A Crime of Stupidity

Weapon Used

So, I poked holes in my kitchen trash can. I saw this little hack online and it works really well. When I try to pull those plastic trash bags from the can I often end up fighting myself because of the vacuum seal that results between the can and bag. To prevent this, you just punch some holes in the sides of your can, a few inches from the bottom. It really works great.

I usually pour about a quarter cup of PineSol in the bottom of my can each week. It usually dries up in a day or so but it smells wonderful and when the can needs washing out, it is a much easier process. Just use your sink sprayer and put two or three cups of water in it and swish with a toilet brush, rinse, and pour the dirty water down the toilet.

Scene of the Crime

There is one inherent flaw in this process. I found it today. If you're standing at the sink, daydreaming, and use the sprayer you have to remember those holes. After work today, I took out the garbage and decided while I was filling the sink to do dishes that I'd clean the can. I happened to look down to see water spraying out of four small holes in the sides of my can. The damage wasn't serious but it did require mopping the floor a couple of times. It took a bit to sop up all the water and I had a good laugh at myself, but no harm done ... until I stepped into the den ajacent to the kitchen.

I was still wearing my work shoes, low heels, when I stepped down from a wet floor onto the dry concrete floor. My right foot was still on the step and left foot on the floor... for a second. The left foot slipped out from beneath me. I fell, the right leg bending at the knee beneath me, my body falling backward and landing on my right calf and foot. I hit  my arm just above my left elbow on the edge of the concrete step.

Fortunately, that arm and the bent leg probably kept me from hitting my neck or head on the concrete step. However, the front of my right thigh felt as if it had just undergone some sort of test to see how far it could be stretched. I remember doing something similar in aerobics or something when I was about 25. I'm not 25 now.

I struggled onto my butt from my prone position and was lucky enough to reach the house phone. I called my son, Mike because I honestly didn't think I could get up. I was wedged between the kitchen door and a desk, with one leg doubled under me and both it and my arm giving me a good dressing down.

I really believed I'd probably broken that leg but after the first wave of pain swept over me, I decided I was in better shape that I originally feared. My body began to wake up from the shock about the time Mike arrived. The arm hurt and will probably pout for a few days. The thigh still protested having to support my uh.... weight but then they usually do anyway. My upper back was annoyed I'd clinched up. Although my neck had not struck anything, it was absolutely irate at the strain I'd placed on it when my body protested falling. Everyone's a critic.

Mike was worried  and said, "Good thing you didn't break your leg." 

I looked at him. "Right, because I don't think you would take as good a care of me as I did of you."

We both laughed. He went home. I finished putting away the laundry. My leg and back were not happy, so I took a hot shower and two Tylenol. I suspect tomorrow they'll get back at me.

My Response to a Stupid Article

This morning I read an article titled, 15 Things An Adult Woman Should Never Have in Her Home. I was so annoyed by it that I felt compelled to respond but since my response is rather lengthy, I decided to post it here.

Obviously, this person has lived a privileged life. The average real woman is all about thrift and saving her money for the really important stuff... like vacations and classy clothes and knock 'em dead shoes. Those don't come cheap. Or maybe it is really important to feed the kids and since groceries cost more than ever, we don't worry about rods, drawers, and hangers. I read over the list and decided the writer needs a reality check.

Let me first say I do agree with one point. One should have a good mattress. However, most mattresses these days are junk. They have a 5 yr lifespan because manufacturers stopped making them reversible and use cheap materials so you have to buy them more often. At one time 20-year warranties were the norm but since you can't flip them that has fallen by 15 years while the cost of mattresses have tripled. They're sort of like a futon.

Plastic drawers... I have them because children have lots of stuff that are better in drawers that don't break, are easy to see into, and easy for a 5 yr old to reach.

Didn't you know that art is in the eye of the beholder? Why is it bad for me to have posters if I want them? Have you priced frames?

Hangers? Really? Is this really an important thing? Listen, dry cleaner hangers are the prize for being able to afford to have something dry cleaned. They're essentially free but not really. And let's face it, no one keeps clothes long enough for a hanger to wear them out, particularly if you have children. The smart mom even saves the department store hangers that come with kids clothes. They're FREE! Kids usually outgrow the clothes before the hanger breaks.

Spring rods are awesome for places you can't put a nail! Like apartments whose owners are annoying like that. Or a kid's room where they inevitably tear the curtains down doing what kids do. They're also wonderful to hang a temporary curtain for whatever reason, or under a doorless cabinet. No, I don't know why the cheap landlord didn't put up a door but I don't like seeing cleaning supplies.

Why is a beach towel not a towel? What if I like huge, brightly colored towels? What if I need an extra large towel. And they're usually more towel per buck. Besides, they're a great backup if I can't get the laundry done in time.

A shower curtain liner is not a shower curtain? Then why are many shower curtains PLASTIC with pictures! Do I need to add more junk to the environment by buying two plastic curtains? Seriously, I don't care what you do to dress it up, a bathroom is an ugly but necessary feature. Get over it, use the toilet, and stop snooping.

My dead husband gave me the purple bunny. If the next man has a problem with that, he needs to go.

I don't have many Exes. In fact, none. However, my mama told me to never give back the loot. So.. just because your exes gave you junk is no reason for me to give back the nice stuff. Who will know if you don't tell? I think you have too much emotional attachment to stuff. It is just stuff.

The flimsy cutlery? They call it plastic and I use it when I have guests so I don't spend all my time washing dishes instead of enjoying the company of my guests. Or for when I've worked all day and don't want to be bothered with cleaning up dishes. Or when I'm sick and can't do the dishes. Same for the paper plates. However, I do buy the really good paper plates. I don't want to clean the roast out of the carpet.

Metal bed frames? Uh... all bed frames are metal... unless you mean the decorative part, which generally come in a variety of styles and materials. Metal is quite durable and you can change the color of it when you get bored. As for sterile... well, that is where the accessories come in... they call it decorating. Still, I much prefer metal to plastic. Longer life, less waste. Personally, I have a wood frame bed and I find that a wooden frame will break a toe just as well as a metal one. The knee bruises look the same also.

The freebie cups are not for the grown-ups. They're for the kids and annoying house guests. I don't want either of them to break the good stuff.

Mismatched sheets... have you actually bought sheets? Those things cost the earth! You don't throw one away if part of the set wears out. You find ways to use it... like on the futon...

The futon? That's for annoying house guests who take exception to my decorating choices.

A Day at a Time

For anyone following along, you know that I've survived death and learned to breathe underwater. It took a long time. And some days, I flounder, choke on my tears.

When you lose someone you love, you do not get over it. It doesn't get better. You survive it and you learn to breathe underwater. I still think about him every single day. At least once a day. Sometimes several times in a few minutes.

I still can't watch certain shows, hear certain music, read certain books, or go to certain places. I'm crippled in more ways than one by his death. But I keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I don't know what else to do. It hurts. That doesn't stop either. You just learn to work through the pain and avoid the things that make you notice it.

This week my nephew signed his divorce papers and has been having trouble breathing. I was so upset for him. I wanted to help him but I can't. His heart is broke, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do now. I know this because the loss of a person you love has the same effect on you when they die. And when you love, it just doesn't go away because you throw dirt on someone or you sign a paper. You don't just get over it.

I'm thankful that Jerry loved me until the day he died. He said he would, and he kept that promise. I have survived seven years without Jerry. I haven't lived a darker time in my life. I haven't lived a more painful time. I haven't gotten over it. I just learned to get through it. One day at a time.

Vanished Into the Dark

Tomorrow will be the 29th. Seven years ago tomorrow my whole world turned upside down. Every day I stare at this tableau there is a stab of pain and a flood of memories.

This morning I was wondering this morning how I was going to address tomorrow. Since 2009 I can't approach January 29 as if it were any other day. I remember the first few years the number 29 drove me crazy. Every time the number came up in any context I experienced anxiety.  That faded eventually but the day is still a difficult day to approach.

In fact, beginning January 29, 2009, every major holiday and special occasion has been painful. Starting in August, with Jerry's birthday, until February there are six days that have nearly wrecked me: his birthday on August 6th, Thanksgiving, Christmas, our wedding anniversary on January 11th, his death on the 29th, and Valentine's Day. For nearly half the year, since 2009, I've clinched my teeth, straightened my spine, and struggled not to think about Jerry not being here. I rarely succeeded in being stoic. Each month I'd have at least one day where I just fell apart.

This year, I totally forgot Jerry's birthday. I was stunned and upset with myself the day after when I realized it. Sarah and I were sick. I always take flowers but I forgot him. In November, I was away from home for the holiday and things were very busy and filled with people I love so I didn't brood over Thanksgivings Past. Christmas the house was bulging for three weeks. More people I love, my family and some friends, filled the house up and there was no time to really brood over anything but the lack of time alone, which they gave me at intervals. It is probably the first time since he died that I didn't feel bereft or make myself sick crying. With so much coming and going, there were few opportunities to wallow in self-pity. You know there's folks who think that way after 7 years. There were people who thought that way after the first 6 months.

But tomorrow is the 29th. Today there is a pressure in my chest and a sadness hangs over me. I'm not distraught. I'm not prostrate. I don't feel like crying. There is this heaviness in my gut and I feel as if I have lost something, and I need to get up and look for it. Maybe tomorrow I'll find it?

I should go to the cemetery. I should take flowers. I should tell him I haven't really forgotten, that every day, at some point, I see him, hear him, and feel him. Sometimes only for a moment, sometimes for hours. I should remind him that when I see his picture, sitting there on that shelf, a flood of memories rushes over me. They're funny, happy, silly, angry, and sad all at once.

And sometimes, I get angry because he's not here. He left me with an upside down world and no one to help me clean up the mess. I have to figure out everything myself. I have to take care of every problem alone. If I get afraid, there is no one to hold my hand or wrap me in strong arms. No one to tell me everything is going to be fine. No one to fix the car, the toilet leak, the floor, or take out the trash.

Tomorrow is the 29th. Perhaps, the wheels will begin to turn again and the world will right itself. No. No, it won't. Because it is the 29th and on that day, I died, too. I won't find the things I've lost. Who I am now is not who I was on January 29, 2009. Everything I was and was supposed to be was gone in a moment. I watched it vanish into the dark. Maybe that is why it still feels like I've lost something. I didn't lose Jerry. I lost me.

I love you, Jerry Maddox. I'll always love you.

Some Words Fix Everything

I don't know what we were talking about tonight at supper but something was said about someone taking care of someone. I made the comment that Jerry always took care of me but I didn't have him to do that anymore.

Sarah looked at me and said, "I'm doing that now, Mawmaw."

I said, "What?"

She said, "I'm taking care of you now."

What can you say? Some days life on the ledge is bearable.