Hunt for the Red Cell Phone

Okay, it's a pathetic blog topic, but you probably already think I am a loser.

I lost my cell phone on Saturday. I was ticked. I hate losing things, especially when I have to pay for the things that I lose because I was careless. Rachel helped me look for 30 minutes, but I dislike when my irresponsibility affects others, so we headed our respective directions.

Sunday, after a night of thinking about my lost cell phone and where it could be, I strapped on my snowshoes and decided to hunt. I figured that if I didn't find the phone, at least I was getting some extra exercise. Thankfully, it has been too cold for either snow or meltage, so I was able to walk in our tracks from the day before. Plus, after my night of thinking, I had a couple of places that I wanted to look for specifically. I checked the first area with no luck, but I hadn't had high hopes because it was the same place Rachel and I had focused on the day before. I continued my exercise pausing along our tracks to see if there were any marks beside our snowshoes or dogs' prints. Sporadically I paused and using my mom's cell phone called mine to see if I might hear it somehow (note: the vibe then ring mode sucks when you lose the phone). I got to my top place that I thought it would be, and there she was, just a quarter-size visible in the snow, waiting for rescue. With exuberance I called Rachel and screamed, "Guess what I am calling you on?" It was sheer exhilaration, catapulting me into a snowshoeing jog to my car. I know it is such a small thing to experience sadness and happiness about, but losing and finding the cell phone was representative of so much more, it was highly symbolic of my life in general.

Author's note: Alternate blog title - A Beautiful Day. I found my cell phone, it was a balmy 30 degrees - so hot and sunny that I drove home from my treasure hunt in a tank top, and my garage door opened when I pushed the button (he had refused to work for the last week because it was so cold here).

Wisconsin the Morning After

Last night as I traveled to a friend's for the game, I drove past the bank tower that always flashes between the temperature in Celsius, the time, and the temperature in Fahrenheit. It is a mainstay on my drive around my town. Today, I was in shock as it registered -12. Now -12 is cold, but the more disappointing fact was that the clock was frozen, all it would say was -12. First that disappointment, and then the game. It was unfortunate, not earth-shattering, but unfortunate. It is hard to see your team lose, even if no one ever expected them to go as far as they did.

The World is Off My Back

I finally finished Atlas Shurgged, what a huge relief. After I finished, I made sure to go to the library. Instead of mind-throbbingly intellectual and boring, I decided to go for easy reads. I had a great weekend, taking each day to read one of the Sisterhood books. They were really good. I haven't enjoyed reading that much and been moved so greatly in many months. Now my only problem is waiting for three and four to come back to the library. Read people, read.

Closet Confession

Every time I walk into my closet, I feel relief and a little bit of hope. It is an odd sensation, but looking at my closet makes me feel like everything is going to be all right. With a little bit of work and baby steps, things will become orderly and make sense.

Let me explain. My house is a mess. Slovenly comes to mind. It creeps up on me, and I get overwhelmed. Suddenly the dish in the sink becomes twenty. The two or three letters on the table become three weeks of unopened mail (Note: USPS is not a reliable way of reaching me). The shoes on the rug by my front door become a heap representing the amount of footwear for a small village. And then there is the table – along with the mail is a collage of scarves, gloves, books and DVDs to return to the library, and all sizes and colors of purses surrounded by chairs enveloped with all the coats I own. The task of cleaning becomes seemingly insurmountable.

The next difficulty comes when I actually start the cleaning. The previous paragraph of battle zones diverts me. Before I can vacuum, I need to pick up the shoes; before I can clean the table, I need to open and file away all of the mail, reorganize my wall of purses (yeah, I said wall - socks, purses, and underwear are my favorite things to collect with fourth prize going to shoes, have you seen my blue, rhinestone, Chinese heels?), and hang up my jackets and stack the scarves and gloves in their cubbies while wondering if I should just start using paper plates. So stage one of cleaning becomes organizing, filing, and putting back everything to its right place. I get stuck in stage one.

This weekend I started upstairs, avoiding the pitfalls of the table downstairs from the start. I unpacked my suitcases from my trip out to Portland and redistributed the proper travel accoutrements to their specific travel bags. Next I cleaned off my bathroom counter by throwing, shelving and stuffing the cosmetic arsenal. Moving rooms, I filed away all the bills I had on my computer desk. Then I packed away all of the clean clothes. The whole time I was packing away my clothes, I was wondering if I should organize them. I knew it would be a huge diversion, so I just stuffed the socks into their drawer without separating them according to holiday and then arranging them by color.

Scanning the floor and rods, I grabbed every unemployed hanger, throwing them into the now barren basket and delaying only minutes dividing the pants from the skirts and separating the shirts by sleeve length. Straying a bit more, I stripped the mattress, comforter and pillows of their covers, smothering the hangers. Back on task, I began folding the clothing bags and boxes for removal and shoveling the clothes on the closet floor into the now engorged basket. Then, I saw something weird and noticed something uncanny: my closet has carpeting.

Utterly in shock at the development, I had to take a break and re-orientate myself. Later, I opened my closet door, and the sigh of accomplishment and relief was probably heard down the road. Yes, I knew the socks and underwear were all heaped together in their respective drawers; I understand bras really aren’t meant for tie rack hooks; I acknowledge not all of the clothes fit; and, I know I still have work to do, but I had carpeting. It was unperfect (excuse the term), but after closing the door and jumping into a newly made bed, I realized it was a start, a step in the right direction of cleaning up my life.

To Join or Not?

I am in a quandary. I don't know if I should join a health club or not. Let me be more honest. I should join a health club or at least make an attempt at exercising, but I wonder if I will follow through and make it worthwhile.

I am thinking that by joining the club, I will at least be more prone to exercise for two major reasons. 1) The exercise facility is indoors, but has variety of the type that is not exercise videos. 2) I will be guilted into exercising because the thought of throwing my money away on something I am not using will really annoy me.

Reasons why I am not prone to exercise at the club or exercise in general: 1) I would probably want to wear shorts, and shaving is such a chore. Plus, I believe there is such a thing known as indecent exposure in a public place. 2) Sitting on my couch eating cookies or ice cream or candy bars is a lot more fun. 3) It isn't that I don't have time, but what time would be best? If I sub, I can't do morning, if I work at UPS, night would be too late. 4) Working out may make me think that I should curb my chocolate consumption to less than a pound a week. That sacrifice would be way too huge. 5) Why should I pay to exercise?

The last question is always the reason why I resist joining. I mean, if I am not motivated to do something healthy, will the guilt really get me to the gym, or will it just make me feel like a failure with a little less money to spend on chocolate? Any suggestions?

Tonight

I made my favorite cookies tonight. This time I actually made them correctly. It shocked me how much better they tasted and cooked when I made them according to the directions, it must have been a fluke.

I had made the cookies a few days earlier, but gave them away at various stops during New Year's Eve. I ended up coming home realizing I had only saved two for myself, and that was just not sufficient. The other reason I made cookies was getting over the terror of being yelled at by the librarian.

Let me explain. You might have read my tirade about the library and the man who was asking too many questions and being too noisy. The library is a quiet, safe refuge - or at least it should be. It is not a place where I should be made to feel stupid and like I am a huge burden.

I have been struggling with Atlas Shrugged; it is long (1170 pages). Usually length isn't necessarily a deterrent, but it is also incredibly hard to get interested in. I just am struggling connecting with it. So, I checked out the book in early November with another book. Naturally, I started the smaller book first and returned it once I finished it. When I returned the book, I naturally renewed Atlas a little early since I hadn't even started it. However, before I got to starting it, I picked up two different books about gender and boys and completed them. Then, I read a historical fiction book while I summoned courage to attack Rand. I actually started reading it about a week before it was due for the second time. At that point I knew that the book would take me longer than a week, so I waited to the very last day and renewed it again.

So yesterday, after being diligent over the whole Christmas holiday, I went to the library, I was just about to start the Part III of the book (still around 300 pages to go). I had decided that since you can only renew a book twice, I would return the book and then check it back out. I handed the book in, went on the internet, looked at movies, looked at new releases and then back up to the desk. Seeing that she had scanned the book back in, I asked for it. She told me I could have it if there was no hold on it, then she handed me the book and says snidely, "You better finish it this time." I was shocked, and not happy at all. Needless to say, all I could think was, I should've paid the overdue fee and just kept it until I was done. Which made me recall my mom and her story about my sister . . . but I will leave my mom's token stories for another day.