After a recent post on a social networking site about what a fabulous cook I am, and how I can do just about anything, it was pointed out by some Friends that I was lacking a little in the humility department. I thought that I should assure you, Intimidated Reader, that there are plenty of things that I cannot do.
I do not think that there are many who still believe that I am a talented stain remover and general washerwoman. After posting Lament of the Laundress, I pretty much burst everyone's bubble on that one. Girl8 has several articles of clothing that she may only get to wear until they are soiled. After that, they will reside in the bottom of the hamper, as I have absolutely no idea how to wash them. Yes, there are washing instructions. Yes, they are in English. There are certain socks that I have managed to keep out of the dryer for their entire lives because I fear for their safety, as well as shrink potential. I live in fear of shrink potential. If you have no idea what I am talking about, you probably have never washed and dried a wonderful-fitting pair of jeans, only to pull them out of the dryer and find that they have inexplicably turned in to an ill-fitting pair of high waters. You have not experienced the indignation of pulling your favorite, thick nubby socks over your heel with two hands because they shrank in the dryer, only to find that they no longer go half-way up your leg. You would consider yourself lucky if they covered your ankle.
When it comes to home improvement, I am often at a loss. Luckily, I work with several talented and all-knowing fellows that field my repair and maintenance questions on a regular basis. I have pestered Jerry countless times about the merits and imperfections of different types of siding, and he has answered many a query regarding "frost free" faucets (try saying that three times fast!). I quizzed Bob about furniture building and repair, and another Jerry has been my source of answers regarding metal roofing and wood splitting. It was Don who brainstormed with me when some outlets in my garage stopped working, and he coached me through changing out the GFI. Although I was successful in not electrocuting myself (my primary goal at that time), the outlets still did not work. It took a few more days of talking it out with Don to understand more about how electricity works, and then I realized that the cat had created a short when she peed on the extension cord, which was simultaneously plugged into the wall AND connected to the shop vac.
The one type of repair I refuse to attempt is plumbing. One small mistake and my house could be flooded. I have seen the results of water damage, and they are not pretty. A few years ago the faucet stopped working outside. I called in a plumber and he needed to do a repair from inside the house, which included cutting a hole in an interior wall. I stayed in the kitchen, not wanting to see the destruction of my den. Girl5 was fascinated and supervised the plumber's every move. At one point he told her to ask me for a slice of bread. I mutely gave it to her to pass on to the plumber, wondering if I should ask if he wanted ham with that. It was soon after that when I heard her warn him, "I don't think you should be doing that in the house!" Later I found out that he had been using a blowtorch on the faucet inside a hole he had cut in the living room wall. The bread was somehow a good agent to prevent a leak. It was returned to me in several handfuls.
I have waxed poetic about my wonderful wood stove, round woodpiles and cute woodshed. I never could have built the woodshed without the help of my brother, and he is also the main logger of our lumberjack family. If it were not for him, we would not have a plentiful supply of firewood every year, and consequently, Olympic fires in our wood stoves, lasting from fall until spring. He has more strength and stamina than Lance Armstrong, and I am confident that he is not using performance enhancing drugs. There is no way that I could bend over those monster trees with that extra large chain saw all day long. My back wants to give up just thinking about it.
I have an amazingly talented family. I have cousins who can sing like canaries, other relatives who can draw anything you like, and still another who arranges flowers for heads of state. One has just written a video game for the iToys, while others are creating websites. I cannot lay claim to any of their abilities. I am in constant awe of their accomplishments, which seem to emphasize my lack thereof.
So, Dear Reader, if you sense that I am getting a little too big for my britches, crooning "Takin' Care of Business" a little too often, because maybe I made dinner on a weeknight, let it go. There are plenty of things that I am unable to do. Now that this has been cleared up, I am going to duck out and split a couple of uranium atoms before lunch.
TO BE CONTINUED
After reading the title of this post, you are probably wondering if you will have to wait a few weeks to read the next chapter. No, Concerned Reader. "To be continued" would be music to my ears. You see, everything that I love is being discontinued.
It all started with my coffee. For the past twenty-something years, I have been drinking General Foods International Coffee. For a while, I was a Cafe Vienna girl, but for the majority of the time span I sipped Orange Cappuccino every morning. I am pretty sure that it is what runs in my veins. For a while I was slowed down by what I would call a sensitivity to caffeine, but a small beta blocker every morning fixed me right up and I was able to glug with abandon. A few years ago, the Orange Cappuccino disappeared from the grocery stores. In its place appeared Orange Latte. Orange Latte fizzed when the water mixed with the powder (did I mention that this coffee is instant?) and it had a peculiar orange candy flavor. I searched the markets for my beloved Orange Cappuccino, and I told friends and relatives all over the Americas to keep their eyes peeled. I searched the internet tirelessly, hoping to find rogue, outdated boxes of my morning mud. I even joined a couple of websites where all of the contributors were wailing and bemoaning the loss of their favorite flavor of coffee, Orange Cappuccino. Mornings were not complete with the substitute coffees I tried. I was pretty grumpy trying to get by on Cafe Vienna and Swiss Mocha. My colleagues even had the nerve to tease me about it, threatening to post bogus comments on my Orange Cappuccino websites. As suddenly as Orange Cappuccino disappeared from the grocery stores, the Orange Latte was gone and the Orange Cafe hit the scene. My internet friends continue to complain about the Orange Cafe, but I am happy. My flavor is back, but it does not seem to be as easily found as before. I signed up with Amazon.com for a subscribe and save program, in which I would be sent a certain number of cans every month automatically. After I received the first shipment, my subscription was cancelled. My coffee is no longer eligible for that program. I continue to search all of the local grocery stores for my new flavor. When I find it, I usually empty the shelf, buying 10 or 12 cans at a time. I have tried swinging deals with the manager at a local store when I found out he was my former student. I have begged the buyers at another store to buy my flavor. It never seems to work out. I have gone to extreme measures to acquire my afternoon ambrosia, even buying trunkloads of coffee from a nearby state. I finally found it at an irresistible price on the website of a national chain store at which I have refused to shop for many years. Shipping was free. I am ashamed to tell you, Discreet Reader, that I ordered nearly 60 cans.
My next good thing that became discontinued was my foundation undergarment. If you are of the female persuasion, you probably know what a nuisance it is to get fitted for this sort of thing. Once you know what works for you, you stick with it. Why fix it if it is not broken, right? Suffice it to say that I was quite upset upon hearing the news, and before I left the store, I ordered every one of them that I could, color was not an issue.
Last year I found an eyeliner that I loved. It was a fat pencil that felt good in my hand, it did not make my eyes water, it stayed on all day, and I liked the color, Black Frost. My pencil got shorter and shorter, and became a tiny stub. I began looking for a new pencil in the summer. Every time I went to the store, I hung around the makeup department, trying to remember the name of the brand. I drove the clerk nuts, always asking her about a "fat eyeliner pencil". I repeated the phrase "fat pencil" countless times, but it helped neither her memory nor her inventory. Even last week I made an appearance in the cosmetic department, finally armed with the right brand name (Maybelline) and the color. There were no fat pencils anywhere. Then one day I had a novel idea. I looked on the internet, hoping to find a box of discontinued, fat eyeliner pencils. Joyous Reader, I hit the jackpot! I found my fat pencils, in my preferred color, at a terrific price (you know what a cheapskate I am), and free shipping. I am not ashamed to tell you, Dear Reader, that I ordered 10 fat pencils. I was on top of the world.
I grew up playing with an abacus. It had colorful beads, and it was fun to click the beads back and forth. It was functional, too. One time I was playing with balancing my mom's checkbook, and I found $100 for her (I amused myself in unusual ways). As you know, the abacus is not widely popular in this day and age. My old abacus is long gone, but I am now on the hunt for a new one. Not only will I be using it to balance my checkbook, it will be vital in keeping track of my stockpile of Orange Cafe, supportive underwear, and Black Frost fat eyeliner pencils.
It all started with my coffee. For the past twenty-something years, I have been drinking General Foods International Coffee. For a while, I was a Cafe Vienna girl, but for the majority of the time span I sipped Orange Cappuccino every morning. I am pretty sure that it is what runs in my veins. For a while I was slowed down by what I would call a sensitivity to caffeine, but a small beta blocker every morning fixed me right up and I was able to glug with abandon. A few years ago, the Orange Cappuccino disappeared from the grocery stores. In its place appeared Orange Latte. Orange Latte fizzed when the water mixed with the powder (did I mention that this coffee is instant?) and it had a peculiar orange candy flavor. I searched the markets for my beloved Orange Cappuccino, and I told friends and relatives all over the Americas to keep their eyes peeled. I searched the internet tirelessly, hoping to find rogue, outdated boxes of my morning mud. I even joined a couple of websites where all of the contributors were wailing and bemoaning the loss of their favorite flavor of coffee, Orange Cappuccino. Mornings were not complete with the substitute coffees I tried. I was pretty grumpy trying to get by on Cafe Vienna and Swiss Mocha. My colleagues even had the nerve to tease me about it, threatening to post bogus comments on my Orange Cappuccino websites. As suddenly as Orange Cappuccino disappeared from the grocery stores, the Orange Latte was gone and the Orange Cafe hit the scene. My internet friends continue to complain about the Orange Cafe, but I am happy. My flavor is back, but it does not seem to be as easily found as before. I signed up with Amazon.com for a subscribe and save program, in which I would be sent a certain number of cans every month automatically. After I received the first shipment, my subscription was cancelled. My coffee is no longer eligible for that program. I continue to search all of the local grocery stores for my new flavor. When I find it, I usually empty the shelf, buying 10 or 12 cans at a time. I have tried swinging deals with the manager at a local store when I found out he was my former student. I have begged the buyers at another store to buy my flavor. It never seems to work out. I have gone to extreme measures to acquire my afternoon ambrosia, even buying trunkloads of coffee from a nearby state. I finally found it at an irresistible price on the website of a national chain store at which I have refused to shop for many years. Shipping was free. I am ashamed to tell you, Discreet Reader, that I ordered nearly 60 cans.
My next good thing that became discontinued was my foundation undergarment. If you are of the female persuasion, you probably know what a nuisance it is to get fitted for this sort of thing. Once you know what works for you, you stick with it. Why fix it if it is not broken, right? Suffice it to say that I was quite upset upon hearing the news, and before I left the store, I ordered every one of them that I could, color was not an issue.
Last year I found an eyeliner that I loved. It was a fat pencil that felt good in my hand, it did not make my eyes water, it stayed on all day, and I liked the color, Black Frost. My pencil got shorter and shorter, and became a tiny stub. I began looking for a new pencil in the summer. Every time I went to the store, I hung around the makeup department, trying to remember the name of the brand. I drove the clerk nuts, always asking her about a "fat eyeliner pencil". I repeated the phrase "fat pencil" countless times, but it helped neither her memory nor her inventory. Even last week I made an appearance in the cosmetic department, finally armed with the right brand name (Maybelline) and the color. There were no fat pencils anywhere. Then one day I had a novel idea. I looked on the internet, hoping to find a box of discontinued, fat eyeliner pencils. Joyous Reader, I hit the jackpot! I found my fat pencils, in my preferred color, at a terrific price (you know what a cheapskate I am), and free shipping. I am not ashamed to tell you, Dear Reader, that I ordered 10 fat pencils. I was on top of the world.
I grew up playing with an abacus. It had colorful beads, and it was fun to click the beads back and forth. It was functional, too. One time I was playing with balancing my mom's checkbook, and I found $100 for her (I amused myself in unusual ways). As you know, the abacus is not widely popular in this day and age. My old abacus is long gone, but I am now on the hunt for a new one. Not only will I be using it to balance my checkbook, it will be vital in keeping track of my stockpile of Orange Cafe, supportive underwear, and Black Frost fat eyeliner pencils.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)