28 June 2025

In Case of Fire

 There is a scene in a movie that the antagonist asks the protagonist "Your place is on fire, you have to leave immediately. What would you take?"  It always struck me because I think that's an important question to consider.  Not the easy stuff like the children or the pets.  

What would you be absolutely devastated to lose?

For me, I think it would be photographs.  Even though most are backed up online, there's something about having the originals.  Then I think maybe my books; not all of them but some of them.  Maybe some keepsakes; my childhood stuffy, our championship coats from racing, some knicknacks.

Now, because Kevin is wired for proactivity, he already has a plan if we were suddenly needing to evacuate.  Living where we do and wildfires becoming a season instead of an anomaly, we've thought about this.  

At first, it's going to make you squint but stay with me.  He would hook the big truck up to our car trailer and load the racecar.  This would take 15 minutes, under pressure, and would accomplish two things: three of our highest valued assets would be ready to go and then we can load stuff into the truck and trailer.  This also leaves my car to be loaded, of which would be happening while he was dealing with that.

And I have a plan: suitcase & some clothes, document safe, file cabinet contents, and all the electronics.  Between the document safe and our electronics, most anything that would be irreplaceable or needed in such a situation would be included. All of these, fairly easily accessible. It's a small house and I'm ridiculously organized with most things.  They will also fit easily into my car.

Then, if still time, photographs and keepsakes.  Dump out a big tote that stores decorations then arm sweep the cabinet where the albums live.  This is an example of how much I've thought about this, I've visualized it.  This remains undecided if that is a healthy or unhealthy thing.

In the past three years, I've closed - or in my bio family's case, helped with - two houses.  

With my in-laws, we each kept things that we wanted or could use.  We did our best to distribute amongst each other and extended family. Still, truckloads went to donation.

As I glanced through the house to see what I would be compelled to take in an emergency - and I had time - it would be items from their house.  The key rack, the pansy painting that Mom loved, the tiffany lamp from the Moody House, the mantle clock. Items that feel like home, to me.

I didn't bring much home from my parents house: two figurines that I heard my entire childhood that I could have when I was older - a schoolhouse penny bank and a Josef Angel figurine. They were high on a mid-century display area that my dad built.  I felt compelled to take a soup pot when we were looking through the kitchen; I don't know why.  I didn't take any of the antique dishes, even though many were designated for me.  (I don't have room, I didn't want them)  I brought home a bath mat because it was new and matched our bathroom; so more practical than sentimental.  A bunch of Christmas decorations, because I like vintage and because that's one of the few times from childhood  that feel happy.

We were almost done with the house and I was mentally getting ready to leave for the last time. I did one last scan to make sure everything had been addressed when it caught my eye.  A antique mission-style footstool behind the door in the bathroom.  It had been missed because it was behind the door.  I had an emotional reaction, most unlike me, and my niece reacted accordingly.  

This footstool was used to reach the sink to wash my hands, brush my teeth, get my hair brushed or cut.  It was the one thing out of the whole house that represented Me.   I've been gone from that house since 1988 and that was the only thing left that seemed to indicate that I lived there once. It's dirty and needs refinished but I haven't done that yet and I might not. It's under my big desk and I rest my feet on it daily.

My point being, yes I have one, is when it comes down to it: most stuff is replaceable. While sentimentally important, I would still be okay if they were lost; sad though for sure.  Also, with aging I think, "stuff" becomes less important.

Moreover, I've learned to think "Someone is going to have to deal with this when we're gone" and that has made an impact on what I've kept.

So, two things: have an emergency plan in place.  It doesn't have to be highlighted and laminated but a general discussion or thought process of what could happen in an emergency.  Secondly, think about what you would be devastated to lose and it's probably not what your first guess would be. Then include that in your plan.

Finally, have these discussions with your family.  My mother-in-law was so good at telling us what she wanted us to have or what to do that there was very little drama when it was time. My mom didn't have any kind of plan beyond labeling her antique dishes so we had to just figure it out.  

I have a notebook in the document safe listing every item in this house of value, including where it came from, approximate value and instructions for the kids about how to deal with all of it.  Mostly, if they don't want it: have an estate sale with "make an offer" and recycle or donate the rest.  

It literally says "Take any of it to the dump and I will haunt the rest of your days." And I mean it.

23 June 2025

Chatty Email

 We are all just feeling all the feelings right now as the world whirls around us.  Both my BFF and I have struggling with just regular communication recently. I just sent her a catch-up chatty email (instead of a WTAF IS GOING ON that has been the dominating topic) and now my brain synapses are suddenly TALK! WRITE!

So, here we go: chatty email.

I just phoned the Library of Congress in Washington DC.  OMG, I know right.  I don't get nervous usually with those kinds of things but whew.  I found myself sitting up straight as I spoke.  I forget how more formally and professionally business people speak on the East Coast.  It makes me feel hillbilly.

You're wondering why I would phone the Library of Congress, I'm certain.  I have an envelope full of negatives from my father's tour in the Korean war.  The bio family has the albums but I ended up with a bunch of negatives.  It felt sacrilegious to just toss them away so I did a search and it suggested the Veteran's History Project.  I phoned them and indeed, they would love to have them.  That is a win for everyone, for sure.  The ever so lovely Mrs. Borden will be letting me know next steps soon.

I have a cooktop stove and there is one pot that just doesn't work with it. Of course it's the pot that I use the most.  I don't know why but it takes roughly nine business days for water to boil in that pot.   I did a search as to why this could be and the internet blamed the pot. That's marginally helpful, I guess.  The pot is from a set that was a gift, most likely from Walmart or Costco.  Not judging, just a detail. 

I realized that I have two small pots that are vintage Revere Ware.  Those work just fine, I just need a bigger size.  I researched and they're a little expensive but it's because they last forever.  I ordered one and patiently waited...just to get the wrong size and not a vintage one.  Sigh.  This lines up for how this timeline is going. 

The handle is plastic instead of Bakelite.  There are grooves in the bottom of the pan, of which I can't tell if they're manufacturing marks or someone trying to clean it.  The copper bottom is stained.  There were mineral deposits.  So, that's like whatever.  Lesson learned, I've never gotten bitten from ebay before and it was just my turn.

So then, I had something spill over in the oven and it made the whole house smell.  The next morning I cut up some lemon and let it simmer most of the day.  As I did it, I thought to myself "This is going to end badly, you're going to forget and burn the pot."  But my rationale was this wasn't the pot I was looking for anyway so *shrug*

And I burnt it. This morning though, not yesterday.  Then I ordered another pot from the etsy and fingers crossed.  Oh, and I cleaned the burnt pot because it's not going to win that easily.  (soak in dishwasher detergent was the winning formula) Again: dumbest timeline. 

While I was waiting on something, I went through my personal email and deleted all the emails of photos I had emailed myself before there was a cloud way back prior to 2014-ish.  Many of them I had managed to upload but some I hadn't and seeing the littles as Kindergartners was a little harsh.  Or our old house, that I still miss 20 years later. Or our old dogs.  Anyway, clapping of hands, that project is done.

My niece bought her first house in the same neighborhood I lived in when I was married to satan my first husband; right next door to the townhouse where we lived. It's not without a little deja vu when I go for a visit.  The other day I sent her a text that said "This is what I listened to on repeat when I lived next door to your house" with these photos:

Free Fallin was playing as I left my husband for the last time.  Like a Cameron Crowe movie

My nephew sold my old Durango to my niece's friend, a guy in his late teens.  The friend was so excited, he's posting on the 'gram with photos of it.  It was reported by the non-family neighbor that he was yelling "EFF YEAH" excitedly as he pulled out of the driveway in it.  This makes my dark little heart happy.

Finally, Kevin was just now looking up someone on the interwebs to verify they weren't sketchy.  He mentions "Well, he's christian..."  To which, without thinking, I replied "You still need to give him a chance."  

And that friends, is the chatty email.  Now go forth and think about anything else other than we are living in the dumbest timeline.

20 June 2025

08 June 2025

Electronic Monitoring Device

 You guys, if this isn't indicative of how this whole past few years have gone, nothing is.

I wrote a whole gdamn post, was editing it by flipping back and forth between Post Editor: Preview and the draft.  Then something happened and now it's simply only a lower case "I" being displayed.  I hit the undo button, I returned to the drafts page, to no avail.

Luckily my little I.T. nerd brain told me to go to my browser history.  There is my draft preview, whew.

EXCEPT I cannot copy and paste the text.  I can only screenshot it because according to the internet, I'm seeing a ghost page right now.

But I'm surely not going to attempt to rewrite the entire post, that isn't happening. If you see a grammatical error, no you didn't.  I'm not even going to write a closing paragraph. I'm sorry to Mrs. Hoffman, my sophomore year composition teacher, I just can't risk it.

Here is the post, even though it's formatted weird and will make me squint for all of eternity.