Steak? What Were They Thinking?

Our church is starting a soup kitchen for the homeless, and the committee asked a sign company (not my son’s) to design a sign with some food clip art on it. One of the pictures was a steak! Nope. We’re not planning any steak dinners that I know of.

If only the committee had known about my son’s sign company. He’d get it right.

They asked me to critique the proposed sign layout. I said, “Change the steak. Change the font. Change the color. Change the heading. Change the background. And tell them you need it tomorrow.” Hey! I know what drives sign guys crazy!

Adrenaline

I’ve got some bad carma going on. It started yesterday with my electrical outlet that I plug my iron into it. I don’t use it too often. But when I do take a notion to iron something, I have to wrestle to get the plug out of the outlet. It takes dynamite to dislodge it. I reached my boiling point and yanked the thing out with one of those explosions of adrenalin that kids get when they have temper tantrums.

Last night I threw out supper and this morning I threw out breakfast. With a loud bang.

At lunch I dropped soup on the floor. Most days, I would have just cleaned it up and fussed a little. Today I threw the soup bowl (plastic) into the sink, doused a towel with water and slung it on the floor.

A few minutes ago I looked at my calendar to see what day it is (the day not to get out of bed, apparently), and the lamp was blocking my view. I held my temper and decided just to move the stupid thing. I pulled the nail out of the wall, leaned over the desk to hammer it into a new spot, and it fell into a pile of computer cords. I screamed that it was the perfect nail for the calendar, the hole in the calendar fit over it easily, and I would never find another nail the right length with the right size head in my messed up nightmare of a tool box and of course it fell because I always drop everything I touch.

I did find another perfect nail. Let’s see, there are four more hours until bedtime…..

Happy 63rd Birthday

Got a happy birthday email from my son today. He wrote out the “Happy Birthday to You” song, and wished me a relaxing birthday today.

I hope I have a relaxing day, too! This week I've cleaned the attic 2 days, dug grass to enlarge gardens one day, transplanted a rose bush one day, gone to the dentist, and we've had brain and balance training an hour a day, plus homework. Hey, I'm 63. This is too much!

I plan to RELAX today - right after I cook a roast for the church, do laundry, go to Meals on Wheels, and finish my paperwork. I’ll spend tomorrow morning packing. We're leaving to visit friends tomorrow for the weekend. I’ll drive 3 ½ hours each way. First, I have to drop off the roast at the church.

I'll rest Monday, after I unpack. I cancelled going to my Class Reunion Saturday because I thought it was too much for my sick husband right now. I've been working on giving him less to do, so HE can relax. What's wrong with this picture?!!!

Washer/Dryer Repair

Our daughter’s washer and dryer are sitting in our garage while she is renting a set. (Simply another illogical situation in our family.) When she moved, the person helping her (brother, boyfriend, friend – who knows?) broke the dryer panel off – the one on top with the controls and wires – and cut the pipes to the washer because the valve wouldn’t unscrew. Hearing this, the repairman said, “I guess a knife is easier if you don’t have a wrench.”

He said he could probably check them out in the garage. I asked for a week to get them uncovered. He showed up that day.

We drug the abused machines out from under a heap of stuff and onto the driveway. He checked out the dryer. All the wires were intact. He said, “You got lucky there.”

Next he hooked up the washer’s water lines with a garden hose. Then he plugged it in with an outdoor extension cord. For a moment, he thought it went caput. Turns out our fancy pantsy extension cord had a breaker that shut it down. “I used to have one like that," he commented. “I threw it away.”

As the repairman left, he told us to call him the next time we need him. He said to remind him when we call that we’re the place where he worked on a washer in the driveway. He said that’s so he’ll remember us. I think it might be so he can dodge us!

Wrapping Paper in the Attic

Sometimes I need to give a gift all wrapped up and pretty, so I squirm through my attic to the Wrapping Paper Box. It’s a big cardboard box on the floor with everything I need in it – somewhere.

Today I organized The Box. I didn’t even know I had any gift tags, but sure enough, they were organized like confetti in The Box. And wow! I found that tissue paper I ironed. It had disappeared into the caverns that had just sort of happened in there amid the mashed bows, tangled ribbon, two rolls of wrapping paper (one for Christmas and one for a girl baby shower), and gift bags. I had no idea how many gift bags I had accumulated.

I don’t use The Box very often, and when I do it takes me several trips before I am able to produce an attractive, color-coordinated gift wrapped package. Can’t seem to get it all at once.

Today I had a eureka moment and realized I didn’t have to put up with that big, bulky cardboard box. I bought a big basket and a hook and put all that stuff in it and hung it up. Now I can easily carry it out of the attic!

This is a lot of trouble for someone who doesn’t give gifts very often.

Boxes of Boxes

Boxes! They come in a WHOLE LOT of shapes and sizes, and there’s one of each in my attic. We moved here seven years ago and the attic was practically bare. Today I have to weave and squirm through it. I don’t even try any more, since I’ve forgotten what’s in the back anyway.

I’m not a pack rat. But I do like to have the right size box whenever I need it. Therefore, I save every box that comes through my door. Let’s see – seven years – that’s about 700 boxes. No, I’m sure there weren’t that many today when I broke them down, even though my back says different. I put the broken down boxes into boxes. Tonight there are about five boxes of boxes. There’s a box of flat boxes, a box of liquor store boxes, a box of small boxes, a box of large boxes, and a box of boxes that were so good and strong it would have been a shame to break them down.

If you ever need to pack anything, just give me a call!

Found Stuff

While cleaning out the attic today I found a sofa bed mattress support. It was folded and neatly wrapped. Hmm. Last time we had a sofa bed was in 1988.

I found a guitar stand. George gave his guitar away a few years ago.

I found two plastic things that I finally figured out must be arm rests for the van we used to own.

I threw out a very large, flat box that had contained our daughter’s dog crate. I’m glad I only threw it as far as the bonus room, because pretty soon I found the crate, too.

And this was just my first day!

List of Notes From To-Do List

About a “To-Do” list, British author Mark Forsterof (Do It Tomorrow) says it’s natural to panic and enter “triage mode.” Great word, “triage.” I love to triage. I can put off a To-Do list for at least a week by organizing it into subcategories. Maybe I should just cut to the chase and call it a “Put-Off” list.

Even though I’m constantly marking things off my To-Do, it still grows until I have to do something about it. That’s because there are things I don’t want to forget but I don’t know where else to write them down. Things like, “Wendell Farmer’s Market is open Wednesday afternoons.” It’s something I want to remember in case the opportunity arises. Where would you put that?

Then there’s, “Mailed letter to insurance company on July 10.” I could mail it and just forget it. But I have to check (at some random future moment) whether the matter was taken care of. Sure, I have a copy of the letter filed somewhere. But how will I remember to look at the letter?

I’ve invented a new list. I call it my “List of Notes From To-Do List.” I’m going to patent the concept some day. I’ll make a note to do that.

Elephant in the Church Parlor

“I see it as two elements, with a clear line between them.” (Did he mean “elephants”?) “There are the people who don’t want to be homeless, and then there are the murderers, alcoholics, and everything.”

What a statement! I’d bet it’s the thought in everyone’s heads, and no one has the nerve to say it. No one except my man George. I say, “And then there’s the third element.” Pause. “There’s the mentally ill. Also, there are those who want to be homeless but are good people. And maybe another element of good people who do want to be homeless because they just don’t know how to cope with the real world.”

“If we start a soup kitchen,” he said, “What kind of people will be drawn to it?”

“Hungry people,” I answered.

We talked about the “element” of people who have lost their jobs, who have lost their homes or their places in mental hospitals, who have become addicted to drugs and can’t fight it. He said, “This is the greatest, wealthiest country in the history of the world….” “and we don’t take care of our people,” I finished.

We agreed that there’s an element of criminals that will be drawn into the walls of our church via the proposed Soup Kitchen, and that could be dangerous.

It a subject that has to be broached. It’s on our minds.

Mechanically Challenged

I’m listening to Car Talk – Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers. The caller thinks he can fix his squeaky brakes by going in reverse real fast & slamming on brakes. His solution reminds me of when I was first married. I was so mechanically challenged that, when my mother-in-law told me that all my sewing machine needed was some oil, I asked, “What’s that?”

I never forgot what a good job that oil did on my sewing machine. So, when my brakes started squeaking, guess what I told George they needed? Yep. Oil.

You see, I grew up with parents who were mechanically challenged. When my mother visited me in our new house early in our marriage, she looked at the unfinished ceiling in the laundry room and asked me why they had taken the ceiling out! At that moment, my life passed before me and I understood why my Aunt Margaret had always gotten so busy fixing things when she visited our house, and why the nails I used in my child-size record player scratched my records, and why the only screw drivers in the house were fancy ones that came inside a little metal hammer.

My husband has taught me that any job can be done with the right tools. I’ve discovered Phillips head screw drivers. I’ve stripped many a screw in my life with a flat head screwdriver, or with a penny or a dime! Drills are wonderful things, too. Now I don’t have to start a hole with a large nail, hammered in and then removed. And as for studfinders? God’s gift to man! Or woman. Or mouse.

Now, at age 62 I use good tools. But if push comes to shove, I also know how to “make do,” with what’s available. That’s what Mom would say – God rest her un-mechanical soul.