My Questionable Cleaning Style

Kitchen Horror!

My lovely Motel 6 bedroom

I have made a hideous mess of my kitchen while elevating our bedroom to "cleanest ever" status.  
If you are asking yourself what a cake dish and two punch bowls were doing in the bedroom in the first place, you don't know me well.

Last week four of my all-time favorite friends came to visit and the first couple arrived six hours before I expected them.  The sheets were in the dryer and I was at the tail-end of my weekly kombucha bottling session so the kitchen was a wreck, but other than that things weren't as gruesome as they could have been. These were "self-cleaning" guests and after a week of fun - including Indian cooking lessons - they departed, leaving the house cleaner than they found it.  I must mention that the guys prepared all the meals and cleaned up afterward too. I swear, I could soooo love communal living!

Learning in Santhoshi's Kitchen.  Yum.

Guess which guest chef is left-handed?

Maybe depression at their departure inspired the current cleaning binge?

Yesterday I ripped everything out of all the closets, cabinets and drawers of the master bath and bedroom and took everything that didn't belong to the kitchen. It took all day but I knew Jerry was going to work late so I had extra time to get everything straightened back up.  What I forgot to factor in was that Kate was coming over.

"Oh my God, what happened here?" was her entry line.  Things only deteriorated from there.  Before the evening was over, I had emptied drawers and shelves in the kitchen too.  When Jerry got home, he didn't even comment.  He's used to these upheavals and knows that they usually abate on the third day.  It also helped that he could see that the boudoir was Holiday Inn clean.  

Vanilla in its infancy

Today I got up to face the explosion in the kitchen and ended up arranging my spices which led directly to infusing vodka with vanilla beans.  When I was done with that, I whipped up a batch of my homemade deodorant and made laundry soap - all in a kitchen that would have caused social services to remove my child from the home had they had occasion to visit.   (She's twenty-six.  I wonder where they would place her?)  Then, instead of picking it all up, I decided to write this blog.

I am currently taking an online course called:  Focus and Concentration.  I wonder if they have a money-back guarantee?  

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

Embarrassing Moment, Number 33,756

My sister shortened the straps on this cami for me
 - but obviously not enough!

THIS is what I saw when I walked by my mirror on Monday afternoon ~ AFTER I'd finished entertaining a new friend, spent about a half an hour talking with two neighbor guys (how could they keep a straight face?) AND waved at several friends who were driving by.

MADONNA meant to show off HER bra, but I was totally clueless.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

A Different Millers Tale

This week, I have a special treat.  Jan Miller, my funny friend from across the pond, has graciously consented to be my guest blogger.  Here's her Valentine's Day story:

A Different Millers Tale - All True, it could only happen here....

I woke up February 14^th a bit excited, we’ve been married 32 years this year but I would still describe my personality type as hopeful. Steve bought me tea in bed with my favourite biscuits, a card that’s got lovely sentiments (I’m wearing my "Wonderful Wife" badge now) and an inside joke inside! GSOH* -  very important.  

I eventually located my card for him - better than Christmas when my card for Steve just disappeared in a menopausal moment. (If you got the “Dear Husband” card in December instead of yours please let me know and I’ll stop looking.)  

Anyway, I’m not good in the morning and who would have thought the card I wrote and hid in my knickers drawer only last night would have fallen down the back of cabinet so I had to remove the drawers to find it, knocking over the tea in the process? 

We got everything sorted, read our cards .... and then there was a knock.  We wondered was it our front door?   Steve opened the window to check why Postie wasn’t using the bell, leant forward into the frame  and his glasses tumbled from his face... down the porch roof, bounced over the gutter and landed on the driveway, our good mood all broken down with a loudly -swearing semi-naked hubby dashing about putting on his trousers to go downstairs.

Wow, what a lovely surprise – the cutest Flowercard has arrived from our very good friends and the scratches have almost polished out of the glasses!  

*GSOH  Guy with sense of humour 

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

Friends with Funny Accents

Jan Miller saved my life yesterday.  Twice.  Without her scream of "Stop!" who knows if I'd have backed into the side of the big, yellow bus?  I'm also fairly certain I'd have run the red light if she hadn't yelled, "Red light!"  Succinctly put - and it did the trick.  Then again, I might have noticed that light change on my own if her husband hadn't been entertaining me by singing the words of "Hey, Jude" to fit our situation.  "Hey, Jude.  Don't be afraid, take a bad driver and make her betterrrrr..."  His name is Steve after all.  Steve Miller.  And, I kid you not, he has a brother named Roger.  I could never make this stuff up.  

I have Joyce Clark and Vistaprint to thank for meeting my fun new friends.  When I moved south and met Joyce, she gave me a business card with all her info printed on it.  "Vistaprint," she said.  Turned out the first 250 cards were free AND I could get a pretty blue background with a sailboat on it. 

While I was ordering my own cards, I had a minor drama.  There was a line that read "occupation."  Realizing that I could be anything I wanted to be, I considered writing in "Neurosurgeon" but then didn't like the hours I would have to work in my imaginary new job. I settled on "writer," which technically I am since I have been paid for writing in the past.  At the last minute I changed my career to "humor writer" because it sounded like more fun.

I met Steve while we both were waiting in line for the restroom at an upscale

gas station in Savannah.  He was "on holiday" from Great Britain.  I gave him a card because I have 250 of them and I'm not getting any younger.  Apparently later he actually looked at the card and somehow he had the impression that I was a writer so he began reading this blog.  Upon learning that he liked what he read, I officially made him my personal pen-pal and Sunday had the pleasure of hosting him and his wife on their final day of the 2013 vacation. (That's correct.  I invited someone I met in a restroom line to come stay in my home.  And, yes, they actually accepted.  Pretty funny, right?)

We really hit it off and I was lobbying for more time during their 2014 tour of the USA when, through no fault of my own, I found myself driving them from downtown Charlotte (officially uptown) to the airport.  Thank GOD Steve can read a map and therefore we only made two minor wrong turns on the trip.  The point is that we made it there in time, in one piece and with no visible damage to my husband's vehicle.    

My hope is that the fabulous handcrafted, artisanal chocolate from barCHOCOLATE in the Seventh Street Market helped them erase the frightening memories of that wild ride and settle back into an enjoyable trans-Atlantic flight.

Come back, Millers!  We can ride the train to town next time.  
    

A High-Altitude Revelation

We were in Salt Lake City.  We'd ridden the train to the heart of the downtown. Now we are hiking up the canyon to the foothills of the mountains.  Our destination is a couple of miles away.  It's high altitude.  I'm looking down, watching my step, sweating, panting.  Then I look up, see the back of my husband, and break out in a huge smile.

 Jerry, carrying his backpack and dragging my suitcase.

It has just occurred to me that I have my own personal sherpa.  Just like all those climbers who "do Everest," I could never have done it without him. (I still could have used a canister of supplemental oxygen though...)

Here's a couple of other photos of a day in the life of my sherpa:

My Shopping Sherpa  (Great legs, right?)

My Garden Sherpa at work

From now on whenever people wonder why I am forever and always trying to pair up my single friends, explaining will be simple:  Every girl needs a sherpa.

The Morning Text

Just when I think life can't get any funnier, it does.

I got a text from a friend, normally a night owl, who got up early to exercise. 
She said she struggled for quite a while to put on her sports bra.......until she realized it was a pair of undies.

I laughed out loud.

Customer Service?

Some people glisten and shimmer for me like sunshine on the water......and some people don't.  I'd like to thank the people at my local phone company for reminding me of this today. 

Customer service.  Who are we kidding here?  Enough said.

Well, almost enough.  I decided to file a complaint with the FCC and I went to their website and waded through info to find the proper form only to find that my computer froze when I tried to fill it out.  I backed out and tried again, with the same results.

So, does the FCC form have a virus attached to it or is this some nefarious government plot to decrease paperwork?  I may be over thinking this.

What's left of the banana bread. 

Argh....I was so frustrated that I made banana bread but even eating a half a loaf of that wasn't enough, so I made 'Delicious Chocolate Cake,' a family favorite given to me years ago by my friend Elaine, a woman who has spent her life shimmering and shining with such beauty that it gives us all hope for a better tomorrow.

I think a piece of this cake - even an unfrosted one - will do the trick and cheer me up.   Especially if I pour a shot of amaretto on it and add whipped cream and walnuts.  I'm feeling better just thinking about it. 

Life is truly good.

* * *

This is not a food blog, but for those of you who are going to ask:

DELICIOUS CHOCOLATE CAKE  from  Elaine Berninger

       350º     30 - 45 MINUTES        

MIX:

3 cups flour
6 Tablespoons cocoa
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt (I halve that.)

ADD:

¾ cup oil
2 Tablespoons vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla

POUR IN:

2 cups cold water

STIR UNTIL WELL BLENDED.  BAKE IN 13x9 PAN. 

* * *

Another Charleston Story

Just livin' the dream...

We are back in Charleston again this week and we took the opportunity to do a little kayaking in Shem Creek last evening.  It was a bit choppy but still so relaxing and peaceful.  After Jer had loaded the kayaks back on our car-top carrier, we headed back to the city to meet friends for supper.

As I've said before, Charleston is:    a) a fabulous place to be 

                                                    b) a horrible place to find parking

 

We were running a bit late because of our kayaking and traffic was stressing Jerry out.  Finally he found a parking lot, turning in only to find that it had "employee parking only" signs in every single spot.  Tension was mounting.  Meanwhile I (ever helpful) tried to tell him about a place to park I knew of, but by now he was too annoyed to really hear me. 

There was a parking garage almost directly across the street from the lot that we were currently sitting in so a grumpy Jerry maneuvered the car out into traffic, got in the left-hand lane, positioned himself to turn and waited for an opening in traffic.  While we waited, the traffic situation became unbearable.  The man in the vehicle behind us was laying on his horn over and over and every time he honked, Jer got angrier and angrier.

"I'm not a fighting man, but the traffic in Charleston just gets to me," he said.  "I'd like to just get out and punch that guy behind me right in the nose!" he continued. (He doesn't usually talk like this but the cars and the noise were crazy bad.)

Right then there was a break in traffic and as we turned to pull into the parking garage the man behind us moved on and the honking stopped.  We sighed with relief and at that exact moment heard a loud crunching noise.  It was then that we realized that we'd tried to enter a parking garage with two kayaks strapped to the roof of our car.

Jerry burst out laughing because he realized that the jerk behind him honking was really just a nice guy trying to warn him about what was going to happen.  "I wish I could find that man and apologize for what I was thinking about him" he said.

Our faith in humanity restored, we backed into traffic once again, drove around the corner, parked in a metered spot on the street and walked to our destination, laughing all the way.

Life is an adventure.

                                                   *    *    *          

(To read about the first time we tried the tricky drive-into-the-parking-garage-with-kayaks-on-the-roof maneuver, go to the right side bar, click 2011, click July, click the the post entitled "A Story of Skill, Not Stupidity.")

This is me floating in my pretty blue kayak (which is
now a little scratched up but otherwise unharmed.)

Oops!

Cute little sunscreens

About this time last year, we had friends visit from Ohio.  They brought with them a lot of stuff, including a couple of one-ounce tubes of sunscreen.  I loved how they smelled so our friends left them for us to finish up.

Unlike up north, it remains sunny in South Carolina pretty much year round.  The only time it gets gray and cloudy is when it's going to rain and after it does, it gets sunny again.  What's not to love?  Anyway, all last summer we used that sunscreen.  We continued to use it in the fall and even into winter too. 

Now it's early April and it's about time to replenish my stock.   Today is when I realized that those two one-ounce tubes of lotion are meant to be a single application of sunscreen each.

Oops!

The Perfect Dentist

For some people, a trip to the dentist is like tripping over a poisonous snake sunning on the sidewalk - or looking in the rear view mirror and seeing a giant spider sitting on your shoulder.  In other words, going to the dentist doesn't top the list of fun things to do.  My friend Kelly is like that. 

Kelly knew she had an aversion to dentists, so she took the bull by the horns and started searching for a dentist who'd be right for her.  Persistence pays off and she eventually found the perfect guy.  She used him for several years without incident until one day, she stepped through his door into the Dental Twilight Zone.

The first thing she noticed was that they were expanding the office.  Turns out Dr. Perfect's son was going to UCLA Dental School and would be joining the practice.  "Father and son working together.  Isn't that nice?" she thought.  

Turns out there was a second father-and-son team in the practice now, too.  Dr. Perfect's elderly father was also a dentist and had also been added to the staff.  He suffered from senile dementia so he was not allowed to do the drilling but he was able to make molds for teeth whitening and impressions for crowns.  To round out the family affair, there was the developmentally disabled daughter who was acting as sort of a dental hostess in the waiting room.

Shortly after that cleaning, Kelly swallowed half of one of her crowns.  "When I called the dental office, they didn't believe me," she said.  "They said, 'Are you sure it wasn't just a filling?'"  She was sure. That is how she ended up in the chair with the elderly father walking toward her, holding a gigantic dental plate that was obviously way too big to fit inside her mouth.  Already a bit skittish, Kelly was getting more and more frightened as he advanced toward her.  He had a bit of a tremor and the thing was clattering as he walked which did not add to her sense of well-being. Finally she burst out in nervous laughter which startled the old man, causing him to drop the plate on the floor.  "Don't you think that plate is a little too big for my mouth?" she asked when she had recovered herself.  As fortune would have it, Dr. Perfect was alerted by the ruckus, came in to investigate and remedied the problem.  Although the crisis was averted, the fear lingered.

The next visit she was to have the crown seated.  Kelly got situated in the dental chair and realized that the developmentally disabled daughter had been promoted to assistant.  She was now in the room, helping by handing Dad the instruments.  "It's wonderful," thought Kelly, "that she gets to spend the day helping her father." 

The crown was set in place and then the dentist left the room, leaving Kelly alone with his daughter.  Immediately Kelly's comfort level plummeted but she controlled herself and when she was told to tap-tap-tap on a piece of special paper, she did. Tap-tap-tap.  Thank God!  The crown was perfect.  No adjustments were necessary. 

Apparently "the assistant" had never seen a crown that fit perfectly before because the next thing that happened was that she took the crown out of Kelly's mouth anyway and started fiddling with it, drilling and sanding and doing other dental stuff to it.  When she re-inserted the crown, it no longer fit.  Now when Kelly closed her mouth, her teeth didn't even touch.  The crown was a quarter of an inch higher than the rest of her teeth. 

The daughter was confused.  She had Kelly tap-tap-tap again.  The girl was mystified.  Tap-tap-tap.  Tap-tap-tap.  Every time Kelly tapped, there was the same result.  The crown was so high that you could see sunshine between the top and bottom sets of teeth.  Tap-tap-tap.  Tap-tap-tap.  Our patient was getting a fatigued jaw just tapping on the special paper.  Each time, the results were the same.  Something was clearly wrong. 

"Is the crown on backwards?" Kelly finally asked.  The girl was indignant.  "No!" she responded but she yanked the crown off anyway and found that a piece of dental debris had lodged itself on top of the original tooth, causing the problem.  When it was removed,the crown fit perfectly again.  Kelly heaved a sigh of relief and went on her way.

A couple of months later, Kelly went to have her routine cleaning. There was a new hygienist and she was very rough, poking and prodding with sharp instruments, making her gums bleed and generally causing Kelly's limited dental tolerance to vanish completely. She felt like the lady was using a jackhammer in there. By the time the ordeal was over, Kelly couldn't stand another minute in the chair and practically bolted out of the room. As she was leaving, she told the ladies at the front desk emphatically that she never wanted to have that hygienist again.

Back at home, she told her husband about her horrible dental experience. "What was the hygienist's name?" he asked. "Sally." she said. "That was the dentist's wife."



Thanksgiving

Naughty, Naughty Erik and Me!

I have three children and one of them even reads my blog, thank you very much Miss Kate. Her friend Naughty, Naughty Erik does too, so it was a pleasure to meet him during our last visit.  He's such a cutie but if you look closely, you can see a glint of fire in his eyes. Although he can be a man of mischief -- which we already know from my post aptly entitled "Naughty, Naughty Erik" --mostly he's just a nice guy. The world could use more of those.



Yes, it's true that I will drive (well, technically, ride) for over eight hours just to get a good meal at somebody else's house.  I will even stay with two other families in a one-bedroom apartment, as long as there's at least one grandbaby to play with. (Since at this writing I only have one, that will do for now.)

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days; eating great food with people you love is right up there at the top of my list of happy things.

Two of my favorite guys

Kate had to work both the day before and the day after Thanksgiving this year so we decided she didn't have enough going on in her life and we'd let her host the holiday.  So we loaded up the car with card table and chairs, air mattresses, sheets, blankets, pillows, games, books, knitting, food, silverware, luggage and the food processor.  By the time we were finished we could have strapped a rocking chair on top and called ourselves the Clampetts we had crammed so much stuff in there. (Too bad I forgot the camera.)

The trip up was mercifully uneventful and it was weird not to be responsible for the cooking.  Weird, but I could get used to it!  Kate bought a fresh turkey, so the thawing business was no issue which simplified the process significantly. She also used her sister's crock pot to cook the green beans which was sheer genius. 

Everything was done at the same time and it was the first year in a decade that we didn't have to eat burned corn.  The food was delicious, the pies were phenomenal (thank you, Wendy!) and when it was over, I went for a walk.  When I got back, the dishes were done.  It was like an adult fairytale.  Not "adult" like porn, "adult" like a grown-up lady's fantasy.  Moms' ideas of happiness often center around having household help....if a man really wants to please a woman, he should try mopping the kitchen floor.  It would certainly work for me!

We played games and talked late into the night.  It was a pleasant, quiet day.  The next morning, it was back to normal and I had brought a spaghetti squash for lunch, knowing that Kate would be at work.  I'd zapped it in the microwave for about ten minutes but it still seemed a little hard, so I was adding a couple more minutes when my son-in-law said, "Won't it blow up in there?"  As I was answering him "no," the squash made a liar out of me by exploding in there.  The force of it caused the door to fly open and the entire inside was sticky with stringy goo hanging from everywhere. 

From this I surmised that the squash was cooked, so I put spaghetti sauce and cheese on what was left of it and served it with left-over green beans.  It wasn't an amazing meal like Thursday's, but every day isn't Thanksgiving either.