Household tips for dummies…also known as tips for ‘adults who know things at a cognitive level and yet refuse to respond appropriately’…also known as tips for ‘adults who still want to believe that leprechauns will clean the house at night’.
Follow the text to discover the household management clue.
Changing the vacuum cleaner bag makes all the difference in the world…
All the difference.
One of my six year old students asks me everyday…I mean everyday…’Today is Friday?’
The thrilled look on his face today when I was finally able to confirm…’Yes! Today is Friday!’…was priceless.
He needs to stop asking me this question on Mondays, however…
Presenting the non-edible shopping list…mouthwash, toilet paper, laundry detergent, fabric softener, dish soap, windshield washer fluid…
Profoundly boring…
An early morning…the weekend is stuffed with good things, friends and plans…the first thoughts upon waking are lightness and joy, hope and companionship…a small respite from the restrictions of the work week.
I’m forever a five year old in my heart…headed off to school with a painted metal lunchbox. ‘The wheels of the bus go round and round’.
How old would you be if you did not know how old you actually are? My compliments to the wise Satchel Paige.
I appreciate a waiter whose total vocabulary is limited to a cheery ‘Okay. Sure. Why not?’ and ‘Enjoy!’
So…I’m having a piece of cheesecake for breakfast in Manhattan…
Bottomless fries at Red Robin…a terrifying and marvelous option for me.
A bottomless root beer float for my Father who desperately needs the calories…but most likely will not finish the sweet drink.
The caloric life does not roll out evenly…
I think my favorite part of the day was wandering aimlessly in Costco looking for Ray Ban sunglasses.
My really favorite part of the day was locating the Ray Ban sunglasses in the seafood section of the store; close to the freezers…
Why not?
At approximately 2:30am, the Heavens opened a window and threw a large bucket of water out over us. The deluge was short-lived, a thundering cavalcade across the roof and up against windows. I awakened, heard the sound and thought, ‘oh good, this will break up the heat’.
The heat yesterday was beastly. Not beastly like the reddened land, burning up, lung searing, bury oneself in crusted sand heat; that’s the temperature the southwest endures. Our heat, the heat in the northeast is the kind which makes one stand at the end of the driveway, arms akimbo and say things such as ‘huh’ and ‘wait until February’. It sets us back a step or two. We don’t fight it. We don’t join it.
My Mother admonishes us as children on our annual westward trek to South Dakota, ‘don’t fight it, it will make you hotter!’ We wail from the back seat, ‘but look, the entire box of crayons has completely melted!’ She nods. ‘Shhh…don’t move. It makes you hotter!’ We cry out from the back seat, ‘but the seat belt buckles are branding our legs!’ ‘Shhh…hush. Read a book, crank open a window, be quiet’.
In the living room, I look curiously out of the window. The street is empty. There are a lot of children in this neighborhood. They will come out later as the evening shadows draw down. I have not seen our neighbors who live behind us for days now, it seems. Then at twilight, I witness her with the dog and the family together creep quietly out of the house and head up the cooling sidewalk. The huge, white furry husky looks bedraggled and generally disappointed with life.
I move to the porch, wave from the corner railing and say, ‘Hello, how are you?’ ‘Oh’…she sighs heavily. ‘We are finding things to do’. I nod and chuckle. ‘Huh’ I offer helpfully. ‘Huh’ she responds in kind.
They wander quietly away, the dog still grieving his fate…
I was asked by a six year old today if I had been young when I was five and I said ‘yes’ and since it was sort of a circular question, I asked if she had been young when she was five and she shook her head, ‘yes’ most definitely. Her six year old neighbor chimed in that he too had been young when he was five, so we were all on the same page.
But, in reality we were all trapped on a series of computer screens trying to ‘log in’ a group of children who knew most assuredly that their names were NOT ‘hand4097’ nor were they another combination of numbers which acted as passwords. It was more like a circular firing squad since the computer kept kicking children out of their ‘log in’ status because if they wiggled too much, the mouse got overly sensitive and could not handle it and the adults who built these computers for children had not figured that out. No horse sense.
The language test was in Spanish and English, so since everyone in the class had a Spanish surname, the adults guessed at language dominance. ‘Pick a language, any language!’
I decided it was better at this point to be five years old, so on the way home I bought a chocolate milkshake and I drank the whole chocolate thing because this is what a five year old would do…and I started thinking about where my crayons might be…
I leave him alone…for one minute. I turn around. He’s fully engaged with another customer who just seconds ago was a complete stranger. Now they’re best buds. They’ve found each other with rapturous island radar. There is a loud rat-tat-tat in Spanish with appropriate hand gestures.
Reluctantly, I sidle over to the table, having abandoned all hope of exiting quietly with my boxed food. His girlfriend looks up at me. ‘I’m not Puerto Rican’. She smiles. ‘I’m not either’ I respond. Now she’s really smiling. She says proudly, ‘I’m Sicilian!’
(‘Here we go’ I say in my head). I’ve landed at the struggling corner of garlic pizza and ‘where introverts go to die’. I’m forced to step up my social game. I’ve had half a bottle of Coca-cola…and we’ve launched. Topics discussed: prices, food, furniture, healthcare, dementia, our jobs, getting an RN degree…I’m starting to fade. I move slowly back…in the direction of our table where there are boxes, soda bottles, wallets, phones…there is a final round of handshaking, best wishes, phone numbers exchanged…and he’s ready to go.
‘Are you going to help me carry all of this out to the car?’ I ask sweetly.
‘What? Oh, I forgot we came here to eat!’
I’m shell shocked into silence. I’m happy and exhausted. The pizza smells delicious.
690 Saint Paul 