Returned

Remember when my scarf disappeared? And I was super pissed off at the universe? I am not kidding, I looked EVERYWHERE for that thing. I looked especially hard in my closet, because I figured that was the most likely place for it to be, unless it was purloined to construct a robot kitty army or similar (also fairly likely). I looked on the shelves, under my purses, in all the corners. I even crawled around with a flashlight in case it slipped down behind the shoes or under my possibly-too-large collection of coats. So you can imagine my surprise this morning when I found it folded on a shelf IN MY CLOSET, almost in plain sight. I took a picture of it in case the universe decides to yank my chain again and I need to put up flyers. Notice how the back and front are different? I love that about it because I can dial down the orange if I want. I tried to take a picture of myself wearing it so you know what it looks like on. You know, so if it disappears again and you see someone wearing it you can kick some scarf-stealing ass. Unfortunately, I am not very good at taking pictures of myself, apparently, as I made approximately eight thousand attempts and ended up with not one publishable photo for my trouble. So you will just have to use your imagination when you are trying to decide whether you should attack someone to get my scarf back for me.

Anyway, you might surmise that the scarf was in my closet all along and I just didn't see it, but you would be dead wrong. The scarf was not in the closet. It disappeared and then it came back. I don't know why, and I don't especially care. My friend Sarah thinks I earned some karma points after the poker chips yesterday and the spaghetti mess this morning. See, I dropped a giant steaming plate of pasta and sauce as I was heating up leftovers for breakfast. It landed all over the microwave, the stove, the floor and me. The clean-up was pretty daunting; I was thinking of just moving out. To a clothing-free community. So maybe she's right, because that WAS pretty bad and definitely deserving of some redistribution of spiritual wealth.

The scarf is back, and that's good, but I like to plan ahead a little. Just a little, mind you, mostly I'm a flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. At least until my pants rip and I crash and burn in a bloody heap, but that almost never happens. Right now, though, I'm thinking I should stock up on scarves so I always have a couple of spares for the next time the universe gets all smart with me. This one came from Qatar, so if you know someone at The Deid that wants to go can tolerate scarf shopping for me, let me know!

And on an unrelated note, I have a minor correction and also a comment about yesterday's post. I have been informed that what I described as a hole to China in the lawn is actually a hole to Africa. Presumably it makes a sharp turn down there somewhere, perhaps around the Mohorovicic Discontinuity. And finally, I feel I was unfairly accused of whining in the comments, when in fact I was not whining at all, but merely stating facts.

That's all, my friends; catch you next week! If you have time, check out Doraville for some new entries from my mother's book. My beloved Helen has been working like crazy posting them; isn't she the best?!?!?!!? Of course, if you know Helen, you already know that. But a reminder doesn't hurt- love you, Helen!

Home

Okay, okay, no more crocus pictures! FINE. But sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don't, right? Or so I've heard. Anyway, we are home from the beach. It was the usual collection of sand, pop rocks, frigid water, wine, bingo, arguments, running, rocket launching, howling, shopping, peeing on the beach and trashy television. I'll leave it to you to sort out the kid activities from the canine fun from the adult pursuits. I bet you won't get it right, either, but it doesn't really matter, now does it? Because we're home and what goes on at the beach stays at the beach. And that's all I have to say about THAT.

On the way home, we stopped at Doraville. As you may know, Doraville is what my mother's grandfather, Josef, named his homestead, after his wife, Dora. Josef spent years clearing trees to build his house. The picture on top is of an apple tree located at the original orchard near where the house stood, and the second one is the view down the hill from near where the house was. When Josef first claimed the land, it was thick with old growth fir that he cleared by hand. He was quite the writer, Josef was, leaving us, among other efforts, years of journals detailing his exploits. One of my favorite stories is this one about the winter of 1887 when he was nearly killed by giant trees crashing to the ground in hurricane force winds.

Perhaps slightly ironically, then, the homestead is now my uncle's sustainable tree farm. While we were there, they were logging a stand of fifteen year old trees with a super cool machine that clips them off near the ground, strips off the limbs, and lays them down, ready to be placed smartly into a self-loading log truck.

I thought the boys would like the tree clipper; because who doesn't love diesel powered equipment? I have no idea what's it's really called, but I think tree clipper is pretty suitable, so that's its name from now on until I die. We watched it for a little while, and then the boys ran off to the true attraction on the farm: thick, sticky red-brown mud. Seriously, that stuff is nasty. I wouldn't even let them in the van, and you know my standards for car cleanliness are pretty low. Plus the van was already full of the remnants of all the questionable beach activities noted above, so you'd think a person with substandards like mine might feel that a little mud wouldn't hurt anything. But you would be wrong; that's how bad it is. I knew before I let them play in it, of course, because I spent almost every summer of my childhood there, along with many, many weekends, and I was often coated in the stuff myself. I don't like to stifle their creativity, though, and feel strongly that a willingness to get filthy is an admirable trait that will serve them well. Still don't want it in the car, though!

So I made them strip down and roll around in the wet grass and wear trash bags the rest of the way home. I figure that's good for them, too, because coming from Josef's family, they are definitely meant to be country boys and there's not always a hose or even a rusty cattle water trough when you need to wipe the muck off, am I right? Oh yes, I'm a country girl, you didn't know that? As long as the country has wine and a thrift store, I'm good. But I have to admit, it's good to be home to the 'burbs where there's a Starbucks and an eco-friendly dry cleaner on every corner. Have a good weekend, my friends! I'll be doing laundry and picking caked-on red brown clay out of little tiny crevices. And drinking wine.

Duck! It's a Trap!

I don't even know what to say about this picture. There is a duck in the back yard. By the swing. A very, very stupid duck. For the love of all that is holy, THERE IS A TRAP THERE! And doesn't he see all that freaking snow? Shouldn't he be flying south or something? He did finally manage to depart with all of his feathers intact; I hope he has a cozy nest somewhere far, far away from the swing of death.

We had our giant snowstorm today; the worst (or best!) of it was to the south of us, but we got a respectable six inches, and a good day was had by all. The boys enjoyed a series of outdoor activities, like this one in which they played with the hose on the snow-covered trampoline. Naturally, this added significantly to the pile of wet/dirty clothes by the back door and now you need oxygen to get to the top to do the laundry. Not that I'm going to do that, of course.

Then, when they got all tired of playing outside, they came in and sprayed the hell out of the kitchen until the goldfish could gather their own food cleaned the cabinets and all the appliances. That's the news from the frozen wasteland of western Washington; I hope you are staying warm wherever you are!

More Snow

Good morning to you, wherever you are, my friends! It is super early at my house- I woke up way before the alarm went off and got ready for work, only to find that we are having a late start today. I considered going in on time anyway, as I deeply appreciate the quiet pleasures of the early mornings in my office, but I live in fear of being called an overachiever. It's a constant problem, you know.

So, instead, I am attempting to enjoy the early morning at home. It's quiet, so there's that. I mean, except for the cats chasing each other around and yowling and banging into things. As you might guess, my office isn't particularly neat, and as I'm sure you know, I have a high tolerance for sloppy messes. But you should see my house this morning, people. There is a mound of snow clothes and boots about three feet high by the back door, along with a Magic 8 Ball and a box with a door cut into it. The living room is littered with the remains of some questionable game, consisting of three broken down boxes, 457 stuffed animals, and a small cooler. Oh, and a toilet seat. Don't even ask. Really.

Honestly, it's a miracle I can sit here and blog and drink coffee instead of cleaning up, but I take my underachieving very seriously indeed. Only I'm going to have to pick my way to the kitchen soon, because my consumption of fried potatoes isn't up to par lately. It's a fine line, you know, all this balancing business. In fact, it's pretty exhausting and I might need to go lay on the couch and drink beer in my underwear. And eat fried potatoes.

I will leave you with some pictures of yesterday's sunrise. Cliff Mass says we are going to have a major snowstorm starting tomorrow, so that should be super fun. I just hope someone is going to get up off his or her lazy ass and tidy up around here, because otherwise I am going to have to hang out in the car, and there are no fried potatoes in there, so that would really suck. Mmmmmmmmmmmm, fried potatoes!

My Kitchen Was Clean Twenty Minutes Ago

Home

Yep, I am home, PHEW! The return trip was a significant improvement, thankfully. Oh, there, see? I DO have something to be thankful for! Besides wine and xanax, I mean. Unfortunately, everything is just as we left it, although there WAS a new pair of boots on the porch. Yay, me! It's a sickness, I told you, so SHUT UP!

I had to sit in a middle seat, which sucked, especially since it was the end of the day and my hippie deodorant was all worn off, with just a hint of patchouli left. I felt bad. I'm not CRUEL, you know. Now, normally, I hate talking to people on airplanes, because really, what's the point? Plus chances are good that they are total idiots, otherwise what would they be doing traveling cross-country in a flying sardine can? Oh, right. On the other hand, there are some benefits to talking to someone you'll never see again. There's absolutely no reason to censor anything you say, as long as you haven't killed any nuns or crippled children lately. Because you should definitely keep quiet about THAT. If you can get the right flights, it would be pretty cheap therapy. You could just buy one of those super cheap round trips when the fares go on sale, since you don't care where you're going. Plop down next to some poor schmuck and spill your guts. Problem solved! I would totally do it, too, only I have Helen for that.

Anyway, it was a super long flight and I guess the guy next to me got bored of his email because he started talking to me. Turns out he just invented this technology to analyze the receptors on the adaptive immune system. I know, blah blah blah, boring geek talk, right? But this geek was into germs so I asked him who is crazier, the germophobes or the people who pick their noses and let their kids play in the toilet. Guess what? He said there are so many pathogens around all the time that it's ridiculous to think that anything you do will make any appreciable difference in your susceptibility to illness. AND, germs are good for you, because many of the microbes are similar in certain ways and being in contact with common ones might help you out some day when you encounter freaky ones. So there you have it. I don't know about you guys, but for me that's awesome news! I especially like the part about how there are so many pathogens that nothing I do makes any difference, because that totally lets me off the hook for any lack-of-cleaning related illnesses.

Then, I got home and I can't find one of the new used cats. The house doesn't stink, though. Any more than usual, I mean, so it's all good, right? RIGHT?

Leavings

Wow, winter is really coming. Standard time is here, and look at all those leaves! We have this industrial-sized dual-tired wheelbarrow, and I have filled it up at least seven times so far with maple leaves from the front yard and apple leaves from the back yard. Apple leaves are poisonous, did you know that? Especially when they are wilting. So don't eat them. But it's okay to let your kid roll around in them. That's the Dead Cat safety lesson for today. And here's another one: kidney beans are EVIL. Look at this! I just found it while I was looking for a link to how bad wilting apple tree leaves are for your kids or dogs. Isn't that TERRIFYING?? I swear, you can't eat anything these days. I thought kidney beans were HEALTHY, and until today I made chilis and soups with them all the time. GEEZ. Now I'm going to have to donate them all to the food bank so the poor people get poisoned instead of me. I'll take a big fat tax deduction, too. Just call me BP! Or maybe I could just chef them up for the big chili cook-off at work. No deduction, but there's something to be said for job satisfaction, too.

Normally I'm not super concerned about leaves piling up in the yard. In fact, I like them, because they cover up all those broken toys, rotting jack-o-lanterns and wine bottles out there, just like a cozy orange and yellow quilt would. If it was big enough. That's just a little idea I'm going to keep in my back pocket in case I ever live in a place with no deciduous trees. Feel free to help yourself to it, especially if you're crafty that way. Today, though, I found myself inexplicably compelled to rake them up and do some other chores around the house and yard. Now, I know correlation does not always equal causation, but I think it might be because I just bought myself a pair of the most fabulous, but possibly unnecessary, black boots from a non-thrift store, and the guilt is getting to me. I resisted, though, because Lloyd wasn't even home to see me busting my ass, so what's the point?? Sure, the lawn would be clean, but not for long, because there's still at least a dump truck worth of leaves still on the tree. Gravity, she's a relentless bitch, ain't she?

Because I'm introspective, and also lazy*, I started thinking about this whole boots=chores thing instead of actually raking up more leaves or cleaning up the toys, pumpkins and wine bottles. I got to thinking about my Berenstain Bear-inspired shopping chore chart idea, in which penalties are assessed for inappropriate purchases. Perhaps, I thought, the chore chart could be more proactive, where you earn shopping trips by doing chores. So, for example, raking leaves and thinking about cleaning the yard gets you a fantastic pair of boots with cunning little buckles on them. To get a new treestand, you would have to steam clean the carpet, scrub the grout, clean the gutters, bleach the toilets, sweep the chimney and wash the windows. That sounds fair, right? I see a trip to Cabela's in Lloyd's future. You can thank me later, honey!

*Or, yes, only lazy. Have it your way. Just call me BK!

Columbus Day

Man, Columbus sure is getting a bad rap lately. Come ON, people; he didn't personally steal land from some adorable rosy-cheeked pappooses, you know! He was LONG dead by the time the pappooses had to go to crappy reservations and work in baby sweatshops making dreamcatchers, bear claw necklaces and fringed leather jackets. I'm not necessarily defending him but I AM getting a little concerned he might get his day-off-from-work-in-October celebratory occasion stripped from him. I don't really care so much as long as it gets replaced by Sacajawea Day or similar. I'm an equal opportunity day-off-from-work enjoyer; I'm kind of awesome that way.

I hope you all had a nice holiday weekend. Nothing too exciting here- we changed over the car emergency kits to the winter version. It's an excellent time to put a blanket and hats and jackets for everyone in there if you haven't already done it. It's also a good time to change the batteries in your smoke alarms and flashlights, check the expiration dates on your emergency supplies, clean the bathrooms and perform those other pesky semi-annual chores. Oh, and start bulb shopping!

It's getting cooler, and so Lloyd took the boys shopping for a few fall/winter things. I sent a list, of course, but it doesn't really matter, does it? I've tried super detailed instructions, but that never works, because Lloyd says he can't read my writing. I have to give him that one, because truly, my penmanship is virtually illegible. It's never been good, but since the dawn of the digital age it's really gone downhill. Seriously, who cares? It's pretty much a waste of finger muscles. Pretty soon we're all going to have hands like tree frogs, and those scrawny things can't write worth a damn, or so I hear. I have an idea to solve this problem, though: a specific and reward-linked list. Come home with the proper item, and you get the commensurate reward. Here's an example:

- Size 8 olive colored cargo pants = new fishing lure

- Aveeno brand moisturizing lotion spf 30 = 20 minutes beer and tv

See? Use your imagination; the possibilities are endless! You could take the opposite approach, too, and have penalties for the wrong items. They could vary based on how far wrong they are. If you can use the object for the intended purpose you only have to scrub the tub. Like, say, if you get milk chocolate instead of dark. Or merlot instead of cab. But if the purchased object is entirely useless, it's time to clean the basement. Like if you need medical supplies and instead get beer and live fish. This has actually happened to me. I'll come clean here- you know me, always telling the complete unadulterated truth*: I totally got this idea from the Berenstain Bears, in a tome entitled 'The Berenstain Bears Forget Their Manners'. As true Berenstain Bears scholars know, Mama Bear doesn't always treat Papa Bear with the utmost respect, often relating to him the same way she does Brother Bear and Sister Bear, in this case doling out chores as penalties for bad manners. I'm generally not a fan of this sort of marital dynamic but sometimes a bear's got to call it like she sees it, am I right? In any event, I prefer the carrot to the stick, myself, though I can see that the carrot approach is going to be a lot more expensive and won't help my house get clean.

We also took the boys to see 'Dolphin Tale'; have you seen it? It's about a real dolphin named Winter, who has a prosthetic tail. It was cute, if a little cheesy. You can see her for realsies at seewinter.com. The over-the-top stuff is all fictionalized and consists of a cute but troubled kid whose love for the dolphin helps him overcome his troubles, his swimming champion cousin who has been injured and traumatized while serving in the army, and an evil land developer who wants to turn the marine hospital into a resort. Geez, really? They had to make up a bunch of run of the mill melodrama to jazz the story up? A dolphin with an engineered tail isn't good enough by itself? Because that is pretty freaking cool, if you ask me.

And that's all the news for today; what's going on at YOUR house??

*Lloyd would perhaps take issue with this; he didn't like how I said he was opposed to electric guitars in the church post the other day. To be fair, he does tolerate them, though he PREFERS their non-presence. They are not in the same category as sheet metal, which he simply will not abide. Nonetheless, I will have to insist that the statement still qualifies as TRUE.

I spent all day cleaning and all I got was this lousy living room

I'm not even exaggerating, not even a tiny bit. Really, I worked ALL DAY and ended up with what you see with your own two eyes. I am starting to think that my time would be better spent drinking beer in my underwear. I guess I'll have to do it in the front yard, though, because the couch is taken. Seriously, I worked ALL DAY, and this is what I ended up with. How is that even possible? It's like there's a black hole of work in my house. And yard. And now that I think about it, in my office too. Look at the picture again! There is crap EVERYWHERE. Well, whatever, crap. Move over, because I need some space in which to throw my empties.

So Not Kidding

I came home from work and Lloyd met me in the driveway with his keys in one hand and his ginormous bag of pilot crap in the other hand. He hopped in the car as fast as he could, calling over his shoulder, 'Don't be mad when you go in the house; I was really busy today and didn't have time to do anything and I won't be home until te......' And boy, he was SO NOT KIDDING. I would post pictures but I am genuinely afraid of CPS on this one. Here is a partial list of the carnage:

-huge half-gnawed hunks of cheese in multiple locations

-raw egg wrapped in dirty socks inside a graham cracker box stashed behind the recycling bin

-dirty breakfast and lunch dishes on the table

-at LEAST eight pairs of shoes and boots strewn around the living room plus a few singletons

-rat in the compost (outside; it wasn't quite THAT bad)

-two sets of pajamas, soccer clothes and wet, muddy pants on the couch

-box of raisins smashed into the carpet

-twin peaks of laundry blocking the hall, Mt. Dirty and Mt. Clean

I worked for a solid 2.5 hours, which is pretty much unprecedented, and there were still bits of string and chopped up bits of paper on the living room floor, a container of snails on the counter with the lids off and the snails among the missing, school books and supplies covering the dining room table and floor, and rubber bands shaped like fairies and numbers spread up and down the hall. Oh, and a puddle of pee on the back porch.

I don't care what time he gets home, I am meeting him in the driveway with a taser in one hand and a giant beer in the other, and I am so not kidding.

On coats

Look at my living room! Doesn’t it totally look like the brown coat section at Goodwill exploded in here? But no, those are all Lloyd’s coats. For real. He took the boys to visit his parents for a few days, and you know me! I took full advantage of the opportunity clean and organize. Well, okay, FINE, really I laid on the couch in my underwear and drank beer. Of course, I went to Goodwill, too, but they kicked me out. Something about no beer allowed, blah blah blah blah. WHATEVER. So when I got home I decided to clean out the ‘walk-in’ closet in our bedroom. I say ‘walk-in’ instead of walk-in, because I suppose it’s theoretically possible to walk in there, if you were a midget. Or a Pomeranian. Or maybe a medium-sized goat, if it's skinny, but not one of those freaky jumping ones because it would hit its head on the shelf right off, and I definitely don't want another dead goat in my closet.

It has never been easy to get in there but it’s been getting progressively more difficult, what with the three feet of crap on the floor and junk piled willy-nilly on the shelves and draped over the hanger rods. But I was determined, because I deeply love a tidy closet. Also, I thought I might have stashed some extra beers in there, but unfortunately that turned out not to be the case.

I figured out the problem right away- it was the overly ample supply of brown coats. You might think I have something against brown coats, but you would be mistaken. I LOVE brown coats. My brown coats, that is. Lloyd’s, not so much. It would be okay if they were all different; I could understand that. But the brown coats in question fall into two categories: leather and hunting/outdoorsy. Boring, am I right? I’m really tired of boring, so I took them all out, along with approximately 43 helmet bags and 217 backpacks (tan, olive, and camouflage in varying sizes and configurations) and heaped them into a pile that the entire population of Cairo, Illinois could stand on to keep dry no matter how high the Mighty Mississippi gets. If you don't believe me, look at the picture again and this time, note the tiger for scale. It's not a full grown tiger, of course. I wouldn't want to exaggerate or anything.

At the present time, a smallish golden retriever could walk in and maybe even turn around, so that’s a big improvement, but I am not quite sure what to do with the enormous mound of coats in the middle of the living room. Let me know if you have any ideas! I’ll be on the couch in my underwear, drinking beer.

Clean

I have a new plan. I'm sure it will work, just like all the others (you can refresh your memory here, here, and here for just a small sample of the methods I've tried). I've really been trying to get a little more organized lately. It would be SUPER AWESOME to be in control of just one teeny-tiny little thing; I think it might improve my disposition, which has not been stellar for some time now.

Unfortunately, in the past, I have had a high rate of failure. Even Weston easily recognizes this. I stacked the movies up neatly in the TV cabinet the other day and told him I have a new rule: movies have to be put back when they're done with them, and any movies left out will be thrown away. Here's what he said to that (complete with heavy sigh and rolled eyes): This will be just like all the other new rules; we'll do it for a while and then we'll stop and it will be back to just the way it was before. Well, rats! You can't say much to that, particularly when it's deadly accurate.

But! But! I have been eager to get a handle on the toys, since they comprise at least 8,000% of the messes in our house. I have been uncomfortably reminded of a woman I met at a consignment sale when Weston was little. I was loaded down with toys galore, including a little tool set. She took one look at it and said she would NEVER buy that for her kid because it had too many small pieces and would make a mess in her house. Naturally, I thought she was a cruel and horrid beast, but now I think she is the most brilliant creature to have ever walked the face of the earth. MMMMMmmmm, crow! My favorite!

Lloyd took the boys fishing yesterday, and while they were gone, I took every single toy, ball, gun, game, puzzle, stuffed animal, car, train and Lincoln Log out of the house and put them all in the detached garage, along with the approximately 11,000 pounds of miscellaneous household goods we have stored in there. My plan was to wait for them to come home and start squealing about their missing toys, then I was going to take them out to the garage to 'shop' for one laundry basket full of toys each. Then, when those got old, they could take them back to the garage and swap them for baskets of different ones. It didn't work exactly like that, though.

First of all, they admired the clean room but didn't realize for hours that the toys were gone. Once they noticed, they were a little concerned until I explained the plan. They were totally on board, and Weston didn't even ask to get his basket until the next day. He went out in the morning and came back with a basket mounded high with stuffed animals. They've been happily playing with the stuffed animals ever since, and Shane hasn't even asked to get his toys yet.

Pretty good, right? And I'm not done yet! Next, I'm going to set the garage on fire.