When the Husband Cooks

I have some friends whose husbands do all the cooking and I think they're as lucky as jackpot lottery winners.  It's not that I don't like to cook, I do - but if you multiply all the days of my adult life by three that's a lot of meals, even if you factor in all times we've eaten out. The point is, it's nice to have a break once in a while.

Last evening was one of those nights.  Jerry made us a fantastic supper while I was downstairs fiddling around with technology.  Okay, I was goofing around on Pinterest, but you knew that, didn't you?

After eating, I did a quick kitchen clean up.  Jerry can cook with minimal mess.  It's part of his mystique.  Whereas I routinely use every pot, pan and utensil at my disposal, he seems to be able to whip up a gourmet meal using only a salad fork and a toothpick.  It's actually a pleasure to wash dishes after he's cooked because there aren't many so progress is rapid. That's a plus when you have the limited attention span that I do.

But lest you think my husband is always a godsend in the kitchen, let me set the record straight.  During the night, I wandered out to the kitchen to get a glass of water.  That's when I noticed a greasy skillet on top of the refrigerator.

I'll never understand the male mind.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

A laundry crisis

Yesterday, we bought a new washer and dryer.  They were almost exactly half the cost of the thirteen- year-old pair we were replacing, so we felt pretty pleased about the whole experience.  Of course we were shopping at "Scratch and Ding City" which is where we get all of our appliances - this explains part of the savings.  Why would I care if my dryer has a dent in the side?  It's housed in our basement,  and, like a surly teenager living in a basement room, our friends rarely see it.  When the clerk tried to sell us a maintenance package, I stuck up my nose.  Everyone knows those things are a giant waste of money.

Sooooo….this morning, I decided to do my first solo load of laundry.  I threw in the darks, dumped in the soap and off I went.  About two minutes later, I heard a giant thumping noise.  I tried to use the "if you ignore it, it will go away" principle but it didn't.  Not knowing what else to do, I turned off the washer, opened the door and peered in.  The clothes were now saturated and heavy.  Maybe it was a zipper that I'd left open?  Before I restarted the load, I gave it a sort of half-hearted shake.  In my mind, if it were off balance that would solve the problem.

For a while, everything seemed okay.  Just about the time I was about to get smug, the thumping was back and as bad as ever. At this point, I was experiencing some mental conflict.  Do I tell Jerry or just try to live with it?  He will not be thrilled to have to borrow a truck to return the appliance to the store.  On the other hand, it is only 24 hours old and the noise is profound.  I rued my decision to blow off the five dollar a month maintenance fee.

I turned off the washing machine again.  When I opened the door this time, I found that, in addition to our dark clothing, I was washing a whisk broom.

Crisis averted.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

The Scales

"Nothing good ever comes of stepping onto the scales."  ~ Josh Zimmerman

My baby sister's changing her diet and having fantastic results.  I'm so excited for her that it's made me pay more attention to what I, myself, am eating.  When I weighed myself this morning, I got a big, happy surprise, like confetti shaped hearts and happy faces floating down from heaven, just for me!  I weighed substantially less than I had the last time I stepped on the scales….which was yesterday.

Unwilling to surrender the fabulous feeling of the electric thrill that was coursing through the entirety of my being by pausing to apply common sense (what a wet blanket THAT is!),  I did something ridiculously stupid.  Rarely do I feel exuberance associated with the number on the scales.  That is my defense for what I did next:  I weighed myself again.  

The roller coaster plummeted, taking that beautiful, small number on the display with it and replacing it with something far more substantial - an ounce or two less than yesterday's readout to be sure -- but massive compared to the results of my initial weigh-in. 

I didn't want to let go of the fantasy quite yet, so I moved the scales to a different spot in the bathroom and hopped on again.  A new number flashed in red.  I shifted my weight forward and re-weighed.  I shifted my weight backward and reweighed. I balanced my weight in the middle and reweighed.  None of the shifting seemed to make any difference so I moved the scales a quarter turn, then another, and another…

All told, I weighed myself twelve times.  I got six different weights, with a span between the lightest and the heaviest of 2.8 pounds.  

Around this time, a (semi) respected member of my inner circle said to "stop obsessing about my weight."  I took umbrage.  I wasn't obsessing about my weight.  I was obsessing about the accuracy of my scales.  

I'm glad to have publicly set the record straight.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

The Moose

Last week I had the pleasure of spending time alone with my daughter-in-law, Susan.  We shared a room at the Mount Rainier Lodge in Paradise, WA. (Where, by the way, there is no cell phone service or wifi.  I had to use a pay phone make a call.  I didn't know pay phones even existed any more!  But that's another story…)

Taking this picture was scary for me.  That is a dramatic ledge in the foreground.

On Saturday, we took a five-hour hike at high altitude.  We had a blast slipping and sliding through deep snow and drinking in spectacular vistas.  We truly do live in America, the beautiful.

Snow…in July?

 Back at the lodge, we plopped down on our beds and began reading.  Soon though, I fell asleep.

In addition to her other skills, Susan is an accomplished animal tracker.

When I awoke, Susan was so excited.  "I heard a moose!!"  she said.  "I jumped up to look out the window but I couldn't see it.  So I tracked the sound to its source and I found…
…..it was YOU."

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com