Cutting the Crud

My stepdad asked recently how I spend my free time… Two days (on and off) kneeling on hard ceramic tile. Scrubbing grout. Woo-hoo. At first, I was pretty excited about finding a cleaning product that worked so well…now I don’t know if I ever want to see the stuff again!! To make the time pass faster, there was a crazy running monologue in my head. This is how it went:

Starting out: “Don’t go down on the bad knee first. Wait. Which one’s the bad one? OW! Yep, that’s the bad one. I can’t believe how fast this stuff is working. Holy moley, look at all that dirt coming up. That’s amazing. And gross. Really gross. But it’s quick. I’ll be done in no time.” Yeah right. “I didn’t think the grout would ever be this white again. I love this stuff! Ok, one square down. About 1827 more to go.” Slight exaggeration. “I have to pee. Too bad, not getting up. Don’t sneeze. Or cough. Coughing’s the worst. Keep scrubbing.”

About an hour later: “What is that on the bottom of the dishwasher? That’s disgusting.” Trying to reach the paper towels, I started pulling myself up holding on to the sink. Wet hands, wet feet… I slipped, on the way down hitting my chin on the counter, falling to my knee…the bad one. “Mother Hubbard!” (I didn’t say Hubbard.) “Are my teeth still there? Yep, think so. Chin’s bleeding a little. It’s ok. Don’t bleed on the grout. Keep scrubbing. If you gotta bleed, bleed on your shirt. Teeth are still there, chin hurts. Ok, kitchen’s done. We’re never walking in here again. The grout’s too white for that. Still gotta pee. Move to a dry part of the floor before you get up. If you hit your head, no one’s gonna find you. Until it’s time to go back to work and you never show up. Then they’ll come looking and you’ll be laying here and they’ll see the rest of the floor and the grout’s not done.”

A couple of hours later, after a pity party and a nap: “Ok, you’ve got this. Put on Pandora and get to work. Kitchen looks great. Gotta make the rest of the floor look like that. Keep scrubbing. Alright this is coming up pretty good. I love Van Morrison. We were born before the wind… (singing loudly)…Also younger than the sun… Keep scrubbing. Younger that the sun? I feel older than dirt. I wish I could sing. Oh I love this one. Lean on meeeee, when you’re not strong, and I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you caaaarrry on…This stuff really is amazing. The floor’s looking good. No, no, no….don‘t play Pink Floyd. I can’t stand Pink Floyd. Gotta change it.” (Crawls to the table where the computer is) “Lots of people like Pink Floyd. Is something wrong with me that I don’t? My brother likes their music. At least he likes the Eagles too so that’s something. Ok, that’s better. While I’m here, I should check my email… and I think I’ll finish watching that documentary on YouTube.”

An hour later…ok, two hours later…: “The floor’s not gonna scrub itself. That’s it, just finish the hallway tonight and do the rest tomorrow. Yep, that’s still the bad knee. This is really good stuff. I’m so glad I got it. Keep scrubbing. ‘I got one moooorre silver dolla, but I’m not gonna let em catch me, no. Not gonna let em catch the midnight riiiider.’ Keep scrubbing. Almost done. You missed a square. Dammit.”

Day two: “Make your coffee and finish this! You got it. Down ya go. One more room and you’re done. OW! That’s not even the bad knee. Start scrubbing. Keep going. I don’t care how good this stuff cleans, it’s from the devil. Who puts white ceramic tile in a house anyway? Well you bought the house, Einstein. Keep scrubbing. Yes, Pandora, I’m still listening and no you’re not playing to an empty room. ‘Tuesday’s gooooone, like the winnndd…’ Keep scrubbing…Floor’s done. But look at all that stuff under the bookshelves. You gotta get that. Maybe next time. Next time? You know that’s not gonna happen anytime soon. Get up, move the shelves…then there’s the light fixture… and the windows…

An eternity later: It’s all done. I’d take some ibuprofen but I’d have to walk in the kitchen to get water and the grout’s too clean.

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The Eyes Have It-for Hank

Yesterday was my brother Hank’s birthday; driving to his home and looking forward to the celebration, I thought of some of the many things I love, admire, and respect about him…his love for his family, his integrity, his talent for great story-telling, his strong work ethic, his protectiveness (sometimes having to go so far as to privately tell us hard truths we don’t want to hear to protect us from ourselves- that takes a lot of courage). I want to be a better person because of him.

If someone were to ask me what my one very favorite thing is about Hank though, I’d have to say that it’s his eye rolls, and as his wife Claudia says, the degrees of those eye rolls!

The first is the story-telling eye roll. We love how it adds emphasis to an already funny tale! The second is the’ I’m-mildly-exasperated’ eye roll done with great exaggeration; the more irritated he is, the more pronounced it becomes. The third is the least common and rarely seen. It’s the ‘that’s-without-a-doubt-the-most-ridiculous-thing-I’ve-ever-heard’ eye roll and it’s to be taken seriously.

Hank is a kind man with a gentle spirit who has been married for years to the love of his life; they have two wonderful children. He grew up with three sisters and inherited another when his dad married my mom. He is quite patient with us all and we know he loves us. That being said, I think there’s not a one among us who hasn’t been the cause of an eye roll from time to time.

I love all the types of eye rolling, and this is why: his stories are so animated and his facial expressions make me laugh that much harder. The exasperated eye roll makes me turn my head away to smile (don’t tell him, but it’s really funny!) I always have to bite my lip hard to keep from giggling. The serious eye roll is the one I appreciate the most. As someone who tends to make things bigger and more dramatic in my mind than they really are, having a brother who loves me enough to let me know when I’m off track is just what I need most- I hope he knows that and keeps those eye rolls coming!

The One That Got Away

Or it’s all fun and games ‘til Jaws shows up…

Yesterday, I went to the beach at Grand Isle, and it was glorious! There’s definitely something soul-renewing about being on the beach, listening to the birds and the sounds of the waves, and feeling the warm Gulf breeze.

Before leaving, I decided to wade out into the water and had gotten only a few steps in when I saw a big triangular fin about twenty yards out moving parallel to the shore line. While I don’t remember backing out of the water, it was probably done at the breakneck speed of Wiley Coyote equipped with the latest Acme invention chasing the Road Runner. I thought of what Katie (my very smart niece who is pursuing a degree in marine biology) had said about sharks biting people because they looked like seals… ‘Try not to look like a seal’ and then ‘You’re standing on the beach already, Einstein.’

There were two state park employees nearby, a young man and woman, working on the bird sanctuary fence. I asked them, “Have y’all seen many sharks this summer? Because I see one now.”

Him, looking out into the water: “It’s probably a dolphin.”

Her, not looking up: “Yeah, it’s a dolphin. We see them all the time.”

Me (annoyingly persistent): “Ok… but it looks like a shark.”

Her, still not looking up, but friendly nonetheless: “It’s a dolphin.”

Him, finally seeing the fin: “Wait… it IS a shark. It’s a big one!”

Her, looking up now: “I see it too! It’s definitely a shark!”

shark fin

Not a dolphin!

Both of them whipped out their phones and started snapping pictures while I was thinking ‘Told ya…’

Her: “It’s not dangerous though… it’s not a bull shark. We don’t get bull sharks around here.”

(No offence, lady, but I’m not listening to you anymore. Aren’t you the one who told me the shark was a dolphin?!)

Him: “You might want to stay out of the water…” And off they went, speeding down the beach in their golf cart to take more photos.

Perfect timing- it is Shark Week on Discovery channel after all.

Stuff Happens- A Regrettably True Story

watre closet

In an effort to cut down on colorful language and not embarrass my parents (too much), I’ll be making a few word substitutions.
“Come help me! The toilet exploded!”
Those were my first words said to my son a few mornings ago. I should have known something was a bit off when I put a load of laundry in the washer and then heard a gurgling noise coming from the kitchen sink. We live in an old house and according to my neighbors, the folks who lived here before had an interesting way of performing home repairs.
As I rinsed a glass, I wondered why the water wasn’t getting very hot. When the loud gushing sounds reached my ears, I raced to the bathroom to find a volcano was erupting and hot, steaming, brown lava was everywhere. It coursed down the sides of the bowl, six or more inches up over the seat and with the speed and volume of the water at Niagara Falls… so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration… but maybe not.
“What’s going on?” my son asked as he came to join me in the bathroom. “Ohhhh…”
“The sewer line backed up and exploded. Inside. Grab some towels, there’s wit and miss everywhere!” I reached down to turn off the water- that didn’t help. Plunging only made it worse. Never try to plunge if the wit in the sewer pipes is going the wrong way.
“That’s old wit! Ugh, I’m gonna be sick! There’s wit from the whole neighborhood in here!” He did manage to find every towel we own and we worked as a team to at least cover the wit.
“Old wit, new wit, our wit, their wit- it doesn’t matter! We’ve got to get rid of ALL the wit!” Oh, what a twisted Dr Seuss rhyme.
“Mom, it’s all the way up to your ankles!” And off he went… heaving. Not everyone has a nurse’s stomach.
Mount Vesuvius finally stilled, leaving only steam escaping from its base. At least I knew where all the hot water had gone. The supply of towels was extinguished long before all the wit and miss had been cleaned, so I reluctantly started the washer up again, fearful of having the house fill with another explosion of wit. Once the towels were in the dryer, I had to get some bleach.
One of my neighbors was outside, so we chatted for a bit. I told her what had happened while she was getting some things from her boyfriend’s truck. She held one of his work boots, and then said, “Ewww, I wonder if he stepped in something… it smells like wit!”
“No, Cynthia. That would be me. I’m witty.”
“Oh!” Then quieter and a little sadly, “Oh… Sorry.”
Well, hoarding has come in handy; I had about ten of those cute little pocket-sized anti-bacterial thingies from Bath and Body Works. After pouring them all on my jeans, then running a little through my hair, there was a lovely combination of French Vanilla, Soothing Pear, Luscious Lavender, Citrus Peach, Christmas Holly, Merry Mistletoe, and Winter White going on to titillate the senses- what kind of scent is Winter White anyway and does mistletoe really smell like cinnamon?
Judging by the looks received from fellow Wal-Mart shoppers, not everyone’s senses were happy and there must have been a lingering cloud of wit surrounding me. Ah, so much for not embarrassing my parents with this story. However, I’ve never experienced shorter lines or quicker service while shopping! The lady in front of me at the checkout lane unloaded her cart at break-neck speed, no one got behind me, and the cashier’s hands moved so fast they were a blur.
Halfway through the decontamination process and while I was regretting not owning a Hazmat suit (you can find them on Amazon and the customer reviews are pretty entertaining), my sister Mary phoned to help me keep a sense of humor. We were soon laughing hysterically- me aided by the bleach-fumes high and her by the mental picture conjured from the stinky story:
Mary (her voice hitching through the laughter): “So it wasn’t just plain wit, but steaming wit? That really is a big hot mess!”
Me: “Yep, we are full of wit over here.”
Mary (so sincere)” Oh sweetie… I wish I was there to help you. Kind of.”
Me: “Thanks honey and I genuinely kind of appreciate that.”
Like a bad dream, it’s now all over- except for hoping to become best friends with the new plumber. Into everyone’s lives a little wit must fall. Keeping it in perspective, there really are worse things, this certainly brings new literal meaning to having a witty day, and if it makes my sister laugh then it’s all worthwhile. Kind of.

When You Think Your Bike Is Your Best Friend

Having strong ‘loner’ tendencies, it’s no big surprise that I was drawn to cycling; I didn’t realize just how consuming my love affair with my bike had become until last night when I attempted to recount the details of the most recent ride to my son.
Me: “…so we were riding along Jefferson Highway and the rain was coming down in sheets…”
Him (trying not to laugh): “Mmmhmm…”
Me (becoming more passionate and slightly louder): “All three lanes had traffic, so we had to ride through the standing water on the right side of the road….”
Him (shoulders beginning to shake and eyes watering from trying to suppress the laughter):”Uh-huh…”
Me (louder still and very serious): “Suddenly our tires hit something slick-“
He started laughing out loud, incapable of holding it in any longer.
Me:”…and then we started skidding into the street… Just what the hell is so funny??”
Him (tears running down his face):”Mom! Who is ‘we?’ You and the bike?”
Me:”Oh.”
We’re both still smiling about that. By both, I mean me and my son. Not me and the bike!

Those Awkward Family Moments

Last night while I was in the kitchen, I heard Matthew McConaughey’s voice coming from the TV in the living room. Looking up at my nineteen year old son sitting on the couch, I asked him incredulously, “Are you watching ‘Magic Mike’?!”

He looked up with shameful disdain. “Yep. There’s nothing else on. So I’m just sitting here. Watching ‘Magic Mike’.” He shook his head pitifully as he glanced back down at the television.

“Oh!” I replied enthusiastically, “I’ll come watch it with you!”

The horrified panic that washed over his face was comical. As I walked over to the couch and began to sit next to him, he pleaded, “No, no, no! Mom! Don’t do it!” I nearly collapsed from laughing so hard.

“Mom!” the poor boy exclaimed. “You just made this, like, two hundred times more awkward. This is so humiliating.”

“I know, sweetie,” I replied as he put his head in his hands. “You’ll be ok.”

Evacuation in more ways than one

It was September 2, 2008, and I was driving back home from my brother’s house in Jackson. My two dogs, the cat, and I had evacuated on the eve before Hurricane Gustav was to make landfall. Fortunately, my son had evacuated earlier with his grandparents since I had been at work and therefore left New Orleans too late to avoid the contra-flow. I spent the following day in safety, and returned home the next morning.

As I was driving south down I-55, the remnants of the hurricane were raging…the sky was black although it was the middle of the day, visibility was next to nothing because unrelenting sheets of rain were coming down, the wind was blowing fiercely, and the radio blared tornado warnings about every three minutes.

My cat was in a pet-keeper in the front seat (he had become half-feral over the course of two days, but was finally sleeping), and the two dogs restlessly occupied the back seat. Obviously opening the windows was out of the question. As the dogs grew whinier, I kept trying to soothe them knowing there was nowhere to pull over.

We drove on, and then there it was…

As the stench came rushing into the front seat, the poor cat awoke mewing pathetically. At the same time, both dogs attempted escape from the back seat by simultaneously trying to leap over my shoulders, one on each side. I pushed them back, and then frantically started looking for a towel while yet another tornado warning screeched on the radio. Little flecks of dog excrement were flying everywhere. Finally I found a blanket on the floor and managed to cover the mess in the back seat thus settling the dogs a bit. Thinking, “Oh, wow, I still have about two more hours to drive before I get home,” I ran my fingers through my hair and down the side of my face. That’s when I realized my hand was full of dog crap.

Now I won’t call the name of the culprit…but it was the big black one with the crazy white eye. Poor thing, he hates storms and must have had the worst nervous stomach of his young life.

Before, I left his home, my brother had given me a bottle of water for what we both thought would be a relatively short trip- I still had half of it left. Thinking it might help, I poured it over my hands, but as one might imagine, diluting the mess served only to make it worse.

I looked at my hands, looked at my clothes, and then did the only thing I could- wiped my hands down my shirt, shorts, and bare legs.

At the Jefferson Parish line, there was a checkpoint for those re-entering the parish. Because I am a nurse, I had a paper to allow early re-entry. As I slowed to a stop at the checkpoint, the two officers took one look at me and waved me through without my even rolling down the window- certainly couldn’t blame them.
When I finally got home, all of us rushed out of the stinky car with more of the… um… stuff… flying through the air. My neighbor was at her front door offering a warm hello and asking me to come over. Though glad to see her, I said, “I might be a while…”

In need of a shower more than ever before in my life, I still had to laugh. We were blessed that the brunt of the Hurricane had missed us and that I had a house to come back to!