Brush your teeth.

Salt and soda on my toothbrush this morning. Haven't done that in decades, but it came to me in the night that salt and soda might help my teeth feel less scummy. And it did. Not the most pleasant of tastes, but it's not as if you can't rinse your mouth.

Salt and soda. Learned from my dad and mom. I recall we used it when we ran out of tooth paste or tooth powder. Tooth powder, what my dad preferred, I believe. Can you even buy such a thing anymore? Don't know. Haven't tried.

Mostly I use Tom's. No saccharine or formaldehyde, as in most other toothpastes. And it comes with baking soda in it, if you choose that kind. You can get it with whitener or fluoride (which has now found disfavor with the experts) with or without propolys and myrrh, or with tartar control; in spearmint, cinnamon, or, my preference, peppermint.

But today I needed to get down to basics. Salt and soda.

Who really knows?

I ask my roofer if the new roof will keep the raccoons away. Half joking, you know. He says, "Well, maybe you need to get somebody up there and spray some more stuff."

That is what I was thinking, wondering if he'd like to do it.

"Or," he continues, "you should spread more of that granular stuff around the yard."

"That stuff is about worthless," I say.  "Doesn't even keep the squirrels away."

Then my roofer says his older brother says, "You gotta trap the raccoon. That's the only way to get rid of him."

Didn't Rudy put a trap in my yard for a week? Yes. Didn't it fail to catch anything? Yes.  It was a stupid-looking trap, I must say.

Didn't I see the great big happy raccoon right outside my writing room window after that? Again, yes, indeed.

I don't say these things to my roofer. I just look at him. Maybe my face says something, like, "Right, I'm going to buy a trap, set it, and handle the thing after the raccoon is caught, if that ever happens. And if all that, then what?" Maybe my face says that. It could have.

Then he says, "Of course, you catch one and another one probably shows up."

Right.

Wow!

It's done. My roof. And I picked the right color shingles. I'm pretty sure I picked the right people to do the job, too.

When Craig said it would take two days, I thought, "Yeah, sure." Everyone else had said five to seven days. But they showed up Wednesday and stripped the old off, laid down the felt paper (I know. I already wrote this part.), took July 4th off, and came back today to finish the job. There were six of them, five roofers and their nephew, Carlson, the gopher. And they got it done in less than five hours.

They also installed four new vents, repaired the areas the raccoon had destroyed, and painted the tall pipe over the garage. All vents are now brown. They fixed the places that had leaked into the garage with flashing.

So far I'm happy. You should see my roof. It looks good.

Moving Forward

Got home a little before noon to find my roof is gone, the white felt paper up, the guys about to leave and haul away the old.

I cried. I think it's because I'm happy, relieved.

Craig has done, so far, all that he said he would do and when. He even removed the old defunct satellite dish. Friday they'll come and put the shingles on. Hooray!

Now he has told me something I already knew.

"You might want to think about painting the house. But if you do, wait until October, after the hot weather so the painters don't damage the roof." This walking on the roof when the temperature is high we have talked about before.

Paint the house. And what would that cost?

Oh well. I maybe don't have to think about that right now.

Maybe.

Today's WikiHow

Who thinks of these things?

How to Make a Small Bag from a Tube Container

 

"If you have a plastic tube container with a lovely design on it, rather than tossing it away when the contents are used up, consider turning it into a dainty bag. This easy repurposing project produces a delightful tiny bag for holding a treasure or a small coin, or it could be used for a doll or for display."

 

I am not going to do it. Not because I don't have a plastic tube container with a lovely design on it. I haven't checked on that. I probably have such. But I'm not doing it.

You go ahead.

Are you kidding me?

Ordinarily I'd put this kind of post on my Lotta Torres blog, but this has really got me, so here it is.

The Obama family's trip to Africa is costing us, the US, that's us, between $60 and $100 MILLION. That's American dollars. So, let's say it may be costing about $98 MILLION. Wow! Brother! And other expressions of shock and dismay.

He's been to his ancestral home, been to the prison where Mandela spent so many years. And so on and so forth. I am positive they--he and his family and I don't know how many others are traveling with them--are having a wonderful time. But from what I've read, many Africans are disenchanted with King Barack because, for one thing, he has not followed up on the generous and helpful HIV/AIDS program started by President Bush--the guy we're all supposed to be ashamed of.

But all this and the much more I haven't mentioned seems beside the point in my thinking.

The point for me is closer to Of what benefit to us, to me, is this extended and extensive and expensive family vacation for the Obamas? Why should we be happy about it? Why should we be glad to pay for it? Why is it costing so much money? No need to mention what else $100 million might be spent for.

It really bothers me. You could tell.

So?

Yes, of course I want to write something profound, some smart idea with good words to express it. This daily recounting of my activities is superficial and tedious. To write and to read.

But here's what's wrong.  To write deep thoughts requires deep thinking. I'm not up for it. Obviously.

So we get instead a report of how hot it is at 8:38 p.m.--102 degrees. Or what I had for dinner. Or that I'm tired after a long day.

Hence my title.