Glass

The sound of a shattering glass is unmistakable.  Nothing in the world piques the ears quite like that sound.  The second your brain records the action, you most likely shiver with the dreadful knowledge that you now have a sharp, potentially bloody, mess on your hands; and half of the time, your enemy is transparent and tiny.  If you're careful and attentive, you should be okay.  If you're half asleep and not completely mentally present in the moment, you're going to have problems, and quickly.

Such was the case Thursday night.  About halfway through the night, I must have moved just enough to send a pillow on to the nightstand, which in turn caused my drinking glass to hit a large glass piggy bank that was sitting next to the stand.  At first the sound didn't register.  Why would glass be shattering?  After a few groggy seconds, I was able to wake up enough to see the remains of my cup shining from the carpet.  I could only see a few large pieces, which meant I was in world of trouble.

The dog had been having a rough night too.  Right before I went to bed, my normally calm and relaxed dog began panting heavily and pacing throughout the apartment.  Occasionally he would run back to me and be glued to my side until I shooed him away.  After I discovered that the cause of his hysteria was just a little moth floating around, he was banished to the bedroom, where he took up residence under the bed.  The only time he sleeps there is when he is upset by something.  Now, as I looked to see where the glass was, I heard the dog shuffling his way out from under the bed.  He had been sleeping near the nightstand, and as he shook his coat, I was able to determine that he had been hit by the glass when I heard little shards of glass hitting the wall.

I do not wake pleasantly.  I am usually a crabby, unhappy person for the first 1/2 hour after I wake up.  When I am woken unexpectedly, I am even more unhappy than usual, and also dazed and confused.  So there I sat in the middle of the bed.  I can't even say I was thinking, I think I was just trying to process what had happened.  I was not reasoning clearly, as evidenced by the fact that my first thought was, "I can clean up the mess when I wake up."  My second thought, and first action, was to determine where exactly the glass was.  I did this by putting my hand down on the ground and shifting my upper body weight onto that hand so I could lean over the edge of the bed.  Yeah.  I have a spot on my thumb where I came in contact with a shard of glass.  Not my brightest move.

Still not completely coherent, it had become obvious to me that I needed to get the dog clear of the mess before he hurt himself and get the carpet cleaned up before I hurt myself.  I can't really describe what I was feeling, other than to say that I was still in a fog.  I had three thoughts running through my brain: 1.) You need to start cleaning up the mess.  2.) Stop, you think you're going to clean up the mess safely, but really, you're half asleep and reaching for the glass without any kind of safety measures in place.  3.) DO NOT STEP OFF THE BED!

The third thought finally jolted me out of my brain fog, and I sprang to action.  For the first time ever, my dog actually listened to my voice commands and went and sat in the doorway to my bedroom.  I knew I was stuck on the island in "Glass Shard Sea" since I didn't have any socks or footwear nearby, so I carefully stretched to reach my bookshelf and grabbed all my hardcovers.  I threw them down to make a path of freedom to the door, to shoes, and to a vacuum cleaner.  After an hour of careful cleaning, the dog, the carpet, and my room in general was free of glass.  Who cares that it was 3:00 a.m., at least I was able to knock two of my "to-dos" (brush dog and vacuum room) off my list for the day.

Well, once again it is time to draw my post to a close.  I am now faced with a dilemma: Sit and watch the Olympics, or get actual work done around the house.  I for one am leaning towards the Olympics.  I mean, seriously, what other time do I sit and watch Bob Costas tell me stories about athletes who have faced adversity and triumphed?  Never.  Okay, maybe every two years or so, it just feels like never.  Maybe I'll compromise- maybe I will compete for gold in the floor exercise.  Floor scrubbing exercise, that is.

New is Old

"You know, I bet if we talked to our grandparents, they'd just laugh at us right now."

A few of my friends and I decided this while we sat around talking the other day.  During the course of the conversation, the discussion had come around to our latest obsession: frugality.   We spent the better part of an hour talking about coupons, making our own detergents, "upcycling" various items around the house, and all the other random things we found on Pinterest.

Finally, someone asked the question, "What I want to know is, where was all this stuff before?  Why didn't we know how to do all this years ago?"  Just as quickly, she answered her own question by stating, "We probably just got lazy and stopped doing all this for ourselves a long time ago."

What a true statement.  I'm guessing that somewhere between the end of the Great Depression, and the beginning of the Great Recession, we all had just enough money that we decided that paying for a little extra advertising and convenient packaging was worth the cost.  And now, since I'm living by myself, trying to be a good steward of my money and responsible with my bills, I'm reverting back to "olden ways" of cleaning and whatnot.

My new favorite cleaner is vinegar and blue Dawn.  I finally got the soap scum out of the grooves in my bathtub without giving myself tennis elbow.  With one swipe of a sponge, I cleaned all the baked on non-stick spray from my baking sheet, rather than using half a can of Bon Ami.  The worn, yellowed portions of the vinyl in my apartment is closer to the original color now.

My favorite garage sale find of the last month has been 20 microfiber cloths for $2.  I use those cloths for everything.  I haven't had to buy paper towels since May.  Then, washing my dishes today, I remembered that my best dish towels are actually old flour sacks (and that I want to find more!).

The last few times I've gone to throw out "scraps," like the pits to my mangoes, tea bags, etc., I've gone online and tried to find one last use for them.  More often than not, I can find one.

I have two end tables with marble insets that I got at a garage sale for $15 and two comfy chairs that I took out of someone's trash on Blake Road that don't match my futon or entertainment stand.  Solution?  There are no less than two dozen different suggestions on how to make cheap stain out of common products.  Preliminary tests show that these stains will last for awhile.  Also, I don't have to worry about having to call Poison Control if I spill the stain on me.

I stand in awe of the people who did things like these out of necessity rather than just as part of a fad.  I'm grateful to the people who listened to all the times their parents and grandparents said, "I remember when..." so that they could be the smart ones who reminded all of us "young people" how to save money but still have clean homes and clothes and pretty decorations made from recycled items.  I'm really excited for myself, because it's cool to make all this stuff and watch my spending shrink.  Frugal is fun!

Aaaand, once again we are quickly approaching the end of another Sunday evening.  My frugal fun for tonight?  Packing my lunch box for tomorrow and ironing my clothes, since line-drying everything leaves my clothes all wrinkled.  Also, I'm writing an old-fashioned snail mail letter to my sister.  If any of you have some free time, ask my mom (or me!) for her address and write her while she's off in VA, training to be a Marine officer! 

Showing my age

I found an old journal of mine earlier this week, and I've been reading through it ever since.  One of the entries was a bucket list of sorts, full of things I wanted to do "before I was old."  I didn't list a specific age, but based on the words I used, I think I was considering anything past 25 to be old.  Seeing as how I am now 25 years and 9 days of age, I must be old.  And right now, I feel like it too.

Friday was one of the best days I've had at work.  We have some county maintenance workers who fit the stereotype of "lazy" government workers, and they had been doing an extremely good job of avoiding all the work we had lined up for them at the health department.  The last straw was when they came in, did one small portion of a large job with startling inaccuracy and then had the gall to leave and tell us, "they'd be back next week sometime."  So, being the impatient and sometimes "driven to action by anger" person that I am, I told my boss that I would bring my tools and WE could finish the to-do list.

So that's what we did Friday.  We worked all day installing stadiometers, correcting some VERY uneven pictures, hanging supply bins, etc.  By the end of the day, we had a great sense of accomplishment and rejoiced in our success.  But I felt my age yesterday when my muscles, overworked from constant stooping and bending, protested with each and every movement.  And it wasn't just my muscles- every joint in my body was cracking with each step.  Sigh.

I felt old again today when I was greeting at church.  Person after person smiled, shook hands, and greeted each other warmly.  Then came the teenagers.  Granted, a lot of them were returning from back-to-back weeks of mission trips, serving at camps, and attending their own camp and were worn out, but their vacant stares and unresponsiveness started driving me crazy.  In my mind I was thinking, "Someone's talking to you, respond!" and "Make eye contact!"  Other random thoughts were, "Stand up straight and don't slouch," and "I'm thinking you could have found a better outfit than a hoodie."  What's happening to me?!

I went shopping after church, and my first stop was TSC.  I was behind a long line of people at the checkout, and like I normally do when I'm bored in a checkout line, I "spied" on the other people's items.  I wasn't the only person with bird seed, borax, washing soda, and fels naptha soap, but I was the only person under 50 buying these items.

The final straw is probably going to be tonight, when I go to bed at 10:00, after I have set out my clothes for work, packed my lunch, and put black beans in the crock pot for tomorrow's dinner. I'd say something's got to give and I need to change, but let's be real for a moment: I secretly love my "oldness."  And to all you people older than me who are reading this: I can feel your eye rolls from here.

So as we sit here, once again awaiting the beginning of a new work week, I must go and pretend to have some enthusiasm for completing my to-do list.  See?  I even have lists.