Efficiency

Ads proclaiming a "Free Shredding Event" appeared in the newspaper for about three weeks, inviting us to bring as many as ten file boxes of papers to the Home Depot today (Saturday.) "Ah," thought I, "Now's the time to get rid of 20 years' worth of outdated papers. I'll clean out my huge Boeing Surplus file cabinet and have room for the next 20 years worth of stuff!" (The possibility of not accumulating more papers didn't even enter my mind.)

Feeling proud and efficient, I tried to open one of the four file drawers. No luck. I looked up at the key slot. No key! Then I remembered. A friend sent me one of those internet things designed to inform (or terrify) you. I think the theory is once you have this invaluable information, bad things won't happen and you'll be eternally grateful to the person who sent it. This one was called "13 Things a Burglar Won't Tell You." Reading it caused me to pull the key out of the file cabinet and hide it in a safe place--not my usual sock drawer. (Item #10 on the burglar's list: "Do you really think I won’t look in your sock drawer?') Unfortunately, I have no clue where I hid the key. I looked everywhere I could think of--but then, I'm not an experienced burglar. Maybe I could ask one to come find it for me . It would probably take about four minutes.

I don't know how much it costs to have papers shredded, but "free" sounded much better than whatever the price is. I called Jake the Locksmith. He wanted $70 to open the file cabinet, and another $15 to make keys. EasyKeys.com offered the key online for $10. This was more like it! I could still have my satisfying exercise in efficiency! Unfortunately, the three-day service I ordered might not get me the key until Monday. [Sigh.] Unwilling to pay for faster service, I just hoped for the best.

Oh, joy! The key arrived yesterday afternoon! I put off until this morning the job of pulling the papers out of file cabinet because...well, because I'm a procrastinator. I felt proud and efficient as I purged two file drawers within 40 minutes and filled my used Trader Joe's paper sacks. I jumped in the car and raced to Home Depot.

The lack of a large truck with a Shred-It logo on the side was my first clue. The second was when none of the helpful guys in orange aprons knew what I was talking about. It finally dawned on me--I was at the wrong Home Depot! (I live between two of them.) I felt myself deflating. I'm surprised I didn't fly all over the room backwards as all that efficiency pride whooshed out of me . It was too late, of course, to make it to the other store in time. Head drooping, tail between legs, I dragged myself back to my car.

The Trader Joe's bags are still in the trunk. I guess I'm going to find out how much it costs to have documents shredded. Or, I could hunch for hours over the tiny shredder that straddles the top of my office trashcan. Naw. If it burned up halfway through, I might run screaming from the room. The houses here are only about 10 feet apart and we all have our windows open in the 75-degree weather. My neighbors are sure to call someone official, and I have no desire to meet my local constabulary under those circumstances!

My Best Piece of Exercise Equipment

It turns out all I really needed to start exercising more was a doggie stroller. [Sound of hand smacking forehead] D'oh!

Oliver can only walk a block or so before his damaged back leg starts hurting. He relays this information to me by planting his rear end firmly on the pavement and staring at me. I carried him back from most of our little forays into the neighborhood.

Some of my retiree neighbors have dog strollers for their elderly or incapacitated dogs, but I balked at the idea. It's one thing to spoil your dog at home, where other humans won't roll their eyes and mutter such things as "weird," and "Look at that old lady's dog! She's pushing him, for Pete's sake!" The sheer practicality of the stroller idea trumped my hesitation, however. I ordered one online. Now we walk a mile or two every day. I see the back of Oliver's little head, ears bouncing, while he sits in the sun and sniffs the air. Since I'm not worried about my carpet being peed upon by a stay-at-home dog, I stay out longer. It's a win-win for everyone but the carpet cleaners.

This idyll will end temporarily in about two months when it becomes too hot to walk outdoors in the desert. That's OK; maybe I'll get him a dog spa by then!

Going Back to High School

I forgot how endearing and gross teenage boys can be. And how beautiful teenage girls can be. I remembered in a hurry last week when I started volunteering at the front desk of my local high school. I wanted to do some community service and take a little break from retirees. I got more than a little break. I got a whole new world--one that moves at breakneck speed. I was so worn out after four hours that I collapsed on my couch with my little dog when I got home.

The Attendance Secretary--who handles students who are tardy, injured, or sick--was on vacation. All those kids came to the front office. At one point, one boy was throwing up in a trash can in a corner, and another one tilted his head back in a chair, trying to stem a nosebleed. Between dramatic bouts of their respective ills, the boys chatted with the girl who was being suspended for fighting. They stole glances at the pretty student aids, who pretended not to notice. Parents came to drop off or pick up their kids. School supply salespeople asked to see the Principal. Students asked to see the Counselor.

I filed packing slips by department without knowing the names of the departments or the items on the slips ("1 regenerator." "4 domes." "1 streak plate.") I filed them in a cardboard box in used file folders because California schools don't have enough money to operate. (If they did, they'd hire someone at the front desk and wouldn't need me. Then I'd miss all this fun.) I removed rubber bands from obsolete rolled-up posters so we could use them again.

My newspaper says the state is going to ask teachers to take a 1% pay cut. Who knows what they'll take from the administrative staff. (Maybe the boxes of carefully hoarded used rubber bands?) The TV news said the Governor wants more money for his office. I said a few choice words when I heard that (we old folk tend to talk to ourselves.) He should volunteer at a school, then he'd know where the money would be best spent.

To be fair, the TV reporters probably took the Governor's request out of context. But there is no other context for what's happening at the schools. There, heroic people perform a mammoth job with inadequate resources--daily.

I'm going back, two days a week. It's a drop in the bucket compared to what they need. But I'm tired of being catered to and entertained (I'm not good retirement material. ) I want to do something. Something useful.

I think it's safe to say I found it.

Whippets in the Wild

Somewhere in the world whippets run free in the wild. This according to Ben Walker of the Associated Press. (So why haven't I seen this on Animal Planet?)

You've heard of Chanel, the 2 year-old whippet who won the Hounds class at the Westminster America dog show? Well, apparently she was captured in the wild, because the article in my paper, by Ben Walker, said she was "clocked at 35 mph in the wild". Hmmm, I wonder if she misses it? Visualizing packs of little skinny sight hounds frolicking in the jungle (or was it the plains, Ben?) makes me giggle. Thanks Ben, I needed a laugh today. And congratulations, Chanel.

The article also said a crowd favorite was another sight hound--a greyhound--who chases balls and chews up his water bottle--unusual behavior for that mild-mannered, couch-potato breed. It's good to know my friend Mel's greyhound, Rudy, has a soul mate somewhere in the world. Rudy is a big, goofy guy whose favorite pastimes include dragging pillows outside through his dog door, and suckering other dogs to chase him so he can laugh as he leaves them in the dust. Rudy could probably survive "in the wild"--he loves to chase squirrels and Mel suspects he would even eat them, given the chance. Unfortunately, if a sight hound runs away in the heat of the hunt, he may not be able to find his way home (they hunt by sight, not by smell).

So my advice to Rudy and Chanel is: stay home. Stay with your people and eat that fancy dog food and three kinds of treats they give you. Ignore the Call of the Wild! Play with your 15 toys and leave the stoopid squirrels alone!

Savory Spam Crescents

Some of my friends are disgruntled about the ads that pop up on their email accounts, containing words found or implied in their emails (especially the friend who kept getting ads about burial plots.) I find it vaguely unsettling, like having a smarmy guy in a bus station trying to sell me something he thinks I might need because he was eavesdropping on my conversation with a friend. I don't like smarmy guys, and I don't like eavesdroppers. I love Google, and I'm not happy to find it has smarmy relatives.

The notion of privacy is mostly an illusion, but sometimes I like to pretend I have some. I found it impossible do that today when I opened my email spam folder. An ad popped up for "Savory Spam Crescents--bake 12-15 minutes or until golden brown." Spam crescents? Golden brown? Poor, stoopit Google ad-generating program doesn't have a clue about what spam is in its own technological world. Sigh.

But let's not let that deter us from the promised savoryness. Here's your chance to do something with spam besides curse it.

* Exported from MasterCook *
SAVORY SPAM CRESCENTS
Recipe By :
Serving Size : 16 Preparation Time :0:00Categories : Sandwiches
Amount Measure Ingredient -- Preparation Method-------- ------------ -------------------------------- 10 sl Bacon, cut in small pieces 1/4 c Finely chopped onion 1 cn SPAM Luncheon Meat, cubed - 12 oz 1 Egg, beaten 3 tb Grated Parmesan cheese 2 tb Chopped fresh parsley 2 tb Dijon-style mustard 1/8 t Pepper 2 pk Refrigerated crescent roll -dough (8 oz)
Heat oven to 375'F. In skillet, cook bacon and onion until bacon is crisp; drain. Stir in remaining ingredients except crescent roll dough. Separate each package of crescent dough into 8 triangles. Spread top half of each triangle with SPAM mixture; roll up. Place on baking sheets. Bake 12-15 minutes or until golden brown.

Anyone who actually tries this recipe and then keels over from instantly clogged arteries can't hold me liable. After all, I didn't sneak it into your private email. You opened it yourself!

OK, I'm Ready Now

The in Haiti earthquake coverage, combined with my recent discovery that the San Andreas fault is only a few miles from my home, makes me want to stockpile cans of food, candles, space blankets, etc. (But where to put it? How do you know what part of your house won't fall down? I'm told that isn't a problem in a one-story home--which mine is. Still, if one is making a survival kit, one needs to think of everything.) Storage is a consideration, but it isn't my biggest obstacle. Putting the thing together is.

I've created numerous "preparedness kits" through the years. I gather all the items the media says we need to survive a disaster. I package it according to the current recommendations. (Which seem to change each decade.) I ignore the rolling eyes and derision of those close to me ("Not even in a disaster would I eat that!") I try to keep the kit up-to-date, and sometimes I even succeed for a few years.

Then something life-changing happens, like moving to a different house, and my good intentions get lost in the shuffle. I'm kind of weary of the routine. I'm not sure I have the energy to create yet another viable kit. I'm thinking the canned Spaghetti-Os in the pantry and water bottles in the laundry room might be it, for now.

But, wait--I don't have to start from scratch this time! While sifting through the detritus of my recent move, I found the cute little radio/light/siren combination I bought about 15 years ago. It's powered by battery, hand crank, or solar cell (which wasn't too helpful in solar-less Seattle.) And, it's purple! I love purple!

I thought I'd made a bad purchase when I lived in Seattle because I couldn't crank the handle enough to make the radio work for even a couple of minutes. What good would that be after the batteries died while we waited days for government assistance? Then I noticed the solar cell glinting on the handle. Hey, this is the desert! We got solar energy--lots of it! I took my little purple buddy into the front yard and set it in the sun. I left it there for a number of hours. (OK, I forgot about it.) When I remembered to bring it in, miracles happened.

The light lit, the siren mourned, and I listened to music for about three hours. I feel like a kid who rediscovered a favorite toy. When the "Big One" comes, I'll be able to listen to radio, if it doesn't get squashed by rubble and if anyone is broadcasting. (If they're not, I can amuse myself for hours with the blinking red light.)

OK, I'm ready now. Maybe I'll even get some canned tuna to go with the Spaghetti-Os.