Vacuum Update

Okay, I did it.  I vacuumed, and I mean with the "real" vacuum this time.  The big, bulky, heavy, behemoth, domestic T-Rex version.

Sure enough, I scarred some more furniture, stubbed my toe on the thing, caught the on-board tools on a wire shelf  in the office and turned it over, missed three phone calls and a neighbor's knock on the door because of the Boeing 747 decibel roar of the damn thing. 

Did I mention that I hate vacuuming?

Oh, and really I have no excuse.  Our condo is barely 1100 square feet, and I only have to plug the monster in one spot to clean the whole place.  Well, now I'm a little ashamed. Nevertheless, the bathroom is just going to have to wait.  I'm all sweaty and I have to bandage my toe.

------

Housekeeping My Way

I am not a great housekeeper.  I was going to say I'm a terrible housekeeper, but that's a little overstated.  I mean, my house is orderly, I'm not a hoarder or anything.  I don't have piles and piles of accumulated trash all over the house with a dead flat cat at the bottom of it all.  (I actually saw that on TV.  And by the way, when did a "horribly dirty messy person"  become a "hoarder"?  Probably about the same time a "brat" became "A.D.D.".  But I digress.) 

Anyway, because I use one of those lightweight rechargeable carpet sweepers every day or so to police the littered landscape of visible crumbs and assorted nuts around our couch (the detritus of our nightly TV snacking frenzy), I literally cannot remember the last time I actually vacuumed.  I mean beater-brush Hoover kind of vacuuming. I cannot remember.

I absolutely hate "real" vacuuming. I am not good at it.  I bump into furniture with the stupid thing, I knock stuff over, I get mad and yank the dining room chairs out of the way, flinging them headlong into more unsuspecting furniture, I just hate it. I pretty much hate anything requiring "elbow grease".  For instance, I also hate mopping, like with a bucket and everything.  So I use the Swiffer wet mop method on the kitchen floor.  Easy peasy. 

Actually, I have several "methods" of housekeeping to trick myself into at least attempting to clean.  Which, as I mentioned, I hate. One such method is the very reliable "Kleenex method" of bathroom cleaning, taught to me by my late mother-in-law, whereby you simply grab a few Kleenex from the tissue box nearby, and deftly wipe up the unsightly water spots and schmutz around your bathroom sink and toilet.  Voila! And lest you think this is a wasteful practice, let me assure you that Kleenex are a completely renewable resource.  There are LOTS more boxes of them at the store. 

Other "methods" include the scatter-shot method, where I bounce from mess to mess with no plan nor forethought.  ("Oh look, there's a smudge on that mirror.  Better wipe that off.  Ooh, there's a spot on the rug over there, better spot clean that with the spray cleaner.  Oops, there's makeup on the dresser, better wipe that off."  Etcetera.)  Also the "do one thing today" method, because it's all I can handle.  Like the aforementioned vacuuming.  And of course, the "one room at a time" method.  I just finished one of these in our bedroom.  I did a fairly thorough top to bottom cleaning, (how do the baseboards get like that?) taking my time and stretching it out throughout the day. Of course, now I'm so traumatized by the herculean effort, I'm not sure when I'll get to the next room.  Maybe by December sometime.

Oddly, I do not hate doing laundry, although I simply "forget" to do it until the hamper begins to bulge and vibrate and spit sleeves and socks out its mouth. And someday I'll tell you about my patented "magic fold" of bedsheets, that allows you to place the clean folded sheet back on the bed in such a way that you casually pull back the folds and replace your sheet perfectly without all the wild flapping and running laps around the mattress.  Got your interest, haven't I?

Well, now that I have cleansed my soul, and confessed my domestic shortcomings, I think I'll take a nap.  The bed's all made and it's the only room in the house that's clean.

-----

Bran Power

-----

I make these bran muffins.  They are, well... therapeutic... as well as quite delicious.  I have tried various recipes over the years, beginning with a recipe that used regular bran flakes cereal as the main ingredient.  They were nice muffins.  But my current version, uses the kind of bran cereal that contains FOURTEEN grams of fiber per half cup serving.  They are little sticks of dynamite in a box.  I call the new resulting muffins my WMD's. 

One day, back when I first started making these muffins, our air conditioning guy (who is also a friend of ours)  happened to be here, so I gave him a couple to take home.  He called me two days later to tell me, in his quiet and slow deliberate voice, "Those muffins were not only delicious, they had an excellent result."  (His exact words.)  From that day forward, whenever we referred him to a new customer, or he ran into anyone who knows us he would regale them with tales of my very effective muffins.  Strange but true. I guess you never know what someone will remember you for.  Perhaps my epitaph should be "Her muffins were delicious and they had an excellent result." 

Anyway, in keeping with the Fall harvest season upon us, I have recently been adding pumpkin to my muffin recipe.  Oh boy.  More fiber.  

So, I guess I just wanted to say....oops.  Gotta go.

----

Ten Years Ago 9/11

----

For my generation and older, it's been said that you never forget where you were when you heard the news that President Kennedy had been shot. I was sitting on a school bus in the parking lot of my grammar school, waiting for our driver to pull out and take us home at the end of our school day. But before we drove anywhere, a teacher boarded the bus and told us the terrible news.


At least that's the way I remember it. But I was a kid, and my childhood memories are always part fact and part fill-in-the-blank. So who knows whether that's exactly how it went?

But ten years ago, on September 11, I was a grown-up, and I do remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the news of an airplane crashing into the World Trade Center hit the airwaves. Buddy and I were taking showers, shaving, getting dressed and putting on make-up, getting ready to perform a matinee show for a group of senior citizens who were coming by bus to see us at Tillman's Village Inn in Albion, NY.

At first it seemed that the first plane may have been a horrible accident. Then it became clear: No accident. Terrorist attack. The scenes on TV, so sickeningly familiar now, were unbelievable at the time. In a daze, we just kept getting ready to do our show, because we knew that the busload of people, from a town three hours away, were already on their way to see us when it all happened. We didn't even know if they knew. They were just on a fun day trip, going to see some entertainment, have lunch, and enjoy the rural scenery.

So we went to the Village Inn, and waited for the bus to arrive. We were all dressed up, our PA equipment was turned on and ready to go. The staff, the owners, the chef, and us, all wandering around in a fog, wondering if we should go ahead with the meal and the show. Would the people even want to, once they found out? Was it the right thing to do? Put on a show and smile and sing and entertain, while this horror was unfolding in our country?

The bus pulled into the parking lot and Buddy and I went out to meet them. This time, I was the one boarding the bus with the terrible news. But it turned out they already knew. Someone had called the driver on his cell phone, and he had relayed the news to them.

So Buddy said, "Well, what do you want to do? We'll do whatever you decide. Do you want to cancel the show?"

One gentleman in the back said, "We've been through this before. We went through World War II and one thing we know is, we're not gonna let them ruin our way of life. On with the show!"

The whole busload loudly agreed, and we all went inside and carried on with the day we had planned.

We gave them a show. We sang, we entertained, and we even managed to laugh a little. But instead of ending the show with our usual "Happy Trails to You", we sang "Proud to Be An American", and "God Bless America". During that last song, as everyone stood, clasped hands with each other and raised them high above their heads, singing their hearts out, I realized that this was the tower they couldn't bring down; a shining tower of American strength, faith, and determination.

"We will never forget."

-----

YES! Pantyhose are back!

Funny how things happen.  The last few days I SWEAR I've been thinking of blogging about how I miss seeing stockings on women's legs.  How I just think bare legs look awful sticking out under a dressy dress.  Not to mention the bare feet stuffed into those long pointy toe high heels.  AND WOULDN'T YOU KNOW, just last night I saw an article on Yahoo! News (and as we all  know, Yahoo! News is our most trusted source in global news, followed closely only by the Associated Press and Reuters) proclaiming that Kate Middleton, Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Cambridge herself, has put an end to the bare leg trend by wearing pantyhose!  Hooray!

Of course I, for one, never stopped wearing them.  And in fact, only noticed recently that I seem to be the only hold-out.  When did pantyhose go OUT anyway?  Which fashionista fart-head declared the ban?  I slowly began to notice that NOBODY was wearing them anymore.  Apparently it was 'SO EIGHTIES' to wear them.  So 'last millenium'.  On the two or three occasions that I have actually worn a dress in the last decade, I could feel the pity and scorn as people glanced at my hosed legs and quickly looked away. 

Well that's all over now!!  Thank you Kate for bringing reason and civility back to our appendages.  PLUS you may have noticed that her bra straps do not show.  Thank you!!  And Prince William keeps his boxers discreetly hidden beneath his trousers, which by the way seem to sit elegantly at his waist, not his crotch.  Thank you!!

So it seems the royal family has a purpose after all.  Keep up the good work, Your Highnesses. 

----

Sunrise Service

6:55 AM.  I am sitting on the lanai, wrapped in a blanket, waiting for the sunrise.  It's already light out, but the sun has not yet risen over the trees.  I'm waiting to see that first shaft of orange sunlight wash across the rooftops. 

I'm having my own Sunrise Service this Easter morning.  Waiting.  Listening. 
A joyful-sounding mockingbird is my church choir, along with assorted other birds singing their own songs. 
(I can see the mockingbird perched on the peak of the roof next door.  A constant stream of ever-changing notes, nuances, and rhythm patterns fill the air with crystal clarity.  An impressive string of vocalizations, all unique and totally different from each other, emanate from this little bird. How does he do that?  Why does he do that? One of God's many delightful mysteries.) 

Just now I got a sweet scent of flowers coming from the bush just outside the screen.   My incense.

I can hear the faint sound of traffic on the nearby interstate.  Occasionally the distinctive sound of a trailer truck downshifting, or a motorcycle speeding up, reaches my ears and I think, "Someone is driving that truck and I am connected to him.  Someone is riding that motorcycle and I am connected to him."  I ask God to bless them and keep them safe today.  I can see the white trail of a jet plane flying overhead - way up high - and I ask God to bless and protect all the people inside that tiny dot in the sky. 

Oh, a couple of Sandhill Cranes, with their clattery, metallic voices, have just joined the choir, and the sweet floral scent just intensified a bit.  This is a great service so far. 

A single phrase has been repeating itself in my head ever since I woke up:  "The stone is rolled away."  I sit quietly and let the phrase repeat as the morning grows ever brighter.  And there it is...that first shaft of sunlight shining on the rooftops.  I love it.

Another Sandhill Crane flies overhead.  It's a huge bird.  It's so big one wonders how could it possibly fly?

One wonders.  Jesus was so dead, how could he possibly live?  But he did. And he does. 

"The stone is rolled away."  Hallelujah!  The Son has risen!

Happy Easter Everyone

---

My Mother's Shaver

I've never been a razor person when it comes to shaving my legs.  My mother always used an electric shaver, so that's what I did too when I began to sprout leg hair in the mid-sixties.  In fact, I used hers until I moved out and went to college.  Since then I've had several shavers that were adequate for keeping my legs sufficiently mowed,  but none were ever quite as good as Mom's Lady Remington.  Whenever I would come home for a visit, I'd always grab Mom's shaver out of the dresser drawer where it lived and indulge in a really close, smooth shave. 

After my mother died in 1991, sure enough, I found my old friend, Lady Remington, still in the same dresser drawer, still in the original box, and still fully operational.  No one objected when I claimed it for myself.  You guessed it.   I'm still using it. 

Since it's still in its original 1960's box, the instruction book is also still there, along with the little brush that Mom taught me to clean it with after every use.  The shaver still lives in its original container, inside the original cardboard box.  You can see its clever design in the photo.  (Yes, I just took that photo yesterday.)  The top swivels away to reveal the first chamber with electrical cord and brush, then that chamber swivels away to reveal the Lady Remington herself nestled in the bottom chamber.  Genius.  All the swivels still work, of course.  I also mentioned that the instruction manual is still in the box with it, albeit crumpled a bit.  I couldn't resist showing you the pages instructing you how to shave first your legs, then your armpits.  Glad they cleared that up.

You know you can't even find a woman's shaver with an electrical cord anymore?  And I love the little switches on either side of the shaver that change the heads from "legs" to "arms" position.  The detail!
And I believe it was actually made in the USA.  I know the booklet says "printed in the USA" on the back.  Even that's unusual these days.   (Most instruction manuals nowadays have instructions like "you must to attach tab in shlot in to thee back". Probably not printed in the USA.)

Anyway, I'm proud to still be using my Mom's Lady Remington.  It's still the best shaver ever.  I'd put it up against a stone cold razor any day.  Who wants to challenge me?  Anyone?

---

Spider

I was going through my past blog posts and discovered a few that I apparently started years ago, and saved as drafts, but never finished, and never posted.  So since we're getting ready to make one of our trips up North in a few weeks, and stay with Dad, I thought I'd just go ahead and post this old one.  It's just such a typical day at Dad's.

(From September 24, 2006)

We're visiting here "up North", where we spend several months each year staying with my dad. So yesterday morning I was downstairs making coffee, talking with Dad as he made his breakfast, and he said, "Oh by the way, did you happen to look out the dining room window?" No, I said. "Go take a look," he said. So I did and what I saw was a spider the size of a small frog resting comfortably in the middle of a gigantic web strung on the outside of the window. Whoa. Big fella. Well we both admired the workmanship of the web, with its perfect spoke design and all, but mostly I was grossed out by the size, form and up-closeness of Spider Kong. I don't like bugs, especially spiders. But even though it gave me the heebie jeebies, I admit I was fascinated. While we watched, he pushed off from his perch, repelled downward on a tiny thread from his butt, hastily repaired a flaw in the web, and ascended back up the thread to his resting spot. Smooth and efficient. So I called upstairs to my husband. "Hey, Honey, you gotta come down here and see this spider. It's huge!" "Just a minute", he said. In a few moments he appeared, holding two cans of insect spray, one in each hand like six-shooters. "Where is it?" he demanded.
"No, no, it's outside," I said, "Look here". He looked, but was unimpressed with our admiration. He kept insisting he could go outside and blast him to kingdom come with one shot. I admit that would normally be my own reaction, but I had too much respect for this guy. And besides, I was comforted by the fact that this particular spider was actually too big to get in through any cracks he might find.

_ _ _