Especially a big, honkin' one on a pedestal with three light settings and a magnifying side that works like a microscope. That's the surprise gift my friend, Patty, gave me when she came to visit this week. She'd told me over the phone that she had something for me that "you'll hate me for when you see it, but will love me for after you use it". Well, I already love Patty. I've loved her since we met in the sixth grade. She's my friend from way back. But the giant mirror is really testing this friendship.
I was very anxious to use it the next morning while applying makeup. Patty said it really helped while working on the eyes with shadow and mascara. So, I plug the thing in, tap the base three times for the ultimate light, then peered into the magnified mirror for the shock of my life. I knew I had a mustache but didn't know it could be styled. Where did all those black hairs come from? And my face! I don't think the moon has that many craters! I saw trenches, pits, sun spots, and broken capillaries that made my face look like the map of Texas. And I have a unibrow when I thought I had two nicely shaped eyebrows. I don't even want to mention nose hair. Yuck.
Ever so slowly, I recovered from shock long enough to use the mirror for its intended purpose. I rubbed and rubbed the foundation into my skin, wondering why it wouldn't smooth. Maybe it never had and I hadn't noticed. But my trusty mirror pointed out every application flaw. Then it was time to do my eyes. How does anyone get shadow on lids like that? No wonder I can't see. My lids droop. I got ready a lot faster when I didn't know I looked thrown together.
Patty is a precious friend who spoils me rotten. She comes over so often bearing gifts. I have about 120 bottles of perfume and most came from her. Besides the perfume, she has spoiled me with clothes, jewelry, purses and shoes. She buys gifts that appeal to my senses. Therefore, I'm not surprised that she gave the mirror for my sense of sight. But I do see two extremes here. While a bottle of perfume can arouse the sense of smell with a floral bouquet of fragrance, the mirror showed me a stranger. A stranger I didn't want to know. A stranger who made me think of some of the characters from the Wizard of Oz. Maybe even the Bride of Frankenstein.
"You will hate me, then love me," Patty had said. I do love you, my friend. But I'll love you more if you will stick to my sense of smell. The mirror is too much.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Caution: Danger Zone
That is now the new name for my kitchen. I enter at my own risk. I ventured in there to make what I thought was a simple lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and walked out with a band-aid on each hand.
The cutting board was the first item to attack me. My block of cheddar cheese was sitting on it as I used the cheese slicer. As my hand came down my middle finger on my right hand connected with the lip on the cutting board. It hurt, but I kept on slicing cheese until I saw blood splurting all over the place and saw the broken blood vessel. I tried to contain the flow of blood long enough for Robin to apply a band-aid.
Now bandaged, I go back to slicing cheese and bang the same finger on the lip of the board again, rendering the band-aid useless. We applied another band-aid and finally ate grilled cheese sandwiches.
Then, it was clean-up time. I reached into the sink to rinse the dishes I'd washed and a paring knife pricked a finger on my left hand. Again, the blood came. Again, another band-aid. By this time, of course, I believe that God is trying to tell me something: "Stay out of the kitchen!" It's an absolute danger zone when one considers the amount of lethal weapons that are in that small space. There are ovens, stoves, knives, and even cutting boards. I'm thinking seriously about going on a strike. Imagine the chaos if I should decide on a more gourmet meal like Hamburger Helper instead of simple grilled cheese!
As I deal with two sore fingers and one that continues to pop open and require a new band-aid, I am convinced that I'm not a good candidate for kitchen duty. I'm in favor of calling in delivery or frequenting all the area restaurants. This is not an indulgence, but a life or death matter for me. I don't want to enter the kitchen in fear, afraid the flour canister will drop on my toes, crushing them. I don't want to be burned, stuck, stabbed, and beaten by all the innocent looking utensils that reside in my kitchen. I'm serious, this is war.
It would be wise if all of us took a poster board and wrote "Caution: Danger Zone" in bright red letters and attached it to the refrigerator. Unless you're an adventurer or risk-taker, there is no need to subject ourselves to such bodily mutilation. Take it from me, a victim of the cutting board and paring knife, and save yourself some grief. Order in tonight!
The cutting board was the first item to attack me. My block of cheddar cheese was sitting on it as I used the cheese slicer. As my hand came down my middle finger on my right hand connected with the lip on the cutting board. It hurt, but I kept on slicing cheese until I saw blood splurting all over the place and saw the broken blood vessel. I tried to contain the flow of blood long enough for Robin to apply a band-aid.
Now bandaged, I go back to slicing cheese and bang the same finger on the lip of the board again, rendering the band-aid useless. We applied another band-aid and finally ate grilled cheese sandwiches.
Then, it was clean-up time. I reached into the sink to rinse the dishes I'd washed and a paring knife pricked a finger on my left hand. Again, the blood came. Again, another band-aid. By this time, of course, I believe that God is trying to tell me something: "Stay out of the kitchen!" It's an absolute danger zone when one considers the amount of lethal weapons that are in that small space. There are ovens, stoves, knives, and even cutting boards. I'm thinking seriously about going on a strike. Imagine the chaos if I should decide on a more gourmet meal like Hamburger Helper instead of simple grilled cheese!
As I deal with two sore fingers and one that continues to pop open and require a new band-aid, I am convinced that I'm not a good candidate for kitchen duty. I'm in favor of calling in delivery or frequenting all the area restaurants. This is not an indulgence, but a life or death matter for me. I don't want to enter the kitchen in fear, afraid the flour canister will drop on my toes, crushing them. I don't want to be burned, stuck, stabbed, and beaten by all the innocent looking utensils that reside in my kitchen. I'm serious, this is war.
It would be wise if all of us took a poster board and wrote "Caution: Danger Zone" in bright red letters and attached it to the refrigerator. Unless you're an adventurer or risk-taker, there is no need to subject ourselves to such bodily mutilation. Take it from me, a victim of the cutting board and paring knife, and save yourself some grief. Order in tonight!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
My Boy/Man
How does a woman know she is married to a boy?
I told Robin about a toy our 5-year-old grandson got for Christmas.
His response?
"How come I never get anything like that?"
I was hoping to buy for a grown man, maybe???
I told Robin about a toy our 5-year-old grandson got for Christmas.
His response?
"How come I never get anything like that?"
I was hoping to buy for a grown man, maybe???
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
The Joys of Marriage, XIV
Laundry: I'm not exactly what one would call a fanatic when it comes to laundry. My cabinets above the washer and dryer don't contain ten different kinds of powder, bleach, and fabric softener. However, I do have my own way of doing laundry. It's rather simple and standard but it gets the clothes clean.
When I married Robin I saw a new way to do laundry. He doesn't sort the clothes. He fills the machine with whites, darks and towels. This method really eliminates some needless steps, right? And there's nothing like wearing a black shirt with towel fuzz all over it.
I'm the one who does the laundry in our family, but there are occasions when Robin feels he needs to run a load. Since he has a home office and I don't, he can sneak in a load while I'm away. Imagine my surprise when I come home to a freshly washed blouse that still has makeup stains on the collar and was dried in the dryer, making it two sizes too small. He doesn't understand my reaction. I point out that I know which blouses need a stain remover and which ones fare better drying on a laundry rack. Ok, he promises not to mess with my clothes again. But he continues washing his clothes with a towel or two thrown in if the mood hits him to do laundry.
I have certain laundry days and I'm faithful about them. The clothes get done on those days, regardless of whatever else is happening in my life. I plan for the laundry, therefore I'm there with a listening ear for the buzz of the dryer. I know that certain items need to be hung immediately in order to cut down on my ironing time. When Robin decides he needs his favorite pair of jeans washed, along with enough other things to make a full load, he does it on his schedule instead of mine. The result is that while I'm cooking dinner the buzzer goes off and no one is running into the laundry room. So the dryer is turned on again later to fluff the clothes. Perhaps even for a third time. When it isn't my laundry day, I'm not in that mode and haven't planned my day around the dryer. The clothes usually come out wrinkled since Robin may know how to turn on the machines but hasn't learned all that the buzzer signifies.
Since he knows not to include my clothes in his random laundry days, it's really not a big problem in our home. I often wonder if men deliberately screw up the sorting of clothes so that we will ban them from the laundry room. Makes perfect sense to me. As it is, we still have to deal with pockets that weren't completely emptied, rolled up sleeves and socks, and looking for stains they never knew were there. Recently, I forgot to check one pocket in his windbreaker and found a tube of warm lip balm in the dryer. Had the top come off, we would have had grease on everything.
There are just some things women would prefer doing themselves. At least I know once laundry is done that I will still be able to fit into a favorite top. I've been known to ruin a few of Robin's shirts in the dryer. Fortunately, he gets mad at the manufacturer instead of me. He insists that all clothes should be able to stand the heat of the dryer and to throw in all his shirts. I'm glad he doesn't blame me for the mishaps. I know how I'd feel toward him if the situation was reversed, which is why I do the laundry.
When I married Robin I saw a new way to do laundry. He doesn't sort the clothes. He fills the machine with whites, darks and towels. This method really eliminates some needless steps, right? And there's nothing like wearing a black shirt with towel fuzz all over it.
I'm the one who does the laundry in our family, but there are occasions when Robin feels he needs to run a load. Since he has a home office and I don't, he can sneak in a load while I'm away. Imagine my surprise when I come home to a freshly washed blouse that still has makeup stains on the collar and was dried in the dryer, making it two sizes too small. He doesn't understand my reaction. I point out that I know which blouses need a stain remover and which ones fare better drying on a laundry rack. Ok, he promises not to mess with my clothes again. But he continues washing his clothes with a towel or two thrown in if the mood hits him to do laundry.
I have certain laundry days and I'm faithful about them. The clothes get done on those days, regardless of whatever else is happening in my life. I plan for the laundry, therefore I'm there with a listening ear for the buzz of the dryer. I know that certain items need to be hung immediately in order to cut down on my ironing time. When Robin decides he needs his favorite pair of jeans washed, along with enough other things to make a full load, he does it on his schedule instead of mine. The result is that while I'm cooking dinner the buzzer goes off and no one is running into the laundry room. So the dryer is turned on again later to fluff the clothes. Perhaps even for a third time. When it isn't my laundry day, I'm not in that mode and haven't planned my day around the dryer. The clothes usually come out wrinkled since Robin may know how to turn on the machines but hasn't learned all that the buzzer signifies.
Since he knows not to include my clothes in his random laundry days, it's really not a big problem in our home. I often wonder if men deliberately screw up the sorting of clothes so that we will ban them from the laundry room. Makes perfect sense to me. As it is, we still have to deal with pockets that weren't completely emptied, rolled up sleeves and socks, and looking for stains they never knew were there. Recently, I forgot to check one pocket in his windbreaker and found a tube of warm lip balm in the dryer. Had the top come off, we would have had grease on everything.
There are just some things women would prefer doing themselves. At least I know once laundry is done that I will still be able to fit into a favorite top. I've been known to ruin a few of Robin's shirts in the dryer. Fortunately, he gets mad at the manufacturer instead of me. He insists that all clothes should be able to stand the heat of the dryer and to throw in all his shirts. I'm glad he doesn't blame me for the mishaps. I know how I'd feel toward him if the situation was reversed, which is why I do the laundry.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
The Perfect Gift?
I don't know when I have received a Christmas gift I have enjoyed more. Robin and I were doing our Christmas shopping when I was sidetracked by a shoe store. Bored by that common problem, he told me he'd meet up with me at Spencer Gifts. I walked in just as the cashier was bagging a gift for me. Knowing that Spencer Gifts can range from vulgar to exotic, I asked him: "Did you buy for the woman you have or the woman you want?". He just smiled.
My curiosity and a touch of disappointment took hold of me Christmas Eve when I found a battery in my stocking. Since I knew he'd bought one present at Spencer Gifts, I could only imagine what the battery was for. I continued opening gifts, then Robin told me to open a fun one. I asked if it was from Spencer and he nodded. I did not expect what was inside. It was a Fart Machine!
Robin loaded the battery and pushed the button on the remote. The funniest sounds issued forth. I rolled on the floor laughing, with tears rolling down my face, as Robin laughed hysterically at my reaction. The proud moment came when I was in complete control of the remote. I pushed and pushed the button, all the while as laughter erupted. What is it about a fart sound that cracks us up? I know I'm not the only one who lacks refinement, for many have laughed at my new toy. It was a hit at other Christmases we've had and I took it to work and had fun with it there.
The best part is the laughter felt so good. I'm one of those who gets so stressed during the Christmas season. I wanted to post a "Bah, Humbug" on my blog but never found the time. I love Christmas but in my quest to shop for everyone and make the occasion perfect I tend to lose some of what the holiday is all about. Not that it has anything to do with my little machine and its funny noises, but it loosened me up and made me laugh. And I've been laughing since! I came home from work today and had my housekeeper laughing as I pushed the button to produce all the varying sounds of a fart.
You may be thinking at this point that Robin doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, something I've thought a time or two myself. But when I could finally lay down the remote and open the last gift, I saw the romantic, loving side of my husband that I adore. He gave me a pink sapphire and diamond ring. I've long yearned for a pink sapphire.
So, amid the gifts he gave me sits a Fart Machine, and my finger is adorned with a beautiful ring. I'd say he bought for the woman he has. Thanks, Babe!
My curiosity and a touch of disappointment took hold of me Christmas Eve when I found a battery in my stocking. Since I knew he'd bought one present at Spencer Gifts, I could only imagine what the battery was for. I continued opening gifts, then Robin told me to open a fun one. I asked if it was from Spencer and he nodded. I did not expect what was inside. It was a Fart Machine!
Robin loaded the battery and pushed the button on the remote. The funniest sounds issued forth. I rolled on the floor laughing, with tears rolling down my face, as Robin laughed hysterically at my reaction. The proud moment came when I was in complete control of the remote. I pushed and pushed the button, all the while as laughter erupted. What is it about a fart sound that cracks us up? I know I'm not the only one who lacks refinement, for many have laughed at my new toy. It was a hit at other Christmases we've had and I took it to work and had fun with it there.
The best part is the laughter felt so good. I'm one of those who gets so stressed during the Christmas season. I wanted to post a "Bah, Humbug" on my blog but never found the time. I love Christmas but in my quest to shop for everyone and make the occasion perfect I tend to lose some of what the holiday is all about. Not that it has anything to do with my little machine and its funny noises, but it loosened me up and made me laugh. And I've been laughing since! I came home from work today and had my housekeeper laughing as I pushed the button to produce all the varying sounds of a fart.
You may be thinking at this point that Robin doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, something I've thought a time or two myself. But when I could finally lay down the remote and open the last gift, I saw the romantic, loving side of my husband that I adore. He gave me a pink sapphire and diamond ring. I've long yearned for a pink sapphire.
So, amid the gifts he gave me sits a Fart Machine, and my finger is adorned with a beautiful ring. I'd say he bought for the woman he has. Thanks, Babe!
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Birthdays in Bandera
Cheryl and I have reserved our annual condo week to celebrate our January 22 and February 22 birthdays. This will be our fourth trip to the condo in Bandera in the Texas Hill Country. We've been other places but this is our favorite. Being on a hill in the winter with the babbling brook just beyond our balcony makes for a very relaxing stay.
February is Cheryl's busiest time at work so we have chosen January or March to be the months for this exciting trip. This time, we leave January 20 and return on the 27th. I'll be there over my birthday and I can't think of a better way to celebrate than total relaxation with a cherished friend. Our trips aren't planned for sightseeing or visiting famous landmarks. Since we see each other once a year we want to visit with each other, play table games, eat junk food, and stay in our pajamas. Bandera is the Cowboy Capitol of the World and that title is totally wasted on us. We seldom wear makeup or style our hair. As I stated before, the purpose of the trip is enjoying a friendship in a relaxed environment. Daily naps are part of this relaxing ritual!
The pictures here are from last year's trip. Actually, all our trips have about the same pictures. The only change is the pajamas we usually get each other for Christmas in anticipation of our trip.
For the next five weeks Cheryl and I will be goofy on the Yahoo Messenger. It will be a time of excitement as we enter into "Bandera Countdown". We write "Oh Boy" in a large font style, along with many other phrases that describe our excitement. Bandera has become a word of many meanings for us. It's not just a place we love to go, but the word itself has a calming effect on us. If we are stressed we write "Bandera!" and the other understands what that means. Life has gotten hectic and we need a dose of Bandera.
We've wondered about the possibility of making Bandera a 51-week stay and go home for one week. Then we realize our husbands might not stand for that. On the other hand, they might.
Countdown to Bandera! Bandera, here we come!
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Happy Birthday, Robin!
We are celebrating Robin's 59th birthday today. I guess I will keep him another year. However, when he reaches 60 I might have to look at the situation again.
Our plans are to shop for jeans tonight. That's what he wants for his birthday. Then we will go to dinner and he will feast on lobster and I will have filet mignon.
Angela, you might like to know that I totally forgot to bake him a cake, something I might have to make up for tomorrow. I know you haven't forgotten the year I didn't bake your cake on time. No one should have a December birthday. There's so much going on that we miss very important things!
Happy birthday, Robin! And I thought you were old when I married you and you were 50! I love you, Babe. I look forward to many more birthdays with you.
Our plans are to shop for jeans tonight. That's what he wants for his birthday. Then we will go to dinner and he will feast on lobster and I will have filet mignon.
Angela, you might like to know that I totally forgot to bake him a cake, something I might have to make up for tomorrow. I know you haven't forgotten the year I didn't bake your cake on time. No one should have a December birthday. There's so much going on that we miss very important things!
Happy birthday, Robin! And I thought you were old when I married you and you were 50! I love you, Babe. I look forward to many more birthdays with you.
Friday, December 15, 2006
The Joys of Marriage, XIII
Sleeping habits: Robin and I are night owls and usually get a surge of energy around 8:00 pm. Neither of us snores so bedtime is peaceful, other than the cat nuzzling our faces during the night. Mornings are a whole different story. One of us wakes up, one doesn't.
I'm the one who has a hard time dragging my lazy butt out of the bed. In the beginning, it was Robin. He had to have two cups of coffee before I could say "good morning" to him. Somewhere along the way, it changed. And it changed drastically.
Now it's Robin telling me to either hit the snooze button or get up. This goes on through about 4 snooze button punches. My wake-up call is from the radio by my bed. Robin uses Garfield who is across the room and he has to actually get up to hit snooze. So, we're listening to the oldies and Garfield yelling "time to get up, sleepy head, time to get up". Or if Robin hits snooze, we hear "OK, go back to bed, sleep longer." It's annoying, but I bought the Garfield clock for him when we were dating. I never expected to live with it.
When Garfield is finally shut up for the day, Robin makes coffee and brings it to me in bed. I used to do that for him, but times have changed. I'm comatose in the mornings. And I need peace and quiet when I finally do get up. I want to sit there and sip coffee while my eyelids are trying desperately to open, all in a peaceful environment. It doesn't happen. Mornings are the time when the mischieveous little boy in Robin wakes up and wants to play.
"Are you awake yet?" I mumble that I'm getting there. He asks again. I answer. Then he asks again. I don't answer. We're beating a dead horse here. Then he goes into a long rendition of his nose song while I stew in silence and hope he hasn't come down with a cold. Some mornings he creates his own lyrics to certain songs, such as this one:
You ask me how I knew
Our romance was through
It must have been the guys
I saw between your ...
Well, you get the picture. This morning he jumped in front of me to block my path every time I moved, shut me in the closet, and sang "Happy Trails to You" in the shower. I should have lived with him first.
Robin says he's having fun because he never had a childhood. "Don't childhoods end after 18 years?", I ask him. Besides, I've raised three kids and I'm not up to doing it again with an over-grown boy who likes to pester. I'm glad he wakes up in such a good, playful mood, but have some consideration for those of us who don't. He thinks I'm old and stuffy, I think he's immature. Thankfully, we don't let these differences destroy our relationship.
As the day wears on, the little boy in him is still playful while the man in him is peeking through with a look I know well. I try to make the transition between the two and it's confusing. I love the many sides of my husband but shutting one down and putting my focus on another is hard. It's the age-old difference between men and women and what floats their boats.
Unfortunately, there are often negative consequences to hanging onto childhood. I wish there was a snooze button that could be pushed that would put us all on the same page. Sometimes I still see the little boy in front of me when he asks, "Aren't you in the mood?"
There's only one answer I can give. "I'm not a pedophile."
I'm the one who has a hard time dragging my lazy butt out of the bed. In the beginning, it was Robin. He had to have two cups of coffee before I could say "good morning" to him. Somewhere along the way, it changed. And it changed drastically.
Now it's Robin telling me to either hit the snooze button or get up. This goes on through about 4 snooze button punches. My wake-up call is from the radio by my bed. Robin uses Garfield who is across the room and he has to actually get up to hit snooze. So, we're listening to the oldies and Garfield yelling "time to get up, sleepy head, time to get up". Or if Robin hits snooze, we hear "OK, go back to bed, sleep longer." It's annoying, but I bought the Garfield clock for him when we were dating. I never expected to live with it.
When Garfield is finally shut up for the day, Robin makes coffee and brings it to me in bed. I used to do that for him, but times have changed. I'm comatose in the mornings. And I need peace and quiet when I finally do get up. I want to sit there and sip coffee while my eyelids are trying desperately to open, all in a peaceful environment. It doesn't happen. Mornings are the time when the mischieveous little boy in Robin wakes up and wants to play.
"Are you awake yet?" I mumble that I'm getting there. He asks again. I answer. Then he asks again. I don't answer. We're beating a dead horse here. Then he goes into a long rendition of his nose song while I stew in silence and hope he hasn't come down with a cold. Some mornings he creates his own lyrics to certain songs, such as this one:
You ask me how I knew
Our romance was through
It must have been the guys
I saw between your ...
Well, you get the picture. This morning he jumped in front of me to block my path every time I moved, shut me in the closet, and sang "Happy Trails to You" in the shower. I should have lived with him first.
Robin says he's having fun because he never had a childhood. "Don't childhoods end after 18 years?", I ask him. Besides, I've raised three kids and I'm not up to doing it again with an over-grown boy who likes to pester. I'm glad he wakes up in such a good, playful mood, but have some consideration for those of us who don't. He thinks I'm old and stuffy, I think he's immature. Thankfully, we don't let these differences destroy our relationship.
As the day wears on, the little boy in him is still playful while the man in him is peeking through with a look I know well. I try to make the transition between the two and it's confusing. I love the many sides of my husband but shutting one down and putting my focus on another is hard. It's the age-old difference between men and women and what floats their boats.
Unfortunately, there are often negative consequences to hanging onto childhood. I wish there was a snooze button that could be pushed that would put us all on the same page. Sometimes I still see the little boy in front of me when he asks, "Aren't you in the mood?"
There's only one answer I can give. "I'm not a pedophile."
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
The Joys of Marriage, XII
The dishwasher: Every woman I know has a certain way she likes her dishwasher loaded. We know which way provides the most optimum use of the space. The silverware basket is obvious, but the other racks and dividers take some creative nesting.
Nesting is the key word. We place the items in such a way to make room for the next plate or bowl. I have certain places I use just for dinner plates, or just for dessert plates, or just for bowls. The lower rack is for coffee mugs and glasses. Dishes don't even fit right in those racks. So, we know how much will fit into the dishwasher, right down to the last fork.
Of course, this system is interrupted if anyone else opens the dishwasher to place something inside. Often I have to rearrange things because a mug might be placed where two plates would fit if loaded correctly. Robin finds this system of nesting pretty comical.
He's asked me why should he bother putting something in the dishwasher if I'm going to turn around and place it on another rack. I told him I'd rather do that than see the dishes left in the sink. Dishes left in the sink are saying, "I'm too lazy to put this away and I want someone else to do it for me."
While I was recovering from surgery I happened into the kitchen when Robin was filling the dishwasher. He was helping me out so I forced myself to keep my mouth shut. I did, but my facial expression must have been screaming at him for he laughed and told me he knew his "system" was killing me. It was. I saw wasted space that could have been utilized if nesting had been done.
A few days later I was getting some trash out of my car and placed it in the carport trash can. Robin stopped me and told me when a liner isn't in the can, don't use it. He went on to explain that he'd cut holes in the bottom of the can so it could drain the rain water. Without the liner, my trash might go through the holes. I asked if that was his equivalent of dishwasher nesting. He laughed and said no, probably because his method made more sense.
I may be picky about my dishwasher, but I believe men are just as picky when it comes to their territory. Want proof? Go to the garage and borrow a tool.
Nesting is the key word. We place the items in such a way to make room for the next plate or bowl. I have certain places I use just for dinner plates, or just for dessert plates, or just for bowls. The lower rack is for coffee mugs and glasses. Dishes don't even fit right in those racks. So, we know how much will fit into the dishwasher, right down to the last fork.
Of course, this system is interrupted if anyone else opens the dishwasher to place something inside. Often I have to rearrange things because a mug might be placed where two plates would fit if loaded correctly. Robin finds this system of nesting pretty comical.
He's asked me why should he bother putting something in the dishwasher if I'm going to turn around and place it on another rack. I told him I'd rather do that than see the dishes left in the sink. Dishes left in the sink are saying, "I'm too lazy to put this away and I want someone else to do it for me."
While I was recovering from surgery I happened into the kitchen when Robin was filling the dishwasher. He was helping me out so I forced myself to keep my mouth shut. I did, but my facial expression must have been screaming at him for he laughed and told me he knew his "system" was killing me. It was. I saw wasted space that could have been utilized if nesting had been done.
A few days later I was getting some trash out of my car and placed it in the carport trash can. Robin stopped me and told me when a liner isn't in the can, don't use it. He went on to explain that he'd cut holes in the bottom of the can so it could drain the rain water. Without the liner, my trash might go through the holes. I asked if that was his equivalent of dishwasher nesting. He laughed and said no, probably because his method made more sense.
I may be picky about my dishwasher, but I believe men are just as picky when it comes to their territory. Want proof? Go to the garage and borrow a tool.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Happy Anniversary, Brian & Allison!
We had a beautiful Christmas wedding 11 years ago today when Brian and Allison tied the knot. Now, 11 years later, they have three beautiful children, a beautiful home, and the credit of filling our lives with happiness.
Happy anniversary, you two! We wish you many more! (Side note: Papa and I get to keep Jude and Baylee while the happy couple go to dinner. Sophia, who depends on her Mommy for food, will tag along with them.)
Happy anniversary, you two! We wish you many more! (Side note: Papa and I get to keep Jude and Baylee while the happy couple go to dinner. Sophia, who depends on her Mommy for food, will tag along with them.)
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Happy Birthday, Angela!
I gave birth to my last child, another beautiful daughter, 31 years ago today, December 9. What a joy she continues to be! Just wish I had a picture to share as my Kodak program is acting up. However, we all know I have beautiful kids! I love you, Punkin! Happy birthday!
Monday, December 04, 2006
Honest Abe
Patty and I began another slumber party weekend by dining at my favorite Mexican restaurant. Since I was short on one dollar bills, when it came time to pay I handed two $20s to our waitress. The bill was only just over $20 but I needed the ones to leave a tip. Imagine my surprise when I counted my change! I had the $19 and the few cents change, but also under the ticket was my two $20s. Ah ha! Not only do I get a free meal, but I get an extra bit of cash for my wallet.
As luck would have it, the "good" in me surfaced and I flagged down the waitress. When I handed her the money she hugged me and told me she loved me. Since she's been waiting on me for years I guess she felt comfortable enough to show her gratitude in that way.
Actually, "good" runs in our family. Allison was at an ATM machine recently and noticed the previous transaction hadn't been closed and she was asked if she wanted to withdraw money. Being a daughter of mine, of course she punched the "no" button and someone else's card was given to her. She went to a teller's window and turned in the lost card. How many people would have taken advantage of the situation and considered Christmas shopping a done deal? That is, unless the unfortunate soul stumbled upon my ATM card.
Being honest is not a lost virtue afterall. If the Golden Rule was always followed, crime would be a thing of the past. Consider how many police would then be on welfare.
As luck would have it, the "good" in me surfaced and I flagged down the waitress. When I handed her the money she hugged me and told me she loved me. Since she's been waiting on me for years I guess she felt comfortable enough to show her gratitude in that way.
Actually, "good" runs in our family. Allison was at an ATM machine recently and noticed the previous transaction hadn't been closed and she was asked if she wanted to withdraw money. Being a daughter of mine, of course she punched the "no" button and someone else's card was given to her. She went to a teller's window and turned in the lost card. How many people would have taken advantage of the situation and considered Christmas shopping a done deal? That is, unless the unfortunate soul stumbled upon my ATM card.
Being honest is not a lost virtue afterall. If the Golden Rule was always followed, crime would be a thing of the past. Consider how many police would then be on welfare.
The Joys of Marriage, XI
Thermostat wars: It amazes me how a small mechinism that controls the climate can come between two self-proclaimed adults. Winter is a time of marital tension in our home. Robin raises the thermostat to a sweltering 72+ degrees and I lower it to a bearable (perhaps chilling) 67 or less. Most of these adjustments are done in secret. Of course, the truth is soon out when one of us starts complaining that it's hot or cold.
Naturally, we both think we have valid reasons for our differing opinions. Robin says he's always been cold-natured and should be warm and comfortable in his own home. I argue that since I pay the electric bill we should lower the thermostat and dress warmer. Wear winter clothes in winter? You've got to be kidding!
So, here comes Robin in a short sleeve T shirt jacking up the thermostat. I ask where his long sleeves are. He doesn't want to wear long sleeves. I ask why he isn't wearing layers on a day when it has dropped to below freezing. I still haven't received a straight answer for that one, unless "You aren't my mother" explains it.
I, on the other hand, am happy to get back into my winter clothes after having tired of my summer ones. And I think it's ridiculous to be hot in winter clothes because the house is too warm. How about lowering the thermostat so that winter clothes feel comfortable, and save a little on the electric bill? What a novel idea!
Ah, but the war continues. I'm not trying to be cruel. I honestly believe there are ways to control the unnecessary "over the top" electric bill and still prevent frost bite. If I were to see Robin in layers and shivering, then by all means raise the temp! But when I see him in short sleeves I have to assume the day feels warm to him and he saw no need to wear anything heavier. Does this make sense? Or does it make more sense to pay over $600 a month to stay in summer T shirts?
I might have a partial solution to this annual battle. Now that we are mortgage free, I could pass the electric bill to Robin to pay. My nasal passages will still dry out but he will have to pay to wear those T shirts. Or, he might get a clue once the bucks are coming out of his pocket.
Naturally, we both think we have valid reasons for our differing opinions. Robin says he's always been cold-natured and should be warm and comfortable in his own home. I argue that since I pay the electric bill we should lower the thermostat and dress warmer. Wear winter clothes in winter? You've got to be kidding!
So, here comes Robin in a short sleeve T shirt jacking up the thermostat. I ask where his long sleeves are. He doesn't want to wear long sleeves. I ask why he isn't wearing layers on a day when it has dropped to below freezing. I still haven't received a straight answer for that one, unless "You aren't my mother" explains it.
I, on the other hand, am happy to get back into my winter clothes after having tired of my summer ones. And I think it's ridiculous to be hot in winter clothes because the house is too warm. How about lowering the thermostat so that winter clothes feel comfortable, and save a little on the electric bill? What a novel idea!
Ah, but the war continues. I'm not trying to be cruel. I honestly believe there are ways to control the unnecessary "over the top" electric bill and still prevent frost bite. If I were to see Robin in layers and shivering, then by all means raise the temp! But when I see him in short sleeves I have to assume the day feels warm to him and he saw no need to wear anything heavier. Does this make sense? Or does it make more sense to pay over $600 a month to stay in summer T shirts?
I might have a partial solution to this annual battle. Now that we are mortgage free, I could pass the electric bill to Robin to pay. My nasal passages will still dry out but he will have to pay to wear those T shirts. Or, he might get a clue once the bucks are coming out of his pocket.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Mortgage Free!
Oh, happy day! After 32 years in this house, a pool, a home improvement loan, and refinancing, our home is now paid off in full! The final payment was due December 1, and we have breathed a collective sigh of relief. Unfortunately, the house needs some repairs, some as serious as the foundation, but we haven't decided to do an equity loan yet. We might wallow in the extra monthly cash for a few months. I so want to remodel and add new floors, paint, and furniture. I'd jump right into it if it weren't for the medical bills.
December must be the month for good news. Yet another debt will be paid in full on the 10th. That would be the HAAS machining center at work. All our equipment will be paid for by then. Yippee! Most is passe and we need to update, but, again, I might wallow in the extra cash flow for awhile.
Back to the medical bills, I've always believed we should pay for services rendered. It's not easy for me to accept help or shun financial obligations. However, this was emergency surgery, something I wasn't prepared for due to the high cost of medical insurance. So, please, someone lead me to the person(s) who handles this issue for the illegal immigrants! I'm a citizen who pays taxes and I want the same benefit.
December must be the month for good news. Yet another debt will be paid in full on the 10th. That would be the HAAS machining center at work. All our equipment will be paid for by then. Yippee! Most is passe and we need to update, but, again, I might wallow in the extra cash flow for awhile.
Back to the medical bills, I've always believed we should pay for services rendered. It's not easy for me to accept help or shun financial obligations. However, this was emergency surgery, something I wasn't prepared for due to the high cost of medical insurance. So, please, someone lead me to the person(s) who handles this issue for the illegal immigrants! I'm a citizen who pays taxes and I want the same benefit.
Friday, December 01, 2006
A Picture's Worth 1,000 Words?
My words will have to do, sans any pictures for awhile. We took some cute shots Thanksgiving of Baylee just hanging onto the dog and donkeys, but my Kodak program hasn't been able to load them. The program has always been temperamental and its latest attitude is unnerving.
Actually, I fear the whole computer is about to crash. Icons disappear from the desktop, and strange error messages have become the norm. Neither Robin nor I have a clue about the hard drive. I don't know how a computer works. I'm just happy when it does.
So, until we fix the program or purchase a new computer, I will rely on my words alone. Yes, it could get very boring around here.
Actually, I fear the whole computer is about to crash. Icons disappear from the desktop, and strange error messages have become the norm. Neither Robin nor I have a clue about the hard drive. I don't know how a computer works. I'm just happy when it does.
So, until we fix the program or purchase a new computer, I will rely on my words alone. Yes, it could get very boring around here.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Simon Says, "Buy me!"
Is there an avid reader on your Christmas list? Or, perhaps someone who enjoys fine art? Do you feel good when the bad guy finally gets his due, and good is rewarded? If so, you might want to purchase the Simon Says book set. We all need gift ideas and I wanted to pass along this one.
You may find the books online at your favorite book store, or through me, or through the publisher at www.simonsays1and2.com. This is my first novel and a dream come true. I'm especially proud of my book covers, designed for me by my artist daughter, Angela.
Spread the word this Christmas!
You may find the books online at your favorite book store, or through me, or through the publisher at www.simonsays1and2.com. This is my first novel and a dream come true. I'm especially proud of my book covers, designed for me by my artist daughter, Angela.
Spread the word this Christmas!
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Wednesday's Child
For 10 months I have spent Wednesday afternoons the same way, visiting my friend Maurine in a nursing home. When her only child, Carol, passed away last January a group of us ladies at church decided to take a day of the week to visit her so she'd never have a day without a visitor. This was especially important because Maurine had no other family in this area.
Unfortunately, today will be the first Wednesday that I've missed a trip to see Maurine, other than when I was out of town or recovering from surgery. Maurine fell and broke her left hip only five days ago. I went to see her Sunday in the hospital. She was discouraged and wanted to die. The very next evening, she did.
Each of us who saw her regularly grew to love her very much. We adopted her as a second mother and she adopted us. I was Wednesday's child. I'd walk into her room to either find her sitting in her wheelchair or asleep in her bed. Once I left her a note and told her I'd be back, that she was alseep and I didn't want to wake her. She told me to never do that again. She didn't want to sleep through a visit. After that, I'd wait for awhile, then wake her up. A few times we'd both nod off, but we were together.
Maurine was always alert and very sharp. I enjoyed listening about her life and the rich history she would share. She was a Daddy's Girl and told me often how much she loved her "Poppa". "I was his constant shadow," she told me more than once. She told me how she met her husband, Monroe, at college, how she had worked at the broom factory as a young woman, and the birth of her daughter. And there were times when she became quiet and whispered that she missed Monroe and Carol so much. How sad to be the surviving member of your family. We all knew we couldn't replace the daughter she lost, but we hoped to fill some corner of her aching heart.
Maurine's taste for food changed drastically as she grew older and few things appealed to her. Nutritional drinks kept her alive, and the small samplings of mashed potatoes, cream corn, cereal, and plain yogurt. Plain yogurt in small cartons were hard to find, so I'd end up many times buying the large carton and asking a nurse at the front desk to store it for Maurine. Robin would label the carton with her name and draw a smiley face. Maurine would reach for the carton every time I carried in a new one to see what picture Robin had drawn this time. It was a small thing, but it cheered her.
I remember the time she was eating her yogurt and kept getting a spasm in her hand. I finally reached for the spoon and fed her. "I can't believe someone would actually feed me," she said.
"I've had three kids," I told her. "I'm used to it."
"I still can't believe someone cares enough to do it."
"Just be glad I'm not doing this with every bite." I then waved the spoon in the air and said "Open wide! Here it comes!."
That produced a laugh from both of us.
Maurine was one of the few in the nursing home who still had all her faculties. I was a soft touch for those crying out for help or just needing someone to listen. Maurine would dismiss them with a wave of her hand, telling me they are crazy and I should pay no attention to them. Turning away made me feel cold blooded, but I was there to see my friend and I wanted her to know it.
Yes, today will be different. There will be no visit to the nursing home. I won't miss that pitiful environment, the odd smells, or those who walk around aimlessly. But I did look forward to walking into room 610 and being greeted with Maurine's smile. I will miss that, and her tough, hearty outlook on life, her sense of humor, and her friendship. Maurine would have been 90 in December. She was looking forward to that milestone. How sad that the pain from a broken hip destroyed her will to live, just as Carol's death had done last January.
Those three days in the hospital she told all of us over and over that she wanted to die. I told her that God is in control and to trust in Him. I was crying as I held her hand, then had to laugh inwardly as she told a nurse to go away, then turned directly to me and said she loved me.
That was Maurine. Wednesday's child will miss her.
Unfortunately, today will be the first Wednesday that I've missed a trip to see Maurine, other than when I was out of town or recovering from surgery. Maurine fell and broke her left hip only five days ago. I went to see her Sunday in the hospital. She was discouraged and wanted to die. The very next evening, she did.
Each of us who saw her regularly grew to love her very much. We adopted her as a second mother and she adopted us. I was Wednesday's child. I'd walk into her room to either find her sitting in her wheelchair or asleep in her bed. Once I left her a note and told her I'd be back, that she was alseep and I didn't want to wake her. She told me to never do that again. She didn't want to sleep through a visit. After that, I'd wait for awhile, then wake her up. A few times we'd both nod off, but we were together.
Maurine was always alert and very sharp. I enjoyed listening about her life and the rich history she would share. She was a Daddy's Girl and told me often how much she loved her "Poppa". "I was his constant shadow," she told me more than once. She told me how she met her husband, Monroe, at college, how she had worked at the broom factory as a young woman, and the birth of her daughter. And there were times when she became quiet and whispered that she missed Monroe and Carol so much. How sad to be the surviving member of your family. We all knew we couldn't replace the daughter she lost, but we hoped to fill some corner of her aching heart.
Maurine's taste for food changed drastically as she grew older and few things appealed to her. Nutritional drinks kept her alive, and the small samplings of mashed potatoes, cream corn, cereal, and plain yogurt. Plain yogurt in small cartons were hard to find, so I'd end up many times buying the large carton and asking a nurse at the front desk to store it for Maurine. Robin would label the carton with her name and draw a smiley face. Maurine would reach for the carton every time I carried in a new one to see what picture Robin had drawn this time. It was a small thing, but it cheered her.
I remember the time she was eating her yogurt and kept getting a spasm in her hand. I finally reached for the spoon and fed her. "I can't believe someone would actually feed me," she said.
"I've had three kids," I told her. "I'm used to it."
"I still can't believe someone cares enough to do it."
"Just be glad I'm not doing this with every bite." I then waved the spoon in the air and said "Open wide! Here it comes!."
That produced a laugh from both of us.
Maurine was one of the few in the nursing home who still had all her faculties. I was a soft touch for those crying out for help or just needing someone to listen. Maurine would dismiss them with a wave of her hand, telling me they are crazy and I should pay no attention to them. Turning away made me feel cold blooded, but I was there to see my friend and I wanted her to know it.
Yes, today will be different. There will be no visit to the nursing home. I won't miss that pitiful environment, the odd smells, or those who walk around aimlessly. But I did look forward to walking into room 610 and being greeted with Maurine's smile. I will miss that, and her tough, hearty outlook on life, her sense of humor, and her friendship. Maurine would have been 90 in December. She was looking forward to that milestone. How sad that the pain from a broken hip destroyed her will to live, just as Carol's death had done last January.
Those three days in the hospital she told all of us over and over that she wanted to die. I told her that God is in control and to trust in Him. I was crying as I held her hand, then had to laugh inwardly as she told a nurse to go away, then turned directly to me and said she loved me.
That was Maurine. Wednesday's child will miss her.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Hanging Onto Hangers
A notice was left on our door announcing that a truck would be on our street to pick up clothing and appliances. I thought this was a good time to clean my closet. I go to the trouble of ironing my tops only to squeeze them into a packed closet. I practically had to close my eyes and throw. I got rid of tops and jeans I'd been hanging onto for years. Most were from the County Seat. How long have they been out of business? I thought I'd fit into the jeans again (jeans are jeans, right?) but decided that although my weight is the same as back then, my shape isn't. So they all got stuffed into bags for pick up, along with a dozen pairs of shoes - something else I collect.
Of course, before I could reach the clothes in the back of the closet I had to organize my scrapbooking papers and tools. That was fun and got my juices flowing again to be somewhat creative and start my grandchildren scrapbook someday soon. Some hobbies will just have to wait until the holidays are over.
The final clean up - after 4 bulging bags are carried to the front door by Robin - is the huge pile of clothes hangers. Anyone who knows me well knows I am anal about clothes hangers. Not so much like daughter Angela who has to have all one color, but my concern is abundance. I fear of running out of hangers. I cringe when Robin grabs one and pulls it apart for some outdoor chore he's doing. I've even been known to twist one back into shape so it can be salvaged. And imagine my delight when I buy a new outfit and they leave it on the hanger for me to take home! I hoard my hangers. I'll never be accused of being Joan Crawford!
Alas, there was no room to store the mountain of hangers that remained on my floor. I forced myself to pick out the better ones and bag the others for trash day. Yes, trash day. I'm actually throwing away alllllll those hangers! Our next trash day is Wednesday so there's still time to change my mind.
So, I'm near tears as I discard my treasure of hangers and Robin walks in with a look of shock on his face. When he found his voice, he said "where's my wife and what have you done with her?" Yes, he knows me well.
Of course, before I could reach the clothes in the back of the closet I had to organize my scrapbooking papers and tools. That was fun and got my juices flowing again to be somewhat creative and start my grandchildren scrapbook someday soon. Some hobbies will just have to wait until the holidays are over.
The final clean up - after 4 bulging bags are carried to the front door by Robin - is the huge pile of clothes hangers. Anyone who knows me well knows I am anal about clothes hangers. Not so much like daughter Angela who has to have all one color, but my concern is abundance. I fear of running out of hangers. I cringe when Robin grabs one and pulls it apart for some outdoor chore he's doing. I've even been known to twist one back into shape so it can be salvaged. And imagine my delight when I buy a new outfit and they leave it on the hanger for me to take home! I hoard my hangers. I'll never be accused of being Joan Crawford!
Alas, there was no room to store the mountain of hangers that remained on my floor. I forced myself to pick out the better ones and bag the others for trash day. Yes, trash day. I'm actually throwing away alllllll those hangers! Our next trash day is Wednesday so there's still time to change my mind.
So, I'm near tears as I discard my treasure of hangers and Robin walks in with a look of shock on his face. When he found his voice, he said "where's my wife and what have you done with her?" Yes, he knows me well.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Sophia Renee
Our precious little Sophia Renee (Renee after her Aunt Angela Renee) arrived today and was greeted by many happy family members. She weighs 8 pounds, 4 ounces, and is 20 inches long. She doesn't have much hair but it's a light brown and could turn blond like her brother, Jude's. She's a very beautiful baby and I'm not just saying that because I'm her Memaw. She's just perfect.
Big sister, Baylee (that sounds so strange!), kept asking if she could "pet Sophia". Jude gave her lots of kisses, but his main concern was caring for his Mama. He looked very important in his "Big Brother" T-shirt. Special visitors today included grandparents Jerry & Sharon, great-grandparents John & Bobbie, Uncle Ron and Thomas. Sophia met a lot of family today. Of course, Memaw and Papa were on hand too.
What a blessing to welcome my 8th grandchild and I thank God for all the wonderful children and grandchildren in my life.
Allison is doing very well other than low blood pressure. She's on cloud nine as she holds her little girl. Proud Daddy Brian is wearing a big smile too. Welcome to our growing family, Sophia. We love you!
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