It Could Have Been Worse

You ever have one of those days where things don’t go the way you planned? Well, besides every day, I mean. We plan, God laughs – right?

That pretty much sums up my month so far. July has been…um…interesting.

Like the other day, for instance. I was straightening up the house, putting things away and just sort of moving from room to room putting things in order. I walked into the master bathroom with a giant package of toilet paper and added rolls to the toilet paper holder thingie and then walked into the half bath to do the same.

Only as I pulled the last roll of toilet paper out of the package, I fumbled it directly into the toilet.

Um. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.

I was laughing at myself because I’ve never done this before. And then I had to take a photo of it. While trying to press the button on my camera, I nearly dropped my phone into the toilet, too.

It was then I decided I’d best back slowly out of the bathroom with expensive cell phone firmly in hand.

I knew, of course, that I’d have to go back in again with a plastic bag to pull the sopping wet roll of toilet paper out of the commode and dispose of it.

But first I put the cell phone down.

So while I was shaking my head and rolling my eyes at my boneheaded move, I was also thinking it could’ve been worse.

I mean, that could have been the last roll of toilet paper in the house.

So I was grateful.

I recently wrote a blog about my runaway dog, Maggie, who took advantage of my distracted-ness and made a break for it while I was picking up her, uh, deposit from the neighbor’s lawn. I got her back, but only after a thorough tour of all the back yards in the neighborhood – as well as the neighboring neighborhoods.

What I neglected to say in that blog was it was the first time I’d lost Miss Maggie Minx. Usually it’s someone else in the household who is the one chasing her – not me.

So I can no longer be smug about that.

But what’s worse is that I lost her again last week!

I had her tied up on her run outside while I did some household chores that make her crazy – like carrying the laundry basket into the laundry room to do a load of darks. And like sweeping the kitchen floor with the broom. She barks like a mad dog. And don’t even get me started talking about the vacuum cleaner or the blender. Actual appliances with noise make her completely insane.

Anyway, once the broom and the basket were put away, I went out to unhook Maggie from her run…only I somehow fumbled the little football. And she got loose. And took off like a shot.

For a half a second, I debated about letting her run and waiting for her to tire and come back home…but as that has never happened before, I decided I would have to go on the hunt.  Besides, I would never forgive myself if she were to get hit by a car. Seriously. I don’t think I could survive that.

But, anyway. I had no earthly idea where she had gone.

So I grabbed her leash and some doggie treats – and got in my car to drive slowly around the neighborhood looking for the little runaway.

I alerted our lawn guy who was working down the street (and who is familiar with Maggie) and then decided to drive to the neighboring blocks to see if she had gotten that far away.

No such luck.

After driving around for a while without success, I headed back to my street. By the time I returned home, the cleaning company was in my driveway so I had to get them squared away. And then I got a text from the lawn guy saying there was a Maggie sighting in our cul-de-sac.

So I headed that way. By now there were several neighbors with some of their dogs on leashes trying to entice Maggie to stop and play so we could catch her. Again, no luck.

Finally, after nearly an hour on the run (in 90 degree heat), Maggie headed back toward home. And – thankfully – she decided to stop for a drink out of the bowl of water I’d left in the yard for her. As she greedily lapped at the cool water, I reached down and snatched her up.

And promptly put her in her crate (with some more water) so we could all recover.

Yeesh.

My recovery involved heading to the pool and floating around the lazy river in my raft. It was either that or some retail therapy and I wasn’t in an Amazon frame of mind. 

I was relieved and frazzled at the same time. Yet I knew it could have been far worse.

I could have spent the next several days searching for Maggie and contacting area shelters and humane societies and praying that someone would return her to us.

So I was again grateful.

And I’ve vowed to be more careful when I’m carrying things like toilet paper and Yorkies. I’m not a big fan of the fumble. I don’t have that kinda time. 

Today's Super Disgusting Chore

I have all sorts of things on my To-Do list today, yet I have only managed to cross off a couple things from the list.

One of those things was to pick up the dead squirrel off our patio.

I don’t know why there was a dead squirrel on our patio. I don’t think it was Maggie’s doing as that squirrel was pretty much torn apart and Maggie hasn’t been outside on her own long enough this season to cause such carnage.

I thought about waiting until Vince could handle the Squirrel Removal Chore, but that won’t be until Sunday and I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at night knowing there was a dead squirrel on our patio.

Interestingly, I haven’t yet managed the “Pick up laundry detergent and dog food” chore today, but I HAVE picked up the dead squirrel.

Major score in Jane’s Domain!

Of course, picking up a dead squirrel required donning a hazmat suit and taking a lot of deep breaths. There was involuntary arm flapping and full body shuddering accompanied by the inevitable look of horror on my face while performing the chore, but I always think it’s best not to have stipulations on HOW I’m supposed to perform any chore on my list.

Otherwise, I’d never manage the “Scoop up kitty litter without grimacing” chore.

Yeah, if you know me at all, you know I’m a little squeamish.

“A little”? Puh-leaze. I’m so squeamish that I need a big ol’ wad of paper towels just to pick up a dead fly.

Oh, and by the way, I wasn’t really wearing a hazmat suit when I picked up the dead squirrel, but I WAS wearing Vince’s gardening gloves and had paper towels in my hands as well as several plastic bags within bags – for reinforcement purposes. The gardening gloves went into the trash after I was finished.

Guess I need to add “buy new gardening gloves” to my list, don’t I?

This reminds me of the day last fall after walking Maggie when we had another ordeal. We were on our way up the sidewalk to the front door when Maggie darted into the bushes. Maggie is usually focused on getting back inside once she knows her walk is done so she can scarf down her doggie treat, but not this time.

When she emerged from the bushes, she had a BIRD in her mouth. I mean, there were tail feathers sticking out of my little Yorkie’s mouth and everything!

I shrieked. And I yanked at her harness hoping to dislodge the bird.

Phhht. Like that worked.

My neighbor, Suzy, who was on her way home with her two sweet little Shih Tzu pups (who would NEVER harm a bird), asked me what I was shrieking about.

I managed to babble the words “bird” and “mouth” – but I was incapable of speaking in coherent sentences.

Suzy, who is NOT squeamish, calmly handed me her dogs’ leashes and grabbed Maggie’s. She was trying to get Maggie to open her mouth, but Maggie started growling at her and wouldn’t let go of the bird.

Both Suzy and I needed to get our dogs inside and then leave for work as we had seasonal jobs at the cookie factory together. So time was of the essence here.

Finally, I came up behind Maggie and picked her up, which startled her and caused her to drop the bird out of her mouth.

I have never been so relieved. Or so completely grossed out.

Sadly, little Tweety didn’t make it.

Our other neighbor told me the next day she heard the commotion and, once she realized it was a bird, said she thought it was probably the bird that had flown into her kitchen window – so it was probably injured, if not already dead.

It made me realize that my cute little dog is an animal (ha) when it comes to prey like birds and squirrels. So when she lunges after those critters, she is seriously trying to catch them. And if she ever does catch them, she seriously means business.

I guess it behooves me to protect those little critters, huh? Either that, or I’ll be scooping them off the patio.

Maybe I’d better go buy a multi-pack of gardening gloves. Just to be safe.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to do some more chores. Thank goodness the "drop the cable box off at the UPS Store" requires no grimacing. Or hazmat suits.

The True Tale of the Lousy Lasagna

In my defense, my lasagna didn't look THIS bad.

It is a well-known fact in the world of Jane’s Domain that I’m not much of a cook. I’m more of a “side dish to the party” kinda person. And if you need a homemade dip and a box of crackers, I’m your go-to gal.

But meal-making is not my forte.

Usually there is one dish even non-Marthas or Giadas can make. Non-cooks call the dish their “specialty” and will make this dish whenever they are called upon to cook for people.

I, too, have one of those dishes. My “specialty” is lasagna.

Or – at least – it was.

True, my lasagna will never win any awards. I use store-bought sauce and I haven’t yet mastered the art of mixing egg and ricotta to any sort of useful consistency. So I use shredded mozzarella – lots of shredded mozzarella.

Thus, I have never made lasagna for anyone of true Italian descent. They would scoff and turn up their nose at my lasagna and might even say a bad word in Italian.

Well, I have two words for you mean Italian people: Chef Boyardee.

My lasagna is better than his. That’s all I’m saying. Now stop gesturing at me.

But my dad used to tell me he loved my lasagna. He used to request that I make it whenever he and my mom visited. And he used to rave that it was better than any lasagna he ordered in real Italian restaurants.

And, okay, so my dad was Polish. What did he know? Plus, maybe he just didn’t like going out to restaurants every time they visited and he was humoring me.

Nevertheless, I was thrilled that I actually made some food that someone in my family considered a favorite.

So I’ve made lasagna over the years a LOT. About a month ago I even made a small pan of it for some neighbors who were sick and the “chefs” in the neighborhood (I loosely added myself to that group), took turns making them a hot meal.

My lasagna looked and smelled heavenly. I can only assume it tasted as good as it smelled as I thought it would be a little rude to cut a big square out of it to sample beforehand.

So, since I hadn’t had any of that lasagna and I hadn’t made it for us in a long while, I decided to make a large pan for dinner last week. Vince’s son-in-law, Dan, has been staying with us while he is doing a rotation at OSU hospital on his way to earning his MD. So his days are long and start somewhere around 5 am.

Which, in my opinion, is a preposterous hour to have to start one’s day.

I figured I would make a pan of lasagna so he could have something hot to eat for dinner. And it could easily be warmed up later for Vince when he finally arrived home from work.

Since the advent of lasagna noodles that don’t require boiling beforehand, making lasagna isn’t as arduous a process as it once was. When I bought the noodles this time, I found a cheaper package at the store and picked it up.

In retrospect, this was perhaps my first mistake. I didn’t think the type or manufacturer of lasagna noodle would matter so much. But apparently it does.

And I also didn’t buy enough mozzarella since I thought I had a partial package at home.

Not so much.

Those two errors were my lasagna downfall. It was horrible. It was dry. And okay, so I admit it – it was basically inedible.

But Dan struggled through his plate of lasagna. And to his credit he didn’t make gagging noises or anything.

So I didn’t even know how bad it was until later when I had my own square of lasagna with Vince.

I was horrified! I mean, I was serving inedible food to our house guest. And he didn’t even know the difference – it’s not like he’s ever had my lasagna before so he would know that this time was a fluke.

So now someone else thinks I’m a lousy cook.

I tried to eat another square of the lasagna the next day for lunch, but took one bite and put my fork down. And then I got up and proceeded to toss the entire rest of the pan into the garbage.

And Vince didn’t even protest over the waste – that’s how bad the lasagna was!

Now my confidence is shaken and I’m afraid I no longer have a go-to dish.

You know – maybe I’ve given short shrift to ol’ Chef Boyardee. Maybe his lasagna isn’t as bad as I remember.

And let’s just hope all my neighbors stay healthy for a while. Unless they’re okay with eating homemade dip and crackers through their convalescence?

Time To Hit the Reset Button

I’m a writer. I’ve always been a writer. As a kid, I remember writing plays to entertain my classmates in grade school. The particular one I’m thinking about was one I wrote in the fourth grade. I don’t remember the plot, but I do remember that the story ended rather abruptly. It wasn’t because I ran out of ideas or couldn’t come up with an ending, but more because I didn’t have access to either a mimeograph or copy machine and I had to hand write copies of the play for all the actors.  I figured my hand would fall off from all that writing if I didn’t end the story pretty quickly.

Back in the day I used to physically write letters. You know – take pen to paper and all that? I do not know how that hasn’t come back to hit me in the carpal tunnel, given that my letters could run on to six pages or more.

Before there were word processors, there were typewriters. But I bypassed the typewriter era and continued to hand write letters to friends and family because, well, mostly because I wanted to avoid sending missives with big blotches of White-Out all over them. Plus, the only typewriter I had was a manual, and it was impossible to keep a halfway decent manicure what with the constant striking of keys with my fingertips.

But once computers came out, boy, I went to town. I wrote letters. Long letters. I wrote a journal, printed it out and kept it in 3-ring binders. I wrote stories. And articles for my college newspaper.  I wrote funny birthday announcements for my department at work and every month I tried to top the previous month by writing something even more clever.

And in the past few years, I’ve written long emails to keep in touch with the people in my life. I’ve written blogs for both work and pleasure. And stories for kids.

So I’m a writer.

But for the past few months, I’ve written very little. Sure, I’d send out the occasional email. But they weren’t like previous notes I’d sent. I didn’t type any letters or send any cards. And I couldn’t even think of a single subject to blog about.

But now I’m thinking it’s time to hit the Reset Button. I need to write. I feel like I’m stagnating. Because, for me, the very act of writing feeds my creativity and then I think of even more things to write about. And my sense of humor flourishes when I look for things to write about that make me laugh. Even if they’re small things.

So it may be that nobody even remembers I used to write a blog called “Jane’s Domain.”  After all, it has been over four months since my last one. I know I’ve gotten some encouraging feedback from loyal readers in the past, so I have to think there may still be some interest.   

Because I have plans for the future that involve writing and I need to start.

Like. Right. Now.  

Um, well…maybe tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not procrastinating. Honest. I mean, I really do have another blog in the pipeline already.  It’s just that I can’t put out two blogs in one day. So you’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow and I promise I’ll post another one. This is called a “tease.”  But come back tomorrow, okay?  Please?!

Thanks, folks.  See you tomorrow!

The New Holiday Schedule in Jane’s Domain

I’m glad we celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. and his contribution to civil rights and all. But I’m a little peeved that I have never ever, in my entire working life, gotten the day off. Nor do I get to stay home and sleep in on President’s Day or Columbus Day or Veteran’s Day or even Arbor Day. (By the way, what is Arbor Day and do we still celebrate it?)

Vince didn’t work today because Columbus city schools are closed. They seem to be closed a lot – from my perspective, anyway – and he just got back to work after a two week break. My vacation allotment for the entire year is two weeks. And I do not get summers off either.

So is it wrong that I’m totally jealous that he had the day off and I had to work? Probably. But then, I get jealous when a girlfriend buys a new pair of really cute shoes and I’m still wearing last season’s flats.

Probably I should stop thinking of these national holidays as opportunities to sleep in and should instead think about what the day is all about and why we have a national holiday to celebrate it.

Yeah, sure. While I am certain there are some people who had the day off who did just that, my guess is that there were a whole lot more people who used it as an excuse to sleep in.

There are far too many of us out there who never get any holidays off other than your traditional Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas.

So I think we should start a new calendar and fill it with some brand new holidays. (This new calendar, unfortunately, will not be open to any city or state employees, anyone who works at a bank or the Post Office, or any school employees who have at least one day off every other week and all summer. I’m sorry to be exclusionary, but you people have far too much time off during the year anyway.)

So, let’s see. What should we celebrate? Okay, well, for starters, we could take the third Friday of January off for…uh, “National It’s Too Frickin’ Cold” Day. This holiday will be reserved strictly for those states that post Wind Chill Factors from November through March.

For all other states, there will be a corresponding holiday on the third Friday of August called “National It’s Too Frickin’ Hot” Day. Heat indexes must reach 100 before a state can legally celebrate this holiday.

People taking these holidays off will reserve one moment of silence in gratitude that they don’t have to get ready for work, slide onto the seat of their car and either (a) experience frostbite to their nether regions until the bun warmers kick in, or (b) suffer third degree burns to the back of their knees from the superheated plastic on the edge of their car seats.

March 15 will no longer be called the Ides of March because nobody knows what that means anymore. Julius who? No, instead, henceforth this day will be called the “Halfway Holiday” as it is approximately halfway between New Year’s and Memorial Day. Plus, it’s still Too Frickin’ Cold in the Midwest, so I’m sure those of us who live here will appreciate yet another day we don’t have to shovel snow to get out of our driveways.

One month later, April 15th, would be another very good day to reserve as a National Holiday (in Jane’s Domain, anyway). I don’t know about you, but that day can be quite taxing. If we take that day off, we can go shopping and spend our tax rebates. This would be good for the economy, right? Or, if we actually owe the IRS money, we can spend the day figuring out how to come up with the dough. I would not recommend robbing a bank to procure the funds, but you should note that banks WILL be open on April 15th because, remember, this is not a sanctioned holiday for bank employees.

I think this is a good start. I need to come up with ideas for May through December, but this is a work in progress and I’m willing to put some extra thought into the project.

Meanwhile, I’m going to request off for Arbor Day 2011. Maybe I’ll plant a tree or something. Or whatever it is you’re supposed to do on Arbor Day.

PS, I have to give credit where credit is due. My loving husband Vince did NOT sleep in this morning. Instead, he got up and cooked breakfast for me and went to the trouble of making me a latte because he knows I like them much better than plain ol’ coffee. So while I’m still jealous he had the day off, I’m grateful to have such a great guy in my life.