Grown-up problems are tough.

There’s bills to pay, income tax woes and purchasing new tires for one’s vehicle.

But the worst grown-up problem is dealing with the “ick.”

It’s the yukky jobs no grown up wants to ever tackle.

I faced the “ick” this week when our freezer started acting crazy.

Instead of filling up the ice-cube tray with water and emptying frozen cubes into the ice dispenser, the water kept overflowing the tray and we’d find water all over the floor.

The inside of the freezer looked like something out of an arctic cave. But the worst was what our son discovered when he took a flashlight and looked up into the tucked-away water dispenser area to figure out what was going wrong.

He found the mother lode of ick.

Fifteen years’ worth of lime scale, mineral deposits and gunky stuff was all up in there. There was no way to see the ick because it was out of the line of sight.

So I started looking around the house at other hidden areas, and I saw quite a few housekeeping items to add to my ick list.

Since I was in the kitchen, I realized it had been a while since I’d swept or vacuumed underneath the refrigerator. When I got down on the floor and looked, there was so much dust under there, I thought I was looking into an abandoned mummy’s cave.

Standing up, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I dusted off the top of the refrigerator. I’ve always rationalized that cleaning chore away with the fact that I’m only 5’2” tall and I can’t see what’s up there so it doesn’t matter.

It matters.

Same goes for the top shelves in the kitchen cabinets. I hauled out the step stool and looked – yep, lots of dust up there.

While I was on the ladder, I noticed there’s dust on the ceiling fan blades. Usually the fans are running because we live in the South where it’s hot most of the year.

Because it’s winter and they’re not spinning, I can finally see the layer of dust on top of the blades.

I took a long, hard look at the living room. I don’t remember the last time I took the cushions off the couch to vacuum, but I have a feeling it’s pretty grubby because the grandkids love to eat popcorn and cookies on the couch while watching television.

Then there’s the lampshades. I thought the bulbs were growing dimmer. Turns out, there’s dust on the lampshades. Since we never touch the lampshades, that ick layer has remained undisturbed for months.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed the shower head didn’t seem to be putting out as much water. I put on my glasses and noticed mineral deposits were covering some of the holes.

We short people have a tough time keeping an eye on the shower heads, but some vinegar and a stiff brush took care of that problem.

I walked into the bedroom and looked behind the door. We never close that door, so, as a result, there’s a nice accumulation of dust and dog hair back there.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Just so it doesn’t appear our house should be visited by the board of health, I keep most areas clean. Bleach and Lysol are my big buddies on Saturday mornings when it’s house cleaning time, and the inside of the refrigerator gets a good cleaning once every couple of months.

This morning, I told my husband about the ick, and to tell the refrigerator repair people not to come. We’d be wheeling that fridge out and replacing it with a new clean refrigerator.

But by the time I came home, he’d completely taken apart the whole water dispensing section in the door of the fridge, cleaned and disinfected every inch of the water dispenser area and run bleach and water through all the tubes.

He got rid of the ick.

If only I can talk him into tackling the top of the fridge…

 

              This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

 

I’m not much for the outdoors.

Winters are the worst as I hate being cold. I’m bundled up in socks, sweat pants, and a robe every evening the thermometer dips below 60 degrees.

It doesn’t matter that the temperature in the house is the same in January as it is in July. My feet sense that winter’s here, and they turn into ice cubes.

I enjoy looking at snow and wintery landscapes as long as I’m snuggled up underneath a blanket indoors.

When our son invited me to come up and help him clear some brush behind the house he’s building, I was happy to go. Not because I’d be spending the day outside in January but because I’d be spending the day with my grandchildren.

Chris had built a nice rectangular fire pit, and it was all set up when we arrived. All of us got busy picking up logs and branches, throwing them in one giant pile.

After a while, we wanted to build a fire in the pit to warm up, so Chris gathered some old papers and a lighter.

He’d get the paper to light, but the fire kept going out. After about 30 minutes, my cold fingers told me that fire needed to get lit and lit fast.

Chris handed over fire duties to me, but this city gal wasn’t quite sure where to start.

And then I remembered how my husband taught our boys and me many years ago how to build a successful fire.

I recall being frustrated with his making us divide the sticks into four piles – small sticks and twigs to use for kindling, small sticks, medium-sized sticks and the biggest logs we’d gathered.

As a person who wants to get things done quickly, I didn’t see why we couldn’t just dump all the sticks into one pile.

An Eagle Scout and an engineer, hubby said we needed to line up what we needed first and then build the fire correctly or it wouldn’t last long.

So for years, I gathered sticks, separated them into piles and secretly complained that I was having to do a lot of work when I could just as easily have one giant pile of sticks and pull out what I needed when I needed it.

At first, I tried to light the newspaper on fire and throw some big sticks in there, but the flames went out. After about 15 minutes, I conceded – husband was right. We needed to start with the basics.

So I cleared everything out of the fire pit and built a rectangular base out of medium-sized sticks, just like he’d taught me, and put newspaper on top of that so air could get underneath the paper.

On top of the newspaper, I arranged small sticks and some dried moss. One click of a Bic lighter, and the newspaper caught fire, as did the small sticks. I slowly added more small sticks, careful not to overload the fledgling flames.

I had to admit, having the sticks separated made it easy to add the little sticks instead of hunting through a big pile.

With a nice-sized flame going, I added a few medium-sized sticks – just a few at a time – and watched the fire catch hold and actually burn. In about 1

I’m not much for the outdoors.

Winters are the worst as I hate being cold. I’m bundled up in socks, sweat pants, and a robe every evening the thermometer dips below 60 degrees.

It doesn’t matter that the temperature in the house is the same in January as it is in July. My feet sense that winter’s here, and they turn into ice cubes.

I enjoy looking at snow and wintery landscapes as long as I’m snuggled up underneath a blanket indoors.

When our son invited me to come up and help him clear some brush behind the house he’s building, I was happy to go. Not because I’d be spending the day outside in January but because I’d be spending the day with my grandchildren.

Chris had built a nice rectangular fire pit, and it was all set up when we arrived. All of us got busy picking up logs and branches, throwing them in one giant pile.

After a while, we wanted to build a fire in the pit to warm up, so Chris gathered some old papers and a lighter.

He’d get the paper to light, but the fire kept going out. After about 30 minutes, my cold fingers told me that fire needed to get lit and lit fast.

Chris handed over fire duties to me, but this city gal wasn’t quite sure where to start.

And then I remembered how my husband taught our boys and me many years ago how to build a successful fire.

I recall being frustrated with his making us divide the sticks into four piles – small sticks and twigs to use for kindling, small sticks, medium-sized sticks and the biggest logs we’d gathered.

As a person who wants to get things done quickly, I didn’t see why we couldn’t just dump all the sticks into one pile.

An Eagle Scout and an engineer, hubby said we needed to line up what we needed first and then build the fire correctly or it wouldn’t last long.

So for years, I gathered sticks, separated them into piles and secretly complained that I was having to do a lot of work when I could just as easily have one giant pile of sticks and pull out what I needed when I needed it.

At first, I tried to light the newspaper on fire and throw some big sticks in there, but the flames went out. After about 15 minutes, I conceded – husband was right. We needed to start with the basics.

So I cleared everything out of the fire pit and built a rectangular base out of medium-sized sticks, just like he’d taught me, and put newspaper on top of that so air could get underneath the paper.

On top of the newspaper, I arranged small sticks and some dried moss. One click of a Bic lighter, and the newspaper caught fire, as did the small sticks. I slowly added more small sticks, careful not to overload the fledgling flames.

I had to admit, having the sticks separated made it easy to add the little sticks instead of hunting through a big pile.

With a nice-sized flame going, I added a few medium-sized sticks – just a few at a time – and watched the fire catch hold and actually burn. In about 10 minutes, we had a nice fire going and we were able to add the big logs.

I relearned a valuable lesson that afternoon.

When you want something that will last, start small, keep going and don’t overload your pile or your life.

Everything starts with a solid, sturdy base, the patience to know when and how to add more fuel and when to add the big challenges.

I have to say the words my husband has been waiting over 30 years for hear, words I’ll readily admit he’s earned numerous times:  “Honey, you were right.”

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I love a mystery.

When my sisters and I visited Charleston, S.C., one of the first activities we signed up for was the midnight walking ghost tour.

We looked in vain, but we didn’t see any ghosts staring out of windows or lurking in trees.

Likewise for touring The Myrtles Plantation in St. Francisville, La. We searched for the ghost girl in the window and for strange etchings on a mirror, but we didn’t see anything unusual.

Despite not seeing anything that would even come close to being classified as paranormal, I always hoped I’d see something other worldly.

I might’ve gotten my wish.

My husband and I were heading to Louisiana for our Cajun Christmas with the Hebert family. We left the Houston area late in the day, so we were driving across the Atchafalaya Basin at night.

The Atchafalaya Basin is the nation’s largest river swamp covering over a million miles of hardwoods, waterways and inlets. The basin bridge is about 18 miles long and allows travelers to cross the basin on a raised highway.

As we were cruising along, I looked up and saw two bright lights in the sky. At first, I thought they were part of a water or cell phone tower because they were too far apart to belong to an airplane.

But I realized they were moving, and I knew cell phone tower lights didn’t move. About that time, I asked my husband if he saw the lights, and he said he’d been watching them for a while.

As the lights got closer, I could see a panel of lights in between the two headlights, and then the lights took a right-turn and disappeared.

“Did you see that?” we said at the same time.

I had my cell phone on my lap but didn’t think I could get a picture to come out at night through the windshield at 60 miles per hour.

As we were trying to figure out what we saw, two more sets of lights appeared to the north, traveling just as quickly as the first set of lights.

That’s when I realized we weren’t seeing an airplane, a weather balloon or a helicopter.

We were seeing a UFO.

We’d seen three unidentified flying objects. I didn’t say they were alien spacecraft – they were unidentified. They were flying and they were objects.

I checked social media to see if anyone had posted anything about seeing lights over the basin.

Nothing.

I checked the news stations.

Nothing.

My husband did a bit more in-depth checking the next morning and read that the state of Louisiana was trying out drones on the west side of Baton Rouge and over the Atchafalaya to check on traffic, but we saw these drones at night over the water.

Common sense tells me that we saw weather drones or aircraft being used by oil companies or the state. Common sense tells me that just because we saw some lights in the sky doesn’t mean there were aliens flying above us.

There’s no way secret activities were taking place late at night over a sparsely populated swamp area where nobody could see what the government was up to.

But the part of my brain that wants to believe in ghosts, haunted houses and unexplained phenomenon in this world wants to believe we saw a UFO.

So I’m calling it like I saw it – check “seeing a UFO” off the bucket list.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Most of us remember standing in the school nurse’s office, trying to read the eye chart. There was a giant “E” at the top, and we did our best to identify as many letters as possible.

Our hopes – having 20/20 perfect vision.

Today is the second day of the year 2020, the start of a new decade, the beginning of a year where we hope we get the 20/20 perfect diagnosis. New research, though, states that 20/20 isn’t really perfect vision, but most of us equate 20/20 with the ideal number at the optometrist’s office.

The internet is filled with prophecies about what’s going to make 2020 perfect. I read these websites with a grain of salt – we all remember when kale was going to be the miracle food.

Didn’t happen.

But it’s still fun to see what’s supposed to be the perfect trends for 2020, even if some of them are impractical.

According to Yahoo, online security continues to be a problem, and our cell phones will be the biggest target for phishing scams. These attacks come from hackers with nothing better to do than try and fleece you out of money.

Those of us who saw “The Sting” with Paul Newman know swindlers are nothing new, and there’s an easy mark born every minute.

People are still trying to decide between fake news and real news. The only way to do so is to follow the source of the story and do your own research. If the piece leans too far to the left or right, it’s fake.

If the headline screams “UFOs are landing now,” it’s fake. If the story contains facts from an unnamed source, it’s fake. If it’s on NPR, prepare to feel bad about breathing. If it’s from FOX, you know what side of the fence the reporter is on.

There’s always a lot of predictions about hot food trends for the coming year. We’ve seen tofu hailed as the next best thing only to fade from people’s memory within weeks.

Cauliflower pizza is supposed to be the hot item, but let’s be real – most people don’t like cauliflower.

The thought of trading a freshly baked flour-based pizza crust for a vegetable crust is sacrilegious unless one is gluten intolerant.

They also predict Korean cuisine will be the next hot food trend. Whether this is a way to pacify Korea and show them we want to play nice is anybody’s guess. Korean food is pretty good. My son and I had a great meal at a small Korean restaurant when I visited Taiwan.

There was a small barbecue pit sunk on one end of the table, and the server brought us raw beef, chicken and shrimp to cook to our preferences over the grill.

Of course, there’s no way barbecue I have to cook myself can ever compete with spicy Texas barbecue, enchiladas swimming in cheese or thick Louisiana crawfish etouffee.

Tall pancakes are supposed to be a hot ticket in 2020. Those look pretty in the pictures, but tall stacks of pancakes aren’t practical.

Tall pancake stacks fall over and there’s no way to cut into them without making a mess. Stick with the saucer-sized ones – stacked two high – and forget the trend.

According to Market Watch, the Impossible Burger at Burger King is available at over 7,000 franchise sites.

If I’m getting a burger, I want beef, tomatoes, lettuce, tomatoes, mayonnaise, a generous slab of cheese and dozens of pickles.

At least until I get that report back from the doctor with my updated cholesterol count.

I’m not even going to describe what Architectural Digest believes will be a top trend in furniture.

The day I put a plastic lawn chair in my living room with fake pink fur at the feet, brown velveteen for the seat and arm rests made out of puke-green metal is the day I put plastic wrap on our couches and plastic rug runners on the floor.

In this house, coziness wins out over fashion.

Our brown La-Z-Boy couches are broken in and comfortable, our end tables have survived two generations and I don’t care if the grandkids turn the kitchen table into a blanket fort.

My outlook for 2020 is to keep my sights on what I can see, to keep trying to read that bottom line and to know that 20/20 is good enough.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.