An Engineer's Expression of Love

So.  I once heard an acquaintance relate the following story after Valentine’s Day.

          

She: “HE (meaning her husband) won’t EVER buy me an appliance for any holiday ever again after our little “chat” last week!”, she said, smirking as she lifted her wrist to show new diamond tennis bracelet.  Chorus of other women present, heads nodding:  “You go, girl!  Right on! Amen, sister!”

And I remember thinking - Wow! If I said that to hubby, I wouldn't get nuthin at all, and I’d most likely make him cry.

Yes.  I married an Engineer.

Engineers are like the 3rd round draft pick in the gene pool.  Solid.  Dependable.  Not too flashy.  Great fathers.  Good providers.  Engineers are the mid-sized sedan, or a minivan with power windows, but not heated seats.  They’re like the Schnauzers – cute, but not too cute; fiercely loyal and independent.  Their haircuts mean they don’t shed (the engineers, I mean).  And oh, can they fix stuff; like a broken knife sharpener purchased for under $10 dollars 23 years ago; because hey, who would want to buy a new one when, with a little duct tape and some paper clips, the fixed one will last at least another week or so?!

Well, maybe I am being a bit harsh.  I’ve received flowers and chocolates on Balentimes Day before.  Just, you know, not every year, or maybe decade.  And jewelry to an engineer is ‘so cliche, so expected’...or so I’m told.  On the other hand, hubby always finds the perfect greeting card and is good for a beer and some appetizers at the local bar.  And a reminder that he did just install the new garbage disposal in the kitchen, just sayin'.  A true expression of an engineers' love.  Especially when he doesn't mention the fork that was jammed in the old one.

He insists that because he doesn't lavish me with romantic gifts every year, it makes the times he does just that more special.  I’m pretty sure that this statement is also Newton’s Third Principle of Diminishing Returns or some other engineering credo.  An engineer’s pocket protector might come out of an engineer’s shirt each night, but the mindset goes with him permanently.

Okay, true confessions time.  Do I secretly long for a jeweled surprise in a velvet box? Sigh, maybe.  Alright, hell yes.  I know I would enjoy an arm full of yellow roses, too many to count, or maybe just the petals sprinkled around the house, candles lit, and to be served an amazing dinner accompanied by a seriously excellent martini.  Can I hope that maybe that he’ll whisk me away on a weekend trip that he planned?  Well, this year he’s taking me for an overnight to Toledo in order to celebrate brat #3’s birthday – does that count?  (In an engineer's world, the answer is yes.)

In reality, will I like my new vacuum and use it often?  Sigh.  Of course, I will.

So to all you ladies whose Valentine’s Day gifts will come in boxes stamped “Rival”, “Kitchen Aid” and “Presto”; who’s hubby can fix, repair, and replace faster that the speed of light, and who's idea of 'let's go shopping' is a trip to the hardware store; to all those whose lifetime loves are solid and dependable vs. impetuous and ‘romantical’; whose Valentine’s Day cards will have words that rhyme with ‘beer’ and ‘remote’; I offer this classic expression of love, better than Hallmark, and etched on an engineer’s heart and in his actions (but would never pass his lips because it’s you know, poetry):

How Do I Love Thee?

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

Sugar is sweet

Saying the word “diet” in January has become so commonplace, it borders on cliché (props to Leonard’s mom on the Big Bang Theory for such a great line).  Post January 1^st, friends flout their weight loss journeys on social media, the fat free/sugar free/mostly bags of puffed air aisles of the grocery store are empty, gym memberships soar, and everyone you know is engaged in the battle of the bulge. Collectively, all us fluffy people unite in an “I’m gonna DO this” mantra at the start of each year that sadly and usually wilts under the oily glare of a deep fried Super Bowl snack wonderland.   And, well, I’m no exception.  To quote the late, great writer Erma Bombeck, “I’vebeen on a constant diet for the last two decades.  I’ve lost a total of 789 pounds.  By all accounts, I should be hanging from acharm bracelet.”  

Amen, sister.

Of course hubby is a genetic freak who has never weighed more than 6.3 pounds over or below what he weighed in college.  Every so often, he will weigh himself, step from the scale, place his hands on his waist (he has no hips or ass to speak of), shake his head and mutter that he needs to lose ‘a few pounds’.  His ritual of losing weight involves looking very serious, closing his eyes for a few minutes, flexing all his muscles real hard, at which point 5 pounds drops from some unseen part of his body, where it lays quivering on the floor for a few seconds.  And then, like the crab creature in the movie “Alien”, it scuttles across the floor and attaches itself to my thigh, where it refuses to let go. 

Okay, this January, as I stared back at the chaos of 2014 – weddings – showers – graduations – funerals – as well as periods of just feeling like crud - I simply couldn't bring myself to pick from one of the A (Atkins) to W (Weight Watcher) diet programs that line my book shelf.  You could say I’m a diet program connoisseur – I’ve probably sampled them all.  But not this year.  So, the food scale sits dusty.  The Points book/Calorie Counter is still tucked away.  My gym membership key card is in pristine, underused condition.  And the great pantry conversion of chips and cookies to carrot and celery just didn’t happen.

Well, if you’re a woman over a certain age, say 50, extra weight messes with you in ways you didn’t expect.  Aches and pains settle in and refuse to leave, despite Advil and red wine.  Flexibility becomes non-existent – ‘Wait, you want me to TOUCH my toes?  How about I just glance in their general direction?’  Your fasting blood work resembles the Wall Street ticker after a crash – values that are supposed to be low are high, values that are supposed to be high are low, and you’re in a coffee-less, cruller-less stupor from the required fasting that takes hours to recover from.  You find yourself marking “X”s on the calendar, counting down the few years left until you’re exempt from the Lenten fasting requirements.  And lastly, courtesy of MENopause, fat takes on that stubborn, bitchy, lack of sleep attitude you have after “sweating because you’re oldies hot flashes” night after night.  Extra chubbiness now just sort of looks back at you with an insolent “What? Leave? Make me.” cheekiness when you pick the ‘fat burning’ program on the Exercycle. 

But when during that glorious, painful, yearly checkup known as the physical the doctor begins to look at your chart, look up at you, look down at your chart, and back up at you, while muttering increasingly concerned “hmmms”, you realize he isn't worried about making his tee time and you slowly understand the hammer is coming.  Despite your best efforts to distract your doc - "Look, a wart!" - its that awkward time to talk about your weight. Blech.

So, while at the GI doc’s office, I spotted an article on sugar, processed food, and obesity.   Nutritionists tell you that the average American consumes 20 added, unseen teaspoons of sugar in their diet every day.  Ever wonder what 20 teaspoons looks like?  (I didn't either, but here you go anyway)

Hidden sugar?  It’s in everything.  Don’t believe me?  Check your pantry and labels.  What the…what fun is it if you can’t actually enjoy the sugar you’re eating?  To quote my kids, ‘that’s not fair!’  The American Heart Association recommends women eat no more than 6 added teaspoons of sugar every day.  Big difference.

And so I started some simple steps to begin carving extra sugar out of my diet.  Notice I did not say I stopped consuming any piece of sugar anywhere.  We all know how well cold turkey works…it simply doesn't.  And it turns out that real food contains sugar – fruits, vegetables, dairy products and dairy replacements, eggs, alcohol and nuts contain a certain level of sugars.  No fruits or veggies?  No wine?!? Um, no.  But me, like probably everyone else in the Western Hemisphere, has become conditioned to the taste of over sweetened food.  Splenda is 300 times sweeter than sugar. 

Well – light bulb time.  Maybe I should just eat real food and drink real water.  And exercise more.  OK, maybe more isn't the right word in describing exercise; maybe ‘start’ is more truthful.  Sounds easy, right?  Simple math.

           

            Healthy Eating + Regular Exercise = Healthy Weight

Except I suck at math – and added sugars, particularly in processed food is in every part of my diet – pretty much like every American’s diet.  Maybe this ain't gonna be so easy, after all.

But, the doctor’s look at my last physical spurs me onward (fear can be such a motivator), so I started with a simple rule: don’t drink calories or more specifically, don’t drink ‘empty calories/empty sugars’.  Farewell fruit juice, so long Diet Coke and Crystal Light.  Wait, Diet Coke…Crystal Light - they’re sugar free, right?  Yes, they are.  But there are recent studies that show large consumption of artificial sweeteners MAY induce a glucose intolerance response by messing with gut bacteria in certain people.  And it would just go figure that I could be possibly be one of those certain people. 

So honestly, it was time to reintroduce my taste buds to the taste of same old, plain old water.  DAY-UM.  No lie, this has been hard.  It turns out that while I was drinking a lot of fluid, very little of it was just water.  And let’s not kid ourselves, peeps – association eating is everything.  You know what I mean – a slice of pizza, even a healthy slice of homemade pizza SCREAMS for a fizzy soda product to wash it down.  I had also been conditioning myself to think water has to have flavor, hence the craving for Crystal Light.  Sometimes breaking through those mental connections can be the hardest part of any diet.  And yes, peeps, I’m owning the word diet.  Everyone is on a diet – some healthy, some not.  But no more shying away from the word.

OK, it’s February now.  The hoopla surrounding January/resolution/diet craze has faded.  It’s even past Groundhog Day, for which the movie of the same name could sort of describe my past failed weight loss attempts – reliving the same diet, again and again.  But it’s been 4 weeks, and I’ve made and maintained some changes.  Have I lost 50 pounds?  I wish.  Am I alternating high impact aerobics with a spinning class and some YOGA tossed in?  Not hardly.  But I AM thinking more about what I’m eating, and I’m even thinking more about exercise.  And I’m thinking – hoping – planning that this time, and maybe only this time, simple math might just be the answer. Can't believe I said math was the answer...

Entertainment Center Pinterest Hack

I have slowly morphed into a bargain/outlet/market shopper.  I’m not sure exactly how it happened but the follow the rules at any cost chick has found her mojo in cutting the deal.  Just like that flippin’ Kenny Rogers poker song that is currently playing ad nauseum in a GEICO TV commercial, you really do need to know when to hold and when to fold, and definitely when to walk away.  And with my EEGS design esthetic (Early Eclectic Garage Sale), the art of the deal means finding nice pieces at a great price.

Hubby is a Master of the Universe in business, with 11 patents in medical device technology to his name, but he’s usually the one poking me in the back and whispering “See if you can get them to take $half_that_amount”.  Jeesh.  All they could say is no, right?

Now, I’m not one of the ‘extreme cheapskate’ types who insultingly haggle over everything or dumpster dive for food or returns clothing they wore while the tags were still attached.  Nah, I’m talking about finding that item, say on consignment or at an open market fair, and cutting the deal.  Though admittedly, I’ve been known to wheel and deal on slightly defective clearance items at department stores that I know I can clean or repair (drives my kids batty).

So, on to my first real Pinterest hack.  One of the items you can find a lot now on consignment are entertainment centers, and if you’re patient, you can find the really nice ones, brand name, solid wood, with interior lighting that sold for thousands originally.  You might ask yourself, why are these units suddenly available?  And the answer is pretty simple – most flat screen TVs have outgrown the center console space, usually 37 or 42 inches – as people upgrade the TV, the unit no longer works.

So then you’re asking, well, if your TV won’t fit there, why buy it?  For us, the answer is again, pretty simple.  We have an open concept first floor home.  With the big screen Sports Center monstrosity, sorry, TV firmly ensconced in the Kitchen/Great Room/Men’s Domain area, the Living Room/Dining Room cannot have a TV, as the sound of cooking shows or TMC movies could disrupt whatever sporting event happens to be blaring at any given time – but that’s another blog.

Katie's Bridal Shower

OK, we had a large, open wall space (what you might call a hallway, except there’s only a wall on one side) that was just screaming for a unit (the picture is from my daughter’s bridal shower, with said wall newly painted and looking very empty).  I checked into having a wall unit custom made, but the $7,000 price tag (you read that right) killed that idea in its tracks.  (Peeps I paid less for my first two cars, combined. Ouch.) So the hunt for the bargain was on. 

And I found it at one of my favorite consignment shops, This N That in Mason, Ohio.  Don’t let the grainy picture fool you.  This Havertys 3 piece entertainment center is gorgeous, solid wood (it weighs a ton), lighted, with no scratches or gouges, and only some broken door pulls.  It was priced at $499.00, but because I prowl around their store regularly, I knew it had been on the floor for a while, so maybe a deal could be struck.  While hubby loved the piece, he still hemmed and hawed over the price.  I asked what his bottom dollar was, he said $400, I started at $350 and settled at $375, earning his wide-eyed respect and admiration. It broke the backs of my son-in-law and all his young gun friends to get it into the truck and into the house, but the minute it was in, I knew we’d made a good pick.

Now you might be asking, if I’m not using the center console as an additional Sports Center portal, then what?  Well this is where Pinterest comes in.  Entertainment center ‘hacks’ abound. 

A couple of my personal favorites are:

            Coffee Station – if you’re seriously into entertaining, this idea is a cute one.
            http://www.pinterest.com/pin/10133167887285407/
            Bar – I really loved this idea.  The makeover truly could be a show piece like the post below, 

and if the entertainment center has doors, all the goodies could be locked away from the kiddos.  Seriously, there are loads of entertainment center ‘wet bar’ hacks on Pinterest.
            http://www.pinterest.com/pin/10133167887285445/
            China Cabinet – I don’t need one as I inherited my Grandmother’s set, but I thought some of these repurposed pieces were nicely done.
            http://www.pinterest.com/pin/427842033324012339/

But, hubby prefers practical ideas over the whimsical ones and so we settled on a computer work station, similar (in theory) to this - http://www.pinterest.com/pin/10133167887285500/.

 Right away, you might recognize that there are challenges to this idea that need to be addressed:

            1) Where do you put your legs? 

2) How do you create a desk feature for the keyboard and mouse?

3) Is the entire inside base shelf too high, meaning you crane your neck upwards to look at a monitor?  The Pinterest picture shows a lap top, but some people still have desktops with monitors (meaning us).

These are all valid concerns, and we addressed them this way:

            

The ‘where do you put your legs/desk solution’ was sort of a two for one.  We had an old standalone computer desk that had a slide out tray for the keyboard and mouse.  We (meaning hubby) disassembled the piece and salvaged the tray/slide runners.  But this created another dilemma – the runners needed to be side mounted – and our center console unit has doors.  Hubby’s solution was to ditch the doors which I was loathe to do (and to be honest I have no idea why, as I’ve never closed them once.)  Instead we came up with another two for one solution.  We (once again meaning hubby) took the inside shelf (check out the sample picture below) which was probably used for a DVD player or cable box, unscrewed it from the top of the center unit, turned it upside down and screwed it to the bottom of the unit.  Voila’.  It created a space for the keyboard tray to be screwed in, a place for the mouse and other computer paraphernalia, and last but not least, we plunked the monitor on top.  Done.  Except…

Refer to problem #3.  The monitor was simply too high for mere mortals too look at, unless they’re an NBA basketball player.  After a day or two, neck strain was a real problem.  It looked as if the entire hack might be doomed. 

Solution #3 caused real consternation.  My idea was to cut the top shelf off, creating two shelves (not three) and dropping the monitor down at least 7 inches.  Hubby now was loathe to cut – but there really wasn’t any other option (well, there was, but we didn’t think of it at that time).  Following the old measure twice, cut once rule, hubby sliced off the top shelf, we stained it with some matching wood stain, screwed it in place, reassembled the computer, and problem solved. 

Well, here’s the annoyance? Problem? Issue? with this inside console hack…you’re left with a lot of

This isn't our unit, but you can see their shelf at the top inside console.

dead space above the monitor.  By removing the hanging shelf to use as the base shelf, we have about 22 inches of unused space between the monitor and the inside top of the center console.  Mind you, we have a small 21” monitor, and have space to go much larger, both in width and height.  We could have found a different way to hack in the bottom shelf, leaving the top shelf in place – and that probably would have been the way to go.  Mind you though, the top shelves had about a 5 inch opening, which is perfect for electronics, but not much else.

 

So, why not screw shelves into the back of the unit, you ask?  Well, like almost all entertainment centers, the back inside wall is made of press board (which is very thin); usually these are removed completely so that the back of your electronic devices (TV/DVD/Monitor/Cable box) where the fans are located have a place to vent, otherwise you’d burn everything up in an expensive version of an easy bake oven.  So, to do any type of back wall mounting for a hack you’d have to remove the press board and install or reinforce with real wood. 

Recap?  The hack works nicely and cost us nothing, except the cost of the unit, and some beers for the young studs who moved it.  Who knows though, there might be some additional upgrades in the future that try and make use of that dead space, and if they work out I’ll share them accordingly.  Right now though, we’re pretty happy with the results!  Next post, design arranging the side book shelves.  Yikes.

Losing It

“Everyone has a unique gift or talent.”  How many times have you read or heard this phrase?  And have you ever found your ‘talent’, your heart’s desire?

People tell me that I am a writer at heart.  I don’t know about that; if you write a blog and no one reads it, does a tree still fall in the forest – or some such mixed metaphor?  Does it even matter that anyone reads your written musings if it provides you a measure of self-satisfaction? 

I do know that ever since I was a little kid I’ve been in love with the written word.  Yup, I’m the fat girl who spent many a night with a book and a flashlight (and a tray of Oreos, let’s be honest), under the covers, transported away to a kingdom, the Deep South, the Ritz Carlton hotel, or the furthest planetary reaches of the writer’s imagination – and mine. 

Even to this day, words and phrases and pithy thoughts swirl through my brain in constructs of written pattern All. The. Time. I’d have a hell of a Twitter account if only my thumbs weren’t so short.  By the time I type/text my thoughts, I’ve forgotten what I wanted to say before I’m finished.  Swipe texting is no help when you have sausages for fingers.  And forget that whole voice recognition text feature.  I’m more likely to end up with Chinese takeout than an actual social media post that makes any sense.  So, it’s the pen for me, or more accurately, a full size QWERTY keyboard.

OK, I do consider writing, especially self-deprecating snark to be my gift.

Well, according to my hubby, and some guy named Newton, “for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”  And while I’m quite sure Newton meant Physics or Math or something else completely incomprehensible to the average human, I take his ‘law’ to mean this: “for every talent, there is an equal and opposite lack of a talent, the anti-gift”. 

My ‘anti-gift’?  I have no sense of direction. Truth be told, I get lost on a regular basis, even walking.  Go ahead.  Chuckle.  Scratch your head.  Utter a bemused ‘hunh?’.  The fact is once I leave the safe confines of my driveway or my office, all bets are off.  I have tried and true carefully plotted, never varied from, repeatedly used routes to places I need to go.  To quote Helen 'Mama' Boucher from the movie The Waterboy, detours are ‘the devil’. 

My Dad used to say that I could get lost walking out of an open ended paper bag.  And that I’d probably be crying.

Upon learning of my anti-gift, a co-worker commented in amazement, “But you’re so smart!?!”  Brains ain’t got nuthin’ to do with it, trust me.  I have a kid who tested in the genius range at a young age but couldn’t tie their shoes; that is until they grew out of Velcro tab tennis shoes in the fifth grade and were forced to spend the summer learning the art of tying.  Said kid went on to graduate summa cum laude with a triple major from Ball State. 

So, being directionally challenged does not equal stupid.  Just sayin’.

Family legend is that I got lost on the day of my wedding, and ended up at a different church where I met and married hubby.  This is of course not true, but in the usual “God’s sense of humor” way, one of hubby’s greatest gifts is that he has an amazing sense of direction, damn him.  You could drop that man into any place on earth, and I mean any place, and he will always find his way to where ever he needs or wants to go.  Cities.  Forests.  Corn Mazes.  Mall parking lots.  I can count on one hand the number of times in 29 years of marriage that he was, in his words, not lost, just sort of momentarily confused (the man knows not to use the word lost with me in the car). 

When navigating a new place he used to launch into some “in-my-previous-life-Indian-guide” spiel about “the sun’s rays and the drying dew and East/West weather patterns and how he knew that meant we should go that-a-way” in a misguided attempt to, um, ‘help’ me understand the art of direction.  Let’s just say he stopped that crap after a few well timed glares, pursed lips, eye rolls, and white-knuckle-grasp-of-the-door-handle-tears that clearly said “thank you, I don’t need an explanation.  Please proceed to our destination”. 

Actually that body language read “shut the hell up and drive me back to home/hotel for a martini”.  But I digress.

So, thankfully my kids don’t share my anti-gift.  A week spent in London, England on a Make-A-Wish trip meant time traversing the London Underground subway, affectionately call the Tubes.  On the first day, after spending no more than 10 seconds glancing at a map that resembled multicolored spaghetti, the family instantly knew what colored lines would get us where, including navigating around closed ‘under construction’ lines (remember detours=devil), and they were left drawing straws as to who would keep track of mom.  Forget site seeing, I spent most of that trip staring at my eldest son’s back as he led me around the city. 

I think the panicky fear of getting lost should be a true and recognized psychiatric phobia, like ‘lostaphobia’ or ‘wandereraphobia’.  Some Google sites say “Mazephobia” is the correct term, but that’s not real either.  Well, hello doc, if you’re ever riding shotgun with me and I’m on the verge of wandering off course, you’ll soon find out that my bat-crap-crazy, steering wheel clutching, cursing up a blue streak state of panicked phobia is very real, lemme tell you.

So, yes, I always kept change with me because I would invariably have to use a payphone when I got really lost.  For you youngsters who don’t know what a payphone is, here’s a picture of one – and no, I never met Clark Kent. Superman.  Never mind.

OK, hubby rejoiced when cell phones were invented.  Just call me for directions, he said.  I’ll help you out, he said.  No problem, he promised.

Well, a couple of missed calls combined with hysterical voice-mails divided by some ‘how in God’s name did you end up there’ questions multiplied by a traitorous ‘mom got us really lost today, Dad’ stab in the back by the youngest kid (and I even bribed him with ice cream) equaled a newfangled GPS, a Garmin I named Carmen. 

Hubby selected the Garmin’s voice mode and surprise, surprise, it couldn't be changed; this silky chick would practically purr to hubby when he was in the car.  “Good morning, sweetie; where are we going today?”

Her voice took a decidedly bitchier tone when it was just her and me in the car.  If I had a nickel for every time she shrieked “RECALCULATING!” or “Make a U-turn NOW!” I could have paid someone to drive me.  She eventually stopped talking altogether, probably out of spite or exhaustion.  I’m not sure, but I think hubby has her tucked away somewhere in his nightstand, and plugs her in when he’s feeling, you know, lonely. 

So, today I ride shotgun with a new Tom-Tom, a lovely man with a British accent that I named Phillip – and yes, I selected the voice mode.  I rawther imagine he looks a bit like Colin Firth.  OK, a lot like Colin Firth.  Think Mr. Darcy of Pride and Prejudice.  Hmmm, suddenly I’m not minding being lost quite as much…

Pinterest time! Up first? A photography feature wall

Today’s pinspiration – a photography feature wall!

OK.  Upfront disclaimer – I have no design talent, none.  Nary a drop.  My two older sisters sucked all of it away from my creative mother, leaving me to inherit the genetic wide hips and varicose veins.  I know what I like when I see it, but if you drop me into a design, furniture, paint, tchotchkes store, I will wander about from aisle to aisle, arms overloaded because I didn't get a cart, until my feet hurt and I’m near tears.  I’m the Queen of SYR (save your receipt) because I will invariably have to return half of anything I’ve bought – wrong color, wrong size, just wrong.

But a feature wall – pictures, mixed media – how hard could that be?  As it turns out, not too bad – as long as in the words of the latest Disney classic you can let it go.  Why?  Well, Pinterest is filled with beautiful pins of beautiful homes featuring artistic photography framed and arranged in stunningly creative ways.  I soon realized that the shear cost of resizing, reprinting, reframing, and quite possibly just substituting my family pics with stock photos of beautiful children in fairy like settings would cost more than a small fortune.

So, well, OK.  This ain't that.  Let it go number one. 

I made peace with the fact that I simply couldn't invest that kind of time and money, and I really do love my family, so I decided to use what I had, and stick with my typical design theme – eclectic early garage sale.

So-back to the pinning boards, where I began to notice other pinners posting designs with eclectic in mind.  No common frames?  No common colors?  No degree in photography?  No problem.  They take the ‘throw it in the blender approach and see what happens’.  

And so that’s what we did.  First?  It was time to paint, probably way past time to paint.  Five, yes five different paint colors later, sampled on differing parts of the walls over several weeks’ time, the end result is that we came back full circle to a color called Pale Powder  interestingly similar to a color that we chose when we first built the house 23 years ago.  We’re also on a first name Christmas card sharing basis with the nice lady behind the paint counter at Lowe's, but I digress.  Honestly, we’re nothing if not predictable…painting done.

Next, it was off to Lacy Bella Designs – or more technically on to this page on their website.  I purchased a Groupon from them and knew that I wanted to use their custom, personalized designs for a large wall anchor.  Because I was working with such a large blank space, I knew I could go really big on size, 70" wide by 16" high…Letting it go also meant, of course, that I didn't like decals hubby liked, he didn't like decals I liked, so we settled on something neither of us liked, but could tolerate – and now love.  Go figure.

Once the decals were up – a very easy application – it then made designing everything under the decal a tad easier (haha, me typing designing.  Too funny).  I say a tad easier because there are still lots of decisions to make –layout, pictures, extra elements, and as mentioned above, a husband who suddenly has an opinion…hmmm.

Well, OK, it pains me to admit it, but some of his ideas were good ones.  The best?  Move the furniture out of the way, lay everything out on the floor and play bulletin board.  I wish I’d taken a picture of the process, as it was really quite fun.  Honest.  Sure, some snark was traded, but no one cried (me) or cussed (him).  Once we were done, it became clear what was going to work and what wasn't.

Let it go #3?  OK, so you were probably thinking to yourself several paragraphs ago ‘why did the hubby get a vote anyway?’ Well, he who wields the hammer votes with said hammer.  Some more complicated ideas o’ mine just didn't make the cut.  And some spacing didn't translate as well as I’d hope from the floor to the wall.  But the labor was cheap and after 29 years of marriage, still sort of cute, so I’m not complaining, at least not that he heard.

Recap?

Yes, these are my family photos – no fairyland substitutes required.  No, I didn't buy new frames.  Yes, I had a few tchotchkes in the basement from previous failed attempts at design so I thankfully didn't have to buy anything.  We combined those with a couple coats of paint, a personalized decal, invested in some good picture hooks – and voila’!  I think the finished project came out pretty eclectic early garage sale good.

I have a love/hate relationship with coupons.

The love angle is a no-brainer, right?  Who doesn't love a good deal?  And yet I fail miserably in the coupon department, as evidenced by the sad looks and mournful whispers the checkout clerks and other shoppers share when I answer a meek ‘no’ to the ‘Ma’am, do you have any coupons today?’ question. 

OK, so I've always been intrigued by the whole coupon concept.  How difficult can it be?  Well, if you watch TV, very difficult.  Perhaps you've seen show’s like TLC’s “Extreme Couponing”, the premise being that (mostly) women give up 30+ hours a week in pursuit of the “deal”; achieved by - but not limited to - dumpster diving for tossed coupons; studying department stores, sale prices and market trends; visiting online blogs and websites (think something akin to stock market insider trading); clipping and organizing coupons into binders only slightly smaller than the IRS tax code; compiling lists and spreadsheets; enlisting the aid of a few relatives; grabbing multiple carts and clearing shelves of 100 packs of ramen, 50 sports drinks and 67 packs of chewing gum; after which they completely ruin a store clerks day by entering their checkout lane and require a half hour conferral with the store manager involving a cash register override, to finally pay $1.23 for said items that they load into their car, take home and store in their basement that looks suspiciously like a bomb shelter.  (I’m kidding about that last part.  Sort of.) 

Well, I’m always left pondering the question – unless you’re a starving college grad student with a bad case of halitosis, who wants to purchase 100 packs of ramen, 50 sports drinks and 67 packs of chewing gum, even if you can save 20K a year?!  And have you noticed that sports drinks always feature prominently in the show?  It’s like Gatorade owns a stake in TLC.  My interest is always piqued when they film the triumphant shopping wizard seated in their bomb shelter basement in front of a dazzlingly stellar array of high priced laundry detergent, cleaning products, feminine hygiene supplies, and cereal – but never show how they scored such expensive brand name items.  My favorite episode featured a mom who actually padlocks her trove, because in her words, her teenagers would ‘clean her out’.  Interesting concept – you buy food very cheaply, but don’t want those pesky rascals sharing your domicile to actually eat it.  You gotta admit she’s committed (and yes, there’s more than one meaning to that turn of phrase).  But I digress.

OK, the other week I got adventurous and clipped a .25 cent coupon for mustard, carefully checked all the sizes and expiration dates, remembered to stow it in my purse, went to the store, and there in the space where the bottles of mustard would have stood shoulder to shoulder was…nothing.  Dust.  Turns out an extremer had wiped them out, probably during the night.  30 bottles.  Gone.  I chose the only option available to schlubs like me - I bought the store brand and used the diligently cut, carefully carried, and now completely worthless name brand coupon to throw away my gum (sorry, single pack purchase). 

So, hard core couponing?  I’m out.  I dumpster dove once for a lost retainer on a lunch tray – been there, done that, not going back, not even for 100 packs of ramen.  Add to that I detest clipping, downloading, researching, driving, finding, cart stowing, purchasing…usually to be rejected at the last minute.  How?

Well, by the coupon experience I loathe the most…the fine print-or as Groupon cheerily call it the ‘in a nutshell’ rules.  You know what I mean.  Limit one per person, per visit, every other Tuesday, but not Tuesdays that fall in months that end in “Y”, “R”, or “L”.  Can’t be combined with other offers.  Can’t be uncombined.  Can’t be used with friends, enemies, children, grandparents or strangers; good at every store but the one in your city; must be over 21 but under 22 years of age; and my favorite ‘has no value’ (except in time wasted and crushed dreams). 

Looking to capture the coupon challenged or just plain disillusioned crowd, savvy marketers have created even new and more insidious ways to coupon without actually couponing – the “10 for 10” scam.  You've seen the deals; buy 7 boxes of cereal and save a dollar per box (though I guarantee you there will only be 6 boxes of each cereal type on the shelf); purchase 10 packages of hot dog buns for $10.00 – otherwise pay $1.39.  C’mon peeps, unless you’re the Duggar Family of “19 Kids and Grandkids and In-laws and Counting” fame, how could you possibly use 10 packages of hot dog buns before they turned into your latest attempt at homegrown penicillin?  Sometimes I wonder as an empty nester if I should stake out the grocery store parking lot and then follow the family with largest brood into the store and try to cut a bargain – “Psst, lady, wanna make a deal?  You buy 9 buns, I’ll take just 1, here’s my dollar.” My luck I’d get arrested as a stalker – “honestly, officer, I just wanted one of her buns.”  Hmmm.

So, mostly for me it’s full price…except for Kohls.  Kohl’s Department store keeps me in the coupon groove.  They renew my hope of the deal and the thrill of the sale.  My secret?  Hubby has developed an uncanny knack of consistently peeling 30% off coupons for Kohls.  Like every month.  Really.  The last time I peeled one of the mailers was two years ago – and it was the last 15% coupon we received.  I haven’t even touched a mailer since.  If I see one in the mailbox I leave it there, worried that I’ll kill the 30% magic.  Hubby rubs his hands, blows on his fingertips, and with a flourish peels back the Holy Grail of coupons.  I tremble at the thought…reduced…on sale…on clearance…with 30% off…boom, baby.

So, sorry – no ramen for me.  But next time we’re together, lemme show you my latest haul from Kohls.  Too bad they don’t sell hot dog buns.

New Year, New Blog

New Year, same blog – but new name.

In the story of all things internet, after a series of health woes, I abandoned my old blog So, Well, Okay for a while…By the time I decided that the blogosphere was calling my name again, I discover the Blogger concept has been purchased by none other than that small internet upstart Google – and my email address tied to the old blog is dead and gone, like two ISP providers ago.  So, no access to the old email means no recapturing the password means no more posts to the old blog. 

Ah well. I could wax on about the importance of original, challenging, hard to crack passwords in internet security, and I obviously got creative back then and did just that, but for the life of me I can’t even recall what that password could be now.  I have an abandoned Twitter account with the same problem (hey, no judging).  And for Pete’s sake – who keeps their email address forever?  Seriously, we’re talking a one trick pony blog by little ole me.  No National Security secrets, just a middle-aged Midwestern stream of blather.  Farewell old blog and hello Part Deux. 

So, NOW the hubby and my ‘we’re-getting-older-forgotten-password-solution’ is…?  We write ‘em all down, just another check mark in the column under the heading “you’re old”.  My mom used to do this, and she hid her passwords and bank account numbers in a pill bottle in the freezer, just in case the house burned down.  She also put her life alert information there too, because in a medical emergency the freezer is the first place I’d go for information, wouldn’t you?  It was her version of a fire safe, only better, because who could steal the frig? 

I’m now thinking in retrospect that her genius might not be a bad idea after all.  Not for the sheer brilliance of the concept, but due to my freezer being a jumbled mish mash of unlabeled items, gloriously jammed in defiance of the laws of physics into frostbitten appliance tundra, the Pinterest of freezers.  Any thief or EMT for that matter would think twice before sticking their hand in there, you betcha, even for the temptation of recovering the password for this blog. “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, I am my mother after all.”  Except her freezer was immaculately organized.

But I digress.  I’m not really sure where I want to go with this wonderland of writing, but one thing is for sure, my proclivity for Pinterest will be featured.  I LOVE PINTEREST.  There.  I said it.  In truth, I love the possibilities of Pinterest, because let’s be honest, three quarters of everything anyone ever pins will never be attempted or cooked or arranged or worn or visited.  But it’s fun to dream, right?  So, a few posts will be the direct experience of my ‘pin-spirations’ and the outcome of the fraction of ideas I pin that I actually attempt.

Mostly though, if you’re stopping by here, you’re going to just get my passions and peeves, my thoughts or lack thereof on whatever gets my goat, makes me smile or cry, true stories of family, friends, diets-all the good stuff.  Sorry, there probably will not be much in the way of religion or politics (blood pressure problems) and besides there are writers who tackle the subjects with more grace and intelligence than me.  All people and places mentioned are most likely real, so be kind and remember I love you all. 

So, well, okay, part deux – ready?  Here we go!