Between you and me

Metro Photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

Happy May 1st! 

Just saying that puts a smile on my face. Why? Because May carries the promise of sunny days, blue skies, brilliantly colored flowers on bushes and trees along with baby green leaves, and birdsong everywhere. I know I can just walk out of my house in my indoor clothing and find the perfect temperature outdoors. I won’t need boots or a parka or even a heavy sweater, just maybe a light rain jacket. The world, my world, for this month, is a perfectly furnished place.

That is not to say that the many troubles in current events don’t cause concern. They surely do. But Nature can help offset some of the anxiety with her splendid technicolor show and demonstration of hope and rebirth.

Another positive beacon is a guy named Roger Rosenblatt. He wrote a column for The New York Times on April 13th headlined, “10 Tips for Being Happily 85 Years Old (Like Me).” I’ll share some of them with you, regardless of your age, because they are applicable to all, but first you must shut off the news—whether on radio or television or your cellphone. Let’s just focus on happiness.

The first of his points is probably the best: Nobody’s thinking about you.

“Nobody ever will. Not your teacher, not your minister, not your colleagues, not your shrink, not a soul. It can be a bummer of a thought. But it’s also liberating. That time you fell on your butt in public? That dumb comment you made at dinner last week? That brilliant book you wrote? No one is thinking about it. Others are thinking about themselves. Just like you.” (Of course, that statement doesn’t apply to parents, who regularly think about children.)

A few of his other heartfelt recommendations include get a dog, don’t hear the cheers (about how wonderful you are, just live the life you’re living), know that everyone’s in pain (of some sort) so be kind, look for the exceptional qualities in others, join a group with mutual interests so you stay social, and just live with your regrets (a part of every life). He also advises starting and ending each day by listening to Louis Armstrong—or your equivalent pick-me-upper.

(Just for those reading this who ARE 85 or thereabouts, he does advise making young friends because they are enthusiastic and don’t know when you are telling them lies, and urges that you try to see fewer than 5 doctors because it takes so much time and is depressing if they are your only social life.)

I can also share some upcoming events that make me happy to anticipate. 

Most immediately, my youngest grandson is graduating from college this month. Not only is this a lovely achievement for him, it provides us, the family on both sides of the parents, a chance to get together and catch up with everyone’s lives.

Another joyful occurrence will be a visit from my California cousin, who is coming east in June to celebrate his 65th birthday. I love celebrating birthdays and I also love having visitors. The latter seem to like coming out to stay at our house.

You may not think so, but another singular event next month to which I look forward will be the arrival (finally!) of the plumber to repair an incessant bathroom leak.

Then there are the birthdays of two sons in July, which they will spend here among the whole crew, who will arrive with their bathing suits, and their return in August for another round of birthday observances.

In September I look forward to the resumption of perfect weather and rest.

A statue of Balto in Central Park. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Roman Eugeniusz

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

While most of us know “of the famous ride of Paul Revere,” quoting Longfellow, there is another ride that happened 100 years ago that we can commemorate. It has to do with one of my favorite dogs. His name was Balto, an Alaskan husky and sled dog born in Nome, and he led a team of sled dogs, driven by Gunnar Kaasen and carrying vital diphtheria antitoxin through fierce Alaskan storms across the wilderness and into history. 

The serum was desperately needed to combat an outbreak of the disease. Planes such as they were in 1925, were grounded by the intense weather. The only hope for rescue was with the perilous trip by sled. Kaasen insisted that Balto was the true hero. A movie, a nationwide tour on the vaudeville circuit and a bronze statue in Central Park resulted.

Now I visited Central Park most Sundays, when the weather permitted, throughout my elementary school years, with my dad and younger sister. It was my dad’s way of giving my mother a few hours off and of having some time with us since he worked six days a week, left early in the morning, and only returned for a late dinner. He would cook us breakfast, and then we would walk through the Park, taking a different route each time until my mother would join us in the late afternoon with a picnic supper. 

Most often, he made sure our meanderings took us past the statue of Balto. I would climb up on the rock on which he stood, then sit astride his back, and listen as my dad read the words on the plaque adorning the site “dedicated to the indomitable spirit of the sled dogs that relayed antitoxin six hundred miles over rough ice, across treacherous waters, through Arctic blizzards from Nenana to the relief of stricken Nome in the winter of 1925: endurance, fidelity, intelligence” Visuals of the trip would run through my mind as I sat there, courtesy of Jack London, whose books I read. I loved Balto.

But there is quite a back story.

For starters, Balto was an underdog in a literal sense. He was owned by Leonhard Seppala, a native Norwegian, sled dog breeder, musher and competitive racer, and was named after an Arctic explorer. Balto had a black fur coat, a small, stocky build with two white stocking front feet and was considered “second rate” as a racer by Seppala, who had him neutered at six months and used him to haul freight for short runs and help pull railcars with miners over a disused railroad track. Gunnar Kaasen, another native Norwegian and a close family friend of Seppala, with 21 years of dog sledding experience who worked for the breeder, came to know Balto and believed Seppala had misjudged the dog because of his short stature.

Early in 1925, doctors realized a deadly diphtheria epidemic could affect the  people of Nome, Alaska, and putting the city under quarantine, transmitted with Morse code that the town desperately needed more serum, whose supply was almost depleted. Mushers were summoned to relay the precious cargo. Radio, a recent invention, picked up the story, as well as newspapers, and followed the more than 20 mushers as they took turns through storms and strong winds. Kaasen was appointed to drive a team of Seppala’s dogs, and although Seppala wanted a dog named Fox to lead the team, Kaasen picked Balto. They left the town of Bluff with the antitoxin at 10 p.m.

Shortly after they started, a blizzard caused them to become confused and lost. Kaasen yelled, “Go home, Balto,” and the dog, used to hauling heavy loads, navigated his team through the wild winds. At one point, Balto unexpectedly stopped before some ice on the Topkok River that broke in front of him, thereby saving Kaasen’s life and that of the entire team, according to the musher. The package was delivered in time, and the residents were saved.

There is more to the story. Especially as money entered the picture, lies and deception, jealousy and hatred all became part of the human saga. But Balto will always remain my 100-year-old dog. 

Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

The bright yellow forsythias and the pink azaleas, along with the dramatic magnolias and the delicate cherry blossoms contradict the miserable March weather we have been enduring. 

But, you can’t fool Nature with adverse temperatures. She has her own calendar. Further proof of the season may be taken from the runny noses and watery eyes of the allergy sufferers, and the appearance of the tiny ants around the kitchen sink. And if you are among the lucky ones, you know what that means: call the sprinkler guys and the pool crew to get on their schedules, check who will be available to mow the lawn this year, and have the air conditioners tuned up and filters changed.

Yup. It’s spring.

If you have a boat, even a small one, it’s time to remove the shrink wrap, polish the teak and the hardware, check the engine, and if it is a sailboat, carefully look over the sails and count the life jackets. Maybe there is a new person who has joined the family.

If you have a garden, this is planting and seeding time. Get out the mulch and start spreading. Straighten the hose lines. Perennials are up, annuals are going in. Take a good look around the neighborhood. There seems to be a riot of daffodils throughout the yards and villages this year. And the fruit trees are bursting with color. Maybe it’s the contrast with the grey and the rain that’s been surrounding us.

There are chores we no longer need to do. I don’t know how many of you remember, but we used to have the snow tires removed and the regular tires put back in their place. We would ask that the winter oil in the car be emptied and replaced with the summer oil at the gas station. We still need to give the car a thorough cleaning, however, and put the snow brush back into the trunk. The shovels and walkway salt go into the garage and, if we have one, the snow blower is returned to the far corner.

Inside the house, we need to put the heavy winter coats in the back of the closet, take off the long underwear if we wear that armor against the cold, put away the turtlenecks and shake out our lighter shirts, blouses and pants to prepare them for the warmer temperatures. Might as well look at the bathing suits, too. Maybe we need a new one this year.

Those who go on trips in the summer may well be studying locations and fares around this time, if they haven’t already. I’m not part of that exodus, however. Where can you go to enjoy the season better than right here on the shores of Long Island? Others agree. They are my warm weather relatives and friends, and I welcome their company. We should start to get the guest room ready.

Amid all that activity and bustle, we must be sure to stop every now and then to enjoy the birdsong coming from the many bushes. And if we look hard enough, we can see birds’ nests in the branches of the trees and under the edges of porch roofs.

On a final note, spring is also the time when the world’s major holidays are observed: Ramadan, Passover and Easter.  The holidays all include prayers for peace. Would that we could all celebrate the holidays concurrently in a world filled with only peace: no more warfare, no more hatred, no more violence.

Since we are all people praying for the same blessing, why has it been so impossible to achieve? Will it ever happen? May we someday truly turn our swords into plowshares?

Enjoy the marvel of the new season in peace.

The cover of the first issue of The Village Times in 1976 by Pat Windrow

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

Two happy milestones have marked this week. My oldest grandson turned 30, which we celebrated in style, and The Village Times, the flagship of Times Beacon Record News Media, was started exactly 49 years ago.

First the details of the birthday bash.

It happened Sunday afternoon at the ballpark, Citi Field, the home of the Mets, or what we Old Timers used to call Shea Stadium. Now if you knew my grandson at all, you would know he is a fierce and utterly loyal fan of the Mets since his earliest years. You could gather from that bit of information, that he is mighty stubborn about his loyalties. After all, there have been many incentives to switch support to other, more winning teams, right? And who could blame him? But that is not his style. His loyalty is boundless. And of course, the Mets have gradually rewarded him for his patience.

Thus, it was no surprise that he wanted to share his special day with the Mets, and in his honor, they won the game. But I get ahead of myself.

It’s worth relating how beautiful Citi Field is, especially so for me, a die hard Yankee fan who spent many afternoons during my teens in concrete-riven Yankee Stadium. 

Now admittedly, we did have a luxurious situation. The cost of a box at the park was shared. We entered from a designated parking lot, after waiting on a short line, and were guided  past giant pictures of Met greats like Jerry Koosman and Tom Seaver, to a manned elevator that took us swiftly to the fourth floor.

We stepped out into a spacious hallway of patterned marble floors, paneled walls, high ceilings with recessed lighting and multiple wooden doors that led to individual suites. Overstuffed armchairs lined the walls. And you should see the bathrooms.

Staff greeted us all along the way and led us to our room, where more overstuffed seating, fruit and salad awaited us. At the far end was a sliding glass door leading out to cushioned balcony seats that accommodated most of the 18 of us as we watched the game. 

Happily both suite and balcony had heaters, although the weather, while chilly, behaved nicely. The early morning rain had stopped. More ballpark food arrived throughout the afternoon, but it was hard to tear ourselves away from the balcony as the Mets won what turned out to be a pitchers’ duel, 2-1. I can hardly wait to see how we will celebrate his 40th.

As for our newspaper anniversary this past Tuesday, it came and went quietly as we enter our 50th year. We were busy putting out this week’s papers. But we will certainly whoop it up at various community events throughout the year until we reach half a century.

It’s easy to fall back on the well-used cliche, “time flies,” but it is astonishing to me and to those who were involved in the start-up, like our general manager, that we have reached almost five decades of publishing hometown news. So much has happened, so much has changed, but not the mission of the newspaper. 

Our goals have always been steadfast. We strive each week to bring vetted news, information and even some fun to our readers, originally with newsprint, and now with the additional platforms of the 24/7 website, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube and the weekly podcast, The Pressroom Afterhour,  which is also on Spotify. 

We promise our staffers that, if and when they leave, it will be with more skills than when they arrived because we invest in our people. And the third and last part of our mission is to support and give back to our readers and advertisers in whatever ways we can, starting with working to create a sense of community.

Frankly, we consider ourselves incredibly lucky to have survived almost 50 years, as we see hometown papers fall around us. Last week, while I was attending the New York Press Association Convention in Saratoga Springs, two more papers closed down, leaving their neighborhoods unprotected.

We continue because you support us. Thank you.

METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

While a little bit of stress in one’s life can be a good thing, enabling high performance, for the most part, stress is a negative I try to reduce for myself as I get older. It took me many years before I even realized what stress was. It didn’t occur to me to think I was stressed the night before a big test or having to give a talk at the front of the class in junior high school. I just knew I first had to spend a long time in the bathroom. 

No one I knew then, teachers, students, or my parents, even used the word “stress.” Today it is frequently discussed, along with how to manage it. Schools of techniques have been developed concerning stress management, such as meditation, deep breathing, and yoga.

What exactly is stress?

Stress is defined by the World Health Organization as “a state of worry or mental tension caused by a difficult situation. Stress is a natural human response that prompts us to address challenges and threats in our lives. Everyone experiences stress to some degree. The way we respond to stress, however, makes a big difference to our overall well being.”

Here is what I have found to be stressors in my life and what I have done to mitigate them.

One of the most obvious and perhaps the simplest to reduce is time pressure. Being late in my early years—for an appointment or with a delivery of a product or service —might have set me up, I am sure, for a possible ulcer later in life. While sometimes being late cannot be helped, we are lucky enough to live in an age where we can reach out and tell the person who is waiting for us that we are running behind, and when they can expect to see us. That takes away a great deal of stress. Three cheers for cell phones.

I used to be chronically late until I realized what a disservice that was for the person I was meeting, and also to myself, by adding so much pressure to what should be a matter of fact occurrence. Now, I take pleasure in being early, creating a situation in which I can settle in comfortably, study the menu if it is a restaurant, or get rid of some of my emails while I wait. 

Also, I hate to disappoint. As a result, I have learned not to promise or commit until I am absolutely sure I can deliver on my word. And if there is a delay in getting a job done, the sooner I tell the recipient of difficulties, the easier it is to deal positively with expectations.

That goes for declarations. For example, if I insist I will never do such-and-such, and then I wind up having to break my word, it pains everyone. Better just to do without, again, setting up false expectations. 

Then there are the situations where, if I cannot change what is happening, I can change the way I think about the event. 

Example: having a driver abruptly cut me off as I m driving. That could be a stressful moment, but I prefer to consider that the driver might be in some dire need to get somewhere. 

Or, if someone begins to yell at me for some perceived slight, or something we have written in the newspaper, I have to think that person might be having problems at home or some health issue. Which is not to say, I don’t sweep my conscience to determine if I am to blame. Sometimes I am at fault, although I would like to think of myself as Mary Poppins, “practically perfect in every way.” 

Kidding! 

METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

Getting enough sleep is one of the tenets of staying healthy and aging well. But what to do when you get into bed and can’t fall asleep? The Science Times section of The New York Times this past Tuesday offered an interesting solution from Emergency Physician, Joe Whittington.

“Now I Lay Me Down to Play,” written by Christina Caron, explains the doctor’s technique. It’s called cognitive shuffling, and it is designed to calm a busy brain sufficiently to allow sleep. While he had tried deep breathing, meditation and melatonin, to no avail, the following strategy works for him. Incidentally, he has 750,000 followers on Instagram.

“Cognitive shuffling,” according to the Times, “is a mental exercise that involves focusing your mind on words that have no association with one another, as a way of signaling to your brain that it’s time to fall asleep. The task is meant to be engaging enough to distract you from the thoughts that may be impeding sleep, but not so interesting that your brain perks up.” 

So how do you do cognitive shuffling?

Take a random word, any word, like “adobe.” Then think of all the words that you can, beginning with that same first letter, like apple, arrow, across, attire. Visualize each word, then move on to the next. When you no longer can think of any more words beginning with “a” go on to the next letter, “d” and do the same thing: dog, depart, done, dope, detritus, and so forth. Again, visualize each word before moving on.

Luc P. Beaudoin, a cognitive scientist at Simon Fraser University in Canada, developed the cognitive shuffling strategy, and he suggests that as people drift off to sleep their minds have distant thoughts or vivid images. This technique is intended to mimic that process.

“These images don’t create a clear story line and may help your brain to disengage from problem solving or worry loops,” said Dr. Beaudoin, who conducted a study in 2016 using various sleep inducing techniques. He himself suffered from insomnia. The study was then discussed at the Associated Professional Sleep Societies conference in Denver, written up in Forbes magazine, then circulated widely online.

It can’t hurt to try cognitive shuffling.

I can tell you what I do to fall asleep. First, with full disclosure, I confess not to often having a problem falling asleep. In fact, I’m like a teapot. Just tip me over and pour me out. Usually, all I need is to get horizontal on a mattress and doze off. However, lately I have been waking up around 4 a.m., feeling rested and not able to resume sleeping. But I know if I get up and start my day at that hour, I will pay for the remaining lack of sleep in the late afternoon. I’m an 8 1/2 hour a night sleeper. So here’s what I do after 20 minutes of tossing and turning. 

I get out of bed, put on a lamp that offers dim light and read until my eyes get tired. I am selective in my reading choice: not a page turner. Then I shut off the light, get back into bed and usually fall right back to sleep.

It’s not a researched and tested technique but for me, it works. I enjoy sleeping and require the restorative effects in order to enjoy my waking hours. Hope these strategies work for you.

Image by Alexandra Koch from Pixabay

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

As more teens learn about artificial intelligence, more are using ChatGPT in doing their schoolwork. According to K-12 Dive, an industry newsletter, between 2023 and 2024, the number doubled. What has also increased is the way in which students can cheat on assignments.

Like every new invention, there are pluses and minuses. Using ChatGPT as an aid can be of help by providing new ways to view information. It can create a metaphor or write a synopsis and offer a different perspective. It could also complete the homework in a false manner that deprives the student of real understanding, much like copying someone else’s notes, even if he or she gets a good grade.

And with so much pressure for good grades, some students may find it easier to cheat, especially in this way that is harder to detect, than to actually learn the new material. Of course, the person they are really cheating is themselves. While AI cheating may offer an academic pathway for short term success, if misused it undermines intellectual growth and also challenges students’ moral and ethical development.

Cheating, of one sort or another, has always existed in academic circles. One way I can recall, when I was in college, was to use Cliff Notes to summarize a plot. These were intended to enable a term paper on Tolstoy’s “War & Peace” or Dickens’ “Bleak House,” for example, without the student having to read the actual thick book. The student may have made it through the class but at what price?

Other forms of cheating included hiring someone to write that term paper for the student, or even hiring another student to take a final. We all knew in school that cheating, in various ways, existed.

So how can cheating be prevented?

The answer is, it probably can’t. But according to the K-12 Dive Newsletter, it can be minimized by creating “a culture of integrity” within which to dissuade cheating.

I can tell you how my college did so in the early 1960s. There was an Honor Board made up of students elected to that position for one year. Anyone accused of cheating or any other improper act could be brought before this jury of peers and either found innocent or, if deemed guilty, appropriately sentenced. Trials, which were few, were held in private, as were verdicts. Innocent until proven guilty was the mindset, and integrity was valued.

That said, I am sure people still cheated without getting caught.

As for catching those misusing ChatGPT, teachers are urged by the Newsletter to read assignments and consider them in light of what they know about each student’s abilities. Testing with pencil and paper in class is revealing. AI use for homework won’t help on a class test.

“Noting the absence of expected concepts or references used in class or the presence of concepts and references not taught in class,” is a giveaway, according to K-12 Dive.

And further advocated in the Newsletter is the idea that students will be less likely to cheat if they understand the moral principles at play, as discussed in the school.

Let’s applaud ChatGPT for what it can do. It can prove to be a helpful tool if used transparently. Students should be taught how.

Geraldine Ferraro with Ivan and Leah S. Dunaief. Photo courtesy Leah Dunaief.

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

Frankly, we are concerned. The tariffs on Mexican and Chinese goods are worrisome. But especially for the print journalism industry, the one on Canadian imports could be deadly.

We get much of our newsprint, on which we send you the local news, from Canada.

We have already endured a significant increase in printing costs because our old printer closed shop and new printers, with whom we have no seniority, are considerably more expensive. So we have not been our happy selves. 

That is until Tuesday evening, when I had the good fortune to see a documentary film called “Geraldine Ferraro: Paving the Way” at the Long Island Museum in Stony Brook.

Now Geraldine Ferraro was the first female to be a Vice President nominee on a major national party Presidential ticket. She ran with Walter Mondale in 1984 against Ronald Reagan, as the Democratic candidates for the top offices in the land, and while they lost, she was an inspirational leader.

She inspired women to run for political office. She also inspired men and women to believe their dreams were achievable. She was a true trailblazer.

Her story is told by her older daughter, Donna Zaccaro, a filmmaker in her own right, and Andrew Morreale, talented editor. It was produced in 2011, the year Geraldine Ferraro died. Before reaching that pinnacle, Ferraro’s life  began with a hardscrabble childhood after her father died when she was 8. Encouraged by her mother, she went on to become a lawyer, then District Attorney in Queens, followed by election to Congress, to her eventual nomination for Vice President.

She changed the way people thought of the role of women in American politics at a time when Women’s Liberation was beginning to roar.

It is a moving tribute by not only her daughter, but also commentary by leading political figures. They included President George H.W. Bush and Barbara Bush, Vice President Walter Mondale, President Bill Clinton, Secretary Madeleine Albright, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Senator Barbara Mikulski, Senator Olympia Snowe, Democratic House Leader Nancy Pelosi, ABC reporter Cokie Roberts, former Wall Street Journal reporter Al Hunt, Republican campaign consultant Ed Rollins, and Eleanor Smeal, President Feminist Majority Foundation. The list reads like a Who’s Who of political operatives of that era.

Geraldine Ferraro was the keynote speaker at the 1985 New York Press Association Convention, and we got to know her a bit then. We marveled at her ability to connect to each person. This was the 40th anniversary of her run for vice president, and her struggle for women’s rights is as pertinent now as it was then.

Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

Almost everyone I have ever asked hates housekeeping. Who wants to be scrubbing floors, cleaning bathrooms and dusting furniture when one could be taking a walk, reading a book or just visiting with a friend? Well, here comes a solution, if not immediately, then before too long. It’s called a domestic robot.

Robots that clean swimming pools and sweep carpets have been in use for many years, but according to news reports, more personal robots are on the way. If you were to own one, in theory at least, what would you have it do?

I would gladly yield to a robot that could sew on a button, or fold the laundry at the end of the wash cycle and put the items away in the drawers. How about one that could iron? Talk about spoiled! 

I can clearly remember when, as a small child, I would watch my parents washing their clothes by rubbing them against  a “wash board” in the soapy work sink, then hanging them, with a myriad of clothes pins, to dry. We thought we had come so far when washing machines and dryers were invented. Now I am asking for an unpaid valet to do the job of several maids over 100 years ago in Downton Abbey.

I would also appreciate a robot that could take out the dog for a walk on freezing or snowy or rainy days when I would prefer to stay nicely warm under the covers in bed.

“Edgar,” I would say, for I would have already named my robot, “Please take the dog as far as the stop sign this morning and dry him off before he comes back into the house.” The dog, of course, would have to get used to the robot first, but with a little patience that could be managed.

Then there could be a sous-chef robot. “Cut the red onions, mushrooms, red pepper, cucumber and radishes for a salad, Edgar. And tear apart the Boston lettuce. While you are at it, put all the ingredients in a bowl and set it on the table along with oil, balsamic vinegar and serving tongs.”

Now I don’t mind cooking. In fact, I rather enjoy it. But it would encourage me to make more complicated dishes than tuna fish with mayonnaise if I could summon Edgar to clean up after I was finished. While I was cooking, Edgar could set the table, and when we were finished eating and were leaving the dining room, Edgar could put the dishes in the dishwasher and turn it on. 

Remember how excited we were in the olden days when dishwashers appeared in our lives? Now I’m looking to have them filled, then unloaded, with the dishes put back in the cabinet, ready for the next meal. Sounds ridiculous? It’s not.

According to Wikipedia, “A domestic robot or homebot is a type of service robot, an autonomous robot that is primarily used for household chores, but may also be used for education, entertainment or therapy. While most domestic robots are simplistic, some are connected to WiFi home networks or smart environments and are autonomous to a high degree. There were an estimated 16.3 million service robots in 2018.”

Robots have been designed since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution to help with production, but personal robots started to appear, according to Wikipedia, in the 1980s. “People could use it to play songs, games, wake people up in the morning, notify important events, and even guard the home.” The robot can be programmed with a computer and some software or it could be controlled with an infrared transmitter and a remote pad.

So guess what?

In addition to cleaning floors, there does exist an ironing robot, a laundry-folding robot, and even a cat litter box-cleaning robot. There also exist robots that can make rotis and tortillas. And robots can patrol the house with night vision to protect against intruders.

All of these will, I suspect, become family members soon. 

Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

Houses are like children. They need constant care and rescuing, especially in this current bout of tempestuous weather we’ve been having. Sometimes they have several needs that just pile up on each other.

The trouble started Saturday, when we plugged the vacuum cleaner into an electric strip and the lights went out. So did the computers. After much hunting and flipping of fuses in the fuse boxes, we finally found the culprit and restored the electricity—but not the computers. That took another long and arduous retracing of procedures, with the help of a kindly electrician, who came over despite his hernia operation four days earlier, until they  worked.

Vowing never again to plug the vacuum into the power strip, we thankfully continued on with our lives. We might have even felt a little smug about figuring out how to solve the various problems. 

That is, until Monday. Now, no one I know loves Mondays. Unless they work on the weekends and have the day off. So it was not a pleasant beginning to the anyway unwelcome start of Monday, when we found that the fearsome winds of Sunday night had knocked down a heavy tree. It had fallen across the driveway, innocently forming a perfect right angle with the blacktop, making the driveway passable only for deer.

Eventually we got out, only to be informed that the toilet bowl in the office was having a bad day. According to prior plans, the plumber had come to restore the grout at the base of the pedestal, from which tiny amounts of water had been seeping onto the floor. In the process, he heard something snap, he said, and suddenly the minute (my-NOOT) leak turned into a gusher. 

We rushed around the building, fumbling for the intake valve. Before we could turn off the water, the plumber somehow stopped the flow, but the problem was not solved. He told us that he needed to replace a particular part. Of course, Monday was Presidents Day, a holiday for plumbing supply stores the world over. After a fashion, our plumber was able to put the crisis on hold until the following day, but not until considerable hysteria was expended, along with the water.

We went home Monday evening, consoling ourselves that these were only inanimate material losses. At least we had personally survived unscathed.

At 7:12 the next morning, a text message arrived, informing us that the managing editor, our only managing editor, had a temperature of 102.3 degrees. She gamely told us that she could do some of her work remotely, but it was going to be a difficult day since the papers are due at the printer Wednesday afternoon. We took some prophylactic action, helped by the good nature and generosity of others, and hoped for the best.

The miseries weren’t over. When we got home, the mixer we were using, that had been valiantly making pulp of the raw fruits and vegetables for a smoothie, suddenly stopped. Just like that, in the middle of making dinner. Unplugging, replugging, restarting, shaking, switching receptacles, giving it a rest, were all to no avail. It was as if a ghost had snuck into the house and jinxed the heretofore powerful mixer, which wasn’t nearly old enough to have died on the job. We looked up the brand on the internet to see if instructions might help us solve the trouble. We found lots of instructions, all of which we had already tried, and the dumb machine just remained on the kitchen counter, silently defying us.

Exasperated, we moved into the living room, picked up the daily newspaper and were ready to turn our attention to exogenous problems about which happily we had no responsibility to solve. 

And there it was. One more impotent machine before us. One more challenge to try and fix. The humidifier that we rely on to keep the heat from drying out our biological pipes, as well as our house, was not sending up its normal stream of vapor. I capitulated and went to bed. 

Those few days, there must have been something in the water.