A Sign, But Not a Good Sign

My neighborhood was built about 30 years ago. I live on a remodeler's dream street. I don't suppose there is much to be done about the 8 foot ceilings, but there's a lot of potential when you talk about kitchens, baths, additions and replacement windows!

One family had a room addition and kitchen makeover. The contractor's sign (and big green port-a-potty) was in their yard for almost two years. It was not that big of a project. I called Codes and Compliance to see if you can really have an outhouse sitting on the curb for two years in our neighborhood. I guess they are still looking into it. According to the neighbor--who was glad to share his experience--there were weeks at a time when he neither saw nor heard from his remodeler. The man (neighbor, not the contractor) suffered through chemo for most of the time his house was in disarray. His calls to the contractor went unanswered. He passed away shortly after the project was finally complete and the port-a-potty and sign removed. Not a good sign.

The doctor next door has entertained a sign in her yard for over nine months now. Her contractor took a six week sabatical while his son played sports. Her three kids spent their summer with a dumpster blocking their basketball goal. It is very possible they will not spend the holidays in their new room since workers are seldom at their house even now. No trucks. No banging hammers and buzzing saws. But the dumpster is still there. And the yard sign. Not a good sign. It is still advertising to the rest of us that if you enjoy having a sign in your yard more than you enjoy a completed project, he's the one to call!

Another neighbor had replacement windows installed. The big trucks advertising the dealer were in and out in a day or two. For sure, it was not an extended project, but I remember the name on the truck and when the time comes, I'll give this guy a call!

Dust Bunnies and Other Household Pets

My housekeeper has been on hiatus for a few months. I miss her. I truly miss her...though I seldom saw her or talked with her. I went to work; she came into my house and did her thing, picked up her check and left. I came home and my house looked very similar to the way it looked when I left that morning. My house was always clean.

I am a neat freak...not to the extreme or obsessive...I do have a tolerance for messy, but the threshold is fairly low by standards I've observed in others. But I do have a high tolerance (apparently) for dust accumulation. In fact, as long as dust is undisturbed, I hardly notice it. Until, of course, I am entertaining guests and glance at a piece of furniture with the sun shining in on it. Yes, if you have never experienced that, it is embarrassing!

So, I say that, to say this: I cleaned my own house today. Needless to say, I encountered an entire colony of dust bunnies. Being the Socratesial thinker that I am, I began to wonder why these clumps of dirt, dust and lint are so named. They don't look like bunnies to me. Here are my theories.

• Far away and many years ago, a lonely, extremely near-sighted and very old woman saw these critters scurrying across her floor. It became her passion to collect as many of these furry friends as she possibly could. They kept her company and she never had to worry about food for them on her meager existance. The excentric old lady's neighbors began to gossip about Ida and her dust bunnies. Nah! Probably not, but maybe.
• A bit more scientific would be the theory that, like bunnies, these beings, left to themselves, proliferate and reproduce at an astounding rate! Also, like their breathing counterparts, they are incredibly difficult to catch! Start after them with a broom or dust mop and watch the entire herd scatter to seek safety in the corner, under another piece of furniture...somewhere...daring you to chase after them.

I don't think I am well suited for housekeeping. The entire time I was chasing dust bunnies, I was thinking of a blog........

Living Just Outside the Law

You've done it. I've done it. I don't know anyone who hasn't. I take that back. I don't think my mother ever has.

On my trip to and from Baltimore last week, I thanked God for many of those who do.

Do what? Speed. Exceed the speed limit. Drive faster than the law allows. Yes. I often (usually) exceed the speed limit. (Can I be arrested for admitting this or do they have to catch me in the act?) I chalk it up to the fact that I am a born leader. I find it difficult to follow. Therefore, I tend to try to take the lead. But that's not the point of this blog.

You know those little "Emergency Vehicles Only" roads where the state troopers hide out? I think every single one of them was occupied last week...let's make that half of them. The other half had sent their occupants to issue those costly 'safety reminders' to those who pushed the throttle too far.

There was a time I openly laughed as I passed by those drivers who had practically blown me off the road in taking the highway racing lead position. I could not resist a "serves you right" as I flew by.

But I have had a humble change of attitude.

This change is due to my resent resolve to make it a point to develop an "attitude of gratitude" in my life. I have begun to make a conscious effort to look for occasions to be thankful. Now instead of mocking the speeders as I pass by, I give a quiet nod of respect and thanks to them.

If they had not blown by me and attracted the attention, that could be me sitting in my car fumbling for my license and registration.

"But for the grace of God there sit I."

The next time you speed by that driver looking for his/her documentation, I challenge you to observe a moment of silence in honor of that red Honda, silver Chevy, or black BMW. It could have been you!

Expression at the Lowest Level

"When you exercise your freedom to express yourself at the lowest level, you ultimately condemn yourself to live at that level."

PLEASE! Who said that?!?! Tell me this has nothing to do with expressing myself through this blog! Be honest with me here. Am I condemned to writing this drivel for the rest of my life?

Somehow I've always imagined that, given the time, I could sit under shade trees in a toga or in the shadow of the Parthenon and write words of incredibly profound wisdom. I have always imagined myself conversing with Socrates, Plato and Hyperconese -- and amazing them with insight of such magnitude that it leaves them speechless until, alas, we find ourselves delving into deep deliberation over the hypothesis.

I dream of sitting in expostulations with modern world leaders, sharing my philosophy of energy conservation, eradication of world poverty, and--not of the problems of global warming--but of solutions with global programmable temperature and climate control. I could solve the problems of hunger (Let them eat cake!) and hot flashes given the time to do so.

I really wish I had had the time to discover pi...the 3.14159265 variety. It just amazes me that someone figured that out. I could have done that...if I had time to think about it.

But, woe is me! I found myself instead changing diapers, cleaning up spilled milk, doing laundry, mending broken hearts, kissing boo-boos, burning biscuits and working.

Instead of the porticoes of the Parthenon each week, I chat over coffee with six other women at a breakfast table for four. I sit in my sunroom and debate bird species. I carefully speak English in slow broken syllables to explain to the nail tech that when she sees blood, I feel pain.

And I write. I write a blog. I write words that inspire others. You are inspired, right? This is important because it would seem I have "condemned myself to live at this level."

I bet Socrates and those guys wish they could have had a blog!