IKEA: Shelve My Books without Shelving our Dreams

"So what went wrong?" I asked the woman in front of me in the line at IKEA. She was pushing a shiny white box with stainless feet and a couple of hinges. It looked sturdy, stylish but unfinished. 

"I'm building my own kitchen, one cabinet at a time. But this one has a broken piece, and I discovered it's out of stock. I can't get a replacement part, or another cabinet to match." 

Her kitchen will look like a seven year old with a gaping hole where a tooth should be. I did the mental math:  hundreds of screws attached to dozens of laminated boards multiplied by weeks of work equals a crisis.  "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet." I bet a woman bold enough to tackle such a DIY project has the ingenuity to solve the problem. 

I was glad I was only there to make an exchange. 

IKEA has taken "big box store" to a new level, three stories and enough walking to get your recommended 10,000  daily steps. Even if you don't want anything from there, it's worth seeing the phenomenon. I think Trump would call it "tremendous." 

Their rooms of coordinated furniture appeal to the pragmatist, the interior decorator on a budget, and the dreamers. The 615 square foot model house  tempts engaged couples to put the whole shebang on their registry. (If you didn't use the link, go back and see. This is IKEA genius.)

415,000 square feet of attractive displays teased me into thinking maybe I could make furniture hold together with pegs, those weird connectors (CAM lock nuts) and allen wrenches.  

But I know better. For example, my last DIY file cabinet looks pretty good, but a new gap has appeared between the right side and the drawers. Trying to move it, we lifted it by the top it came most of the way off. So why would I even consider more cheap book shelves and a TV console to replace the ones I didn’t move?

    1. My sons-in-law volunteered to put the kits together. They've had more experience, and they look good so far. (Still waiting on the exchange. I hope I don't turn out like the kitchen lady.) 

2.  If I buy IKEA we'll be able to afford a trip much more enjoyable than the Glover 2016-2017 escorted hospital tour of North Carolina and Colorado.

Thanks, IKEA. I can shelve our books without shelving our dreams. 

What Day is Valentine's Day This Year?

"What day is Valentine"s Day this year?" my husband asked, (the man remembers the birthdates of every other famous dead person imaginable.)   Our anniversary doesn't register with him either so celebrations are more surprise than certainty around here. 

Last year I was floored when he brought me a pot of tulips wrapped in red cellophane. So pleased he remembered I didn't care if the date was off.  He confessed his pickle ball partner's husband brought her the same and it gave him the idea.




Meanwhile, I had arranged for us to take advantage of Valentine's Day at our local upscale winery.  During a leisurely afternoon we savored tapas paired with generous glasses of their wines. Rolling hills, our friends Wallye and Gordy's amiable company, and weather warm enough to finish off our wine outside made the day perfect.



Today Wallye sent photos of a terrific looking lunch and I wondered where and why she was indulging in a deluxe meal on a Friday afternoon. Was it a special occasion? About an hour later I realized it was early Valentine's luncheon at Jolo's again this year. 

A year and fifteen hundred miles later, there's no classy winery less than a three hour drive. Post Valentine's Day we'll substitute with lunch at a positively critiqued Polish restaurant and call it good. 

We'll miss our friends, and the ambiance can't possibly compare, but I'm counting on cabbage, sausage, and pierogi to make it memorable. 

 I hope you'll have a Happy Valentine's Day--whenever you celebrate it. 

 How will you and your honey proclaim your love?

Outsource Responsibility

Skimming an article about choosing healthy snacks, a psychologist used the term "outsource responsibility." Students were given a choice of serve-yourself snacks, or ready-to-go portions. 

“If they’re served by someone else, they can outsource responsibility to someone else. But if they serve themselves, they have to accept responsibility and that makes them feel bad.” 

I stopped, went back and read again, and decided she was really saying they could blame somebody else for their choice. I find the double speak disturbing. 

When I damaged our car (see Jan 23rd post on this blog) I tried to outsource responsibility. In a voice squeakier than the meeting of garage frame and car door, I asked my parking tutor,why he didn't tell me to stop when he heard screeching metal. The unspoken message was that if he had done more, I'd have done less damage. But I was the one driving, and I did the scraping. He didn't let me put the blame on him.

We've heard children shuck responsibility. And it starts early. this video clip of a two and a half year old shows how far we go to avoid responsibility.

Yet, it is foundational to healthy adult interactions, and thus a healthy society. 

Children have to be taught to not "outsource responsibility."  As teachers we've already seen a huge shift towards this warped thinking. Too many kids have excuses for unfinished work, late work, no work, and worst of all, aggressive behavior. Their parents don't hold them responsible. Shirking comes from immaturity and wanting to be liked instead of doing the hard work of forming their kid's character.

The school is left trying to enforce standards that wobble like jello instead of resting firmly on concrete.

Add to shirking our culture's confusion between discernment and censure. If we don't place blame, we avoid any chance that we are "judging" someone. The ancient Greeks had it right in that they had two different words which were translated as judge (verb). One word meant to decide an action should be censured.  

However, if we evaluate the consequences of an action, and use discernment, we are using the other Greek concept. Literally it means to separate, and indicates discrimination of thought, seeing distinctions. Once evaluated, some behaviors should be rejected.

If we begin to make someone else responsible for our choices, good or bad, we lose our sense of efficacy. If somebody else is to blame for what I've done, I have no agency, no power. And I believe that what happens to me is out of my control. 

That's a sad way to live. 

Scylla and Charybdis

Scylla and Charybdis live in my garage. More accurately, getting into my garage is sort of like Odysseus trying to get past the two monsters at sea.

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Quick refresher of Homer's classic:  Odysseus had to sail past Charybdis, a nymph-turned-whirlpool. Opposite  the violent eddy was another nymph turned into a ship-destroying, sailor-munching monster. 

My twin dangers are a very narrow garage door, and the small strait between the two facing garage buildings. I have scraped past Scylla, but not unscathed. Despite Bill's driving lesson, I fused the white garage paint to the grey body of the car while it squealed.

ouch

It's a good metaphor for the spring-summer-fall-winter of our distress. Circumstances squeezed us. We got beat up some. There was squealing. But we could have been altogether wrecked. 

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Odysseus lost the ship to the whirlpool but saved himself. Then, when the pool tossed the ship back up to the surface he snagged it and escaped. Rescued by deus ex machina.
    

We didn't count on improbable theatrics (the ex machina part) to save us, but on God and our support groups.  To those who doubt prayer's efficacy, I argue it's got to be more reliable than a belching vortex.

If you've been in a tight spot, I'd like to hear your story. Share your dents, missing paint, and the rescue.  You don't have to be Homer to encourage us. 

Too Much Time in the Hospital - the Top Ten

so ugly I made Bill model it

You've spent too much time in hospitals when: 

1. You think Medicare should allow valet tipping as a payable expense.

2. As soon as you get to the front doors your brain tells your body you crave a mocha. And you know which franchise operates there.

3. You ask for a better room based on your frequent malady points.

4.  You hope for a room away from the nurse's station.

5. You don't expect a nurse to come running when you hit the call button.

wiiiiide wheelchair

6. Even your adult children think the attending physician appears to be eighteen years old.

7. The grandkids stop for pea-sized crushed ice on their way to your room, then critique the room's size, view, decor, and bathroom.

8. You know how to unplug the IV cart and get yourself to the bathroom. 

9. You finally remember to order condiments so you don't have to eat fries without ketchup or drink black coffee.

10. You re-gift skid-proof hospital socks at the holiday white elephant exchange. 


Do you have any to add? 

Downsized Space, Upsized Attitude

New year, new home. We've moved into our new condo, which is 1/1000 of the space (indoor and out) that we had in North Carolina. That is downsizing!

We have furniture we have to sell or donate. And I'm ready for my third run to Goodwill with  leftover household goods.

We've had to downsize our outside space too. The garages are one large building with a row of doors into narrow parking spots. I've scraped the white paint off of the door frame onto our car trying to get into it. Our personal outdoor space is a concrete slab large enough for my potting bench and a small table and chairs. But the HOA won't let me me install my wonderful washing machine-converted-to-sink outside.

We face a green area between buildings that is smaller than our former front yard. While I will enjoy the trees leafing out and the roses blooming, I will miss my former view. My eye had an unimpeded view across the flower beds to the pine trees at the road 300 feet away. From my desk I watched the flowering spring trees go through their cycles.

canine traffic jam

The desk got left behind (it never would have fit!) and I've taken a space near our big bedroom window for my morning reading and writing. The first morning I sat down with my cup of mocha, watched the geese v-ing to ponds that lie beyond. Movement in my peripheral vision interrupted my reverie. Who was walking in "my" yard?   A bundled up senior citizen strolled behind a little dog. And there were more, and more. My thinking time and space were invaded by strangers left, right and center.

I've gone from living in my personal park to being on the doggie commute route. After the first flash of irritation I turned the parade into a list of owner-pet entities.  Shrouded in down jackets and hats, the people are difficult to differentiate. So I identify them by their dogs. There's the pug lady, the woman with a pair of big black canines, a mutt overdressed in a jacket with a faux fur collar, the red coat dog, the pajama guy ambling by with his cup of coffee in one hand, leash in the other, the scruffy hound whose owner needs a shave, and a fuzzball waddling as slowly as its aged owner.

I feel like I've been dropped into a reality show, maybe "Life Swap." I'd like my old life back, but that won't happen even if I win the million dollars.

So I doggedly plug away at accepting what is.

This quote helps me refocus.  "...gather up the fragments of your life and give them to Jesus, and He will make sure that nothing is wasted. Refuse to think about what you have lost; instead inventory what you have left and use it with a thankful heart." Joyce Mayer.

The process of shrinking my domain may expand my capacity for gratitude and flexibility. Perhaps there are unexpected blessings waiting for me in this new life. Downsizing space may result in an upsized attitude.

Homeless a little longer

We joke that we've been homeless for for five months. Actually we've been guests.  While we're immensely grateful,  it is hard work. 

We conform to the toddler's early rising, the big kids' Friday night sleep overs, sharing the kitchen and not grumbling about the menu choices. 

Being part of a larger, busier family empties my reserves of flexibility. It's like living in a dorm. But now I'm way too old for the free-flow. 

My perspective is decidedly selfish. I want to brew tea in my teapot. The family's Pandora radio station sounds like Muzak. I sigh to myself when all of the muffins I made yesterday are gone this morning. I'm no longer amused when somebody "borrows" the bathroom space heater. 

For months life has felt like jumping from ice floe to ice floe. We need an anchor. We long for our old routines and leisurely quiet mornings. We miss taking care of just ourselves.

The need for the structure independent living affords is great:  my chores, my way of doing them, maintaining our sanctuary.

Looming cancer treatment and whatever toll it will take on my husband make us feel it's imperative to find "home." It's urgent we create a new normal. 

Most of the future is unsure, beyond our control, rendering us helpless to make long term plans. When we move into our condo next week we hope it will be a fortress where we regain energy for the tough times ahead.

Craving routine is normal. Blogger Brianna Wiest said "The point is not what the routine consists of, but how steady and safe your subconscious mind is made through repetitive motion and expected outcomes." 

Having a few expected outcomes--finding the muffin is still there, that there's hot water for my shower, sounds good. I can't wait.