The Fix is in!

In case you have forgotten...or maybe you never knew, I am the one who tends to break things, NOT the fixer.  I am spending this week with my grand daughters while daughter and son in law are in London.  (Yes, I know LONDON is MY big plan, and I'll get there eventually) Daughter left lengthy instructions in case one of the girls, pets, or house breaks.  Permission slips, Insurance cards, medication schedules, class schedules, maps and contingency plans were all addressed prior to her exit from the country.  Other than the four am awakening each day, I felt certain that I was capable of maintaining a smoothly run household even in parental absence. At fourteen and seventeen, both girls are fairly self sufficient, the younger requiring a chauffeur, but otherwise knowledgeable of all things expected of her.

Pushing the handle on the toilet in the downstairs bathroom brought no response on one of those stops on the way into the house.  Even with my limited mechanical knowledge, I knew to check to see if the chain inside the tank had come loose.  It was still firmly attached to the little bar, but the little bar was just lolling around in the water attached to nothing on the other end.  I pulled on it and the toilet flushed, released it and the tank began to fill with water. You have no idea how satisfying this can be to one usually unable to make things of this nature function.  In my newfound area of expertise, I thought I would simply snap the end of the bar back into the place where it meets the handle on the inside of the tank.  It is plastic and the connection was still in place but snapped in half, never to connect again.  My first thought, Son in law will fix this easily when he returns. After about fifteen manual flushes (reminding myself each time that this is CLEAN water) it occurred to me that this might be daughter's first stop as she enters her home tonight. I thought it would be comforting to know that the part was already in place for her spouse's easy correction of the problem.  I mentioned it when talking to Ol' Abner this afternoon and he told me what I would need to buy.  As we talked it came to mind that Da' Handygirl across the street was always doing some sort of home repair including some fairly complicated plumbing projects. I tentatively mentioned her ability and asked him if I might be able to take on this project.  Since he is a few hundred miles to the south, he said "Sure", but if I can't figure it out, it will probably be helpful to son in law to have the part here when he arrives.  

With a sense of mission, I drove to the big box home repair store, purchased the required part for the toilet and returned to begin reading the instructions. Elder Grand came downstairs and I requested that she see if a pair of pliers like the ones pictured in the tool list might be found and she brought them in.  I showed her the instructions and she seemed to think this was not beyond my capabilities.  Perhaps not, but in the end, I read instructions, opened packages and she installed the new toilet flusher.  It flushes nicely, now (and I did have to keep reminding her that it was clean water).  Did I mention that she has chosen engineering as her field of study as she approaches college?

Time to shuck it and chunk it!

We are loving the cooler Autumn days and quiet moments in the Texas Hill Country.  Our new routine is surprisingly comfortable.  Ol' Abner is still avoiding crowds and small children, but we have adapted to a nice lifestyle.  The playhouse, completed last fall, but never fully enjoyed is calling him. Daughter in Law's mustang and Ol' Abner's newly acquired vintage corvette are housed therein and multitude of partially unloaded boxes surround the machinery.  The riding lawnmower was damaged as he and son pulled the corvette off the trailer, and he has tools scattered for it's repair.  I'm perfectly ok with an indisposed riding lawn tractor.   I prefer to mow with a power mower that I can push.  It's a much more satisfying process for me. Lawn tools only occupy a small amount of the space. I don't care if he gets the rider repaired any time this year, unless it's just to move it elsewhere in the playhouse.  All the boxes, as yet unloaded, should probably be discarded and never worried over again.  The wardrobe box with my tablecloths hasn't been needed, and I'm really out of the mood to serve meals on lovely linen. The stuffed animals from our children's early childhood can go home with them or I'll say bye to them. Boxes of empty picture frames should be donated to a thrift shop.  Now Ol' Abner's stuff may be another story, but I'll see if I can prod him into action. Perhaps it's time to pare down and simplify.  I know I've said that before...but this time I mean it!...because I can FEEL it! 

A Mystery is Solved

We left the Houston condo just over a month ago.  Ol' Abner made his exit with a loaded pickup as I gathered the last of our belongings and awaited our landlord's visit to retrieve keys.  I had most everything loaded in my car and with only a couple of trips to the dumpsters needed to finish my mission.  She came in and surveyed the items we would leave behind for the next occupants and we had a lovely visit.  One last walk through to be sure I wasn't leaving necessary items, and I was out the door and through the front gate.  It was late that night when I pulled my loaded car into the garage, came inside and promptly crawled in bed.  The next morning, Ol' Abner had unloaded my car and stacked it's contents neatly on a table in the garage, that is the things he hadn't already put away. I was ever so grateful that I didn't have to unload that cargo.  It was a few days later when a certain piece of costume was necessary to complete my look.  I went to the closet in search of my jewelry travel bag. It's where the most of my accessory pieces are stored, and when I could not find it, panic began to build.  Well, perhaps not true panic, but a sick level of concern.  I replayed each step of the load and questioned Ol' Abner extensively about the unloading process.  I called the new occupants of the condo, asked Dancin' Girl to search the room where we sleep when visiting at her house, and finally unloaded all the shelves of my closet, all the travel bags, and boxes with no travel bag found.  I was distraught, Ol' Abner felt guilty and suggested I go buy more jewelry.  I explained that these things can't be found when I'm looking for them.  Costume jewelry just speaks when seen at the the right time and place. Once in a while, when purchasing a new item of clothing, coordinating accessories can be located at the same time.  That's when shopping is really serious and I am not much of a serious shopper. My bag is an ever evolving collection to which I must add and subtract frequently as my wardrobe dictates. 

Dancin' Girl and Guitar Man made a quick trip to the lake this weekend.  They have been unable to come down since we have been back. They brought our mail and checked in with neighbors to keep our homeplace going while we spent the necessary months in the Houston Medical Center.  When a funeral appearred to have sidetracked their plan to come this weekend, they decided a short trip was better than no trip and came anyway.  We gathered the makings for dinner, marinated meat and chopped some veggies to meet them as they arrived.  She has been concerned about a spike in the water bill.  I make a trip over and walked through the house listening to running water.  We stopped by and looked at the water meter to see if it was running with no apparent activity, but still no clue to the mystery water flow.  She texted to let us know they had arrived, and that a mystery had been solved. She told me she would show us when we arrived.  As we walked in she pointed out the shampoo bottle I had left on her counter (over a month ago).  I was horrified that I must have left the shower running or some such stupidity.  I'm not always good at reading clues.

 She sent me into the room where we had slept when we were home before the move with an ailing air conditioner.  We took advantage of a cool place to sleep at their lakehouse and I left for my quilting retreat the next morning.  I suddenly remembered unloading several undergarments AND my jewelry travel bag to lighten the load I was carrying.  I'm relieved to have found it.  Once again, Dancing Girl has resolved a trauma in my life and I have added a few pieces that may become favorites to my collection.

Putting together the Pieces

A few weeks ago I indulged in a retreat with three friends in the hill country.  We stayed at a "Quilt Haus" with a quilting instructor nearby, teaching and cooking wonderful meals in her home.  We spent hours in front of windows boasting of a lovely daylight view of the valley outside.  Cutting tables were in the center of the room and ironing tables on either side were handy as we sewed from the tables provided. The views out those windows! Oh yes, hummingbirds frantically feeding and beautiful sunrises. It would have been wonderful even without the expect instruction we received.

Late summer in Texas Hill Country is hot and dry, but leaves one with a sense of vastness that is breathtaking.  From the hillside where Emile's Quilt Haus rested, we looked out over a countryside that appeared to be endless.  While our lodging was modern with air conditioning and indoor plumbing, a feel for the past was all around us.  The owner had moved a cabin belonging to her grandmother onto the property a year of so ago.  The view to the left was from her front porch. The tiny cabin felt amazingly spacious when standing just inside the front door, though it was smaller than a single garage.  I am not sure where it was originally built, but it looked right at home here.

We spent three days cutting and sewing and enjoying the views of the countryside.  Since I've been home, the quilt blocks are untouched.  Winter is coming and I know I'll enjoy taking advantage of some cool weather to indulge in "indoor activity" like quilt making.  I still have a lot of work to do.

Normal

I am ready for life to be normal again.  Actually I'm sorta wondering what normal might be. This is the new normal we keep hearing.  I don't feel any different.  Ol' Abner says he still feels the same other than it's nice to take a deep breath anytime he wants and life is nice without having to drag around an oxygen tank.  We've surrendered the apartment in the bayou city and are back home permanently.  When he goes for those monthly, bi-monthly or quarterly clinic visits, we'll stay with friends or family and it will feel as much like a social event as a medically necessary trip.  We always love spending time in Houston but this long stay has given us a new appreciation for the hill county.  I love the dry sunny climate here even if we do suffer from drought issues.  A golf game is seldom interrupted by rain and thunder, but the occasional storm is appreciated. Austin area restaurants are superb, entertainment is plentiful and easy to attend. Most important, we have good friends and family here.  Yes, it is good to be home. I will to continue post from time to time on the Caring Bridge site, but I'm really ready to discuss life in the "normal" lane.

We can see it from here!

As Ol' Abner recovers from his surgery, I am looking to the near future.  I refused to cancel summer and autumn plans just in case he might be too ill to enjoy them.  It was a good decision.  As we move into July, August looks like a good time to escape from the Bayou City and return to life as usual...well, as usual as it will ever be again.  We missed a family reunion and a fiftieth anniversary party in June, but those sacrifices were understood and lauded. We will use the month of July to prepare our house in the hill country for life with a suppressed immune system.  That means removing all carpet and replacing with a solid surface flooring. The house has had only occasional occupancy for the last three months, so I'm pretty sure the dust bunnies have taken up residence. Fun events planned for August and September look like we can enjoy full participation. I may need to get home and gather my quilting supplies soon.  A quilting retreat is on the calendar and I already have the pattern.  My fingers are itching.... 

Invisible?

This year I will be officially old.  The government says so and if the government says it, it must be so!  I guess we could debate that theory on any given day, but it may be time for me to enjoy the perks of being "officially" old. Earlier in the month I went online and set up my Social Security user id and attempted to apply for my monthly retirement payments to begin the same month as inception of my Medicare benefit.   Instructions were fairly straight forward and questions requiring answers seemed a little invasive.  How does the government know how long I've had that particular credit card or who holds my mortgage??? Answers to those questions had to be correct in order to prove I am who I am.  I worked my way through the nosiness of the site assuming it was for my own good, filled in all the choices in an effort to have my benefits in place on my 65th birthday.  It took just under an hour to muddle through the maize and at the end, it suggested I review the information for accuracy and select "submit" if it was correct and ready to go.  I did, but it did not...GO that is!  The little icon just began to spin when I hit "submit" and continued to spin for several minutes until my screen saver timed it out.  I awakened it to see no sign that the process had completed. For several days I tried unsuccessfully to re-visit my application.  Finally, today I went to the local Social Security office.  

I arrived around ten a.m. and there was a short line at the front door.  Within half an hour I had been given a number and called to one of the cubicles to explain what I needed.  A few keystrokes and the clerk told me to have a seat and I would be called by name shortly.  I asked if my application showed in the system, she said she wouldn't be able to see it if it was there.  OK, I should feel pleased that my information is not available to just anyone. I sat down and waited.  Others were called back and more sat solemnly in chairs around me. After about three hours or so, all chairs had changed occupants except mine.  Time was racing and I did need to be elsewhere by four.  Just after three, I started over to ask the uniformed crowd control officer if i could schedule a firm appointment another day.  Before I reached him a man in a business suit asked if he could help me.  I explained my dilemma and he asked my name and asked me to wait just one moment.  He went through the big door and returned in about 30 seconds waving me forward.  Behind the door, he asked if I could allow about ten minutes to finish the process and apologized for my long wait.  He said it was not acceptable for anyone to be kept waiting more than two hours. The lady who handled my application said my name was nowhere in the que and she didn't know what had happened.  I guess I was wrong to be relieved that I couldn't be seen in the system.  I wonder if I will get an invisible Medicare Card or invisible money...