Walkers and Stalkers

 

Dear friends, family, and frenemies,

    "Watch out when you walk by the tavern.  Men will beckon you in to have a drink.  Don't fall for it," my mother warned me and my siblings when we walked to and from school each day.  While this never happened to any of us as far as I know, I always imagined that it might as I peered into the dark smoky bar.  I was also warned not to interact with the old men who sat all day on the low concrete fence that surrounded the courthouse.  Perhaps they were harmless, but they seemed scary to me. I can still picture one of them: a very tall man with a bum leg who had longish hair and wore dirty overalls.  He would wander around downtown and sit and smoke as we walked by.

    At the end of the school day, the principal would announce "north line" or "south line." I have never been able to tell directions, but I knew I had to get into the "south line." The patrol boy in a white belt would lead us single file for a few blocks, helping us cross the street.  After that, we were on our own. 

    A lot could happen on that daily two-mile trek that my two older brothers and older sister and I traveled each day.  As the youngest, I had to work hard to keep up with the rest, lest I be left to the old men sitting around the square.  I remember window shopping at Woolworth's and stopping at the gas station for a paper cone full of water.  When my brother got into junior high, he would hand me or my sister his lunch and tell us to wait until he had walked the long block past the high school by himself.  He didn't want to be seen walking with his little sisters or carrying his paper lunch bag.

    My husband told me a tale of what happened to him when he was seven or eight. I think my grandkids and their parents would flip if such an experience happened to them.  So, here goes.

    This story takes place in New Jersey circa 1957.  Bobby was eight or nine.  One day the Varone brothers, identical twins who were a few years older, blocked his path.  While Michael and Robert Varone had the same face, one's face was very long, while the other's was very wide.  Can't you just picture it? They told him that he was in trouble and that they had orders to take him back to their leader at the school yard.  Bobby didn't know what they were talking about, but he went with them.  He was scared. When they got to the school yard, their "boss" was furious with the Varones.  He said that he needed them to bring him Jimmy O'Connor, not Bobby O'Connell. They had nabbed the wrong guy.  Bobby went home and told his mother.  She was furious.  She called Mrs. Varone and let her have it.  How dare her boys mistreat Bobby?  Who did they think they were? She was tempted to call the authorities. It turns out that Mrs. Varone had just gotten home from the hospital when Bobby's mother called her.

    Flash forward a few days.  The Varone Brothers - one with a long face and one with a wide one -- caught up with Bobby at the baseball field with nary an adult in sight.  He was standing beside his bicycle.  They were very mad that Bobby's mother had called and upset their mother.  They said that he had to pay for what his mother had done to their mother.  One of them said, "Just let me punch you one time in the face, and we'll call it even."  Bobby reluctantly agreed.  As the big Varone brother pulled back his fist to land his punch, Bobby stepped back at the last minute.  The brother fell over Bobby's bike, knocked it over, fell flat on his face, and began to wail.  Bobby's friends laughed as the crying twin and his brother ran off.  I'm not sure if Bobby told his mother this part of the story, but I hope he did.

    The culture of walking to and from school is mostly gone now.  Kids are dropped off and picked up from school by parents or day care vans.  In the U.S., about 11% of kids walk to and from school. Unlike past generations, they haven't lived through the varied, rich, and sometimes scary experiences that fending for oneself at a young age can provide.

Walking and talking,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma/Liz

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How You Look at It

Dear friends, family, and frenemies,

    Kids often remind us that life is more fun and interesting than we think it is.  Recently, my six-year-old grandson Finn announced that the three happiest days of his life were these:

1.  The day he found Papa's wallet

2.  The day he was born

3.  The day he married his first-grade classmate Nadine

I hadn't been invited to the wedding, so I had no comment on number three.  I agree that number two was quite remarkable.  But I burst out laughing when I heard number one.  I remember that day very well.  Finn and I were in our swimsuits waiting for Papa Bob to come home from his workout at the recreation center so that the three of us could go back there and swim.  Bob drove in the driveway and announced that he couldn't find his wallet.  As we say in our family, here comes "ye olde wallet search."  He had already checked to see if it had been turned in at the recreation center, but it hadn't.  He wondered if he had left it elsewhere.  I did my part: I called Starbucks.  Meanwhile Bob and Finn searched the car.  You haven't searched for something until you've searched with my husband.  He would make a zealous posse of cops with a search warrant look like slackers.  He can turn over and disrupt more space in no time flat than a toddler let loose with a shelf of books.  Flashlights were engaged.  Car rugs were overturned, shaken, and thrown on to the driveway.   The console was emptied.  The seats were moved and inspected.  Debris was removed and tossed from underneath the seats.  The plastic bag of garbage was perused.  The trunk was scrutinized.

Next it was time to search Pap's briefcase.  The contents were dumped on the table and carefully inspected.  No wallet.  Things were getting serious.  The next step was to go back to campus and retrace Bob's steps from the parking garage to Starbuck's.  At this point, I suggested that Finn and I just go swim while Bob continued  his search.  But Finn wasn't having it.  He wanted to go with Papa.  They walked carefully through the parking garage and along the sidewalks, looking behind pillars and underneath bushes.  When they arrived at Starbucks, they questioned a potential witness -- the manager -- regarding the billfold's whereabouts.  He had no information.  They went to the booth where Bob had sat and thoroughly examined the seats and floor, before heading to the bathroom.  No luck.  They trekked slowly back to the parking garage with eagle eyes.

Bob decided they should go back to the recreation center and check again.  They went in and scoured the dressing room, gym, and everywhere in between.  Still no luck.  Finally, Bob decided to ask another person behind the desk at the recreation center if his billfold had been turned in.  Guess what?  It had.  It had been found in the parking lot.  It was minus $30, but is was otherwise intact.

Various theories were put forth about how the wallet had landed in the parking lot.   Had Bob dropped it it as it he had gotten out of the car?  Had he left it in the dressing room and the thief had taken the money and then dropped it in the parking lot?  Had someone at the desk taken the money?  All are intriguing questions that gave us plenty to discuss.  Finn? he didn't mind that he never got to go swimming.  He had been on a quest.  And the quest had ended successfully.  Who needs to play Zelda or read Lord of the Rings when you can go on a real live expedition with your grandfather?  And that, my friends, is why Finn considers the day they found Papa's wallet to be the happiest day of his life.

Tizhap

I went to the recreation center yesterday as I usually do.  When I was leaving I got to yakking with a friend.  I picked up my keys and left.  Usually, I go right home, but Bob had gone with me, so I needed to kill time until he was done.  I chatted with a few more people and walked three laps before we went to the parking lot.  It was then that I discovered that the keys I had were not my own.  I ran back in the the rec center to discover a very distraught fellow exerciser with a friend who was offering her a ride home.  They were very glad to see me. My actions had only kept her in a complete panic for about twenty-five minutes.  One of these days I will pay attention to what I'm doing  Really.  I promise.  Until then Tiz will just keep "hap" -ing I guess. .

Questing and jesting,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma

Twice-Told Tales

Twice-Told Tales

Dear friends, family, and frenemies,

                    "Why do you tell people that story?  It makes you sound ridiculous," remarked my husband.  Why, indeed?  I guess I am just unable to resist telling a good story, even if it does make me look bad.  And if I must sacrifice my pride to get a good laugh, a shocked expression, or a look of incredulity, I'm happy to do that.

                    I'll start with the story that garnered my husband's comment.  If you've known me for long, you already know both of these tales but maybe I can add a few new details.  It was March of 1986.  I had a five-year-old and a nine-month-old.  I was working part-time for a publishing company.  I was scheduled to go from St. Louis, MO, to New Orleans for an educational conference to work at the booth.  I was excited to get away for a few days.  I had received Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion for Christmas, but I hadn't managed to read a word of it in three months.  I was looking forward to a nice long plane ride to read and relax.  And I did get a nice long plane ride and plenty of time to read, just not in the way I expected.

                    I arrived at the gate in St. Louis early and settled in to read my book.  No one enjoys peace and quiet quite as much as a young mother suddenly set free from her duties.  I may have even laughed aloud a few times, but I'm not sure.  I waited for my flight to be announced.  When those around me got up to board, I joined them.  I found my seat, sat down, and continued reading.  A man appeared and claimed that I was in his seat.  I showed him my boarding pass, and he showed me his. These things happen.  He disappeared.  I kept reading.  In those long-ago days when flying was less routine, I generally introduced myself to my seat mates.  However, on that day, I wasn't in the mood; I just kept reading.  I leaned back as the plane taxied.  The captain greeted us and announced, " We will be arriving in Washington, D. C. in ..." I turned to my seat mate and asked, "Is he joking?" The person looked at me strangely and said no he wasn't joking.  I stood up, raised my ticket, and exclaimed, "But I'm flying to New Orleans."  People turned and stared.  Perhaps you remember the E.F. Hutton commercial with two passengers on a plane discussing their financial advisor.  When one man says, "My broker is E.F. Hutton," everyone  stand ups and stares at the speaker.  My situation was something like that.  I wasn't exactly a celebrity, but I did get a lot of attention.  The flight attendant rushed back.  I felt sure that once the error was realized that I would be taken back to the gate.  That was not to be the case.  Did I mention that there was a Door A and a Door B at the gate?  It turns out that I had gone through Door A when I should have gone through Door B.

                    Now I was in a pickle.  I was supposed to be in New Orleans to cover the booth that afternoon.  I wondered if I would have to pay for the extra flight.  Not only was I not going to earn a day's pay, I was also going to have to buy a ticket.  Well, what could I do?  I sat back and read my book.  When we arrived in Washington, I got off the plane, bought a postcard, and mailed it to my friend whose boyfriend lived in D.C.  "Guess where I am? " I scribbled. Lucky for me, the plane and crew went directly back to St. Louis.  Not only did I not have to pay for the flight, but I was entitled to free alcohol.  What a deal.  I ordered a Bloody Mary.  The flight attendant said that I was the best-natured person that this had ever happened to.  That made me feel good.  I leaned back, sipped my Bloody Mary, and kept reading.  I arrived at the same gate in St. Louis where I had begun six hours earlier.  Eventually, I got to New Orleans.  Our most famous author was at the booth.  He was a quiet and serious man.  When he heard my story, he laughed until he cried.  It was a good day.

                    You did notice how I was able to read through anything in the story above?  This next story shows my strong powers of concentration once again.  I just don't seem to be concentrating on the world around me.  This story took place in the summer of 1975 in Champaign, IL.  Some friends and I went to McDonald's.  Rantoul Air Force Base was nearby.  There was a display of replica airplanes in the glass case across from the order counter.  While my friends ordered, I turned my back to the order counter and looked in the display case. The case was mirrored. Instead of looking at the model planes, I was taken by my own hair.  I turned my head a few times admiring what a good hair day I was having. When I turned around, the place was empty and completely silent.  I was taken aback.  My friends eventually appeared.  They were quite worked up.  "Why didn't you take cover?" they asked.  "Cover from what?" I inquired. They told me that a masked and armed gunman had come in and robbed the place.  Had I been looking at something other than my own hair,  I might have seen him in the mirror... I used to have the newspaper clipping to prove that the robbery occurred.  I wasn't called to be an eyewitness.

Titivating and tizivating,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma

Tricky Business

Dear friends, fam, and frenemies,

It's the season for tricks, so I thought I would share a few episodes that involve trickery.  Here goes.

My living room redo is officially complete.  I have been enjoying my leather recliner.  Well, at least I was enjoying it.  One morning when my grandson Owen, 4, was visiting, I noticed  that the armrest was covered with ballpoint scribbles.  When he woke up, I took him to the chair and asked him if he had written on Grandma's chair.  He looked me in the eye and insisted that he hadn't done it.  I asked who had done it.  His reply? A werewolf.  I said, "You mean a werewolf came through the sliding glass door and wrote on my chair?"  "Yes," he replied,"but it was kind of hard because he has paws not hands."  Evidently, those paws didn't stop him from holding a ballpoint pen.  After a few failed attempts using internet suggestions, I went to a shoe repair shop and bought a bottle of ball point pen remover just for leather.  When I inspected the chair more completely to find an obscure spot to test the ink remover, I discovered that the entire right side of the chair had been used as a canvass by my budding pen and ink artist. The ink remover didn't remove anything but the dye on the leather, so now I have a conversation piece in my living room.  Owen visited again last weekend.  When his mother confronted him with the evidence, he again insisted that a werewolf was the culprit.  Like me, my daughter is very clever, especially when it comes to tricking her children.  She took him aside and said, "Grandma has a video of you writing on that chair."  He looked up, confused, and said, "So I did do it?"  I guess that's as close as I will get to a confession.

I don't know about your spouses, but when we visit our kids or when the kids come visit, my husband likes to keep to his usual schedule.  That means a lengthy trip to Starbucks to sip coffee and read a book.  Lately, he has taken to letting a grandchild or two accompany him on these sacrosanct visits.   He has convinced them that it is a high honor to go with him and quietly read a book or do a puzzle while he reads.  And they have fallen for it.  They get very excited when they are asked to go along.  They get their tote bags ready with appropriate items and stand at attention waiting to go.  He usually treats them to a cake pop or egg sandwich.  After that, it's study hall.  He even took two siblings on one visit, but something suspicious happened.  Silence prevailed and all was going well, so he decided to go to the bathroom.  While he was in there, he heard loud voices and carrying on that sounded just like the grandkids. It was  a few minutes before he could investigate.   When he returned to the table, the little angels were quietly reading their books, so he never did figure out the cause of the commotion..

Hopefully, this is my last mention of Pottery Barn, but here goes one more story.  When I purchased my new chairs, I was tricked into getting a Pottery Barn credit card to receive rewards cash.  I had my doubts, but my husband thought it was a good deal, and he had gone along with getting the chairs I wanted.  The problem with the rewards is that they expire.  I had to decide in a hurry, something most of you know is not my super power.  Having $350 to spend at PB is like giving someone a $20 gift card to Neiman Marcus; it doesn't go very far.  I can't tell you (well, I could but you would think I was an idiot) how long it took me to spend that money.  I felt as if the sword of Damocles was hanging over my head as I rushed to pick something - anything- out before the money expired.  A lovely sleek white leather jewelry box caught my eye. I guess I could replace the one my sister got me for HS graduation, but I do love wood painted with daisies, don't you? I determined that the PB jewelry box cost more than the total of my jewelry, so I rejected it.  Next I saw a great basket for $132.  I had nothing particular to put in it, so I rejected it, too.  I found the perfect pillow shams, but they were out of stock.  Eventually, I ended up with a dough bowl, two candlesticks, some second-best pillow shams, and a metal basket just like the one I saw a Target last week for half the price.

This story concerns my brother Bob.  He was recently advised by the VA to join a chair yoga class.  The class was on Zoom.  He decided to give it a try. At the appointed time, he sat down and joined the class. The teacher advised that she was going to start the class with breathing exercises.  Bob joined in, breathing deeply.  However, it seemed that the class was nothing but breathing activities. Bob had never been to a yoga class, so he figured that this was what it entailed. After 45 minutes of sitting in his chair and breathing and watching the teacher sit quietly, he was relieved when the class ended.  He was sent a link to evaluate the class.  He responded that it was the biggest waste of his time ever and that he wouldn't be attending any more sessions.  Then he got a phone call. It was the teacher.  She wanted to know if he was okay. He said that he was. She said, "Well, since you didn't do any of the activities, I thought maybe you had a problem." Bob said, "What activities? All you did was sit and breath." She said that she had gong through an entire protocol of exercises.  She determined that Bob's screen had been frozen the whole time....So, if you ever want to play a trick on someone, my brother Bob would be a great candidate.

Bob and I aren't gardeners, but we have been trying to improve our yard.  That includes adding a bird feeder.  Last year, the seeds that the birds left behind blossomed into small --- albeit kind of short and scraggy -  sunflowers.  But a flower is a flower, right? This year, the same thing seemed to be happening, except that the stems were scratchy, and no blooms were appearing, but at least they kept getting taller.  I suspected that they were going to be tall sunflowers this year.  Then my neighbor came over and wondered why we were growing tall weeds in the front yard. Weeds?  They were weeds? It turns out that this year's birdseed contains thistle, not sunflower seeds.  Of course, the thistle puts down nice strong roots.  But at least we're good at growing something, right?

TIZHAPS

My kids sent me a corsage for Mother's Day.  I hadn't had one in quite a while, and I found it hard to pin on my blouse.  I tried putting the long pin horizontally, vertically, and even at a slant -- pricking my fingers each time, of course -- without luck.  I finally thought I had it on right, so I went to the bathroom mirror to check.  I decided that it needed yet another adjustment. I pulled it off, and guess what? My corsage splashed into the toilet. Yep, that's me all right.   I closed my eyes, grabbed it, and stuck it on.  Next year I'm asking for a wrist corsage.

I've recently rejoined WW; I would say Weight Watchers, but that's not allowed.  So, my habits have changed.  I'm doing something that I obviously was not in the habit of doing regularly: weighing myself each morning.  I was doing okay until about the third day when I hopped out of bed and found myself standing on something that didn't flash my weight.  The reason?  I was standing on the Roomba.  Luckily, it didn't take off....

Tricking and schticking,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma

Photos above: Tiz, the guilty party?, the werewolf's handiwork

Below:  My jewelry box

Out with the Old, In with the New

                                                     

Dear fam, friends, and frenemies,

I have returned.  Did you think Tiztalk had been discontinued?  It's more like those British dramas where they give you a few episodes and then the series returns every so often for a few more.  So, enjoy a new installment.

Recently, I've been redecorating.  Alas, I suffer from buyer's remorse at every step.  After custom-ordering a couch which turns out to be not very short-person-friendly, I was determined to actually sit in the chairs the decorator had recommended.  I took Bob on his first trip to Pottery Barn.  He even asked the designer where the pottery was.  She laughed and thought he was kidding; he wasn't...  So, we did our homework and placed an order for two leather wing chairs and an ottoman.  Mission accomplished, right? Almost. After thinking it over for a  week, I decided that what I really wanted was one wing chair, one ottoman, and one recliner.  I asked my daughter to go back to PB with me.  Molly suspiciously asked, "Why? Weren't you just there last week?"  When I told her that I wanted to change my order, her reply was, "Mom, I am not getting sucked into your chaos. You can't decide anything." My reply? "I decide lots of things.  I just never seem to like what I've decided. So, there."  Well, she did get sucked in, and so did Nancy.  We waited for our beleaguered designer, Elizabeth, (ok, I'll admit, I had already changed the order once) to arrive at work, and she promptly changed the order.  If only that were the end of the story.  It seems that no customer has ever changed an order before.  I received the recliner and the ottoman, but no side chair.  After several phone calls, the side chair had a delivery date, but no one ever showed up. It said online that all items had been delivered.  I sat on hold for a few hours a few times and scribbled down notes on pieces of paper so I would know who to blame for all of this...Anyway, thanks to Elizabeth, the designer, I now have all of my PB chairs.  But I haven't sat on them much.  I was sick when they arrived and preferred to sit on the old chairs as I didn't care what spilled on them, they are comfortable, and they come in quite handy when the grandkids come....I know, I know.. I will be carting them to the garage any day now.  If you know of a good home, please let me know.

We also have some new built-in IKEA shelves.  Bob visited his first IKEA to help me pick them out.  I didn't warn him; he assumed we were going to a furniture store. When we got from the parking garage to the escalator, he turned to me and asked, "Are we going on a flight?"  I assured him that we were just looking for shelves and dining on Swedish meatballs.  He's still scratching his head over that experience.

Well, now it's six weeks later... yes, I still have the old chairs.  And I now have an old and new media stand and an old and new end table to complete my "What is wrong with you?" living room design.  I also have two new fabulous-looking modern lamps with glass shades; alas, I miss my old reading lights that could be twisted to meet my book...However, I have now made a phone call, and all of my duplicates are being picked up next week.  I still welcome calls if you'd like to give any of them a loving home and allow me visiting rights.

While I like having a revamped home, I have discovered, to use an infamous quotation from my brother Tom when he was heading to  work at Bridwell's Super Market against his will,  "This interferes with my fun."  Here's why:

Time spent cleaning my old stove:  5 mins/week

Time spent cleaning my new glass stove top:  60 mins/week -- also add in the cost of lint-free cloths, scrubbing utensils, and special cleaning products for "daily cleaning" and "heavy duty cleaning."  Who invented these things anyway?

Time spent cleaning my original oak baseboards:  0 minutes/year 

Time spent cleaning my new white baseboards:  15 min/week --- they are always dirty and it SHOWS.  Who made these popular?

Time spent cleaning my old tiled shower: not much

Time spent cleaning my new Onyx shower - 5-10 mins/day with special cleaning products and tools

Former time spent turning pillows into pillows : 0

Time spent this week turning pillows into pillows:  15 min.

Did you know that pillow inserts arrive flat as pancakes and have to be hung in the sunlight (I'm not making that up), dried with a hairdryer, put in a clothes dryer, or "patted."  Seriously?   

Now you understand why I haven't had time to write a blog.  I'm too busy  cleaning my house and patting my pillows.  And if my sister reads this, she will enter me in the Missouri Liars Contest.

Updates & Tizhaps

In case you are interested, I do still own my leather gloves.  Both of them.  But Nancy has now decided to wait another year to pay me my $50 for retaining them.  However, I have managed to lose both black headbands.  Once again, one of them simply vanished into thin air while I was on a walk.  I'm not sure about the other.  Maybe it will turn up.

Recently, I went to NYC with some galpals.  Talk about reefer madness.  Downtown is filled with marijuana smoke.  No need to buy a thing.  We were able to walk down the street and get high without even trying.  

Have you ever had your husband leave an article out for you to read?  That happened to me this week.  The title?  "Help for Couples Where One Person Does All the Talking."  I asked him if he had learned how to solve the problem, His response: "Yes, but it's illegal and comes with a very long jail sentence."

So, on that note ,Tiz will stop talking.

Whining while designing,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Elizabeth/Liz/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma/Grizzie

Post-Holiday Ramblings 2021

2/17/21

TP count: 48, including a few triple rolls (jealous?)

Towel count: 21

Dear friends, frenemies, and family,

Are you sneering at the title of this blog?  Would you prefer the Word file title: “Blog Notes Nov. 2020”?    I had my notes ready months ago. But remember I am a slacker just like you. What was I doing that I couldn’t even get a holiday or even a post-holiday blog out until February? Was I fixing a big Christmas dinner? Having my family and grandkids swarming my house? Inviting in my friends and neighbors for a parties? Like you, I’ve made lots of lists, but I haven’t checked much off of any of them.  Oh, well…

Since you insist on wasting your time with me, here goes:

If you ever need to get me a Christmas gift, leather gloves are always a safe bet. Just ask my kids. One can never have enough of those. Well, I seem to rarely have even two of those. Not at the same time anyway, and not from the same pair. I try to at least ask separate kids for them each year, but sometimes they catch on. This year Nancy got me a lovely pair of Ralph Lauren leather gloves. They are nice indeed. So nice that I am afraid to wear them. They are lovingly packed away in tissue. She even made me a wager. She said that if I still had both of them by next Christmas that she would give me fifty dollars. It’s a deal. I have placed them in a hermetically sealed compartment high in the closet. I will release them next Christmas when it’s time to claim my prize. I don’t see any cold weather ahead, do you?

Of course, I lose more than just gloves. My sister got me a warm and fuzzy black headband for Christmas.  I love wearing it to walk. Guess what? One day it vanished. Into thin air. Just like many of my other possessions. So, I surreptitiously ordered another one. However, my inquisitive daughter shares my Amazon account. She began inquiries, “Mom, did you lose that black headband Aunt Mary Ann got you?” I told her to mind her own business unless she wants to pay the Prime subscription. Furthermore, the headband miraculously reappeared on the hook under my husband’s coat, but I will be prepared when it decides to hide from me again.

Since I listen to lots of podcasts and audiobooks, Nancy decided that I needed AirPod wireless headphones for Christmas. I insisted that I didn’t want one more thing that needs to be charged up. I’m glad she listened, as I read an article last week about a man who fell asleep listening to something on his phone (doesn’t everyone?).  When he woke up, he discovered that he had swallowed an AirPod in his sleep. That could have been me! Whew! Dodged a major Tizhap on that one.

Since I’ve been under house arrest for a year now, I’ve noticed a few flaws in my house. I’m tired of holding up the silverware drawer with my knee. My kitchen appliances have a combined age of 97 years.  My Formica countertops are a year or two out of date. Luckily, I have friends who are experts on all such matters. I even hired a designer. I had to stop her several times and tell her that I had no idea what she was talking about — undermount vs overmount sinks, barnyard (sorry, it’s “farmhouse”) sinks, full overlap vs partial overlay cabinets, etc.  She created a plan that I’ve been considering, but here are my problems.  With the new plan, I can’t lean back in my kitchen chair, open the junk drawer, and grab the WiteOut when I’m doing my morning crossword. What will I do with all the stuff on my fridge if I get a stainless one that won’t hold magnets?  What’s the point of having cabinets to the ceiling if I can’t reach any of them? Can I get used to having my garbage in a drawer?  Are these colors in style? Are they about to go out of style? What about resale? And the questions go on. The best advice one friend gave me is “Do what you want and let the kids worry about it.” I like that philosophy;  however, my friends and the designer won’t let me do what I want. While I am yearning for the sparkly countertop and the medicine cabinet with a cool little shelf attached, they unanimously decide that I need the small swirl counter (that’s a terrible description — I don’t know what it’s called) and the plain mirrored cabinet. The weird thing is that the designer and my friends  always come to the same conclusion. How do they know? What do I know?  Not much evidently.

I’m afraid that what always afflicts me when I buy something new will happen when I redo the kitchen:  buyer’s remorse. I got a new Subaru Forester last year, and I still long for my 2008 Honda CR-V and its arm rests and reachable seatbelts. I got a new washer a couple years ago, and I still long for my old one which allowed me to lift the lid with abandon. I even yearn for my Apple IIC computer with which I could easily create cute greeting cards and banners. So, what’s a girl to do? I do come by this naturally, as my mother remodeled her kitchen and once – in 1955. And she never liked any of the wallpaper that was ever replaced in our house. My sister and I had French girls dressed in blue and pink  wearing  hats and  carrying parasols in a Monet-type setting. When it was removed against Mom’s will – it was falling off the wall, I might add —  in the late 1970s, she saved a swatch of it and put it in our decidedly unfinished and creepy basement. Right before selling the home, my sister made a last dash to the basement to see if she could retrieve the swatch, and we could frame it. Somehow it had disappeared. And yes, we are all nuts.

Instead of the kitchen, I’ve decided to start with Bob’s bathroom.  He was perfectly happy with his bathroom, and did not want it updated. Of course, he’ll love it in the end, right? We are now on Day 10 of the remodel.  He’s worried about where he can hang his back brush.  Decisions.  Decisions … By the way, he also likes his 2000 Honda Accord. Using that logic, he must think I’m ok, too, right?

Tizhaps:

While Finn, our three-year-old grandson, was visiting, we were attempting to fix a big breakfast. Chef Bob was in charge of the eggs, and Finn was being what my Aunt Wish used to call "HI’arious.” Bob loudly exclaimed that he couldn’t do his job because he was being “assaulted” by Finn. Really? I recall fixing many a meal while besieged by three little O’Connell assailants. Anyway, due to what my mother would have termed the “hubbub and confusion”, I accidentally dropped a perfectly fluffy pancake into the bowl of batter.  Twice-baked pancakes, anyone? 

I’ve been working on family history and sent some information out to my cousins. This resulted in a wonderful email exchange with a faraway cousin. I asked her about her about family members, a young relative joining the military, etc. It was only after about three emails that I realized I had mistaken her for another cousin. She might have wondered why I was asking about her niece and nephew, but not her daughter. I eventually fessed up. We LOL’d a bit, and she forgave me.  

Other thoughts:

The best thing and the worst thing happened to me recently. An old friend sent me a four-page typed letter. The good news is that I got a four-page typed letter. The bad news is that I now owe someone a four-page typed letter. Maybe this blog will suffice. Don’t worry, Karen, I’ll reply one of these days. Thanks for making my day but ruining my life.

Whining and designing,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma/Grizzie

Having a Gray Old Time - 7-20-20

Having a Gray Old Time

TP Count: 19 (living dangerously)

PT Count: 11

Hi, friends, fam, and frenemies,

Happy quarantine!   You must be getting desperate.  Well, I’m here to help you waste even more time than you have already in the past four months.  So, have a seat (oh, you’re already sitting?), lean back (your recliner is back as far as it will go, you say?), relax (you’re half asleep?), and read on (if you remember how).  I’ve always said it, “No one can slack like a Tiztalk reader.”

Have you had any unexpected shows of kindness during this pandemic?  You know people offering to pick up groceries for you or take your recycling?  I have had one.  I think.  As you can see from the photo, my true colors are starting to show, and they are definitely not “chestnut brown.” About a month ago, my husband  asked me when I was having my hair colored.  I replied that I wasn’t in any hurry.  He suggested that maybe “we” could do it at home.  We?   My husband offering to help color my hair? That’s a first.  I didn’t know he noticed.  Well, so far, I haven’t taken him up on his kind offer.  I am just letting nature take its course.  I even read about this product you can buy online for $13 that will take out all the dye in your hair.   Despite my daughter Nancy’s eagerness to experiment on my hair and my curiosity to see what I really look like in an alternate universe, I have not given in to that urge yet.  I think a ½” per month (how fast hair grows) change is about my speed.   

Another thing that has happened around here as we are holed up together is that we become very aware of one another habits.  Has that happened to you?  For example, my husband and daughter seem to pay special attention to my hair drying routine.   I suspect this is because my hair drying interferes with their TV watching.  Just when they think I’m done, the dryer starts up again.  Doesn’t every gal dry her hair in three separate steps – blow dry with a brush. Turn off. Blow dry with head down. Turn off. Put velcro curlers in. Blow dry.  Really whose business is it?  They both get worked up because they walk by and I am reading a book while I dry my hair.  Doesn’t everyone?  I know my sister does.  Well, it’s not always a book; sometimes it’s a newspaper, magazine, or my phone.  And then they accuse me of not having the dryer aimed at my hair.  How dare them? A girl doesn’t get hair like mine (see photo) without a lot of effort and special techniques. Don’t you agree?

Like many of you, I’ve been learning the ins and outs of online grocery ordering.  I placed my first order one Monday morning, and it was scheduled to be available the next Thursday at two.  Could  I go that long without some form of chocolate?  I had to find out. I did, but barely.   

The main problem with online grocery ordering is people wanting to help you wipe and unpack it. They are like a pack of hungry wolves, desperate to see what vittles you dragged home for them.  If I am not on my A game, they notice the mint chocolate cookies that go in a hidden pantry spot known only to a select audience.  Or the chocolate-covered blueberries I have no explanation for. Generally, after my grocery haul is safely placed into my trunk, I pull over and separate precious cargo from the general commissary items.  That way there’s no confusion.  Of course, I’m kind enough to leave a few packages of brand X wafer cookies or graham crackers in the general audience mix, so that I’m not perceived as purely heartless.  Despite my best efforts, I’ve still ended up with a gigantic bottle of mouthwash and a mess hall-sized roll of Reynolds Wrap.

Let’s face it.  This is a strange time. It seems that a lot of our time has been spent communing with nature or fighting against it. After spending my whole life without ever seeing one, I nearly stepped on a large black snake. I’m still suffering from PTSD (post-traumatic snake syndrome).  I’ve also seen several small snakes, lizards I didn’t know lived in Missouri, frogs, a turtle, too many deer to count, and lots of snails.  Could it be because we are taking forced marches on the same paths day after day? We’ve also had a robin’s nest in the backyard and been able to watch the babies get fed.  When I told my neighbor, who is an Earth mother extraordinaire, she commented that she had seen robins in the neighborhood getting worms but she hadn’t figured out where the nest was yet.  I figured that there couldn’t be a new bird family in our neighborhood without her knowing about it.   I learned that the female robin builds the nest, although the male helps her with supplies.  The male sings while the female lays the eggs and sits on the nest (sounds about right). They both follow the little chicks around once they have “fledged” ,or left the nest, to make sure that they have enough to eat.  So, now you haven’t wasted all your time reading this blog; you’ve actually learned something…….I’ve also witnessed my working-at-home daughter sitting on the back porch yelling at the birds to stop singing so loud so she could concentrate. So, who’s in whose space?? Hmmm.

We’ve also done an inordinate number of jigsaw puzzles, most of them 1000 pieces.  I timed myself for forty-five minutes one day, and I managed to place a piece every fifteen minutes.  While my husband assured me that my rate would increase as the puzzle came together, I did not share his optimism.  Instead, I took on a special place in the jigsaw puzzle process. I’m the closer.  That’s right.  When they get down to the last ten pieces, they call me in and I complete the job.  It’s very satisfying.

 I did manage a visit to my grandkids.  Can you stand one grandchildren tale?  If not, skip this paragraph.  While on Grandma duty, it was my job to get the pools out for the boys (3 and 1) to swim in the driveway.  There was one for each boy. Despite having a very cool pirate pool with palm trees, a slide, and a spraying cannon, the older boy only wanted to torment his brother and mess with his baby toys.  So, I started a little game where we would throw things into the bigger pool to see what would float.  We threw in plastic cups, toys, corks, balls, etc.  Well, when I was helping the little guy maneuver out of his pool without faceplanting on the concrete, the older one decided to try another “what floats” experiment; he threw in our beach towels.  Guess what?  They don’t float. Me and my bright ideas.

During most of the quarantine we had a young Chinese woman staying with us.  She was one of my husband’s students.  She is an excellent cook, and she shared her talents with us many nights.  She would spend hours preparing homemade specialties. I also shared some of my cooking secrets that quite amazed and impressed her:  boil-in-a bag rice, microwave rice, microwave-in-the bag vegetables, Bob Evans mashed potatoes, and Pepperidge Farm pound cake.   She thought they all tasted just fine.  Welcome to America.

TIZHAP TIME

 What’s a Tiztalk blog without a tizhap?  I have lots of these to choose from daily, but I only share a select few with you.

Well, here goes.  This one will make you feel good about yourself. Maybe.  Unless you’ve done the same thing. I was up early and decided to order groceries from HyVee for pick up.  I was surprised that the website said I could pick them up in a few hours.  The last time I had ordered the wait was four days. So, I asked Alexa for my grocery list and felt very smug that I had completed my shopping before anyone was awake.  Wouldn’t they be surprised when we had plenty of eggs and English muffins?  It was an exciting day indeed. I had three activities to do – a pretty full day during quarantine. I even put on lipstick. First I went to a Shelter Gardens and took a lovely walk.  Next I got gas and wiped my windshields.  Finally, I moseyed over to HyVee right on time.  Wasn’t I surprised when they couldn’t find my order.  What? Did you leave the apostrophe out of my name?  Was it under my daughter’s name?  In frustration, I handed him my phone to prove that my order was ready for pick up.  Perhaps I’d selected a HyVee across town.  How annoying. He examined it and replied, “Ma’am, this order is ready in Canton, Illniois.”   You see, I had ordered groceries from HyVee the previous week for my cousin who lives – you guessed it – in Canton, IL. 

Graying and relaying,

I remain

Tizzie/Liz/Elizabeth/Tiz/Tizmom/Grandma/Grizzie