kandas-adventures

Happy Thanksgiving from the Evergreen State

The smell of fresh baking and the laughter of zany relatives fill our day today.  We have so much to be thankful for.  If you're celebrating Thanksgiving, too, I hope you have a happy one.

Energy Conservation

As you know, we didn't turn our furnace on in September as usual.  We waited, and waited, to see how long we could go.  Here's the result of our strategic use of electric space heaters instead of a forced-air natural gas furnace:
Each month our utility company (natural gas & electric) sends us a comparison graph showing how much energy we used compared to others in our neighborhood with the same size house.  The "efficient neighbors" are the lowest 20% of average energy use, and includes homes that are unoccupied and sitting on the market waiting for a sale.  I was delighted to learn that we are now below our "efficient neighbors" in energy use!
We've been going around the house looking for drafty areas, and they are everywhere.  We pried the molding trim from around this window, and guess what?  The idiots who built our house (and all our neighbors' houses) never bothered to caulk where the sheet rock met the windows.  They simply spray painted the walls, and then slapped some trim over the gaping cracks.
So we had to do remedy the situation.  Better late, then never, right?   You wouldn't believe how the walls sucked up this expanding foam insulation.  There were great caverns of cold air in there.  Before we repaint the exterior of the house next time, we'll pull the trim on the outside of the windows and do the same from the other side.
It's been getting colder and colder at night, with freezing temperatures and blankets of heavy, wet fog by morning.  Last week I woke up and the temperature gauge on the alarm clock by my bed said 58 degrees.  Inside.  It was time to fire up the furnace.  I didn't want mildew setting in anywhere, and honestly I was tired of ambling around like the Michelin Man in multiple layers of fleece and wool.  So I spent an hour going around to all 14 heat registers and popping the grates out so I could vacuum the ducts.  The dust bunnies that accumulate there would have exploded out into the room the minute the furnace went on had I not cleaned them out. 

I reset the thermostat for 62 degrees from 9pm to 6am, 68 degrees from 6am-8am and 5pm-9pm, and 65 during the day.  Understand, however, that the thermostat is between the kitchen and the gas fireplace, the two warmest places in the house, and the upstairs and playroom usually remains much colder.  If not using space heaters, we'd need the furnace to run almost constantly to get the rest of the house warm, and it would be 80 degrees down by the thermostat.  Right now the furnace is running (aiming for 65 degrees) and I'm upstairs and my temp gauge says 62.  Hey, at least it's not 58!  But my fingers are a little numb, so I better get up and make some hot tea.  Either that, or wash dishes!

Coercion: Mother - Daughter Style

So, my mom lives in an 8 bedroom, 3 story house on a steep hillside.  Her health is rapidly declining and she can no longer climb stairs or walk without a cane.  She occasionally rents a room to a University exchange student (and after 30 years of this she has friends all over the world), but mostly she's on her own.  She NEEDS to get out of that house and into a retirement community.  Somewhere that if she doesn't show up for a meal because she can't get out of bed, someone will come looking for her.  My mom spent most of her career working in nursing homes, and she realizes that the time has come for her to be living in one.  Well, at least a retirement home, but she does want eventual nursing care to be part of the package, "just in case."

I realize that my mom will probably never be extracted from that house without ENORMOUS efforts, but I've warned her repeatedly that the first time she ends up in the hospital because she's fallen and broken something, she'll be discharged into whatever nursing or rehab hospital has a bed, and that absolutely terrifies her.  She has visited enough of her friends who have ended up in horrible facilities, that she's getting motivated to make plans for herself.  I keep reminding her: "Take action now, or you won't have any choices, and if the nearest vacant rehab bed is 2 hours away, don't expect me to visit you much."
So Mom and I have been making the rounds of "Continuing Care Communities" in the area.  The places that require you to buy in (starting at .5 million) in addition to charging hefty monthly fees, are willing to wine and dine you.  We've sat through many lectures and sales presentations made tolerable only by the incredible gourmet meals they've provided.  The month-to-month places hand you a brochure and bottled water, and maybe give you lunch in the cafeteria after your tour.
One place that mom has been most interested in is a new construction that is almost ready to open.  Last week I accompanied her on the "hard hat tour" of the immense facility.
Mom especially enjoyed riding 10 floors up in the elevator with the construction workers.  It's been more than 34 years since mom had a date, but she gets her jollies whatever way she can these days.
The units are lovely, and the kitchens in these retirement apartments are larger that the one in my house.  At some of the retirement communities we've toured, many units ARE larger that my ENTIRE house in which I am raising a family.  Still, though,  Mom looks at them and they look "too small" to her.  She is so used to living in a huge house, even though she only uses a few rooms on one floor of it now, that she can't picture herself in a smaller place.  It's gonna be a battle to get her downsized.
She moves slowly in all respects these days, and just gets slower all the time.  This would be the ideal time for her to jump, while she's still healthy enough to enjoy the full amenities of such a community, and while I'm not working and have the hundreds of hours necessary to help her pare down 100 years worth of stuff (she absorbed all her mother's effects, which remain in boxes, unsorted).  In another year or two I'll probably be working full time again, and  I won't have enough vacation and sick leave to help her then.  I continue to wait, and she continues to procrastinate, and every few weeks we partake of another meal (or bottle of water) while exploring the options, yet again.

My little one has no hair!

I'm not entirely sure what's going on with Little K, but she has been begging for months to have a REALLY short haircut.  K was born bald, and remained so until she was almost two.  Her hair finally started to grow in, and I was enjoying seeing her in little piggy tails and pony tails, like in the photo below.

But the truth was she didn't like having her hair done.  She hated having her hair washed, combed, and put up.  She disliked clips and ribbons and elastics.  She'd tolerate headbands briefly, but soon took them off and lost them (usually at school, or out and about somewhere that I'd never find it again).

In August I cut her hair pretty short, but it was all one length, and she still needed something in her hair to keep it out of her face.  I can't stand when kids have hair hanging over their eyes, especially at school.  When I volunteer at school it's all I can do to restrain myself from grabbing a scissors and cutting kids' bang/fringes so they can see!

We've been looking through the old photos recently, and Little K fixated on the photos of her when she was 3, and decided she wanted bangs/fringes again, so she wouldn't have to wear a clip to keep the hair out of her eyes.  So last week after a bath I picked up the scissors and started cutting (I cut  our hair at home, saving bundles of money!   I haven't had a salon cut since 1981, and the girls have never had one).   I made the cut but she wanted me to cut more.  I tried to understand what she was asking for.  "No hair on my neck!" she declared.  So I kept cutting.

This is what we ended up with:

Yes, it's a Dorothy Hamill cut, and Little K couldn't be happier!  Every few minutes she exclaims, "I love my haircut!"  The reception at school was mixed.  Some kids teased her for looking like a boy.  Others said she looked "really cute."

There was one problem, though.  When we spent the day with my mom recently, she couldn't help be reminded of my little brother Ted, when he was a boy.  In fact, Grammy kept calling Little K Ted!  Here you can see the similarity, although I think my skills at cutting hair are a bit better than my mom's:

Look at those sideburns!  Was that the 70's or what?  My grandmother was always hounding my mom to give Ted a proper crew cut.  She couldn't stand long hair on little boys.  Maybe that's where I got my scissors compulsion when I see kids with hair over their eyes.  You'll notice that Ted's bangs/fringes are well above his eyebrows!

Here's one more shot of Little K's new do.  Here she's having a bite of Daddy's birthday cake earlier this week.  It's German Chocolate, a special treat for us!  K wore a headband and a dress to school that day because she was trying out for a part in the school play.  She wanted the main part of the little girl narrator, so I suggested she at least dress like a girl for the audition.  Instead she was asigned the part of a tree.  Yippee.

Flashback Friday -- Baby Days -- I do miss them!

Every so often I miss the baby days.  There aren't going to be anymore babies around here, unless someone leaves one on my doorstep.  Above is a photo of the nursery waiting for A to be born, 9 years ago.  It seems like just yesterday we retrieved the crib in pieces from the crawlspace under a friends' house, and washed and put it together, running to the hardware store twice to replace missing parts so it would be sturdy and safe.  I clearly remember washing and ironing and folding all the little baby clothes, most of them hand-me-downs, and many ones I had bought years ago in anticipation of one day having a child.  I'd bought the Emmaljunga pram from a resale shop and it was in pristine condition.  Both my girls, and occasionally the cat (bad kitty!), slept in it. 

Here's Little K, 3 months old, snoozing soundly in that carriage.  Such plump cheeks, such a kissable bald head she had!  I slept in the twin bed beside the carriage, and reached out with one hand to rock it when she stirred, and often she would drift right back to sleep with that gentle movement.

We reconfigured the nursery when K came along, since 22 month old A was still sleeping in the borrowed crib.  We bought this white IKEA crib on clearance, as it was a "European Cot size" that didn't turn out to be popular in the USA.  It was just the right size for the space we had.  K started sleeping in it at 18 weeks, when she began pushing up and rolling, and I was afraid she might launch herself out of the baby carriage.  K slept in it until she was 2 years old.

No one in our household sucks on a pacifier anymore, or rides in a car-seat.  I love this photo of little K, with the two big bandages on her knees from falling while running.  It was summer, so her knees were often bare, and she went everywhere at a full speed run.  Whenever she fell, she fell hard.  It got to the point where she wanted bandages on her knees "just in case" and I remember buying box after box of these big bandages for her.  She loved to stick them on all by herself.  I look at this picture and remember what a battle it was to get the girls in and out of their car-seats at times.  Okay, I don't really miss those times.  Today the girls hop in and out of the car by themselves.  They buckle themselves, although I usually ask before I start the engine, "did you tighten the belt, is it nice and snug?"

I miss those afternoon naps.  Sometimes I'd time it right and be home and both girls would sleep at the same time.  Sometimes I'd even sleep, too! Once A entered preschool, I had a choice: go home and enjoy quiet time with Little K, or take advantage of errands with just one toddler instead of two in tow.  No matter what my choice, Little K would usually snooze, because that baby loved her naps.  Here she is in the midst of grocery shopping, sound asleep.

Oh, how I miss those baby days sometimes!
  

Change in Seasons & Keeping Warm

We still have not turned on our furnace.  We've had frost at night and the indoor temp is now between 60 and 66.  In late September the onset of the cold weather coupled with the Wall Street crash led us to experiment:  what if we didn't turn on the furnace for the whole month of October?  How much money could we save on our energy bill by wearing sweaters instead?  Turns out we saved about $50.00 over last year's October heating bill.

We live in a cheaply-built tract home with minimum insulation.  Through the years we've made some improvements: replacing some windows, sealing our crawlspace, and installing thick window coverings.  We originally had a woodburning fireplace, but now we have a gas one which even with a fan, doesn't throw out much heat.  It does prevent heat loss up the chimney though.  One of the major heat challenges we face is the exterior walls.  I'm convinced that some of them have NO insulation at all, and in others the bats of insulation have compacted down and left a foot of uninsulated space near the ceilings.  You can put your hand on the walls on a cold day and feel the chill in certain spots.

One thing we've been doing the past month is using electric space heaters.  We have two of the electric oil-filled radiators, and one micathermic panel heater.  We can only run one at a time or we trip a breaker on our wimpy electric panel.  We turn on the radiators until they are hot, and then turn them off, and they continue to radiate heat for about half an hour.  We use them to "take off the chill" in our bathroom and in the hall outside our bedrooms.  The micathermic is in the playroom and heats up instantly, but cools within minutes of turning off.  It produces a lot of heat for a large space in a hurry.

One reason I am happy to hesitate turning on the furnace is because I don't like the dry air it blows around.  First of all, it takes a good fifteen minutes of running before the air coming out of the registers is even warm.  Initially the air is cold.  Upstairs some of the registers never put out air that's more than lukewarm.   The duct work sprawls throughout our crawlspace, and even though we've wrapped it in insulation and sealed it with miles of duct tape, we suspect there are plenty of leaks where the ducts travel through uninsulated walls.  It wouldn't suprise me if there are even disconnected ducts, as some of our neighbors have reported finding when they've remodeled -- that's how poorly this house was put together.  With the furnace turned off right now, you can put your hand over any register and feel a cold breeze.  I have covered many of the registers with folded towels, and turned the furnace OFF and placed a note on it so no one turns on the furnace accidentally while the ducts are blocked.

I'm falling in love with my grandmother's Norwegian sweaters again, and the girls are enjoying bundling up in their cozy long undies and sweaters, too.  Maybe the novelty of layering will be gone in the coming weeks, but for now it's a joyous competition to see how many woolly socks and fuzzy sweaters one can pile on.  The down comforters are on our beds, and the flannel sheets, too.

Maybe someday we'll spend the thousands of dollars necessary to troubleshoot and correct the leaky furnace ducts, and blow insulation into the walls that are lacking, but for now we are "making do."

Thoughts on the Election

Early on, I didn't think I would vote for Obama.  There are a lot of things I like about McCain, but when he chose Palin as his running mate, there was no way I could vote for McCain anymore.  Palin may be cute and folksy, but that is not what is needed in a Vice President.  Given McCain's age, there was a strong possibility Palin would have had to step in, and I could only imagine the chaos that would ensue.  Besides, Palin should be at home with her FIVE children, who desperately need a mother.  With one daughter "knocked up" and an infant with special needs, she has too much personal baggage to be an effective leader of our country.

When I sat down with my absentee ballot, the voter's pamphlet, the Sunday paper, and a big cup of coffee, I didn't vote for one party or the other.  Unlike many in our country, I didn't vote for white men only, or just for Democrats, or only for what was recommended by the newspaper.  I voted for some Republicans and some Democrats.  I voted for men and women.  I put a lot of thought and research into who was most suited for the jobs they were seeking, and which propositions were well prepared.  There were issues on the ballot that I agreed with fundamentally, but the proposition was flawed in it's language and wouldn't have been effective, so I couldn't bring myself to approve it.   There were candidates I liked, who were full of enthusiasm and shared my views, but had inconsistent histories that made me pause and chose their opponent instead. 

I wondered if Obama could win.  Ours is a nation still teeming with racism.  There are plenty of communities where bigotry is not only tolerated, but celebrated.  Listening to Obama's acceptance speech last night on a TV we borrowed from a neighbor (our 20 year old TV has bit the dust and we can't afford to replace it), I couldn't help but be reminded of Martin Luther King.  My eyes welled up with tears of pride and hope for our country's future as Obama spoke, and my heart suddenly feared for him and his family.  Please don't let history repeat itself.  I sure hope the secret service can keep the racists and nut cases and all their arms away from him.

I want to see what Obama can accomplish.  For those who voted for McCain and don't like Obama or what he stands for, I hope they'll just sit back and enjoy the show.  No matter who won, the new president's job is not going to be easy.  Our country is sliding into a depression, the wars we have going need to be reevaluated, and our country's image needs a serious PR make-over.  So many nations hate us right now, and it's time again to become a nation others look to with respect.  Respect for our generosity, our humanitarianism, and our democracy.

Did every person and issue I voted for yesterday win?  No.  Do I agree with my neighbors and friends on certain issues?  No.  But I am proud to be an American, one who participated in our democratic process, and I will accept the results of the election as what they are: the current will of the people, the basis on which our country was built.  If there is something I want to change, I will donate my time and set an example in the way I live my life.   My personal ideals were acquired not through coercion, but because someone I admired was quietly demonstrating them.  Tolerance, kindness, empathy, dignity, generosity, consideration, patience... these are values we should share in any disagreement.

I am excited about America's future.  After many years of being ashamed, I am finally proud to be an American again.  Maybe I'll even renew my passport and venture abroad!  Oh, wait.  I don't have any money.

Halloween Recap

Here I am with A in her classroom on Halloween.  As school photographer and yearbook creator, I was dashing in and out of classrooms all afternoon making sure the festivities were captured for the yearbook.
In the afternoon we went to a little shopping area for trick or treating, as we've done every year.  At the last minute K decided to wear her monkey costume from last year, and A was Anne of Green Gables.
We ran into some neighbors there  -- little bloodsuckers they were.

We met this darling little witch at the yarn store.  Don't you just love the pacifier in her mouth?
Many of the little shops had gone out of business, including the candy store, the children's book shop, and some other boutiques.  It's really sad to see the little family businesses folding as the economy sours.
We went home for a quick dinner, heavy on the vegetables, and then headed out to trick-or-treat the neighborhood on our way to the church carnival.  As usual, it took us well over an hour to visit about 10 houses because we stop and chat with each family.
By the time we got to the carnival they were closing up for the night.  The girls were able to play a few games, and then the church volunteers literally dumped their remaining buckets of candy on us as we left.  It took us 2 days to sort through it all, and of course we had to throw a lot of it away because A couldn't eat the sticky stuff with her braces, and I don't allow the girls to have hard candy since they're non-stop talkers and I'm afraid they'll choke.   Mommy got all the dark chocolate (not much), Daddy got the Milk Duds and Whoppers, and Grammy got all the peanut butter chocolates.  Needless to say, it was a sweet Halloween.

Oh, and here's a pic of my hubby and me at the awesome Halloween party.  I was taking a shower, and Joe the Plumber was there to adjust my water pressure.  We won first prize in the costume contest.

Kitten Farewell

I took the kittens to the Humane Society on the morning of Halloween and they had their little "surgery."  They let us have them back for two nights to recover, and then we had to return them for good.  When Sunday morning came I stalled as long as possible before taking them in.  The adoption staff hadn't arrived yet, so I had to go in the back door through vet services.  I handed over the little carrier and a vet tech walked them down the hall while I stared after.  I hadn't even said good-bye! 

It was a dark and stormy Sunday.  It rained hard most of the day.  I thought Tiger would be adopted quickly, but I worried that Maxine, the little black kitten, would languish for weeks in a cage.  A lot of people don't like black cats, and Maxine had a terrible habit of nipping fingers that started when she was teething.  I'd tried to break her of the habit, but she just loved to chew.  She was an ankle biter in every sense of the word.  She also wasn't much of a lap cat.  Only when she was really tired would she snuggle, otherwise she was too curious and active to settle down.

Fifteen minutes before the shelter closed for the night, we went down to see if our foster kittens were still there.  The shelter is closed Mondays and Tuesdays, so maybe they'd let us take the kittens home again until Wednesday morning.

As soon as we walked in we saw a large cage on the floor with 5 or 6 identical black kittens that looked just like Maxine.  Was she one of them?  We searched the cage but didn't recognize her.  With all that competition, she surely would be waiting for an adoptive family for a long time.  We looked in the other cages.  There were dozens and dozens of darling kittens.  Finally an adoption counselor came over and told us: "Maxine and Tiger were adopted.  Together!"

I couldn't believe it!  I was so happy and relieved! 

I miss them much more than the other kittens we had earlier this past summer.  With the other kittens, we dropped them off on our way out of town for a camping trip, and when we returned the following week, we were busy with visiting relatives, so I really didn't have time to be home and missing them.

Last night I deep-cleaned the master bath where they spent most of their time with us.  On my hands and knees with an old cloth diaper soaked with vinegar and water, I washed the lower walls, floor, trim, and cabinet doors.  I'd certainly done a lot of this scrubbing the last two months, especially when they had giardia induced explosive diarrhea which seemed to find its way all over the walls.  But this time was different.  I was eliminating all traces of them.  Cleansing the space for our next feline visitors.

So now I wait for the call.  Sometime in the coming weeks little kittens, too young to be separated from their mother, will be found abandoned overnight in a carboard box outside the shelter door.   Or a kitty who has been injured, abused, or is overrun with parasites will need a quiet place to convalesce away from the frenzied shelter environment.  When the call comes, I'll be ready.