Christmas - Apocalyptic Style

So this tale begins with a glass bowl shattering into thousands of pieces across my kitchen floor, the force propelling crystal shards from the nook to the reading room.

Or, maybe it should kick off from the point where while stepping into the half bath, my unsuspecting foot landed directly in a puddle of water. Apparently our sink basin rusted out a hole and excess water flows straight out the basin, into the cabinet to soak everything under the sink and eventually pools on the tile.

Wait. Back up. Perhaps the story should begin with a stubborn printer refusing to communicate with my laptop and continually feeding paper sans ink application, therefore, preventing this frenzied user from printing proof of automobile insurance to replace the previous document, now three-months expired.

Or, perhaps from the point when I finally, joyously headed home for Christmas break? And while driving slowly through the neighborhood to appreciate the multitude of holiday décor, I suddenly realized I had been followed…all the way into the garage where a kind officer of the law enforcement variety blocked my exit in an effort to inform me of a car inspection sticker that had run its course back in August.

Hmmm…all within a 48-hour period…so many choices… Let’s focus in and set the stage.

Participants: A young, happily-married couple (wife & hubby) hosts her pleasant, easily-to-please parents and brother. A loveable, rambunctious pup flits between conversations, attention and opportunities for dropped morsels.

Setting: Christmas Day, mid- afternoon. The exterior is surprisingly covered with a stubborn blanket of white powder, which has created an infectious energy and buzz about the house. Wife and father are in the kitchen whipping up a Christmas feast. Hubby is in the garage fixing his wonderfully-received surprise gift to wife (which naturally was damaged during shipment). Mother and brother are sticking close to the roaring fire while diligently working on the annual puzzle.

And go…

While preparation of Christmas dinner got off to a slower start than planned due to a large brunch, exchanging gifts and the distracting delight of time with those who live far away, I wasn’t overly concerned with pulling together dinner by a reasonable hour. However, with one enthusiastic flick of the wrist, all bets were off. My potato peeler jumped up to find my knuckle instead of the targeted spud. Immediately, red liquid pooled at the rupture point and proceeded to flow unfettered for quite some time.

Luckily, I had a very capable sous-chef nearby who quickly took over the peeling and grating potato duties. While working to slow the bleeding, I attended to one-handed activities. For instance, as soon as the peeling was done, I whisked away the potato skins without a second thought.

Eventually I was able to persuade a bandage to stick to the afflicted area, and I was again dually equipped. The cooking quest continued until, troublingly, water running down the right side of the sink began bubbling up on the left.

Perhaps you easily pieced together my conundrum. Yes, the peelings from half a dozen large Russets that I thoughtlessly ran down my garbage disposal had apparently clogged the pipes. When everyone in the house asked why I would do such a thing, I reminded them that not one of them had taught me otherwise!

Regardless, this led to my father and husband deconstructing the kitchen sink in the midst of cooking a holiday dinner. Exploration with a wire coat hanger identified a blockage down the pipes a bit. While it was decidedly stubborn about holding its position, the obstacle was at least identified and water could still run past it until the proper tools could be accumulated for a full fix. But during the blockage and build-up discussion – when the build-up was clearly displayed in the removed trap (the curvy pipe) – we ran into another problem. Whilst scraping away some of that build-up with a screwdriver, the instrument actually broke right through that build-up…and the pipe itself. With one gaping hole, we were left with no sink whatsoever. Why didn’t we just pull a trap from another sink? Oh, we tried. All the other household pipes were smaller, so that option was quickly eliminated.

After a few deep breaths, I proceeded with dinner preparations. Mind you, by this time, the potato-parmesan pavé had been in the oven longer than necessary, and I was forced to scamper back and forth to the faulty half bath sink that was now adorned with a bucket to catch the excess flow. But finally, it was time to gather and break bread.

Following the dinner diversion, we were forced to scrap plates and pans and wipe them into a holding state until the sink was again rendered usable. The grease from the fried shallots was tossed over a bush in the backyard, counters were wiped down with Lysol and eventually the longer-than-usual clean-up was complete.

All the exertion and effort resulted in a parched hostess, so I detoured to the refrigerator. To my chagrin, the water filter was frozen. Excellent timing. After digging out the old filter pitcher from my apartment days, I was forced to fill it from the bathtub faucet. (After attempting to do so in a bathroom sink and getting the pitcher wedged under that faucet that is…)

Upon my return to the kitchen with the filled pitcher, I was greeted with another fun surprise…an entire washing machine cycle emptying its watery contents onto my kitchen floor via the sink with no trap. Seriously. Although the machine doesn’t typically empty via that route, apparently the potato peelings blocked its usual route, and most all the water backed up looking for another exit strategy.

My overwhelmed screams of panic and exhaustion quickly alerted the rest of the family to the latest state of affairs. Luckily, we already had a stack of towels on standby from previous issues, so we blotted and mopped until the floor was nearly dry.

At this point, I just wanted to sit, enjoy my family and have a little dessert. Because of the sink situation, I made the executive decision to move from Kate Spade china to colored Chinet. Although everyone was tired and anticipating an early morning that would see us all head in different directions, the family sat, smiled, ate and prepared for the annual holiday games.
While the Nelsons took on the Blevins in Trivial Pursuit, I needed a little unconditional love from our mutt. Although he’s not typically allowed on the furniture, I let him climb up on my lap to cuddle. (Yes, we have a 40-pound lapdog.) In the midst of firing questions with the family, I noticed my pup’s head was slicked back as if he’d just emerged from a bath. Suspicious, however, since his Christmas bath occurred the previous day and he’d be banished to the outdoors during the earlier aqueous cleanup.

After the hubby commented on the dog smelling like dinner, it hit us. Rusty had discovered where the dinner grease was discarded and while licking to his heart’s content managed to smear it all over his head and shoulders. Since he was a fantastic mess and traveling with us the next day, a second bath was in order. And Rusty was not the only one dreading the repeat experience.

So that was the day. We finally made it through, everyone was clean, pajamas were on, packing and plumbing has been thrust to early the next morning and to bed we all went. Just as I slid under my cool, inviting sheets to curl up with my hubby, the silence of the evening was broken by the startling shriek of the house alarm. Immediately, everyone sprang out of bed and rushed to the kitchen where we found the guilty party. By opening the door to the garage, my brother had set off the alarms and then in a panic couldn’t remember the code. Although just a cherry to top off the endless day of disasters, had the alarm not sounded, it never would have discovered that the garage door was left open from earlier excursions to view exterior pipes.

What a day.

Eventually the next morning dawned, and my husband greeted me with, “Happy post-apocalyptic Christmas, honey!” Yes, the catastrophic holiday was finally behind us, but it will be remembered for years to come.

Fall Rituals

As a child, three words could immediately strike fear in my brother and me—fall leaf drive. Yes, it was probably one of our least favorite aspects of autumn in Iowa. It was less popular than raking an acreage or dealing with no electricity and water when the first ice storm—nearly always in time for trick-or-treating—hit.

Despite our trepidation, we always knew the dreaded day was lurking, and we were destined to be a part of it. The family activity always seemed to be decided upon as we drove away from church when there was no escaping the moving vehicle. My father would startlingly veer off course, and my mother would turn to toward the rear seats with a mischievous grin. “It’s time for our annual fall leaf tour,” she’d say in a sing-song voice. This pronouncement was immediately met with a stereo set of groans and reasons why we youngsters should escape the excursion. The protests were pointless. We were never excluded.

Eventually I had a change of heart. Of course, it was not until after I’d left the four truly distinct seasons of the Midwest that I discovered how much I actually do enjoy the annual foliage tour. I regularly reminisce about mornings with dancing sunlight and crisp temperatures, where each breath is a rush of white air. Those mornings set the stage for the millions of leaves in all shades of crimsons, golden yellows and oranges, swaying in the breeze and sparkling with morning dew. When you actually stopped to soak in the scene, you quickly realized that it was breathtaking.

Because my husband also loves the fall foliage (and was probably tired of hearing how much I missed it), last weekend we decided to detour from our usual route home from Missouri and venture through Arkansas. On that trip of curving, rolling roads, I was surrounded by miles and miles of vivid hues. The tall, full trees greeted me in such a way that I nearly cried with happiness and homesickness. With another fall leaf drive under my belt, I now feel as though fall has arrived.

Happy fall, y’all!

RSVP—The Polite Thing to Do

I have to believe that anyone who has ever planned a function, tied the knot in front of witnesses or hosted a dinner party knows the significance of an RSVP. It takes some of the unknown out of the equation and allows the host to actually prepare for the guests.

For those of you out there under the impression that RSVP means “regrets only,” rethink. The acronym actually comes from the French phrase—répondez s'il vous plait. In Western culture, this translates to respond…yes or no, with an occasional maybe. Truly, this undertaking is not that difficult. While I know some individuals are under the impression that RSVP means “regrets only,” this is rarely the case. If a host wants to take that route, he/she will actually say “regrets only” on the invitation.

It’s much more frustrating as a hostess to worry about having too much or too little in terms of food, beverages, space, seating, etc. If you have a conflict, just articulate it upfront. Personally, I probably won’t even ask details of the conflict. You may just have a much-needed date with a book and glass of wine at home. After a demanding week or deadline, I can understand that temptation. And I won’t hold it against you. However, if I later discover you stayed at home with literary and tannin-filled companions without giving me the courtesy of a response, you will officially be entered into my inconsiderate database. And one too many of those entries will probably encourage me to not even bother with an invite in the future.

One friend recently suggested that when hosting events where responses are quite necessary for planning, I should always provide personalized favors. When an unexpected guest is relegated to returning home empty-handed, perhaps they will get the hint. While I am intrigued by the idea, I foresee two issues: 1. Most people who don’t bother with an RSVP and show up anyway are probably too clueless to understand why they don’t have a personalized favor. 2. When I do provide takeaways, I can’t help but prep extras for the unexpected.

Now mind you, I’m not perfect. I’m sure I have waited too long to respond to an invitation or occasionally forgot all together. But this tirade is for all you serial non-responders out there. The occasional lapse can easily be overlooked. And since I should probably brush up on my decorum while venting about it, perhaps today is the day to go out and buy that Emily Post etiquette book I’ve always wanted… (Or perhaps today is the day it goes on my gift idea list, Mum!)

Happy day, friends!

My Daily Hindrance

Once again, my blogging has been delayed. This time I’m blaming in on mornings and my revised requirements with said time of day…

A few weeks ago, our department was blessed with a new edict from the big boss—“Be in your chairs by 8:15!” To some, that may not seem like a tall order. To me, it’s become what feels like a daily dose of bricks to the head. I just don’t do mornings very gracefully.

Prior to the directive, our group straggled in between 8:15 and 9:00 a.m. I’ll be the first to admit that I was usually bringing up the rear or close to it. However, most evenings I was also the one locking up the department and turning off the lights closer to 6:00 p.m. than not, unless civic commitments required my attendance. And I actually found the hours after everyone else religiously streamed out when the whistle blew to be some of my most productive. Regardless, our rules changed, and with it, my distaste for mornings has amplified.

Most mornings my alarm now goes off by 6:30 a.m. With the Texas heat and my attempt to stick to a training schedule, mornings are the only time to enjoyably run and escape the oppressive heat. Every night I go to bed with the best intentions of early rising. Then morning comes. Some days I get up without a fight; some days I don’t. Either way, it’s never with the initial buzzer…more like with the fourth alert or the back-up, final-warning second alarm. Typically I lie in bed whimpering and repeating my morning mantra, “I don’t want to. I don’t want to,” until my ever-so patient husband forces me to get moving. (Might I add, he doesn’t have to be at work at 8:15 a.m.)

You may wonder if it’s always been this way. My mother reminisces about a time when I actually embraced the early hours and got up easily to read and play the piano. I don’t recall those days. Instead, I remember the times when my eyes refused to open and my body didn’t recall how to unwind from its comfortable cocoon until a shock of ice cold water forced me to rejoin the living. Yes, my father actually had to resort to pouring water over my head to get me out of bed. Oh the horror if it gets to that point again and my husband has to do the same…

Looking around the department, I realize it could be more difficult. I don’t worry about getting any kiddos ready for the day and off to school or daycare. My husband is completely responsible, and my dog generally goes into his crate without a fight—even when he pouts. So it’s really just me focused on getting myself moving. I was told the first week would be the worst. However, we’re on week three and counting. I’m doing my best, and along with it comes a few more days sans make-up and wet hair. Ah, well… I still adhere to the idea it will get easier.

Happy mornings to all!

Pick Your Shoes Wisely!

Today I just want to take the opportunity to remind people to wear proper shoes when venturing out on longs walks. Let me explain…

Over the weekend, my adorable little nieces and nephew came over (along with the rest of the Blevins clan) for a bit of Fourth O’ July swimming and barbequing. In efforts to protect their delicate skin and keep the babes cool throughout the 100-degree-plus day, the gang brought along some inflatable pool toys with optional sun shades so the little ones could float comfortably in the water. Now mind you, they were pretty darn cute, and I did ask if they made such contraptions in adult sizes. However, somewhere along the line while I was inside cooking up a storm, the original idea of utilizing inflation power from their parents’ vehicle diverted to using my car. Little did I know... All I knew was the day was most enjoyable—a holiday, the family, pool time and sunshine.

Jump to Monday morning… Heading back to work after a holiday weekend is never easy, but I awoke determined to make it a pleasant day. However, when I attempted to start my car and head to work, my car did not respond. Apparently those inflatable devices from the weekend activities sucked all the power out of my car battery, because there was none left to energize my means of transportation. Delightful way to start the week, eh!?

When no jumper cables could be located, Casey drove me over to work and left me car-less. And me being me (who doesn’t like to inconvenience anyone), decided since the temperature was peaking only in the mid-eighties that I should take the opportunity to get some extra exercise and walk home. It’s only a few miles, and I thought I was wearing an acceptable footwear choice. Unfortunately, my feet and the forming blisters soon told me otherwise. Eventually I went shoeless, which was quite pleasant in the grassy areas. I did still wish I had tossed a pair of flip flops or running shoes in my bag though. When I finally made it home, I went directly to the pool to soak my tired appendages. And then I discovered not one, but two long blisters on the very bottoms of my feet. Who knew that was even feasible? And while it wasn’t the best walk home, I think there may be future such meanderings—but only in proper shoes!

All I know is I hope those little cuties loved their inflatable floatation devices and pool time at Aunt Jilly's!

Happy day, friends....

Summer Updates!

Perhaps you can take a clue from my previous post…way back when… I’m apparently on summer vacation! Ahh, how I long for the days when such a break was a three-month reality…

While I’m not necessarily enjoying regular time off, I am fitting in getaways and guests here and there. If you haven’t yet visited Casa de la Blevins this summer, schedule your weekend now! The incessant Texas heat combined with our refreshing pool waters have proved to be a draw as we all look to escape the rising temperatures.

To update one and all, here is a brief recap of some my summer highlights thus far:

1. VISITORS: Becky finally materialized that delightful fiancé of hers, as she and Jason spent a relaxing Labor Day weekend with us in Texas. We were so excited to see Boo and finally give our obviously much-needed approval of this permanent mating choice. Yes, we give Jason a resounding endorsement! And we’re looking forward to seeing you both soon!
   
   Mum and Dad also ventured south for a quick visit in June. Since Iowa is much too far away, I always appreciate our limited time together. And Mom discovered that a floating device, a big hat and some cold lemonade were the keys she was missing all these years. Now we have ourselves a water bug on our hands! Come again, ‘rents!
   
   
2. RTR 2009: Last year my darling husband decided he needed to celebrate his milestone birthday memorably. So we did a little research, rounded up some adventurous friends and ventured west to conquer the Grand Canyon. There would be no hitching rides with mules, sending packs or food down with supply trains or staying in some lofty cabins. No—this trip required packing everything in and out, pitching tents and navigating the terrain through our own power with just the six of us. Starting on the south rim, we trekked down into the great canyon, through the box and up to the north rim. We covered more than 25 miles and tackled greater than 10,500 feet of elevation change. It was a workout… But memorable? Most definitely, mission accomplished!
   
   
   
   
3. SANDI PATTY II: Some of you heard last year that Sandi Patty kicked off her Christmas concert tour at our very own FUMCR, with the Chancel Choir as back-up. Not only did Sandi apparently enjoy our show, she thought we did well enough to repeat the occasion. Therefore, in the middle of the hot June summer, our church was transformed into a Christmas scene with the new addition of more than a dozen versions of cameras, recording equipment and crew. As you may have guessed, this second concert was recorded—for a 2009 holiday television special and Christmas DVD. How exciting to be part of such a unforgettable production!
   
   
4. ANNIVERSARY: And finally, Casey and I celebrated two years together with a relaxing getaway to Lake Whitney. It was a most peaceful and rejuvenating excursion and a perfect time for the two of us to focus on us. As you can imagine, there was lots of cooking, hours in and around water, books devoured, music enjoyed and exploration of our natural surroundings. Thank you, thank you to our generous friends for allowing us the opportunity to hole up in what I now call the Whitney Compound!

That’s all I have for today. Y’all have a wonderful and festive Fourth of July weekend!

Ten Reasons Why I Need Summer to Arrive Promptly

1. Longer hours of sunlight…pleasant evening strolls with my favorite husband and pup, more time for grilling, etc, etc


2. The rebirth of vegetation! I dream of the vivid greens and bright hues of summer plants and flowers.


3. Al fresco dining


4. Summer fashions: flowing dresses, flip flops, swimsuits, big hats, big hair (why fight the humidity?!), minimal make-up & summer glows


5. Pool parties! (I’m resolving to host more this year.)


6. Television in reruns = cutting ties with the toob


7. Relaxing getaways to the lake


8. Long runs in shorts and tank tops


9. Losing myself in a book while stretched out a lounger beneath the summer sun (refreshing beverages optional)


10. A renewed lease on life…just in the nick of time to chase away those winter blues!