Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Back Pain

Back pain stinks.  WebMD proclaims, “Back pain affects 80% of Americans at some time in their lives,” so I’m sure most of you have had some experience with it.   Ten years ago I had surgery to remove a fragment that landed on the sciatic nerve after a disc ruptured.  It took a while to heal, but I’ve done pretty well over time.  A few things will still irritate the nerves and muscles, however.  One of those things happened last night.  I sat on a couch in someone’s home for a couple of hours.  That sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?  The problem was my lower back wasn’t supported in the manner to which it has become accustomed.  Today I’m feeling it.  Boy it’s annoying.  And of course, this was a busy day with a lot of driving, shopping, standing in the kitchen cooking, and more driving.  There hasn’t been much time to relax those muscles and now everything in my lower back is annoyed.  The worst part is the pain makes me want to eat chocolate.  As we all know by now, chocolate has soothing properties.  That is until you step on the scale after overindulging in those soothing properties.  Then there’s more irritation and annoyance—they’re just not in the back anymore….

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Dinner Cruise

Saturday
The Man and I worked on tiling the porch today—yeah, we take it slow—so what?  The entire top (about 13’ x 19’) is almost completely tiled.  (I’m not even going to think about grouting and sealing right now….because I don’t want to break down and cry.) Then there’s only the long step that runs the entire length of the 19’ side of the porch, and the short step which runs a few feet on one of the short sides, to tile.  Blah!  We stopped early because we’re going on a dinner cruise tonight—yea!  We’ve been up to Lake George before, but haven’t been “on” Lake George.  Oh wait—I might be lying.  My sister and bro-in-law might have brought us there when they lived this-a-way years ago.  I remember being on a boat when we were visiting--Aimee was just a wee baby.  I’ll have to ask The Man if the boat was on Lake George.  I remember being kind of freaked out having a newborn on a boat.  It seemed risky to me—of course anything short of holding her in my arms 24/7 seemed risky at the time.  (First-baby-over-the-top-protective syndrome.) 

Next Day
I asked, and it’s true!  We were on that same lake with our tiny baby 27 years ago!  WHAT!  How could that be? ------ So we went on the dinner cruise, and it was really nice.  The food was not particularly nice (except the chocolate cake they served for dessert—that was pretty darn yummy), but the “cruise” part was.  And by the way—that’s a big lake.  I was told twice that it’s 32 miles long.  The weather was perfect, not too hot, and not too cold.  They sky was blue and the water was lovely.   It was very relaxing to make our way down the lake while ogling the expensive lake houses.  There was a rather strange component to the night, however.  As we passed by their houses, people would start waving like mad at the boat.  Sometimes they’d be on a terrace or porch; sometimes they’d be on top of their boathouse. I mean it was like THE activity of the evening.  “Yi-ha everbody—here comes dat dar dinner cruise boat—let’s wave like mad at ‘em!”  I mean, really—in this day and age?  Shouldn’t the kids have been inside playing video games or something?  But the waving paled in comparison to the musket shots.  Yep.  Some highly motivated individuals went out and bought themselves some kind of apparatus that made a sound like a revolutionary war musket. (I’m citing old movies for that piece of info.)  Maybe it makes some kind of sense though because there is a fort at the end of the lake and there were a lot of battles fought there.  (But the last time I checked, the people of Lake George were all at peace with one another….)  To top it off, our boat tooted back!  I guess whoever was “tooting” never heard these words of wisdom: “Don’t respond—it will just encourage them.”
The captain came down to say hello to people at one point and I resisted (although it was mighty hard) asking him, “Hey, if you’re down here, who’s piloting this thing?”  He’s got to be asked that every single night.  I just kept myself from being the dork who asked last night.

Anyway—it was a fun time.  It’s good to get away and do something a little different once in a while.  It helps to remember that there’s more see in this world than the piles of slate waiting to be cemented onto our back porch. 


Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Back to the Self-Sufficient Days

My dad was raised on a small farm north of Columbus, Ohio.  The farm is still in the family, but no one lives there anymore.  On the property sits a small white farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, and a slate roof, a white barn, a little white chicken coop, a white outhouse, and acres of apple trees.  That’s one way they sustained themselves—selling apples and cider.  The house is pretty tiny—just a small parlor at the front of the house, a middle parlor with a black stove to heat the house, and at the back of the house, a small kitchen with a room for a table and chairs.  At the top of the stairs is an open loft.  It leads to a very small bedroom.  From the middle parlor, a dinky dirt-floor cellar can be accessed.  It has a door that leads out to the backyard. There was no running water in the house when my dad lived there, and there’s no running water now.  The family’s water came from two places:  a pump in the kitchen (cistern water) and another pump outside the back door. My dad lived there with his father, mother, and two brothers.  Town is about four miles away and they didn’t get there very often, according to dad.


It was pretty primitive living, I guess.  We used to visit when I was a kid.  I remember seeing tall corn stalks in a big garden, which my uncles used to plant, off to the side of the house.  There were berry bushes in the wide path that led into the apple orchard.  We were always being warned to watch out for poison ivy when we tried to pick the berries.  The garden was to the left of the house—on the right was a small orchard with plums and peaches.  They were sure delicious.  

Yep, it was no frills living.  So how come it’s starting to look good to me?  Is it because the world seems to be falling apart?  Of course it is.  The extremist in me says, “What?  Find a place to live where you can grow your own food-- have your own water source-- and where there are plenty of trees for fuel?  It’s a no-brainer!”  I wonder how many fairly normal people are thinking along the same lines lately?

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Clean Garage Envy

Clean-Garage Envy.  I have it. Our garage is so packed with stuff that I try to keep the doors closed as much as possible.  Thankfully, we have a van.  It gets parked smack in front of the right side garage door—heaven knows there’s no way it will make it over the threshold to actually rest in the garage.  It’s useful for blockage purposes should the door have to be raised for some reason.  And, when one of the doors has to be opened at night (say, to remove a garbage can), I make sure the lights are off as the door rolls up—there’s no sense in putting a spotlight on the horror.  It’s a little tricky getting back to the light switch (all the way across the garage) after closing the big door in the dark, but fear of ridicule can compel a person to push past her fear of injury.

Many of my friends are the proud owners of clean garages.  “Friends”--may I call them what they truly are—FREAKS!   I look around as we head through their spotless garages on our way to their spotless kitchens, and I am just amazed at the fact that you can actually see their walls!  How does this happen?    How in the world do they manage all their stuff?  Maybe there’s a more basic question to ask.  Do they even have stuff?  Could it be possible that they are completely stuffless?  I start to ponder…

It’s true that our tightly packed garage contains some plain old junk that could/should be thrown away.  But taking a mental tour, I realize that there are a lot of items in our garage that have been instrumental in saving us money over the years.  There are the tools The Man has used to work on our vehicles.   Thousands and thousands of dollars have been saved because of his mechanical ability, no question.  Then there are the chemicals, scrapers, heat gun, and stains, etc. that I’ve used to refinish furniture…that stuff takes up a lot of space in the garage too.   But we have some pretty nice pieces in the house as a result of utilizing those things.  There is an empty box section, created by hoarding the boxes delivered to our home that at one time held things we’d bought online.  Since we sometimes do business on eBay, those boxes come in handy when it’s time to ship out our goods.  (No box expenses for us!)  Then there is the leftover tile, partial bags of grout, and thinset from previous tiling projects.  The Man never wants to run short, or be unable to fix a broken tile should one ever break in the future, (which will never happen because we are tiling maniacs and always butter the back of the tile, use flexible thinset, and make sure the underlayment is adequately rigid!)  Of course you can’t lay tile, without a tile cutter and tools.  If we hired someone to do the tiling, we might not have so much project residue, but we’d have much less cash too.  So, I can’t feel too bad about all that “junk”—it’s earned its keep.

Then there’s the other stuff--the overflow from the kitchen, for example.  But come on—who has room in their kitchen to store one of those counter top turkey roasters?  I mean it’s practically a room in itself!  How about big plastic cake carriers--you going to allow them to hog up prime kitchen real estate?  I think not.  And what about Easter baskets and that obnoxious green grass that you can save in a plastic bag to reuse year after year (if you’re cheap like I am). 
How about the gardening things?  Pots, grass seed, fertilizer, potting soil, tools—they all take up space, but they’re necessary tools for landscaping which has a direct correlation to your place in the neighborhood pecking order.  

Like all normal Americans, we have a plethora of plastic totes housed on big plastic shelves.
Plastic tote 1:  old towels.   They come in handy in a variety of ways.  When some nasty accident happens (think plumbing problems) you want to use your good towels?  I didn’t think so.
Plastic tote 2:   backpacks and bags—those items must be corralled.  I guess we don’t need quite so many now that two of the kids are out of the house—I’ll have to dig through that one when the opportunity presents itself.
Plastic tote 3:  winter hats, gloves, scarves  (We live in the northeast, and I’d like to keep my ears and fingers, thank you.)
Plastic tote 4:  Extra winter coats (some of those could probably go, but I only have so much power to toss things that don’t belong to me)
Plastic tote 5:  Old sports equipment.  (Son #2 says, “It’s the only thing I have in there, so please leave it alone!” What can a mother do?
Plastic tote 6:  Stuff left from daughter.  She says toss it, but I can’t—too many memories. 
Plastic tote 7:   picture frames, foolishly taken down after watching too many real estate shows on HGTV.  (“The pictures make the rooms look cluttered.”)
Plastic tote 8:  Car waxes, cleaners, etc. (Those probably should be gone through—we’re the type of people that get excited about keeping a new car clean and polished—for about two weeks.)

Turning the corner to the back wall, we see wood scraps in the corner.  You never know when you’ll need a piece of wood.  I can’t count the number of times The Man has been trying to make household repair and asks, “Hey, do we have a piece of 2X4 anywhere?”  Yes, indeed, we do!
Now for the big boys:  There are at least 12 tires in that space.  Four left by #1 son.  Four are snow tires, and four are new tires.   (Note to self:  have a tire talk with The Man.)
We also have a big, fat, yet-to-be-used generator, sitting in its box.  We had to get one of those after hearing friends’ nightmare stories of being stuck without power in the middle of the winter.  And who can live without an overflow refrigerator, an extra-large wetvac, a chainsaw, and a drill press?  Now not everyone has a garbage bag of wool from her sister’s sheep (future felting project), like we have— I’ll grant you that.  But most people have painting equipment and leftover paint cans from painting their daughter’s room a deep shade of red that took forever to dry between coats and made the room really dark,  don’t they?  Oh, and what about ladders?  How else do you get up to your roof?
Our garage has an attic too.  It is loaded with all the books our kids read when they were little.  Those aren’t going anywhere—they’ll get pulled down for the future darling grandchildren.  The ones who will one day, love to read with their favorite grandmother.  

Yep, there’s a lot of stuff in there and it could be better organized, and yes, I still envy those clean garages, but after analyzing the situation, I realize most of that stuff has a purpose—Yea!  We’re not just total slobs!  But then there’s the shed….

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Look, Learn, and Hold Your Ground!

Are you thinking about getting a puppy?  Are your children’s pleas starting to take a toll on you?  I know all about that stuff.  Our youngest wanted a Staffordshire bull terrier and after some half-hearted resistance (after all, he’s almost through college—he’ll be taking the dog with him in a year or two,  I thought), I collapsed like the proverbial house of cards and said yes.   Now that Cambridge has lived with us for several months, I’ve come to the realization that even though it’s too late for me—I might still be able to help you!  Here’s a glimpse into life with a puppy, complete with visuals.

 You’re looking at the bottom of a support post on our back porch.   As you can tell, Cambridge found it rather appealing.  (Those crummy little stones, epoxied over the porch cement, are what The Man and I are in the process of covering with slate, by the way.)



How about this one?  Yeah, that’s new.  I discovered it last night.  The Man was not pleased.  After this discovery, Cambridge was treated to some high- decibel reprimands before being banished to the backyard. 

Had enough yet?  No?  Oh, don’t worry, there’s more:

Cambridge loves to chew on plastic bottles.  Once flattened, the edges are incredibly sharp.  He has a new trick of pushing them up against my feet while I’m trying to do the dishes, and it feels like a knife is being plunged into my flesh.   The white thing is a “rope” and the ugly things are always lying around the house.  You get a twofer with those—besides being ugly, they also smell bad!

 Next is a weird one:




This is a sturdy old bench I found on the side of the road while bikeriding a couple years ago.  As soon as I saw it, I pulled over, whipped out the cell phone, and called my Special Middle Boy to come pick it up with our van.  It sat out on the front porch the first summer.  The next summer it was dragged to the backyard next to the pool.  Last fall I thought, “Hey, I think I’ll stain and finish it and lug it to the basement to be used as a coffee table!”  So that’s where it’s been for the better part of a year.  Well last week, Mr. Cambridge, out of the blue, decided to hollow out a spot with his teeth.  I don’t know how he even managed it, unless he clamped his top teeth over the board and dug at the wood with his bottom choppers…. 

As if all that wasn’t enough—here’s a real heart breaker.  I’ve been making this quilt for my father-in-law’s wife.  It should have been done about 3 years ago, but that’s another story.  Pertinent to this story is the fact that Cambridge decided to leap at the quilt one day when I picked it up, (dogs just love to grab at swinging things) and now I have this to deal with:

Yes, that’s a tear (by the pin) created by puppy teeth.  Guess we’ll be appliqueing a little leaf over that section….I wonder if quilt thread is strong enough to sew puppy lips together….

So thanks to that puppy, I have several more items to put on the old To-Do list.  And you know what?  That’s a big old fat draaaaag.  Like there’s not enough to do without having to right all the dog’s wrongs!  There’s nothing like feeling you can’t catch up—I believe the sensation can be likened to drowning—and it’s all because I was WEAK!  I buckled under like an ant trying to carry a whole picnic basket—“Oh, OK—you can get a dog.  But you’ll have to….blah, blah, blah, blah…”  I may as well have placed a head of cabbage on the counter and given it a good talking to about responsibility and what a puppy needs and what would be expected of him.  (Assuming the cabbage was a “him.”) I'm stuck dealing with this pup while Josh is at school, work, or playing on one of THREE basketball teams!

See this dog?  

  
He’s not supposed to be on the couch.  He jumped up there while I was taking a nap and sat right on the pillow. 

That’s what it’s come to around here.   Save yourself while there’s still time….

You have been warned.  Go ahead—give in to those pleading children (or husband, perhaps)—just don’t come a cryin’ to me later on when the chickens of your “moment of weakness” come home to roost.