How NOT to Organize

I had one major goal over the holidays, besides surviving them.  Finishing the unpacking and organizing of the remaining boxes from our move last February.  We were functional in the new house but there was a stack of boxes in the guest room containing my late Mother-in-Law's jewelry and our unorganized family photographs.  Another stack of boxes lived behind our bedroom door which contained scrapbooks and letters, some of which dated back to my college days - back in the stone age before email.  And when long distance calls were EXPENSIVE!

Here are my helpful hints about how to NOT do this effectively:

• Do not open the box containing the letters and cards from your very first boyfriend.  Do not sit on the bedroom floor re-reading all of those letters and sighing over the pictures of the two of you both looking oh-so-young.  Do not google his name to see how he is doing now (he is just fine and living in Colorado).
• Do not open the scrapbook assembled to cover your cheerleading years, wondering at the "I'm an INDIVIDUAL, dang it!" spelling of your name on your cheerleading sweater.  The spelling that surely made your Mother wonder what the heck was going on and why the name that they blessed you with at birth wasn't good enough for you.  Do not read all of the newspaper accounts of the games that your team lost during your senior year.  Also do not google the names of the members of your cheerleading squad to see how they are doing now (one lives in Hawaii, one in London (and she has never married), one died of cancer, one lives in Florida and is a gym teacher, the last one I couldn't find)
• Do not open the folder containing your son's kindergarten "composition notebooks". You know the ones.  The ones where they drew a picture and the teachers and aides helped them write a few words (phonetically) to describe it.  Do not read through these notebooks page by page.
• Do not buy three boxes of snack sized zip locks and go through your MILs jewelry sorting it into sets of matching earrings, necklaces and bracelets.  Well, actually do this but don't decide to keep an entire jewelry chest of it...the kind that is four feet tall and free standing and that causes your husband to say, "You are not seriously buying THAT and putting it in our bedroom!"  In my defense, I am wearing many of the art deco and other vintage pieces that she had collected.
• Do not go through your theater scrap books.  Do not read every preview and review and especially do NOT read every card from other cast members and decide that you cannot recycle any of them.  Do NOT google the director's name to find out what ever became of him and find that he is doing well in New York theater circles - because, in your opinion, he "just wasn't that good".
• Do not move the boxes that you don't get to into your son's largely unused closet because you will never get to them now.

And there you have it.  Do not do any of these things while organizing because, while it is fun to wallow in the past and relive old triumphs, it just isn't going to get the job done.

Happy Birthday, Mommy

December 5th was my Mom's 96th birthday.

My mother has dementia - the non-Alzheimer's kind.  She managed, with the help of part time care givers, to stay at home for quite a few years after the memory loss began.  She has been in a care facility for about 7 years now.
About 2 months ago she stopped eating normally and began sleeping almost all of the time.  She is currently in hospice care.  She could go on like this for months as long as she doesn't stop taking liquid.

Enough of the "sad" stuff.

A few weeks ago I opened my 1970's Betty Crocker Cookbook.  The one that Mom got for me when I got my first apartment.  On the roast meats page, taped into place with very yellowed scotch tape, are her notes on making a standing rib roast:  "11 pound roast was just raw at 375 for 4 hours".  And then the addendum in a different color ink- "9 pound roast was perfect at 375 for 3.5 hours".  In the cookie section are her  notes on how to "perfect" the traditional sugar cookie recipe (2 Tbsp additional sugar - so that you don't need frosting).  If I open my recipe box, the wooden one that holds the old recipe cards, there is her handwritten recipe for "Carletta's Barbecue Chicken" - which started with a ketchup base and added brown sugar and vinegar.  Done on the stove top and having no smoke flavor whatsoever, it was much loved by our family.  That recipe box has now been supplanted by a looseleaf notebook because my recipes come off the internet rather than from friends and relatives, but do you think I'll ever get rid of it?  Not on your life!  There are little pieces of Mom in there.

Mom is all around me if I stop to consider:

In the closet where I still have her blue plaid Pendleton skirt (that I can still wear if I keep exercising regularly).  That dang thing is almost 60 years old now.  Dad gave it to her as a gift for giving birth to me - I guess that was the 1950's version of a "push present"...

In my jewelry box where I have the antique gold cross that she gave to me on my confirmation - that her mother had given to her.

In my living room book case where I have an entire ChildCraft series that she saved for my potential baby, should I some day decide to have one.

In  my cabinet where I keep vases; in among them there is a cream colored antique decorated with ceramic ribbons that she got from a student long ago when she taught early elementary school before marriage.  It is lovely with tulips in it.

And then there are the memories:

Birthday and Holiday dinners in a house with no formal dining room.  Early in the morning, as Mom made fruit pies, Dad would move living room furniture up to their bedroom - two swivel chairs and the curved section of the couch so that we could fit a table for 12 into the space.  And Mom would cook and cook and cook some more, all the while protesting that she "couldn't do this - it made her too nervous".  And the dinners always came out beautifully.

One Thanksgiving there was "no room on the train".  It was Standing Room Only all the way to Chicago.  I called to say that I couldn't come unless my boyfriend drove me - but his room mate would be all alone then - could she fit two more at dinner? " Of course!" was the answer - we were 14 at the table and very crowded that year.

When I finally had a son and she came to visit, she brought home made "clay dough" with her on the flight.  Red and green and requiring refrigeration, she and the 2 year old Stubble played with it for HOURS.  I have the recipe that she brought with her laminated in my loose leaf cook book under the heading "other".

She taught me how to sew by helping me make Barbie clothes by hand.

She taught me to plant and care for a vegetable garden.

She taught me how to can tomatoes.  Well, jar them actually.

She taught me how to get ANY stain out of ANYTHING - she was a genius at that.

She taught me so much and gave me so  much.

I love you, Mom.  Happy Birthday!

A Most Blessed (and Restful) Christmas Day!

Generally our Christmases are chaotic - early morning presents being opened followed by frenzied cleaning and cooking in anticipation of dinner guests - one or more of us generally winds up on the couch with a blue ice on his or her forehead in the middle of these festivities.  This year things were made even more hectic by our (heroic) efforts to handle (and treat) the "Massive Christmas Eve Fish Tank Die Off".

We have a 30 gallon tank filled with "rescued" feeder fish.  They get quite large and develop very distinct personalities - which endeared them to The Bearded One as well as to their technical owner, Ms. Flippers.  The fish (all 13 of them) would greet The Bearded One as he got his coat and hat each morning, begging for "just a pinch of food!" so that they wouldn't starve before Ms. Flippers got up 2 hours later.  Christmas Eve morning they were JUST FINE and eating well and the chemistry in the tank was JUST FINE.  By dinner time on Christmas Eve I noticed dead fish stuck to the filter intake.  The pH of the tank had plummeted (yes, it was buffered).  "The heck with raising the pH by 0.2 per day!"  said Ms. Flippers, "This is a matter of life and death."  And it was.  We were checking pH every 1/2 hour and bringing the pH up as gradually as we dared.  By the time I left for church we had only 4 fish left - Ms. Flippers and I held a short service for the lost under the Avocado Tree when I got home.  By this time fin crud had showed up and antibiotic treatment was begun.  In the end we managed to save two of the fish.

By comaparison to Christmas Eve, Christmas Day was completely relaxing.  Following "The Longest Christmas Eve Church Service in Recorded History" (see Guiness Book), I just fell into bed exhausted from all of that singing including that which was done in the dark when the choir loft lights were turned off.  I'm sure that the long suffering choir director found it enchanting as well.  Luckily the next morning The Bearded One had handled all of the Christmas Stockings, lighting the completely un-necessary fireplace (because the morning was already over 60 degrees) and feeding and watering the cats. At 8 AM we gave the first of the wakeup calls - to kids who eventually rolled out of bed between 9:30 and 10 AM.  This had allowed The Bearded One and I leisurely showers, a couple of pots of coffee and breakfast.

Following presents I put on my "farming clothes" and spend the rest of the day weeding and transplanting and fertilizing and such in my vegetable garden.  I LOVE to muck around in the dirt (and by the time I was done with parts of it, mud).

This was followed by a steak dinner and a Snooze on the couch.

I have made a list of all of the things that we avoided by having a quiet, "just the four of us" Christmas:

• rushing presents by getting young adults up before they have slept their fill (even worse than having a cranky toddler)
• dinner guests who arrive a) too early or b) too late (worse)
• whiny overtired, overexcited, oversugared kids
• complaints about the selection of food for the dinner
• arguments about HOW TO COOK certain foods
• at least one drunken relative
• repeatedly biting my tongue so that I have to eventually find laundry that needs doing NOW.  YES, I MEAN NOW!

More will come later about our large holiday meal which happened on New Year's Eve - a MUCH better time to hold an extended family meal.

Yes, the two surviving fish are still doing well.

Mutt and Jeff Install a Dishwasher

Now this is Mutt's fourth dishwasher installation.  He did the first two totally on his own and the third with my assistance.  For the most part, other than accompanying him to Home Depot for hoses and hose clamps, I handed him screwdrivers and wrenches on demand, much like a scrub nurse for appliances.

This story wasn't funny earlier in the month, but now that the dishwasher is installed and functional and we have both had a couple of good night's sleep it is mildly amusing.  In a year it will be hilarious.

It all started when we bought our new house.  At the inspection we listened as the dishwasher ran, we looked inside to see if there was water, we checked to be sure that the water drained out.  It was after we moved in and put dishes into the racks that we noticed that several (many) of the "retainers" (that is what the little spikes that hold the dishes upright are apparently called) were GONE.  We checked the "new home owners insurance policy" - dishwasher racks were "not covered" and then we checked the manufacturer cost (about $350 not including tax and shipping).  We were bummed.  We decided to 'just live with it'.

As we lived with it more "retainers" were lost to rust.  There were places where the floor of the rack rusted through.  The Bearded One protected us from jagged rusty edges with shrink tube.  We continued to live with it.

Finally last month when yet another retainer bit the dust ("NO, don't pull it out of there, it still kind of works!") I decided that enough was enough and we were going dishwasher shopping.  The Bearded One very astutely suggested that new dishwashers make wonderful Christmas presents and that then we would be all done shopping for each other.

When we got to "major national appliance store" and began looking we were attracted by the "clearance models" which looked just fine and were half price.  We found one with a teeny tiny dent in the top edge that wouldn't even show when it was installed.  It looked fine there on the floor and so we bought it and took it home.

The next night the installation began.  The old unit came out easily enough and we leveled and adjusted the new unit and slid it into the cabinet.  I just looked crooked.  After much time adjusting legs and realigning  and removing and replacing and realigning yet again, it became apparent that the "little dent" in the dishwasher had actually been a possible forklift accident in the warehouse.  The entire unit had a bent frame that wasn't apparent until installation.

Back to "major national appliance store" we went and were very, very pleased with the service that we received.   The salesman who had sold us the clearance unit was quite upset that it had been placed for sale as "slightly damaged but workable" when it was actually unusable.  We could get a refund if we returned the dishwasher - except by now the old dishwasher was long gone.

We purchased a new dishwasher of the same model and color of the half price clearance unit and were given a discount to make up for our trouble which was very nice of them.

But now we have spent twice the money that we had intended.  And The Bearded One (I mean Mutt) has spent a total of three evenings "installing" a dishwasher.  The total number of installations for the defective unit (counting each time it was removed and replaced in the cabinet) is now up to a grand total of 6.

On the other hand, the new dishwasher is super quiet, does a great job on the dishes, and doesn't have any missing "retainers".

And now Mutt has completed his eleventh dishwasher installation.  It could be a second career when he retires so he won't have to be a "national big box store" greeter!

About That "Cell Phone Insurance"

Ms. Flippers loses cell phones.  She forgets to charge them regularly (ie each night), she sets them down somewhere, they lose charge and now they are "lost".  The are always found again at some point at which time MY cell phone gets upgraded.  The last time when her "lost" cell phone was replaced, The Bearded One bought cell phone insurance.  The policy that is supposed to replace your cell phone if it is lost or damaged in any way.  Well, of course it happened again.

Ms Flippers had to pay the $50 deductible herself which she did, spending 5 hours in the weekend heat trimming shrubbery.  But it wasn't just shrubbery that had to be quickly shortened.  It had to be shaped also.  She earned every penny of that deductible and so she and The Bearded One exercised the policy and ordered a replacement phone.

What arrived was not exactly what "we" expected.  It was a reconditioned phone.  And the back of the phone would not stay on.  Which caused the battery to fall out.  Stubble resourcefully taped the back of the cell phone in place with gaffer tape.  A new back to the phone was ordered.  And when it FINALLY arrived - we had been charged $4.00 for a back of a cell phone that actually stayed on the phone.

Buyer Beware!

Getting It Right (in spite of ourselves)

It came as a real surprise to me last night at dinner when Stubble announced, "I don't know anybody out there with 'good parents'.  At least not two good parents."

Ms. Flippers agreed and they proceded to run down a list of their friend's and aquaintance's parents:

• A_____ his Mom is great, but his Dad?  Ick!
• B_____ both his Mom and his Dad are awful.  That's why he lives with  his grandma.
• C_____ Dad is such a loser.
• D______ Dad is such a loser.
• E______ Dad is such a loser.

The list went on and on for what seemed like forever.  Moms basically OK, Dads not so much.

I was stunned.  I know some of these people.  Of course, I've never stayed over night with any of them, or gone on camping trips with them, but I have worked with them at school functions, chatted while dropping off or picking up a much younger Stubble...

They all seemed like such normal, involved, invested parents...except for the one or two who were just plain absent.

I know that the young have a reputation for making harsh judgements, but they can't be ALL wrong.  There must be a lot of young people out there who are becoming upstanding, contributing members of society without the benefit of "two good parents".

What I hope for those young people is that they become the parents that they wish they'd had.

PowerPoint!

just once.  Just once!  I would like to sit through a training session that doesn't involve somebody's administrative assistant reading the PowerPoint slides aloud to the room.  While trainees look on with photocopies.
sigh