What's the coolest thing you've ever done?

This is a question you can't just answer off the top of your head . . . it requires a bit of thought.
First, let's eliminate all the Mother Theresa type answers, such as, "Giving birth to my beloved children," or "volunteering in a shelter for homeless puppies," or, "marrying the love of my life." Yeah, yeah, we know.
I'm talking about selfish acts here. Stuff you always wanted to do, and when you finally grabbed the bull by the horns, (this could be an actual answer!!), it was as fabulous as you'd always thought it would be.
I have a few contenders.

1. Whitewater rafting: This is very, very cool. Talk about a rush. And it comes in all different skill and comfort levels, so you can have just as much fun skimming over level 2 or 3 rapids as an expert gets from the big waves. Do I recommend this for others? Yes. But stick with your comfort zone. The bigger rapids can be S.C.A.R.Y.
2. Rappelling: Using a rope to descend from a height. I first did this in college, off the ROTC building at Ohio University in Athens, Ohio. Loved it! Later I had more opportunities with the Boy Scouts. But my ultimate (and final) experience came when I did a story for my former newspaper, and got to free rappel off a 100 foot cliff in Hocking Hills State Park. Do I recommend this for others? Maybe. I'm not going to do it any more, because, although it's a real rush, it's also a bit dangerous from the big heights. Seems like a dumb way to die.
3. Travel: Oh, yeah, travel for pleasure has to be one of the high points of anybody's life -- unless they're a stick-in-the-mud, or travel so much for work that when they get home they just want to stick, period!
I've only recently begun to scratch places off my extensive bucket list. I must highly recommend a cruise to anyone who isn't terrified of water travel. Best. Vacation. Ever. (So far!) Places still on my bucket list include: Iceland (want to see the Northern Lights AND a volcano erupting out of a glacier!!); Ireland; Scotland; England; Italy; Paris; the American West (the month-long driving trip, I'm a thinkin'!); Alaska; Hawaii; Australia. The moon would be great, wouldn't it? Probably not going to happen in my lifetime, alas.
So these are all very cool experiences. But they're topped, I think, by the last thing.

4. The coolest thing I've ever done that was purely selfish was to ride in an Air National Guard Blackhawk helicopter. I got the opportunity when I was working as an editor at the National Boy Scout Jamboree in Fort AP Hill, Va. back in 2010. I did a story that got me a ride. I was harnessed in like a kid in a car seat, sitting right next to an open door 300 feet up in the air while we swooped and banked over the Jamboree for 45 minutes. I took lots of great photos, and had the time of my life. This is something I'll probably never get to do again, and I LOVED every minute of it. Thanks, guys from the Kansas Air Guard. Would I recommend this to others? Oh, HELL yeah.
My advice, in  general, is this: Life is short; often shorter than we can anticipate. Don't take stupid chances, but don't pass up chances stupidly. If  you want to do something . . . REALLY want to do something . . . make like Nike and Just Do It!
So what's on your list? I'd love to hear!

on Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse -- or whatever.

“If you’re prepared for Zombies, you’re prepared for anything,” is the motto Kansas Governor Sam Brownback has coined as he prepares to sign a proclamation declaring October “Zombie Preparedness Month” in Kansas. 

He figures that even though most people are unlikely to come up against brain-eating Zombies any time soon, just about anything else can happen. And if you’re prepared to hole up and wait out those pesky Zombies, then you’re probably prepared for tornadoes, severe storms, flooding, fire and other natural disasters – of which, I suppose, a Zombie apocalypse could be one.

So. What to do to prepare? Why, get your home emergency kit ready, of course.

 So what goes in the kit? Depends who you ask. Apocalypse survivalists would probably tell you to put a few additional items in your kit, but here’s what the CDC and Red Cross recommend:

Two week’s worth of non-perishable food; three day’s worth of water for each family member (1 gallon per person per day); food and water for pets; know how to shut off your gas, electric and water; flashlight and batteries; battery powered or hand cranked radio (NOAA Weather Radio if possible); two-way radios; whistles in case people get lost; duct tape; household liquid bleach; work gloves; matches & fire starters; first aid kit; a week’s worth of necessary meds for each family member; multi-purpose tool (like a Swiss Army Knife or a Leatherman tool); toilet paper, sanitary napkins, diapers, etc.; copies of personal documents such as proof of address, deed/lease to home, car, passports, birth certificates, insurance policies, prescriptions; cell phone with charger (battery if possible); emergency contact info; cash; sleeping bags, emergency blankets; baby formula & bottles; map of area; a few games or decks of cards.

Whatever else you think you’ll need, such as your gun and ammo to drive away those Zombies.

And if you really want to be prepared, make a portable “GO BAG” that’s ready to be grabbed and run with in the event you have to abandon your home. Put the meds, paper work and other small items in the GO BAG. You could keep a few essential survival things in each car, including sleeping bags, a tent, fire starter stuff, some food, water, etc. The idea is to be able to survive until the public infrastructure is back up, or to be able to bug out fast with the essentials and not waste time trying to think what you’ll need in a crisis.

Is my stuff ready? No. But I promise here and now to get it done by Halloween. 

And here’s a bit of cautionary advice from Kansas’ governor: “You just can’t stab a tornado in the eye with a tire iron and expect it to stop, so keep that in mind,” Brownback said.

Got that? Okay. You’re ready to roll!

on the pros and cons of purchasing holiday candy ahead of time.

As I sit here and write this, I'm munching on early-season candy corns -- those wonderful treats that only materialize this time of year.
They're way more sophisticated than they used to be, coming in several flavors and even shapes. You can get candy pumpkins now, too. I'm a traditional candy corn girl, though I do enjoy those orange and chocolate ones, too. 
This is not a new problem. When I was a kid, and on some fine summer evening my dad would say we were having sweet corn for dinner, I'd get all excited and look for the pumpkin bowl filled with candy corn, thinking Halloween had come in August.

Now, while candy corn is a fat free food (yeah!) it isn't sugar free, folks. Sorry. And it isn't real corn, either, so it won't fulfill a serving of fruits and veggies.
I won't trouble you with the number of calories in a serving...suffice to say it's more than 10.
So, are you a pre-season holiday candy-muncher?
Do all the candy canes disappear from the Christmas tree weeks before the Yule? Do the all the chocolates in the red, heart-shaped box have bites taken out of them by February 12? Do the marshmallow peeps still have their heads come Easter morning? And if you optimistically purchase eight or 10 bags of mini candy bars for Halloween distribution, how many do the neighborhood kiddies actually get?
Come on, be honest.
I know darned well that if I buy Halloween candy before October 29 I'd better have some pretty good tricks up my sleeves, cause there aren't gonna be any treats left. Sorry, kids!
I have very little self-control when it comes to sugary sweets. My kids think I disapprove of chocolate Santas and Easter Bunnies because as far as they know, I've never bought them any.
Well . . . let's just say I don't disapprove. Any chocolate characters that enter my home are in grave, grave and imminent peril.

And no love of my life has ever received those cute, little candy hearts with messages inside, let alone a box of chocolates. Hah! As if.
I thought about you while I was eating them, my love!
So, the cons of purchasing holiday candy early are obvious: You'll get fat and your teeth will fall out. And nobody will like you.
I can live with all that.
The pros are also obvious: You'll get to eat it all yourself!
Hey, I'm out of candy corns. See you in the holiday aisle at the store!

On how to jump start your car -- you'll impress your friends with this valuable knowledge!

If you leave the lights on in  your car overnight and wake up with a dead battery, are you dead in the water?
There's no need to use up a AAA call to deal with this common dilemma. And if you have two cars, there's no need to bother anyone else to come help you, either. If you only have one car, you'll need a sympathetic friend or neighbor's help.
Position the two vehicles next to, or facing, each other. Don't let them touch each other, though. This could lead to electric shock or short.
Turn off anything you don't need in both cars, such as radio, lights, flashers. Turn off both cars, and place in park or neutral.
Look at your battery. Find the positive and negative leads. Often the positive will be red, and the negative black. But make sure. You don't want to mix these up.

Take out the jumper cables you ALWAYS carry in your car, and untangle them. It's important that you don't let the copper ends touch each other once they're hooked up to either car. You'll get a heck of a spark if you do, and could short out the electrical system in the cars. Bad! Bad! (Admittedly, this is easier to manage if someone is helping you.)

Clamp the red clamp of one end of the jumper cables to the positive lead on the battery in the dead vehicle. (You might need to lift a little, plastic cover before you can access the terminal.)
Next, secure the red clamp on the other end of the cables to the positive, (red), terminal on the donor vehicle.
Now connect the black jumper cable to the black (negative) terminal on the DONOR vehicle.
Finally, connect the last black jumper cable lead to an unpainted, metal surface inside the DEAD vehicle . . . and the advice I read says to connect to some engine bolt or something other than the remaining battery lead, though this is how I've always done it. The reason, they said, is that connecting to the final battery lead/terminal could cause a spark and ignite fumes from the battery. That would be BAD. So I guess I've been lucky so far, and next time I'll try their way.
Now, start up the DONOR car. Let it idle a few minutes. Then start the DEAD car, and rev it a couple times. Don't go crazy and flood the engine!
Ok. Disconnect the leads in reverse order: Negative on formerly dead car; negative on donor car; positive on donor car; positive on formerly dead car.
Now run that baby for around 20 minutes, to ensure the battery is fully charged by the car running.
If this happens again, and for no apparent reason, you may have a faulty alternator or a battery that needs to be replaced. Or you just chronically leave your lights on!
QUIZ: Do you have jumper cables in each car you own? Do you know how to use them? Don't be a helpless ninny! Take care of this today.

On How to Save the Ta Ta's!

Big Foot says, "Have you made an early detection plan to help protect you from breast cancer?"

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
And as a woman whose mother had pre-menopausal breast cancer back in the 1970s, and survived it, you can be sure I'm aware of this disease.
But did you know that although one in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer, the outlook isn't as grim as it used to be? Today the five year survival rate in women whose cancer is detected early is 98 percent.
Those are pretty good odds.
So how do you ensure that if you're the one in eight, you give yourself the best possible chance of survival?
The National Breast Cancer Foundation recommends every woman have an early detection plan.
This means regular check-ups and mammograms, and monthly self-breast exams.
And if your mother had breast cancer, you start earlier than most.
The newest recommendations are that women begin mammograms every two years starting when they are 50. It used to be annually, starting at 40. And they recommend that you keep doing it until you turn 74, rather than 69 as was formerly recommended.
If you, like I, happen to fall into a high risk group of women, you must start earlier than 50. Talk to you doctor to find out what's right for you.
What isn't right for you is pulling an ostrich and burying your proverbial head in the sands of ignorance. I'm always amazed at women who tell me they haven't gone to a gynocologist or had a mammogram in years.
It's kind of like riding in a car without a seat belt. Why not take simple measures to keep yourself from dying unnecessarily?
There's a lot of good information out there. Do a little research, talk to your doc, and protect the ta tas!
Remember, October is breast cancer awareness month. It's only the middle of September! So you've got a jump on the whole deal. You're welcome!
(Big Foot is pictured wearing a bra in the parking lot of the Caldwell Food Center Emporium, as part of a Relay for Life breast cancer awareness fundraiser.)

How to survive your teenagers' music and television culture . . . without going insane.

Oh, yeah, payback is hell! I, of course, have excellent taste in all things artsy, from music to movies to books. At least, in my own mind I do. My children, unfortunately, do not yet appreciate this fact.
And I have to admit, at least from my parent's point of view, it wasn't always the case.
Forty-five years ago my family lived in a side-by-side duplex in a little commuter town in New York. I was about seven, and the oldest of four at that point. (My two brothers didn't make their appearances until we moved to Ohio years later.)
The people who lived in the other side of our house, the Wathertons, had two kids. One was a girl about our age. The other was a teenage boy. I don't  know how old he was, probably around 17,  but to my adoring eyes he seemed to be about 30.
One night the Wathertons had a party in our shared driveway, and their son's garage band played. I thought they were the height of coolness. They probably stank, but to my ears they were maestros. And no doubt both sets of parents, and all the neighbors, suffered through the sets of music, wishing for the "gig" to end. They sent my sisters and me to bed before the entertainment section of the evening was over, darn-it.
My taste in music, at least from my parent's point of view, didn't improve much over the next 10-15 years.
Thirty-five years ago, a teenager myself now living in Ohio, I played my records as loud as my record player would allow. Kansas. The Partridge Family. The Doobie Brothers. The Who. Shaun Cassidy. The Bee Gees. The Carpenters. The Go Gos. The Cars.
Good music, yeah, but it wasn't exactly to my parent's taste.
Okay, I'd spent my formative years listening to my dad's favorites: Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass. Frank Sinatra. The King Family. And those seasonal favorites, the Firestone Christmas albums, available at a fine gas station near you! So maybe payback was hell for him, too!

(I cherish these albums myself now, by the way, along with his complete collection of classical music.)
And my siblings and I dominated the television set during the day, watching such gems as The Brady Bunch, F Troop, Gilligan's Island, and Hogan's Heroes. I'm sure my parents didn't love these programs. And there was constant squabbling between the six of us over what show to watch.
It was cultural Purgatory for my folks, I'm sure.
Time passed, until, 20 years ago, a young mother myself, I played whatever I wanted, as loud as I wanted, and my kids had to put up with it because I was in control. The Moody Blues; Crosby Stills and Nash; Joni Mitchell; Steve Winwood; Robert Palmer; and others. I also watched whatever I wanted to watch on television -- along, I admit, with a sprinkling of Barney, Sesamee Street, and Nicolodean. Oh, and endless Disney movies, over and over and over . . . and over. Only to be expected.
My cultural life was okay. I was still pretty much in charge.
But this wasn't to last, of course. I was, after all, outnumbered, having had five kids of my own.
The first hint of things to come would have been about 15 years ago, when my younger brother visited, and used my stereo system to blast his music of choice: classical movie soundtracks.
Okay, those are good, but all day, every day? Puh-lease!
Then my kids started to form opinions, and to exercise their wills, and pretty soon, we were listening to Back Street Boys, In Sync, the Cheetah Girls and Selena Gomez. I saw the writing on the wall. I handed over the remote control to my boom box and, like Puff the Magic Dragon, slunk into my cave.
Now, having come full circle, I'm the parent who has to listen to the stuff my kids call art.
Most of today's music I don't mind. I only really object to the screamo stuff that makes me want to grab the singer by the throat and say, "Do you have any idea what you're doing to your voice with that stuff??"
It's the television that drives me insane. It's either blasting some video game, or the kids are watching Japanese anime . . . with subtitles! And the darn subtitles are in yellow, and I can't read them from my chair because my eyes are going. So not only am I irritated by the fact that it's on in the first place, but I can't even tell what the heck is going on because they're speaking in Japanese, and my eyes are still going!
So how to survive this period of my life with my mind -- and artistic taste -- intact?
There are really only three choices: 1. I yell at them to turn the blasted stuff off and earn the title of tyrant, and there is no peace in our house. 2. I leave the living room and hole up in my bedroom alone, pouting and simmering about not being the queen of the universe anymore with complete power over all my subjects, and there's no peace in my mind. 3. I suck it up and occasionally let them control the television, radio or stereo. There may be no peace and quiet, but at least if a poll were taken of the residents of my house, I wouldn't be likely to be voted out as mom.
I guess I can live with that.
Meanwhile, where are my glasses? I want to read these darned subtitles and find out what the heck those Japanese characters are saying!
If you can't beat em, join em, right?

(Noragami Yato)

How to stay young by trying new things! (Though you may find yourself taking a quick trip to Humbleville.)

Did you ever stop to think while doing something fun or challenging that it might be the last time you do it? The last time you ride a bike; paddle a kayak; ride a roller coaster; go whitewater rafting; climb a mountain; have a first kiss. Whatever. Why do we stop doing fun, exciting things as we grow older? I say, never stop! Seek out new experiences and continue doing the things you love. That way, you'll never have to say, "I'm too old to do that."

I had an opportunity to take this advice last summer while staying at Seneca Lake in Southeast Ohio.

I was sitting by the water, dangling my legs over the side of the dock, as I watched a man I'd known for years – not a young boy, but not old, either – agilely pilot a strange, bright yellow, floating board toward where me. He stood straight and tall on what appeared to be a surf board, paddling toward me with sure, even strokes.

“Hey, Doc!” I yelled. “What is that thing?”

“It's a paddle board!” he called back.

I'd never heard of it. 

It looked fun and challenging, but chances were that if I climbed on board, I'd make a spectacular, unplanned dismount. 

“Can I try it?” I asked, tossing caution to the wind.

“Sure!” he said, nimbly hopping off the contraption and handing me the paddle.

“But you'd better get on farther out in the water, and don't paddle too close to the docks or boats. If you fall, you don't want to hit your head.”

Hmmm. Good advice.

My friend, Linda, thought I'd lost my mind as I hopped into the water, waded over to the middle of the little inlet where we'd been swimming and relaxing, and regarded the long, yellow board which, I'd noticed when it's owner dismounted, had a long fin sticking out of the bottom.

Back in the day I'd been able to boost myself out of a swimming pool using my upper body strength and a good kick. I gave it a try, and was absolutely amazed to find myself kneeling on the board. I dipped the paddle into the water and took a few, tentative strokes to get the feel of the thing, then paddled out a little farther in that position before realizing I had to stand up to continue.

Shifting to face the front of the board, I got my feet underneath me, and carefully, feeling like a newborn foal, rose shakily to my feet. The board wobbled a bit this way and that, but remained in the upright position.

When I didn't immediately fall in, I felt a thrill of success. 

I looked around to see who might be admiring my astonishing skill -- or luck. Shoot. Nobody was watching. I tentatively dipped the paddle into the water and propelled myself forward.

I took a few strokes, working my way around the nearest dock out into the lake. Standing straighter and surer, I thought, well! I'm not too old to try new things!

Maybe I could paddle my way to the end of the little inlet and back, and call it a day. Yeah, that wouldn't be too far for a newbie paddle-boarder.

At that moment the board's owner, returning from a quick trip inside his cabin, caught sight of me.

“Way to go, Anne!” he yelled.

And I fell off. 

Well, pride does come before a fall. 

My prescription sunglasses, which weren't secured by a floaty string, fell off, too. I'd just replaced them after stepping on the last pair, and didn't relish the thought of paying for a new pair right away, so I dropped the paddle and dove for them. Luckily I could see them gently drifting downward, and grabbed them. Surfacing, I realized the paddle had gone one way, and the paddle board the other. I swam for the paddle and nabbed it, and turned to see that the paddle board was now a good 50 yards away, floating toward shore. No big deal. I've been a lifeguard since I was 16, and am still certified. So I'm a good swimmer.

However, as I began hauling my out-of-shape self, towing the paddle, toward the board, I looked at the life vest still strapped to the thing and thought, whoops. I'd just broken the first rule of boating and personal safety. What good would the life vest have done me if I'd knocked my idiot-self out falling off the big toy?

None. I'd have joined my glasses on their trip toward the bottom of the lake.

Feeling like a fool, I reached the board, puffing, hearing the laughter of my girlfriend from the dock, and realized I didn't immediately have the strength to haul myself up. So I played it cool, floating for a few minutes and enjoying the sun and water. Yeah. I meant to do that!

Then, with a Herculean effort and a few curses, I hauled myself gracelessly up onto the board – if video of this surfaces, there will be consequences for the photographer – and found myself sprawled on the board out in the lake. 

Determined not to let the darned thing have the last word, I once again staggered to my feet and oh-so-casually paddled myself back toward shore.

“Cool!” called Linda, snapping a picture of me as I headed in. “Can I try?”

“Sure,” I said. “But wear the life vest. I don't have the energy left to come save you if you knock yourself out.”

She, of course, didn't fall off.

If I lived on the lake, I'd get myself one of the crazy boards. An octogenarian couple I know paddles all over the lake on them. There's no better way to stay young than to act young!

So take a risk on humble-ville! Try something new.

But wear your live vest. No point in dying stupid!

Recipe from The Shabby Housekeeper: Super Popcorn a la Fromage

There's no snack to compare with old fashioned popcorn. I don't know anybody who doesn't like it. And it can be prepared in so many different ways.
You can use an oil popper, which generally has a revolving bar which goes around and around the bottom of the popper to keep the kernels moving while they heat up, and keeps the popped kernels from burning.
You can use an air popper, which uses hot air to super heat the water trapped inside the tiny kernels, causing them to explode, and delivering fewer calories than oil popped corn. (Any heat source causes popcorn to pop because it heats the water inside the kernel.)
You can even do what our pioneer ancestors did after the Native Americans introduced them to the treat: put oil in a pan, dump in some kernels, cover the pan, and shake it over a heat source until the kernels pop.
What you can't do, according to recent health reports, is pop it in a microwave oven. Apparently causes cancer. There's a surprise.
After the popcorn is popped you get to dress it up any way you like.
When I was a child, my dad made popcorn for dinner every Sunday night. He'd pop a huge amount of the stuff in a giant stock pot, and we'd melt real butter (there is no substitute) in a little, metal measuring cup on the stove. Then we'd pour on a lot of butter, salt the living daylights out of it, and eat it with tall glasses of whole milk while watching The Wonderful World of Disney on television. Boy, was that good.
These days I like my popcorn with a mixture of real butter and Kraft American cheese squares melted together and dripped over the popcorn, then topped off with garlic salt.
Oh, is that good!
I've tried Parmesan cheese on popcorn, which is also good, especially when mixed with Indian spices.
Actual popcorn salt, which is finer than table or sea salt, is very good too. It comes in various flavors, which are okay, but I prefer the melted butter/cheese mixture to any fake buttery salt sprinkled on my popcorn. I'm a purist, I guess.
Laura Ingalls Wilder mentioned in one of her books that popcorn is the only thing that can occupy a full glass of milk without causing it to overflow. She said you can put kernel after kernel of popcorn into the milk, and it'll absorb it, and not overflow the glass. She said nothing else works like that. They she would eat the milk/popcorn with a spoon. Doesn't sound good to me, but many people say yuck to my popcorn recipe.
What's your favorite way to eat this old fashioned treat? I'd love to hear from you!
By the way, Super Popcorn a la Fromage is just Cheesy Popcorn. Sounds fancy, huh?
Happy popping!

Many hands make light work! (Or at least you get done faster, and can get back to your book and coffee.)

I believe we've established the fact that I don't like cleaning. Yet if were to ask my more fastidious friends whether they find my house disgusting, they'd have to honestly say, no, it may not live up to their standards of sparkling cleanliness, but it is always presentable and rarely smells bad. (If the dog attacks a skunk, I, the Shabby Housekeeper, can not be held responsible for any lingering scent.)
So how do I keep the house from sinking into disgustification?
Easy. Remember the old adage, "Many hands make light work?"
Well, I'm here to attest to the truth of this, folks.
The trick is to get your kids to pitch in on a regular, predictable schedule of home maintenance.
I've never been able to understand people who whine and complain that their kids won't do any chores, and that they end up doing everything on their own.
Call the wah-mbulance!
I suspect one of two things is going on in such cases. Either they are terribly wimpy parents whose kids know how to work them to perfection, or they're control freaks who don't think anyone can clean (or do anything else) to their standards, and so always reject or redo other people's efforts.
Well, you won't catch me making either of these mistakes. If my kids want to eat the food I provide, sleep in my house, ride in my car, go on vacations, wear clothes I buy, etc...they'll darn well pitch in to keep our environment livable.
And as for not being satisfied with the job they do on chores, well, how are they going to learn if I don't let them have at it? I  may offer constructive criticism, but I'm always grateful and appreciative of their efforts.
I know women who reload the dishwasher after their kids or husbands load it. Idiots! Pretty soon, nobody is going to bother to help you!
I know people who won't let their kids cook, vacuum, run the Swiffer Wet Jet, scrub out the toilet, run a load of wash or cut the grass.
Why? Are these people so endowed with extra time that they don't want help? Do they actually want to do everything by themselves?
Well, that ain't me, sister.
So here's the secret of my success: The weekly whole-house-clean-up. Or, if we're pressed for time, the abridged first floor clean-up.
Every member of the family has his or her assigned chores for this event.
We all put away whatever of our stuff has migrated around the house during the week.
I pick up and sort out all mail, piles of paper, and stuff, and carry dishes to the kitchen. .
One kid does the kitchen, top to bottom.
Another kid vacuums everything, including canistering the edges.
I do the bathroom.
I dust (using old, mismatched socks I wear on my hands...fun and effective!)
We each are responsible for our own rooms.
And in about an hour, we have a clean house.
Not bad, huh? So okay,  maybe I'm raising the next generation of shabby housekeepers. But my sons and daughters will know how to scrub out a toilet; clean dishes by hand; use a vacuum cleaner; mow the yard; rake the leaves; dust the furniture; make their beds; and mop the floors.
It'll be good-e-darn-nuff.
And I thank my mother in Heaven every day for not turning me into a neurotic cleaning machine.
Meanwhile, my kids, like me, enjoy reading a good book, and, in their cases, drinking a can of Mt. Dew with it.
God bless em! They cause a lot of the mess around the place, so it's only right they help clean it up.
They can stay until they start eyeballing my coffee. Then they'll to find their own places to keep clean-e-darn-nuff.

Retail Therapy is great, as long as you don't go nuts. Do you know your limits?

Retail Therapy: Shop Til You Drop? Could be a Big Flop!

If I'm feeling low, a little retail therapy will pick me right up again. There's something about browsing among the shelves at my favorite store, or through the pages of eBay or Amazon.com, that makes me feel very happy and relaxed.

And as long as I remember I'm on a budget and keep most of the shopping on a "window" basis, I'm all right. But oh! That can be so hard to do!

People get in trouble when they take retail therapy beyond the healthy fun it can be into the dark area of shopaholism and on into hoarding.

Purely for research purposes, watch the television show, “Hoarding: Buried Alive!” on TLC. If you suspect you might be a hoarder, this show will help you confirm your fears. And if you’re not, it’ll make you feel great about your own messy house.

It's easy to tell if you're a hoarder, by the way. If you have so much stuff that you can't put it all away -- if it's starting to form piles -- if you're forced to move through your home along little corridors you've made through the stacks of stuff -- if you're forced to move OUT of your home because you can no longer enter any of the rooms -- you may be a hoarder.

Like any addiction, excessive shopping is a matter of failing to follow the rule of moderation.

Shopaholics will spend far beyond wise limits, often purchasing things wildly outside their budgets; sometimes buying two, three or more of an item and then squirreling it away somewhere in their homes because they can't let their spouse or friends see it without fear of a lecture or outright war.

Excessive spending has ruined many people financially. They'll go to crazy extents to finance their habits, including stealing from friends and family; embezzling from home, work or charity accounts, until ultimately they are caught, exposed and humiliated.

Everyone knows they don’t need four sets of the entire collection of Star Wars Pez dispensers; four sets of the 1997 Encyclopedia Britannica; or five pairs of size 10 women’s GAP jeans, boot cut, in sunshine yellow, (in case the others wear out and they're out of stock.) They just can’t help themselves.

This is pretty much like any other addiction, from alcoholism to drug addiction to gambling to excessive thrill seeking. It's a way to avoid facing and accepting the reality of one's life by defying -- and exceeding -- the limits, often with disastrous results. 

Marriages fail. Homes are broken. Jobs are lost.

So if you feel that you might take your retail therapy a bit farther than is strictly wise, than I'd advise you to do what any addict should: Avoid the temptation entirely. And think about seeing a counselor to help you stop.

Make shopping lists of what you need, and stick to them strictly. Stay off shopping sites such as eBay. And make and keep to a strict budget. Resist, resist, resist, just as you'd have to if you were trying to quit smoking, drinking or gambling.

If, however, you’re not a shopaholic and you can keep your spending to a safe and realistic limit, then have fun window shopping on various sites or in "real" stores. It's fun, relaxing and a great way to pass time with friends or by oneself.

Why is it so darned satisfying to stroll through an antique mall, picking up bits and baubles that remind one of the past? Or to try on silly hats or jewelry in a notions shop at the mall? Or to type in any old thing you can think of on the eBay browser?

I don't know. I just know I love it. Maybe it's a chick thing?

I'm all for retail therapy. I've made some great break throughs while practicing! And it's an exercise that can be practiced alone or in a group. 

So grab a friend, and head to your favorite shop. You can shop til you drop, as long as you don't shop til you drop your last penny!

Happy hunting!

Scientific proof from the Shabby Housekeeper that it's safe to eat food off the floor!

The Five Second Rule Works!

Any little kid will tell you the five second rule says that if you drop a piece of food on the floor, you can pick it up within five seconds and eat it.

Kids learn this rule from their moms, who have probably used it since they learned it from their moms.

My mom, a practical sort, allowed 10 seconds.

Some people are very fastidious, and think the five second rule is gross. Since I hate to waste good food, I’ve always subscribed cheerfully to the rule. I guess I always figured there wasn’t likely to be anything on my floor (or, I’ll admit, in the dirt at the city park or the floor at McDonalds) that was ickier than a little kid’s face and hands. It's a well known fact that little kids are germ factories. They’re the ones who manufacture and distribute all the icky, snotty, germs the rest of us are trying to avoid.

They are the number one cause of the common cold.

So a little, honest dirt isn’t likely to hurt ‘em. Heck, it’s a lot safer picking up a Cheeto from the dirt than accepting one from a darling little child’s grimy hands.

Understandably, moms all over the world did a little victory dance recently when researchers in the UK reported a study proving that food dropped on the floor actually picks up fewer germs the shorter the time it stays there.

My gut reaction is, "Duh."

But scientifically, you wouldn’t think it would make sense, would you? Food has no feet. It can’t hop, skip or jump across the floor and climb up onto your tragically-dropped eggroll. But it is true nevertheless. Students at Aston University in the UK dropped all sorts of foods onto floors of varying textures for lengths of time between three and 30 seconds. And they discovered that the longer it sits there, the more bacteria it’ll gather.

They also discovered that rugs are the best place to drop your food, clean-up aside. Food dropped on a rug gathers less bacteria than food dropped on tile or wood.

I still don't recommend placing rugs in your kitchen or bathroom. The obvious drawbacks outweigh the benefits. (If you have a son, you'll understand what I mean. Carpet around a toilet is just foolish.)

As people generally do, I’m choosing to take only what I want from this study, ignoring the fact that food does pick up germs from floors, and gloat over the fact that if I grab my pork chop off the restaurant floor really quickly, it’s probably safe to eat. The dirt’s probably sticking to the gravy left on the floor, anyway, right?

And if I grab your kid’s pacifier, Cheerio or cheese stick off my floor while I’m helpfully watching said kid, it’ll be just fine! Besides, you’ll never know. And if you're that worried, get another babysitter.

So happy dropping, grabbing, chomping. 

 

 

Five Things You Can Do To Avoid Housework . . . While Appearing VERY Busy

Housework is Hard Work. Some people enjoy it. No, it's true! They say it relaxes them. 

I, however, am not one of these. So over decades of research, I've come up with some tried and true methods of appearing to do housework, while actually taking it pretty easy. I will now share them with you, grasshopper, so that you may benefit from my years of experience.

The trick is to create the illusion of Hard Work . . . and some actual results, while not actually working very hard at all. Don't worry. Nobody gets hurt. Here are five things you can do to pull this off.

1. The Illusion: You are working very hard on your computer! You must not be disturbed!

How to pull it off: Sit with your computer on your lap, frowning seriously and typing industriously in fits and spurts, while mumbling under your breath from time to time. People will assume  you are working on something very important, such as banking, or perhaps your will. To promote this belief, smile occasionally and nod, while saying, "Yes! (Your Child's Name Here) loves that. He'll appreciate it more than (Name of Child Who Isn't in the Room Here).

The Reality: You have a second window open, and are playing Candy Crush Saga. 

2. The Illusion:  You have been slaving over laundry ALL DAY!

How to pull it off: Sit on the floor in your living room, a large pile of clean clothes in a pile to your right, and four or five piles of clean, folded laundry on your left. (Some pre-work is required here.) Be sure to include a pile of socks, some lumped up, others balled, to one side. Whenever anyone comes into the room, (and they won't often, for fear of being sucked into the folding project,) groan and grumble about being appreciated.

The Reality: You have a good book in your lap, and a cup of coffee on the floor next to you. Whenever you're alone, you're leaning back on the chair, reading and sipping latte. 

3. The Illusion: You have spent the morning scrubbing floors. 

How to pull it off: Remember the Swiffer Wet Jet post of the other night? If not, go back and review! You spend about 15 minutes running that baby over your floors (which you have to sweep, I'm afraid,) and then they'll gleam and, best of all, the house will smell freshly scrubbed. Complete the  look with a pair of grubby sweats. Don't shower. Leave your hair straggly. You'll look as if you put in a full, scrubby day!

The Reality: After putting in that hard 15 minutes, you've been watching soaps all morning. 

4. The Illusion: You are prepared for unexpected visitors at any time, because your house is always clean!

How to pull it off: The phone rings. Your mother-in-law is in town, and surprise! She's coming over -- okay? Sure! Tell her you'll put the coffee right on! You look around: Uh, oh. The dishes are piled in the sink. The carpets haven't been swept. The bed isn't made. Is that cat barf on the floor?? 

And yeah, she'll notice. 

No problem! The dishes go into the oven, the dishwasher, the dog cage (cover it with a quilt!) The bed can be made pronto by tossing the coverlet over the rumpled sheets and smoothed. Fluff those pillows! And you can run that vacuum cleaner over the main rugs in under five minutes. Maybe you have time to squirt the Swiffer on the bathroom and kitchen floors, for that just-cleaned scent. Mmmmmm. Within 10 minutes, you're mom-approved. Just give her a big hug, and lead her to a chair. She must be tired! She deserves coffee! 

The Reality: You're a slob. But people don't need to know this. Learn some fast tricks to trick your friends, and you'll be all set to spend your mornings not cleaning, but reading your favorite books, drinking coffee, and maybe watching re-runs of "Golden Girls." Quality activities!

5. You spent the entire afternoon cooking a fabulous meal for your loving family. You rock!

How to pull it off: Set a lovely table. It's easy. Pretty place mats, clean plates, nice centerpiece and presto! Atmosphere! When it's time for dinner, call them in and have them sit down together. You should do this several times a week, even though everyone is busy busy busy. It's a good time to find out what's going on in the lives of your kith and kin. Think of it as softening them up to learn their secrets. 

You need to put a meal in front of them consisting of at least three, separate elements: The main dish; two side dishes; dessert. You can use meat or pasta for the main, or soup if you please. For the sides, any veggie will do, maybe bread or rolls . . . and don't forget that old standby, applesauce! In fact, any fruit will be welcome. Dessert is optional if you've served three things. And put out a pitcher of milk or water. Skip the pop. We're all fat enough, right?  

The Reality: It may look as if you've cooked for hours, but it's pretty easy these days to put a nutritious meal in front of your family without actually slaving for hours. Got a crock pot? That's a great way to make a huge variety of tempting meals, easy peasey lemon squeezy, all in one, fell swoop. Just toss in the meat and veggies . . . you've got a roast! Or ham, cabbage and potatoes! Or beef stew! The possibilities are endless. Or cook up a mess of noodles and then toss them into a casserole dish with any meat or fish, add some cheese and seasoning, and yummo! Tuna Noodle; Johnny Marzetti; Hamburger Helper. . . etc. etc. etc. 

See how easy it all is? So don't bust a gut making a happy house. Make your house happy, and take it easy, for Pete's sake! They'll think you've slaved all day, and they'll be grateful. You'll be relaxed and happy, and they'll be grateful. Win, win!

How to avoid getting yourself in trouble with Social Media . . . and still get to play all your favorite Facebook games!

Social media is a wonderful invention. Using Facebook, I’ve reconnected with dozens of people from my past, dating all the way back to high school. I also enjoy Facebook’s “chat” feature, which allows me to leave messages for people I know will be on Facebook within a couple of days. I can also use the chat feature to talk to my children in other parts of the world for free, allowing me to keep in touch and not worry so much.

Cause who doesn't worry when their kids are thousands of miles away? I can't peek through the bushes and make sure my son, far away in another land working for the Marine Corps, is safely getting onto his bus like I could when he was in school. 

Technology like Facebook chat is especially nice for the parents and families of military personnel and students abroad, as cell phones can cost a lot of money to use outside the country.

Twitter is popular with news media outlets, celebrities and everyday folks, as it allows them to “tweet” out tidbits of news to their "followers" any time of the day and night.

Other social media outlets are gaining in popularity, and new ones pop up all the time.

As wonderful as all this is, however, it is a double edged sword. The ability to communicate quickly has the down side of allowing people to say things without thinking them through very well; things they may later come to regret.

Kids -- and heck, adults, too, for that matter -- often experience this down side when they blast some angry comment inspired by a disappointment or a perceived injustice all over Facebook or Twitter without first considering that many, many people will read their comments. Not only their own friends will see their comments, but also the friends and contacts of their friends, ad infinitum, as long as people keep commenting on and “sharing” the original remarks. How far a comment can travel actually depends on the privacy settings a user has selected, but most kids -- and a surprising number of adults -- don’t bother to make sure only their inner circle will have access to their comments.

Additionally, once a comment has been made, it’s out there, and can be repeated by mouth. Juicy gossip spreads like soft butter on hot bread. 

Kids also often “post” or “tweet” photos they quickly regret. Nothing seems to be off limits, and people have found themselves in trouble with the law for putting inappropriate photos out there, especially if they involve minors --even if it was a minor who sent the photo.

Adults who receive these inappropriate messages or photos from minors are in danger of losing their jobs, or even their liberty. It's not a laughing matter.

Basically, the same trouble people get into texting also happens on social media, but on a much bigger scale because instead of sending a comment or photo to one recipient, often dozens or hundreds of people see it. Instantly.

That can get out of hand pretty darn quick. 

And kids aren’t the only culprits. People post comments on their Facebook page to vent their feelings, or to express sadness, loneliness or depression, and forget that their co-workers, employers, employees, parents, children and in-laws may see them. Anybody you’ve accepted as a friend will see your posts, and depending on your privacy settings, so may their friends.

So that nasty comment you made about your child’s teacher being a fat bimbo? Yeah. She read it.

That snarky remark about your boss’s new haircut? Mmm. Too bad his barber read it and told him about it. Oh! You forgot his barber is your wife’s cousin and sees all your posts? Too bad for you.

That picture of you and your besties after a few too many drinks that you tweeted Friday night? Your pastor’s gossipy neighbor received that one. Remember, she’s your husband’s bowling partner’s girlfriend? That’s why your pastor gave you that AA brochure at church Sunday morning. Embarrassing.

Get the picture? Used correctly, social media is a great way to stay in touch with people, communicate with loved ones far away, and is becoming increasingly popular with businesses as a promotional tool. 

Used carelessly, it's dynamite with a short fuse.

So think before you post. The reputation you save could be your own.

And as long as you don't get crazy and have to delete your accounts, you can keep on playing all those crazy Facebook games you like. 

Just, please, don't send me any more Candy Crush Saga requests. I'm not going to start using that crack.

The Wonderful Swiffer WetJet

(This is NOT a message from the makers of Swiffer, but only my personal opinion.)

I tripped over a terrific book at Goodwill one day -- a great place to purchase used books, by the way -- and this book has changed my life.
"Confessions of Super Mom," by Melanie Lynne Hauser, tells the hilarious story of a woman who was a compulsive cleaner (so, not someone I'd actually have anything in common with), who was trying to get a stubborn spot off her bathroom linoleum one day, and became so desperate she MIXED HER CLEANING SOLUTIONS!!! 
Yes, I know it's hard to believe. Even I know better than to mix, say, bleach and ammonia, but this woman poured every cleaning solution she had into the reservoir of her Swiffer Wet Jet, and when she unleashed it onto the floor, the resulting chemical melt down knocked her out, nearly killing her. 
When she came to, she had changed. Much as Peter Parker, after being bitten by that radioactive spider, found himself with super spider powers, able to squirt spider webs from the palms of his hands, this suburban divorcee found herself with the ability to squirt super concentrated cleaning solution from her hands, the palms of which had become all scrubby like the pad of a Swiffer Wet Jet.
Super Mom was born. And yeah, she cleaned up her town.
Please, don't think for a moment that the book influenced me to become a compulsive cleaner. Ha ha! 
No.
But it did turn me on to the Wonderful Swiffer Wet Jet. This is an amazing product. You slap a clean pad on the bottom, snap a fresh bottle of (approved) cleaning solution on the back, make sure the batteries are working, and squirt squirt squirt your way to clean floors, with almost no effort! 
I would not lie about this. Now, it ain't cheap. But it is worth every dollar, I promise.
Best of all, it makes your house smell as if you've actually been cleaning. So if your mother-in-law is coming over, just squirt squirt the kitchen floor and the bathroom floor, and she'll figure you've been busting your butt all day. 
Heh. 
So that's your tip of the day from The Shabby Housekeeper: Avoid hard scrubbing on your hands and knees by springing for the squirting magic of Swiffer. Your aching back and knees will thank you! 
By the way, there's a sequel to "Confessions of Super Mom," which is equally hilarious. I recommend this author. She'll make you laugh, and yes, she does find super romance while fighting crime and protecting children everywhere.
As for my Pantry Clean-out project, I went to a party today, and was fed magnificent, homemade soup by one of my best friends. So I didn't do a thing to further my cause. I'll let you know when I make my next pantry meal!

Who is The Shabby Housekeeper?

The Realization
Most of my adult life I've realized that I don't quite measure up in terms of the domestic arts. I admit it came as a shock when I first became aware that some people are in the habit of regularly performing chores I consider optional -- or at least infrequent and annoying necessities.
Examples of these chores include: Scrubbing out one's toilets weekly; changing bed sheets more than once a month; keeping up with the laundry and -- crazy, crazy notion!! -- putting it away, neatly folded, in drawers; and my personal favorite, getting down on one's hands and knees to tackle the kitchen floor.
Haven't these people heard of the Swiffer Wet Jet? (More on that wonderful invention later!)

The Guilt
I grew up in what many of my friends would consider a slovenly household. The funny thing is, it's not like we didn't clean. Every Saturday, my sisters and brothers and I cleaned the house. I remember using Lemon Pledge (ahhh...that shine!) on the wood furniture, and vacuuming the oriental rugs (don't suck up the fringes!). We did the dishes every night after dinner, and we had to keep our bedrooms clean.
We developed a great game to deal with the bedrooms when we were pretty young. I shared a room with my next youngest sister, Jen, and we trashed it regularly with toys and clothes like all normal, non-drone kids do. Once in awhile my parents would get sick of stepping on Barbie parts and hurting their feet, and they'd tell us to muck it out.
We hated it, of course. So Jen and I came up with Batgirl Clean-up. We'd put underwear on the outside of our pants, pull on a Halloween mask, and run into the closet (the Bat Elevator). The Bat Elevator would stop on each floor of the Bat Cave, and we'd run out, pick something up and toss it into a drawer, hamper or toy chest, and then rush back into the Bat Elevator to take it to another floor for more quick pick-ups. It made cleaning fun!
But really, our house was a mess, and doubtless kind of dirty even after we "cleaned."
And I've got to say, who cares? We loved each other and we mostly enjoyed our childhoods. So there you go.
Fast forward to the future, when I was running my own slovenly household, and I gradually became aware of the fact that other women worked a whole lot harder than I to keep their homes spotless.
Okay, I admit I felt kind of guilty about this, and I'd apologize when friends would stop by unexpectedly before I could clean up. (WHY do women do this??)
But over the years, even when I considered my house clean, I'd see the disparaging looks some of my friends would give it, and I'd feel guilty and ashamed.
Why? Because somewhere along the line they learned to clean things "better" than I did.
Well, again, who cares?

And Acceptance
I'm not going to change. I've actually tried a few times, and yeah, it felt good when someone would say, wow! Your house looks great. On the other hand, it kind of felt like a backhanded compliment, because I felt they were also implying that usually it looked like crap. Maybe I was reading things that weren't there.
So though I may backslide and apologize for my messy house when you stop in for a visit, I'll try to catch myself quickly and simply offer you a cup of coffee, or, depending on the time of day, a glass of wine. And simply enjoy my life, instead of fretting over What Cannot Be, and Whom I Am Not.
Take me or leave me.
So to all you other slovenly housekeepers out there -- and I know I'm not alone!! -- I say let's band together, go into the homes of our "clean freak" friends, sniff suspiciously and say, "Is that cat litter I smell?"
It'll drive 'em bonkers! Especially if they don't have a cat!

Are the Waste-Not-Want-Not Police after you, too?

Nothing, Nothing, Nothing to Eat

There's Nothing To Eat in This House

How do they expect us to live, when there's nothing to eat in this house?

Makings of a meal from NOTHING TO EAT!

Nothing. To. Eat. 

Nothing. To. Eat. Send Help. 

Ah. Something delicious to eat after all!

Ok. I think we've known each other long enough for me to discuss a subject most people find a bit . . . uncomfortable.

I mean, there's nothing illegal about it . . . it's probably not even immoral, except from some points of view. (The Waste-Not-Want-Not Police have been in touch. I'm on probation.)

I'm talking about . . . sob! . . . food waste!

When I was a child, we did think it was against the law to waste our food. Remember how all those kids were starving in China? Well, somehow, shoveling all your corn beef hash into your gullet was supposed to make those far-away kids feel better. And since my dad wouldn't take my suggestion that we mail those cans of hash to China – honestly, I was willing to go without! – we dutifully did it.

Throwing perfectly good food away was never a cause of food waste in my home.

There are many causes of food waste: Maybe you don't get around to eating canned goods and they expire; or you don't get around to eating fresh fruits, veggies, meat and dairy items and they go bad; or you don't get around to eating leftovers and they . . . go . . . . um . . . well. I guess there's only one real cause of food waste.

But I blame the kids in a typical household for any of these varieties of the same cause of food waste. Why? Because kids don't want to eat what's good for them. They only want to eat pre-packaged, high sodium, high fat, high sugar, high priced stuff (kind of what I like to eat, come to think of it) and it all gets eaten within two hours of any grocery store trip, and then, from the kids point of view, there is NOTHING TO EAT in the house in spite of the presence of perhaps thousands of dollars worth of food in various forms.

My kids are typical. They'll come out of whatever cave they've been hibernating in, hands frozen into place around a video game controller, and grunt at me: “What's there to eat?”

Having successfully raised three out of five of my children and booted them out of the house, (read: Having lovingly given them the tools they need to take on the big, wide world and tearfully waved them on their way in the cars I helped pay for powered by gas I helped pay for on their way to colleges or apartments I helped pay for,) I'm now immune to churlish children.

“I don't know,” I reply without taking my eyes from my book, a bodice buster by one of my favorite romance authors.

Don't I mean “Bodice Ripper?” you ask.

No. I like to read books about plus size heroines, so they're more in the line of bodice busters. Have you ever tried to squeeze double D's into a bodice?

But, I digress. The kids will then head to the kitchen, open the refrigerator door and proceed to stand there staring at the bounteous contents until ice crystals form on the tips of their noses.

“There's nothing to eat,” they'll grumble, slamming the fridge, and opening the door to the lazy Susan; a door which hardly closes because the cupboard is so jam-packed with food items.

“There's nothing to eat here, either,” they grumble. “Why don't you buy any food?”

At this, I may raise my eyes heavenward, but I still forbear not to comment. Because if I can't say something nice, I shouldn't say anything, right?

But I'm tired of it.

So. I have decided to stop enabling this problem by hauling home a couple hundred dollars worth of new food every week and then having to try and find a place to fit it in the already overcrowded fridge, freezer or cabinets.

I will sparingly purchase perishables such as dairy and meat, and that is all, until my cupboards are bare.

Old Mother Hubbard will have to stare into my cabinets, scratch her head and disappoint her poor doggie before I will again purchase anything to go onto those shelves.

Each day, I'll include a little cupboard report to let you know how this is proceeding.

To catch you up, since I began this project four days ago:

Day One: I photographed my fridge, freezer and cupboards. I then made Skyline Chili style spaghetti with a recently purchased, frozen pack of Skyline sauce, spaghetti noodles, not-yet-expired sour cream, a can of kidney beans I couldn't remember buying, and shredded cheddar, the only new purchase of that meal.

Day Two: I made some tasty, tasty Kraft mac 'n cheese (It is pretty cheesy, you've got to admit), had some of those kidney beans on the side (I do like me some kidney beans!), and opened a can of cranberry sauce left over from Thanksgiving. Still perfectly good.

Day Three: I made rice, added the rest of those kidney beans, (oh! How the kids groaned!) tossed on some garlic salt and shredded cheddar, and topped it with salsa. Yum! And the cranberry sauce made a nice side dish.

Last night: Spam sandwiches! With cranberry sauce garnish.

Ok, maybe we aren't eating in the most healthy fashion during this project, but we are eating for FREE out of our stockpile of food. And we're going to eat it all before we buy more.

I'm done wasting food.

Can you answer me one question? Exactly how long does a frozen Christmas fruit cake actually last?

Tomorrow: The Wonderful Swiffer WetJet.