on good authority...

... the second of the Ultimate Tests of a Sound Marriage: hanging wallpaper. I readily confess to having just a wee bit first hand experience, but by no means an expert. I can tell you that the process as it occurs is highly aggravating, messy, tedious with many opportunities for contentious comments if being done by more than one person, especially in close quarters. It has been so long since it happened here, as it is thankfully currently mostly out of fashion, I blessedly do not recall the details: not even what the pattern was, or where we put it up in this house.

I do remember it being a 'process', how the paper was already coated with glue, so you did not use a wide sloppy brush to paint the sticky stuff on the back side of the paper. Instructions had us dip the paper in a narrow long vessel of water, a fairly shallow tray that would soak the paper, and activate the dry glue that was already on the rolls of paper. Cut the paper the proper length to match the patterns, dip, and fold ends over towards the middle for a few minutes - giving the glue time to become viscous. Then apply from the top down, carefully matching seams and patterns. It's all coming back to me now. I'm even wishing I could remember which room it was installed in?

The amusing tale I can share is about my husband's adult daughter: I'd asked K. to come and help me put up a border, maybe about six inches wide, around the top edge of the wall in the small hall bathroom. Assuming it would be a very simple task. But when she stepped up on the edge of the tub, and put her other foot on the soap dish, with wallpaper in hand, the soap dish gave way. Can't recall if she fell in the tub, or caught herself before slipping in. The ceramic dish, in the tile wall, had a little hand hold on the top edge, that extends enough to grip if you are needing to steady yourself getting in or out. It popped right off.

She called her very handy husband, who came to inspect the damage, went to the tile store and got a replacement, quickly did the repairs to make it good as new. But thinking about hanging wallpaper, one of the things that will 'prove' a relationship, made me think of this story from years ago. K. is a good sport, with a wonderful sense of humor, readily laughs at life. She will get a chuckle when she reads this after all these years.

So now we have two out of three' Make or Break' events: hanging wall paper and installing sheetrock with your spouse. If you know of the third, please let me know. It is so telling, ways that will provide the proof of sturdiness of a relationship, it would be good fodder for printing on a wooden  plaque sold at Hobby Lobby.

December 32, 2016. This is the last one for the year. I plan to leave this year and enter the next one laughing. And hope it will not be at myself!

it started me thinking...

... when I read an email from my brother this morning. I knew he had been helping adult children (with two small kids of their own) do some prep. work to relocate. They had been living in an older  house in the inner city, in a nice neighborhood. Well kept homes, tidy lawns and landscaping, wide sidewalks for trikes and baby strollers, dog walking. But with a growing family, needed more space.

My brother, handy guy that he is, had helped the son with a number of home improvement projects over recent years, to update, maybe finish an upstairs to be living space, build a workshop in the basement. He has reported going to their 'new' house painting, as they prepare to move in. Just a short drive for him, living out in the suburbs, into the area where they are relocating less than a mile from the old  neighborhood.

And  more recently reports having been to visit the other son, who moved into a brand new house this summer.  Helping to finish a basement, hanging sheet rock. Creating walls that will need to be mudded, sanded, painted, detailed with trim to complete the room. I expect he will participate in all that work as well. I commented on what a handy guy he is, how smart and capable he has gotten over the years, learning so many things in the course of handyman/home improvement projects.

Then said: I recall hearing my mom tell about things that would be the true test of a marriage. I think there were three items on her list of events that serve as proving ground for commitment. Sadly the only one I readily recall is how often she found herself commandeered to hold/support dry wall when my dad was working on the interior of the house they lived in for over fifty years. She claimed the process of hanging sheet rock was an opportunity to determine the solidity of a relationship. I hope to eventually remember those other things she reported as definitive moments... so more to come....

sledding...

... on the artificial snow, being continually replenished in the fifty-plus degree temperature at Stone Mountain Park. The weather was so unseasonably warm on Thursday, Dec. 28, there were people out there sledding in shorts and T-shirts. That would not have been me, as I had on ample clothing, but it was astounding to see how some people dressed for a day in the park. Not actually any more surprising than what you would see when passing through the crowds at the Atlanta Airport Terminal, which is always good for entertainment of the befuddling sort. The type amusement where you look at the attire of complete strangers in wonder and ask yourself: what were they thinking?

I wanted to go and have a day of sledding again, so we ended up with reservations on the only day the three of us could agree on for getting there. Various scheduling conflicts as well as availability for days on not working. This is the third year we have been, and perhaps the last. I may have had enough fun of that nature to not need a repeat. Other times have been earlier in the day, and it seems the waiting in line has not been so time consuming on previous trips. I know we spent much more time standing around that actually sledding, partially due to the fact that the slipping down the slope happens so fast it's over before you get yourself settled in and fully ready for the push over the edge.

It was good fun, especially with my fave-o-rite people.

non-update on the auntie...

... meaning I do not know anything. Have nothing to report about her status, condition/well-being. But I can tell you about mine. After hearing from other people, friends of hers, family of us both: all the bad things she was saying about me, I knew I should lay low for a while. So did not write or call her for weeks.

She has been telling everyone who would listen that I am the source of all her misfortune. Hopefully they take her with a grain of salt, realizing that she is not a reliable source of information. This whole situation is really sad, as she declines due to the effects of dementia. A classic example of self-neglect that accompanies a general un-awareness of things we here in the land of normalcy all routinely do, take for granted as being capable of caring for ourselves.

A couple of weeks ago, I decided: 'I am bigger than that.' So I started writing her again, several times a week, just updates on current events. I've been doing that same thing for years - just friendly letters, making an effort to stay connected. All the while, hoping she would not write me back, send correspondence I could not decipher. Attempting to read her handwriting is like trying to translate hieroglyphics as seen in a mirror image. After she left the rehab. and returned home, began calling people to report of my 'bad behavior', I made no effort to contact her. Thinking it would be in my best interest to do as the Tar-baby from the Joel Chandler Harris tales: lay low and say nothing.

But recently decided to write, apologize for I-know-not-what, then proceed as usual. Let the past be the past. I am bigger than that. I have yet to hear from her. But I will do the right thing, regardless of what she does/does not, is capable of doing. So this is what a 'non-update' looks like...me deciding  to not be bogged down by other people's limitations or choices.

about that unavailable manager....

... who seems to be: a) hypochodriac, b) accident prone, c) chronically unlucky, d) all of the above.

He had back surgery late summer a year ago, for a historically painful problem that the cutting and sewing seemed to resolve. Out of work for weeks. Then he had some sort of crisis that involved a stone: either kidney or gall. He sadly became the recipient of a variety of impolite jokes about how conveniently he is not available for work when most needed. For instance: during any major retail holiday. Which basically means when he really needs to be at work: not there!

Most recent installment of the Not Available saga: back in the fall, maybe mid-October, he was out walking in the woods in the dark. (Why? I cannot say.) A random dog ran up and started gnawing on  him. He chased the dog off, but was badly bit on the leg. Requiring hours in the ER to get sewed up. With instructions to stay off his feet, keep the leg propped up. Being a guy and knowing far more than any highly trained medical person, he did not follow the doctor's orders.

Returning to work lead to inflammation, infection and a stay of five days in the hospital to have antibiotics delivered through an IV to bring infection under control and reduce swelling.  Released from the hospital, he went out in the woods, and fell out of the deer stand. On his rifle. And a limb fell on his head.

He has been out of work since before Thanksgiving, a huge retail event in the grocery business. And Christmas. I saw his wife in the store yesterday - she reported he was out in the yard on Christmas, with a teen-aged son who had received a gift of 'throwing knives'. One of the knives ricocheted off the desired target and hit this unlucky man in the knee. I do not know which end of the knife hit the knee, but will suppose with such consistently bad luck, it was the end that would make a hole.

Speaking of funny colloquialisms, the one my mom would use for some one with such a run of awful incidents, would be 'snake-bit'. Which apparently indicates 'if it were not for bad luck, he would not have any luck at all.'

conversing with a co-worker...

... has enlightened me to several bits of 'truthiness' that were not in my catalog of amusing expressions.  I have mentioned colloquialisms over the years that were not necessarily specific to my mom, but I had never heard them from anyone else. Therefore, when I do have occasion to think of situations where they apply,  or possibly hear them from another source, I will invariably think of my mom.  Just odd little sayings that I associate with her.

I've heard a couple that are new to me, but have likely been around for many years. These come from a woman I have worked with for a while, who comes from a very different background. Raised in southeast Alabama, in a family with a number of children, by parents who struggled financially to provide for them. So children started helping to provide support at a very young age. Just markedly different from my personal circumstances.

One of these profound expressions, we have had several occasions to discuss and apply to various people in the workplace: 'Every tub has to sit on it's own bottom'. The first time I heard Alice say it, I thought: 'what?' We talked about it, how she heard it from her mother, and how it would apply to a situation of people ultimately being held responsible for their actions, and resulting consequences.

Another I heard last week when we were working together before Christmas. The department manager has been out with various health problems for some time, and Alice was commenting to our store manager about how capably the assistant has performed under pressure.  She started the conversation off with 'it's a sorry dog that won't wag it's own tail.' Then proceeded to say what
a good job he had been doing, while managing to get everything needed ordered from the warehouse, all the goods put out on the sales floor, people busy doing their jobs. I am therefore assuming that the statement about the dog means: if don't brag on yourself no one else will. Toot your own horn!

Christmas ham story...

... told on and about the man who went to buy the porker at the HoneyBaked store. I told him it would be a mess, that everyone within a hundred miles not having one shipped via FedEx would be there in a Very Congested parking lot. And that unless he called ahead, he would likely have to take a number and wait his turn in a very long, tedious line.

When we were discussing the menu for lunch, I was attempting to lean towards something fairly light, easy to prepare, uncomplicated to assemble, and agreeable to people who had been grazing for hours. Which, in my mind, sounded like turkey BLTs. My dad's favorite part of the great, groaning, overwhelming feast traditonally spread on holiday/over-eating occasions. He did love the day after, when he made a sandwich with sliced turkey added to the classic ingredients of bacon-lettuce-tomato.

Outvoted, I was. The menu was mashed potatoes, mac-n-cheese, roasted brussels sprouts, apple salad, freshly baked yeast rolls and ham. And butter in the shape of a three inch tall Christmas tree. All delicious and tasty as we would expect from the kitchen of A Trained Professional. It might have caused some of the participants to think about taking a nap.

After offering to get a ham when I went to work in the supermarket and being told it Had To Be HoneyBaked, I said: 'Your dad, who has all the time in the world, will go to the store and pick it up.' He was warned about the traffic and vast number of pedestrians. But apparently he did not believe the veracity of 'there be dragons here'. Because he came in with a $48 dollar chunk of pork and great surprise at the conflict involved in securing the goods. Reporting there were two uniformed policemen directing traffic at the intersection of Honeybaked and Ham streets. (Not really, I made the street names up.)

But there really were two cops there, keeping traffic moving. Directing and parking vehicles up and down both sides of the street. I guess he decided he'd gotten that far, and might as well finish the mission - because he had to stand in line. Not something he would have chosen, preferred or volunteered to do. He took a number and waited his turn, to finally be granted an audience with the ham of his choice. I've heard him tell the story three times, and he has probably gotten a lot more mileage out of it than that.

Still don't understand why he was not prepared for the ordeal. I told him what to expect, but somehow he did not believe it would be happening to him. The leftover slices were portioned out amongst all those attending. I expect we he will get another meal or so out of it, or will just graze in the zip-lock baggie until it is gone.