Category Archives: Confession

The horror of another move

Confession, Hysteria, Stuff, , ,

http://www.dreamstime.com/-image21984494I’m one of the most disorganized people you’ll ever meet, probably due to my dyslexia.  Of course, I blame everything on my dyslexia, even allergies and bad hair days.

However, most people don’t know that I am sadly clipboardorganizationally handicapped because years ago–in high school but I’m not going to tell you how long that was–I forced organization on myself by using color codes and clips and folders of neon hues and clipboards and file cabinets and, most recently, baskets.

Second only to disipline, what I hated most about teaching school was having to organize.   I usually had at least three preparation, sometimes as many as six  which meant all those sets of worksheets.   Keeping where each separate worksheet I had for each class–well, my brain was tangled by the end of the day.  I’m surprised I made it for so long.

For years, I used totes, just like Gussie Milton in my Butternut Creek toteseries:  one for school, one for church, one or two more for different groups I belonged to.  I just grabbed one as I headed out the door.

My church friends JoAnne and Ro came over last week to help pack.  For the last ten years I’ve used plastic baskets and woven baskets to keep things straight at home.   When baskets2JoAnne entered my study, she said, “I didn’t think there was anyone in the world who had more baskets than I do.”    I must have fifty or more of all sizes and shapes.   They are color coded:  purple baskets in my Kansas State study, yellow and orange baskets in the room divider in the hall which match the shower curtain in the hall bathroom,  red and blue baskets on top of the kitchen shelves because they’re pretty,  woven brown baskets in the dining/living room, and cheap white plastic baskets in the closets.

I hasten to add, I’m not compulsive.  I’m dyslexic and have not a pilessmidgen of the neatness gene.   Such handicaps require desperate measures so I don’t end upliving beneath piles of  receipts, old manuscripts, unfolded laundry, and cat toys.

How do you organize yourself?  I’d love to learn a new way.  And, if you need some, I have lots of baskets I can give you.  Just pick them up before I move.

 

Vanity, thy name is Jane

A question, Confession, , , ,

strawberry blondI was a strawberry blonde for twenty years and loved it.  People called me the redhead and I loved that as well.   However, a few years after I passed forty, I decided it was time to go back to my real color, whatever that was.  I’d had boring light brown hair before I became a redhead.  My thought was I needed to know what my real color was now and how much gray I had and I should do this while I still looked pretty good.  I figured the older I got, the more I might fight old lady with red hairlooking old, the more I might want to cling to my red hair and rapidly vanishing youth.  Didn’t want to become one of those elderly women with pink hair and heavily rouged cheeks who wore white go-go boots.

I figured my hair had darkened over the years so I bought a box of dark brown hair dye and, over the weekend, went back to brown.

The reaction was funny.  If you know thirteen-year-olds, you’ll understand this.  When I walked into my eighth-grade Spanish class, the students didn’t look at my face.  Their mouths dropped open and their eyes were riveted to my hair for the entire fifty minutes.  Usually noisy and chatty, they were silent–aghast or horrified.

My friends said, “You had such beautiful hair.  Why did you dye it brown?”   I was amazed they believed my hair was natural.  For goodness sakes, I have brown eyes!  And there were times that I didn’t get around to coloring it and had half-an-inch of roots showing.  I’d thought everyone knew I wasn’t a natural redhead.

When I became a brunette, I had a little gray which relieved the dark brown my hair had become.   LIttle by little, of course, I got more gray and less brown.   Recently, I’ve felt very washed out because my skin is so pale–perfect for a redhead–and my hair is so white.  I tried bronzer and rouge and darker makeup but none of that helped.

Some people look good with gray hair.  I don’t.George Clooney

I decided to change my hair color, only a little and just around my face .  Truly didn’t want to become a brunette.  People might notice.   I found a temporary hair color that came in what looked like a large mascara wand.  Perfect.  Yesterday I opened the package and brushed the dark brown on the gray around my face, not too much. Merely enough so I didn’t look washed out.  Looked pretty good.

A few hours later, I reached up to touch my hair.   It was hard and had dried in clumps.   When I removed my hand, my fingers were brown.   I rubbed my hair with a Kleenex.  It turned brown.  I ran into the bathroom to look at my hair which had turned a garish russet color.  I no longer looked washed out.  I looked as slutty (hope this word doesn’t offend you but I couldn’t think of another way to say it)  as a woman my age can.   I immediately took a shower and watched the water turn brown.

Fortunately, it all came out.  I do not believe I will try this again.

Have you made any mistakes due to vanity?  I’d love to know.

 

 

Odd things people believe

Confession, Musings, Stuff, , , ,

red houseI watch HGTV shows a lot, especially programs about people looking for a new house.   Several things people have said amaze me because I never realized people thought this way.

1)  THE BATHROOM  In a few shows, people looking through oddly flipped homes find a bathroom next to the kitchen and say with great disgust, “A bathroom next to the kitchen.  That’s horrible.”   Now, I’m not the greatest housekeeper in the world but there is nothing in my bathroom–other than the litter box which I keep very clean–that has disgusting stuff in it.  According to these people, disease emanates from a bathroom and will infect anything prepared in the kitchen, leaving venom and disease on every dish of food.   If that is so, why would having it down the hall from the kitchen make any bathroomdifference?  That miasma of infection would just drift down the hall and–bammo–right into the kitchen and the food.  Might even attack whoever is in the living room and whatever is on the dining room table first.

In another show, a woman said, “I don’t like the toilet next to the shower.” Does she not know which is which?   Did no one teach her how to use a toilet properly or how to get into the shower?

Perhaps there should be no toilets in houses because they’re obviously the source of every illness known to a family.

In addition, I’m very proud of myself.    As mentioned earlier, I’ve never considered myself to be a great housekeeper but my bathrooms are so clean I have no worries about a plague.

2.    A woman looked around the master bedroom of a house she was touring and said, “There’s no place to get dressed.  I don’t like to dress get dressedin the same place I sleep.”   What?   I’ve never lived any place where I didn’t dress where we slept unless it was in of those houses where I kept my clothes in a closet in the guest room.

Which brings me to the reason for this blog:  we aren’t all alike.  We have different outlooks and backgrounds and educations and lifestyles and . . . pretty much everythings.    Yes, there are many beliefs and feelings that united us but we’ve approached those through different paths.  Can’t we accept that people and cultures are different and start from there?  I’d never force anyone to live in a house that has a bathroom off the kitchen although I’ve known friends who’ve survived that okay.   But shouldn’t we be able to start with a fact–people like indoor plumbing–and go from there?    We can discuss topics like why people like having bathrooms and where they should be and what’s the problem with a bathroom near the kitchen without calling each other unclean or doo-doo heads.   We learn from each other.  We hear different ideas and can bounce them around in our brains and toss the conversation back and forth without infuriating each other.

The fact that we don’t all think the same is a joy of diversity. I learn from you.   I hope you learn from me and we accept and change or understand why our opinion is the right one for me but not for you.  Sadly, we don’t.  The fact that we refuse to listen to the other person is a loss to all.  The fact that instead of discussing, we call each other names must make George and Ben and John and those who faced great danger to start this nation to sob.

Read the instructions

A question, Confession, Reading, Technology, ,

There are two kinds of people:  those who read the instructions and instructionsthose who don’t.  I imagine most of us belong to the latter group.     As a teacher for years, I can swear to the fact that teachers are worse about following instructions than students.  I guess we all believe we’ll figure that out.  We’re smart and creative, right?

In 1987, I went from Kentucky  to a work camp at Inman Christian Center WANG2in San Antonio during a really hot July.  We were scraping and painting  the playground equipment.  On the second day, one of the center staff asked if anyone knew how to set up a computer system.  We had Apples at home.   I used mine all the time but felt sure someone knew more than I did.   However no one did and the task meant working inside in the air conditioning so I volunteered.    This was a WANG, one of the early makes and not a bit user friendly but I set it up and trained staff.   When I called George to tell him what I was doing, he gasped and asked, “How did you do that?”  To his great surprise, I answered, “I read the instructions”

Sometimes that’s a good place to start.

coffee makerI learned that again a few  weeks ago.   I make a full pot of coffee every couple of days and stretch the length of time it lasts by adding water to the tank.    However, it does get weaker and weaker so I decided to add the already made coffee to the tank which will warm it up without thinning it.   Yes, I know the instructions say, “Use only water in the tank” but I considered that over regulation by a big business and poured my coffee in.   An hour later, I smelled something burning and searched for the cause.   Quickly I realized it smelled like burning coffee.  Oh-oh.  I poured water into the reservoir.  Issue resolved.  Coffee odor gone.  Lesson learned.

Which are you?  Do you always follow directions or do you take off on your own?

 

Editing just because I can

A question, Confession, George, Musings

editA few weeks back, I asked on Facebook if anyone else edited the books they were reading as they read.   Many people commented that they did.  Some said they didn’t edit if the sentence didn’t interrupt the story.    For me, if I have to stop to figure out the meaning, I quickly edit and move on, feeling better.

There’s a sentence in a television commercial for a medication that always made George laugh, a warning for “those who take aspirin or the boots in closet2elderly.”   As he explained, the sentence contained a warning for “those who take the elderly” although it didn’t seem to bother anyone else.  What an easy fix to write, “the elderly and those who take aspirin.”

A sentence I read the other day.  “He found a pair of boots that would fit him hanging in the closet.”  Truly, my first thought was that he could wear these boots as he hung in the closet.”  Logic took over.  Of course, the BOOTS were hanging in the closet.  The sentence wouldn’t have stopped me–the incredibly picky and easily confused reader–if written like this:  “Hanging in the closet was a pair of boots that would fit him.”

intruder in the dustAnd over and over, run on sentence beg me–simply implore me–to edit them, to cut them up into comprehensible units.   In fact, that’s one of the reasons I cannot read Faulkner.   He had one sentence that was a page and a half long.  I could not handle it.  I rush to add that Faulkner is one of the best novelists in the country and I’m not, but I still believe he’d profit from a little editing.

Do you ever edit as you read?   Please share.  It always makes me feel better to know I’m not alone.

Hoarding for fun but little profit

A question, Confession, Musings, Pets, ,

blanketI just got rid of the blanket George and I shared for ten years.  It was soft and warm and lasted a long time.  What more can one ask of a blanket?   However, I noticed when I put it on the bed in October, it had what looked like many little tears in the surface.  One more winter, I thought.  Surely I can use it one more winter. because I’m too cheap to buy another.   I blogged on this a year ago so you don’t remember this confession:  I’m cheap.   Really, really cheap, extraordinarily frugal.frugality

Every time I changed the sheets, I noticed that the slits had turned into small holes.  In those places, mesh showed through.   This is a Vellux blanket in which fabric is sprayed onto mesh.    LIttle by little, the cover wears off.  I also found small pieces of soft, maroon fabric on the sheets last week.

My plan was to give the old blanket to the veterinarian hospital that takes such good care of my pets, but, when I pulled it out of the dryer this morning, I noted huge chunks of fabric inside the dryer, a mess in dog in blanket cutethe lint filter, and huge holes in the blanket.  I’m not sure even the dogs want this. I wanted to take a picture for this blog, but the old thing was shedding too much to carry it the picture taking site.

The good news:  I made it through winter without having to buy another blanket.  Who knows what may happen before next fall when I need to buy a new blanket?  I could decide to use the quilt my grandmother made or move to a warmer place or, well, who knows?

What have you kept for too long?    What can’t you part with and why not?   Do you hold onto possessions for sentimental reasons?   Because they are pretty or useful?  Are you a collector or someone who hopes they’ll be worth a lot in a few years?  Or, are you cheap like me?    I’d love to know.

Scaredy cat

A question, Confession, Hysteria, Musings, , , ,

I’m always to impressed in a movie when people are held hostage and the hero says, “I’ll stay with you if you’ll let the women and children go.”    What a strong, compassionate–and just a little hot–man.

Heroes–like the teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary School who attempted to stop the gun man, who shoved children in closets, who took the shots to save the children from death–they were admirable, true heroes.  I’d like to be that strong.

But would I be like that?  Could I be so brave that I’d trade my life for the life of another person?    I always hope that if I were in such a situation, I’d step forward and speak to the hostage taker in such  soft, dulcet tones that I’d calm them or sing Amazing Grace with so much emotion that the person would realize the need to turnaway from the dark side.  Perhaps such loving foregiveness would shine in my face that  the criminal would suddenly recognize the need to change  his life.

I’d like to so but I’m not at all sure.

haunted barnMany years ago a fifth-grade student talked me in to going into a Haunted House around Halloween.   He promised me it would not be scary   (Hint:  never trust the word of a fifth grader about if anything is scary or not)  But I believed him and we went inside what was a converted barn.   I was just fine and not a bit frightened with the first few stops.  But then a cobweb-covered ghost lying in a casket sat up.  I knew very well this was a teenage kid wearing a costume.  I knew there was nothing supernatural here.   I understood all of this. frightened woman running Nevertheless, as soon as that ghost sat up, I screamed and ran, shoving  small children out of my way.  I pushed aside a sobbing little girl.  I reached the door first and rolled it open, never stopping in my panic.  In that moment I didn’t care if the ghost got everyone else as long as I made it out of the haunted house alive.  ( In the interest of accuracy, I must state I never looked like the picture on the right.)

I am filled with deep shame as I confess this.    But I still hope–given a chance–I have the courage to save an entire island from the heavily armed revolutionaries.   Yes, I could do that–as long as the action doesn’t take place in a haunted house.

Have you experienced any moments that showed a really admirable side of you?  Or, perhaps, a negative?  Please tell me–especially the negative side.  It would make me feel so much better.

 

 

I never know what day it is

A question, Church, Confession, ,

keep calm and what day is itSadly,  I never know what day it is.

I worked for many years in the mental health field.  One of the ways mental health workers use to see if a patient is oriented in time is to ask him/her what day it is.  I’d have flunked that because I might be within two or three days of the week but never knew the exact date.  I always feared if I ever were placed in a mental institution, I’d be kept until, somehow, I chanced to hit the day correctly.

Before I retired, I knew I worked Monday through Friday.  Therefore, if I was at work, it had to be one of those days.  I knew I went to church on Sunday.  Check.

But now that I’m retired, I don’t have anything constant in a week What day is it asked Poohexcept for Sunday.  My writers’ group used to meet on the second Tuesday.  Now, with our present meeting place and conflicts with scheduling, the date hops around.  Fortunately, the person I ride with knows when we meet and reminds me.  Thanks, Kristin!

Yesterday (which was Tuesday), I asked our associate minister when I could make a call on a member.  She said Tuesday and Thursdays are hard for her to make hospital calls.  So I told her, “I’ll make the call tomorrow,” which did not help her schedule at all.    Fortunately, she understands the tangle my brain can be.  I’m making the visit tomorrow–which is, I believe, Thursday.

I’ve set Tuesday as my main blog day but didn’t post yesterday because–you guessed it–I thought yesterday was Monday.  So here is the blog, a day late but here.

What do you forget?  I like to know.  It makes me feel I’m not alone.

I am the unemployed

A question, Confession, Musings

Well, I’m not really all the unemployed but I thought that title sounded very author-y.   And yet,  I have been unemployed–on unemployment unemployed maninsurance two times.  I’m not lazy or a leech. I don’t want to become dependent on  government handouts and live unemployed for the rest of my life.  I wanted a job both because  I wanted to work as I always had and because unemployment pays less than fifty percent of what any of my jobs paid.  However, I couldn’t find a job.  I substitue taught but wasn’t hired to teach.  I applied for many jobs because that’s part of receiving unemployment:  you have to show that you are looking for a job.   Wanting to work but not being able to find work is the story of the kid filling out job applicationmajority–if not all–the unemployed today.

Why are the unemployed called “unemployed”?  Because they were at one time employed and then something happened which made them “unemployed.”  Yes. the very term “unemployed” means that these people were working, were employed, had held down a job, earned money, supported themselves and their families.

Then they lost their jobs.  Why?   Could be because their job moved overseas, just got up and left.  Could be because when the depression hit, EIGHT million jobs disappeared into the air.  They are no longer available, no longer exist.   No one can apply or be hired for  one of those jobs.   I was laid off because the non-profit had a huge deficit and they had to cut jobs.   After jobs of  low-salary employees were trimmed,  I was next because I made a fair salary and had only worked there seven months.     Not my fault.

The first time I was unemployed, we lived in a small town in West Texas where the only jobs were fast food and nursing.  I have nothing against working in fast food but, physically, I can’t stand for any length of time.   To become a nurse,  I would have to go back to school which would take years and money we didn’t have.   I was unemploysed for a year, until we moved to Houston where there were lots of jobs.

If you haven’t been employed, if you have a job now, please don’t judge the great number of those without work.  It’s hard out there.  For every job, there are three application.  When a Wal-Mart opened in DC, there were six-hundred job opening.  Seventeen-THOUSAND applied!

What are your thoughts?  I’d like to know.