Thank You to All Lab Rats

Thanks, my little lab rats, for joining me in my thirty twenty-two day experiment.

I’ve realized what I wanted to know about me, as a writer — I can’t write a blog and write stories that might actually earn me a paycheck.

Thank you so much for all your kind support and comments.  It’s the one truly enjoyable thing about writing a blog.

Now, go off and start your own Crazie Town.  I’ll come visit.

I Can’t Unsee That

Here’s a life lesson for you.

If perchance your Husband has a colonoscopy and if perchance you visit him in his curtained cubicle in recovery – do not, I repeat, DO NOT exit said curtained cubicle to “take a look around.”

Bailing Twine and Bubble Gum

Dad proudly announced at every opportunity, “Everything on this farm is held together with baling twine and bubble gum.”  I’m not sure if its a trait of all farmers or just Dad but he was a “good enough” kind of guy and that’s the way I learned things.

Getting the broken item fixed quickly (before Mom’s temper exploded) was Goal One. There wasn’t a second goal.  After the fix, any tool he used was left where it lay or if he was outside, tossed through the door of the ramshackle shed.

It came as a great shock to me when I moved in with Husband and he pointed out that the job was not complete until everything was put back where it came from.  Fast forward twenty years and although I’m not as meticulous as Husband, I’ve come to expect a certain standard of repair and order.

Yesterday I went to the hardware store to buy a five-foot closet rod.  When the salesclerk was unable to find what I wanted, he said, “Well…this will probably work.”  It was a hundred degrees outside and I really, really did not want to go to the big box store so I picked up the “good enough” and headed to the cash register.

A picture of my childhood bedroom flashed before my eyes.  Closet with no door, an unfinished plywood floor and  a rod that collapsed if more than three hanging items were attempted.

I did an about-face and returned the good-enough item and, after wandering the store for twenty minutes, found the exact thing I needed.

I could finish by saying Dad would be proud of me – but that would not true.  He’d be prouder to have walked into my closet and seen a pair of old shoes attached to the wall with twelve rusty nails supporting the handle of an old broom.

 

 

Good Morning, Sunshine.

I’ve pushed through the “I’ll never write again feeling” and life is great!

But, I’m not making any promises because who knows what could happen, right?

It’s not that I like to disasterize life, but I want to be prepared – JUST. IN CASE.  Imagine my life is a car on the road, I’m constantly looking at the ditch to prepare in case my life car ends up there.  Where’s the best place to crash?  Can I hold on until I get across this bridge?  Who will I call first?  What if I can’t reach anyone?

And before I know it, even though my life car is still on the road, cruising along as nice as can be, I’m upset because I haven’t prepared properly for the life car in the ditch.

Ummm.  Let’s get back to today, shall we?

My life car is riding smoothly down the road.

Wait!  What’s that on the side of my life the road? AHHHHHHH!!!!

 

Wrasser. Fraser.

Are these curse words for any other families?  My Dad uttered it daily, when he couldn’t find a tool, or his shoes, or anything to eat.

That’s how I feel right now.  I can’t find a story to write.

Twelve more days of this torture I signed up for.

A high school friend wrote on the first day of my experiment, “Don’t let me down!”  Ugh. The guilt.  But it’s working because I know I could never sleep tonight if I didn’t get something posted.  Thank you, Jane.

Wrasser.  Fraser.

Standing Room Only

When I was a kid, television watching was a full contact sport.

Our black and white TV was a giant metal box that dominated our living room.  It was 50’s brown and sat on a black wire stand that allowed it to be twirled swiveled for better viewing.

In our tiny house, there were many, MANY more kids than there were seats to hold them.

Dad got priority with the wooden backed rocker as he suffered his whole life from a bad back.    He sat on his throne and ate bitter sharp cheddar cheese on saltines, or maybe an apple that he’d peel in one long strip.  On really hot summer evenings he’d have half a cantaloupe with a scoop of ice cream in the middle.  His snacks were ignored — until the ice cream came out.

Mom, relegated to doing five thousand loads of wash a day, came in and out but she had a reserved place on the couch.  Anyone sitting there must immediately vacate the position.

That left two seats on the couch and one other chair…for seven kids.  It was full-contact musical chairs, until someone invented “Saved for me.”  Don’t ask me why this worked on a bunch of wild animals, but it did.  We stood up, put our hands on the chair and shouted the magic words.

And then one day, my older sister calmly walked over to a saved chair and said, “Changes. Saved for me. No changes.”

Kapow!  That was a game changer.  Now when a kid stood up – to maybe go try for a scoop of Dad’s ice cream – the entire room held its breath.  Would the idiot leave with only saying “Saved for me”?  Sometimes they would.

I can still remember the feeling of satisfaction of being the one to claim a chair with the statement, “Changes. Save for me. No changes.”   Perhaps I can remember the feeling so well because, we still use it to this day.

 

 

 

I’m an Addict

After yesterday’s blog post, I got lots of encouragement and one great idea.  Change focus. So instead of talking about writing I’m going to talk about television.

I ‘m not much of a drinker and I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life but, I, Mayor of Crazie Town, am a Home Improvement Show addict.

Really, any kind of an improvement show will do.  Fixer Upper.  Project Runway.  Life Below Zero.  Recently I binge watched something called Building Off the Grid, or some such name.  One guy had a team build a mud house, shaped a lot like a tulip, on his remote property.  It’s not totally useless information.  I mean, I have a remote farm and now I SO want to build a tulip-shaped mud house there.

I’ve watched so many of these shows I seem to have lost the ability to follow something with an actual plot.  Husband likes detective shows so we watch those together in the evening, only nobody’s building anything so I get bored.  I’ve tried out one of those adult coloring books but am always disappointed in the results.  I scan Facebook and Twitter and Instagram but no one’s building anything there either and I get itchy for a fix.  Eventually, I sneak upstairs and and shoot up some HGTV.

I, Mayor of Crazie Town, am a Home Improvement Show addict and I’m taking it one day at a time.