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

Foolin' Around

Blogpost April 2, 2020

TP Count: 52

PT Count: 8.5 (including 6 jumbo rolls)

Hi, friends, fam, and frenemies,

So, you’ve decided to do some slacking?  Well, you’ve come to the right place.  Besides nothing, what have you had time to do while under house arrest?  

Here’s what I’ve had time to do….

Carry off a proper April Fool’s Day joke.  Check out Nancy O’Connell’s FB page if you want to  further investigate the "smoking toilet" above...

Catch in the act the dog that’s been doing its business in our back yard and sic my husband on him (the owner, that is).  That one was interesting.  

Open up my new vacuum cleaner that’s been in the box for a month and figure out how to use it.  My old one has been duct-taped together for quite some time.  It’s so traumatic to learn to use new devices.  Things didn’t go well.  Of course, I didn’t read the directions.  I never understand them anyway and can never find the parts the red arrows are pointing to.  So, it was just good old trial and error.  I wondered if vacuuming off the screened porch was the best way to start…. With any luck, it is charged and will turn on today.  And the dirt thingie will open up. Wish me luck.  I always need it.

Make a real grocery list and categorize it by aisles and departments and write it out in lovely cursive, something that some of you female readers of a certain age still know how to do.  It’s one of my few talents that impresses my children.  And I even managed to get to the store with the list.

Figure out – due to several rainstorms - the origin of the water in the garage.   I have insisted for years that it is seeping up through the cracks in the floor.  My husband has insisted that it is coming in due to a piece of rubber missing from the seal at the bottom of the garage door.  After much scientific review, well, you don’t really care, do you?  And I don’t want to look bad.  

Observe a squirrel violate our “guaranteed squirrel-free” bird feeder.  He only got as far as the water, but now I have a reason to stand at my kitchen window all day and gather evidence.

Learn how to host a baby shower on Zoom.  And I thought having one in my house was bad.  I’d much rather make an egg casserole than learn how to download an app, create a password, remember the password,  invite attendees (I often end up inviting my whole contact list in these situations, so if you receive an invite and you have no idea who “Amy” is, please ignore it.), and hold forth (well, that part I think I can actually do) for an hour while we all watch the mother-to-be gush over her gifts.  My daughter says there’s nothing to it.  I’ll let you know.  Feel free to Zoombomb us if you can figure out how.

Take long walks.  In fact, I was taking one earlier this week at a nearby trail when my sister happened to call (imagine that). I was talking to her as I finished the loop.  Unbeknownst to me, my husband was reading a book at a picnic table under the nearby shelter. He commented that while trying to concentrate on his book he had heard “some loud-mouthed broad talking on the phone” and had wondered why a she couldn’t take a walk without talking on the phone.  Well, I’m always happy to be in people’s thoughts, no matter what those thoughts are. 

Smokin’ and jokin’,

I remain

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

Groutfit Musings

March 25, 2020

TP count: 54.5

PT count: 13.5 (includes 6 jumbos)

Hi, slackers,

You might think you are a slacker, but have you had a half-written blogpost sitting in your Word file since Dec. 15?  Have you been housebound for ten days and still not managed to get it completed?  Even after my New Year’s resolution to write more blogs…  Well, since I’m home with nothing better to do, and, obviously, you are, too, here goes…

I’m sitting here in my groutfit (that means I’m all in gray – sweatpants and top – get the picture? Don’t dwell on it too much…) not counting my calories or points or much of anything other than rolls of toilet paper and paper towels.  Unlike you true slackers --er I mean "readers" -   I do have on a full set of undergarments, real shoes, and I've showered.  Can you say the same?

We are stocked up for life around here, although I must admit have already made a quite a dent in the chocolate and donut supplies.  However, we have plenty of pot pies and canned apricots to see us through.  Since re-acquiring our stay-at-home daughter for an indefinite visit, it’s hard to say who will prevail in the ever-increasing competition for the last of the chocolate-covered grahams or the caramel M & M’s.  Oops, I slipped on that last one.  No one but me knew there WERE caramel M & M’s in the house.  I’m going to have to be more careful.  Let’s just say, there are no current supplies of caramel M & M’s available to the general family.  Heh heh.  

You might wonder what I’ve been doing while under house arrest.  Well, here’s a sampling: 

Today I’ve had to track down everything I can find out on Prince Charles’s COVID-19 diagnosis.  Did he call Harry?  Does Harry feel terribly guilty about leaving his elderly father back in Olde England?  Is William on high alert?  Quite alarmed at reading of it this morning, I announced it to my husband who wasn’t sure which one Prince Charles is.  No kidding.  I told him he could never be in the royal watchers’ club my daughters and I share.  He says he doesn’t care.  He didn’t even know that Princess Anne and my sister share the same birth date.  Exactly the same.  What are the chances?  Or that Meghan and Harry live in the same part of Canada my daughter-in-law’s brother, or that Meghan was a Kappa at Northwestern.  Well, the list could go on.  I told him he could at the very least watch The Crown. He wandered out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee.

I take regular walks around the area, usually while listening to a true crime podcast.  Today a lovely slim dog ran into the street with no leash or apparent master.  It’s a very distinctive breed, but as I am mostly illiterate of dogs, except for my dear granddog Frannie – I couldn’t tell you what it was.  After a quick Google, I would say that it resembled a Pharaoh hound.  Cars were slamming on their brakes from both directions.  When I noticed the commotion, I changed my route and sneaked down a side road.  I imagine that a dog lover or two tracked down its owner or at least reported it on the NextDoor app where the event will, no doubt, consume the rest of the day with impassioned comments about irresponsible dog owners.  I’ll keep you posted.

 I’ve partaken of the “old folks’ hour” at our local grocery store. Half of the battle is admitting that I AM one of the “old folks.”  Do you have that problem, too?   Anyway, the hardest part of going to the store nowadays avoiding the urge to hoard. How many eggs do I want, need, or could I possibly eat?  But there aren’t many left…. But what are the chickens going to do?  Stop laying them?  They don’t know there’s a pandemic. But maybe the chicken owners will need to eat the chickens, in which case….Ok, yes, I need a Xanax or maybe some of the CBD gummies that my daughter keeps trying to foist on me.   

My husband has taken to cleaning up the yard and every once in a while – always at the most inopportune time – perhaps I’ve just opened a bag of M & M’s  (shhhh) or I’ve just sat down to watch Jeopardy or both – will request that I help him by “holding the bag” (yeah, that’s about right) while he inserts shovels full of sweet gum tree droppings, which, incidentally, look just like Coronavirus. My daughter told me that as she was “working at home” in my basement, she gleefully looked out to see me holding the bag in the rain.  She was happy that she had escaped this duty and also the job of dragging said bags to the curb.

Our credit card had a fraudulent charge on it for $179.99.  That and the phone calls that have resulted have provided many hours of confusion, speculation, outrage, trepidation, and dinner time conversation.     How dare they suggest that we must have alternate emails or phone numbers?  Today was the day for the final showdown with the offending company. I was prepared to do battle.  However, when I checked my bill, the charge had been removed, and no one ever did tell me what had been charged and removed.  I was kinda disappointed.

Now I’ll share my blogpost from December ….

Blogpost – December 15, 2019  

Happy holidays, friends, fam, and frenemies,

You might be wondering why I am writing blog ten days before Christmas. 

Empty nesters will agree that life changes as the years go by.  The number of things to do and the urgency to do them subsides. Well, sort of.

Recent texts I’ve received: 

“This sucks.”  As well as a video of and actor saying, “I’ve made a huge mistake.” (From my daughter at Thanksgiving when her dad took her up on her offer to help him bag leaves.).  She had forgotten, that when he bags leaves, he’s talking twelve bags, and he insists that every bag be filled with every last leaf it will hold. 

“The older you become the more holidays become about keeping your father off a ladder.”  From same daughter, but she did steal this one from The Reader’s Digest which I gave her to read on the plane.  She had tried, without success, to prevent her father from getting up on a ladder and cleaning the gutters.

“Feel free to buy hats/gloves for both boys, too.”  From daughter who has two little boys who I hope have hats and gloves for the next ten days until I get there for Christmas.  One of them evidently doesn’t have a winter coat either.  Well, it’s amazing what your children don’t mind waiting for until Grandma arrives. 

 A Few Tizhaps

Dinner at the U. Club

Last week we had a bit of a Tizhap.  You remember those?  When Tiz kind of messes up, although usually it’s not her fault.  Anyway, we had plans to meet friends at the University Club at the Alumni Center to celebrate my birthday and my friend’s.  She had made the reservation.  Wednesday night my cohort and I put on our finest and headed to the club.   I made my usual joke that we wouldn’t be the first ones there as there are always “elderly” (as in older than we are) couples waiting outside the door for the club to open  at 5:00 pm– you know, white-haired guys in sports jackets and ladies with their purses on their laps.  Well, I was wrong this time.  The place was dark.  The door was closed, and so was the club.  Evidently, I had written it down wrong on my calendar.  Just then, the manager, who had another event going on down the hall, walked by.  He took one look at us and asked if we would like him to get us bottles of water.  Did we look thirsty?  Or maybe we looked like one of those elderly couples that I was talking about.  We refused the water.  Then he asked, “Well, is there anything I can do for you?”  My husband’s reply, “Can you cook us dinner?” He declined.  We were all dressed up with nowhere to go, so we walked across campus and ended up at Shakespeare’s Pizza, which has won awards for best pizza in a college town or some such prize.  We were the best dressed couple there.  And probably the oldest, too.  We enjoyed and aptly named “Darwin” pizza.  Luckily, we haven’t won the Darwin Award yet.  We did make it to dinner the next night, as, after all, we are senior citizens, and my prime rib dinner is free during my birthday month.

Trip to Wal-Mart

During the Christmas rush, Wal-Mart had greeters who also were randomly checking receipts as you left the store. As the lines at the registers were long, I had reluctantly checked myself out.  I suspect I was stopped because I had a few bottles of wine in the cart and hadn’t bothered to put them in bags.  Maybe I had just run back and thrown some booze in the cart without paying?  Anyway, the lady asked me how many 12 packs of paper towels I had purchased.  I replied, “one.” She said, “Well, your receipt says that you purchased two packages.”  I checked the receipt, and she was right.  She sent me to customer service to get an $18 refund for the paper towels.  Of course, I would have been furious if the cashier had made the mistake. No return lines are quite like Wal-marts.  You can go in the store at midnight and there will be a line.  Anyway, the line was long and there was only one person doing returns and refunds.  After waiting ten minutes, I decided to solve my own problem. I walked back and got another large package of paper towels.  The receipt checker applauded me for my ingenuity, and I found that I don’t need other people to rip me off.  I’m perfectly capable of ripping off myself.

The Laundry Mystery

I probably shouldn’t tell this story.  You might suspect that I am chewing on CBD gummies all the time.   But it’s just too good to keep to myself.  Maybe you have a similar tale you are ashamed to tell?  When I go to my daughter’s, I do the laundry.  Last time I was there, I was doing one last load of mostly kids’ clothes, including a bag of items from day care, before heading home.  When I went to put the clothes in the dryer, I was annoyed to discover that a tissue had been left in a pocket.  I couldn’t imagine how that had happened as kids don’t routinely carry tissues in their pockets.  As I tried to pick off the lint, it seemed to be more like little plastic balls than paper.  It was quite hard to pick it off.  I took out my son-in-law’s golf shirts and hung them to dry; they didn’t seem to have attracted too much of the gunk.   Then I got back to my task of picking off the weird lint on each piece of clothing.  Wasn’t I surprised when I discovered that it wasn’t a tissue at all that had caused the problem.    Are you ready for this?  I had washed a whole load of laundry with a rolled up dirty  (only # 1, folks, I’m not that out of it!) diaper.  I considered hiding the evidence and putting the whole thing behind me, but it was too good of a story not to tell.  And that’s how I’ve gotten myself in trouble all my life – by laughing and telling tales when I should just keep quiet.

Well, that’s all for now folks.  

Grouting, counting, but not pouting,

and going nowhere fast, 

I remain

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

The Granny Circuit

                                                                   

Dear friends, fam, and frenemies,

            Never heard of the “Granny Circuit”?  Read on.

            “Mom, what are you doing Aug. 30 – Sept 4?”  Do you ever get such calls months in advance? My sister, grandmother-of-eleven, warned me about this.  Somehow you suspect that your grown child isn’t about to treat you to an all-expenses-paid trip to Lake of the Ozarks, or even to Boonville, MO.   Before you can sputter, “Well, I think I’m finally going to have that big neighborhood Labor Day party I’ve always hoped to have,” the details come out.  Your daughter and her husband have been invited to a friend’s wedding in Napa Valley, CA.  And there are just two problems:  a two-year-old boy and a seven-week-old boy who need to be looked after.   In April, this all sounds very exciting and fun, esp. since the seven-week-old had not yet arrived.  Of course, I would do my grandmotherly duty.  And, eventually, I would let my husband know that he would be doing his grandfatherly duty.  Above all else, I want everyone to have a good time.  

When the weekend arrives, I even show up a day early so that my daughter can to go to yoga, get a manicure, and have a spray tan. The next day, the two-year-old and I wake up early.   He demands milk only from his “Woody” cup. When did this start?  He used to like his Mickey Mouse cup.   Eventually, I find it, wash it, and fill it.   He refuses to wear a bib and then insists on “helping” pour the syrup on his waffles (God help me). He also insists on putting on his own shoes, but not the ones I select and not on the right feet.  Never mind. His dad takes him off to day care, so I am left with only the baby.  What am I complaining about, right? 

My first day as caregiver-in-chief is underway.  As the day wears on, past days spent with babies come flooding back.  My resolve to accomplish anything other than holding and feeding the baby fades as the hours pass. Do I really need to go to the store for waffles?  Nah. Put on make-up? Nope. Vacuum the dog hair from the carpet and couch? They aren’t that bad.  Watch non-stop episodes of Parks and Rec?  Now you’re talking.  The baby is breast-fed, so I have detailed instructions as well as strict warnings (have they installed video cameras since my last visit?  I look around just in case.) on how to thaw, handle, and, most of all, preserve, at all cost, every last drop of this frozen liquid gold.  I must use the milk in date order, note the time I take it out, how long it is out (that part is hard when you are binge-watching.  I do my best..), and check it off on a spreadsheet.  Any unaccounted-for milk will surely show up in an audit. Dum da dum dum.. If I spill so much as a drop, I am to self-report myself to the La Leche League for a proper flogging or possible capital punishment.  I’m still free, so I’m either innocent, or I haven’t been nabbed yet for milk endangerment.

When it comes time to pick up the two-year-old, I have my first test.  I have to put the baby in his car seat.  You grandparents know what I’m talking about.  It’s a tricky business getting those straps adjusted. Which button do I push/pull? Have I just made it tighter or looser?  Why is it loose on one side, but tight on the other? Can the baby still breathe? I cross my fingers and carry on.

Next I hoist the car seat into the car and figure out how to drive my daughter’s car.  Who cares if the a/c is at 66? I don’t.  Couldn’t change it if I wanted to.  How do I turn down the radio?  Never mind.  Exactly where is the day care center? My phone says it’s around here someplace if I could only hear the directions over the radio.  We drive through McDonald’s on the way home for a Happy Meal.  Finally, something I know how to do.  The only problem is assembling the Snoopy toy that comes in the Happy Meal.  The directions have illustrations but no words.  How am I supposed to know how to get the little thingie to twirl around?  I finally get on YouTube and watch a “how-to” video.  By this time, the two-year-old has lost all interest in the toy….

One thing that’s always a shock as a grandparent is how much kids change from the last time you saw them.  What has happened to the sweet two-year-old?   When did he start scratching, hitting, biting, pinching, and running away?  Refusing to sit in a high chair, wear a bib, stay in a stroller, or go to bed?  Could it have something to do with the arrival of his brother?  Too late for psychoanalysis now.  

The biggest challenge of the day is about to occur:  putting the two-year-old to bed.  After seven stories and two songs, he’s still crying and demanding that I retrieve his binkies from underneath his bed.  Of course, he calls me back in the room each time a binky ends up under the bed, and this process goes on for quite some time as he has a number of binkies, and they mysteriously keep ending up under his bed.  I long to stick a binky in my own mouth and curl up on the floor.  Finally, the boy, the binkies, and the blankies are all accounted for, and he konks out. Day One is in the books.

My husband shows up, and things get a little easier.  He volunteers for the “hold the baby while he sleeps” gig which coincides with his watching a soccer match.  He also puts the two-year-old down one afternoon for a nap, albeit with no sheets on his bed.  He manages to take a few unauthorized naps himself as well as some lengthy trips to Starbucks with a book in his hand.  

The days are a continuous loop of bottles, meals, toys, naps, smiles, tears, baths, laundry, walks, meals, games, stories, and bedtime. Eventually, the parents return.  As we are  recounting the previous few days, my daughter asks me, “Mom, do you remember my husband’s friend _________?  He came to our wedding.”  I cant say that I do.  She pauses then continues, “He’s engaged.”  I say, “Well, that’s nice.”  She adds, “He’s getting married in Oregon next Labor Day, and we are wondering…..”  Well, I’m guessing that I won’t be holding my neighborhood party next year either.  I wouldn’t want to lose my spot on the Granny Circuit.  I fact, I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Busy being Grizzie,

I remain 

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