Fridge fun

Feb. 9th, 2011 09:18 pm
dreaminghope: (Giggle)
Russ is putting the rice on to cook for dinner and I'm ranting about my gym.

I interrupt myself: "Toby, Pete, Stephanie?" I point at the names written on the white board we usually use for a grocery list.

"Oh, those are the kids next door; I finally got the other two's names. I put Toby's name on there so I'd remember why the other two names are there. That other guy moved out and Pete replaced him. He has big glasses and like, hair. And Stephanie's the girl... and I'm glad to finally have her name, 'cause I never wanted to say 'hey, I know we've lived next to each other for years, but what's your name?', you know?"

"Now we just need to get the names of the couple on the other side of the garden again. I feel so bad that I keep forgetting."

"I think one of them is Dave. Probably the guy."

"Probably."

Russ starts pulling vegetables out of the fridge for the stirfry. He turns to me holding a paper bag.

"These are mushrooms," he declares with great certainty and authority.

Of course, by that he meant: "I found these delicious mushrooms in the crisper, but before I add them to the stirfry, I feel that I should inquire as to whether or not you have another meal planned for this week that would require these particular fungi."

All I could do was laugh and keep saying "these are mushrooms", "these are mushrooms", "these are mushrooms".

And my gym-related anger was nicely disrupted. But I'm still probably going to change gyms.
dreaminghope: (Bee Faerie)
Vancouver's been having a prolonged spring. I'm still sleeping under a quilt and wearing a jacket every day. We've had a handful of nice days, but generally it has been cold and wet.

The process for a Slope Soaring class - the first class of the paragliding program - is to call in just before you leave to find out what site you'll be at. Since the site might be as far as an hour's drive away and class starts at 6 AM, we call at 4:45 AM. So at quarter to five - a time that barely qualifies as 'this morning' - Russ, Craig, and I were showered, dressed, packed and standing in our kitchen, ready to go. We made the call. Class was cancelled today due to rain and unfavourable winds.

Craig went back to bed, but Russ and I were too awake. We went off to breakfast at a 24-hour place, then made a trip to a couple of hardware stores to pick up some things (especially a new hot water heater, as our current one is slowly creating a puddle). I cleared a path through the basement for next week's hot water tank installation. When the weather cleared up, Russ did some gardening. I read and played some Sudoku. Russ played some video games. I went to RubyDog's Art House. Russ went out with a friend. It's amazing how much you can get done when you start at 5 AM.

We've got our class re-booked for June 19th; two more weeks to visualize and practice in my head. I'm getting very good at imaginary launches, though people on my walk to work may wonder when I suddenly burst into a quick jog, swinging my arms to pull up my imaginary wing.
dreaminghope: (Zoey)
I have fairly poor eyesight. I don't see well without my contact lenses and I have poor night vision, so my morning journey from my bed side to the bedroom door can be a bit of an adventure. I've ended up tangled in Russ' robe, I've run into the end of the bed, I've ended up crossing most of the room on the diagonal and missed the door altogether. Luckily, Russ is a deep sleeper and rarely wakes as I fumble and stumble my way out.

There are few things I do before putting in my lenses in the morning, but one of those things is petting Puck, who demands attention and affection immediately upon seeing the first human of the day. That means that I'm living in a blurry world for five to ten minutes at the start of each day.

When the world is out of focus, certain details disappear. Details like drifts of cat hair, a fine layer of dust, and the kitty litter that's been tracked across and then ground into the bathmat. My house looks very clean and perfect through the blur; even though it's an illusion, it's a nice way to start the day.
dreaminghope: (Zoey)
I am the happiest carbohydrate addict there ever was and ever will be.

Russ has taken to making homemade bread each weekend thanks to the shiny KitchenAid mixer we got with AirMiles points. I find the smell of rising and baking bread extremely... appealing. The whole bread experience right up to eating a slice of fresh bread with butter melting on it is so sensual.

Today, he made bread. But even better, he made homemade bagels:



They are even better than they look.
dreaminghope: (Giggle)
This morning, I pulled a container out of the deep freeze. It wasn't labelled, but it looked like pea soup, so I popped it into the fridge to defrost for dinner.

Come home from work, open the container... it's not pea soup. It's pumpkin pie filling. Well, that explains the lack of label; I'm the pea soup maker and a compulsive labeller, but Russ is the pie maker, so he would have been the one to freeze the roasted, blended, and spiced pumpkin.

Down to the deep freeze. Pull out another container; this one is labelled "Borscht". Force frozen block out of container and into a pot; it doesn't look quite right. Start heating it; it doesn't smell quite right either. We both watch it melt and theorize as to what it might be or what might be wrong with it if it actually is borscht. When it's thawed enough, Russ does a taste test... it's not borscht. It's seafood broth leftover from Russ' magnificent birthday feast, and it apparently didn't get re-labelled when it was packaged up into a container previously occupied by beet soup.

Down to the deep freeze. Pull out another container; this one is labelled "Pea Soup", but I have my doubts. Open and sniff the frozen block... it's not pea soup. It's also seafood broth.

Down to the deep freeze. Find a container that is decidedly pea soup by both label and appearance, but the mouth of the jar is smaller than the body, so the soup's not coming out until it is thawed.

Dinner ended up being soba noodles and eggs with stir-fried broccoli. The pea soup is now for tomorrow's dinner. New year's resolution for Russ: Label everything before freezing it.
dreaminghope: (Working Zoey)
By most any definition, the Gathering for Life on Earth is long over. We've been home for nearly three weeks, the Facebook friending frenzy has slowed, next year's theme's has been posted to the website, and I've completed my final duties as Board secretary. I'm working on the last of my Gathering laundry today, so along with the usual t-shirts and underwear, I've got swimming towels, sarongs, and cloaks drying on the deck.

Words have been failing me in regards to the Gathering. Other people's words clutter my attempts (they say "the best Gathering I've had", "my favourite Gathering so far", and "a wonderful weekend", and I say... nothing), and the pressure of the unexpressed words is keeping my other writing attempts stopped up. Given that the 3-Day Novel Contest is in two weeks, I must write again despite wordlessness and finger stutters.

I've started slow, commenting on a few LJ posts at long last*. Next, this post. Then, soon – maybe, hopefully – a novel outline in time for the long weekend.

Today's been a day of laundry and words.

I'm awash – lost – in other people's words and in piles of wet clothing. Various distractions (William and Russ' birthday) and bad weather have interfered with my ability to do laundry, so I'm doing about a month's worth this weekend. Between, I've finally read Atwood's brilliant Oryx and Crake in preparation for reading her new book, The Year of the Flood, when it comes out in a month or so. And there's been the The Videographer – the 3-Day winner from 2008. Weird book, but worth a read. Not particularly cheery, though, so Russ won't want it soon. He read The Handmaid's Tale and Cat's Eye back-to-back and is a little over the literary misery. I've told him to read a Bruno and Boots novel before tackling "Oryx", as it is dystopian.

I don't mind dystopian, but I wish it weren't so depressing all the time.



The slowest race is happening on my porch right now, between the drying laundry and the sinking sun. And then it's folding clothes and planning my preparation for the Writers and Readers Festival. I'm thinking this year I might actually try to read some of the authors' works before hearing them speak.

*I've been reading my FL daily, but have had no words for commenting.
dreaminghope: (Squinty Puck)
During my Cornish pastie adventure last weekend, I was quite convinced that I wasn't strong enough to deal with the pastry properly, and that's why it was so hard to deal with. I was sure that I had followed the recipe exactly. I even called my mother while making them to check that I had copied the recipe down correctly.

After making the pasties, I was doing the dishes and I washed the liquid measuring cup and had a little flash of memory: I saw myself measuring the milk for the dough, and I saw myself only measuring a quarter cup instead of a half cup.

Sure enough, when Russ and I made a second batch of pastry to use the second half of the filling, I measured a half cup of milk and though the pastry was still tough, it was much easier to work with than the other batch. Amazing what a difference a quarter of a cup can make:

dreaminghope: (Apple Picking)
I've been going to Curves for about two years now. I've got a visible bicep when I flex for the first time in my life. However, I'm still not as strong as I'd like to be, as I discovered today when trying to deal with the pastry for my Cornish pasties.

As with the Split Pea Soup, this is a family recipe. This time, at least I do have a list of ingredients that includes measurements. At some point, possibly years ago, I wrote the list of ingredients, without a title, on a scrap of paper. On the back of the scrap, my entire instructions were written: "Cook veggies + mince well. Base: sift flour, salt, thyme + marjoram. Stir in cereal. Add egg, butter + warm milk to dry ingredients."

The scrap piece of paper )

Vegetarianizing this recipe turned out to be as easy as I hoped it would be; actually creating the pasties turned out to be much harder than I thought.

The Hope's Vegetarianized Cornish Pasties

Ingredients

Filling:
A couple of small potatoes
1 Tbsp butter
1/4 cup finely chopped onion
1 lb Yves Original Veggie Ground Round or similar*
1 can mushrooms pieces, drained and minced**
1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese
1 Tbsp dried parsley flakes
1 Tbsp Worcestershire sauce***
1/2 tsp salt
Dash of pepper
1/3 cup ketchup

Pastry:
1/2 cup bite-sized shredded wheat cereal
2 cups flour
3/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp dried thyme
1/4 tsp dried marjoram
1/2 cup milk
1/4 cup butter (at room temperature)
1 egg, beaten

Directions

Scrub the potatoes and cut them into chunks. Boil until soft and drain. Allow to cool, then cut into smaller pieces.

In a large skillet, melt the tablespoon of butter. Add the onions and cook until translucent. Turn off the heat and add the potatoes, the Ground Round, the diced mushrooms, and all the rest of the filling ingredients. Mix well.

Put the shredded wheat into a bag and use a rolling pin to crush the cereal. There should be a 1/4 cup of finely crushed shredded wheat when you are done.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Sift the flour, salt, thyme, and marjoram together into a large bowl. Stir in the crushed cereal.

In a microwave or in a saucepan, warm the milk until it is very warm, but don't let it simmer or boil. Remove from heat and add the butter and the beaten egg.

Add the milk, butter, and egg mixture to the dry ingredients, and mix well. Knead the dough until it comes together. This takes a lot of hand strength. The dough may be pretty crumbly.

Roll the dough out until it is about 3 millimetres thick. This also takes a lot of strength. Cut saucer-sized circles of dough (about 5 inch diameter). Spoon some filling into the centre of the circle. Now you can either fold the circle in half flat or gather the two sides of the circle up above the filling (that's the way my Mom does it). Pinch the seam together.

Place the pasties on a baking sheet and bake for about 20 minutes, until lightly browned. Eat hot or at room temperature, or freeze.

*Works out to 1 and 1/3 of a 340 gram package. I'll save the other 2/3 of a package to add to some tomato sauce or nachos.
**I hate canned mushrooms, except in this recipe. I might still try subbing them for fresh in the future, just in principle.
***Some Worcestershire sauces contain anchovies, so for a vegetarian pasty, you'll have to check your sauce. Safeway brand does not contain anchovies.

I had so much trouble with this pastry! My pasties are tasty (I've eaten three of them so far), but terrible looking.



And somehow I ended up with double the filling as I had pastry to fill – I have no idea how that happened, but I'm keeping the extra filling for Russ to make a new batch of pastry.

Still: vegetarian Cornish pasties – yummy! And I'll just have to build some more muscle to roll out that dough.

ETA: What they look like when you make the pastry correctly.
dreaminghope: (Apple Picking)
Russ and I tried to make vegan panna cotta a couple of months ago. Real panna cotta is basically sweetened dairy and gelatin. Dairy's a traditional food for Imbolc, but I don't eat gelatin and one of our friends is allergic to dairy. Luckily, we did a test run of the vegan recipe before serving it to our loved ones... Lesson learned: Never trust a converted recipe where the creator has never eaten the real thing. Hint to the author of the vegan recipe: Panna cotta does not taste like yogurt. At all.

Recently, I've been craving pea soup, specifically the split pea soup my Mom makes. It was originally my Grandma's recipe, and it's good, simple, hearty farmer food. When I asked Mom how to make it, here's the recipe I got:

"Well, you need split green peas. You can get them bagged, but they are probably cheaper bulk. And get about three carrots and an onion. I use a ham bone, but I guess you won't be doing that. Just cook the peas, the carrots, and the onions in some water, and blend it."

How much water?

"Enough for the peas you are using."

How long do you cook the peas?

"Until they're cooked."

Uh-huh.

The Hope's Vegetarianized Split Pea Soup

Ingredients

2 cups of split green peas, sorted and rinsed
3 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 yellow onion, chopped
1/4 tsp salt (or to taste)
1 tsp liquid smoke

Directions

In a large pot, bring 6 cups of cold water and the split peas to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 1.5 hours, until the split peas are tender.

Add another 4 cups of water, the carrots, and the onion. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for another 0.5 hour, until the carrots are soft. Add the salt and liquid smoke.

Cool slightly. Puree in a blender until smooth. If you are blending in batches, stir very well first, to make sure the first batch isn't much thinner than the others.

This freezes very well; I actually think it's even better after it has been frozen.

This recipe has been approved by Russ and my sister, both of whom have had the original split pea soup many times.

Next up: Vegetarianized Cornish Pasties. Hopefully this weekend.
dreaminghope: (Squinty Puck)
Our back screen door doesn't close on its own. Unless deliberately closed, it hangs open and squeaks in the wind. Russ doesn't care, but it bugs me. It takes about ten seconds to close it: notice that the screen door's open, flip both locks (the bottom one sticks a little), open door, close screen until it latches, close door, flip both locks (wiggle the bottom one). Repeat about twice a day.

A couple of times a week, often on Clean Laundry Day, our abundance of socks or underwear will overflow, resulting in a gaping drawer. Open drawer, tuck offending item down, attempt to close drawer, find second offending item (or that first item hasn't been tucked enough), do more tucking, close drawer. It takes five seconds or so, about twice per week.

There are also the wardrobe doors, the kitchen cupboards, and the kitchen drawers; maybe two seconds a piece, which is mostly for crossing the room to close them after Russ hasn't; about once a week each.

Allow five seconds a week for closing the shower curtain after Russ' shower...

While I'm on the subject, I'd best mention straightening the living room throw rug (15 seconds, twice per week) and making sure the tie-backs on the living room curtains all line up (only once per week, after vacuuming the curtains, but it probably takes me 45 seconds to get them satisfactorily tidied).

I don't mention the basement door or the toilet lid because they absolutely must be closed. If the basement door isn't almost hermetically sealed, Puck, our big cat, will open it and descend into the basement, which he seems to think is one big litter box. If the toilet lid is left up, you get wet kitten cuddles courtesy of Zoey the Mini Kitty, who likes to sit in the toilet.

So, altogether, I spend about 236 seconds per week closing and straightening things that only I notice. That’s 3.41 hours per year.

This domestic math has been brought to you by a woman who is not going to leave the living room couch for the sole purpose of tucking away the strap that's peeking out from under the bedroom closet door... really, I'm not.
dreaminghope: (Christmas)
Russ and I spent many hours working on our house over the last month. We tidied and cleaned inside and out. We hung art work we've owned for years. Russ finished the living room floor, a project that's been pending since we moved in more than three years ago. My sister's Christmas present to us was a custom-made bedroom curtain, replacing the cat-covered sheets we'd pinned up.

The prompt for this sudden productivity was Christmas Eve: We were to host my extended family, including Grandma.

In classic upper-middle-class WASP style, I spent much of my time cultivating a "oh, this old thing" style. The Star Trek books get tucked behind everything else where they can't be found, but Harry Potter stays visible – not too embarrassing, and too many high brow books might look fake. But I do leave my old poli sci books and Charles Dickens out too.

Everything was ready: seasonal music in the CD player, egg nog and homemade ginger beer in the fridge, red and green towels in the bathroom… and we watched the snow come down. And come down.

Vancouver doesn't do snow.

At mid-afternoon, after consulting with my parents and aunts and uncles, we had to call it:

Christmas Eve was cancelled.

We were left with a lot of egg nog and Satsuma mandarins and the promise that we can host next year. That gives me one more year to get the bathroom ceiling repaired, replace the sagging futon in the living room, and get a better stand for our water filtration system.
dreaminghope: (Flying Demon Girl)
Love Stinks

Love smells like kitty litter. It smells like a cat litter box that you always scoop and change even though his cat uses it too because ammonia is the one smell that makes him gag.

Love has the sharp moldy smell of the last satsuma mandarin that both of you left in the fridge for the other one, because it's the other person's favourite fruit too, but because neither of you knew it was being saved for you, it just sat in the produce drawer until it turned bad.

Love is the dusty smell off the electric heater that he installed a fancy thermostat for and programmed it to come on very early on Saturday mornings so the kitchen and bathroom would be warm when you dragged yourself out of bed at 6 AM.

Happy Valentine's Day, darling! Thanks for cleaning out those bad veggies last night; I took out the garbage this morning.
dreaminghope: (Default)
Has anyone seen my orgasm?

Quite possibly too much information – siblings should not proceed )

I just hate to leave it wandering around by itself.
dreaminghope: (Starry Starry Night)
I swagger when I wear a tank top. It's a tight white tank top with wide shoulders; the kind often called a "wife beater", but I don't call them that because that's an ugly name, though I understand where that comes from because wearing one does give me a sense of bravado. When I wear it, I swagger, I stand with my legs further apart and with one hip out, and I take up more room on the bus. A tank top brings out my inner Tough Broad.

I'm restless today. The weather's nice but cool - sunny late summer meeting early Autumn - and the Tough Broad wants to go.

I want to grab my keys and a twenty dollar bill and walk. Walk out. Walk until my feet are sore and the sun has dipped below the tree tops, then stop and spend all twenty dollars on whiskey shots in a bar that plays Tom Waits too loud. Tell anyone who tries to buy me a drink or strike up a conversation to piss off. Keep walking.

What do you do when your other self – your wild self that only comes out when you wear those boots or hear that song - tells you that you are too domesticated, too tame, too content?

Keep swaggering.

I need to hang my laundry.
dreaminghope: (Bee Faerie)
Shave my legs; I want to wear a skirt tonight, even if it means navigating a razor around the two hives on my right ankle. Damn allergies.

Ten years. More than a third of my life.

Change the kitty litter. Give the cats fresh water. Russ must have fed them before leaving for work, or maybe they just aren't eating as much because of the heat. It is so stuffy in here.

A couple of weeks ago, he brought home Dairy Queen Blizzards. He didn't bring home spoons; he knows that I wash and keep all the plastic spoons that come into our house and that we have several Blizzard spoons in the drawer.

Ten years. Double digits. A milestone.

I forgot to do the dishes last night. This heat is making me lazy and forgetful. No time to do them this morning; luckily, Russ rinsed everything after he served seconds last night, so it won't be too bad later. I'll try to get them done before we go out for our anniversary dinner. I give the counters a quick wipe to clean up crumbs and coffee marks from the morning's preparations.

A decade. That's a daunting thought. One day, one month, one year at a time, and now we've collected a decade. Today isn't actually different from yesterday, but now it's ten instead of just nine and some.

I've got my purse and my travel mug. Russ left me the last of this week's cherries. I don't think I've forgotten anything. 7:30 already; I've got to get going. The garbage truck is rumbling in the alley, but I remembered to put the garbage can and blue box out last night.

Yesterday evening was a warm-up to tonight's anticipated sappiness:
"I'll be in the living room."
"I'll bring you dinner when it's ready."
"I love that! I love that you bring me dinner every night."
"And I love that you bring me clean underwear every week."

I kissed him for the first time ten years ago today, after we saw Men in Black in the theaters for the second time together. How many kisses is that now? And how many movies seen, meals eaten, tears shed, laughter shared, and orgasms reached?

I'm still new to this MP3 player thing. I fumble with it - drop it when I tangle the cord with my house keys - and when the music finally comes on, it's like an omen, playing song 14: Give Me a Kiss You Dirty Old Bugger*:

most married couples seem to get kind of sick of each other
after too much time together
but once in a while you see an old pair with a sparkle in their eyes
that's strong and weathered

Ten years is nothing really. My parents have together for more than thirty. My grandparents were together for about 60 years before my Grandpa passed away. My great-grandparents were married from young adulthood until Grams passed away at 90 years old. Ten years is just a blink of an eye. It feels that way, anyway.

At work already. The walk does seem to go faster with music. I'll have to remember to thank Russ again for giving me his old MP3 player when he upgraded to a better one. Get the computers up and running and start the emails downloading. During university, when Russ had an office job, I used to go to the computer lab in the main library during my breaks to email back and forth with him. I bet I still have those old emails printed and stored in a binder somewhere. I have mementos from every year, but I don't need to look at them to remember. Only ten years, after all; after another fifty, I may need touchstones to bring back even important individual moments from these early days.

The tenth time we've celebrated an anniversary. Well, not really, since some years we've both forgotten our anniversary; we aren't really romantic like that. Last year we noticed a week late that the date had passed. There's just sometimes too much day-to-day life going on: vacuuming and weeding and answering emails and paying bills and grocery shopping. The things that fill days and years; the things a decade are built on.

It's not even noon yet. I'm feeling a little giddy, and I'm not sure if it's the first coffee I've had this week or the excitement of going out to dinner tonight. Russ has a surprise for me that he is being very mysterious about.

Ten years: A university degree and a college diploma; Mom's cancer, Grandpa's Alzheimer's, best friend's cancer, and Grandma's cancer; six moves and five homes and one house; two cats and one iguana; three beds; two trips to Mexico; Grandpa's death; nine jobs; two months of unemployment; numerous trips to the ER; three vacuum cleaners; four minor car accidents; countless family gatherings; three coffee makers, two French presses, and one espresso machine. And two less Blizzard spoons.

*Kim Barlow, Gingerbread.
dreaminghope: (Bee Faerie)
White appliances are horrible because they show all the splatters. Black appliances are almost as bad because every water mark looks like grease, and all grease splatters show. Stainless steel... I am not a competent enough cleaner to even think about stainless steel. I wish they still made avocado green appliances. They seem to look pretty much the same whether they are clean or not.

When I was a little girl, my parents had these Lazy-Boy chairs and a matching couch with arm covers and head rest covers. The covers were always getting crooked, and I was always straightening them out. It was an afternoon routine when I got home from school: go around the family room and fix all the covers. I would do it again before going to bed. Sometimes I would do it in the morning before school too. They drove me crazy; always crooked and hanging off at weird angles. I was eight when I vowed to never have the dreadful things on my own furniture, and I don't. I do have an area rug that never stays lined up with the wall and the furniture, even with a rubber mat under it. I don't fix it every day, though, because it's under the futon and Russ' desk chair. I fix it every time I vacuum, and I try not to look at it the rest of the time.

When I do laundry, I hang my underwear in a line so the greens are all together, followed by the blues, then the purples, pinks, and the red pairs at the far end. Just because it's just laundry doesn't mean it can't look nice.

I have developed an obsession with paisley. It looks like a really beautiful comma, or maybe an apostrophe. Russ isn't fond of paisley. He doesn't share my deep love of punctuation either. But he lets me babble to him about both, and he pretends to appreciate my newest paisley acquisitions. He even goes out in public with me when I'm wearing my tacky orange paisley shirt.

I have one set of matching bath towels and two sets of matching bed sheets. One of the sheet sets was from a remainder sale, and the top sheet is completely crooked; when it's at my chin, it only reaches Russ' nipples. Some part of me likes when things match – when they are right and straight and tidy and perfect – but I'm cheap. Instead, I adapt my aesthetic sense to appreciate the less appreciated beauty of non-matching towels and crooked sheets. But I still want my rug to be straight.
dreaminghope: (Cute but Deranged)
I'm coming down off my Pine-Sol high. The rum and Coke has only mellowed the hang-over a little. Don't get into cleaning, man; it'll fuck you up.

Eight hours of constant scrubbing, and the walls, kitchen appliances, and bathroom are clean in our rental suite. I'm doing the floors tomorrow and getting a carpet cleaner on Tuesday. Does anyone happen to know what'll get six month old cat pee out of carpet? The pee is six months old, not the cat that made the pee. He was about a year and a half old.

I don't normally go for the hard stuff: Pine-Sol, Vim, Lysol. I try to stick to environmentally-friendly, locally-made, fair-traded, organic, biodegradable, unscented, made-of-sunshine-and-flower-petal kind of stuff. But this job needed something that would melt the dirt right off every surface.

Never again white appliances! But I now know how to get old maple syrup off the inside of a fridge without Vim or anything similar: spray with diluted vinegar, let sit, rub. Repeat until maple syrup is gone.

Ten foot ceilings in a bathroom without a fan: bad idea. Just trust me. Russ got them clean with a sponge mop and a lot of scrubbing. It took him about twenty minutes – the same amount of time it took me to get the stove top de-greased using lemon-scented dish washing liquid. It would've taken me twice as long to wash that ceiling; I need to go to the gym more to achieve optimum cleaning ability.

I'm a bit jittery; I suppose that's the Pine-Sol. Or maybe that's the Coke. I’m kind of dopey and sleepy too; I think that's the rum. Or maybe that's the Pine-Sol. Don't mix your highs, kids.

I need to do an extra half-shift tomorrow, so I'm starting at 6 AM. I was supposed to work today, but I was cleaning. That's a sign of a problem, isn't it? I'm missing work to clean.

I do think I may have a problem. It all started when I helped Shannon clean her old basement suite with Pine-Sol in hot water without ventilation. You could smell the fresh pine scent from the street. After, we laid in the grass and giggled. Good times. The first time's always the best.

I'm going to go sleep this off.
dreaminghope: (Firelight)
Last week and all weekend was hot and sunny and... hot. Hot enough to boil away other adjectives.

Last night, at ten at night, I finally thought that it was cool enough out to try to wash the dishes that had piled up over the hot weekend. The lemon-scented steam rose and the sweat ran down my face and the back of my t-shirt. The air outside was too still to bring any relief through the open window. Then I heard a wonderful noise.

I stepped out the back door and moved to stand in the middle of the back deck and the rain poured down on me in fat, cool drops. Though I was surrounded by the city, the world was quiet and still and dark. It felt like the universe could hear my prayers.

A question

Jan. 19th, 2007 09:41 pm
dreaminghope: (Giggle)
How do you know when you've really gotten absolutely all of the toothpaste out of the tube?

dreaminghope: (Playing Zoey)
This is a follow-up of sorts to my last post on what basic skills every adult should have.

The biggest test of whether or not something is a basic skill is whether or not most people are capable of doing it, so it shouldn't surprise me that everyone on that post responded with skills that they themselves possess. Obviously, we are all smart, well-adjusted people who have mastered all the basic skills.

But no one is really a finished masterpiece. We're works in progress. At least, I am. Or I'm just neurotic; depends on when you ask.

Confession is supposed to be good for the soul...

I always thought that an adult should be able to hang a picture straight. And yet, no matter how much I measure and even when I use a level, I always manage to get the picture crooked. Russ hangs our pictures.

I always thought an adult should be able to deal with hiring whoever is necessary to fix or improve their home, but I am very easily intimidated and overwhelmed by salespeople. Russ deals with them until it comes time to decide what colour of roof we should have. I point to a colour, sign the cheque, and smile a lot.

I always thought that adults should wash their floors regularly. I thought they should iron their clothing (not their underwear or their jeans, just their cotton shirts and things like that). I thought they should change their bed sheets every week. I am capable of doing all these things – they are basic skills, after all – but I never quite seem to get around to it.

But, I know how to refinish an oak floor, I can install moldings and baseboards, and I can put up towel rods (for some reason, those come out level). I almost never forget to scoop the kitty litter. I am a wizard with budgeting.

I feel better. So, confess: What life skills do you think you should have that you lack? What skills do you have, but never or rarely use? Do you feel guilty about not using those skills, or is that just my personal brand of madness? And, finally, what more-than-basic life skills do you possess?

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dreaminghope

February 2014

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