It doesn't take much to make someone smile. The smallest gesture goes a long way, and the benefits are amazing. Actually, any time I do a "good deed," I think of the "Friends" episode when Joey tells Phoebe that there's no such thing as a selfless act. (If you know me at all, you know I can relate almost anything back to "Friends." Could there BE a better show?) There's some truth to it though. Go out of your way to make someone smile, and you're instantly filled with joy, happiness, and pride. You end up getting out of it just as much, if not more, than you put in.
Lately, though, I have some bad luck on my "random acts of kindness" missions. I'm starting to think that I'm doing more harm than good in the lives of these unsuspecting strangers. Leave it to me to mess up a good thing.
In December, I had an extra, super delish, homemade blueberry pie. The truth is that I probably could have polished it off myself, but in an effort of rare self-restraint, I decided to drop if off at the local firehouse. So, one night after work, I grabbed the pie from the fridge and drove there. It was lightly snowing, and apparently a little more slippery than I realized. Yes, that's right -- I fell. Feet over head, pie in the air, both of us down for the count. The pie was ruined & my good deed thwarted. The silver lining here is that the firemen on duty saw the whole thing, and were thoroughly amused. I think they preferred the slapstick comedy to the dessert anyway. Still, my good intentions, ego, and backside were deeply bruised.
Last week, my sister and I stopped for lunch. I paid with a gift card, and the cashier handed it back with balance of $2 or $3. This is always an easy good deed. Anytime I use a GC & have just a couple of bucks left, I'll hand it to the person behind me in line. It's exactly what I did last week. The man and his young daughter were surprised and grateful -- I felt good about that! I made someone's day! Jen and I sat down, waiting for our order, just a few feet away from the cashier. As the minutes ticked by, I noticed that the man was still standing there, waiting for the cashier to finish the transaction. Apparently, my gift card had frozen the system and locked up the register. Ten minutes later, Jen and I left, and the poor guy was still standing there. More trouble than the $3 was worth, I'm sure.
Well, today might be the best of the worst. I ran into the grocery store to pick up a few things (OK, a tub of chocolate chip cookies for me; top shelf, low sodium turkey for Syd.) As I walked up to the entrance, I noticed the automatic door wasn't working, so you had to pull to open. No big deal -- I open doors on my own all the time. Just as I reached out for the handle, I saw a young mother pushing a stroller, about to enter the store, too. I motioned for her to go ahead as I flung the door open...and didn't realize that her other child, probably around 4, had run up behind me (hoping to open the door himself, I think.) Well, I flung that door and smashed him right in the face. I mean, really clocked the kid. Full blown tears, maybe a little blood. I apologized, and honestly, the woman didn't seem the least bit phased by it, but still, I felt awful.
Next week starts the beginning of Lent, and for the past few years, I've committed to 40 acts of kindness during the season. I'm a little nervous about what could go wrong. All I have to say: you've been warned.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Monday, February 14, 2011
Walpole Street Ghost
I know it's Valentine's Day, but this post is more fitting for Halloween. Get ready to be spooked.
So, for months, I've suspected some paranormal activity in my apartment. I've been keeping mental note and, until recently, haven't told anyone about my supposed ghostly roommate. But, something happened this weekend to put the nail in the coffin, so to speak. Tell me what you think.
Ever since I moved into my new apartment (FYI - the condo complex is reportedly a rehabbed factory of sorts. I don't know a lot about its history, but I know the basic foundation & structure has been around for quite some time.) I've had a feeling something was up. First, the kitchen, dining area & living room are one space and then the bathroom & bedroom are off that space. About once a week or so, I'll be tinkering around the kitchen/living room - cooking, cleaning, hanging out - and I'll get up to go into the bathroom or bedroom. When I come back, not just one or two, but three or four cabinet doors will be opened in the kitchen. Straight up Sixth Sense style. Now, one cabinet, I could see maybe forgetting that I opened it & forgot to shut it (which, if you knew me, you'd know is unlikely. I'm usually on top of those types of things because it irks me to have the house in disarray. Especially the kitchen.) But four cabinets? Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember that kind of snack attack.
Second, every night I take a nice hot shower. I always stand with my back to the water stream (Is that odd? Anyway...). Every once in a while, I'll feel a few cold drops on my face, and I always look up to see if the ceiling is leaking...because that's the ONLY angle that would work. But, it has never leaked. I have no idea where it comes from - but I know it's not from the shower head. Eerie, I know.
Ok, if you're not convinced - this is it. I keep my household in order with lists. I keep to-do lists, grocery lists and misc. shopping lists. Stash this nugget of info away, it's important. So, back to the shower. Every day for about a week, during my nightly shower, I'd pick up my conditioner and make a mental note to add more to the shopping list because it was running low. I'm usually pretty good at adding the must-buys to my list, but kept forgetting (mostly because after my shower I go to the bedroom, rarely back to the kitchen with the lists.) Anyway, I stepped into the shower this weekend, reached for the conditioner and...it...was...full. For real. Full of conditioner. And, no - there's no way I left the cap off and it filled with water. The cap is on the bottom. AND, no - it's not possible someone else replaced it for me. I highly doubt that I went to the store, bought conditioner, brought it home, took it out of the bag, put it in shower..and then forgot about it.
So, I'm inclined to leave my visitor alone. S/he seems content here (although obviously pretty hungry and not happy with the food in my cabinets and disapproving of me using all the hot water.) and s/he's pretty helpful around the house. S/he saved me $3.49 in hair care product this week.
What do we think? Haunted or all in my head?
So, for months, I've suspected some paranormal activity in my apartment. I've been keeping mental note and, until recently, haven't told anyone about my supposed ghostly roommate. But, something happened this weekend to put the nail in the coffin, so to speak. Tell me what you think.
Ever since I moved into my new apartment (FYI - the condo complex is reportedly a rehabbed factory of sorts. I don't know a lot about its history, but I know the basic foundation & structure has been around for quite some time.) I've had a feeling something was up. First, the kitchen, dining area & living room are one space and then the bathroom & bedroom are off that space. About once a week or so, I'll be tinkering around the kitchen/living room - cooking, cleaning, hanging out - and I'll get up to go into the bathroom or bedroom. When I come back, not just one or two, but three or four cabinet doors will be opened in the kitchen. Straight up Sixth Sense style. Now, one cabinet, I could see maybe forgetting that I opened it & forgot to shut it (which, if you knew me, you'd know is unlikely. I'm usually on top of those types of things because it irks me to have the house in disarray. Especially the kitchen.) But four cabinets? Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember that kind of snack attack.
Second, every night I take a nice hot shower. I always stand with my back to the water stream (Is that odd? Anyway...). Every once in a while, I'll feel a few cold drops on my face, and I always look up to see if the ceiling is leaking...because that's the ONLY angle that would work. But, it has never leaked. I have no idea where it comes from - but I know it's not from the shower head. Eerie, I know.
Ok, if you're not convinced - this is it. I keep my household in order with lists. I keep to-do lists, grocery lists and misc. shopping lists. Stash this nugget of info away, it's important. So, back to the shower. Every day for about a week, during my nightly shower, I'd pick up my conditioner and make a mental note to add more to the shopping list because it was running low. I'm usually pretty good at adding the must-buys to my list, but kept forgetting (mostly because after my shower I go to the bedroom, rarely back to the kitchen with the lists.) Anyway, I stepped into the shower this weekend, reached for the conditioner and...it...was...full. For real. Full of conditioner. And, no - there's no way I left the cap off and it filled with water. The cap is on the bottom. AND, no - it's not possible someone else replaced it for me. I highly doubt that I went to the store, bought conditioner, brought it home, took it out of the bag, put it in shower..and then forgot about it.
So, I'm inclined to leave my visitor alone. S/he seems content here (although obviously pretty hungry and not happy with the food in my cabinets and disapproving of me using all the hot water.) and s/he's pretty helpful around the house. S/he saved me $3.49 in hair care product this week.
What do we think? Haunted or all in my head?
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Christmas Miracles
I start every post with some variation of "I know it's been awhile...," so I'm going to skip the intro and just dive into it. 'Tis the season of yule (whatever that means) so I thought I'd share a magical memory from Christmases past - Julie Guptill style.
I'm not sure how old I was exactly, my guess is around 11 or 12, when my great-aunt invited me to go with her church's youth group to visit a local nursing home to sing Christmas carols, decorate cookies and other such merriment. I dressed in my finest Christmas sweater and waited for her to pick me up. We pulled up to the nursing home and let ourselves in the front entrance. As soon as I stepped in the door, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only was it 115 degrees in the cramped common room, where the residents were gathered, but the smell was too pungent for words. Now, I'm not just talking about the "nursing home" smell. (You know what smell I'm talking about.) That, I think, I could have handled. After all, my mother and grandfather have both worked in a nursing home for years, so I've experienced the run-of-the-mill old people odor and knew what to expect. But, apparently this particular nursing home was a "smoking friendly" establishment - which seems counter-intuitive to me. The heavy, heavy smell of stale cigarettes, coupled with nursing home stench of old people, urine and outdated meds was stomach churning. Suddenly, my face felt flush and I had to get out of my heavy sweater. I pulled it over my head, while humming along with the other children to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." My aunt sang along as well, but narrowed her eyes at me, watching the rosy red drain from my cheeks before her very eyes. I looked around the room and saw an out - the common room linked to the kitchen, where I could see a back door to the outside. I started to inch my way towards the exit, but just as I reached the perimeter of the room, knew I wasn't going to make it.
I whipped around, lunged for a nearby rubbish barrel and threw up. The carolers stopped singing and all turned to see what all the commotion was about. Out of the corner of my eye, as I lurched over the barrel, I could see the crowd cringe. The minute I straightened up, my aunt led me back to the car and drove me back to my house. We hadn't even reached the refrain; Rudolph didn't even get the chance to save the day.
When my aunt pulled up to the curb, I got out, mumbled an apology and headed up the porch steps. My mother opened the door and my aunt gave a quick honk before she pulled away, heading back to the church group. "Why are you home so --- oh, my God! Why do you smell so bad? You smell like smoke...and throw up." I don't think I had ever been so happy to be home, and to be headed toward the shower.
Of all my holiday memories involving vomit (there are MANY more), this one might be my favorite. So, with that - a Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a goodnight.
I'm not sure how old I was exactly, my guess is around 11 or 12, when my great-aunt invited me to go with her church's youth group to visit a local nursing home to sing Christmas carols, decorate cookies and other such merriment. I dressed in my finest Christmas sweater and waited for her to pick me up. We pulled up to the nursing home and let ourselves in the front entrance. As soon as I stepped in the door, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only was it 115 degrees in the cramped common room, where the residents were gathered, but the smell was too pungent for words. Now, I'm not just talking about the "nursing home" smell. (You know what smell I'm talking about.) That, I think, I could have handled. After all, my mother and grandfather have both worked in a nursing home for years, so I've experienced the run-of-the-mill old people odor and knew what to expect. But, apparently this particular nursing home was a "smoking friendly" establishment - which seems counter-intuitive to me. The heavy, heavy smell of stale cigarettes, coupled with nursing home stench of old people, urine and outdated meds was stomach churning. Suddenly, my face felt flush and I had to get out of my heavy sweater. I pulled it over my head, while humming along with the other children to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." My aunt sang along as well, but narrowed her eyes at me, watching the rosy red drain from my cheeks before her very eyes. I looked around the room and saw an out - the common room linked to the kitchen, where I could see a back door to the outside. I started to inch my way towards the exit, but just as I reached the perimeter of the room, knew I wasn't going to make it.
I whipped around, lunged for a nearby rubbish barrel and threw up. The carolers stopped singing and all turned to see what all the commotion was about. Out of the corner of my eye, as I lurched over the barrel, I could see the crowd cringe. The minute I straightened up, my aunt led me back to the car and drove me back to my house. We hadn't even reached the refrain; Rudolph didn't even get the chance to save the day.
When my aunt pulled up to the curb, I got out, mumbled an apology and headed up the porch steps. My mother opened the door and my aunt gave a quick honk before she pulled away, heading back to the church group. "Why are you home so --- oh, my God! Why do you smell so bad? You smell like smoke...and throw up." I don't think I had ever been so happy to be home, and to be headed toward the shower.
Of all my holiday memories involving vomit (there are MANY more), this one might be my favorite. So, with that - a Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a goodnight.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Tupperware Party
Yes, I know - it's been aw
hile. Let's not lament.
Those of you who know me (uh, all of you) probably know that Syd the Pug has been having some lady-parts "issues" lately. For the past few months, she's been dealing with reoccurring UTIs and kidney infections. Our vet Dr. C (who loves Syd to the point of uncomfortable awkwardness; picture me sitting in the waiting room with sick puppy on my lap, frozen in place as this woman gets on all fours to be eye level with the dog - putting her super close to my lady-parts - giving wet kisses & telling Syd how much she loves her...weird.) has tried different antibiotics, pain killers and diets. There's been labs, tests and threats of surgery.
Needless to say, there have been a lot of trips to the vet's office. Each time, they want me to bring a urine sample. The first time they put in this request, I asked them if they had any thoughts on the best way to make the "collection." The veterinary assistant raised her eyebrows, riddled her face with judgment because apparently any good dog mama knows this answer innately, and said, "Just do your best." Hmmmm.
Attempt one: I dug through my complete collection of Tupperware to find a suitable pee-collecting container. Remember, the fire wiped out my entire kitchen, so it's not like I've amassed a huge selection. I basically have my "nice" sealable plastic containers (You know what I mean. Everyone has "nice" Tupperware.) and a stray, washed out sour cream container or two. Not wanting to sacrifice my prized Tupperware, I grabbed a sour cream container and leashed Syd up.
Now, as if my neighbors don't think I'm strange as it is, I'm literally walking on Syd's heels in an attempt to collect her pee. Great. As soon as I recognize the stance, I scoot down with the container for our first attempt. It quickly becomes clear that I've chosen the wrong vessel. Syd squats one millimeter from the grass; no way I squeeze a sour cream container under there. I manage to catch a splash in the cup, but mostly got dog pee all over myself.
Attempt two, a few weeks later: Ok, having learned my lesson, I grab a nice piece of Tupperware. It was definitely easier than the sour cream, but it killed me to give up the high-end container. At least her pee was sealed-in fresh. When I arrive at the vet with the container, even Dr. C stifles a laugh.
Attempt three: We're averaging a vet trip every few weeks, and it's just not sustainable to keep collecting with my personal Tupperware collection. So, on the way home from work - pre-pee - I stop at Walmart and head straight to the Tupperware aisle. It hits me, as I'm carefully eyeing each option, that when normal people go plastic-container shopping, they're thinking about their brown bag lunch habits or leftover storage needs. The normal uses for said containers. I'm scanning the shelves for the most shallow container available so I can most effectively collect dog pee. This is my life.
I settle on a Ziploc four-pack of snack size containers and head home. I lower the container - SUCCESS! The best $3 I ever spent! (What's $3, when our June vet bills were $500+)
Update: Syd ended a two-week round of antibiotics & started a new prescription diet for a high PH balance & crystals in the pee. She seems to be doing well so far...fingers crossed. If you're thinking of cleaning out the cupboards and looking to unload shallow plastic containers, you know who to call.
hile. Let's not lament.Those of you who know me (uh, all of you) probably know that Syd the Pug has been having some lady-parts "issues" lately. For the past few months, she's been dealing with reoccurring UTIs and kidney infections. Our vet Dr. C (who loves Syd to the point of uncomfortable awkwardness; picture me sitting in the waiting room with sick puppy on my lap, frozen in place as this woman gets on all fours to be eye level with the dog - putting her super close to my lady-parts - giving wet kisses & telling Syd how much she loves her...weird.) has tried different antibiotics, pain killers and diets. There's been labs, tests and threats of surgery.
Needless to say, there have been a lot of trips to the vet's office. Each time, they want me to bring a urine sample. The first time they put in this request, I asked them if they had any thoughts on the best way to make the "collection." The veterinary assistant raised her eyebrows, riddled her face with judgment because apparently any good dog mama knows this answer innately, and said, "Just do your best." Hmmmm.
Attempt one: I dug through my complete collection of Tupperware to find a suitable pee-collecting container. Remember, the fire wiped out my entire kitchen, so it's not like I've amassed a huge selection. I basically have my "nice" sealable plastic containers (You know what I mean. Everyone has "nice" Tupperware.) and a stray, washed out sour cream container or two. Not wanting to sacrifice my prized Tupperware, I grabbed a sour cream container and leashed Syd up.
Now, as if my neighbors don't think I'm strange as it is, I'm literally walking on Syd's heels in an attempt to collect her pee. Great. As soon as I recognize the stance, I scoot down with the container for our first attempt. It quickly becomes clear that I've chosen the wrong vessel. Syd squats one millimeter from the grass; no way I squeeze a sour cream container under there. I manage to catch a splash in the cup, but mostly got dog pee all over myself.
Attempt two, a few weeks later: Ok, having learned my lesson, I grab a nice piece of Tupperware. It was definitely easier than the sour cream, but it killed me to give up the high-end container. At least her pee was sealed-in fresh. When I arrive at the vet with the container, even Dr. C stifles a laugh.
Attempt three: We're averaging a vet trip every few weeks, and it's just not sustainable to keep collecting with my personal Tupperware collection. So, on the way home from work - pre-pee - I stop at Walmart and head straight to the Tupperware aisle. It hits me, as I'm carefully eyeing each option, that when normal people go plastic-container shopping, they're thinking about their brown bag lunch habits or leftover storage needs. The normal uses for said containers. I'm scanning the shelves for the most shallow container available so I can most effectively collect dog pee. This is my life.
I settle on a Ziploc four-pack of snack size containers and head home. I lower the container - SUCCESS! The best $3 I ever spent! (What's $3, when our June vet bills were $500+)
Update: Syd ended a two-week round of antibiotics & started a new prescription diet for a high PH balance & crystals in the pee. She seems to be doing well so far...fingers crossed. If you're thinking of cleaning out the cupboards and looking to unload shallow plastic containers, you know who to call.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Big Boobs/Heavy Hair
I'm convinced that every family - everywhere & without fail - falls on the "crazy" spectrum in one way or another. Probably no surprise to my loyal Bloggity Blog readers (all "handful" of you), my family's needle points pretty high on the crazy meter (I'm a product of my environment, after all.) Before all you aunties & uncles out there get angry, wait for it...I wouldn't want it any other way. Don't get me wrong; there are moments when I want to throttle someone in my direct blood line, but for the most part I love the loud, chaotic, stubborn, funny, creative crew that is my family.
Let's rewind the tape to yesterday's Easter dinner at my Aunt Elaine's house. Sitting between my two sisters at the kids' table (yes, that's right), I was in perfect earshot of the big table (not an easy fete with my bad ear). At the grown-up table sat my parents, Paula & Walter, my Aunt Elaine & Uncle Brian, his parents, Joe & Lil, and his brother, Mark, who brought his own salt shaker. Don't ask. At one point during the meal (which could be its own Blog post, by the way - SOOOO good, words can't describe. Aunt Elaine is a culinary goddess. And props to Paula's potatoes.), Lil looked over at the three Guptill girls, and commented on my sister Lindsey's long hair. Hope you can follow this; I think its best to really tell is as it happened:
Lil (to no one in particular): Oh, my. Look at how long her hair is! Does she get headaches?
[Julie exchanges a look of bewilderment with sister Jen.]
Paula: Um, Linds sometimes gets headaches, I guess.
Lil: Yes, well they say long hair is so heavy. Isn't it heavy, dear?
[Linds mumbles "No," avoids eye contact]
Lil: Well, when I was in school there was a girl who had such long hair that one day she whipped it around when she was standing at the top of the staircase, and it was heavy, she toppled right over and fell down the stairs.
[Julie can't stifle her laughter at this ridiculous claim.]
Paula: It's kinda like when they say people with big boobs have lower back problems.
Jen & Julie together, in sync: WHAT?
Julie: How is that a proper analogy?
[Room bursts out in laughter; No one really understands the conversation that just happened.]
We rounded out the meal like this:
Paula: What's [Tim's girlfriend] Tara doing today?
Brian: She's celebrating Greek Easter...
Lil: PIZZA?? For Easter???
Brian: No, Ma. G-R-E-E-K E-A-S-T-E-R.
Lil: Oh. Pass the cantaloupe, please.
Let's rewind the tape to yesterday's Easter dinner at my Aunt Elaine's house. Sitting between my two sisters at the kids' table (yes, that's right), I was in perfect earshot of the big table (not an easy fete with my bad ear). At the grown-up table sat my parents, Paula & Walter, my Aunt Elaine & Uncle Brian, his parents, Joe & Lil, and his brother, Mark, who brought his own salt shaker. Don't ask. At one point during the meal (which could be its own Blog post, by the way - SOOOO good, words can't describe. Aunt Elaine is a culinary goddess. And props to Paula's potatoes.), Lil looked over at the three Guptill girls, and commented on my sister Lindsey's long hair. Hope you can follow this; I think its best to really tell is as it happened:
Lil (to no one in particular): Oh, my. Look at how long her hair is! Does she get headaches?
[Julie exchanges a look of bewilderment with sister Jen.]
Paula: Um, Linds sometimes gets headaches, I guess.
Lil: Yes, well they say long hair is so heavy. Isn't it heavy, dear?
[Linds mumbles "No," avoids eye contact]
Lil: Well, when I was in school there was a girl who had such long hair that one day she whipped it around when she was standing at the top of the staircase, and it was heavy, she toppled right over and fell down the stairs.
[Julie can't stifle her laughter at this ridiculous claim.]
Paula: It's kinda like when they say people with big boobs have lower back problems.
Jen & Julie together, in sync: WHAT?
Julie: How is that a proper analogy?
[Room bursts out in laughter; No one really understands the conversation that just happened.]
We rounded out the meal like this:
Paula: What's [Tim's girlfriend] Tara doing today?
Brian: She's celebrating Greek Easter...
Lil: PIZZA?? For Easter???
Brian: No, Ma. G-R-E-E-K E-A-S-T-E-R.
Lil: Oh. Pass the cantaloupe, please.
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