Plastic Chairs

Day 80: Plastic Chairs

My poor father-in-law was sitting in this chair yesterday when it
collapsed in the middle of the party. Luckily, he wasn't injured.
I promised my father I would get rid of all of these chairs today.
They are 15 years old, but I thought they were in good shape. My bad.

I now know what it feels like to be completely, utterly, overwhelmingly surprised. Yesterday was Emma's (and her friend Francesca's) graduation party at our house. It was a day of cleaning, organizing, preparing food, running errands, fielding text messages and phone calls, moving furniture, washing glasses, wiping counters, arranging flowers, weeding the cracks in the sidewalks. What if no one comes? What if we run out of food? What if we run out of ice? What if we run out of chairs? What if the teenagers sneak beer? What should we do about the dog? The peeling paint on the front porch? The flowers already fading in the vases? Should we park the cars in the driveway or on the street? 

I can't help it. I'm a worrier.

So when Rich came back from Ali Baba's with a car full of catered food and asked me to help unload it, I was annoyed. Sam was helping unload. Jane was helping unload. I was busy folding towels. Hanging curtains (yes, that's right, hanging curtains). Hiding stuff in drawers. Sweeping the floor. But he insisted.

OMG! Sarah was waiting for me on the front porch! OMG! My oldest, closest friend, the keeper of my memories, whom I met on the first day of high school, whom I've traveled with, lived with, commiserated with, talked with, yelled at, laughed at, laughed with, cried with for decades since. I never thought I'd see her here, in Ann Arbor, on my own front porch. OMG! Tears flowed, and it was a half an hour before my heart rate slowed down.

Which is probably why, three hours later, with the party in full swing, I didn't even recognize Miranda, my other closest beloved friend. (Yes, I have more than one closest friend. I do.) It was just too much to take in. And then they were both here for the party, with my best Ann Arbor friends, all together, here, in my house, with my in-laws, my siblings, my parents, my husband, my children and my best friends. And Rich arranged all this! For me! For my birthday! And he invited them and they came! OMG!

Refrigerator Decor

Day 79: Refrigerator Decor

Before

After

I've often heard my mother lament that magnets won't stick to her stainless steel refrigerator. Sticking stuff to your refrigerator is as American as -- well, you know. Kid art, photos, reminders, favorite cartoons, magnetic poetry, magnetic paperdolls, magnetic advertisements, coupons, take-out menus, shopping lists, phone numbers, notes to each other. Our refrigerators have got it all.

My refrigerator has got too much. I haven't culled in years. 

The magnetic white board idea never panned out. As soon as you used the last of something, you were meant to write it on the list. The first week, I felt awkward carrying a white board around Kroger's. After the second week, no one wrote anything on it. This was about a year ago. Then, a month ago, Emma wrote "Gone 2 gym." No one noticed.

Lucky I picked today for culling. Amid the chaos was a packet of orientation materials, including a parking permit and a health form, for our freshman orientation trip to Ball State the week after next.

We'll rank higher on the feng shui scorecard with the refrigerator in its current pared-down iteration. Someday I'll throw sentiment to the wind and clear it all away. After all, I've got a photographic record.

But not today.

Sam's cartoon exactly captures the esprit of high school.
Student (in tears): "I finished."
Captain Red Pen - Destroyer of Grades: "Not good enough. You fail. Have fun working at McDonald's."
Second student (also in tears): "I was supposed to go to Berkeley."

Patrick and Other Toys

Day 78: Patrick and Other Toys

I like Patrick and SpongeBob. Squidward. Mr. Krabs. SpongeBob is such a cheerful sort, how can you not like him? Who wouldn't want to live in a pineapple under the sea? With Garry?

Today, Emma received a senior arts award, the first celebration to kick off a weekend of graduation festivities. Yesterday, Sam passed his driver's test. For me, the first big transition in life was when I left home for university. Emma is embarking on that transition right now. 

The second big transition for me was when Emma was born. I wonder. Will their leaving home be as profound? 

Many (most?) children's books are so insipid, you feel like you're going to die if you have to read it one &*() more @$!%#^ time $%^&. Praise the lord for Go the Fuck to Sleep, and Raol Dahl and P.K. Travers. I haven't had to read Go Dog, Go for ten years or more, and soon, I won't be helping Sam study or scratching Emma's back.

I like Captain Underpants and I hate Mr. Krupp. I like Jemima Puddleduck and Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and Peter. I like the Simpsons. They're crass, stupid and self-absorbed, but they love each other. And Marge and Homer seem to have a good sex life, despite her blue hair and his pot belly. Soon, it's goodbye to all these characters as well.

Emma likens herself to Patrick. She says she's pink and soft, just like him. SpongeBob is brilliantly, sustainably silly. Goodbye, soft pink Patrick and other forgotten toys. Good riddance, Berenstain Bears.

Very soon, goodbye, Emma. Not long after, goodbye Sam. As my mother would say, write if you get work.

Shower Curtain

Day 77: Shower Curtain

Shower curtains get moldy
after 15 years

Getting rid of one thing a day has changed me. I find myself peering around the house, scowling, looking for things we don't need, much as I peer around the garden looking for weeds. I've started counting unnecessary things. In the garage, there are five things we could get rid of. In the basement, seven. Four more in the attic. Thirty shelves of books.

Emma told me - adamantly - that it is not fair game to count getting rid of something that is not mine. Such as her papers and other detritus from high school, which are going into the recycling this week.

288 days to go. The math's not looking good.

I feel a growing certainty that well before Day 365, I will have gotten rid of every weed in the house. What then? Will I give away things I like - things I use - so I can keep this resolution? It's the opposite of my intention to buy new things because I gave away things I needed. 

I want to  to keep some things I don't need, too. I like having my grandmother's silver. Her bone china cocoa set. Her desert rose Franciscan ware. My souvenir wineglasses from Sonoma. The mystery writer's teapot my father gave me when I finished my novel. Bee stuff. The little wooden racing car Sam made in seventh grade. The raku vase and the little ceramic giraffe whistle Emma made at Blue Lake.

What about getting rid of our nasty old shower curtain, which has black mold on it despite multiple washings? Even though I ordered another to replace it?

Does that count?

Maybe I should have given away one bedsheet a day, instead of piles at a time.

Pens and Pencils

Day 76: Pens and Pencils

One bag for recycling, one bag to donate
to the office supply pile at the Arb & Gardens

What if you lived in a home where every pen had ink? Where every wooden pencil was sharp, and every mechanical pencil had lead? What if you took it one step further, and decided that every writing implement should be a pleasure to use? No more mingy ballpoints or chewed stubs. Every pen has flowing ink that glides across the paper. Every pencil has a soft eraser.

For me, such a goal would involve recycling this many pens, giving away this many ballpoints, and sharpening this many pencils.

The endeavor - testing every pen in the house - is one I made every three years since the kids were born. Each time I do it, I remember half-naked Turkana children, children who were grateful for a single Bic pen, which we tourists tossed over the truck rails like coins in a wishing well. 

In my part of the world, cheap washable art supplies begin to flow into your home as soon as your children can hold a pen. Scented markers, fabric markers, erasable markers, white board markers, teeny wee markers, big thick markers, sharpies, sparkle pens, gel pens, click pens, crayons, pastels, watercolors, colored pencils, highlighters. We've got them all in spades.

Emma loves office supplies and hates school. Every August, we have a ritual. We head down to Office Max for an infusion of binders, spiral bound notebooks, date books, WhiteOut, graph paper and rulers. Somehow, the crisp newness of these things makes the end of summer easier to bear. I guess we won't do that again. One last marker that passed by, without my realizing.

Usually, I'm not as ruthless getting rid of markers and ballpoint pens. But the days of posters and collages are done. These days, it's all memorization and multiple choice, book reports and research projects double-spaced and neatly printed. The half-dried markers will be dead before anyone uses them again. Might as well put the Bics and #2's to good use somewhere else.

Makes me sad just thinking about it.

More Books for the Little Free Library

We had two copies of The Old,
Weird America, separated by a shelf

Day 75: More Books for the Little Free Library
I walked back and forth between the bookshelf and the giveaway pile three times with The Barrytown Trilogy in my hand. And Herman Wouk: I'm swooning. But the little free library would be no good if people only put second rate books in it.

When I dropped the stack off this morning, I couldn't resist taking one more in exchange.

Two steps forward, one step back.

Balls

Day 74: Balls
I've made a resolution to say "yes" every time Sam asks me to play Pig. Pig is a one-on-one shooting game. Often I don't feel like playing, because I'm focused on the garden, or I'm tired from a long day of work, or I'm in the middle of a game of solitaire, or I've already walked the dog plus ridden my bike twelve miles that day. But I never regret saying "yes" to a game of Pig with Sam.

It's a little like Calvinball, except all the kooky rules are designed to let me stay in the game a little longer. So:

(1) I get to defend against Sam, but he doesn't get to defend against me

(2) There are no fouls, so I get to pull his shirt, grab his arms, kick at the ball, and push him aside

(3) I get to use a broom to try to keep his shots from going in the basket

(4) When I'm on defense (and sometimes when I'm on offense) I get 5-6 attempts for every one of his

(5) When the score is P-I-G to nothing, I get 5-6 Hail Mary's, which means if I get a shot from a particular spot in the driveway, I get to go back to P-I.

The game makes me laugh so hard my ribs hurt. Sometimes I even "win."

Sam wants to save his balls to give to his own child someday,
but skimming off three deflated duplicates will still leave plenty.