i'm undone!

There must be a name for this condition.  It's really starting to worry me.  My kids have been worried about it for a long time but I really didn't think I had a problem. . . way back then.  I had some very good reasons for doing what I did, but now, this is just a habit.  I keep undoing things.

Most of the time, I undo things that I have made myself.   It doesn't matter what kind of project I am working on, sewing, knitting, crocheting, I undo nearly half of my work.  When I am sewing and I don't like what I have done I get out my Exacto knife and let her rip.  When crocheting or knitting, I find myself pulling out whatever and rolling it all back up into a ball.  Am I a perfectionist?  I think the problem is bigger than that.

When I am clothes shopping I don't ask myself "Does this shirt fit?"  I tell myself "I can make this fit" and I take it home and promptly unpick it.  Before I know it there are pieces in my lap where a shirt used to be.  Then the pieces go into a baggie and the baggie goes onto the "needs to be put back together" shelf.  What is that?  The word counterproductive comes to mind.

Okay, so I take things apart.  The bigger problem is I don't put them back together.  I just let the pieces all languish there on the shelf.  

My poor husband!  We were in Utah last week and one night we went out with our daughter and her husband.  "What is this?" she asked her dad pointing to his sleeve.  He had packed a shirt that had been subject to my scissors and there he was in public with unfinished sleeves.  I realized then, the problem had gone too far.

Seriously, I am going to turn over a new leaf.  This self defeating behavior must stop.  My new mantra will be 'get it together' or 'leave it together' or 'leave it alone!'  Someone needs to come and take my scissors away.  Pleeeeeeeeaaaasssseee!

I can't find it

What can't I find?  Anyone who knows me, knows that I can't find anything most of the time.  This post, however, is about a tradition in our family that always has everyone saying "I can't find it!"  It is the grand Easter egg hunt at Grandma and Grandpa Packard's house.  

The Easter bunny of my childhood was really a very clever bunny.  He not only brought us a basket of goodies but he teased us by hiding our baskets too.  One time I found my basket hanging from a string down into a heating vent.  Once my sister Laura found her basket without its handle tied up underneath the piano.  One was wired to the curtain rod under the curtain.  We loved it.

When we got older instead of baskets we got a chocolate egg.  The bunny, who, of course, was our clever mom, really got devious.  We would find our egg sewed into a pillow on the couch or inside a hollowed out book slipped back into its place on the shelf.  We found one egg underneath a chair or I should say underneath and inside the chair.

Over the years my mother has hidden hundreds of eggs.  My brothers and sisters married and had children who grew up, married, and had children who all come to Grandma and Grandpa's house to search for Easter eggs. Those of us who live away alway struggle mightily to get back home at Easter to enjoy the fun that mom's tradition has created.

Visualize this, 30 to 40 people crowded into a not so large kitchen and family room all searching for their egg.  The only rule to remember is nothing is out of bounds! 

 

Let me recount some of the stellar hiding places to date.  Chocolate eggs have been found inside of a grapefruit, banana, stuffed animal, a ball of yarn, in a roll which was in a bag which was sealed at the store, in an undisturbed bag of potatoe chips, in the peanut butter, in the Miracle Whip which was in the fridge, in a can on the shelf which was opened and emptied from the bottom.  They have been found inside the base of lamps, stuffed up into the water dispenser of the fridge, in the waffle iron (we had a hard time figuring out whose egg that was), in the VHS player (the DVD slot just doesn't lent itself sizewise), in the tool chest, work boots, sweaty hat, in a potted plant just under the roots.  One egg was molded around one of the canes in dad's collection.  There was the egg zipped into a baggie and lowered into a can of paint, the egg that was put into the bottom of the Big Gulp of the very person that was looking for it, the egg that was stuffed into a canister light behind the light bulb, the egg that was taped to a ceiling fan blade that was moving around and around as the search went on and on.  One poor person looked long after everyone had finished.  Come to find out his egg had been with him the whole time just inside his pocket!

So now you know that "I can't find it" really means "I can't find it" at my mother's house on Easter.

Fast and Furious

Lately, I have been moving fast.  Not just because I flew to Montana and back on a jet.  Or because I drove fast getting Julia and Steve to the airport.  But because for about the last two weeks I have been matching wits with and trying to keep up with my grandkids.

On the 21st I went to Montana to visit Greg and his family.  I hit the ground running, literally.  The first thing that Caleb wanted to do was play freeze tag.  I was not really very willing, but Caleb has the gifts of persuasion and persistence.  Once he makes up his mind about something, everyone might as well fall in line.  So there I was, in the middle of their acre lot running not only horizontally but vertically as well.  There is a pile of dirt there that must be 1000 cubic feet (like as big as a family room and as high as the ceiling).  Those kids didn't cut me any slack either.  Old grandma didn't want disappoint so she hung in there for about an hour and then had a collapse.  That night I accidently I fell asleep at about 8:00 in my clothes with my running shoes still on my feet.

I spent 5 days there in that crystal clear Montana air, drinking luscious well water, walking to the creek, making cinnamon rolls, watching it snow, getting hugged and kissed, and of course, playing freeze tag.  Just the best!

I got home thursday night and Friday morning bright and early I was on my way to pick up Julia and Steve's kids to come and stay with us for the next 5 days.  I was off and running again.  Making waffles, grilling cheese sandwiches, going to the store, going back to the store, "did you wash your hands". . ."with soap", searching for binkies, "get back into bed", "I'm going to count to three", "don't throw the golf ball in the house", "take three more bites", "we are going to take a bath", "there isn't any more ice cream", "get your shoes on", "where are his pants!!!".  I'm sure you get the picture.

By Monday morning, I decided that busy kids would be happier kids so I took out the basket of work gloves and let them pick their pair.  We all armed ourselves with shovels and went out back to get the garden box ready to plant.  Those weed were as tall as Calvin and almost as stubborn.  The kids thought they were in for a treat but after about 20 minutes they were done.  

That's when my latent mother logic flipped into gear.  I asked them how long they had watched the TV that morning.  "About 2 hours."  "Well," I said, "the rule around here is that we work as long as we watched the TV!"  Their faces fell.  I said, "But, I'll make you a deal.  I'll let you go in and do some of the easy work.  You make your beds, pick up the clothes, and unload the dishwasher."  They were skipped off happy at their good luck.  

Am I mean or am I mean?  The beauty of it is not just that they got a lot done but that Julia owes me now because tonight those kids think that they have the nicest mom ever!

I love my grandkids and consider my life blessed to be their grandma and love being with them whenever I can.  But I have one other small blessing that I will only whisper to you about.  It is that my house is quiet tonight and I have a comfortable bed in the next room which I plan on staying in, peacefully slumbering, until at least 9:00 tomorrow morning.

The bottom line

I have a serious confession to make.  When I had by forehead stitched up by the plastic surgeon, I asked for a consult on . . . . .I can't even seem to type out the word . . . . seriously, this is difficult!  Okay, (one. . . two. . . three. . . . . ) facelift.  There I said it!  Before you judge me I must tell you a couple of traumatic experiences.

In the last couple of months I have been offered the seniors discount at different establishments.  The clerks were just trying to be nice and save me a couple of dollars but PLEASE a couple of dollars are just not worth it.  Another incident, we were at Brookfields for supper and I ordered the turkey dinner and the waitress asked me if I wanted the regular or the senior dinner.  I was just speechless.  David said, "She wants the senior dinner" without thinking about the ramifications.  

If that isn't bad enough, there have been several instances where old (not just older) men have tried to pick up on me.  One guy in the airport followed me around back and forth, up and down.  It would have really worried me but he was pushing a walker.  Another time an older gentleman who hardly had the strength to open the door for me, said as I passed "Why don't you come home with me."  I'm not making it up.  Laura was with me on that one!  

Then there are those unflattering glimpses of myself in the side mirror of the car where "things are larger than they appear" (not a comforting phrase when you are looking at your own double chin).  I realized that I have been brushing on the eyebrow color higher and higher.  Soon I will have to shave off the real eyebrow and use a stencil.  I could go on but I won't.

So, yes, I did ask for a consult.  I sat there and calmly asked "What do you recommend?"  What am I a masochist?  Of course, he recommended this and that and as he went on I realized that he was talking about the whole enchilada.  He even tried to convince me that having a little fat put in my lips would be a good idea.   So, there I sit nodding my head going "yeah, okay, do you think so?"

Then he sent me into the girl who tallies it all up.  SIXTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.  Can you believe that?!?!?  Even though I was just doing this for a lark my secret hopes were dashed to pieces.  Stupid me, I should never have asked.  Now I can't even pretend that I would maybe, perhaps, some day, consider going in for a little work.  The world is a cruel place.

So, none of my loved ones have to worry too much that I will be transformed much before the resurrection. . . . unless I can get on one of those 'plastic surgery before and after' shows.  Do they pay for those procedures?  Where can I call to find out?

Preparedness and the procrastinator

Preparedness.  Such a frightening word for the procrastinator.  It seems like there has been a lot of talk lately about being prepared.  I guess we could contribute this to the stock market or Al Gore and his documentary on the Greenhouse Effect or the giant meteor that is projected to hit the earth next week or Nostradomis and the Mayans (who, by the way, are in cahoots with each other).  Whatever the reason, that old feeling of guilt is gripping me.

I just know that I am one of those foolish virgins.  "Oil?  What oil?  I didn't hear anyone say anything about bringing extra oil!  Where is that lamp?  I had it in my hand just a minute ago."

 So, knowing this about myself and since there is still some daylight shining, what am I doing about it.  I say "Carpe diem".  I get out my lists.  What to buy for a 72 Hour Emergency kit.  I make up a shopping list that will deplete Walmart's camping isle.  

Then my mind really kicks into gear.  I wonder if I should buy backpacks while I am at it.  Where are those backpacks the girls used at girl's camp?  They even had hip straps and everything.  But David and I are getting too feeble to carry all of that water and stuff.  I should look at those bike trailer thingys that you can hook on your bike.  Someone must be selling one on Craig's list.  Before I get on the computer I'd better look at the bikes.  I'll bet the bike tires won't even hold air anymore and I know that one of the hand brakes is broken.

The next thing I know, I am in the garage moving all kinds of things so I can get the bikes off of the hooks where they are stored.  The lawn mower and tools need to be moved.  My quilting boards are in the way so I take them to the attic.  And what do I find hiding there?  The camping equipment with the missing backpacks.  Well, that's a relief!

By the end of the day, I have camping equipment burping out of the attic, a garage that looks like a cyclone hit it, and a crumpled up list for Walmart.  I guess I will seize the day TOMORROW.

I'm think I'm in!

Even though there isn't an official name for this group, I think am in.  They know my name but more importantly the name of my dog!  I am going to call them the 'Mommies of Doggies Walking in the Park' group.  They are a formidable bunch at first, about eight women with dogs of every size and description.  They look like a very pampered group, women and dogs.  The mommies wear hats and sweaters about dogs and the dogs wear sweaters or neckerchiefs.  (I have yet to see any dog with a human on their shirt.  It must be a question of taste!)  They gather every day about the same time in the middle of Maidu Park and visit the morning away.  

  

There is one dog, a HUGE blue-gray standard poodle named Bear who has, apperantly, been scoping Bridget out from afar.  He is always extra friendly when we approach.  Their first meeting really made an impression on Bridget and now, whenever she sees him, she slams on the brakes.  I really have to coax her to come along.  I think Bear has a long way to go to prove to Bridget that he really does know how to behave in a casual social setting.

Poor Bridget, too much attention at the park and sheer boredom at home.  Her true love, Cosmo, a handsome brittany spaniel, is now a resident of Texas and she is forlorn.  No more teasing and frolicking or having someone warm to lay by.  She wanders back and forth from the front window, to the side door window.  Her biggest thrill is seeing Bob Crandall pick up his mail.  I do have to say that he is regular as clockwork and she is always there ready to bark a lung up.

She is really becoming quite the TV bum.  I can understand when she wants to watch Ceasar and the dogs but now she has become interested in musicals and film Noire.  She hangs with David to see who is winning the game.  She is even into the Celtic Women concerts on PBS.  What to do?

As you can tell, things are very quiet around here.  The proof of the pudding isn't just Bridget's behavior but also in the fact that I have been sitting here for 45 min. chronicling her every move.  And then boring you all with it!

Fill my eyes

It has been raining here in Roseville for several days now.  I have had fun watching the raindrops jump and dance in our pool out in back.  We are thankful for the rain because it is raising California up out of at least one deficit.

  

Things have been pretty gray and colorless so today while I ran some errands I stopped by the fabric store to see some color.  I love walking through the aisles looking and touching the different fabrics.  I looked through the skeins yarn for something to inspire me.  I walked through the beads looking for something that sparkled to make I don't know what.  I love the way light shines through glass but I resisted buying anything because I just didn't see anything that spoke to me. 

  

As I stepped out of the store an incredible sight filled my eyes.  There across the sky was one of the brightest double rainbows I have ever seen.  Even the second rainbow's colors were vibrant enough to see the reflection of the entire color spectrum.  I tell you, my soul just shivered with joy!  People were everywhere looking up and pointing just like children.  Everyone had a smile on their face.  The beauty of that God-given moment just lifted up all of the hearts that beheld it.

  There is a scripture in Isaiah 17:7-8 that says, "At that day shall a man look to his Maker, and his eyes shall have respect to the Holy One of Israel.  And He shall not look to the altars, the work of his hands, neither shall respect that which his fingers have made. . ."  I realized that the things I had been looking at in the store were only pretending to be beautiful.  Real beauty is only found in God's creations.

So today many people saw one of those rare, glorious sights of intense color spread across the sky.  It was my rainbow sent to fill my eyes with color.