Consecutive Days

This fall, Rosh Hashanah and Sukkot occupy Thursday-Friday.  Add shabbos, which makes three consecutive restricted days three weekends out of four.  While our Rabbis regard these as special times to escape daily obligations, I kinda like what I do most days.  No electronic devices for three consecutive days, three weekends out of four?  That's a lot of FOMO.  The purpose of Yom Tovim and shabbos might be separation.  They have a measure of compensation for what will be missed.  Special dinners.  The preparatory efforts for shabbos each week and the Yom Tovim as they arise.  A completed sukkah.  Special liturgy.  An OLLI schedule that omits Thursday and Friday classes this semester.  But nine days of separation all in the same calendar month seems a lot.

I don't really miss the laptop when it is off.  Social Media really does get too absorbing.  It needs a break. Not much happens if I don't do crosswords for a few days.  FB, Reddit, and email avoidance challenge me more, though they shouldn't.  I've largely abandoned Twitter.  It's a detriment to me.  Minor withdrawal symptoms but don't miss it.  FB has a few contacts with friends, offset in a big way by unsolicited posts that the psych major Stanford alumni think will keep me on their screen instead of somebody else's.  Reddit might be a little harder, as I make contributions that others might find helpful, though few make contributions that I find helpful.  Setting these aside for shabbos each week is not hard.  Three consecutive days generates minor withdrawal, though never overt FOMO.

These three day breaks never really become Me Time, though.  I have guests or am a guest.  But some Me Time gets carved into those three days.  Social Media is not Me Time.

Rosh Hashanah with its social strains but new horizons completed.  Some sukkah inspiration ahead.  Then the concluding days.  The designers of the Hebrew calendar anticipated folks like me would be Jewish saturated by the end of this.  They scheduled the subsequent month to be devoid of special days, but nicknamed that month Mar Heshvan, or Bitter Heshvan, due to the absence of designated times other than shabbos.  I think of it more as respite.

Board Discussion

My Zoom access malfunctioned.  I could not see myself on the screen, though I appeared on the attendance list of participants.  Perhaps others could see me.  This distracted me somewhat from our Board Meeting's agenda as I did connectivity troubleshooting while other people spoke.  For the first time since I joined the Board, I said nothing the entire session.  This is a good thing, especially since I had nothing of substance to contribute. Multitasking never turns out well.  I did not multitask.  I shifted between tasks, listening attentively without concerns of what I ought to say.  At my next meeting, I will likely have much to say.  The week after, I am featured speaker.  Any opportunity to restore Zoom to its full capability cannot be set aside.

So, as more a spectator than participant, what did I hear or sense?  Very little served as a forum where issues are raised, discussions ensue, people challenge each other's perspectives, and votes resolve divides.  That did not happen.  In its place, I heard announcements of what had already been decided.  I heard The Clique commenting amongst each other how wonderful they all were.  One piece of adverse news, the departure of what had been a lifelong member.  Not our fault, unavoidable.  Announcement of our Rabbi's proposal to expand connections within our congregation.  Where can we take this?  There are lots of places to take this.  I heard none.  We need more members.  Why do we need more members?  To generated revenue, of course.  Never a recognition of how much our newbies add by their efforts once among us.  Mostly Hear Ye, Hear Ye.  A pro forma evening in the congregational Echo Chamber.

They need to either have the Rabbi stay for the whole thing or plant a mystery shopper who can have coffee with the Rabbi and President.  I heard, or at least sensed, what might be.  It wasn't.

Credit Card Failure

Gas tank not yet empty, though it would be when I return from dropping my departing daughter at the airport.  Gas stations are plentiful.  The pumps work on Sundays.  All fully self-service.

On my way home from a small outing, I pulled into my usual station.  Following what I've done every few weeks forever, I inserted the Bank of America card and removed my gas cap.  When the pump screen asked me to lift the nozzle and select an octane grade, I pushed 87.  Instead of allowing BP gasoline to flow, the screen thanked me for shopping there and wished me a pleasant day.  Maybe a pump problem.  I pulled one pump ahead, where a motorcycle had just refueled.  Same cheery good wishes by the dispensing algorithm, but not gas for me.  Maybe the station had some snafu.  I drove to another station a mile away, inserted my card, waited for approval on the screen, and pushed the octane grade appropriate to my Toyota.  Thanked again on the screen, wished a pleasant day, but no gas.

Then I drove home and called the Bank of America card's customer service number.  Irritating automated menu, but eventually I got to an agent, told my tale, waited patiently on hold while she investigated, until the triplet buzz of a disconnected signal arrived.  I called back, told my story to the next agent who had to investigate.  He transferred my call to a Merchant Service desk, which asked for a number.  I typed my card number, receiving a response that my information was invalid.  I retyped it.  Still invalid.  They transferred me to a place that could not proceed.

Maybe my card's chip had a malfunction.  I drove to a much larger station, tapped the card, and this time did not get as far as an approval.  While the other two stations were small neighborhood operations not manned on Sundays, this enterprise probably made higher profit margins from the convenience store than the pumps.  I went inside, handed a twenty-dollar bill to the cashier, and a one-dollar bill to a hungry panhandler.  6.5 gallons later, I had my gas gauge reading enough fuel to last me the week.  I do not know if the panhandler got himself a snack or would hold out for enough donations to get himself a more substantial meal.

Back to Bank of America's helpline.  Despite being a conglomerate with every expertise on staff, the agent really had no interest in investigating the glitch.  I've gotten tampered OTC medicine in the past.  Their helpline took great interest in their customer's plight, sending me a mailer to return the damaged pills and a coupon to replace them.  Bank of America has had some adverse publicity for disinterest in the needs of customers.  Though I've had this card going on forty years, my offer to send it back to them for investigation was rejected in about one minute.  They are not perfectionists.

While traveling a month ago, I had a similar encounter in a rural area of another state.  That time, the pumps just rejected my card.  Two pumps at the first station, one at a larger place anchored by the regional convenience chain.  The cashier could not get the card to work at her desk, at least for filling my tank.  Twenty-dollar bill enabled enough gas to proceed to my next destination.  At the hotel, I called the card's carrier who assured me that my card was still valid.  At the restaurant for dinner, I used it, as I did for gasoline the remainder of my road trip and beyond.

While the professionalism of the agents, their willingness to explain and explore a problem, let alone show any curiosity about it or experience with it, fell below what I had come to expect in my medical world, I am not harmed.  A new card will come in a week.  I have a debit card from my bank which I use only for ATM withdrawals and a second card which has a premium-for-use feature that I use only for charges in the thousands like air travel or major home repair.  And I can keep a little extra cash in my wallet.  It is tempting to just get another card, though snafu's over forty years of relying on them for my credit needs have been few.

If they as employees are not curious about what happened, at least I am.  Type Credit card does not work at gas station onto a Google search and lots of references appear.  Apparently selective malfunctions when acquiring gasoline, without limiting effects on other purchases are well-documented.  Most of what Google retrieves are testimonials posted to Reddit and other public forums of expression.  Why it occurs selectively at gas stations is less well-defined, but the interface between the pumps and the banks takes a different path from most purchases.  At least I wanted to know why.  That curiosity apparently is not a contributor to promotion from entry-level customer telephone agent to a position of more responsibility by some credit card companies.  Getting me a new card, mostly automated, is the retail path of least resistance.  Especially if it keeps me with their company when defecting after decades is still tempting.

Wrist Jolt

Behind my bed sits a vintage clock radio.  Modern in its day.  Red numerals.  Wake to an audio blare or to whatever AM or FM station had been preset.  I never liked it, but those red numbers behind me remain my official command to arise each morning.  Though that now happens silently.  The NFL offers a two-minute warning.  My current smartwatch signals a ten-minute warning in the form of a fifteen firm buzzes across my left wrist.  

Being smart, and a good buy at $40, it multitasks.  That includes a passive but ongoing assessment of the sleep it is programmed to terminate.  Home Sleep Trackers have been a great disappointment, at least the two Apps I've downloaded to my smartphone.  Highly inaccurate.  Prone to failure. Annoying to have the device next to me.  This watch may not be any more accurate, but it doesn't intrude.  It records a sleep time, has a mechanism for deciding when I am in REM without access to my eyeballs, and thinks it can decide when my nightly nap is light or deep.  Then it gives a time summary at the end.  Unlike the phone Apps, it does not offer a running timeline so I can match which stage at which hour.  Mostly, the morning wrist buzz occurs during light sleep, confirmed by the electronic bar graph of sleep stages.  However, apparently nearly every morning I have a deep sleep interval preceding that.  One electronic jolt occurred during that interval.  I could tell the difference.  The intensity of that buzz could terminate deep sleep.  The bar graph that morning had the blue deep sleep color as my final interval on awakening, a rarity.  

With considerable focus on professional sleep hygiene recommendations the past year or two, I might not need the dawn reminder, as my intrinsic sleep cycle ends my nightly session on its own at about the same time each morning.  Still, I like to see what happened before that.  My smartwatch records a doze-off time, probably accurate.  I try to keep that constant, though less effectively than I manage the arise time.  It will record nocturia X 1 as wake time.  It does not really capture middle of the night insomnia, which that clock radio's red numerals usually capture at about 3AM.

Yet it is reassuring that a simple electronic device can keep me reasonably on track for what has been a chronic vexing challenge.

Wandering Costco

I did not take a cart.  Despite a new corporate policy to confirm active membership, the door greeter accepted a quick flash of my card's COSTCO in bold red letters, waving me in without scanning any bar codes.  I had no intention of buying anything other than maybe a soft ice cream sundae at the snack bar on the way out.  With their kiosk ordering, I would not need confirmation of membership maintenance for that either.

On a mid-week mid-afternoon, few shoppers crowded the aisles.  My intent for going at all was to secure a quiet hour away from the distractions, or maybe allures, of My Space with its abundant neglected projects.  Nothing that I needed.  Costco's immense success, however, depends on a network of psychology grads who understand how to create want that transforms to need.  Bling in its most glittering forms greets shoppers at the entrance.  TVs with the biggest screens on display.  They were not set to broadcast Fox News or ESPN, but they all had brightly colored images on their flat screens.  Beneath the displays with prices in bold black numerals, shoppers could eye small stacks of very big boxes far too bulky to fit in a cart, which I opted not to take for myself this visit.  Much smaller, encased in thief-proof glass that sparkles from periodic Windex rounds, people could ponder how to display their material success with baubles that reflect ceiling LED light in the most dazzling way in the store and God's light when worn outside.  Cell phone displays were muted.  So was a section with eyeglass frames lining a wall next to a counter where experienced opticians will offer the best deals in bifocals.  I keep my membership exclusively for this benefit.

Continuing the main aisle.  Appliances to enable the homemaker's leisure.  Washing machines, refrigerators.  All better than what we likely have at home right now.  Hectic work schedules and smaller houses and condos have changed what we do in our homes.  We prepare food, we entertain ourselves, sometimes we work.  As kitchens become the hub for families and empty nesters, aisles of enhancements challenge one's credit card restraint.  Cookware, countertop appliances, display baskets, storage of the most attractive design.  Our square footage, or maybe even a whole room, allotted to our side hustles require soft chairs with high backs that swivel us from our desks to our shelves, then glide us across the room on casters.  Writing implements in colors. Shredders.  Papers to remind us of our failures to go paperless.  

Bling attracts the eye.  Pampering soothes the other body parts.  Bedroom decor, new lighting for the bathroom, made more sybaritic by other products awaiting us on their shelves.

Turning right brings me to clothing, men's for me.  Long pants as autumn approaches.  Light jackets.  Sweatshirts in green with an Eagle on the front.  Shirts in piles, some needing ironing, others in easy care synthetics.

One must traverse half a warehouse of stuff to arrive at what most people place in their carts.  Food.  Lots of food.  And mostly beyond Family Size.  For this tour sans my own basket, I started with the freezers.  At previous membership intervals, I could not pass up Kosher-certified tiramisu, my wife's favorite dessert, though modified with whipped cream where the mascarpone should be.  Not in the current frozen collection.  Neither was anything else, except for some packages of Beyond Burger which would be a challenge to stuff into my already occupied home freezer.  I like things I would not buy at Shop-Rite.  Best buy on lox slices.  I still have one chunk of homemade gravlax at home.  And cheeses with at least a Tablet-K.  Those are hard to find, so while my membership remains active, I'll have to return.  Big boxes of snacks that I don't need.  Did not enter the cosmetics, pharmacy, or bakery this time.  By now mid-afternoon.  A snack maybe.  Too late for pizza.  Not hungry enough for a sundae.  Just head home.  No money spent.

I'll be back.  Having scouted the place out, there are more wants than needs, by a significant multiple.  Eventually my gravlax will need replacement by commercially smoked and sliced lox.  Not had some of those cheeses in a long time.  Maybe tiramisu will return to the freezer.  And maybe my kitchen experience will get its next enhancement.  And depending on the time, pizza for lunch or sundae on the way out.  

No Appointments

Almost no appointments today. I have times assigned to myself.  Wake time done.  Dental hygiene done, Treadmill shortly.  None take very long.  The rest of my day remains unscheduled.  Nearly all should do's. Few must do's with none to please somebody else.  Future projects await.  Those need progress, some in small steps today, others in larger accomplishment. Deadlines not imminent.

Today's Daily Task List runs two columns, loosely prioritized.  Some purposeful as components of Semi-Annual Projects, others more recreational.  Segments for work.  Segments for leisure.  Optimism as first cup of coffee nears completion.  Next, treadmill.  Then no more appointments, not even with myself.

Holy Day Planning

Leap year on the Hebrew calendar.  It time shifts things.  Virtually no double portions for Shabbos Torah readings.  The various Festivals appear late on the American calendar.  Hanukkah starts with XMas.  The High Holy Days do not arrive until October.  They still need some attention.  As in recent years, I was asked to read Torah on Yom Kippur.  It requires minimal attention.  The person doing the assignments has an incentive to recycle who did what they did last year, or the previous ten years for some, much to the detriment of the congregation.  There's a certain sameness to the experience at my synagogue, though some newness at the alternate minyan we attend first day Rosh Hashanah.  I prefer some novelty, some notion of that people thought about how to make an experience better.  While in my capacity as Board Member, the Ushermeister asked my participation, and I offered him places to assign me, he hasn't.

There are parts of the HH experience that do not depend on the synagogue, some of which I control, others I don't.  As a courtesy to my sister-in-law, we visit her after first day of Rosh Hashanah.  Our children sometimes visit, a high priority accommodation.  And we can expect a Sukkah dinner invitation.

My personal traditions continue their expressions.  I've written to a college friend each HH for more than fifty years.  I connect annually to two others.  RH Dinner has its ambivalence.  It is usually special but not ornate, though if my children are joining us, I will need to expand the menu, or at least the quantities.  I like to make my own spiral challah with raisins.  There is always an apple with honey.  Usually a first course, if only gefilte fish from a jar.  As empty-nesters, chicken breasts for two, as host, maybe a whole roast chicken or a brisket.  Carrots are the traditional RH vegetable.  Wife makes rice kugel each year.  And my honey or apple cake.  Getting to erev RH services sometimes needs some planning.  Some years we don't make it.  

Wife leads services First Day at the Minyan where that is permitted.  Then an afternoon with my sister-in-law, now last surviving sib.  This year accommodate the kids as they set their own schedules for long distance travel and worktime juggling.  And Tashlich.

Sukkot is more my preferred Holy Day.  We ordered our Lulav and Etrog.  Sukkah construction right after YK, weather permitting.  One evening as somebody else's guest, another for my guests.

Simchat Torah evening I designate with Chabad.  They conduct a program for their kids, with their assistant serving as a modern Art Linkletter getting them to say the darndest things.

In all, the designated days span the better part of a month.  Mixture of fixed activities and traditions.  Some challenging, other parts chores to get through.