Summer's end

Labor Day weekend is the unofficial end of summer, but the weather has picked this moment to give us a last blast of heat and humidity. In the wake of Tropical Depression Isaac, which brought us some much-appreciated rain, the heat index is soaring into the triple digits again. Regardless of how it feels, though, some things are coming to an end, and other things are beginning, just as they do every year.

I'm focusing on the things that are ending. It's not just nostalgia or regret; some of those things I'm glad to see end, at least temporarily. Two of my major summer writing projects, the TV Club Classic coverage of Sports Night and the regular coverage of Breaking Bad, are going on hiatus until next year, and it's a relief. Those pieces take a lot of concentration, time, and anxiety every week, and it will be nice to have them off my plate for a while. Sports Night's last season 1 post went up this past Wednesday, and Breaking Bad's last episode of the current half-season is tonight. It's still a couple of weeks until the other shows I cover regularly (How I Met Your Mother and Modern Family) start their seasons, so I've got a nice break coming up.

It's also pleasant to have the kids' birthday party and the Ravellenics behind me. Last week I went to the Rhea Lana sale and bought most of the clothes they'll need until next spring (I hope). I still haven't cleaned out their closets of too-small items, or unpacked the bags of jeans and jackets I hauled home from that sale, but at least I'm more than halfway ready for colder weather. And with all the Ravellenic administration in the past, I've gleefully started what I hope is a binge of knitting things to keep other people warm, whether they are friends or strangers in need.

We've been having our master bathroom remodeled this summer, and that's nearly done, too. The pace would be considered too leisurely for people more outcome-focused than ourselves, or for a room where the loss of function is more disruptive. But we're just proud that we've gotten the process underway after years of knowing it needed to be done.

That's also the way I feel about starting a conversation with a financial planner this summer. We haven't finalized much yet, but stuff is in the works: more life insurance, rearranging some assets to provide more focused retirement funds, college savings, and an easier way to keep track of it all. I'm so pleased with myself for finally moving in this direction after living so long with the uneasy feeling that I wasn't properly taking care of business, that I'm not in too much of a hurry to get everything signed and squared away; it's enough that the ball is rolling.

Maybe this change of seasons isn't really about things ending, or about us moving on. It's about not having wasted the time we've been spending. And that goes for time with the kids, too, which right now is not a matter of long looks backward, but lovely moments that still linger in the now.

Just can't wait

Because the kids are in Little Rock at a summer camp this week, and don't get home with their designated parent (or carpool driver) each day until about 90 minutes after I get off work, I find myself at home with a bit of alone time around dinner.  I really shouldn't be left by myself when there are boxes of furniture awaiting assembly.  It gives me ideas.

I was going to wait to assemble the big Expedit shelf unit, desk, and worktable that will constitute my new crafting area until the weekend.  But while I was waiting for Noel to bring the kids home from the city, I started looking at websites and videos showing the assembly.  I started to get antsy.  And when the rest of my family walked in the door, I was stacking up empty boxes in the hallway and inventorying all the pieces.

Commentary on the web suggested that the large 25-cubicle square could be assembled in as little as 30-40 minutes.  With some trepidation, because I wasn't sure I understood how the pieces went together and because I tend to be a blind follower of instructions, I took the advice of Ikeafans.com and put both sides on first, then stood it up and put all the shelf and vertical pieces in from that position.  It was an absolute breeze.  I couldn't believe how fast it all went together.  Within an hour of turning the first screw, I was turning the last one.  It was so effortless that I went ahead and put the attached desk together, too.

I also got a trestle table, but it's just a bit too wide for the space that's left between the desk and the wall, unless we move our bed a bit so there will be more room on that side.  I may not be able to resist setting it up even so, though; I'm so close to the crafting space I had envisioned that I think I could deal with having to squeeze through on my way to bed temporarily.  I'll post pictures soon.

Now I get the joy of moving all my yarn and equipment into my new space -- maybe the part I've been looking forward to most, since it involves getting reacquainted with my stash.  Can I hold off long enough to let Cady Gray help, as she has pleaded?  My self-control just isn't the best when it comes to new spaces, new organization, new inspiration.

Reading the entrails

If Julius Caesar had had a 48 hours like I have, he would have sent his army home and taken up needlepoint for the season. Alas, we live in more enlightened time, and are nit allowed to use omens as an excuse for cancelling plans.

We've had a quick overnight trip to Hot Springs (America's First Resort) planned since summer began. No big deal. Drive an hour or so down the freeway, go to a water park, ride some rides, stay in a nice hotel, eat, drink, and drive home the next day with the kids' backpacks full of memories.

The trouble started the afternoon before our departure. Our Civic Hybrid wouldn't turn over, and needed a tow to the dealership. It's the car we were planning to drive on our getaway, but no biggie -- the other is in good shape and ready to go.

Then the night before the trip, I heard a funny noise and checked out the central air unit. Uh-oh, there's damness around it, water pooling on some of the flat surfaces, dripping behind the filters (where we tend to get seepage under our floors and carpets), and condensation forming on one of the bathroom registers. Nothing can foil a planned trip like a leak, so we called the service guy, who told us the top of the unit needed better insulation to avoid such sweating. He made a date to come back and do it Saturday morning, and suggested turning the A/C off while we were gone. Nothing to do but try to keep cleaning up the moisture if we wanted to be cool in the meantime.

For some people, a busted car and a spontaneous source of water inside the house might convince them that the trip wasn't in the cards. We were making final preparations to leave the next morning, though, when the universe sent us its final message. I was using our hose reel to coil up the hose not 30 minutes before departure when I felt a sharp sting on my arm -- then on my ring finger, in my side, and under my chin. I caught only the briefest glimpse of a bee or yellowjacket as I shrieked and ran for the house. First time I've been stung since I was a kid, and it hurt like the dickens, especially on my finger. I'm not allergic, thankfully, but as I nursed the four bites, I couldn't help wondering where the heck that came from. I had oo idea there were bees or whatever in that reel or around it; I make several trips a day to the outdoor faucet not 6 inches from there while watering the lawn.

You could take at least the car and the A/C as blessings in disguise. By breaking down before we left, we saved having a bigger disaster with the car out of town, or with a leak when we weren't home. But it was hard to see the insect attack's silver lining. It felt more like a final warning, or maybe a spiteful kick in the teeth. One thing's for sure -- it made me glad to be putting that apparently cursed house in my rearview mirror, if only for a day.

It's back!

It took multiple efforts, e-mails, phone calls, and coordination of schedules, but my beloved MacBook Air is finally back in my hands.  MyService repaired its hinges under an Apple recall and charged me just for shipping.  I have a whole new upper clamshell.

While I've been able to get along quite well with only my iPad (and the occasional jump onto Noel's or the kids' computer), there are certain things I haven't been able to do for a couple of weeks while my computer has been away.  Chief among them is getting photos off my camera.  I've completed a couple of projects and have started to document my new crafting area (the "before" photos, at least), and all of it is still sitting on my camera.  I'm excited about what I've made, and eager to share it with my readers and Ravelry friends.  A succession of crafting posts is in the offing.

With my computer back, it feels like projects that have been put on hold can now be resumed.  I can remeasure the room and order the furniture.  I have the flexibility to work on my various personal and professional tasks anywhere I am.  Car's fixed, computer's fixed, appliances are working.  Having one or more of those items out of service for periods of time recently has felt like a disadvantage, like having a temporary handicap.  Things that pose no obstacle in the ordinary course of events suddenly became difficult, or required workarounds and extra planning.

Something can break or get put out of commission at any time.  As I've said frequently, it always feels as if such things don't happen on an even schedule, but in clumps.  We had both computers in the shop at once, a car sitting in the mechanic's lot, and a strange leak around our A/C that we couldn't figure out.  But we were able to deal with all of it thanks to a relatively low-stress and lightly-scheduled summer calendar.  I sometimes get worked up over everything that goes wrong; when things get out of my control, I frequently lose my cool.  Although there were setbacks in some of these situations, by and large I was convinced that we were doing the right thing, taking care of business, being responsible and not just reacting to inevitable breakdowns.  Now I'm hoping that all that effort will be rewarded with reliability from our mechanical support situations during periods to come when failures would end up being far more inconveniencing.

Measure of success

Since Noel made plans to take the kids to Nashville for several days, I've been making plans of what I wanted to get accomplished while they were gone. Number one on my list was setting up a computer in Archer's room for the kids to use. That would allow me to clean out the large computer desk in our room in preparation for getting rid of it. The idea there is to provide a clean slate -- an open area -- for me to build a storage and workspace for my various crafting activities. I've got my Ikea setup almost all picked out for that, with the only question being what tabletop I'll put under the window for fabric cutting, blocking and ironing, and what it will sit on top of (more storage, legs, or trestles of some kind).

And then I wanted to spend plenty of time indulging in the kinds of activities I pursue when I have free time -- knitting, crocheting, reading. I've certainly fulfilled that goal. Good progress has been made on a stalled project; I've whipped out a couple of little things that I was anxious to try. And I'm even giving some experiments a go (more on that if it pans out). I went to a movie, and I'm going to another tomorrow afternoon before the family gets home.

But one goal nags at me. The desk. The computer has been moved, set up, updated; I even found a new place and hookup for the rather large printer that used to take up space on that desktop (which involved moving an old TV and relocating a gaming system); and I've packed up (although only cursorily sorted through) all the stuff that used to live in that big desk -- two big Rubbermaid bins' worth.

Yet it's still there in our bedroom. The desk. I listed it on Freecycle on Thursday. Even though I've made mixed results getting people to bite on a number of items recently (some old backpacks and books, and a Pottery Barn shelf that unaccountably has survived three different people who said they wanted it but never showed up), I was sure that the desk would go fast. It's perfectly good; I even found some shelf pegs so that the movable shelving in it was restore to full functionality. It's big and well used and could definitely use a spray painting, but this desk is a catch.

Only two people responded to the post on Freecycle offering the desk. One is the same blessed person who has failed to show up for the Pottery Barn shelf for a week, and whom I am close to publicly denouncing on the mailing list as a deadbeat. I've e-mailed both of them multiple times over the course of yesterday and today, and so far no one has pulled up with a truck or van to take this thing out of my house.

I really want it gone before the family gets home. I want my blank canvas so I can start ordering furniture and building my modest little dream. This desk stands in the way. If it's still here tomorrow afternoon when Noel and the kids arrive from Nashville, I'm going to feel just a little bit like a failure. I had almost four days to find someone who wanted a free, functional piece of furniture (all wood, too, no particleboard, quality stuff), and I haven't been able to do it. And I'm starting to wonder what's up with my town when I can't give something like this -- and that blankety-blank shelf -- away.

Fixer upper

Last summer we finally did something about our ramshackle, deteriorating landscaping in the front yard, putting up a new retaining wall and installing some grass.  Given how much needed to be done, the operation, modest as it was, exhausted our available resources and made a big difference right away.

Now we're ready to think about phase 2, installing some beds and features and reshaping the existing borders.  Another big operation, but summer is the time for such things.

It's also the time to make sure everything we use regularly -- like cars and computers -- is in good working order.  Naturally, when you start looking, you find things that need to be fixed.  After I wrote a week ago about needing a new MacBook Air sometime soon, the notoriously unreliable screen hinge cracked on me this morning (with an audible "snap").  And Noel, who's been having trouble with his iBook's trackpad, suddenly discovered the cause today -- a bulging battery, something we've never seen before but that has been a problem in various models for several years.  Noel's computer is still covered by AppleCare, and mine should be covered by a recall of these hinge assemblies that Apple announced earlier this year, but we'll see if we end up being out any money.

Summer is also the time of long car trips -- the most miles we put on our cars every year, given that we don't have commutes to speak of.  Both cars need checkups to make sure they're fully road-worthy.  And finally, following Noel's good example, I need to get on with a new general practitioner and have a full physical.  I'm back with my gynecologist and I've been in good health, but with aging knocking on my door I need to be ready.

There are a lot of things in our lives and property that need work.  We can't do all of them.  But isn't it nice that the summer is here, with its open calendar and vacation days, so that we can do some of them, making steady progress toward our responsibilities and our future.

Storage

In the summer, when the pace is slower, our thoughts turn to problems long set aside.  One of the perennials in our house is storage.  We have a lot of certain things -- a lot of DVDs, a lot of CDs, a lot of yarn, a lot of books, a lot of games.  And we're always ruminating on the best way to get them all put where they belong, where they won't get in the way but will be available when we need them.

And by "a lot," I don't mean what other people might call a lot.  For many of my students, a hundred DVDs is a lot; for most of our friends, 300 or 500 would certainly qualify.  We have thousands, with more being added every day.  In five short years of knitting, I've accumulated hundreds of skeins of yarn.  And despite our best efforts, we are not getting rid of books faster than they are coming in the door.

Several major efforts are underway to reassert our superiority over these things, these media and materials in their multiple units.  New wooden bookcases for the kids -- to supplement and/or replace cheap particleboard ones that they've long since outgrown.  A new three-drawer Cam-Am media cabinet to give us some growing room on top of the four drawers we've long since outgrown.

And for me --at least in my current scheming, to be realized in a month or so -- an Expedit storage wall, with a desk and maybe some other bits and bobs, to become my new craft and sewing area.

I like having places where things belong, even if you couldn't tell it from the way my stuff usually is.  Nothing gives me more satisfaction than a major reorganization project.  I'm hoping this summer will be full of them.

Reorganization

Some people clean in the spring.  For us, it's the approach of summer that gets us thinking about making more space for ourselves.

Noel has spent the last couple of weekends sorting through the kids' accumulated toys and books, rearranging, culling, and changing the storage arrangements.  He's been nice enough to take it on by himself, and in response I've been thinking about some of the larger plans we have.

The old iBook we use as a print server has become the kids' default computer.  Lately when I've been back there while they're using it, I've noticed that it's emitting a whine that seems to be lower and lower in pitch. I think it's that the DVD drive is slowing down, but there's no denying that the computer is probably on its last legs.

What I'd like to do is resurrect our old iMac G4 desktop.  Toward the end of its useful life, it was having serious operating system issues, but before we retired it I made sure to get a complete wipe and reinstall.  If I remember correctly, that's where I left it.  If we can get it working, I'll put it in Archer's room, where he already has a computer desk.  I spent some time today researching what version of the OS would be best to install.  Summer means that I can dig out all those old install CDs and get that all set up.

And once that computer is in place and we can clean out the massive computer desk in our room, we can  think about that corner of our room, which I would like very much to fill with yarn and craft supplies.  That means more research, searching for inspiration about storage and display.

Summer is the time to linger over projects, because you're not having to do a million things at once.  Suddenly chores become possibilities, and transformation seems doable.

No cure

Nobody in this family is big on cleaning, it must be said.  But every so often, we catch the bug.  Maybe it has something to do with spring, at least this time around; usually I vaguely resent spring's arrival because people expect one to get all industrious about sprucing up the place, but when Noel went on a binge this weekend I quite enjoyed his efforts, and even pitched in a little.

The kids are growing older, and their rooms have evolved in fits and starts.  Remnants from their toddlerhood exist haphazardly alongside more recent acquisitions, in their closets, bookshelves and toy cubbies.  After a few hours with them deciding what to toss, give away, and keep, Noel had their rooms looking much less cluttered -- although still not fully updated.  For that, we need some different furnishings and storage options.

I have a modest dream for our room, too.  Years ago when we were first preparing Cady Gray's room, we moved Noel's home office (consisting of a large computer desk) to our bedroom.  Now Noel's home office is the living room when he's watching movies or television, or the front room when he's writing -- wherever his laptop is.  The computer desk in our bedroom is used mostly to store miscellaneous objects and to provide the kids with access to game videos on YouTube.

It's about time to give Archer one of our old computers, using a small desk that used to be my home office that we've already moved to his room.  And then we can get rid of the big home office desk, and I can convert that corner of our bedroom to a place for my yarn and sewing supplies.  It's more copious than the notch by the garage where I'm currently keeping everything, and as an added benefit, that nook will open back up for other kinds of storage or activity.

So much needs to be done around here -- curtains, painting, carpets -- but we get seized by one set of projects and ignore the rest.  Good thing, too, because if we started thinking about all the things that are waiting on our attention, we'd never know how to begin.

Animal services

Some things happen in your life so rarely that you really don't know who to call or how to take care of them.  Here's one of those things.

Yesterday evening after dinner we took a walk around the neighborhood -- a favorite warm-weather activity of ours -- and upon our return noticed a strange furry lump in our front yard.  We didn't venture close enough to see if it was a possum or cat or raccoon or what, but the flies buzzing around it were confirmation enough that it was dead.

My first thought was that we'd call our municipality's animal control office to see if they would handle disposal.  But when I checked Conway Animal Welfare's webpage, it was clear that dead animals weren't in their purview -- just live ones.  A little more checking suggested that if we wanted someone else to come and dispose of the carcass, a private enterprise was the only way to go.

Noel made a series of calls this morning, and found no local company who would take the job.  He called the police department since they were listed as the alternative contact when Animal Welfare was closed (as they were today, Presidents Day), and they pointed him to Game & Fish.  Game & Fish, apparently misunderstanding the question, did some asking around and told Noel that he was free to dispose of the animal himself -- thinking that we were wondering if they needed to be notified or do any checking for disease or something.

So Noel armed himself with shovels and bags and other implements and took care of it himself.  (It was a raccoon.  And a big fat heavy one, too.)  Thus ends our adventure trying to figure out how to deal with dead wild animals on our property.  I hope we never have to use this knowledge again, but perhaps it will turn out to be of some use to you.

A network of warmth

Today was shaping up to be an anxious one.  Late in the afternoon on Christmas Day, I noticed that the furnace wasn't working and the temperature in the house had slipped a few degrees below the thermostat setting.  (This is a week after we had a similar problem which seemed to have been fixed.  And this is a heat pump that is only about 10 months old.)

The repair guy was nice enough to stop by that same night and had a suspciously easy fix -- a drainage hose was sagging, causing the pressure switch to read it as clogged since water wasn't moving through.  He clipped the hose to shorten it and reattached it.  All seemed well.  (Actually, the furnace had kicked in and started blowing again just before he arrived after several hours of fruitless cycling.  Ain't it always the way.)

This morning, though, trouble again.  Heat had been pumping as late as 6 am this morning (when we have the thermostat set to push the temps up to daytime levels), but when Noel got up at 7 the three flashing red trouble lights were back.  Repair guy came back around midday.  The hose he had shortened had come unfastened, and he reclamped it.  Heat was back on ... but only briefly.  Before the furnace managed to get the temperature back up to the themostat setting, it died again.  When we called repair guy, he was apologetic but said that he had run out of options.  A new pressure switch was all that could be done, and that wouldn't be available until tomorrow afternoon.

Faced with the prospect of a night without central heating and outside temps of 20 degrees, we decided to get proactive.  I lit the gas fireplace in the living room, which did a remarkable job of lifting both the comfort level and our spirits.  Thinking that we could make it through the night without me losing my mind with worry if we had some kind of heater where the kids sleep, I asked on Twitter and Facebook if any local friends had space heaters they could loan us.  A colleague answered immediately; even though she was out of town, she had a housesitter and knew where her electric heaters were.  Noel headed off to pick them up, sharing with me a plan to get the kids excited about sleeping over together in the same room in sleeping bags.  Within a couple of hours, three more friends responded through social networking offering heaters; we took up the offer from one who lives in our neighborhood, scoring two large radiator-style units.

Throw in one small ceramic heater that Noel picked up at Wal-Mart, reasoning that since this has happened two winters in a row we really ought to have something of our own, and all our sleeping quarters plus the living room were being re-toasted by late afternoon.  By dinnertime, the temperature in the kitchen was back to normal, and the hall thermostat was registered an uptick of several degrees from its low point.  A virtue of a small house.

So we are snug for the night, with barely any inconvenience registering from our lack of central heat (other than some temporarily elevated gas and electric usage).  Here's hoping the part comes in and fixes our problem tomorrow ... but if it doesn't, we'll be fine.  Thanks to friends and Facebook, thanks to an attitude adjustment from worry to positivity, the anxiety that accompanies a breakdown like this -- especially for parents charged with keeping kids and guests out of the bitter cold -- has melted away.

In my blue world

Today's post about two green scarves -- one lost and one found -- is at Toxophily.



And lurking in the background of the photography is our brand-new retaining wall and part of our new sod lawn, in progress. If only I could transform our landscaping as easily and inexpensively as I can transform my wardrobe!

Solutions

The weekend started with a problem.  I woke up on Friday morning, retrieved the clothes from the dryer where they had finished tumbling last night, and immediately saw a problem -- orange goop smeared and hardened on the dryer drawer.  If you have kids, you've guessed it: Somebody left a crayon in a pocket, it went through the dryer, melted, and now there were colorful spots and smears on the whole load as well as the inside of the dyer.  Actually, it was two crayons, an orange one and a blue one.  And there were brown spots on the clothes as well, but more on that later.

I spent some time on Friday researching whether there was anything I could do to rescue these clothes -- which included, most upsettingly, my Hey, Teach.  What I found was heartening.  So when I got home Friday afternoon, I spent an hour on my hands and knees scrubbing out the dryer drum with Comet.  Then I put the clothes that had been waiting patiently in the washer -- the load due to be dried after the one with the crayon disaster -- into the dryer and started working on treating and rewashing the crayon-befouled load with my Internet-gleaned recipes (involving copious amounts of Borax, Oxi-Clean, spray stain remover, and the like).

When I pulled the load out of the de-crayoned dryer, though, I learned that my problems weren't over.  Those brown spots had appeared on them.  Gradually the truth dawned on me.  Not only were there crayons in some kid's pocket in that dryer the night before ... but there was soiled underwear.  Cady Gray had dumped it in the washer without my knowledge, so they didn't get rinsed out.  There was poop in that dryer.

Back I went with my Comet, this time supplementing my sponge with an old toothbrush and a sample tube of toothpaste.  I found where the poop was lurking in the cracks and did my best to scrub it out.  And now I had not only the crayon stains to deal with, but the dried and set-in stains from this second contaminent -- not only in the first load that had run through that dryer, but the one that followed it after I thought it was clean.

Strangely enough, the affair sent me not into tear-my-hair-out frustration, but into problem-solving mode.  I started trying different combinations of cleaning products in load after load to work out the solution.  (It helped that my handknit came out of the first, pre-poop-revelation rewash apparently crayon-free, thanks to Oxi-Clean.)  I've probably washed most of those clothes five times over the course of the weekend.  For your edification, the only thing that helped with the set-in poop stains was repeated applications of color-safe bleach as a pre-treatment, allowed to soak in for 10-15 minutes before laundering -- this resulted in incremental fading and shrinking of the stains.

The mood extended beyond laundry.  I woke up Saturday morning, saw the broken divider screen that separates our entryway from the living area, and decided the time had come to take it down.  Twenty minutes later, down it was, after months and even years of taunting me with its dysfunctionality.  It could be that it wasn't my experimental and largely scientific engagement with laundry problems that put me in this mode, but the items I crossed off my summer to-do list this week, which included adding more insurance coverage for our home and initiating some other improvement discussions.

As I write, a half-dozen clothing items await their next round of Clorox 2 and agitation.  (I thought I might be done, but a switch to my normal cold water wash/rinse with a basketful of other clothes apparently stopped the stain-fading process cold (ha!) after the steady progress achieved with warm/cold over the last few days -- no improvement visible.)  At some point I will have to stop, throw them in the dryer or toss them out, and cut my losses.  But for now, I'm perfectly happy spinning my wheels -- because at some bizarre level, I feel like I'm actually moving forward.

Ready to start

It takes a lot to get me into gear. I can live with stuff that's broken or suboptimal or ugly for quite a long time. But when the switch clicks and I decide I can't live with it anymore, I like to act decisively.

That has now happened for my front yard, or what my neighbors probably call "the Sahara desert" behind my back. It's devolved from mostly moss when we bought it, to mostly bare dirt now. The railroad ties that form the retaining walls that keep the yard from completely washing away into the street are falling apart. I've long known we needed to get a landscaper in to built new retaining walls, plant ground cover, lay some sod (I'd rather not have much lawn). But I didn't know where that stood on my priority list of things I need to hire someone to do. Walking back toward the house with the kids after a stroll around the neighborhood this evening, I realized that the time was now. I can't live with this horrendous hellscape anymore.

So I'm going to call a local landscaping firm. What I'd like is for them to rebuild all the retaining walls, plant a hardy, shade-loving ground cover on the front slope, remake the azalea beds around our large shade trees, and put down a minimum of turf that would have to be mowed or watered. I'd be open to turf alternatives.

What should I think about or know before I make this call? Any recommendations for landscapers in the area? Can I do this without ending up paying a fortune for an underground irrigation system?

Caught in the flow

My folks are coming to visit at the end of the week, a prospect that always lights a fire under our simmering urge to make our home more livable. (Yes, Mom and Dad, it does get worse than what you see!) Noel has ambitions to organize our extensive collection of games and to pass books the kids have outgrown on to new owners.

He's calling this "de-hoardifying" the house, the idea being to make our home less like one of the places profiled on A&E's Hoarders. Not that we qualify for the show. We have teetering stacks of DVDs covering every available flat surface, yes, but we don't have psychological issues that prevent us from getting rid of them. Instead we have logistical and physical issues getting rid of them. You see, they just keep coming. A dozen a day, most days. I counted once while Noel was out of town; 60 DVDs or sets of DVDs arrived in one week. If you're not actively pushing them back out the door at the same rate, they quickly become an organizational nightmare.

And how do you push them out the door? We're not going to send them to the landfill. They're actually worth something to someone, if you can make the effort it takes to find that someone (a reseller or an end consumer). Again, though, at 250 flowing in a month, just making that effort to redirect them back out again is costly in terms of time and energy.

Every few months Noel makes a big dent in the DVDs, CDs and comics (notice how I didn't even mention the last two) by hauling them to a store or sending them to a reseller. But we haven't been down to level zero -- that is, only having in the house the media we actually want to keep -- in many years. If we ever manage to get back there, I might not recognize the place.

The limits of obsession

When I get on a roll, real life annoys me. I'd like to do whatever I am currently obsessed with doing with from morning until night. Moderation is not for me. If it's something I enjoy, I'm not interested in taking breaks. Right now there are three things I'd like to just keep doing until they are done. I'm working on a storage and decorating plan for our extensive collection of games; I've got loads of yarn I'd like to knit up; and I'm at the beginning of a couple of fascinating research projects.

But that way of working isn't compatible with family life. Kids won't let you take over their spaces for days to decorate. Parenting can't be put on hold for marathon knitting or research.

The summer comes with longish stretches of time during which my obsessive nature can express itself. I can take hours or days and just do one thing, because there are fewer tasks to get crammed into each day. No classes, fewer meetings, periods of time when people are on vacation and the office is empty. And I can start to think that I have a right to that organization of time and that one-thing-at-a-time, all-the-time lifestyle.

Home brings me back to reality. It's not worth thinking about huge redecorating projects until somebody could be persuaded to take the kids for two weeks. I can't pull all-nighters in the library or crank out a sweater in a weekend. So the things I want so much to do have to get done in bits and pieces. And to be frank, that's a good thing. Because the problem with that obsessive tendency is that it can be an excuse not to do anything at all on the grounds that you can't do everything you'd like. Better by far to tackle a minor reorganization of a room than a wholesale retrofit, since my visions for the latter are probably unrealistically grandiose Better to fit my knitting and my research around the other tasks for which I'm responsible, lest I fail to live up to what I imagine limitless time at those occupations would produce.

Comfy

It was a big day at Chez Trueheart. Earlier this week we freecycled our leather sectional sofa, which was still serviceable but was increasingly prone to cracks and holes. And today witnessed a flurry of service people visiting to clean the carpets and haul in the two new recliners and matching loveseat.

When we first visited this house with our realtor, one of the things that made us feel great about it was a pair of recliners in the living room -- right where I'm sitting now. It was the end of a long day, and my father and the realtor almost immediately sat down in those recliners and cranked the footrests up. This was a place where people felt comfortable. A homey place. And we felt so good about it that we bought it.

Now we've come full circle after ten years living here. For the first time since we moved in, two recliners are in that spot. We're relaxing in large, well-cushioned, smoothly rocking chairs. And I'm taken back to that first time we walked in, when a pair of side-by-side recliners made us feel that this was a place we could belong. A decade later, we've made it our own, but we're still reveling in that sense of home.

Power buy

It was a good shopping day. Longtime readers will know that I have a shopping problem. My intense buyer's remorse leads me to avoid making a decision, or even contemplating making a decision, until absolutely necessary. But sometimes, against all my expectations, shopping goes well.

The first part of the goodness I didn't even have to do myself. Noel and the kids came home from an extended trip to the grocery store with all the components of our Thankgiving feast. Bags of turkey, vegetables, garnishes, herbs, and pie. Unpacking the car, I began to anticipate the brining and the cooking and all the preparations. Thanksgiving joy arrived with those bags of food.

Tonight Noel and I had a babysitter, but no movies in town that we wanted to see. So Noel had the bright idea of going to the local huge furniture gallery after our dinner out to look for new family room seating and some storage. Our leather sectional is in bad shape and needs replacing, and we've been thinking about replacing it with two recliners and a loveseat. Our foyer also needs a console of some kind where we can store games.

I thought it was a fine way to spend time, but I didn't have high hopes of seeing what we needed. But it turned out there were a lot of pieces that would work for us. The salespeople were helpful but not pushy. The prices were right.

I started to envision sitting in the recliners watching basketball with friends on the loveseat. I saw the sideboard against that blank wall in our entryway, Sorry and Trivial Pursuit and cribbage stacked up behind its glass doors.

The money's not spent, the delivery's not arranged, the dinner's not made. But it feels like life is on the upswing. One more notch upward on the livability scale for our home. Eventually.

It's my disguise

Today's post about little luxuries for the general head region is at Toxophily.

This week we've been dealing with plumbing and with Archer's memory. With regard to the former, a failing pipe meant we were looking at a week's worth of torn-up floor. With regard to the latter, we were trying various strategies to help him remember the increasingly complex responsibilities of third grade (returning library books, bringing home homework). Today, suddenly, both situations resolved for the moment: the plumbers took a less invasive approach and were done in a day, and Archer came home with a completed checksheet and all his materials. Right now, life is sweet.

New broom

It's spring cleaning week here at the homestead. And although it wasn't my idea, and I really haven't done anything to help, I heartily approve of the results.

Both Noel and I are pack rats. We accumulate stuff at an alarming rate, accelerated by our occupations and avocations. Noel gets dozens of CDs and DVDs in the mail every week. I buy yarn. The kids collect little prizes or toys from various crane machines and kiddie-meal purveyors around town. And while it's difficult for me to throw things away when there's still any value left in them, it's equally difficult for me to find a way to get them out of the house without throwing them away.

Periodically Noel has to make a purge. His philosophy is that if I don't notice it's gone, I didn't need it in the first place. It's just the attitude that's needed, because the clutter in our home takes a mental, physical, and spiritual toll on me. Even though there's a hypothetical moment somewhere in my future where I'm disappointed that we don't still have something I thought we'd kept, there's a very real, concrete present moment in which every glance around the room is more peaceful and calm because I don't see clutter angrifying up the place. I think it's a good tradeoff -- or at least, I try to calm my anxiety during the purge by reminding myself that it's a good tradeoff.

After a hard week in the trenches, my boss is taking a mental health day tomorrow. He told me that he's planning to spend it spreading mulch on his backyard landscaping. It's a job he's hired out the last two years. But this year, he's doing it himself because it's an accomplishment he can have control over. That's something that's often missing in our middle-management jobs in academia. And while Noel probably gets more of that kind of satisfaction in his job as a freelance writer -- although getting paid can be a struggle sometimes -- he's probably prone to seek the same kind of accomplishment in his physical surroundings. I just enjoy the fruits of his labor. Knowing how hard it would be for me to get up the gumption and discipline to do it myself makes me appreciate it all the more.