The care and feeding of my basement.

Recently as in yesterday, I was doing something that took me back to the good old days........Get your mind out of the gutter yet again perv. I was sucking water out of our basement. It reminded me of a time about 5 years ago when we brought home our last little sweet smelling bundle of joy who needed to be fed and changed every two hours. Now what pray tell could a flooded basement have to do with a baby. Not much really other than the two hour care and chaining the responsible adult to the house but, Lets look at this a little closer and maybe it will make sense to you too. The babies were not unexpected and the basement was. I would never flood the basement, no matter how much my family might joke about wanting an indoor pool. Indoor pools and raised ranches don't talk at the same water coolers. (get it water.....ah anyway) Babies once you took care of them would sleep for two hours not seep. A small bath towel and Johnson's baby wash and any baby mess no matter how brown would be cleaned up and sweet smelling at least for a short time. A basement well other tools are needed, a High powered Sucks all and every bath towel or unused blanket in the house. Need to take a shower with a baby....leave the bouncy seat in the room with you. Flood in the basement, Leave a kid down there to yell if it starts toward the furnace. (just kidding I wouldn't use kids like that).....but they do come in handy for other things like answering phones and making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while Mommy and Daddy are busy. When stuff so vile that you vomit in your mouth comes out of a baby you can look at it and think "Wow, My kid is healthy" Your basement that is not healthy and it isn't your vomit you have in your mouth but your wallet clenched between your teeth because there is someone some where with their hands in your pockets with ways to "fix" this mess before it goes to mold. Now lastly, I don't know one kid or one basement that once the sun comes out and the windows are thrown wide doesn't start to perk up and have a much sunnier disposition.

The Veiw from 40

I have had the same conversation with many people lately. How to rectify the differences between what you envisioned for your life and what your life really is. Perhaps it is because I was 40 first? (lucky me) or maybe it was just that I had to come to terms years ago that I was never going to be what people expected of me. It is a bitter pill to look around and realize that world domination was not an option, my poor wasted Napoleon complex. It was cool to dream but, living it was a different matter. The Ah-ha moment was back in my 30's. I had only been married for a few years when I found that an acquaintance was teaching at an art college(my then dream job) and she had just been promoted to dean of one of the departments. She was someone I felt at least equal to (at least). I then stopped creating for the fun of it and set off to work to be the "Artist" I was supposed to be with my "talent". It felt like wearing a suit that just wasn't mine the pants were too short and the shirt never buttoned right. I could wear it but sooner or later the pants were going to fall down and everyone would see my undies. I was a fake and the work that I did from that time was fake as well. Which leads me to the JOY of being 40. (Feeling a little like a snake oil salesman) Yes my friends Joy! and I am here to tell you how to get it....for only 39.99.
By the time I reached 39 two things happened 1. my children were finally old enough that I could see beyond being a Mommy 24-7. (thank you sweetheart for putting up with me during that time) and 2. I stopped caring what people thought of me. A friend explained it like this. She said " I am old enough that I have my friends already, Those who like me like me. Those who don't I have no time for."(thank you Kim!) Wow, what a concept. I was just given permission to be me. Those who like me like me those who don't, oh well. 40 wow.
So, this all leads back to the conversations of friends who are now slogging through the - what the hell happened to my life moment. The big thing about 40 is there is still time. My head didn't explode on the stoke of 12:00. The carriage was still waiting and I could still get the dress on. What's more my idea of what is success changed to include my family, who run through me like grain in wood. The young rather more selfish me always thought that success should be global (with bwahahaha laughed in the background) Success with a capital S, yeah baby, but when the the real work, sacrifice and passion was needed to achieve that came knocking on my door I didn't answer. I put all that energy towards other things, and the liberty of 40 is, that I am not going to tell people that I didn't answer because I didn't hear it or I was changing diapers or my dog ate the painting that was going to get that door open. There is no shame in viewing success as I see fit and not allowing others to force me into a suit I didn't cut for myself. Success is not an off the rack item. 40 means I can say without reservation that I opened the door and kept just a little piece and that was all I needed.

Lube and Adjustment (thats what they call it these days)

Ah ha.....I know what your thinking......yes I do.....well OK maybe I don't but if I had just read the title of my blog I would have been thinking things that were not PG or even PG 13. Dirty minds are a terrible thing to waste. The problem with where my mind usually is, is it doesn't correspond with actual circumstances. Too bad huh, but on a good note I can tell you with no reservation that should you need any sort of body work done for you car I have found a place you can go. Yes it is true. I felt comfortable and it didn't cost me all the winnings I just collected from my jaunt at the casino. (That is an inside joke, I don't gamble too stingy). We (the Ramthun Clan)were having an issue with our minivans automatic doors closing. I am not partial to losing children on the interstate during hairpin turns so I felt it might be wise to have it checked out. The "Dealer" suggested I make an appointment for Friday to have them diagnose the issue. It should take about an hour and a half, and they could order parts if needed, "It would be best to leave the car for the day" they said. I could then stick my neck in the door track as they closed it neatly lopping off my head guillotine style in order to pay for all the work that would be needed. (no arm and legs that is small time) The fee before parts was $98.00 an hour flat rate fee to diagnose. So dear friends not having 98.00 to start never mind after diagnosis I, in desperation called the first body shop I can remember ever hearing about.
Drum Roll Please.................Don Mallon Chevrolet * Cadillac............Yes....I love them. (And I don't love easily) I called and a car angel answered, laughed at my very feeble jokes and told me to come right down. "Don't worry" Shelly said "We will fix you right up" I love having someone else do the mothering so I did what I was told. Shelly Brockett is the Body Shop Manager. She had explained to the gentleman working in the shop what I had called about and there was someone waiting for me when I drove up. Half an hour later the car was ready and the bill was less than $30.00. I was impressed enough to write this. If you happen to be driving by Don Mallon's on rte 32 in Norwich on your way to here or there please stop in and say "Hi" to Shelly in the body shop for me. You'll know her by her leopard print vans. It takes a cool chick to carry those off and she does it with flair.

Counting the Ceiling Tiles

Rushing home to shave my legs and clean all the important bits, I realized that one way or the other I would end up counting ceiling tiles today, desire for the task was not an option. I had actually considered myself lucky that I had not needed to do this for almost a year, not ideal granted, but there were certain things that needed taking care of and I wouldn't let fear stop me. No tooth paste on the clothes, check. Clean underwear, check although, that didn't really matter I probably wouldn't have them on long. Dread......yep dread. I think there is a pimple on my butt...can't do anything about it and I wasn't the first person in history to have that. Should I get a coffee a drink?....Nope (coffee and I need to drive after) I didn't even eat first my scale doesn't lie. How will I explain the bruises on my knees will it matter. Should I worry about grooming everywhere? Now that I am over 40 there are so many more hoops to jump through but thankfully this isn't something I have to pay for. I consider for a moment how hard it would be to have to pay "for services rendered". Damn, I am sitting waiting sweating slightly....I have heard so many horror stories and I realize that although I shaved my armpits I forgot to put on deodorant. I am grateful the heat is on and that I didn't have to wait outside. Why is this so difficult? The nurse walks in and we begin. In 10 (Girl Scouts honor)minutes I put my clothes on and I go home with paperwork for the next inconvenience designed to keep me healthy. The whole ride home I kicked myself for allowing negative thoughts and insecurities to creep into my thinking.......Every woman needs to make sure she doesn't have a silent time bomb ticking away in her. My doctor was wonderful and even comforting when she explained that now that I was 40 they were going to have to check all my "parts" and that no I would not need to turn and COUGH. (It wasn't that bad.......No really......)
It was a drop ceiling and there were no stains. 12 tiles and one poster of a horse and pony.
And no those aren't my arms and legs....

Passion

Basking in the glow of Valentines day.....I did one of my favorite forms of multi-tasking, drinking a cup of coffee,in PJ's while eating chocolates that are thrown to me from across the room by my honey, like a seal and trainer. I had bought the chocolates for him but,you know how that goes. It's a hard job but, someone has to do it. After a few minutes contemplating belly lint and other various things my sweetheart asked the rhetorical question, "What makes something interesting adding "Not that this isn't interesting" but......"well more interesting".....He suggested that it was the extreme edge of our societal margin that makes a art form noticed by our consumer driven lifestyle.....music, art, movies. The things we as a society seem to value are the shocking (the car wrecks of art etc.) The biggest budget the smallest......whatever, the grotesque or sexually shocking are what get people talking. I found it hard to argue, Channel surfing or web surfing shows me very little but extremes set up to tease a person into stopping and watching. (just stop on MTV for 5 minutes and you will feel like the oldster complaining about walking 5 miles to school, eating dirt, while still being happy.) To have any point on which to stand on, I had to think hard about what people really value. Having no people but myself to poll about this I came to the conclusion that I value passion. Passion to spend years honing a craft. Passion for what you love or do can be shared. It draws people in and holds our attention....I admit it, I have stopped to watch someone get slapped in the gentiles or tattooed on the inside of their mouths. Nothing says I love you like your sweethearts name on your lips but I thought that was supposed to be the whispered word. These people have taken it literally. On their wedding day.......No, It really happened. No REALLY.... but just like those two crazy love birds my interested lasted slightly less time that their two week marriage. (I was done in 10 minutes I only wanted to know how they kept the mouth open.) What I am saying is that we are losing the ability to look beyond the shock factor. The value is no longer placed on anything but the ability to be shocking. Ultimately jading our sensibilities and killing the passion that is created by the love of a job well done. (not to sound too much more like Andy Rooney but....) The extreme might get a person recognition but it is effort, creativity and universal truths that keeps people interested for anything longer than the span between commercial breaks, that and the occasional half naked person.

C is for Coffee

My son asked as I poured the cup that I am drinking..."how can you drink that? It stinks......" Gulg glug glug.... Easily but, I can remember a young me thinking....yuck that reeks like mud pies. Creamy dirt was how my daughter described it or Burnt cupcakes said my other food critic. I started because I wanted to be more adult (I didn't go the cigarette route I was a bit of a chicken and wanted to live if my parents found out.) Now I am just addicted. Hi, my name is Deb and it has been 3 hours since my last cup of Dixie Donuts coffee. One professional with whom I had sought advice, told me it was my drug of choice. She also told me that for at least nine months I would have to do without if I wanted decaf offspring. Visions of trembling uncoordinated fetus's kicking for the next cup of joe was more than I can bear. It was a long dry....gestation period.
I work nights. All night, 4 nights a week, all dark, all the time. I know my coffee. I can drink any sludge that comes my way. Truck stop coffee at 3:00 am? Yes, please. So when I come across something sublime It should be shouted about. This isn't a "runs on" coffee or the chain that is selling lifestyles and blues music. Don't get me wrong I like those other coffees but......I am voting with my dollars. I go to Dixie Donuts. I had heard from a friend (thanks Dawn) that I should try Dixie for their donuts. Dawn is knowledgeable in all things tasty and if she says try it I do. (I should add a disclaimer.....I only buy coffee occasionally because I am saving my pennies for a rainy day.) The first time I stopped at Dixie Donuts I didn't understand. I had no concept of how they could stay in business with so much competition and keep the hours they do. They are not open on Sundays so plan accordingly. Those Dixie people are crafty. They keep several containers of doughnut hole samples right next to the register. I thought that was evil of them until I took one. They are just trying to help me. Yeah liberate my thinking towards doughnut stereotypes. But I digress, we are talking of coffee. Go to Dixie's try the coffee you wont be disappointed. If you dont like your coffee unflavored try the pumpkin spice cappuccino. Although, my brother teases me that I dont need flavoring in my coffee because it is well....coffee flavored. Then when you see how wonderful they are tell your friends. Join the facebook fan site. But mostly spend your pennies there because they deserve it.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Norwich-CT/Dixie-Donuts-LLC/207925767852?ref=ts

The Heeling

It is funny how winter clothing covers a variety of sins that in the summer I would never allow to happen to my body. Not to sound like a skin lotion commercial but I realized last week while laughing with friends that the skin on my heels was roughly the consistency of a cheese greater and perhaps that was why there was a hole in the heal of my favorite pair of socks.......my tired and weary feet were in need of a coat of polish and a pedi-egg (also useful for grating parmigiana cheese) I confessed my shame to another friend (I am dry/and cracked and not just my humor)and she had a solution. She sold Mary Kay at one time and handed me a cute little purse with magic lotion in it. I didn't have a cow to exchange for these beans but i know magic when I see it. The only thing missing from the package exchange was the voice of the Big G vibrating around us saying "USE THIS AND YOU WILL BE HEALED.....In you HEELS......Oh ME! just start the car....she is a weirdo....No this was your idea I wanted to take a trip to the Red Sea"
I rushed home and locked the doors. This reeked of something clandestine and mildly well.....Ah Dirty........
Lobster Hot water (check)
portable DVD player and episodes of LOST (Check)
Lotions from at least 25 different hotels (check)
Girly Soap (check)
fruity shampoo (check)
loofah (check)
Heel scraper (check)
fluids to keep hydrated (check) hey this was major reconstruction work.
Razor (check)
finger nail clippers (check)
cotton gloves or old socks (check)
an hour with no interruptions (check)
A few restful minutes later I emerge scrubbed, shaved, squeaky pruned and caught up with Disk 3 season 5.
Now for the magic. This stuff is simply called MARY KAY EXTRA EMOLLIENT NIGHT CREAM put on your feet or hands at night or for me before my mid-afternoon sleep with a pair of cotton gloves and or cotton socks and the results is startling. I suddenly see what could be tantalizing about all those beauty serums. I am not saying I agree with the girl who uses botox to keep those little wrinkles at bay when she is 24. But Damn as a printmaker I can't remember the last time I didn't look like my hands were put through a meat grinder then rubbed with black grease. So thank you Big G and Mary Kay.