It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

Eons ago, during my former acting career, I kept my fingernails pretty darn nice. It was insurance for that big movie role I would nab one day. Cough. Sputter.

Gail, my nail technician, who served wine on Friday afternoons if you happened to make an appointment then, had a mantra she tried to instill in me whenever I ambled in for her to “fix” one of my broken acrylic gems. “Your nails are jewels, not tools.” The mantra stuck with me, but the application of it did not.

A friend we’ll call, “Pat,” confided that she uses her thumb nail as a screwdriver, so she has to maintain its length for that purpose. Yesterday I found myself using my ragged nails as a caulk smoother, wedge to try and remove caulk, and of course, as a screwdriver for taking off electrical plates I missed. It also works to scratch stickers from glass. I accidentally jabbed myself with a screwdriver, too, so I have a nice chunk missing on my forefinger. And, I did an ample amount of gardening in the morning without gloves, insuring dirt resides with the caulk and paint, thus requiring that hurtful nail brush.

Gail even gave me a bottle opener one Christmas with that clever saying etched on it. Maybe I’ll dig it up and hang it from my neck to remind myself to use tools, not my nails! (Or for ease in opening a cold one after a long day of caulking and painting?)

Loved this comic strip (of which I often relate!) and it reminded me of my call Saturday night.

I love it, because the opposite was true in my early years. I was in college, and more than once, I phoned my neighbor, Ann, because I remembered HER number, not mine! Her mother, Betty, and I had lovely short conversations as I was embarrassed that I couldn’t even call home properly. (Was there any hope for the future of the country then?)

I was supposed to call home on Sunday nights so that my parents knew I was alive, but I grew up during the era where you didn’t call unless it was an emergency. So, I had trouble with that request. Why would I call home as a kid? Who did that ever? Who called the home number?

Saturday night I chatted with my four “homies” from elementary school, the four of us girls who spent six years as the only estrogen in the grade. We picked up right where we left off. Zoom has been a lovely gift for us. I don’t remember their phone numbers now, but I know I called them more than I ever called my own home phone number.

The sad fact – I do not know my children’s current cell phone numbers! I’ll work on memorizing those now, a laudable mission.

Summertime. The neighbor’s above-ground pool was the scene of lots of laughter and games yesterday afternoon. “Marco Polo” and “Lifeguard” were a couple of games I could detect. If you closed your eyes, you could smell the chlorine and feel the warm pavement as you lay shivering from the cold water of the city pool.

Additionally, after a lovely ladies’ lunch where we reminisced about childhood games, I couldn’t help but wonder at entertainment we kids played non-stop – “Guard the Belgium.”

I’m not sure where we got that name, because it really was just “Kick the Can” in another form. I figure it came from the Belgian Guard and we just improperly absconded the name. (Although, how would we even have known anything about the Belgian Guard as ten-year olds? I don’t think we were exceptionally bright?)

Such fun! Nightfall brought the neighborhood together to run and hide and chase and seek. My favorite spots were on the roof of the playhouse, lying flat, or in the gutter of the street where absolutely no one looked – and thankfully no one parked! I kept those places safe by departing from them when everyone was in the front yard. Youthful cunning and treachery to entertain us in the dark.

Hot muggy nights and screams of delight. That’s where I’m traveling today.

• No need for a ladder. I’m tall enough to paint the top of that window without dribbling on myself.
• No need for a drop cloth. I won’t drip on the carpet.
• No need for a wet rag. I won’t get wall paint on my pretty new trim.
• No need for a box cutter. I won’t have to cut paint out of the carpet.
• No need for my readers. I’ll paint a fine line perfectly without them.

It’s true. I never did say any of those things. I just thought them. I should have stuck to more menial tasks rather than trying to finish a month’s old project. Thus, we shall move to the mundane task of cleaning the trash cans once they are emptied.

We shall also thank those who work in waste management as it’s trash day, and I have contributed greatly to the need for a pick-up this week. Always recycle!

today we rechagre batteries…my key bored died and I don’t hunt and peck well…cheerios!

With our newly cleaned keyboards, many are wondering, where do we go now? What will this recently proclaimed “maven of cleaning” give us in her wisdom? What piddly thing can we find to clean on this beautiful cool morning which was recently drenched with rain? (Vinegar worked well on the piano keys.)

We are staying away from dusting. I have found that to be a hazardous duty dating back to my pre-teen years. Although we didn’t have a lot of Knick knacks to dust in our home, I managed to break most of them. Along the way I did a cartwheel in the dining room and broke a piece off of the chandelier. (Just so you know that karma exists, my son threw a ball in the house and broke a piece off of my glass chandelier. That should make you smile, Mom.)

Paper day. There is a stack of shredding that needs to happen, and a box of filing I should be doing, and it seems like a fairly innocuous task. Let’s keep it safe out there. Carry on!

Play along with me. Yesterday we washed our masks, today we aim to clean all of our keyboards. Boys and girls, “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” (The strain of basic cleaning is getting to me, folks – I’m going deeper!)

All of this is nonsense, quite frankly. I have a drywall repair guy coming today, so you already know everything in every corner of every room will have dust on it, regardless of the small scope of the project. My keyboards will not notice my attempts at all.

However, the keys on the piano are sticky. Since we know they are plastic and not ivory, I have been contemplating how best to restore them. It feels like a vinegar rub is in order. (The Tipsy Trio is on holiday anyway, so I can get a little maintenance done there.)

Yes…after keyboards, what can we clean tomorrow? Soliciting advice from fellow travelers who are dealing with boredom.

Yes…that is the designation for Mondays when the laundry begins. We do have a routine of sorts now, which varies so differently from pre-C. (Not)

Masks come to mind as I am now making some for the wedding party – and attempting to land on a style which works for all. We have about twelve masks here, all fitting differently, so each of us tends to the one that actually stays on easily. That will be my challenge. Wish me well as the shipment of elastic arrived yesterday and I have no reason to be a slug today.

While we’re on the subject of children’s interpretations – well we were there a day or two ago – I also recall a song I had playing in the car one sunny afternoon. It was on a little audiotape of children’s songs. “Jesus Loves the Little Children” was the classic we were listening to for probably the hundredth time.

One of the verses towards the end of the tune is “Jesus died for all the children.” Obviously my five-year old son was deep in philosophical thought with this song, because he piped up, “Mom? Why did Jesus diaper all the children?”

I replied, “Oh, I wish he had. I wish he had.”

Happy Sunday!

The door was swinging back and forth yesterday all day. It began with the electrician installing outlets on the back deck. (That is my fault. Apparently I have an addiction to outlets – the more the merrier in my book. And what am I really going to plug in back there other than the Christmas lights? We do not know, but we can find something now that we have the capacity!) Anyway, he arrived early and began work, when lo and behold! The window installer showed up a day early with his crew to begin “finishing” the installation of windows. Of course, at nearly 100 degrees, we had the air conditioning on, so we cooled a good portion of The Great Outdoors, too.

Progress is good and I’m hoping the home improvement train keeps running on schedule. The weak link will be the interior painter we hire. (Me.) Estimated time of arrival: wedding day.