When we first moved into our new house we were deluged (yes, I really meant to use that word) with offers. Landscapers, just-plain-gardeners, tree trimmers, handymen, cleaning services...
Some of the offers came in the mail along with catalogs of (very expensive) outdoor furniture. Many of the offers were in the form of business cards left under the front mat or in the driveway inside a ziplock of decorative rock. Some of them were actually in person: Ring of the doorbell, potential worker there to present in person.
We have had a cleaning service for 15 years. When Stubble was 5 years old I was in the middle of a period of "when you need something done, ask a busy person". The house was out of control, my asthma was very active - and The Bearded One said, "Why don't we get someone in to clean the house. Just for the next 6 weeks." A friend recommended a service that was willing to take on a "just for right now" job and abracadabra, presto-chango - the house was clean and I stopped wheezing.
At the end of 6 weeks, we had become so enamored of a sparkly clean house that we agreed to give up our big family splurge - breakfast out on the weekends - in return for keeping the cleaning service. They have become like family. One of the ladies attempted to neaten up Stubble by tossing everything on the floor of his bedroom into garbage bags - just as she did for her own son of the same age. And I mean everything. Homework, text books, Pokemon cards, scrap paper....
It didn't work for either son, but she gave it her all.
I had never met her before, but one day at school, Stubble and I bumped into a woman who took a look at us and said, "Oh, I know you! I clean your house!" I immediately said, "Thank you! I couldn't get along without what you do!" And I meant every word of it. If more husbands realized that it isn't chocolate and a bottle of wine but the scent of windex that you didn't have to apply yourself that is the world's best aphrodisiac, we could cut the divorce rate!
We also had a yard service that would come in when a neighbor's tree needed trimming. We had no trees of our own, but the neighbor's trees hung over the yard and created much need for clean up. We would get permission from the neighbor and call "Mr. Jones" and he would take care of the mess on our side of the fence and after the neighbor came to "supervise" the job, often finished up in the neighbor's yard doing their side of the tree. Mr. Jones knows his trees, how and when to trim them, and what we need to do in between his visits to keep the tree healthy.
So when we moved, we brought Mrs. Smith of the cleaning service and Mr. Jones of the lawn service "along with us". Just like all the best rap stars...
except that we're middle aged, and don't have a recording contract - or our initials in diamonds hanging around our necks.
Yo!
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Black Hoodie
With all of the commentary regarding black hooded sweatshirts hitting the internet these days, I feel very contemporary and cutting edge. Fashion Statement? Political Statement? How about "Expediency Statement".
I don't really care if Mark Zuckerberg wears a hoodie to exhibit his contempt for Wall Street, his independent Silicon Valley persona, or because he just is a slob with no fashion sense (as some would have it). I do care very much about Trayvon Martin and his family, but I do not wear a black hoodie in symbolic support.
I have been wearing a black hoodie for about 15 years now. It all started when my sister asked me what I wanted for Christmas. "Something warm that I can wear in the lab," I answered. What I got was a large black hoodie that fit nicely under an extra large lab coat, the lab that I worked in at the time having no heat source except for an autoclave...
The hoodie was comfortable and had the advantage of being supremely washable and non- ruinable...or if it got ruined, I wouldn't cry about it.
Stubble wore a black hoodie because they were only $20 apiece and if he lost one I wouldn't kill him - the jacket that went missing several times and was always (miraculously) recovered cost well over $100 new and that was a source of great stress for me (what WAS his father thinking???). Each time a black hoodie got too faded for him or developed a broken zipper or a paint splash I took it for my "new" lab hoodie.
Except I only needed one sweatshirt for the lab.
Being thrifty, I took to wearing them as jackets for regular wear: Hoodie under jean jacket = winter coat. Hoodie unzipped = early summer morning cover up. Zipped = spring or fall "intermediate wear". It is an all purpose garment.
I love my black hoodie. I wear it all the time. Just don't read anything into it.
I don't really care if Mark Zuckerberg wears a hoodie to exhibit his contempt for Wall Street, his independent Silicon Valley persona, or because he just is a slob with no fashion sense (as some would have it). I do care very much about Trayvon Martin and his family, but I do not wear a black hoodie in symbolic support.
I have been wearing a black hoodie for about 15 years now. It all started when my sister asked me what I wanted for Christmas. "Something warm that I can wear in the lab," I answered. What I got was a large black hoodie that fit nicely under an extra large lab coat, the lab that I worked in at the time having no heat source except for an autoclave...
The hoodie was comfortable and had the advantage of being supremely washable and non- ruinable...or if it got ruined, I wouldn't cry about it.
Stubble wore a black hoodie because they were only $20 apiece and if he lost one I wouldn't kill him - the jacket that went missing several times and was always (miraculously) recovered cost well over $100 new and that was a source of great stress for me (what WAS his father thinking???). Each time a black hoodie got too faded for him or developed a broken zipper or a paint splash I took it for my "new" lab hoodie.
Except I only needed one sweatshirt for the lab.
Being thrifty, I took to wearing them as jackets for regular wear: Hoodie under jean jacket = winter coat. Hoodie unzipped = early summer morning cover up. Zipped = spring or fall "intermediate wear". It is an all purpose garment.
I love my black hoodie. I wear it all the time. Just don't read anything into it.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Fresh From Our Own Garden
I had a wonderful Mother's Day. Ms. Flippers made a custom flower arrangement (she is a prize-winning floral arranger). Stubble (a talented sketch artist) did a floral interp. The Bearded One made my favorite dinner: Garlic Mashed, Asparagus, and Silence of the Leg of Lamb (Alton Brown).
This lamb roast involves a boned leg of lamb (we learned the hard way to just let the butcher do it - it cost almost $200 in various knives and LOTS of practice lamb legs to reach this conclusion). It is painted with a mixture of dijon mustard, brown sugar, garlic and fresh mint. Then it is rolled and tied and cooked slowly over charcoal. A truly yummy feast - but if you follow Alton's recipe, you might want to cut down on the rosemary...we don't use any at all (anymore).
This year, the mint could come right from the herb garden outside the back door.
The Bearded One: "But is doesn't smell very minty." ( holding a sample of what he had picked under my nose)
Me: "That would be because it is Catnip."
This lamb roast involves a boned leg of lamb (we learned the hard way to just let the butcher do it - it cost almost $200 in various knives and LOTS of practice lamb legs to reach this conclusion). It is painted with a mixture of dijon mustard, brown sugar, garlic and fresh mint. Then it is rolled and tied and cooked slowly over charcoal. A truly yummy feast - but if you follow Alton's recipe, you might want to cut down on the rosemary...we don't use any at all (anymore).
This year, the mint could come right from the herb garden outside the back door.
The Bearded One: "But is doesn't smell very minty." ( holding a sample of what he had picked under my nose)
Me: "That would be because it is Catnip."
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Round About and Back...
Once again we begin with backstory. Friday night I attended a concert. I went to support four of my comrades who were performing. Most especially the tall redhead who gave me the flyer and who, unless she is out sick, has the voice that I listen to when I lose pitch in a particularly difficult passage...she never fails me.
The program was one of contatas and was held in a venue that is exceptional: a modern church with good acoustics -most modern churches being either large halls with MUCH electronic sound reinforcement and AV equipment or full of acoustic tile and hard angles where sound goes to die in corners.
On the way back I chose to take "back roads". My family asked "why". I couldn't answer them at the time, but now I know. I don't see at night as well as I used to and there was some little voice in my head saying, "don't take the freeway". It said, "stick to slower back roads where you will get lost in the dark, but there won't be much oncoming traffic to blind you with their headlights." I listened to that little voice and it took me almost an hour and a half to get home from a venue that was 20 minutes away.
I was within a mile of home when I took a wrong turn. I tried to follow a "short cut" that The Bearded One usually takes - it avoids three busy intersections. In the middle of an industrial park, confused by the many large containers parked along the roadside, I turned right when I should have turned left.
When I saw a street sign that I recognised I immediately turned left on on the road, not realizing that I was MUCH farther east than I thought. Taking another (incorrect) turn, I wound up in the middle of a nature preserve that wound around hills and through
marshes with nowhere to turn around. I was saved from complete panic by the fact that there were occasional lights from widely spaced homes that told me that I was not all that far from civilization. Much time passed while I watched the gas gauge and wished that I had filled up that evening rather than waiting until my usual Sunday fill up...
Eventually, I saw lights (including a traffic light). I kept going until I saw a sign for a fire station labelled with its municipality and realized that I had traveled over 20 miles toward the coast. I eventually found my way home and told my family the story of my harrowing journey.
They were unimpressed.
It was a great concert.
The program was one of contatas and was held in a venue that is exceptional: a modern church with good acoustics -most modern churches being either large halls with MUCH electronic sound reinforcement and AV equipment or full of acoustic tile and hard angles where sound goes to die in corners.
On the way back I chose to take "back roads". My family asked "why". I couldn't answer them at the time, but now I know. I don't see at night as well as I used to and there was some little voice in my head saying, "don't take the freeway". It said, "stick to slower back roads where you will get lost in the dark, but there won't be much oncoming traffic to blind you with their headlights." I listened to that little voice and it took me almost an hour and a half to get home from a venue that was 20 minutes away.
I was within a mile of home when I took a wrong turn. I tried to follow a "short cut" that The Bearded One usually takes - it avoids three busy intersections. In the middle of an industrial park, confused by the many large containers parked along the roadside, I turned right when I should have turned left.
When I saw a street sign that I recognised I immediately turned left on on the road, not realizing that I was MUCH farther east than I thought. Taking another (incorrect) turn, I wound up in the middle of a nature preserve that wound around hills and through
marshes with nowhere to turn around. I was saved from complete panic by the fact that there were occasional lights from widely spaced homes that told me that I was not all that far from civilization. Much time passed while I watched the gas gauge and wished that I had filled up that evening rather than waiting until my usual Sunday fill up...
Eventually, I saw lights (including a traffic light). I kept going until I saw a sign for a fire station labelled with its municipality and realized that I had traveled over 20 miles toward the coast. I eventually found my way home and told my family the story of my harrowing journey.
They were unimpressed.
It was a great concert.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Handy
This weekend we bought a little gift for the kitties.
Tuffets (def: a low bench or stool). We have two low windows in the living room that have no window sills to speak of. The cats love to look out of them when there is a nearby box or other handy perch. Which seemed a shame as summer approaches.
So we went tuffet shopping at one of my favorite places to find tables - World Market. I have found a dining table and chairs, side tables and hall tables and a coffee table all of unique design, sturdy build, and reasonable cost - they arrive "some assembly required".
The slat benches that I found were so perfectly dimensioned for the windows as to have been made for them: Two inches shorter than the bottom of the window and the exact width. I bought one for the window that seems to fascinate them most.
The Bearded One had it together within about 15 minutes and Ms. Flippers picked cushions from the selection that I had bought. Yes, I am one of THOSE shoppers. The ones that buy bags of _______________ (pillows, lamp shades, bath mats) (insert the word that best completes the sentence) and then returns what I don't want.
The littlest cat immediately took up a position on one of the cushions and refused to yield, even for her much bigger brother. It is a red letter day when she gets assertive enough to send him on his way.
This brings us to the meat of the story. The second bench:
Ms. Flippers and I agreed that a second bench would "balance the room" and so a second bench was purchased and the excess pillows exchanged for ones of the correct color. Then The Bearded One left for a conference in Houston.
Because I have been married to a very handy man for a long time and because we have done much renovation together, I have acquired some tool skills (I can, for instance, refinish an entire kitchen full of cabinets, hang drywall, and I AM "the varnish queen") so what trouble should one little bench be?
On Sunday morning before I left for choir I set out to assemble the bench. An hour later I was still struggling with screw driver and allen wrench...
Tool wise, I have been raised by an engineer, whose motto is: "Instructions? We don't need no stinking instructions!" (disclaimer: unless the item's pricetag is over $1,000,000). So did I look at the handy instruction book complete with graphic illustrations of the order of assembly? No I did not.
As a result I spent all of that hour attempting to put the 4 bolts into holes intended for screws - taking care to line up the pre-drilled holes using a turkey skewer (most of our tools are still in boxes). Did it occurr to me to LOOK AT THE INSTRUCTIONS?
NO.
Not until I heard the kids stirring and thought, "Do I want Stubble to take over the job, thereby making me feel simultaneously old and useless?"
Looking at the instructions I discovered that the bolts were to go into the second hole in from the bench leg - at which point they dropped right in. Within 10 minutes the rest of the screws were put in and the bench with its cushions was placed in front of the window.
Feeling pretty pleased with myself I began picking up the packing materials.
Then I found the little bag full of lock washers.
Tuffets (def: a low bench or stool). We have two low windows in the living room that have no window sills to speak of. The cats love to look out of them when there is a nearby box or other handy perch. Which seemed a shame as summer approaches.
So we went tuffet shopping at one of my favorite places to find tables - World Market. I have found a dining table and chairs, side tables and hall tables and a coffee table all of unique design, sturdy build, and reasonable cost - they arrive "some assembly required".
The slat benches that I found were so perfectly dimensioned for the windows as to have been made for them: Two inches shorter than the bottom of the window and the exact width. I bought one for the window that seems to fascinate them most.
The Bearded One had it together within about 15 minutes and Ms. Flippers picked cushions from the selection that I had bought. Yes, I am one of THOSE shoppers. The ones that buy bags of _______________ (pillows, lamp shades, bath mats) (insert the word that best completes the sentence) and then returns what I don't want.
The littlest cat immediately took up a position on one of the cushions and refused to yield, even for her much bigger brother. It is a red letter day when she gets assertive enough to send him on his way.
This brings us to the meat of the story. The second bench:
Ms. Flippers and I agreed that a second bench would "balance the room" and so a second bench was purchased and the excess pillows exchanged for ones of the correct color. Then The Bearded One left for a conference in Houston.
Because I have been married to a very handy man for a long time and because we have done much renovation together, I have acquired some tool skills (I can, for instance, refinish an entire kitchen full of cabinets, hang drywall, and I AM "the varnish queen") so what trouble should one little bench be?
On Sunday morning before I left for choir I set out to assemble the bench. An hour later I was still struggling with screw driver and allen wrench...
Tool wise, I have been raised by an engineer, whose motto is: "Instructions? We don't need no stinking instructions!" (disclaimer: unless the item's pricetag is over $1,000,000). So did I look at the handy instruction book complete with graphic illustrations of the order of assembly? No I did not.
As a result I spent all of that hour attempting to put the 4 bolts into holes intended for screws - taking care to line up the pre-drilled holes using a turkey skewer (most of our tools are still in boxes). Did it occurr to me to LOOK AT THE INSTRUCTIONS?
NO.
Not until I heard the kids stirring and thought, "Do I want Stubble to take over the job, thereby making me feel simultaneously old and useless?"
Looking at the instructions I discovered that the bolts were to go into the second hole in from the bench leg - at which point they dropped right in. Within 10 minutes the rest of the screws were put in and the bench with its cushions was placed in front of the window.
Feeling pretty pleased with myself I began picking up the packing materials.
Then I found the little bag full of lock washers.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Stasis
We had reached a point where nothing was going into the new house and nothing was leaving the old house...
I had always wondered why when we moved in to the new place that we had been left, in addition to 2 TV sets and a set of living room furniture; 10 citronella candles, a cupboard full of mismatched food storage containers, and another cupboard full of canning jars. I hereby acknowledge that my punctuation in the last sentence leaves much to be desired. I am just currently too tired to care. Somebody, please correct it and just leave a grade.
At any rate, I now know how this happens. After a month of moving bit by bit you realize that:
1) That you have run out of space in your new place.
2) That you really don't need the things that you haven't moved yet.
Now everything just stays in a steady state.
I did something about that yestereday. I arranged to have a cleaning crew come to the old house to vacuum and dust the walls (particularly inside the closets) so that i can spend the weekend doing touch up painting. I was at the old house until after 9 PM last night moving boxes. The last little bits of what we have left behind. I will be leaving 3 flower pots with dead plants in them (an aloe, some basil, and a cactus), a set of fireplace tools, several waste baskets, and an old but still really nice shower curtain. I just don't need them anymore and don't have the energy to toss them out or send them to charity.
I did take the last of my mismatched food storage containers, though.
I had always wondered why when we moved in to the new place that we had been left, in addition to 2 TV sets and a set of living room furniture; 10 citronella candles, a cupboard full of mismatched food storage containers, and another cupboard full of canning jars. I hereby acknowledge that my punctuation in the last sentence leaves much to be desired. I am just currently too tired to care. Somebody, please correct it and just leave a grade.
At any rate, I now know how this happens. After a month of moving bit by bit you realize that:
1) That you have run out of space in your new place.
2) That you really don't need the things that you haven't moved yet.
Now everything just stays in a steady state.
I did something about that yestereday. I arranged to have a cleaning crew come to the old house to vacuum and dust the walls (particularly inside the closets) so that i can spend the weekend doing touch up painting. I was at the old house until after 9 PM last night moving boxes. The last little bits of what we have left behind. I will be leaving 3 flower pots with dead plants in them (an aloe, some basil, and a cactus), a set of fireplace tools, several waste baskets, and an old but still really nice shower curtain. I just don't need them anymore and don't have the energy to toss them out or send them to charity.
I did take the last of my mismatched food storage containers, though.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Must Haves
In Real Estate, "must haves" are the things that are deal killers in your home search. For most people these days "must haves" seem to be a kitchen with granite countertops, open concept (ie missing support walls and larger beams), and a large master bath with two sinks. For us it was a double oven and a house that "spoke" to us. Well, this house spoke plenty loudly to us but it wasn't until after we made the offer that I discovered that there actually WAS a double oven. Go figure.
After moving in we began to discover "sort of must haves" that were missing..things we didn't even think about until we were faced with not having them - like medicine cabinets.
Case in point: A Medicine Cabinet in the Master Bath.
As we were moving in, The Bearded One said in surprise, "Hey, there's no medicine cabinet in here!" Because there were sconces on the wall we had both managed to miss the fact that there was no little wall cabinet in which to keep toothbrushes, toothpaste, pills and bandaids... You know, the essentials of daily living. The Bearded One was all for rushing right to Home Depot. Which we did. Only the fact that anything suitable would mean either cutting a big hole in the wall or a special order kept us from purchasing something immediately.
After living without a medicine cabinet for two weeks certain things began to occurr to us: I keep my pills on a Rubbermaid turntable in the kitchen (so that I pack them along with my lunch each morning). I don't need a medicine cabinet for that. We have NEVER put toothpaste in the medicine cabinet - not in all the years that we have been married! We don't need a medicine cabinet for that. Toothbrushes have always gone into a toothbrush holder where they will dry completely so as not to breed more germs than necessary. We don't need a medicine cabinet for that. The ibuprofen bottle (without which no mature adult moves into a new home) fits just fine into the second drawer down on the right side of the vanity. Now we don't need a medicine cabinet for that either.
In fact we don't need a medicine cabinet in the master bath at all...especially since our backup supply of medicine cabinet items (most of it shower gel and bandaids) takes up the top two shelves of the linen closet in the hallway where they are easily accessible.
At any rate, about 4 days ago we agreed that not only did we not need a medicine cabinet, we didn't need the double towel bars that we "had to have". That we purchased and that sat on the bathroom floor in the corner for 3 weeks because we didn't have time to install them. We figured that if we had lived without them this long we could return them. Which we did. And got our $60 back.
I leave you with a bit of nostalgia concerning "must haves":
One of our favorite movies is "Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House" (Cary Grant and Myrna Loy - early 1950's?).
Muriel Blandings: I refuse to endanger the lives of my children in a house with less than four bathrooms.
Jim Blandings: For 1,300 dollars they can live in a house with three bathrooms and ROUGH IT.
After moving in we began to discover "sort of must haves" that were missing..things we didn't even think about until we were faced with not having them - like medicine cabinets.
Case in point: A Medicine Cabinet in the Master Bath.
As we were moving in, The Bearded One said in surprise, "Hey, there's no medicine cabinet in here!" Because there were sconces on the wall we had both managed to miss the fact that there was no little wall cabinet in which to keep toothbrushes, toothpaste, pills and bandaids... You know, the essentials of daily living. The Bearded One was all for rushing right to Home Depot. Which we did. Only the fact that anything suitable would mean either cutting a big hole in the wall or a special order kept us from purchasing something immediately.
After living without a medicine cabinet for two weeks certain things began to occurr to us: I keep my pills on a Rubbermaid turntable in the kitchen (so that I pack them along with my lunch each morning). I don't need a medicine cabinet for that. We have NEVER put toothpaste in the medicine cabinet - not in all the years that we have been married! We don't need a medicine cabinet for that. Toothbrushes have always gone into a toothbrush holder where they will dry completely so as not to breed more germs than necessary. We don't need a medicine cabinet for that. The ibuprofen bottle (without which no mature adult moves into a new home) fits just fine into the second drawer down on the right side of the vanity. Now we don't need a medicine cabinet for that either.
In fact we don't need a medicine cabinet in the master bath at all...especially since our backup supply of medicine cabinet items (most of it shower gel and bandaids) takes up the top two shelves of the linen closet in the hallway where they are easily accessible.
At any rate, about 4 days ago we agreed that not only did we not need a medicine cabinet, we didn't need the double towel bars that we "had to have". That we purchased and that sat on the bathroom floor in the corner for 3 weeks because we didn't have time to install them. We figured that if we had lived without them this long we could return them. Which we did. And got our $60 back.
I leave you with a bit of nostalgia concerning "must haves":
One of our favorite movies is "Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House" (Cary Grant and Myrna Loy - early 1950's?).
Muriel Blandings: I refuse to endanger the lives of my children in a house with less than four bathrooms.
Jim Blandings: For 1,300 dollars they can live in a house with three bathrooms and ROUGH IT.
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