Overwatered pots of formerly beautiful geraniums and petunias, now looking like death warmed over.
Pots of herbs so wet they are existing in a weird soggy stasis, looking pathetic.
In the parlance of ye olde weather forecasters who claim to know why we’ve had this excessive, soul-sucking rain: there’ve been “numerous ripples of energy” that have brought more rain showers and thunderstorms to the region than are normal.
Uh huh. That’s nice.
However, be that as it may, while the rain continues unabated I’ll just contemplate “am I happy or in misery” while I’m stuck inside the house today in my own version of a caffeinated, irritable, non-psychedelic purple gray haze.
Last week was a troublesome one for me. It was rascally and I got scattered and I lost focus on my one word of the year, streamlined.
I had dreams of getting it together last week, doing the things on my to-do list in a smooth and centered way like the organized lady of the list I long to be. But the Universe scoffed and instead, beleaguered by annoying things, I was distracted me from my true purpose.
THE WHINING PART
Nothing bad happened, only small RIDICULOUS annoying things happened that began to slow me down and wear on my very last nerve. Here is a list of those annoying things:
• tornado warning with winds gusting to 60 mph that took down a piece of our house’s gutter;
• smoke detector battery went chirpy during the day when I was here by myself, without anyone to spot me to climb on a ladder to change the battery, so the smoke detector sang all stinking day;
• the water department turned off the water to this subdivision because of a nearby traffic accident, thus in one day our water was off for 6 hours, on for 2 hours, then off again for 4 hours;
• landscape crew arrived without advance warning to do spring cleanup, then piled mulch in such a way as to trap my car inside the garage;
• laundry service lost one of Z-D’s shirts and told me such when the delivery man came to the front door, handed me the laundered unlost shirts and asked me if I could tell him which shirt was missing… as if I pay any attention to Z-D’s extensive collection of mostly white or pale blue button-down Oxford cloth dress shirts; and finally
• doorbell got stuck on meaning that the button, after being pushed in, connected with the bell box that rang its melodious ding, then the bell box started to buzz… loudly and ceaselessly… until I got a screwdriver and dismantled the doorbell separating the wires to make the stupid thing be quiet.
AND IN CONCLUSION
At this point, if I were an inspirational sort of blogger, I’d share with you a pithy lesson, succinctly put, so that you might learn from my experiences too and say to yourselves: what a wise Bean is Ally for sharing her troubles here and showing us, through her example, how to live better lives.
However, I’ve no such conclusion to this post.
Other than to say, I guess, it’s rather empowering to acknowledge setbacks, complain about them, then get over your sorry self while you carry on with another week as if you’ve got it all together.
I LOVE OWNING a house in this suburb. I’m not being facetious here. Really, I do.
We are extremely lucky to live in a home built for us by a builder who was a pain in the ass to work with, but in the end he built a good solid house.
Comfortable and inviting. Most of the time.
However, last week after a huge spring thunderstorm our chimney started leaking water… again.
It’s been twenty years since we had this house built and this is not the first time this has happened. Nor is the first time I’ve been DISPLEASED about the drip… drip… drip… sound coming from rainwater as it runs down the inside of the chimney and drops onto the top of the metal chimney insert in the fireplace in the family room.
Drip… drip… drip…
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WE HAD THE chimney cap replaced about ten years ago and that took care of the drippy sounds back then. But there was large hail during this recent thunderstorm and I’m guessing that it damaged the chimney cap in such a way as to allow the water to drip… drip… drip… as water is wont to do.
In two weeks we’ll be meeting with a representative from the company that made the chimney cap and he’ll take a look at it. And also he’s going to give us an estimate about how much it’ll cost to have the roof replaced on the house because it’s getting close to the time to do that, too.
THAT BEING SAID FACETIOUSLY.
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NOW YOU ARE in the loop about what’s going on here in Chez Bean. As a loyal and true personal blogger I had to tell you, my gentle readers, because like they say, write about what you know.
And I know that you’re EITHER thinking to yourself thank goodness we don’t own a house OR you’re thinking to yourself about that sad time in your life when you had to shell out the big bucks for roofing repair &/or replacement.
Thus I shall end this post in which I’ve talked about the realities of life by telling you that when it is raining outside and I’m at home, I’m hiding in the rooms farthest away from the family room wherein the drip… drip… drip… is the loudest.
“I’m going to let this go because I really don’t want to get into an argument with these people.”
I said that out loud to myself the other day after finding a webpage that had the most forked-up mismatched inconsistent product marketing I’ve seen in a long time.
It stunned me with its ugly.
To wit, there were words written arbitrarily starting with either upper or lower case letters, for no discernible reason. There were at least 5 different uncoordinated fonts used in garish multi-colored logos that looked like a D+ 7th grade student had made them. And the information I needed was buried in wordy, pointless copy.
As a woman with a background in communication + marketing who worked at one time as a paralegal who did oodles of proofreading, the mess this organization was trying to get away with appalled me. As if clarity in written and graphic design communication meant nothing.
There was a time when I’d have taken this as a personal insult, feeling a need to correct the situation by calling/writing about this failed attempt to create a professional image in the world. And while I could have helped this organization up their game to the next level, you know what– I did nothing.
Because this is not my problem per se.
I only share this here today because it irritated me. Something like this is disheartening for anyone like me who believes in the illuminating power of words and the clarifying potential of images.
And makes me wonder how it is that any organization in today’s connected world can exist with bad marketing. ‘Cause I’m not the only one who is going to see this and think poorly of them.
IT SNOWED LAST NIGHT, not much, but a definite covering of the white stuff. That however is not exactly why I’m cold today. Nope, the reason, to put it succinctly, is that it’s 54ºF… INSIDE the house.
Thus I am huddled in our home office with the French doors tightly shut, sporting a ruana over my flannel + fleece jammies, sitting in front of my desktop computer with the little electric heater swaying to and fro behind me.
What has happened? WELL I’M GLAD YOU ASKED.
You see, yesterday was the last day of February, a short month of days that are soul-crushingly long. A month that should never be trusted.
However, in the morning while waiting for the furnace service tech to get here for our annual check-up, I indulged in a moment of unbridled positivity. Yes, I forgot myself and sighed a happy sigh of joy about making it to the beginning of March unscathed by February’s negativity.
I mean all that was left on my calendar for February was for the furnace to be serviced and then I had March, the action verb month, calling to me.
I like March.
• • •
WELP, I WAS WRONG to let down my guard regarding February, and by 3:00 p.m. our furnace had gone clunk. Come to find out there is a breach in the heat exchanger at the 3rd and 4th cell of the primary, meaning that the whole system as been red-tagged and shut down… by law.
Also, the tech guy accidentally broke a switch which turns the gas on and off.
So, you know, WE GOT TROUBLE.
Hence I am sitting here this morning, the first day of March, waiting for a phone call from the furnace repair company to tell me IF they have the parts we need & WHEN they might be able to get here again to fix the furnace.
If there is a moral to this story it would be something like never count your chickens before they hatch, but my moral would involve swearing, muttering, and not just a little bit of self-pity because honestly, February is the SUCKIEST of all months.
This is a question I’ve pondered lately. Everyone I know is quick to tell me about holidays they like, but rarely do I find myself in a conversation about a holiday someone does not like.
So I made this poll, basing my answers on my Judeo-Christian Middle Class American experiences. I know that around the world there are lots of other holidays than the ones I listed here, so if your least favorite holiday is not on my list you may add it to the poll using the “other” category.
If you, my gentle readers, want to tell me why a particular holiday is your least favorite, the comments below are the place to do it. Certainly everyone has one holiday that bugs them while everyone else around them is enjoying it.
ZEN-DEN POLITELY EXPLAINED TO MEthat I needed to re-frame my irritation. That I had to let my mind embrace a new way of thinking about some of the little daily irritations that bug the snot out of me.
“Chickiedoodle,” he said, “it’s all just dust in the wind. Insignificant.”
[Yes, he sometimes call me Chickiedoodle. Grow up people, we’re married & cutesy nicknames happen.]
“It’s not worth worrying about these small things. I respect your feelings about them, and you’re right– but you gotta let it go.”
There’s a reason why he’s called ZEN-Den, you know. He can get mellow, philosophical at the interconnectedness of life, almost without trying. Little things in daily life don’t bug him so much.
But me? I see the faults. I remember the faults. And then I tend to mutter.
Which is how this conversation started.
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YOU SEE, I WANTED TO watch something on cable TV, but I was once again thwarted by the unnecessary complexity of our remote control.
Hence, I was muttering to Z-D about how ridiculous it is that to turn on the television one does not use the “TV” button on the remote control. No, one uses something called “Input” while ignoring the button that you’d think logically turns on the television.
But it doesn’t.
And if by chance you forget and hit the logical “TV” button, then everything goes wonky on the screen, and you’re left not watching television because you, a woman who dislikes gadgety things on principle, can’t remember how to turn on the darned television.
So I end up not watching cable TV, while complaining loudly about the intentionally irritating nonsensical TV remote control.