"The Checklist" revisited

Some of you may recall that awhile ago I set up a checklist to maintain a sort of minimal functioning sanity. It worked fairly well for awhile, but like all rigid things, fell by the wayside. Fortunately it did pass on a certain rhythm to my days, which was the whole point.

I have since acquired a desire to finish (REALLY finish) my job by 6:00 pm each day (Apologies to colleagues who have now alarmed their mates and pets by guffawing loudly over their morning coffee). I don't mind starting two hours early, but I don't want to continue two hours past quitting time. So the list is coming out again for a major overhaul.

There is a notable difference between the last list and this list. The last list placed "things to do" one at a time. This list recognizes that "one-at-a-time" isn't going to cut it. So it starts out with "Make coffee/wash dishes/pick-up," moves onto "laundry/bathroom," progresses to "birdfeeders/fetch paper" and ends up at "Break on porch/check work messages."

Alas, I'm at "break on porch" and as I try to check my messages, the voice mail system thwarts my good intentions by ringing busy. I now waste five vital minutes calling my work phone from my home phone (and vice versa) to make sure the issue is indeed the voice mail system and not my phones (it is indeed the voice mail).

Curses!! So I shall blog instead, since that also needs to be included on the checklist somewhere.



Post Note: Gremlins at large. The laundry didn't spin out! Oh well. Moving onto "save faxes/take a shower."

More later...

Discover your impact day...

This week was Discovery's 25th anniversary, and today was a company-wide day of service. Working from home in the frontier called Central New York, I wasn't near any of the volunteer projects that people were doing around the globe. Discovery had some projects for people who were needed at their desks, so I signed up to make happy cards for kids at The Children’s Inn at NIH. At the main offices they had supplies set up for people to use, but I raided my craft drawer.

Believe it or not, for once I did a simple project and I actually owned everything I needed! Seriously---that never happens. Can it be that I have become organized? Well, I could have used a hole-punch, but I can pick one up tomorrow before I put these in the mail. I even had little kitty charms and tassels.



I printed the kittens off adoptable pets on Petfinder. Here is the real miracle: I didn't even run out of printer ink. Amazing! I even had glossy photo paper. I nearly shocked myself.

I hope my disorganized readers will understand why this was such a pleasant surprise.

Sometimes you can almost feel guilty doing something so simple and enjoyable and calling it "community service." Maybe "community fun?"

If you work with an organization (from work to Scouts) and want to help the Children's Inn, you can learn more here.

Post-note: I now own a $1.99 single-hole punch.

Oh Home Depot...bait and switch...not you?

Oh yes. There was some sort of pile of tools, or a grill, or something at Home Depot by the door--sign up to win, you know. So I dropped my name in. Today I received this little card. I noted immediately that it didn't say I won anything and figured it was a marketing ploy, but I gave a call.

I did not, of course, get Home Depot. I got some "mumble fast mumble Consulting" whatever. "Mrs. Burke" put me on hold to "look up my information" and came back and asked me how often I shopped at Home Depot. I told her I would be happy to answer her questions if it were only going to take a few minutes, as I was at work. I figured it was just marketing research. Annoying, but necessary for businesses, now and then. She assured me yes, just a few minutes. And she asked if I were familiar with Home Depot's "water mumble mumble." She wasn't really mumbling, but she certainly wasn't telling me about the grill I'd won. She was telling me about a water test. I'm thinking "OK lady, put it in the mail," then she said, get this...

"Would there be a time we could set up where you and your husband, or significant other, would be available so a team could come by...."

...and I realized Home Depot--or whoever had bought the opportunity to plunk a pile of tools down on a table to get the phone numbers of homeowners--was trying to string me in to buy a water filtration system.

I told her thank you but no, I don't let unsolicited strangers into my house and she said, get this "Oh, well you could have a neighbor there if you wanted..."

Wow.

I told her no, and thankfully she said OK so I didn't have to spoil my day by hanging up on her. And of course I stepped to the computer and discovered I was right.

How sad. You think you maybe are in line to get a cheap pack of screwdrivers (and wait all day for 4:00 to call, knowing it's a scam, but maybe...) and your instincts were right. Scam.

Today's recipe

Ravioli with Spinach Pesto

In the interested of eating better, I've been writing down the very rare recipes that sound good to me when they pop up on Yahoo.

This is one. I hope to make it soon.

Creamed corn pancakes

I was sulking through my cupboard and refrigerator this evening, grumbling. Nothing to eat. Nothing to eat. Unless I wanted to eat chicken soup -- again (on sale, 50 cents a can last month at the Shur-Save, so I bought about 20). I cast an eye at the cans of creamed corn I had purchased to make scalloped corn. I was just too weary to deal with baking.

I seemed to me I should be able to fry something up, but all the recipes on the internet for "creamed corn pancakes" seemed far too involved. I was able gather some ideas of what, in general, was needed to make corn pancakes stick. I threw together something quite simple:

One small can creamed corn
two eggs
about twelve crackers, crushed
That's it!

I used Multi-Grain Club crackers.
I think next time I would use unsalted saltine crackers.

Mix, spoon onto a medium-hot frying pan, add a tiny bit of pepper while cooking, and there you go.

It made seven small pancakes, which would be enough for two people if you had something else along with it. I didn't, so five of them became dinner for me, and they were quite good. I may throw in some diced fresh tomato next time. Probably all sorts of things could go in there (a bit of spinach, etc.).

The one pancake in the picture looks like it has a bit of tail. In fact it's the cat on the plate. :)

The cats and the dog all requested a bite of the last two pancakes. I gave them a small amount. They would have eaten them all up, but it didn't seem to me that corn was a great option for feline and canine digestive systems.

Memorial Day

I was driving into Ithaca to feed the cats today, and I slowed down to look over the improvements at Nichols Park in Spencer. While I was idling, I noticed the memorial could use a weeding and some more mulch. I'm woefully under-involved with the Spencer community, so I stopped by Home Depot and picked up a couple of bags of cedar mulch. I spent a very nice hour in a very beautiful park, weeding, mulching, and chatting with the woman who runs the hot dog stand on the sidewalk.

She gave me a free root beer. :)

Here's wishing you a Memorial Day of sunshine and good friends, and please take a moment to attend your local service if you can. It will only take a few moments of your day, and there's no better way to say "thank you" to your local veterans.

Justifying buying a new car...

Anytime I make a huge purchase, I always suffer buyer's remorse---well, not so much "remorse" as justification. I always worry the day after I buy something I'll learn it cost too much, or is the worst car on the market, etc., especially since I buy sight-unseen.

I was happy to see a couple of articles that indicated (so far!) that I hadn't screwed up buying my Kia. This article rates it as one of the top ten least expensive cars to own.

This one really made me laugh. This article tells you which affordable cars will make you look rich, and the Kia Soul tops the list.

I haven't yet seen another Soul on the road since I bought this one. I have been approached twice by people who are thinking about buying one, and wanted my feedback. I had to admit A) I love the car but B) don't hit any potholes or you'll break a tooth, and C) the stripped-down version is great. In fact, I find it a lot classier that some of the "upscale" models.

Of course, then there is the Best Automotive Ad of the Year" award.

Silly dreams, quickly made, quickly dashed

When I was in Ithaca I took a quick drive around Taber Street to check Nancy's parking lot to see if maybe she were grooming a Sunday dog. I came to an immediate halt when I saw the For Sale sign in front of this old place.

Back in the 80s I picked up a hit-by-car toy poodle way down on Elmira Road by the car wash, with tags that gave this address. I was met by an elderly gentleman who insisted his dog was in his fenced yard. He went out into the yard calling and calling while I stood there in tears, because his dog was in my van, dead. He finally came out to look, and he totally broke down. When he asked for me to take her because he could not bury her, I gave him the poodle's collar, said I was sorry, and drove away. That old gentleman's grief has always haunted me.

I stopped and walked around the house. What had, back then, been a front porch was now a glassed in extension. The lot was fairly large (there was a second house there back when I visited in the 80s) with a shed just like the one I used to have for a cat facility in West Danby. The yard sloped down to one of the inlet channels, and the water was dark and quiet, shaded by trees. It was a suitable spot for a dock, if legal. It was clearly in the flood zone, but the house itself was up on a four foot high foundation. There was more than enough room for another building for the cats.

I began wondering what it would be like to sell the farm, invest in this little place, and be able to plop a kayak in the inlet anytime I wanted, bike to stores, visit friends for lunch, take care of the ferals without a two hour time-investment, etc.

After wandering around, checking the foundation, and peeking in the windows, I called the Realtor. Sadly, the house is part of a four parcel bundle in the seven digit range.

4. 812-814 Taber Street 1,058 sq. ft. This white stucco two story 3 bedroom, 2 bath home is on a double lot with wonderful green space ideal for outdoor meetings. It also has waterfront access. It would be possible to install a dock on this parcel. The house is cleaned out and could be leased as office space for a variety of small businesses. Future development possibilities when combined with adjacent lots.

There is another matching house around the corner for $80,000, but while it looks out over the inlet, it doesn't have water access right on the property, which is all of the charm of the other house. It is a cute house, but I'm not in the market for a cute house. I'm in the market for a lifestyle.

What a pity. Nonetheless, it's always fun to dream.

But then I came home and, sitting on the porch, listened to the birds off in the woods, and was actually quite glad the house was not available. I won't be able to stay here forever by myself, but I can enjoy it for a long while.

Comfort food of spring -- Rhubarb

I ran into Alice in Wegman's today ("mom" to Elvis and formerly-Lulu, whose adult name I am spacing on). I offered her a rhubarb plant, as I have three on the flat I need to move, and I don't really need five producing plants and can easily spare one. She reminded me of the rhubarb crumble recipe she had sent me last year. Of course, I have lost it, but I found one on the internet.



Sadly, I took two large bunches of rhubarb over to my mom and my sister last week, and then forgot it in the car. Maybe I can get some more over to them before the season ends.

Rhubarb crumble is like a crisp, made with chopped rhubarb, orange juice, cinnamon, butter, and oat-butter topping.

Cook Time: 40 minutes, 375F
Total Time: 40 minutes

Ingredients:

* 3 cups chopped rhubarb
* 2 tablespoons orange juice
* 3/4 cup granulated sugar
* 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
* 1 tablespoons butter, cut in small pieces

* Crumble Mixture:
* 1/4 cup melted butter
* 1/3 cup brown sugar
* 2/3 cup sifted all-purpose flour
* 1/8 teaspoon salt
* 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
* 2/3 cup quick cooking oats

Preparation:

Arrange diced rhubarb in a buttered 8-inch square baking dish. Sprinkle with orange juice, 3/4 cup sugar, cinnamon, then dot with the 1 tablespoon of cut up butter.

Combine melted butter with brown sugar. Sift together the flour, salt, and baking soda; mix with oats. Combine the flour oat mixture with the brown sugar and melted butter mixture. Spread over rhubarb. Bake at 375 degrees for 40 minutes. Serve warm, with ice cream or whipped topping.

Gardening, our personal metaphor for life.

I was wacking away at my garden the other day, wondering why humans are so addicted to the pastime. I remember when I put in my first massive perennial garden. It was gorgeous the first year. It was gorgeous the second year. The third year, it needed to be divided and reorganized---requiring more work than putting it in to begin with.

My flower garden in this house consists of a long hedge of lavender (flowers twice a year, has pretty gray/green foliage, and you can chop the heck out of it almost any time) and spring bulbs. I have window boxes on the cat facility that I dote over. That's it! A small amount of effort for an effect that gives me great joy.

Then there is the vegetable garden. Wowee zowie, what a mess.

First of all, however, let me sing my ode to Rhubarb, nature's freebie. You can neglect the hell out of this plant, and it will give and give and give. Some day, I long to be as generous as rhubarb. Bless this plant, it will provide enough for you and all your friends. All of my plants came from Mark's dad.



I have had a veggie garden ever since I've been a part-landowner. The first year we had the Station Road house, we put in a great little garden, but I really don't recall what we ate out of it. The garden here at this house in Spencer has never been that productive, primary due to the devastation of deer and weeds (i.e too many working/business hours, not enough home/garden hours). I do recall a lovely Saturday morning when we shelled peas from his garden--just enough for one dinner, and for snacking as we shelled.

Nonetheless, while I don't remember anything I ate out of the first Station Road garden (although I know it produced), I specifically remember eating one thing out of the current garden The Year The Husband Left, and that was kale. I think the kale plants, which churned out leaves for me even as the snow fell, kept me alive that year. Not so much because the plants gave me nourishment, but because they kept on giving even though they were entirely neglected out there.

The first year sans husband, I was determined to keep the garden going, but that fell flat pretty quickly, since I was managing the entire place with a push mower. The second year I was going pretty well until I accidentally slaughtered a family of baby bunnies trying to keep up with the grass inside the fenced area.

This year NYS brought us an early spring, so the weeds really got going. However, I am out of my desperation mode now and into a Victory Garden (i.e. Austerity Budget) view on life. I'll grow kale next to burdock if I have to.



I carved out one spot at a time in the raised bed, to get the kale in. Then I slowly got rid of all the rest of the weeds to plant seeds. In the gap between each of the frames I planted sunflowers.

The grass is an ever-present enemy, but now I have a working John Deere tractor in addition to the push mower.



There once was a time when, if the garden hadn't been "perfect," I would have felt it was a failure. But after picking kale out of the snow--the only plant that lived, but LIVE IT DID!--I'll gladly carve bits of success out of the the Great Wild Lands. Maybe one day I'll have a big beautiful garden, but right now I'll be happy with a little bit of kale and whatever else makes it.

We all have reasons why we garden. Our gardens--or lack of one due to our dedication to other things--are ourselves.

I'm a big girl now...

...and I have moved back to an upstairs bedroom rather than sleeping downstairs in the den. This is mostly prompted by my back, that has decided to object to a squishy twin bed full of cats and rather impatiently demanded a firm double bed. It is also partially prompted by the need to move on.

The cats do not much like the front bedroom. The only cat that has seen fit to join me is Wiggles. Hopefully Ivan will find his way up.

I may fall asleep posting this...

I got a bit farther on the cellar door. To work on it I had to venture into the section of the barn I inherited, and finally begin tackling the creation of a real woodshop. Boy, do I have a long way to go.





Mostly I need to just clean, and create places to store tools, which shouldn't be too hard since I hardly own any at all. I have all this SPACE!



I also found this platform rocker up in the haymow. It was left behind, I assume on purpose, so I guess it is mine now. Now it will be a place where I sit on the porch when I take a break from projects this summer.

But now it's time to sleep... I'll fix the typos in the morning.

Recognizing frustration in others....

...and trying to keep your own attitude in check.

On Easter Sunday I was early for our family rendezvous at a restaurant near Greene, so I stopped at a Big Box store to walk the pup. After causing a racket of frantic barking when every car-bound dog noticed another of their clan was FREE (albeit leashed) in the sunshine, I put Molly back and wandered into the garden center. Which was a mistake. I figured I was safe because I already had pansies for the cat facility window boxes (and I don't invest in any other annuals anymore) but then I noticed the bleeding hearts. It occurred to me that I didn't have any bleeding hearts at all on the farm, and they would be perfect for the cat garden, which is damp and shaded.

The plants were a little under-watered. They weren't entirely dry, but given that most were in bloom and they are a fairly delicate plant, water is pretty much what gives them any rigidity at all. I carefully picked out two plants that had buds rather than flowers. As I used to manage a greenhouse and have some gardening experience, I'm fairly familiar with what plants are best to get in bloom, and which are better to purchase while they are still growing, if you wish to enjoy them.

I cheerfully paid for them and because the plants were facing ten hours in a warm car, asked if I could water them before I left.

Oh, mistake.

The cashier gave me sort of a surprised, guilty, and almost offended look. Oops! Even though I had been pleased and smiling (how can you not smile when you have just gifted yourself with plants) I realized I apparently had made a mistake. I discovered quickly that there was no spigot and hose I could quickly step to myself to water my plants before I left. Instead, the garden center has a water cart, which luckily was close by.

The cashier called out to the woman manning the water cart, announcing that "this lady would like her plants watered." The water cart person also straightened up with just the slightest flash of affront, and then quickly cast her eyes around the garden center.

Then I "got it." By asking for water, I had insinuated the plants were dry and they were not doing their jobs. And this was something they had apparently been reprimanded for, many times, by someone. Even, it was likely, when the plants were not dangerously dry, but were just between waterings.

It was clear that a customer suggesting a plant needed water, no matter how politely, was not a good thing.

I walked over with my two plants and the water cart person took them from me and said "They aren't really dry." She started scooping soil out of the plants. Almost violently, down about four inches into the pot. "See? They are moist. See?"

I realized we also apparently had a group of employees who probably were managed in a rather heavy-handed manner. I could just hear the "don't get me in trouble, lady" tone in her voice. The soil-scooping seemed not to be for my benefit, but for some other audience. I began to wonder if there were video cameras somewhere.

She clearly wasn't a rude person, but something about her was giving off paranoid vibes that began to make her seem rude.

She watered the plants. And then, loudly, she said "These don't have many flowers. There are plants with far more flowers started than these, you know." Again, that tone. The tone of a woman who perhaps had been ordered about by customers demanding help picking out forty marigolds with as many blooms as possible? ("No, not that one. THAT one!")

I wasn't hearing "Here, is this helpful to you?" I was hearing "See everybody? I'm being HELPFUL!" And I began to wonder what it was like to work there everyday if this is what it did to you.

I instantly knew that saying "Actually, with delicate perennials that are going to be stressed by travel, it's better not to choose a plant with a lot of mature flowers" would probably not be a good idea. So I just smilingly said "These are fine. Thanks for watering them. They are going to be in the car while visiting my mom for awhile so I wanted to be sure they didn't dry out if it got too warm."

Surely if anyone was around to overhear, that would take care of the "customer thinks the plants aren't properly cared for" vibes?

She came back with "Really. How long ARE you visiting your mother?"

Interpreting human conversation is always such a joy. Had she said "How nice! How long will you be visiting? Would you be able to set them outside the car if it gets too hot?" she would clearly be communicating her concern for my plant investment. But instead I was still getting the "you'd have to be driving for three days for this plant to really dry out" vibrations off her.

She finished watering the plants, hoisted them up and opened her mouth and I said "And it's fine if they drip. I have a plastic bag I can put them in in the car" (even though I didn't) and her mouth immediately snapped shut. Apparently I had correctly identified her next concern for my watering decision.

For those who have been behind me in Walmart while I mutter angrily to myself after having my receipt checked to be sure I haven't shoplifted eight bags of cat litter (you know who you are!) I am proud to announce that my outlook on life has improved such that I did not make any parking-lot comments when the plants failed to drip at all during my walk to my car -- evidence that they indeed needed their extra shot of water. Instead I continued to experience that mild curiosity about what would make those employees so paranoid that their customer service was worse--not better, when confronted with a simple request.

Sadly, I failed to keep my mouth shut at the crowded buffet later that day, when people headed back and forth between the buffet line and their own tables got backed up because the restaurant had placed one large table right in the traffic zone. Because I have this problem with letting things that run through my mind spill out my mouth, I said aloud to myself "well, THAT table should go"--right behind an overworked server, who sort of turned her overworked head back toward me and said "Well, when you are serving 600 people, you need all the tables you can get."

(This is probably the kind of comment I would have made in the same situation)

Oh HOW I wanted to say "Well, perhaps you shouldn't be trying to seat 600 people if your restaurant won't fit them" but instead realized that probably 700 people had called for reservations over the past two months, and probably at least 50 of them had whined rudely about not getting a seat so I said "Yes, and I'm sure it's hard to tell how the traffic pattern is going to work out until people actually get here and start serving themselves" instead of a snarky "How many years have you guys been having this Easter buffet? Shouldn't you have it down by now?"

She smiled, recognizing that I was trying to cool down my unwise comment. I smiled, recognizing that she was accepting my unspoken apology. Kindred spirits.

Besides, the food was excellent, the location was convenient, the servers were wonderful, and who the heck really cares if you spend an extra ten seconds letting people through a bottleneck? It's Easter! Smile, say "Hi!" and keep your lip buttoned, Susan!

Really, my friends, I'm TRYING to get better! Someday I shall be one of those wise old women who just nod their heads knowingly, but who manage to also have a look on their face that accurately but somehow politely communicates their approval or disdain.

I'm not there yet. I may need a couple more decades to get even close.

Spring.

Come the first warm day of spring when I have a few free hours, what is the first task to be done?

Start preparing for next winter.



I stacked the "green" wood I had delivered last fall, now that the dry wood in that particular stack has all been burned. In a month or so I'll order three more cords, and I'll be set for next year. The pile was covering daffodils that were desperate to come up.



Other unrestrained daffodils opened up today for Easter.

I had all sorts of plan for a "ant versus grasshopper" sort of post today, but I received word via Facebook that Jack is lost from his home in Ithaca, so the joy is really off this day now. The photo of my instruments below was going to be the "grasshopper" part of my work versus play post. But frankly, I started playing again because to play an instrument means you can't think of anything else. I love rescuing cats, but it wasn't enough to detach myself from thinking about my ex. While cleaning, driving, trapping, combing, etc. I was always thinking about it. You can't think about such things when you are playing. And the cat rescue itself brings pain, at unexpected times. And because I won't let myself cry anymore over being abandoned, I do find I cry about other things (more worthy things). So I need something else that is simple in itself, but takes every bit on concentration, and takes away any kind of grief, for a little while at least.



Come home safely, Jack, and all cats that are lost or abandoned.

Just me, my mandolin, and my mutt

...and my netbook, and my digital camera, and a cat or two...

What a beautiful morning! After weeks of travel and generally not-feeling-relaxed, I have this gift of a Saturday before Easter that is sunny and warm. Two guys stopped by during the week asking to pick up all the miscellaneous metal in my fields, and did such a good job I have this vicarious feeling of accomplishment as I sit here on my porch gazing over a junk-free (mostly) property. They took every teeny-tiny piece of crap--not just big piecesthat have a lot of weight value. Before coming to my door, they even crawled down into the gorge up Morfit Road and hauled out all the old hot water heaters, etc. that people have dumped down there. They were smart young men to not ask permission first, since I would have had to tell them "no" for liability reasons. I took a walk up yesterday with Molly (too bad old tires aren't worth money) and could not believe what they managed to haul out. I guess now I have no excuse not to fish out all those tires on my own.

After my cup of coffee and some doodling around on my porch with the mandolin, it's time to go spend some serious hours with the cats and fill their window boxes with pansies I scooped up in a hurry when I was in Ithaca picking up Faith yesterday. The goldfinches have joined the chickadees at the birdfeeders. I can hear the blackbirds and the phoebes.

I so love living out here.

Can you say "stupid"?

So you are a Responsible News Reporter and are a role model for young and old. And you do something like this to report on the flooding in RI:



I'm never quite sure what is supposed to be accomplished by this. Is there anyone who doesn't think "That has to be one of the most stupid things I've ever seen?" Did he really want to be in there or, as he strode out the door with a camera crew, did a boss yell out "Hey, don't forget your waders. It would be great if you could get soaking wet and put yourself at risk by wading in the flood waters when you give your report. Maybe you'll also teach people it's OK to wade through waist-high floodwater when they absolutely don't have to"

I wonder what emergency response folks think when they see something like this.

I finally reach the final straw concerning vehicles

Two weeks ago I was filling the white truck up with gas, pushed the nozzle hard into the intake, and suddenly experienced a toxic spill. The pipe between the intake and gas tank had rotted out.

Luckily it was not the gas tank and when I turned the gas off, the leak stopped. The station manager gave me (and did not make me buy!) a bag of cat litter to sop it up.

Can you believe I did not have a bag of my own in the back of the truck?

But it was the last straw. I had been planning on driving the truck to New Jersey for work. Work would pay for a rental car but -- living in the country -- getting TO a rental car is no easy feat, and I couldn't leave a potentially-leaking truck in an airport parking lot.

So when I got home, I slammed down my keys and picked up the phone.

Most people would have heart attacks over the way I buy a vehicle. A) it needs to be new. New vehicles have been a God-send to me. They last well over 10 years, and after they are paid off, they are excellent collateral if you are ever in a financial bind. Having no vehicle payments has been wonderful, but having to call the tow truck twice in the past half year, and foster/friend/mechanic Craig to bail me out countless times, has not been so great. B) I tell the dealer what I want and say "call me when you find it." I'm not playing games, okay? C) I feel I do enough research online and with other owners, that I will buy a vehicle sight-unseen.

I have been looking online for vehicles for almost a year now, and had decided on either a Ford Transit Connect truck ($22,000) or a Kia Soul ($14,000). I had stopped to look a Transit Connect just the day before in Ithaca, and probably had a salesperson come out to accost me, I would have made the very-expensive-and-probably-unwise decision to buy one. But they didn't. So I didn't. Whew.

As much as I wanted a truck (especially one I could practically live in) I knew a new vehicle was going to be stretching the budget to the max, so I called the only Kia dealer in my area.

Luckily I got a salesman who "got it." Seriously, really "got it." Well, there was that moment when I said I wanted a base model and he said "Oh, we have one here. Well, it has a sunroof and the audio packages" and I said "How much?" and he said "$16,500" and I said, simply, "No." From then on, it was smooth sailing.



Yes, I bought a car over the phone. I told him to find me a black, base model Kia Soul, by the end of the next day. Well, we did have that second moment when he called back and said I could "pick it up on the weekend" and I said the whole point of buying a car was because I needed it BEFORE the weekend--but you know? He got it. I faxed over my license and insurance card. Once he realized I was serious about the "next day" thing, he even used his day off to make sure that car got picked up, delivered, and inspected before 5pm.

Getting to the car was another matter. I probably should have taken the plates from the blue truck, but I took them from the white truck because I was going to have to leave whatever vehicle I drove over, until I got back from my work trip. So only the blue truck was legal to drive. However, the blue truck decided it wasn't interested in moving smoothly. I started her up about ten times during the day only to have her stall out. Luckily, right before I was ready to go, she roared to life and purred like a kitten.

(I wonder if she will when I try to get her home?)

I met the salesman at 7pm to sign the paperwork, and after a short conversation with my insurance company, lots of signatures, and a check, I had a car.

Then there was the moment of truth. Would I LIKE it?

When they brought the car around I experienced a huge sigh of relief. The Kia Soul is much bigger than it appears online. It's rather like a RAV-4 without the "4." It's almost as high as a small truck. And the inside is sensible. Things are where you expect them to be. There are no cupholders in odd places or window controls in the middle of the dash instead of on the door. The only complaint I have is that all the door locks (inside and out) are operated via the driver's side door via a manual key. So to open the hatch you have to open the front door and hit the unlock button.

This is, of course, how they get you to move up to the non-base car for $16-18K.

Off we went to NJ, and then two days later to VA. Sure, it's no Lexus, and I'm glad I got the standard, because I'm betting the automatic is pretty wimpy (even with a larger engine). But it's a darned good little tall hatchback.

I enjoyed the back seats for the two trips, but shortly they will come out and I'll get a rubberized carpet for the back. Currently I could fit perhaps ONE trapped cat in the hatch, and that's not going to cut it. I've lived with two seats for around 20 years, and I can continue to do so.

I still have the two trucks, and am waffling on what to do with them. Do I keep one, or sell them both for scrap? It would be nice to have a truck for trash-and-big-object hauling (otherwise I'll have to take trash in every single week with the small Kia) but is it worth the extra insurance cost?

I'll let you know.

It's trying to be spring in Spencer

Saturday after payday is historically "go buy a ton of cat food and cat litter" day. I've stopped paying any attention to the funny looks people give me when I load up my cart with bag after bag of cat litter at Walmart. I usually make a point of wearing a jacket or clothing with "Americancat.net" emblazoned on it, but not many people are looking at my clothes. They are staring at the cart and wondering how many cats that lady must have to need all that cat litter?

In fact, I could get by with far less cat litter per trip, if for some reason I wanted to venture into Walmart every single week. But the more I load up with, the less often I need to visit the place. If I see a floor worker, I'll even ask for a flat cart and a strong arm and we'll walk out of there with 30 bags and I may be able to stay away for almost two months!



On these days I just write out checks or swipe the card and just keep a general balance of how much I'm spending, and add it all up when I get home. I no longer snarl or whine when prices go up. There's nothing to be done.

My raise at work came through this week, so I snagged a new cat bed to celebrate. The more cat beds I have for my house cats and foster kittens to sleep in, the less cat fur I have on my own bed.





Squeak and Ivan give it their seal of approval.

This photo is for my mom, who got Molly a little stuffed frog for Christmas. It is Molly's favorite toy:



With the weather warming up outside, I've been letting the fire in the woodstore die during the day. This means it takes awhile to get it going in the evening. Warmer weather makes for a poor draft up the chimney. So I turn on the furnace, and the pets all huddle up near the heat vents. Once the fire is going, they move over by the stove.

You'd think it was 50 instead of 70 degrees in here!

In fact, Squeak has abandoned the new bed for the ottoman in front of the fire. Ivan is sitting on a mat on my desk, helping me write.



The oil man came by yesterday and my fuel oil usage was reduced by HALF these last two months. What's the difference?

The fan. Just the fan. The heat now comes down into the house proper, instead of sitting up by the ceiling. The temperature went up almost 10 degrees with that fan on, which of course meant the furnace stayed off.

Amazing. That silly fan saved me $150 in just two months.

A decade of procrastination

Ain't it funny what you'll put up with, for SO long.

There's a possibility I may get a housemate for a few months, which means it's time to paint the upstairs. Three rooms had been done since we moved in, but need freshening. One room was never done. And the hallway...UGH! It's still old dark nail-up panel sheeting. The door between the hallway and the back bedrooms is the original paint, and is filthy. None of the trim has been repainted. I've turned a blind eye to it because..well, who cares? But now someone might have to live up there--not just stay for a night.

I mean, look at this light:



The house came with those square light covers, you know, the ones you smash the first time you take a sweatshirt off underneath or try to move something tall? Yeah, those. So when we smashed them one by one we did replace the one in the bedroom (with the most boring fixture imaginable--probably the cheapest) but slapped a regular shade on upside down on the hallway light.

The other two bedrooms have no hardwired lights, so we have something like this:



So today I went shopping for lights and a door for the bottom of the stairs. A solid door would be nicer, but warm air in the winter, and cool air in the summer, needs to make it up those stairs.



It ran over $200, but you know what? The money I saved by stopping drinking at home paid for it. So there you go. One good reason to stop an expensive habit.

I also bought a crowbar in my "replace the tools that belonged to Mark, one by one" campaign.

Then there are other shabby areas of my house that haven't been an issue. Who is going to see my spice cabinet? Who needs to decipher their labels? Up until now, no one.

I failed to take a photo of all the bottles of old stale spices that I threw out. It was rather alarming. Mark and I went through this thing about five years ago. Five years is a long time.



Spices are expensive, so anything that seemed like I should keep until I could afford replacements I did keep. Anything unlabeled or that just smelled like dust went into the trash, bottle and all. I wanted to shop the bulk spice area of Tops (which, surprisingly, has more options than Wegmans) but they didn't have the things I needed. The spices in the baking aisle were way too expensive, so I figured I'd just get one at a time.

Then I stumbled into the organic aisle and discovered small bottles of spices for half the cost of good old McCormick.



So now I am back in action. The fifteen-year-old cream of tartar is gone. The little envelopes of red stuff are all gone (could be cayenne, could be regular paprika, could be hungarian paprika--who knows?) Ditto with the baggies of green stuff--probably a product of two days a half-decade ago when I played with the food dehydrator. With the exception of one jar, all of the "ghost of Mark" handwriting is gone.

We're getting there!

What does your spice cabinet look like? Could I cook from it if I were over at your house?