AnnAssistant and Random AnnAcdotes

Michael and I stopped at Monticello, a place I can’t visit often enough. Michael didn’t remember being there – exactly 15 years ago! We were just as hot and tired strolling thru the gardens then as we were this time.  Too bad Henry isn’t able to complete the picture with us this time around. Instead we dragged Aunt Doris along – she lives a stone’s throw away and has to play tour guide to everyone who comes to visit. Michael learned that Thomas Jefferson did a lot more than write the Declaration of Independence… we almost had him convinced Jefferson invented the photocopier. Fortunately, he already knew Al Gore invented the Internet. And I was beginning to be afraid he didn’t learn anything in school!

In keeping with my quest to find something positive about doing things I don’t enjoy doing, I decided to clean my stove. What actually led up to this chore was cleaning the oven earlier in the day because the food I dripped at the bottom a week ago was burning and stinking up the house every time I turned on the oven. Fortunately, I finally own a self-cleaning oven so I didn’t have to put that chore on my dislike-to-do-list.

While scouring the burners and wiping grease off the range top, I remembered how I acquired my newest kitchen appliance:

Not a month after moving into my adorable post-divorce house, it was apparent I needed a new stove. I accepted that news about as well as any single mom struggling to get by each month would. But my sister had sent me $100 gift card to a big box home improvement store as a housewarming gift, so I figured it was time to use it, if only for a down payment.

I lucked into a top brand on sale with all the features I wanted – including the aforementioned self-cleaning oven. When I presented my store credit card to cover the balance I was told the card was outdated and I would need to re-apply to be issued a new one. So I did, and then went home to await delivery of my new stove and credit card.

Several months later I received a phone call from the credit department informing me that I was not an authorized signer on the account and would not be receiving a new card. I listened to the credit rep explain that the card was issued to my ex-husband and I was no longer authorized to make purchases on the account. As she was talking I remembered he opened the account when we did some home renovations. Apparently, he never listed me on the account but was issued two cards – no wonder I hadn’t received a statement yet!   I continued listening to her and inferred that the stove was indeed charged to his account, and that I wasn’t getting a new card. After a lengthy silence, I cautiously asked her what her response would be if I simply hung up the phone and denied we ever had this conversation. Without skipping a beat, she replied, “As a fellow divorcée, I’d say have a nice day and good-bye.” We both chuckled, and then I thanked her and hung up the phone. I never heard another word about this – from anybody.  I don’t feel sorry for anyone who doesn’t even notice several hundred dollars charged to their account.

I replaced the freshly scrubbed grates on the burner of my $100 stove, and then crossed another dreaded chore off my list. Now I’m cooking!

Ten Things I Don’t Like to Do

1. Take baths (as opposed to showers)
2. Clean the kitchen range
3. Grocery shop
4. Vacuum
5. Talk on the phone
6. Pump gas
7. Trim and file my fingernails
8. File paperwork
9. Cook
10. Go places by myself

One of my birthday presents this year was an assortment of lotions, soaps and bath salts. It was a lovely gift from a lovely person, but I never know what to do with bath salts because I don’t like to take baths. The only time I voluntarily fill the tub and get in is if I’m very sick and can’t get warm, or if I feel I should treat myself to some serious downtime (“Calgon, take me away”). Ironically, I haven’t been sick in nearly six years, and serious downtime spent in the tub usually ends up being just the opposite. I either drop my book in the water, the phone rings, the kids return home unexpectedly, or I remember something more important I’m supposed to be doing.

Nevertheless, after scrubbing out the tub this morning, I decided to take advantage of its pristine condition and enjoy my new bath salts. I ran the hot water, poured the salts, turned off the light, and lit the almost never used candles on my bathroom wall sconce.  I nixed taking any reading material with me because trying to turn the pages without getting water all over them is an exercise in futility and frustrates me. Frustration only brings negative energy to the experience I’m trying hard to enjoy.

The tub was only about one-third full when I noticed the water was running tepid. I recalled my son’s recent question as to why there was never enough hot water for a decent shower and my retort that twenty-minute showers aren’t the norm. I also remembered a recent visitor commenting on what a nice big bathtub I have. I’d never noticed because I never get in it. I then realized I was actually taking my first bath since moving into my house over three years ago. So, with a less than full tub I leaned back, only partially immersed and feeling ridiculous. The candlelight was soothing but the chill on my chest and knees was not. I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling, enjoying the view from this new perspective. But soon I was bored and irritated so I scrunched down and soaked my hair. While shampooing I began to think of other things I don’t like to do.  And then I decided I’d print the list out (after my bath) and do each one, finding something positive or enjoyable in each one that I could take away from the experience.

Below is my list and in the days ahead I’ll tackle each item in no specific order, and be optimistic about finding some pleasure or a blessing in doing it.  As for the first item on the list, my time in the bathtub helped me realize I can look for ways to change my attitude about things I don’t enjoy. But tomorrow I’ll be showering.

Ten Things I Don’t Like to Do

1. Take baths (as opposed to showers)
2. Clean the kitchen range
3. Grocery shop
4. Vacuum
5. Talk on the phone
6. Pump gas
7. Trim and file my fingernails
8. File paperwork
9. Cook
10. Go places by myself

Pumping gas is near the top of my list of bothersome chores that can’t be avoided.  I don’t need anyone adding to the aggravation of having my hands smell like petroleum and the glare of the sun rendering the touch screen unreadable.  A stop at my local Hess station today went beyond annoying, and tipped the scales at life threatening.

I usually busy myself emptying my car of trash or smearing the dirt around my windows with a filthy squeegee while the gasoline is being automatically pumped into my tank. (Isn’t squeegee a neat word?)  But today I lucked into a broken trigger that wouldn’t remain locked in the open position, so I was forced to stand there holding it until my tank was full. As I took in the sights around me, I noticed a female employee standing on the curb near the store entrance taking a smoke break.  She took a leisurely stroll over to the dumpster area, headed back toward the store, poked her head into the ice chest, and then walked over to the pump directly behind mine.  Stopping a few feet before the pump, she bent over and remarked aloud, “People never cease to amaze me.”  She retrieved a half eaten sandwich from the ground and tossed it into the garbage can.  As she glanced in my direction, I looked back at her and casually remarked, “Well, I’m amazed that you’re smoking a cigarette around all these gas fumes.”  She paused a second before responding with great nonchalance that only open flames ignite gas fumes and her cigarette posed no danger.  With a raised eyebrow, I pointed toward the pump and told her, “That’s why it says no smoking, right?” What an idiot. She probably lights up near the pumps several times a day, putting everyone around her at risk. I see this same behavior too often and it freaks me out every time. But least she disposed of that nasty sandwich left on the ground by another idiot.

Most weekday mornings I drive my son to school and park in the teacher’s parking lot to head out for a thirty minute power walk through the nearby neighborhoods. The morning temperatures this week have dipped into the 60’s making my walks that much more enjoyable. However, upon taking my first steps this morning, I realized that the cars driving through the drop-off area weren’t the only ones with their headlights shining. I forgot to slip a bra on underneath my T-shirt. Yeah, I sometimes wear the same shirt I slept in. So what? With a quick check to make sure I hadn’t forgotten my pants, too, I headed out anyway. I immediately spotted another regular on the beaten path walking toward me. I strategically held my arms in bent position pretending to fiddle with my phone which has a radio I listen to while walking. We exchanged hearty “good mornings” and I don’t think he noticed the extra bounce in my walk. I quickly decided to ditch my customary route and walk the usually deserted path circling a little pond. As luck would have I, there was another walker, but she was traveling clockwise instead of the traditional counter-clockwise direction around the track. I employed more strategic arm placement when our laps intersected. Today’s walk was not the stress buster (pardon the pun) it usually is.

Using my cell phone as a prop to conceal what needed concealed brought to mind another recent incident with my phone. I couldn’t help but notice the handsome gentleman who parked his car directly behind mine when I arrived on campus the other evening. No wedding ring. We headed in the same direction and I wondered how to start up a casual conversation with him when my phone beeped alerting me to a text message. It was from my sister, responding to the inane message I texted her moments earlier (most of our messages are inane). This particular one required a phone call back to her and we ended up giggling for the entire length of my walk across campus to the building my class was in. Handsome guy held the door open for me and I hung up as I passed through. We smiled at each other, said “thanks” and “you’re welcome” to each other, and then parted ways. His car was still parked behind mine when I left later than evening. Who was that guy and did I blow my only opportunity to meet one of the few men – maybe only man – my age on this women’s college campus?

The moral of these stories is cell phones can be a blessing and curse, and it’s up to us to decide which way to go with that.

After the year I’ve had, I can’t believe my first reading assignment for world literature is the book of Job!  Easy A! What’s worse is we’ll tackle Dante’s Inferno after that – straight into hell.  Sheesh.

Fortunately, I think the instructor will make the course interesting as he’s personable and amusing.  Unfortunately, we spent the first evening going over the syllabus and other boring information just like in high school. I can read a syllabus on my own, thank you very much.

I spent the better part of yesterday reading for art history.  I love it!!  I’m fascinated by the details and intricacies of each piece discussed.  I have no idea how one learns to pick up on all that without an instructor’s guidance or to read the [obvious?] symbolism, theme or message of any given work.  Once it’s pointed out to me I see it clearly (well, I see it), but to pull it out on my own – never!

Case in point: Two details included in Van Eeck’s Arnolfini Marriage Portrait are a set of prayer beads and a mirror encircled with intricate depictions of the death and passions of Christ.  These relate to the sacrament of marriage and Christ’s relationship to the church.  I never would have connected those dots.  Even more fascinating to me is the mirror’s convex reflection.  The rear image of the two subjects are shown but so are the two more people standing in the doorway, as well as the setting sun through the window.  How the artist managed to get such details onto a 32×23 piece of wood is beyond me.  I eat this stuff up!

Yesterday evening I stopped by some friends’ house for a few minutes and I asked the husband if he had even the remotest capabilities in plumbing.  He looked at me like I’d asked him what the population of Fiji is and then proceeded to listen to what my problem was before telling me he’d be of no help.  But his wife Libby piped up that she’d be happy to take a look and told me she’d be over in the morning.  I figured two empty heads are better than none, and be at least a delay in forking out some bucks to a professional plumber.

Libby arrived around 9:00 AM decked out in her work clothes and toting two types of wrenches.  I was impressed.  Without even asking for a cup of coffee she bent under the sink and studied the problem.  We turned off the water, dismantled a few pipe fittings, and off we drove to Home Depot.  To make a long story short, in the next few hours we made another trip to Home Depot, a separate one to Lowes where a good Samaritan helped us find what we needed, and drank a cup of coffee as we outlined her trip to Washington, DC until the plumbers cement set.  By 2:00 PM we’d caulked up a storm and propped a pile of books under the fixture to hold it in place until completely dry.  It’s still drying so I can’t say if our efforts were successful, but I’m sure am in awe that Libby, who I’ve always teased about being such an airhead, was up to tackling a difficult job and was resourceful with clever ideas when we hit some roadblocks in the project.  If the seal doesn’t hold, it won’t be for lack of trying and ingenuity.

I had planned on getting the house straightened up from a weekend of teenage boys and then reading the first chapter in my art history book.  A load or two of laundry and some other trivial things were on my to-do list for the day.  All that will all have to wait until tomorrow.  Unless the pipe starts leaking and I have to call a plumber.  The dishwasher’s full of dirty dishes.  I’m putting my money on the Libberator!

Orientation!  I didn’t quite know what to expect, but a run-in with campus police sure wasn’t it.  Not long after getting seated, an announcement was made that two cars in Parking Lot A were parked incorrectly and would be ticketed.  Naturally, one was mine.  Trudging back to the parking lot with the other parking impaired student, I recalled that I was the second car to park in the empty gravel lot this morning and couldn’t imagine what constituted incorrect parking.  Were my wheels not pointed straight? Did I leave my sun visor down?  The officer ticketing my car explained that the concrete barrier in front of my car was supposed to be painted yellow to indicate a ‘no parking’ space due to its proximity to an emergency call box.  She decided to only issue me a warning and would put in a request for the lot to be painted immediately, but in the meantime I had to move my car.  How can you get a warning ticket for parking in a no parking zone that isn’t marked “no parking?”  She had no sense of humor so I decided to let her off easy and just moved my car.

Here’s a shout out to Chief Howard Cook who apologized for the misunderstanding and told me to throw my warning ticket away.  He promised the barriers would be painted immediately and agreed with me that all the parking lot signs are all too small to read from a passing car.  Seems there’s a committee that voted on signage aesthetics and small, ugly signs got the most votes.

It turns out that was the most interesting part of orientation.  I spent almost four hours listening to information that’s easily accessible on the school web site, or that I’d already received by email or in person during the registration process.  But I got my parking decal and photo ID.  I love my ID because it’s so feminine, just like a woman’s college ID should be – don’t you agree?  I felt bad for the fellow beside me in the ID line (the evening program accepts male students).  He was about my age and now he has to keep this girlie card in his wallet for the next year.  I’ll bet he buried it behind his Piggly Wiggly PFC card.

8/15/09