A Puzzling Experience

A Guest Blog by Becki Libick

Image From http://www.flickr.com/photos/bradmontgomery/4363410868/ 

I like jigsaw puzzles. Granted, they aren’t the most exciting hobby available. But I really enjoy a pursuit that keeps my hands busy while it leaves my mind free to wander or to work on one of life’s conundrums. Jigsaw puzzles fit that bill just about right. I don’t do the big 1,000 piece puzzles unless there’s a group of puzzlers around. The process is important, but completion matters, too. So the especially hard ones have no appeal, either– pictures of somebody’s marble collection, for instance.

My son once gave me a double-sided puzzle. It had a picture of Dalmations on the front and the same picture was on the back, turned 90 degrees. I don’t know if the gift was meant to affirm his confidence in Mom’s puzzling ability or to drive her completely crazy. It didn’t have a chance to do either; I gave it to a more avid puzzler than I will ever be. My favorite kind of puzzle has 500 colorful pieces and is pretty, not too difficult, and pleasant for the eyes. After all, if it demands my full attention, then my mind doesn’t get to wander at all.

Not every puzzler shares my perspective. My husband doesn’t care how big or difficult the puzzle is. He likes the thrill of the hunt, meeting the challenge, and the victorious finish. That’s fine with me. He can be the conquering hero of the jigsaw. When the puzzle is done I’ll bring my mind back to the present - at least long enough to choose another puzzle
.

Substitute Shoveling

I was on the first watch during a storm which eventually dumped 17.5 inches of snow on us.  I wanted to go out to shovel with John, but he insisted I must not do it.  He was right, of course.  If I fell, he’d have an unplowed drive as well as a real emergency on his hands.  I’m still not entirely steady on my feet after a second total knee replacement.  I countered with an offer to get up and stay in the living room until he came back in.  I was concerned that no one would know if he slipped and fell until we found his frozen body under a car.

John said, “You wouldn’t even have to come downstairs.  Just check on me every 20 minutes.  You could probably see me from the window.”

John cleaning the Jeep

We agreed that he would wake me before he went outside to shovel.  I thought I answered at his first call at midnight, although I could have slept through a couple.  I stumbled out of bed and set the timer for 20 minutes.  The silly timer beeped once after only ten minutes.  It’s a modern (emphasis on “dern”) instrument with an automatic snooze alarm.  I, of all people, DO NOT need practice waking up.  I can do it first time, every time.  Golly Pete!  It let loose with a five minute warning.  What wouldn’t I give for a timer that times the number of minutes I choose, not what it decides is best for me!  Bet it was designed by a liberal Democrat.

I could hear the regular scritch, scritch of the shovel on the paved surface, so I knew John was fine.  I intended to go down for a show of solidarity so he would know he was not alone, but I sat contentedly at the computer desk.  After he came in, I went back to bed.

I don’t know that John was impressed that I got up for the second time for a snow watch.  He said he had to call me two or three times the first time.  At 4 a.m. he spoke to me at the top of the stairs.  That must mean he couldn’t rouse me from the ground floor.  He was out shoveling before I could stand up.  Better late than never.

That last interval of sleep was not so pleasant.  I got back in bed, and my first thought was the mattress was shot.  Several years ago John bought a memory foam mattress topper that I have loved.  Admittedly, I’ve given it a beating, but up until the wee hours I had been totally satisfied with it.  I winced when I got in bed because it felt like I was sitting on something sharp.  Rolling over, the object seemed to be following me.  Ridiculous!  Was it my nightgown bunched up in the wrong spot?  Surely I was not getting bed sores!  Seven hours a day, or rather night, is not unreasonable.  In my half asleep state, I pulled at the gown and twitched the covers about.  Lise would call it “flapping” from my post-hospital days.  Either I got rid of the object or I fell asleep.

I struggled through layers of sleep when John called.  After some incoherent noises from me, he went back downstairs.  Oh!  This mattress was becoming unbearable.  What a shame!  I’d loved it from the moment it went on the bed.  I was as tired as could be after three hours of sleep, yet I didn’t want to get back in that painful bed.  To make matters worse, I knew John had had his normal amount of sleep and might stay awake the rest of the day.  Bummer!  Bummer was the operative word.  My bum hurt.  I said to myself, “Don’t just sit there hurting, get up!”

Antibiotic, instrument of torture

Something fell to the floor and hit my foot.  It was a tube of antibiotic ointment that I’d used on a sore toe almost 24 hours before.  The pain did not immediately subside because I was semi-permanently indented.  My back side must have looked like memory foam, now with an impression of TUBE.  Which would recover quicker, memory foam or memory flesh?  I’m sure the man-made substance was the winner.  I’ll be lucky if I can sit without pain the rest of the day, all caused by an instrument of healing.

Getting the Right Fit in Sewing Patterns

Guest post written by Becki Libick

Image From http://www.flickr.com/photos/mtowber/2502721676/ 

The challenge of sewing garments is getting the fit exactly right. That’s also the fun of sewing. Anyone who sews at all can buy a pattern and some fabric, follow the instructions, and make a garment that looks like the pattern. But not everyone has a body that’s shaped like the bodies those patterns are designed to fit.

My personal experience as a tall woman is that even when I was young, my body didn’t fit those patterns without adding inches to the “lengthen or shorten here” lines. Now that I’m not so young, the fit certainly hasn’t improved. The patterns are obviously designed for young, trim bodies that don’t bulge or sag. That’s where sewing skills become invaluable. Knowing how to adjust a pattern to fit around the sags and bulges in a way that fits comfortably without displaying the evidence of the years takes some experience. Thankfully, those years have provided opportunity to gain the necessary experience. And yet a challenge remains. If I sew a garment to fit my body, I must sew a few seams, try on the garment, sew a few more seams, try it on again, and so on, until the garment is completed. How much simpler it would be to have a model of me to work with! No problem, you say? Well, they do indeed market such things. Alas, none comes with my particular sags and bulges. What can be done?

Recently I read an article about the idea of making your own model by asking a very good friend to wrap duct tape around and around your torso, over a tee shirt. Three layers of duct tape later, the form is solid enough to cut off your body, hang on a sturdy hanger, stuff with fiberfill, and ta-da! You have a model of your very own torso, ready for use. How clever is that?!

Drama at Dawn

We are creatures of habit and would have a hard time getting through a day without mindless repeats.  Habits can also kill you.  Smoking and hard drinking come to mind, but good habits can be lethal, too.  If you’d asked me last week what hand holds the cup when I take pills, I couldn’t have told you.  I know now.  I take three tablets every morning to keep me going -- medications for heart, thyroid and bones.  None are coated, sugared or encapsulated – just raw pills.  This morning I dumped the trio on the counter and realized my pill hand was wet.  I learned long ago that pre-wetting something like an aspirin tablet is not a good thing to do.  It immediately begins to disintegrate in a most disgusting manner.  The solution was simple – change hands.  Right.  I got water and the first big pill in the mouth and couldn’t swallow the thing.  Finally, eyes bulging and fighting for breath, I stood up straight and breathed a sigh of relief.  If I’d thought about not making the same mistake twice, I would have dried the offending hand and returned to the habitual way of downing pills.  Wrong.  I went through my backward habit and found the pills chasing each other around my mouth like speed boats avoiding a steep waterfall.  Having survived this drama at dawn, I figure the rest of the day is going to be a piece of cake.

Writing Goals for 2011 - The New Year's Dance

Image From http://www.flickr.com/photos/dbdbrobot/140068142

If you had asked me last week, I would have told you my writing goals for 2011 included stability. That's changed now. Ever hear the saying that when you want to make God laugh, just tell him your plans? Case in point here.

Last year at this time, one of my favorite companies to work for was hit by the economical woes we are all familiar with. It was a good wakeup call for me. I immediately sent out my resume and worked on diversifying my writing portfolio. I find it difficult to keep track of numerous things so I settled on five companies for which I would do the majority of my writing. The nerd in me came to the forefront as I discovered that I have a ravenous passion for writing book study guides and lesson plans.

I imagined easing into 2011 riding the gentle current of 2010. Then along with minor wave of the annual tax bill came the eddy of an email telling writers that our study guide writing is discontinued and our lesson plans are getting cut back. Ouch. And Bummer. Just when you think you had it made....

But there's a good side, too. Thanks to my diversified portfolio, it's not the end of the world. I'm nowhere near the panic I was in last year. I'll just pick up more work from one of my other jobs. My husband is encouraging me to grab the opportunity to use the freed-up time to do some writing for myself. I think I will. I'm hoping to come out with an e-book or two this year as my new goal.

For those interested in writing from home, I definitely have some advice - learned from friends and from experience. Advice which has made this turn of events disappointing instead of disastrous:

* Write for a company that you enjoy working for - even if it's volunteer. That keeps the joy of writing alive  (and keeps your resume filled with current clips).

* Write for residual pay. You might make pennies a day for your work, but it pays off in the long run, especially when you take breaks.

* Don't turn down opportunities to write for writing mills. While the writing is not glamorous, it helps pay the bills, and it allows you to work from home on your own terms in your own hours, and that's priceless.

* Try new genres regularly to see what piques your interest.

* Join a group or forum where you can work with others to stay updated on the markets, jobs, and trends.

Keep that writing fun, add a bit of reality, and experiment. Remember what a gift it is to be your own boss. That's the joy of writing from home. Happy 2011, everyone!

I Hear the Tables Turning

It’s a classic stereotype that parents love playing with their children’s new toys.  Maybe they take a quick turn as they assemble things for Christmas, or they may have to wait until the children are worn out and safely asleep in bed.  No matter when you were born, the new toys are technically much more sophisticated than when you were a child.  It goes without saying that you should practice so that you can nonchalantly beat the pants off your child if the opportunity presents itself.  Parents need the sharper edge whenever possible.

This afternoon grandson David was quietly insistent that he and Grandpa were going shopping as they had discussed.  He mentioned Radio Shack and Toys R Us.  They went in one direction, and his mother went to the village with his brother.  John and David returned first, and I could tell David was excited about something.  I wasn’t suspicious until he asked if I wanted to open my birthday and Christmas gift right then.  Hummmm.  Did that quick shopping trip have something to do with me?  What on earth?  I said we should wait until the other two returned.  I wanted a bigger audience and time to anticipate this strange gift.  Unfortunately John was working the evening shift at Borders, so he wasn’t here for the fun.  I heard Kate tell David to wrap it up, and I called out that whatever it was didn’t need to be wrapped.  It was enough that the little box was covered up by the store bag.  Oh!  My Goodness!  It was a little remote controlled Silverado!!!  Weeks ago David heard me say that I wouldn’t mind getting a toy like that every year.  I could almost hear the tables turning.  A grandchild was tuned in to verbal wishes and remembered what I’d said.

Both boys offered to open it for me.  Citing owners’ privilege, I took it out.  The truck was screwed to the box, so the boys got two screwdrivers and set to work.  They politely took turns, but neither they nor Kate nor I could budge the second screw.  I said maybe they could take it to NJ and get magical Michael to extricate it.  He can fix anything or tell you that it's impossible.  By then it was time for me to cook dinner.  Wouldn’t you know, that’s when David finally got it loose.  I said I’d play with it after dinner.  Fast forward past a pleasant meal, washing dishes and cleaning the stove.

Nate and David with truck and obstacle

“Now!” I said.  “It’s time for me to play with my new toy.  I have to be the first to play with it.”

David, being the honest boy he is, said, “We played with it upstairs while you were doing dinner.”

“That doesn’t count,” I said.  “You were just testing it.”

That’s where things were a bit confused.  At times I was the child, but at that point I was the doting grandmother.

I went back to being the child.  I’m reasonably coordinated and was able to drive the car around the core of the house on the ground floor.  Both boys were coaching me.  “Turn left.  Back up.  A little more to the right.  That’s OK, you didn’t dent the bumper when you rammed the wall.”

Nate with the Silverado

David found one of Nate’s remote controlled vehicles, a much larger one than mine.  He and Nate began constructing an obstacle course.  I got through it and let Nate have the Silverado while I went upstairs to write.  Everyone settled down to serious playing -- Kate was playing with David’s iTouch in the dining room.  Before long Nate brought my truck upstairs, putting the cane across the stairs to keep the truck from falling.  He put a few things in the hallway to add interest.  Both boys rigged up a ramp to get across the sill at the bathroom door.  I said I wanted to drive it in and out of every room without leaving the computer chair, but it was dark in Lise’s room.  We needed lights on that truck.  Nate disappeared downstairs, coming back with a small flashlight and a rubber band.  We were ready for night time driving.  Varoom!!  Varoom!!

As I enter my second childhood, I’m so glad I can want toys again and am surrounded with people who don’t roll their eyes where I can see them.

P.S.    It’s about 24 hours since I opened my remote controlled Silverado, and I’ve already learned a lot from it.  For one thing, making a three point turn is extremely easy.  You move both thumbs to the other button and back again.  Done!  One of the most important things is to pretend whatever wild move you made is what you intended to do at the outset.  Stick with your story.  It’s essential that you realize you can learn new tricks when you are old.  After playing with this little truck, I’m confident I’ll be able to learn to drive my scooter or wheelchair when I’m no longer mobile.  That presupposes my mind is working, but then if it isn’t, I won’t know it, will I?

Merry Christmas From the Pollocks