18 July 2025

Boxes and Cans

 The other day I read/listened/watched something about food waste. One of the points that surprised me was the fact that how often cereal goes to waste.  Because the boxes are often truck-sized and if you don’t have children – or their tastes change, as they tend to do – the cereal can be stale by the time the bottom of the box is reached.  Also, the fact that the waxed bags aren’t air-tight and why doesn’t cereal come in ziplock bags in this day and age.  Crackers or chips are a similar situation in the food waste category.  Then there’s the old joke about fresh vegetables and fruit bought with the best of intentions but offered to the refrigerator gods instead.

Anyway, this is about pantry organization.  Yes, it is.

The whole cereal thing prompted me to actually browse the pantry organizer options. Before I was thinking it was expensive – or shall I say Expensive TO ME – and what good does it do anyway.  Also, I didn’t want to be That Woman who has everything boxed, sorted, and labelled.  (Yes, yes I do, let’s be honest) But the alphabet brain has other plans.

This made me think about all the canisters that one sees in the vintage/antique shops to store food.  Because Grandma had a cellar or a root cellar and they stored food on the regular.  Or, if you were alive during the great depression: it was coffee cans and cookie tins.  Modern day grandmas trend toward butter containers and many times washed ziplock bags.  #askmehowIknow

Meanwhile.

I found an inexpensive set and bought it on impulse.  I figured that if it arrived and I had lost interest in this particular side quest or they weren’t as cool as on the social media, I would return them.

Color Kevin skeptical at this point but he’s learned to just let me go with these kinds of things.  Either it will work out for the better or I’ll go back to how it used to was.  Odds are 70/30.

I spent Sunday afternoon figuring out what fits in what.  It was a big 24-piece set with 6 “cereal sized” containers.  Then six of three other sizes, down to small enough I don’t know what they’re intended for in a kitchen. I need to go look at the photos.

What I didn’t think about was the now necessary restructuring of said pantry.  These containers, while nice and air-tight, take up more space that the regular boxes.  Well, of course they do; otherwise this wouldn’t be a Surely story.

Cue me taking everything off of one row of two shelves.  I’ve said it before: you often have to make a mess to clean a mess.  Achievement Unlocked.

Now, when we chose this kitchen layout we were actually excited about the pantry.  We’d never had one and we made many jokes about what else other than food we could store in it.  Now we have it and I would seriously never live in a house without one again.

Oh, pause.  On the clock app there was a woman who put her dishes, pans, etc. in the pantry then put her FOOD where the dishes etc. were.  I think that just might be crazy enough to work.  But I’m not interested in doing it.  Her reasoning was something about children and husband access and that isn’t a thing for me.

Anyway.

The pantry has builder-grade wire shelving.  I’ve been continually frustrated at playing dominoes with boxes or smaller items that don’t sit squarely on those shelves.  This container idea could help with that.  So that was a legitimate issue that could be addressed with said organization project.

BUT THEN, I thought about Monica’s Closet.  I’ve said for years that I wanted to make it into a nook of sorts and I’m nearly there.  It’s painted, organized and decorated.  I almost have room for a chair in there.  (more on that on a different bloggity post)   It has one row of that particular shelving and it’s installed ridiculously high.  I can easily walk under it so it’s almost like it’s not there.  

But it is and the alphabet brain tracks that.  My solution was to go to the dollar store and buy white, plastic placemats. They are the PERFECT size.  Now it just looks like a shelf…or a ceiling, as Kevin joked.

Cue me going to the dollar store on Monday morning to buy placemats.  This is one of those things where you just wonder and regret why you didn’t think of this sooner.  It’s such an easy and inexpensive fix.  And if people already know this, then WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME.

Now, cereal is sorted and other things are containerized that I didn’t think of until I had everything pulled apart.  Yes, I lost some real estate but this will solve the alphabet brain’s issue of object permanence.  While I can see and read the boxes, actually seeing the Cereal itself is a Whole Other Level.

During the pandemic, we added a shelf way up top for ice chests, lunchboxes, and bigger items.  We thought we were So Cool when we did that and now we’re even cooler, I must say. A while ago, I added a small baker’s shelf also that has purposefully become kind of a catch-all.  Right now it has Lotus and coffee supplies and a can of paint from Monica’s Closet.  Like people do.

One of my coping mechanisms originally in this space was to use cubbies to store fruit, bread, etc.  Mostly the bigger items, kind of. Then it branched out to smaller boxes for seasoning packets, spices, etc.  So I had already containerized the pantry, I just now took it all the way home.

I haven’t made labels, yet.  The set came with the old fashioned black labels and chalk pen but I haven’t used them yet.  I also have a label maker…because of course I do…that I could use.  Some of the bins have sticky notes on them from when someone else stayed at our house or because I didn’t want to climb the stool to remember which box had napkins and which box had junk.

All in all, it feels like this was a success.  It’s not been a week yet so jury is still out.  I know that I think about having cereal more now during the day so that’s a win.  I used to subsist on cereal back in my 20’s.

Also, it just feels more pleasant in there. I momentarily thought about painting the walls a fun color but quickly realized how not fun that would be with all the shelving.  That's not a no, but it's a pause on that particular thought.


15 July 2025

Playlist for Dysfunctional Families

It's weird when you have a parent die and you have been low-to-no contact with your family.  Because when you mention it has happened, everyone's immediate response is a gasp of surprise followed by sympathy.  As is: normal.

It feels fake, disingenuous even, to respond like a normal human being would.  But it's also not kind to respond off-handedly or with a clever remark.  I mostly just landed on a reserved thanks. 

But now it's been nine months since she's passed.  Time has gone by enough that it feels like nothing happened and/or nothing changed.  The estate is being handled, albeit painfully slowly, and I'm hoping for an update from the lawyer in the Fall.  Otherwise, I am hands-off and back to no contact.

That is a superficial statement about that particular topic and for mental health and confidential reasons, we might discuss that more later. Meanwhile...

This is a really late answer but:

Someone asked what having all the work I had done being undone meant.  Fair question and I had to think about how to accurately describe it.  I live in my head and while it's normal to me, I acknowledge that it's not normal to most.

Stims returned.  Picking at my fingers, running my hand through my hair, pulling on my ears/nose.

Cursing increased.  Believe it or not, I'm not usually cursey in real.  I mean, I am but not like the first few months.  Usually I'm more of a creative curser: "sonofabiscuiteatingdog" and "God Bless America"  But the big girl words were doing some real work for a while there.

Tension pain: who knew that trauma causes aches and pains.  Many people do.  I do.  I went to the chiropractor and he was all What the hell.

My brain got loud.  There's always a lot happening up there; there's always a song playing, and a running narrative, random thoughts.  It's like someone turned up the volume and made it more chaotic. It was like a mariachi band and a marching band are chicken-fighting on a trampoline.

My patience and concentration diminished.  I just got frustrated a lot more easily and the alphabet brain is/was on High ALERT.  I felt judgement start to wheedle it's way into my brain.

Thankfully, most of these have gone away again or subsided is a better word.  If the topic comes up, I start to feel it crawl it's way back up so I've had to be strict with myself to keep "normal".

Meanwhile, remember I have a playlist when I just need to play music LOUDLY and stay stubbornly  positive?  (click here: Music for Your Monday)   Well,  I now have a In My Feelings Playlist for Dysfunctional Families.  Because, of course I do.

So if you need to take a little twenty minute pity party, here you go.  No longer than 20 minutes, after that get off of the floor.

Bass Boat - Zach Bryan  

You're Going to Go Far - Noah Kahan

Zombies - Disturbed  

Hate Me - Blue October

Pink Skies by Zach Bryan - this one made me lay on the floor when my mother-in-law died. 

Burning House- Alex Warren



13 July 2025

Unlucky Pants

 Swistle and I are fighting off the existential dread and ennui with any force necessary right now.  Might I suggest you do the same?  Buy that plant, eat that chocolate, watch Friends all weekend.  Do what gets you through the day.  Also: say no to drugs, except the legal ones. Take those.   

With this thought process, we're trying to find happy or happy adjacent, non-fraught topics to talk about.  So, here we go.

Remember when Swistle was looking for comfy pants suggestions?  Well, she was and link here: Comfy Pants

Someone mentioned the cargo pants at Old Navy, along with other pants sold there. I've had good luck with Old Navy clothing so I tried a pair.  THOUGHTS: they're nylon (omg), they're cuffed (OMG) and IF they had extra zippers and an extra pocket, they would be parachute pants from the 1980's.   

They were a little too short...like, what are the odds of that happening to me? (I'm 5'2"..used to be 5'3") However, I decided I was going to ignore the OCD/sensory issues and wear them the other day. The other day when I had to leave the house. OMGNONEVERAGAIN  #SurelyStrong

So, so SO much sensory input.  They were comfortable-ish but then I was reminded how parachute pants were tight in the morning and loose by the end of the school day.  The feel against my legs was TORTUOUS.  I even put on lotion to try to prevent that sensation but to no avail.  I finally took  them off and put them in the wash with the intention of donating them versus setting them on fire.

One star because they were momentarily comfortable but otherwise NO.  I will try Old Navy again another day.

Then yesterday the landscaper was here in the morning.  I had garden projects I wanted to do so I did the parallel play that neurospicy brains enjoy.  While he did work in the backyard, I worked in the garden.  It's growing like a weed now that it's hot so I'm really getting to see what needs replaced, trimmed or filled.  

During the pandemic, I did a rock project and they both still look good.  There are ferns everywhere that obscure some of it but I can see it during the winter when the ferns are gone.  This was part of my idea: something nice to look at when it's the Dark Months.

But one section just didn't work.  The soil wasn't good for growing and it was difficult to reach to keep the weeds away, which did grow exceptionally well there.  And I mean reach, as in climb up on the hill or onto the rocks and still not be able to fully reach.  It was an impulsive project that just didn't work.

Anyway.  I was wearing my uniform of yoga pants and a tshirt and put on my hiking boots so I wouldn't break a bone, theoretically, while working.  It's a look specific to PNW gardeners, I think.  Anyway x2.

I climbed up onto the hill, steep enough that I had made footholds in years past.  I removed the rockery rock that I used as a border and tore out two of the three survivor plants.  I couldn't get a grip on the other and so I left it for the landscaper. 

That task completed, I climbed back down and went to clean up all the rocks and weeds I'd thrown down.  My knee was sticky. Hmmm.  At first, I thought maybe I'd cut my knee because that's always a possibility.

Oh, sidequest: have you seen on the social media the question of "Do you have the scar on your knee or do you have the pencil lead in your hand?"  I think it was mostly geared to GENX but maybe not.  I have the scar on my knee; a crescent moon shape from a cinder block retaining wall from a cut that should have had stitches.

Anyway, again.

My knee was sticky because I had knelt on a slug.  Yeah. The joys of gardening in the PNW: slugs.

Now I didn't feel badly because as I've mentioned before, they're eating my hostas.  And: slug, my brain cannot anthropomorphize those.

But I have sensory issues and one of those are being sticky or slimy, of which slugs are somehow BOTH.  I tamped down my tiny panic and grabbed a garden shovel and attempted to scrape it off.  It didn't work, at all.  I grabbed the hose and tried to rinse it off.  Also didn't work and now one leg and foot was soaking wet.

The soaking wet pant leg someone distracted my brain from the yuck that was on my knee.  I was almost done with my projects so I powered through until I could go inside and shower. (let's hear it for disassociation...)

When I went inside, I put all my clothes in the laundry and made sure that the yukky part of the pant let was folded against itself so not to share the joy with all the other clothing.  After I cleaned myself up, I started laundry by pretreating the yucky with dawn powerwash.  I figured nothing could stand up to dawn soap, alcohol, and water.  I already add vinegar to the wash because I don't use fabric softener of any kind anymore.  I figured between all of that and a generous dose of tide, it would be fine.

It was not fine.  Imagine my horror, and momentary panic, when I take the pants out of the wash to find that NOTHING HAS CHANGED.  In fact, I think it just made it angry.  I set the pants aside and hurriedly shuffled through the other clothing with thoughts of a chewing gum like substance on everything.  To my relief, it did not transfer to anything else.

I brought the pants to the kitchen sink and began to search the internet for suggestions. The first suggestion was essentially what I had already done.  I could have let it soak longer but we'll never know.  The next suggestion was to take a butter knife and "gently scrape away the residue" *hork* then pretreat and wash.  NOTING THAT: it "may take several attempts to remove..."

Enter Kevin from outside as I'm sighing heavily about my fate and trying to squelch those pre-vomit tingles.  He asked what was happening and I  explained that the Slug Did Not Come Out in the Wash.  He too was very surprised then asked what the solution was.  I explained the above to him while he just patiently listens.

Then he says "Might I suggest JUST THROWING THEM AWAY!?!?"  I kind of started to laugh/cry because that seriously never occurred to me.  I was just going to try to clean it off while dry heaving on the other side of the kitchen sink.  Instead, I opened the cupboard where the garbage is and threw them away.  Then went online and ordered another pair.

Because seriously, a $25 pair of inexpensive yoga pants versus the straight up TRAUMA of cleaning slug guts off of the pants is MONEY WELL SPENT.

So, yeah, I haven't been so lucky in the pants department.  That's such a lovely double-entendre that I'm clicking publish right now.

01 July 2025