The Case of the Mysterious Beeping

As most of you who know me realize, there's always some craziness in my life -- I like to think it's just because I am an exciting person :).

 For the last three months, however, my computer has been beeping at precisely 1:09 A.M. and 3:09 A.M. every night. It beeps 14 times each time and then stops. No one seems to know why these mysterious noises occur.  I have been having trouble with Time-Warner's e-mail, so I thought initially it was a problem on their end, but lately I'm afraid some hacker, or possibly an alien, has decided to use my computer for unexplained purposes.

The weirdest thing in this nightly beeping saga occurred, however, while I vacationed in Vermont at the beginning of September. Even when I turned my cell phone off  in the hotel room at night, unexplainable beeping occurred at 1:09 and 3:09 A.M. each night to wake my cranky sister and me up.  Was my cell phone talking to my computer back in Ohio?

Saturday, Matt, my son, finally came down from Columbus to see if I had lost my marbles, or I, indeed, heard beeping in the middle of the night.  He decided to sleep on the living room couch so he could be on the scene to check my computer in the middle of the night. He set his alarm so he could get up at 1 and 3 and be ready at the computer to find whatever was causing such chaos in my life.

I fell asleep in one of the recliners so I could help if needed.  When the computer began its usual beeping, I saw him looking at the monitor and clicking on a couple of things, before swinging around in the computer chair. He picked up an object off the table, tilted the object toward his ear, and asked, "What's this?"

Surprisingly, I could see in the dim light he held my blood sugar monitor which I keep beside the computer. It took a moment for my sleep-riddled brain to think.  It couldn't be the battery as the low battery light would display. There are alarms on a blood sugar meter? Who knew. Not me.
   

Matt sighed.  I sighed.  It all made sense.  My computer didn't beep; my blood sugar meter in the sack beside the computer did.  My phone didn't beep in the hotel room; it was the meter in my purse beside the phone.  Somehow I must have bumped the buttons on the meter in a certain sequence to set two different alarms on the meter?

Matt googled how to turn off the alarms so all the crazy, pre-dawn commotion would cease.  Back to sleep for both of us. Dreams of Donald's Donuts were in the air.  Case of the Mysterious Computer Beeping solved.

Mail, Mail, Who's Got Mail?

I don't get too excited about my mail, and I admit, some days I don't go out to the mailbox. It's not like people are sending me money in the mail or hot love letters; it's usually just bills and junk mail. Sometimes, the weather is really bad, the mail lady hasn't been there yet, I have a zillion things to do with bigger priorities, or I am in a hurry.

Evidently, according to my sister's and mother's reactions, the world may end if folks do not get their mail out of their mailbox each and every day without fail. They have both taken me to task and berated me about my lackadaisical approach toward daily mail retrieval. According to them, "bad things" could happen to those who do not check their mailbox daily.  Did you know mailbox doors can magically open and blow important mail all over the neighborhood, never to be found again?  Did you know a life-changing letter that needs immediate attention could be in a day's mail delivery?  Did you know rain can penetrate the cracks around the mailbox door and destroy mail with dampness?
  

I think there must be something wrong with me as I do not share their sentiments. As long as there's room for the mail lady to poke new bills in the box if I don't make it out there, it's okay. I haven't noticed any lightning bolts hitting the ground around me or the sky falling, so I'm not worried. If only I could train my cat to get my mail for me.

Lost (A Trip Inside Hollywood Casino)

Last week I drove to Hollywood Casino with friends (who shall remain nameless unless they divulge their identities!) for an afternoon of entertainment. While some friends headed to the steak and shrimp eatery, Friend A and I decided to hit up the legendary buffet.

I loaded some lovely pierogies, shrimp cocktail, and hand-carved ham on one plate, piled a second plate with salad, and headed for our table.  I couldn't see my friend. She's tall, but I didn't see her sitting at any of the tables; she must have still been at the buffet. I looked for our table. No luck.  I didn't remember exactly where it was. Therefore, I began wandering aimlessly, winding in and out among the tables with a plate in each hand. No friend appeared. No one yelled, "Hey, Sterling, over here."

People started giving me strange glances as I continued to walk around in a daze. Unsure of what to do, I rationalized I should look at people seated at the tables to see if anyone looked familiar. They all looked familiar (probably since I had been wandering for an extended period). My hands held two plates so fishing for my cell phone would be an adventure, and her hearing a phone ring in such a large, noisy place would probably not happen.

Finally, I saw a table with the receipt on it. The waitress still hadn't brought the drinks, but I knew when we arrived, the buffet was hopping. So I sat at the empty table and started to eat my salad. I noticed the corner of the receipt ended in .28 and I remembered fishing for 8 cents, but then I don't do numbers well. Maybe in the excitement of arriving at the casino and paying for lunch, I had forgotten the amount. Halfway through my salad, a nice-looking man appeared out of nowhere at my table.

"You're sitting at my table," he said with a smile. "But you're welcome to stay and eat with me."

Shocked, I started gathering up my napkin, plates, and silverware. "No, no. I'm lost. I'm sorry. I thought this was my table. I'm with a friend, but I'm lost," I babbled.

"Your friend is welcome to join us, too."

"No, no, but thank you," I smiled and hopped up out of the wrong seat to wander again with plates and now tableware in hand.

Still no friend. I didn't see her anywhere.  I didn't know what to do. I continued my aimless wandering. Eventually, I spied the hostess who had seated us and asked her for help. She plied me with questions in her broken English, finally comprehending my dilemma. "You have table or booth?"

"I don't know," I responded. "I'm lost."  I shook my head, trying to clear the confusion.  " I think it was a table. Back there.  I'm with a friend," I added again, "but I don't see her anywhere."

The hostess nodded, and then walked around for a moment, before beckoning me to follow her to the front section of the buffet seating. There was Friend A, sitting in a semi-circular booth with a tall back. She looked up at us in askance.

As I slid into my seat, I explained what had happened. She started laughing. She knew me well.  Finally between gales of laughter, she asked, "Was he good-looking?"

"Yes, and nice, too," I answered.

"That's a new way to pick up men," and she started laughing again.

Okay. I might be a little ditzy at times, but everything turned out well.  I had a short conversation with a pleasant man, the food was excellent, including the creme brulee for dessert, I enjoyed lunching with my friend, and I was "unlost, so I could head out and hopefully find my favorite big fish slot machine.  :)

Cicada Chronicles

June 5

Last week in the hospital parking lot, a cicada landed on one of the public safety officer's neck, and flew down inside his clothes. If that would have happened to me, everyone would have heard me screaming from the parking lot to the inside of the ER.

The last several days I've noticed numerous cicadas flying through the air as I've been driving into town. Hence, I decided to keep my car windows up and use the AC instead so the cicadas don't get me. I know if one would fly inside the car, not only would I be screaming, but I would probably wreck trying to get the car pulled over to get the cicada out.

This afternoon while headed into work, a cicada crashed into my car (with the windows rolled up, of course). He died, and I'm glad. That's one less cicada to fly inside someone's clothes.

(I sound mean and blood-thirsty, don't I?) Be gone, Cicadas!

*****

June 10

Cicada Update: Yes, two days ago another cicada hit my car and died. Today, as I was driving into work, it happened again.

This time after the demise of the third cicada, however, another one flew over the hood of my car in front of Timmy Horton's on Maple, and stared intently through the windshield at me.

As I approached the hospital turn lane, yet another cicada flew slowly over the hood, staring through the windshield glass, Before flying on, he snarled, "We know where you work."

I began to shake by the time I parked my car, so I hoofed it quickly toward the hospital. I could hear all the cicada cousins and relatives sounding warnings from the nearby trees.

I didn't even head to the main entrance where I normally go in. Instead, I sprinted into the first door I came upon to get inside to safety. I know the cicadas are lurking....just waiting for me....ack!

*****

June 11

Update to Cicada Update:

Two individuals came into the Front Desk today with cicadas clinging to the back of their necks/shoulders. One man walked back outside to free himself of his, but a lady picked up another man's cicada by the wings. The cicada emitted alien screams and screeches as she carried him out.

I stood, and backed up as far as I could. I did not know cicadas could scream. It was amazing, and freaky, at the same time.

My imagination kicked up a notch, and like a scene from a bad horror movie, I wondered if the cicadas were really after me, or worse -- were they trying to turn us all into alien cicada zombies with red eyes glowing?

*****

June 13

As I sat in the cafeteria to eat some supper Monday evening, I watched the baby ducks, almost grown now, in the courtyard. Without warning, a cicada swooped down into the grassy area, and immediately five of the ducklings who had been keeping cool in the shade of a nearby bush with the other babies and their mother, bolted in a mad rush after it. Duckling #1 reached the cicada first and gulped it speedily down before his siblings could even shake their tails. I laughed out loud.

*****
June 20


-- from The Zanesville Times Recorder
 One Transported after Rollover Crash

ZANESVILLE - One person was taken to Genesis Hospital with minor injuries after a vehicle struck a utility pole around 1:30 p.m. Monday and rolled down an embankment on Linden Avenue.
Ohio State Highway Patrol Trooper Rich Lanning said the driver blamed the crash on a cicada flying into his open window and hitting his face. The driver was pinned in his vehicle for about 10 minutes. One lane on Linden Avenue near Military Road was closed for about three hours to repair the utility pole.
The Falls Township Fire Department, patrol and Muskingum County Sheriff's Office responded to the scene.

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 And you all thought I was cuckoo! I knew what would happen if I rolled down my windows! That poor man...and his vehicle.  Don't mess with cicadas!

*****

Cicada Finale -- late June

As the cicada commotion finally began to wane, I thought I had escaped the attacks and mass destruction of the evil invaders. I, therefore, decided to stop at Heavenly Ham on a Tuesday night to pick up some supper before heading to the weekly meeting of the Y-City Writers. I planned to eat in my vehicle with the windows up and the AC running while relaxing at Zane's Landing Park just to be safe since some of the cicadas were still around.

When I pulled into the Heavenly Ham parking lot, I noticed I was the only vehicle in the Heavenly Ham parking lot, which meant I could park right in front of the door for once. Hopping out of the car, I quickly entered the eatery, and bellied up to the counter. The pleasant young lady smiled.

"I'd like a box lunch, please."

At this juncture, I noticed out of the corner of my laser-repaired eyeball, a foreign, dark shape on the left shoulder of my shirt. Alarmed, I slowly turned to my right as not to disturb whatever was there. Merde! A cicada had landed next to my neck.

I did what anyone would do. I attempted to shake my shirt, but unlike other insects who would have flown off, the cicada refused to move a micro-millimeter. He simply stared at me without blinking his red eyes. I'm sure he was looking for my jugular vein. The young woman at the counter smiled again, and said, "Oh, I think cicadas are quite unusual. I find them interesting. Don't you?"

I slowly leaned over the counter, without moving my neck, and through clenched teeth, I responded, "Get if off. Get it off me now. Just get it off."

The young lass calmly walked around the counter and picked it up off my collar, before disposing of it outside. I'm sure she didn't smash its guts in like I would have. At least, this zombie cicada didn't scream in its alien voice, or I would have been a pile on the floor.

I thanked the young lady profusely. She saved my life.

Teenage Mutant Toads

A vicious intruder lurked outside my basement door in the garage as I opened it Saturday afternoon.  His beady eyes stared unflinchingly into mine as I yelped in surprise and jumped back. 

“Get out of the road, Toad!” I barked as I peeked around the corner of the basement door.  Jump, one of the three ugly, behemoth toads who has taken up residence in my garage this summer, didn’t move so much as a micromillimeter from the welcome mat on the garage floor. (He was not welcome.)  As adrenaline began pumping through my system, I glanced quickly around  to make sure Hop and Skip had not taken up attack positions nearby.  I did not see them, and Jump refused to budge.

I needed to get to my parked car, but there was little room to maneuver.  I could take only one step forward and then I might be able to squeeze by him on either side.  I tried to scare Jump by bravely taking a step closer before moving back again.  He didn’t even blink his warty eyes. I stomped my foot on the floor.  I had no idea which way he would hop so I kept my distance.  Again, there was no movement.  I stomped even harder.  He didn’t care.    It was an official stand-off.

I knew if he hopped on my foot, I would be Jump’s dinner.  Despite my involuntary screaming, if the toad moved, he would continue his assault, proceeding up my leg and torso, before plunging his toady teeth and flickering fang into my jugular vein, causing instantaneous death for me.

I contemplated heading out the front door to circle the house and open the garage door to access my car to avoid the confrontation, but I also knew Hop and Skip liked to chill in front of the garage doors while waiting for crickets to invade their lair.  I decided to sprint past Jump as one attacker would certainly be better than two.

I, therefore, bolted out the basement door into the garage, shouting, “Stay away!”  Jump never jumped.  He stayed his ground.  I zipped past him faster than a bee can sting, and raced to open the garage doors for my get-away.  I intended to get out of Dodge…I mean, the garage…as fast as I could.

Why Hop, Skip, and Jump live in my garage escapes me.  I would think they’d like the pond up over the hill much better.  Armed with a rake, I’ve bravely tried to rake the toads outside, but they just turn around the corner of the rake, and hop back inside the garage.  I admit I inadvertently backed over a fourth toad with the car earlier in the summer, so I would think they’d consider the garage dangerous. 

Why can’t Blackie, my Black Snake who also lives in the garage, eat them?  Blackie and I have a deal – I don’t see you, and you can eat all the field mice and icky things you want.  I would think, then, Blackie could eat the toads, too, but he hasn’t.  Are they too big for him to eat?  Are they poisonous?  Does Blackie like lean, mice meat better?  Or….*gulp*….is Blackie dead?  Did the giant toads kill him in a garage take-over?

Some folks may think I’m certifiably quackers, but let me say in my defense, most of us are afraid of something.  Fears are not always logical.  Some people are afraid of the dark, snakes, heights, clowns, or storms.  I’m afraid of things that hop, like grasshoppers, rabbits, raptors, and giant, ugly toads.  If they would hold still, I’d be fine, but that unpredictable hopping freaks me out, and I invariably scream.

Do toads croak when cold weather arrives?  If Hop, Skip, and Jump migrated south for the winter and never made it back to my southeastern Ohio garage, I’d be singing, “So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu,… to you, and you, and you…,” and that would leave me with just the car-eating groundhogs around here.  Go South, Toads!

Garbage Day

Garbage men in neighborhoods across America are not whom they seem to be.  They may look like ordinary garbage men, but  these seemingly innocent beings revel in torture, and I suspect they are actually Stormtroopers working for the Empire.

Two months ago, probably under the orders of Emperor Palpatine, Darth Maul switched my garbage collection day…again.  Forecast information obviously predicts multiple windy days, and possible rains, on a majority of Wednesdays in Nashport for the next several months.  

While people are still at work, therefore, the driving Wednesday winds can hurtle empty trash cans into streets for school buses, Fed Ex trucks, and other assorted vehicles to hit and smash.  Because of the fury of the winds on Wednesdays, empty trash cans can roll through fields and entire neighborhoods never to be seen by the owner again.  Much lighter trash can lids can be blown to Siberia, or even Naboo and Alderaan.

Following the orders of the Emperor, the Stormtroopers use “mind games” as one torture technique for those putting out their trash.  Palpatine intends for all to succumb.   For several weeks after the collection day changed, the Storm Troopers roared up to my house to gather trash between 11:10 A.M. – 11:19 A. M.  This was merely a trap.

The following Wednesday, my sweet dreams and sound sleep ended violently at 6:53 A.M.  The banging metal, crunching, and sputtering sound of the garbage truck in front of my house reverberated in my ears, jerking me awake.  The Stormtroopers arrived early.  My garbage, to the Emperor’s delight, was not outside in time.

Why do I not put my garbage out the night before, you wonder.  Ah!  It’s part of Emperor Palpatine’s torture.  As he said to Luke, “Your feeble skills are no match for the Power of the Dark Side.”

If I foolishly put my trash out the night before pick up, night varmints slink through the darkness to wildly rip open the garbage bags, scattering trash and garbage all over the yard and road.  If anything is still in the garbage bag after the initial attack, evil, marauding crows arrive with the first streaks of light to stab the plastic bags with sharpened beaks to finish the job.  At such times I hear faint sounds of the Emperor’s laugh being carried by the wind.

Trying to fool the night creatures is no use.  Even duct-taping lids to garbage cans to keep trash safe is no obstacle for raccoons who find taped lids more entertaining than 10 year olds find playing Minecraft.  The Emperor smiles when anyone is stupid enough to put their garbage out the night before.  As he has said in the past, “Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen.”

Recognize the Stromtroopers for who they are.  Do not give in to anger and aggression, or the Dark Side will take over, and turn you into Stormtroopers who must follow the Emperor's orders.  Keep your composure during the Garbage Wars, and proudly declare your allegiance to the Jedi.  May the Force be with you.

No Mo Crows!

Driving up and down Route 60 North, and in many fields and neighborhoods in northern Muskingum County, the site of a horde of evil, giant crows swooping down upon unguarded garbage bags, massing in the trees, and lining fields is fairly common.  They are everywhere.

When I heard the obnoxious screeching of many crows one morning last week, and the singular cry of a red-tailed hawk, I rushed to my back window, only to discover that depraved, black invaders had surrounded my poor hawk in the bottom of the driveway, overpowering him fifteen to one.  Those bastards!

I flapped the curtains and the crowd of bullying marauders flew off in a big, black cloud, leaving the hawk sitting by himself, dazed, for a few seconds.  The hawk looked around as if wondering how he had been saved, and then took off.

Red-tailed hawks hunt small rodents, and now in the northern part of this county, they are being terrorized.  Crows do nothing except poop, and are often so proliferative, they destroy crops.  So, they eat a few grasshoppers; so can my cat.  Spring is coming and the crow population will be increasing, along with all their pooping on people and everything else.  Already crows are running into cars on the Vets Memorial Bridge, and people have  complained to me about the crows ripping into their trash bags, scattering trash across yards.  Rotting garbage invites skunks, rats, and other critters.

These crows created such a problem in Coshocton County, that measures were taken to force the pooping curmudgeons out of Coshocton, and the crows now have taken up residence here in Muskingum County.  How long will the Muskingum County Commissioners harbor these fugitives?  I highly recommend you make a call to the commissioners, like I did, voicing concern and asking for a resolution to this problem before it becomes even worse.