Buying a Battery

In a financial turn-around, I had more bucks than MySpouse. So I got to buy the new battery for his pickup. A month ago I bought a power washer. I'm really enjoying my trips to the masculine side of shopping. Of course, any shopping is good shopping.

I'm glad that all the truck needed was a new battery. I was afraid there might have been a more serious problem with the electrical system. Translation: a more expensive fix. As it was, the new battery was $70.00.

I understand the basic systems that make vehicles go. I'm just not interested in making them go myself. Lots of other people have mechanical talent; I don't.

I can make myself feel really guilty about my lack of interest in automobiles and their propulsion systems. I have to remind myself that different people have different talents. The person who can tell what model of car just drove by may not know the difference between a tomato plant and nightshade.

Hair of the Politician You Voted For

Politician's hair; this is a subject that deeply distresses MySpouse. MySpouse is a registered Republican. He said this just yesterday which is why I retained it. Most times I don't recall which political party he is affiliated with altho he's always calm about my asking every four years.

People get killed doing political stuff. I prefer to avoid politics; if it's not dangerous, it's boring.

Since I'm not a clown in the circus of politics, there's something I've noticed: the dude with the hair gets picked. I shared this observation with MySpouse and he got a little upset. If it was women doing the choosing, I would understand. You never see bald guys in "Playgirl" or Avon brochures.

But it's not women. It's a bunch of silverbacks in the Good Ol' Boys club doing the choosing. I think it's hilarious, personally. Must be their latent homosexuality expressing itself.

Joking aside, I think that the various media that we entertain and inform ourselves with is somewhat responsible. Electing a politician in this era has a lot to do with who's photogenic, who's got the sound bite, the catchy quip, the cool slogan...the hair. None of those things would matter without the media to promote them.

We could elect someone for their performance in a political office, for the dignity of their name(see post for 6/26/07), for their morals and values...instead of the wave in their hair.

Who 'Mitt' You Be?

Politics are not my forte. I can converse about almost anything with almost anyone, but sports, politics, and religion are topics I usually avoid. People get killed for having opinions about sports, politics, and religion.

I should be safe here tho. What concerns me is not the politics but the politician's name.

I've searched my soul, folks, and I find that I just can't take a man called 'Mitt' seriously. I don't care if he has good hair(post about this hair thing). The hair is overshadowed by the name for me. Mitt...one vowel away from 'mutt'.

His given name was Willard Mitt Romney. I'd rather have a President named Willard Romney, actually. There's a bit of dignity to 'Willard'. Mitt sounds like something you'd call a miniature poodle puppy. Anyone in America can grow up and become President; parents should keep this in mind when naming children.

A blog is all about having opinions, of course. My opinion is that I will not vote for "A Man Named Mitt". Nothing to do with politics so much as to do with sanity.

Nothing Against Monday

This is a Monday morning. Nothing special about it. A day of work, a day of routine; indeed, it has already begun in the way in which it will probably continue.

My day starts with dogs, of course. The routine is to get out of bed, potty, stand at the top of the stairs while the dogs run eagerly to the bottom of the stairs, warn Jackson not to piss in my house, limp slowly down the stairs, and let the dogs out. After a couple of minutes of 'out' they are ready to come in and have treats. Then back outside to be fed. While pups are eating, I make coffee. I spend some time outside with the dogs, usually poking up the fire in the backyard.

When I return to the house I have coffee and play a couple of computer games. Then play a couple games of Scrabble online. Do some work around the house or yard. Let the dogs in and out. Since I want to be at work at 11:00 AM most days, I bathe no later than 10:00 AM. Sit around in my towel for half an hour playing Scrabble again. Dress, eat a can of soup, go to work.

I admit it is a slow and lazy routine. I consider myself lucky to indulge in the luxury of leisure. It wasn't always like this...

Ten years ago I was busting my ass to support myself and my teen daughter. I had a paper route in the morning, an 8-hour a day job in a factory, and a paper route in the afternoon. I put in a 14-hour day five days a week, at least. If the factory had overtime, I worked it. Working 14 hours a day was better than being on welfare(aka Department of Human Services...DHS...I loathe them and what they do.).

I did this for two years. No car; the ex-husband got to keep the one vehicle that was functional. I did have a friend that I could call on if we truly had an emergency. I walked 6 to 8 miles a day, seven days a week. As you may gather, there was little leisure in that routine.

The morning newspaper that I delivered went out every day of the week, 52 weeks a year. No holidays off; I delivered a paper on Christmas Day, Easter Sunday, and of course, every Monday for three years. Delivering the newspaper is what made every day just a day.

The first year that I carried the paper I was married to Hubby#2. While I delivered a paper every day, he conceived a grand antipathy toward Monday(s). I used to sing bits of the Boomtown Rats' "I Don't Like Mondays" while I delivered papers. I laughed at the man and his silliness; a distaste coupled with alcohol became an obsession that took up a lot of space in his head.

The day he asked me to call his boss and say he wouldn't be in to work was the last conversation we had about his dislike of Mondays. I asked him if he was ill and he said 'No.'

"I just don't like Mondays." Wow; deja vu all over again.

I asked another question: "What difference does it make? If you don't go in today, Monday, then Tuesday will be the start of the week. Will you begin to not 'like' Tuesday, too?"

"I don't know." he replied sullenly.

I could see he was already beginning to pout cuz I'd poked a hole in the balloon of his obsession. He was so caught up in his life that he never noticed what my life had become. So much for marriage... That difference in perception of Monday(s) was only one of many differences that brought that marriage to an end.

Now, for me, days are just days.

Uniform Shirts

I knew from when my daughter worked at Arby's that fast-food places are chintzy with their uniforms. My daughter had one uniform shirt that she washed frequently, if not daily. After a month it was so soaked with grease that it could have been used to wipe down car engines.

Now it's me who has a uniform shirt. I wash it four times a week. Lucky me, I know more about doing laundry than Little Miss so my shirt is not a grease rag. Yet.

It just feels very strange to be washing and wearing one item of clothing four times a week. Being addicted to clothing, I have mostly treated it with respect. My pattern has been to wear and wash an item of clothing no more often than once a week. Times when I found myself with only three pairs of pants that fit meant I needed to shop for more. But still, not wearing the same pair of pants four times a week.

No matter how I struggled financially over the years I never had to wear an item of clothing so frequently. Maybe I should have; I might not have struggled financially.

Coffee and Survival

Woke up with a headache this morning. I hate when that happens... thankfully it doesn't happen often. The thought of coffee made my stomach go "Bleeeaaaggghh." When I sat down to write my brain overruled my stomach and said "We must have coffee to create."

How wonderful to be able to make coffee in about five minutes. It's good to have electricity, water from the tap, paper filters, plastic items. I've made campfire coffee, and frankly I prefer what comes out of my drip coffeemaker.

Of course, coffee reminds me of disaster preparedness; my 'disaster kits' are in Folger's coffee plastic canisters. Just the right size for a can of soup, bottle of water, couple of granola bars, and some peppermint candy. I've made food kits, shelter kits, personal hygiene kits, and one entertainment kit. I'm no dyed-in-the-wool 'survivalist'. But I do think it wise to prepare to live for three days without electricity and fresh water. This is on my mind as Iowa enters into the season of storms.

Here in Iowa the scenarios of disaster are limited. Tornadoes in the summer, ice storms, snow in the winter. Flooding like central Iowa had in 1993. Least likely, terrorism at the Animal Disease research facility in nearby Ames, Iowa.

I haven't forgotten my conversations with Jean, a refugee from New Orleans. It hasn't been quite two years since Hurricane Katrina made landfall. What Jean had to say about the devastation of New Orleans and her life remains with me. Could I survive a loss like that?

I just don't know. Sorry, dear Jean, but I hope I never have to find out.

Limited Commitments

One of the first things I learned when I went to substance abuse treatment was not to beat up on myself. One of the ways to think more positively of yourself is to say "No."

And mean it.

Over-commitment, the bane of my existence... I learned that making too many commitments is a way that people sabotage what could be a good life. You feel like you're not doing enough, that you should do good deeds, so you take on a commitment or three. You're really too busy to fulfill the commitment or three, it doesn't get done, you feel guilty. You don't let yourself feel good about what you have been able to do becuz there are so many things that you haven't done.

You feel like you're not doing enough...

It's a cyclic, self-defeating thing, this over-commitment. If there is the least bit of doubt in your mind as to whether you can do something, say no. Stick to it. Complete the commitments you've recently made and then make no more. It's okay to say no. There are probably more important things in your life than baking 200 cupcakes.

When you're back to basics - job, kids, house, family, leisure, then take a look at where you want to devote the time that you (may) have. You'll find that when you say no and refuse a commitment that there is a bit of guilt. But that bit of guilt is negligible compared to the satisfaction of doing well in other areas of your life.

You'll be amazed at how good you can feel when you're not setting yourself up for failure. You've learned to treat yourself better, to avoid something negative and to enjoy something positive.