What idiot designs public restrooms ?

Sorry I had to yell there, but honestly I have to say this.   
What kind of idiot designs the stalls in public restrooms?  
 I'm not talking cleanliness here, although I have a couple of ideas on that one, but just the basic sense of design.   And if I offend you by talking about toilets, don't bother reading any further.

Let me give two examples.   And see if you can follow along with me on this.

I walk into a nice large restroom, lots of aisle space, and then go into the stall and cannot close the door without brushing against, no, almost having to climb on top of the toilet to close the door behind me.   All I needed was an extra inch or two, and it would have been fine.  And there was more than enough aisle space to get that extra two inches.   Of course that might have explained the footprints on top of the toilet seat.   I am not exaggerating, well, not that much, but really?   Who wants to get up close and personal with a toilet, unless it's in your own home and you're the only one who uses it and cleans it every day.  

Example number two.   I'm in a large chain store, run into the restroom, it's actually pretty clean in there, and there is room to close the door without climbing onto top of the toilet, but...  The toilet roll holder protrudes so far into the space you have to perch on the side of the toilet cause there's no room, and you have to reach back to get to the toilet paper.   So here you are, you've managed to hit the toilet, then you have to contort yourself to get to the paper and well, I'm just not built that way anymore.  

And the cleanliness thing?  Well, what's wrong with a poured concrete or other floor that can be hosed down?  Just shut the restroom down every few hours and hose off the floor.  Have  a drain that can handle it and voila!  Clean floors.   Of course it doesn't take care of the other idiots who can foul up a public restroom in seconds flat and who don't even care.  

My complaint today is the space inside the stalls, and I wonder if anyone else feels the same way.   I do care, but for now this is my space and I can complain if I want to.

Young music, old bodies

We were at a local watering hole a week or so ago, and there was a musician, well, two musicians on stage, playing the music of my youth.  And as I walked into the venue, I looked at the audience and saw the graying hair of the people rocking along with the music, and thought, gee that's so cool even the older people are really enjoying this music.  For a moment, well, almost three and a half moments, I was a young person again, then I realized that, hey, I'm one of them. I've got the grey hair, (it may be hiding amongst the golden strands, but it's there).   

I'm looking at the stage seeing the gray hair of the singer, tied back into a ponytail and listening to the music of my youth, time has marched on,  the music has stayed young but the bodies show the years that have passed.   Grey hair, or just thinning hair, grey beards, we're all showing signs of age, but the music, it has stayed young.   

Time was, the audience would have been young, and the singers younger still, but at least we've all aged together, some more gracefully, some not so much.     

Life has happened to many of us, most of us have embraced life, ridden the waves of fortune and despair, and come out of on top.    We've weathered storms, broken marriages, deaths of parents, children, spouses, pets, and we're still here.  We've won and lost, and we're still here.   We've worked, squandered, played, despaired, and we're still here.   

And for a moment or three, as we listen to the music of our youth, we can go back in time, when our skin was still smooth, our bodies young, our ambition fresh and new, and we're still here.  

Memories...

 I've been unpacking boxes the past couple of days, boxes that contained glassware, collectibles, well, my idea of collectibles at least.   I finally have a shelving unit that I can use to display and have access to the glasses,etc., that I have had packed away.

One of the boxes I unpacked though, contained bits and pieces of our former life.    An address book my mother had was in a box which was labeled pictures, etc.   I had no idea what it was when I picked it up, it was wrapped in plastic, and I had no idea what I was unwrapping, until the final bit.   It was Mom's old address book.  The covers have come undone, the pages are falling out, but I'm keeping it anyway.   As I page through, I see names of people I've almost forgotten, see the various addresses my older sister had as she and her husband lived in various cities across the country where he was sent when he was in the military.    Some of the entries are made in my hand, some in my mother's hand and some in my dad's handwriting.   There are also a few my sister made.   Both my parents and sister have now passed away so seeing their handwriting brings a tear to my eye, and seeing the entries of other friends of my parents who have since passed brings back so many memories.   Mom sitting with her best friend Mae, over coffee in the evening, while both Mae's husband and my father worked on second shift as janitors. The name of my old doctor, a wise and learned man, who had a great deal of compassion, and knew how to listen to a teenager.    Then I turn the page and see names I don't remember or recognize and realize that after I left home, Mom and Dad had a life I wasn't privy to on a day to day basis.    So many, many memories all contained within the falling out pages of an old address book, and a book I will keep forever, or at least until I die.

And then I open another box, one that has been packed away for over 12 years.  Yes, 12 years!  About the time we were first going to put our old house up for sale and I packed up the contents of a china cabinet in preparation, mainly cause I didn't want my special stuff to be on display if some one came in to look at the house.   And now as I go through the box, I'm assailed, overwhelmed, and joyful with the memories.   I find a beautiful crystal bowl, teacups that belonged to my husband's grandmother, decorative plates that my mother had, and a few things I'm really shocked I kept.  And I wonder why they were so special back then that I felt the need to keep them.  Some maybe because they were gifts and I was brought up to cherish gifts that were given, but I think some of the items I kept were simply because I was overwhelmed at all the decisions I had to make when I was packing.

Some boxes were packed away in 2005, and as I open the boxes I find stuff I had forgotten we had.   I now know where the top to the blender is, but because I bought one to replace the missing top, I am now the proud owner of two blenders and don't really use either one anymore.   But, because one was a wedding present, I will keep it until it dies, or gift it to someone who can use it.    I find a bowl, that belonged to my husband's grandmother, I think, but Corningware never goes out of style.  Well, maybe it might go out of style, but it will always be useful.   And who can't use more bowls?  I know when I get going in the kitchen, an extra bowl is always a good thing.   And then it hits me, so many of the Corningware items are now classified as antiques, I know this because I've had them over 30 years, and some were handed down from family. 



  So many treasures, and so little room to put them in. 

The black hole under the sink...

I was just in the bathroom trying to retrieve the dogs brush when I realized that as careful as I was to only put essentials under there, it was starting to resemble a black hole.  Things went in there, never to surface again.   So I rooted around and found stuff that really didn't need to be there.  But I really wonder, why aren't there some kind of organizers built in there?   I recognize you need to be able to access the plumbing, but gee whillikers, I can't be the only who kinda puts stuff in there and never retrieves it.  It's like there is something that lives under there, and takes your stuff and never gives it back, or at least doesn't give it back until you beg, plead and crawl in there after it.   And I don't know about you, but I really don't like crawling into little black holes or spaces under sinks or closets or ....

Hate trying to buy a car

OK, so this is my personal rant and rave page.  And I want to rant and rave about the process of buying a car.   Grrrrrr..........

Why do dealers make it so difficult to get a price.   Don't they know what they paid for the car, how much of a profit they need to make to keep the doors open?    But I keep hearing stuff like, well there are a lot of variables we need to consider.   All I want is to get a price, even if it's not the final price, just a price so I know whether or not it's worth my time to drive 75 miles or more to sit in a dealership while they play the 'waiting' game to see if I'm really serious.   I mean really, how difficult is it?   

Why am I ranting today, well, gee, let me see.   My car is 12 years old, has over 142,000 miles on it, and is getting tired.   I still love the car, but can see the reality that maybe it might start costing me money just to keep it on the road.   And I really don't want to get stranded in one of the forests in our area cause it suddenly decides that it has given its all for me.    

Sorry I got sidetracked there.    Let me get back on the road, as it were.    I called a few dealerships yesterday, told them I was looking for a specific vehicle, and wanted to know what kinds of specials they were offering on it.   I thought that was a fair question.    I did mention to one dealer the 'online' special that was being offered by the manufacturer.   Told them I understood that there were other factors involved, but wanted to get an idea of what they would charge.  So far, we've talked 4 times, and I still don't have a price.   I get the ' What do you want to pay?"  " Are you going to put money down?"  which I had already said I would.   Are they not listening because I'm a woman?  Or is this just a big game to them?   They have the vehicle, they hold the cards and I'm the supplicant who's asking pretty please may I have a price.   Just too frustrating for words.   Now, I'm going to go with some more dealers and see if any of them return calls.  

I'll update this later on, but for now, picture this.   I'm standing on my best cookpot and beating the sales people over the head with whisk or should that be a meat tenderizer, hmmmm......  

Kinda sad today...

Actually I was kinda sad the past few days.    I resigned/quit/gave up my volunteer cooking gig at the senior center here, and last week was my last lunch there.    And I'm going to miss it.  Really, but at the same time I'm relieved.   So I guess I'm torn up between being sad and relieved. 

No more menu planning, no more shopping, no more cooking, and that is something I really enjoyed doing.   I loved the camaraderie of the volunteers, we had some good times, a lot of laughs, a couple of tears, some oops in the kitchen, and I'm thinking of the scorched sauces mostly, but nothing that was catastrophic in nature.   Our meals were served on time, mostly.   We did get a couple of delays, but really, we did good.  

The other volunteers were awesome as well.   I want to give a shout out to Don, who came in pretty much every week, and helped us out.   He's 87 I believe, and has a bad back, but shows up with laughter in his heart.   And then there is Wally, who also showed up most weeks, and also has a bad back, but did his part in the prep work.   Ginnie, who showed a real aptitude for doing whatever we asked of her.   Miss Dot, who made some awesome deviled eggs, several dozen a week, and brought them.  Miss Merle, who is legendary around here for her baking prowess.   Miss Reba who came and helped out a few times.   And Sarge, who taught me so much before he had to leave.   And we had our share of snowbird volunteers, Janey,  who fell to with a will, Miss Pat, who came in early and stayed late.   All the great people who stepped up to serve the food to the seniors, and finally, my fellow cook, Robin.   She also taught me an incredible amount.  We had more laughs, and she was one of the main reasons I looked forward to going in every week.  

Thank you to all of you, and I appreciate your kindness in letting me come in and cook alongside you all. 

Love to cook but...

I love to cook.  Really I do, I love to feed people, watch them eat and enjoy my food, and basically just nurture people.   But, when I donate my time or volunteer if you will, and try my best, please don't feel free to castigate me.  I don't mind you coming back and telling me that 'hey, you didn't put enough cabbage into that dish', or  I like that, but you could have done a better job if you'd used less noodles'  both of which were actual comments made to me.   I don't mind that, but please don't sit there and fill up your plate and then complain about the food you're eating.   If you don't like it, don't eat it.  Or more importantly, don't take it and then poke at it with your fork as if that food item was a piece of maggoty meat. 

Sorry, I had to get that off my chest. 

I've been volunteering as a cook for the past few months and have really enjoyed the experience, mostly.   There have been a few blips along the way, some oops, some disasters that got fixed, mostly, but overall a good time.  

I slipped on a cliche the other day, a banana peel.

Sometimes life just hands you a cliche, all tied up and ready to process.    And that's just what happened to me.  
I slipped on a banana peel.  Yup, a banana peel.   The real thing, all squishy and yucky and very recognizable as a banana.   Luckily for me I was returning a cart into the store so had something I could hold onto, or I would have, as the saying goes, gone "Ass over teakettle".    It just so happened that there was a store employee right there, and she hurried up and got a paper towel and wiped up the banana.   I didn't even get a picture of it with my phone, darn.   Of course I was just a tad shook.   But the employee managed to get rid of the evidence so even if I was a touch on the litigious side I wouldn't have any evidence.   But I was just fine, it wasn't the stores fault that some idiot dropped or threw a banana away, right where people walk.   And if it was going to happen to someone, at least I wasn't hurt.   A child or elderly person could have been injured and that would not have been a good thing.

And I now have my own claim to fame, I slipped on a cliche, a banana peel.  

Letters

I stood at the window today and watched a piece of my life drive away in the garbage truck. It was an interesting moment, one in which part of me wanted to run after the truck and tell him to give me back my garbage, so I could go back in time and re-read the letters I'd thrown away. But reality hit and I realized I'd never be able to run down the stairs fast enough to get outside before they drove away.

I'd been going through a box of papers, bits and pieces, odds and ends of flotsam and jetsam. Some actually dating back over 40 years. There were letters written to me from people who are no longer a part of my life, people in fact who are no longer living and no one in my life now would have any conception as to who those people were or what they meant to me at one or another point in time. Life marched on, lives were lived, and lost. The minutia of life as chronicled in the letters would be of little interest to anyone else but me. So I made a decision, and the letters were thrown away. And now I wonder if I regret it, but I can't because it's just one more thing that someone, whoever is left after I'm no longer among the living, will have to throw away. The letters that were sent to me, weren't from anyone important, to anyone now, just good friends who either passed away or passed out of my life many years ago. They meant something to me at one time, and I kept them as a measure of respect for the friendships we used to share, even if they had no idea that I was keeping them.

Some of the cards I open are bittersweet, the authors long passed away, and they are missed to this day, family members I'll not see again. And I keep them, even though their memories will live on long past the time I finally leave this existence. My way of keeping them close in my heart still.

My eyes tear when I read a missive from my father, telling me that he hopes I can read his English, and then he adds a postscript in Danish, and I am comforted by him, his love reaches beyond the grave and into my life 32 years later. That he made the effort to write in a language, his second language, one learned when he was in his late forties, so that I could read it. Something I think I appreciate more now than when I was in my twenties and first received the letter. And it happens it was the last letter he sent me, he let go of life not long after. And then the next card I pull out is a birthday card from my mother and when I look at her signature, so laboriously written after a paralyzing stroke, I'm struck again by the love that she gave me. She made the effort to write out my name, wish me Happy Birthday, and signed it Love, Mom. And I know how long that took her and how hard it was for her to do.

I find a note written from a long vanished friend and remember how we used to pass notes back and forth in class. Somehow we were never caught, but thanks to my keeping the note, I can go back to Junior High for a minute or so and remember. And marvel at the insecurity, the innocence and the joy we felt when a certain boy liked or didn't like us.

So many good memories, all tied up in a box, and I decide to keep at least one of each letter, maybe sometime in another few years I'll pull out the box again and reread them, and travel back in time, just for a few minutes. I'll visit with my parents, my niece, my sister, my friends long gone. And shed another tear or two and remember them as they were, and rejoice that I once had them in my life.

Too many cooks, grrrrrrr

I love to cook, and watch people enjoying my food.    But please keep your (&)&(*&( mitts off of my pots or pans.  I know what I'm doing,  I can ask to have someone else stir something if I can't get to it.  But please don't pull the lid off and stir it unless I ask you to.

And that's another thing.   Please don't second guess me.   Really, I do want the carrots cut that way, and yes I do know how to roast the meat, and season it well.  

And if you call yourself a chef, act like it.   I recently had a negative experience with someone who called himself a 'chef', and proceeded to whip the daylights out of a batter that I'd asked him to fold flour into.   He made a roux that had lumps, then proceeded to whip the lumps out of the sauce.   There are some basic rules in cooking, and whisking something that needs to be folded, are contradictions.    And if you look the words up in a dictionary, they will even give different definitions.   Amazing, huh?   

Just had to get that one off my chest, now maybe it won't stew around in there as much.

Venting....

Sometimes you just gotta vent.    And I have a great place to do so, here.    Latest list of pet peeves.   

In the grocery store;   if you change your mind about the ice cream you just put in your cart, walk back to the freezer and return it.   Don't put in on the shelf by the cereal, or hide it behind something, that is just so freaking ignorant.  Or as they used to say in UT, ignernt.        Same goes for any refrigerated or frozen product.    PUT IT BACK!!!!   How hard is that?     And if you change your mind about something you put in your cart, walk it back a couple of aisles and put it in place.    Do you have any idea how many hours/dollars it costs the grocery store to either discard or replace items?   And I have to pay for it.    And why do you let your kids open something, take a drink out of it and then put it back on the shelf?   PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR KIDS!!!!!!!!  

And that's another thing, if your kid isn't big enough to see over the cart, don't let him/her push it.   I'm tired of getting rammed by carts when a child is pushing it.   And don't get me started on kids racing carts down the aisle.   Actually it hasn't happened here lately, but when I used to live in UT it was a common thing.    Why should I have to jump out of the way when some preteen is pretending they're racing a car?   This is a store, and they should not be playing in there.  

Well, I feel a lot better now, and since it's Monday, I can start the week of nice and calm.    

Chewing gum stuck to my shoes, YUCK!!!!

It happened again today, I stepped in someone's discarded chewing gum out in the parking lot of the grocery store.   Now not only did I step in that gooey mess, it stuck to my shoe, and I had trouble scraping it off.

Why do people not discard their gum in a more sanitary fashion?   It's totally disgusting.   Almost as disgusting as those people who constantly hawk goobers and spit.   Why do I need to step around that?   It makes me sick to my stomach to even see that.   

Just think about it people.   If your kid doesn't want to finish his strawberry milkshake, don't pour it on the ground, throw the dang thing away.   Same goes for any organic material you're too blinking lazy to chuck.   

Car buying...

I hate, hate, hate buying a car, which is why my current one has over 136 thousand miles on it.   I've resisted, dragged my feet, argued against and finally had to give in to the idea that I need to buy a more reliable car.   Mine is almost worn out.   I've taken good care of it, and I still like it, but I'm giving in, and am looking for a new vehicle.

But why do the car dealers have to make you wait and twiddle your thumbs before they can get you an answer on what the vehicle costs.   I mean I have a calculator right in my phone, I can figure out interest rates, can look up invoices, availability, etc., on my phone and it only takes me as long as I can punch out the numbers to get an answer.    I feel like a kid waiting out side the principals office to see what the punishment is for the infraction I just committed.    I know the waiting game is part of the deal, but my time is valuable as well, and the idea of having to commit an entire day to the purchase or lease of a vehicle is really frustrating to me.   

I think the next time I walk into a dealer, I'm going to go in with a briefcase full of work, or maybe just my laptop and tell them that I'm busy at the moment and will get back to them as soon as I finish this piece of work.    

Smile...

Have you ever had a perfect stranger come up to you in the store and tell you to smile?   Do you not want to pop them one and see if they want to continue to smile.    I'll smile when I have something to smile about, not on command.   GEEEZ...   What is there about them that makes them so special? hmmmmm.... 

I think the next time I'll unload on them and then ask them what I have to smile about.  Just like I did a few  years ago.   I had popped into my local grocery store for some item or another, and some ASSHAT came up to me and told me to smile, that things couldn't be all that bad.   I just looked at him and said, "gee, I just buried a family member, I lost my job, I need to move out of my house because I can't afford it, and now my car won't start half the time.   What do I have to smile about?"   He just smirked and walked off.   I did restrain myself and didn't lob the can of soup I had in my hand at him, but I was sure tempted. 

Texting idiots

So I'm leaving the grocery store, backing out very slowly so as to miss the idiot who is standing in the middle of the lane, texting.   Grrrrrr   The lady he was with was talking away on her phone and was at least standing next to her vehicle. 
Tell me something, do people who are texting think they're invincible and do they think they have a force field surrounding them so they can't get hit?    

Facebook, et al.

I didn't jump on the Facebook bandwagon until a few years after it started.  And in fact I've only been on there a little over two years, but I got hooked, really enjoyed posting pictures, seeing what friends were up to, and family as well.   I've even been lucky enough to connect with a few people who I had lost touch with, which is great.   However, I've had to back way away from Facebook lately.  Why do they keep re-inventing the freakin' concept.   If it ain't broke, don't fix it.  Every time they re-engineer Facebook, we get faced with all kinds of  'new security risks'.   I won't click on links to Youtube, who knows what kind of security risks are coming in, we keep getting warned about malware, trojans, and other threats to our computers.   And always after the PTB have 'improved' our Facebook experience.     So, I took all my information off of Facebook, the only thing you'll find on there from me is a very old photo, and possibly every so often a picture I want to share with my friends.  As to all the pictures, I'll be posting them here on my other blog. 

Rants and ravings...

I hate having to think of a catchy title for posts, but thought I would start this blog off right.   This is going to be my place to rant, rave, stamp my feet, and vent.   How about that?  And if you give a flying fluglehoffer about that, then more power to you.   I really try not to swear, and I don't always succeed, but I do try to at least use some more colorful language than 'swear words', such as 'blue blinking bananas''. 

My rant of the day, and it's probably one that a lot of people have:

Why do people feel the need to pass you on the road when you're driving a mile or two above the speed limit and then promptly slow down as soon as they've passed?  I mean, what is going through their brain?  Can't they look at their speedometer and see that you are traveling at the posted rate, and if they just stay there they'll be driving at the posted rate as well?   What is in their brains that they just can't stand to be behind someone?