Category Archives: CLEANING

Boxes, Bins and Flowers

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One week from today I’ll be living in another city.  I’m up to the task of moving and the adventure that comes along with it.

The Moving Tower of St Louis

The Moving Tower of St. Louis

This week I had a semi-surprise goodbye party hosted by The Ten-Thirty Singers, a church music group I’ve been singing with for over 25 years.  Today I enjoyed a goodbye lunch with some great gal-pals … the PMS Girls (which stands for Peggy, Pam, Mary Anne and Sue).  Nothing like a 3 hour lunch on a Saturday to motivate you to take an afternoon nap.  I’ve been toasted, gifted, regaled with flowers and hugged to the max!

Next week I am hosting several packing parties at my place.  Amazing the things some people will do for a free lunch.

Boxes and bins are my new best friends.  I’ve acquired quite the selection of plastic bins with locking handles.  I even went so far as to delegate colors for certain rooms.  The pink ones are storage, blue for my bedroom, green handles for dining room, and purple handles for linens.  They stack and won’t fall apart.  They will never end up in a landfill because I like them too much, so in a way, I’m “going green” … or pink or blue.  I never thought I’d be one of those people who color coded anything.  I used to laugh at them.  Now I’ve become one of them.

At first I was strolling down memory lane while sorting all my worldly goods.   I was getting nothing accomplished.  Now I am ruthless about what stays or goes.  Goodwill has been happy to see me recently.  What I don’t keep is going to charity.  I have no patience for selling stuff on Craig’s List.

Surviving a move when you have lupus or any chronic illness is a tricky little game to master.  So to keep sane I work in small increments of time, sandwiched with a bit of  rest, like writing this post.    I try not to do more than 5 hours of work a day.  Hopefully, my joints will not protest and my vascular problems will remain quiet.   You won’t seem me outside much on Moving Day.  It will be hotter than hell and I will have the assistance of my son and a couple of his strong high school buddies doing all the lifting and shoving.  Having physical limitations can come with some benefits, such as help from others and I have no problems letting people move heavy stuff.

I did have a bit of a situation while cleaning last week.  I kept smelling something yucky in the living room.  At first I thought it was food or cat barf but the smell wasn’t constant.  Then I thought that maybe it was ME, as I was sweating up a storm and was possibly stinking up the house.  Finally, I decided to move the furniture around to look for the source of the by now, rancid smell.  So under the couch I found the source of the problem.  A dead bird.

Natural born killers?  Not so much.

Natural born killers? Not so much.

I immediately grabbed some paper towels, threw it out, and fumigated my house. Then I started wondering just where in the hell did it come from?  I mean really, how did it get inside my house?  Did the cats kill it?  If they did, why didn’t they eat the damn thing?  That’s what cats are supposed to do.

My only concern with the cats at this point is the 2 hour drive to another city.  They are not fans of cat carriers and car rides.  I’m expecting them to howl and shed all the way to Cape.  Who knows what will happen when we arrive at our new home.  Stay tuned.

I’ve moved a total of nine times in my life, most of them as a single mom.  By my standards, that’s a lot of moving, but I know people who have moved a lot more than that.  Moving sucks, but on the other hand, if I lived in one place all these years I would have accumulated too much stuff.  At least moving forces me to clean up and throw out. And by now, I’ve learned a thing or two.

One, get yourself some bins and forget the boxes.

Two, if you must use boxes, go for the paper boxes with lids. 

Three, don’t pack everything too soon, or you’ll be digging through your kitchen stuff to make dinner, like I’m doing tonight. 

Four, hang on to wrapping paper … my friend MaryAnne gave me 5 enormous bags of white paper left over from her move a couple years ago.  What a lifesaver! 

Five, and this is the most important, let people help you.

When the dust settles, I’ll start blogging again and fill you in on the details of my great adventure.

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Talking Trash

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My cell phone went missing Monday evening.  After a couple hours of fussing over “what-the-hell-will-I-do-if-I-can’t-find-my-phone” I decided it would turn up if I didn’t try so hard to look for it.  I stopped looking because I’m so very optimistic about expecting happy endings.

That didn’t work.

So I went to my office the following day, filled with absolute certainty that by the time I got home I would find it.  That didn’t happen either.  Rats!

I hate to admit being dependent on a cell phone but alas, I am.  Really.  Dependent.  My virtual universe is loaded on my iPhone.  Pictures, applications, maps, appointments … the works.  Of course I could get another cell phone if this one was truly MIA forever.  But what a hassle!

After muttering to myself when I returned home from work  (and creeping the cats out in general) I decided to try a different search method.  I started calling my phone, room by room, from my land line in the house.  Called the bedroom.  No answer.  Called the basement.  No answer.  Went to the garage and called the car.  No answer.  No ringing.  No nothing.

Finally, I went to the kitchen and called.  Nothing.  However, the stovetop fan was on because I was trying to make dinner, so it turned it off to listen.  Oh yeah, I was expecting some friends over for dinner to watch American Idol and was also rushing around cleaning up at the last minute.  I’m the queen of multi-tasking … dinner, vacuuming, table setting, and cell phone searching.

But I digress.

Finally, FINALLY, I hear a muffled “ring ring” (like the old fashioned phones) coming somewhere near (or under) the sink.  OMG!  It’s in the trash can!

The trash can that is filled with the most god-awful, gross food crap you could imagine.

I grab a new trash bag and start pulling junk out of the trash can and into the new bag.  One by one, I pulled out chicken bones, which really excited the cats.  They gathered ’round me sitting on the floor, as if they wanted to help search.  Cats are such fake-out artists. I knew they were only interested in potentially plundering some chicken parts.  There were multiple other gross things discovered in that icky bag, including some leftover cake batter, that I had to maneuver around.  It was tricky business, indeed.

And let me just say that when you are exploring the contents of a trash bag and if you happen to come upon a lot of  discarded red velvet cake batter in a hasty manner, your kitchen is poised to look like an episode of Dexter doing what he does best.

I did just that and it wasn’t pretty.  Unless you like to watch autopsies.

I was praying to the patron saint of kitchen cleanup to help me find this stupid phone and restore my kitchen to glistening cleanliness before my friends show up and find me splayed out on the floor digging in the trash, looking like I lost my mind.  Which I probably had at that point.

But to my horror, I STILL couldn’t find the phone.

Now I have 2 big trash bags half filled with crap. And no phone.

So I called my cell phone again.  This time I separated the bags so I could tell which one was ringing.  Did I mention that it is harder to locate missing cell phones in dark trash bags, as opposed to light colored trash bags?  And I’m not profiling anything here.  It’s just the plain truth.

Finally.  I find my phone, covered in butter, cake batter, indescribable fuzz, and a random chicken bone sticking out of the side of it like a fake antenna.

But Lordy, it was still ringing!

The cats left the kitchen, quite disappointed.  I hastily bagged up the second trash bag, washed the floor, cleaned up my iPhone and the case, set out the fruit plate and hummus, washed my hands, put on my pearl necklace and apron and was ready to great my company with no evidence of the insanity I just barely survived right before they knocked on my front door.

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Yep.  Tuesday night, nobody knew about the riotous cell phone incident.

Until they read this post, that is.

Finding The Sweet Spot

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It’s that moment when you realize the bowling ball is in the pocket.  It happens when you connect PERFECTLY with the tennis racket, baseball bat, or golf club because you can feel and hear it.  And if you’re a cat, like my Charlie (pictured above), the ultimate sweet spot is purring on a cozy blanket, facing the sunshine, and taking a 3-6 hour nap.  We all look for the sweet spot, wherever it may be.

Today I noticed that life has been rolling along smoothly for almost an entire week.  Having made that assertion,  no doubt I’m pushing my luck for a fun weekend, but what the heck.  I made plans anyway! In addition to keeping up the regular 9-5 workpace, I attended a fabulous black-tie wedding and reception on Saturday (It’s fun to get dressed up now and then!) AND a baby shower on Sunday (My friend Kathy and I went a little overboard at Babies R Us.  Everything was soooo cute!).  I went to a music rehearsal on Monday evening.  I bought groceries, put them away, cleaned the kitchen, took out the trash, and washed three loads of laundry.  No joint pain.  No steroid hot flashes!  I remembered to go to a long-overdue therapy appointment and left without using even one Kleenex!  Yeah baby …  I found The Lupus-Free Sweet Spot.

I like to celebrate the little triumphs in life.  I’m not planning to surf the perfect wave in Maui, or land a back flip on the balance beam.  I don’t have to sing Schubert’s Ave Maria and gracefully slide over the high notes.  I have faith.  Right now, it’s enough to have clear skin and walk without tripping.  That’s sweet enough for me!

With A Little Help From My Friends

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Tonight I’m saying a prayer of thanksgiving to the patron saint of cleaning … whoever he/she is.

For no good reason other than kindness and insanity (and maybe some M&M’s) two friends of mine came by after work today to help clean my skanky basement.  The basement has been a wet sloppy mess for months.  Rainwater has made little rivers of destruction downstairs, getting anything in it’s path wet before going down the drain.   The victims included empty boxes, bags of clothing, 2 kitty litter boxes, a mattress set, and misfit socks. It’s not hurricaine debris but it’s pretty gross.

Once I let my pride get out of the way, their help was invaluable.  After multiple bags of trash to the curb, a little Pine Sol and some serious scraping and scrubbing, I have a clean basement.  My friend Lisa told me that many hands make light work.  True!  She also assured me that a person doesn’t have to have lupus to  be overwhelmed with an icky basement. Very very true!

And so I learned a lesson tonight.  Actually, I re-learned many lessons:

1.    Sometimes people need a helping hand, not because they are sick or disabled, but because sometimes it’s hard to tackle messy projects by yourself.

2.   Friends will help you, even if you don’t ask for their help.  That’s what friends do for each other.

3.   Many hands really do make light work.

4.   Chocolate candy has more current value than mutual funds.

5.   The men and women who schlep big black heavy trash bags to the curb are saints.

I’m a lucky girl … with or without Lupus.