TOO MUCH CHICKEN LEADS TO CLEANING

         I’m afraid I was a naughty dog owner yesterday evening. When I decided to tackle that Costco chicken, I was so hungry, I pretty  much stood by the sink dismantling the poor thing. I ate some as I did this, but even worse, I let my doggies have way more than they really should have had. As a result, they both left me a gift…or gifts depending on how you look at it.

It’s hard for me to believe I did not see their gifts when I put them in their houses last night. That is unless they have mastered opening their houses, leaving the gifts and then reclosing the latches. I don’t think so. In any case, it was my fault because I should not have been so generous with that greasy chicken and skin. I didn’t punish them, but it certainly got me off my butt and now I have a completely clean kitchen, computer area and dining room.  I did make them wait in the laundry room until I’d finished vacuuming (they hate that anyway) and mopping the floors.

In the process, I again realized the biggest reason for why I really hate to clean my house. It’s because as I pursue the dirt, dust etc., I see each and every poor job John did when it came to making repairs or changing stuff in this house. That’s also the biggest reason why I’d like to empty it out and sell it off.

          I don’t know just when John’s attention to detail and lack of care about the home we shared began. I’m not sure it began because that was his business and he was always busy fixing something for someone else, working seven days a week during spring, summer and fall, so we’d make it through the winter. I don’t know if it ended up being his passive-aggressive way of getting back at me for whatever fault(s) he found with me.

          It’s very discouraging though to go through my house and see what could have been done ever so much better. It’s also discouraging when I think about what it would cost to have someone come in and correct what’s wrong. In talking to one of my sons, he suggested I just sell the house as is and let the new owners fix whatever they want fixed. He figures they’ll probably change it to suit themselves anyway. But what if I have to stay here for another two years or more…who knows how long this pandemic is actually going to last, right?

          Leaving things as they are also continues to cause me a certain amount of pain because I don’t understand how or why John couldn’t have done the kind of job for me, he did for all his customers. I worked, raised our kids, and kept a very nice house, at least in my opinion. The house was always clean, well kept, and I did my very best to decorate it in a pleasing, attractive and comfortable manner. I didn’t leave piles of crap all over the place and let the windows become grimy. I also kept up the yard. The most John ever did there was to mow the grass until the boys were old enough to take over. After that, we hired the neighbor’s boy.

           Take my wonderful bathroom as an example. John last remodeled in there in 1984. It was wonderful. Since then, I think he had to replace the skylights and the shower door. Thor replaced the toilet for me. I was given this little half circle table which I wanted to use in the bathroom. I didn’t like the legs on the table and explained to John how I wanted them made smaller. Every time I sit on the toilet, I see those legs and the piss-poor job he did. I could have done as well myself. 

Then, there’s the second shower door. I loved the first one. It was solid glass. I came home and thought something looked strange while I was going potty. It was the shower door which had shattered into a pile of pieces in and out of the shower. John said he couldn’t find one like it and installed this other one that is ugly, has aluminum side bars and he glued a piece of wood at the top supposedly to keep the door from breaking somehow.

When I decided to paint the bathroom, probably when he put in the second set of skylights, I also wanted to do the cupboards. I painted the cupboards black, and he sanded, stained, and maybe shellacked the doors. You can tell looking at the doors that it was a crappy job. He also didn’t provide any instructions when it came to painting the cupboards black. I didn’t know I should have put a base coat on first, so, the black paint hasn’t adhered well in some places the way it should have. When it came to painting the walls and the skylight insets, if you look, you can see that the painting job wasn’t done very well…a second coat would have made it perfect.

At one point after I retired, I redid the caulking around the toilet. That meant removing the old caulking and installing new. I did a great job. I took a trip to California and while gone wanted Thor to install this vinyl strip between the linoleum and tub and shower. He did, but it was the kind of job his father would have done, so I figure John supervised. He also put new caulking over the caulking I’d put around the toilet and it’s white rather than the clear I used.

I know I’m whining again about John and the way he did and/or left things. How could I post just yesterday about missing him and wishing he were here to welcome me home, talk to me, whatever. It seems like I get to a point where I’m going along just fine and then I do something stupid like clean house. I try not to let it bug me, but I just don’t understand why he couldn’t have done his best for me the way I always tried to do my best for him.

Of course, the perfect solution to this is to no longer clean house. If it’s going to send me down this road and make me blog about John and his lack of understanding or passive aggressive tendencies, perhaps it’s the best solution all round…especially since I can’t have company anyway. Still, I do have to admit I really like sitting here surrounded by a shiny floor, sparkling glass, and a dust-free computer screen. It’s probably time I just get  on with it and stop trying to figure out the whys and wherefores since I’ll never ever actually get an answer.

SHOPPING AND MISSING

        Today (Monday) was my go to ACE, QFC and Costco day. People have been saying grocery store prices are going up and I guess they must be right. I couldn’t believe the amount of money I spent on stuff just for me, myself and I. I’m not sure which of us is going to be eating all this food, but whichever one had best get busy, especially when it comes to salad.

          I didn’t look in my vegetable drawers when I was making my list. So, when I got home with a small bin of 50/50 greens and a head of living butter lettuce (my favorite), I opened the drawer only to discover I had an entire head of iceberg lettuce I haven’t touched.

          At Costco, I bought one of the rotisserie chickens, so this evening I’ll be having a chicken salad with lots of greens. Actually, I’ll probably be having this chicken for a couple of nights this week. John didn’t like those chickens because he found them too greasy. Personally, I just peel off the skin and they’re fine...the wings are my favorite. I actually miss Safeway's chicken wing stations. They still have the chicken wings; they're just cold and packaged...I like em hot.

          Not going out and about for a week or more, I still find it surprising to see everyone in a face mask…grateful too. I do miss our ability to smile at each other and have a conversation. I did have a bit of a conversation at QFC with my two favorite checkers. I always look for them and one other person, or ask about them if their presence isn’t apparent. So far, like me, they are weathering the pandemic and staying healthy. I do so appreciate their hard work and dedication and typing that, think I should do something to let them know that…a card maybe.

          I don’t know about the rest of you, but wearing a mask makes me so hot and sweaty, and not just on my nose, cheeks and chin. It seems to affect my entire body. When I finished at Costco, I couldn’t wait to pull off my mask and my sweatshirt. This morning I went out to walk and decided I needed a heavier shirt. I went back and got my zip-up sweatshirt. Before I’d gone even a quarter of the way on the walk, I took it off. I was so hot. My walking partner agrees with me about the mask making us hot. About half-way through, there’s a bench on which I take a minute or so rest for my calves (although they’ve been fairly good lately), and we both remove our masks and breath, breath, breath before continuing.

          Anyway, now I’m back home to my silent house and wishing John were here to occupy the emptiness. I know if he were here, he would have most likely eaten the iceberg lettuce. I also know the grocery bill would have been ever so much larger because of the things he’d have put on the list which I now don’t.

          I guess, for the most part, I’m doing okay with John’s absence. It’s just there are times like now when I wish he were sitting in this chair at this computer while I sit in the other room in a chair at my computer. I find myself wondering some days how I could possibly miss him more in a particular moment than ever before. It seems like the missing is supposed to lessen over time. Instead, there are instances when I feel an actual physical pang or pain…and no, it’s not gas!!! It’s not something I can actually describe because I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s a little like the feeling you get when you’re almost asleep and dream you are falling…sort of like a baby’s startle.

Ah heck, I don’t know. I just know some days, especially days like today where I’m out and about, but there’s hardly any interaction with other people, I return home and feel that pang/pain and wish so hard John were here to welcome me back. At least the doggies are always very excited to see me…at least I have them.

TAKING FOR GRANTED, GIVING THANKS

        It’s amazing what we all take for granted. Just now, I took my chenille bathrobe out of the dryer. I hadn’t finished the laundry yesterday. I was cold wearing just my nightie. My bathrobe was wonderfully warm. I put my arms in the sleeves and wrapped it around myself. It felt so very good. I was no longer cold, but enfolded in warmth. My dryer provided this pleasurable sensation.

          It made me think about all the things I take for granted and have for much of my life. All the modern conveniences that make my life easier and better. They are just there and I use them without thinking day after day after day after day.

          My grandmother had to make her own soap. She used ashes from her fires and fat from the hogs slaughtered each year. It certainly wasn’t Tide or Dove or available on the shelf of the local country store. Grandma washed clothes in a much different way than my mother eventually did and I do now. She boiled a vat of water, put the dirty clothes in, sloshed them around for a bit with a stick, pulled them out one at a time and scrubbed them on a scrub board. That was a wavy piece of metal set between wood edges. Clean, the garment was then submerged into water again to remove the soap and finally hung to dry on a clothes line.

          I can certainly see why people back then only bathed and changed their clothes once a week. If I had to go through that today, you can be certain I wouldn’t be putting today’s clothes into the hamper to be washed and dried at a later time.

          My mother’s life was a bit easier, but I can remember her using a washboard when we lived in Idaho. After we moved to Seattle, she got a wringer washer, and once a week, she pulled it from its corner in the kitchen and did laundry. In the summer, she hung the clothes and linens outside in the sun. In the rainy winter, they were hung in a shed adjacent the house. Still not easy-peasy. I don’t remember that changing until my parents left that house. It was then she got the washer and dryer that I had immediately available when I moved into my apartment. No washboard for me and I have taken for granted my wonderful washer and dryer ever since.

          I was just telling my granddaughter last week that I’d never had a garbage disposal or a refrigerator that dispensed ice and running water. I also told her I hadn’t and didn’t miss ever having them. The dishwasher is a different story. I didn’t use it much until after John passed away. He liked to do dishes and used Ivory bar soap as his cleanser. He said it kept his hands soft…he did have very nice hands even though he worked with them all the time. I didn’t like using Ivory bar soap. It really didn’t cut the grease very well. When I did the dishes without using the dishwasher, I used Dawn on my scrubber.

          Once John died and I had to do the dishes, I turned to the dishwasher. It has a half load cycle which is almost perfect. Just last week, my walking partner told me about an express button…we have the same dishwasher. That’s even better than the half load and only takes 30 minutes instead of an hour and 45 minutes. The dishes came out just as clean. And, yes, I could do all my dishes by hand each and every day because there aren’t many and I always wear rubber gloves.

          Now, those rubber gloves are something else I’ve always taken for granted. Can you imagine how harsh grandma’s lye soap was on her hands and those of my mother when she became old enough to help. They never ever wore rubber gloves no matter what they were doing. I have worn them all my life…to do the dishes, to clean the house, to clean the bathroom, to rinse out poopy diapers. I cannot imagine doing any of that without my trusty gloves. My dad was a baker and told me there were some things you just had to mush about with your bare hands. I have much thinner gloves for times like that. About the only time I didn’t and don’t wear rubber gloves of any sort was to wash myself or my children.

          The warmth of my bathrobe has dissipated, but I’m still not cold because of the central heat. I was born on the floor in front of a fireplace because that was the only warm place in the house. I remember the stoves in the two houses we lived in in Idaho. They didn’t provide heat throughout the house and had metal pipes that carried the smoke to the outside world. Those pipes got really hot and I have a scar somewhere on the back of my left arm from scooting behind the stove and not making myself small enough.

          Once in Seattle, we had a furnace, but the heat wasn’t piped to every single room. Instead, the furnace was beneath the house and the heat came up through a couple of floor registers. Want to get really warm…stand over that register in a long flannel nightie and let the hot air blow up around your body. Of course, I got all the heat at that point and it didn’t go anyplace else. I don’t really remember being cold in that house, but I do remember ice forming on the inside of the single-paned windows.

          My house came equipped with a furnace and ductwork to each and every room. The only times I’ve been cold here is when the power went out. The longest period was five days and it became sooooooooo cold inside. I think the covers on my bed weighed more than I did. We used the fireplace, but you were only warm in front of it and had to turn yourself as if on a spit to warm both sides.

          Mustn’t forget about the stove. I would have preferred a gas stove, but an electric one works just fine. I remember how my grandmother took care of the electric stove in her apartment. It sparkled every single day because I think it was a revelation to her. If she could see mine right now, she’d be appalled. The closest I’ve ever come to cooking without a real stove is using a camp stove. Still, that’s not like cooking over an open flame in order to feed ten or more people at one time. My grandma was one tough woman.

          What about the refrigerator and freezer? Back in Tennessee, I believe they put perishables in the closest running water. I even remember having a friend when I was very young who had an actual ice box for a fridge. John remembered having ice delivered to his house when he was young. Now, I just open a door and take out cold milk or vegetables I bought several days ago, or jars of mayonnaise and mustard. No need to make a batch each time I want a sandwich. John and I bought an upright freezer about 52 years ago. We’ve had it repaired just once in that time. I’m still using it, and, knock wood, it will continue to keep my meat and berries and other stuff frozen for some time to come.

          I don’t have central air conditioning, but if I do certain things early in the morning, the house remains pretty cool on a hot day. Otherwise, I do have a window air conditioner I can actually put in place myself. The heat doesn’t bother me as much as it did John…69 degrees and cloudy was his idea of perfection. For the last decade or so, we always had the window air conditioner in place in the living room for John’s comfort on the days it was 70 plus degrees.

          There are so many things I take for granted, I could probably go on discussing them for pages and pages, i.e., wanting to can fruit and vegetables rather than having to do so for survival, having the funds to purchase whatever I need from a store (or Amazon), being able to travel more than 50 miles in an hour or less, etc., etc., etc.

          Today is Sunday, a day on which I was raised to believe you gave thanks for all your blessings. And, I do, I do give thanks for every single thing in my life that makes it easier and better, more pleasurable and desirable, far more so than it was for the women who proceeded me.

CONFUSION

         It never fails to amaze me how a person can present one façade to you while actually doing something else.  I don’t understand how a person can actually treat you one way, or do things a certain way, and yet, do the exact opposite of what you expect. And, it’s not like you can call them out for what they are doing. It’s very confusing for me.

          I’ve always tried to be up front about everything in my life. I’ve always tried to be honest in my dealings with friends, family or even the odd person who just happens to show up in my life.  I simply don’t understand how a person can say one thing and then do the exact opposite. Maybe I’m simply too naïve and don’t get it.

          I cannot cite any particular persons or occasions here because I would undoubtedly be roasted over an open fire for saying such things or attributing it to a particular person. Thankfully, there haven’t been a huge number of people like this in my life. Also, once the situation became apparent, that person was no longer a part of my life except for exceptional circumstances. It would give me a huge feeling of satisfaction to identify those people, but I simply cannot, without creating an entirely new fiasco.

          And, to be perfectly honest, I do sincerely believe there are some people in my life who do not take me at my word, that choose to believe I have another scenario in mind when it comes top whatever it is I’m working on or discussing.  I don’t understand how their minds work or how they can find fault with me when I’m attempting to be honest and above-board.

          These are the same people who rave about another person or persons who do literally and absolutely nothing for them. I’m here, and I do whatever I can to assist or provide when it comes to needs or wants. I don’t expect huge accolades or effusive thanks, but some form of recognition would be nice. However, me, myself and I are in no way, shape or form, acknowledged by the individuals who go out of their way to thank and approve or provide some form of accolades for the person(s) who doesn’t provide anything in the way of support.

          Seriously, I don’t get it. Why am I not recognized for what I actually do or what I can actually do as opposed to those individuals who do absolutely nothing and yet receive recognition in a huge post or thank you on Facebook, or even a small thank you card.  I realize in some cases that the individual recognizing someone else for basically nothing is trying to get some sort of acknowledgement from the person doing the recognition. So far, from what I’ve seen, it usually doesn’t appear to work.

          Instead, I’m left feeling as though I’m some sort of idiot for trying to be whatever that person wants. I’m left feeling as though my efforts are not recognized or appreciated. It’s at that point I feel as though there’s no point in continuing to try to do whatever I can to assist the person/people in whatever their goals may be.

          Perhaps I’m just at a low point right now and focusing more on the “don’t have” column as opposed to the “have” column. In any case, when it comes to the thankless folks in my life, there aren’t all that many…could probably count on the fingers of one hand. So, it’s best I look at and appreciate all the wonderful people who do inhabit my life and assist me in feeling good the majority of the time.

TODAY...

I have absolutely nothing to say.

POKE AND THE BEACH

          Today, Thursday, I did something I haven’t done in a long while, actually more likely years. First, my walking partner, Kathy, and I ordered food from Ono Poke. This restaurant is owned by a former Hawaiian who opened the restaurant because he couldn’t find good poke here…it’s absolutely delicious. After we picked it up, we went to the Edmonds beach, sat at a picknick table and ate our lunches. It wasn’t sunny, but it wasn’t cold and the breeze wasn’t too bad.

          Once we’d eaten our lunches, we decided that rather than walking the path, we’d go down to the beach and walk that instead. This is the part I hadn’t done in a very long time.  We may not have walked the thousands of steps we usually do, but we spent way more time walking. And of course, we did not have the proper footwear for an extremely low tide. Still, we persevered and walked a long way south down the beach. It was probably one of those tides where we could have walked from Edmonds to Richmond Beach. We didn’t do that.

          Kathy had spent a lot of time on the beach as her children went through elementary school. She’d learned a lot. My only time on a beach with elementary aged children was when my son was in fifth grade or thereabouts. My son’s teacher’s parents had a place on Hood Canal. Every spring, she took her class to the canal.  I was one of the chaperones and drivers. For some reason, when I did that sort of thing, perhaps because I had male children, I was given the more troublesome kids.

          There are only two things I remember from that trip aside from my group being a bit more challenging. One is finding a perfect moon snail shell which I still have. The other is illustrating to my kids how not to hold a crab. Somehow, I managed to pick up the crab in such a way that it grabbed one of my fingers with one of its claws. As I was trying to educate my group, the crab‘s other claw managed to grab another finger.  All I wanted to do at this point was to shake my hand and utter obscenities at the top of my lungs…it was so painful. Somehow, I managed to not do that and was able to rescue my fingers from the crab claws. “And, children, that is how you DO NOT WANT to pick up a crab.” My fingers were extremely sore and ended up quite bruised for almost a week.

          Yesterday, Kathy was much more knowledgeable about what we were seeing than I. If I had her knowledge at some point, I’ve since lost it. I did find another moon snail yesterday and it was alive. Kathy carefully took it and placed it into a more wet environment. When we were on our return walk, we found it again. It had a pile of sand around what would have been its foot or face(?), so it had burrowed into the sand. Since we’d seen a seagull feasting on another moon snail, I carefully covered this one up with seaweed. Hopefully, since the tide was now coming in, it survived.

          Kathy also pointed out a number of sea anemones. I wouldn’t have spotted them otherwise. I loved touching them and watching as they pulled themselves closed.  Kathy even touched one that sent up a spout of liquid…I told her it was trying to pee on her.  We also picked up a number of interesting rocks, some of which went into our pockets and some of which we left on the beach.  I even brought home a piece of what I think is redwood. It’s very colorful and has some holes in it. I’m wondering if there’s anything living in those holes. For now, it’s on my deck. Once it dries out completely, I’d like to include it in the mobile for which I’ve been saving driftwood for years.

          A few days ago, the Shoreline Journal had an article about a very low tide. I was sorry I hadn’t known about it. When I got home yesterday, I looked up the tide charts for the next month.  It appears there will be low tides the next few days with a few more the middle of June. I sent the information to Kathy in an email.  Hopefully, we will return to the beach on one of those days, clad in the appropriate footwear and wearing a backpack so we can carry home far more treasures than we did today.

          Maybe we can even order more poke…it was delicious!!!

MY OPINION/EXPERIENCES

       Earlier this week I tried writing a post about the deaths of the three black people, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor and the protests that are occurring across the country. I came to the conclusion that I don’t really know very much about any of that. Overnight, I decided the only thing I could post about was my own experiences.

          My mother was born in Tennessee and the only story I ever heard that involved black people was about a beating she received because she had gone off to a black church because she liked the music. When I was growing up, my mother worked downtown at Kress’ dime store. Some of her coworkers were black. She always treated them with respect and expected the same from me when I was introduced.

          The only example of racism I can remember in my family came from my father. A bunch of my friends had come home from school with me. We were all playing outside, probably tag or some game that involved touching each other. One of my friends was Pilipino and later, my father told me I was never ever to let that black kid touch me. I was shocked and amazed by his order because I didn’t see the skin color, I just saw a friend.

          In high school there were only Caucasian kids until my senior year. Then, two black girls and one black boy came to the school. They weren’t in any of my classes and appeared to pretty much stick together. I didn’t give it much thought at the time and now wish I had made more of an effort to be welcoming.

          It wasn’t until I was 26 years old that I had my first black friend. He was employed by the adjoining department at the University of Washington, but some of his professor’s research happened in the lab on my floor. My friend had to walk by my office entering and leaving the lab. We got to talking and it became a habit for him to stop, sit down and we’d talk. From there, we began having coffee in the cafeteria whenever it was convenient for us both. I also gave him a ride home now and then.

          I had never really given it much thought, but in our conversations it became very apparent to me that he and his family were just like me and my family. They had the same dreams, desires, and kind of lives that my family and all the other white families I knew did. It was a revelation to me.

          At one point, my friend stopped coming around. I had told him to let me know if I ever said or did anything that was offensive because I’d never had a black friend. I asked one of his friends what was going on. He didn’t know, or said he didn’t know. I asked him to tell our friend I missed him and wished he’d resume our friendship. So, my friend came back and it wasn’t anything I said or did that made him stop having coffee or visiting with me. His professor and some of his white co-workers had made very offensive (to him) remarks about me and our friendship.

This was a time where white-black friendships were rare and white males took exception to interracial couples. Now, my friend and I were not a couple, but apparently it appeared that way just because we spent time together. I told my friend his boss and coworkers could think and say whatever they liked about me. For that matter, people who came into the cafeteria and saw us together could also think what they liked. I told him, “You are my friend. I value our friendship and want it to continue. If it makes you uncomfortable, I certainly understand.”

My friend and I went back to the way things were, but my opinion of his professor and coworkers took a huge hit. I’d never seen them as bigoted racists before, but I certainly did from that point on. When I left my position at the UW, I lost track of my friend, but found him again decades later on Facebook. We don’t chat much, but I’m always pleased when I see his name on my computer screen.

Later on, I went to work for the Seattle Department of Parks and Recreation. I met many more black people there and always treated them with respect and consideration. There were some I genuinely liked and got to know fairly well. In one case, a woman with whom I worked was diagnosed with cancer. I deeply mourned her passing.

There was one young woman in the department who did make me very angry. I can’t remember if it was during the Watts riots or what had happened. She would go on for an entire coffee break about how awful everything was. If I’d made all the same comments she did, replacing the word “white” with the word “black,” she most likely would have reported me to human resources or physically attacked me. I knew she was very angry and kept my mouth shut. This was the first time I became personally aware of black anger and the need for some kind of change.

A couple of decades ago, a mixed-race couple moved into the house next door. Over the years I’ve gotten to know them. The husband may be black and the wife white, but they are just like any other married couple I know. I’ve welcomed their two children and watched the father interact with them through my front window. He is, without any doubt on my part, the best father I’ve ever witnessed.

We’ve never discussed race or whether or not they’ve had to talk to their children about how to act if they are stopped by the police. I’ve never asked if they’ve had any difficulties in our community. I believe I’ve never brought any of this up in our discussions because I don’t see the color…I see a set of wonderful parents who are also great neighbors.

Finally, I have family in Tennessee. I’ve only made three, maybe four, visits there, but not once have I encountered any racist comments or seen any family members act in such a way as to be offensive to anyone because of skin color. I very much like and appreciate that.

Instances of black people, or people of any color, being treated and killed as the three in my opening paragraph were saddens me. The fact the peaceful protests are highjacked by human beings and turned into events that are the exact opposite of the overall goal also saddens me. I feel as though there’s nothing I can actually do to make any improvements aside from what I’ve always done. Treat every single person that enters or is part of my life with respect and consideration for each individual rather than that person’s color.

          I’m not exactly happy with this post. It‘s such an important topic and while I feel a need to write something, I don’t feel it’s particularly helpful. I just wish each and every single person in the entire world would take a step back and remember the “Golden Rule.” I’m sure if everyone treated everyone else exactly how they’d like to be treated, there wouldn’t be any George Floyds, Ahmaud Arberys and Breonna Taylors. It doesn’t seem like too terribly much to desire.