Stuffy head, runny nose, head hurts and the sneezing fits – five, six, seven in a row – it’s exhausting.  I’m pretty sure I dodged the flu, but the common cold has caught up with me, and it’s no fun. Being sick as an adult has no positive aspects to it that I can think of.  Sick enough, I’ll go to bed for part of the day, but that’s hard to enjoy because either I’m sleeping or I feel lousy.  Meanwhile, dinner, driving, laundry, correcting as needed for the rest of the day.  Where’s the sympathy?  Not much around here.

 

I can finally admit I was a sickly child, probably the sickliest of the six of us kids.   Pale, wan, skinny, picky eater, frequent trips to the doctor for sore throats, coughs and stomach aches.  I’m the one who had pneumonia in third grade, where I missed almost a month of school, and my mother had to bathe me in cold water to get the temp down. I was also one of the two to get my tonsils removed after countless bouts of tonsillitis – what I guess now is strep throat. 

 

But there was a kind of upside to childhood sickness: time alone, time to read, watching the old black and white morning movies, and my mother, the knowing and comforting nurse, all to myself.  Ginger ale, and toast, and chicken and rice soup, served to me in bed.  No having to get up early and out into the frosty mornings.  Time for my imagination to wander around the room and out the window and into the universe.  Once the symptoms subsided and I was in recuperation mode, it was rather lovely and luxurious. Ah, the sick room – I remember it fondly.

 

Doesn’t work that way around here. By and large, my guys rarely get sick, and that’s a good thing.  Mostly I have to credit my husband’s hardy genes; I can’t remember the last time he’s taken an actual sick day.  For years, my boys didn’t see the doctor except for annual check-ups, and when I went to get my older son’s prescription filled at the pharmacy for an acne drug, they had no record of him.  A couple ear-aches, passing colds, and the occasional sports injury. But we had no need for prescription coverage until the last couple years, mainly due to those expensive acne drugs.

 

When the boys are home sick, it’s TV or computer if they’re up to it. Mostly they sleep. It’s almost never more than a day at a time, and my older guy has taken on his father’s approach of bulldozing through most of life’s problems, including sickness, mainly because he doesn’t want to miss practice. Sure, I take their temperatures, and insist on going for a throat culture if it’s something lingering, but sickness is a very, very small part of their routines.  Unlike me, the sick child.

 

Now, not so much.  I try to take care of myself, eat well, get sleep and exercise, etc. Still, I’m the “delicate” one.  Only now my mom is hundreds of miles away in PA, and there’s no one to soothe my brow, sit on the side of my bed, or bring me ginger-ale.  It’s just no fun being sick anymore.

I may sound like an old codger reminiscing about the good old days, but I still want to receive personal help when I call a company for information.  I'm not Internet illiterate.  I do go to web sites at times for info and help, but I still have this archaic belief that it is not the customer's job to wade through FAQS, or email a question and wait for an answer, or go on an on line chat, unless the customer prefers those ways.  I still would like the option to be taken care of like a valuable customer, diva treatment if you will.  Let me know I'm special to you and I'll want to hang around. 

We have two sinks in our master bath with Kohler faucets we put in about six years ago when we renovated our bathroom.  The hot water faucet handle on my husband's sink is currently frozen stuck; the cold water handle on my sink is frozen stuck.  I had a plumber look at it.  He took about two minutes, and said he really didn't know how to fix it, that I should probably just buy new faucets and he'd put them in.  Not the first time a plumber has said to me he doesn't know a Kohler product well and suggested I just replace the whole apparatus.   

So I called Kohler this morning, and they did it again.  Made me feel special, respected, understood, valued. I was on hold for a few minutes after using the automated system to select faucets, then technical advice, then Melissa answered.  Her voice was warmly pleasant, and she honest-to-goodness sounded glad to be helping me.  I know I was glad she was helping me.  She located the style number for our faucets, using the rather spotty information I could give her off a receipt that suffered a major spill which totally washed off the ink, explained quickly what probably happened—calcification from the water, and once she said that, I noticed some white powdery evidence where the faucet handle connected, verified my address in their records, and dispatched four cartridge replacements my way:  two hot, two cold, no charge.  You gotta love it!. 

In the past, Kohler techs have helped me troubleshoot a running toilet.  That part was around $8.37 total, and when it arrived with full instructions, I put it in myself in a couple minutes.  Kohler techs also helped me trouble shoot  my leaking kitchen faucet, correctly again, I may add.  I will hire a plumber to install these cartridges in the master bath.  I think strength and the proper tools will come to play for this job, but at least I won't have to listen to another professional hem and haw about what part, how to get it, where or when, and then charge me for a second visit on the remote chance they decide to follow this job through.  The plumbers can't figure out what part I need, but I can?  Yep, thanks to Kohler, and Melissa, and all the other sincere and helpful Kohler technical people WHO HAVE SPOKEN DIRECTLY TO ON MY INITIAL PHONE CALL.  What a concept.  Kohler, you can have my business anytime...and every time.  

     


    

I had a most cathartic experience with dryer lint once. I was telling a co-worker about it today in hopes of comforting her. She is grieving the loss of her father-in-law. She thought she was further along in the grieving process when something she saw today caught her off guard and stirred up a fresh wave of tears.

It took a long time to grieve my Grandpa Altopp's death. He was of a slight build but mighty in personality. Grandpa had a tattoo eons before they were cool. On one hand he had three fingers; the other two were cut off by a saw while he was working at a mill. He picked them up, put them on a shelf, and kept working. He sang in public and cried when he gave his testimony of how he was "dried out on a mountain top", meaning he was saved at the Hebron Colony in the mountains of North Carolina and never touched alcohol again. He and I spent concentrated time together in the dugout during baseball season, especially during the spring break trips to Florida with my dad's teams. He loved the game and was well-loved by all the players.

Grandpa died several years ago while I was a graduate student in St. Louis. It was the end of the semester and so there were papers to write, exams to study for, and Christmas parties to host and attend. His funeral was in Indianapolis on December 23. It was a whirlwind of family, grief, Christmas gifts, and travel, and ended all too abruptly at the start of my final semester.

Flash forward to the summer following graduation and a new job in Kentucky. I inherited Grandpa's washer and dryer. My in-laws picked them up in Indianapolis and delivered them to my husband and me in Appalachia. Before I washed clothes the first time, I opened the lint catch and started to weep. Grandpa always wore an avocado-green polyester suit to church. There on the lint catch was a cottony green fluff. It was a tangible bit of him! I stood cradling the dryer lint, crying, "Oh, Grandpa!" I considered saving it. I wanted to. I couldn't bear to throw it away. He died six months ago and here I am bawling like it just happened. It was bewildering. Eventually I realized I didn't need the dryer lint to conjure memories of Grandpa. His legacy is alive in me.

I think my co-worker understood. Grief has no timetable. Don't rush it or stuff it as I had done. I've never looked at dryer lint the same.

I always thought I would someday be the mother of daughters;turns out that is not going to happen.  I couldn’t be happier with my two sons, and would not change them for anything. But, in truth, when I found out from the ultrasound that the second child looked “highly likely male”, I shed tears in the privacy of my car. There was little chance there would be a third baby: we’d started later in life, and according to our planning and energy, two would be just fine.  So, no little girls for me, and I have since grieved the loss of a dream, as well as reveling in being “Queen Bee” in my household of men.

 

I was the product of a female-dominated household, run by my mother after my father’s death with the help of my grandmother who did most of the cooking and caretaking when my mother was at work. We were four girls and two boys, but my sister and I were eldest - the little moms. The boys, maybe because they had no father, were given special dispensation to be “boys”, rough and tumble, more naughty, less expected of them in terms of household chores.  In my house, the food provider, the bill payer, the disciplinarian and the bottom line was a woman - my mother. I was used to the idea of a woman in power, and so became a proto-feminist during high school and college days. It was my hope to raise feminist daughters – that is, confident, powerful and comfortable in who they are.

 

Lately, I’m not so sure. Some of the things I read and hear about relating to young women are terrible.  There is this stupid ad on the radio: Give your girlfriend a gift certificate for cosmetic surgery for Valentines Day – “Make her a perfect 10”. Makes me sick. Not the surgery per se; an individual may want it for some specific purpose – droopy eyelids, a crooked nose. That I can see. Or, perhaps a parent for a child, after careful thought about cost, risks, and emotional issues.  But a gift for Valentines? 

 

Then there was the story on the 2020 TV show of the teen girl who is suing Starbucks, because her 24 year old manager told her she had to have sex with him, and she felt she couldn’t say no.  The story claims that research shows that a high number of teens report sexual advances from adults at work.  Well, duh! Who doesn’t know that?  Perhaps because I had so many low-level crappy jobs when I was growing up, it was a fact of life, just another obstacle to maneuver around:  grabbed from behind, kissed in the elevator,asked to dinner by my boss on the first day of the job.  But even in those circumstances, when I really, truly needed a job, I never let it continue, even if it meant quitting the job.  Watching the show, I thought, “What’s wrong with this girl that she doesn’t know to say “No”, “Back off”, or just getaway from the situation – and she had involved parents and lots of money.  What made her self-esteem so low that she  tolerated it? Accepted it?  And then it hit me like a blow in the stomach, “Why should she be subject to it in the first place?  Why was I?”  It took me a long time to process that idea,that just because she was a young woman, any young woman — myself or my hypothetical daughter - why should she have to deal with that at the workplace, and a system that allows it to happen, punishing the perpetrator only after the fact, because the mother finally stepped in?   Wow, I was thinking, I put up with a lot of s…t and didn’t think it could be otherwise. Today, the problem is still there, but the young women seem even less equipped to deal with it. Sad.

 

Finally, the Mean Girls in South Hadley, Mass.who taunted a 15 year-old girl, recently arrived from Ireland, for dating an “off-limits”senior football player until she finally hung herself.  They followed her, insulted her, made bad remarks on Facebook, harassed her unto death. And then after the fact, posted comments on-line that were smug and unrepentant. So far, no consequences, no punishment, and the question remains who is to blame: kids? School? Parents? Unkindness has been around forever, but this kind of cruelty in educated, comfortable young women seems a new development.  Fueled by what?  What has made it so crucially important to have this brash on-line life, posting hundreds of pictures, but an inability to feel empathy, compassion for someone in person - someone not so different from yourself? 

 

Boys are a handful, but not so complicated, I think.   The world seems not very appreciative of young women who would be full of sugar and spice, and trying to be nice.  It’s no place for ladies out there; and not so easy for gentle-men, either

Was I the only one foolish enough to watch the Golden Globe awards Sunday night?  Did any of you watch?  What did you think?

Here are my  very, very random thoughts:

I like Ricky Gervais.  He makes me laugh.  I loved him in "The Office" and "Extras".  I laughed out loud a couple of times during the award ceremony when he was on.  Of course he made one really dirty joke about getting cosmetic surgery on his penis.  It was probably a bit too dirty for the American audience, but he's British, and that's what they do.  I only wish he was on more during the show.  I mean, for goodness sake, he was the host and long periods went by with no sign of him!

Drew Barrymore acts like a dithering idiot.  She said that she was not used to getting up in front of audiences.  Come on!  She has been a movie star since she was 7 years old.  Can she really be that silly!!

Halle Berry has the most perfect body.  She looked outstanding - even after having a child!

Helen Mirren has quite a good figure too!

Sophia Loren looks so taped together.  I love her and she's beautiful, but at her age, is it real???  She looks like she might fall apart.

The repartee between Robert Deniro and Martin Scorsese was the most natural banter of the evening.  They really did seem to know and like each other.

Chloe Sevigny won for her role in "Big Love" on HBO. I was surprised she got nominated, but she is really really good so I was glad.

I love " Mad Men".  It won for best TV drama and it deserves it.

Also I am a big fan of Juliana Margulies in "The Good Wife" so am glad that she won an award.

I was disappointed that "Avatar" won the best drama movie award.  I haven't seen it, but can a science fiction film with tons of computer generated stuff be the best drama of the year?  What about "Precious"??

Speaking of "Precious".  I was thrilled that Monique won the award for best supporting actress.  She was absolutely terrific!  But, the young woman who played "Precious" didn't win anything which I thought was a big oversight.  And don't tell me that Sandra Bullock, who won best actress in a drama for Blindside, is a better actress than "Precious".  Maybe they didn't give the star of "Precious" an award because they couldn't remember her name either:)

And can "The Hangover" be the best comedy of the year?  Boo!  It looks so stupid. Although I haven't seen it.

Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore were both  nominated for best supporting actress in the same TV movie, "Grey Gardens". First of all, the camera didn't even go to Jessica Lange when they read her name (was she in the bathroom?) and then when she lost to Drew Barrymore, I thought she was going to kill her - what a look!!

And, couldn't Steve Carrell smile even once?  He didn't smile when Ricky Gervais teased him about the American version of " The Office" and he still didn't smile when he was nominated for an award.  What's with that?

Mike Tyson with the large tattoo!  And, why did they put him on stage?  He had one line and almost flubbed it.

Meryl Streep was a lady as usual.  She won for "Julie and Julia".  Yeah!

Cher looked like Elmira.  What a god awful dress and the long dark hair looked so passe. Where has she been lately, anyway? And I felt bad for her that they partnered her with Christina Aguillera.  Cher?  Cher should present by herself!!!!

Speaking of dresses - I don't remember too many.  I liked Kate Hudson's white gown.  Mariah Carey showed way too much boob! Jodie Foster looked beautiful. Jennifer Anniston dresses so well.

I would have liked to have seen Alec Baldwin.  They said he was absent due to a pre-existing charity commitment.  Haiti?  Probably not.  But, I thought it was a good thing they said he was at a charity even instead of just "boycotting" the show.

Haiti was mentioned a few times and in a respectful manner so that was a good thing.

Do you think I am too into this to be healthy?  Let me know if you watched!  We can dish together!


Real Estate Hint -  Let the races begin!  The spring market is off to a great start!  And so early!! Just like the good ol' days!  The buyers are coming out of the woodwork!  I had 3 buyers on Saturday, 4 buyers on Sunday and 1 buyer on Monday.  They're coming, they're looking, they're buying!  Yeah!  Lots of pent up demand after the debacle of 2009.  The spring market is going to be great!

We’ve just completed the rounds of college tours, applications and essays for our elder son, Dylan.  He applied to 3 colleges, one of them early admission (Duke), where he was accepted and is going to go. It was his first choice, because when he went to see it, he liked it. It wasn’t on the initial list, since we knew little about it.  One cousin suggested it and other cousin lives close to Duke and hosted Dylan and his father when they visited. We are happy with the outcome, but still totally in the dark on how the admissions game is played.  We had no connections, no inside information, and no special talent or skill that would set Dylan apart.  After this experience, I can say we are no more enlightened about how to improve odds for success, and whatever we’ve learned (well, except perhaps timeliness) doesn’t seem likely to help in the next round, when our younger son applies to college in four more years. 

 

I take nothing away from my dearest son, who has been good humored and easy-going since birth.  My husband says that he has my quick grasp, and his own good memory and willingness to work hard.  That said, Dylan did well at school, but not the very top. Good grades, but not the best. Nice scores, but plenty of others did as well or better.  When it comes to the question of how or why Dylan was selected among qualified peers, we have no answers, only pure and sometimes fanciful speculation.  The Armenian last name, perhaps, if they were looking for greater diversity.  Or possibly the combination of top level French classes (which his counselor recommended he keep) along with four years of high school hockey and lacrosse?  Maybe it was his essay, “The Year I Won Nothing”, about, in spite of his long career of academic success, and dcent records in league hockey, during his sophomore year, he played on hockey and lacrosse teams that lost every single game – a record of sorts.  So, he knows of losing as well as winning?  Could be.  We just don’t know.  Can’t tell you; can’t help you.

 

What I would share is this: that the senior year, while stressful, was only moderately stressful, since Dylan only did only three apps., and since we found out early. It could have easily gone a different way.  What is interesting is that this time period was stressful in other ways, mainly to do with the health and welfare of some of the senior citizens of the family – probably our greater preoccupation at times.  But in the end, not too much worry or focus on “which school” or “the very best school” worked out for us.  Duke seemed a good match.  Dylan did all the on-line parts of the apps. and we had a couple people look over the essay.  A certain benign neglect took force; there maybe should have been more likely or safety schools, but we just couldn’t get around to it. And it turned out OK; maybe better than expected.   

 

And, that may be the lesson; that it does turn out OK, for the most part, for most people. There are so many ways of getting to where you want to go.  Spending too much time trying to figure out the system can be just a waste of time – since it’s neither completely open to market forces, nor based simply on merit. The system is opaque, and there are forces, fair or not, that are at work on how decisions are made.  Rather, spend the time on the quality of life as you are living it, both as a student and as a family, and trust that it’s the skills of adapting and coping that count as much as advantages conferred.

You've seen me. Heard me. Rolled your eyes at me. You've wanted to gag. And you've wished you could tell me to stop, stop, stop.

I love my dog, crazily love my dog.

I talk to her all the time, calling her ridiculous names that somehow in that moment I don't care if anyone else hears. Bucket of love. Pumpkin cakes. I lay attuned with one ear at night the way any mother would with a child, and if I hear a cough or a whimper, I'm leaning forward in bed, on the alert, listening, if I'm not already headed down to where she sleeps downstairs to see if she's okay. I make her meals with chicken, brown rice, a vegetable, ground flax seed, egg shells, nutritional yeast, fish oil, garlic, vitamin e oil, and an occasional dash of green powdered super food. I think it's healthy, but the production I go through just about makes my husband sick.

I don't think I'd love her as much if she wasn't a rescue. She's from Louisiana, a Hurricane Katrina aftermath which gives me that much more of a picture of the disaster our little lab mix survived. She's a "hood" dog as my son says, and I respect her for her strength to survive living on the street and to emerge with the ability to be friendly, and to trust people. Neither of those traits are as automatic with her as it is with most labs. When she comes to be petted, she often walks alongside, then backs closer, giving me her butt so she can keep watching out in front for anything that might come at us as a threat. She demonstrates literally over and over "I trust you to have my back," and that makes mush ball me melt.

 

She is so many things I aspire to be: energetic, thoughtful, attentive, friendly, strong, enthusiastic, in—the-moment. As the new year unfolds, she's an ever present role model, and by far the best listener in the house, hands down. Or would that be paws?

I didn't think I could love her anymore. But I realized in these past couple cold weeks, I think I love her more in the winter. When I come in from running errands in the frigid weather, I love finding her feeling safe and relaxed, spread out on the living room couch where she can see out front and side windows. I kneel down and snuggle with her, put my face into her luxuriant tawny soft fur (kudos to that vitamin e oil), drape my body over her incredibly inviting warmth, and I'm more infatuated than ever. I can imagine cave dwellers or early settlers finding their dogs more inviting than a high-maintenance fire or an unpredictable spouse. Hmmm, maybe I can imagine that happening to me on an occasion or two.

Dog. Totally welcoming. Totally accepting. Totally warm. Totally love. Man's best friend indeed. Woman's, too.

"As we grow old...the beauty steals inward"
Ralph Waldo Emerson


As we grow old, our skeletons push outward. Our skin thins, sags, becomes translucent, revealing the bones beneath. The bones which have always been there holding us up, getting us through, are eager to announce their presence. Why do we fight it? Is a large, old Oak tree less appealing than a sapling? And let's not forget the wine analogy. People who are full of years have character. They've beat the odds, survived, and should wear their "uniform" proudly.

As we age, our true selves also emerge. The game-playing days of youth are spent. Ask for what you want. Wallow in emotions. Wear comfortable shoes. Have a sensible hair style. Say "I love you" with abandon. How freeing!

I work with elderly people. They are live, open history books. I'm amazed by their stories, their strength, and spirit. I marvel at their wisdom. There are good days and bad and they can't hide which kind they're having. They are from varying socioeconomic situations but have many commonalities. As we grow old, we grow more alike. So why fight it?

Relationships are the most important factor in having a positive aging experience. The circle grows smaller the more frail a person becomes, until only the most loyal family members and friends remain. They are the marrow. In my work I've observed people who have one, paid aide as their only daily contact and I've observed people who have several family members who check on them daily. If we spend our lives strengthening bonds with others, we will have strength to draw upon in our later years.

Sometimes something unexpectedly good comes along in life…a chance discovery…something that has been around for ages…that changes everything for the better. That’s how it is with me and alpaca.  I have a new enjoyment of crisp fall weather with my black and camel ruana (aka cape) made of alpaca – so cozy, such lovely drape.  Thanks to alpaca, my attitude and appreciation of cold weather is so much different than it was. A winter walk is so pleasant with an alpaca layer under my coat that will keep me warm but not suffocate or overheat. Freezing temperatures inside the rink?  Alpaca keeps the body temperature just right, without getting too bulked out.  A lightweight cardigan takes the chill off while sitting at the keyboard.  And it looks good.

 

Once a true luxury item (prized by Inca rulers), alpaca is more affordable and more accessible than ever, and green (alpaca live lightly on the land).  It’s used more and more in blends with other fabrics.  Even some of the higher end, “wearable art” sweaters from Peru trickle down eventually to TJ Maxx and Marshall’s, where they might sell for less than thirty dollars by the end of the season.  The best garments are probably still made in South America, (Millma in Bolivia), or a number of places in Peru. These are not cheap, and deservedly so. Well constructed, lasting, and often incorporating ethnic designs not only of Native and Hispanic culture, but cultures from other parts of the world.  Or modern, or fanciful.  In any case, pieces that are nice to touch, functional in terms of comfort and warmth, not mass produced, and of natural origins.  What more can you ask?

 

Alapaca has such a romantic history, not least because it almost disappeared from the planet.  It was only the efforts of a few Inca survivors who herded alpaca to the higher mountain regions to save them from destruction from the Conquistodors, who preferred sheep. The indigenous population kept the animals and the weaving alive, but relatively unrecognized, until late in the industrial revolution, in part because it took a long time to develop the technology to weave the alpaca fiber.  Slowly, as ethnic culture became more appealing in the sixties and seventies, alpaca hats, gloves, scarves caught on with the hippie set, and then more into main stream. At the same time, American farmers started keeping alpacas, appreciating their docile nature as well as the high quality of the fibers.  Perhaps not yet an explosion, but more people are discovering alpaca as an alternative to wool, more lightweight, and not itchy – really perfect for layering, and for indoor spaces that are kept reasonably warm in cold winter months.

 

Plus the beauty.  I remember perusing a Peruvian Connection catalog at one point, taken with the beauty of the clothing, especially the alpaca sweaters and coats: the textures, the patterns, the colors, so substantial.  The prices, however, were more than I would pay.  Then, one day, I saw a friend of mine from book group wearing a colorful alpaca cardigan – so lovely. I had a chance to touch it and see it up close, and I was taken.  So, through EBay I began my search for affordable alpaca, and in time, I had a selection of four or five pieces that I have worn and relished.  One in soft cream with delicate embroidery.  Another with a fuzzy texture, a Southwest Indian pattern in black, rust and turquoise.  A third that features the animal designs of the Nazca Plain. And my ruana! 

 

I’ve never been one to love clothes – I use them until they’re worn, or else pass them on – but I’m fond, very fond, of my alpaca. 

The opening scene of Jane Hamilton’s novel, “A Map of the World” depicts a woman at home with two small children: beds are unmade, dirty dishes in the sink, stinky diapers to be disposed of.  In the story, the woman goes upstairs for some small errand, I forget what, and gets distracted looking at a map that she once perused with fantasies of travel. Meanwhile, one of the toddlers, a neighbor’s child that she is babysitting, wanders out of the house and down a short path to a pond where she drowns. The husband has been trying to make a go of their dream “family farm,” which of course is very labor intensive.  The child dies; the dream evaporates.

 

“Clearly she’s depressed,” said one vocal member of my book group, “She let her house go to pot. She’s lost her self-respect, and doesn’t expect anyone to visit.” This seemed to be the consensus of the group, intelligent and self-respecting women in their fifties and sixties.  “Maybe not,” I ventured. “Maybe it’s just not that important to her.”  I was not quite forty. I had a number of friends who didn’t bother much about housekeeping;there were so many other things to do and think about.  They didn’t identify with being “good housewives”.  Thus ensued one of the most interesting discussions we’ve had in book group: the significance of housekeeping.  Who does it and how?  How important is it? What expectations and attitudes did we learn from our families? Somehow I couldn’t imagine a group of men, even those who read the same book, having this discussion.  If I labeled my blog entry “Housekeeping, a Feminist Issue”, how many would read it?

 

Let me say upfront that I believe housecleaning should be paid for. We’ve had a Brazilian woman and her daughter clean every two weeks for the last ten years, for a reasonable rate. Funny thing, I never saw it in my future, and most likely would have disdained the idea. Cleaning was not an issue before kids. This idea came first from my neighbor who had hired these cleaners and wanted to refer business to them. It coincided with our tenth marriage anniversary, a gift I wanted more than a weekend away — housecleaning for a year. Our twenty-first anniversary has passed, and they’re still coming, through trips to Brazil, two grandchildren, citizenship. It’s been so  mutual, that when we talked about cancelling their services as a way to save money for college bills, we decided against it. We might be able to keep up the cleaning, especially with one boy less; but they need us too, for income and the transition to the American way.

 

Still, there is the need for daily cleaning and picking up.This, I see, is the issue that divides and separates generations and“types”.  Over the years, I’ve found that there are some families who simply do not host events, in part due to the fact that their house is always a mess.  They oftentimes are happy to bring food or otherwise chip in. A few of my peers have House Beautiful, and I’m not sure how they do it, or why.  But there is a large segment who are always apologetic about the state of their houses. Indeed for them, the conflict is constant, and often has to do with family relationships, i.e., workaholic dads and over-scheduled kids – ours not immune. 

 

After some debate with myself, I came to peace with the concept of “pickupable” – that is, the main, shared spaces of our house can be picked up in a reasonable time if we find that people are coming over.  This requires about half an hour of going around “tidying” on weekdays after the boys have left.  Before guests’ arrival, there is a short and shared burst of effort.  Otherwise, the boys are free to have messy, but not dirty rooms – no food and drink remnants. There is a kind of “everything has its place system” - which mostly works once it’s been set up.  For the reams of paper that come through, I have the most elementary, colored folder system, and then the large scrap paper pile.  I do a springand fall cleaning, which mainly consists of recycling and getting rid of stuff that no longer has a real purpose in our lives. Hey, it’s not perfect; but we can live with it.

 

My sister gave me a good perspective once: “If I have a little free time in the afternoon, I’m not going to spend it doing housework. I’d rather read a good book."

 

Me, I’d rather write.