An Earthly Hell

My spouse and I went out to dinner tonight, kind of spur of the moment. Which is fine by me -- any time I don't have to cook, I'm all good, I don't even much care where we go or what we eat. When I have to go in to the kitchen and produce actual hot food, I sound like the castle guards in "The Wizard of Oz." O-o-h o-o-h, oh oh oh, dragging my feet, dread filling me even to my soul. I hate everything about it. The shopping (my gosh, I just bought _______, where'd it go?), the putting stuff away, the chopping, the thinking of something, the stirring, the cleaning up after, rinse, lather and repeat, over and over and over. I. Hate. It. And I realize I'm in the minority what with the Food Network and all the cooking shows out there. I realize it but I've had the cooking zest sucked right out of me by being married to the most picky man on the planet for a long, long time.

So we were talking on the way home, noticing how many people were standing outside this restaurant waiting to get it. And trust me, it wasn't a hip, trendy place. It's just run-of-the-mill Mexican food, semi-newly opened. Enchiladas, burritos, beans and rice, nothing out of the ordinary, but people were lining up, willing to wait upwards of 40 minutes. So I was musing about where these people'd come from, where had they eaten before? My husband pipes up with "That's what we should do, open a restaurant in Saddlebrooke." After I unwrapped my hands from his neck (Ha, only in my mind), I told him that when I die and if I get sent to Hell, that's what my hell will be -- a kitchen and I'll have to cook forever and ever and ever. He laughed but I was dead serious. That would be my idea of Hell: going to the store, lugging it in to the kitchen of Hell, unpacking it, chopping it up, frying it up, stewing it up, and then cleaning the kitchen, over and over. Maybe that's what Hell is: individually tailored to our most intensely disliked task. For me? Every time I have to go in the kitchen? I feel like I'm already there.

Limoncello Not

So the limoncello thing isn't going to work. I got half way there but didn't complete it. I might just as well have taken the vodka and poured it directly down the drain. Actually I could have saved some intermediate steps and just taken the money and thrown it and a bunch of lemons in the trash. I'd have been money ahead because I wouldn't have used the gas to go to the store, or spent all the time peeling the lemons, poorly. I started to have doubts when I reread the recipe and it said to be very careful not to get any of the white part on the lemon peel. Well. My peels were lousy with pith. Reading is a powerful tool when used properly. However, I did freeze some lemon juice so now I have two ice cube trays full of raw lemon juice. To what end I don't know.

I suspect I'll wait about six months and then throw them out.

ED Dysfunction

Today's topic is the commercial for the ED product that uses two bathtubs in its advertisements.

Here're several questions the above-mentioned commercial raises *snicker* for me:

1. Where's the plumbing? I see no evidence of faucets, drains, or hot water heaters in those "romantic" commercials. How does the water get into the tubs? Who's heating all that water? What happens to the water after it cools off and the sun goes down? Do they just pull the plugs and let the water run underneath the tubs, which would only serve to make mud, which would get feet muddy, which, I'm guessing would ruin any remaining romantic feelings.

2. Why two tubs? If the whole point of the medication is to "make sure you're ready when the time is right," wouldn't it make more sense to both be in the SAME tub? I could see where hopping from one tub to the other, especially if the weather is somewhat chilly, would cause things to droop, shall we say? Plus there's always the potential for some very nasty slippages going from one tub to the other, what with all the water and porcelain involved.

3. Where are the towels? I see no chairs with towels on them, no stools with towels draped over them, no towels hanging from tree branches. Where are the TOWELS? Sooner or later you're going to want to get out of those tubs and towels will be crucial to that operation. Or are you just going to stroll back to the house, buck-naked, from the forest, woods, mountaintop, or wherever you've put your multiple tubs? I'll bet the insects are just waiting in the trees or grass for the naked buffet to stroll by.

4. Who cleans those tubs? And they would need to be cleaned after being left out in the open, season after season. And how many times would they actually be used? Are tub sales up after this series of commercials?

Somehow I think these commercials were made by men who were trying to appeal to women but who also didn't bother to talk to any women before spending tons of bucks on the tub concept. I'd just as soon not be in a tub out in the woods, especially if I'm the one heating water, carrying water, cleaning out the tubs, etc., etc. I think it's exactly the kind of idea that some men would THINK would appeal to women, but in all reality, those men haven't done their due diligence.

Look what I found when I went to set the timer for the lights on the palm trees! Aren't they sweet? They're about 4" long and absolutely petrified. There were four of them but one was too frightened to huddle with the others.

However. The next morning I found where they'd spent the night. Obviously I'd scared them from the safety of their previous night's lodging. They'd taken up residence in my garage. Perhaps you ask: How did they get in? We've been fighting pack rats (Ah! The joys of desert living!) for years. The crafty rats have chewed off the ends of the rubber stop on the garage door and voila, in they go. They have forced us to set enormous traps to catch them. And trust me, I do not worry about removing them to safer havens. I have reached the point of being happy to toss their dead bodies into the trash or out for the coyotes. Pack rats are destructive and nasty. They love to eat wiring on cars and haul in all kinds of things to decorate their nests. The fact that they make nests is also an indication that babies are in the near future which only means more destruction and mess. Hence the annihilation of any who dare to cross into my garage.

So the bunnies, being smaller than the rats, probably went in four abreast and proceeded to conduct maneuvers throughout the night. Or perhaps they were just so excited to be indoors and safe, they couldn't control themselves. Whatever the reason, I awoke to tons of bunny poo and urine; this necessitated taking everything out of the garage, shop vacuuming and then washing it. I was not pleased. I left lights on last night as a warning that this probably was not where they wanted to be. If they don't take the hint, more drastic action will be called for. I cannot continue to clean the garage on a daily basis, for goodness sakes. I am toying with the idea of posting pictures at bunny eye-level, showing dead rats. You know, with the crosses over their eyes. Just as a warning.

Home Improvement

We have an older home. Not old, just older. Time for a few nips and tucks. A little straightening, a little cleaning out, a little maintenance. Doesn't sound awful, does it? But it feels as if we've been under siege for over a year now. It began, really, last year when I was going down the hall toward our bedroom to put away some laundry and noticed a funny smell. Not horrible, but just not right and I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. What it turned out to be, when investigated further, was septic tank back-up in the shower. And contrary to my first impression, it became more truly awful the closer I got. So, being as the house was 35 years old, the leach lines needed to be replaced. Unfortunately for us, they ran under our concrete driveway. So, as long as we're doing a new leach field, we might as well put in a new septic tank, right? And away we went.

We decided, thanks to a friend in the masonry business that the fireplace was in the wrong place and needed to be moved 90 degrees and about 20 feet to another wall. In the course of removing the old fireplace, we found there was NO insulation above our heads. None. As in, nothing. So, since we were thinking about doing the roof anyway we decided that would be an ideal time to insert insulation where we could. It had to be coordinated with the roofing company because the easiest way to access the areas where we could put insulation was top down.

Next came the roof. The house is designed with an open living room and dining room with great long beams and wood between the beams. Unfortunately, it was built in the 70s when energy wasn't as much a concern as today. Above the wood there is....nothing. We go directly into the roof. So we have about 2/3 of the house well-insulated and 1/3 with only 2" foam sheets on it. Better than the nothing we had before. And let me just say that there should be a special circle of hell for roofing contractors.

So after the roof there was a little lull. Then we started putting wood floors down. I love the floors. I'd love them even more if they were done. Parts are undone because we wanted to wait until the new windows went in so the wood floors would butt up against them. So we've been living with a 4' strip of concrete for months. Which is handy when sweeping the wood part---just push it all over to the concrete where it blends. So, now the windows are mostly in (we have "issues" with 4 of them) and we have to get the drywall repairs done and the painting done so the rest of the wood can go in. And, while we're waiting for that to happen, we're going to have the HVAC units replaced. You know, just so we don't get used to peace and quiet. I'm finding I don't function well anymore without strange men in enormous dusty boots, clomping through my house, accompanied by loud banging sounds, cursing, and music turned up so loud my ears bleed.

And in between all that somehow, we've gotten new furniture and I've recovered 8 dining room chairs and a bench and have the makings for pillows for the couches. But I have no earthly idea when any of them will be done since I'm going day-to-day. I also have a 32' wall of new windows that need to be washed (among other regularly sized ones) since I don't want large oily handprints on them. Imagine that. I don't know why contractors who deal in windows don't throw in that first washing. Why they don't contract with window washers to leave the windows clean and sticker-free as part of their contract. They could also, while they're at it, contract with a cleaning service to remove all the dust they create while they're "carefully" installing their products. There can't be more dust in the Sahara desert. In fact, I'm guessing the Sahara is a little low on dust since a great whack of it is now in my house, tromped in one large bootful at a time.

Where Did the Wonder Go?

Christmas is over and done. The house is returning to normal. Slowly. Sometime during this holiday I realized the balance of life had slipped. We had turned into the older, left-at-home parents and were no longer on the upside of life. We're not quite grandma and grandpa, but neither are we the "kids" any longer. Nobody worries about us going out, who our friends are, what we're eating, ARE we eating, or what time we get in (mostly because they know we are in, all the time). We've turned into the old folks at home. And I wonder....when did this happen. Was I asleep? Did Santa deliver this along with gifts? Did gnomes or elves slap these wrinkles on our faces and take away years? It wasn't that long ago that we were the ones being worried about, the ones out having fun, the ones everyone tskked, tskked over (as in: Those crazy kids, tsk, tsk!). And now we're tskking.

When you reach our ages it begins to settle in that life isn't forever, things don't turn out the way you planned, babies grow up and leave the nest, and you do turn into your parents. As words leave my mouth now, many of them are framed by my mother's voice and face. Even as I'm speaking I know how much I sound like her and how much I don't want to; but I can't stop myself. I'm saying/doing things I promised my younger self I'd NEVER say/do. And the really bad part is, I CAN'T STOP IT! Even being hyper-aware doesn't stop it. It's as if the words have been put in my head against my will and leave me of their own volition. I'm like the pass-through in the kitchen. I'm channeling my mother against my will.

We've all heard the old saw: "Older, but wiser." I definitely have the "older" part down. I know all about "older" and just have to say I'm really ready for the "wiser" to become part of the package. Right now it appears to be only "older" and not a lot smarter. I might even go so far as to go right out on a limb and say that I'm wondering if the "wiser" part of the equation is simply a euphemism for caution. It seems as if, as we age, we lose that which is a young person's greatest gift. They aren't truly aware of the smack downs that life can give. If one gets smacked down enough, pretty soon, unless you're a really hard-core case, you learn to be a little cautious. To not just jump into that pool of water, but to first test it a little with a couple of toes. To not just move to that new town, but to take a couple of trips there first before you make that big commitment. That "It's too good to be true" means exactly that---it's too good to be true. So perhaps it's not "older, but wiser" but rather, "older, and more cautious." The down side to that, of course, is that somewhere along the way, some of the enthusiasm of youth drains out with the spirit of adventure. Wonder and awe get further removed. It gets harder and harder to find magic. The up side is that life is lived more evenly. Things don't quite twist undies into bunches the way they used to. One is able to realize that most things, given enough time, will pass and resolve.

But, sometimes, deep inside, there's a teeny, tiny part of me that wants some of that anxiousness, uncertainty, magic, awe and wonder.

Fall is Officially Here!

Who knew starting a blog was so easy? I am absolutely technologically challenged and yet here I am.

Fall came this week. The reason I know this is because my dog (a perpetually-irritated Westie) has decided that I may hold her on my lap. She does this every fall and winter, and only during the fall and winter months. When the weather is right, and when she's darned good and ready, she will allow me to pick her up and put her on my lap while I'm reading the paper. She has to initiate this little dance. First she approaches my chair and puts her feet up and looks at me. And looks. And looks, until I suddenly recognize what she's trying to tell me. "Yes, yes, it's fall! Yes, the weather is cooling off! You may hold me now." Most of the time I'm much slower to arrive at this conclusion than she thinks I should be. I'm slower because the dance I'm waiting for is the one where she sits, looking at me while I do my regular table-setting routine. She's already been out and been fed. She's waiting for me to sit down and pick up the paper. Then, and only then, she MUST be let outside, immediately. She has things out there she needs to do. But only after I sit down and pick up the paper. That's the critical part. It's no good trying to wait her out. She knows the order of these things. There is a reason why it must be after I sit. I don't know the why of it. And, to give her full credit, apparently, it's not important that I know the "why." My job is to sit, pick up the paper and then get back up and let her out. It's just the way it is. We each have our assigned tasks and mine is to do her bidding. But only after I sit. Every single morning.

Any other time of the year is simply out of the question for early-morning lap-sitting. I don't care what the calendar says; this year fall fell on October 18th. Forget the solstice and the alignment of the stars, the turning of the leaves or ducks flying in v-formations. At our house, when Belle desires early morning lap time, the weather is changing. She'll sit there every morning until the temperature starts to rise in the spring. It's sad when that day comes because it signals the onset of hot temperatures and I know they'll last from about mid-April until October rolls around again.