It strikes me this morning that the old hat I fished out of the closet to protect my hair while painting will amuse the teenagers at the shelter greatly. I keep telling them I'm not old, they're young. 'Course I hate wearing baseball caps, but I can't resist.
The 1988 Toothbrush
1988 was an interesting year. If memory isn’t tricking me this morning, ’88 was the year we moved into the barn as our residence.
It was rough – both the barn and life in the barn.
We had electricity and one working toilet. That was it.
I cooked in electric fry pans, crock pots, and a silly little portable burner. We trooped down to my parents house, towels and toothbrushes in hand, to shower.
The 1988 Barn
Eventually, we had water, but still no bathtub. I washed dishes in a tub outside on the picnic table.
Eventually, we had a tub. Sheer luxury.
We had no phone. [That proved to be rather nice. In fact, well after we could afford it, we lived sans phone.] We had framing and insulation, but no walls. There was no kitchen to speak of, though I did have a stove – an ancient thing that we bought used somewhere. The ex’s work bench served as the dining room table and it was a plum pain in the ass to move the table saw every time it was time to eat.
The barn was slow going. We were trying to do it without incurring debt. The materials we needed at the beginning were expensive. Winter was coming, so we needed a furnace. The barn was in danger of slipping down the hill, so we needed a stone retaining wall.
We picked up some kitchen cabinets somewhere – they were beat up, ugly and not well-made. I danced in joy.
The 1997 Barn
In 1997 – 9 years later, we gave up and procured a construction loan. We hired a contractor. Then the fun really began. It was a nightmare; it was a dream come true; it was frustrating and, finally, the not-quite-finished barn was a not just a loved home, but a real house. It looked like a badly-built California Contemporary, but I adore every square inch of it – still do, worrisome warts and all.
Except for recent projects, nothing has been painted since 1997. The barn has been in desperate need of interior paint and exterior stain. The exterior is daunting, so I’m concentrating on the interior.
The most annoying part of paint prep - getting things out of the way.
The family room is now underway for a new paint job – Wellspring Blue. The color is dark, maybe too dark, but right now I love the color in the can. As part of paint prep, I removed the books from the top of the semi-built in bookcases and found a toothbrush still in its packaging up there.
Puzzled, I carried the oral instrument into the kitchen. While I don’t clean often, the top of the bookcase has been cleaned at least once a year since 1997 when it was installed. The most recent cleaning was about this time last year.
The flattened package was a major clue.
I peered and found a 1988 date on the packaging. Truly, a WTF moment. We didn’t have bookcases until ’97 and the top has been cleaned, while not frequently, at least often enough that missing the toothbrush was unlikely. The toothbrush package was flattened, but clean and dust free – an important clue.
Old Webster gets more of a workout than one would think.
[The barn is a retirement home for dirt and dust – truly, Jehovah could create an entire metropolis of people from blowing on the dust of just one room.]
I have deduced that the toothbrush fell out of a book. The ex used to use all manner of strange things as a bookmark. That’s the only reasonable explanation. I thank him for that habit – 1988 has come flooding back. To quote Dickens; it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. . .
These times are also the best and worst – the yin/yang that life always seems to be. I’ll probably keep the toothbrush. De-junking is one thing; but little memory provokers here and there keep me grounded and cognizant of the yin/yang.
Willy in the knee hole. He's sad. The painting adventure has begun and his spot in the warmth has been disrupted beyond recognition. I did clean the vent, though.
More than likely, you already have what you need.
The teenagers (and staff) at the shelter never cease to amaze me.
We have one who is pregnant and she mentioned tonight that she’d love to have a smoothie. I said, “So, let’s go make you a smoothie.”
She said, “But we don’t have any smoothie mix.”
“I said,” “Smoothie mix?”
One thing led to another and it was revealed that she had no idea you could just make a smoothie. I assured her that provided one had a blender, ice, milk or yogurt, and fruit, one could make a smoothie better and healthier than anything coming out of a packet. (Truth to tell, I didn’t know they had smoothie mix.)
Fruit
So, I dragged out the blender. Then I hear another staff person holler, “Wait! I want to watch.”
It seems I was surrounded by people who hadn’t a clue you could just make a smoothie.
So. In the interest of nutrition and spreading important knowledge, I’m sharing my super secret (it appears) smoothie recipe.
Here it is:
Dump a cup of ice in the blender. Dump a cup of milk or yogurt in a blender. Toss in bananas, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, mango or any other fruit (or combination thereof) you think will rock your boat and hit the crush ice button. (Make sure you remember to put the top on the blender. It’s a fearsome mess to clean up if you don’t.) Let it whirl a bit. Open the top, dip out a spoonful and taste for flavor and texture.)
Ice
If it’s not thick enough, add more fruit. If it’s not fruity enough add more fruit. If it’s too thick or too fruity, add more milk or yogurt. Whirl it around some more and pour into glasses.
Ms. Pregnant wanted a banana-chocolate smoothie, so I tossed in milk, ice, bananas, and Hershey’s syrup in the blender and let it whirl and poured it into a glass. Dubious, she took a small taste and declared it, with some amazement, better than smoothie mix. (No shit, I thought.)
If you’re of a mind too, you can sneak stuff in there that you don’t like, but are persuaded you need – ground flax seed, protein powder, calcium (take it out of the capsule), etc. You can also use ice cream or sherbet. In the off-season, I find the unsweetened, unprocessed frozen fruit to work just peachy (lose the ice, in such cases).
I hate milk, but it's not bad this way. Plain yogurt is better.
I’ve been known to doctor frozen baby carrots with a ton of fruit and fruit juice (no milk, no yogurt). I like carrots, but I really like them this way.
It’s like making soup. Any combination of anything will work as long as it sounds good to you.
So, there you have it – my public service message of the day.
Bonus info: If you dump a jigger or two of vodka into the blender, hot summer evenings are greatly enhanced.
W. Va. Fur and Root 