Out with the Old

Twenty-twelve.  It's been an interesting year for me.

I slogged through apartment hunting, threw myself into decorating, started a regime of better eating and walking, and tried to go with the flow of my new life.

Painting and decorating was a lot of fun.  I pushed myself to think outside the box with my colors and decor.  It may not seem like anything very different to some people, but for me it's outre'.

It took me three months to unpack everything.  I didn't wanted to have my stuff in piles just so I could say it was unpacked.  I wanted things where they made sense--at least as much as possible with very little storage space.

In June, when I found out that the building I'm in was in foreclosure, my knee-jerk reaction was to move right away.  Thinking I could take my time and find a nice place at an affordable price, I started looking at apartments.  When I hadn't found anything by the end of October, I decided to put the apartment hunt on hold until after the holidays.

Eating better and walking kind of faded over time, although I still try to get out and walk each week.

Mother's Day set off a depressive episode which wasn't helped with the foreclosure information.  But in November, I found my Christmas Spirit was bubbling forth.  I could hardly wait until after Thanksgiving to start decorating.  I had brought an artificial tree from my mom's house, but it broke when I started to assemble it.  The next day my sister offered me her old tree because she was getting a new one.  When I pulled out my decorations, I was pleased to find that things I had bought at different times and places matched each other and my dark blue wall.

I had a wonderful Christmas, even though I didn't have presents for anyone.  Now it's New Year's Eve and I find my Christmas Spirit waning.  Of course, New Year's has always been harder for me to deal with than my birthday.  The end of a year brings memories both good and bad.  And consequences of decisions--both good and bad.  The most difficult thing for me is spending another New Year's Eve by myself.  When my daughter was a child, I had her to focus on, but even she didn't totally dispel that sense of loneliness.

While I can only imagine how terrible it is to lose a soul mate to death or divorce, I can't help thinking, as Tennyson wrote: "'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

Tomorrow I have to start apartment hunting again.  If I can't find a new place by January 9th, I'll have to sign a lease to stay here.  While I like what I've done with the place, I can't ignore the horrendous electric bill.  Not only is electric heat inefficient, but my apartment is very drafty.  I dread the frigid temperatures that January and February bring.  So maybe, it'll be in with the new tomorrow!

Boob Tube

It is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome.T. S. Eliot

In my house, when I was growing up, TV was referred to as the "boob tube" not for any female anatomy reference but because it turns us into boobs, or idiots.

Years ago, when I worked in Corporate America, I used to record Jeopardy every week day.  When I got home from work, I'd watch it.  I never thought to cheat, either.  I mean, I could've paused the recording to think about the correct answer, er, question, that is. On weekends I would watch home improvement and gardening shows.

But there were a few prime time shows I liked.  I remember watching CSI: Crime Scene Investigations.  The first one.  I also remember watching Sisters.  Anyone remember that tear jerker?  It was a prime time soap opera, but it sucked me in.  I watched a lot of Nick-at-Nite 'cause I really liked some of those old shows, especially the Dick Van Dyke Show.  What a classic!  One of the very, very few shows I will watch over and over.

When my daughter and I moved in with my parents, I remember watching Dark Shadows (I had been too scared to watch it when I was a kid) and a show called PSI Factor: Chronicles of the Paranormal which was a Canadian show that ran from 1996 to 2000.  Sometimes I watched X-Files.  The early years were pretty good, but the show got too intense for me.  Oh, I have seen every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy cast

Sometime after my dad passed away, I stopped watching TV, except when I was with my mom.  She liked all the old cop shows.

For several years I rarely turned on my TV when I was upstairs in my room.  My daughter would sometimes badger me to run on the Bears game.  Once in a while I would watch The Smoking Gun Presents: The World's Dumbest.  The video clips were hilarious.  At Christmas time I would watch a few Christmas movies.  But usually, when I went upstairs after being with my mom all day, I didn't watch TV.

Of course, mostly I would read.  I went on the computer (that was before Facebook).  I did Sudoku and Acrostics puzzles, too.

After my mom passed away last year, I felt compelled to watch the remaining episodes of Gunsmoke and Hawaii Five-O that were still on the Uverse dvr.  I'm not sure why, but I watched one a day until all the recordings were gone.  Weird.  I should have put that in my last post, I guess.

Anyway, for months after that, I rarely watched anything on television.  Even when I moved in February, getting cable was only urgent because I needed the internet hook-up and it was cheaper to get the TV & internet combo.  But it wasn't until I was sick in April that I started watching again.

I started slow.  Jeopardy, of course, was still a favorite.  I have a fairly basic package, but it has Discovery channel, Investigation Discovery and History channel.  So I would watch Dirty Jobs (love Mike Rowe!) and Unusual Suspects and stuff like that.  Reality TV without the idiots.  Well, except for the perps.

Then, my sister told me about The Big Bang Theory.  The first episode I watched was a rerun from a previous season, but I was hooked.  I love these guys!  Maybe because I can relate.  I was kind of a nerd in high school.  I guess I still am, sort of.

BBT cast

And a friend told me about Psych.  I enjoyed that show, at first.  But then Sean's wiseguy thing started to turn  me off.  There's new episodes coming in February.  I may check a few of them out, but otherwise, it's not a favorite any more.

But then it happened.  I remembered watching a couple of episodes of Criminal Minds way back when it was a new show.  So when I saw reruns on a couple of channels I started watching it again.  Then I started watching Law and Order: SVU which was another show I'd watched years before.  That led to Law and Order: Criminal Intent.  Not a good as SVU, but good enough.  Then the same friend mentioned NCIS, so I got curious.  Now I'm hooked!  I love how the techies on both Criminal Minds and NCIS are quirky.

Abby Sciuto - NCIS

Penelope Garcia - Criminal Minds

To balance out all the crime shows, I am also hooked on House.  I'd watched it--or tried to--once a couple of years ago, but my mom didn't like it.  Now, I avidly look for every rerun on any channel.

I'm not sure what TV is doing to my brain.  Am I turning into a boob?  An idiot?  I still read, although not nearly as much.  I'm on the computer more because I'm on Facebook and I'm selling on Ebay and Listia.  I don't want TV to worm it's way into my brain like some parasite.  Oh yeah.  I watch Monsters Inside Me, too.  And Haunted, when I remember.

Do I have to change the title of this blog?  Eh, not yet, anyway.  When I do read, I'm still fast.  I've worked my way through a few dozens books in the past few months, so I think I'm still good with the reading.  If I get too carried away with watching TV, somebody come slap me, okay?

It's Weird

Sometimes there are things I see or hear about or read about and I can't help but shake my head and wonder what's up with that?  I know, for some things, there are explanations for the item or phenomenon.  It still makes me wonder why.

Weather would be a perfect example.  Meteorologists can tell me about temperatures and wind and precipitation involved in "fronts" and "systems" but it's still weird to see:

• rain falling sideways
• the sun shining when it's raining (or raining when the sun is shining)
• fog
• hail during the summer

macaque

Then there are animals that make you wonder what God was thinking.  I've watched Discovery Channel and Animal Planet and they spout their theories of evolution and adaptation.  It's still weird to see:

• the platypus
• birds that can't fly
• mammals that can fly
• fish that walk on land
• deep sea creatures
• males who give birth

There are things that are within a person's control.  Decisions made, ideas not thought out, mistakes or just plain defiance of social norms.  It's weird to see (or hear):

• children named Number 16 Bush Shelter, Midnight Chardonnay, Fifi-Trixibelle , Moon Unit, Dweezil, Apple or Rumer.  The list goes on and on, but the little girl named Talula Does the Hula from Hawaii tops my list as the worst name.  Fortunately, a judge agreed and, at age 9, she legally changed her first name--against her parents wishes!
• the designs of roadways like "roundabouts"

• houses made of strange building materials

house made of plastic bottles

• houses painted...uniquely

• certain clothing choices

I know there's a whole lot more weird stuff in this world, but I'd need to write a book to put it all down.  Hmm, that's an idea...

Mothers & Daughters

I watched a movie today.  That, in and of itself, is unusual for me.  There aren't many movies made in the 21st century in which I have any interest.  But I remembered when this particular movie came out eight years ago, it sounded good.  So, I watched Spanglish.

The description of the movie was all about the love triangle that occurs between the husband, wife and housekeeper.  While that is a large part of the plot line, when all is said and done, I found the mothers and daughters theme to be equally strong.  Maybe even a bit more.

There's all these dynamics going on between the two mothers and their daughters, but there's also the wife's mother.  There's blame, jealousy, guilt and anger.  The thing that struck me most was that it is was so typical of many mother-daughter relationships.  Of course for the movie, some things are exaggerated.  But still...

For myself, I've blamed my mother for some of my negative traits.  But it wouldn't be fair if I didn't also give her credit for some of my virtues.  When she was alive and her physicality was diminishing, I felt burdened and, sometimes, overwhelmed.  Since she's been gone, I have felt--when I've had time--adrift and purposeless.

My own daughter has, in the past, blamed me for her own quirks.  I was suffering from anxiety and depression for a couple of years before I realized it and sought help.  Another couple of years later, I had developed Bipolar Disorder.  Those were some difficult years for both of us and my biggest worry was that my daughter's well-being would be compromised by my illnesses.  It didn't help that so many members of my family pretend there is nothing wrong with me.  My mother was the only family member who tried to learn about Bipolar.  I've always been grateful to her for that.

My daughter's teen years were...well, let's just say trying would be an understatement.  During my own teen years, I was a goody-two-shoes.  Mostly because I saw what being bold and assertive did for my older sister.  I didn't want to rock the boat.

My sister not only rocked the boat, she tipped it over a lot.  She seemed very confident and self-assured.  And she wasn't afraid or ashamed to speak her mind, often to her own detriment.  My then future brother-in-law came along and they balanced each other.

I wanted my daughter to be exposed to my sister's strong personality.  We spent a lot of time together.  Especially when my daughter and I lived with my parents.  My mother was very old-fashioned and my sister was much more liberal.  I was somewhere in between on that spectrum.  My daughter ignored the spectrum altogether.  It took me a long time to even start to understand my own child during her teen years.  By the time I was getting an inkling, she was grown.

It has taken a lot of self-control--more than I thought I had--to not interfere in my daughter's life after my mom died.  Well, to not interfere more than usual, anyway. She's still my child.  I care.  But she still thinks "outside the box" in a way I cannot completely grasp.

I understand perspective.  There's the allegory of the three blind men describing an elephant while each touches a different part.  My daughter would eschew the elephant and talk to the elephant trainer.  My own need for the whole truth would be to circumnavigate the elephant, climb under and on top to try to get the whole picture, but I don't know that I would turn to the trainer and get his opinion.  The thing is, unless we combined our information, we'd each still only have part of the
picture.

Anyway, at the end of the movie, the housekeeper (who grew up in Mexico) quits her job because she's fallen in love with the husband.  Also because she sees her daughter (who's about 12 years old) buying into the upper-class way of life with all it's deception and manipulation.  She apologizes to her daughter for having to make her (the daughter) make a decision about her (the daughter's) life at such a young age.  Then she asks her daughter, "Do you really want to change your life, or do you just want to be different than me?"  Or words to that effect.  The girl thinks about it and then says she is "her mother's daughter."

I found it sad and uplifting at the same time.  Sad because I don't know what my own daughter would have said under similar circumstances.  Uplifting because no matter what my daughter thinks, she is "her mother's daughter" and nothing will ever change that.

Not even--I have discovered--death.

"Truth" in Advertising?

I'm finding the apartment search a bit easier than last winter--at least in the respect of searching the ads and watching out for "For Rent" signs.  I'm a little more savvy at recognizing the scams.  And there are a lot of those!


The most prevalent scam is where the person posts an ad that seems to be a great deal.  Like a 2 bedroom duplex in Naperville for $600 a month.  Pets welcome!  So you send an email to them and find out that they had to leave the country because they're a doctor with UNICEF or a missionary or a teacher.  Many of them say they're in Lagos.

Lagos, Nigeria

I had to look it up because I thought Lagos was a city in Texas. Oops!

Anyway, they say they didn't have anyone to leave the keys with, so they have them with them.  All I have to do is send them the first month's rent and the security deposit (equal to the first month's rent) and they will mail the keys to me.  Uh huh.  And I'm the third cousin, twice removed to the Queen of England.  And as the robot said "Danger, Will Robinson!"

I wonder how many people actually fall for it, though.  Probably very few, but I still feel sorry for the any schmuck who gets caught up in the excitement and sends a money order as requested.  (No checks, please.  Of course, because you can stop payment on a check!)

I know at least one person who might've fallen for it.  At least many years ago.  He was always a bit slow. After forty some years he's been taken to the cleaners so many times he finally learned to ask other people before making decisions.  While I have no real fondness for this person that I know, I would still feel badly that someone took him for $1200 or whatever. And while he is in the minority, there are other people like him out there.  They are too trusting, too naive or too stupid to know better.

Another problem I've found in searching the ads is what I call the Carrot Ruse.  The landlord places an ad that screams NEAR PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION! NEWER APPLIANCES!! PETS WELCOME!!!  You notice how each successive statement gets an additional exclamation point.  No rent amount is listed anywhere.  "Near public transportation" means that the train is so close you can see the whites of the passengers eyes and the horn will make your ears ring for an hour.  "Newer appliances" mean post-1960.  "Pets welcome" means you will pay an extra amount each month plus a non-refundable pet security deposit.

Then there are a lot of little things like the misspellings, which can be amusing or confusing: "Well Maintianed", "Newly Remodled" and my favorite "Just steps to Lack Michigan!"

There are the ads that leave you wondering what it is, exactly, that they are advertising:  $589 / 1br - Want a 9th life? - (Contact JUngle JAne).   Really? A "9th life"?  And in a jungle?

Some ads need to be more specific with their adjectives: $755 / 1br - Eviction? Bad credit? 
THAT'S OUR SPECIALTY - (chicago & burbs) I don't want to be evicted and I sure as heck don't want to rent from someone with bad credit!

Then there are the euphemisms.  "Garden" apartment means you are in the basement with those tiny windows that let you see people's feet walking by.  "Cozy" means you'll have to lay on your bed to open your dresser drawers. "Rehabbed" means that the last tenant had a dog that chewed up the rug and scratched up the doors.  "Worth the Price" means it's so expensive you'll have to have a six-digit annual salary to live there.  "Rent Just Reduced" means the place is such a dump that nobody wants to live there and/or the landlord is a jerk. "Close to Everything" means you will have a constant barrage of noise from the businesses next door and the car and foot traffic going by.

But I'm learning to separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak.  I've got a couple of leads on what I hope are nice apartments.  Tomorrow I go to see one in Lemont.  The exterior looks like a cement block, but maybe inside it's a gem!

Appreciation--The Most Important Part

I've realized that hard water, laundromats or slanted floors don't mean a bloody thing if many of the most important people in your life aren't there to encourage, to praise, to help, to commiserate, to listen...

So I had to use a dozen shims and several small blocks of wood to level my appliances and dressers.  Who cares?  My friends chuckle and my sister helped.  I love them so much!  Even my sister-in-law (whom I've know since I was 7 years old) finally came and saw my place and all the work and decorating I did here in this apartment.  My brother hasn't, but, eh, I'm learning not to care so much, since he doesn't care about me.  It's a work in progress.

My daughter has been here once.  Two days after the movers brought all the furniture and boxes.  One day after my sister and I painted my bedroom.  There were boxes, shelving and furniture everywhere.  I've asked her to come.  I've come close to begging, but I haven't sunk that far--yet.

Now I already have some books packed up, but you can still see all the decorating I've done.  Last month, I drove to Summit to see her and her cat, Bebe.  We had a great day.  She bought me an outfit at Target.  But that isn't what made the day so great.  It was the one-on-one time.  The sharing of time, current events and plans.

It's the people I miss the most.  No, the beings.  I miss Jessicat, who had to be put down the week after Christmas.  I miss Emmy, who my sister helped find a home for before Christmas.  I miss my daughter, who is just too busy to come and see what her mother put so much time and effort into.  I miss her cat, Bebe, who spent so much time with me for six years.  And I miss my mom, big-time.

I hate talking on the phone.  But I miss being able to call my mom to share something funny that the cats did.  Or to tell her about the new book releases that she would be interested in.  I'd like to tell her that I love her one more time.  I'd like to make tea for us and sit with her and talk.

The thing is, having the people I love come, show an interest, and show they care about me, helps me deal with the grief.  I spent the first six months after my mom died being busy and physically active.  Once all the work, calls, searching, moving, painting, decorating and projects were done, my grief rose up and said "Time to deal with ME!"

I can't do it alone.  I saw my psychiatrist last Saturday.  He wants me to get a therapist again.  Fine by me.  Except I can't afford the $40 per session it would cost.  At least, not at the moment.  And then I have to spend at least one session bringing this person up-to-date on everything that has happened.

My sister can't stand people crying or being depressed.  She seems to think it's a weakness to let others see you when you're not upbeat and happy.  She accepts anger much more easily than sadness.  My friends listen, but they have crap going on in their lives, too.  Mostly, all three of my closest friends have spouses.  I realize that marriage takes work and that needs to be their primary focus.  But they do help and I appreciate that so much!

My advice to everyone is don't take the people you love for granted!  All of a sudden, they'll be gone.

Appreciation--Part VI--Spare Room

“Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?” 
― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

I always loved that line.  The land of Spare Oom.  I love the land of Spare Oom.

At the condo I had for five and a half years, I didn't have a spare room, exactly.  I had a huge front closet with shelving that held an enormous amount of stuff.  I also had the building's storage space right outside my back door.  Granted, I shared that, but out of the six units in my building, only two others used it.

Otherwise, I have always had a spare room.  Even in my first rental, after Brittany was born and took my spare room, I had a basement and an attic.  At my parents' house, there was a spare room and several storage spaces, not to mention the shed and the garage.  If you've seen older posts, you'll know how packed full of stuff they were, too!

So when I moved and found I had one closet for the whole apartment and no option for storage nearby, I gave up a part of my bedroom to create more storage space.

Now that I have to move for the second time in six months, I am trying to get, if not the land of Spare Oom, at least generous closets (plural!) or storage space in the building.

Hard Water and Electric Heat & Cooking Addendums

I just have to say that Lemi-Shine is abso-posi-lutely fan-freaking-tastic!!!!  Note the mixed and divided adjectives and overuse of exclamation points!  I googled the stuff before I bought it and somewhere around page 7 of all the hits, I found one lone comment about using it for washing dishes by hand.  Basically, since the main active ingredient is citric acid, unless you're sensitive to it, it's not going to hurt anyone or anything.  I have been adding this stuff to my dish water, to the water when I hand wash my delicates, and I use it to clean my stainless steel sink.  My glassware is clear, my metal bakeware is spotless and my ceramic mugs are bright!  When I wiped the stuff in the bathroom, I sprinkled Lemi-Shine on my sponge.  I could go on and on.  It really gets rid of the hard water spotting and clouding.  Believe it!

I also have to add to my gripe session on electric cooking.  I forgot to mention the bloody burners!  When I set a burner to medium, I expect it to stay at medium heat.  Noooo, these stupid things keep getting hotter and hotter and hotter.  I have to keep turning the burner down as I'm cooking.  Very annoying.  Now this could just be this particular stove.  The blasted thing also has its burner knobs on the back on top, so I have to reach over the hot burner to turn it off.  However, I do remember the electric stove at my condo.  It wasn't as bad as this one, but I do remember having to watch everything when it was on the burners.  Since I had a young child at that time, I lost count of how many times something boiled over!  I like to see flame.  I adjust the flame height and it stays where I want it.  Fie on electric heating and cooking!!

Appreciation--Part IV & V

I’m combining Items 4 and 5 since they’re both referring to natural gas for heating and cooking.

I do not understand why anyone uses electricity to heat or cook with.  It is very expensive!  There is a reason for the expression “now you’re cooking with gas!”  The expression came from an early advertisement for gas stoves.  Of course, that was back when people were switching from wood or coal burning stoves.  Still…it has relevance when comparing gas to electricity.

So yeah, I’m complaining.  BIG time.  But what does that get me?  Nothing, really.  Well, okay, at first it got me some advice.  And partly it was bluster because I was embarrassed that it took me six weeks to figure out that each room had its own radiator.  Oops.  But the issue still remains, electric heat and cooking is inefficient.

I know that there was natural gas being used before electricity.  Case in point: gas lamps.  They were thought to be the greatest thing back in the late 1800’s.  And they were, compared to open flames on candles and torches.  When Tom Edison did his thing, the powers that be switched the gas lamps to electricity.

I will admit, electricity for lighting is cleaner.  I’ve burned enough candles to know what happens to your ceiling when you have an open flame.  But for heating?  Phooey!  Yes, I said Phooey!  It’s a perfectly acceptable word and it is appropriate in this case.

I’ve lived in enough places to have used both forms of heating.  Actually, I my first rental used steam heat radiators.  But something had to heat the water, right?  Unless you’re lucky enough to have a natural hot spring running under your home that you can tap into.  But I digress.  I’ve compared the cost of electric heat to gas heat.  My parents’ house was approximately 1100 square feet divided into two stories.  My condo was 1000 square feet sprawled out on one level.  The gas bill at my parents’ house was less than my electric bill at the condo.  Of course, I had lights and appliances…  Sheesh!  I’m giving myself a headache.

Forget the heat issue—for now.  Cooking with electricity is a pain in the tuchus.  I’m slowly getting the hang of it.  The first pan of brownies I made back in February ended up like warm pudding.  (Actually, it was pretty tasty—I just had to use a spoon!)  The second pan was too dry.

I’ve worked out that I have to set the heat a bit lower and check what I’m baking a couple of minutes sooner than the time in the recipe.  The thing is, the longer something has to bake, the more you have to turn down the temperature.  I’m sure there is some ratio of time to temperature that my brother, the mathematician, could figure out.  I just try different temps and cross my fingers.

Maybe it's the other way around?

On top of that, the consistency of my ingredients can make a difference in the timing.  I made pumpkin bread that came out just a bit dry.  It was good, just that little bit over.  A few days later, I made a sweet potato/rutabaga bread.  (Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it…it was very tasty!)  The sweet potato/rutabaga loaf was noticeably more moist.  The same recipe, different main ingredient, same temp, same time.  But the rutabaga was much wetter to begin with since it came from a can.  Don’t even get me started on the seasonings I used.  I should’ve used cinnamon, but the recipe called for pumpkin pie spice since it was a recipe for pumpkin bread…  More digression, sorry!

What was I saying?  Oh, yeah.  To bake a snack pan of brownies, I turn the temp down just a little for the 10 minute bake time.  For the sweet bread, I turn it down nearly 25 degrees lower for the 60 minute bake time.  I’m getting the hang of it—mostly.  But I don’t like having to do all that.  It’s hard for me to remember all this stuff, although I am writing more things down.

Thankfully, the weather has been pretty good.  I ran the air conditioner three times last week.  And I try to put off turning it on for as long as possible.  I don’t know how efficient it is.  The fact that this apartment has very little insulation doesn’t help.

I can hardly wait for next fall and winter—NOT!

Appreciation--Part III

Twenty-five  years ago, my first rental unit had no shower.  Many people thought this was awful.  Not me.  For five years I lived with taking baths in a cast iron clawfoot tub.  It was deep and comfortable and I would soak and read.  As the water started to cool, I took my toes and turned the hot water on for a few minutes.  I could do that two or three times before the water was too cold to stay in any longer.  I loved bubble baths or scented bath oils.  Shaving my legs was almost a pleasure, it was so easy and convenient.  And the tub was surprisingly easy to clean.

Similar to what I had all those years ago.

At my parents’ house, I still occasionally took baths, although I couldn’t lounge in them like I had in my clawfoot tub.  When I got chicken pox at the ripe old age of 31, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I couldn’t have soaked in a tub of Aveeno Oatmeal Treatment.

When my father decided it was time to get a new tub, my mother and I convinced him to get a deeper tub than standard.  He did, except that it was also narrower.  It wasn’t a problem at first.  But when I moved back in with them after I sold my condo, I discovered it wasn’t comfortable any more.  I can’t imagine why.  I mean I’m pretty certain that tubs don’t shrink.

So for the past 13 years, I’ve mostly taken showers.  I think I took a bath maybe three times during that time.  But the tub was available.  How else do you wash a dog when there is no utility sink or a wash tub?  And I don’t know about you, but I used the edge of the tub for lots of things.  For instance, there has almost always been a cat that liked to sit on the edge of the tub while I showered.  It’s also where I put each foot to shave my legs and then again to dry them when I was done.

Now I have no choice.  Just a shower stall.  And not a good sized stall either.  When I first saw it, I was worried I’d get claustrophobia in there!  I don’t, thank God, but it’s a close thing!  I did, however, bleach it thoroughly before I used it.  I don’t know how many back ends brushed against the sides of the stall!

When the weather started getting warmer, one thing became apparent.  Shaving my legs in that stall was going to be difficult, if not downright impossible.  Even if there was a ledge in there to put my foot on, there wouldn’t be enough room to do so!

First, I tried to shave just putting my back to the water.  No good.  The shave cream was gone before I got more than one stroke done.  Next, I turned the water off.  Okay, that worked—until I turned the water back on to rinse and it came on cold!  Brrrr!  The third time, I turned the shower head until it was mostly off.  With just a trickle coming down, I started shaving.  I didn’t even get one leg done when I realized that the trickle of water was getting hot.  More than hot.  It scalded me!  I have a shower head that I can lift off and rinse everywhere, so the next time, I tried turning the head to the trickle and leave it hanging down.  Nearly scalded my calf and, when I went to grab it to turn the water on full, certain other more sensitive areas were almost burned!

The last few times, I shaved with no shave cream and then slathered really thick body lotion all over my poor abused legs.  My skin is already very dry just from getting older.  *sigh*  Add to that, this hard water is very tough on my skin.  It took me a few showers to figure out that it was the hard water making my knees look like a dried up old creek bed.  Now I’m scraping a razor over them without benefit of a soothing shave cream.  Or even a cheap shave cream.  The lotion I dug out is the thick lotion I usually use on my feet in the winter.  Although nothing with urea in it!

I’m considering getting a good electric razor.  Do they make such a thing?  With technological advances, electric shavers should be better than a razor!

Panasonic Close Curves

But, in the end, anything I do for my legs, isn’t going to give Khai a place to sit while I take a shower.  Sitting on the floor just isn’t the same, I guess.  Poor kitty!

Appreciation—Part II

“The best time to plan a book is while you are doing the dishes.”—Agatha Christie

Ms. Christie did not have dishwashing appliances in her time. I never really minded washing dishes by hand.  But then, for more than 20 years, I had a dishwasher and only had to wash whatever was left when the dishwasher was full or stuff too big for the dishwasher.  You don’t realize how you come to take that for granted.

With my foray into a world where appliances are in short supply, the dishwasher is the second “luxury” item I took for granted.  Item 2a would be soft water.  I have never had to deal with hard water in any home I lived in.  Until now.

The first time I washed dishes, I noticed spots all over the glass and metal items.  Frequently used items, like my glass measuring cups, were cloudy.  So, when I went shopping, I made sure to get a good brand of dish soap.  Spots everywhere.  My flatware looked so bad that I purchased plastic flatware.  Good enough for me!  But then I ran out.  A friend who lives in the area told me that Lockport, while it has city water, does not have good water.  So I blamed the spots on the water.  Then one day I set a glass measuring cup in the sink and turned the hot water on to rinse it.  I got sidetracked wiping the counters and stove so that when I went back to the sink, turned the hot water off and picked up the cup, I was surpised to see it was fairly clear.  So it seems that the hottest water (and in apartments they crank those water heaters high!) leaves less spotting and clouding.

Operative word is “less.”  But it’s enough that I can allow myself to use my stainless steel flatware.  I still keep plastic flatware, however, because I hate washing flatware.  Getting in between fork tines is a pain in the neck.

Then one day I had just finished washing the dishes and wanted to use a measuring cup that was still wet.  So I dried it with one of those superabsorbent microfiber dish towels.  Lo and behold!  Very few spots.  A lot less clouding.  But don’t assume that I am now drying all my dishes right after I wash them.  Nope.  Having to hand wash dishes is enough, I am not standing there drying them, too.  I have one drawer allocated just for plastic flatware and half a cabinet for paper plates of different sizes and paper bowls.  Yes, I use paper bowls. Not the cheap ones and not the Styrofoam.  I get the good, heavy-duty ones.  They’re bigger, too.  Hold more ice cream!

I did some research on products that counteract the effects of hard water on dishes.  I found what seems to be a great product for the dishwasher.  Lemi-Shine.  Google is a wonderful thing!  I also found a question posted on the website of Lemi-Shine's parent company.  Somebody wanted to know if it could be used in handwashing of dishes.  Since the main ingredient is citric acid, the answer was yes, but as they have not tested Lemi-Shine for handwashing, they did not have guidelines.  Their best answer was to experiment!  The stuff won't hurt you.  The worst thing would be that you end up wasting a lot while you're testing it.  I also found a review on Amazon in which the person used a tablespoon or so disolved in warm water to clear the bottoms of vases and a large glass pitcher  She said she's used it to clean her shower, too.  So guess what's on my shopping list for this week?  Lemi-Shine!

There are other drawbacks to not having a dishwasher.  I used to clean my glass menagerie in the dishwasher.  I have a collection of glass and crystal animals.  A run through the dishwasher made them sparkle!

And there’s the sponge issue.  I like a good sponge.  I have tried various brands and always come back to the Scotch-Brite sponges.  Since I change my sponge about every third day, that’s about 10 sponges a month.  Allow a couple of extras for unexpected messes and we’re at 12 a month.  A good price for a 3-pack of Scotch-Brite sponges is around $4.00.  So figure $16 a month for sponges!

I used to put the sponges in the dishwasher and use them again.  Usually only one wash per sponge because the cellulose starts to break down.  Now I see that there’s a “green” sponge that is made to be put in the dishwasher several times.  I’d really like to try that…oh well.

Now I have to buy dishwashing gloves, too, so that I can use the hottest water possible.  Those don’t last forever, especially if you wear them—as you should—to wash with any caustic cleanser.  I don’t wash with bleach very much because it sets off an asthma attack, but I do mix it with water in a spray bottle so I can spray my shower and sink.  I also use Barkeeper’s Friend to clean the stainless steel sink.  That’s a harsh cleanser, but wow, does it get the sink clean!  I found "designer" rubber gloves.  I don't know how expensive they are, but maybe I can at least get any other color than yellow.

I also broke down and bought a drying rack.  I had been using towels or mats, but Tabitha would stroll down the counter and knock stuff off.  (I double-dog dare anyone to convince Tabitha to stay off the counter!  That’s what Clorox wipes are for.)  I store the rack under the sink and bring it out only when needed.  It does not stay on the counter!  When I was a kid, my mom left it out all the time.  It drove my dad crazy, but she just couldn’t be bothered to make room for it under the sink.  I hope I’m not offending anyone who leaves their drying rack out 24/7, but it’s really tacky.  What’s more, it takes up counter space.

I miss having a dishwasher.  And good water.  However, I do find that, like Ms. Christie, I am using that dishwashing time to plan.  Anything from a blog post to posting on eBay.  I work on my book in my head.  I can live with that.  For now.

Appreciation--Part 1

I knew when I moved that I would have to give up a couple of “luxury” items.  The things I thought would be no problem to live without are becoming more important to me:

Washer & Dryer
Dishwasher
Bathtub
Gas Heat
Gas Stove
Spare Room
Level Floors

For so many years I took these things for granted.  The washer & dryer, for instance.  When I lived where I didn’t have one, it was no big deal to haul my laundry to my parents’ house.  Most of the time--I’m talking 90%--I would drop it off and my mother would do it for me!  I rarely asked her to, but she always said she didn’t mind at all.  And when I was working 50 hourse a week with an hour commute each way, I really appreciated her help, but I still didn’t expect it.  I didn’t mind visiting with them and doing my laundry myself.

Now, I have to take my laundry to a laundromat.  That, in and of itself, is not the problem.  I spent years hauling my laundry to my parents’ house or sometimes to a friend’s house.  The problem--or I should say, problems, are: 1. the cost, 2. the ambience (or lack thereof), 3. contending with detergent and softeners, 4. machines out-of-order or banged up, 5. strange people and 6. quarters.

Numbers 1 and 6 are two different things.  The cost of doing laundry like this is astronomical.  Maybe I exaggerate.  But only a little!  The first time I went to the Quick Wash a block away, I had to drive because I had so much laundry to do.  The Max Load washers (which hold roughly 4 times what a regular front-load washer holds) are the most economical way to go.  The first time I went, they were $3.75 a load.  After that, they were $4.00.  The trouble with that, though, is that I don’t care to throw everything I own together.  I have four basic divisions of laundry: lights, colors, denim/towels and delicates.  I have been handwashing some of my delicates, so that leaves the other three.  Well, I don’t want to throw my red, green, blue and purple t-shirts in with my white socks and underwear!  I buy white socks for a reason and I want them to stay white.

So, to wash things separately, I have to use the smaller washers.  There are five types of washers at the laundromat I’ve been using: top-loader, double-load front-loader, triple-load front-loader, max load front-loader and heavy-duty.  Rugs, heavy blankets, bedspreads, comforters, etc. go in the heavy-duty.  I haven’t used those yet.  The triple-load machines are $3.50.  The double-loads are $2.75.  The top-loaders are $1.75.  And this is one of the least expensive laundromats in the area!

Then there is the dryers.  These are a quarter.  For 10 minutes!  My smallest load is usually the lights/whites which I can wash in the double-load washers.  That takes 30 minutes or 75 cents.
My colors are usually a max load wash and take from 50 to 60 minutes.  My jeans/towels load are also a max load wash and take 60 to 80 minutes.

In regards to problem #2, the Quick Wash just opened in January.  Of course, it had been a laundromat before that.  The floor is industrial grade tile and I have yet to see it clean so I’m not certain of the pattern.  If there is a pattern.  The washing machines don’t look too bad, except for the top loaders.  They look like they’re from the 1960’s.  There are newer dryers towards the front, which look good and show the time remaining on a digital timer.  Those are the first to fill up and I half the time I have to use the older dryers.  Not only do they look old, some have broken knobs, and one has a tear in the lining on the inside.  The tables look like they’re pre-war.  WWI, that is.  The walls are an indeterminate color.  In a vain attempt to add a touch of whimsy, the new owner put up cute, laundry-related border paper.

Problem #3 is one of those things that just take time to get the knack of.  I refuse to buy small bottles of laundry detergent.  It’s a consumable good, therefore I will try to get the best deal, which is the larger bottles.  However, when you have two or three huge mesh bags of laundry, trying to carry those heavy bottles is just not feasible.  So I have compromised with myself and now purchase the middle size, but I make sure it’s double or triple concentrated.  I also solved the Oxyclean problem nicely.  Instead of bringing the whole bucket, I fill a little Tupperware container with it, since I only use it for the lights/whites.

 And I now have a reusable bag that I put the detergent, Oxyclean and dryer sheets in.

Problem #4.  Well, I mentioned the dryer with the torn liner.  There are five of the max load washers--which most everyone wants to use--but one has been out of order since I started going there.  The broken knobs on the dryers make it difficult at best to get your quarters in.  I have no control over fixing those, so I deal with it by not going on a weekend or after 3:00 p.m. on weekdays.  Everybody who works is there at those times.

Strange people, my fifth problem, is probably the least, well, problematic.  I try to be friendly when I’m at the laundromat.  I’ve met a couple of really nice people.  Most people, however, won’t look at anyone else, let alone talk to them.  I will smile at other people, but rarely get one back.  No big deal, really.  Keeping to myself is fine with me.  However, some of those people can be rude.  I remember one time I had a load going in one of the new dryers up front.  I was gathering the other loads to dry, when I turned around to move to the dryers, this woman had filled every available new dryer!  Now it’s not that I hate the older dryers, but I already had a load up front and had to put the other loads in the back.  Maybe I’m weird, but I like to keep an eye on my stuff in the machines.  Very hard to do when it’s split up like that.  You might be saying, “well, she wasn’t rude, she just beat you to the new dryers.”  And I might’ve said that was true, except when I looked at her before heading to the back, she had an unmistakable smirk.  And she snorted as I passed her.

No solution for strange people.  I just make sure I’ve taken my meds.

The last problem is something I hadn’t considered until the second time I did laundry.  The first time, I had dollar bills and used the coin changer every time I needed more quarters.  The trouble is, even with two change machines, they jam or run out of quarters.  So the second time I went, I had about $12 in quarters already.  Where do you put them?  Wouldn’t fit in the change compartment of my wallet.  If I put them in a pocket, my pants fell down.  That time, I put them in a Ziploc bag.  The bag tore.  The next time I brought quarters, I dumped them in a pocket of my purse.  Nearly gave me a pinched nerve and then I had a heck of a time getting all the quarters out of the pocket.  There’s probably still a couple in there.  Finally, I remembered a coin purse I have.  I had just emptied a bin of odds and ends at this nice leather coin purse was in there.  I kept it, because, well, you just never know.  And it has worked out beautifully!  Max cap on the coin purse is about $15, but I can fit about $4 in quarters in the change compartment of my wallet.  That’s usually enough.

The next time you want to complain about having to do laundry, consider the alternatives.

Mishaps and Mayhem

Some 40 plus years after female demonstrators protested the 1968 Miss America pageant by throwing their bras, girdles and other constricting clothing in the garbage, I did it.  I burned my bra.  Unlike those women who did not actually burn their bras, however, I did burn mine.  (FYI, the whole thing in the 70’s was blown out of proportion by the media.)

My bra-burning was unintentional, however.  I had a stack of dirty laundry piled too close to the radiator.  Well, it wasn’t really stacked that close to the radiator, but the pile grew to such a height that, when it toppled, some pieces ended up on the radiator.  I smelled something strange, but didn’t really think about it.  By the time I found the pile, it was too late.  The only other item that was burned was a half of a towel and one bra. 

The half towel was no big deal.  I keep those for the cats’ beds or carriers or to clean with.  The bra is another story.  I would have rather had a pair of jeans get burned.  I spend less on a pair of jeans (usually) than I do on my wireless support undergarments!  *sigh*

Last week, I was puttering around late at night getting ready for bed.  I heard what sounded like a small body hitting the floor in my bedroom.  It was.  A small body, that is.  It was Khai.  While I’m not certain, I believe he was going to jump up on my bed.  He had been jumping up on it from the floor and had gotten cocky about his ability.  Poor Khai!  Pride goeth before a fall.  Literally.

Before I could turn around to check on him, I heard a weird meow and then all of a sudden there was hissing and spitting and yowling and the two cats came flying into the kitchen!  Tabitha was all over Khai like shopaholics at a one-hour sale!  I had to pull her off of him—earning a deep gash in the thenar.  With my blood flying all over, I couldn’t tell if either cat was bleeding.  I had to take a moment to calm Tabitha down, because every time I let her go, she would leap at Khai again.  When I finally turned my attention to Khai, I could tell he wasn’t moving his legs.

With my heart in my throat, I gently prodded his back and rear legs.  I didn’t feel any protruding or obvious bone fractures.  I manipulated his back feet and was pleased to see that he could move them, but he didn’t want to.  I spent another hour setting him up in my room with the litter, his food and some water.  I also got out the mattress protector pad that had been my mother’s.  I didn’t know why I kept it, but I put it on the floor and gently settled Khai on it and locked Tabitha out of my room for the night.

I spent the next two days shuffling the litter box between the two cats, helping Khai into the litter and cleaning up after him.  It was painful to just watch him try to walk.  While his back legs started to hold him up a little bit, he couldn’t seem to get them to move properly.  So Monday morning, I called a couple of vets.  I really wanted to take him to the clinic that just handles cats, but they were way too expensive and, more importantly, they could not squeeze him in until the next day.  So I called Lockport Animal Hospital and got him in that afternoon.

The Lockport Animal hospital is about six minutes away, by car.  Khai complained every second of those 12 minutes.  He was good inside, except when the vet manhandled his sore rear end.  He gave a full-fanged hiss right in the vet’s face!  But he had no broken bones.  After a steroid shot and two prescriptions—one for prednisone and one for a muscle relaxant—and advice on making a ramp into the litter box for him, I took him home.  He’s been doing very well, except for one thing.

He stank.  Having wet himself but unable to clean himself, Khai smelled very bad.  I waited until Thursday to give him a bath because I didn’t want to hurt him too much.  I really only gave him a half bath, just from the middle of his tummy down to his tail.  I washed and rinsed as fast as I could.  Then I realized I should have given him his pills before I gave him the bath.  Uh oh.  He was tense and angry when I sat down with him.  The first pill I tried to give him was the prednisone.  After the sixth or seventh time he spit it out, the pill was about a third of its original size, so I figured he must have swallowed some of that. 

I sat with him on my lap for quite a while.  I scratched his neck and he fell asleep.  Then I gave the final blow.  As quick as I could, while he was still sleepy, I grabbed his neck, pressed my fingers on each side of his jaw to open his mouth and popped the muscle relaxant down his throat.  Done!  He wanted nothing to do with me after that.  He did not lay on my lap for five days.  He’s doing much better now.  After another trip to the vet and more prednisone, he’s walking more normally, although slowly.

This past Sunday I decided I better treat the bedroom carpet again with an enzymatic cleaner to make sure the cat pee smell was gone.  I was moving stuff around and putting some of it on the shelf in the closet.  Since I had to take Khai to the vet again the next day, I pulled the cat carrier off the shelf.  Unfortunately, a small, solid oak shelf fell off and landed, corner down, on my right foot.

Holy cow, that sucker hurt!!  I dropped everything on the floor and lunged for my bed.  As I lay there with my foot up, I tried to breathe through the excruciating pain.  I whimpered and moaned, which the cats did not like.  Very sympathetic, they left the bedroom together.  After about a year, the pain started to ease.  I did a quick assessment of the injury.  Can I wiggle my toes?  Check.  Can I move the whole foot?  Check.

Carefully, I sat up on the bed.  As my legs swung over the side, the foot started throbbing.  I clenched my teeth, reminded myself to breathe and waited for the pain to abate.  After a month or so, it did so I tried to stand.  That wasn’t too bad, but then I started to walk.  Leaving the stuff I dropped on the floor, I limped to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of frozen peas and collapsed on my recliner.  I propped my foot up and gently set the bag on my poor abused foot.  I think that putting the bag on my foot so quickly is what helped keep it manageable.  I was able to get my stretchy shoes on Monday morning to take Khai to the vet.  While it would hurt if I stepped a certain way or bent the toes too far, it was okay.

On Tuesday, I did laundry.  I mention this for two reasons.  One, I handwashed my delicates on Monday night and I had opened the new bottle of laundry detergent.  Two, I had to take the rest of my clothes to the Laundromat, which meant carrying the detergent, stain treatment, dryer sheets, etc.  These two things are very closely related because as I was carrying said laundry detergent through the living room to put it in the car, liquid detergent spilled all over the rug.  The same rug—different spot—that I had spilled paint on and, on another occasion, I had spilled Weiman’s Furniture Cream.  In the case of the laundry detergent, I had forgotten to tighten the cap after doing the handwashing the night before.

After blotting it up as well as I could, I stuck my driver’s license in one pocket, my money in another pocket and headed to the Laundromat.  I had $8 in quarters and another $14 in singles.  A full hour and a half later and $15 poorer, I counted my remaining few dollars and headed to Target to get my decongestant.  That’s the one you need an I.D. to buy.  I stuck my hand in my pocket.  No I.D.  I checked all my pockets, the car seats, the car floor.  No driver’s license.  Well, I had to drive home and the Laundromat was on the way, so I stopped there to see if it was there.  Didn’t find it and nobody had seen it.  I had met the owner when I first got there earlier so I asked him to keep an eye out for it.

Remaining hopeful, I went home and unloaded the laundry.  After a cuppa and a brief nap, I took the laundry and sorted and folded it, watching for any sign of my driver’s license.  Nothing.  One of the most annoying things is that it was a brand new license.  I had just gotten it less than two weeks’ prior.  I only paid $5 for it since it was just an address change, but to get a duplicate will cost $10.  I’ll have the $10 soon.  Right now it’s floating around in cyberspace on it’s way from my checking account to my Paypal account.  But it’s not there yet, so I have to wait.  *sigh*  I’ll check the car more thoroughly tomorrow, looking under the seats and between the seats and console, but I’m not very hopeful.

There have been a number of other, more minor incidents, too, but I’d have to turn this into a book to relate all of those.  I’ll just say that I now know why I am so slow at painting.  I’m being careful.  Between being forgetful (I can’t remember any examples right now) and somewhat awkward (I have bruises in some startling places), for most of my problems, I have no one to blame but myself.  So I’ll keep slogging through the rest of the unpacking and sorting, trying to be more careful physically and maybe writing more notes so I don’t forget so many things.

Although who would write themselves a note that they hadn’t screwed the cap on the laundry detergent?  I mean, if I had realized I hadn’t done it, I would just put the cap on properly, not write myself a note about it, right?  Right.

Now I'm wondering if I should even get out of bed tomorrow.  Oh, I have to.  The cable guy is coming.  Well, maybe if I sit very still...

Pratfalls of Painting

I decided to jumped from Christmas 2011 to present day.  The angst of apartment hunting, the misery of moving, the heartache of homesickness and the lament of loneliness is just not fun to write about, let alone expect anyone to read.

So, on February 1st, I became a tenant again for only the second time in my life.  Wanting to paint, I put off moving in immediately.  And February 2nd found me and my friend, Ingrid, priming the walls of my new living room.  It was good to spend that time with her and to have a jump start on the painting.  We spent three hours painting together, and, after she left, I spent another three hours finishing.  Nine hours for one coat of primer on everything.

I should mention this room (for I am reclining in my Lazy Boy in said living room) measures 19 feet by 12 feet.  That's a lot of wall space.  Except there are four windows, the front door and a doorway to the kitchen.  The windows are good size, too, which you would think would be good because they help lessen the amount of wall space to be painted.  Well, no and yes.  That is no, it's not good, but yes, it does reduce the wall space.  The thing is, it creates a lot of trim.

Surprisingly, the definition of trim that I'm using is the sixth one in the dictionary: "to decorate or adorn with ornaments or embellishments, usually on the edges."  In this case, I have baseboard, crown molding, four window framings and the front door framing.  The baseboard is broken up by two doorways and the four windows are placed (more or less) in the middle of the wall.  Crown molding however, covers every inch of the 228 feet of walls.  And the ceiling is about eight feet high.  My parents' living room ceiling was seven feet.

This difference wouldn't be a problem if I had a taller ladder.  But I don't.  My sister was going to come today to help paint and bring her taller ladder, but she was sick.  I was determined to get this living room done today, so I grabbed my shorter paint ladder and a longer-handled paint brush and went to work.

When I paint trim or cut-in I like to use my straight edge tool.  It doesn't look like the picture above anymore.  The blue part is covered with many colors of paint.  The edge, however, I keep clean.  You just jam this baby into the corner and paint away.  The nice, straight edge keeps the other side clean.  Well, that's what it does IF your walls are straight.  Even reasonably straight works, because you can shift the edge tool a bit as you go.

The corners of my apartment come close--in a few places:

That is an actual picture of the front wall of my living room.  The gaps are clearly visible both above (toward the corner) and below (in the middle) the molding.  I really wasn't sold on the white trim with the creamy tan walls, but I had run out of options.  The light rose color I was going to use was too "cool" and the peachy-rose color I had for the bedroom was too dark.  It looks fine, especially by the end wall, which is a deep blue:

Anyway, my handy edge tool wouldn't work well.  The crown molding was just too high up for me to do free hand (even if I thought my hand was steady enough to still do that).  What to do?  I grabbed the blue tape.

I hate that blue tape.  It goes beyond the fact that it's made by the company that so flippantly fired me 13 years ago.  The stuff is difficult to put up in a straight line because it'll stretch ever so slightly as you try to keep it firm.  It's difficult to take down because the dried paint keeps it connected.  If you just pull it, you leave all these tiny painted pieces of tape in the corners.  An even bigger problem is that it'll pull off bits of the paint from the wall it was taped on!  The first two problems you learn to work with.  Don't pull too hard when placing it and remember to break the paint-tape bond before you pull.  The last problem, though, seems to depend entirely on whim.  Since I didn't plan to use the tape, I taped as I went along, which doubled the amount of time I stood on the ladder--on tiptoe--with my head craned back.

A quick bit of background should be given here.  Comcast came on Friday to install the cabling for my internet connection.  (I got TV, too, since it came as a packaged deal.)  When the installer left, there was the typical octopus left behind.

So I was tired, sore and cranky when I was more than halfway through the fourth wall.  Ironically, I was running ideas through my head for a blog posting on swearing.  Since my mom passed on, I've noticed I've been cursing more, or at least using stronger words.  I was thinking how epithets show a person's ignorance and, unless there was a tornado coming, there were scores of words to fit the situation better.  Maybe if I'd been more focused on my painting and less on my next blog post, what happened next, wouldn't've happened.

I got off the ladder to move it down a couple of feet when I tripped over the octopus.  You know how some people will say they saw an accident and it seemed like it was in slow motion?  Not this.  It happened so fast all I could do was let out the f-bomb.  Yep.  If there was a word that my daughter would say I would be the last person in the world to use, that would be it.

I really can't give you a run down of the accident itself, except that I remember grabbing the paint container (with 3/4ths of a gallon of paint in it) as it tumbled off it's shelf (which is ridged, so that the paint cans can't slip, but this was Dutch Boy paint so it wasn't in a can it was in a plastic jug).

Huge amounts of white paint poured over the the ladder and the drop cloth below.  Now you'd think "Thank God for the drop cloth!" wouldn't you.  Heh.  This "drop cloth" was an old sheet folded in quarters because I was too lazy to pull the professional painter's drop cloth from my bedroom back into the living room.  While it did keep the mess a bit more manageable, it did not eliminate it.  White paint--actually Sweetened White paint--on the dark brown, brand new carpet.

I grabbed up the other two "drop cloths" and used those old sheets to help stem the flow.  I couldn't really get to cleaning the carpet until I stopped the white stream running off the ladder.  Trying my best to save some of the paint, I used the paint brush to push it from the ladder back into the can.  I used the edge of one sheet to wipe the leg of the ladder.  Then, after I was able to set the paint jug on the ladder, I turned my attention to the carpet.

The three sheets seemed to be containing the spillage, so I ran to the kitchen and grabbed an old cloth.  I wet it thoroughly with warm water and ran back to the scene.  As I lifted the sheets, I disrupted the little dam that the fold of one sheet had produced and another small wave of paint rolled down the edge of the carpet to nestle against the wall under the radiator.  Oh, didn't I mention the radiator?

Yes, there was also paint on the radiator and in the radiator and on the wall, the window sill, the window, the mini-blinds and me.  Thankfully, Khai, who had been following me around the room as I worked, had run off when I dropped that epithetical bomb.  Or maybe it was the banging of the ladder.  Whichever.  Anyway, the hot air from the radiator did not help since it was drying the paint faster than I could clean it up.  Of course, since it was a nice day, the radiator couldn't be in it's down cycle.  Oh, that's right, this electric heat doesn't have a down cycle.  I have it set at 53 degrees and the rooms stay at about 74 degrees.  Dare I hope it'll keep my electric bill down?  Probably not, since it runs constantly.

Even though I hadn't yet painted that one wall, the heat dried the paint into gloppy runs.  I'm thinking maybe I can lightly sand it.  And the window sill.  The blinds are plastic so I can scrape the paint off of those, but that's going to be tedious.  It's not like it was just a sprinkle or light splatter on them.  The window glass will be the easiest.

Well, at length I got the worst of the paint soaked up.  I threw all three sheets into a plastic bin I had just emptied that morning.  I worked on the carpet for the better part of an hour and got a lot of it up.  Not all of it, however.  But, at that point, with the heat blowing the whole time, there wasn't much more I could do with just warm, soapy water.  I've got to google how to get paint off of a carpet.

For once I was glad that the building's management was cheap.  The carpet seems to be nylon and, with luck, I'll be able to clean it better.  I could just imagine if it had been a natural fiber.  Yuck!

Let's see now.  I still have to paint the one living room wall and the baseboard on that wall.  Then there's the bedroom, kitchen and bathroom.  At least only the bedroom has crown molding and the bedroom ceiling is only seven feet high.  I have no idea why the living room is taller.

My original plan for today was to also get the wall in the kitchen painted where the buffet/hutch is going to go when the movers bring it Friday.  To quote Scarlett: "Tomorrow is another day."