower and snack ahead of the online writing critique group, and had a nice brunch (a cheese, sausage and piparra pepper omelet) between it and the Zoom-session main meeting of the writer's club.  Stood up from my chair after the business meeting and ahead of the month's speaker -- and just about didn't get vertical.  I used the break to take acetaminophen.

     For the speaker, it's cameras and microphones off.  I adjourned to my bed and listened from there.  Dozed off afterwards, woke up pinned down by cats, had supper (Tam ordered in), and have not moved a whole lot.  The damp, chilly weather hasn't helped any.

     Tomorrow is supposed to be nicer.  I'll work on some projects involving motion and see if that helps.  Today, it's OTC painkillers and rest.  

Out The Door

     An important thing was supposed to arrive up at the North Campus at noon.  Then it was going to show up at eight a.m.  Now it's back to noon.  --But it doesn't matter, because I have a crew that will arrive to do some tower work between ten and eleven.

     It all adds up hello and goodbye for this morning.

All Right, That's Enough

     Most people agree that Washington, D.C. is a semi-evil clown circus, or at least the parts that the fed.gov lurks in are.  They start to disagree when you get down to details -- this Administration or that one, one party more than another, and somehow it's almost never their guy or gal, just a prime clown or three and a hand-wavy bunch of "them."

     This general notion of buffoonery, wickedness and performative showpersonship gets applied with a high degree of freakoutery when control of Congress and/or the Presidency passes from one party to the other.*  Maybe that's as it should be.  Maybe with only two parties having a chance to frob (see Usage Notes at the link) around with the levers of power, a degree of viewing-with-alarm is useful in the same way as a product-safety team trying to figure out all the ways a thing can go wrong.

     But it becomes tiresome, and never more so when speculation soars to third and fourth-order effects: If nominee W is confirmed for office X and if they proceed to remove department Y and rule Z, then....  Whoa, nelly!  One worry at a time.

     Some -- in my opinion, most -- of Mr. Trump's nominees are underqualified and overconfident, which is never a good combination.  Many of the things they might do, outlined in Agenda 47 or Project 2025, would negatively affect U. S. citizens and residents, and I'm opposed to those things.  But they have not done them yet; they have not reached a position from which they would be able to do them yet, and there is no certainty that they will.

     There are probably awful times coming.  We have never before elected a President who swore vengeance as a big part of his campaign (not that any previous holders of that office were plaster saints).  But it has not happened yet and diving too deep into they-mights and what-ifs will only get in the way.  2025's House and Senate will be even more delicately balanced than 2024's, and those contentious, deliberative bodies can be counted on to do what they do best and were intended to do: contend and deliberate.  In public.  Loudly.

     Pop some popcorn.  The first couple of months will be interesting.  Yes, things could get pretty bad, but the roller-coaster is already clicking up the hill and there's no getting out until the end of the ride.  Might as well take each climb and swoop down as they come.
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* I'd love to tell you the United States is a multiparty democracy, mentioning the Greens, Libertarians, New Whigs and so on, with a nod to the handful of fiercely independent members of Congress, but as a practical matter, it ain't.  The little-party guys essentially never make it to the center ring and the Is all pick a party to caucus with.  If you want to get anything done, you'll have to choose the party that makes you hold your nose the least, and try to coax or shove them in the direction you want to go.

A Frustrating Pair Of Eyes

     In October, I had my regular eye exam and, of course, my vision had changed.  I own three frames (four counting sunglasses) and it was time for the round ones that I really like.  I left them with the eye doctor and they told me my glasses would be ready in three or four weeks.  My lenses require a complicated, multi-prism grind.  It's never fast.*

     Three weeks later, I picked them up, put them on and looked around the store, enjoying the sharpened vision.  I thanked the tech and clipped the matching sunglasses on.  They didn't fit as well as they had, but hey, new lenses.  Went out into the sunshine, drove to work and didn't take a good look at the new glasses in a mirror until I was washing my hands a couple of hours later.  One kind of round lens, one egg-shaped lens, the frames forced around them with some buckling for the least-round side.  They looked awful.

     I called the eye doctor immediately and took the glasses back the next day, where at first they saw only the frame damage, then realized neither lens was the right shape.  They sent the glasses back to their lab -- a different one than the one that has made my lenses for over a decade; the practice was sold some time ago and the new owners have their own lab.  That was almost a month ago.

     Monday, they called me.  "Our lab says they can't fix your glasses.  We're sending them to a different lab. Those frames are so old, you know, it's hard to put lenses in them...."  My round frames are maybe five years old.  There have been no major changes to the way eyeglass lenses for into frames in my lifetime, and hardly any in the last century.

     The frames are probably ruined.  My trust certainly is.  The "one-hour" place I went to when I needed vision correction in a hurry did okay and while I like the guy who has been doing my eye exams, I won't trust his employer to make me glasses again.

     My vision was terrible when I was a child.  I successfully faked it until third grade, when my teacher figured out that I couldn't read the blackboard at all, and that I thought it was just a cruel joke that everyone got except me.  (Mom: "So that's why you sit so near the TV!")  My world looked like an Impressionist painting, seen too close, all fuzzy blobs and smears.  It matters to me to be able to see clearly.
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* After cataract surgery, I had a "one-hour eyeglasses" place make up a pair of glasses that only corrected my greatly-changed nearsightedness, while I waited for the astigmatism to settle down.  A month later, I went back to have lenses for my full prescription made and the technician told me, "Okay, come back this afternoon and..." before doing a double-take at the prescription and apologizing, "Oh.  Sorry.  This will be two or three weeks.  We can't make these here."  Yep.

Another Pair Of Eyes

     The story ended up around 5970 words.  It's usually worthwhile to cut; early drafts have excess verbiage and little dead-end bits that don't advance the plot or shed light on the theme.

     Such cuts carry their own risks.  Extra words get left in; essential words get left out.  Tense and number shift.  It is very difficult to spot on the seventh or twelfth read-through.  I see what I intended to say, not what I wrote.

     I was very glad that Tam agreed to do a last-minute reading and markup.  Sure enough, she found a half-dozen glitches -- and one misuse of the subjunctive that still feels right me.  I changed it anyway; better to color inside the lines as much as possible, so you can scribble outside of them when it's necessary.

     Will the editors like it?  I don't know.  I do know that having extra eyes on the work has bailed me out many times.  Between the members of my fiction critique group to Tam's well-informed once-over, if the end result reads smoothly and makes sense, they played large parts in getting it there.

Writing....

     At present, I'm 6,712 words into finishing a 6,000 word short story to be submitted for an anthology -- and if that sounds off, consider that I started at 7,230.

     Two or three pages of cutting left to do.

Ipse Dixie

     House Speaker Mike Johnson might need to do a little homework.  In an interview Sunday, he griped, "I wish the Senate would simply do its job of advise and consent and allow the president to put the persons in his Cabinet of his choosing." [Emphasis mine.]

     Except that's not how it works, and you don't have to take my word for it.  Ask the arch-conservative Federalist Society.

     Article II, Section 2, Clause 2 does not mean "drop hints and go along."  It obliges the U. S. Senate to behave like the deliberative body they are, to openly discuss the nominee and vote on confirming their appointment, yes or no.  Getting the job is not guaranteed simply because the Chief Executive thinks you're the right disruptor for the position.

     Yes, it's awkward and inefficient to require the President and Senate to do some give and take over his choice of office-holders.  But those offices are, per the Constitution, created by Congress.  This back-and-forth is an attempt to fix two problems: the often-abused power of the British Crown and especially Royal Governors to create and fill high offices, and the post-Revolution (but pre-Constitution) arrogation by State Legislatures of those same powers.  By splitting them up and requiring some degree of debate, the Framers hoped to moderate and democratize the process.  You can think of it as a kind of grown-up version of the childhood method to fairly divide treats: one kid slices the pie, the other chooses who gets what piece.

     A large, powerful government had damned well better be slow and inefficient when it comes to appointive office like Cabinet members, Department Chairs and Ambassadors: those boys and girls can do a whole lot of damage, blow though budgets, mess up important projects, insult allies, stumble into wars with enemies and more.  Let's take our time.  Let's give the Senate, eyes and ears of the fifty States, a chance to look 'em over and put the matter to a vote.

Out Of The Frying Pan, Into The...Frying Pan?

     That's what I did.  Over the years, I have gone though many small skillets.*  They see heavy use.  They get dropped, or scratched or plain worn out.  When the warnings about PTFE-family non-stick coatings ramped up (you really don't want to keep using them after even one tiny scratch or ding), I bought alternatives.  And every single time I have done so, the stuff is better.

     When I bought my big "Always" pan, I knew it wasn't ideal for browning.  The coating was otherwise remarkable -- genuinely non-stick, easy to clean, relatively durable (they're on version 2.0 now, and also sell an enameled cast-iron model that browns well).  Around the same time, I replaced my smaller skillet with a dimestore purchase, and it was okay -- the ceramic coating was great for browning, not extraordinarily non-stick but very good, and it took a little effort to clean.  The finish on the outside tended to wear away.

     The little five-and-dime skillet got ugly, and I picked up a new frying pan a month ago.  It was a surprise!  The state of the art has advanced.  The ceramic coating is as non-stick as the Always (still going strong, btw), but it does great for browning.  It cleans up easily.

     None of these are especially dishwasher-friendly, but not needing to be soaked and scrubbed means that's not a problem -- and immaterial for me until I replace the dishwasher.

     The pros -- and high-end amateurs -- will likely keep on using cast iron and steel pans, for a number of good reasons.  But for daily use, modern non-stick cookware is better than it has ever been, and has shown remarkable improvement over the last few years.  If you're still using "old reliable" Teflon, you might want to give the newer stuff a try.
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* A term I grew up using interchangeably with "frying pan."  They're not quite the same thing, depending on where you live, and a saute pan is yet another thing, but other than a "spider," you can use them all for the same job. Oh, a spider pan?  A classic, but very uncommon  Generally handmade these days.

The Best And The Brightest?

      I was going to do a deep-dive think piece on the incoming President's Cabinet proposals and other high-level choices, but -- really?  Do I have to?  A guy who claims not to have washed his hands in ten years because "he's never seen a germ" and he is "inoculating himself;" another who doesn't believe in vaccines or fluoridation is put up to be in charge of public health; a woman who carries water for the Russians and Red China slated to oversee our intelligence agencies; a puppy-shooter to run Homeland Security* and a widely-rumored sex pest who barely dodged a House ethics investigation for Attorney General.

     Those are just highlights.  I expected partisanship; that's not unusual.  I expected he'd insist on personal loyalty bordering on devotion.  I did not expect slap-in-the-face incompetence and unqualification.

     If it wasn't happening in my own country, it would be fascinating to watch it all come unstuck.  Which it will.  What the price tag might be, in dollars and international standing, in the loss of domestic tranquility, that remains to be seen.  I can tell you who will pay it, and it won't be anyone in the halls of power.  It will be you and me, no matter who we voted for.
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* Hey, you can shoot your own dog.  Depending on circumstances, I will think ill of your for it, but you do generally have that right.  This nation's law enforcement agencies do not, however, have a real good record for not shooting other people's dogs, even when the dog is properly restrained or kenneled.  It's a small thing, but it's indicative of the general trend.

No Leaf Work Today

     We were busy with other things and, I have to admit, I have felt pretty yucky.  Better once the sun came out, but that was late in the afternoon.

     I did housework instead.  It is, after all, the work that is always there to do.

Autumn Time, Autumn Time...

     The leaves are falling and so is the rain.  Tam and I missed our chance to mow up the dried leaves last weekend, so it looks like we'll be mowing up wet ones this weekend.  It's no fun, and the bags can't be more than about half full without getting too heavy for the city's crews to lift.  (We only have to do a dozen or so; they'll be doing thousands -- if they don't tear up their backs.)

     The good news is, dry leaves are a lot dustier, and I don't get along well with it.  So I'm going to call it a win -- an icky, slimy, heavy win.

Hacking Congress

     Political commentators and professional viewers-with-alarm have been having a field day with President-elect (and convicted felon) Donald Trump's* nominees for key jobs in his Administration, especially Fox News talking head Pete Hegseth, Secretary of Defense; former Representative Tulsi Gabbard, Director of National Intelligence; and Representative Matt  Gaetz, Attorney General.

     All three have been subject to somewhat sniffy observations that they've got to get through Senate vetting and confirmation before assuming their posts, and the GOP has an extremely slim majority in a body that is traditionally quite protective of their power.  The Senate, we're told, will dig in their heels.  The GOP hasn't a single vote to give up in that body, and so these three have barely a chance of getting through the process.

     Not so fast.  The nominees appear to be quite confident.  Matt Gaetz even went so far as to resign from the U. S. House of Representatives.†  Mr. Trump has already posted on social media, calling for a workaround: "Any Republican Senator seeking the coveted LEADERSHIP position in the United States Senate must agree to Recess Appointments [...]."  Charlie Sykes thinks the incoming President Pro Tem might do just that, tradition and Separation of Powers be damned.  --But you see, he doesn't have to.

     Here's how it works, with everyone ducking blame: Article II, Section 2, Clause 3 of the Constitution give the President the power to make appointments when Congress is in recess, appointments which stand until the end of the next session.  And Article I, Section 5, Clause 4 requires the House and Senate to mutually consent if they adjourn for more than three days.  If they cannot agree, if one body wants to cut school for a week and the other vows stubbornly to remain on the job?  Why, under Article II, Section 3, it falls to the President: "...in Case of Disagreement between them, with Respect to the Time of Adjournment, he may adjourn them to such Time as he shall think proper...."  This power has never been exercised, but all it takes is the House proposing an adjournment the Senate finds unacceptable and hey, presto: Mr. Trump's got the magic wand.  The Speaker can profess innocence -- his House members just wanted to go fishing, or hear from constituents; the President Pro Tem of the Senate can thunder and fume -- how dare the House treat this weighty matter so lightly!  The House and Senate fail to agree and Mr. Trump pulls the plug, after which they can all knock off work and repair to the bar, or perhaps somebody's yacht, free and clear.  Whatever happens after that is on Mr. Trump, not them.

     That's how it can work.  Or perhaps the threat alone will be enough.  Or maybe we've all been played, and these three particularly egregious choices are no more than distractions, slipped into the deal to be discarded while other, slightly less objectionable picks sail through.

     Our Constitution is hackable.  It was written by men who thought the people applying it wouldn't be trying to pull a fast one.  They did their best to not leave any openings, but nobody -- and no document -- is perfect.
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* After some thought, I have decided to give convicted felon and adjudicated sexual assaulter Donald Trump a recognition I have accorded to only one or two other Presidents: I'm going to mention his worst behavior at least once whenever his name comes up.  Woodrow Wilson and Andrew Jackson were virulent racists; in particular, Wilson resegregated the Federal civil service, which had become a colorblind meritocracy.  In so doing, he helped set the stage for the racial unrest that followed, over a generation later.  Mr. Trump is a scofflaw -- and we're about to see just how far he will follow that particular star.
 
† Credit where credit is due!  I'd like to thank Mr. Trump for doing what the courts and his House peers were unable to do: get Matt Gaetz out of Congress.  It's something.