Big adventure awaits...if only we knew what it was

A holiday weekend is upon us, and the Hero and I have exciting plans. At least I'm sure they would be if we knew what they were.


Our Doing Things Together motto is "Why plan ahead when you can decide at the last minute and miss out on good deals and accommodations?" Since this motto has stood us in good stead for several years, we have a second motto: "Why do things more efficiently?"


It's not as if there is nothing to do around us. I mean, there's PLENTY of shopping.


In fact, I suggested we go shopping this weekend for antiques in Pennsylvania, which we both like to do, but the Hero did not want to spend the entire weekend shopping, even for antiques. Instead, he has begun to make alarming statements consisting of frightening, subversive words, like "kayaking," "fishing," and "camping on the beach." Interspersed among these are the most alarming words of all: "We could go."


"Camping?" I squeaked. "I don't like camping. YOU don't like camping."


"But on the BEACH. Doesn't that sound fun?"


I realize that it is important, in a relationship, to be supportive of the things the other person likes to do. And I do try. I am perfectly willing, for instance, to try camping. I would even go so far as to stay several nights at Camp Hilton, or Camp Sheraton.


"How about kayaking?" he said.


"Kayaking where?" I said warily. The last time we went kayaking, we ended up looking -- and smelling -- like some prohibited substance.


"Where Bob and I went that one time."


Ah ha! Bob.


"You know," I said, "maybe you need to find some more guy friends like Bob. Do ooga-ooga things together." Bob himself, unfortunately, was recently engaged and, as far as I know, at least temporarily unavailable for doing ooga-ooga things.


The Hero looked thoughtful, although he didn't think it was a practical plan for doing anything this weekend, on such short notice. And so we continue to rack our brains for other ideas of things to do.


Of course, there is always shopping.

What would Peter say?

As we readied our home for guests recently, we turned once again to Peter, author and clutter guru, whose wise advice for keeping our home clutter-free we follow diligently. Part of the reason we like Peter so much is that he is such a great joker, as seen here:


"Your home should take 30 minutes to be presentable, tops," he says firmly. "Five is better."


Yep, he sure does know how to joke around!


His insistence on a 30-minute timeline would, of course, require us to keep our home in a nearly clutter-free condition pretty much all the time, even when, as far as WE know, no one else is going to see it for the next year or so.


So although we have great respect for Peter's sense of humor, we do take a few liberties with his suggestions. We translate minutes into days, for example, so that 30 minutes for tidying up becomes 30 days.


Somehow even 30 days weren't enough this time, and we found ourselves down to the wire. "Twenty-three minutes," the Hero said ominously on the day guests were coming over for dinner, and we raced into action.


He frantically looked around for places to stash last-minute items that we had forgotten about -- something not recommended by Peter -- and running out of suitable places, he asked permission to stow something in the oven. DEFINITELY not recommended by Peter, and the request was promptly denied. We really don't want to tell the fire department that our kitchen caught on fire because we forgot about the wrapping paper in the oven.


But the Hero remained optimistic about our chances of having the house, and dinner, ready in time for our guests. "The good thing is," he said, "they've never been here before, so they're likely to get lost. So we probably have some extra time."


They did NOT get lost, however, something that is beginning to be a disturbing trend as more and more people use GPS. Things were much easier when guests relied on Mapquest or Google Maps, because they had little chance of arriving at our home within even a month of when they were planning to. We had plenty of extra time to get ready. But unfortunately for us, GPS brings people right to our house in exactly the amount of time they expected, although it does not tell them where to park, something we MAY, on occasion, have forgotten to mention.


So when the Hero peered out the window and announced our guests' arrival, right on time, we were both unpresentable. While fleeing up the stairs to remedy this situation, we debated about who was less unpresentable and therefore more fit to answer the door. The Hero won, as he always does.


"Tell them I'll be right down," I said, as I always do.


We're pretty sure Peter would not approve of all this last-minute scurrying. But, hey, we know he has a good sense of humor about these things, right?

You just need the right tool

As the Hero and I prepared for guests this weekend -- a process that usually involves panic at the Red Alert level -- we were determined to set about readying the house in a calm, unhurried manner. The key, we decided, was keeping a detailed to-do list, with everything that needed to be done meticulously recorded to keep us on track.


There were 563 things on the list.


We decided the best way to deal with this was just to tackle it head on, so we promptly took a nap. 


Of course we did not nap TOO long, because sleep experts warn that napping too long may interfere with your nighttime sleep. It seems that this problem could be avoided simply by extending your nap INTO your nighttime sleep, something we personally have been tempted to do many times, although not when we are expecting guests, as this might appear rude. 


Rejuvenated by the nap, the Hero announced his intentions of getting right to work: "I think I'll bash a hole in a wall somewhere."


Some readers may remember another time when we were expecting guests, when the Hero, in lieu of cleaning the family room as he was supposed to be doing, bashed a hole in the wall in order to liberate the old fireplace hidden behind it. 


Strongly discouraged, this time, from further bashing of any walls, the Hero declared that he would do all the vacuuming. For this task, however, he needed to go to Best Buy to purchase a new vacuum cleaner.


Was this necessary to do now, today? I inquired. We had a perfectly good one, although the Hero has never liked it ("It's so loud. Why do vacuum cleaners have to be so loud? They make quiet toilets. Apple makes a quiet computer. Why can't someone make a quiet vacuum cleaner?").


It appeared to be extremely necessary to buy a new one now, today.


He returned from the store with a small, bright red canister-type vacuum that partially resembled a mouse with large gray ears and an extremely long tail that stood straight up before plunging to the floor in a graceful loop. Man and machine quickly bonded as they vacuumed their way through the house.


"I like it," he said, and even went so far as to hint that with this vast improvement over our old vacuum -- although he conceded that it might not be as powerful as that one -- he was likely to do more of the cleaning in the future.


I was reminded of a former co-worker who complained that she could never get her husband to help with the housecleaning, until one day they purchased an electric broom. After this, the sweeping of their bare floors became the husband's duty -- nay, his privilege.


"It saved our marriage," my co-worker said. "He'll do anything as long as it involves a machine that plugs in."


So I'm thinking that maybe we women are approaching this business of getting men to help around the house in the wrong way. Clearly what is needed is the right tool. 


Two things concern me about this. An electric tool, and a bare wall with a treasure -- like an old fireplace -- possibly hidden behind it.

We contemplate hobbies

Occasionally the Hero and I discuss what we would like to do when we retire someday, which, for anyone interested, is a time that is still far, far away for us, like DECADES -- assuming scientists can, very soon, greatly extend the average lifespan and move retirement to age 137.


The Hero expresses some concern that I do not have many hobbies, at least not that he has perceived, and wonders if I will have enough to occupy me in retirement.


"Well, I like to bake," I remind him. 


"Baking's a great hobby," he says enthusiastically. "You should keep doing that."


I imagine it would be nice to work in a nursery someday, coaxing cute little plants to bloom happily. This would satisfy my need to nurture things, and the Hero would be relieved to have me taking care of plants that will eventually go home with other people, and not us.


But if I would have to pass some sort of green thumb exam to work at a nursery, I would be doomed. "We're sorry," the nursery people would say. "We think you might be better suited someplace...where you can't kill things."


Which also means that I might not be successful at Hercules beetle rearing. According to a University of Kentucky website, Hercules beetle rearing is a "very popular hobby" and "difficult, but also very rewarding." 


If I did decide on such a hobby, I know the Hero would be encouraging, but would probably also want to set some boundaries. "Not in the house," would be his view regarding any beetle-rearing activities I might want to engage in. Unfortunately for me, one of the main purposes of such a hobby would be to keep the beetles alive. Members of the Hercules Beetle-Rearing Society, if there is one, would be very much concerned about beetles falling into MY hands.


As for the Hero, whatever he does when he retires will most likely involve the acquisition of yet more computers, because the present seven or eight we have are not adequate for him to pursue his interests. Others have mottoes such as "No child without a book!" or "No corner without a Starbucks!" The Hero's motto is "No room without a computer!"


He has also expressed interest in obtaining a second residence somewhere someday. Although he enjoys being by the water, he is partial to yurts, those round tent-like structures found in parts of Central Asia and similar locales, such as Colorado.


One time we ate at Bahama Breeze, part of which was, while not in Asia or Colorado, somewhat yurt-like. He looked around.


"Wouldn't you like to live in a place like this?" he said.


"If someone brought me a menu of good food I could order from every day, sure," I said. 


I think eventually the impracticality of a yurt would force us toward more conventional housing. But it might be just right for beetle rearing.

Homeowners for weeds

Please excuse any typos or other irregularities that may arise in today's post. The Princess was seized yesterday by an urge to rid the front walk of all weeds, something that has oft been attempted but never quite accomplished. She even went so far as to work on some of the neighbor's weeds, which shows how very charitable she was feeling, as normally she prefers that hers not be the only walkway to bring shame on the neighborhood.


This effort, however, has cost the Princess the use of most of her fingers, she hopes temporarily. Coaxing the weeds from between the bricks is not easy, and considerable force is sometimes necessary, as the weeds have wound their roots deep down under the bricks and joined forces with every other weed on the block to produce Superweed.


Knowing that the Princess does not normally engage in weeding of her own free will, the Hero was suspicious. "Did we get a letter from the homeowner's association?" he said.


Each spring, many of us in the neighborhood are blessed with a friendly letter from the homeowner's association detailing our personal failings as homeowners, as evidenced by neglect of our yard or the exterior of our residences. Sometimes the objections raised can seem, to the homeowner, trivial matters ("Window completely missing from second floor"), and on the rare occasion when there is nothing to fault a homeowner with, the association will make something up, such as "Homeowner has mismatched garbage cans. Second offense."


But no doubt the association performs a very important service, and without their vigilant attention all of us would be living in squalor. Of course we would not KNOW we were living in squalor, without the association to tell us this.


But we have not received our annual letter this spring, which makes me concerned that perhaps the association is not going to reprimand us for the weeds, in which case all my hard work and loss of hand function was completely unnecessary. If no letter appears soon, I may send a letter of my own to the association, in which I will state (in a shaky scrawl owing to my injuries):


Dear Sirs or Madams,


Please excuse the poor legibility of this letter. I have just spent an entire day -- no, I think it was SEVERAL entire days, and some nights too -- on my hands and knees pulling weeds in anticipation of your yearly letter telling me I must do so, or face dire consequences.


We have not yet received that letter. If you do not plan to send it this year, I would very much appreciate knowing this. I would be very unhappy to think that I have spent so much valuable time on a fruitless effort. So if you are no longer in the business of threatening homeowners who fail to maintain a weed-free walk -- and more importantly, not in the business of doling out dire consequences -- I am going to immediately replace all of those weeds between the bricks so they can grow back DOUBLY high the rest of the summer. This way, we can maintain our privacy, AND you won't be able to find our house if you change your mind.


We eagerly await your reply.


Sincerely yours,
Homeowners for Letting Nature Be What It Is

How to get rid of stuff*

The Hero and I, realizing that we have put off a deep cleaning of the house for far too long, have therefore embarked on the one path certain to lead us to remedy this situation: inviting people over. 


Typically when beginning this strenuous endeavor, we vow to never again let the house get into such a state, and that the next time we want to have people over, to do something far more sensible: abandon the house and pretend we do not have anyplace to invite people to.


But of course we do not actually do this. Instead, we call upon the one person we always turn to in times of a house crisis: Peter.


Peter is an author and expert on getting rid of the clutter in your house so that you can live the life you've always wanted, provided that life does not already belong to someone else in some other place, such as a sun-soaked mansion in Hawaii. But if you have more modest goals, such as being able to finally locate the bathtub in your second-floor bathroom, Peter is your man.


It takes a humble person to admit you need the help of someone like Peter. Luckily, this humility can often be offset by the realization that your home is not HALF as bad as most of Peter's clients' homes. 


Still, we personally would be mortified to ever have Peter actually visit us.


As part of our present purge, as Peter often calls clutter removal, we went through some boxes in the basement. He recommends various techniques for dealing with items in storage boxes, such as taping the boxes securely and anonymously sending them to someone who, by your judgment, has an issue with perfectionism and, you believe in your heart, could benefit from some clutter in their home.


Just kidding! In actuality, homeowners are advised by Peter to make three piles as they sort through their clutter: one for things to keep, one for things to donate or sell, and one for trash. Though we agree heartily with these principles in theory, we do find it a bit difficult to adhere to one of Peter's most strenuous arguments -- that your "keep" pile should be very, very small. As in practically nonexistent. So we usually just shuffle things from box to box, which gives us the illusion of having actually accomplished something. Sure, this makes us feel a tiny bit guilty, but this is why we do not have Peter come to the house.


This weekend the Hero and I opened a box of miscellaneous items (there really are no other categories of boxes in our house, just Miscellaneous I, Miscellaneous II, Miscellaneous MCVIIXIIXXLTHZ, etc.). It contained important things like candles, old cards, a stray bookmark. 


"What should we do with this stuff?" the Hero asked.


We stared inside the box, as if the contents would magically communicate to us what we should do with them. We felt a strange reluctance to apply our usual strategy of shuffling things around to other boxes, so finally -- after failing to receive any magical instructions -- we just put the lid back on and randomly plunged the box in amongst the other Miscellaneous boxes.


Such an action may not help us achieve our current goal of having a spotless house for guests. But NEXT time, we'll get there. We'll just make sure our guests are taken from a list of Peter's current clients.

*Does not include kids, pets, spouses, in-laws, etc.

**Luckily for them

The garden crime scene

No doubt you are wondering, given the posts about all the garden art we have been accumulating and using to clutter up -- I mean decorate -- our yard, whether there is anything actually live growing in the garden. This is a complex and technical issue that very much depends on your definition of "live" and "growing."


Certainly I have bought plants that were live and growing, and have planted them with the intention that they continue in that state. At some point, however -- generally about two hours after they are in the ground -- they cease to resemble living things and start to look more like some of the worn-out garden art. The tendency for this to happen to my plants has possibly gotten around to the other plants at the nurseries where I shop, which would explain why, when I pick out plants to buy, they cling to anything solid they can wrap their little stems around and wail, "Don't let her take me! Noooooooo...."


So life is going along pretty much as usual in the garden, thank you.


But things have taken a sinister turn lately. Several plants, of different varieties, have sustained damage that by all appearances points to deliberate attacks. Given the pattern of damage, it is estimated that the perpetrators are about 1/2 to 3/4 inch in length and prefer sucking their food to chewing it. They obviously have no trouble getting their daily allotment of greens (which, according to the recent My Plate Insect Nutritional Allotment released by the USDA, should take up the entire plate).


The plant damage suspiciously coincides with recent sightings of certain beetle-type insects. These insects display a peculiar behavior pattern, coming out in the evening when I am watering, hovering about in a display of impressive insect ritual, and then simultaneously, as if in answer to some primeval call (probably "Dinner's ready!"), all disappearing into the rocks.


Insect sprays -- which promise to "kill bugs on contact!" -- seem to have no effect on them. The bugs do not appear in any database of crime that I have checked, making it difficult to know what approach to take to eradicate them.


Last night, however, there was a breakthrough. Though I initially had no intentions of capturing any, two of the suspects are now in custody, resting in comfortable quarters inside an empty spray bottle. ("They're NOT 'resting comfortably,' " the Hero objected. "They made noise in there the whole evening.")


I must conduct my investigations into their identity before any authorities find out that I have no warrant for them and am unlicensed to retain anything with more than four legs on my property. With any luck, identification of the perps and appropriate punitive measures I should take will be speedily arrived at, and the good citizens of the garden will once again be able to rest in peace.


Of course, they'll still have me to worry about.