The Big Bad Wolf

Can someone please explain to me why there are so many absolutely crazy people these days? 

After doing some work on the bathroom at our place at the lake, I find myself with a washer and dryer to sell.  They’re in great shape, they run really well.  We put in a stack set in an effort gain a little floor space in the bathroom, so the old set has now taken up residence with a bunch of other stuff in our garage.

Shouldn’t be a problem, right?   I mean with all the electronic ways to sell things today, they should be gone by tomorrow.   That would be wrong…….

I immediately went to everyone’s favorite….Craigslist.  Since I’m not advertising in the personals column, or looking for a discreet meeting with a massage therapist what could go wrong??

I can only imagine what happens when anyone in any state in the U.S. posts something on Craigslist….alarms bells must go off in every phone tank and scam artist work room in Nigeria.  I immediately got a response that requested my home phone, email address and other important information.   Oddly enough, they were really unconcerned how much I was asking or what the set looked like.  “I will liking you to sell me them…..”

Not to be outdone the next interested person, who just happened to be out of town visiting his/her son, said he/she would be “hoppy” to send me a check and arrange ‘for-to’ get the items later…….uh-huh.

Today I got another inquiry.  This person wants to know if I still have the “item” and would like me to send my email address so we can discuss this matter.   Why do you need my personal address.....you just emailed me!

I have not had even one serious inquiry, just six contacts with people looking for any opportunity to make a quick buck at my expense.  They know they only need a few minutes with some people to arrest their intelligence long enough to fleece them.  I’ve come to the conclusion that the scam artists and crazies have taken over the internet, the phone system and snail mail to ‘reach out and touch someone’.    From the elderly lady who’s been informed by mail that she just won the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes, to the homeowner who will never again lay eyes on the fellow he just paid to seal his driveway ‘next week’…..we all have been introduced to the never ending stream of wolves just looking for a stray to pounce on.

Keep a tight hand on your wallet and a close eye on your elderly relatives; the bad guys never sleep.

 

I Miss my Convertible

Earlier in the year I made the decision that, because of age (the cars, not mine) it was time to trade in my convertible.  It had served me well, but, as the repairs become more than a new car payment would be each month, I eventually came to the decision that the time had come.

I didn’t really choose the car I ended up buying as much as it chose me.  My Mother purchased the car, but shortly the day came when she couldn’t drive any more.  It was serendipitous that her car needed to find a new home and I needed to find another car.

That’s how I came to own a chalk-white, Chevy Impala.  This truly is the “white cotton panty, sensible-shoe, take your vitamins” car of adulthood that I never wanted to own.    In short, it’s a grown up’s car, and I have never cared much for being a grown up.  (Deep sigh)  It was a logical decision, like having your teeth cleaned regularly or keeping up with your mammograms. 

Here’s the big disconnect.  When I was driving my convertible I felt free as a bird as I embraced the only form of going topless in the summer that I am willing to consider.   More importantly, from the first time behind the wheel of that car I detected a kinship with other convertible drivers.  Hair blowing in the wind, my stash of fast food napkins taking flight from the back seat floor…we would nod as we blew past one another.  It was a mute acknowledgement of automotive superiority that I learned to appreciate.  Granted, there wasn’t nearly as much nodding going on in the winter time, but nothing is perfect.

This morning I drove in to work and I saw the lucky convertible drivers whipping along the highway, nodding to one another in their secret way.   I felt abandoned to my chalk-white Chevy Impala for the first time.    

It is what it is.  I am the owner of a chalk-white Chevrolet and I must get on with my life.  My insurance carrier appreciates the change…my sun damaged skin likes the switch...my hair isn’t sunburned, either.  There are positives to every change, and I need to get a grip on those things until I either grow up, or talk my husband into a new convertible.

If you are a chalk-white Chevy driver and a woman you’ve never seen before, driving an identical car, nods at you for no apparent reason chances are it’s me, looking for a little hard-top camaraderie.

                                                                           Life is Good

 

 

The Universal Contract

Over the last few weeks I have been dealing with a couple of people (who shall remain nameless) who seem to have given up on life.  Personal loss, advancing age, boredom, depression...all of these things seem to have converged and the joy of living has dimmed, if not gone completely out.

One person told me, "I agree with Jody Arias on TV.  She was being interviewed and she said she just wanted to die.  She told the reporter death is the ultimate freedom."   Although I have long become accustomed to this persons dark point of view, I admit to being taken aback.    In response I gave the standard "buck up, it's not that bad" speech that I could see had little or no effect.  Words failed me; I left feeling helpless and more than a little sad.

How do you help a person who seems to have given up on this life?   Is it even possible to explain to someone in such a mental state that every second of life is precious?  It brought to my mind the people I have known,  and some I know right now, who are fighting for their lives. Would these two realize how precious their lives are if they actually thought they had only a short time to live?

I'm a grown up; I know the universe isn't based upon what's "fair".  But, if it were, it seems to me there ought to be a system akin to cell phone 'roll over minutes' for our life span.   Let's imagine that we all knew how much time we are allotted, but that time could be cut short by accident or disease or personal choice.   Mr. Smith has the regulation 86.4 years to live, but by the age of 66 he really isn't interested in continuing.  He has another 20.4 years left on his universal contract, right?    It just so happens that Mrs. Jones, age 24, has a disease that will be her end in just a few more months.  Mr. Smith offers her his remaining 20.4 years that he no longer wants.  Those years 'roll over' to Mrs. Jone's universal contract and....voila!    Happy ending.

I'm sure there are some bugs that would have to be worked out.  I'm also sure some hungry capitalist  would likely find a way to make a buck manipulating the system somehow. I suppose such a crazy idea really underscores the reason God runs the universe and I run the vacuum cleaner.  Still, it is a shame that time is too short for those who appreciate it and just a burden to those who don't.

I am grateful for every sunrise....mindful of every sunset.

                                   Life is Good
     

Tethered to Technology

I am frustrated because I forgot my cell phone charger cord at home this morning.  I remembered my car charger (changed cars with my husband this morning), so I’ve been forced to leave the phone in the car twice to get some juice into it.   Problem is, that phone number is the one I give everyone; I’m anticipating business calls and it makes me nuts to leave the phone in the car.

Fortunately, I did remember to plug my iPad in before I went to bed last evening.  And I’ve gotten the mess with my computer cord straightened out.  I had it confused with another cord and almost ran out of battery power at work one day.

Am I the only person on the planet who is sick unto death of living life at the end of a cord?  Cell phones, laptops, iPads, flashlights, cameras, MP3 players, iPods, and anything else they can put a cord on…..it’s maddening.  And every time you buy a new appliance you have to change the doggoned cords!  Apple is very likely making more on the phone chargers/cords/etc. than all the other things they produce!!

I’ve tried buying cords for home, for the office, for our place at the lake, for the car and a spare to keep in my handbag for emergencies.  I figure I have made an outlay of about $700.00 to keep equipment charged.   If I upgrade my iPhone I’ll have to start all over again.  The technology changes before I can get the plastic off the darned cords!!

Alright.  Let’s say you have all the cords in all the places you need.   Now you need to label them, because a white cord is a white cord is a white cord.  A black cord can go to a computer, an electric skillet or a camcorder.  In order to tell them apart  I’ve dabbed them with nail polish, used the plastic tabs off bread bags as labels, even applied twist ties and used a label maker in a desperate attempt to identify which appliance any given cord goes to.  Still, no matter how organized or well-planned my attack, I can never find the cord when my iPad battery starts to run low….which seems to be in no time at all.  

Given the fact that we pay an arm and a leg for them, why is the battery life so lousy on our electronics? They can track the signal from a battery operated ‘black box’ from a downed airplane seemingly forever.   If they have the materials and knowledge to construct an instrument that can fall from 30,000 feet, survive a fire and continue to send out a signal from the ocean floor for weeks on end……WHY can’t they design a cell phone that can withstand a drop on my kitchen floor with a battery life that is longer than the life span of a May-fly??

How can we move forward if our progress is hindered by the length of a recharging cord?  I look forward to the day when someone (anyone!) creates a battery that will last a lifetime.  Charge it once when you are gifted with this wonderful battery at your high school graduation party; recharge it before the guests arrive  for your ninetieth birthday celebration.  You should be able to get these remarkable batteries to fit any generation of electronics, and any product.

I know it may seem superficial, but that’s the gift I’d give the world.  There are many people working on world peace, the elimination of dreadful diseases and extending our lifespan.  I say keep up the good work…you are good human beings!  I, on the other hand, will be working on a battery that lasts 75 years without a recharge.  It may not be very compact, and it might have a kick start, but it will work!   Not because I’m a selfless human being who wants to teach the world to sing….but because it’s time to cut the cord.

                                                                Life is Good

A Little Corn can't Hurt....

Only 2 defining forces have ever offered to die for you....Jesus Christ and the American Soldier. One died for your soul, the other for your freedom.
                Lt. Col. Grant L. 
                      Rosensteel, Jr.

In today’s high tech, low morals, what-channel-are-the-Kardashians-on society it is rare that something strikes a chord with me.  I find myself in the position of trying to fend off more information than I take in.  We live in an exhausting world, bombarded by advertising impressions and demoralizing news programs.  The parade of people trying way too hard to get attention is pathetic at best (What WAS Michael Douglas thinking!!!!).

Daily I get scores of email forwarded from friends.  Some of it I enjoy; most of the wild conspiracy theory stuff just keeps Snopes in business.  I believe very little of it, and check out the worst of it.  I am convinced nothing is a bad as we fear or as good as we wish it to be…the internet stuff that goes around would have you believe otherwise.

It is in my nature to be skeptical about everything; it’s a fact of which I am not proud.  So, when I get something in my email that touches me, I am surprised to say the least.  The quote at the top of the page is one of those things.  It came attached to a much longer story, which may or may not be true, but that quote really hit home.  I guess the ‘cool kids’ would say it’s corny, and I guess they'd be right. 
 
Thing is...I guess I like corny.   Corny is comforting, soothing, refreshing; a nice break from hatred, violence and in-your-face vulgarity.   

I have printed out that quote and pinned it on the board in front of my desk to remind me that there is still good at work in this world.  There are people who still stand for the pledge of allegiance with their right hand placed firmly over a hopeful heart. 
In spite of the ugliness our society promotes, there are still those who support our soldiers and their families.  Many continue do good works through their church or service club simply because it is the right thing to do. They just don’t get their own reality shows, I guess.

That quote says all that to me, and more….. 

To believe in these things is, today more than ever, a conscious choice.   I choose to believe.

                                 Life is Good

                          

 

 

Happy Fathers Day, Pop.

The day you become a Father is the day you truly give your life away.  You probably thought that’s what happened when you met the mother of your child.  I bet you were pretty certain that’s what was going on when you stood before some kind of official and he/she read the words that made you man and wife.  Not so.

Having a child is THE most life changing event for anyone…becoming a Father gives you the opportunity to become a man.  I know that because that’s the kind of father I had.

My Mom has told me how excited she and Dad were to be having a child; as it turned out their only child.  Dad shared the experience with her by having morning sickness every day on the way to work.  He nearly wore a path in the tile of the waiting room while she was in labor; taking his two girls home from the hospital was the high point of his life.

I’m sure he was the typical 50’s and 60’s Dad.  He worked, came home to the evening meal, then read the paper and watched black and white TV.  It wasn’t glamorous, but it was constant and dependable.  Dad wasn’t the disciplinarian; in the team of good cop/bad cop he never was the villain.

When I was little, Daddy sat through many tea parties, ate tiny cakes from the Easy Bake Oven and patched my big doll named Freddie so the stuffing didn’t tumble out on the ground.    On Friday nights he stopped at Coney Island for a bag of hot dogs; the closest we came to eating out.  Once when I was sick he surprised me with a beautifully costumed Martha Washington doll I had spotted in a store.  Years later I understood it was something we could ill afford because he was working two jobs to make ends meet while Westinghouse was on strike.

When I was six I somehow contracted Scarlet Fever; a serious thing in those days.  Mom and I were quarantined for two weeks, Dad would stand outside the door to talk to us and leave groceries.  When the quarantine was lifted I was still too sick to go outside to play.  I remember my Dad carrying me into the hospital; I spent two more weeks recovering from the complications of Scarlet Fever.  My Mom stayed in my hospital room, and every minute he wasn’t at work my Dad was there, too.

You can do without a lot of material things and still have a happy childhood.  I wasn’t introduced to the symphony or the arts, and ours was not a bookish home.   I did not have a childhood of financial privilege; but I was loved and cared for.  My parents did the best they could…and that was good enough to make me strong and grateful.

As the years passed Dad was there to walk me down the aisle to give me away to a man who is very much like him in a lot of ways.  He enjoyed his grandchildren, often walking them around the block like a row of ducklings following along behind.   He helped with our moves from house to house, and he and Mom were great pinch hitters in our parenting line up.   

Having a Dad that loves you is one of life’s greatest assets.    His job from the day I was born was to make my life good; at least that was his interpretation.  He was embarrassingly proud of me; I was Daddy’s girl.   I hope I repaid a small part of that in the last years of his life when he was unable to do things for himself.   It was a privilege to give back what I could.

My father was a good man, and I think of him every day.   Happy Father’s Day, Pop.  I love you.

                                                                    Life is Good  

Can't it wait???

America's love affair with the telephone started the very day Alexander Graham Bell said, "Mr. Watson, come here.  I need you."

Through the years we've out grown the status symbol of having a telephone in every room.  Now we are eliminating land lines in our homes and carrying a cell phone in our pocket at all times.  

Be honest.  Aren't you at the point that you feel "naked" without your cell phone?  How can you tell what time it is, balance your check book, set your DVR or find your way in the dark without your cell phone??   It's really quite the little miracle.....and quite the modern day curse.

Thursday I was in a one hour meeting.  Heading in I always turn off my cell phone;  I'm not in charge of much any more and I actually like that. 

I took a chair at a table and waited for people to arrive.   The room filled quickly, the seat to my right was soon occupied by a woman I had never met.  I smiled and nodded, but she immediately ducked her head to dig in her purse for....what else....her cell phone.

The meeting began, the moderator doing her thing as she interacted with the group.  The woman beside me never looked up, it seemed she had decided to take this hour to write a book.   She attacked the tiny key board with great gusto, exhibiting a typing speed that must have taken a great deal of practice. Obviously she didn't know, or possibly she didn't care, that she could mute the key board.   Her typing/beeping continued through out the whole meeting time.  She did take one break when she talked rather loudly to the lady to her immediate right.  She proceeded to give her review of her new cell phone....needless to say she is quite the fan of her new smart phone.  It's too bad you don't have to be smart to own one.   By the time the meeting was over I was having a fantasy about grabbing the phone, throwing it on the ground and grinding it into the carpet while fighting the woman off with a folding chair.   In fact  I left the woman hunched over her cell phone; the maddening beep escorted me out the door.

It's not as if cell phones haven't been good the economy.  Well, some peoples economy, any way.  An entire industry of products we simply must have has sprung up to give us just the right designer cell phone case, the perfect hanger for plugging it in when at home, speakers that can be attached and rotating tripods so we can take panoramic pictures.   None of these items, or the cell phone service itself, is cheap.

 

I thought the 'invention' of the 24 hour  television news channel was a big mistake...but the dedication to constant contact and information our society exhibits makes that look good.    Texting, tweeting, Facebook and calling (to name a few)  gives us the opportunity to express every thought and list every action.   There is no escaping the loud, one-sided conversations going on among the clothing racks, in the grocery isles and even in the toilet stalls in public restrooms.   Evidently most of the population embraces the slogan "it's the next best thing to being there" as they prattle on and on about nothing, or even worse, share their most intimate secrets with anyone within earshot.  

I love the convenience of a cell phone, but it seems almost any convenience brings out the absolute worst in some of us.   Owning  one doesn't guarantee instant access to me any more than having one at home did.  Some times, and in some places, it is not appropriate to be on a telephone call or in a texting frenzy.
   

Come on America...let's take back our independence and relegate our cell phones to the place they actually should occupy; an appliance that we own, not the other way around.

                                                  Life is Good

The Battle

Today is one of the many days throughout the year I wish I could sit down and ask questions of my Dad......

Pop was in the Army during WW2.  It must have been a horrible experience.  Kill or be killed.   Wounded in action eight times, he lost a kidney, had a metal plate in one leg and shrapnel wounds that pockmarked the right side of his jaw and neck.  

As a child I never thought to ask him about 'the war'.   It was in the history books I read and seemed far removed from my father.  It was impossible for me to put him into the battle scenes that sometimes ran through my head like a news reel as I read about it.

I knew he couldn't sleep in a dark room;  we always had a night-light in our bathroom that shown into my parents bedroom. He never watched war movies or TV shows about soldiers.  He would quietly leave the room or change the channel...I never gave it much thought.

Dad fought malaria all his adult life, depression, pain and "nerves".  Later in life he was treated in a veterans hospital where they tried to bridge the nerves in his body that no longer connected because of the wounds he had suffered.  The drugs they treated him with had terrible side effects, so for most of his life he lived in constant pain because that's how his body interpreted everything.  Stitched together like Frankenstein's monster,  Dad's muscles and nerves were now his enemy.

Only in the last months of his life did Dad talk to me at all about his experiences.  He seemed fragile, so I still didn't ask questions, but accepted what he wanted to share.  Eventually I came to understand how deeply wounded he had been, and I was amazed at the herculean effort everyday life must have been for him.  His battle continued all his life without the possibility of any peace treaty. 

Somehow my Dad came out of the war physically damaged, but with a kind and gentle soul that never met a stranger.  He was a loving husband and a good father.  I miss him every single day,

Memorial Day makes me curious about the years of Dad's life that I know little about.  I wish I had asked more, I wish I had interviewed him then just as I would any hero I might talk to today.  Dad would have enjoyed Heart of Ohio Magazine and the article I surely would have done about him.   He is, and always will be, my hero.   

                                            Life is Good

Anniversaries are for remembering

Today is one of those days in my life when I know exactly where I was and what I was doing; 48 years ago today I married my husband, Larry.

We were too young, too inexperienced, had no prospects, and we were too dumb to know all that.

I can look back over my shoulder at our life together; it reaches back far into the distance but I remember every step.  The birth of our three wonderful children is the highlight, no doubt about that.  But I also remember buying our first house, for which we paid the princely sum of seven thousand dollars.  I remember the awful task of learning to drive a stick shift when our first car turned out to be a VW Beetle, and I remember letting the air out of the tires and tearing through the woods in it, too.   Learning to cook was a very big deal; for the first year we survived on “concoctions” which consisted of a can of green beans, a can of Krey canned meat and a can of icky, cooked potatoes.  Heat all that up in a pot and you might wonder how we made it to our first anniversary.   Thankfully our Moms cooked a lot…….

Our first house had a red bedroom.  It boasted red walls, red carpet, red curtains and red bedspread…all things that came together to give it the ambiance of a house of ill repute.  It was my husband’s first (and last) decorating input after he learned the phrase “ever since I was a little boy I wanted” would cause me to do anything he asked.  After that red bedroom the phrase didn’t work nearly as well.

Friday evenings were always special.  That was grocery store shopping night and watching “The Wild, Wild West” after we put the cold stuff away.  If we had money left, it might also be a cheap spaghetti night at the old Boston Spaghetti House.  I am still searching for someone who has the recipe for their spaghetti sauce all these years later.  The spaghetti extravaganzas stopped when our son was born because the “extra money” had to go for formula….a change we never regretted.

Through the years my husband has supported me in every possible way; financially, physically, spiritually and emotionally.  There is nothing I could have done to earn his devotion, and there is nothing that would ever replace it.

So, today….May 15^th, 2013….I say thank you to my husband, Larry.  Thank you for loving me no matter what for 48 years.  Thank you for loving me through thick and thin, through pregnancies and menopause and job changes and good times and bad times.  Thank you for putting up with me when I had my head on straight and when it was truly cockeyed.  Thank you for tucking me into the car as if I am still precious to you today and opening jar lids and putting up with a yappy dog.    You are my hero.

 

                                                                

                                                        Life is Good

 

Digging in the Dirt

Digging around in the dirt is something I like to do……I have no particular talent for growing things, but I enjoy it anyway.

This year I am going to plant lavender.  I’ve just written an article for the July issue of Heart of Ohio about the DayBreak Lavender Farm in Strongsville and I am psyched to grow some of the gorgeous plants.  If you’re a fan check out their website or visit them….tell them Heart of Ohio sent you!

Actually two things put me on this planting binge.  On the way to Florida last February Larry and I stayed at a lovely little place named The Indigo Inn.  Not only is it charming, but the toiletries they provide in the rooms are a treat for the weary traveler.  Lathering up with the lavender soap, then slathering myself with lavender lotion I promised myself I would treat myself to this lovely scent every chance I get from here on out.  I have a bar of lavender soap in my shower at home now that is about the size of a paving brick….but it smells heavenly and I enjoy it every day!

After experiencing that wonderful soap I researched lavender and found DayBreak Lavender Farm; I immediately contacted them for an interview.  It was a pleasure to meet the owners and talk to them about their passion….lavender.  Did you know there is a lavender festival?   There is!  Did you know you can do almost anything with lavender, from creating syrups to drying it for floral arrangements?  Who knew?

Last week I visited a greenhouse and bought a flat of lavender; several varieties.  What I will be planting is English lavender; I am on the lookout for French lavender as well.  I won’t have acres of lavender growing like they do, but my hope is the guidance I found on the DayBreak website will serve me well.    The plants I purchased should provide a beautiful border around my flower beds for years to come.

I’m looking forward to combing soil and sand and lime to create a medium in which the beautiful lavender might flourish.   I know I’ll be swatting flies; sweaty, dirt streaked and sore by the time I’m done.    Gardening (and life in general) requires three things:  Do your research, gather the proper materials, do the hard work. 

I guess when you get right down to it that’s what life is all about.    We do the dirty work, and instead of thinking about callouses and the risk of failure, we simply sit down and optimistically wait for the scent of lavender to drift into the windows.    

                                                                  
                                                                             Life is Good

Who done it??

 

 

Funny how a comment can send you on a quest; that’s what happened to me last week.

I was talking with a woman in my office whom I consider to be a talented photographer and writer.  She commented that sometimes she looks at something she has written and wonders, ‘who wrote that mushy stuff; where did that come from?’   She went on to say that sometimes she feels there is someone ‘in there’ doing the writing.

That struck a chord in me because I have a good friend who….well, let’s say she doesn’t care for my blog.  She says it’s sappy and that I am much wittier and more caustic than the things I write.   I can’t guarantee I’m any funnier in person, but I know I have a sarcastic bent that may not come off in my writings.   I’ve also written things that I would not, likely could not, put into words and wondered where it came from.

As the editor of Heart of Ohio Magazine it’s been my good luck to get to know Barb Haller; she is now a contributing columnist for us.  I wrote her to ask if she ever feels that her writing is somehow different from the person others seem to perceive her to be.   Her response was that she believes writers access and reveal a deeper part of themselves through their work.  Writing helps her sort out her thoughts and feelings.  She says she, too, has experienced a “who’s that?” when she reads something she wrote because it often reflects deeper things than day to day life.

Now my interest was really piqued.  I called another friend, this time a male, and asked if he ever experienced this split between his every-day life and his writing.  He laughed, “Well, now that you mention it I often go back to read things I’ve written years before and wonder who in the heck put that in my file.  Sometimes my work can come off as stuffy and cerebral, and you know that’s not what I’m about!”

I’ve been writing this blog over a year and a half now; the magazine over four years.  I went back through old blog posts to see if any of them struck me as having been written by some ‘other’ personality.  Here’s what I’ve decided:

Writing is a very solitary and private thing.  In our day to day lives we interact with other people; their reactions, needs and expectations can change how we behave; even who we are.  Writing isn’t like that….writing doesn’t happen to anyone but the writer.  It seems to me that writing is the pure distillation of who we really are; if you cannot tap into that you’re not a writer.  When I write the product is pure “me” without anyone else’s input.   Even the creation of fiction is pure because the source of the material is right inside the writers head; processed and stretched and chiseled by no one but the author.  In its purest form writing is ones interaction with oneself.

I suppose in talking with other writers I’ve answered my own question.  The outer ‘me’ is who I am when I react to other people, demands and unavoidable daily stress.  The writer, the inner ‘me’, is who I am when left to explore my own thoughts and feelings.  I can only speak for me, but the only way for that inner person to be heard is to write….and so I do. 

                                                      Life is Good 

 

 

Sound the Alarm

Last week our burglar alarm at home went off; an event that brought me home from work and a nice, big deputy to my driveway.  Fortunately it was a false alarm; something needs to be replaced in the alarm system and that’s being done today.

If there is anything more unnerving than having a stranger go through your house, from top to bottom when you were not expecting company, I just don’t know what it might be.  As I waited in the kitchen (where the counter was littered with the remnants of breakfast) the deputy went through the other rooms that actually made the kitchen look tidy (honest officer, I was running late this morning).  I could have saved him the effort of checking the closets because not one of them would have had room for a burglar to hide in. (Just like Fibber McGhee, I always plan to clean out those closets) Actually, that spare bedroom has not been ransacked; that’s just the mess I made looking for a sweater this morning.  Oh…my…goodness!!

If you take the time to check it out in the dictionary, the definition of motivation is:  To give reason, incentive, enthusiasm or interest that causes a specific action or behavior.  To say that having this nice young man walk through my house was motivating would be an understatement.  The weekend arrived to find me motivated to clear the clutter and excess from the house.  I am thinking of it as my “less is more” awakening.

The weekend was a blur of me dumping dresser drawers, pulling things from closets and making trips to Goodwill.  I had not done this thorough a toss-out for quite some time, but the fear of being nominated for an episode of Hoarders kept me moving…or should I say ‘motivated’.

Clearing out a closet is rather like tearing pages from a scrapbook for me.  This is the dress I wore in Washington….here is a suit I bought on our trip to New Orleans….oh, I just can’t toss these sandals I bought in Florida (yes I can!)….ahhhhh, one of the children gave me this hand bag.   I could go on for pages, but suffice it to say I over came the voices in my head and kept tossing.

I wasn’t alone in my effort to get rid of stuff.  Larry was right in there cheering me on and dumping his own dresser drawers.  By the end of the day we were exhausted but feeling pretty good about all the clutter we had cleared away.  Next we’re taking on the basement and the garage; while that promises to be a much bigger project, I think we will make some real headway.  There just might be some usable and organized space in our future.

To think I owe this spring cleaning frenzy to a malfunctioning burglar alarm.  Go figure.  It’s probably just as well that I didn’t catch the name of the young officer who showed up in the driveway.  I’m pretty sure my husband would send him a thank you note if I had.   I just know if the alarm goes off again I will be sashaying through the house, whipping open closet doors like Vanna White introducing a vowel!

                                                                        Life is Good