The Art of the Box

As I've said before, we're planning to move. So, having heard friends’ stories about what their friends told them, before we even hired a realtor I started to pack. Not only would that get a lot of excess “stuff” out of the way and make things look better, I felt I was getting a jump on things. After all, I could pack and purge at the same time. Trust me, the purging is easier.

Boxes

First, you have to decide about the boxes. I have book boxes, which have openings on the end so you can pick them up more easily once they’re filled, and separate tops so it’s easier to close them up—maybe. Packing books isn’t that hard, especially when you can then make bags of books to donate to either the library or Goodwill, which takes almost anything. But those boxes get heavy really fast. As in, I would fill them, close them, and then just leave them on the floor for Ed to move. My lifting abilities are limited. But I also tried to pack by category—fiction in one box, general nonfiction in another, unneeded accounting boxes in a third. I think I had 15 boxes of books done in three days. Sometimes I’d fill a bottom box, put another one on top, and then put a third on top, just to preserve space.

Then there are boxes for other materials. I have good-sized medium ones for the dining room. And I had direction from a mover I spoke to on how to pack dishes, knickknacks, etc. it was time consuming but bending over is good for the waist—or so I’ve been told. Those boxes get heavier even faster. Packing dishes is an interesting effort and a lot of packing paper is involved. I worked out a deal with the hubby—I packed, labeled, and closed. He provided the raw strength to move them. He swears that at least one of the boxes weighed over 60 pounds. I’m not sure of that, but then again, I try not to lift a lot. Ever see someone steer a full box down the hall into a storage space? You can either push it, which sometimes doesn’t work well, or push it with a foot, which has benefits as stress relief. Of course, once I got it to the other room I couldn’t get it onto the pile.

Packing Order

Second, there is the decision on what to pack first. I started to pack linens early, because it was spring, I wanted the winter stuff out of the way, and I thought it would be easier to just have the summer/early fall stuff around. I even packed some of the towels—when you have three linen closets you end up with a lot of towels, even after you’ve given away a lot of them. I think the towels may have given birth to more towels when we weren’t looking and decisions to sever families of them were difficult.

And then there was my husband’s blanket, which we have named Puffy. It’s a king-sized down comforter, which can be folded and stuffed into a box, and closed. Except when I came back to the room the tape was coming off and the blanket was trying to get out—it was the only item in that box. I sat on top of it and put on more tape. It was still trying to get out. Ultimately, I stacked a bigger box on top of it and weighted that down with more linens to keep the box closed. I’m still afraid the blanket will get out. It’s the stuff of nightmares.

Third, I have loaded every knickknack I could find; someone told me that when the house goes on the market some viewers can have slightly sticky fingers so you have to get everything put away. I’m not sure that’s true but I packed them up. That includes in the dining room, where I had a hutch with shelves in it and “tchotchkes” on every shelf. I got rid of a couple of bowls but on the whole most of the items came from various travels and I wanted to keep them. That meant wrapping everything in paper, and then filling the empty spots in the box (which I’ve carefully lined with crunched up paper to give it a softer bottom) with more paper. When we got to unwrap it all, and trust me, that won’t be a fast job, I’ll need a box just to hold the paper that won’t be needed anymore. It won’t be pretty.

But then you have to have a place to put all the boxes. I solved that issue by putting a really old couch on Freecycle. That went quickly and voila—space for boxes. Many, many boxes. If you go into that room now, it’s a two-deep wall of boxes that’s 3 boxes high—I would have gone deeper but the room was getting too full. Plus, we now have boxes in the garage—only a single layer deep, but four boxes high. After all, in theory we really do still need to put the cars in too. I think.

Stacked Up

We ended up with 50-plus boxes, plus some bins that can be just wrapped in tape and loaded as is. After I was done with the dining room I walked in and said to my husband, “That’s it. Someone else is doing the kitchen.” He looked at me and decided that the best answer would be “Okay.” I’m told it will be 21 boxes for the kitchen, and I don’t know how many more for the basement and other spots that I couldn’t handle.

I don’t want to see another box to pack again if I can avoid it—I probably can’t. I still have a lot of packing paper around and will figure out how to deal with that another time. In the meantime, anyone need bubble wrap?

Next time: Talking to moving companies.

Oh, the Decision              

We were supposed to talk to a realtor in December, but then the baby got sick and everything was put off. Then we wanted to talk to him in March but he was out of town. The conversation happened in May--with the baby along to add an opinion. Regardless of months of waiting to move forward, the decision was made… we’re moving.

I’ve lived in different parts of two adjoining states for my entire life. All of them were, let’s say, within 60 miles of each other, and I’m being generous. It was probably a little less. Therefore, the decision to move was not easily made. But, it’s hard to argue that the children might come back East; they won’t. And we do want to have an opinion when asked on what might be good for the grandchildren. Our views are very different from those of the in-laws. And that’s fine; different is okay unless one side is a criminal and the other isn’t—and even then, what kinds of criminals are they; there might be a really good reason.

So, we’re going to move. To Colorado. What’s 1700 miles give or take among friends? As it turns out, most of our friends totally understood our move. Some cried; only two got upset but I think they’re over it. I’m not sure I’m happy that everyone took it so well but I’ll cope.

I’ve started a list of what happens just to get to actually leaving. And a list of things I want in the new place—how many bedrooms, bathrooms; how much space. Do we have to have a basement or can we live without one (we probably need one just for the husband’s exercise equipment; he’s having trouble cutting down on that). And a list of what we can get rid of—turns out there’s a fair amount of that.

I’m now intimately acquainted with Craigslist. Turns out that it takes no effort to change your sale location and end up offering things in Brooklyn while living in New Jersey. However, it does take 15 minutes of effort to figure out how to change it back—and I still have no idea what happened. Plus, my negotiating ability has improved dramatically. One could even say that it is in direct proportion with how badly I want something out of my house. And some things I want gone immediately.

The next few weeks will be crazed. Not only do all these decisions need to happen, but the house must be instantly ready for buyers to view. And I have to be ready at all times to either leave the house or work very quietly in my corner and hope no one notices me. No matter what, it’s going to be messy.

More soon.

Why Fear

I am a woman, with a mind of her own.

I live on the East Coast.

I would be considered by many to be a liberal—probably socially liberal but with some fiscally conservative overtones (and no, not a believer in the Tea Party).

I am a Jew.

I started writing this almost a week after the capture of the Boston Marathon bomber (no, you can’t say I’m quick with some things).  I can tell you that after listening to everything I said the younger brother was pushed into following the older brother. That doesn’t excuse it; he was old enough to know better, and he can rot in jail for the rest of his life. It merely helps to explain things, at least for me.

But that’s separate from what I was going to say here—although related. I also watched with fascination as everyone just started screaming that it was one group or another, or should I say one person who could be categorized as belonging to a group that people feared. I found it fascinating that Donald Trump (and this was well before he decided to run for office) was asked what should happen and he said the guy should be waterboarded. A senator instantly announced that the bombers should be labeled as “enemy combatants” so that numerous Constitutional guarantees could be ignored. And at the hearings (there are always hearings, which go no place and should never even happen since they resolve nothing), they wanted to know why someone who was picked up and then proved uninvolved hadn’t been put on a watch list. (Actually, I think there are several senators who probably shoul be on watch lists; we can figure out why later.) After all, he doesn’t believe we have any rights; only he, and those who agree with him, has those.

What are we so afraid of? And why do we have to put everyone in a “group.” Can I remind you that Timothy McVeigh, and Adam Lanza, and the guy who shot up the movie theater in Colorado were all white? By the way, I worked for a Muslim (he was not all that observant but he was definitely up on everything he should have been doing to be observant); he was devastated by what happened on September 11, and could quote the Koran on why it was wrong. He was a terrible boss, something a lot of people would agree with, but in no way was he a radical Muslim. Another man in the firm had converted to Islam; he was sick about what happened. Neither of them would ever be considered "radicals." There are far more Muslims out there who hate the jihadists, and are not radical people. They just happen to be Muslims.

Then there was the shooting at Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs. Yes, the shooter, who surrendered to police, had a lot of problems. In fact, since his problems were mainly mental, can anyone explain to me why he had a gun permit--or if not, how he got the guns? He sounded totally rational when arrested, but was talking about “baby parts.” I’ve often found it strange that it’s all right to shoot people in a clinic where abortions might be performed because you think they’re wrong, but the people in the clinics aren’t allowed to exercise their choices, which are apparently subordinate to the shooter’s—and can we remind the shooter that if they kill someone there for medical reasons aren’t they also then killing the baby? How is that murder justified? I’ve read statistics showing how many people feel that abortion is a horrific wrong, but executing someone after the legal process has condemned him is totally fine. In fact, they think more executions should be happening. Isn’t there some kind of reasoning adjustment needed somewhere? (And by the way, I have consciously decided not to talk about San Bernardino here; it's just too much,)

And that applies to a lot of other people. So some people look different and dress in a way different from you; it doesn’t mean they’re out to get you. Maybe they’re just terrified that you might hurt them simply because of their looks. And let’s throw in comments on guns as well. I know people who own guns—none of them as advanced as I’ve been told we need. I think it’s fine that they have them. I don’t want them taken away without good cause. But let me ask you: What’s the matter with a background check? You’re right, criminals don’t have them. But maybe if the guy who buys a gun to sell to a criminal has to have a background check, it will make them a little harder to get. I read that in Australia, once they insisted on more background checks, crime actually dropped. Who here would have thought that?

So let’s return to the part where I said I am a Jew--and a woman. What bothers so many people about that? I haven’t asked you to convert. I've been told I'm not wanted in my town if I think my children should date Jews, That came from a woman who objected to her Catholic son dating a Protestant It was a little mind-boggling. So, don’t look down on me and mine if our belief system is different from yours. Don’t tell me you need to go in the back door of the synagogue so your non-Jewish friends won’t know that you have a Jewish friend (and yes, I know someone who did that; her priest thought that was just silly, but her mother was terrified someone would know). And don’t act like I’m stupid because I don’t see Jesus as a messiah—may I remind you that he was ours before he was yours?

As a woman I am entitled to my own thoughts. I don't need my husband to tell me how to vote, or what to do. In fact he would tell you he's fine with me having my own opinions, which don't always agree with his. Yes, I live on the East Coast and definitely in what would be considered a "liberal" area. But I also believe we need to hold common ground with people who think differently. Finding a way to work with all kinds of people can only help us all in the long run. Fear of others based on different beliefs can only breed contempt, and nothing will get done to suit everyone.

I’m done venting now and no, I'm really not out to get anyone. My friends come from diverse groups and religions--and there are some in mine with whom I radically disagree. I have just been thinking about how tiring it has to be to hold so much animus against so many people. And I will not hang my head in shame that I said any of this. I let you live with your beliefs and opinions, even if I think you’re completely wrong. In this country, we have the right of free speech and to have other opinions. I'll always stand up for your right to that, even if I think you're out of your mind. Like the second amendment, that's protected too.

Joy…Fear…Joy

I have heard it said that if we knew what fun grandchildren were we would have had them sooner. My husband even quoted that a week or so ago. All I know is that I love my grandchildren—we have one of each—and lately, I am unbelievable grateful to have them.

My granddaughter was born in fall 2013, and I was there as her parents came home, after a small snow event. It was hysterical to take her home in the stroller—the hospital was only a couple of blocks from their home—while there was snow on the grass and the sidewalks were just a little damp. I think she had at least 4 blankets piled above her and a wool cap pulled down on her head. Just taking her out of the stroller on arrival wasn’t easy. She is now a strong happy child and we revel in her love of life.

My grandson was born in December and this time my daughter had a better feel for what she needed to do afterwards and told us what she wanted us to do. We flew out 2 days later and spent several days just holding him and his sister, playing, and generally having a wonderful time. My mother and sister came later in the week to meet him, and to attend the bris. What no one could see coming was that the bris had to be delayed. My daughter called us before dawn that day to see if I would go with her to the hospital with him. He had decided to stop eating and there seemed to be something very wrong. My husband answered the phone and before he had two sentences out, I was out of bed and getting dressed. Before the call could be done I was fully dressed and waiting with my coat to find out what time I should be downstairs. Needless to say, I was early.

The only good thing about getting to a hospital at that hour is that parking is really easy. The rest, not so much. He was now a baby who looked like even he was afraid. He still didn’t want to eat but his vitals were fine. Shifts changed and we had a new doctor who was very determined to figure out what was going on, and he still was obviously ill. You know that things are bad when a baby doesn’t complain about the efforts to get a spinal tap. Yet, he was still very calm. You would think that a week-old child who is demonstrably ill would be crying constantly. He didn’t, and I’m afraid that he might not have had the strength to do so. That alone is terrifying.

Ultimately, they moved him to the pediatrics ward, which had doctors who knew how to get liquid into him and how to hit a spinal tap on the first try. But they still didn’t know what it was, although they were quite sure it was viral. (And to give everyone their due, this children’s hospital took care not only of him but also of his parents, patiently answering any and all questions from them, and even from the extended family.) By the next morning, he was having seizures, which necessitated more tests, heavy-duty medicines to stop the seizures, and more consultations. And then they moved him to the ICU. We could go into the room, but first there was hand washing, and putting on gowns, gloves, and masks. He must have been wondering who these creatures were.

Success at last! 

It took 3 days but there was an answer. Someone from the Infections Diseases department figured it out. He had an extremely rare virus that no one had heard of, and had never been seen in that hospital, or even, I suspect, that city. Once they knew who to call, everything started to change quickly. They knew what to do, they knew what to look for that might be causing the seizures. This virus can have one of two side effects, encephalitis or meningitis, which you really don’t want but can be treated. Now all of the other antibiotics that they had tried could be removed and actually healing could happen. Five days later you could see improvement almost by the hour. It was like a miracle.

They were able to bring him home 8 days after he was hospitalized--another miracle since the doctors thought he’d be there for 3 weeks. I had had a cold that week and didn’t find out until close to the end of the stay just how it had looked to see him with so many tubes and wires attached, and monitors beating. I gather it was heart wrenching. Yet, as he neared the end of his stay I was able to go in and got a picture of him looking right at me as if to say, “You looking at me, lady?” And yes, he came home with tubes attached to a portable oxygen tank but it was small, had a shoulder strap, and was the least thing to do for him. Besides, all babies need funky accessories.

Two weeks later we had the bris and I said to the rabbi, “How many of these do you have with an oxygen tank lying next to the child during the ceremonies?” and was stunned by his answer. Turns out that when you live at a higher elevation it’s not that uncommon for a newborn to come home with a portable oxygen tank. He never blinked at it, although at a month old the ceremony itself is a little harder to do.

Today, my grandson is off the oxygen and is a happy, healthy, constantly smiling child who is a joy to his family and all who meet him. My daughter and son-in-law sleep better at night, and his big sister kisses him as she walks past. As I said at the start, if we had known how much fun it was to have grandchildren, we would have done it sooner.

Baruch Ha-shem. 

The Holidays Are Coming! What Do I Say?

The holidays are coming! The holidays are coming!! Oh no, what do we say? I have to be politically correct and not insult anyone. Really? If you say Merry Christmas to me it’s an insult? How about if on a Friday late afternoon I say Shabbat Shalom? How exactly are you insulted?

I’ve read several articles in which Donald Trump says he’s a good Christian and when he’s president everyone will be saying “Merry Christmas” all the time. First, I don’t think he’s all that great a Christian. Personally, I find him condescending and uninformed but as he says, he’s very rich. Guess the money makes him righter than anyone else. However, that’s not my point. How is he going to compel "everyone" to say what he wants.

As you can probably tell from the top paragraph, I’m Jewish. If you can’t tell from that, go look up the phrase on Google. They will explain it. I don’t have the energy for it. My point instead is that these are just words. Someone says "Merry Christmas" to me I just smile, nod, and move on—and I usually answer with “Happy Holiday.” I’m not insulted. Not everyone knows my faith, and frankly, I don’t want to know theirs. The bigger question--and frankly, there should be several big questions--is what does it matter? Obviously, if you can tell from clothing that a person is not a Christian, just don’t say it. If not, say whatever you like. No one should be that concerned with it. 

And really, does it matter that a paper cup is red, without any holiday decorations? Shouldn’t it be more important that said red cup is made of paper and probably won’t be recycled by its user? Maybe the planet deserves a holiday greeting and better treatment as well.

And another point is saying the words doesn’t make anyone a good Christian. I find it fascinating that from Thanksgiving to Christmas everyone talks about being good to others, and so many good deeds are done. After December 25, not so much. By the way, wars don’t stop just because it’s Christmas. Hunger goes on, homelessness and poverty are still there. They are just frequently decorated in greenery and tinsel.

My daughter has for the past few years volunteered to fulfill a Christmas wish for a family in need. That makes her a good person, and a good Jew—for us, it’s a mitzvah (also to be looked up). At other times she also makes donations to charities that have meaning for her. Frankly, she really doesn’t care what you say to her. Both of my children have volunteered to feed the hungry, clean up parks, do errands for others. And not in that little four-week period where what you say is all that counts.

Maybe it’s time to not worry so much about the words but to look at the actions. And by the way, Trump’s daughter converted by choice to Judaism. I give her a lot of credit for doing that (and am also a secret admirer of how she has chosen to live her life). But, I wonder what he says to her.

 *   *   *

I think that at some point early in my blogging days I said I’d stay away from politics. This year, though, some of the politicians and what I think of as their idiocy is just getting to me. Trust me when I say that this was the least of my thinking on these issues. You don’t want to know the rest of it.

Just Listening

I’ve said before, and I’ll say it again, I seem to be regarded as a bit of a therapist and sometimes mentor by some of my friends. Today’s world isn’t easy. With all of the technology and the constant need to produce—even very young school children have homework, some of it intense—people, at least those in my age group, seem to have a much greater need to talk…about themselves, their lives, what’s wrong with the world.

 I’m not sure when I turned into the therapist of choice. I think it’s because I am a pretty good listener, and usually don’t offer an opinion unless I’m asked. But be prepared for my answer when you ask me for comment. I’ve been known to let someone have it.

A friend of mine is what I would call a serial dater. She’s on several online dating sites and goes out frequently. But I’ve been noticing that by the third date she usually finds something wrong with the guy. On the whole, I think she has a tendency to pick the wrong guys. But, she also nitpicks. The guy who spent several years in jail and had a lot of tattoos? He finished the jail term years ago and now runs a very successful--and legal—business. Whatever happened way back when is not important. The abundance of tattoos? Okay, I’m a little weirded out by those too, but he wore long sleeves on your dates, so I think he knows that people are bothered by them.

Don’t like your job and have interviewed for another one that’s easier to get to—a bonus in this job market? Be careful. The friend who asked you in to interview on a pro forma basis has then turned on you before. Personally, I don’t trust her to follow through on it--and I’ve said so. Heard this story before, with a lot of the same players. As it is said, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different response. Same goes for the serial job searcher. Very picky in what they want to do. Unfortunately the job specs for what you’ve done for years have changed, and recruiters don’t look past the education line. I don’t know what you should be doing, but maybe it’s time to either rework the resume or look for another route around it. I can’t change the specs.

The Other Side 

But there is another question in this. If I listen to all of you, repeatedly, wouldn’t it be nice if you offered to listen to me babble along on what’s bothering me? Guess not. I’ve tried to get someone to listen every so often, but apparently no one wants to hear anyone else’s problems unless they can respond by relating it to their own problems and successfully turning the conversation back to themselves. Really? Personally, I think that’s rather selfish. No one in the world has no problems. Next time, perhaps listen to others; you never know, you might learn something that you can use, without making the conversation all about you.

So, let’s talk about me…. Anyone out there? Hello?

Writer’s Block

Yes, once again it’s been awhile. And there are two reasons for that. First, I’ve had a lot of work of the paying kind. With deadlines. Good for my income but at the end of the day I had no strength, never mind thinking brain cells, to sit and write. Just couldn’t do it.

And second, I couldn’t write. Yes, it’s been a major case of writer’s block. I probably started at least a dozen entries, all of which are gathering virtual dust in a virtual folder used to keep incomplete pieces. Not good.

For me, writing isn’t easy. Especially on topics I need to choose and comment on. Sounds like it should be easier than writing on something someone else has chosen, but it isn’t. If someone gives me a topic, I’ll knock a quick essay out that will at least be decent. 

But a blog is different. It’s much more on things that mean something to the writer, especially if it isn’t subject specific. While writing it I think not only about my feelings on the subject, but in some cases, just how much I want to share of myself. That’s the hard part. I have a list of subjects I eventually want to talk about and, as I said earlier, a lot of unfinished material where my thoughts either ended too soon or for some reason I couldn’t put together the words that explained my thoughts. Eventually it will happen though and I’ll go back and finish each topic. They are all important to me.

The Spirit Is Happening

I know others who blog like I do—not to a specific subject area. Some of them even have specific times of the day or week when they schedule themselves to write. But I’ve never been good at that kind of planning ahead; I write better most of the time when the force just hits me. Today I’m on a plane on the way to visit my granddaughter for her second birthday. My tablet is in my bag and I finally feel the moment. This is also the start of a week with a lot less income-producing work so my brain will be able to get into some less intimidating material (all of my work for income is in medical editing, which can be very stressful). After I finish here, I think I’ll also be able to start—or finish--another blog for later posting. I feel like the words will flow. I’ve written on planes before and for some reason it’s a good spot for me to get things together.

It’s time to get back into it. 

Neighbors Are A-Changing

We’ve lived in our house for 28 years. Before that, we were in a house for about 8 years. I gave birth to my children in that first house. My older daughter started school while we lived there--we moved while she was in the first grade. I didn’t notice too many changes because we bought the house new and everyone around us had young children.

A couple of weeks ago, though, I looked at where we live now and realized that we, and the older couple down the block who were original owners (we’re the third owners of our home), are now the “old” people in the neighborhood. Every other house on the street, probably eight besides us, has changed hands in the last 10 to 12 years, and now some are changing again. Personally, I think it’s great that the street is getting young again, but then I feel really old. My children live far away so I rarely have my granddaughter playing on the front lawn. Plus some of the families that arrived in the last 15 years have kids now entering high school. They were babies—or not even born—when their parents moved onto the block.

As an example, the people in the house next door left the day after their oldest son finished eighth grade. We have no idea what happened or where they went, but I do know that they had 2 kids when  they moved in and 4 when they left. One day we saw a for-sale sign, and by spring those kids seemed to have disappeared. In fact, the mother, who was always outside with them, seemed to disappear as well. Odd, but then they left (and they were also the third, or maybe even the fourth to own that house) and the new family was coming in. One day I’ll find out what happened from her neighbor on the other side, who not only knows everything going on but also had a daughter graduate from 8th grade and will be going on to high school. That girl wasn’t even born when her family moved in.

The next cycle 

It looks like the new neighbors are starting a new cycle of kids. We saw her going to pick up her mail while carrying a baby. Then again, that’s the only time we’ve seen her. They spent a month on fixes to that house before moving in, and then just seemed to be gone a lot as well.

I like the “youngification” of the block though. Neighborhoods should be like that. My daughter just moved to a house that’s been around for a while. On one side there is an elderly woman and her daughter; behind the new house is a family with 6 kids, and I hear that the other night three more families arrived to introduce themselves—with kids of varying ages. The neighborhood is 40 years old but the original owners are moving on.

 In some ways the changes keep us young, although we’re back to driving really slowly up the block to make sure no one runs out in front of us. But, I guess it’s time for us to think about moving on as well. It’s a really good street in an excellent school district. Soon it will be the right time to let someone else enjoy it, and keep the street young. But then again, living here also helps keep us young watching everyone play. It's a hard choice.

The Art of Chronic Illness

As I have sometimes mentioned, I have a chronic illness. It’s number three on the arthritis list, and sometimes I think it’s number one, but that’s just me. Most people think that there are just two version of arthritis—wrong!! When I started this little journey I was told there were 60 forms of arthritis, but if you count the subheadings in the lists, it’s probably more like 120. You know Venus Williams’s Sjogren’s disease? That’s a form of arthritis, although it doesn’t have the word in the title. Unfortunately, any form of arthritis is pretty much a chronic illness—you get it for life; there is no cure. Fortunately, for mine there are drugs that help mitigate the problems to some extent.

But what do you do with those problems? In my case, I’m lucky; I’m considered to have a mild-to-moderate case, and I really can’t imagine how bad it gets with the moderate-to-severe cases because I’m really not happy right now with where I am with this. Apparently I’ve been in a “flare” for almost two months now (based on what my rheumatologist said the other day), and counting. He can’t predict when it might end; all he can do is tweak the meds in order to try to make things slightly better. Hopefully, the weather will improve and the rain will stop soon. A couple of drier, warmer weeks will definitely help things improve and my attitude will turn up again. (Frankly, it's been so rainy here that not only are we out of the moderate drought people were predicting, but I haven't had to water the lawn yet, and that's really unusual for late June. But, that's also beside the point.)

The real issue is in deciding that you will live your life in spite of the disease, and not let it dictate what you will do. At least, that’s how I do things. 

So, what happens?

I refuse to give in to the problem. Therefore, no matter what, I get out of bed at just about the same time every weekday, sometimes more slowly than others, and I go about my business. What does that mean? I just touted up numbers and essentially, I just about doubled my business income this quarter over the last one. Now, having said that, I should admit that the first quarter of this year was not great. There just wasn’t enough work out there from my clients and I had trouble finding new ones. Fortunately, in mid-March I picked up a very steady assignment plus another new client, and had work from some of my steadier clients. It was a big help, and this next quarter is also looking decent. But the issue is that I never missed a deadline, and only had to cancel once—and not for arthritis, jbut for a stomach bug that made things difficult.

I have crocheted for years. I committed to making a dog-shaped afghan for my granddaughter. It was an easy pattern that went fairly quickly, but the winter and spring were not good for my kind of problem and I had to stop for a bit so my hands could recover. Oh, and I had then said I’d make a matching afghan for her very close friend. What I thought I’d deliver by late March was actually delivered at the end of May. Not sure when I’ll be picking up a crochet hook again, but it probably won’t be one of the really skinny ones unless I have a thick handle on it. But, they got done. Now, I’m working on an alphabet needlepoint for the anticipated second grandchild—I’ll need it done by Thanksgiving. Any idea how many little holes you have to fill with the thin floss and really thin needle? I work for a couple of hours at a time, and then come back a few days later and have at it. No matter what, it will be done, and framed, on time.

My family came to visit on the Memorial Day weekend, and I kept up with everything. Yes, I sat down sometimes when I got too tired but I’m hoping it wasn’t wildly noticeable. They know my hands are not in great shape so my issues in picking up my granddaughter were not considered all that big. After she left, I sat down for the afternoon—and cleaned up more the next day. Everything gets done, but on my schedule.

What’s the point?

If I were to let the arthritis have the last word, none of this would happen. I’d just sit here with an e-reader (much lighter than an actual book) and do next to nothing. Instead, it’s better for anyone with a chronic illness just to live. I still go walking as often as I can (usually the floors are flat there; if there’s even a quarter-inch lip on a sidewalk I’ll find it and fall over it so the mall is just better). The issue is to choose to do; not choose to sit. I know that not everyone can do that, but then again, I believe that even if my illness was in the severe category, I’d make the choice to do I have to believe that everyone can do something, even if lying down; it’s the only way we can have productive lives.

Even my rheumatologist is sometimes surprised that I keep going regardless. My impression after my last visit was that he wants me to slow down just a little bit in order to handle the flare. My greatest fear, though, is that if I give into problems any more than I already do, it will start to take over. I imagine that at some point in the future I will have to slow down to accommodate it, but right now, I just refuse to let it further impact my life.

I think that dealing with everyday life along with a chronic illness is an ongoing fight for everyone, but has to be done on our own terms—and those are different for every “victim.” With any luck, no one else will notice my fights.

And yes, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted here. The weather and the illness were part of that issue, as was the avalanche of work. Plus, can’t seem to find the lists of topics I have on index cards on my desk. I write them down as I think of them, then can’t remember what I wanted to do. That issue will be handled this week when I absolutely promise to clean out that desk. I’ve got a new work setup that I think will be better in the long run, and it’s time to clean out anyway. A good purge of “stuff” always makes me feel better.

Return of the Clique

In 1963 my parents moved our family from what most would consider a more rural area of New York (although we were really just outside of New York City) to a more suburban neighborhood in New Jersey. My father had been commuting more than 50 miles each way for his job and it was time to go closer. 

I’ve never been the person to have lots and lots of friends around. At heart, I’m probably more the solitary type and normally am comfortable being close to just two or three people. But I was happy to make a friend on the new block right away. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in my class in the public schools so I was on my own the first day. And, surprisingly, when I went to gym class—yes, gym class, who would have thought it, which was shared with another class, I instantly clicked with a girl there. So, there was hope.

My parents were very big on certain ideas, some of which I think have disappeared in the last 50 or so years. One was that when you went to school you sat, you learned, you paid attention, you respected your teachers. The other concept was that you did the same in religious school—which I attended 3 times a week for a total of about 5 hours. I was stunned when I walked into the first class there and the girl from gym class was sitting there. To this day—and after more than 50 years of friendship with her—I am grateful. Without her sharing the class, life would have been hell. Why? Because of THE CLIQUE.   

     

It turns out that my particular grade in school had a clique in it. How did that happen? A lot of the parents had moved from a town about 12 miles away that had fallen out of favor. So years before, they all moved to my new town—and almost everyone lived in the same neighborhood, so their children could grow up together. In fact, it seemed like they did just about everything together. And, I think there were people who wanted to be part of the group, so they lived on the edges of that neighborhood. While most of these families had at least two children, apparently the bulk of the next generation turned up in my class.

My new friend’s parents were actually part of the group at one point, but when they moved they opted to live on the other side of town and not be part of that. Their beliefs on child rearing and what was important were much more in alignment with what my parents thought. As my friend has said, “The day she arrived I finally had someone to talk to.”

But this is just background. The clique continued through high school, although other kids worked really hard to join it so there was some ebb and flow in it. The bigger problem was that they really didn’t seem open to even interacting with people outside their group, and it was very insular. And yes, I sound insulted that I wasn’t part of the group, but when you have to work with someone who really doesn’t want to interact with you, it’s annoying.

Ultimately, we all graduated and they had to go their separate ways. But at the reunion who did they stay with—the old crowd. And by the way, my sister was 4 years behind me. Even her class had heard of this group in the school. It lived well beyond its “Sell by…” date.

 Fast Forward 40+ Years…

Aren’t cliques so high school? Apparently not. I was working as the only staff editor for a medical education agency. Everything was supposed to come across my desk, and the higher ups were very happy with my work. Granted, there were some days when they thought I could read 90 pages in an hour—I refused to even try—but for the most part everything was going very well and I was happy to have regular work. But then there was a palace coup and one manager leapfrogged another to take charge of my group. He put someone else in charge of the day-to-day running of things.

I knew there would be trouble the first time she came in for a meeting. Spoke to everyone, except me. Bad management technique. It then became apparent that she didn’t like editors who worked on staff. How did I know? I have really good hearing and she said so to someone else. And somehow work didn’t arrive when promised so it was sent out to be completed overnight. The writing was on the wall, and I sat back to watch. I’ve been there, seen that. High school was back.

A couple of people left and were replaced—by people with no experience. An editorial assistant was hired, without my input, and not even introduced when she started. But you could see that she was part of the “in” crowd. Then I had a couple of stupid comments made to me based on age and speed. Sorry, but speed is not really a desired part of the editorial world—usually, spelling is a big thing. Plus, they couldn’t figure out how I could fix somethings by keeping notes on what I did. Obviously, I should just remember everything—that’s what they did and it worked fine except when it didn’t. In one week I had at least half a dozen projects that I had to fix after they “corrected” things. Oh, and they referred to me as “she” in really loud terms but never by name. It was juvenile.

Came the day when I was called in and told things “just hadn’t worked out.” (Patently untrue.) The lead manager, the one who committed the palace coup, couldn’t look me in the eye because he knew what was happening was just wrong. But the rest of management was young, and they liked to deal only with the young pretty girls—almost all of the staff. I took the severance, which was quite generous, and left. The only issue was proving to the unemployment office that I was let go without cause; I won that too.

After I left I kept an ear to the ground and found out what happened. Seems that cute editorial assistant who was in the work clique left a month after I did, so they had no one. Work still had to be sent out and some of it just came back wrong (and no, I don’t think I’m perfect but at least I wrote the style sheets). Some of those young things had helped “grow” the firm. Within 6 months it was shrinking again. They had to give up the big fancy office and all those clique-y types were demoted to the same or lesser positions that they had previously. I heard that one of the blessed ones made a huge error, but her mother was a friend of the owner so she was just demoted—and kept her nice office. The company has since moved to much smaller quarters and a number of people have left. But the heart of the clique is still running things—and from what I hear, not well.

The Moral of the Story

 High school should stay in high school--and really, cliques should stay in grammar school. Once you graduate it’s time to grow up. If you can’t make friends outside of the group you grew up in, you have bigger problems. Life is more than a clique. And working in the real world means you need to sometimes step out of your comfort zone. Some of the people outside of the clique really do have value—and maybe experiences you can learn from. Try it.

Bucket Lists Redux

Yes, I've talked about these before but now I'm actually getting into the idea of making a list because all of a sudden I’m finding myself really wanting to do things that no one would expect me to try.

I just scratched off another idea – ziplines. Now, you have to understand, when I first mentioned this to the husband he looked at me like he didn’t even know who was talking; or like I had grown an extra head; or perhaps I needed to be committed. It was something he wouldn’t ever touch, and probably would forget about anyway. Nevertheless, I felt it was my way of proving that the arthritis wouldn’t get me; and that there was life in the old (okay, maybe more middle aged) girl yet. I think we also have to just challenge ourselves regularly to keep the blood moving.

In December, we went to Costa Rica, where ziplining is a very popular tourist event, and was included in our tour package. Then again, there was also some horseback riding offered too. That will never be on my bucket list and I declined. Even if they could get me on the horse, I think they’d need Paul Bunyan to get me off. My joints would never forgive me.

However, I really was looking forward to going. And all of a sudden, the hubby was into it as well. Getting suited up wasn’t easy, but I managed. And trust me, ladies, those helmets, while good for safety, are a disaster for your hair. Fortunately, mine is short so it worked out. This set of ziplines requires you to wear very heavy gloves because that’s how you brake. Of course, you can’t brake too soon or you’ll be left dangling off the cliff. And you can’t brake too late or you could hit one of the guides as you arrive for a hard landing. Nevertheless, I loved it. What I hadn’t realized though is that ziplines don’t come as a single event—there were seven of them. By the fourth one, I was wearing out. But I refused to give up and managed to finish all of --them, even if I wasn’t standing up straight at the end. It was a wonderful experience, and proved that I can challenge myself to some of the big stuff and survive.

I should add that a few days later we were at another zipline opportunity but I passed. These were a lot longer and faster, and I just didn't have it in me to go again. Plus, I think my body was still recovering from the first round. I had fulfilled the list item; no need to push things.

What’s Next?

I have no idea. I only just started to think about what else we can do, but some ideas are now popping into my head:

– Swimming with dolphins in Florida. Several groups offer this and I’ll have to look into it. My family will tell you I’m not an animal person, but I’m thinking that with the right equipment like a full body suit and some gloves, this could be interesting.

– Snorkeling, almost anywhere. Again, I’m not great with underwater stuff but there are places where I hear that there is more beauty underwater than above ground, so that might work.

– Visiting Antarctica. After this winter in New Jersey, I really am not big on the cold but supposedly they provide the coats so who knows. That’s probably a lot further down on the list though.

– Flying in a small plane. Again, something that terrifies me but we have a friend who owns his own plane and has offered to take us to lunch at the shore. Could be interesting, although they’ll probably have to peel my fingers off the arms of the seat on arrival. I did the helicopter excursion several years ago in Hawaii and it was stunning, but I did essentially crawl out of the chopper at the end and swear never to do anything like that again, but you never know. As I keep saying, we need to challenge ourselves.

– Bungee jumping. All right, this is so far down the list it probably isn’t even near the list but everyone needs something like that. Almost anything else you can think of will come before it. To me, it’s a truly terrifying concept.

What’s on your list?

The Art of the Speech

The Art of the Speech

I’m not good with speeches. I’ve had to make them in the past and I agonize over every word, and usually make sure to have every word written down. At least then I could practice, make adjustments, get used to what I’m going to say. You know the drill.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

I recently decided to say a few words at an event we had to attend. The hostess knew what I was going to talk about and was completely in favor of it. I planned it out—several times—in the shower. It was perfect. Then again, maybe not…

Other people had said a few words, and I got up to add mine. It didn’t go well. Actually, it went off the rails fairly quickly. You know how you can feel when something has gone wrong and try to fix it midstream? That didn’t work either; in fact, I think I insulted a number of people in the room, and made myself sound like a snob. They also had no idea that I stood up and moved away from the table I was sitting at because the woman next to me, who can be a bit clueless, had already hit me twice with her elbow in passing, and the only place I could go was into the lap of the woman next to me (who I’ve known for a really long time and I suspect still didn’t want me to sit on her). It was very distracting, and a bit scary. Nor could anyone know that I knew I was being stupid but couldn’t get out of it. They just thought of me as a snob—I could see it on their faces.

Learning From a Eulogy

Next time, I’m going to take the advice I heard in the eulogy Andrew Cuomo gave for his father Mario. It was a great speech and made me cry. Andrew spoke from prepared notes; something he apparently doesn’t usually do because he wants to be able to adjust “on the fly” to the reactions. That day was different. In part, he talked about how Mario always spoke from the speech he had written earlier, not changing a thing. He had read that Winston Churchill always did that because you shouldn’t react to others; you should just say what you want to say and let them react to you. At the end of the eulogy Andrew acknowledged his father as well by pointing out that he had written his speech down—and stuck to it. He had learned that from his father.

I’m happy to learn from Mario, and Winston.

After the Fact

And by the way, I did send an apology to the hostess, who also knew things had gone off the rails. She was gracious enough to understand, because she knew what I was trying to say. But we did agree that I will never stand up like that again without written aids. It just becomes a mess—and the reactions can be even worse. Hopefully, others will forgive me.

Agent Wanted 

I need a new eBay agent. I had someone very good, but she and her husband decided to close their store for reasons I didn’t quite understand (and that my original connection to them didn’t understand either but didn’t want to push). That’s good for them. But where does it leave me? 

The hubby and I know that eventually we’ll move out of the house and into a much smaller space. That means I’ll be looking to sell a piano, a couple of couches, bookcases (although those I might put on—now, don’t mention this to that other group—Craigslist) and some other items. In fact, the more I can downsize, the less expensive the move will be, and I don't expect that to be cheap.

How to Sell

Anyone out there know how to sell the big stuff? Locally? I’ve found several eBay agents in my area, but they only want small items—and things they can look up first to make sure they can sell them. One shop said their minimum sale was $40. But I’m talking big stuff, like a couch and a piano. I'm still deciding how much of the small stuff to get rid of--lamps, side tables--but I suspect I'll take those and if necessary, get rid of them at the other end. And I also know I'll donate a pile of stuff that I don't want to deal with on sales.

Plus, I don’t have a PayPal account, although yes, I know I can get one. But, a friend just told me her boyfriend opened his account one morning and discovered he was missing a really large amount of money. Fortunately, he found out about it fairly quickly, was able to contacted those in charge, and the transaction was stopped. Stories like that make me crazy because I do plan to sell larger items, and I really don’t want to worry about how fast I move the money. This kind of thing always makes me edgier than I already am about the whole issue.

Reading Up

I’ve been downloading articles from the Internet on how to sell on eBay. I’m totally confused because most sellers seems to have have real “stores” and are selling small items, like cosmetics or kitchen appliances. I have a friend whose daughter routinely buys her children’s clothes there—and then sells them again—because she’s found a really good broker who deals with that type of item. But I’m getting confused on how to do it, and no one I know has actually sold anything on the site; they normally are only buyers, and I haven’t even done that. Then again, all of the articles say the best way to learn to sell is by buying some items. The problem is that I really don’t need anything.

And I know I can sell larger items because I have a friend who has already done so, but through the same agent who's no longer in the business. I just worry that big items are not really a good place to start if I want to try to sell my belongings. 

Yes, I'm Whining

Do I sound whiny about this? I know I do. I like to just hire someone I know I can trust to do stuff like this—I’ve had all the workmen for my house for years because they’re good. But I guess now I’ll have to do it myself…something I really don’t want to deal with. If anyone knows of a good source for learning how to sell “big” items, feel free to send them over.  

Now, back to sales lists, of which I have many.

Work . . . Life . . . Blog?

Yes, I know, my blogging has gotten a big erratic. But I promise there’s a good reason . . . really, I mean that.

When I started the blog I did it with every intention of big things. Three times a week I’d post something. Of course, then work and life stepped in. I had more than 20 blogs in my files, with lots of others planned.  I had a digital calendar that included what would go up when. And I never expected that to not work out.

Enter reality. I work; and I have other things in my life. Like, my daughter had a baby. I could visit her. So what do I say? Sorry, kid, I can’t play with you. I need to blog.

I am as a freelance editor, which means I have to look for work; it doesn't always drop into my lap. Income can be problematic. Most of my work is by referral, and I truly thank anyone who has ever recommended me to their contacts (feel free to send them my way). I take pride in never missing a deadline—and never turning down an assignment. Would you believe that I had a client call begging for help while I was babysitting? And she couldn’t wait—because her client was on her back. I ended up with the baby using one leg to bounce on while she played, and the laptop open on the other leg so I could look up the answer to her question. (By the way, whoever designed that play table that sings, counts, does the alphabet and teaches Spanish, along with other interactive corners, please contact me; I have a few words I'd like to say to you--that shouldn't be said in public.)

Balancing act

Where do I find work/life balance? November was crazy. I edited a book, went onsite with a client—and had another client sending me work for whenever I could get to it. Plus, the granddaughter came to stay for a week. Forget balance, I just wanted to be able to keep my head on straight while I did everything, including house cleaning, baby setup, and meal planning. You think I could blog through that? I’m not that good. The best I could do was set up a bridge table in the bedroom to hold my laptop so I could work while she was in town—and sleeping. (Her parents were sleeping in her mother’s former room, now known as my “office,” if no one else actually needs it.) Still meeting all deadlines, and apparently not causing havoc in my clients’ lives. Phew! And it continued into

I’m not sure we can ever truly get balance in work and life, with or without a blog on the side. Just today I had lunch out with the hubby, went to the supermarket for the weekly shopping, finished fact checking a large job and started the editing. Oh, and then I started to write this blog? I had to; I'm at least making an effort to post more regularly. Don't know if it will work, but consider it a good effort.

Life is always a balancing act, with or without anything we hadn’t planned for—and we all know we can't plan for everything. The victory for me is just in getting up and getting it all done. If I can cross off most of what’s on my list to do in a day, I figure I’m ahead. As for the rest . . . well, I guess it’s time for me to go clean something out, or just work on more blogs – or maybe not. .

Regularly Scheduled Dinner--Maybe      

I do Thanksgiving dinner. Actually, I’ve done it 35 times so I’ve been preparing it regularly since before my children were born. Supposedly, it’s “my” holiday. The only two I missed were when my great-aunt invited my family to join hers (and to bring my in-laws), and last year, when it came out 6 weeks after my granddaughter was born—she was deemed a little young to travel.

But back to my dinner. It’s a blend of traditional turkey/stuffing/cranberry sauce (the usual) with traditional Jewish foods. Potato latkes are a staple and I’ve also been known to serve derma—a stuffing of meat and some form of grain that’s part of a sausage—although that has kind of stopped since we don’t seem to have a decent kosher delicatessen in the area. In the last few years, my older daughter has become the fastest potato peeler anywhere, which makes the latkes a lot easier to do, and my younger daughter consults on the desserts. Everyone offers suggestions for sides. And I improved the turkey when I heard Bobby Flay recommend adding chicken stock to the bottom of the pan. I do that twice—at beginning of cooking and in the last hour—and my husband is singing its praises. Who knew it could be that easy?

The strength in Pyrex

This past Thanksgiving, I had another mission. My granddaughter was past 13 months old and I decided it was time for her to walk. Total success. She arrived here crawling 80% of the time—we reversed that and she left walking 80% of the time. Now she’s almost up to running. Plus, there’s a step down from the kitchen to the family room. She figured that out on her own—although after managing to go down head first and hitting herself. She’s a quick study. She also moves around with a twinkle in her eye that says, “I know you don’t want me to do this but I’m going to try anyway; going to stop me?” Usually, unless it’s dangerous, we don’t because even falling down is a learning experience. The best one came when she realized she could open two cabinet doors at once—walking gave her a new level of reach—and bang them together. She loved it. But, when she managed to pull most of a set of Pyrex bowls out and let them fall onto the floor, even she scared herself. However, it seems that Pyrex when dropped 6 inches is pretty indestructible. Fortunately, it didn’t fall on her very small foot. Once she realized she was fine and there were no terrible repercussions, it was back to door banging. She loved that. Unfortunately, she had to leave, so we’re back to Facetime every weekend, and sometimes during the week. Now that walking was so successful, when we go out in February I'm going to work on getting her talking more. It's time.

Small explosion

On Thanksgiving night, though, after the food was eaten, and leftovers put away, and while the baby was playing with everyone – did I mention that she knew within 15 minutes who her great-aunt was in the room, and who her great-grandmother was? If you asked her, she knew who to look at, which we thought was, was usual, brilliant—I dropped a small grenade into the room. Not even the hubby knew it was coming. It was my last Thanksgiving. It’s not an easy meal to plan, or put together –making the latkes alone, which is done same day, usually takes at least an hour and a half. Plus, I think it needs new blood. I’m happy to buy the food for whatever menu others want, but I’m not getting up so early again to cook it. And my arthritis is really not happy with me that weekend. After 35 dinners, it’s time for me to hang up my potholders and let someone else take it on. I’d even be happy to cater it, if I know what people want; or to go to a restaurant and let them serve it. We won’t discuss the whole set up and clean up issue. I’ll know the verdict on what we do in August, because plans still have to be made. Otherwise, it’s going to be a really small dinner for hubby and I. I'll be able to watch the entire parade.

Land vs Cell

Land vs Cell

So, I belong to a professional organization for editors and threads fly around all day, usually with deep discussions of grammar—I tend to delete those quickly because I really can’t that deep on the issue. But then a really interesting topic came up—or actually two of them: Do you give your landline or cell numbers to clients? And do you accept texts from clients who have “quick” questions?

To answer the second one first: I think I’ve only ever received one text from a client, ever. The issue was dealt with in three minutes and then switched to e-mail. The first question is better because landlines, from what I’ve read, are starting to disappear as people use their cell phones for their only lines.

Personally, I like being able to have both. I never give my landline information to a client unless it’s an emergency. But if I have a conference call, I dial in from the landline because the receiver can stand up on its own and has a better speaker; and I don’t have to worry about it running out of power, or minutes.

And I like having a landline because it almost always works—and because I can have an old-fashioned phone with cords. Have a blackout? I plug in the phone with the cord and I’m good. Something happens to the portable handheld, again, I plug in the one with the cords and I’m ready. And my old-fashioned phone has a really long cord for the receiver so I can get pretty far with it. 

During Superstorm Sandy, though, I plugged it in and nothing happened. Even those lines were gone. But once the power came back, I made sure it was plugged in for a couple of days just to make sure everything worked all right-and to let all those other communications devices recharge at their own pace. Yes, I’m nutty with it.

Even more importantly, I give out the landline number whenever I have to put something down for contact that isn’t that important. The store will call to let me know when the package will be delivered? They can leave a message. Need to put something in the phone book—and yes, those are disappearing too but a lot of that information can be found online so it’s a good number to have—the landline is the way to go. I have an answering system set up that I can call into a couple of times a day if I’m working onsite, but usually (yes, there are some calls that should have been answered faster) that’s fine. Nothing there is urgent.

My cellphone, though, is my business line. All of my clients have the number. Even prospective clients have it. Plus, all of the vendors I work with have the number. My handyman can reach me no matter where I am. Same goes for the guy who cuts the lawn, and the one redoing the driveway. Those people need to be able to find me quickly and I’m on at least 12 hours a day—less on weekends. Plus I keep my contacts’ information in the phone so I can find them just as quickly—both phone numbers and e-mail addresses. It’s a business thing and seems to work well. Do I want them to text me regularly? Not really; but a text here or there won’t be a problem. And I use a Bluetooth earpiece when I’m in the car. I don’t actually get many calls when I’m driving but if I do, I can answer and then I usually pull off whenever possible to talk. And no, I never text while driving.

The system works for me. What would you do?

Home Improvements

Home Improvements

Ah, the joys of home ownership. When you first move into a house, there’s the joy of making things the way you want them. Then if you’re lucky you trade up, and once again you can make things yours. In fact, the ongoing idea once again is that you fix things to match what your vision is in that home.

But now we’ve lived in our house for 27 years and not only have we made it the way we wanted it—including a lot of renovations in 2009 and 2010—but now we have to “fix” a few things. Hence, the joy of home improvements…the kind you can’t avoid and really need to make happen.

Our driveway is more than 90 feet long. And the mailbox is at the street end so if the weather is really bad I’m happy to leave the mail in the box until I can get out there. My husband is willing to put on a heavy coat, boots, a hat, and gloves in order to get the mail that day. I let him; it’s not worth the fight. But a couple of ties this summer I went out—once in the rain—I went down the driveway to the box, and on the way back, I felt like the driveway had sunk a little bit. Actually, it felt like it was a little wavy.

The Driveway Saga

Because I didn’t want to spend a lot on things, I figured we could just have it “capped.” A thin layer of asphalt would be laid over what was there and things would even out. What did I know? Apparently not a whole lot. First I called my handyman for a referral; no problem. I called the place he sent me. it’s been 3 weeks; I’m still waiting to hear from the guy they were going to contact about it. Oh, the joys of dealing with subcontractors. Apparently they’re in total control. My husband thought I should wait but I’ve seen this before. There isn’t enough time in life for me to wait to hear. On to plan B.

I had this neighbor for a few years—okay, probably at least 12 years but I really didn’t like her so I try to minimize it. But this neighbor was very picky in who she used to work on her place, and I remembered the name of that company. Called them; had a call back within an hour and an estimate within two hours. Unfortunately, my dream of capping the driveway was just that, a dream. It seems that driveways actually have shelf lives and we were years beyond expiration. His price included ripping it out—remember, this is over 90 feet, and did I mention the part where it’s even wider because there is a turn into the garage and that it actually extends about 10 feet beyond the end of the garage—laying new gravel, and then repaving with half an inch more than the required depth of asphalt. Fortunately, the price isn’t horrific. My husband was home; he said we should do it. I’m not happy but fine. At least when we go to sell the house, we can use it as a sales plus.

The next Tuesday they came and I had to get out of bed by 7n a.m. to put the cars in the street before the trucks come. My husband is stunned that I’m doing this, but to me this is normal. It’s the first time he’s been around for a major home improvement and he has no idea what it takes. This is nothing; remind me to tell you about when we refinished the floor in the family room. I lived upstairs the entire week. Notice that the driveway is now just gravel and will be paved in another week or so. Meanwhile, I still haven’t heard from the first firm with an estimate.

Also the Deck

But this wasn’t all. The week before we started asking about the driveway we realized the deck needed to be power washed and re-stained. Talked to the handyman (he knows someone for anything he doesn’t do) and we were referred back to the guy who painted the ceilings last winter. This guy is a pleasure to deal with; he actually answers his own phone. He comes over and we have a chat about cleaning and staining except he heavily advocates solid stain and not the transparent stuff we originally used. It seems that will last longer, and I’m thinking again about selling points for the house.

So, it’s off to Home Depot (fortunately he will handle picking the stain up so I don’t need extra cash to pay them; I'm very aware of hackers). I hate picking colors; I don’t trust my eye for how it will look on a big space. But the husband narrows it down and I just pick one. The painter comes literally the next Monday and starts the washing. As long as we’re doing it we also had him power wash the back of the house and the patio. The area is heavily shaded and we’re always battling mold. Oh, and did I mention the part where I had to have someone come and prune the bushes around the deck before we could do anything? There was a lot of rain over the summer and the plantings were running amok. There’s a lot more space around the deck now. Fortunately, the painter is very good; he was in and out in three days (it rained in between or it would have been two). I’m still getting used to the color but it looks really good so I’ll adapt.

That's All for This Year...I Hope 

The last commitment I made on the house was to promise my husband that there will be no more big projects this season. We’ve hit the limit. Of course, the new year is in less than three months, and I have a list for next year. It’s a house, something always needs to be fixed, upgraded, adjusted.

Back to My Threads

Back to My Threads       

Time to return to more fun in my life. I’m going back to crocheting. For those of you who think knitting is “da bomb,” sorry. I can’t knit. I crochet. Why is that? I do know how to knit, but I’m left-handed and when others tried to teach me it wasn’t easy, or pretty. Essentially, I have very uneven tension and therefore anything I do looks really messy.

Why crochet? Because I get it. My mother taught me to crochet in 2 hours sitting by a pool in Arizona—no lie. Those were the days when my father sometimes traveled and if I was lucky, and it was summertime, sometimes I was invited along. She was working on a project way back when and I just got to figure it out with her. From there I made an afghan—in sections, with joins to other colors. For a first project it was probably more complicated than it should have been but I actually still have it in a linen closet, and it’s been more than 40 years since I made it. Since then I’ve made a lot of afghans--for my kids, my sister, my husband, even my son-in-law (his matches the one I made for the husband but is a foot longer)—and they all still have them, although sometimes in a slightly dilapidated state.

Then there was the skirt. My mother and I were in a store when we saw this skirt in graduated colors and pieces. It was stunning but way out of the budget. A couple of months later I saw the same idea of a skirt in a pattern book. It was irresistible—and became the project to eat all projects. Took me years. It wasn’t the pattern that was so hard, or even making the 97—yes 97—pieces in graduated sizes. It was putting it together. But it was great when it was done, and I wore it for several years. Got a lot of compliments on it too, but eventually it was just too out of style to keep wearing it. It’s gone now.

I’ve made a lot of shawls, some of which I’ve kept. My younger daughter, who knits incredibly well—and has tried to get me back into that but there’s still that tension problem that no one can solve—and also crochets, pointed out that I don’t have to make the pattern to learn the stitch. I can use the stitch for something else once I know the repeats—lights went off, and now I have several shawls in more complicated patterns.

Learning More

I’m pretty good with most patterns and can usually keep to a gauge. Right after my granddaughter was born, I took up Tunisian crochet. Actually while out there helping with the baby I found a class on the basics and had a great time with it. And I ended up learning several stitches and emerging with a cowl. Now I have patterns for those too. I’ll be heading out for her birthday next month and figure I can work on a scarf on the plane. There’s a lot of downtime.

I was supposed to make something for the granddaughter but that hasn't happened either. It's a supposedly easy pattern that for some reason I can't "get." I'm not sure why because "easy" is usually a no-brainer but I'm thinking that I have to sit down in the next two weeks and just knock it out. I know that if I just spend the time, it won't take more than an hour to do. Hopefully, she'll like it.

But Where... 

My greatest issue these days is where to crochet. I used to have a recliner in my bedroom and I could sit there and work and have the TV on as background--and something to see when I looked up. The chair broke and I put it out for the trash. The only thing keeping me from working now is no place to do it. Still working on that one, but I plan to resolve the issue this week.

Stay tuned for more on crafting habits…

The Closet Purge Returns            

Yes, it’s back. I’m cleaning out my clothes again. I’m not sure why that happens so regularly but I find that if I clean out my clothing, whether due to size changes (fortunately, I’m not getting bigger these days), boredom, or just a general need to clean, I feel better. And I would bet there are a lot of people out there like me.

So this week, it was mainly the dresser. I went after anything I haven’t worn in the last summer—most of the gutting was on the summer side of things. It wasn’t a lot, but I have a nice little pile going. I still have a couple of drawers to go elsewhere—yes, there is an elsewhere with odds and ends that don’t really fit into a specific season. But I’m willing to bet there are items in there that I haven’t even looked at in a couple of years. I remember a pair of shorts I bought for when I first tried out yoga. I must have scared the class not only with my efforts to get to the various positions—a topic for another day—but with the outfit I wore. Looking back I have to ask myself, “Self, what were you thinking?!?!?!

Next, it will be the fall/winter/early spring items. I don’t think there’s as much there because I’ve been weeding out that side of things regularly. I do need to hit the coat closet in the front hall though. And that’s where I might even “lose” some of my husband’s treasured items. I helped my daughter “redo” her front coat and whatever-we-can-hide-in-there closet recently. A lot of the “hidden treasures” weren’t hers, but were stashed by her husband. I think her thinking was that he hadn’t mentioned them lately so he won’t miss them. She knew what really had to be kept; the rest has met the dumpster of history. But she felt really good after the purge. She also routinely clears her daughter’s closet of outgrown clothing. Of course, since my granddaughter is only just 11 months old that can happen every 2 weeks without fear of losing anything.

On a side note, personally, I like the idea of people passing their clothing on by way of donation or giving them to specific people who need them. My granddaughter is a benefactor of that policy, which has given her a huge—and very fashionable-wardrobe. If eventually she gets a little sister, that kid will also be set for clothes. And if there is a little brother, well, someone out there will become the latest mini fashionista.

 Other Side of the Closet

Returning to my main point, my next question is this: How is it that no matter how often we women clean out our wardrobes, the men have nothing to purge? I mean, really? My husband hasn’t needed to wear a suit daily to work in years. If he has one on, it’s either black or navy blue, sometimes with a pinstripe. And he’s wearing a red tie. He doesn’t have to tell me he has a meeting that day; I can just see that he’s going to be talking to the bankers. Plus, in the last couple of years he’s lost 25 pounds. A number of clothes are hanging on him. So when I ask if he has anything to add to the donation bag, the answer is usually no, or he puts in one really old pair of running shorts that I then take out of the bag because they’re really not something that should be given as a donation. It would be embarrassing. Therefore, there’s nothing from his side of the closet. Really?

Anyway, I think I’ve gotten rid of some stress now, which is always good. I’m going back to the purging area now—I have one more drawer to do.

I the Worker

I’ve never argued with the fact that when I am on a job, I’m frequently one of the oldest people in the office, if not the oldest by at least several years. Some businesses just seem to hire younger and younger people, which is a way to save money.

What’s wrong with saving money? Or never mind that, what’s wrong with thinking that on every job you should come in at 10 a.m., but expect to leave at 5 or 5:30 p.m., and take at least an hour for lunch. I think this is where my age comes in. I wouldn’t ever think of assuming that, but then again, I’m older and probably considered odd. And my work ethic doesn’t happen like that.

Instead, I listen to the hours HR tells me to be there, and I come in for them. If the meeting is at 9:30 every day, I don’t assume I can miss it because I was there late the night before. (Then again, if I work until after 11 p.m. to make sure the job gets to the client on time, I probably won’t be at the meeting, an neither will anyone who was there late with me.) I don’t assume that I shouldn’t have to work hard but will still be rewarded. And I never assume that someone else is there to pick up behind me. My office is not my mother—and she doesn’t pick up after me either.

There are some benefits to having been around for a while. First, I actually usually know the job I’m asked to do, so there’s no training involved. Second, I’m happy to have the work so I’m easier to get along with in the office, and usually ready to go as soon as I get in. I don’t need a 20-minute coffee break to start my day. Finally, due to having been around for a bit, I’m usually pretty good at getting along with just about everyone I meet (yes, there are some duds, but it’s a minority) so I don’t rock the boat of office dynamics all that often. I’m also pretty good at figuring out quickly who I should avoid in the office in order to make sure I’m invited back—more billings for me.

Would I like my workload to be less? Sometimes. Do I try to take pride in what I do and put in the time to make sure it’s right? Absolutely. Unfortunately, I seem to be in a very small minority. Why is that? Who decided we were owed for not doing a job? Who thinks that if you work the basic hours someone else will just pick up the slack—and never question that you must be superior because you don’t cover for yourself? And who decides who gets what assignments—yes, that would be the boss. Frankly, if you’re not doing your work, don’t expect the promotion—and don’t complain when you don’t get it. In all likelihood the person who moved up the ladder was probably the one coming in earlier, staying later, and making sure the job was done—well. Yes, they might have been currying favor with the powers above them, but ultimately, most of the time, if you can’t do the work you’re not going to get anyplace. It just about always comes home to hit you if you move up to where you shouldn’t be.

And for those who do realize that I might be older than their mothers, remember that I’m polite; I still try to smile at everyone; and I do deserve respect unless I behave like a complete fool. Manners really do count much of the time, and periodically, they pay off. Maybe if the young came in at the appropriate time, sat down, and did what they were supposed to, the firm wouldn’t need to hire me to clean up after you. Or to do your work. And the firm wouldn’t routinely have mass layoffs due to budget cuts, or because there was less work available. Instead they bring in people like me, who may not be willing to stay really late but also don’t get benefits and work on an as-needed basis. (That means that if we come in and after 4 hours you don’t need us, we go home, even if we were promise three days of billings.) Maybe they would keep you around if you had shown loyalty and an ability to do the work—or even an interest in doing it well.

Homework Counts

Putting in the time to do a job right counts. I know you just graduated from college, and your professors said you were great. Doesn’t mean you know everything. I once worked in a place where the assistant questioned me on a style issue. Seems her professor said one thing but I was doing something else. Of course, the fact that the professor was teaching her newspaper style, and we were doing medical, never came up—oh wait, it did, when I pointed it out. She admitted she hadn’t even opened that manual; I suggested, politely, that she did. Then I went off to ask my friend with 20 years of newspaper experience (not the 20 days this girl had) about the question she asked. My friend in the trenches immediately pointed out that style is subjective, and no one followed it that tightly. Plus, you need to follow what the client wants, not just what a professor is teaching. The real world can be different.

Step back for a moment and try listening. Learning doesn’t end when you get your diploma. In fact, that’s only the beginning—yes, it’s a cliché but there is truth in the saying. You can learn something and do better if you listen to people like me—the old fogies.

Oh, and for you “friends” who know all about getting a job, but haven’t actually had to find one in the last 20-plus years: the answer to someone who is out of work isn’t, “Well, I’m sure you can find a job if you really want one.” (And no, I don’t talk to her anymore.) Do you really think the world is waiting to hire you if you want to suddenly go out once the kids are gone and make a little money? When there are at least three people for every job, and most of them have far more current work experience than you do? I bet you’ll be surprised when you don’t get an interview—unless you know someone who is willing to create a little something for you. Trust me, it won’t be all that scintillating to do whatever work is tossed at you; you’ll still be expected to get it done; and I’m pretty sure it won’t pay what you think you’re worth.

Older Really Isn't Stupid 

Remember, you’re older now, and a lot of young people think older means stupid. Yes, this has been a bit of a rant, but as an older worker, who has been through both the ups and the downs, I think I have a right to say something—due to my age, and the fact that I have never been let go for cause, or even been put on probation because I didn’t perform well, you might want to listen.