Tools

I love tools.  If given a choice between a hardware store and a dress shop, I choose the hardware store every time.  I'm a sucker for drill bit sets and love the new cordless power tools.  Someday I'm going to own my own nail gun.

This love of tools came early.  My dad could fix and build just about anything around the house. In fact, he built our first TV while he was in college.  He  also excelled at drafting my brothers and me as his helpers. ( I understand grunts because of this.)  He believed that if something broke, a person should at least try to fix it before calling a repairman.

This philosophy stood me in good stead when I became a single parent and responsible for the upkeep of our home.  I followed his advice and that of a Reader's Digest book on home repair and tackled almost every job in the house. I can fix and install garbage disposals, snake out any type of drain, repair the innards of a toilet, take apart a dryer and put it back together, hang doors, repair sheetrock, tape and bed sheetrock, paint, hang wallpaper, lay tile, and handle minor car maintenance. Once I took the spring off of a garage door before I realized that it could be a little dangerous.  I can work on electrical appliances but I've never worked on outlets, even with the current off.  I will at least try almost any job.  My younger daughter owns a house and I'm thinking I might pour concrete this summer for a small patio.  My dad was an ace at concrete.

All three of my children can handle tools.  My older daughter is the least interested and probably has the least need. My son is quite capable but he probably has the least time to spend on home repairs and/or improvements.  My younger daughter, on the other hand, proudly follows her
grandfather's example.  She recently bought a new washer, hauled it home and installed it herself.  She then took the knobs off her old washer and transferred them to her dryer before kicking the old washer to the curb. 

Not too long ago she snaked out a toy comb from the toilet in her daughter's bathroom. And she learned the trick of using a potato to twist out part of a broken light bulb from the socket.  In college, she was her group's auto expert because she could install a new battery at the drop of a hat.  She even wore her safety vest. 

And now a third fourth generation seems to share this same love.  My three-and-a-half year old granddaughter plays with her wooden toy set for hours when she is at my house.  I have a lightweight hammer that she can use when we do "real" work.  She can use a screwdriver correctly but I have to watch her because she likes to use it on all sorts of things.  She wields a wicked pair of clippers when we work outside.

She concentrates on her work with her tongue between her teeth.  Again just following the family tradition.

Refrigerator genetics

Mr. Darnell taught my 10th grade biology class where I first became fascinated by Mendel and his peas.  And until my fruit flies died my freshman year of college, I wanted to be a genetic researcher.  After the fruit flies, I decided I didn't want a career that might be dependent on insects and spent in basement labs but I never really gave up my fascination for genetics.  I still use what I know as a diversion when I'm in class that fails to hold my attention.  I decide on a set number of couples stranded on a deserted island then figure out how many generations it would take before everyone was related to everyone else.

While I think mapping the human genome is a wonderful thing and learning the genetic roots of many diseases, I think it might be time to check out how genetics might affect more social/personal issues.  Take for example, the refrigerator.

I take a bare minimalist view to my refrigerator.  I like to be able to see everything as well as the shelves.  Everyone else in my family seem to love a full to the brim refrigerator. I approach their refrigerators with dread because I never know where something will be and how much I may have to move before I find what I wanted and there is always the risk of finding something distasteful that they have saved. (Distasteful due to my own food issues, not that they don't keep a clean refrigerator!) Now before you point out that I live alone and need only food for one person while the other refrigerators may serve families, please know that my mother keeps and my grandmother kept a full refrigerator after being widowed.

So is there a genetic connection that makes hunting in a refrigerator abhorrent to me?  A recessive gene that found its place within my being.  Is it connected to the gene that makes me feel no redeeming virtue in cleaning my house?  When my mother, daughter, aunt, and cousin all exclaim how good it makes them feel when their house is clean, all I can think of is how much time was wasted.  Just as there are genetic combinations that lead to blue eyes instead of brown, maybe there is also a genetic combination that leads to reading instead of cleaning.  Just as I can't roll my tongue or whistle, I could blame my needing a clear view inside my refrigerator to the recessive genes of my parents.

Lottery Logic

I play the lottery.  Just the Texas Lotto on Wednesdays and Saturdays and not every Wednesday and Saturday.  My purchase must conform to my own guiding principles.

l.  I play when I'm really struggling or really thriving.  I think about the post-win interview and think these two situations offer the best scenarios.  "Gosh, I really wasn't sure if I could make it to the end of the month and then I won the lottery!" Or "Life is wonderful.  I have a great job, family and friends so winning the lottery is like the cherry on top of the sundae!" If things are horrible, I don't play and if life is just okay, I don't play.  The interviews wouldn't be as good.

2. I play a set of numbers that I've used for years.  Obviously these are not my lucky numbers since I've never won anything with them.  If I stopped playing them and they hit, I'd feel a fool.

3. To balance out my personal set of numbers, I buy a quick pick (where the computer gives me the numbers) because I read that quick picks win more often. I usually pay for one quick pick since all it takes is one to win.  When I'm feeling really lucky, I buy a second one.

4. Going back to the interview scenario, I never say I don't know what I will do with all that money or that it wouldn't change me.  I always know how I will spend/donate/invest every cent of the jackpot.  And, while I don't think it will change my personality or my relationships, I hope it will change my lifestyle, my travel opportunities and my retirement.  Why play if there weren't going to be changes?

5. When the jackpot reaches crazy amounts ($100+ million), I don't play.  Such amounts just seem beyond the realm of dreams and I'm not willing to compete with the people who spend huge amounts of money on tickets.  Of course, I mentally work the math so I know how I would be use the money.  Just to keep in practice.

Starbucks Syndrome

I love Starbucks. When a friend introduced me to the delights of chocolate, milk, coffee and whipped cream, I fell hard. And my devotion has never wavered.  I love the drive-thrus, the running in mid-morning for a pick-me-up, and the cozy Saturday mornings reading a good book in store.

So when I needed a second job a few years ago, I did what I always advise any out-of-work person, I applied at Starbucks.  And was hired.  Excited at the chance to be part of a customer's Starbuck's experience, I eagerly donned the uniform green apron.

The job sucked.  Not fun at all.  Very little interaction with the customers and not anything close to what I imagined.  Where as a customer I savored the experience, I now rushed from one task to the other. Many nights I sat in my care before driving home and cried.  Every bone connected to my spinal cord hurt.

Plus I came to believe that Starbucks was more than a company, it was a cult. We members wore uniforms, learned a secret language (Starbucks has an acronym for everything) and studied all things coffee.  I attended training sessions in a secure room (special code and everything) with an instructor that said "okay" every 15 seconds. 

After six weeks I quit.  I still love being a customer and, because of the experience, I developed the concept of the Starbucks Syndrome.  This syndrome manifests itself when a job I think will be wonderful ends up as an epic fail.  I wish I could say working at Starbucks was my only experience with this condition but it isn't.

After law school, I earned the chance to work with one of my idols.  The first nine months were wonderful.  I loved the work we did.  I loved listening to her talk.  My other co-workers were funny and caring.  Our clients were inspirational. And then the Starbucks Syndrome kicked in and I found my main job to be watering the upstairs plants (it was a home office) with constant direction. Not anything close to what I had imagined.  I hung in for nine more months and then left with a glad heart.

Now I'm looking for my next best opportunity.  I still believe in dream jobs.  I am just a little more realistic in my dreams.

Sixty

I've been sixty for about five hours now and so far it has been great.  I am optimistic about the whole year being great.  New opportunities.  New places to go.  New people to meet.  And more time with Miss K.

I Am

A person who suffers from depression.  Major Depression Disorder to be exact and it has had a hold on me for the last eight weeks.  Not fun. Not fun at all. Most of the time some external conflict triggers my depression but this time it was just me.  We (my doctor and I) thought I was doing so well eight weeks ago that we would try reducing one of my medicines.  The one that causes weight gain and we were going to start small, like 13 mg small.  After the first week I knew something was wrong but thought I needed more time to adjust to the smaller dose.  By the end of the second week, I heard voices and went right back on my regular dose.  Things did not improve (except I stopped hearing voices).  My doctor and therapist couldn't make sense of how bad I continued to feel.  So I visited my family doctor's PA and found out my thyroid wasn't working.  That was two weeks ago.  Since then I have been on my regular dose of antidepressants plus an slight increase in one plus Ambien plus synthroid plus an antibiotic because I also have a kidney infection. 

Monday I knew I was improving.  Tuesday dawned joyous and remained that way.  Wednesday I couldn't stay awake and Thursday I felt a little desperate.  Today was better - not as good as Tuesday but better than the other days.  I hope I continue on the uphill climb.

Generations

My children are very close to my mother.  In fact, Grackie (as they call her) has a very special place in the hearts of all of her grandchildren.  She deserves it because she has unconditionally loved all of them.  Now there are great-grandchildren and, while I cannot speak for the ones in Georgia, I know that her Texas grandchild is equally in love with her.  All trips for Kadyn are "trips to Grackie" and she is so excited when she finally is at Grackie's house.  They have their own little games they play - like picking up rocks in the front yard and stacking the green marble coasters. 

I'm glad these three are in my life.