The War Zone

After three months of do-it-almost-by-yourself remodeling, I am still working on my kitchen and laundry room. I greet guests at the door by saying, “Welcome to the war zone.”

The bank of cabinetry that housed the old range cook top, wall oven and refrigerator are gone - replaced by patched-in drywall, torn up flooring, re-routed venting and updated wiring in the wall.

My Tupperware is in a tote in the office. My pots and pans are on the bed in the guest room. My canned and boxed foods are on a bookshelf in the hallway. Cookbooks and other seldom used items from my cabinets are piled high on the dining room table. My baking pans are in a box on the dining room floor.

One day, I looked all afternoon for my blender. Giving up, I borrowed my mom’s.

When I opened the cabinet in the laundry room the other day, there was my blender.

My new refrigerator is parked in front of the window. The kitchen table is pushed up against the wall in front of another window. My new stove is sitting in the spot my refrigerator will eventually call home. My new dishwasher and micro/hood are still at the appliance store, waiting for me to pick them up.

Until the drywall is done, I have no lighting in my kitchen, other than the fixture over the table, a small plug-in night light by the stove, and our battery operated camp lantern.

Yes, I called in a favor from someone who does drywall. He works evenings, when he has time – and when he seems to need the ambition to show up at my door, I call him to pester him just a little. So far, I have been pretty patient.

Until Wednesday night.

Our plan was to strategically move around the kitchen and laundry room, never having to upset the apple cart just too much, moving everything back and forth. But that did not happen. Tuesday night he came and put up one corner bead, then left. Wednesday night he asked me to unload the upper and lower cabinets to the left of the sink so he could pull them out to work on a spot adjacent to them. He would cut the countertop to save my kitchen sink. Because I absolutely refuse to be without my sink for more than a week.

In an instant, the ball is now in my court.

So this morning I tackled the job. What a good job for Saturday morning, right? I moved the plates, bowls and mugs to the cabinet at the right of the sink. I moved the cereal and other pantry items to a tote and put it in the hallway. I cleaned out the cabinet with vases, funky glasses and Christmas plates. The silverware tray fit right on top of the microwave. Our paper plates, paper napkins and cups are in a box in the office. The phone books are on the dining room table. All that was left was the “dreaded cabinet.”

My dreaded cabinet was a catch all spot. I cleaned out all the other ones first. I did a couple loads of laundry. I swept the floor. Finally, I took a deep breath and opened the cabinet door. It was filled with wall calendars from 2004 – 2007, a few small containers of items I’ve collected through the years – nuts, bolts, spare change, a box of bb’s from the boys’ bb gun (which had spilled – of course), a couple of unclaimed chess pieces. An old phone and its cords, a couple candles, a pottery piece Jonathan made in art class, keys that belong to something. And a lot of junk. Most of it went in the trash.

Now the ball is in his court again.

And I suppose I will live in the war zone for another month.

Sometimes its nice when time flies.

Seventeen Years Ago

Time flies. We all know it. We’ve all said it. It’s the topic around the water cooler at work. Where did the time go? Once in a while something really hits you though. Where were you seventeen years ago? I asked myself that today.

Seventeen years ago …

… we were just putting a new floor in our kitchen – and here we are, doing it again.

… my boys were fighting over which one would sit in the front seat of the car – and now they have their own cars.

… I had shoulder length permed hair which I dyed for the fun of it – not to cover the gray.

… my oldest son was taking hunter safety class, had just started junior high school, and was still pudgy around the middle – his own kids are in school now (and he’s replaced the pudginess with muscles).

… my middle son was learning the saxophone and had a squeaky little voice which sounded just about the same as the saxophone did when he tried to hit the high notes – the saxophone is long gone, replaced by an electric guitar which doesn’t squeak, but rather, makes a loud, sometimes annoying sound.

… we were raising hogs on our farm – now our barn sits empty, with thick cobwebs in the corner of the ladder to the haymow.

… my husband and I stayed out until the wee hours of the a.m. with friends – now we wake up at the wee hours of the a.m. when those coming home race noisily down the road past our bedroom window.

… my daughter Mickey wasn’t even a thought in the back of my mind yet – now she is a real part of my life and in the front of my thoughts.

… I was 31 years old - I don’t even remember ever being 31 years old.

And get this -

… Survivor, one of the first television reality/game shows started its first season on national tv.

Can you believe it’s been on that long? I still don’t believe it.

The Education of Man

Hope you enjoy this from my August, 1999 journal -

All summer long I struggled trying to teach my (grown-up) guys where to put their dirty clothes. When out of the blue, I came up with an idea! I decided to make signs on my computer. After all, technology is the name of the game today.

I made a sign for each of the three hampers in the laundry room. The blue hamper read “dark colored work clothes in here”; the white hamper read “light colored work clothes in here” (seems logical, doesn’t it?). The green hamper read “good clothes of any color in here” (I’ll admit that might throw someone off).

I even opened the lids on the hampers.

Then, the most awesome thing happened. For the next twenty-four hours there were no dirty clothes on the floor in front of the hampers, no clothes on top of the closed hamper, and all the dirty clothes were where they belonged.

You can only imagine what this led to.

I thought to myself, “If they can read these signs, they can read other signs.”

I quickly fired up the ‘puter to make a sign for the hamper in the bathroom – “washcloths and towels in here”. I was on a roll. I couldn’t stop. A “nothing goes here” sign was attached to the wall in the bathroom, next to the hamper, visibly prohibiting anyone from putting their clothes on the floor next to the hamper. By the way, why do they do this?

For twenty-four more hours everything was where it belonged.

For a brief moment, my hopes were high. Visions of an orderly house were rampant in my mind. I even considered making signs for the bathroom vanity reading “contact solution in here’; “hairbrush in here” – the list in my mind went on and on.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it abruptly ended. My realm as queen of the orderly house was over. Reality set in quite rapidly and quite frankly, things went right back to normal.

The education of man. Short-lived.

My Sister

The study of birth order sparked my attention from the first day I learned about it in high school psychology class (which was just about as many years ago as Alfred Adler’s theory was old when I first heard of him.)

Many of these things – not all good – about me as the first born are true. I am a take charge person. I like to organize (not my closets, though) and put plans in motion. I like to have things my way (just ask my husband). I try to please people. I am reliable. I crave approval. I am a caregiver.

My sister is the middle child. Naturally, I tease her about it from time to time, often using it to jokingly explain something that has happened (well, she’s the middle child, what do you expect?). But seriously, as the middle child, my sister is a good friend. She has patience (even if she doesn’t think so). At times she can be slightly uptight. She is very diplomatic. She has a rebellious side (I’m remembering the teen years). She is creative.

Tales can be told of sisters. Tales of horror. Tales of love. Or, our tale.

When I am indecisive, my sister can help me decide.

When my sister is nervous, I can help her be calm.

When I am frustrated and confused, my sister can help me see straight.

When my sister is scared, I can help her feel safe.

When I am in tears, my sister can help comfort me.

When my sister is weak, I am strong.

When I need her, my sister is there.

When my sister needs me, I am there.

By ourselves, my sister and I are incomplete. What one of us lacks, the other one has. And sandwiched in the middle of us both, we share our heart.

Together we are whole, my sister and I.

Grandparents Day

Grandparents Day came a day early this year. I had the privilege of spending yesterday afternoon with my sweeties.

With fall leaves and cold winter days just around the corner, our summer is fading fast. It won't be long and this swing set will be covered with snow. And my sweeties will be all grown up.

When I look at this picture I realize that as the seasons change, so do the seasons of our lives.

Savor the days on the swing set.

Closed On Sunday

“Is the internet closed on Sunday?” asked my dad with a laugh in his voice, as he gave me the name of a web site he wanted me to look up for him.

“Of course not,” I said reassuringly – trying not to chuckle.

“Then I’ll be over this afternoon.”

My dad doesn’t own a computer. He doesn’t want to touch one. He knows you can do your bookwork on them. He knows you can write letters and play games and look at family photos on them.

And he knows there is a thing out there called the internet.

I know that my dad will never touch a computer. I know that because it took him five years to trust the microwave oven, and then only enough to warm up his ice cream for ten seconds.

I also know that because he gets awfully mad at his satellite dish when it freezes up, and then mostly because he knows he will have to pull the power cord and start over.

And I know that because he knows that all of his kids and grandkids will do the computing for him – if need be. That is, only if it can’t be done with a yellow legal pad, pen and a calculator. Because he’s a champ at that.

I know that he is amazed at what a computer can do. But I also know that he is satisfied just being amazed.

Dad got here at about 4:30. He and I sat down at the computer and I quickly typed in the web address. Click, click, click and I found the right page. Except it didn’t tell us what we wanted to know. FOR MORE INFORMATION CALL US AT... blah blah blah.

We tried a second web address. The page loaded displaying the following message:

“WE'RE SORRY OUR WEBSITE IS DOWN TODAY FOR MAINTENANCE. TRY AGAIN ANOTHER TIME.”

“I guess the internet is sometimes closed on Sunday”, I said to Dad as I pointed out the message.

He smiled.

I told him I would call them on the phone tomorrow.