Crafting Humiliation

I admit it:  I waste valuable time scrolling through board after board on Pinterest looking at other people’s craftiness.  They can cook, dress themselves, decorate, and create works of art much better than I.   I don’t know why I suffer through the self-imposed humiliation.  What could I possibly be hoping to find?

Take cooking for instance:  How much time do these people have?  And who in the world eats that many brussel sprouts?   I work 40 plus hours a week, am out of the house an average of 12 hours per day which leaves me very little time to prepare; much less think about cooking some of these intense  meals.  They try to trick me by saying it only takes 30 minutes to prepare.  Ha!   That is for the skilled cook.  Obviously they don’t realize my mental limitations when it comes to cooking or food prep of even the smallest task.  I can’t always get the cardboard off a frozen pizza!  Don’t laugh.  It provides extra fiber.

I recently began looking at the Christmas crafts, hoping beyond hope I would find something my 10 year old daughter and I could do together.  I thought I had found just the thing:  Trees made from paper plates!  How hard could this be?   I purchased some paper plates thinking I would give it a try while my 10 year old was away.   This way I  would look like a skilled instructor.   It wouldn’t be like that failed attempt at jewelry making that we both sigh and shake our heads over.

I pulled up the Pinterest page, plate and tape ready.  I started trying to shape the plates into a cone just like the one in the picture.  Not happening.  I unrolled it, flattened it, rolled again.  I had a little more success.  I could see my attempt was never going to look like the picture posted.  “Liars”.  I swore a little. 

Making up an excuse, “she must be a retired art teacher or ex- Martha Stewart assistant.  I could tell that my little dream of a crafty Christmas afternoon with my daughter was fading away rapidly.  Good thing I didn’t say anything to her.

 I sat glaring at the failed Christmas tree attempts, trying to think of a solution.  The trees were pretty cool looking.  Decorating with them with different elements from outside would be fun for the two of us.  I decided I would go on line and see how much the cardboard trees cost at the local craft store.  Just as I was logging in to my laptop, the tape failed and the trees turned back into ….. plates.

I’m going now, to the  craft store.  I am not giving up.  I am not giving in to the giant crafting machine, just a few little cardboard beginnings we can call our own.    The paper plates will be put to good use.  We will eat our frozen pizza and Christmas cookies from them: Christmas cookies that we cut from a roll and drop on the pan.  Maybe we will add our own sprinkles.  That’s as far as I am taking it.

Peace.

NEPB

Our Aging Parents: Payback

I’m sitting here waiting on my mother as she has laser surgery.   It’s exasperating:  taking care of  an aging parent.  They don’t want to bother you with their problems until they want to bother you. 

I’m not sure when she was going to tell me about this eye problem: today? When the procedure was scheduled?  I can never tell with her.  On the way here, a few minutes into the drive she informed me that her hearing aids were on the table next to her chair.  “It’s okay, I don’t really need them”   “ Great”   I said in a normal  voice,  “you won’t hear me when I scream.”    She leaned over toward the driver’s seat “What did you say”?  I smiled silently to myself.

In the past few years , I have trained myself to begin every conversation by asking “ Do you have your hearing aids in”?    If I don’t, it only leads to frustration.  I am not a patient person.  (My problem, not hers.)  I also have trained myself to ask a ton of questions and if the answers are not satisfactory, I go to the source.  It takes time and patience, however I consider it worth my while; this is my mother’s well-being after all.

Stopping by to grab coffee this morning, I happened on an friend who , like me has an aging parent(s) with health issues.  She was in coming to town for the football game, when her 91 year old father fell and broke his hip. Her vacation plans were extended to come earlier to take care of her mother.  We shared stories , coping strategies and I explained my theory:  payback.   Our parents are paying us back for everything we ever did to them as teenagers.  We were often the reason for sleepless nights and countless walks across a living room window looking into the darkness . 

My mother is supposed to tell me when she decides to drive the 40 mile drive to the warehouse store;  I used to drive 6 hours  to college and forget to call when I had safely arrived.

Mom has been “bumping” into structures with her car and not telling me; I used to put 4 friends in my dad’s Austin Healey when he told me multiple times NOT to do this.  It wasn’t safe to stick to girls in the “back seat”.   

Mom goes out shopping at Walmart for hours on end with her cell phone and doesn’t answer it; I routinely missed curfew in High School for really important reasons. (I can’t remember what they are now.  It was important than I swear!)

There have been multiple times when I am ready to call the local authorities and ask if a woman matching my mother description has been in a wreck, when suddenly she appears.  She shrugs her shoulders and tells me not to worry.  

Sometimes I think that she goes out without telling me on purpose, laughing up her sleeve.  She knows it will get a response out of me and I will come running; A sure fire way to get to see me.  She often complains that she doesn’t get to see enough of me, though we live extremely close and I see her almost every day.   Payback.:  the guilt trip variety

I suppose at 80 years of age, 4 children, 7 grandchildren, 3 great- grandchildren,: she is over worrying and just enjoying life.   She wasn’t worried about this procedure.  She didn’t care that she couldn’t hear me.  She isn’t concerned about too much of anything and maybe this is how it should be.  She is just enjoying the ride.

It’s okay Mom...  I can drive from here, Love ya!

Peace.

NEPB

Move is Four Letter Word

Move as defined: to pass from one place or position.  Or there is this definition: to advance or progress. I prefer the second definition.  I tried to keep progress in mind through the recent nightmare, it was difficult.

We progressed 2 times in 5 days.  I was ready to pull my hair out. I had several private hissy fits: public ones are so unbefitting.   I knew last February that July was going to be a dicey month.  There would be a gap between lease dates: 5 days.  The new company thought they could make it work.  In the end they could not, the new place was not ready.

On the 13^th , my 3 sons,  one of their girlfriends,  2 friends, and my Significant other (SIO) moved the contents of my townhouse into a warehouse.   There were over 200 boxes plus furniture and Barbie’s massive empire.  Three months of my OCD packing and hard work had paid off for just this type of situation.   My oldest son, recalled helping me on a previous move years ago when I was not in charge and remarked that it had not gone as smoothly as this one.   One load was left on the truck; this was marked to be moved Thursday evening, the first of the multiple moves. This too was a backup plan from months earlier.  Obviously, I am really bad at math: Saturday, Thursday and the next Saturday.  That does make 3, correct?   Ugh.

Saturday evening, My 2 youngest children and I began our 4 day camp in with my mother.  Now I love my mother, however staying with her was challenging; I had given up camping years ago.   We tripped over each, didn’t have our own space and waited impatiently for move in day.  Thursday the 18^th, another group of friends and my sons unloaded the truck.  Half way through, we found the bag of “fresh” produce that had been picked up the previous Saturday and packed without my knowledge.  After a week of  hot temperatures, it  had fully ripened into an odor that called to every wild beast for miles.

Saturday was warehouse day and we did it all again with a much smaller crew; your friends can only take so much.  I should do an Xfinity commercial like that now running with the guy trying to find help to move.   Amazingly, the work went faster than before with less people.  Perhaps it was the croissants from Our Daily Bread, one of the best bakeries in town, inspiring the crew to work more efficiently.

Since moving in, my OCD kicked into overdrive, there have been many late nights and early mornings spent unpacking.   Did I mention this entire month is a restricted time in my office?  We are not allowed to take time off.  It’s our busy time at the University.  Campus is swarming with 5000 new freshman and their parents, preparing for Fall.   Wondering around, maps in hand, gazing up at our lime stone buildings and dreaming of that first exam.   I can only dream of unpacking my next box .

Out of 200 boxes, the count is down to 20.  The kitchen is my worst nightmare.  It is waiting for my oldest daughter to arrive this week.  She wrote the book on organization.  She is the case study for OCD manifestations.  They say every generation improves on its gene pool right?   She will set it right and then some.

Now to the missing items:  Last night during dinner with my SIO, I was lamenting over missing items.  SIO, trying to calm me took me to the warehouse to show me that everything had in fact been removed.  “It must be in the house somewhere”.   He gave me an evil wink and told me “It could be in your mother’s museum.”   I slapped my forehead.  The place IS a museum.  I have stored a few things there, all carefully marked.  The thought of spending time precious unpacking time there is unnerving, knowing I could get distracting by cleaning up another mess.  Help!  I could be lost for hours cleaning up something I really didn’t intend to do.  Sometimes I just can’t stop myself. It’s the OCD kicking in and kicking my “you-know-what”. 

I have been asking myself how long I can live without these items. It can probably be done except for one.  The most important item missing, the desktop computer monitor is vital.  It is clearly marked, as were all the other items.  This fact alone leaves me baffled.  How did these things 3-5 boxes go AWOL?  I was careful to mark everything.  And yet now I cannot find them.  Everyone says in a move things go missing and you find them months later.  Months later… are you kidding me?  The monitor is needed now. 

I have been to mom’s several times in the past few days looking.  Today I will be there again and will not leave until I find the monitor.  There are two possible outcomes:  I will find the monitor or I will be laying in her front yard throwing a hissy fit just like I did when I was 3 years old.     I am my mother’s daughter.  If I am going to throw a fit, it’s best I do it in front of her

The new place is great.  It’s beautifully old, quirky and I can walk to work.  It’s right downtown where we love to spend time in our charming Burg.  We are going to be very happy here.

 Peace

NEPB

Looking Backward and Forward

I am moving.  I have lived in this townhouse for 7 years.  I have been packing, donating unwanted belongings and cleaning for months; these efforts have intensified the last 2 weeks.  Memories swam around me like  fire flies at sunset.

Every drawer emptied brings a new memory: pictures long lost are now found, theater tickets from a favorite performance, and a sweater thought lost, finally found.    This home has been my solace from many trials.  I returned to my bedroom retreat upstairs after life altering events.  I lay awake night after night after my diagnosis with stage 3 breast cancer.  I wondered how my children and I would exist.  It was a time of extreme uncertainty. I returned there after every treatment for 2 years: hunkering down in my bunker  with  a supply of meds, bottles of Gatorade (the mere site of Gatorade now makes me ill), a copious amount of pillows and endured with the help of my children. 

I took a bottle of champagne home and “cleaned house” to celebrate my divorce,  a process I started during treatment and finalized at the end of my 2 year run.   It was a giant victory ; Made more victorious that I had accomplished it during that ordeal  and had the fortitude to escape the abuse.  A single woman alone gathering the strength to do it alone with 3 children under 18, imagining the future of a positive life… What was I thinking?   I made it work better than anything previous.

My 3 youngest children and I have built a live here together over the past years.  We huddled together when here when my father died.  He used to drop by unexpectedly for visits to see what we were doing.  We knew he was really coming by to see our German Shepard Kate.  Daddy had a soft spot for German Shepherds.  I am sure if you look close you can find some of Kate’s hair somewhere. Kate left us not long after Daddy, 4 years ago. 

There were the 4^th of July cookouts we used to have with our neighbors. It was always here because here because I had the biggest backyard and was closest to the pool. Do you think they were using me? Well yes, but who cares.  We had always had a good time.  I remember trying to explain to a group of international students about flag cake: the cake with the blueberries and strawberries?  They just didn’t get that we were eating a symbol of our cake.  Crazy Americans.

My 9 year old daughter was toddler in this home.  She colored on the walls, learned to swim in the pool and  learned to ride a bike behind the house.  Her memories are the strongest.  This is where her real life memory began. When she is a grown woman she will look back and this will be the first place she remembers.  I worked hard to keep the memories good.  I hope I succeeded.

We are moving to downtown.  A smaller space, I have one less child at home now and one more graduates next year.  When I considered this new home I looked at the possibilities:  downtown, walking distance to my office, a park/ playground in my back yard and several other perks.  I was doing my forward thinking.  It all fell into place.   It was time. 

There is always a time.  It is sometimes difficult to look ahead and see into the future, do the planning, packing and preserving you have to have a little faith.  You have to let some things go. Let the past be gone and step into a new beginning.  There are so many other things that come to mind when packing up your home and looking back.   If you take too much time looking back it slows down your forward progress.  Life is about forward progress, moving on to new things, improvement.  And this is where we are going, forward.

Peace.  NEPB