The Cleaning Conundrum

Steve taking care of business under the cabinet

Anyone who is married knows that no matter how long you have known your spouse and no matter how well you think you understand them they will sometimes find a way to completely baffle you. My husband Steve is a wonderful man, and I am fortunate to be married to him. He is patient, good-natured, considerate, and kind. He’s incredibly intelligent, a wonderful father, helpful around the house, and a lot of fun to be with. We have been together 18 years, and I know him reasonably well. Yet, somehow, he still manages to make me wonder sometimes.

Take today, for example. We were getting ready to entertain friends and cleaning the house. He had run the vacuum and begun unloading the dishwasher while I was cleaning the guest bathroom and dusting the furniture. I went to put the dust cloth in the laundry room to be washed and when I returned I couldn’t see him. I walked into the kitchen to find him sitting on the floor in front of the cabinets underneath the sink. He had pulled out a bunch of items and was sitting among them, surveying the scene. Holy hell. We had guests coming in an hour. He was supposed to be cleaning messes, not making them.

“Ummmm….what are you doing?”

“I pulled the trashcan out to empty the vacuum and noticed that it’s really gross under here.”

Was he kidding me? While he was correct (it was really gross under there and cleaning down there has been on my mental to-do-someday list for forever and a day), I was fairly sure we would not be serving our guests dinner under the kitchen sink.

He began using a rag to wipe down the inside bottom and sides of the cabinet.

“Do you really think this is the right time to be doing a deep clean of the INSIDE of a cabinet? I can think of about fourteen other things we should probably be focusing on instead before they get here. We need to wipe off the table and counters, put away the rest of the dishes, mop the floor….”

He cut me off. “This has been bugging me, so I thought I’d just take care of it.”

“Dude….why do you always start deep cleaning something right before we’re expecting company? We’re going for basic clean, not the-queen-is-coming-for-inspection clean. Last time it was the laundry room floor. Now you’re cleaning under the kitchen sink? Come on. Work with me here.”

He stared at me blankly. Then he put the items back under the sink, closed the door, and began wiping off the counter as requested. I was just grateful he’d decided not to argue with me.

We got everything done before our friends arrived and were able to enjoy a fun, relaxing evening in our clean house. I know that tomorrow when I go to throw something out, I’m going to smile at my own reflection in the spotless inside of that cabinet under the sink. I’ll have to thank Steve for taking care of a little detail that’s been bothering me for months too. The whole cleaning conundrum got me to thinking, though. Perhaps, I should have people over more often? Who knows what other deep cleaning chores Steve might wipe off my to-do list if I just gave him enough opportunity?

 

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Sunrise, Sunset

This morning's sunrise...taken with my iPhone

“There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.” ~Bern Williams

I am the worst kind of person. The rumors are true. I am a morning person. I rarely tell people that little tidbit about me because most people despise morning people. Damn me for being cheerful when I wake up, for popping out of bed at the first chirp of the alarm, for never hitting snooze, for getting right to work at the business of being alive another day. All right. I will admit that some days I’m slightly less cheerful about the morning than on other days, but that is quickly rectified with adequate consumption of espresso.

One of my favorite things about early morning is being awake to see the sunrise. Because it’s so easy to sleep through them, they are more precious than the sunset. A deeply genuine peace wells in my heart when I watch the sun creep up the horizon and brighten the world. Even after 43 years, the novelty of watching a new day dawn is never lost on me.

Some mornings I will stand in the boys’ bathroom just prior to waking them and wait for the sun to make its appearance. Today, however, I was too busy for standing and just happened to walk by that window and catch a glimpse of the most stunning morning sky I’ve seen in a while. I immediately woke the boys and we all stood there starting out the window in awe. The sky was more impressive than any Fourth of July fireworks display I’ve ever seen. On mornings like this one, I’m hard pressed to find a thing wrong with life on this planet.

To all you non-morning people, you who prefer to abuse the snooze button and sleep in, you have no idea what you’re missing. You’re probably the same people who think it’s romantic to walk off into the sunset. Me? I prefer the idea of walking off into the sunrise. It holds so much more promise.

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The Impossible Dream

The impossible dream...edible cake from scratch at altitude

Growing up at high altitude, I never had a homemade cake for my birthday. My mom, frustrated after trying adjustment after adjustment to get her sea-level ready recipes to work here in Denver, made all our birthday cakes from mixes. I didn’t care. A cake was a cake. And, I like cake any way I can get it.

Recalling my mother’s horror stories about cakes that rose and then imploded, cakes that were dense enough to prop doors open, and cakes that were dryer than the Sahara in June, I followed in my mom’s footsteps with boxed cake mixes. I’m nothing if not pragmatic. Why would I put myself through the disappointment of baking a cake from scratch when my mother had tested the waters before me to no avail?

The other day, however, I must have hit my head or something because I had a Suzy Homemaker moment. High off a success making homemade buttercream frosting for some box-mix cupcakes, a radical idea struck me. What if I made a cake from scratch? Yeah. That’s right. What if I went all old school and ditched the boxed mix? It was cake. How hard could it really be?

So, last night, I greased and floured two 9″ round cake pans. I sifted my flour. Then I sifted it again with the baking soda and salt. I creamed butter and sugar for so long I thought I’d kill my 16-year old Sunbeam Mixer. It was only then that I realized my kids had finished off the milk I needed. Into the car, down to King Soopers at 8 p.m. to fetch milk, all the while ever so grateful that my scratch cake didn’t require me to milk a cow. As I was folding in my beaten egg whites, I was apprehensive. I didn’t like how it was going, but I persevered. At 8:20 I popped two round cake pans into my oven, flipped the oven light on, set the timer for 25 minutes. My hopes were elevated slightly when I saw the outer edges cooking. I paced like an expectant father as the cakes began to rise. When the timer went off and I needed to check the doneness, I cleared the room so a sonic boom from my noisy children would not ruin my effort. I lifted them from the oven as I had carried my first born, full of hope and wonder. As they released from the pans, I stood in awe. In front of me were two seemingly fluffy and light yellow cakes.

Still, not one to get my hopes up, I reserved judgment. After whipping up yet another batch of buttercream and doing a passable job layering and frosting the cake, I was satisfied enough with my efforts to serve the cake to my mother tonight for dessert. Ballsy move, I know. After all, this is the woman who had me convinced cake success here in Denver was tricky at best. But, you know what? It was good, and she was suitably impressed. Hubby had two slices and felt uncomfortably full afterward. Both my kids devoured their pieces, and Joe even gave me the coveted thumbs up. Success!

Ever the perfectionist, I think I could improve on my effort. And, I will probably try it again someday as Steve is already encouraging me to do. For now, though, I’m going to sit back and enjoy the sugar high. I wonder how many other things I thought were impossible are actually within my grasp? I’m feeling a bit like Don Quixote. Just point me toward the next windmill. I’m ready to do battle.

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Thirty Days

A portion of books containing my own handwritten work

“A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.” ~ Thomas Mann

Well, I did it. Today marks my thirtieth consecutive day writing this blog, just as I promised myself I would do. This entire endeavor started because, although I’ve held paying jobs as a writer and editor in the distant past, without a current, paid writing job I’m not comfortable telling people I’m a writer. I somehow thought that if I made an honest go at it I might legitimize the act itself. If you tell someone you’re a writer, they assume you’re a journalist or novelist and they ask you about what you’re writing. But, if you tell them you publish a blog, they assume you’re not really a writer. So, I’ve just kept quiet about it. And, the truth is that I never thought I could commit to writing every day. Even when I kept a journal I never managed to write in it daily. I’ve always found reasons to deem it impossible. Either there wouldn’t be enough material to write about or I wouldn’t be able to find the time or I’d simply get tired of the act of doing it. But, here I am thirty days later with thirty completed entries, proof of being able to write consistently. Huh. Who knew?

Now none of this is to say that I’ve been thrilled with every entry. I haven’t been. It hasn’t been easy. My perfectionist tendencies vexed me. There were days when a 400 word entry took me 4+ hours, and I still wasn’t satisfied with it . On a couple days, it got down to a few minutes before midnight before I squeaked in a post just under the wire. I’m sure there are typographical and even grammatical errors in some entries because occasionally I could not bring myself to care for another millisecond. I still stuck with it, though, and that is something.

I’ve learned quite a bit about myself and about the process of writing through this thirty day experiment. I’ve learned that I am capable of follow through, even when the going gets tough. I’ve learned that inspiration can come from the most unlikely little tidbits of life. I’ve learned that I don’t have to love everything I write; not every published morsel needs to be one I treasure. I’ve learned that writing is a process and, like life, it’s about the journey and not the destination. I’ve learned that there are actually a couple folks who read my words and appreciate them. Most of all, I’ve learned that there’s no point in denying something that is innate. I’m a writer. My desire to write is a gift. So, I’m going to keep on writing. Not because I’ve challenged myself to but because I’m a writer. It’s what I do.

 

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The Big Squish

I heard a lot about mammograms before I ever got to experience one. Between the comments from friends about the pain, the comics with women portrayed with flattened boobies, and the funny stories about the exam itself, I had no idea what to think. Honestly, by the time my gynecologist ordered my first mammogram when I turned 40, I was intrigued. I was finally going to be initiated and be able to join the conversation. It was oddly sort of exciting.

Today marked my fifth mammogram. Of my previous four mammograms, three came back with normal results. One did not. There is no way to describe my internal panic when that third mammogram came back with questionable spots that required further investigation. I know now that this is a common event, especially among women with smaller breasts and denser breast tissue. At the time, however, I freaked out. I remember going through all the worst case scenarios, mentally imagining myself purchasing a wig to replace the hair I had spent so long growing out and that now chemotherapy would take. In the end it was nothing, but it sure did make me think about how much time we spend worrying about things that never pan out and how many times we don’t see something until it’s too late.

As I stood there today, positioned in that bizarro machine with my breasts alternately being served up on a radiation platter, I was reminded that life is a crap shoot. And, I suppose that is what makes it so interesting, the way it can change (for good or bad) at a moment’s notice. Sometimes you get a sign that change is on the horizon, just like I did when that third mammogram came back with sketchy results, but then amazingly it doesn’t. Other times it just goes along without incident, and you find yourself wishing for some excitement. No matter what, though, you just never know.

That one false reading on the Big Squish did something positive for me. It reminded me that life can change in an instant. It’s best not to take anything for granted.

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Little Blessings

Ephemeral holiday moment

I am not a huge fan of the holiday season. I often tell people that I just try to get from Thanksgiving to New Year’s day unscathed. It’s not that Christmas isn’t wonderful. It is. There is true magic in it. It’s merely exhausting. And, it’s not right that it comes at the very end of the year when I’m already worn out from the adventures of the previous eleven months. It just makes the holiday season that much more tiring. I know. I know. Bah humbug.

Today is my favorite day post-Christmas. It is the day when all the decorations get put away, and the house goes back to what I like to call (quoting my Catholic memories) “ordinary time.” There is something so ludicrously satisfying in carefully packing away Christmas and knowing I won’t have to see it again for another eleven months. I get to reward myself for surviving another holiday season without beating someone at the mall or losing a finger sawing down the Christmas tree. As entertaining as it is to put up the trees each year, it is twice as fulfilling to take them down. When the last box is tossed into the crawl space for storage and the last pine needle is in the Dyson, I am at peace again.

I don’t think I’m the only one who experiences this readiness to get back to normal life after a season of tumult and restlessness. The boys start vacation asking me how many actual days of school will be missed. Normally, I recount that number with maximum chagrin, imagining how much I am going to miss yoga and 6 hours a day of quiet. But, this year was different because my boys are at an age when they’re honestly fun to be with. We had an amazing time together. We played games, cuddled on the couch, and did puzzles. Most of the 11.5 days they were home, they were a joy to have around. Two days ago, I was honestly sad that their vacation was coming to an end. This morning, however, the bickering began. It started with a mild disagreement at breakfast and culminated in an actual fight by late afternoon. I pondered then if two smallish boys with mouths duct-taped could be placed in a large box and picked up by a charity for donation. Is it too much to imagine they would be quiet and stay still enough for that?

It is a blessing that they start fighting right when it’s time to get back to school and a normal routine. It proves that they too are ready for life to go on. They need to get back to the business of living their separate lives. E.M. Forster was right when he wrote, “Life never gives us what we want at the moment that we consider appropriate.” It does, however, give us what we need when we need it, if only we’re willing to recognize it.

 

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Resolution Solution

Wishing you a peaceful New Year!

New Year’s Resolutions traditionally mean way too much work for me. Lose weight. Exercise more. Keep a cleaner house. Be nicer to people. Blah. Blah. Blah. Such a lot of effort. So, I’ve been carefully contemplating a way to make resolutions that work for me without requiring me to do any work. I’m a smart gal. Certainly there has to be a way to make positive changes in my life without having to do a bunch of extra work that, let’s face it, I don’t really have time for. If I did, I’d have been living that way all last year and would have no resolutions to make this year.

Then this morning, I happened upon the perfect solution to my resolution conundrum. It happened like this. Hubby was in the bathroom dancing around. Why? I don’t know. There was no music. I rolled my eyes at him.

“You’re a goof,” I said.

“You should try harder to be more accepting of me,” was his reply.

“Ummm….I do accept you for who you are. I’d just prefer it if you were slightly less goofy.”

He considered this for a moment. Then he said, “I have a New Year’s Resolution for you. How about if you resolve to be nicer and more accepting?”

“Ugh. That’s so much work.” That’s when it hit me. “What if I didn’t have to be nicer because I had no need to? I don’t have to resolve to be more accepting if you just resolve to be more acceptable.” He rolled his eyes at me and left the room.

Problem solved!

 

(Oh, okay. I did come up with “real” resolutions too, but I decided to keep it simple. I resolve to improve my life in one hour a day: 15 minutes of reading from a book, 15 minutes walking my dog, 15 minutes cleaning or organizing something small that has been neglected, and 15 minutes either learning something new or trying something new. But..I still think my other idea has real potential.)

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Highlights Reel

Polar Plunge 2011

I’ve had some friends ask me over the past couple days what goals or resolutions I am setting for 2012. Funny how when that question comes up at this time every year I am caught off guard. Apparently I’m behind the curve. I’m still recovering from Christmas. My house is a pit. I haven’t yet put away all the gifts, much less finished writing thank you notes for them. I’m not even 100% sure about my plans for New Year’s Eve…and it’s tonight! But, I’m supposed to analyze my life for deficiencies and then devise ways to overcome them in the next 366 days all before January 1st? Holy hell. Perhaps one of my resolutions should be to start working on resolutions for 2013 before next Thanksgiving?

Before I can decide what to improve upon next year, I thought it might be good to revisit 2011 to see what made my highlight reel.

1) Polar Plunge – 364 days later and I’m still smiling about this event. I never thought I would jump into 38 degree water in the first place, much less emerge and say I’d be willing to do it again. Starting the New Year with 20 seconds of feeling truly alive (wet and cold, but viscerally alive) was so powerful. I left that reservoir feeling like I could do anything. Apparently, it’s healthy to take temporary leave of your sanity, shock your system, and wipe the slate clean.

2) My Father-in-Law’s Surprise 80th Birthday Party – A man doesn’t turn 80 every day. So, in April we flew to Coeur d’Alene to celebrate Jim’s momentous occasion. It wasn’t so much the perfectly executed surprise party or the time spent with family that made the trip special for me. It was something much more personal. I took an emotional risk that was long overdue. I know that life is short. Don’t go too long without telling someone important what they mean to you, no matter how hard it is for you to do it.

The Purple Pie Place in Custer

3) Camping in the Black Hills – We took a family camping trip to South Dakota with good friends this summer. I will be honest that I wasn’t super excited about the destination because I’d been there before and because I’d originally wanted to go somewhere else. But, we had an amazing time with our friends, exploring caves, hiking, communing with nature, and eating honest to goodness rhubarb pie in a purple store. Sometimes the simple things, the ones that aren’t shiny or exotic, are a true treasure.

4) Hot Air Balloon Ride – We did this ride, honestly, because I got a great deal. It’s easy to justify not doing something that’s truly an extravagance, which is why we hadn’t done a hot air balloon ride before, but ascending in that balloon with my family of men was the best thing I’ve done in a long time. It made me realize that we make excuses far too often, excuses that keep us from things that will broaden our horizons and enrich our lives in ways we never dreamed possible. If there’s something you’ve wanted to try and haven’t because of the cost, find a way to make it happen. You might be shocked to discover it was worth so much more than what you paid.

Heather and I and our huge muscles...obstacle in the background

5) Warrior Dash – I registered for the Warrior Dash for the furry, bison hat and the excuse to crawl through the mud. I willingly admit that I did not train for the 3 mile run at 9,000 feet in elevation. I goofed around with training for the obstacles but that’s as far as it went. Still, on August 20th I somehow managed to get through the entire course and have a blast. So what if there were folks decades older than me that clocked (by over a half an hour) a better finish time than I did? I had an unbelievable time with our friends and I got good and muddy. I leaped over fire…twice. I cleaned myself off in a cold, mountain creek. Afterward, I drank a huge beer in a gorgeous setting and wore that furry hat with the pride that comes from getting off your couch and doing something just to say you’ve done it. I learned the best lesson that day. It’s good to be competitive and strive to be your best. But, sometimes it’s more fun when you draw out an experience and milk it for all its worth.

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New Attitude Coming Right Up…Maybe

Barbie is fit to be tied!

I’ve been told I’m negative. I’m too self-critical. I need to cultivate a better attitude. I need to stop taking myself so seriously. So, I’m going to work on a fresh, new, more positive and healthy attitude, especially with regard to my appearance. Starting right now.

Tonight when I put on my favorite, garish, sulphur-yellow sweatpants from J. Crew, I noticed that they fit. Yes. They fit. Sweatpants are meant to be baggy, aren’t they? Yet, this happens year after year at this time. Just before New Year’s, I realize that all those buttery cookies and glasses of wine, combined with my complete cessation of exercise, have turned me squishy again. Normally, this is enough to send me into a downward spiral of self-loathing and bitterness. I find myself paging through Us magazine, drawing Sharpie mustaches on that skinny, miso-broth swilling Gwyneth Paltrow. I seriously contemplate the diet benefits of chain smoking and calorie-free soda. I stop showering and wearing make up because, well…why bother? Then I curl up in bed with my laptop and order some bigger sweatpants so the tight waistband on my current sweatpants stops causing me reflux after the big old tamale dinners I can’t stop ingesting.

Well….that’s what the old me would do. The new me, the one with the positive, healthy body image is simply thrilled about my softness and the new fit for my sweatpants. It means that I’m comfortable in my skin and know it’s okay to go through phases, just like the moon. I realize I am the only one who notices the extra plump on my frame, and that it’s not as bad as I imagine it to be. I will not use the word “fat” to describe myself because I truly am not overweight by any measurement. And, I’m just going to go ahead and remove the drawstring from my sweatpants. It mocks with with its superfluousness. I no longer need it, so I’m just gonna pull that puppy right out and repurpose it. Maybe I can use it as a hair tie? I could put it in the camping first aid kit in case someone creates a need for a tourniquet while chopping firewood. Better yet, I’ll give it to my son, Luke. He likes to tie things up. I’m sure he’ll find good use for it in Barbie torture.

My current roundness is nothing to fret over. It’s just a temporary condition brought on by a season filled with yummy cookies and fudge and too little time to hit the gym. In a month, my midriff roll will be greatly diminished and my pants will all be slightly loose again. I’m just going to repeat this mantra to myself over and over again: “Even that skinny Gwyneth Paltrow had cellulite in The Talented Mr. Ripley.”

Okay. Maybe old habits die hard. Might have to take this one day at a time.

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Shallow Thoughts

Quintecential? Seriously? And people think they don't need writers or editors. 😉

Okay. So my last post was a bit sappy and showcased my deeper, more intellectual side. Rereading it this morning, I realized that I sometimes present myself as a caring, open-minded, tolerant, and hopeful person. And, I am those things occasionally…when the sky is lovely or I’ve had a glass or two of really good Cabernet. Right after I reread my blog, though, I hopped onto a web site to sign hubby and I up for a wine school class in January, and the regular catty me returned. Why? Because lo and behold, what do I find right there in the first line of text about the class? A misspelled word. Gasp!!!

I’d love to give the wine school owners the benefit of the doubt and tell you that it was simply a typo. But, it was most certainly not a typo. They spelled “quintessential” like this —–> “quintecential.” I had to look at it several times to figure out what it was exactly I was looking at. It’s probably a common error with that word…mistaking the “sent” part of the word as “cent” without realizing that the essential part of the word is actually the entire word “essential.” I mean, quintessential means “the pure and essential essence of something.” (See. Some of us know how to use a dictionary.) Come on, people. You run a business. Certainly you can flip on spell check or hire someone to review your site before you go live. I understand you’re a wine school and not a grammar school and perhaps you were a bit tipsy while creating the site, but this is basic good business sense. If you’re not good with numbers, you hire an accountant. If you’re not great with spelling or proofreading, hire someone to do it for you or else your wine school might end up being the subject of someone’s blog post because of poor spelling and not great wine. 😉

 

 

 

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