Owning my personal fitness

It’s Monday. And wow is it a Monday!

Before I continue, let me get the usual disclaimers/introductions out of the way.

Like many people, I had a rough 2020– I’m actually grateful to Covid for slowing down my life and allowing me to survive some severe emotional stress that caused me to have high blood pressure, develop a bad comfort eating habit and end up anemic. I had a difficult job experience, lost that job, and now work in the Stitch Fix Bizzy Hizzy and deal with my daughter’s crazy dog, my stubborn cockatoo and a bunch of foster cats. I’m forty-something, a single mom, 20 lbs overweight and struggling to understand my body, specifically my cerebral palsy.

My day started with chasing the “pig pony” dog Bean (we call her that because she snorts like a pig and is the size of a small pony) around the neighborhood because she decided to jump the fence and ignore her recall commands.

I’m in my kitchen now, eating a public-school issued bowl of Cheerios with an out-of-date white milk leftover from the teenager’s recent school dates. I met with my trainer today (and my friend Janel who is helping me set up the FURR Coffee and Kittens event at Forks Community Center August 15).

I headed up the hill to Apex Training to meet with my trainer Dan. I finally remembered to ask Dan if it’d be okay if I wrote about him and our work together and he said yes, so I no longer have to be sneaky.

I’m comfortable with Dan. He’s laid back but he knows his stuff, understands the movements and the physiology, and keeps a careful eye without making you feel stared at or inadequate.

He almost seems apologetic that we’re going slow and using 5 and 10 pound dumbbells and not lifting at a pace that makes it a cardiovascular event. But that’s what I love! The anemia, when combined with the cerebral palsy especially, makes it so easy to get tired and clumsy and hurt oneself.

Today, we did some upper body work. 30 minutes, slow and steady. 3 sets of 2 exercises each. Pretty standard way to set up a 30-minute work out hitting the triceps, biceps, chest and upper back.

Five years ago when I did this, I did a lot of cardio, did calisthenic ab exercises every day and did ten to fifteen minutes of lifting focusing on just one muscle (i.e. biceps or triceps) not the whole group.

Like I said, I know what to do, but I’m a person and people get lazy. I need Dan right now, as I’ve said, for several goals:

  1. Restart the consistent habit of training.
  2. Increase energy.
  3. Improve strength, flexibility and agility.
  4. Build muscle and tone body.
  5. Lose weight.

Many of us tell ourselves we can save money and do it ourselves but the reality is there is a big difference between we are able vs. the commitment of we will.

I fully intended to eat a banana every day to get more nutrients into my body as I recover from anemia. Did I?

Does it look like I did?

But back to the training… I find the actual activity of lifting, when I am working with a class facilitator or fitness trainer, meditative. Everyone should focus on their movements when strength training, but I really have to with my disability. Focus is required to make sure all the body parts move as they should. I have to count the reps, remember to breathe, and control the motions all at the same time.

When you are doing all of that, your mind empties. And you just flow with the movements of your body and the feeling in your muscles.

Like today was “oh hello triceps, are you still under all that arm jiggle?”

When I left Dan I was sweating. I was limber. I felt invincible. I was walking home reminding myself how powerful I am.

I fell.

I lost my balance on the sidewalk and just fell about half a block from my house.

My right arm is scraped from the back of my shoulder almost to my wrist. The upper shoulder stings the worst. It’s been two hours and it still stings. I also bounced on my hip and upper thigh— so that is already starting to bruise.

I called out from work tonight. Based on where I’m at in my menstrual cycle and the summer sun, I’m going to blame anemia for this lapse in balance especially since all day yesterday I had no energy. Anemia is awful. Anemia with a mobility disorder is a nightmare.

But this is why I’m working out.

I own my weaknesses. Let’s fight!

A weekend of animals ending on a pizza note

As I mentioned last week, neighborhood events coincided with the teenager’s pet sitting commitments to have us at full capacity with dogs— except for Buddy who at the last minute got to go on vacation with his family.

Little Dog Sobaka’s mom left for a wedding in Western Pa., allowing me the time to teach Sobaka that Bean might be scary but she’s really just a big, dumb puppy and not a threat.

And the teenager decided to test Sobaka’s ingenuity and made her eat her nightly supper from a dog puzzle. Bean would have just eaten the puzzle.

Video: Baki learns the treat puzzle

On Friday night, Baki and I slept in my bed with Louise and Khloe hiding under the bed. On Saturday, the teenager left for her housesitting job, so I planned a sleepover in the living room—Baki and I in the hand-me-down pull-out couch bed and Bean in her downstairs crate.

Bean and Sobaka

The clientele for the week includes 2 dogs (one geriatric German shepherd with mobility struggles), two personal cats, one Senegal parrot and at least eight foster kittens who all need meds.

My daughter is a very special pet sitter. I have heard horrible stories and witnessed some of friends hiring people to care for their pets and these people neglect their wards. When my daughter accepts a job, her focus becomes that household and my job is to make sure I maintain standards at home. She spends a lot of time doting on animals.

I provide back up and moral support and make sure the pet sitter doesn’t live on diet soda and chips for the week. She usually has me over to the home once or twice so I know the basics should she need to leave or needs help.

Last night the “can you come see if the cat likes you better than he likes me” request ended up being a three hour visit because she wanted me to shoot video of how well the German Shepherd was doing to set the family at ease.

And a little after 8 pm, I announced I was going home to make supper.

“I forgot the food you told me to take,” the child says.

It’s almost 8:30 on a Sunday night in the town where her father grew up and not our own— the mom and pop places are closing up and I don’t have the time or patience for a sit down meal.

We find Tuscana Pizza & Pasta. The first thing I see when I walk in the door is empanadas. There are seven slices of pizza on the counter, a pile of garlic knots and the empanadas.

There are three slices of pepperoni, one plain, two sausage and peppers and one meat lovers.

We take one of each and some garlic knots. $16.47.

They start speaking Spanish to each other at the register. When everything gets done, they take it out of the oven, throw it in a large pizza box, hand it to us and tell us goodbye.

Obviously they were trying to close the restaurant and didn’t want us hanging around.

We were okay with that. We ate in the car.

The sausage and pepper slice was really good, but I don’t like onions so I could only make it through half. The garlic knots were soft— I’m used to them being like chunks of pizza crust but these were like dinner rolls smothered in butter and garlic.

I love neighborhood pizza shops. I love the ambiance. I love them simple. I wish they’d stop trying to be full fledged restaurants and push slices and pies and sugary concoctions like the mysterious red “jungle juice” of my youth and arcade games and pinball.

My daughter— who has apparently spent far too much time in town ordering Dominos or grabbing Little Caesars and eating it four hours later “like a ravenous beast” (her words) on the band bus— always acts like every time we have real pizza, it’s the first time and it’s the best food she’s every had in her life. She moans with every mouthful.

Last night was no exception.

Friday Logistics Fascination and a stop at The Spot

This post is dedicated to my work friend Barb who starts her new job on Monday. I miss her, but I am so grateful to have met her that I can only wish her well and be proud of her.

Today was a pretty great day.

Well, it’s 10 minutes after midnight so I guess yesterday was a great day.

We were supposed to host three dogs this weekend, Buddy the super lovable white dog next door; Sobaka, the “Morkie” or Maltese Yorkie from across the street; and of course, Bean, our own big black mutt.

Sobaka arrived at 9, with the teenager getting her settled and then the teen returned to bed. I woke to a text message that Buddy would not be joining us after all, as his owner decided to bring him to Maine with her at the last minute.

We are very disappointed as Buddy is the dog medium enough to be a good companion for Sobaka.

The teenager has a pet sitting gig starting tomorrow (I mean in a few hours— I keep forgetting it’s the middle of the night). She will be sleeping at the home of another crazy cat lady… I mean fellow FURR foster mom.

The teenager will be watching two dogs, one very elderly; one small parrot, two personal cats and probably a dozen kittens. And a series of gardens.

It was another super flipping hot day, so I was glad I decided to bake the teenager’s “first day of summer” applesauce cake after work last night.

And I went to work today with no pain in my body!

Speaking of the Bizzy Hizzy, Stitch Fix offered us voluntary time off tonight if we reached our weekly shipping goal. We would be allowed to work a half day. So we got the job done in 3.5 hours and did a little extra.

Conveyor to OB1

I was style carding tonight— I still haven’t asked my supervisors how I’m doing. I’ve been enjoying it and it’s probably the least physically abusive work center I’ve learned.

I’ve been at Stitch Fix nine months, and my fascination with our warehouse logistics grows more with every new station I learn.

It’s hard to believe I’ll get another raise in three months.

But here’s my philosophical thought: Nothing creates a sense of deep teamwork better than people who all understand each other’s jobs and work together to achieve a mutually beneficial goal. It’s not enough to agree to a corporate goal or non profit mission. We may all have low-skill light-warehousing jobs but we all wanted to get the heck out of that hot building.

I compare my experience here with a previous (or several previous) employer(s):

  • At Stitch Fix, my bosses don’t punish, guilt trip or manipulate me regarding time off.
  • At Stitch Fix (and also at Target), they provide the training and the safety guidelines and trust us to work autonomously.
  • At Stitch Fix, I bring home the same amount in my paycheck as when I worked higher stress jobs.

I feel like on nights like this, our understanding of how the numbers work and also how we all normally perform allow us to know how attainable these goals are. And that’s exciting in a “we can do this” way.

Is the job perfect? No. I’m perfectly aware that I am a cog in a very big wheel and sweating my ass off folding clothes or putting papers in envelopes.

But I have had some awful bosses. It’s sad how bad managers can be not only blind to their own flaws but assume weaknesses in others where they don’t exist.

This is a topic I could write a book about.

ANYWAY.

Through most of this literally painless half-day, I listened to the Marc Blucas interview on the podcast Meeting Tom Cruise. He was Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s boyfriend Riley Finn. I hope to do a full review of it.

And the we finally stopped at The Spot for ice cream. The teenager drove me to work so I bought her a banana milkshake and I had a root beer float. Next time I want salted caramel soft serve with Reese’s peanut butter cups. The soft serve was delightful, the menu varied, and the prices cheap. Only downfall was the multitude of styrofoam.

Upon arriving home (after stopping to get my business cards from Gayle and I had to give her an A6 envelope box I commissioned her to doodle), we walked the dogs, ate some leftovers and watched an episode of Buffy (Doomed if you are curious).

I was cracking up on the walk because Sobaka liked to lead the pack. Well, Bean would speed up to join her because she didn’t want to be left behind. She wanted to walk side by side with Baktilda. (Yes, these are all nicknames for Sobaka.)

So then Sobaka would walk faster, but Baki has tiny legs. Bean would just keep matching her pace without breaking her stride. Baki was like the horse trainer who guides the horse around the ring and sets the pace.

Finally, the real miracle of the night— Louise is sharing her space with the dog. My bed no less! Is she making progress or can she not figure out what kind of animal Sobaka is?

The next phase: Reaching for Body Builder Status

This is an informal update vaguely and disorganizingly (that’s probably not a word, but I like it and it’s how I’m feeling) connected to my series about my cerebral palsy.

It’s not as “official” and well-crafted as I would like as some household/parenting issues greeted me as I walked in the door and I found it hard to recover once the dog started refusing to get in her crate and I discovered the teenager’s floor with multiple piles of kitten vomit, into which I stepped barefoot.

I finished the sequel to Karen by Marie Killilea today— With Love From Karen. That is another blog posted which I started but have postponed due to other events of the day more personal.

Late last night, I reached out to a local personal fitness trainer.

For those of you unaware, the average physical therapy can cost $350 per session, with the uninsured paying $125. If you have, like I do, high deductible medical insurance, this can add up to several thousand dollars in as little as a month.

Been there. Done that.

My amazing chiropractor (Nicole Jensen, Back in Line Wellness Center) bills me $125 a session when she gives me some brief physical therapy, advice and cracks every f*cked up bone in my body.

The high end of average cost for a personal fitness trainer is $70 per session, according to Google.

Six years ago almost to the day, I embarked on my first weight loss journey and shed 30 lbs in six weeks and looked like a skeleton.

By autumn, I looked like this:

Yes, the shadow of a person lifting two pound weights with me is the now teenager as an eleven-year-old.

I have two fitness dreams:

  1. To run a 5k
  2. To be an amateur body builder

A local business, a fitness trainer only a few blocks from my home, has a summer special and good reviews on the internet.

Goofy crop is to obscure the identity of the trainer until I get permission to post.

I reached out with this message:

“I have quite the history of on again/off again weight training.

I went through a very emotionally traumatic loss of job experience in 2020 and turned to stress/comfort/ just plain bad eating and have gained 20 pounds. And stopped training.

I need to regain my discipline so I am hoping to see if you might be a good fit as a personal trainer— theoretically one session a week and I could maintain the effort at home.

I have already improved my diet, but the damage includes anemia so that makes it hard to work out especially in this heat.

I work second shift in a warehouse.

And perhaps the most important issue— I have mild cerebral palsy in the lower body so it’s super important that I keep my body strong and flexible.

I have two dreams— to actually run a 5k and to perhaps pursue amateur body building.

Please respond if this is something you might be willing/comfortable with/knowledgeable enough to undertake.

Peruse my web site http://www.angelackerman.com to learn more about me if you have concerns.”

I am tentatively meeting with a trainer at this business at 11 a.m. Thursday for an assessment and to see if it’s a good fit.

This is a good way for me to improve my health and fitness as I’ve done so much physical therapy, I know what to do. I just need someone to make me do it. And check my form.

Who knows where this might lead? Maybe my dreams of being a body builder with cerebral palsy will come true.

Drunk on Fish

Happy Friday!

It’s a fun, fun day for me as I not only got a good night’s sleep (although I did have a cat jump on my eye in the middle of the night when another cat scared her) but I also got to leave work early as we had voluntary early out.

At the Stitch Fix Bizzy Hizzy, I finally got a picture of the “please use stylist” versus the correct word, stylus. I spent my 4-hour shift in women’s returns processing. I was killing my numbers the first hour— my body felt good and for the first time all week I wasn’t so exhausted my limbs wouldn’t move. But, quickly, I found myself slowing down. Could it be the heat in the warehouse?

Regardless, the teenager was working her waitressing gig and I had promised her sushi after I got home. We agreed to try Jasmine Japanese & Thai Cuisine on Sullivan Trail in Forks Township, Pa.

Many people I know have given it rave reviews and encouraged me to try it.

I encouraged my daughter to order anything she wanted— and we promised each other we would have the leftovers for breakfast. Now, I’m not a fish person so I stick to sushi rolls. I cannot even bring myself to try sashimi. The teenager on the other hand loves it all, as I even used to send her to first grade with sushi in her lunch box, preserved on an ice pack.

The cafeteria staff used to tease her that she should tell her mom to pack her normal lunches, so she came home one day convinced that meant she wasn’t allowed to bring sushi to school. But this is the girl who used to request cucumber sandwiches and other oddities for packed lunch.

I wish I knew more about sushi. I wish I could use chopsticks. The teenager did try to give me a lesson (again). You can see the video here.

I ordered Thai iced tea for both of us and the “luck bite” appetizer. The Luck Bite featured seaweed and crab artfully arranged on a Pringle potato chip. That itself was amazing enough for me to leave happy.

The teenager was disappointed by her first experience with Miso soup, something I have learned to enjoy. Honestly, we barely touched our salads of iceberg lettuce and a tangy mustard dressing because of the sushi to come.

The sashimi combo platter came first— complete with lights and flowers and other adornments. The teenager loved it all but prefers her sashimi on a bed of rice.

I got the spicy maki roll platter with two specialty rolls, and I honestly don’t recall their names. The one featured eel and avocado and the other mango and crab.

The teenager tried it all. My favorite was the mango. We both enjoyed the maki especially with its crispy bits.

Jasmine truly goes above and beyond with presentation. The sauces and flavor combinations are vibrant without detracting from the star of the show— the sushi.

We spent $92, but we also ordered enough sushi for 4-5 people. The sashimi platter alone was $30. I feel like for sushi, their offerings and dishes were substantial. I think it would be quite easy to select a satisfying meal for 2 for about $40.

More importantly, the teenager and I needed a neutral place where we could unwind together. This was perfect.

We do indeed intend to have the leftovers for breakfast, and I can only wonder what the household and foster cats will do when they smell sashimi.

“Review”: Pick-Your-Own-Bouquet Outing at Terra Fauna Farm

This one brings to mind memories of my mother’s flower gardens during my childhood— her lovingly tending her petunias, impatiens, zinnias and marigolds. I begged for straw flowers, snap dragons and “blue angels.” I thought of my mother’s gifted green thumb while frolicking in these fields.

Last week, knowing my teenager had left me home with no car, my sweet friend Joan had invited me to a pick-your-own-bouquet workshop at Terra Fauna Farm. Joan is a member of their CSA.

For those who don’t know, like the teenager, let me explain the concept of CSA or “Community Supported Agriculture.”

First, some history. Our area (the Lehigh Valley/Slate Belt of Pennsylvania) is traditionally primarily rural, with a few small cities scattered here and there and one of the largest cities in Pennsylvania on the one side (Allentown) and the Poconos on the other. New Jersey lies to the east and more rural areas to the West.

I once served as an advisory board member for the Penn State University Cooperative Extension. I completed six years, many of those as Secretary. I never realized how passionate I was about the area’s agricultural heritage until I had this opportunity. I took it for granted.

I grew up in the rural Slate Belt in the 1980s where most of my neighbors were dairy farmers. One literal neighbor had a green house business. And our school bus route cut through a pig farm. Pig farms smell bad, by the way.

Corn fields. Horses. 4-H. Farm Shows. Future Farmers of America. Horticulture and Agriculture as high school science electives. I took horticulture one and it was an amazing exposure to organic gardening (in 1990 before it became trendy), flower arrangement, and gardening. You haven’t lived until you’ve washed a greenhouse of poinsettias with lye soap to kill the white flies.

At that time your parents were either farmers or blue collar workers. My dad was a diesel mechanic.

During the last two decades, farm land has given way to suburban developments and warehousing.

And to compete with large commercial farm and maintain some smaller farms as viable, farmers have embraced the CSA model.

In a CSA arrangement, when selecting his crops and ordering his seeds, the farmer also contacts those who have expressed interest in supporting the farm. These supporters then purchase a share of the season’s crops by sending money in advance. There’s usually a “full share” customarily enough for a family of four and a “half share” for those who don’t have a family or are timid about how much produce they can use.

The farm typically shares what crops they want to plant and the supporter can usually cater their share to their likes and dislikes.

The farmer uses that money to buy his supplies and pay his bills until the crop is ready. And has a guaranteed market for some of his crop.

Terra Fauna (located in Northampton, Pa.) planted a flower and herb garden on what I believe they said used to be their cow pasture. For $5, you can pick a bouquet.

As I mentioned, they had planned a workshop for last week but the heat and the threat of thunderstorms made them postpone until July 5.

Joan took photos and the teenager and I indulged our witchy senses and gathered blooms and herbs from the rows.

We spent $26.50 on extras— a farm fresh cucumber, two zucchini, a quart of new potatoes, a pound of local honey harvested this past Saturday, some garden herb cheese spread and a coffee flavored yogurt smoothie which I think tasted like a milkshake.

The teenager came home and spread her cheese spread on some crisp fresh cucumber and for the sandwich effect added “chicken in a biskit” crackers I bought over the weekend. The juxtaposition of ultra-processed and farm fresh was not lost on her.

Perhaps before the end of the summer, Joan and I can “do lunch” at the farm on one of her weekly CSA pick up days. Which, as a country girl, let me tell you this one truth:

The only way to eat sweet corn is fresh off the farm. If you’re buying sweet corn at a local big box grocery store, I’m sad for you.

Adventures in Veterinary Medicine: Canyon River Run

If you have pets, you know how vital a good vet can be. Early in my adult life, I had a series of vets I liked at Wright’s Veterinary Medical Center in Bethlehem Township (Pa.) but one by one they all left the practice.

The practice, as I understand it from my Pennsylvania Dutch mother-in-law, started with an old no-nonsense farm vet. His son continued the family tradition and stayed in the practice. From the get-go, I never liked the bedside manner of the younger Dr. Wright but they always had specialists— doctors who handled reptiles or birds, for example—and I always managed to find the “vet who loved cats.”

And truth be told they saved the life of our “Big Boy” Oz when he couldn’t pass urinary crystals circa 2014 and I couldn’t afford the $1,000 proposed treatment. I had agreed to have my daughter’s 3-year-old cat put down and they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse— 75% off an even more expensive procedure (removing his penis and widening the opening for his urethra) so he could pass stones easier. A young vet would do the procedure (for the first time) under the watchful eye of an experienced vet. So I did it, and Oz is still with us today.

But when my Opie got cancer, it took me weeks to get it diagnosed because the vet I used to go to had left the practice, I didn’t have a new one yet and Opie couldn’t walk and was intense pain so I took the first available appointment.

And that vet gave Opie antibiotics and said to come back if it got worse. It got worse. He then wanted to charge me several hundred dollars to knock Opie out so they could take an X-ray. A nurse alerted me that that vet didn’t like cats and said I needed an appointment with another vet in the practice.

She took the x-ray with him conscious and diagnosed suspected rare bone cancer via that x-ray.

She was right.

And then she told us to go elsewhere for the surgery because that particular practice was too overpriced.

My daughter contacted No Kill Lehigh Valley, a local nonprofit who specializes in helping people with seriously ill pets. They asked us how much money we had and found a vet who could do the surgery (and it turned out more) for that price. But they were more than an hour away in Tamaqua so we couldn’t keep going there.

And now we are involved with Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab. Many local vets, animal shelters and other rescue groups work with each other to benefit domestic animals and their owners in the Lehigh Valley.

When the Norse Pride had ringworm, we took them to Canyon River Veterinary Clinic in the Phillipsburg (N.J.) area.

I wanted to support a local vet who also supported the rescue efforts of FURR. So we gave them a try, having them update Opie’s shots and look at a mass on his neck.

Every staff member was not only pleasant but personable, and they all seemed interested in relationship building— not just in-and-out money making vet care.

Today, Opie had his mass removed. The vet at Canyon River was confident his mass was just a dermal growth and we removed it so it wouldn’t pop and cause problems. I declined pre-anesthesia bloodwork, because with Opie’s history, I don’t want to worry about what else he may have. (I know that might not make sense.)

I also told them to send out the mass for the $160 biopsy only if it looked suspicious upon removal. They did not.

We also brought Bean for her first puppy exam and shots and got her microchipped, opted for the cream for the cyst on her lip, and decided to get the optional Lyme vaccine.

AND Fog & Misty went in to get the rest of their shots (it’s looking more and more definitive that Parker, Extra Crunchy and their litter mates did have distemper) and their microchips. And Misty needs to lose weight.

Three cats and a dog in the backseat

All of these animals. All of these, shots, exams and services and my bill was $848. I thought that amazing.

And Amanda and I swapped cockatoo stories for a good ten minutes.

I felt respected, heard, and empowered to make good decisions for my pets.

Thank you to the staff at Canyon River.

How’s the Path? An exploration of the chaos that happens when warehouse logistics fail

For those of my readers who know me, you may know me from my 15-year-career as a journalist, or from my volunteering or professional experience in nonprofits, or my time as a board member of Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group.

But my life has led many other unorthodox places— I worked my way through college at McDonalds, served as the box office manager for Moravian College Theatre Company, and did my work-study in admissions where I filled out a lot of postcards, stuffed a lot of informational folders, and rewrote department brochures. My other work-study job was in the English department photocopying things and the duplication department loved my prowess with photocopiers.

My professional career started at Lafayette College in public relations and from there I moved into weekly journalism.

Life as a print journalism made me a more efficient writer, a more captivating storyteller and a better listener. It piqued my curiosity for subjects I have no interest in, and it honed my ability to discern what information is important and understanding how different systems work.

My career as a journalist opened me to the possibilities— I’m less prone to refuse any opportunity. And my current experience at Stitch Fix is one of those opportunities.

Warehousing is a huge industry here in the Lehigh Valley. It is very easy to get just about anywhere from here from a transportation logistics standpoint. I have had an interest in Stitch Fix since they launched as the first subscription box for retail fashion.

My work as a warehouse associate there as part of “midnight society” (second shift) allows me to work on my personal projects during the day, and, when the work assignments line up to have me “picking,” exercise at night. Pickers walk about 25,000 or more steps in a shift.

Last night, management announced mandatory overtime. Every associate had 24 hours to sign up for 14 hours of overtime before Easter. This made a lot of people grumpy and/or angry as we didn’t have much time to figure out our options. I’ll be working 4 hours each Saturday and coming in 2 hours early two days a week.

So this was the backdrop as one of our overseers mentioned that some of the totes set up for our carts had been messed up. Now I don’t know if a person did it, or a computer did it, as this is the week we switched from Gozer to Star.

I don’t want to say much as I don’t know how much of Stitch Fix’s operations are proprietary. But normally each cart of eight fixes being “picked” stays in a certain size area of the warehouse. A medium batch might include medium, size 6 and size 8 and have you roaming the aisles throughout the M section.

Last night, the pickers would start in W/2 XL and have fixes on their cart that included all the sizes which meant more or less picking one fix at a time and zigzagging throughout the warehouse— which from XS to XXXL is about 900 of my steps.

By meal break, most of the bad batches had been picked, and the shift supervisor was asking if the paths had improved. I was very grateful when they had. The ones that weren’t right wasted a lot of time and were very disorienting.

In other news, our three-legged cancer survivor cat Opie has a vet appointment with a new doctor on April 1. I was unhappy with the vet practice who diagnosed his cancer, and the one vet there I liked has left the practice. The vet that actually amputated his leg is an hour away.

He has a lump growing on the back of his neck and I don’t like the look of it. So April 1, I am taking him to Canyon River Run to be checked. Canyon River is one of the vets who works with the cat rescue we foster with, Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab.

Pizza at George’s

My teenagers and I have been craving pizza so I told them that if we survived this crazy first week of mandatory overtime at my job we would order pizza Saturday night.

Then I asked them if they’d rather go for pizza.

What a novel idea in this pandemic world.

I called them from the car as I drove home from the warehouse— because teenager #2 scrubbed up the dining room table to feed us something “sweet and yummy” procured via her actual maternal unit.

“Hey, guys, are we still going out for pizza?”

They had forgotten but teenagers are always ready to go out for pizza.

George’s is one of our local pizza joints, about a mile from the house. They have certain dishes, like their homemade vodka sauce (which you can order by the quart), which are satiating comfort foods. They had a 12” one-topping pizza for $6 that I nicknamed the “date night” pizza because it’s perfect for two people to share. They also have two sizes of cannoli which thrills teenager #1.

They once made me an entire pot of coffee because I ordered it late in the day and they offered to let me take the rest home.

I ordered, with the teenagers’ help, two of the little pizzas— one with green peppers and the other with black olives. We also ordered calamari, garlic knots and breaded cauliflower. Only I could get that many vegetables into pizza night.

After a very long day and an even longer week, it felt good to share this experience with the teens. Teen #2, at my goading, went out to the car and got $1 in quarters for each of them to use as they wished. I thought one of them would play pinball.

Teen #1 got one gumball and three bouncy balls.

Teen #2 chose expanding dinosaurs. They now reside in a cup of water at the bathroom sink.

An overdue nonprofit round up

The last several weeks have featured a bevy of local non profit workshops and presentations.

Two of which happened last Wednesday night— the second in the Yes! Empowerment Series from the YWCA of Bethlehem and a panel on Quality of Life Women’s Issues hosted by American Association of University Women Easton Branch featuring Megan Lago (who coincidentally is my neighbor), the communications director for Lisa Boscola; Janice Thomas, homeless services director for Third Street Alliance for Women and Children; and my former colleague Antoinette Cavaliere (pictured below), program director for ProJeCt of Easton.

It’s energizing that local non profits can interact with each other and the public so fluidly and easily through social media and video conferencing platforms.

The focus of the AAUW panel was the problems facing families during the pandemic, which many of them seemed to revert to age old problems like lack of education and domestic violence.

This week’s YWCA session was on giving and receiving feedback, another interesting reflection on how we communicate and interact with others.

Then I opened my LinkedIn to discover that the United Way of the Greater Lehigh Valley featured a photo of me, my colleagues and one of our Women United supporters on their LinkedIn post to promote their upcoming Women United event.

That was certainly a wonderful start to the day.