~~FEMININE MATTERS~~

Learning to Live in a Piecemeal World

It's twenty past noon and I just finished successfully cleaning a toilet and the main bathroom sink. That may not sound like much, but I'm feeling a tad bit proud. Four minutes into the chore, my back yelled at me to go sit down. So I did, for three minutes, then went back and finished it.

I need to dust my master bedroom and clean the adjoining bathroom's toilet and sink, too. But I'll have to rest awhile.

I do everything in piecemeal. Five minutes here. Five minutes there. I suppose I should be grateful I'm able to do this much. I know several folks who can't.

I sit here in between 5-minute work sessions and tune into Easy Listening music. It seems to actually calm my anxiety. I get too worked up over not being able to do things anymore. It's silly. "Be still and know..."

I freshened my water pot on the stove with more peppermint and eucalyptus oils. The air smells so fresh. Relaxing. Resting lets my mind wander to the list of things I'd love to be getting done. Alas, the voice whispers again, "be still and know".

I try, I really do. But the list mocks my resolve.

So do the few items scattered about the living room. The sweater and scarf I dropped on my walker last night when I got home from church. Little things beg to be picked up and put in their places.

After I get my bedroom dusted, I may try to tackle hanging a painting that's been leaning against the wall for three years. Maybe. I may not be able to reach the spot where the nail needs to go. That may have to wait 'til after my back ablation. And maybe my knee replacement.

I'll have to see.

Living in a piecemeal world means waiting to see if I'm able. Yeah, it's frustrating. But I'm getting through it all. Piece by piece.

A Tiny Disaster, Or More Like a Blunder

Yeah; it seems to happen every time I try to do something.

This time is was my bathroom window. It screamed to be cleaned. Well, actually, all my windows are screaming. I've yet to find someone willing to quell their screeching.

I'd do it myself if not for my back and my inability to stand for more than 3 to 5 minutes at a time. However. This time. This time it was only one window that squalled above all others. It was different.

You, see, each time I sat on the commode (yeah, I do that several times a day), long, thick strands of cobwebs and dust accumulation hung across two panes and begged me, "Pulleeeeze, this is embarrassing. Clean this mess off."

I might have left the garland of dust if not for my offer to my granddaughter-in-law. I told her she could come over during her lunch hour and take a nap to stave off her exhaustion. (She's pregnant). She works from 9 to 6 and the day takes a toll. I'm not pregnant and I take a couple of naps a day. Just can't keep my eyes open. Fibromyalgia robs me of energy, though. Nevertheless, I can relate.

So, this morning, my dirty window just gnawed at my being. Alas, I grabbed the Windex and paper towels. I fidgeted with the buttons that allow my window to come forward to allow me to wash the outside. They worked. I was emboldened. I started by cleaning out all those little spider ball eggs, and wiping out the grime in the bottom of the window. Then I sat down a moment. I washed the window and was so proud as it squeaked with joy, rather than rudely yelling for a bath. Then it happened.

The mini-disaster.

The blunder of incompetence.

When I tried to right the window to slide it back down, the window dropped on one side and I couldn't budge it. There I was with my freshly cleaned achievement and I had no idea if I'd break the window if I tried to force it into the track properly. So I stood there, staring at it. Then I talked to it. "See? This is why I haven't tried to do this. Everyone says it's so simple. Sooo easy."

Then there is me. What seems simple to some women, ain't so simple to others.

I thought about shutting the bathroom door till my husband got home. But it was 30 degrees outside. So, I do what I normally do, when I create a mess I'm not sure of how to handle.

I texted my husband at work. Lucky for me, he was not far away. He texted back that he'd be right over. I hated to surrender. But with my health issues I didn't dare let that window just hang there. I envisioned it crashing to the floor and exploding all over the bathroom. I felt stupid. I felt incompetent. But, my blessed husband came in and fixed it lickety-split. I wouldn't have had the strength to push it the way he did to right the matter.

I'm grateful that today of all days, he was nearby and not 100 miles away, as he could easily have been. I realize anew that I do not have to be Wonder Woman. The humble pie I've eaten in life is enough to destroy the average feminist today. But that's okay. My window is clean. And it's back in place. And no. I'm not cleaning anymore windows. I'll leave that to someone better equipped to handle the job. I've learned a new limitation.

 

Butterfly Embellishments for Store Bought Cake

My Mother-in-law turned 90.  I couldn't bake a cake. My carpal tunnel problems hindered me with all the stirring and mixing (no, I do not own a cool mixer).  So I went to Wall-mart and bought a funky cake, because my 90-year-old mother-in-law is a fashionista who wears royal blue nail polish and has a penchant for "funky" stuff. Just any old plain cake would not do.

I started with the funky teal and purple iced cake and had them add her Happy Birthday Gloria salutation.

Then went to the Dollar Tree and bought a package of three little netted butterflies and added them to that giant purple bizarre silk dahlia that was plopped on top of the cake.  Those darling little butterflies created the perfect picture for a lady who loves blitzy bling and sequined, beaded purses that match her colorful sandals.  

Then I found some pearlized aqua gumballs to add to the top of the cupcakes. No, she didn't chew on a gumball...but her great-grandchildren loved those for treats.

It was a sweet time for all and was totally surprised to have us celebrate her 90th as we gathered at the Assisted Living Home.

She's all dolled-up in the new top her daughter sent her from Florida.  The beaded necklace was the perfect match from her great-granddaughter.

And of course, what could be better than having her eldest son, doing the honors of lighting her candles? 

We should all live to be ninety and have such fun... don't ya think?

A Space for Mom

She's my husband's mom.  She's 89.  She didn't want to go to a nursing home or an assisted living community.  She said, "I'm not ready to give up family".  In truth, she'd lived by herself with her husband for decades.  Her children had lived on their own, too.  Even though her youngest son had taken her in a few years back, he'd pretty much had his own home with his own wife, also.  Her daughter, also lived alone in her own home.  So, it's not like mom was giving up any family to live in an assisted living situation.  She just refused to make that transition.  So her adult children, set aside their own interests, lifestyles and futures to make room for her in their homes.

With my husband and I, we let go of our retirement situation and offered to purchase a home to accommodate her needs.  Unfortunately, that meant a drastic change for everyone.  She had to move from Florida to Oklahoma.  And we had to give up our financially secure situation and invest in a less secure situation that more than tripled our cost of living.  It meant letting go of the dream I had of my husband finally quitting his full-time job and staying home with me.  We'd need everything we were making and more to be able to provide a home for his mom so she didn't have to go to an assisted living facility. 

I wanted her to have as pretty, happy, and colorful space we could find.  We bought a house that met most of our needs but would have to be drastically renovated for her limitations. 

We enlarged the 24-inch bathroom door opening to 32 inches to make room for a walker.  We took out the tub, changed the drain, and put in new fixtures to make it more accessible to her.

She wanted turquoise for her bedroom, so we painted her bedroom in turquoise and aqua.  I carried that color into her bathroom as an accent so she'd feel happy in every way I knew to help ascetically.

As we looked for a home to purchase, I spent a lot of time looking for one that had a flat driveway with as few steps as possible into the front entrance.  I wanted a treed lot with a fenced backyard so she could go outside and walk her dog.  We looked for one with a porch so she could sit outside and enjoy fresh air and watch the birds and squirrels at play.  It took some doing, but we found one.

Below is the bedroom I decorated for her in hopes of making her latter years as happy and comfortable as possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I bought mom a digital clock with huge numbers so she'd be able to see the time without having to ask.  Her Macular degeneration limits her sight. We purchased a full-size adjustable bed so she could move it up and down and also accommodate her little Chihuahua that she insists must sleep with her.  We got her a 50-inch television set so she could see it as best as she can (mostly she listens to it).  

Mom has been quite homesick for Florida and her daughter.  But we are doing our best to try and make a comfortable situation for her.  I left most of her walls blank in case she wanted to choose some things for herself to decorate with. Transitions are not easy.  But I'm learning.  Each day has its own challenges and changes and adjustments.  For everyone.  

Contact Paper and the Dreaded Job of Removing It

Whoever thought up contact paper should have been locked up forever in a psyche ward.  Seriously. 

I just spent hours upon hours trying to chisel that stuff off my linen closet and vanity shelves and drawers.  It was disgusting.  I even enlisted my husband after he'd worked all day to help me get at the floor-level shelves which I can't get down to because of my feeble weak muscles.

He did 3 shelves until I noticed his face had turned beet red. That's when I made him come out from under the vanity in our Master bath.  His weak heart had had all it could take of the workout his arms and shoulders were giving it.  I made him switch to the less strenuous job of taking off the three doorknobs in the bedroom.

I know the former owners of my house had the best of intentions when they lined their shelves with that plastic-coated shield of sticky goo.  But that contact paper was nasty.  I used a putty knife to pick at it.  With my Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, it was not easy.  Good thing my Carpal Tunnel problems aren't as pronounced in my hands as they are in my shoulders.  Ibuprofen should help ease the aftershocks of my riveting and scraping.

I've got one more shelf to undress tomorrow morning-- (the one I wouldn't let hubby finish tonight).  Am praying my body isn't in full rebellion when I awaken.  If so, I may have the painter paint over the stinking mess and forget about it.

I wondered if I heated it with a hairdryer if it would let loose any easier.  However, my hairdryer was 30 minutes away in my other house.  I will find out tomorrow.  Am taking it with me. 

UPDATE: LUCKY ME... the hair dryer worked!!! I had to heat it up in small areas but it pulled loose and came off in chunks. After I got the bright idea of using my hair dryer, I googled how to remove contact paper and found a great technique that showed two ways of doing it.  For future reference, you might want to take a peek [HERE].  Hopefully I will never have to remove contact paper ever again.

Hiding Television Cords with Renovation

Can't stand the wires hanging down from your television?  Neither can I.  So when we purchased the house we're about to move into, I saw a perfect opportunity to fix that dilemma. Hide them.

There is a bar in the living room entry that I would never use for several reasons.  It's a 70's throwback with mirrored shelves and all.  See? >>>

We're going to eliminate the bar and build a wall in front of the inset, then build in our television set to work for our needs and add an insert for the DVD player and Dish Satellite box. Then all the wiring will be hidden behind the wall.

I'm loving this idea I saw on Houzz (one of the top notch design sites on the internet).  We will incorporate this idea into my decor, minus the color purple.

Contemporary Living Room by Toronto Home Media Design & Installation LeslievilleGeek TV and Speaker Installation

Ride the Waves of Life

No one can ride the one made just for me.  Or you.

It's special.  Just as special as you are.  It rolls across the ocean and breaks upon life's shore; it releases its strength and eats the sand beneath our feet and pulls it out into the midst of greater waves to live again and again.

That is us.

We have our own space in time.

Others may join in our ride.  Or they can sit upon the shore and wait for their own wave, their own space. 

Ours collects its own grit, it's own fragments of life.  It may carry starfish and conchshells and greet the dolphins as they pass them in the sea.  It may battle shark and eels and stingrays on its ride through each day.  It may float in stillness and wait upon the Lord for tides to roll again in His own time.  But it is ours to embrace, to carry us through the changing moons and the rising and setting suns.

Live.  Live with all the expectancy of crashing waves and breaking foam.  Life is as calm or exhilarating as we want it to be.  Live.  selahV

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Woman to Woman-- When Age Makes No Difference

communication has no gaps.  Generations co-exist quite nicely.  That's my goal in life.  To co-exist with all women and bridge any gaps that may appear.

So, let's talk about canes.  No woman with any desire to be fashionable wants to use a cane.  We don't use them to gain sympathy or to get a handicap parking tag for our cars.  We use them so we don't end up with a handicap tag on our car.

I enjoy chatting with gals of all ages but some kiddos have a tendency to shy away from grey-haired ladies with canes.  Strangers seem to think a cane is synonymous with senility.  Not so.  Trust me... I've been tested.  Others think you must be ready for a wheelchair (that'a story for another day).

Some kids distance themselves from grannies with canes-- we're embarrassing.  Not my grandkids.  They just think it's another appendage.  Annoying as it is to me to keep up with that doggone thing, it serves a purpose when my ankles play games with my legs and break my stride before my mind wants to stop.  I need a little support for weak muscles and balance-- that's all.

I'm working on it though.  Right after Christmas, I bought some 3-pound leg weights to strap to my ankles so I can do leg lifts while I sit and watch the morning news.  One of these days-- before I croak, I'll get around to using them.  Then maybe I won't have to use my cane as often. 

It does comes in mighty handy when I want to close my kitchen curtains.  Beats getting on a stool and chancing a fall where I'd have no one to hear me cry, "I've fallen and can't get up."  No, I don't have one of those little gizmos...but I'm thinking about getting one.  Just in case.  Older folks tend to buy things, just in case. 

There's one thing I've learned about canes.  People treat you differently when you use a cane.  Most get out of your way, and say they're sorry if they walk in your pathway.  Some adults, male and female, let you go in the door before them-- some adults--not all.  But the cutest thing is watching children who notice you. They tug on that heavy door, plant their little bodies in front of it and become human doorstops. They always say "your welcome", when I thank them. Mommas are teaching those children wisely.

Then there's the downside of canes.  Some folks are oblivious.  They step on the bottom of it as I walk forward, and I'll have to catch myself from falling because my cane is stuck behind me.  That can get scary in a mall or church hallway.  It's not their fault... not many folks walk around with three legs, ya know.  Most folks aren't looking down when they walk behind someone, they're looking ahead at eye-level...so they won't see a cane until they accidently step on it.  I've learned to be very tolerant-- and also very vigilant.

As annoying as a cane can be, they can also be quite dangerous.  I don't use it when there's rain on the walks or snow on the parking lot.  It doesn't have very good traction, slips right out from under me.  I've learned to walk very slowly, kinda like the Conway shuffle. I know, I'm dating myself with Tim Conway comedy sketches-- Tim use to pretend he was an old old man and he'd shuffle his feet like one of those plastic toys that walk off a table top when you hang a weighted string over the edge. 

I about fell on my face in an airport restroom one time.  The floor in front of the sink had drops of water on it and of course I plunked my cane on a drip and it slipped and I had to grab the counter.  Lucky for me I have a bunch of people in my life who pray for me daily.  Think they cover my angels' itinerary in situations like that.  So far, I haven't tumbled or made a fool of myself.

It's hard thing getting older.  Depending on canes is the least of our aggravations. the hardest part is accepting we really need one.  That's the gap I'm really learning to bridge...between the young me and the old me.  C'est la vie.

[for those of you who aren't familiar with Tim's shuffle, see video below.]

Monogrammed Aisle Runner DIY

First I sketched out the letters on a piece of paper.

Then I taped the master to the window and outlined the sketch in soft charcoal on the back side of the original sketch.

Next I laid the drawing onto the burlap material for the aisle runner and took a plastic knife and rubbed over the outline of the letters so that the charcoal appeared on the aisle runner. 

Then I painted the outline in fabric marker and then simply filled in the letters with fabric paint.

Finished product was a J & T: THIS WAS PAINTED ON A CREAM-WHITE BURLAP  54 INCHES WIDE.  This photo is of the finished piece lying on my dining room table.  selahV

 

KEEPSAKE ROSES

Sometimes you have to keep the lovely for the sake of a memory. That is how it is with me and roses.  I love roses.  I love fresh roses.  I love roses that bloom on the bushes and even enjoy watching them fade away and drop their petals leaving rosehips to gather for tea.

But on the very special occasion when I receive long-stem roses from my husband, there is something absolutely timeless about drying those roses to keep the  memory of that day alive forever.  That is why I do what I do at the end of the fresh-life of my roses.  JUST AT THE MOMENT ...

I notice them start to droop, I rescue them from their vase, wrap a rubber band around the stems, turn them upside down and hang them on a nail or hook.  They look so country chic as they dry.  Afterwards, I can use them for various displays, dried arrangements, or leave them hanging on a hook in honor of the day they came to me. 

Nearly fifty years ago my husband's sweet grandmother Bartlett gave me an antique Torque pottery milk-pitcher.  Written on one side is this epithet:  "A thing of beauty is a joy forever."  I sometimes read that little sentence and consider all the beauty around me:  the sunrises, and sunsets, the Spring meadows bursting into life with every conceivable color and blossom. Yet, even with the most beautiful sight I'll ever see, I know I cannot fathom the beauty of what God has prepared for me in heaven. 

I see the beauty in a stranger's single random act of kindness and cradle the memory and joy it brought to me and others.  I realize afresh why Jesus said we store our treasures in heaven when we give joy to family, friends, and strangers.  Joy of this kind is the "forever" beauty to which my little pitcher is speaking.  That beauty and joy we will carry into our eternity with Him.  It's being stored there for us.

After I dried my roses, I took the red ones and put them in a simple clay vase and tied a string around it and made a table vignette for my kitchen table (see above).  The white roses still hang grouped together and rest happily on my white bookcase in my bedroom... to be a joy for as long as their presence allows me.

    

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