Scraping the Surface

The saga of my back porch renovation continues. Recently I wrote about how it cost me one sprained ankle resulting in a lingering “hitch in my git-along.” The latest chapter concerns removing the old paint from the concrete floor.
I think Hercules must have had an easier time cleaning out the Augean stables.
First I tried scraping with a putty knife. Paint to Emily: “Ha! You think that’ll do anything?! Sucker!”
So I applied a gooey layer of stripper. Two layers, actually, because the Home Depot person said there are two different kinds of stripping paste: an environmentally-friendly formula, and the one that works.
Like a fool, I’d initially chosen to “go green.” It did about as much good as if I’d slathered the floor with some diluted peanut butter, so I went back and bought the nasty stuff. As I was leaving, the sales associate warned me not to breathe in the vapors … something about permanent brain damage.

Anyhoo… sure enough – the stuff smelled like something Erin Brockovich might have sued someone over. I applied it in small squares, trying to hold my breath between each dunk of the brush. Apparently, D.I.Y. stands for “Don’t Inhale Yet!”

I’m not sure exactly when the floor started spinning and turning colors, but after 20 minutes, I woke up and tried scraping again. I was rewarded with something like the surface of the moon, and just about as inhospitable.
Now I know what athletes mean when they say the knees are the first to go. I’m no athlete, but my knees still ache from hours of scraping.

My slow progress was making that 400 square feet feel more like the equivalent 57,600 square inches. (Note to self: buy more ibuprofen.)
“The big picture” was completely discouraging, so I did what any other reasonable person would do, if that person had been beaten down to the physical strength of an old wet, threadbare rag.
I gave up.
To heck with all this stripping and scraping! Maybe some semi-vigorous sandpapering was all it really needed. A little primer, a thick coat of marine-grade paint, and that porch floor will look like new. Yessir, after careful consideration and the loss of only a few hundred brain cells, I think “good enough” will work just fine.
I guess that noxious stripper actually knocked some sense into me.
Playlist:
1. Paint It Black — The Rolling Stones
2. Pavement Cracks — Annie Lennox
3. Rough and Rocky — Emmylou Harris
4. Perfect — Sara Evans
5. Breathe — Faith Hill
6. Harder to Breathe — Maroon 5
7. The Air that I Breathe — The Hollies
8. Broken, Beat and Scarred — Metallica
9. Good Enough - Dodgy
10. Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright — Bob Dylan

Flexing Memory Muscles

I think my age has caught up with my intellect. More frequently than ever, I find myself walking into a room and suddenly thinking to myself, “now why did I come in here?”

You’ve heard of putting a string around your finger to help you remember something? Once I did that and couldn’t for the life of me remember why that string was there!
I’m constantly writing myself little notes; otherwise I lose stuff amongst the crowded cobwebs of my multitasking mind.

They say that self-imposed cerebral challenges help you keep your mental edge. My favorite brain-power booster is the New York Times crossword puzzle. I subscribe online and print out a bunch at one time so I can use any down-time to stretch my synapses with a verbal workout.
For the uninitiated, each day of the week features a slightly more difficult crossword puzzle. Monday’s is fairly easy.

Saturday’s is for brainiacs. Sunday’s has about the same degree of difficulty as a Thursday, only it’s bigger.
I don’t think I’ve finished more than a half-dozen or so Wednesday puzzles. But that doesn’t mean I stop trying!

And delving into the etymology of those unfamiliar words and phrases can be a great history lesson. And talk about puns! Some puzzles are chock-full of brilliantly constructed witticisms. My neurons are firing faster just thinking about them.

There are tricks to improving your solutions. By doing the crosswords regularly, I’ve gotten to know the most often-used letters and the arcane words they form.
Words unique to crossword puzzles are interesting to know, but they don’t help much in social situations. In my experience, the word “apse” has never come up in conversation. And when was the last time you heard the name Theda Bara mentioned outside of a crossword puzzle? Or Pola Negri? Or Mel Ott?
No, crosswords definitely won’t get me any dates. They’re solitary exercises between me and my own gray matter, which I can hopefully keep in better shape as a result.
Now, if I could just remember where I put that folder full of puzzles!
Playlist:
1. Crossword Puzzle — Sly & The Family Stone
2. Words — Bee Gees
3. The Letter — Joe Cocker
4. Saturday’s Child — The Monkees
5. Sunday Morning — The Velvet Underground
6. My Friend, the Dictionary — The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee
7. Crossword Puzzle — Roberta Alexander
8. Play The Game — Queen
9. The Word — The Beatles
10. Remember — Billie Holiday

Chagrin and Bear It

I whine about minor physical ailments, but basically I’m an able-bodied person. It’s been decades since I’ve had to go to the emergency room. Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me to sympathize with folks who haven’t been so lucky.
To wit: on a typical trip to Target, there will be a woman in front of me who’s moving annoyingly slowly. I mean I could get from car seat covers all the way to the jewelry department in the time it takes her to go 10 feet down the aisle. Why, oh why won’t she get out of my way?!
My answer? Let me just say that God can get your attention in some wonderfully unexpected ways.
Just last weekend The Big Guy handed me a big ol’ heaping helping of humble pie in the form of a sprained ankle.

I had reserved last Saturday to paint the ceiling of my back porch – no small task with its sloping roofline and exposed joists. I’d bought all the supplies and moved all the furniture and just needed to go fetch the ladder. My right ankle went in one direction while my foot went in another. Needless to say, all of me went downward shortly thereafter!

I didn’t break anything that afternoon, but this week I’ve gained a modicum of sympathy for folks who need a little more time in getting around. For all I know, they’re in some kind of pain. And be it physical, mental or emotional pain, they deserve the same patience and respect I hope would be afforded me as I hobble around on my twisted ankle.
To my neighbor who loaned me a pair of crutches: thank you. To the gentleman who held the door open for me at the post office: thank you. To the slow-moving woman at Target: I’m sorry for whizzing by you without regard to your situation.
And to the kid who practically knocked me over trying to rush into the bank yesterday – where’s the fire, sonny?!

Playlist:
1. Knock on Wood — Eddie Floyd
2. You Never Know — Goldfrapp
3. Catch Me Now I’m Falling — The Kinks
4. Ouch! — The Rutles
5. Help Me — Joni Mitchell
6. Instant Karma — John Lennon
7. Walking in Your Footsteps — The Police
8. This One’s Gonna Hurt You — Marty Stuart & Travis Tritt
9. Walk Through This World With Me — George Jones
10. Get On The Good Foot — James Brown

Staycation Decadence

My Fourth of July celebration this year was all about treating myself like a rock star. By my standards, it was a wild weekend full of excess and indulgence.

How very American!
It began on Saturday with early check-in at a downtown hotel. By 12:15, some pals and I were headed to the pool with our Starbucks iced cappuccinos. Nothing short of pure extravagance must have taken complete hold of me as I grabbed not one but two big hotel beach towels on the way to a comfy chaise-lounge.
That afternoon, we splashed around like fools. Waves of tension slipped away as I paddled around in my own little clear blue slice of heaven.

I may not have looked very stylish as I first walked into the hotel with my plastic grocery bags, but my entourage and I sure enjoyed our “poor-man’s room-service” of festive food as we got ready for the KSO concert and fireworks show. Call me a rube, but there’s something about being in a nicely appointed hotel room that elevates the mundane to the spectacular. Just crank the AC and languish under a long, hot shower. Never mind the KUB bill! Add food that I wouldn’t ordinarily buy and, well, it’s not just key lime pie – it’s a vacation!
The hedonism continued down at the festival as we wandered and people-watched. I forked over $6 for a big juicy cheeseburger. Worth every penny.

We were back in the suite just as the fireworks started. We drew open the curtains and gazed happily at the pyrotechnics while feasting on fresh fruit, brie, Pepperidge Farm cookies and the knowledge of how very fortunate we were to be Americans.
Up in Washington, our legislators are doing their best to untangle old messes. In brutal faraway lands, our valiant soldiers are fighting hard in the name of democracy. And here in Knoxville, my friends and I relaxed in the lap of luxury.
Plenty of food and fun, and the time to enjoy it without fear. We are very fortunate indeed.

Playlist:
1. My Lost Weekend — Martin Newell
2. 4th of July — Shooter Jennings
3. Soak up the Sun — Sheryl Crow
4. So You Want to Be a Rock and Roll Star — The Byrds
5. Rip It Up — Little Richard
6. This Place Hotel — Michael Jackson
7. Rock ’n’ Roll Lifestyle — Cake
8. Good Day Sunshine — The Beatles
9. Holiday — Green Day
10. Fortunate Son — Creedence Clearwater Revival

Hiatus

Call it luck. Call it an embarrassment of riches (i.e. a late-breaking, super-sized story of such hard-hitting newsworthiness that my services were not needed).
Or I could just explain that...
Due to the vagaries of print journalism, I didn't write a column for the Shopper-News this week. Details on the Stay-cation next Sunday.
I hope your Fourth was as happily eventful as mine!

The Leak in Review

I’ve heard people say the Internet is putting traditional brick-and-mortar stores out of business. They’re partly right, but there’s a certain local store that wouldn’t have gotten my business last weekend if it weren’t for the World Wide Web.

I had a plumbing problem that had started about a week before – a telltale dripping sound coming from the shower. You’ve heard of the 5 stages of grief? I went through the leaky shower equivalent: denial (earplugs), anger (“It’s getting worse!”), bargaining (“If this leak would just magically stop, I promise to clean the garage.”), depression (a bucket) and acceptance (“It’s not going away. Gotta do something!”).
The great thing about the Internet is that whatever your problem is, chances are someone else has experienced the same thing and has blogged, chatted or consulted someone else about it.
Sure enough, I Googled and found someone with the exact same leaky shower who’d posted the entire repair process in a handy sequence of pictures.
The folks at Home Depot were also helpful, and here’s where they’ve got the Internet beat. While I was there, I picked up a few other items that I’d been needing for a while, plus a few impulse buys (every home should have a giant economy-size roll of Day-Glo orange duct tape).
Back home, a few turns of the strap wrench, maybe a skinned knuckle or two and the shower was good as new. No Web site could have provided that same-day satisfaction!
A plumber would have cost a bundle, and nothing compares with the rewarding feeling of having done the job all by myself.

I’m not saying the Internet allows us to do away with repair crews across the board. I’ll call a professional every time for something major. But it sure was handy when this budget-minded gal needed little free advice. Best of all – that drip is history!
Playlist:
1. Drip, Drip, Drip — Spike Jones & His City Slickers
2. Bleep Blop Blues — Manhattan Transfer
3. Drip Drop — The Drifters
4. Who Can I Turn To — Sammy Davis Jr.
5. Every Picture Tells a Story — Rod Stewart
6. All I’ve Got to Do — The Beatles
7. Dirty Work — Steely Dan
8. My Way — Frank Sinatra
9. Even Flow — Pearl Jam
10. Silence Is Golden — The Tremeloes

Caffeine Queen

I have a love-hate relationship with caffeine.

I’ve been hooked on it ever since college. My caffeine delivery system of choice: coffee. From the muddy jolt of a deceptively tiny espresso to the frothy indulgence of a gi-normous iced cappuccino, coffee has been working its mood-altering magic on my sluggish bloodstream for more than 30 years.
Once back in the ’80s I consumed more caffeine than my heart could handle. I experienced premature ventricular contractions (PVCs). Not uncommon for women in their 20s, but at the time it scared the heck out of me. There’s nothing quite like waking up from a sound sleep to feel your heart pounding out a jerky, uneven beat like a bad Ricky Ricardo conga solo.

So I laid off the coffee for a while, but it wasn’t long before I had to answer the seductive, unrelenting call of the java.
It’s a fine line upon which I trod, this border between under- and over-caffeination. My morning allotment consists of careful calculations of “caf” and “decaf,” providing just the right chemical fix to clear away the morning cobwebs, yet not to cause jitters or irritability.
I don’t always get it right.

Many’s the morning I can feel myself crashing down off my coffee buzz. And there are times when I know that to keep a lurking tension headache at bay, I’ll need three times my usual dosage. But I’m a happy slave to that cup o’ joe!
I’m sure there are those who would point to my caffeine addiction as the root of many physical problems. They have every right to recommend healthier brews like herbal tea or other alternative boosters. But old habits die hard. Tell you what – let’s make a date to discuss the matter thoroughly at the nearest Starbucks.

Playlist:
1. Java Jive — Manhattan Transfer
2. Black Coffee in Bed — Squeeze
3. Cigarettes and Coffee — Otis Redding
4. The Coffee Song — Frank Sinatra
5. Heartstopper — Emiliana Torrini
6. Black Coffee — Julie London
7. Coffee and TV — Blur
8. Coffee Mug — Descendents
9. Coffee in the Pot — Supergrass
10. Can’t Break the Habit — Merle Haggard

Gray Area

Do you have gray hair yet? Maybe just a little at the temples? The salt and pepper special? Or a full-on silver headful?

Some women with gray hair never do accept and embrace it. My dear departed mother was one of them. She dyed her hair various shades of red for decades, boasting that she’d be a by-God red-haired grandmother! Of course, that was back when a lot more women applied false eyelashes and enough hairspray to create a small hole in the ozone layer.
Folks are more apt to go natural nowadays, especially men. Guys seem to be able to pull it off at any age, like Taylor Hicks and John O’Hurley (J. Peterman on “Seinfeld”). It’s the “distinguished gentleman” look.
My hair started going gray (white, actually) when I was about 35. It changed quickly to form a trio of red, brown and white highlights that some think I paid a stylist to do. I assure them it’s all God’s handiwork.
Changing colors I don’t mind. It’s the changes in texture that bother me, the “sproingers” as I call them. I’ve tweezed out more of those kinky little stinkers than I can count!
But I’m not going to get into that “does she or doesn’t she” thing. I’ll wear my snowy head with pride! And if it’s a special occasion, I’ll put on a flattering outfit and maybe a little makeup, but that messy gooey dye – whether it’s in a pricey salon or all over the bathroom towels – no way!

Truth is, I just can’t be bothered. Life’s too short! I’d rather be enjoying myself, watching a movie or playing with the dog, who by the way also has white hair and is just as beautiful as ever, and loves me no matter what color my hair is.

Playlist:
1. Shades of Gray — The Monkees
2. Changes — David Bowie
3. Cover Up — Trapt
4. Cold Gray Light of Gone — Vince Gill
5. I Am What I Am — Gloria Gaynor
6. The Real Me — The Who
7. Gray — Frank Sinatra
8. The Beauty of Gray — Live
9. Don’t Look Back — Boston
10. What You Get Is What You See — Tina Turner

Emily's Laws of Physics

Throughout our universe, many different physical laws of nature are constantly in play – some miraculous, some mundane. Here are just a few absolutes they never taught in science class:
Fido-Vector Paradox: If you own a dog, whatever path you take to get from one place in your house to another will invariably be impeded by this sprawling, slobbering road block of canine love. I think my dog studied with Euclid.
Heisenberg Soap Uncertainty Principle: This hypothesis states that you may be aware of the soap shrinking, but you can never be certain that it’s actually too small to use until you’re already in the shower, sopping wet.

Flatware Phenomenon: When searching the dish-drainer for a clean spoon, you will without fail choose someone else’s favorite out of the mass, requiring you to pick again. Someone in your family does have a favorite spoon, right?
Schrödinger’s Lawnmower: Is your lawn mower alive or dead? You’ll only know after you’ve generously applied sunscreen and bug spray and put on your gloves, hat and goggles. Never before that!

Seasonal Plumbing Certainty: The number of times it takes to remember to unhook the hose in the fall after shutting off the valve, thereby preventing next spring’s busted pipe and subsequent $75 plumber’s fee, is exactly three.
Freshness-to-Funk Causality Loop: No matter how much laundry you do, the hamper will always be full. In fact, you can actually use E=mc2 to prove that washing the clothes more and more frequently will eventually create a wormhole that sucks the clean clothes back into the hamper before they’re even worn again.
Ford/Fission Improbability Effect: This is the unlikelihood of someone new to the area walking up to you and asking, “Do you know where I can find a really good quantum mechanic?”

Playlist:
1. Across the Universe — The Beatles
2. Secret O’ Life — James Taylor
3. I Fought the Law — Green Day
4. Isn’t Life Strange — The Moody Blues
5. That’s the Way of the World — Earth, Wind & Fire
6. How Little We Know — Frank Sinatra
7. Black Hole Sun — Soundgarden
8. The Meaning of Life — Monty Python
9. This Must Be the Place — Talking Heads
10. I Know But I Don’t Know — Blondie