Coffee heat rising

Report from the Hubs of Hades

Five in the morning. It’s 90 degrees on the back porch. Windy. The sun is trying, unsuccessfully, to dawn through muddy yellow-orange haze. Off in the distance: dull thunder. Let the dogs out to do their thing. Decide against the usual a.m. doggy-walk.

Discover I’ve gained almost two pounds since the day before yesterday. Xergis is fattening?????? WTF.

The human and the dogs go back to bed. Actually, the human takes the laptop to the bed, perches there, and fiddles with social media. Dogs go back to sleep.

Cassie starts to hork.

Lift her off the bed before she succeeds in upchucking. Thank God for small mercies.

Clean up the mess. Let Cassie back out. It’s starting to sprinkle. Sort of. Hard to tell what it’s doing: it’s so hot, and the light wind is rustling the leaves, so the sound could be that rather than rain. If it is raining, it’s evaporating before it hits the ground. Cassie goes back in. Decide she’s probably done barfing. Lift her back on the bed. Climb back on behind her. Dogs conker out.

Storm continues to move in. Thunder surrounds us, rumbling in from all directions. Still have power, though. And 70% battery power remains on the Macbook — meaning the thing will run about another 30 minutes.

The pool will be a mess to clean up, with that much dust hanging in the air. The water is bathtub warm. Even though the mustard algae has almost disappeared, these conditions will invite it back.

Arranged to have the pool resurfaced in October. Earlier, if a miracle happens and the water gets too cool to swim sometime in September. I doubt this will happen: global warming is real, folks…and we’ve had it here for some time now.

Decided against the white PebbleSheen. The guy — a genuine charmer, definitely born about 30 years too late, dammit — brought some samples. We put them in the water, because the stuff changes color as it gets really wet. Chose a kind of medium-light blue with little stones engineered to show. I think it will be very pretty.

They’re going to try to save the tile. But if they can’t — it’s been through two replasterings that we know of, and there is a limit, after all — he left a brochure showing a local pool tile company’s offerings. Now I’m thinking I should just spring for the cost of installing new tile. Mine is pretty out of date…think this pool was installed shortly after the first buyers moved in, and the house was built in 19-and-ought-71. It has that 1970s look to it.

At any rate, the stuff is going to look amazingly pretty.

Looking at it in the water, I was reminded of Lebanon.

When I was a little girl, my father would occasionally take his short leave in Beirut. (Aramco gave employees two “leaves”: a two-week short leave midway through a two-year contract, and a three-month long leave between contracts. Sometimes we would go to Beirut; sometimes to Bahrain.)

Lebanon had been largely dominated by the French, following the demise of the Ottoman Empire. Before the civil war (followed, a few years later, by attacks from the Israelis)  reduced the city to rubble, Beirut hosted rows of beautiful, French-operated hotels that served up luxury accommodations and French food on the shore of the Mediterranean. It was a gorgeous place.

So we stayed in this hotel on the most amazing beach. It wasn’t sand, like the hot white sand where we lived, on the Persian Gulf. It was tiny, colorful, surf-polished pebbles. Each little stone was maybe an eighth of an inch in diameter and  they came in every color you can imagine. When I first saw them, I thought they were gemstones. A whole beach covered with jewelry!

When they were wet, they did look like highly polished gemstones. Let them dry out: not so much. But underwater, they were a spectacular thing to see.

Well, this PebbleSheen stuff is like that. Its little stones are about the size of the beach gemstones of Beirut. And underwater, they shine like they were polished.

So I’m pretty excited about doing this project. I think it’s going to make the backyard look really gorgeous.

The cat’s claw, which was suffering from the near demise of the irrigation system along the back wall, is reviving in response to being watered from the top with drip hosing. That stuff won’t last long — if you ever want soaker hose, do not buy the Miracle-Gro brand, which is true junk. But for the nonce, the scheme is working well. The idea of hooking the double hose bib on that back faucet was definitely one of those why didn’t i think of it before??? things. Now instead of having to climb under the shrubbery to hook up the soakers to the hose, all that’s needed is a flip of a switch and a turn of a faucet handle. It’s starting to blossom and will soon be covered with bright yellow trumpet flowers.

Ugh. I cannot stand to read the news these days. When is that orange-haired buffoon going to resign or be impeached?

Dollars to donuts, he won’t make it to the end of this term. But that may not be a good thing. Because then we will get Pence, who is an effective politician, and who hides his viciousness under a smoothly polished veneer of pious respectability. Frankly, a “Christian” who wouldn’t recognize Christ if the Spirit Himself came up and bit him on the tuchus may be worse than a clown whose corruption is obvious.

This country is in deep, deep trouble. As in End-Times trouble, at least for our democratic republic. Hellish hot rain, I suppose, is to be expected.

Update: Rainshowers barrel through to the south. By 8:00 a.m.: 80 degrees on the back porch, under a gentle sprinkle. Arizona is weird.

The Paper Shuffle Jamboree…

Okay, okay. I admit it: I’ve again put off cleaning out the accrued PAPER until the stuff started spilling out of the closet.

That would be because…I hate paper. The reasonable approach to paper is, IMHO, to ignore it. Yet I’m a compulsive saver of paper, partly because I run chronically scared of the IRS and partly because Ex-DH, the corporate lawyer, never, ever threw out a scrap of paper.

Literally.

Remember when banks used to send you your canceled checks? He would keep every one of them. We had an old bureau drawer that had every canceled check we’d ever written, neatly arranged chronologically in row after row after row. Since we’d been married for over 20 years, that made for a lot of rows.

So it was impressed upon my malleable little brain that you must never throw out a piece of paper that has anything to do with a financial transaction.

Result: in my old age, I drop every receipt for every purchase, no matter how trivial, into a grass basket.

The basket was getting pretty jam-packed. And of course the usual array of statements was piling up, though I’ve been a little better about pushing that variety of paper.

You’ll recall that the last time I took it upon myself to clean out the paper nests, I burned all that debris in the fireplace. Years worth of it.

That was messy.

This time I don’t have such a backlog of the stuff — only about a year’s worth.

Well, except for the collection of statements from Fidelity dating back to early 2013…

This time I decided to save about six months worth of credit-card receipts — especially the ones from Costco, where one is allowed to return a product at any time during the remainder of one’s natural life span. For the second six months’ worth, I would save only Costco receipts, receipts related to the business, and receipts having to do with car and maintenance and house improvement. The rest of it: out.

§§§ Well, goddamnit, the lovely Macintosh has decided it won’t read my camera’s card, so I guess the photos I snapped either don’t exist or cannot be retrieved. Really, how can I describe how much I hate this damn new computer? Almost as much as I hate the damn new Toyota. Which is a lot. §§§

To put it into words — the project, not the hatred — running all those receipts through the paper shredder filled up the shredder’s (capacious) bin twice and resulted in about a bushel and a half of paper strips. If I were into papier-mâché, it would’ve been a gold strike.

By way of simplifying this chore the next time it comes around, I decided to make file folders for each month — a file folder just fits inside said grass basket. So all the January receipts get segregated, the February receipts, the March receipts, and so on. This will make it a lot easier to throw out the ones that aren’t worth saving…which is most of them. I created a separate folder for Costco receipts, which will go in there higgledy-piggledy but which aren’t so numerous as to make sorting them a migraine nightmare. Also made a folder for car receipts and one for capital improvements on the house.

A nuisance. But it means all the receipts that really should be saved will be set aside. So I hope the next time it’ll be a little less of a nuisance.

 

Decluttering: A shovel-it-out moment

So  yesterday I didn’t sit down to actually work until around 5 or 6 p.m.

Because… A friend asked if she could camp in the Funny Farm’s spare bedroom during a transitional period in her life. Her DH landed a very fine job in the Bay Area and has already launched himself there. She, meanwhile, has a teaching contract that she’s loath to walk out on — because she’d like to get academic work in California, she’d like not to burn any bridges — and she’s in the middle of her first semester of a master’s program in her profession.

We propose, therefore, that she’ll stay at my house for a month or two while enjoying the thrills of a commuter marriage (hooboy! lucky kids…). I’m pleased about this idea: it’ll be nice to have some company for a change, and it’s also nice to be able to do something for someone else. For a change.

She’s moving in on Thursday, so before than I need to shovel out the unholy mess that is my dwelling. Number one: the piles and piles of unused clothing in that bedroom’s closet!!!!

In the normal course of events, that closet would hold winter clothes and dressy stuff, and the one in my bedroom would hold summer clothes. Events, however, have been far from normal.

After the deboobifcation surgeries, I tried on all my tops and dresses and put the ones that definitely we re still wearable in my bedroom closet. A bunch of shirts and knit tops were too uncomfortable against the still-healing wounds to wear. Plus I still had some size 10 and size 12 jeans, which I figured I’d better not get rid of because I’d need them if I got fat again — which indeed has come to pass since the accursed gut surgery.

So I took all the uncomfortable clothes that I thought I might be able to wear in the future and hung them in the spare bedroom closet, with a PostIt note reminding me to try them on in May, when I expected to be more or less functional again.

In May I did go through those, try them on, and retrieve the ones worth wearing in the summer heat. A whole bunch of long-sleeved knit tops, sweaters, vests, and jackets remained in the storage closet.

So yesterday, by way of emptying out the closet for my friend, I went through all those, folded everything truly wintery and stored them in a suitcase, and moved stuff that I might be able to wear now that it’s cooling down a little bit into the bedroom closet.

The closet is now chuckablock full… Read “I have got TOO MUCH STUFF!

Really, I need to get rid of it. Because I rarely throw anything away, clothing items drift up like snow or sand dunes or dog hair…  But you know, every time I shovel stuff out, within about two or three months I’m searching all over the house for it and I really need it and then I’m upset because I can’t find it and then I’m even more upset when I remember I gave it to the Goodwill! So on top of my innate laziness, I tend to be kind of conservative about getting rid of stuff I paid to have.

I did, however, haul a big pile out to the car to try to peddle at My Sister’s Closet when I’m near there next Thursday morning.

Interestingly, at least half of that came from My Sister’s Closet!

We’ll see if they’ll take the stuff back. 😀

While I’m at the Closet, I’m going to drop by their home furnishing store and see if, by any chance, they have a decent set of stainless flatware at a decent price.

One never knows. Miracles do happen. If (as I expect), they don’t, then I’ll drive straight up Scottsdale Road to the Sur La Table at Kierland Commons and pick up a plain, manageable set there.

As you know, I’ve given some serious consideration to packing the Christofle away, now that it can no longer be washed in a dishwasher. But then decided it’s not such a big deal to wash a few pieces by hand each day.

But y’know…when it’s just me, that’s fine. (Well…it’s not fine, but it’s eminently survivable.) However, when there are two people trying to use the kitchen…no. I think it would be asking altogether too much to expect another person to keep the silver and the cheapo stainless (a Chinese knock-off of my Christofle pattern) separate and to remember not to put the silver in the washer. There’s a limit. So, I’m going to pack away the Christofle and get another set of stainless flatware, which will provide plenty of utensils (because I cook a lot and only run the washer every couple of days, I’ll often run through the entire supply of forks or spoons, just on my own!).

If I like the new stuff, then I’ll just keep it and never have to wash another fork by hand. But if I pine for the Christofle, I’ll break it back out after my friend goes west to join her husband and use whichever stainless set I prefer for cooking and knocking around.

Anyway, even though I had to work until 1 a.m. to catch up with publishing stuff left undone, I felt very pleased. A lot of shoveling-out got done. The spare closet is pretty much empty (except for a few hanging linens), so she’ll have plenty of room to stash her stuff. Next: shovel out the bathroom so she can find room to park her make-up. Then we’ll be good!

🙂

Wait! I forgot to show you this. How do you like this cover I designed last night?

Presentation4 LoRes

Heee! Hafta to ask you: how about that!  I think I’m getting pretty good at this. In fact, I may have missed my calling: I should’ve been a graphic designer.

This book is part of the Travelers frame story that will go on sale through November and possibly into December. We have two sets of stories for the holidays: Travelers probably is best for December, because it’s premised on a bunch of airline passengers becalmed overnight in an airport. The other, Family, is focused on Thanksgiving: the stories of brothers, sisters, and hangers-on making the annual trek home to Mama’s house for the big family reunion around Thanksgiving dinner.

So: watch for these stories, all of which are upbeat and fun and probably tell stories that resonate with your own life. Onward!

🙂

 

The Great Closet Winnowing

So I’ve been thinking for awhile that it’s time to clean out the closets. Even if I hadn’t been gifted with a fine new body style, it would be time to shovel out the increasingly decrepit clothing. But now that some of the stuff will never fit again, one feels moved to tidiness.

Surprisingly, most of the stuff looks OK. A few tops look pretty grotesque, but others drape nicely and create a slender, athletic effect. It’s impossible to tell which will do what, though, simply by looking at them. They have to be tried on.

Even so, the tops that don’t adapt themselves to a certain boy-like verticality are happy when worn over falsies — yea verily, some look markedly better than they did before. 😀

Problem is, quite a few of them hurt. As it develops, a burning or tingling sensation in response to the touch of fabric on the skin can persist for quite some time after the surgical incision has healed. This apparently is the result of dissected nerves regenerating. For many women, the effect goes away after some months. But one of WonderSurgeon’s nurses told me that for some women, it never disappears.

Lovely.

So some of these old shirts are headed for the recycler or the thrift shop. Which ones, though, remains to be seen. Mostly, it seems the type of no-iron, no-dry-clean knit pullover I favor is particularly irritating. But you can’t tell just by looking at them: some shirts that look like they ought to set your teeth on edge have no effect at all. Some that should be comfortable hurt.

Rather than try on every single one of the darn things, I decided to set aside all the pieces I know hurt or think might be uncomfortable and sequester them for about three months, by which time this condition should have passed, if it’s going to pass. Three months from now is the middle of May.

Hence, stage 1: set apart all all the suspect garments.

Meanwhile, over time the closet contents have gotten massively jumbled: winter clothes mixed in with lightweight summer stuff, grubby gardening rags with nice dresses and skirts.

So, stage 2: sort the stuff out!

The winter stuff went into the back-room closet, along with the potential throw-aways. The summer stuff got moved into the bedroom closet, along with the precious collection of Costco jeans. Voila! Ready for the next season!

An ongoing annoyance with those closets has been the inevitable jumble that results from stuffing clean laundry back in there. Every time I shovel these things out, the mess grows back like kudzu. Within two weeks, it’s a jungle in there. Again.

The challenge calls for a full OCD charge. And nobody can do OCD better than I can…

Stage 3: regiment the clothes hangers!

Masking tape strips on the hanger racks mark out sections by clothing type: jeans, casual shirts, better shirts, dresses & skirt, and on and on. Added some labels to remind me to quit jamming stuff in higgledy-piggledy. And since I know I won’t remember the scheme to test the suspect tops all the way until the middle of next May, I put the date on a label over that high-style collection. With any luck at all, the tag will remind me to go through that stuff and get rid of the stuff that can’t be used anymore.

O’course, that assumes I’ll look in a closet full of winter clothes on a day when the temperature’s hovering around 100 degrees…

P1030373

Cleaning, Throwing Out, Moving Around…

When I’m feeling out of sorts, one of the few things that can make things feel better is to do something I hate: cleaning house.

SharkVacuumThe shack hasn’t been cleaned in weeks. Though I’ve managed to keep most of the junk more or less picked up, the dust and the dog hair and the kitchen-tile spots continue to settle on the floors, like snow on the open fields. Ugh. Dog hair piles up like dunes behind the bedroom and bathroom doors; gunk builds a lovely antique patina across the kitchen floor; dust mice, which prey upon dog hair, gather in cozy tribes beneath the sofa.

Complicating matters, some major furniture moving and junk ejection has been preoccupying my fevered little mind for quite some time. And really, it’s not very practical to do all that without beating back the filth first.

Hence: cleaning frenzy.

Cassie the Corgi has been holed up in the shower stall the entire afternoon — she thinks the vacuum cleaner, the dust mop, and the rag mop can’t catch her in there, I guess. The floors are now clean but wet as a shower-stall floor. It’s about to rain, and so although the floors may dry sometime during a human’s lifetime, that human would have to be Methuselah.

But now that the worst of the dirt is shoveled out and wiped up, the sinus or migraine headache (unclear which) that’s been making me crazy for the past two days has about resolved itself. I’m still cranky as a cat, but probably will no longer bite without provocation.

And I’ve finally come to some major decisions about the expensive and the not-so-expensive hardware around this place. Videlicet:

1. The fate of the television

It’s about to be gone. The TV set, I mean, not Fate.

I can’t afford cable, nor do I especially want it. Not interested in television in general, and certainly don’t care to spend hundreds of dollars a year for 40+ channels with nothing on. Broadcast television, however, is effectively broken. It’s a rare evening when anything is playing that anyone with half a brain cares to watch. And even the few tolerable shows are a lost cause: every commercial program has more advertising than content. PBS now blasts you with advertising, too, but about half the time the PBS stations are engaged in endless beg-a-thons, during which they fill their air time with superannuated pop stars and bird-brained speechifying hucksters. For reasons unfathomable to me, when they’re begging for money they replace all the content anyone would want to watch with the likes of Suze Orman and Wayne Dyer, a strategy guaranteed to drive their regular viewers away during their fund-raising frenzies.

I just turn the television off during PBS fund-raising seasons…but lately, those seasons have come faster and thicker, meaning even less viewable content than is normally to be had in the Great Wasteland. Most evenings, the television is off. It needs to go away: the thing just occupies space and collects dust.

2. The fate of the iMac

Whatever is wrong with the back causes unbelievable, excruciating pain every time I sit down to the desk where the big desktop computer resides. Maximum length of time I can sit in front of this machine is about 15 minutes, after which I have to get up and walk around for 15 or 20 minutes. This, as you can imagine, reduces a ten-hour workday to five hours of usable time, at most. Much less than that, in reality: the kind of work I do requires long stretches of uninterrupted concentration. When I have to get up every 15 minutes, I can’t focus on the work and nothing much gets done. All day long.

Four different desk chairs, one of them very expensive, have done nothing to help.

moserrockerHowever, in another room sits a wooden rocking chair that, come to find out, is the only chair in the house that I can sit in for any length of time. If I haul the laptop to this chair, lo! I can tolerate an hour or 90 minutes of work without crippling aftereffects. This is about how long I need to get through a single train of thought or focus on a decent chunk of academic copy.

So that’s where I’ve been working for the past few weeks. Indeed, it’s where I’m writing this very post.

The rocker came from Thos. Moser. Very expensive. However, just this moment, Thos. Moser is having a sale.

It looks like I no longer can use the iMac, which has a larger screen than my television’s, for work purposes. However, why couldn’t I stream Netflix on it? That would solve the problem of nothing to watch when I have time or inclination to watch. And it’s cheap.

3. The fate of the aged Ekornes chair

ekor-chelsea-aThis thing is sterling uncomfortable and has been occupying space and gathering dust in the office. Years ago I purchased the contraption because my former MiL went on and on and ON about how wonderful hers was. What was I thinking? The woman never did have good sense…apparently I didn’t, either.

Select your role models with care…

Now that this expensive leather monster has resided in my precincts for 20 years (and been sat on maybe a dozen times, total, in all that time), it’s time for that thing to go, too.

4. The fate of the aged but high-quality and still nominally functional stereo system in the office

This set of gear was given to me by a friend, who dragged it to my house to yard-sale it and didn’t want to drive it back home. Hooked up to a couple of small speakers, it makes very high-quality sound.

Until the late, great room-painting fiasco, I enjoyed listening to NPR on the thing. But the painting morons yanked out the speaker wires and the antenna, rendering the system nonfunctional. My son reconnected the speakers but not the antenna, so it no longer works. Even if I knew where and how to connect the copper wires in question, I can’t move the cabinet by myself. But I have no idea how to fix it and have given up asking.

The cabinet, however, could be used to hold the reference books that are presently in the closet. Then I could clean out a closet shelf, which would clear enough room to put a couple of file crates in there, which would allow me to get rid of the rolling metal file cart, which I hate.

Ah hah! A plan: Convert the iMac into an entertainment center by subscribing to Netflix and maybe Hulu, with added bookmarks to favorite shows like Jon Stewart and some PBS and BBC programs. Get rid of the decrepit old television and its ancillary, unused junk. Clean out the TV armoire and convert it to a linen chest, which is what armoires were meant for in the first place. Give the kid first dibs on the Scandinavian Mid-Century leather throne and the stereo equipment; if he doesn’t want them, try to peddle the junk through My Sister’s Attic, and failing that, off to Goodwill with it.

Since the Thos. Moser chair is the centerpiece of the family room and since I’m feeling pretty flush just now, buy a second rocker to place in front of the iMac, allowing for several hours of relatively uninterrupted viewing time. That also will provide a place to grade papers and work on similar mind-numbers on the MacBook while some movie or TV program creates enough noise to keep me awake.

* * *

While I’m in the middle of writing this post, M’hijito shows up at the front door. Yes, he does want the Ekornes chair! He loads it into his car. Then comes back in to try to assess the wisdom of The Plan (above). He’s not nuts about it. He suggest a couple of popular variants of office chairs; I explain that I’ve tried these and they hurt. He thinks Netflix has advertising, but suggests I try their free month before buying a new Thos. Moser chair. I point out that Thos. Moser is having one of its extremely rare sales: for the first time in recorded history (and probably for the last time), they’re offering a 10% discount on the thing. But I do allow as to how if Netflix also besmirches its offerings with endless ads, then I can do without it as easily as I can do without the television.

He fixes the stereo system, mooting the scheme to get rid of that, and then climbs into his chariot and cruises off.

The stereo sounds great! Now all I need is a chair in there, so I can listen to it.