Driving With Larry: A Post-Camping Story

Occasionally there is a moment when you are keenly aware of your human frailty, your incomprehensible emotions, your most unwarranted fears, and your utter ridiculousness. I will share such a moment with you.

After a full weekend of camping and alleged "relaxing," David and I, along with all of the mountain of gear that we'd stuffed in the Subaru, made our way home on Sunday afternoon. Our foreheads and noses were sun-seared and served with a side of broiled ears. These paired nicely with freshly-scratched legs and sore muscles. My exhaustion was done to a turn from the combination of two nights of sleeping bags, pushing thirty, and being an introvert among a lot of people I didn't already know very well. Did I mention the pushing thirty bit? David drove home, since he had slept like the dead until an obscenely late hour on Sunday morning, and my pillow and I settled in as grateful passengers to drowse away the return trip. Closing my eyes was so very delicious that I just leaned my head back and embraced the weariness.

All of this peace was short-lived, since a giant black cockroach had just sprinted across David's lap and was now continuing at cheetah-like speeds across the pillow on my lap. David yelled "It's on your pillow!!" Of course my heavy eyelids sproinged open nimbly, instantaneously communicated to my brain what "it" was, and convinced my body that my best defense was to shriek wildly while attempting to carry out a brilliant plan which involved simultaneously rolling down the window with my right hand, picking up the pillow with my left, and trying to shove the offending occupant out the window without ever touching him with any part of my person, since it is well-known among womankind that touching a cockroach, spider, or anything disgusting in the insect world can cause irreparable damage to the body part involved. I could have died, people. It was a big cockroach.

Did I mention we were on the freeway at this point? Oh yes, David did a manfully good job of keeping the car between the lines as his usually-calm wife thrashed violently in the next seat over and assaulted his ears with all the noises that come out of a scared soprano. Needless to say, my incredibly well-developed plan did not work, and the cockroach merely retreated from the maniac in the front passenger seat by crawling hideously down under her seat and cloaking himself in darkness and safety until he could disembark more securely.

Larry, as we called him, remained there for the duration of the trip--over an hour. I kept a wary, sunburned eyeball patrolling the perimeter for as long as I could manage, but ultimately succumbed to dozing off for long periods. These were punctuated by the occasional start and wild-eyed look around my seat and over my shoulders, with suspicious squints down at my pant leg openings. Once home, I think I saw Larry make a run for it on the driveway as I shook and pummeled the pillows that were stowed directly behind my seat. But a thorough car-cleaning this week will provide insurance, as eye-witness testimony is yet inconclusive.

Later I laughed until I cried at the remembrance of acting like such a girl about a bug--one that doesn't even bite or sting. As David says, "it's just a big beetle." This may be true. So I suggested to him that if it wasn't such a big deal, an alternative plan might have been for him to drive with his knee while rolling down the window and grabbing Larry with his other hand, tossing him out, and telling me about it later when I woke up. Hmm--sounds better than my plan at the time. At any rate, that evening was a prime opportunity to settle in and watch the movie Starship Troopers. It seemed like the thing to do after such a drive home with the likes of Larry.

"The only good bug is a dead bug."

How Do I Love Thee, Craigslist?

Let me count the ways!

You already will have read in a previous post about the extension ladder we found using Craigslist--we paid $150 for a 28' fiberglass ladder which would have cost over $300 new. Awesome. Now we will finally be able to tackle some roof repairs and some exterior trim repair and painting that have been niggling at us for some time now.

Also bothersome was having a four-seater dining table. It was fine for just the two of us, but we want to be able to entertain more often, and it seems that when it rains it pours--no guests for two months or more, and then ten at once. After issuing an invitation to three couples for dinner, it hit us that we didn't have anywhere to put them, unless we brought out the card table. Sooo, we thought we could make a table pretty easily, but chairs would still be really expensive--at least $50 each to buy, and out of the question to build.

We checked out Craigslist on a Sunday morning to just look for chairs, and instead found a table and six chairs for sale in our own city for a mere $200. We picked it up that afternoon. Amazing. We still had to bring out the folding chairs, but we actually fit eight around it. We may build a custom removable table top to be able to seat ten comfortably, but this works for now. Here are the before and after shots:

The old dining set is far more hideous than this picture captured. Imagine the incessant creaking noises when you sit down in a chair that should be firewood. The camera was too kind:


Aaaand, the dining set we found on Craigslist.com for $200. The seats still had the plastic on most of them and the construction is very solid:


Not too shabby! Have I already mentioned that I love Craigslist? If I ever got a tattoo...

Haulin' With Subie: Volume I

We do not own a truck. None of our friends own trucks. Well, and of course not, because everyone knows that if you actually are silly enough to get a truck, all your non-truck-owning friends will start freeloading immediately. Or, they might at least wait until the honeymoon's over. After a month or two, they'll figure it won't look too bad to go ahead and give you the list of stuff they need dropped there, picked up here, or carted all over creation. These lists have been brewing for years, in many cases, and are not for the faint of heart or easily discouraged. So, no one is willing to take the truck burden for fear of inevitable moochery. Instead, we drive silly little cars that are by no means in the hauling category and clandestinely create our own lists to bring out whenever someone else caves.

But then there was Subaru. Not only is this wee black WRX wagon more fun than the average car, it also can fit an amazing amount of stuff in it and on it while flying just under the radar of those would-be list makers. Home improvement projects take an awful lot of lumber and supplies, but we've been able to make it all fit, whatever it is, every time.

We've hauled numerous bags of mulch, trees with their tops poking out of the windows, loads of firewood, desks, dirt, long lengths of molding and lumber, and a whole lot of camping supplies.

Oh, we need to pick up a dining table and chairs from across town today? We like a challenge. The Trans Am even got to assist with this jaunt with carrying two of the six chairs (but I have no doubt that we could have made it work with just the Subaru if we'd been more creative with our tie-downs...couple of chairs on the table...yep).




What's that? We need a 28-foot extension ladder for repainting our exterior trim? No problem. David found it on Craigslist for $150 and I picked it up in Carrollton just yesterday. With tie-downs in front, back and on top, it didn't budge for the entire 30 mile trip. I have to admit I felt like a little bit of a show-off, what with all the big ol' pickups and vans I saw on the way home with their ladder racks. And there was little old me, trundling along in my teeny car. Granted, I didn't go above 60, and found the road noise from the ladder to be a disconcerting harmonic. But oh, how I enjoyed seeing my little red caution flags waving in the wind in my rearview! A parade just for me!


What will she haul next? With a camping trip scheduled for this weekend, and knowing my packing habits, probably everything but the kitchen sink. Not that the sink wouldn't FIT, mind you, given the right tie-downs and...

City Gardening for Amateurs

You can take a girl from the country, but you can't take the country from the girl. I wonder who wrote that little bit of pure genius? It's true, you know. Take the proof of the woman who has lived in the suburbs for almost seven years, but still nurtures in the back of her mind the distinct possibility of keeping two hens in the backyard for fresh eggs. Technically, the city only limits the number per species of animal that you own and if they are really obnoxiously loud. Since everyone else around us has obnoxiously loud dogs, my hillbilly wheels are turning...calculating... calculating...calculating.

But I'm pretty sure David would stage a husband revolt, which could lead to the wrong kind of chicken coup, so I'm gonna keep that one on the back burner, simmering on extra low for now.

Country girls thus have to look to other ways to get in touch with their roots. More socially acceptable than mattress springs on the roof to improve TV reception is gardening. By using raised beds instead of just tilling up my entire backyard (or front--don't dare me, please. I'm right on the edge here), David gets to use power tools and manly carpentry skills, thereby adding an element of danger to gardening and sweetening the pot so he'll buy in. Well, there is a scary-sounding circular saw and always the possibility of decimating your thumb with a hammer.

We decided on treated lumber which we could paint so that the beds will be nice to look at for years to come instead of falling apart. David drew up some plans, we negotiated, I requested a wide ledge on the top for sitting, we negotiated some more, and agreed on a final version. It took most of a Sunday to build the first one, and completed the second a day or two later. It took another couple of days to fill the suckers with dirt, and about 5 trips or so total for lumber, paint, soil, amendments, and finally the plants!

Side note: it is a point of pride to us to see just how much stuff we can get to fit in our Subaru WRX sport wagon. They usually look either confused, amused, or alarmed when we haul out a big cart of lumber and load 'er up. Lowe's is only a block away, but it still feels good to roll out of there with the Subie packed to the gills. A separate post will be "Haulin' With Subie" to highlight her willingness to put up with whatever we dish out.

Back to gardening: total costs for the structures, including nails, screws, paint, and liner was about $100. The dirt, organic compost, and organic fertilizer used totaled about $65. The layers of skin lost due to sunburn: 1 or 2.

Since my picture storage is pretty limited on Blogger ("Boooo..."), here's a link to a web album of the process and completed project. Enjoy! I know I will.

http://picasaweb.google.com/rjwhitlark/CityGardening

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Appreciate TJMaxx

Ok, so after running out of thread with 3 curtains left to sew, it is a good time to reflect and include some pictures which will probably highlight the good points of the finished product while artfully concealing with houseplants the many flaws. What uneven hemming? All I see is--Wow! what a beautiful fern! (This really is an obvious case of an imagination gone wild. I had a fern once. It looked good for approximately two days before going into a full molt and then losing its will to live entirely. Ferns in florist shops are hopped up on anti-depressants and steroids until they are about to climb out of their baskets to hit the treadmill, with pumped up leaves and Goldie Hawn-like posture. When they get to your house, they quickly become despondent and their leaves wait for the merest of nibbles from the resident felines to literally explode off their stems. Moral of the story? Ferns: Just Say No).

Where were we? Oh, yes, the cover-up for the seamy window-coverings. Anyone observed peering too closely at seams shall be immediately given an obscene amount of wine, from which perspective all my sewing appears to be a perfect study of Impressionism. "Thaa Juhdon, she'z such an inssspired artisst--I mean, look at thaa. If you squint chur eyez, iss almoss like there'z like, really nice curtainz on thoze windowz. Iss incredible."

Having returned to Hobby Lobby for thread and after much ironing and further discoveries of sewing inconsistencies (one of which just occurred to me this very moment), they are finally finished!

Without further ado, THE CURTAINS FROM HADES:

Stop looking at that seam immediately. Would you like some Merlot?

Note strategic use of houseplant:

Moby Dick: Standing the Test of Time

This book is one that has been on my list of important things to read for a very long time. I happened upon it recently at a second hand store and was compelled to shell out a dollar and see if I could wade my way through it. I've always had the impression that the book was near endless, and quite possibly as tedious as I found Oliver Twist to be so many years ago (I was a teenager when I tried to read Dickens, so I should probably give it another go before the final rap of the gavel). At any rate, I was prepared to be a literary martyr on the pyre of sesquipedalian verbosity, but would count it as a kind of medal of honor on my lapel if I could but finish it. So, you can understand my amazement when I laughed out loud with amusement and shook with suppressed chuckles throughout the first several chapters. What in the world! I would never have thought a man with the name Herman Melville could put on such a party as this.

But even Herman could not have anticipated his four-footed arch-nemesis who currently roams the halls of Whitlark Manor and who put an unceremonious end to the literary festivities. I was awakened in the middle of the night to the sounds of heaving. Moby Dick may very well stand the test of time, but it unfortunately could not stand the test of cat vomit at point blank range. And I, dear reader, could not stand the test of discolored pages unless I had no knowledge of where the discoloration came from and could convince myself that it was a perfectly legitimate discoloration as a result of someone's green highlighter gone haywire. As it was, I knew perfectly well the tinge of partially-digested houseplants, and therefore laid this amazingly absorbent volume to rest.

Jezebel's Return: She Bringeth Sewing

The story begins with the realization that our living room curtains were outdated and of completely uninspired cream material which cat hair clings to for dear life. By comparison to the simplicity of the dining room curtains (you've been introduced to these curtains in a previous post) and the new wood flooring, these were to be tossed like so much cheese rind.

With living room windows that are 94 inches tall, multiplied by 4 windows and two panels each, we were looking at $30 per panel at the very lower end of pricing, which is $60 per window, and $240 for window coverings--sans hardware or additional sheers. We decided to cavalierly spurn the high cost of retail curtains by making our own. Which is to say, David buys the material and I do the sewing. (It just wouldn't work the other way around--promise).

Did you know that Hobby Lobby has a web coupon available every week for 40% off of a single regular-priced item? You can use one per day. I used one last week to purchase 25 yards of beautiful satin the color of molten chocolate. It was the first time I'd actually bought a whole bolt of something--had the band still around it and all. I felt very greedy for taking the whole thing, but I got over it very quickly. I also bought a perfectly-matching color of thread like a girl who actually has foresight.

We did a small test inside the store to see if it would repel cat hair. At first I was disappointed that I hadn't thought to bring a small ball of fur with us. But, fortuitously enough, I just happened to have some on my jacket. Ho ho! Things are looking up! We placed it on the material and then gave it a swipe to see if it held on or let go. Happily, the cat hair floated away--probably to lodge in some flannel somewhere, but let us try not to think too deeply on this.

My dear Momma Sue loaned me her sewing machine this past weekend and, in a pioneering spirit I cut the fabric to the lengths I needed (108" each, to allow for hems, a roomy rod pocket and so that it would hang almost to the floor) and set about learning how to sew again. Did I mention it has been a few years since I've sewn anything with a machine, by the way? The valuable sewing information from my home economics classes in high school has long been hidden away in the deep recesses of my mind. What does stay with me, though, is the girl that sewed through her thumb--went right through the nail. This does not contribute to my confidence with the sewing machine, oddly enough.

At any rate, a few hours of my nose stuck in the instruction manual and doing many test runs had me thinking I could do this, despite my consternation at the fact that I had bought perfectly-matched upholstery thread, and didn't face up to the fact that it was going to be impossible to use on satin until after I'd had already filled a bobbin and had a go at it on the first test. But, after a few more tests and twiddling with dials with numbers on them, I was feeling that feeling that comes very near to the under side of confidence. Twelve inches into the first edge of the actual curtain assured me that seam ripping was a skill that also deserved some attention. "Silly girl! Why don't you actually own a seam ripper?" "Well, I don't sew often." "Exactly! Silly girl!"

Satin is a beautiful fabric. It's even very pretty in the independent way it resists being hemmed up with thread, twisting this way and that in glorious, shimmering spite. "Yes, go on and adjust that tension more, I'm sure that will do the trick" it says, mockingly and fully confident of its own position of control in the situation. "Who are you, but a naive trifling? I've made tailors weep, and given professional seamstresses nervous breakdowns. And you think you can make me lie flat? Go on, try another pin, I dare you!"

It is at this point that one realizes the importance for mood lighting in one's living room.

The Human Angle

So, I'm writing this article on roller derby. I've chosen to take the human angle, as the robot angle didn't seem to offer as much depth as one would imagine, and because very few robots have ever played roller derby. Sure, there was bot derby greats like "Hot Bot II" of the Houston Hard Drives, "2 Sexy 4 Your Bot E" who skated for the Riverside Roller Bots and "Transducer Trauma" who was a popular jammer for the Seattle System Crashers. As I understand, bot derby was much-heralded at the outset, but ultimately failed to capture the attention of a large fan base, which is so necessary in order for a sport to get a solid toe-hold in society. But then there's baseball, which just goes to show that there are always those rare exceptions.

In taking the human angle, I had a better chance of getting some good interviews, as humans are usually interested in themselves and when asked to talk about that, they are usually happy to oblige. Bloggers are especially likely to wax long in their explications of self, and are an easy target. However, I've found that their tendency to veer way off topic can be somewhat distracting.

By the way, here's a picture of Dot Matrix, one of the first proponents of bot derby:

Writers Groups: Daffodils or Dungeon?

I can't speak for all writers, but I need an umbrella under which I may safely share my fledgling work prior to sharing it with the Cynic, the Unimpressed, and the Superior. I am still sensitive enough to seek out some affirmation from a few trusted confidants before sending it out to gallivant in the downpour of rejection by a larger audience. Hence, a writers' group.

I've been involved in groups of this kind only in writing classes, and have found that they can be the most motivating and inspirational experiences, where the people click and the writing flows like a well-fed stream. Of course next to the stream all these songbirds are just happy to be alive and eating bugs, with some mating thrown in for good measure, and out in the meadow there are all manner of benevolent humming bees, butterflies floating about from flower to flower, and the virtual writing desk is an inviting blanket with several fine-tipped pens of blue ink, a deliciously new composition pad, and a picnic basket full of fine cheeses, crackers, fruit, chocolates, and a few meandering ladybugs for effect. No wine, as this makes me feel less creative than feeling the need to take an unproductive nap, but perhaps some iced coffee instead. "The hiiiiiiiiiills are aliiiiiiiive with the sound of muuuuuuusiiic." This is what writing groups should be. And can be! Dear people! Are you with me? Skip with me through the meadow! Roll down the clover-laden hills where no fire ant has trod! Sample the Gouda! Let us write with joy and abandon!

Alternatively, without the right people, positive attitudes, and safety net, a writers' group could meet in their virtual damp, moldering basement where a single naked light bulb hangs from the ceiling and everyone has shifty eyes and tents their fingers gratuitously. Here, you have to be careful how cheerful you are, and must instead work hard to develop your defenses, as occasionally a fellow basement-dweller will smack you in the back of your head for no apparent reason, citing the alleged fact that there was a fly on the back of your head as an explanation, and then going back to practicing their eye shifts and nuanced finger tenting. But there was no fly. Or, at least you didn't see a fly, so a fly is doubtful. But then, this is a kind of depressing room, so maybe a fly would be apropos. But really--a fly? So you smack them in the back of the head and blame it on the fly as well.

Please do not try to delve too deeply in symbolism or meaning. The fly is not real. [Or is it?] Moving on:

Okay, okay, so some slight exaggeration has been used. Writing groups are probably somewhere in the middle, where we neither always have the best attitudes nor the worst, and our personalities at least function together in a manageable sort of way.

Mark, Kami, David, and I have met just twice so far, but so far so good. I've had the opportunity to work with Kami before. She has a journalism background, so she is most handy at stemming the tide of J'Non's excessive wordiness. We work well together. (See, Kami? That sentence was to the point and didn't even have a comma in it! Woo!) The fellows were wildcards, since I'd never worked with either of them in this capacity before. And since I'm married to one of them, of course you never know how those dynamics are going to work out.

Some moments which have crystallized in my mind for the first meeting:

Kami looks like she is seriously entertaining the idea of dumping perfectly good Starbuck's on my head when I suggest that she read her deeply personal poem out loud. In Starbuck's. It's a good thing she hasn't yet honed her ability to use the Force to be able to choke me with her mind from across the table like Darth Vader. Whew! That was a close one.

David, Kami, and I try to suppress any obnoxiously loud laughter over Mark's humor piece, with varying success. At one point Kami gets so entertained that she starts bonking her forehead on the table. It was kind of loud. And just made me laugh more.

We spend several minutes on the onomatopoeia choice of "zik, zik, zik" for the sound that corduroy pants make when you walk. I mean, this is a sparkling example of the kind of literary gems you can find in a writers' group! Yessss!

The encouragement to keep writing is such a boon, and further convinces me that these are absolutely vital to successful and rewarding experiences in writing.

Staff Appreciation Day

In the Whitlark household, we take special care in our laundry duties. We find it very satisfying to take a heap of chaos and transform it into a tidy stack of something functional, which is why we use only the highest standards for those who make up our Laundry Support Team. Meet Sebastian and Belle, who take their work as senior staffers here very seriously. Here they are seen in a Laundry Protocol Meeting, which they diligently hold on an almost daily basis. It must be noted, however, that final protocols have yet been determined, despite a tremendous number of cat-hours spent on the project.


Both Sebastian and Belle have taken a proactive stance on laundry creation, citing the economic benefits of a frequently-laundering society through regular shedding. They therefore make a solid effort in hairing up any potentially launderable surfaces. Sebastian, who recently earned the title of "Chief Lolling Officer" works hard to accomplish this goal, as you may see here.

Another part of their tireless effort is to provide quality sheet cleanliness inspections for each bedding change. Belle is primarily in charge of this department, and may always be found in close proximity to clean sheets, offering her advice for future washings, working to stretch top sheets that she deems too-tightly tucked, and taking extra care to shed as much as possible during these tasks so as to speed the next laundry day and strengthen the economy.

Meanwhile, with intensive research spanning several years, Sebastian has developed his patented system for multiple-garment-ironing using an exciting new napping schedule.


First, clean, warm t-shirts are stacked neatly over the ironer and left for a napping period of about 20 minutes.


After this, the ironer relocates to the top of the stack and naps for approximately 30 minutes to complete the smoothing process. Voila!



Understandably, these modern heroes of laundry are exhausted after a full day of meetings, hairings, inspections, and ironing and may on occasion be found recovering in the conference room.

Kudos, Team Laundry!