Gifts From My Mother

I love my mother, but she can be a very trying woman.  I say in all honesty that I have never seen a mother-daughter pair as different from each other as we are.  And I like it that way.  I have done all in my power to ensure I was not like her and I think I have succeeded for the most part.

Sometimes, my significant other tells me "You sounded just like your mom there!" or "You kind of look like her when you do that".  He says it jokingly.  I think.  I hope.  

But there are some things I did inherit from my mom.

1.  Don't it Make Your Blue Eyes….Blue

I have my mother's eyes.  And her hair.  I don't mind the eyes.  The hair could take a hike but really, that's not her fault, is it?  Genetics can't really be blamed on anyone, that's just the way the hair frizzes.

2.  Attitude is Everything...or Sometimes Nothing

I hate to admit that I have some of my mother's crappy attitude.  I don't cry when I can't find my bank card, but often I catch myself saying something that wouldn't be out of line for my mother to say.  I have been called cynical in the past, on more than one occasion. Bitchy on a couple of other occasions.  Regardless, everything is a bloody tragedy to my mother.  Taking one of her pets to the vets is reason for a mental breakdown and the commonly heard "Why does this shit always happen to us?"  What shit, I'll ask.  You drove the dog to the vet and had to wait a bit.  See, a tragedy.  

3.  You Can't Live without Common Sense - Or maybe you can.

A few years ago, my Mom and Dad bought a house.  Somehow, they allowed the real estate agent to talk them out of getting a building inspection.  A year later they were replacing the roof.  At first, my mother didn't understand how a 10 year old house with 20 year shingles needed re-roofing.  Then she figured it out.  And it was okay because she decided the reason the shingles didn't last long was due to the fact that it's very hot on her roof. 

Yes, that's right.  The sun is very hot on HER roof.  Only her roof.  Not her neighbour's roofs or my roof or anyone else in the northern hemisphere.  Just her roof.

I tried to point out the folly of this statement in the hopes that she wouldn't repeat this in front of non-family members but she refused to listen.  She said "No, no, the sun shines down on my roof, it's so hot here, the air conditioner is on all the time".  Uh huh.  Okay.  Whatever.

4.  Only Give an Opinion if You're Asked for One and Even Then, No One Really Wants It

My mother loves to give unsolicited advice.  Just LOVES it.  No one else does but that doesn't matter. 

So it was with a giggle I listened to her berate me about spending money... on my house.  Yes, my house.  I am not planning to do a runner to Costa Rica and neglecting all my responsibilities.  I am going to improve my home.  I now have the money to do it and I have planned it down to the penny.  I have no debts other than my house and car.  I am finally financially secure.  And if I want to buy a bloody fur coat (not that I would) and lay in it naked as a bird in the snow, I bloody well can! 

So I go "yep" and "uh huh" and "whatever" while she gives me her two cents worth.  Then she proceeds to tell me how much money she's lost at the casino that month and I say "Wow, imagine what you could have done with THAT money?"  People in glass houses shouldn't throw big fat jewels that they don't need…..or something like that.

5.  I Hate Everything About You

Another little part of my mother I inherited is her dislike of most people.  Well, let me rephrase that.  My mother dislikes most people.  They are either too rude, too haughty, too opinionated (that's rich!) or too whatever for her liking.  I don't dislike most people but it doesn't take that much to make me dislike them.  There's the difference.  I have sometimes met someone and within minutes decided that I didn't like them and it was usually founded.  My mother just hates everyone.  It's so bad that when she actually says she likes someone, I am shocked and wonder if they gave her money.

6.  May the judgment of God come slamming down on your head.

Perhaps the best trait I inherited from my mother is an innate sense of justice and fairness.  We both go insane when we read stories about the unfairness of life and the horrible things people do and ultimately get away with.  The difference is, I don't watch the news or follow politics.  I do read the Toronto Star but I pick and chose non-volatile stories that won't make my blood boil.  My mother is the opposite.  She engrosses herself in murder trials from the States that she can watch on TV and starts arguments on Facebook about politics.  Frankly, I don't get it and can't be bothered.  The world will remain unfair and unjust, that's just life.  And getting ones knickers in a knot over something you have no way of controlling?  Not worth it.  Life's too short.  Care more about the people in your life and maybe helping out someone in need - a much better way of expending your energy.  At the very least, read a book for God sakes.

7.  Temper Temper


I had her temper.  It's a fiery Mediterranean bomb that can go off without warning, terrifying animals, small children and significant others.  Strangers witness to it may call 911.  It's scary. Thankfully, I have been taking happy pills since February and it's put a damper on the temper.  My motto now is "I don't care". 

8.  Where have all the good people gone.

I truly love my mother.  While my siblings and I often laugh and shake our heads at her rantings, deep down I know she's a very good person.  And like all mothers, she's sacrificed and gone without so her children could have the best that she could afford.  Thanks Mom.  

Graceful as a Swan...er....as an Elephant....er....Not Quite That Graceful

I have never been overly athletic.  The best I ever was in sports was when I was about twelve.  I made it to the regional competition for track and field, for, of all things, high jump.  I think I got third place.  Which for someone with my track record, was an amazing feat.  I don't think I had exceptional skill in high jump.  But I was tall for my age, slim and I had really long legs.

This third place win would be the only thing in sports I have ever won.

My sons were athletic.  Each of them excelled in whatever they did.  To which I was eternally grateful.

I don't think it was my lack of skill.  It wasn't for lack of trying either.  I honestly wanted to do well at sports.  But I had a huge handicap - I was (and am) extremely clumsy.

I trip over carpet lint. And dog hair.  I will continually bang my knee or stub my toes on the same thing.  I shouldn't be allowed to get up in the middle of the night to use the loo without turning the light on.  Sometimes I manage to not hurt myself.   I will gratefully get back in bed and sigh with relief - only to realize I was too high up on the bed and set my head cracking on the metal headboard.

It's not easy when you're clumsy.  You can't carry a cup of tea without slopping at least a teaspoon of it on the floor.  In my case, it's usually on my clean, white, freshly ironed blouse that I have just donned.

I realized I was clumsy when I was about five and I overheard my mother telling my grandmother that I had broken every glass in a set my mother particularly liked.  When I was six, I fell off my bike and tore the skin on my knee open - four stitches.  I know, kids do these things but for years after, whenever I fell from my bike, it was always that exact spot that would be re-injured.  When I was nine, I walked into a corner of the wall, cracked my forehead open and needed six stitches.  A few months later, I tried field hockey.  I won't go into the details of that.

Here's a sample of my injuries over the years:

-shut a car door on my hand.  This was back in the day when cars were made with steel and doors weighed three hundred pounds.
-broken nose playing baseball, pop fly to be exact.
-each wrist sprained twice roller skating.
-broken toe walking into my vacuum.
-fell down the carpeted stairs one morning on my ass, bruising my tail bone and unable to walk for a week.
-fell up the stairs carrying three bottles of beer, cracking my knee cap.  Unable to walk properly for four days (didn't drop one beer though!)
-lost a toe nail playing baseball, again, a pop fly I couldn't see, landed on my toe (I was an adult)
-lost another toe nail last summer when I slipped on my mother's front porch, wearing flip flops.  Nail caught on the step and ripped off.

Suffice it to say, whenever someone suggests that I engage in a "fun" game of baseball, I cringe.  I envision injury.  It doesn't matter that there is a good chance that injury will be minor and easy to deal with.  The point is, I WILL hurt myself.  And I just don't want to.  There's a good chance I could lose an eye or a limb.  I don't like using power saws for this very reason.  Electric knives are also a no-no.  It took me years to get over my fear of electric mixers.  If something can go wrong, for me, it will.  So I play it safe.

Oddly, I only fell off my motorcycle once in ten years of riding.  I feel that I was really testing the fates, but maybe I have some skill on a motorcycle.

So, sorry honey, there will be no baseball playing or curling for me.  It's just not fun when you can't walk for a week after.

I Procrastinate

It's been a few weeks of trying to get my house in order.  While a daunting task, I am slowly succeeding.  I have come up with a few things that help me.  Maybe they'll help others too, faced with trying to organize a house with next to no motivation.

1.  I downloaded a program called "iProcrastinate" from the Mac App store.  You could use anything really.  A date book would work or a spreadsheet but for me, this seems to be a good thing.  I enter tasks under a subject called "House Cleanup" and then enter steps if there are any.  You set a date for when you want this job completed and if you don't, you see "Task Overdue".  That "Task Overdue"pisses me off so I make an effort to have the jobs completed in the time I have entered.  One bad thing though is you can always change the date, giving yourself more time to procrastinate.  I've done it, I admit it, but I seem to get more done than not.  Which for me is success.

2.  I approached this job incorrectly at first.  I thought the only way to get this done was to concentrate on a room at a time.  My plans to completely clean out one large room usually ended in frustration.  It can be overwhelming to clean a whole room out that has accumulated years of junk, especially when there could be three peoples junk.  Now, I plan an area.  One day it was the desk in the living room.  That same day, I cleaned out one kitchen cabinet.  Later, the linen closet.  Everything gets done, just not all at once.  It took me three days to clean out the kitchen, but it got done and I didn't get bored or overwhelmed.

3.  Lastly, I think it's helpful if you can get rid of the junk as soon as possible.  For me, that will be hard as I can't lift anything overly heavy and will need to rely on someone to help me.  But some things have been easy to get rid off.  I had about seven items I had collected that were no good to me, but still in good shape.  I posted it all on Freecycle and it was gone in a few days.    I think this is important because junk collecting in one spot, for me anyway, is again, overwhelming.  Garbage goes right in the garage.  Freecycle items go in a huge Rubbermaid container that I leave in the hallway.  As I find stuff, it goes in it's area.  As soon as I have six items for Freecycle, I post it.

Well, back to it.  I am off to clean out the laundry room cabinet.  One thing at a time.

Wha' Happened?

I am currently suffering from something.... depression, anxiety, stress.  To be honest, I am not quite sure myself.  I have always thought of myself as a pretty strong person.  Maybe I wasn't being honest with myself but I have been through some bad times in my life, starting as a child.  Dealing with a bi-polar mother isn't easy when you're seven years old.  But I've never used that as a crutch to excuse my bad behaviour.  I am what I am.  Or I was what I was.

What I was was this - At one time, I was a nice person.  A REALLY nice person.  Some said I was "sweet".  I know that this is probably a shock to those who know me and I only can hope that they see some of that niceness that perhaps is fighting to come out again.

But somewhere along the line I changed.  I changed from nice, sweet, patient, kind to cynical, negative, mouthy, rude, argumentative.  Why, I wonder?  These are things that keep crossing my mind lately.  What happened to nice Sue?  Where did she go?  Why did she go away in the first place?

I am hesitant to blame the events in my life.  That's what people do.  It's never their fault.  It's always someone else's.  But somewhere I became a mistrustful bitch and I don't know why.  Was it the stress?  Was it just what happens when you turn forty?

The past five or so years have been stressful for me, but I was dealing with it.  I thought.  But we're all good at hiding, aren't we?  We like to pretend we're all that, strong adults with purpose, we've got it all under control.  But the sad reality is that you can pretend all you want.  It doesn't change what's going on, what's really going on.

So while I have the time to clean my basement and organize my house, play a bit of guitar and read, I ponder where the nice girl went.  And hope she comes back one day.

What Am I Doing Here?

It's the age old question - What is our purpose on earth?  Do we all have a contribution to make?  And really, what is the point of all this?

My question is not that deep.  I ask "Why am I here?" as I sit, right now, at my desk at work.  The question is more of a confused and sad "What the hell am I doing with my life?"

Soundtrack to this misery -

     "We've got to get out of this place,
       If it's the last thing we ever do".  

~ We've Got To Get Out of This Place - The Animals

Anyway, back to this post:

I had high hopes as a young person.  I was going to be a writer.  I was going to travel.  I was going to write about my travels.  Instead, I write about my sad job life, sitting in a cubicle, hoping that someone allows me to do the job I was hired to do instead of the make-work projects they throw my way to shut me up.

It's sad.  It really is.  I've never had such a depressing job before.  I don't need a glamour job.  I just want something that keeps me busy, provides some challenge once in a while.  I don't mind being busy, I LIKE being busy.  The day goes by faster and it gives me a sense of accomplishment.  I need that.  Daily.

Instead, I listen to continuous bull crap from self-grandizing morons that don't know which way is up.  They say what they need to say to keep me quiet and complacent.  They give me work that isn't mine and say things like "I hope you realize there is a deadline!"  Whatever.  Deadline this!

So what am I doing here?  Paying my bills.  Buying food.  Making my car loan payment on time.  Supporting some annoying addictions like Teaopia and Pandora charms.

Sadly, it's the only reason I am here.  There was once a time when I loved going to work., I loved being part of an organization that had purpose and vision.  It was never about the pay.  It was about the way it made me feel to know I was a part of a job well done.

I want that again.  Given the current economic climate, however, I think I am stuck here.

Shit.

Tired and Pissed Off

Today was my regular cleaning day - that is, the day that I clean the whole house from top to bottom.  I don't clean Ryan's room unless there's payment involved but it is still a big house and takes me most of the day.  I resent it, to say the least.  I don't want to live in this house so having to clean it regularly just pisses me off.  Sadly, I can't stand mess and the thought that something is dirty compels me to keep on top of it.

Knowing (as I do) the state of Ryan's room is nearly enough to cause a nervous breakdown and I hardly enter that room unless I need change for coffee or when I am missing too many of my drinking glasses.

A few weeks ago, while engaging in my regular cleaning, I decided to pass by Ryan's bathroom.  I don't use it, why should I clean it, I thought.  And it was really a test to see how disgusting that room would get before Ryan himself picked up some bleach cleanser and joined the ranks of responsible house cleaning adults.

So today, after a month of not being cleaned, I decided to check it out.

I could not be prepared for the disaster that awaited me.  I will spare you the worst of it, but suffice it to say that I've seen tidier bathrooms at truck stops.

It really is the laziness and lack of effort that pisses me off.

1.  Empty toilet paper rolls on the floor.  There is a receptacle in there, for garbage.  Full.
2.  No caps on:  toothpaste, contact lens solution, shaving cream.
3.  Whiskers everywhere - the vanity, the sink, the TOILET?  Does he shave while using the toilet??
4.  Used dental floss on the counter.
5.  Clothes on the floor.
6.  Empty contact lens boxes and the little plastic containers the lenses are stored in.  Garbage right there, easy access, just toss it all in.

So I cleaned it before I was host to new strains of bacteria.  It just disgusts me.  I don't know why he's like that.  I think that's perhaps what bothers me the most.  Is he my kid?  Did they give me the wrong child at the hospital?  He looks like me but so what?  I am sure there are tons of kids with the shape of my eyes and my nose.  Doesn't mean they're all mine.

I don't want him to be OCD, constantly washing his hands (like I do) or freaking out when someone leaves a piece of paper on the table.  I don't want that.  But some semblance of normal house hygiene, is that too much to ask?

And why, for the love of God, does he get so pissy when I tell him to clean his bloody room?  It's my damn house for God sakes!!!

I do know this:  I've had it.  His room needs to be cleaned by 4pm tomorrow or there will be a battle at this house.  One of us won't survive it.  And although I am tired and pissed off, I can guarantee it won't be me who sulks off, trying to ignore the other.  I am a stubborn bitch and that damn room will be cleaned.

Sorry, had to vent.....

De-junk Update #3

By some miracle, I was able to clean out the garage yesterday. Nearly froze to death (nothing more fun that standing on freezing cold cement for an extended period of time) and my back is not happy this morning.

I also managed to clean out my pantry, fridge and freezer and some of the garage fridge as well.  I'll do the rest of that on a day that is warmer than minus 3.

So there are two jobs done.  Now I get to fill the garage up with junk from the rest of the house.  I can't believe how much fun this will be.

At least I got to cross two jobs off my iProcrastinate list.  Excited isn't quite a strong enough word for what I am feeling right now.

I need a nap.  It's only nine in the morning.

De-junk Update #2

It's been over four weeks and still, I haven't made an attempt at de-cluttering.  I would like to say I have had such a busy social life, I haven't had time.  That would be a lie.  I could also say that really, I WANT everything so there is nothing to get rid off.  That would be lie number two.  The sad truth is - I just don't want to do it.  Its a huge job, it's daunting, it's not fun, I am going to get dirty doing this and really, there are more fun things I would rather be doing - like crawling onto the sofa, fireplace spewing warm air with my favourite tea and my book.  Who wouldn't?

But time is wasting.  It has to be done.  I can't rely on my son to do it.  He can't keep ONE room clean so it's me or nothing.

Speaking of my son, I told him that I have a real estate agent coming on Monday and his room needs to be clean before then.  I want to see how seriously he takes this.

Probably as seriously as I have taken my de-cluttering job thus far.

I think I'm in trouble.

My plan for this weekend is:  Saturday, clean out the garage.  I need someplace to put all the stuff I am getting rid of so the garage is the best place to store it.   This of course depends on a few factors.

1.  If the planets are aligned correctly, it's a go.
2.  If the Leafs win tonight, it's a go.
3.  If it's not fifteen below, it's a go.

To be honest, if I am too tired, it's not a go.

Really need some motivation.  Can you buy that somewhere?

I'll post how that goes on Monday.

It's Stupid to Argue With Stupid People

The fun never ends on Facebook.  Another American friend posted this gem:


"I believe in the right to keep and bear arms.  One Facebooker has challenged all gun owners to put this on their wall.  The Supreme Court of the United States has affirmed that the right to keep and bear arms is a fundamental right of the individual.  If you believe in the 2nd Amendment and you are not afraid to show it, re-post this".

At this point, I am not sure if the content of these stupid posts are what I have an issue with or if it's that these people are so unimaginative, they can't think up their own status updates.

Let it go!  We all know you Yanks love your guns.  We get it.  We don't understand it.  But we know that deep down, you're nothing but a bunch of war-loving air heads.  I would also hazard a guess that one quarter of the sheep that post this crap about your right to bear arms don't even have guns.  But damn it all to hell, if you wanted to own one, you sure as hell could!

In March 2005, four RCMP officers were ambushed on a farm.  All died.  The man that did it killed himself.  Canada mourned.  For a long time.  This, to most Canadians, was a horrifying thing.  Policemen die on the job, it's what happens.  But four officers at one time?  It was (and is) unthinkable.  

A few days ago, I read that eleven officers in the US have been shot and killed this year.  No one seems to bat an eye.  Are they immune to the horror?  Do they not worry how scary it is to realize that even policemen, the people hired to protect the innocent and keep the neighbourhoods where we live safe aren't immune? 

It would worry me. I worries me when one officer is killed.  

I don't even understand why the American's belief in guns bothers me so much.  I don't live there.  Maybe if more than half our news didn't come from the States, I would be ignorant to it and not care so much.  

But I guess it's that old problem I have with stupid people.  And really, it's stupid to argue with them.  They can't see how twisted their logic is.   They believe that the more guns there are, the safer they'll be.  They like vigilanteism.  They like to feel that they have the power to stop others with their gun.  The problem is, it's mostly the innocent that die.  

De-Junk Update #1

It's been nearly three weeks since I found out I would have to de-clutter, clean out the basement and various other forms of legal torture.  

I am happy to report the following:

I managed to get rid of one thing.  The only reason it's gone is that a nice young man took it off my hands and actually gave me money for it!  Yay me!!

1 down, 499 to go.

Way to go Sue!!

Who's Your Momma?

Having grown children seems to be a constant period of adjustment, for me, anyway.  As a mother, you can't help thinking of them as your children....as little people, holding on to your hands, running to you when they're hurt or upset or God forbid, maybe asking you your opinion once in a while.  Maybe it's worse for me.  My husband wasn't around much when they were small so I was it for them.  I took them to their sports, I was the one that was home for them when they were sick, went to parent-teacher interviews, took them to the doctor when they needed to go.

I had decided a little while ago that I would let my children be.  I wouldn't expect them to spend time with me, so I would not ask them to visit or accompany me to family dinners with my siblings or my parents.  I wouldn't expect them for dinners at my house or to show up for birthdays or holidays.  It's just easier for me this way.

But I hoped, deep down, that maybe they would keep me abreast of their lives in some form.  With Ryan, it's different, he lives with me, so he tells me things most of the time.  He planned a trip with his girlfriend and told me pretty much everything.  With Alex, I fear that he may get married, buy a house and have two children and I may be left in the dark.  One day, I may get an invitation to my grandchild's grade twelve graduation party.  It could happen.

Never was this more apparent a couple of months ago when my boyfriend and I had dinner with my brother and his wife, whom I hardly see.  Alex works for this brother.  

As my brother is dishing out the fifth and final appetizer, he says:

"I hear Alex and Ashley are buying a condo together".  I pause, fork stuck in mid-air.  I glance at Kevin. He's looking at me, eyebrows slightly raised, looking at tad confused.  

"What?" I respond intelligently.  What else to say?  Do I pretend that I know exactly what he's talking about?  If I do, I risk the ire of my mother, who is also there.  She'll just be mad that I just didn't share this little tidbit.  Honesty is the best policy.

"Yes, they're thinking of moving in, buying a condo.  Ashley is making good money working for that lawyer, Alex makes good money..." blah blah blah, on and on he went but I stopped listening.  

The worst thing about this was the week before, Alex spent the night at my house.  He and I went out to dinner, went back to my place, had a couple drinks, just the two of us.  He had ample opportunity to talk to me, to tell me his plans, but he chose not to.  I seriously doubted this was a new thing, because he had mentioned to me a month or so before that Ashley wanted to move out of her parents house.  A year before, he told me he was saving up to buy his own place.  I think it had been a plan for a while.  So....why wouldn't he tell me, his mother, about it?

I was upset for a while.   But then, I remembered the pledge I made to myself - they are not your little babies anymore.  Let them be.  Let them make their plans and do their things.  They are not required to tell you everything they are doing with their lives.

But it would sure be nice......


So today, my son Alex called me to tell me he and Ashley broke up.  For the last and final time.  They broke up about a year ago and I found out on Facebook.  So, maybe there is hope after all.  

Guns, Oil and the American Way.

Eating at me right now is the status of one of my Facebook friends.   An American, she is of the belief, like a lot of NRA wanna-bes that guns don't kill people, people kill people.  Is she right?  Yes, to a point.  
What is eating at me however is that I want to respond to her post with perhaps just a little common sense, which in the world, seems to be lacking.  

To everyone who is calling for stricter gun laws in light of the tragedy in Tucson, may I offer this little tidbit: If guns kill people, then pencils misspell words, cars drive drunk, and spoons make people fat. Remember: HOLD THE PERSON ACCOUNTABLE FOR THEIR ACTIONS, not the means they chose to utilize!!! Repost if you agree...I just did!


So my response if I did want to start a shit-storm on Facebook would be something like this:


"The flaw in your argument is of course that pencils are a drawing implement, cars, a transportation tool, spoons, a kitchen utensil.   Each are manufactured with a non-lethal purpose in mind.  Honda doesn't make vehicles with the intent of them being used by drunk drivers.  No one at Laurentian thinks "Gee, this pencil is going to poke someone's eyes out one day".  Get my point?  Firearms, whether they are rifles,  shotgun or handguns, are manufactured with the same purpose:  to kill something."  


Yes, people kill people, but they kill people with guns - in the US.   Seventy five per cent of murders in the US are committed with a firearm.  In Canada?  About 32%.  Canada has gun control.  The US?  Only three states have gun control laws similar to Canada.  In some states, you don't need a carry to conceal permit.  


But hey, at least their rights aren't being infringed upon.  It's easier to buy a gun than it is to get a driver's license in the US.  Good for them.  


I tend to believe in a civilized society, we don't need to have guns in our homes.  But then again, the US is 24th in the world for murders, 0.042802 per 1000 people, ahead of countries like Mexico and Columbia.


Canada is 44th in the world, just ahead of Australia, with 0.0149063 per 1000 people.   Great Britain, where the average constable doesn't even carry a firearm has even less murders.  


So who are the dumb asses?  


In a country where school shootings are common-place, where ten year old boys kill their mother when they're pissed off, where small children accidentally kill their play dates, with guns, you'd think that perhaps the country as a whole wouldn't be so keen on the 2nd Amendment.  (Which was written in a different era, not to mention).  


Maybe they should worry more about their crappy economy, their lack of health care, their crime rates instead of being worried about the demise of their right to bear arms.  


Just my opinion of course.


God Bless Canada.  

Junk Much?

For four and a half years, I have lived in a house that I didn't want to live in.  I won't go into all the boring details, but it's been hard to stay someplace where I haven't wanted to be, where there are bad memories and where I spent a lot of sad time.  I knew four years ago that the best thing for me would be to sell this house and buy another home, smaller, less expensive to heat and maintain, where I could begin the road of developing new,  happy memories.

Now, I am "permitted" to sell the house.  The "paper" says I must list the house for sale by April 30th, which for normal people is a lot of time.  I need a LOT of time.

In the past, I have prepared this house to list.  It took a steady two weeks of cleaning, de-cluttering and the dreaded getting rid of all the junk.

I have probably cleaned out the basement seven times since I moved here.  Each of those times I took a fully loaded SUV or pick up truck to the landfill to get rid of the crap that I figured no one would want.

But I haven't done it in some time.  The basement is full of stuff and I honestly don't know where it came from.

I am a pack rat.  I like things.  Lots of things.  Which is going to pose problems when I do get my smaller, less expensive house.  There will be furniture to get rid off, boxes in the basement to dispose of, all most likely filled with stuff that no one has looked at in at least five years.

A few months ago, I started a list - HOUSE CLEANUP.  There was about twelve must-do's on that list. I worked at it for a while.  I still have nine to go.

So, April 30th?  Gee, Miss Procrastination better get her ass in gear.

The Great (and Not So Great) Things About Dogs

I love my dogs like they are my children.  I think that's because my children are now men and once a mother, it's often hard to let go of that need to take care of them.  So, I have dogs.  Two beautiful Golden Retriever boys that I love to death, but routinely drive me nuts at the same time.  Somewhat like children.

I had a Golden Retriever before.  He was a wonderful dog.  He was well-behaved and calm.  He never chewed things he wasn't supposed to.  His worst faults were that he liked to carry socks around and he was very affectionate.

These boys?  Not so much.  Well, the affectionate part yes, as that's a big part of a Golden's personality.  But the rest?  No.  Not well-behaved.  Not calm.  And they often chew things they aren't supposed to.  Mainly sofas and shoes.

On to the great things about dogs-

1.  They truly do love you, no matter what.  You can yell at them, ignore them, forget to let them out for a pee.  It doesn't matter.  They will still love you.  They will still come running when you get home from a long day at work.

2.   They are good company.  When you want to be alone but not REALLY alone, they will just sit there and be with you.  No need for conversation.  No need to analyze what they're thinking.

3.  When you compare owning a dog to having a child, dogs are relatively cheap.  You don't need daycare.  They eat the same food everyday.  Same cookies too.  You don't need to buy clothes as they grow and they don't need car seats.  It's a win win.

4.  They'll walk as long as you want.  They won't start whining that they're tired or cold.  

5.  They don't talk your ears off.  They can communicate in other ways.

6.  They don't complain.  Ever.

The not so great-

1.  Mine don't sleep past 6:45 am.  Most of the time, they are up and ready to go at 5 am.  Luckily, they eat, pee, poop and fall back asleep.

2.  They still love me unconditionally, but I suspect it's partly because I hold the key to their kibble stash.

3.  Dogs are inexpensive until they need to go to the vet.  Then it's game on.

4.  I sometimes wish they could talk.  It's often frustrating to realize that Manchester has decided to pee on the floor by the door, all because you didn't notice him standing there, ready to go.

5.  They like to eat things you'd rather they avoided.  For mine, it's toilet paper and dryer sheets.  Manchester is two years old and I still can't leave a roll of toilet paper unattended in a bathroom.

6.  Having two dogs if a challenge.  If one is less well-behaved than the other, they often drag the good dog into the fun, which in my house, is getting Oscar to indulge in some wild and crazy toilet paper shredding.  Luckily, when Manchester is helping himself to some cheese cake whilst standing with his paws on the counter, Oscar realizes that that behaviour is totally inappropriate.  Good dog....

7.  And the saddest part of owning a dog - they don't live long enough.  January 5th marked the second anniversary of Timone's death and still I think about him every day.