On Having a Roommate…

I had a roommate in college. I had a roommate in the last apartment I lived in before my move from Lancaster county. I took in two different co-workers for temporary housing before I moved to Lancaster county. Other than short stints at trying marriage – twice – I’ve lived most of my life alone.

I live alone now. There is no one here that is going to make noise that might distract me. I am not hard of hearing. I do choose to fall asleep with silence around me, or the sound of a fan for white noise. I am more of an early bird than a night owl.

Because I prefer quiet, I tend to be very aware of making noise around anyone else that might disrupt them. When sharing a hotel room, I tend to wear “pajamas” that are a t-shirt and shorts so that I can leave the room in those clothes without making a disturbance of getting dressed. My feet take me immediately to the breakfast bar where I will make 2 cups of coffee, with lids, and, weather permissible, amble outside to enjoy fresh morning air while the caffeine kicks in. About once an hour, I will sneak back and peer into the room to see if my roommate is awake yet. If not, I’ll quickly and quietly grab my book and go back downstairs from more (and more) coffee and find a comfortable enough chair in the lobby area to sit and read.

I’ve always been very aware of other people’s sense of space and sense of noise.

Knowing all of that, I chose to have an official roommate situation for 6 years before my move to this place I now call home. My roommate was someone who needed to get away from the roommates he was sharing space with and sharing rent and other expenses would give me a fair amount of wiggle room in my budget. My roommate and I sat down twice, over dinner out, to go over who would pay what and who was supposed to take care of what chores.

It didn’t work out quite the way that we’d planned it. Bills got paid accordingly, but the sharing of chores didn’t. In addition, because his big TV was in the living room on my entertainment center AND because he was one of those people who had to have the TV on for background noise (he also took up more than half of the sofa because he always brought work home), I only used the living room as a pass-thru from my bedroom to the kitchen. I bought the groceries and cooked the meals, but he was seldom there for a meal unless it was pre-planned and a feast-type of a meal. He was content with a can of Chef-Boy-R-Dee stuff and microwaved hot dogs when I didn’t cook. Hey, at least he was easy to shop for!

He was responsible for the trash. He took it out if I closed up the bag and set it at the steps to go outside. On the rare times he took the bag out of the can himself, he apparently found it impossible to put a new bag in the can. I had to label the can which held recyclables, and he did manage to use the correct can about 80% of the time. Since I didn’t live in the living room, he was responsible for dusting and vacuuming that space. He vacuumed about every 3 months, as often as he cleaned his bedroom and washed his bed sheets. Apparently dusting was also beyond his capabilities. I lived this way because having shared bills really helped me financially. But if I had a do-over, I’m not sure I would put myself through it again. Oh, and a big benefit is that he could lift me in a way that cracked my back when it was bothering me (I think that may be the one thing I miss).

Recently, there was the option to at least think about going back into the roommate situation. But every time I thought about it, I knew that I would once again be relegated into living in my bedroom, with my desk and a small TV as I had been before because this person is also someone who needs the TV on for background noise. Both of us have lived on our own for a while, long enough that having to start making compromises about the way that we lived might not be easy. I’ve become less orderly as I’ve aged – not sloppy (except once when I’d dislocated my shoulder and couldn’t do a lot of things) but less needing to always have everything in its place if I wasn’t using it. I recognize that part of that stems from the depression I live with – a sense of “why bother, who will know, much less care?”. Much of it comes from simply not having the energy to do a lot, doing things in bits and pieces. My natural guilt about not living up to expectations reminds me that I don’t want to fail another person.

I’d like to have a roommate, but only in a way that I know is impossible. I want to share a home that is two-story (even though stairs are now a problem for me) where the first floor is shared living space but the second floor is divided into two halves. Some remodeling would need to be done, obviously, but as long as I had two or three bedrooms upstairs so I could have a bedroom separate from the TV and office space, and my own bathroom, plus a Keirug and mini-fridge, I could spend time comfortably in that space without feeling pushed out of living space. We’d divvy up the chores where the first floor is concerned – hopefully sticking to the plan this time – but each be responsible for our own upstairs spaces. Ideal would be a way to configure a laundry room on the second floor that we’d share.

This is all a pipe dream, of course, costing money that neither of us have, though sharing major expenses would certainly be beneficial to both of us. Once in a while I think about the fact that something could happen to me and, if I can’t get to my phone, it could be some time before anyone noticed. But is all of that – knowing that I can’t have the living space I deserve – really the answer? The answer always comes up “no”. Too much work, too much expense to even implement, and no 100% guarantee it would work out like my dreams.

Ah, but it doesn’t cost any more to dream big than to dream little…

Brand Loyalty

I have never been brand loyal. I’ve never cared what logo or brand name appears on anything I buy, only that it fills a need at the lowest price possible. This is true for big purchases as well as small ones. I have owned Ford, Chevrolet, Chrysler, Mercury, Toyota, Volkswagen and possibly other brands (that I don’t remember off the top of my head) and they all filled the same basic need of getting me from point A to point B.

The same is true for clothing. I don’t need a brand name on the back pocket of my jeans or some logo on the yolk of my shirt. My t-shirt collection does have some “branded” items, but the t-shirts were bought as souvenirs and not from any desire to show support of a brand. In truth, many of these shirts advertise an event I attended, thus my decision to purchase.

I am totally on board with generic/store brand groceries when possible. What so many people either don’t know or don’t think about is where, on a product label, appear the words “Packed for ______________________” and the name of the store from where you are purchasing. All that really means is that the same item the factory was just packing for a name brand – for example, Hunts or Delmonte – continues to package, only the labels have been switched out. Think about this… a factory is packaging, say, green beans, in cans. Once they’ve fulfilled a brand company’s order amount, they don’t stop production to clean out all of the equipment and hook up a different source for the green beans being processed (a green bean is a green bean is a green bean) to use in canning. A simple change of the labels at the end of the line after the cans have been filled and sealed and voila, a new brand, including that if a store name, goes on the same cans that were just minutes ago being packaged for a different brand name.

The same is true for me of any kind of item. I don’t collect purses, least of all ones with designer names on them. I just had to look up the spelling, in fact, for Louis Vuitton as an example. I don’t collect shoes either – same point. If I do shop for clothing, it’s Walmart for the bottom half and thrift stores for the top half. I can only remember the last time I walked into a clothing store and purchased off the rack while I lived in Lancaster County, and it was a special shop to find a birthday present to gift to myself. I’ve been in Montgomery County for almost 9 years, so I know it’s been a long, long while since I’ve been clothing shopping. And since I’m retired, there isn’t a need for ‘fancy’ clothing beyond the four different dresses and one skirt tucked into the back of my closet. Oh, and a pair of black palazzo pants that I last wore 18 months ago to a memorial service for a friend. (I have a friend who has a long walk-in closet, and yet, has to change out clothing by seasons. I can’t imagine having that much clothing.)

So, now that I’ve affirmed my lack of brand loyalty, I now get to tell the world that I own my very first ever fashion statement made by a designer. When I went for my annual eye exam in December, my vision didn’t change enough to need new driving and reading glasses. I only use the driving glasses for when I’m going further than 10 to 15 miles around me. But when I do wear them, I’m often putting a pair of sunglasses over them, and since I had an allowance through my Medicare plan, I decided that I wanted to get driving prescription sunglasses, since it’s inconvenient to add a pair of sunglasses over my driving glasses. So, I went to the wall of sunglasses and found a funky abstract frame that is so not me but I liked it. I went through the process of them, including exchanging the actual lens for one of a darker shade. Once all was done, my cost was nothing out-of-pocket. And at the very end, the attendant told me that my Michael Kors sunglasses would be ready in about 2 weeks.

Michael Kors! That’s the name of a designer that I’m familiar with. And it’s a brand I’ve heard of! I had my first item of what I would consider a luxury brand! I didn’t know who designed the frames when I chose them. I just really liked that they were nothing anyone would expect me to choose because of their loud mix of colors. And I’m trying not to gloat, but I can’t stop telling anyone who will listen that I own designer sunglasses.

No, I will not become obsessed with having to start collecting Michael Kors – or any other designer, for that matter – but every time I reach for them, the name of the designer, which is printed on their case, makes me smile.

How weird is it that a single pair of sunglasses can make me feel special????

Hacks around the House

If you use a broom around the inside of your home, you know how dust and hair tend to attach to the individual whisks of the broom while the heavier objects will move in the direction that you sweep the broom. (I tend to lose a lot of hair and thankfully, I have a thick head of hair so it’s not noticeable!) I’ve always had to stop sweeping to bring the broom up so I can use my hand to pick it off, until I learned an inexpensive and valuable way to clean my broom without dirtying my hands. If you don’t already have one, buy a (Dollar Tree value) long comb with medium space between its teeth. You can use it to comb the dust and hair off of the broom. Even better, glue the comb to your dustpan, with the middle of the comb handle flush against the dustpan handle, and simply sweep the bottom of your broom between the teeth as needed. I can’t imagine not having a dustpan; mine even has an upright handle attached to it so that I don’t have to bend over in order to hold it in place.

I have (fortunately) not had need to try this hack, but if I do find a need, this is the first thing I’ll try. Allegedly, a paste made of meat tenderizer and water, when applied, rubbed gently on the area, then allowed to sit until the paste is dry, is excellent for removing blood stains from cloth/fiber items. Of course, I’d recommend caution when using on fine fabrics or dry-clean only items.

Most flying household insects do not like the smell of cinnamon. I have a window in my kitchen above the sink where I like to raise up the window when there is a breeze. I end up with a few flies and what appear to be tiny fruit flies that manage to get in through the screen when that window is open. After reading this hack, I took several cinnamon sticks and broke them into pieces and put the pieces along the windowsill. I still get one of those tiny insects now and then, but I haven’t had a fly appear in over a month!

A few words about fabric softeners when doing laundry: Most of us who use laundry softeners have probably switched over to dryer sheets for the sheer convenience. No more having to “time it right” to get to the washer to add liquid fabric softener at the rinsing cycle. But whatever way you add fabric softener to your laundry routine, this fact applies – NEVER use any kind of fabric softeners when you are washing bath linens! I know, that sounds counter-intuitive, because we especially want our bath towels to feel soft and fluffy, but do you know how these softeners make that happen? Fabric softeners work by depositing a layer of electrically charged chemical compounds on fabric. This coating causes the fibers on clothes to fluff up, thus making fabric feel softer and gentler on the skin. They also neutralize electric charge, which is what makes your clothes shock you or cling together. When you’ve used fabric softener on towels and the fibers have fluffed up, as intended, the chemical residue also ‘nests’ between the fibers of the threads that make up the towel. That residue makes the towel become less absorbent because the water you are wiping off doesn’t have those microscopic spaces and the untreated fibers to absorb the liquid. You remove some of the towel’s wicking ability to absorb moisture. (By the way, the same applies for workout clothes that you WANT to absorb your sweat!) Now, anyone in the lodging industry will absolutely use fabric softener for all of its linens, because guests are going to notice a rough towel while they will never notice its absorbency rate. And I haven’t really noticed that my towels are any less soft since I stopped using dryer sheets on them. Hey, maybe you don’t care about absorbency, but this also affects your kitchen linens, and absorbency is key for them.

And I’ll leave you with this, though it qualifies as a kitchen hack… When was the last time you sifted the salt from the rice in your salt shaker and replaced the rice with some fresh pieces? If your answer is, “Gosh, I don’t know”, then the next time you need to add salt, take the time and do it. We take those rice granules for granted!

Any good hacks around the house you care to share?

Instant Gratification

This post is something that’s been on my list to blog about for quite a while. It falls into the category of a sort of venting about a situation of watching someone ignoring an assumedly smart idea for living as an adult, and it bugs me extra because I become a rescuer rather than see someone I care about fall into bad times due to taking unnecessary risks. So, I’m using my blog (as I’ve done before) to get it ‘off my chest’ without naming names or calling out negative attention on anyone.

I think most of us have gone through a period – usually in our young adult lives – where the power of being an adult and being able to get what we want when we want it is pretty heady. As a young adult, for example, we want a vehicle to tool around that looks jazzy and (we think) makes us look jazzy for being behind its wheel. Our clothing choices take an upgrade now that our parents aren’t making the decisions for our attire, and, just like the car, we think makes us look ‘upgraded’. Oh, we’re young, now working and earning a paycheck, and we feel young, with plenty of time to worry about ye olde “saving for a rainy day” and not going into debt we can’t afford. So, we go and do and buy for that instant gratification without worry about any long-term consequences for spending freely.

And those of us who have fallen into that heady feeling usually come to a point where those long-term consequences rear up and call our attention to how that instant gratification we’ve been giving into do, indeed, has consequences. I admit that it took me several attempts until the light-bulb went off for me, and it took some time – and sometimes still does – for me to break the cycle of buying because at that very moment I seemingly truly desire what it is I am considering buying. Sometimes it’s a tangible item from which we can benefit but clearly can live a good life without owning. Oft times, it is the act of buying something itself that pulls at us.

Only when we get stuck in a place where our debts are overwhelming us with the inability to pay them does the recognition starts calling to us about those long-term consequences. It took me multiple lessons until that recognition was able to stay in the forefront of my mind and louder than the instant gratification bells and whistles.

And sadly, for some, that needy gratification becomes so strong that giving into it time and time again can cause serious emotional and physical issues to arise. Ask any alcoholic about (allegedly) needing that alcohol to feel ‘better’ in some way. Ask any hoarder whose need to buy and keep things in order to feel any sense of happiness. Ask an addict of any kind – gambling, sex, food, shopping, etc. – and they will tell you of the positiveness they look for from imbibing into that addiction.

I am a gambling addict. I’ve never shared those words because I haven’t been active in the addiction for many years. And, like any addict, I still have temptations to gamble when I’m around a place where gambling is present. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve walked into a casino, but I can tell you that, as I’m writing this, just that thought makes my heart begin to race. I’m not convinced I’ll be a winner, but when my imagination runs free with what it might feel like to ‘hit it big’, that’s a heady feeling that’s hard to ignore. The truth is, I am strong enough to be able to set and keep a limit on what I’m willing to spend on the chance of having my imagination become reality. But I also know that the money I could ear-mark for gambling could definitely earn me a good and positive spin by indulging in a different way. A nice meal out with good company, a trip to a thrift store, going to the movies are all enhancing options with a guarantee of gaining something from the experience. Gambling has no such guarantees. Still, I think about that $20 bill in my wallet and can try and justify how squandering it on gambling won’t break me financially.

But that’s my burden and experience.

When I was thinking about writing this post, it was because I was thinking about a person I know still reaches for instant gratification. In conversations with this person, I get reminded of all of the people who lost their lives on 9/11 and how they were busy making money and most likely saving some of it, only to not be able to use it now. I actively look for ways to save, however little it is. When I spend cash, I throw dimes and nickels in a jar, recirculate pennies in my spending, and toss quarters in a separate place for laundry purposes. I recently looked at the mounting amount of quarters I had, so I dumped them out, set up groups of 10 quarters ($2.50) which is the cost to wash and dry a load, kept $25 worth of quarters and dumped the extra into the jar with the other loose change. My annual coin dump at the back was $38.75. In my brain, it cost me nothing to save that money, so it feels like it was free.

However, the person with whom I was speaking would never attempt to save any ‘extra’ money. For example, this person had and took the opportunity to save $8.00 on a tank of gas. I mentioned how easy it would be to just put it aside because it was free money and a good way to start saving. The response was that the person would rather purchase a hoagie (sub for you folks not familiar with Philadelphian language) and enjoy it instead of eating the same old, same old stuff at home.

And at the age of this person, life should not be stretching from paycheck to paycheck, but it still is. And when some unexpected bill rears up, there is a scramble to find a way to pay it. But I can’t get it through that this skull no matter how many chances I get to do so. And it frustrates the heck out of me!

Folks, if you don’t know it already, please teach yourselves and your family members that there is a deep crevice between want and need. Also, take this piece of advice from me, who had to learn it as well: It’s okay to help someone out when finances are tough, but if you’re repeatedly doing more to protect another’s finances than he/she is, you are only enabling that person not to make changes.

This post has been difficult to write, mostly because it brings up my frustration about how I’m unable to get this important message across. So, I’m going to go take care of my addiction to coffee and end here.

Phrases that Raise My Blood Pressure

Okay, there are several ways to raise my blood pressure that are activated by things or people over whom I have no control. My doctor noticed back in September that my blood pressure spiked to some very unhealthy levels and, when checked again in November had stayed at those very high levels. So, add yet another medication (better living through chemistry). Pretty much living in this world with crazy people and crazy happenings spikes my blood pressure! But what I want to focus this post on is phrases people say as habit. Here are a few:

“Not to be mean, but…” My last roommate would use this phrase whenever he wanted to say something negative about someone else, thinking it clarified that he wasn’t saying it because he wanted to be mean but because he wanted to speak his “truth”. The problems with starting a comment with those words are several. First and foremost, the speaker already knows that there is a good chance that what is about to be said will, indeed, be mean (remember, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all?). And 99 out of 100 times, the statement that follows is not a form of valid or scientific proof about someone, but the speaker’s true feelings and opinions about someone. Examples: “Not to be mean, but he deserved to be fired.” “Not to be mean, but she flirts with every man she thinks is attractive, regardless of the fact that she’s married.” “Not to be mean, but she always finds a way to make herself look like the victim, even if she was the instigator.” I mean, I have opinions about other people, and in trusted company, I may state them, but I’m more likely to pre-qualify my statement with something like, “In my opinion,…” It may well be something that will sound ‘mean’ to another, but I’m not hiding the fact that it is my opinion only, whether it sounds mean or not.

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” I tend to respond at that question with, “No, this is a test to see how well you can lie.” I mean seriously, have you ever asked a question specifically hoping for a lie? Yea, I know, I know, women will say something like “Do these jeans make me look fat?” and every person knows that ‘YES’ is never the right answer. But I can easily think of answers that tell the truth in a very vague way. “Well, they do fit you like a second skin” or “Well, they do make sure every curve of your body is accentuated”. Let’s be truthful, women – we already intimately know about our physical stature in every place of our body. We know if we have a beer gut, or if we walk out of a door, it takes a few seconds for our derriere to make it out the door after the rest of our body. “Does my hair look okay?” “Well, if you’re going for a wash and go look, you nailed it” or “The gel you used to lacquer it in place makes it really shiny and reflective of light.”

Similar to that, and perhaps even worse is “Not gonna lie” (which has already earned the acronym of ngl). I immediately begin to ponder if there were other times that this person did lie to me since they made sure I know that this time they wanted to tell me the absolute truth.

On a different note, I really detest when a server comes over to collect a payment for a bill, doesn’t see a credit card standing up out of the folio, assumes the customer is paying by cash and asks, “Do you want change back?’ While the intent may be to save the very busy server having to return to the table with change that the guest is going to leave as a tip, but it comes across as both self-serving and intimidating. What I hear is the unsaid statement of, “You are going to tip me, right?” Personally, I think it’s up to ME to say, “We don’t need change” if I want the server to keep the change as a tip. When I am asked, my answer is always, “Yes, please” and most times, I will leave that exact change (and sometimes a coin or two less to make a point) as my tip.

Ah, and then there’s shopping in a grocery store and, as you head to or reach checkout, an associate asks you, “Did you find everything you needed?’ I admit that, during the worst of the pandemic, this question was deleted because there was a better chance that the answer would be “no” than “yes”. What bugs me is that I can be asked that question and, if my answer is “no”, I’m likely to hear something to the effect of, “Oh, I’m sorry we’re out of stock on that.” Well first off, associate, unless you are personally responsible for inventory, then ordering and receiving and stocking that product, your apology is not warranted nor even appropriate. I mean, what does it take to keep a little notepad and writing utensil in the pocket of your smock so you can take it out and make a note of that for the store manager? Okay, there’s probably only a 50-50 chance you’ll give the note to the manager and then a 50-50 chance the manager will follow up on it. But the effort of that small act of making a note suddenly makes your question seem more valid and boosts the customer’s feeling like they are being heard.

If you are at least as old as I am, chances are that you have heard the words, “Thank you for shopping at K-Mart” at the end of every check-out you had in that store. I trained in the cashier lane even though that wasn’t where I’d be working (I was in charge of sending defective items back to where we bought them from for refund), so I uttered those words more than I ever wished to. But me, being me, had to jazz it up and make the customer hopefully smile, if not, then at least roll their eyes or shake their heads as they walked away. Try these on for size: Thank YOU for shopping at K-Mart. Thank you for choosing to shop at K-MART. Thank you for shopping at OUR K-Mart. Any small change in verbiage or inflection on tone alerted the customer because, no matter how small the change, it was something unexpected. But oh, any time a retail establishment insists its employees say the same thing to each and every customer, it makes me feel the company doesn’t see me as anyone a paying guest, and my experience isn’t truly important.

And here’s one that’s a bit personal to me and it makes me cringe every time I hear it. A person walks to a desk, rolling a suitcase. The person behind the desk asks, “Are you checking in?” Oh, did I mention that the desk is at an airline boarding gate or in the lobby of a hotel? Are you checking in? No, I promised my suitcase we’d go out for a walk after dinner, and we just thought we’d stop in to see the place. No, I’m trying to distract you while my cohort in crime steals a painting from the wall over there. If you must be the one to initiate contact, why not simply ask how you can help him/her?

I’m going to veer here just because there is something I do by routine that I want to offer to others. I’m a door holder for others or easily allow people to enter into a doorway before I do. I bet I’m not alone in that habit with my readers. And more often than not, we get a mumbled ‘thank you’ for doing so. Do you say, “You’re welcome” in automatic return? Here we are again, the same expected words said over and over that are no longer unique. I, instead, smile and say, “My pleasure.” Just two words, three syllables, but it changes the dynamic of the few words and actions that occurred. And for me, “my pleasure” really is spot on for how I feel about committing that small kindness. After all, we already know that I enjoy doing things for other people, and so something as small and fleeting as holding a door fills me with that kind of joy I get when doing something for another. One day I just became aware of that joy and realized that what I do brings me pleasure, and I should announce that. For the person who ‘gets it’ (IYKYK) it acknowledges that what I have done has not only been something I’ve done for them, but it acknowledges that this person – this absolute stranger – did something nice for me in allowing me to do it in the first place!

I hope some of you will try mixing up your words and intonations, to take the dreary and automatic response away, and find a unique way to say something that is unique to the conversation. And hey, if you’re being bold, compliment their coat, scarf, shoes, how clean their car looks when there has been mud or road ashes on everything that can be driven on. Having the chance to so easily make someone have a moment of positivity as we go is a habit we can – and should – be doing.

What phrase(s) make(s) YOU shudder???

Homelessness Coalition

A little background first… I have lived in the borough of Pennsburg for 8-1/2 years. Pennsburg is east of the township of East Greenville and west of the borough of Red Hill. Main Street runs through all 3 little towns and collectively we are known as the Upper Perkiomen (Perk for short) Valley. When I say little towns, I mean little literally. Before I moved here, a resident of Pennsburg called it “Tumbleweed Town” and, while there aren’t dirt streets, horses and saloons and barbershop poles, there is a quaintness that takes centuries into its facades. The buildings that line Main Street can be as old as over 200 years, as is the building I live in. In order to give you an idea of “old”, the electrical system in my apartment is made up of a fuse box and 3 fuses for the entire apartment. Obviously, some upgrades have been made to accommodate appliances that require 220V, but I promise you that the only upgrades that have ever been made were strictly done so out of need or governmental rules. My walls are made of chicken wire and horse-hair plaster (Alien Tape has been a godsend!) and you can feel the unevenness by running your hand along the wall. We finally got a second fast food chain after the pandemic was over. The only chain pizza to us is Dominos, located in East Greenville, though we are blessed to have a few independent pizza and sub shops. We have two grocery stores of regional name, and the less than 15-year-old Walmart, also in East Greenville, is a super store, so it can count as a grocery store as well. The majority of consumption of alcohol occurs at one of the two fire houses and the VFW post.

Now, with a better understanding of the Podunk area that I call home, I was recently impressed when Pennsburg undertook the task of creating a code blue shelter for the homeless. Now if you don’t know what a code blue shelter is (for any readers who live in an area of constantly balmy weather), a Code Blue shelter is a temporary place of safety for people experiencing extreme cold weather. Code Blue is a policy implemented by the Department of Homeless Services when the temperature drops to 32°F or below, including wind chill, between 4 PM and 8 AM. During a Code Blue, shelters provide essential services like hot meals and bedding, and people can access them without undergoing the usual intake and eligibility procedures.

I found this out on social media, realized it was located less than 8 blocks away from me, and yep, my heart was right there. I made my first contact, introducing myself and offering services to seek out donations of needed items, especially personal care and hygiene products for the visitors – I can get my hands on hotel-sized shampoos, lotions, soaps, toothbrushes and toothpaste pretty easily after all – and offered my intrinsic experience in folding bed and bath linens used during a visitor’s stay. I was thanked but told those needs were already being met.

What they need most is volunteers to be at the shelter overnight when it is open and in operation. Because of my sleep and energy issues, that’s obviously not a place where I make a good fit. And being a ‘volunteer’ has strings attached. First, the volunteer has to have a criminal clearance report done, at his/her own cost (It was $25 10 years ago; not sure what the cost is now). Then there are commitments to training sessions (I’m in favor of them and knowing/having rules helps both the volunteers and the guests they serve). I know about the criminal clearance report and costs because there was a time I was interested in working as a volunteer at the library (Me, surround myself with books? Egad!). I understand that a lot of people may volunteer but not follow through, and the library can’t afford to be paying fees for potential volunteers without knowing if they’ll stay. But then, and again now, it seems to me that once the volunteer has put in a set amount of hours in volunteer work, that cost should be reimbursed. Volunteers work for free, so money not spent on wages is saved and can provide this fee.

Whoops, got a little bit off the subject there. Other than volunteers, the coalition has received a large amount of support, big and small, from many different directions. They have their primary presence on Facebook and, from there, created a wish list on Amazon. (I got a little internally pissy about some of the things on that list, but that’s another story.) A church in a town southwest of East Greenville recently voted to issue a check in the amount of $2,000 to support this ministry. The church that owns the ‘house’ that the shelter is using had its parishioners gather non-perishable food snacks under their Tree of Giving, and the amount received was HUGE!

But other than still needing to fill volunteer spaces, the committee handling this coalition has really organized everything, and there have been several nights that the shelter has been open and in operation. Of course, curious me would like to be that proverbial ‘fly on the wall’ to see how everything operates. If there comes a way that I can help, I’ll be right there; for now, I’ll just enjoy knowing that our Podunk little borough has stepped up to help our fellow humans in a very big way!

Competing Against Myself

If you are recently new to my blog, WELCOME! You might not know what my other readers know about me yet, but I am an avid – dare I say possibly voracious – reader. I spend several hours almost every day reading, and next to my kitchen, comfortable in my recliner with either a book or my Kindle (mostly my Kindle) is another happy place for me. I tend to stick to the genre of mystery/thriller, with psychological thrillers being my favorite in that family.

A few years ago, after recognizing how much time I spend reading, I became curious about how many books I read in a year. So I started counting with the first book I finished in January and stopped counting with the last book I finished in December. I didn’t count any books that I’d started and for some reason chose not to finish. I tend not to read a book more than once, so I’m not sure if such a book would/should have been counted in the total.

The first year I read 83 books, equaling an average of just less than 7 books a month. The next year I decided to make a goal of reading 100 books a year. 2024 marked the 6th year I was keeping track. I met every goal, and so I kept raising the goal total. In 2023, I read a total of 163 books, an average of 13-1/2 books a month. Even though I had to push myself towards the end, I exceeded my goal of 160 with three extra books.

When setting the goal for 2024, I knew I was going to need to be focused on reading because I’d have to average finishing a book every 2 days. That doesn’t seem daunting, until I broke it down to understanding that I’d need to read a half-a-book daily.

I was moving along swimmingly (thanks, Kristian, for recently giving me that word LOL), reading between 13 and 17 books a month. And then I hit a wall in October. I struggled through spending time starting books that I decided I didn’t want to be spending time on. With a TBR (to-be-read) list that currently stands at 541, I knew I wasn’t in danger of running out of books, so it was easy to make the decision to put away a book that wasn’t grabbing me into the story within 100 pages. It wasn’t long into October that I realized that my slump in reading was going to mean that I’d really have to step it up in November and December. Suddenly, I realized that, in order to make my goal, I’d be stressing myself to keep reading even if I wasn’t in the mood. I remembered how that felt at the end of 2023 and I just didn’t want a repeat where something that brings me joy should become a chore. So I announced on my social media that I was choosing to fail at my goal. In response Marnette (my one and only true Princess) asked why I was setting up a competition with myself. Honestly, I’d never looked at it in that regard!!!

Three things happened then. First, I forgave myself for setting myself up to succeed or fail in something that was not, dare I say, smart. Second, I forgave myself for not achieving said set goal. Third, I decided that the only goal I will set for reading is to attempt to read, with enjoyment, more than 100 books in a year. I can feel that being able to say I read more than 100 books a year makes me feel accomplished.

Will I still count the number of books I read? Probably. I’ll always be curious about that number. But no more detailed accounting by the month to make sure I’m on track for a goal. After all, studies show that reading reduces stress, increases intelligence, improves memory and expands knowledge and understanding. And it’s a great and inexpensive place to get lost in for a while!

I continue to feel lighter when I think about releasing this year’s goal and the decision to not set future goals for this activity.

P.S. Just so you know, I read 164 books towards my goal to 170. And 163 books was my total for 2023, so I attest that I am still a voracious reader and beat last year’s number of books read!

Revised Bucket List

On and off recently, I’ve seen a similar meme that says something to the effect of “someone mentioned 30 years ago, and I immediately thought of the 70s. Someone else mentioned that 30 years ago was the 90s – and now I need a nap.” Talk about a meme that hits the nail perfectly on the head on the first strike!

When I saw it recently, not only did it elicit the usual groan when I see it, it also suddenly stirred in my brain that my bucket list is also 30+ years old since I really put some time and thought into it. When I dug it up, I realized I needed to spend that nap time amending what has become information and ideas that were severely antiquated! And what better time than the start of a new calendar year!

There are travels on ye olde bucket list that will 99.99999999% never be brought to fruition (that one little tidbit remains to remind me that miracles do happen). Due to health conditions first and foremost, an Alaska cruise, traipsing through the green fields of Ireland or practicing saying “Good Day” and “How’re you going?” in Australia are not in my future.

There are only 2 items from my original bucket list that I want to bring to this amended list. First, I want to take a hot air balloon ride. Well, actually 2 of them, one at sunrise and one at sunset. If I have to, I’ll make those trips along with strangers, but in an ideal world, I would choose with whom I would be riding so that it means strangers wouldn’t be able to change the memory with their words/actions/etc. And while I would choose from family and friends, I would carefully choose those whose personality and perspectives would align in a way that it would become an equally awesome and memorable event for each and all of us. Oh, and to be able to take a hot air balloon ride over Niagara Falls would be more than I could hope for!!!

The second thing I’m bringing forward from the original list is to pet a giraffe. I don’t know why this is something worthy of my bucket list or why it’s something important to me. As I think about it while writing this, I visualize, as always, that my hand is stroking downward repeatedly along the giraffe’s neck. My subconscious is stepping forward at the moment to wonder if it is because I equate touches to the neck to send a positive emotion and giraffes don’t get that opportunity. If I thought I had a serious chance of doing this, I’d probably put much more thought into what and why is behind this want.

New to the list, though it’s been roaming around in my head for a while now, is to tour a recycling facility. As my loyal readers know, I’m somewhat obsessed with recycling, often going above and beyond to not only recycle when it’s easy, but to go some extra steps to enhance my recycling. The extra steps I make and take are based on wanting to make an item I recycle have the best chance to be recycled. An example is this: Every tissue box has a thin plastic covering over the spot from where the tissues are dispensed to provide extra cleanliness. The cardboard from which the box is made is recyclable. The plastic piece is not. If you throw an empty tissue box into your recycling container with that plastic still attached, the whole box becomes discarded as non-recyclable.

A completely new add to my bucket list is that I would like to ride along on a float in one of the big holiday parades. I’m talking about one of those huge, televised parades, not some small hometown one. I’m content to just be standing along either side, from front to back of the entire float and my job will be to smile and wave, making eye contact whenever possible. I may be a senior citizen, but if any person on a float made eye contact specifically and waved specifically to me, I’d think I would feel really proud! The idea of bringing that kind of excitement to others makes me get warm and fuzzy just imagining it.

That’s all that’s on my bucket list, quite a short one by many people’s standards. There are more things I’d like to happen, like meeting certain celebrities (ones I choose) and I’d love to once again participate in a Christmas cantata in a church on Christmas Eve. I’d like to attend hockey games in person as much as I wanted. And boy, I’d really like to have friends who like to do what I like to do so that shared memories can be made. But… if I have to do them alone, then so-be-it.

So if anyone out there wants to do any of these things, please hit me up!

In My Grandma’s Kitchen

I’ve always known that I was extra blessed because I spent most of my life, until I was 10, temporarily living with my grandparents for a short while, then moving across the street and half a block away. Even when my parents decided to move from their starter home into something very modern for its time (1966), we were in the same town and less than 5 minutes away by car. We had most of our Sunday dinners in their home, and many other visits as well.

Earlier this year, in a group I belong to on Facebook that has to do with PA Dutch foods and traditions, someone posted a recipe for cherry pudding, and I got all teary-eyed. This was something my grandma made when sour cherries came into season. I’m not sure why it was called ‘pudding’ because it was actually a cake with sour cherries in it. We ate it as a meal, when it was still warm from the oven, in a bowl with sprinkled sugar and milk on top. Lordy, my mouth is getting a little watery with saliva just thinking about it.

My grandma was of German stock but grew up close enough to PA Dutch Country that many of the meals and foods we ate were based on that similar kind of cooking. She also had a strict budget, set by my grandfather, on what she could spend on groceries every week. She really knew how to stretch a dollar and how to use what was ripe in the small garden at the end of the back yard. Oh, I have such a clear vision of she and I sitting on chairs on the back porch, cleaning the mass of green beans she had picked while it was still cool in the morning. She would boil a ham shank (she called it a hock) to get ham flavored broth, and we had many a meal of green beans and potatoes cooked until tender in that broth. The little bits of ham that could be picked from those bones were always set aside for my grandfather’s bowl. This became a regular meal during the summer since the beans grew and re-grew for several months.

Grandma was also good at being “sneaky” in her cooking. Whenever she made a stuffed roasted chicken for a Sunday dinner, she stood at the stove and cut meat for each person’s plate. We all got fair amounts, and we had the stuffing from the chicken, veggies and mashed potatoes in bowls on the table we could eat if we wanted more. Also, there was always a loaf of bread and a jar of apple butter on the table. If we were still hungry and the veggies and potatoes were gone, we filled up on bread. Nobody left the table hungry! But grandma never offered more chicken than what was served to you initially. It took me a long time until I realized that there was still chicken left in the roasting pan. She had plans to use the remaining chicken to make other meals, and she always boiled the chicken carcass to make extra chicken broth as well.

One of the meals we had during the end of the week when we’d had chicken on Sunday was chicken pot pie (the kind with noodles cut into squares and dropped into boiling broth) with diced potatoes and some chicken. Well, we thought it was chicken. Much later we learned that grandma would pull out frozen pieces of squirrel and/or rabbit that my grandfather shot and skinned. The meat was dark from both, but the chicken had dark meat as well, so nothing was ever questioned. She’d add however much of these ‘other’ meats to what chicken she had left over so that each serving had an appropriate amount of meat to go with the noodles and potatoes.

From the one roasted chicken, in addition to our Sunday feast, the week brought a variety of chicken and waffles, chicken corn soup (with rivels, of course!), chicken and dumplings, chicken pot pie, even chicken salad when she was ‘scraping the barrel’ of chicken and broth. Sometimes we had a beef roast instead, and that brought us things like beef noodle soup, beef pot pie, hot roast beef sandwiches and other ways she’d incorporate a small amount of meat into something that would create a different entree.

Grandma always asked if I wanted to help in the kitchen when we were there for a meal and my answer was always a resounding “YES”. I definitely know that the pleasure I get from being with her in that kitchen is what created within me a true passion for cooking for and feeding others. I also adored my grandma (we all did) and being one-on-one with her as we puttered was a far higher valued gift than her gift of receiving help from me.

I can still picture much of the garden, what and where items were planted. There were white radishes (my mom loved sliced white radishes between two pieces of bread with mayo, salt and pepper). There were at least 10 tomato plants, 4 long rows of green beans, parsley, a HUGE patch of rhubarb, and some potatoes. We lived close to an orchard, so fruits were purchased from there. We had our sour cherries, but as different fruits came into season, we had entrees like apple crisp, blueberry crumble, strawberry shortcake (over homemade sweetened biscuits), apple dumplings. We truly ate from the garden during the growing season.

I get melancholy envisioning the two of us on the back porch cleaning green beans. I get melancholy envisioning the old laminate and metal table and chairs in the kitchen and eating something delicious from a bowl that was covered in milk and sugar. They were simple meals, and worrying about sugar intake was not in anyone’s mind. While my memories are about the taste of those foods, they are also about being aware of all of the love and attention my grandmother gave to feeding others.

Apparently, it skipped a generation, but the apple didn’t fall far from the tree…

It Isn’t a Competition

I heard those words a few weeks ago, from Kimberly (my high school BFF), and the lightbulb went from darkness to 150 watts instantly. While that was happening, a hand reached out and smacked me on the head, while another hand pushed my lips into a “wow” like kind of expression and a loud whisper of the word “DOH” was muttered.

We were talking about her Parkinson’s disease, how it is already making changes physically and those physical changes make changes to her emotionally. I had mentioned that I have a collection of ‘disorders’ of what are not rare or life-altering. I mentioned that, whenever I want to give in to a pity party for one, I just remember about other people I know who have far more serious medical issues and that often helps to turn off the self-pity. It was then when Kimberly uttered the words, “It isn’t a competition”.

Like I said, “Pow! Boom! Bam!” That engrained since childhood belief that what I am, who I am, how I feel is never as important – if it’s even validated – and I should spend time dwelling on it because it’s been validated – because there are so many others facing far more complex and serious challenges. And then there are those who want to strongly remind me of how grateful I should be because I do, indeed, have many less challenges in life than others have. Somehow, while I don’t remember how those messages were delivered, they came to be known in perception that self-care needs are driven by self-pity. And self-pity is a sin of sorts.

I remember my mom once saying on a morning when she was feeling ill, that she would be going to work anyhow, with a phrase I’ve never forgotten. She said, “Why stay home and feel bad when I can go to work and make everyone miserable?” That statement now reeks of sarcasm, but I never knew my mother to be sarcastic and so I interpreted it as martyrdom. Oh, everything my mother did had some sense of martyrdom attached to it. And yet, there were times I also remember her being very self-indulgent; and only now recognize that the self-indulgence was her way of ‘paying herself’ for her martyrdom.

But it isn’t a competition in life about who has it the worst, despite the fact that my brain has been wired to look for people who have it worse than I do so I can accept that I don’t have it so bad. Yes, it can come across as gratitude, but not in the kind way it should do so.

I have several medical issues I deal with, mostly, as my brother Mark once said, “better living through chemistry”. I wouldn’t be surprised that the majority of people who read this post are in that same boat, and not all of them have to do with how we age. I don’t begrudge anyone else feeling frustrated and self-pitying at times for what they have to deal with to try to bring the best quality to their lives as they can. But I feel guilt for allowing myself to feel that way.

It isn’t a competition. We may share some of the same issues, but we all have different ways that each issue affects us. I’m allowed to be frustrated that some medications that work for 99% of the people taking them leave me hanging in the odd 1% for whom they don’t work as planned.

I reported to my doctor in September that I was already experiencing the melancholy of S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder), which normally hits me about the 2nd to 3rd week of October. I had lack of motivation, complete lack of energy, nothing I felt good about making it from one day to the next. The energy lack exists without the depression, but not caring to take care of hygiene needs as should be shows the level of aptitude in the depression. I’m not suicidal – – and I feel like I need to say that often because there are people who associate someone with depression as suicidal. Honestly, I have no desire to kill myself, but there are moments when I realize I would be perfectly okay with it if I went to sleep and didn’t wake up again. Anyhow, my doctor weaned me off the anti-depressant I’d been on for about 3 years and started me on a brand new one. It’s called Vraylar, and the maker fortunately has a patient assistance program which is providing me the drug at no cost, because my co-pay would have been $472 a month. Yes, a month!

I’ve only just recently been speaking up about the fact that I suffer from depression. I’m not ashamed of having the diagnosis, but there again, stating that I suffer sounds to me like I’m complaining… and so many people out there have it so much worse than me. That’s why I’ve kept silent or only mentioned depression in the vaguest of ways. But it feels good to put it out to the universe that I am considered to have a depressive disorder, and I deal with it functionally, often times without people even knowing!

So, whatever you are dealing with in your life – in any regard – it’s okay to own it. Owning the issues you are facing does not detract from or compete with issues that any other person is dealing with. Some may be similar, many are completely different. You’re going to handle them in your own way, just as we all are going to do the same. And although I’ve built this post up around medical issues and specifically, depression, it’s true along any path we are journeying. It might be medical, but it could be financial, familial, relationship issues and everything else. We aren’t competing to get through life!

(P.S. I can’t believe how different I feel at the end of writing this! This release of competition frees me to just love myself with whatever I am dealing with without measuring myself to other people. Kimberly, I can’t wait for the next thing I’m going to learn from you!)