Kay's Blog

My Washed Up Washer

My new washing machine has the latest high-tech electronics, automatic sensors and energy-saving capabilities. Right now I'd trade it for something that washes clothes.

When I bought my new washer at Sears, I was in awe of its flashing lights, sensors, signals and beeps. The problem is, every feature represents something that can (and will) go wrong. The washer stopped working after we'd had it about a year, which worried me, because it had a one-year warranty.

"The timing is perfect!" the person from Sears said when I called.

"Oh great, the warranty is still good," I answered, relieved.

"Actually," it just expired."

Oh.

"When can someone come out to fix it?" I asked.

Unlike the lonely Maytag man of days gone by, the Sears man is apparently the life of the party; it would be 10 days until the first available appointment.  My family and I waited, and avoided activities that would make our clothes dirty -  like eating.  By day 6 we started to smell something, which turned out to be each other.

The repairman finally showed up, and  tinkered in the laundry room for a few minutes. "Your control panel is toast," he said.

"Toast?"

"Yeah, it's completely worn out."

How could that be? We've only had the washer for a year! And the control panel is worn out? I've had control panels that lasted longer in pantyhose!

"'l'll have to order a new one - it'll be here Thursday" he said, handing me the bill.

The thought of a few more days of dirty clothes made me long for the old washer I grew up with. Nothing fancy, it was an old workhorse with two dials: "Hot/Warm/Cold" and "Regular/Gentle/Permanent Press." It washed clothes through my entire childhood. It's still washing clothes today.

"They don't make things like they used to," old people like to say.

And we're right.

(Un) Happy Birthday

I’m almost 50, which means I’m starting to lose things. Like my mind. I’m exaggerating, but I do have the tendency to forget things, like where I left my car keys. The only thing I haven’t lost lately is weight.

I don’t want to think about my birthday. This birthday, which marks a half-a-century, isn’t even recognized in the state I live in (the state of denial). That’s why I was very unhappy about the email I got yesterday. It was a rude reminder, in the form of an invitation to join AARP.
 
AARP? I was shocked. AARP is for old people, really old people who shuffle around and tend to repeat themselves. As for me, I just graduated from my training bra! I only recently learned to drive! I just graduated from my training bra!

Maybe I am getting a little bit old. But I can’t be old enough to join an Association of “Retired” folks.” I don’t need prescription discounts, retirement planning, and other AARP “benefits.”

I need the benefit they took: my tendency to forget certain things, like the fact that I’m turning 50.

  

You know it's an 'April Fools' kind of year when...

Tomorrow is April first, and if you feel like a fool, you're not alone. Here's a Tremendously Timely Top Ten list by my talented friend Scott Friedman. Scott is 1) a Motivational Humorist and past president of the National Speakers Association, and 2) SINGLE (Sorry Scott, your mom made me throw that in). Contact him for either #1 or #2: scott@funnyscott.com.

You know it’s an April Fools kind of year when…

10. Instead of keeping up with the Joneses, you drag them down to your level.

9. You’re now selling furniture for a living. Unfortunately, it is your own.

8. No need to worry about upgrading to Digital TV as all of your TVs have been repossessed.

7. Even your imaginary friend on Facebook won’t write back.

6. Your partner asks, “How much do we have in the bank?”
You respond, “Hmmm, let me shake it?”

5. You trade your stock portfolio for what’s behind Door #2.

4. Your seven course meal is now Rice-a-Roni and a six-pack.

3. Taking your honey on a cruise means circling the Dairy Queen.

2. You join a bridge club. Your jump is scheduled for next Tuesday.

1. You wake up screaming and you haven’t even gone to bed yet.

New Years Resolutions - These are a Win-Win!

Last year, like most years, I made New Years Resolutions on the first of January. For awhile, I stuck with them. The trouble started somewhere during the middle of January - um, second. After that, it was all down hill, and by January third, I was just as unhealthy, disorganized and lazy as always. The only difference - instead of the month before, when I'd been pretty okay with myself, in January I felt like a failure. I remember beating myself up so badly,  I had actual bruises.

Now I realize I was being unrealistic - I'm not going to change overnight. But I do want to experience the satisfaction of accomplishment.  This year, I think I've found a way to do that.  Here are my New Years Resolutions for 2009:

1 ) Gain 10 pounds (I'm pretty sure I can do this, because I got a good start during the holiday season)

2) Exercise less (I'll start by parking as close to the mall entrance as I can, and whenever possible, taking the elevator instead of the stairs)

3) Eat fewer fruits and vegetables (salsa, potato chips and ketchup don't count)

4) Watch more TV (not including anything educational or informative like the stuff on PBS)

5) Read fewer books (should be easy - I'll be busy watching TV)

6) Increase credit-card debt (another one where I got a jump-start during the holidays)

7) Increase stress (should happen automatically due to increased credit-card debt)

These Resolutions were pretty easy to come up with; they're basically the opposite of last year's. And with my 2009 resolutions, there's nothing to lose. If I accomplish them, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing I've set goals and reached them. If I don't, I'll have a sense of failure, but least I'll be healthier, smarter and wealthier.

In that unlikely case, I'll find some way to console myself.

Merry Christmas

From our family to yours -  here's a little Christmas greeting.

It takes a couple minutes to load, but it's totally worth it.

Best of all, after you watch our Christmas program, you can create one of your own!

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Best Wishes for the New Year from Kay, Steve, Kelly, Hercules and Shaka.

Let it Snow....Now Make it STOP

I live in Seattle (tagline: we don't tan, we rust) where we live with near-constant precipitation, in the form of rain. Here’s a Seattle quiz:

Q: What do you call two straight days of rain in Seattle?
A:  A weekend.

Q: What does daylight-savings time mean in Seattle?
A:  An extra hour of rain.

Q: What did the Seattle native say to the Pillsbury Doughboy?
A:  Nice tan.

Yes, we know how to deal with rain in Seattle, where “the fabric of our lives” is Gore-tex. But yesterday, just a week before Christmas, it didn’t rain, it snowed. Not only did it snow, at times it fell even faster than the recent stock market.

Of course, snow is beautiful, and can be romantic, like when Bing Crosby croons “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” in the classic movie, "Holiday Inn." The movie features the fantasy version of a beautiful snowfall, where the treetops glisten, and a horse-driven carriage jingles through the snow.

Snow is great, unless you have to go somewhere, and you don’t happen to own a horse-drawn carriage. Snow is slippery, and a nightmare to walk or drive on, as I tried to explain to my dogs yesterday.  Still, they insisted on their daily walk. So I went “Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland” and struggled to keep from “Slip Slidin’ Away.

Driving is even worse, and around here, we aren’t prepared for snow. We don’t have a lot of snowplows or other kinds of snow removal equipment. In Seattle, wanting something “de-iced” means you’d like your cupcake without frosting.

Here, it’s best to sit home and watch the news. The snowstorm is the BIG story, and coverage is on every channel. News anchors warn us to stay off the roads.  “DON’T drive to work!” they add, broadcasting from the studio to which they drove to work. Then they show reporters who have driven around the city to show people who shouldn’t be driving around the city, as their film crews capture entertaining footage of  motorists playing “Bumper Cars.”

Of course the kids love the snow, because there’s no school. “I’m so excited!” they exclaim, until about 10 am, when they switch to “I’m so bored!”

I think everyone here is ready for the snow to go away, and the end of the BIG story called  "The Nightmare Before Christmas."

Believe It or Not

When Kelly was little, Steve and I told her how Santa’s elves spend the whole year making toys, and on Christmas Eve, Santa loads up his sleigh and magically delivers presents to all the good little boys and girls. When she started asking questions about how Santa could possibly fit through a tiny chimney, or how he could have time to visit all the houses in the world in just one night, we said, "You've just gotta believe."

It was a fun part of childhood. Of course, we knew she’d eventually realize there’s nothing magic about it. She’d figure out the harsh reality, that you can’t always get what you want for Christmas. Really, it's good old mom and dad who do the shopping, and the malls are crowded, toys are expensive, sometimes mom and dad run out of time, or the stores run out of toys.

The average kid stops believing in Santa at about age seven. If they’re smart, they stop believing sooner, at five or six.

If they’re really smart?

They never stop.

I knew Kelly would never stop believing in Santa when she was six. That was the year she wanted a Barbie Cash register for Christmas - the same thing every six-year-old girl in America wanted.

“What else is on your list?”  I asked her. “Because I don’t think Santa’s elves can make enough of those for all the little girls who want one.”

“There’s nothing else on my list,” she answered.  “The only thing I’m asking for is a Barbie Cash Register. That way Santa will know I really, really want one - more than anybody.”

“But none of the stores have them – they’re all sold out!”

"Mom, you've just gotta believe."

Uh oh, I thought, as a bead of sweat ran down my neck.

After launching a massive effort to locate a Barbie Cash Register, the sister of our neighbor’s cousin’s mailman found a solitary Barbie Cash Register, accidentally stashed behind a “Barbie Dream House Display” at the K-Mart in Boise, Idaho.

It arrived via Fed Ex on December 24th. I was overcome with relief as I held the package; I hadn't worked that hard on a delivery since giving birth.

On Christmas morning, Kelly raced out to the living room. She squealed when she saw the package, tearing off the wrapping paper. Then she danced around the room with it held high above her head.  "I TOLD you!" she cried out. “I KNEW Santa would bring me my Barbie Cash Register!"

You've just gotta believe.

"When WE Were Kids..."

As kids, we all heard stories of how hard life was when our parents were young. "When we were kids," my mom and dad would say, "our school was clear across town. And in order to get there, we had to walk."

When our parents bemoaned the hardships of their youth, we'd roll our eyes. Still, I can't let my daughter off the hook, so I tell her stories about my childhood. "When we were kids," I say, "our TV was clear across the room. And in order to change the channel, we had to walk."

I continue, as Kelly rolls her eyes.  "In those days, the word "remote" referred to a possibility, as in, "there's a remote possibility that Kay will actually clean her room."

"Even if you didn't have a Remote Control," Kelly answers, "it's always the dad who changes the channel. Didn't your dad do it?"

"Uh..no." I explain that this physical labor was performed by the children, and each family had quite a few. The paternal unit would direct one of the children - usually the youngest - to change the TV "dial" to a particular station. Then the child would "tune it in" by fiddling with the "rabbit ears," while the remaining family members shouted various instructions. (Move the left one to the right! Now, the right one to the left! No, that's too far. Move it back....back... STOP RIGHT THERE!)

Obviously, today's families are much smaller.  Once the Remote Control was invented, children were no longer needed for channel-changing, and the birthrate plummeted.

Changing the TV channel without a remote wasn't our only challenge.  I think of other examples all the time.  The other day, I was in the bathroom at the Olive Garden. Kelly was with me, so I felt compelled to enlighten her.  "When we were kids," I shouted from my stall, "we had to flush our own toilets!" I'm not sure she heard me, because at that moment the water in the bowl jettisoned violently, splashing my nether-lands.  I exited the stall and walked over to the sink. I held my hands under the faucet. As  the  sensor started the water running, I added, "and we certainly didn't have all this!" I moved my hand to the right to receive an automatic measure of soap. Then I walked to the towel dispenser and waved my hands in front of it, causing paper towels to magically appear.

Yep, kids nowadays have it pretty easy. It's hard to believe, but there will be even more improvements by the time Kelly has kids. Ones that will make her childhood seem difficult by comparison. Who knows?  Maybe she'll tell them, "When we were kids, we had to chew our own food."

Here's what I do know; her kids will roll their eyes.

Thanksgiving – It’s All About Getting Stuffed

As far as quality of life goes, turkeys have it pretty good.  I mean, right up to the part where they get their heads chopped off and are flash-frozen to ship across America.  But think about it, right up ‘til then, their entire JOB is to get fat.  All they do is eat, and eat, and eat, while carefully avoiding any physical activity that might prevent weight gain.

I could get into a job like that.

But, in a classic “win-lose” situation, one of those turkeys always ends up as dinner for me and my family. So, with a nod to the history of our nation, I make an annual pilgrimage of my own.  In my case, it’s to the local supermarket, to gather all the ingredients for our annual Thanksgiving Dinner.

First, I pick out a turkey.  Basically, there’s only one thing I’m looking for in a turkey.  It’s got to be really, really big. Here’s why: if I’m going to spend THAT many hours working on a meal, I don’t want to have to cook again.  For the foreseeable future, this dinner will be in re-runs. This explains why my husband Steve, refers to Thanksgiving Dinner as “The Last Supper.”

Last year, I brought home about a 30 pounder.  I admit, I may have gone a little overboard.  The day I brought it home, I somehow lugged “Big Bird” into the house without getting a hernia.  I was leaning over the kitchen counter, inspecting what resembled a beached whale, when I heard Steve come into the room behind me. He took one look and said, “Wow, that thing is huge!” Then he added, “You’ve got a pretty big turkey there, too.” 

I came very close to flipping him the bird.  And I don’t mean the turkey.

On Thanksgiving morning, I wrestle the turkey from the fridge to the sink. Then it’s time to go exploring: inside every turkey are those mysterious body parts that have been thoughtfully gift-wrapped before being shoved inside.

Once I’ve got the turkey in the oven, everything else needs to be done.  There’s the stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and anything else I can think of that contains enough starch to iron a shirt.

Of course, all these ingredients don’t make the meal.  I put everything together in my own kitchen, in my unique way. There's nothing from a box on Thanksgiving - I prepare it all from scratch, and make it with love.

And, tons of butter.

I slather large quantities of butter on, in, and around everything.  That’s because without butter, all this stuff is about as tasteless as Howard Stern.

Finally, everything is done, and we sit down to enjoy a delicious, mouth-watering feast. And it’s the part of Thanksgiving I look forward to all year.  Because that’s when all I’m going to do is eat, and eat, and eat, while carefully avoiding any physical activity that might prevent weight gain.

A Fish Tale

"Why don't you like fish?" Kelly asked me recently.

"Whaddaya mean? I love fish! Especially salmon...yum."

"No mom," she said, pointing at her fishbowl. "Why don't you like these fish?"

Oh. Goldfish.

I don't like goldfish. I wasn't happy when Kelly received two goldfish as a present, especially since they didn’t come with a return policy. It's not that I don't like pets. We have two dogs - they provide love, protection, and even an excuse to exercise. Then there are goldfish.  Like newborn babies, goldfish spend the vast majority of time eating and pooping. Unlike newborn babies, goldfish never change.

The new fishbowl sat on the kitchen counter. The  goldfish swam aimlessly, and I tried to think of an advantage to having goldfish over, say, a Pet Rock. I couldn't come up with anything, because the only animals that provide less excitement are stuffed.

“They look hungry," Kelly said. "I think I’ll feed them.”

Kelly dropped some food into the water. The fish came to life, hurrying to the surface. Within a few moments, the food was gone.

"Wow, they really were hungry," she said. Do you think they need more food?"

"I have no idea." Goldfish can't communicate, except by swimming upside down (generally their LAST communication).  Not wanting to take any chances, Kelly dropped more food into the water.  Then more. No matter how much food they were given, they ate it all and wanted more, meaning the goldfish and I had at least one thing in common.

The next morning, the fishbowl water was cloudy and gross, so Kelly decided to change it. She insisted on using bottled water, even though I complained about the cost.

“Mom, if I use tap water, the chemicals might make the fish die!”

I couldn’t really see the down side to that scenario. Especially when the next day, the water was once again filthy, and Kelly changed it...using more bottled water. 

"This is crazy!" I said. I did a rough calculation based on the bottled water supply used in the first two days. So far these fish had cost me approximately $119 per pound. Kelly wasn't thrilled about dealing with stinky fish water, either. We needed help, so we drove to PetSmart.

"Why does the water keep getting so dirty?" we asked.

"They need a bigger bowl," the salesperson answered. "One with a filtration system," she continued. "We have them right here. They're only $89.95."

How much? At this rate, these goldfish would soon be worth more than actual gold. I needed an answer, or these fish were headed toward a bigger bowl, alright: a toilet bowl.

Fortunately, the answer came. My cousins Blake and Paul stopped by on their way home from an Alaskan cruise.  When they heard the fish story, they said, "We have a big fish pond in the back yard! We'll take them home with us!”

I couldn’t believe my luck, and happily gave them the two goldfish.

Although I secretly wondered if the other fish would enjoy having these new companions…

For dinner.