Hospital Meals

 I make no bones about my issues with food here in "the home".  They always seem to look good.  They always seem to be cold.

Now, cold breakfast eggs and sausage is forgivable occasionally, but every time?  This morning's breakfast of coffee cake and sausage was cold.  See the bowl of cereal?  No milk.  My breakfast, once again, is coffee.

I refuse to eat cold "hot food".  In my first twelve days here, I lost thirteen pounds.  I dropped from 165 when I arrived to 135.  I put on a few pounds and got to 155, but I am less than that now.

Some of my so called Facebook friends say I'm too picky.  Well, you try it.  Make scrambled eggs and sausage, and coffee.  Let it sit for a couple of hours.  Try eating it and get back to me.

At $9,400 per patient per month, you would think this hospital would have an adequately staffed kitchen with warming trays or lights. 

Out of all of the facilities I've been in over the past couple of years, this is the only one with a hot food problem.  You would think that a health related facility would be concerned about keeping food hot.

I try to make up for it by ordering dried fruit and health bars from the local grocery store.  But this is a ten foot high pile of stinking monkey crap.

Dinner in the Home

Dinner came. It's the highlight of my day here in the senior home. It was set on my little dinner tray on wheels. Somehow, I'm not sure how but it was probably my fault, it wound up on the floor. The whole thing, except for one bite that I took of the grilled cheese sandwich. An aide whisked in and we both cleaned it up. She left with the floor scrapings. I haven't seen her since 5:45 PM. It is now an hour and a half later.

My headache has come back now. I take oxycodone for it. I pushed my call button for the oxy and food. No response.

Apparently, if you knock your dinner on the floor, too bad so sad. You go without dinner for being a dumbass. UPDATE: Dinner never came.

Sanity

 As I sit here in the mental health unit of a local hospital (a topic for another day), I've noted that it is difficult when the patient is sane and all the staff are crazy.

Bonus Years

Bonus years.

In 2013 I was hit square on the head with a tree. It broke my neck and gave me a severe concussion. The doctors at Albany Medical Center were amazed as doctor after doctor passed by. I should be dead, they said.

That accident changed my life. Both physically and mentally. I won't get into the boring physical stuff other than to say that I can sort of get around, but not like I did.

Mentally is another issue. I thought long and hard on this. "You're really unlucky!" people would tell me. No, I'm lucky. I should be dead, yet here I am.

In the various hospitals I go to, and they ask whet happened and I tell them, they look both shocked and sad. "I don't care what happens," I answer. "I could end up with a walker or a wheelchair and I don't care. These are my bonus years. I shouldn't even be here."

But something very real happens around the holidays now. My mom and dad have passed, and so too all of my grandparents, and aunts and unclues. Pamela is gone. My two best buddies, my dogs Ruby and Chevy have crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I have friends but they can't visit my apartment or the hsoital because of the pandemic no-visitors rule. My daughter,

Becky Gibson Schott

, to whom I've given control over many healthcare decisions that have to be made, cannot visit.

For the first time, the holidays are truely depressing for me this year. The rehab center I'm in is working to get me to where I can go home to my apartment. I don't want to go there and be truly alone. At least here, I have a snoring roommate and aides that bring me ginger ale and Lornadoones.

I am going to look at assisted living homes shortly. For my mental health, it may be the best option.

Merry Christmas to me. But hey, on the bright side, these are all bonus years.

Love Each Other

You get old, you get melancholy.  

And today, with what it is, and with me trying to bring something to the table, in these difficult times, I am shooting blanks.

Regardless of what happens to me, us, or the world, I just want to say that I did my best. 

My best may not have been that good, but it is what I had.    I took photos, I wrote.  I had nothing else to offer.

But in return for my little bit of love, please stay inside.  Please love one another.  Keep the other folks safe as best you can.

Stay inside, wear a mask, don't lick each other, blah blah blah.

That is truly all we can do.  Isn't it?

Flowing

I don't want to get too graphic.  That is not why you're here.

But I hadn't eaten for a week.  Nothing.  I'd been too sick.

You understand, though, how things have to flow?  I was not flowing.  Nothing in a week.

So I started with wine.  Wine is made from grapes.  Grapes are, like prunes, sorta. 

Then I ate a half a bowl of raisin bran.  Nothing.

So I went whole hog and ate a French bread pizza.  Bread, cheese, pepperoni..  My body laughed at the pizza.  Is that all you've got?

Well, I've got more wine.  My body said HAHAHAHAHA!  Go for it.  Let me know how that works for you.

Underwear

Moms.  They made us change our underwear every day.

Well, lying here in bed, I wondered why? 

So I didn't for three days.  I heard my mom yelling at me.

Bathroom poetry

Bathroom poets.

When I was a young guy, I wrote in the bathroom at GE, where I worked.  The bathroom was where we all wrote.  Bathroom poets, all of us.

And now, as an author, looking back, the bathroom is where I had my beginnings.  On bathroom walls.

Some come here to sit and think.

Some come here to shit and stink.

I come here to scratch my balls and read the poems on the walls.

Sorry, Becky.  As your dad, I am supposed to be the adult.  I am a bad example.

GE apprentices from building 9 are now laughing their butts off.  We all did it. 

And we all had pen names, so we didn't get in trouble.  Mine was Cobra Jet.  I desperately wanted a red Mach I Mustang.  A 351,  4 barrel, cobra jet.  I still do.

Just Toss It

Why do we do what we do?

I dunno.

Sometimes, because it is there.  Sometimes, we have no idea.

Who ever thought that tossing the caber was a thing?

The Scots. That's who.

"I am gonna pick this log up and see how far I can throw it."

And I guess that is all we need to know. About cabers. About Scots. About life.

When life hands you a caber, just toss it.

We're all just doing the best we can.

So when life hands you a twenty foot 175 pound log, just toss it.

Learning To Read

My father was raised by his grandparents during the Depression so his mother (my grandmother) could work.

Every morning, across the breakfast table, his grandfather (my great-grandfather) would read the newspaper to him, following the sentences with his finger so my father could follow along. I don't recall how old my dad was, but this was pre-school.

What no one realized was that my father learned how to read from his grandfather reading the newspaper to him every morning. They didn't know what to make of it.

Later, when he read, he held his book upside down.

Getting Paid

I "got paid" today, which means I received my monthly social security check for those of you who are retirement impaired.

So I ordered my staples for the month. Staples, for me, consists of a 2 lb. bag of coffee beans, a bunch of yogurt, and a whole lotta rice. I buy from Instacart because they deliver.

Instacart always tells me how much time I've saved shopping by using them. 65 hours as of today. If I'd saved 6.5 minutes, I would have grabbed it. I hate to shop. For anything.

What's sad is that, as a kid in the 1950s, I would go with my mom every Wednesday to buy groceries at the Central Market. Wednesdays were double S&H Green Stamps day. She would spend $25 to $35 for a shopping cart full of food. I just spent $200+ for rice and yogurt.

Yes, 20% of that $200 is a tip for the Instacart shopper. But I saved 6.5 minutes.  And to me, that is worth it.

Jerome

Most residents of a small Georgia town I lived in briefly know Jerome. He lives on a moored Catalina 22 just outside of the marina.  Jerome loves to plant flowers.  Wildflowers.  He planted them everywhere.  Alongside roads, in a median, anywhere and everywhere.

Sammy was travelling down a road in this town and there was Jerome on a bulldozer. He somehow got his hands on it and he was bulldozing a place to plant flowers. Sammy stopped him.

"Jerome? Is this your land?" asked Sammy.

"No," said Jerome. "Is it yours?"

Sammy just laughed and said "Well, Jerome, I have to admit, you've got me there."

Sammy went on his way and Jerome kept bulldozing.

Now, I know southerners like to tell tales and all... but I just have a hunch that there is some basis in truth here. Or maybe, Sammy just got a yankee real good.

Miss Filer

A long time ago, my ex-wife was working in a nursing home in Saratoga. 

One day, she said to me "Didn't you say that you had a teacher named Miss Filer?" 

Well, yes I did, and it turned out that she was a resident there.

I arranged to visit her. When I got to the home's nurses' station, they asked me to wait while they got her ready. While waiting, I asked how she was doing.

"She's OK," was the answer, "She fades in and out.  She's suffering from dementia. She sings little songs that we don't understand."

Well, I did understand.

When they brought me to her room, I introduced myself. She had no idea who I was. But then I said "The nurses tell me that you sing to yourself. Is that right?"

With that, she smiled and her eyes lit up, and Miss Filer and I sang the cosine song.

The sine of thirty is a half.
The cosine is a half square root of three.
And the poor old tangent, yes the silly old tangent is a third square root of three.

I remember that song, clear as a bell. I can't even begin to tell you what a cosine is anymore.

And she would ring a loud bell.  

"Attention class! David has completed a proof!" 

Yeah... I don't remember what a proof is, either. I guess it must have been important.

Being a Dinosaur

OK, I admit it. I was wrong, and I feel like a dinosaur.

The last TV I bought was a 40" LCD back in 2008. I thought it was the cat's ass.

I stopped watching much TV when Pamela and I cruised down the coast. No point, really. TV reception was spotty, and we only used the TV for movies.

Fast forward to 2020. I just bought a TCL 55" 4k insert-a-bunch-of-numbers-and-letters-here. All I can say is holy crap.

Now, in my little apartment, I sit maybe 8' away from the screen. The colors and resolution are beyond belief. I can stick my nose right up to the screen and it's like looking someone in the face. Every crease and wrinkle is right there.

So until the novelty wears off, I'm exploring. I watched the movie "Extinction", CNN Go, ABC News, and a Nat Geo special on Hitler's V2 rocket program. All without an antenna or cable. Just the internet. This is the bomb.

I should have done this long ago.

Now I really feel like an old man.

"In my day, we had a 25" console TV with round edges. It was black and white and got two channels, and we were happy we had it!"

2020?

I woke up this morning and glanced at the clock radio. 8:16 AM. A bit early to start my stay-at-home day, but a good time to get up. I stared at the ceiling for a moment, getting my eye to focus. I sat up and put my feet on the floor. I stood, letting my creaky old bones get in place. I walked into the bathroom. Peed.

I walked out of the bathroom. It was 10:14. 

Apparently, I had passed through a portal in the space-time continuum into the future. Is it still 2020?

The Stimulus Check

I had chosen a Samsung 49" TV that I tossed in my Amazon cart for safe keeping while I waited for my stimulus check.  

$1,200 of it, for me and most of you to spend to get the economy rolling again.  I had a patriotic calling here.  Spend it, don't bank it.  Get the economy moving.

The Samsung QN49Q60RAFXZA Flat 49-Inch QLED 4K Q60 Series Ultra HD Smart TV with HDR and Alexa Compatibility would be it, I decided.

When I put it in my Amazon cart, it was $575. Then it zoomed to $700 days later.  I just checked and it is now $850.

That would be a big negatory. 

Even the Sony X800H 43 Inch TV: 4K Ultra HD Smart LED TV with HDR and Alexa Compatibility - 2020 Model that I had saved was now $600. I can't remember what it was, but nowhere near that price, I'm sure.

My response to that is also nuh-uh.

I could settle and buy a Samsung UN49RU8000FXZA Flat 49-Inch 4K 8 Series Ultra HD Smart TV with HDR and Alexa Compatibility (2019 Model), which does not have QLD for $475 on Amazon, $650 to $800 everywhere else. 

I suppose I could go for an off-brand, like a TCL 49" for $250. The 55" is only $350. Since I don't watch much TV, how bad can it be?  If I don't turn it on, does it matter how good it is?  No.  No, not a whole lot.

So that's what I did. I ordered the TCL 55" Class 5-Series 4K UHD Dolby VISION HDR Roku Smart TV - 55S525 and I'll hope for the best. There was even an Amazon promotion of $15 off.

That's it. I have no idea how I would spend another stimulus check if I got one. I am stimulused out.

Reading is Fun-damental

I was just chatting with a woman on Match and she was telling me about her very precocious three year old grandson who has a deep interest in dinosaurs, much more so than your average little kid.

That jogged a memory from my father. Something I hadn't thought about for many, many years.

My father was raised by his grandparents during the Depression so his mother could work.

Every morning, across the breakfast table, his grandfather would read the newspaper to him, following the sentences with his finger so my father could follow along. I don't recall how old my dad was, but this was pre-school.

What no one realized was that my father learned how to read from his grandfather reading the newspaper to him every morning. They didn't know what to make of it.

When he read, he held his book upside down.

Happy Hour

I've been sheltering-in-place.  Staying inside, not going out.  When I have to empty the garbage or something, I wear a mask.

I live alone.  I don't have a television and see little need for one.  I have many books, but right now I won't read them because I'm in the middle of my eighth book.  If I read Hemingway, I'd start writing like Hemingway.  If I read Bryson, I'd start writing like Bryson.

Hmmmm… that would probably be a good thing.... no.  I have my own style, as odd as it is.

But living alone, I'm afraid I might go a little nutty.  OK.  Nuttier.  So I open my curtains so I can see outside.  I get up around the same time everyday, have my coffee, eat lunch, etc.  Dinner is hit or miss.

But one thing I look forward to is happy hour.  Between 3 and 4 o'clock, I get out my pre-cut cheese and put five slices on a plate.  Then I count out five Triscuits.  That's happy hour.

~sigh~.

Well, hopefully May 15th will roll around and Governor Cuomo will declare victory and open everything up again.  At least McGreivy's in the village of Waterford, so I will have an incentive to get out walking again.  Before this pandemic, in walking I was making great strides HAHAHAHAHAHA.  

Sorry.

Nuttier.

the Stimulus Check

I've been thinking about the stimulus check that Trump, in his wisdom and generosity, is sending me.

Ordinarily I was just bank something like that, as I would a tax refund. Many of you who work for wages will no doubt use the check to pay bills, which is certainly one of its intended uses. But I bump by every month on my social security, and every month, as soon as I get my monthly check, I pay my bills.

So I think that my patriotic duty is to spend it. On what? Well, I like to take things slowly so I can figure stuff out. I've been in this apartment for two months and I'm still furnishing it. But I can't make up my mind how to furnish it. I've never done this before. It has to say "me".

I'm presently using a cardboard box as an end table, so there's that. I need a night stand, which now is a cardboard box too, so there's that.  Maybe that's "me". 

Or maybe I should spend it on something truly useful, like a new laptop. As an author, I need a laptop. If this old Asus breaks, I'm done. So a laptop would be good, and I can save the old Asus as a backup unit. OK, that would be a smart thing. Otherwise, if this one broke, I'd scramble to buy another one from Amazon using my phone. A laptop it is. (At this point, my other brain is starting in).

But the laptop I picked out is $600. So the rest I should sock away. No. Stimulate something with it. Like what? I don't need anything. (This is the part where my two brains argue like two old men, as usual).

You have to spend it. No, I don't. Yes you do. The check isn't called "Dave's save it money" for a reason. Yeah, but I don't need anything, so like what? Buy something you don't need. If I don't need it, I don't buy it. Let me spell it out for you, S-T-I-M-U-L-U-S.

OK, something I don't need. Or want. Or never considered buying. Like a TV? YES, buy a TV! But I don't want a TV. S-T-I- OK OK, I get it, a TV.

Where would I put a TV in this little room? I don't have a TV stand and I'm low on cardboard boxes. Yeah, says the guy using a cardboard box for an end table. Well, I guess they hang on the wall now, right? Sheesh, yes, the wall, and you have one that you haven't stuck your stupid photographs on. WHAT DO YOU MEAN STUPID PHOTOGRAPHS?? Sorry... a wall you haven't decorated with your fine art, my mistake. Apology accepted, so now just shut up. Fine. Fine.

Let There Be Light

I love my apartment. I really do. It is a perfect size for one person. I've been here for close to two months and, even being quarantined inside for weeks, I still love it. Especially the walk-in shower with the grab handles. With my lack of balance, it is a wonderful thing.

Only one thing bothered me. The kitchen is really dark. I'd turn on the light over the stove to get some light, and I plugged my USB laptop light into a USB wall plug for a little more. Geez, you think they would have done better than this.

So I've been putting together an order for Amazon, including lights for the kitchen. What a pain. I went to my apartment door to get my mail, and there was a light switch next to it. Huh. I wonder what this does? So I flipped it.

And this huge kitchen ceiling light turned on.

coronavirus

Just observatatin' a bit.

What is a virus anyway?  It's alive, right?   Like a little tiny bug you can't see?  Why would it invade someone, and then kill them, thereby killing itself?  Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of being alive?  Kind of like me hitting on Mike Tyson's girlfriend.  OK, not it's not, but it sounded good when I thought of it.

Is it a form of tiny teeny bug suicide?  Biting off your nose to spite your face?

I have lots of time to think now that I'm quarantined to my Unabomber apartment here in Eldertown.

Too much time, apparently.

Walkin'

Walking.

Those of you who actually read my nonsense on here and Facebook know that I try to walk everyday. Well, yesterday was no exception.

Usually, I walk a half mile into the village of Waterford, stop in McGreivey's for a beer, and walk back. Fine. I'm happy with that, for a guy who shouldn't be able to walk, who was bed ridden just months ago. No friggin' way. I was determined. So I walked.

In the hospital, first it was getting out of bed and into a chair. That took a lot. You have no idea unless you've been there. But my stubbornness can be in my favor sometimes, and I thought to myself that this is bullshit. This isn't happening. Not now. Not ever. Get up

So I got out of bed and got myself in a chair. The nurses were not happy. "You are not supposed to be out of bed!" they'd yell at me.

Hell. I'm old. I've been yelled at lots. My mom yelled at me as a little boy all the time. Yelling has no effect on me.

Then I started walking up and down the halls of the hospital. That really freaked the nurses out. They called physical therapy on me. The nurses quickly learned that yelling doesn't work, so they called in the professionals at walking. And they walked with me.

One guy from PT I really liked. He let me be. At first, he had some kind of a strap around my waist that he would hold on to in case I fell. Later, he would hang onto my arm. Then he would just walk next to me. Sure, I'd stagger a bit. My sense of balance was shot. I have little feeling in my feet which makes walking difficult. I walk like I'm drunk. I still do.

Eventually, I was released from the hospital.

Now I have my own apartment. I'd look out the apartment window wistfully. A nice day. I am going to go for a walk. Unsure of how far I could go, I would walk a half mile to the village of Waterford, stop at McGreivey's, have a victory beer, and walk home. I was very pleased with myself.

Well, thanks to this pandemic, McGreivey's is closed. But I would walk it anyway. Non-stop. That is a big deal for a guy who is supposed to be bed-ridden. But God damnit, I'm doing it. I don't know if it is my Irish stubbornness or my Polish dumbness, but damn it get out of my way.

Yesterday, I went for a walk. Instead of taking a right into the village out of the Van Schoonhoven Square Senior Apartments, I crossed the street. There was a lady cleaning up the end of her driveway. I stopped to chat. Her name is Donna. She and her husband bought the old Fanucci's gravel pit. Twenty acres of gravel pit. They built a house in it. I think that is awesome. Who builds a house in a gravel pit? She said Fanucci stopped digging when they hit water. They hit the aquifer. Water gushed in. The pond in front of her house is forty feet deep, she said. I think that is awesome.

Then, after chatting with Donna, I didn't walk into the village. For some reason I took a left and walked up the hill. Walking up that hill was something I always did as a kid. The Middletown Road hill. I clearly remember walking my bicycle up it as a kid because I couldn't ride up it. It was a huge accomplishment when I could finally ride my bicycle up it. It was coming of age.

And now, at 69 years old, I'm trying to walk it. I can do this. Damn it. Just walk. I stared at the ground, one foot in front of the other. Just do it.

I made it up the hill. I walked on, as I did when I was a kid. I got past Sts. Peter and Paul's cemetery. I shouldn't try for Swayze Acres though. That's a bit too far, I thought. What if I run out of steam? I would have to sit someplace and then someone would find me and call an ambulance or something. Nope. Not happening. So I walked into St. Mary's cemetery.

I paid particular attention to the grave stones. Sure, I saw them as a kid, but I never paid them much mind. Only the Patrignani stone. It had photos on it of the dead people. I liked that. They were real people, but now dead.

I finally made my way back to where my parents are buried. I said hello. I'm divorced now, I told them. I was alone.

I walked out of the cemetery and took a left on Middletown Road towards my apartment. I really wanted to walk Swayze Acres where I grew up, but I didn't know if I could make it. Not yet. A little at a time.

I shuffled along as I always do. Past Prospect Hill, to the hill down to the village of Waterford. Believe it or not, that was the most difficult part of this little walk. Walking downhill. I'm glad I had my cane, because without it I would have fallen. But I made it back, into the apartment building and into my apartment.

Today, I could barely get out of bed. My legs are worn out. My knees hurt. My left hip hurts. But I did it. About a mile and a half yesterday, I figured. I am not going to lay in bed and wait to die. I am going to try for a shorter walk today. But then, one day soon, I want to do the Swayze Acres walk. That will be two miles. I can do this.

Buy Green Bananas

Here's the numbers. 215,000 people in the US have tested positive for the coronavirus. One month ago, on February 29th, the US had its first death. Four days ago that number hit 1,000 deaths. Two days later, the number hit 2,000 deaths. Four days later, today, it is 4,620

Governor Cuomo, America's governor, said the peak will be in two to three weeks, according to health experts. That's the peak, not the end.

Stay home. It isn't a big change for me, but it is for most. You've spent a long time and a lot of money making your home comfortable and nice to be in. Now is the time to reap those rewards.

Keep your sense of humor. An old friend, a photographer buddy, had cancer. He was undergoing chemo. His doctor asked how he was doing. Sammy said he bought a box of 700 Q-tips.

Buy a box of 700 Q-tips. Buy green bananas. Dance in the rain.

As for me, I bought lamps. I hung a few of my photos. It is getting there. Maybe next month I'll think about buying a TV even. And I don't care much for TV. But that's how optimistic I am.

How to Cook a Bagel

I am a new bachelor.  As such, and being a retired analyst, I can figure things out that no one else can.  When I do, I will share my new found knowledge with you all.

Today it is How to Cook a Bagel, for men.

I used to buy "pre-sliced" bagels.  C'mon.  Who are they kidding?  They are, more accurately, almost pre-sliced.  You still need to saw them apart with a butter knife.  Or get angry and rip them apart.  That does no one any good, trust me.

So I was pondering this the other day.  If only someone had invented a bagel slicer for home.  I could do it, but I am retired and I don't have that much ambition anymore.  But it would be a simple device.  A part that you stick the bagel in, and another guillotine part that cuts that sucker right in two.

I was ruminating on this while staring at my laptop.  On a whim, I went to my go-to place of all things.  Amazon.  Sure enough, some other guy with the same idea but more ambition made one.  Well, actually, it seems that dozens of bachelors had the same idea, because Amazon was knee deep in bagel slicers.  I chose one named "Winco BGS-1 Commercial Manual Bagel Slicer".  Why?

Well, first of all, it is manual and I need the exercise.  It is not gas powered because that would not fit well in my senior apartment complex.

It is commercial grade.  That means it is better than domestic grade.

It slices bagels.

So it arrived.  I freeze my bagels, and when I cooked them in the past I would stick them in the microwave for a minute to defrost them before ripping them in half.  So I did that.  I took one out of the freezer, microwaved it, and stuck it in my state-of-the-art commercial quality bagel slicer.  I had to wait a minute for the bagel to cool first.

But finally, I grabbed it, stuck it in the commercial grade bagel slicer, and promptly drove it into a mushy wad of bagel dough.

It seems that microwaving a bagel makes it bagel slicer resistant.  Time for a new tactic.

I took a couple of bagels and stuck them in a sandwich baggie and set them on top of that big white square thing in the kitchen that someone told me was an "oven".  Whatever.

This is a photo documentary of what happened, just for you men that have no clue.  It can be done.

Number one.  Assemble the parts.  Slicer, plate, bagel.  That's it.  Three parts.  If you forget something, make it the plate.  Because otherwise this will not work.

Step two.  Insert bagel into the slicer.  If you kept it, you might want to refer to the user's guide.

Step three.  Slice bagel.  This part is very satisfying.  You do this while pressing down on the top part while making a screaming sound.

Step four.  Remove bagel.  Step back.  Admire your work.  It is a thing of beauty.

Step five.  Approach toaster.  Open door.  Insert bagels thusly.  This is important.  Close the door.

Step six.  Inspect knobs.  Those round things.  After that pizza fiasco, we don't want this to happen again.

So make SURE it is set on "toast" and not "broil".  Note the knob on the bottom.  It is set to that black square thing.  In toaster language, that means "toast".  The knob above it is set to "toast".  I have no idea what "bake/toast" means.  And I don't want to find out.  I could look in the manual but I threw that out when I opened the box when it was delivered.  Real men don't read manuals.

An orange light will appear.   It doesn't blink, like a turn signal.  It's just an orange light.  This is of no concern.

Step seven.  The toaster will emit a ding sound.  This is the toaster's way of letting you know your bagel is done.  As done as it is going to get.  Open door, remove bagel.  Place upon plate.

Step eight.  Apply honey-walnut cream cheese with a butter knife.  I know, but it works with honey-walnut cream cheese.  I've searched all over Amazon for a honey-walnut cream cheese knife and no one has apparently invented one yet.

Eat.

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