In which you get to read way more than you ever wanted to (AKA: The Doctor Made Me Do It!)

All right, all right - I said I'd do it.  Copy and paste into your own blog and embarrass yourself now, and let me read it.

I'm leaving in bold print Spo's words; the non-bold are my own - so you can see how much our answers overlap.

My earliest memory 
I recall being in a crib and it was daytime.  I was standing up (probably) making a racket for my mother and a woman walked into the room, but it was not my mother.  We weren't "rich" but we had a maid.  (For a few hours a week.)  I'll guess no one will like it if I say she was black, but she was.  She was also large, and I remember her white dress.  Over the years I had a few other babysitters/helpers/whatever their role was called; (they were almost all white in case anyone is going to come after me yelling like I have observed people doing to others).  More politically-incorrect impressions of my very young self:  One was fat; one was skinny (this is what babies/tiny kids notice!) Mrs. Ridgeway (endomorphic) did not wear glasses; Mrs. Hunt (ectomorphic) did.  They were both old - but then, could it have been that everyone looked old when I was three?  One time I ran up behind Mrs. Hunt and put my hands over her mouth - I wish I remember why!  I put my hands over her eyes another time and it was because she was reading the newspaper and I was afraid she would never finish.  I have occasionally been sad thinking about Inez, Mrs. Hunt, and Mrs. Ridgeway, and it's because a long time ago I realized they can't be alive anymore. :o(  Hey, wait - I still have some hope for Inez.  It's Hunt and Ridgeway who seemed so old to me. Wait - maybe they were not so old, and some people are 90-something, right?  (falling apart here - let me move on.)
First airline flight 
I believe it was a family trip out of state when my grandfather died.  I remember being all dressed up and resenting having to do that; now I know that was the fashion of the day (dressing as if for church to ride on a plane.)  What's funny is that I think I remember the taste and smell of the food on the plane.
First time ‘doing it” 
I have no idea what this question is about.
First surgery
Minor skin surgery that no one wants to know about - whoever thought surgery would be great to talk about?  LOL 1988-89.  It is still not right. (maybe 1986.  Is skin or toenail surgery really surgery?  I thought cuts had to be made deep into your body core to call it surgery.)
First car
It was a Ford product. (Fiesta.) Bought for $400 from my mom.  (Wow - Spo and I have a lot in common so far.)
First death of someone close
1976 the death of my mother's fiance, Howard (parents were long divorced by then.)  He was awesome; he was fun (he introduced me to the likes of: "Is that a booger on your nose?  No, it's not!" ... he liked the cakes I had just then been taught to make (I remember him tasting my first-ever cake which had orange frosting); he took my mom on sailboat rides and even saved himself and her when they capsized.  But despite being not-old and appearing fit as an Olympic athlete, he had an instant-death heart attack just walking across the living room of his apartment one day and he was gone just like that. This marks childhood’s end for me.
First drink
Hmm... Let's see.  My best friend and I split one can of beer belonging to her father.  I then cut her long hair short and even fashioned a nice rat tail in the back. 
First regret
I'm not sure I think that way; I can't recall, offhand, something I am sure I should have done differently.
First time rolling down grass hills
That was so routine that I can't remember a first time - must have been when other kids did it and I joined in (I was the young one in a family of older kids and a neighborhood full of kids slightly older, on average.)
First pet 
Lady, a cute little blonde mutt I called "potato chip" because I thought she smelled that way.  And/or a gray tabby cat we had around the same time - I can't believe I forgot her name.  Sancho, I think!
First time you knew you were different
Hmm... I think I always thought that.  By contrast,  I remember a few revelations in which I figured out that others experienced things the same way I did, though (recognizing that everyone has a self-centered perspective, in other words.)  I think I can remember very, very far back getting some concepts such as:  Even when I don't want them to, people can still see me, and:  When I look at their eyes, I can detect when they're also looking at my eyes.
First presidential election
Don't remember.  Only now am I becoming even moderately interested in politics.
First time you felt you were an adult
Still don't feel like one.  Okay, that was flippant.  For real, I don't think I notice these transitions.
First opera
No opera for me, but I was taken to "The Messiah," and I remember being so bored that with one shoe I broke the large fake buckle off the other shoe.  My mother later said she regretted taking me and should have realized no child that age could withstand it.  I was bored to tears and I thought there was no way I would ever attend one of these silly dreary things again…..
First time out of the country
If Canada counts (and I believe it does), then I was 12 and stayed in Quebec City, and a little of Ottowa and Montreal along the way.
First job
Other than many babysitting hours, lifeguard.
First time you ate rats at Tewkesbury
I never did that, I'm glad to say.  Never even been to Tewkesbury or know what/where it is.
First kiss
I really don't think about this stuff; I could never remember if I tried.  (Not because there was so much of it; I think it's been selectively scrubbed from my memory.)  I remember lots of kisses I wanted to dole out.  It went on in my brain way more than in reality, in other words!
First realization of the axiom “life is not fair”
Before the progressive college-campus "experimental" [as some like to say] school I attended for 1st-5th, I spent one year at the public school's kindergarten and it was like stepping a decade (or two!) back in time.  The teacher told us to put our heads down on our desk because the principal was coming and he turned out to be obviously angry (I guess we made too much noise - as a group?)  Even then I knew that mass punishment for crimes (!) that must have come from only some kids was inappropriate, and I knew that we were all like 5 years old, and my b.s. meter just went off the charts. I wasn't rattled by it, just annoyed to have to stop coloring or whatever.  Also, I had long legs and the teacher repeatedly tripped over my feet when walking by, then shot me a hostile look as if I had tripped her on purpose - I knew this was poor kid-treatment, also.
First disgraceful behavior
I made a pitcher full of soapy water and put it in the fridge, hoping people would think it was lemonade and drink it.  Many years later my sister said she almost drank it.  Another time I took a sock monkey from the gym when the after-school program was not in session; I rationalized that it was left behind because no one wanted it.  I explained this rationale to my mother when she inquired about the new item.  Without scolding or shaming, she told me that I should take it back and return it, which I did.

Ta-dah!

Here it is (click on it to enlarge.)  Below, you will see the sad precursor.

What it looked like in September (I managed to spend the ENTIRE month of October in procrastination mode.)

Note that I haven't depicted the floor under the desk.  I didn't move anything there, but I didn't clean much up there, either.  That'll be next!  (No pics for that; it's just a few sweaters and a few stacks of loose paper.)

I want to take a minute to say a few things about the decor (if you could call it that.)  I don't have a decorating gene; as you can see, it's all I can do to keep the wreckage at bay.  The orange things in the vase are both courtesy of one of the juniors, who proudly purchased the (leaves?  What are they?) at the dollar store.  He took it out of the budget I gave him for Halloween decorations (you see, he DOES have the decorating gene) and wanted to cheer up my desk - and I appreciate the gesture!   I think the vase was free with something.

The Wall Street bull and the honey badger were both given to me by the mister; the former for trading inspiration and the latter as a commentary on my personality, I think.  Underneath the honey badger and behind the bull are hand-woven or crocheted items by the same junior mentioned above.

To the left of the home phone (which we hardly use in the day of cell phones for everyone) is a Bible which was used for a class but which could be read by anyone at any time, of course.  Above the monitor is a clipping from a church bulletin:  "Pray Always and Never Lose Heart."  To the left of that is a framed geometric design by, again, the same junior, and superimposed over it is a note on a sheet of prescription pad penned by an unusually supportive doctor reading "YOU ARE GOING TO BE OKAY!"  He was true to his word.  I just saw him for a follow-up today, and he said, "You pass.  You may go now.  See you in six months!"

On top of the notebooks are more crocheted items from (you guessed it) the same junior, one of them reading "I love Mama."

Just outside of the pic are framed pics of all four kids, but I don't post those on the interwebs.

Oh, I nearly forgot the most important thing.  In front of the vase of orange foliage is a notecard with a drawing made by (I don't even have to say who).  It seems to be a bird (not sure which kind?) wearing a hat, with the caption "Dey seez me Rollin', Day haten."

I found another turkey (thinking that was a turkey) while looking for that image I knew I already had of that one, and here it is.  I'm decorating ahead of time for the holiday!

You'd better read up

If you're tired of reading about me and how I trip old ladies on the subway staircase in NYC so I can catch the train, you can read about the mister.  Really, though, I split this blog in two but I didn't expect people to abandon the other side.  It is required reading, you know. Even if you don't catch every pecuniary nuance, you can still get the gist of whether progress is being made or whether grade is going retro.

And like I said - this time, as a special treat, it's not even about me, it's about what the other cash-slinger in my family is doing while I'm doing mundane things like trying to clean up my desk.  I'd post a link, but some of you will remember that I said a few weeks ago I'd do it.  Guess what - I didn't do it.  But guess what again - it's now nearly done.  Pics or it didn't happen (and it's happening - so the pics will be forthcoming.)

Edit:  I see now that I said more than a month ago that I would do it.  That's how long it takes to get disgusted with myself and start ripping and tossing papers and removing geologically carbon date-able layers of dust from my desk.

Impressions of New York

In New-Yorker Get-to-the-Point style, I won't write a preamble here except to say I've visited there infrequently and few times (yep, that was on purpose) and my visits have been spread out over the span of many years except for recently, when I got a hot ticket in my hands (a points/reward system I ate up like the penultimate target customer who really just wanted an excuse to sit down in a cushy seat, eat peanut M&Ms and watch the embarrassing backsides of East Coast cities whirl by while the sun is coming up so that I can walk around in a different city and get a bleepin' change of scenery now and then to stimulate my hungry brain.)

I tell people who are afraid of New York City (that's funny, right, if you're a Baltimorean?) that it's not going to be different than the densest section of downtown Baltimore.  If you didn't know you were there, you might not know.  There's where the similarities end.  If you can navigate the fast traffic between the towers and the stores and the throngs of people on foot, then you have it made; now you only need to find some stuff to do.  This can consist of only having places to go.  Riding around can take up your whole day if you think up enough destinations.  As you can tell already, I get a thrill just from standing or sitting over the wheels-n-tracks and finding myself in a different place, courtesy of the steel people-movers that roll on all day and all night, whether or not I step on or off.  They've got places to go and schedules to make; they'll take me if I get on fast enough, and there's another one every few minutes.  What am I?  Just a nothing and a nobody in a world where people assimilate into the infrastructure, and I like it that way.  Hey, I said there would be no preamble, and now I plain-old rambled!

Welcome to New York City!

 
What I haven't mentioned so far is the people.  It's hard to get solid impressions of people you see but don't speak to, and it's hard to draw conclusions about entire groups when you only interact with a dozen people, who very well may not be representative of any group at all, and that's why I labeled this post "impressions."  No true conclusions drawn, just anecdotes, with maybe some insight given about the lens through which they are viewed (my particular viewpoint.)

I like the way it is assumed that unless there is a specific purpose, no one should feel obligated to make conversation or even eye contact with anyone else; in fact, it's probably bad etiquette to be caught looking anyone over.  Now that I think about it, I'm probably guilty; I love to observe people when I think they don't notice and I bet they do notice and hate me for it, but I can't be the only one doing it.  A number of people have given me the extended eyeball treatment; they appropriately pretended it was an accident when I caught them.  This is just big-city behavior; it happens everywhere, I guess.  I'd do terribly in a small town, I can already tell.  I like the no talk-y, no acknowledge-y style of interaction.  Notable caveat:  I have selected normal-enough-looking people (which is virtually all the people) about half a dozen times to ask simple questions like "Does this train go downtown?" or "Am I on the right platform for Times Square?" and people are all too eager to helpfully supply the answer. Practical and sensible; I like that.  I didn't try to give them free headphones (what was that all about, anyway?  Had to be a catch); I didn't ask them for money or to listen to my life story (I heard at least one of those on the subway, by the way); I just needed a yes/no or this way/that way answer and they seemed genuinely fine with sharing their knowledge.

But back to the no-talk.  I stepped on a woman's foot; she was seated, playing solitaire on her phone while I stood above her hanging onto the rail; she had on little slippers that looked like foot gloves; I said, "Sorry about that" and she neither replied nor looked up at me.  Satisfied that my social obligation had been met, I silently blamed her in my mind, thinking "Who the heck wears a shred of fabric on their toes in a place like this - going around in what's basically just socks - where you're going to share space with thousands of people per minute and it's rail travel underground, and presumably traffic-dodging above ground?  "Wear a pair of work boots like I do, lady," I was thinking.  "Then your baby-size feet wouldn't have even been able to slip under my weapon-grade footwear; we would have bumped soles and not even felt it, and it would have been a non-event."  Later I pondered whether acceptable New York behavior is to not even apologize for foot-stepping or shoulder-jostling.  Several times I said, "Sorry" about unintended contact or near-misses, but I never heard an acknowledgement, nor did I hear anyone else apologize for any of their missteps or minor elbowing.  I suppose I came off as the over-mannerly country bumpkin from Old Dixie with my southern hospitality and decorum.  No, not really; the truth is that I supply, "Oh, sorry" for any physical contact, but that's the extent of my graciousness; maybe it's laughably genteel in the city of a billion feet and elbows; I don't know.

Speaking of walking above-ground; I love it because I am not timid in crowds and I believe that in my hometown I might be considered rude for the way I slink sideways through any space between people (I am an opportunistic crowd-hopper, similar to those drivers who weave in and out of traffic, but I never drive that way.)  I don't trip people; I don't make them slow down or stop; they shouldn't even notice me as they plod along; if I see a space I'm through it faster than they can look to the left and observe their companion lingering at a storefront window.  If they digress, I progress, it's as simple as that, because I don't want to shuffle along looking at anyone's back.  This is fine behavior in New York, so I'm happy there!  In Baltimore, I feel judged at times for walking past someone on the stairs, even if they've been in no way inconvenienced by me.  It's a contemptuous look shot my way sometimes, like, "I was here first. How dare you overtake a fellow citizen at his or her chosen speed of stairway advancement?"  In New York it's all fair and no one cares.  I love it!  No one cares; do what you want.

I don't like to write blog posts that are too long, so I think I'll save for next time the fun story of what happened when I tried to share a table with someone; this is frowned upon anywhere, but even with my natural inclination of the-less-social-interaction-the better, I'll do it occasionally for pure practicality, because I'd like to sit down somewhere and I see an empty chair.  I got a little bit of a New-Yorker chew-out, but it was fine with me and I walked away chuckling.  I also have a home-based story to post soon about a chew-out I dished out to someone in Sam's Club.  Very uncharacteristic for me to do that (and it was really just a few short sentences), but Mrs. Nice Guy has limits and is nice when people seem worthy of the niceness (which is just about everyone, no qualifying needed; I'm just agreeable and generous by nature) but when someone asks for a favor and I determine that the grounds are frivolous and designed just to take advantage of me, they get to hear my succinctly-stated answer and they may not like it.

It's the Great Squash, Charlie Brown

This post is inspired by, and directed to, Sluggy, but anyone can read it.  Pretend you're outside my window as Sluggy and I slug coffee, and listen in! 

(Slugs - I backdated this to yesterday just to keep my NYC post on top because I thought it was more exciting than the anticipation of cutting into a squash.)

Do you want to hear something interesting I learned yesterday?  This started when I pondered what to do with a giant white pumpkin-like squash I have (we bought as a decoration but I like eating decorations.)  I am going to cook and puree it and make it into pie and other delectables.  Well, we wanted to know if it's a pumpkin or a squash, and Oldest College Boy who is also Junior Horticulturalist told us that all pumpkins are squashes and in fact, this one is a type of pumpkin.  We researched further and came to the conclusion that there are so many varieties of squashes that it doesn't matter what the damn they're called, really, does it?

I might be preaching to the choir, or rather, telling you something you already know, but here is the tidbit that bowled me over:  Someone on the interwebs who claims s/he grew up on a farm where people provided the following says that canned pumpkin (or what is marked as such) is really Hubbard squash.  Someone else said canned pumpkin is a blend of squashes based on whatever is cheap, whatever makes it look right, or whatever they can get their hands on and will taste pumpkin-y enough to satisfy people.  Also, since "pumpkin" is not a legal term, the same way "panther" is not a true variety of cat but rather a descriptor favored by people who don't care about formal classification, they can put pretty much any kind of gourd in there and call it whatever they want.

So, even though I don't like pumpkin pie, I can be altruistic enough to make it for other people, and I can make all sorts of bread (read: cake, that's what it really is, so let's call it what it is) and I'm sure everyone in this house will be eating the stuff for a year.  It's a 27-lb. "pumpkin" we have, and I can't wait to start slicing it up.

(These pics are not mine, but it gives you an idea of what I'll see when I dissect and disembowel it.)

Small problems

I'm glad my problems are so small, so I'm going to make a small post with small steps that may help me to make small amounts of progress at a time.  See my previous post in which I admitted that I have not made significant progress on my desk.  I am going to list a few areas in which I can make ANY progress at all, and check back later to measure improvements:

1. Reduce desk clutter by any amount
2. Put away clothes in bedroom monster pile and divert some of them to the give-away box
3. Move infrequently-worn coats out of tiny coat closet and hang up coats people wear daily or so
4. Get the kitchen even cleaner than it is, which means declutter the "bad counter."

That's all.  Nothing fancy or overly ambitious.  Over and out.

Update to the desk situation

I did make a little progress ripping up and disposing of six-month-old papers, but I haven't finished cleaning it.  In fact, it still looks much like the depicted version (see previous post.)  But I believe I will still get it cleaned, maybe even this weekend.  No promises, though.

I didn't want to leave everyone wondering what happened, and I didn't want anyone to think the desk will never be returned to a decent state.  It will; when, I cannot say.

Thanks for bearing with me, and maybe I'll have something more exciting to say soon.  Check my other blog for more material if you're desperate for reading.