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Brace yourselves gentlemen, we are about to play TMI* of the female kind!A few years ago I was at an acquaintance’s house for a party. She and I were seated on the lanai and I was admiring her herb garden that grew in pots along the inside of the screen. In all she had thirty or forty pots, most overflowing with plants I recognized, but a few were new me and I stood to walk along the verge and brush my hands through the fragrant leaves. I kept an herb garden at the time but my plants often succumbed to the harsh Florida sun long before they had reached the size of these. I remarked on how happy they all seemed, and she replied very nonchalantly, “Oh, that’s because I water them with my moon blood”**. Insert sound of a needle sliding across a record face here.
I must have managed to look more interested than horrified because she continued and explained the process to me. The first step it seems is to purchase some reusable pads, her preferred brand was Glad Rags. Next you need a bucket full of water to keep next to the toilet to drop the ‘dirties’ into whenever you install a fresh one. Then when it’s time to water the plants you simply fish out the dirties and drop them into the washing machine and fill your watering can from the bucket. Can I get a collective ewwwwwwwwww!
The conversation eventually wandered to other things and, at the earliest opportunity, I slid my basil bruchetta into the nearest potted plant. Curiosity got the better of me the following day and I did a web search for Glad Rags. Honestly, it was a whole new world of cloth pads, rubber cups and sea sponges that I had never known existed. When we had the health class ‘girl talk’ in middle school my little bag of samples contained a belted maxi-pad and a box of pencil sized tampons (Adhesive backed pads had just hit the market). Curiosity piqued I visited other sites hawking ‘alternative menstruation products’.
The one commonality between these sites is the belief that most women have negative feelings toward their periods. Inappropriate negative feelings. Menstruation, in their opinion, is a beautiful process of nature that should be embraced and celebrated. Most girls are raised to veiw their period an inconvenience or something to be ashamed of. I can’t jump on the ‘shame’ bandwagon, but ‘inconvenience’ ... well DUH! My guess is that most of the gals backing up this idea have little, cute, Bambi prancing through the woods, type periods, and not the ‘Bounty with a ski rope’ variety.
I could get behind the reusable pads, especially because of their environmental friendliness, but I cannot believe they are ‘tsunami’ rated ... and it is simply not a gamble I’m willing to take. I did try a disposable cup (brave aren’t I), and I gotta say, they work ... better even than tampons. I would highly recommend them if you are a swimmer, they are virtually leak proof. But, if you wait one minute too long to change them, well, we’re back to that tsunami I mentioned. Talk about an unimaginable mess! As for sea sponges ... I didn’t even entertain the idea. Ultimately I went back to the common, everyday products and I still view my period as a royal pain, and not a beautiful event.
What, you ask, prompted this post. Well, right on cue, I started my period yesterday. Lets do the math, shall we? 48 hours*** constant companionship with 1 semi-spouse + 1 tiny car + 30 or so dirty gas station restrooms + 1 tsunami style period = ONE HUGE BITCH. Condolences for D should be sent to the house - heh.
*Too Much Information
**Her words, not mine. Someday I’ll discuss all the different terms for menstruation cycle ... that’s gonna be a long list!
*** We hit the road tomorrow. I am taking a lap-top computer, but posting will be limited by my ability to connect to the internet. We have two nights in hotels, but the rest will be spent in his parents two bedroom, 1 bath (argh!) double-wide trailer home. If this doesn’t spawn a book deal I don’t know what will, heh. Wish us luck.
I didn’t do a very good job with the ‘photo stitch’ option on my camera, so I’ve certainly not done this justice. It was waiting for me when I got home ... isn’t it grand!
I left the house really early this morning, with the idea that I’d arrive at work early and get some things done. One of the uncles is on vacation this week which doubles my job load, plus all the little extras that need to be done before Dan and I hit the road. In other words, I’m swamped, and have no idea how I’ll get it all done before Saturday. The garbage man arrived a few minutes after I did (he usually comes about 10am) and had to wait until I opened the gate. On his way out he dumped loose trash in the driveway, but didn’t stop to pick it up. So I did. I let myself in, arms full, tossed everything on the counter and went to shut off the alarm system. Blank. My brain went totally blank, as in the number I’ve used for twelve freakin’ years was totally and utterly gone. I remembered it finally .... three full seconds after the alarm went off and the police were called. It took at least fifteen minutes to straighten that out with the alarm company, and reset the system. Then I made coffee, I never drink the stuff, but if I’m first in I make it for everyone else. While doing so I managed to dump grounds down my shirt, and when I went to dust it off I only managed smear brown oil across the front of a light blue shirt. Next I made a trip to the loo (that phrase always makes me want to sing ‘Skip to My Lou’-haha). And when I came out there was a stranger standing in front of the door. It’s a good thing I’d just pee’d, cause I damn sure nearly did again. He was with the roofing company and was just letting me know he’d be banging around on the roof. Gee, thanks mister! Less than twenty minutes later the phone began ringing, and employees started arriving and I had basically accomplished nothing! Today’s only saving grace is that I have an appointment for a pedicure tonight ... and I do luvs me a pedicure!
When I was 7ish I received a box of Barbie dolls from an unknown cousin, who at 20, had outgrown them. Inside the box were three doll cases, you remember the sort, vinyl over cardboard with a metal clasp and a plastic handle. One case* held Barbie and her brunette friend Stacey, the other* Skipper and the third troll babies. Each was packed with clothes and shoes, little plastic hangers, and some small ceramic animals as well (pets for the dolls). The box also held a set of wicker furniture, slightly oversized for the dolls, not that I cared. They were given with the understanding that if she ever wanted them back, then back they would go. Young as I was I still questioned “why would you give anything to a seven year old, that you might want back”?
I imagine that unknown cousin, is somewhere kicking herself, because most of the clothes were the real deal, and are now worth (in some cases) more than the dolls. I kept them fairly nice. When it was time for me to pack them away because I had outgrown them, none had ‘wild woman’ hair, the dresses were still intact, but most of the little plastic shoes had been strewn across three states. They went, cases and all, into a large cardboard box, not unlike the one they came in, with my other dolls. There were in total, three such boxes. They moved with me, when I moved out and my parents moved to Ohio, and they lived in those boxes, until I bought my house. Their bulk consumed precious closet space, so I decided to reduce their numbers.
It was possibly the first time I had opened those boxes since they had been packed up. Sadly, that was a mistake. Many of the dolls were covered in strange mold that attacked vinyl. It look like a boxed leper colony. I called my cousin, whose daughter I had promised the dolls to, luckily she still wanted them and was game to try to clean them. The Barbies were unaffected, and they went to the older child of one of my uncles. None of them went with the ‘if I want them back’ stipulation.
D and I, as you know, are about to go on vacation. When I am preparing for such a trip I become all about loose ends, and the more of them I can tie up the happier I am. These ends do not always pertain to my trip, often they are things long gone undone whose time has come (or is long past). This time one of the loose ends involves another collection ... the collection that came hard on the heels of boxing up the dolls. Unicorns.
It started with one from my mom, Uni (yes, I named them all), who was broken by my evil little brother and a baseball intended for my head. I was not selective about the collection, if it had a horn, and looked like a horse I had to have it, and it was not many years before the collection numbered near a hundred. I did get older, and wiser and while the numbers still increased well into my 20’s the pace slowed substantially and I became more discerning in my tastes.
When I moved to Florida, the unicorn collection traveled in a box alongside the dolls. But, unlike the dolls, each one was carefully unpacked, and installed in a wall hanging display I purchased especially for that purpose. Like the dolls, however, they were equally forgotten. Even when I purchased the house they were dutifully displayed in the spare bedroom, the room that has been D’s office for nearly eight years now. And if you think he’s ever dusted them (or that room) ... we need to talk about some beachfront property.
I culled them pretty severely with a garage sale, though I was ill at the thought of what I’d spent versus what I’d received. Most of the ones that survived that cull were either special because of who gave them to me, or simply because they were unusual. Today they number around twenty, and still include the poor, glued together, Uni. Over the weekend I took them down and cleaned the inches of dust and cat hair from them, all the while chuckling at myself because as I picked each up their names leapt into my head. Uni, Aurol, Dar, Elf, Little Traveler, Chat Noir, Coral, Sydney, Oscar, Clay, Amber, Jade ... and on. Each one I carefully wrapped in bubble wrap, and tucked back into the case. I will put the whole thing in a cardboard box as soon as I find one large enough… but they are not headed for storage. Instead I am sending it to a girl who is somewhat older than I was when I received the box of dolls.
Her mother has kindly agreed to increase her clutter with mine. Part of me is sad to see them go, and part of me knows that once they’re gone I will forget them again. Still another part is bustin’ happy to know that they are going somewhere they will be loved, possibly even more than I did...and no, there is no stipulation to return them. When I enjoyed them most I believed each had a specific personality, and I suppose that means I believed they were, in a way, real. The seven year old in me still does, and knows that they will be happier somewhere less dusty.
Dear Hannah,
I hope you enjoy these as much as I did. One day you will be too grown for such things but still find them hard to let go, and that’s ok. You will always have things that you dust off from time to time simply to look at before returning them to their box. I, in fact, kept three of the unicorns ... I just couldn’t let go, even to someone as sweet as you (your mom is rolling her eyes - heh).
I’m going to ask a favor in return. Pay it forward. I do not mean to give them away one day, rather, remember what it was like to open that big brown box and know that its contents were all yours and sent by someone you may never meet. I still do, and it is in that spirit that I turn their care over to you. When you have the opportunity to brighten someone’s day, even if its just for a moment, take it. Believe me when I say the feeling is even better than opening that big brown box.
All my best,
Jade
* These are, in fact, the exact cases - which tickles me to no end, hehe.
Caution, another gross health related tale, you have been warned.
It has long been my habit to gift myself on my birthday with something I normally wouldn’t buy. When I turned 30, or maybe it was 31, I purchased myself a PlayStation game box, and bribed my 11 year old cousin to hook it up. I played Crash Bandicoot till I was chasing the ‘hoodamagoo guy’ (my term) in my dreams and my fingers hurt. Literally. I developed a spot on the ‘corner’ of my left thumb that grew very tender. I assumed it was from over gaming. I mentioned it to my general practioner, and she agreed, saying it was likely a callous on the bone. Less game play would equal less pain. Easy. I limited game play, but it still hurt, especially if I bumped it on something.
A year or two after that I switched doctors, and, with the Scleroderma diagnosis gained a rheumatologist. My thumb still hurt. Dutifully I showed the bump to my new and now current DO, who said “I can have that outta there in a few seconds”. But, after I reminded him of my inability to heal well, especially in the winter time, which it was, he reconsidered and sent me off to a hand specialist. The specialist ordered an MRI. A week later I was lying on my side in a big tube, hand raised above my head with a vitamin E capsule taped to the bump as a marker. I was in there for almost two hours, and it was horrible beyond belief. The tight space did not bother me, rather is was the noise, and more specifically, the irregularity of the noise. If you ever need information outta me stuff me in an MRI tube, I’d admit to anything!
The MRI came back clean, all they could see was the vitamin E capsule and no bump. Given my healing issues and that the bump was located very near a rather tricky intersection of nerves, the hand specialist recommended that I ‘live with it’. And so I did, and the diagnosis changed from callous to (caution gross image) calcinosis, a common and painful malady of folks with Scleroderma.
I cursed that bump every time I whacked it on something. I cursed it when I trimmed the dead skin back from its peak and filed it off with a fingernail file. I especially cursed it when I slipped with a pin while sewing and managed a bulls-eye right into its hard heart. I cursed it with some very unladylike expletives, and when my vocabulary was exhausted I made up some new ones.
In return the bump hurt, and it changed how I did things. My hand writing went from fairly nice to a total disaster because the bump was right where I balanced a pen. Yeah, I’m a lefty. I grip things differently or with the other hand. I tuck that thumb into my palm to protect it. I rub it against my pointer finger when I’m thinking. It’s small, no bigger than a pencil eraser, but has had a surprisingly large impact on my life. And I have hated every second of its existence.
Fast forward to my latest complication, the infection in my legs and the massive antibiotic dose I had been taking. I mentioned that I trim and file the peak of the bump, I do so to prevent it from catching on my clothes and tearing the skin ... sorta like a hangnail. I did this while I was on the antibiotic and suddenly (I’m gonna get gross) it was leaking clear fluid, quite a bit of it. This went on for a few days, the bump building up pressure and me jabbing it to make it drain (yes mom, with a sterile lancet). And then it went back to being the bump, though it seemed a bit more tender. Not surprising really because it has always run in cycles of being more or less sensitive.
Yesterday afternoon my whole thumb started to swell. Somewhat alarmingly, and very painfully. By 5pm it was throbbing and making me very irritable, and once again I was cursing the bump; surly it was the culprit. By 9pm the bump had built its own little ash dome a la Mt. St. Helens and threatened to blow. I cannot ... absolutely, positively cannot… not mess with things. Pimples, scabs, splinters. Nothing is exempt, and this little puss pocket was no different. Oh the horror that spewed forth, and ah the relief at the reduced pressure. I repeated the process several times during the night, (whenever the pain woke me up) and some of the goo that came out was actually ‘sandy’. Hard, grainy and sandy ... um..OUCH!
This morning in the shower I thought I’d ruptured the damn thing, and was glad I was somewhere that I could easily rinse down the walls. And that is when I decided to stop at Dr. P’s office on the way to work and see if maybe they could sneak me in. I waited maybe ten minutes for the receptionist to arrive, she took one look and flagged Dr. P down. He looked at me and said “Didn’t I just see you?”
Dr. P is a nice guy. He’s built like a serious weight lifter, tiny waist and barrel chest. But you have to be very proactive in your own care, because he’s forgetful and he does not read his own charts. I held up my thumb, which he grabbed and exclaimed “What did you do?”.
I explained the whole sordid, and gross tale and as he led me to one of the exam rooms he asked “You don’t have Scleroderma do you?”. Duh ... you just gotta love him. He squeezed it and not being happy with the result disappeared to another room for a moment and returned with a syringe and a scalpel. I’ve always held that Dr. P. is a frustrated surgeon, because he is very quick to cut things off. I uttered not a peep about poor healing, and though I broke out in a sweat of hot-flash proportions, was secretly delighted. He gave me a ‘ring block’ which amounted to three shots at the base of my thumb, and had the scalpel buried in the bump long before the block had numbed anything but the injection sites. I didn’t care, I just kept still and gritted my teeth. He squeezed, there was a small sickening, popping sensation and a satisfied ‘Ah’ from Dr. P. A very hard, core had leapt from my thumb along with the remaining grossness. He slapped on two band-aids and sent me to see the cashier. That damn bump didn’t even rate a stitch.
It seems that the antibiotic, not being picky about where it worked, attacked the bump as well as the infection in my legs. The bump broke up and my immune system kicked in and began the process of kicking the interloper out. Dr. P just helped it along a little faster.
It is still oozing, and is starting to hurt - the fuzzy feeling is wearing off. I am tired from lack of sleep. I cannot write, typing is fine, I evidently don’t use that thumb for the space bar anyway. I have to go back on the antibiotic that upsets my stomach, and not in a good way. I’ll still be on it when we leave for Wisconsin. And I am positively GIDDY, because the bump is gone! Ding dong the bump is GONE! And it’s going to be a fine, fine day!!!
Yesterday was the last dentist visit. Ten injections and nearly 3K later (they found another cavity), I’ve got some nice teeth. At least until next year’s check up. This morning was the semi-final doctor’s visit - I still have to go back for two re-checks, and September is my big annual at the rheumatologist (huge cha-ching). Because I’m sure you guys are as bored with my health as you are my impending vacation I’ll give you the short version...I’m going to live, lol. Actually, I feel like the guy in that commercial that goes around telling everyone that his cholesterol is down! My overall test results were better than average, with two fairly minor problems; my good cholesterol is still a little low and my magnesium is very low. He has prescribed some heavy duty vitamins and red rice yeast (it looks like a little gel cap full of dirt). He feels I’ve kicked the infection in my legs, but am still fighting the inflamation, so I am also taking a prescribed dose of Aleve. Hopefully not for very long; that stuff can be pretty hard on you gizzard. Basically he sees nothing in the blood work, or my response to antibiotics that suggests heart problems...yay!
I know, I made a huge deal out of it, and I know I look like a fool now. Even to myself - trust me. And I’ve spent some time wondering about why this wound me up as tight as it did. All I can come up with is the possibility that my Grandmother’s death last year has made me a little gun shy. Lame, yes. The truth, probably. I cannot remember if I was hypersensitive after the Scleroderma diagnosis, I really just remember being angry. But that was almost eight years ago ... and I don’t remember what I had for dinner last night. I do appreciate everyone who has expressed concern, and I hope that even if you now think I’m a fool, that you don’t think I was crying wolf.
I have the affliction known as piles ... no, not the one treatable by Preparation H. The other kind. The one where rather than put things away I simply pile it up and push it to one side. One of my self challenges this year has been to reduce that habit, and though I’ve done well in most areas of the house, my crap craft room still suffers horribly. You’d think this was a 10 year old’s room, but no ... its my office-sewing room, and each little pile you see represents a different project.
One of my ‘clutter’ challenges for this month was to clean up this room. This is not a total organization, clear out clean up, just putting things in their place, and removing the dog hair. But wow, what a difference! I can’t wait to get in there and mess it up again. But most of my sewing projects are suspended ‘till after vacation so it should stay nice for a while (fingers crossed).
Our weekend shopping trip was successful. D managed to load up on shorts and shirts for work, plus one or two he’ll hold back for vacation. I landed a swim suit and cover-up, a tee and a tank, but I’m still looking for a couple of nice shirts that I can wear to work, but not have to iron. I’m just not an ironer, the fact that I found slacks for work that come out of the dryer ready to go was miraculous to me, there must be shirts in the same family somewhere. Oh, and all you knitters out there will be happy, it’s starting to rub off. I own practically nothing knitted, but I did look at, and liked some little shrugs / boleros ... if they’d had the right size I’d probably own one. There is still some time, and I’m going by the mall tonight, so who knows, I may convert yet!
We also stopped at a Scandinavian grocery store, D’s idea, to look for Lefsa (a thin potato pancake) that he remembers fondly from childhood. We lucked out, and he’s been happily munching on them all weekend. We also found some good chocolate and some salted licorice. No licorice for me thanks (ick!). D is fond of licorice, but this variety did nothing for him, especially when he reached the center of the lozenge and it exploded into fizzy, salty stuff. I wish I had a photo of his face ... it was positively stricken - heh. I also landed some tea bags, and like the flowering teas I have mentioned before these may well never be used ... they are just too darn pretty. I left my camera at home, but here’s a link – their photos are better anyway! The bag is a smooth silky fabric, topped with a wired ‘stem’ and paper leaf. The site shows the bag sitting in a cup of tea, but if you’re a ‘mug’ person, that little wired ‘stem’ will hook nicely over the edge and prevent it from sinking. I’ve given up most of my graphic design life, including tossing my portfolio when I cleaned out the sewing room this weekend, but I just could not pass up this delightful bit of packaging! Bad, bad me *sigh*, such an amazing exhibition of self control - but, hey ... I did make all that room this weekend - hah!
I got an e-mail* last night, just as I was logging off for the evening, from a friend in need of a favor. It seems she has a gaming function to attend on Labor Day and is in need of a costume. Along with the e-mail she sent links to dresses for sale on Ebay that are similar to what she has in mind. By the time I got to work this morning she had found the perfect dress, and sent a link. I’ve done a little research on the style and found that it is called Lolita Kimono or Lolita Wa (sometimes Loli-wa). It is a blend of traditional kimono and gothic fashion ... and I am fascinated by the whole thing! Particularly the hem and obi details. So, of course, with no regard to my upcoming trip or other sewing promises I accepted the challenge. I fully understand how cracked that makes me, but I am really excited at the prospect ... perhaps I’ll take my sewing machine to WI ... kidding, really - har.
To add to an already pretty good day, I received an very unexpected box from The Fearless Knitter today, that was just stuffed with ‘feel better soon’ wishes, wonderful surprises, and guilt. Yes, I said guilt. Rox, it seems, is practicing her ‘mama guilt’, because packed in with the huge block of shea butter and fragrance (to make my own hand lotion), KC cookbook, handmade soap, pretty tin with a dainty pair of earrings inside and kitty treats for the kids was an atlas. An atlas ‘To help me find my way from WI to KC’. Methinks she’s been hanging out with her mom-in-law too much, that kind of guilt has to be learned, heh. Sadly the closest we’ll get to KC is probably a couple hours east of Saint Louis .... in other words, a long way. We’ll just have to keep hoping that we get some kind of plan together for our birthdays next year (the big 40 for both of us). As a side note, Rox is the ‘person of the month’ for our gifting group ... meaning she’s not supposed to be sending anything out, rather she’s supposed to be getting spoiled by everyone else. It just shows you what a lovely person she is ... thanks Rox!
And now, our weekend plans. One word, busy. Tomorrow is officially the two week mark to heading north, and this morning we realized just how much there is to do. The first order of business is clothes shopping. So we’re heading to the outlet mall tomorrow ... after I do a little shopping in our closest. Happily, some things fit again, that didn’t a few months ago and I’m determined not to spend any money that I don’t have to, just so we’ll have that much more for our trip ... besides, there’s bound to be shopping in WI, right?
*Luckily it went to my personal address, not my blog address, as I still don’t have that one working on the new/used computer...grrr. The gaming though, is really stellar, compared to what I’m used to. If you guessed that this is yet another project for this weekend, you’d be right.
My patience for getting poked is growing a little thin. Saturday, blood work. Yesterday the dentist. Today more blood work. Monday back to the dentist (last trip - yay). But the thinness of my patience is nothing compared to that of my wallet. My health insurance works great for catastrophes and not so great for regular visits. Its my own fault for putting everything off and then deciding that if I didn’t take care of it before our trip I would be courting disaster. At least its nearly done, Tuesday I’ll have the results of all the blood work. I had hoped it would give me some peace of mind, ya know, when it comes back fine. But the internet has worked its magic; particularly the spell where too much knowledge is a dangerous thing. Basically blood work can be negative, and stress tests can be negative and you can still have an artery that is nearly blocked ...especially if you are a woman. I’ve never been much of a hypochondriac, but I am definitely in danger of convincing myself there is a problem. Funny, isn’t it that leg swelling is a symptom of congestive heart failure, and now I’m worried about blocked arteries. It doesn’t help that I’ve has a ‘fullness’ in my chest for almost a month now. Now, before you all flip out, consider that it gets better if I exercise and improves with a good belch (lets just say I’m impressing the hell outta D!). In other words, gas ... but that constant reminder is fraying my nerves. Or, I’m fraying my own nerves.
I need to turn off my brain, which is easy enough during the day. There are lots of distractions. It is damn difficult when I lay down to sleep. Doc would probably frown on liquid self medication (ie rum), so I’m open for other suggestions. Wine. Maybe. Ok, no....
Lying in bed last night I realized that I am officially an ‘old fuddy duddy’. I’m not sure when, or how it happened, but I have somehow slipped from the realm of ‘young and hip’ and am floundering in ‘old and crotchety’. I know this because at 2:30am the only thing keeping me from complaining to the police that my neighbors were still shooting off fireworks was my having to get out of bed to find a phone.
As a kid I loved fireworks. My brother and I begged for the big, colorful tubes, covered in graphics promising huge explosions and ear shattering bangs. But, save for the occasional Roman candle or fountain we made do with bottle rockets, sparklers, snakes and large flat packs of braided fire crackers my grandfather would hang from a tree and set off all at once. The big, splashy fireworks were left to the professionals. Usually the fire department of the small town where my mom grew up. And in truth, we were not necessarily safer when they manned the punks. On more than one occasion I can remember one going off too close to the ground, showering the spectators in embers, and burning holes in the quilt we were seated on. Still, they were good times. Times I remember with fondness.
Now I’m good for an ‘ooooh’ or ‘ahhhh’ for about the first ten minutes of the show and from there on out I’m thinking more about how hot it is, or how fat the mosquitoes that flew a hundred miles just to feast on me are getting. The home variety of fireworks irritates me even more than the mosquitoes do ... especially at 2:30am ... on a week night. I’ve not descended to deep into ‘fuddy duddy-ism’ to not realize that some things my neighbors do are going to annoy me (as I’m sure I do them) and are simply the cost of living near other people as opposed to a desert island. But these guys were setting off crackers that rattled windows and sent the dog diving for cover. My roof and yard are covered with cardboard and paper remnants of these explosions, and I’m sorely in need of sleep. You had better believe, given the chance, I’ll be mowing my grass at daybreak Saturday morning.
Looking back over my blog I realize how terribly boring most of my Monday entries are. Each is usually filled with the weekend’s housekeeping and yard work, and certainly this weekend would be little different. Saturday’s high points being blood work and shopping for support hose. Actually, the ‘shopping for’ part was pretty easy, but the 30 minute class I had to endure on how to put them on was truly laughable. I just kept grinning, and nodding my head, and thinking “No way lady, I am not spending this much time each day putting on socks!” Seriously. She wanted me to buy rubber gloves with nubbies on them especially for putting on my new socks. If I were buying full fledged support panty hose I could see the value of them (they make grabbing the hose easier, and smooth out the ‘puckers’), but not for knee socks. No. Way.
Sunday was a ‘small project’ day. I got lots of little things done and it made for a very gratifying day, but very boring blogging. I will say that I installed two new smoke alarms without electrocuting myself, or burning the house down. And, yes, I count that as a blogworthy accomplishment as I am ‘electrically challenged’. I will also mention that these are the best damn smoke detectors ever! There is a little door on the front that pops open, you slip in a 9 volt battery and pop it closed. No wires, no funky cap. I just got better at putting in new batteries on an annual basis.
Perhaps even duller than my after weekend posts, are my monthly update posts; and sorry to tell you but its time for one. A short one. Last month was so-so on all fronts. I did challenge myself with a computer class, but I was also consumed with worry. I did clear out some more clutter, but I created more as well. And once again no weight change, which is good and bad. I figure mostly good though. Anytime I don’t gain is good. I’m sorely tempted to blow the whole thing off for the month of July, but I know one month will become two, and two three, and so on. So, for July, some specifics. Weight: loose 3 lbs (remembering I’m on vacation for two weeks), more cycling and walking. Physical clutter: old bike to e-bay, clean out the pattern drawer, clean up the craft room. Mental clutter: worry when its time to worry, ie NOT YET- twit! Comfort zone challenge … hmmm, I think meeting D’s folks for the first time should do it, don’t you?
Now for something that is not boring. Go visit Fiber Fish, and see her darling dogs sporting their new ‘doggy ‘dannas’ ! I love Abby, but that Henry … gawd, what a mug! Happy 4th to you all!