FLYing Again

Anybody else follow FLY Lady?

Fly Lady is a website that, basically, helps anyone who runs a home get her act together.  Running a home, as we all know, is one of those things you think you know how to do, until you actually have to do it.  In pretty short order you find out there are, um, let's just say -- gaps in your knowledge base.  Some of us might even refer to those gaps as lacunae.  Good for you, you know a little Latin. You still don't have a clue how to the laundry pile turned into Mount Everest, it's 7 pm and you have no dinner plan, and, oh yeah, your houseplants are all dead.  (How did that happen?)

This is where FLY Lady comes to your rescue.

There is something incredibly soothing about FLY Lady.  She helps you see that you are not the only domestic screw-up out there.  Actually she doesn't put it that way.  She just reminds you that running a house is a real job, requiring real skills and real time.  Then she takes you through the whole job, baby step by baby step.  Does your home suffer from CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome)?  Take FLY Lady's hand.  She will lead you out of it.

I hadn't looked at FLY Lady in a long time.  But a friend mentioned the website to me a few weeks ago, and one day while browsing the internet I looked her up again.

 Well, okay, I was browsing with intent.  I wasn't on the lookout for housekeeping tips.  I was looking for writing tips. No, scratch that- I was looking for lifesaving writing tips.   I even did a Google search for any website called anything like "how to write your bestseller even though you are staring into the abyss of writer's block."

In case you're wondering, the search came up empty.

But I remembered my friend's enthusiasm for FLY Lady, and I found her website.

FLY Lady has tons of good advice, but she has a handful of trademarks that are worth memorizing.  The one I'm thinking of in particular is "Shine your sink."

I know, I know, it sounds-- how?  Obvious?  Silly?  A waste of time?

But it turns out shining your sink can be the first step out of the black hole of CHAOS and into the kind of domestic serenity that lets you accomplish the things you really want to do in life- by which I mean the things that have nothing to do with housekeeping.

Try it:  just before you shut down the kitchen for the night, grab your trusty Bar Tender's Friend of Comet or whatever, pull on some rubber gloves and scrub out the sink. Rinse and pat dry ( I know, that sounded insane to  me too, but bear with me here).

In the morning when you walk into the kitchen you will find what for me at least was a rare surprise:  a spotless sink. And when stainless steel or porcelain is spotless, did you know it actually shines?  In the right light it even sparkles.  And it might sound ridiculous, but the sight of that sparkle actually cheers me up.  It makes me feel like the day is full of possibilities.   I can start the day without reproaching  myself for leaving the kitchen a mess.  A little sparkle goes a long way with me.

Anyway.  I'm reading the FLY Lady website.  I remember her "shine your sink" advice.

Then I remember the Sink of Horror.  The one in  my powder room.

The previous owners of this house put a tiny brass sink in the powder room.  At least we assumed it was brass.  You couldn't tell from looking at it. From looking at it the sink appeared to be made of dried mud and charcoal.  It had scared off many a houseguest.

I had tried many, many times to make that sink presentable.  Finally I just installed a low-watt bulb in the powder room.  I figured this way maybe nobody would notice.

But then FLY Lady inspired me.  And since the writing was going particularly badly that day, I decided it was time to conquer the sink.

I started with brass polish.  "Apply with a soft cloth.  Rub gently to remove tarnish."

Ha.  That got me nowhere.  I tried three different brands of brass polish.  No dice.  The sink remained the same ugly, slightly disturbing grey.

Finally I got out the scouring powder and the heavy duty sponge.  And I scrubbed.  I scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed.

It took me two days.   It's a wonder the sink didn't fall out of the wall, I roughed it up so bad.  My shoulder ached for a week.

But as of now, the brass just glows.  It's like a whole new bathroom in there.  For me, at least.  So far no one else has even noticed.  But I notice, and I pat myself on the back for a job well done.

So, FLY Lady, all this might not have been exactly what you had in mind when you said "shine your sink."  What can I say, I took you advice to extremes.  But it paid off.  Thanks to you, my powder room is no longer the most embarrassing one on the block.  And I can finally put a 60-watt bulb in there now, too.

When you're having a bad writing day you have to take your encouragement where you can find it.  Every once in a while these days I get up and look at my sink,  And I think, 'Bravo, Desperate.  You can beat this thing.'

Not a bad payoff.

That's What You Get For Being A Timberwolves Fan

"POLICE BLOTTER.  Noise complaint:  A noise complaint and possible verbal domestic case was reported at a home on Water Street.  Officers found there was just a man yelling at his television."
(Star Tribune, March 27, 2013)

You'd Think A Minnesotan Would Have Figured This One Out On His Own, But....

"POLICE BLOTTER:  Animal Complaint.  A person called to report that a raccoon was stuck in a garbage can on Howards Point Road.  Officers told the person to tip the garbage can over and call back if the raccoon did not exit.  The person did not call back."
(Minneapolis Star Tribune, March 27, 2012)

Return to the Boot

We got back yesterday at around 7pm our time, and drove directly to the orthopedic hospital.  Good thing, too, since it closes at 8 on Saturdays.

It turned out, as predicted, that my daughter had messed up a growth plate in her heel.  So now she's in a boot for God knows how long.  At least I don't have to feel too bad about forgetting to sign her up for softball. I'm pretty sure sliding in to home with a heavy and potentially damage-inflicting plastic boot on one foot is against the rules.

Her injury, obviously, meant cutting back on the last of our Rome sightseeing.  She missed the catacombs and St Mary Major, one or two other sights.  But she was determined to see Assisi.

If you haven't been there yet, Assisi is all hills.  Some of them quite steep.  Luckily one of the chaperones hit on a brilliant plan:  Would some of the boys of the Chesterton Academy kindly carry the injured 12-year-old on their backs?  And amazingly, several of them did.  So my kid is the first person I know to see Assisi from piggy-back.  She enjoyed it immensely.

Oh, and for anyone who is planning a trip to Italy in the near future:  bring your own ibuprophen.  Lots of it, I mean one of those huge Costco-sized bottles.  You are probably going to need it and you won't believe how much the stuff costs over there.  No kidding, like 14 bucks for ten tablets.  You might even pick up a few euros selling it as a sideline.  And with the dollar where it is, well, let's just say a few of the mega-ibu bottles would have come in real handy.

The Thrills, The Chills: Travelling by Bus Italian Style

Yesterday our group took a bus to Assisi.  Our driver was Italian.  It took us nearly four hours to get to Assisi.  Understandable, what with driving through maountain ranges and all.  Plus it was a big bus, hard to maneuver on those tight curves.

Why then, we all wondered, did it take only two hours to return to Rome that night?

Because our driver drove like a frickin' lunatic, that's why.  Either he had a hot  date  or there was a soccer game on he couldn't miss.  Whater the reason there were a few times I thought the end might be near.

That always happens in this country. Itàs no wonder there have been so many great Italian racecar drivers.  They must all start training for the job before they get their learners' permits.  On the A-1 people rountinely drive at 90 mph.  Worse, they routinely tailgate at 90 mph. And I'm not talking slick young men here.  I'm talking moms with babies in car seats.

It's one of the first things I learned in Italy:  stay to the right.  The far, far right.  For God's sake stay out of the left lane unless you have a serious death wish.

On the plus side, now that the media have mostly flown the coop there's a lot more room to maneuver here.  And they've taken down the media tents that were cluttering up our view of St Peter's.  Last night we were actually able to stand ont eh upper balcony and admire Michaelangelo's gorgeous dome. Also on the plus side, it has stopped raining, the sun is shining, it's even warmed up a bit.  At last I have the right clothes.

My daughter is still laid up with whatever is wrong with her foot.  I see a trip to the orthopedist in her near future.  LIke, as soon as we get back.

Which is tomorrow, alas.

New Pope, Old Fracture

So we have a new pope.  Yesterday DIH watched the installation of Pope Francis from a balcony high above St Peter's Square, and believe me she was glad to be above that crowd.   I am as loyal to the Papacy as the next girl but no way was I getting up at 4 and taking my chances in a crush of a quarter of a million people.

Not to resort to cliches but it really was an amazing experience, being here for the installation of a new Vicar of Christ.  I thought the Holy Father's message was beautiful.  Dont't be afraid of tenderness.  Unless you are a very tasty young calf, in which case the Italians do such wonderful things with veal that--

Oops.  Scratch that.

The only really maddening thing was getting out of Vatican City after the ceremony was over.  Because of all the visiting dignitaries the roads leading out of VC were closed.  We were trapped here until the last statesman was safely across the bridge.  Our group had to cancel its plans to see the catacombs.  Screwed by the likes of Joe Biden again.

In other news my daughter's old heel fracture is apparently acting up.  I have to give her credit for hobbling all the way over tot he Trevi Fountain on crutches yesterday.  She was determined to see it and claimed it would build her upper body strength.  Now of course whe's exhausted and sore, so we are skipping today's touring so she can lie in bed with her foot elevated and complain to her mom.  I may need a new job before the day is over. 

Anybody got any spare Advil?

Hobble on the Cobbles

Today is Day 4 of our Rome pilgrimage, and already my daughter needs crutches.  Seriously.  Her foot started hurting on Friday and by now all our home remedies have proven ineffective.  Anybody know where I can find a pair of crutches in Rome?

(I am typing this on an ancient Vatican computer.  Any typos, blame Dan Brown.)

Yesterday was an epic day.  We heard Pope Francis make his first Sunday Angelus address.  One thing the press reports have not really made clear:  the guy is funny.  Really, he has a good sense of humor.  Can't wait to hear more from him tomorrow at his installation.  Which I hope to watch from a safe distance as the crowds in St Peters Square are way too vast for me.

(Note to Vatican wordmeisters: maybe you should come up with a better term than "installation."  Makes it sound like the man is a refrigerator.)

Today we are supposed to be going to St Paul Outside the Walls and St Mary Major.  If we can find a pair of crutches.

Ciao from Roma

Years from now people will ask Desperate, ""Desperate, where were you when the white smoke went up?  When the first Argentine pope stepped out on the balcony?""

I would love to be able to say I was in Rome.  But the truth is I was in the airport in Atlanta, waiting for  my connecting flight to Rome.  Saw the whole thing on TV, though.  Comforted myself with the thought that at least I wasn't standing in the pouring rain in  St Peter's Square.

Anywa we're here now, at a residence right next to the Vatican that looks down on SAt Peter's Square.  Relevance of this location:  the whole place is packed with TV trucks.  We keep tripping over cables.  Saw a guy sound asleep in a car that had a placard, "CBS News."  Oh, and I think the Vatican choirs are rehearsing for the pope's installation already.  We keep hearing choral singing, plus a lot of bells bonging.  Hope they knock off before ten.

Rome is as beautiful and intriguing as ever.  Spent the afternoon in Trastevere and-- and I want Lenten credit for this--DID NOT BUY A SINGLE GELATO.

Yet.