satisfying projects

by

Three Things Thursday

I have an exciting day of errands and a home improvement project with my dad and physical therapy in front of me, but I’m having a very hard time getting going. Here are three things on my mind.

Meeting People Never Gets Easier: No matter how old I get, I never find it easier to meet people. In advance of the meeting, I get SO NERVOUS. Like, cannot focus on anything else nervous. If I lose track of the time for five minutes and then realize that I haven’t looked at my watch to ensure I’m not late, my heart drops into my stomach nervous. And then during the meeting of the people, I feel like I vacillate WILDLY between trying so hard to Be Myself that I forget entirely what that is/feels like, and trying too hard in general that I come across as completely unhinged. Am I making too much eye contact? Am I laughing too loudly? Why am I trying to be funny when I am not funny and also this new person has no context for my sense of humor? Am I gesturing with my hands too much? Why did I say that? I feel like I should prepare a Suzanne Briefing Pamphlet to hand out to new acquaintances, so that they know I am 100% always this awkward, but the awkwardness will smooth out (at least a little bit) (I hope) over time.

How Does She Do It? I ran into a neighbor at the grocery store the other day. I was in athletic clothes and tennis shoes, I had brushed my hair and washed my face but didn’t have a lick of makeup on. She was wearing an adorable outfit, had a full face of makeup, and looked like she was ready to star in a commercial for that grocery store or perhaps accept a nomination to become the patron saint of motherhood. She is one of the most genuinely nice people I have ever met, she is involved at her kids’ school, and she has five children. (The oldest is Carla’s age.) Listen. I know comparison is dumb and useless. And also, I want to know HOW??? Like, what does her morning look like, that she has time to get five children off to school, but also has time to make her hair look like that and do her makeup and choose the cutest outfit? I feel like you are going to say prioritization, but also, that can’t be the only explanation???? There are occasions when I need to be presentable first thing in the morning, and I manage it, but just barely. The most recent time I put on Real Clothes and makeup (and by “makeup” I mean mascara and eye balm), we left the house fifteen minutes late. I wake up at 5:30! I don’t even exercise or shower in the morning! All I do is tend to the cat, make and drink tea, wake up my child, make breakfast, pester my child to get out of bed/get dressed/eat breakfast, throw on some exercise clothes and do the bare minimum of hair/skin/dental care. Maybe this other mom’s kids actually get out of bed when she wakes them up, and maybe she doesn’t make them breakfast, maybe she is always fifteen minutes late, and maybe her husband is also helping with Morning Stuff? I know they don’t have a cat, but THAT CANNOT BE THE RATE LIMITING FACTOR. I’m not even jealous. I’m just perplexed. Okay, I’m also jealous. But I really want to know HOW.

Cleaning Project Success(es): I finished my Big Cleaning and Organization Project this week. It took seven hours and resulted in five enormous black trash bags full of trash. There is still a clothing organization element I have yet to complete. I find that memoirs are the ideal content for me whilst undertaking projects of this nature, and I listened to The Third Gilmore Girl by Kelly Bishop and unSweetined by Jody Sweetin while I worked. Both books were narrated by the authors, which I loved. I enjoyed them both immensely. (I also tried both You Never Know by Tom Selleck and Paris by Paris Hilton, but they didn’t do it for me so I moved on.) After I’d shut the door on the clothing aspect of my big project, I undertook a smaller cleaning project: my desk. Somehow – probably because I tend to sit in my cozy armchair to do any actual writing – my desk becomes a repository for all manner of things, from receipts to coupons to things I need to return and books and old Halloween decorations and wrapping paper and bat mitzvah invitations and more. It had gotten to the point of overflow that my cat would knock multiple things onto the floor every single time he jumped up onto it. Often in the middle of night, jarring me from sleep with a pounding heart until I realized the sound that had awakened me was not a murderer but Lenny displacing a box of highlighters and handful of carpet samples. Anyway, it was time to clean it and clean it I did. Shall we place bets on how long it takes before my desk is once again overcome with stuff?

Okay, that’s all I’ve got. I am going to go put on makeup and Real Clothes and do the things I need to do.

by

Seven on a Saturday

The weather report SWEARS we will have sunshine this weekend, but so far the only sun I’ve seen was this past Thursday. It’s early yet, but the clouds are not filling my heart with hope. The pervasive grey is inspiring nothing but an intense desire to curl up in bed and read murder mysteries, but let’s try some random bullet points and see what comes of it. 

  • A Little Light Shopping. Speaking of my unending desire to read: I continue to buy new books while simultaneously continuing to reread Sophie Hannah’s Culver Valley mystery series, which I already own. (I am on Book 10, The Next to Die, out of 11 so far.) My husband is baffled by my insistence on reading old books when I have so many shiny new ones to hand. But it makes sense to me. I get to indulge in a series I adore (I am finding that I am enjoying these all on a reread even more than I did the first time, although I do find myself weary of Charlie and Simon’s relationship). Plus, I get to fill my book shelves with happy little treats to look forward to. Best of all worlds! 
  • Light Therapy. I went outside for a walk four days this week, which is more than I’ve been able to muster lately. I KNOW that being outside, in the fresh air, surrounded by birdsong and trees, boosts my mental health. But sometimes it’s just HARD to do the thing. My parents go for a walk outside pretty much every single day, rain or shine or snow or sleet, and that’s deeply inspiring to me. But STILL. Wanting to do the thing, knowing the thing is good for me and will make me feel better, does not always lead to Doing The Thing. 

Thursday, we had actual honest-to-goodness sun and I made sure to take advantage of it. I walked around my neighborhood and came upon an older woman walking ahead of me. She was all bundled up in a winter jacket and gloves, hood pulled up over her hair. I tried to do all the things I could think of to alert her of my presence – scraping my feet on the gravel, coughing – but when she turned around (I was still a good ten feet behind her) she jumped and said “Oh!” in a startled way. I apologized for scaring her and we chatted for a few minutes. During which time she told me I needed to COVER UP. (I was wearing long pants and a long-sleeved sweatshirt; it was nearly 50 degrees.) Turns out she was concerned not about cold but about skin cancer, about which I am not cavalier, I promise. But I also need those sun rays to soak into my skin and stimulate all that yummy vitamin D production (I have no idea what I’m talking about, just to be clear). I assured her I was wearing sunscreen but I probably should be better about wearing a hat to protect my scalp. 

  • Light Switches: My dad and I replaced some faulty light switches this week, which is one of those projects that feels SO thrilling to complete. It was surprisingly easy, once I got past the fear of electrocuting myself. (We turned off the power before we opened things up; I hope that is obvious.) Our next project will be to install some light fixtures in the furnace room, which is bafflingly lightless. To that end, one of my purchases this week was a roll of copper wiring. My future as an electrician grows ever closer.
  • Fake Light. I have been encouraged by a trusted professional to look into buying myself a light therapy lamp. This does not mean I have been diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder – I have not; and when I looked at the reviews of SAD lamps she sent me, I became perhaps overly concerned by the stern warning that only people who have SAD or who are under direction from a medical professional should use one of these lamps. And then a friend, who recently HAS been diagnosed with SAD, said she just started using a light therapy lamp and is having awful side effects – headaches and sleep loss. So now I don’t know what to do. Should I buy this lamp and hope for the best??? Or ramp up my efforts to be outside every day?
  • Lumos! While we’re apparently on the inexhaustible topic of lighting, one of my favorite things are the smart plugs my husband installed on all of our lamps. I can either ask Siri to turn on the lights or use my phone to turn them on, and it’s delightful. So I can be finished reading in bed and just say, sleepily, “Siri, turn off my bedroom lights” and the lamps will extinguish. Or I can be carrying my book and a full mug of tea down the hall and call out to the Echo in the kitchen, “Siri, turn on my office light” and it will be on when I reach my comfy chair. It makes me feel a teeny bit like I live in Hogwarts. 
  • Light of My Life: My husband, daughter, and I went out to dinner recently, and Carla was enamored with the paintings on the wall. She insisted on taking my phone so she could preserve her memory of the paintings for infinity. (She will never look at these photos again.) She is such a delight. 

I am off to meet a friend, which is one of the best ways to illuminate these cloudy days; the prospect of seeing her has been a bright beacon to get me through yet another gloomy week. 

I hope your weekend is full of light in many forms. 

by

Houseplant History and Satisfying Plant Update

One of my gentle aspirations for the year was to repot my house plants and I am pleased to report that I have (halfway) accomplished that goal.

It seems irresponsible that I, a known plant murderer, should persist in owning houseplants. And yet I LOVE them, and I have strong feelings of affection for them. 

I still remember the jade plant my mother bought me when I was a freshman in college. My mother, who is excellent at keeping things alive, has always had a jade plant in her home, and I have fond memories of the enormous jade plant in the room in my childhood home we referred to as The Library. It sat in a massive pot on a plant stand and its leaves cascaded nearly to the floor like the glorious mane of a beautiful woman. It was extraordinary. So it felt almost like I had a little piece of home with me, setting that jade plant in my dorm window and mostly neglecting it.

Each summer, I would take the jade plant to the dean’s office and they would look after it for me. Each fall, I would reclaim the jade plant – which always seemed to have grown and flourished in someone else’s care – and it would live in my room. After we graduated, my then-boyfriend and I drove to his home town where we lived and worked for the summer; the jade plant came with us. My housing situation was, in retrospect, a little precarious. My then-boyfriend’s parents had arranged for me to house sit for a family friend. But the friends had moved out of their house and were actively looking for a buyer. WHY was this a good idea? WHAT did I think I would do if they sold the house??? HOW did the realtor explain to potential buyers the evidence that a squatter was inhabiting the house??? Anyway, I think my furniture included a mattress on the floor of one of the bedrooms – not the primary bedroom, because the realtor or maybe the homeowner discouraged me from staying there – and maybe they had left a couch in the living room? Or did my then-boyfriend bring over a couple of lawn chairs? I can’t remember. But I had my jade plant there, too. 

Once summer ended, my then-boyfriend and I drove across several states to move into the apartment we’d rented, sight-unseen, while I attended grad school. We had driven all day, with a U-Haul attached to my then-boyfriend’s car, and I had my jade plant in my car with me on the passenger side floor. We did get slightly lost in the worst part of the unfamiliar city – this was the age of MapQuest and printed directions, folks – but we eventually found our way to our apartment without being robbed or murdered. Only to discover that there had been a massive ceiling leak, which had a) filled up a ceiling light until it was so heavy it collapsed part of the ceiling and shattered onto the floor and b) created a mold field on the carpet and in the walls of the tiny closet that counted as a laundry room. CLEARLY the apartment had not been cleaned or prepped for new occupants – the bathroom in particular was a filthy disaster – which was not the best introduction to the city or to our scandalous life of premarital cohabitation. 

We ended up staying in a hotel while the leasing company remediated the problem, and we had to stay in the hotel so long that we ended up unloading our U-Haul into a storage unit and then having to reload it into a different U-Haul when we were finally able to move in to the apartment. I remember our parents being extremely helpful about the whole thing, even though they were all strenuously against us living together. (It worked out okay.) 

But our new city was very hot, and in all the chaos I forgot about my poor jade plant and it died in my overheated car. 

Perhaps this incident has instilled in me a crawling anxiety about plant care, as well as an intense internal pressure to never kill a plant again. And yet, despite the emotional intent to be a good plant owner, I am not, in fact, a good plant owner. I try, I really do. I try not to be overbearing, and I try not to be neglectful. But I fear that I overcompensate in both areas.

Currently, I have five houseplants. 

This is the whole sad crew, including the jade plant in the red pot whose health has since declined precipitously, and the very already dead cactus in the light green pot.

One is a small, spindly palm tree that has survived for nearly twelve years, which is when my mother gave it to me as a housewarming present. The African violet that was also part of the original basket succumbed to my black thumb several years ago. The long drapey plant that I think may be a philodendron persists. The palm tree looks increasing full of despair. (Although it recently sprouted a new head/branch/limb? So perhaps it is preparing for a second wind?) 

I also have a jade plant that is really circling the drain. I have tried a lot of things, and I am coming to the sad conclusion that perhaps I am just not meant to be a jade plant owner. I can’t even bring myself to take a photo of it for you; I am too embarrassed. Consider the state of the little palm tree and then ask yourself what a plant must look like for me NOT to post it.

My orchid was a thank-you gift I received for being Carla’s room parent in kindergarten, so I have a strong sentimental attachment to it because it represents both a moment in time and time’s unrelenting passage. It has flowered several times since I brought it home, in November of 2021, April of 2022, and most recently in December of 2022, which is reassuring unless flowering is a distress signal. But it got to the point where it appeared to be attempting to crawl out of its pot and far, far away from me.

The orchid, listing violently to the right and readying itself for ambulation.

The anthurium is one in a long line of anthurium I have had and killed since I moved to this house. This is the first one I’ve kept alive long enough for it to re-bloom. Based on pictures, I think I have had this since at least July of 2021.

Anthurium in a too-small pot; orchid limb photo bomb.

The fifth plant is really Carla’s. It is a replacement cactus; replacement because we bought her a cactus last summer and promptly killed it. I didn’t even know you could kill a cactus? Well, we managed. But we saw this orchid cactus at the plant store and couldn’t resist buying it. Carla is in charge of its care even though it lives in my office; perhaps she will turn out to have a greener thumb than I do. 

Orchid cactus. It can only sit in that little plant stand in that exact position because the plant stand is stupid.

One of the problems with my poor plants is that they need repotting. And yet I am so terrified of killing them that I cannot bring myself to do it. So when this adorable plant store opened just down the street, and I discovered that they will repot the plants FOR YOU, for the extremely reasonable price of five dollars, I knew that was my solution. 

After a couple of false starts – for instance, Carla was off school on a random Monday, so we loaded the plants into my car and drove the plant store only to discover it wasn’t open on Mondays – we finally made it to the plant store and they REPOTTED MY PLANTS.

Well, they repotted the two I brought in – the orchid and the anthurium. It was such an easy process and such a relief that I am trying to get up enough nerve to bring in the palm tree/possible-philodendron and my ailing jade plant. I am a teeny bit afraid that one they see the jade plant, they will send someone to repossess all my plants.

Here are the plants immediately after the repotting:

I undertook this repotting exercise at the very end of March. And the plants continue to thrive (except for the jade plant, my god the state of that poor jade plant).

My orchid and anthurium are SO pleased. The anthurium is in bloom and has sprouted a bunch of new leaves. The orchid looks fuller and prouder of its situation, and much less like it wants to escape. And the cactus is cactusing along nicely. I am looking forward to the time when it decides to bloom. 

So happy!
Not quite as stunning a transformation as the anthurium, but trust me that this plant is MUCH happier.
Orchid cactus; anthurium in the background, trying to pretend it doesn’t want all the attention.