Overbooked and Underpaid: Notes from a Yes-aholic

Pic of The Week: What You Can Do With Prismacolor Pencils (and talent)

 

This is the work of son #2. It won him a full scholarship to an art institute summer program in Iowa last summer and is one of the reasons we drug him to three cartooning events this fall. His current hope is to attend art school and eventually work somewhere like Pixar.

The Great Attic Migration

For much of the last 10 years, my basement has, in fact, looked much like this. Hence, this comic strip, which I wrote about a year and a half ago. I don't talk much about writing for Edison because I don't do it all that often (although today's strip is another one of mine). Mostly my contributions to the strip are along the lines of editing, working on publicity, and planting little seeds of ideas into John's head and then running out of the room before he can rope me into more work.

Unfortunately, the above strip is completely true to life. I wrote about it on my other blog here.

But now the time has come to do something about my basement. If you have ever checked the "goals" tab up at the top of the blog (go ahead and check it now - I'll wait)

you will notice that one of my goals over the summer was to migrate a bunch of stuff from the basement to the attic. (Then of course, we'll have "The Attic of Dorian Gray", but I digress)

So I've been puttering my way toward this goal for about 12 weeks - buying a load of lumber for the attic floor here and there, prodding my sons to install said floor here and there, but not doing much in the way of prep work or organizing on the actual junk to be moved. Which, as anyone who has ever moved from one house to another will tell you, is a bad idea.

Successful moving has everything to do with what kind of boxes you put your stuff in, how you organize these boxes, and what order they get moved in. I have a friend who moved recently - she was working when the boxes got unloaded into the garage of the new house and then discovered that all the kitchen stuff was in the very back of the garage where no one could get to it.  They had to eat "take out" for a week.

So the chaos that is my basement needs to get organized before it can be boxed - you know the sort of thing, you see it on HGTV all the time - "pitch", "donate", "attic", "keep in the basement because it needs to be handy". Which is bad enough when it's just your stuff but becomes ever so much worse when it includes 3 kids worth of stuff. Every item winds up being brooded over.

As I said, I've been puttering along at this slowly since July.

Until Saturday.

That was the day the washer started to make "the noise".

A word about my washer and dryer. I love them. They are great. I got them almost 20 years ago this month when I was expecting my first child and envisioned a time when I would not enjoy trips to the laundromat. My mother and grandmother swore by front loading machines, especially White Westinghouse. So I went out and found what was, at that time, one of the only front loading washing machines available in the entire country. Better yet, it was made by White Westinghouse. Bonus - they also made the only stacking washer and dryer you could get at that time. Which was hugely important to us because of the space we had available in our first house for laundry.

It tickles me pink to now see these stackable front loaders taking over the country. I love when my grandmother is right.

But the washer's time has come. For the past 2 years it has been bumping and thumping its way through the spin cycle - occasionally ripping itself loose from the hose like that scene in "Mr. Mom" (OMG - go rent that movie if you've never seen it).

Because it was made back in the day when there were no computer chips in such appliances, John has actually been able to work on it and put it back into balance a couple of times. But Saturday it started making this banshee like whine that, I'm pretty sure means the bearings are shot. Or something worse.

So we went shopping. 

And bought (with play money that hasn't been printed yet - gotta love "no money down, no interest for 12 months) a lovely new stackable front loading washer and dryer.

Which will be delivered tomorrow.

Yes, as in tomorrow, as in less than 24 hours. 

Which is why I gave up my whole weekend to go wading through the mess. Which is how my basement wound up exploding into the rest of my house. (Because organizing always looks a whole lot worse before it looks better) Which I now have to buckle down to and get under control before the movers come and see my basement (and now house) of shame.

Which is why you may not hear from me for a while.

Send the dogs down if I don't surface by Thursday. 

I may be trapped under a pile of dirty laundry and several boxes of jigsaw puzzles.

Pic of the Week - John Purves

Before The Winter Comes

"Is There Nothing You Cannot Do?" In A Word, Plenty!

If you're reading this you probably already know a little bit about my life. If you don't, here's a summation:

I make chocolate truffles, color my husband's comic strip, write a humor column, write humorous poetry, teach harp, compose and perform music, work in multiple types of art media, write for numerous blogs, manage my husband's graphics business, edit books for comic creators, have a one-woman-show featuring harp and storytelling, knit, garden, bake - the list goes on, but I imagine you're getting the picture.

Recently my husband and I attended a conference for professional cartoonists that included staying up until 2:00 am each night in the bar shooting the breeze and drinking too much.

Whenever we attend a gathering like this I make chocolate truffles and take them along to feed to anyone lucky enough to be in the bar at the time.

On this particular weekend, as Richard Thompson (of Cul de Sac fame) reached for a truffle he said, "Anne - is there nothing you cannot do?"

I didn't have a good response at the time.

I do now.

Richard - here are some things I cannot do:

I cannot find time to read anything longer than a cereal box.

I cannot tell you where my phone charger is.

I cannot find my wallet.

Or my keys.

I cannot seem to remember to call my sister on her birthday (yesterday).

I cannot cook any supper that takes longer than 20 minutes.

I have not yet unpacked my suitcase.

I haven't the brain space to write up the CV that is due for accreditation at one of my teaching jobs - I think I have one prepared in a file somewhere on my computer, but I don't know how to find it.

I cannot seem to remember to pay my phone bill on time (aren't they supposed to wait at least 30 days beyond the due date before they threaten to disconnect you?)

Again - I could go on, but I think you can tell where this is going.

Hello.

My name is Anne.

And I'm a yes-aholic.

I'm not asking for your pity.

When I was trying to think of a name for this blog, I flirted with "Overworked and Underpaid" but I settled on "Overbooked and Underpaid for a very important reason.

Overworked someone does to you.

Overbooked you do to yourself.

I could probably cut out most of the things I do. Especially since easily 60% of them are for no pay. 

So why don't I?

Why do I try to do all these things and make myself crazy?

Well, partly because I am bursting with ideas - so many that I always have at least 5 knitting projects going at a time. This is not unusual for creative types - most artists have more unfinished work than finished - it's a curse where you get the idea for the next project when you're only 22% done with the current one.

And partly because I have no idea what I'm really supposed to be doing with my life.

So I keep throwing spaghetti at the wall, hoping that whatever sticks is the thing I'm meant to be doing.

And you lucky readers, and Richard,  just happen to be between me and the wall.

 

Pic Of the Week- Big Fish

The One That Didn't Get Away

(Click on the image to enlarge)

She caught it almost all by herself!

Inspirations - More Stuff to Rent

For this week's inspirational renting, I've chosen two movies, one old, one newer.

I saw the trailer for the just released "Life As We Know It" and thought - hold on a minute - I've seen this before.

And I had - the premise is awfully close to that of "Baby Boom" with Diane Keaton, Sam Shepard and Harold Ramis.

I happen to own a copy and I decided to pop it in, as I hadn't seen it in probably 10 years. Even though it was released in 1987, this film really holds up and I found it just as funny today. Plus it has a terrific opening credits sequence by Linda Ellerbee - one of the best voices to ever cross the airwaves.

The other film I'd like to recommend it "Flawless" with Michael Caine and Demi Moore.  It was released in 2007 but I don't remember hearing a single thing about it. I'm not even sure how we came to rent it - maybe my son recommended it - but it's terrific. A heist movie but like no heist movie you've ever seen. I won't say anymore because I don't want to spoil it.

So, get these movies on your radar for the weekend, pop some popcorn (with extra butter) and settle back for some light comedy/dram/action.

Sugar in the Potatoes? (Overbooked Cook)

I love Potatoes.

I love them so much that if you stick me on a desert island with only one food available, make it potatoes, and we're good.

If there's salt.

Because what I should also mention here is that my fondness for potatoes stems from my craving for salt. And potatoes are the perfect delivery system for salt.

So why am I suggesting sugar in the potatoes for this week's cooking tip?

Because, as much as I love potatoes, I've had a love/hate relationship with cooking them. More specifically, with frying them.

For years I have tried everything to get crispy fried hash browns from fresh potatoes. I have blanched them. I have soaked them in saltwater, I have squeezed the starch out of them with paper towels, I have added lemon juice (tip from some cooking magazine - not a success and tasted terrible) - you name it, I've tried it.

Until recently, when my husband fried up some lovely potatoes - not from the store but from our garden - and they came out perfectly. They were the most delicious fried potatoes we have ever eaten. Bar none.

Of course, you say, produce from the garden is always fresher than the stuff from the store and it was also probably a better variety of potato.

And you would be half right, because the truth does lie in the fact that the potatoes were right out of the ground. But it isn't the variety because these potatoes originally were seeded from - store bought potatoes.

Remember the Montessori Garden? Well, a couple of years ago we had some potatoes in the pantry that were starting to sprout. We knew you shouldn't eat them when they get to that state (something about toxins in old potatoes) and our daughter was eager to plant them and see what would happen. And what happened was that those sprouting store potatoes turned into lots of new little potatoes. And they were delicious!

And when we fried them, they crisped right up. No sogginess, no falling apart, just gorgeous lightly browned fried hash browns.

Unfortunately, after the fresh potatoes for this season ran out, we were reduced to store potatoes again.

Oh, how depressing to come down from the mountaintop once you've seen the light.

So my husband got this idea. What if all those things we tried over the years were coming at the problem from the wrong angle? Those tips were designed to get extra starch out of the potatoes. What if, instead, we should be adding something in to the potatoes. What did the fresh potatoes have that the store potatoes didn't?

Sugar.

Of course. 

When you pick things from the garden, their sugar content is always at it's highest and then, the longer the produce sits, the more the sugar breaks down.

So we fried the store potatoes up as we always had - diced and thrown into hot hot butter in an iron skillet - but this time we sprinkled sugar into them while they were frying. Not too much - probably a little less than a teaspoon - but it did the trick. 

Voila! Non greasy, lightly crispy, fried potatoes.

Try it, you'll like it!

Bed Warmers

I have a bad back.

I also have a bad neck, bad knees, bad shoulders and I get killer headaches. Not exactly migraines, but close.

And the remedy I use over all others for all these aches and pains is a homemade hot pack. You can buy them at pharmacies - they're called all sorts of things, including Bed Buddies. But you can also make your own. It's cheaper and it's easy. And it's a great way to reuse old towels or washcloths and that unmatched sock.

I've used both rice and lentils and have had much better success with lentils.

For a long warmer that you can place around your neck, use a good sized tube sock and 2-3 pounds of uncooked lentils. Simply pour the lentils into the sock and sew up the end (make sure there are no holes in the sock!). Or, if you have no sewing materials handy, just put a knot in the end of the sock.

For a bigger warmer that lies flat enough to put behind your back, take an old dish towel or hand towel, fold it in half and sew around the sides. Leave an opening about 4 inches long into which you can pour the lentils and then fill the cavity with 4-6 pounds of lentils, depending on the size of the towel.

To use, place the lentil stuffed bag or sock into the microwave for a couple of minutes. Microwave power varies greatly from one oven to the next so you will need to experiment with the precise time to heat your bed warmer properly. I would start with 2 minutes, take the bag/sock out and shake the lentils around, and then continue heating in 1-2 minute intervals until you have the desired warmth.

Caution! Never leave one of these unattended in the microwave for more than 4 minutes of heating time, as overheating can scorch the lentils and the fabric. And always use cotton towels - not polyester.

We once stayed in a wonderful rustic stone cabin with no heat source but a fireplace. But, there was a small kitchen with a microwave, so I ran out to the local store and bought lentils. I then used some of the kids extra socks to make each person a bed warmer. The temperature in the cabin was around 40 degrees at night but, between the fireplace, the quilts, and the bed warmers, we were toasty!

I Hate Halloween

(This is not my dog BTW)

 

I hate Halloween.

Well, maybe hate is too strong a word. But it's definitely not my favorite holiday.

When I was a kid it ranked right up there. Probably coming in third behind Christmas and Easter. Added to those two, Halloween completed the trifecta of candy holidays. As in "You, the child, will receive copious amounts of sugary treats on these three days of the year. The other 362 it's back to unsweetened cereals and whole grain bread." 

I should state for the record that I grew up in a "healthy" household that was free of Twinkies, Moon Pies, Wonder Bread, Froot Loops or anything else you could put in the "fun junk food for lunch" category. Needless to say - no one ever wanted to trade with me for anything at lunch.

But I digress.

When did things change? When did my aversion to Halloween begin? 

1995.

The year I met the other Moms.

The ones who sew.

Moms who would never be caught dead buying their kid a prefabricated Halloween costume. Who equated parental love with a willingness to drive oneself crazy making a perfect homemade Trick or Treating outfit extraordinaire.

I have many accomplishments - sewing is not one of them. The only sewing I do involves rectangles. Pillows, tote bags, valances that sort of thing. In a pinch I can produce some semblance of slipcovers for cushions. (You have to promise not to look at the back of those cushions - much of their fit is owed to the wonders of duct tape.)

Sewing things that actually have to fit on curves and around ankles - well, you can't duct tape the kid into the Halloween costume. I think someone calls the Department of Child Welfare on you.

Not only did these women make perfect costumes for their kids, they also made them for themselves. For about ten years we were part of a playgroup that had a big Halloween party where everyone had to wear a costume. And this brings me to the other reason I hate Halloween.

I hate dressing up in costumes of any kind. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

I gave it a good shot at first and made everyone bird outfits. (Though, coloring bedsheets with spray paint - not a good idea. Massive toxic fumes. Fortunately only on our costumes - the kids were in non toxic, modified yellow jammies.)

I may even have come up with a passable attempt the following year - perhaps something resembling a cat. But then something snapped. The party became, for me, a sort of game where I would see how little trouble I could take to dress up.

Non-costumes I can recall:

The Artist - I threw on a grubby "painter's" shirt and carried around a palette and paint brush.

The Farmer's Wife - possibly the same jeans, shirt and shoes from the previous year minus the painter's accessories. I put my hair in braids. I may have also carried a bucket.

The Poet - all black clothes, dark, dark lipstick, flat ironed hair. Accessory: about 20 fortune cookie-esque poems to be handed out upon request. (Or forced upon people - as it turned out.)

The Princess - one of my old Bridesmaid dresses. Remember when they tell you "of course you'll be able to wear this again" ? Well, I guess they were right after all.

The Harpist - really a cop out - I just wore what I usually wear to a gig.

And my personal favorite:

The Failure Of The Women's Movement - this costume also included my then five year old daughter. She went as a your standard princess while I put my hair in a ridiculous 50's updo, donned bright red lipstick, one of my mother's old June Cleaver dresses and a strand of fake pearls. (I was ahead of my time - "Mad Men" wasn't on the air yet.)

The idea for this theme presented itself a few days earlier at a Halloween/Birthday party whose guests were a gaggle of kindergarteners. I kid you not - EVERY girl was a fairy or a princess and EVERY boy was The Hulk or Spiderman. 

How far we've come.

So - in closing, I'll try to wish you a Happy Halloween. I'll even go buy $50 worth of candy and pass it out to the neighborhood children, and you too, if you stop by.

Just don't ask me to dress up.

 

Pic of the Week- Eye Candy

I'm at least managing a pic of the week this week!

This is part of a Chihuly glass sculpture on permanent display at the Milwaukee Art Museum.