by jphilo | Jul 24, 2015 | Daily Life
Rereading this post about a series of no good, very bad days in July of 2008 made me smile. It made me think of how my mother used to say, “This too will pass,” when I got riled out about nothing much. I hope it makes you smile, too.
If my name was Alexander, I’d be writing a children’s book about the last few no good, very bad days. But since my name’s Jolene and you’re adults, I’ll skip the illustrations and tell you what’s been going on.
I haven’t posted to my blog the past few days because I’ve been working on a big media project, and I hate media projects. Every time I opened anything, even my email, I got a nasty message saying I was dangerously low on disk space. So it was no iPhoto or iWeb until the project was done and burned on a DVD.
The project was hard to burn onto a DVD, and I hate burning DVDs. My daughter helped me and after a while we both hated burning DVDs.
I’ve had two writing projects to edit. They popped up all of the sudden and had very short deadlines. I hate short deadlines. They fluster me so much I sometimes forget to save my editing. Yesterday, I forgot to save some editing and had to redo the whole thing. I hate redoing the whole thing.
The weather’s been really hot and humid for the last few days. I hate humidity. It’s been so miserable, I’ve been running the air conditioners a lot, and I hate air condiditioning.
But last night, my daughter got the DVD burning to work, and I was able to trash the project and free up space on my computer. I finished both editing projects, saved and sent them. And the weather broke in the night so this morning’s walk was glorious. As I walked I thought of a sunrise picture I took a few days back, before the no good, very bad stuff started. I knew I should share it with you since you listened to me whine about the no good, very bad stuff.
I love sunrises. I hope you do, too.
by jphilo | Jun 22, 2015 | Daily Life
Ant season has arrived, so the Man of Steel and I are employing several creative methods to get rid of our unwelcome guests.
Ant season has arrived, and quicker than I can put on sun screen and leave for the pool, the ants are marching in and setting up housekeeping. Not just in the kitchen, but in the laundry room and the bathroom, too.
The day before I left for a writing conference last week, I dealt with the squatters by committing insecticide on a massive scale. I squirted Terro ant poison on little bits of cardboard, like a chain of delicious and deadly truck stops, strategically placed on the little ant highways they had constructed on our floor.
As the package directions predicted, traffic on the ant highway increased exponentially until the ants carried the poison back to their nests and unwittingly killed off the entire colony. Which happened, the Man of Steel informed me Saturday when I arrived home, the day after I left for the conference.
While I was gone, however, a new colony of ants discovered the kitchen counter. The Man of Steel was loathe to decorate the counter with poison and tried a different tactic. Namely, he killed off the invaders and left the dead bodies scattered hither and yon on the counter all night. The modern day version of the medieval practice of beheading law breakers and displaying their severed, grisly orbs on pikes in the village square.
Creative thinking on the Man of Steel’s part, but it didn’t phase the house invaders. At all. So yesterday, Anty Em’s Truck Stop opened to rave reviews from ravenous travelers speedily carrying word of the new establishment, along with teeny-tiny doggy bags, to friends and family. As attractive as word of mouth advertising is, the truck stop is not aiming for repeat customers.
For those of you who had been thinking of stopping by for a visit, please don’t let the contents of this post stop you. Just call before you come so we can shoo Anty Em to the cellar and clean up the village square in time for your arrival. Thank you, and we appreciate your patronage.
by jphilo | Jun 19, 2015 | Daily Life
This week’s Fantastic Friday post doubles as a PSO…for myself. All June I’ve conveniently forgotten that window washing time has arrived. So I’m thinking maybe if a voice from the past speaks via social media, that will give me the gumption to do what needs to be done. If this PSO motivates you in the same way, please leave a comment.
When I was teaching school, raising kids, riding herd on defective canines, serving on too many church committees and taking graduate classes every summer I always had my windows washed by the middle of June. So how come, seven years post-teaching career, with the kids grown, the dog shipped off to my brother and his sweet wife, my church work pared to the bare minimum and no more sitting at the feet of professors, it’s June 28th and the windows still aren’t washed?
Correction. One window is washed. One measly kitchen window, the one pictured above, which I washed this morning because I could no longer stand the dead soy beetles that cascade down whenever I open the window.
I’m thinking the wedding guests might find the rain of the soy beetle corpses a tad bit gross, too, so the top item on this week’s to do list is WASH WINDOWS. Yes, the words are written in all caps. And yes, they shout at me every time I consult the list.
Now I know what you’re thinking. This woman is a compulsive nut. Her daughter’s getting married in two weeks, and she’s washing windows. That’s what you’re thinking.
But you are wrong! This item has been on the list since April, and every week I’ve calmly transferred it to the next week – or the week after that – depending on my schedule and the weather, which has not cooperated for the past two weeks. Such flexibility and good humor does not describe someone in the grips of compulsivity, now does it?
With this week’s forecast for sunshine and mild temperatures, this is my Carpe Diem opportunity. It’s time to seize the day, and wash a couple easy windows every morning before sitting down to write. It’s time to seize the husband in the evenings so he can help with the hard to reach windows, including the one covered with bird droppings which is adjacent to the oak tree under which the sweethearts will be married. It’s time to seize the week and clean to my heart’s content, banishing the soy beetle corpses to a watery grave.
Some of you may consider all this seizure activity as further evidence of compulsiveness. I prefer to describe it as concern for our house guests. Whatever way you look at it, one fact remains. With one window down and twenty-nine to go, it’s time to seize the windows.
By the fistful.
by jphilo | Apr 27, 2015 | Daily Life
The week just past was not an easy one. Last Sunday, I was finally home for a good long while after months of speaking engagements and Grammy duties, with no book deadlines looming. Don’t get me wrong, all of the above are good–even great and blessed–events. But they were wearying, too, and I naively thought that the week would be devoted to creative activities that rejuvenate me…like finally getting back to poor, patient Jane and her languishing mystery novel. That didn’t happen.
Because I had forgotten that the first several days after being gone
are devoted to catching up on everything that piled up in your absence.
Laundry.
Mail.
Email.
Bills.
Grocery shopping.
Once those were taken care of,
it was time to respond to people I’d told,
“Contact me a few days after I get back, and I’d be glad to help.”
All that took until Saturday.
Which left me as frustrated as the crazy, two week allergy elimination diet I began on Sunday has been leaving me hungry after every meal. (More on the diet tomorrow.) And I was tired. Bone tired. A wee bit out of shape. And whiny because the weather’s been rainy and cold for days. Something had to be done. So Sunday afternoon, I sat down and racked my memory for the beauty hidden in my not-too-easy week.
Once I started looking, beauty was everywhere,
in the cherry blossoms in our neighbors’ yard,
blossoms left untouched by a nip of frost.
in finding the exact watch Mom wanted to replace her old one at the first store visited.
on the heavenly red bud trees blooming in the ravine along our road.
in the forgiveness of our church Connection Group
when I totally forgot about the potluck we were hosting.
Most beautiful of all,
most heart-breakingly beautiful of all,
in the kindness of staff members interacting with a resident in Mom’s memory care unit,
as they encouraged him, though his mind is dimmed by disease, to play his trombone,
as they hummed the birthday tune to him until the notes brought back his memory,
and he played the tune straight through,
with vibrato
and rhythm
and perfect pitch.
In his fellow residents giving him a rousing round of applause,
and asking him to play it again…
and again…
and again.
A miracle.
A miracle of grace.
A miracle of beauty.
A miracle of unequaled beauty almost overlooked,
though hidden in plain sight,
and waiting eagerly to be found.
And to think,
I almost missed it.
by jphilo | Apr 6, 2015 | Daily Life, Family
I called Mom from Kohl’s last Wednesday. “I’ll be there in about 15 minutes, ” I said. “As soon as the battery in my watch is replaced.”
“My watch needs a new battery, too,” she said.
Why hadn’t she told me that yesterday when I called to ask her if she needed anything.
I bit my tongue, and replied, “That’s too bad. See you soon.”
15 minutes later, I greeted her as promised, “Hi, Mom!”
“Where are my clothes?” she demanded.
“What clothes?” I said, surprised.
“My clothes are too hot. I’m roasting,” she said motioning to the heavy turtleneck sweater she was wearing. “I need some cool tops and some summer nighties.”
So a couple hours later, after a few rousing games of Uno (we each one a game), after a trip to Saylorville Lake to watch boats going into the water on this first warm day of spring, and after supper at Applebees, I returned her to her digs. Her watch in hand, I headed to Kohl’s once again.
The shopping trip was successful–3 new shirts and 2 new nighties, all of which fit her–but the watch was toast. Mom accepted the death of her watch with resignation, and before leaving, I tucked her, clad in her new nightie, into bed (at 7 PM).
Once I was home, I related the afternoon and evenings activities to the Man of Steel. “Her room really was stuffy,” I ended.
The Man of Steel nodded his head. “Did you turn down the thermostat in her room?”
Duh.
“Ah, no.”
We both laughed.
And that, dear readers, is just one of the many reasons I need the Man of Steel. The name of this particular reason?
Common sense.
by jphilo | Apr 3, 2015 | Daily Life
Today’s Fantastic Friday post comes from way back in April of 2009. That spring’s weather must have been considerably warmer than this one, since the columbine have not yet made an appearance. The mystery novel mentioned below is a different one than Run, Jane, Run! which is unfortunately not almost done, though I’m almost ready to find time to work on it again. My almost standard of living continues, but the 2009 evening listening to Bill Bryson in the company of my dear friend Cindy was not almost enchanted. It was most definitely a magical evening never to be forgotten.
Almost
It’s almost spring, the calendar says, but the weather’s cold again today. Through the garden debris, the columbine are almost ready to unfurl their leaves. The peony tips are visible, almost pushing through the black dirt.
My life is a reflection of my flower garden. Mom’s house is almost sold, we’ve cleared out almost all it’s contents, and I’ve almost figured out her finances. I’m almost done going through the editor’s suggestions for A Different Dream, the mystery manuscript is almost done, and I’m almost ready for a speaking engagement. My house is almost in order, the bathrooms are almost clean, and I almost have the weekend menu planned.
The problem is, just like spring, I’m stuck at almost. As soon as I almost finish something, something more serious arises and I have abandon what’s almost done to address the other. Almost finished projects are piling up so fast they’re almost drowning me.
All I can do until April 10, when we close on Mom’s house, is make peace with the almosts. My friend came up with a perfect way to do it. We’re going to hear the author Bill Bryson speak at Drake University tonight. He’s a Des Moines native who lives in England and almost never gets back to Iowa. The talk will be an almost perfect ending to an almost winter day in what claims to be spring. And to think, I almost missed the opportunity.
Thanks for inviting me, Cindy.
What almosts are piling up in your life? Leave a comment.
