Permanent Press-to Chango

My husband gave himself food poisoning again this past weekend. This is the second time now that he has done this. I see his adventures into digestive distress as a sign that he is finally embracing the women’s movement, albeit a millennium too late. This is because, in the past, he has relied upon me to cook inedible meals.

I owe his new found gastric consciousness and capabilities to, what else, the movie industry. I have been working on movie sets in Iowa non-stop since May. During these past five months he has learned to fend for himself, with the exception of doing the laundry. I still have no intention of letting him near the washing machine no matter how long the hours on set may be. There is absolutely no telling what he would throw in there. There also is no horror movie made to date that is any where as terrifying as the sight of what I would find in the washing machine after he’s done a few loads. Scary. Very scary.

I remember all too well what happened to my friend when her children helped her. Her children had convinced her that they needed a dog. Make that dogs. She has two children and they each needed a dog. Of course, two children cannot share one dog, so each child needed a dog. The oldest one, a calm laid back easy going soul picked out “Buddy”, a calm laid back easy going dog who was also house broken.

Her youngest picked out a devil dog with the misleading name of “Sweetie”. The dog’s temperament was fitting. This child played for the “devils” on a youth sports team. Therefore, a devil dog for a devil child was appropriate. Sweetie, the devil dog was housebroken but used selective memory and random occurrences of this talent. Therefore, Sweetie’s accidents were not accidents at all but deliberate and, I am sure, premeditate acts of mutiny and mischief.

So, therefore it was no surprise when my friend noticed a strange odor coming from her laundry one day. She checked the clothes in the dryer and discovered skid marks. Really gross skid marks caused by a “dog present” that had gone through the laundry in tact and made it into the dryer as one difficult to dissolve sausage shaped unwanted item. It was attached to a piece of clothing and left marks all around the dryer. Common response: Ew gross.

While my husband is house broken (thank his mother for that one), there is no telling what he leaves in his pockets. Our laundry has to go through a number of tests before it is safe to toss into the washer. One test is the clank test. The clank test is performed by taking any piece of laundry and slapping it against the outside of the washing machine. If it clanks, and it has not belts, buckles, or large shiny metal buttons, it is not safe in the machine. It has ‘objects’ of unknown origin in the pockets. Items failing the clank test get recycled back into the laundry test pile on the floor of the spare bedroom. My husband watches TV in there. He has plenty of time to check pockets before chucking dirty clothes back into the hamper.

This actually is one of those logic statements. The full statement goes something like this. My husband watches TV. My husband watches a lot of TV. My husband watches a lot of TV in the spare bedroom. There is dirty laundry which didn’t pass the clank test on the floor in the spare bedroom. Therefore, my husband has ample time to inspect the pockets of his dirty laundry before landing it in the hamper.

There’s also the moisture test. If it looks wet, it is probably sweaty and crawling with bacteria. Therefore, it is not safe to touch. Laundry which is not safe to touch is not going to be picked up by me and chucked in the laundry machine – at least not with my bare hands. Common response to wet or damp laundry. Ew Gross. Solution to gross wet or damp laundry – barbeque tongs and forks. These work very well for picking up yukky bike clothes that need to be detoxified in the wash.

Since scientists have invented fibers and materials in clothes that they claim can “breathe”, I’m thinking the next step is to create ones that move on their own. Think of the possiblities. Dirty clothes can be trained to jump into the washing machine on their own. This could save families and marriages. Just imagine how much quality time families could have if the need to nag about picking up clothes was eliminated? I’m thinking highly trained technically advanced voice activated fibers in clothes? Socks and gloves would find each other – no more orphan socks or missing gloves. I have a number of right hand gloves just pining away into nothing after their missing left hand mates. Gloves mate for life, you know. Socks have a tendency to be a little more philandering but what would you expect from something that can be turned into a monkey puppet? But then socks also lead double lives as thumbless mittens and dust rags. What else could you expect but mischief from something like that?

Yes, our future with smart fibers would be great. Bedclothes could straighten themselves out. Clean clothes could point to dirty clothes hiding under the bed, or couch, or wherever else children and husband’s stuff them. A clever canvass back pack could sound an alarm when homework hasn’t been taken out to complete. Rugs could report on missing library books. Curtains might send a message about windows left open in approaching rain. Just as long as the fibers are taught a sense of decency. I don’t want any pants telling me that they make me look fat. I get enough of that back talk from the mirror.

I Married the Missing Link

Men have hard heads. In fact, modern medical technology is finding that the average male skull has a good six inches of calcified lining (aka bone) all the way around. This leaves very little room in any guy’s head for any neurological function in the form of a working brain.

Also, the male brain remains in its very ancient form. Fortunately, primeval instincts are rooted in the nucleolus of every cell. This medical fact explains why men can function on some levels and not others. For example, concepts like “I am hungry, I need to sleep, and I have to pee” can get through even the thickest headed guy. Concepts like “don’t grease your bike in the house on the new carpet”, “please shut the door you just left open so the flies don’t get in”, and “the light is burned out and needs to be changed” never have a chance of sinking in.

If there is anyone out there who doubts this, just come to my house and spend a week with my husband. He is living proof of all these facts. You might think I am comparing him to the missing link in evolution. No comparison needed. His entire bike team is called “Team Missing Link”. Need I say more?

All of my friends know I married the missing link. Most of my relatives know I married the missing link, although Pat’s side of the family may be in denial. Who could blame them? But the kids know I married the missing link. That’s why we have a phrase that goes like “well, that’s dad for you”.

Right now I am working on another movie. I’ve moved from scarecrow zombies to houses with spirits. I’ve also moved from the east side of Interstate 35 to the west side of Interstate 35. Since we had some unseasonably cold weather for the last shoot, I am hoping the west side brings us more California weather and less northern New England.

What my working on another movie means to my family is that the house elf is gone. Gone, gone, gone. House elves are those little unseen folk who not only run the dirty dishes, but unload the dishwasher and put the clean dishes away so there’s always enough bowls, glasses and spoons. House elves always keep enough soap, toothpaste and deodorant for everyone. House elves also make sure there’s food in the fridge, extra rolls of toilet paper in every bathroom, that the milk hasn’t expired and that the bread isn’t moldy. House elves also keep everyone’s favorite soup in the cupboard, have an extra box of saltines on hand in the pantry, and keep the laundry washed and put away. House elves also always know where everything is. Therefore, when someone can’t find a back pack, or a pair of bike gloves, the house elf knows the back pack is at the bottom of the stairs and the bike gloves are out in the garage on top of the table saw.

But let’s face it. House elves are in big demand by movie companies making movies in Iowa! In our house, the house elf also mows the lawn. This is because I enjoy yard work and I do a good job with mowing the lawn. Therefore, when I mow the lawn it’s green and lush and looks nice. Little bunnies hop through our lawn, deer mosey through on occasion. Owls take up residence in our trees and little birdies twitter in the evergreen and lilac bushes. All is well with the universe.

When my husband mows the lawn, we never know what is going to happen. Okay, that’s not true. We do know what is going to happen and it scares us. Suddenly there will be large dead circles in the middle of the lawn. These might be miniature crop circles formed when people from his home planet try to contact him. But they are more likely toxic chemical burns in the center of the yard caused by his pouring out turpentine on the grass. We can tell it’s turpentine from a mile away due to the unique odor of turpentine. The turpentine disposal stems from Pat’s decision that things needed to be soaked in turpentine. Things like bike chains and lawn mower parts.

Suddenly rose bushes disappear right out of the ground. This could also be explained by an alien landing in the rose bushes under the window in our house. The alien might think the thorny rose bush was attacking and therefore had to be zapped into nonexistence by powerful alien zappo rays. Another vote for the zappo rays are the crop circles around where the rose bushes were.

But the disappearing rose bush and crop circles in the rose garden can also be explained by a running lawn mower being lifted into the rose garden and all the ground cover and rose bushes being mowed into smitherines. Also, the foot prints in the rose garden look mysteriously like husband foot prints and not like alien foot prints.

Another vote for the missing link explanation versus the alien attack explanation is that this has happened before. It happens every time my husband has to mow the grass. He seems to get carried away and not notice that the grass has stopped and that he has reached an area marked off by rocks, landscaping timbers, solar light and a very pronounced change in vegetation. One would also think that since he dug the holes for the rose bushes while I planted them that he might remember.

But, six inches of bone is six inches of bone. A memory like digging several holes on a hot day and getting stabbed by thorns on the rose bush as we lifted them into the holes doesn’t have a chance of remaining.

There’s another fact that goes with the six inch lining of bone. The space in the center is a finite space. Therefore, according to all the laws of physics, it can only hold so much. Once full, something must be taken out before more can be taken in.

The male mind is very selective in the thoughts that will be retained. Therefore, when the news of Brett Favre playing for the Vikings came along – well something just had to do. Therefore it was a simple choice – memory of location of prickly rose bushes out. New knowledge of Brett Favre being a Viking – in.

This new movie shoot lasts 3 weeks. That’s 3 more times our lawn will be mowed. I went around the yard last night and showed my husband all the areas that are grass and can be mowed. I showed him the spots of missing rosebushes. He, of course, denied mowing the rose garden. He probably doesn’t remember it. I’ll be putting up a little fence today to help his ailing memory. I would ask the Vikings to come down and replace the slaughtered rose bushes – but that’s even scarier. I’d have an entire yard full of bone heads. Who knows how many crop circles that could be?

Who Knew Making Mud Pies Was A Job Skill?

Both of my grandmothers knew that threading a needle and filling a bobbin were job skills. I have learned that they are right. I think my job description is "whatever". Who would have known that knowing the location of all the thrift stores and laundromats was a job skill. I’ve been fortunate to have worked for several movies filmed the last two years in the Midwest. The movie companies film here because of the film tax credit incentives. I wanted to work in actual movie production because I thought it would help my screenwriting – and it has.

Here's the inside skinny on the wardrobe department in movie land. The wardrobe for each movie is set by the tone of the script, the personality of the character, and the time period, whether it’s the Civil War or the 1980’s. Then each character has quirks, such as wearing delicate turquoise jewelry, polo shirts, or a lot of pink. You know how you can look at a sweater and know that it's the kind of sweater a certain friend of yours would wear? The character's wardrobe changes throughout the movie based on the scene in the script. The head of wardrobe reads the script noting the tone, time period and personality of the characters, decides what clothing is needed for each character for each scene and shops for the movie. Sometimes I have been sent shopping. The wardrobe department also needs supplies, like supplies of tee shirts, socks, printers, photo paper, ink cartridges, laundry soap, bleach, fabric softener, printer paper, etc. Wardrobe may buy 5 sets of each outfit for the character - one for the stand in, two for the actor and two for the stunt doubles. Alternate outfits are purchased as well. The actor comes in for fittings and is photographed in the movie wardrobe. The director weighs in on the clothing choices. Everything has to look right under the lighting and blend with the background for the scene. Think of an outside summer scene. Everything will be green so the actor wouldn't be in a green outfit. If the actor is dark skinned, yellow might be a good choice. But if the scene calls for that character to hold a yellow cat, blue might be a better choice. Other characters would wear a color other than blue.

Once the clothing is approved, the unused clothes are returned. I often make the returns. I also make any alterations needed for the actor – taking seams in, letting seams out, adding ribbons, and sewing on fur cuffs, changing the buttons, etc. Who knew sewing all those Halloween costumes all those years was preparing me for a career?
The character and the stunt double may have two sets of the same outfit for each scene in case a button pops off, the zipper breaks, or something else happens to the clothes. Sometimes 7 of each outfit is purchased because at the beginning of the movie the clothes are clean, but during the movie, the clothes get messed up or dirty based on what happens in the scene. The clothes are "prepped" or "distressed" or "teched" for these scenes. My job involves washing clothing repeatedly so they look faded instead of brand new. I have also sanded down cuffs, seams and hems so they looked worn. I have clipped and snipped hems so they unraveled. I have washed clothing with fabric dye so the white threads in the seams would darken up. I have deliberately ripped holes in clothes. I have made up a bucket of mud pies that were rubbed into the fabric. And to think I used to get in trouble for doing all of this. Who knew making messes was a job skill?
Each scene is shot several times from different points of view. Wardrobe has to make sure the actor's clothing is identical each time they shoot this. For example, the hero’s top two buttons are unbuttoned each time this scene is filmed. I have noted movies in which an actor falls in a swimming pool and is magically dry a few minutes later. The on set costumer takes pictures of the characters in the scene for continuity. My job involves flashing pictures of people and printing them for all posterity in the wardrobe book. Who knew taking pictures of kids on the first day of school, at every birthday party, during every Christmas, at every event, on all vacations and so on was a job skill? Movie scenes are filmed one location at a time instead of being shot in the order they are written in the script. So, if the script has the story starting out in the house, then the characters go to school or shopping, there are locations in the house, at the school, at a mall, etc. Based on the script, the characters may have breakfast in the kitchen, go to school, be outside the school talking, go back inside the classroom, head for the the mall, stop at a park on the way home from the mall, be back in the kitchen for dinner, then maybe to a friend's house after dinner. There's a lot of work in setting up each scene. The cameras have to be in place, and the lighting has to be set. The camera is set on tracks that move so it can go back and forth or roll around in a circle. It can also be on giant tripods. The lights are huge and set on tripods. There are also rolls of gel film that clip over the light to add a yellow or blue or red tint to the lighting. Then they have big screens that diffuse or deflect the light and those are clipped on tripods as well. During one movie we were in the upstairs of an old abandoned farm house. There were so many people and so much equipment that the floor started to cave in. My job involved making a run for it. Who knew running errands was a job skill?
Every location move involves moving the movie company’s trailers, which are the size of the back of an 18 wheeler truck. The wardrobe trailer has rows of clothing racks along side the walls, a washer and dryer, storage cupboards and a desk surface or workspace for sewing. Hair and make up has their own trailer and it will look like a mobile beauty salon with chairs and sinks. Props has its own trailer. Movies always have a catering truck, called craft services and they have a trailer. Movies serve a breakfast at the start of the day (regardless of the time the day starts). The meals are catering. Throughout the day, in between meals, snacks are served and this is called craft services. They bring around bottles of water, little sandwiches, cheese and crackers, fruit, etc. There are changing rooms for actors and those are in another trailer. All of these trailers are called the "circus" and the area where they are set is called "base camp". Most jobs are like a circus. Working in the movies is a fun circus. Because moving all of this is a huge effort, the movie will normally shoot all of the scenes in one location and the characters will do wardrobe changes. My job involves labeling all of the clothing by the character and by the scene. The clothing is put in clear plastic zip up wardrobe bags with each bag containing everything the character needs for that scene - bras, belts, shirts, pants, jewelry, shoes, socks. At the beginning of each day's shooting, my job can be putting the actor's outfits in their changing rooms on their trailer (called the honey wagon - because each room also contains a potty). Who knew getting kids ready for school each day by setting out their clothes, back packs, etc was a job skill?
When we start filming for the day, my job can involve being on set (called set costumer) to make sure the actor's clothing is right for the scene and to have on hand anything that gets added during the scene (like a bandage after an actor is attacked by zombies). Also, we may be filming a summery scene on a colder day (like we had in August) and my job involves having "warmies" there - like a robe or coat the actor can wear on set while not in the scene. Who knew being prepared for life’s little events – like taking kids’ jackets along in the car incase it got cold –was a job skill?

I might do quick clothing repairs on set. I have a "wardrobe kit" that includes a little pouch where I keep spools of thread, needles, scissors, a seam ripper, pins, and other little things for emergencies. Who knew keeping a well packed purse was a job skill? When the scene is done, I collect all the clothing from set and from the actors' trailers, take it back to the wardrobe trailer and make sure it gets put back on the racks with all the labels, etc. If the clothing needs to be washed, I wash it, and then put it back with all the labels in the bags. Who knew picking up after kids and husbands and getting everything ready for the next day was a job skill? When the movie is over, the each piece of the clothing is inventoried by character by scene, stored in wardrobe packing boxes (like you can get when you move) and shipped back to the film company in Los Angeles. My job involves doing the entire inventory, finishing the wardrobe book and shipping off the wardrobe boxes. Once the film is shot, there's the editing. As the movie is edited, they may find that scenes or parts of scenes have to be refilmed. So they'll use the inventory list to find which wardrobe box the clothes for that character for that scene are in, pull the wardrobe for that scene out of storage and reshoot the scene. This is a lot like spring cleaning and knowing that the winter coats are in storage at the dry cleaners, and knowing which kids sweater is in what box in the attic, that the sleeping bags are in the cupboard in the laundry room and that the stocking hats and mittens are in the attic. Who knowing the locations of objects was a job skill? I am not sure if my name will ever be listed in the credits. So far none of the movies that I’ve worked on are finished being edited. I've also heard that a lot of movies are filmed every year, but only a few ever make it into theaters. So, who knows? I’ve started paying careful attention to the credits at the end of movies. I’m looking for someone whose job is listed as picker up, washer, fixer, shopper, etc. I haven’t seen one yet. There is best boy. Maybe I’ll be listed as best mud pie maker.

No Fair! No Fair! Why You Cannot Argue With A Child’s Logic

When our Little Miss was about two and a half, she was crawling out of her crib on a regular basis. As parents, my husband and I thought avoiding head and neck injuries from falling while crawling out of a crib was a good thing. Therefore, we bought her a day bed.

Little Miss was our third daughter and by this time we had learned to ease in change. Therefore, we left her crib set up, but with the side down and put her thousands of stuffed animals in it. We told Little Miss that she could sleep in her big girl day bed while her stuffed animals slept in the crib.

This worked well. At least until we thought enough time had passed that it was safe to take her crib down. Generally by morning most of the animals had been retrieved and were in the day bed with Little Miss. Therefore, we concluded that the crib was no longer needed.

So one fine Saturday morning, my husband got out his rechargeable drill and began disassembling the crib. Little Miss was occupied with eating cereal in the living room and watching cartoons. But she wandered upstairs to see what dad was doing.

Apparently taking the crib down was not on her playlist. She began running around the house with her hands in the air shouting “No fair! No fair! Daddy’s taking my lid off.”

Being adults, my husband and I had lost the essentials of childhood logic and it took us a little while to grasp this concept. In the meantime, Little Miss stood in her Tinkerbell jammies holding her Mickey Mouse flannel blanket staring at my husband with a terrified look on her face.

Ultimately he asked Little Miss if she wanted him to stop taking her crib apart. With a quivering lip she solemnly shook her head no. “Then I won’t, he assured her.” That solved the dilemma and life went on.

Growing up, our three daughters had many pets. This included our share of hamsters and gerbils, dogs and cats and at one time ducks and rabbits. The rabbits and ducks were gifts from the Easter bunny one year. We had a large fenced in back yard and the rabbits and ducks got along well enough with our two basset hounds. Or rather, they got along pretty well with our male basset hound, Buddy boy, but not his mother.

By summer we had two of the three original ducks left and one rabbit. The rabbit was a large lop eared fluffy rabbit we called Abby Rabbit. We let Abby Rabbit roam the back yard during the day time and she would take refuge under our deck. Under the deck was Mamma Hound’s territory and the two squared off. All of our basset hounds got plenty of exercise and none were the lumpy Pillsbury dough boy type of fat bassets. Mamma Hound was particularly small and lean.
After some initial growling followed by a warning ground thump, mamma hound was excised from under the deck by a series of powerful kicks delivered by one Abby Rabbit to a howling Mamma Hound. From that point on Mamma Hound grudgingly agreed to share the space under the deck with Abby Rabbit.

Ducky didn’t fare so well. Ducky had a bird brain and was dumber than the basset hounds, which themselves were dumber than a box of rocks. Let’s face it, hush puppies are loveable but if you’ve ever owned one you know they aren’t known for being the smartest canines.

Ducky wandered the back yard, swam in the kids’ wading pool and ate bugs from the garden. Ducky ate things by pecking at them. Ducky also ate dog food from the bowl. This was fine with Buddy Boy but Mamma Hound was still a bit teed off with the burgeoning pet population, was most likely still holding a grudge against Abby Rabbit, and was not about to share food as well as napping places.

Mamma Hound warned Ducky with a growl that her food bowl was not to be touched. Ducky continued pecking at Mamma’s food bowl so Mamma nipped Ducky. Ducky pecked at Mamma’s nose and Mamma charged. Ducky was used to playing chase this way with Buddy Boy so Ducky turned and waddled away as fast as ducks can go. Mamma, however delivered one powerful chomp to Ducky’s behind leaving a bare spot, leaving Mamma with a mouthful of white duck feathers.

After consulting our neighbor who raised birds, we spent the next few weeks using diaper rash ointment on Ducky’s behind until his feathers grew back. We also moved Mamma’s food dish out of harm’s way.

Ducky’s companion was Lucky Duck who also played chase with Buddy Boy. Buddy Boy was a growing pup who could be a little rowdy. It turned out he was a little too rowdy for Lucky Duck the day he picked Lucky Duck up in his mouth and broke Lucky’s neck.

Then our children who were five and under came up with their own plan. We needed to have Ducky lay eggs so we could have more ducks. My husband and I explained, delicately, that we didn’t think that would work because we only had one duck. So if Ducky was going to be the mamma duck and lay eggs, we needed a daddy duck.

Children make their own sense out of the world and have their own reasoning and logic. The lack of a daddy duck didn’t slow down their plan. They simply used creative thinking and decided that the rabbit could be the daddy. It is impossible for adults to argue with logic like this and so my husband and I gave each other “that look” and agreed that the rabbit could be the daddy. Why not? After all we believed in diversity!

However, we were not prepared for the next series of events. As fall approached, Ducky laid an egg. All along we had thought Ducky was a dude. Being city kids, my husband and I forgot that fowl can lay unfertilized eggs. Therefore I looked at the migrating ducks in the sky and wondered if some fly by night rascal duck had violated our pet. Our bird savvy neighbor straightened that concept out.

Our oldest daughter started kindergarten that week and proudly took Ducky’s accomplishment for show and tell. Ducky’s accomplishment was accidentally dropped in the backyard, to the delight of Mamma Hound who loved eggs with anything. Ducky tried to lay another egg but became egg bound (according to our neighbor’s diagnosis) and succumbed to the inevitable.

But as for me, these days when life seems unfair and someone is trying to take my lid off, I try to remember to think out of the box and apply the concept that all things are possible and all problems are solvable. After all, why can’t the rabbit be the daddy and, if ducks can lay eggs, why can’t they be golden eggs?

The Nice Thing About Sisters

The nice thing about sisters is … I wouldn’t know. I don’t have one. I never had one and my parents stopped making family members after my brother came along. But I have observations about people who do have sisters about what could be the nice thing about having a sister.

Item one: Someone to blame. My husband grew up in a large Irish Catholic family. He has lots of sisters. They have lots of children, mostly girls. So he has lots of nieces and they have sisters. My husband is the oldest of the clan but we were the last to have children. As a result, we heard lots of stories about the T girls, MJ and L.

MJ and L were two peas in a pod who grew up on a farm, playing in the dirt and having a generally good time. MJ and L had a lot of energy which was normally put to mischievous use. As the older one, MJ was most likely to be confronted about the situation. Her standard response was “L done it”. One day Grandma O’Bryan reminded MJ that L wasn’t there. MJ’s response “Oh man, Grandma, you figured it out.” So, a sister can be someone to blame – at least for a while.

Item two: Someone to antagonize. We have three daughters. Growing up they were pretty much the fighting Irish. This is just what happens when you mix Scottish and Irish. You get vim and vinegar. Our oldest daughter was the Ready Freddy of the group. The middle one is a whisp of a girl and our stealth child. The youngest is devil or angle, with her halo sitting firmly on two bumps that could very well be demon horns, particularly where the middle daughter was concerned.

The older two generally got along. The oldest and the youngest generally got along and the middle and little one were oil and water. The youngest took full advantage of this and deliberately antagonized the middle one. Miss S would go in Miss KA’s room and touch things on purpose, simply to stir the pot to the boiling point. It worked every time. Miss KA wound string through her room with pins tapped to it as S traps. Then Miss KA posted a note on Miss S’s room telling Miss S the evil fate that awaited Miss S should she step foot in the forbidden room.

The plan backfired because Miss S could not read. But, she was creative, scribbled an illegible note and taped it to Miss KA’s door. Then she sat in her closet and knocked on the wall, which backed up to Miss KA’s room, making it sound like someone was at Miss KA’s door. Her motto might have been “Anything To Annoy”.

Item Three: Someone to borrow from: When you have children, hand me downs are essential. When you have three girls, the youngest rarely gets anything new, but knows all clothes will eventually be hers. Sometimes this outgrowing process can be speeded up by borrowing. Take the case of the Care Bear pajamas. Our middle daughter had a Care Bear nightie. Being a string bean, she grew up and the nightie went from being ankle length to mid calf length to knee length, but still fit her. It was also her favorite PJs.

The little one helped me with laundry one day. This was a bit odd because folding and putting away clothes was generally considered a supreme punishment in our house, as were any other household chores. I watched as Miss S dashed away with the folded Care Bare nightie and stuck it in her dresser drawer.

“But that belongs to KA” I reminded Miss S. With the ultimate in child logic her response was “Well, it’s mine now.”

I was reminded of these events when I went upstairs today. Our middle daughter is a grown up young lady who lives in San Francisco but will be visiting us next weekend. I thought this weekend was a good time to make sure her old bedroom is clean and dusted, with fresh sheets and so on. I discovered that our youngest daughter, who is home from college for the summer, is using Miss KA’s bed frame as a drying rack. Over time Miss KA’s room has become an extension of Miss S’s closet. What can I say? I am sure that by next week these clothes will be dry.

The last time Miss KA was home she and Miss S spent a great deal of time in Miss S’s room watching videos. Miss KA donated her desktop Apple computer to Miss S. I guess that just proves that hand me downs are forever. I guess sisters are too.

Flashing Neon Sign

Flashing Neon Sign

This is it. I’m throwing in the towel and putting up a flashing neon sign. It will be 20 feet tall, be orange and yellow and say “O’Bryan”. This isn’t because I’m becoming eccentric. This is a necessity. People apparently need a sign that big and that bright to find our house.

You see, our address is number 18 and we have that clearly labeled on our house and on our mail box. But for some reason, delivery people and vendors cannot find our house. Instead, our stuff goes across the street to number 19.

We don’t know why this is. We very rarely receive things for number 19. But our neighbors constantly receive our things. Take the case of my daughter’s pizza. My daughter received a gift certificate for a pizza place as a graduation present. One day, she was hungry for a pizza. She called a couple of hours before she had to work to order a pepperoni pizza and asked to have it delivered.

We are very clear in giving our address. We say number eighteen and for emphasis we say number one eight. Very simple. Very clear. The pizza was promised in half an hour. After nearly an hour, she called and was told it was on its way. She repeated our address. Number eighteen. Number one eight.

After an hour and a half and no sign of the pizza, she made herself a sandwich and called the pizza place back saying the pizza had never arrived and that she had to leave for work. A few days later I learned from my neighbor that the pizza delivery boy brought tried to deliver a pepperoni pizza to them.

On another occasion my neighbor mentioned that a lawn service company had come and sprayed their yard. They didn’t use a lawn service. They hadn’t ordered any lawn care. I asked her what company. Sure enough, it was my company. I called my lawn service company to ask when they were going to treat my lawn. I was told they had just been to my address. “No you haven’t” I advised them. “You went to my neighbor’s house across the street”. The sad part is that I had been using this service for a few years by then.

The same thing happened with my pest control company. When the guy didn’t show up for the appointment, I called to check. He had gone to number 19 instead of number 18. Sad again because I also had been using this pest control company for a number of years.

My neighbors across the street frequently bring our mail to us because it winds up in their mail box. Recently a check intended for us went to their mail box – our address, their box. I have a magnet on my front door. They came over and left the check on my front door in the magnet. Thank heavens we have great neighbors across the street! It was a nice healthy check. When you are self employed as a freelancer, the check is always in the mail. It’s just nice when it’s your mail and you actually receive it!

Curiously, this misdelivery phenomenon is a one way kind of deal. We do not get their mail or pizzas or services. We’d like to. They had new Pella windows installed a few years ago. I am sure those lovely windows would look just as nice over here.

This year they both retired from 20 year plus careers at the same company. They celebrated by purchasing some new televisions and getting satellite TV service. I know we’d enjoy that! Last year they put in granite countertops in their kitchen. They are absolutely gorgeous and would look stunning in my kitchen as well. Right now they are having their deck remodeled with that man made decking material that never wears out. I was noticing our deck has a few warps and splits in it. New decking material would be excellent. But nothing of theirs shows up here. Just vise versa.

What is particularly annoying about this is that I work at home. So I am here when this stuff happens. Our door bell works just fine. There is no reason not to knock on our door. But it’s like the Maytag repair place over here!

It happened again today. My daughter is doing a semester abroad in London this fall through her college. She wants to do an internship and has applied for a British VISA. She received an automated call early this morning from an overnight mail delivery service that she had an overnight letter requiring her signature. We waited all day – eight hours to be exact.

We could have driven to Chicago in that length of time. Of course, we put the time to good use. I cleaned out the garage. We watched a movie I rented yesterday. We caught up on all our email. At 4 PM we discovered that the overnight mail delivery service went to our neighbor’s house with my daughter’s mail.

These absolutely wonderful neighbors aren’t home. They are in Columbus Ohio at a church event. We are taking care of their mail. We called the overnight mail delivery service and made arrangements to go pick up this letter. The pick up site is across town and the pick up window is only open from 7 PM to 7:30 PM. That’s two hours from now. I guess in that amount of time we could always order a pizza and have it delivered.