THE BLOWOUT SALE

      We are downsizing. The house will remain the same but the extraneous stuff has got to go.  My favorite Cuban whirlwind came over for a couple of hours on a weekend and accomplished more than I had in a month. It may be an energy level thing, but I'm guessing  it's a talent for organization, which I do not possess. She pointed, Geoff moved, I sorted, then she tidied behind us.
     Sale treasures went against the left hand wall. Keepables were sorted into plastic bins for storage. Five underbed boxes now live under my bed. There's not much room left for Bob the cat to hide when Chuchi the weiner dog comes to visit. Then again, he may be safer as chubby Chuchi cannot get over or around the boxes.
     Giant tables entered the garage. The day of the sale they would be filled with items that someone else surely longs to possess. Games with pieces missing. Games that have never been opened. Art works that have seen their day come and go. Clothing, some with tags still attached. Sheets, towels, lamps, curtains, pots, pans, dishes, kitchen pieces and parts.  Books, lamp shades, art, sewing, & craft supplies, things surely needed by someone else.  Debris and detritus, somewhat past the USE BY date.
     When Jenni came we cleaned the tops of the cupboards and sorted through my mom's grandmothers' remnant dishes. The blue gray bone china tea cup that only ever held gin belonged to my great grandfather Jerry's brother John. Grandpa Campbell's wooden shoe forms from the repair shop and a lidded withy basket woven by his grandfather were washed and returned to the shelf. Grandma Nettle's brass cherub got polished and is once more poised proudly on one toe, arm outstretched awaiting his gas lamp. Aunt Hazel's brightly painted Christmas cookie tray is sitting cornerwise waiting for it's place on the holiday table, Grandma Grethel's Franciscanware platter and bowls again lean bright and proud against the wall. Memories and family history washed clean, refreshed, relabeled and stowed carefully away again. Almost nothing up there, except the pitchers I bought for color, went into the sale. Even the rooster purchased to match the cutsie French chef décor got a stay of execution. I just like it. What can I say?
     Black and white checked curtains with red trim, ice cream chairs cushioned in toile,  a yellow wrought iron table and an old red toaster, faded to flamingo pink, went to the sale side.  Holes dot the house where too much used to be.  The feeling of accomplishment is wondrous.
     Even emptying waste baskets accomplished something. Files, folders, a 15 years of real estate research and such got pitched. Eight years of newspaper info and regs got tossed.
     Recycle those ancient phone books! Toss the tattered Real Estate study books! Pitch the old maps! Out with all the 'dexes (rolo, filo, etc.) We're retired and they're out of date! Into the fire pit with it all! Toast them 'shmallows! Build them s'mores! Get a little fatter, but the papers are burnt!
     On sale day, in the dark of the morning we set up the tables in the driveway and arranged our glorious array. The coffee was on and we sat in the chilly garage, waiting, but it was a sunny 8 a.m. before a steady stream of older male schmoozers came and asked if we have any tools for sale. No, we didn't.  Fishing equipment? Just an old rod and reel. Eventually a guy bought those for his grandson. A box of random electronic wiring I meant to toss got sold for $1. Wow. Who knew? How much for this? What do you want for that? Will you take $X?  The extremely heavy Creuset enamelware went in the 10 a.m. wave of older couples. We'd bought it at the Thrift Shop and used it for nearly 10 years. Towel sets from the closing up of multiple relatives' homes sold, along with sheet sets and random kitchen thingies.
     About 1 p.m. women in pairs and singularly began to show up. By 4 we were staring glassy eyed at one another. At 5 p.m. we dragged the tables into the garage and closed down.
     By 7 a.m. Sunday morning we were ready and rarin' to go. Unfortunately our first customer showed up at 11 a.m.
     The day dribbled on. $1 here, 50 cents there. A book, a plate, a tray.  In the late afternoon a lovely lady finally bought the wrought iron garden table with the ice cream chairs. She had a rather small car, but we slotted  and puzzled it all in and tied it down with ropes. We waved her off and carted the leftovers back into the garage. Boxes, books, bags, and things were once more stacked high around the walls. That was not part of the plan.
    It felt a bit better after counting the intake. We covered expenses plus a bit that we didn't have before. It went in the bank until the next time, because we WILL have a clean garage. We are determined! Sort of.

Have You Noticed How Expensive Detergent Has Become?

I can sew quite decently. I can paint almost any surface. I am handy enough with a hammer, saw, drill, etc. I don't cook a lot, but none of my family starved even when the cookies and chips ran out. So, I figured with a recipe for homemade laundry detergent...I can do that!
I got out the stock pot, which is the largest cookware we own, and began to assemble the ingredients. I had it all, didn't even have to go to the store. Baking soda: check. Borax: check. Washing soda: check. Water...yep, got that too. Bar of Fels Naphtha soap.
It was suggested that the bar of soap be cut in pieces and grated, run through the food processor or microwaved.
Hmmm. Mess up my food processor? or microwave it? No contest. If the directions say the soap expands when microwaved, then, place it in a plastic bowl! Microwave for 5 minutes, then in 15 second increments until the soap is completely melted. What could go wrong?
The bowl melted in less than a minute. The soap took longer. It also took a while to separate the melted soap from the melted bowl.
Finally I globbed the melty soap into the stock pot, added a cup of water, and turned the heat to simmer and began adding the dry ingredients. Almost immediately it began to scorch to the bottom of the pot. I added water and stirred, more water, stir...sticking, more water...at last I added about a gallon of water. I hopefully left the pot on simmer and went to do some other important things. You know, check my work site, my work email, my personal email while I was at it, Face Book, and a quick run through Pinterest while I was at the keyboard.
Back at the stove, the pot had "simmered" all over the stove top. Sticky glop adhered to the lid, to the rim, to the pot, to the burner and everything around it. I pulled off the lid and poked at the stuff with a long wooden spoon. Now the spoon was coated, too. ARGH! I set the pan off the heat and replaced the lid.
When the stovetop cooled I began trying to clean the mess. I wiped at it with a sponge...no dice. I covered it with soaked paper towels. No effect. Scrubbies. Little effect. I finally got out a heavy steel spatula with a sharp edge and began to pare it away. It took hours.
The next morning the lid had to be pried open. Inside the stock pot was a watery soup with a thick, gunk island bobbing around. I considered my options, and put a cooling rack in the bottom of a clothes basket which I placed in front of the stove. I broke the island into gunky chunks and put them on the rack to dry. The watery goo went into a detergent container. I'll find a use for it. It is bound to be a really bad example of something. The stock pot is clean as a whistle, though. Whatever that means.
It was really cheap to make, as advertised, unless stirring time and cleaning time is included. All in all I think I'll continue buying expensive detergent on sale with coupons. On the other hand maybe it was worth the laugh on a tense Boston Marathon week.

Fine lines the timeline

Tuesday, January 13, 2009 at 12:33pm | Edit Note | Delete
I have always known that there was a fine line in a timeline, but only recently was told that it is two separate entities. No more gazing into the future, no more glances at the past. There is simply time and also line.
I want to go back to when I was quicker, stronger, slimmer, and time stretched out in front of me in an endless line. My past was short and my future long. I had an unbroken timeline.
But now, in the interest of saving time, I e mail instead of dropping a line. I use the saved time to line up appointments, then lose it in the grocery store line. I snap time saving digital photos and store them until I have time to line them up and weed them out. I get to the movie on time and wait in line. I fix time saving meals, then hurry back to work on line.
Some day there will be time to make scrapbooks and study geneology to find where we hang in the family line. Was ours a clothes line or a party line or a boundary line? The family lived just north of the Mason Dixon Line. The family farm has passed to another line, but theirs goes back to meet ours, not too long ago in the way of timelines.
My husband's line was measured in picas and they used california job cases. There was a typo here and a line dropped off the page there. They lived near the Illinois/Indiana line. Most of the lines are recorded in sepia tones and charcoal and local news clippings. Most have no date. No time. Just a line.

Travis drew a line in the dust at the Alamo and 179 men stepped into history's line. Caesar's most famous line "Et tu, Brute?" still rings, and Brutus steps out of time to "bury Caesar, not praise him".
I want to get a line on some more time. I need to stretch out that line of hours and make them last longer, work harder, do more.
Without the line, time gets away from me. Without the time I fell, hook, line and sinker. Do you remember the line "I had the time of my life.."? How many lines have you memorized? How much time did it take?
Broken, cut in half in the time of its life, a life line broken.

He's nice enough, but he's got quite a line. I haven't got time for that.
I have a line on something good, but haven't had the time to check it out.
These are laugh lines, not laughed at lines. Attitude lines and latitude lines, I'll wear them all on my face in time.
How much time do we have? Keep it in line.
How come the mouse has all the good lines?

Streets Lite

*My theory is that the developer of this area was so cheap he bought up all the prisoners' mistakes, giving us such as Cannolot Blvd. Of course it could be a tribute to great grandma's preserves. Alborado Road might be a misspelling of EL Dorado, but what about Decorore Drive?
*Damfiwill and Damfino as street names are amusing but can't you just hear a judge asking for your address?
Saying you live on Damfiwill  just might get you thirty days!
*Is Cazenovia a lover who cannot spell his own name? Did the same person name Randyparr Street and Notson Terrace? If he is not your son why did you name a street for him? Drude Court could be a contraction of Rude Dude and may have been named by the person who chose Taunt Court.
*Malarky Lane, Glee Avenue, Bacchus Road and Revell Lane are on the party side of town. Doe Street and Lark Drive, Minnow Way, Dog Court are rather prosaic compared to Catspaw Drive. Is Dobell Terrace something you answer or a jingly thing around Bambi Terrace?
*Most would avoid Abrade Avenue, but might be curious about Antofagasta street or Condmn (not MY misspelling) Point. Couples longing to be parents may want to live on Concepcion Drive, but would you buy on Pessoa Street or Mamora Drive? Sandspur Street is every street in town! Sandrala Drive and Santarem Circle have appeal, but Winding Vail doesn't and isn't.
*Bail Court, Bank Court, and Bar Court are truthful, but Bill Court is waiting for a vote. Someone living on Cockpit Lane probably wants to be in the pilot's seat of Cessna Court, but Confound Road is hard to follow.
*There's Ebb Road, Ebb Avenue, Ebb Circle, Bayswater Road and Edgewater Drive. Most of the them are signed with flood warnings. Hopefully they are close to Afloat Drive and Barge Lane. Beaver Lane, Beaverhead Ave, and Beavertone Ave are nowhere near the woods.
*In a nod to elevator music we have Bee Gee street. Authors are honored with Cervantes. Pirates give us Blackbeard and Captain Kidd. Those are neither streets, boulevards, avenues, nor lanes, and they avoid courts!
*Yule Street, Silverbell Drive and Wassail Lane take care of Christmas and for class we have Duchess Avenue and Duke Lane.
*Empire Street, Factory Avenue and Enterprise Avenue pay homage to industry along with Edsel Drive and Cadillac Avenue and plain old Car Street.
*I walk my dogs along Windswept, by Winning Way and Wonder Win, follow Barksdale around to Corfell and down Rickardway Avenue. How can it be both a way and an avenue?
*Aback street is, well, alone.
*Happy Hollow would be a fun place; It is probably near Kidon street and Omie Avenue. For more fun you could visit Carousel Lane and or Drive.
*Cattle Dock Point and Road sound earthy, but would you live at Slipshod Manor?
*There's Hesta Misty Court, Robat Terrace and Silage Circle. We've no Alpha Street, but there is an Omega Lane which brings us to Ycolt and Zorn Streets.
*The streets could be named A, B, C or 1, 2, 3 but wouldn't that be boring?