Decorationally Challenged

This is really sad.  I got a new iPhone for Christmas and these are the first photos I've taken for the blog with it.

They are obviously a desperate cry for help.

We need to re-do our kids' bathroom.  But it's a kids' bathroom. Teens use it. Which means the decor needs to be durable and easy to hide clutter.

The bathroom size is pretty large, but the partial wall that separates the toilet/bath area from the sink area contains a heating duct - so can't take it out.  It has the only bathtub in the house, so we'd like to keep that part. If we can get it done nicely enough, we can actually let guests use it instead of the one downstairs that is tiny and REALLY dark.

Just to make sure you know -- we inherited this lovely color scheme. Green counter. Yellow, brown, & white tile on floor. Yellow tile on wall. Can you see why we're paralyzed with indecision?  ANYTHING would be better than this, but where to start?

So, what do you think?  I'll post a drawing later that shows it better.  The photos are the actual thing. Yep, 70's tile on the floor and the yellow wall  Clear shower curtain because of lack of light.  By the way, I'd LOVE to put a skylight in above this room.  Wonder what that would entail...

Wherefore Art Thou, Emajean?

A Friends of the Library Mystery

Prior Installment

Chapter XIV

            The two women arrived in New York in 1933 by way of Bremen, Germany after a long ocean trip. Teodor was at the dock to meet them, and shepherded them to the train station where they would begin the long train ride to Chicago.  During the trip Teodor was excruciatingly correct with both women as he audaciously pursued every unaccompanied woman under the age of 30 on the train. By the time they reached Chicago, Hulda and Anna were both convinced that he was a playboy and would not be suitable for Hulda at all.

            To all of Anna’s questions about László’s romantic life Teodor was noncommittal. He did not want to deal with the emotion that he feared would ensue if Anna knew that her son was in love with an Irish girl. He spoke instead about the World’s Fair Expo that was going on in Chicago that year. He promised to take them to see the sights once they were settled in the city. The trip was only a week long, but by the time they reached the outskirts of Chicago Teodor felt that he’d done penance enough for not wanting to marry Hulda.

            When the morning finally dawned that would finish their journey, Anna anxiously peered out of the windows, searching for her son. Suddenly she saw him and tears filled her eyes. “I must get out!” she said to Teodor.

“In a minute, Anna!” he exclaimed.

“No! I must get out right now! That is my son I must see!”

The porter came by and offered assistance. “Mister, I think you’d better give in to her. Looks like she’ll go right through that window!”

Teodor turned to look at Anna. She had suddenly stopped her frantic noise and was standing with her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide. Teodor leaned over to see what had caught her attention. He saw László there, and on his arm was a pretty Irish girl.

Teodor turned his head and spoke quietly and urgently to his sister-in-law. “Anna,” he said, “in America, boys and girls often marry people not from their own home country. They call this country the melting pot. If you do not act happy to see her, you will hurt your son and you will start your new life in America off on the very wrong foot.”

Anna narrowed her eyes at him, squared her shoulders, summoned her dignity, and said tightly, “Teodor! If my László thinks that he is going to marry an Irish girl, he is not the smartest of the Tímár men as we have always thought. It appears that I arrived here just in time.” Barely looking to the side Anna directed Hulda to join her, and they went to the door to exit the train.

Celia returned to dormitory that evening to find Emajean sobbing on her bed.

“Emajean,” she said softly. “What on earth is the matter?”

“László and I cannot marry. His mother hates me because I’m not Hungarian. Oh Celia, I can’t make him choose between his mother and me. It would be wrong,” Emajean choked out.

“Whoa, back up there. What happened?” Celia asked.

“His mother got off the train, approached him, and received his kiss. He said something to her in Hungarian, and gestured to me as if he was introducing me. She said something back, turned around, and went back toward the train. I’m not stupid. She was telling him that she was going back to Hungary.

He followed her, pleading with her, I guess. I left the platform and went into the station to wait. Teodor came to find me and asked me to meet László later this evening at our usual place. I think it is so he can say good-bye,” Emajean finished. “Will you go with me?”

Celia nodded, almost in tears herself. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to work out. All great stories ended up happily ever after. But remembering the census record, Celia had a feeling that what Emajean feared was about to come true.

They left the dormitory a little while later, with a soft evening breeze accompanying them while they walked to the willow tree. Emajean slowed as they neared the place. As on the previous evening, László was waiting in the long, flowing limbs of the tree.
            “Emajean,” he called softly. The caress of his voice on the syllables of her name made her catch her breath. He held out his arms.

“László!” she exclaimed, “do you still want to marry me?”

He buried his head in the softness of her freshly washed hair and inhaled deeply. “Yes,” he said roughly. “My mother just needs some time.”

Emajean almost sobbed in relief. Their lips met and they kissed deeply. She stepped back to look into his eyes to see her joy reflected there.

Her elation was momentary though. Out of the darkness they heard a voice call to them, “Are you really so stupid? Do you really think we would allow a dirty Hungarian to marry one of our girls?”

They all recognized the voice of Anthony Harper as he stepped into the light with two other men. Those men held clubs in their hands and were tapping them menacingly.

And next week, the finale.  I promise!

How Do You Do This?

We know an elderly woman who is probably not safe in her own home anymore. She has stacks and stacks of magazines, newspapers (still gets 2 dailies), catalogs (OMG the number of catalogs is frightening), and other detritus. Every gift she receives, every book she reads, every DVD she watches -- it all stacks up.  She refuses to have anyone come in and clean or pick things up (even family members), so there are little walkways in between piles of debris. She steadies herself by touching piles of stuff as she goes by. You can see them wobble as she does. Sometimes they fall and the slick catalogs are now on the floor.

She cannot physically do the clean-up herself, but becomes anxious beyond belief if anyone tries to help her with any of it.

Her physical strength is so low that she can barely climb the steps to her front door.

Yet, this woman is of sound mind and absolutely resists any help offered or suggestions made.

In the old days, it would have never gotten to this point. Someone, usually a family member, would have moved in or moved her in with them, and managed the situation. For years, this woman has been physically unable to shift the things that need to be disposed of -- and now it's overwhelming for anyone. She's not a hoarder; she just can't manage the stuff.

Also in the old days people used to have "interventions" for alcohol abuse. I wonder whether there's such a thing for elderly people who have allowed a situation to deterioriate to this point.

So what does one do in this situation?  Just stand by and wait for the 911 call? Have any of you dealt with this with an elderly person? How did you handle it?

Muffed Target is Back

Now come on, you KNOW you have photos that you screwed up and should have deleted already but didn't. So your procrastination is giving you a BLOG opportunity!

Thom, at Thom's Place 4 Well Whatever, hosts a meme where you get to post your errors! cough cough, not THOSE errors!  Your photo errors!

So ante up!  There are no prizes involved, just an opportunity to learn a little humility!

Another Christmas photo.

It's a skirt. For a 10 year old.

Really. 

Taking Things Down

We didn't do a LOT of Christmas decorating this year because we were going away for the event. But we did get out all of my Christmas Creches, and about half of the decorations for the tree.

We'll leave them up until next Sunday as next Saturday my husband's family will come over for dessert and gifts. They're the family that lives locally and since we went away, we missed the celebration at their home.

Even with the traveling and being in someone else's home, this was the most peaceful and stress-free Christmas I've enjoyed in the last 16 years. Hmm...

At any rate, on Sunday when we put things away I will inevitably ask the question about some things, "Do we still need THIS?" It might be a hand-made decoration that is falling apart. It might be an item that seemed very "of the season" at the time but now just looks tacky.

Remember, I'm ruthless in getting rid of clutter. If my family didn't stop me I'd probably be down to near-bare walls. I'm particularly aggrieved at this moment because an alarm keeps going off in my son's room (who is in school).  I went in there to find it and turn it off. After much searching, I did find it, but the much searching was due to the HUGE MESS.  And then I couldn't figure out how to turn off the alarm. I could only get it to snooze . . . which means for the rest of the afternoon, I will periodically hear the beeps.  Argh. And we've only been back in town since Thursday night!

So, what do you think? How do you decide when ornaments or decorations are past their prime? What's a good standard to use?

Microfiction Monday

Susan at Stony River gives us a challenge each Monday to stare at an illustration she has provided and then come up with a story in 140 characters or fewer. That 140 includes all punctuation and spaces. Challenging, yes, but fun. And you meet the nicest people playing!

So here's the illustration:

And my entry for the week is lame, but my brain is still on Mountain Time (at least that's my excuse):

Before Juan Valdez picked coffee, 

he cross sectioned rare trees, 

coated them with grease, 

and sold them to stupid Yanquis as ART.

A FUN new meme

My friend Quilly writes:

Your Writing Assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to write a complete story in 500 words or less using the scenario below to kick-start your thinking. Publish your story on your blog January 15th, then come back here and link it to my January 15th story.

I have twelve writing assignments ready, one for the first day of every month. Every month! The stories are due on the 15th, even in April! (For anyone feeling skeptical, my January story is already written, and I won’t post a prompt I don’t already have a story for.)

You received a set of clunky, old-fashioned roller skates from the oldest, most eccentric member of your family. The skates appear to be too small, so you try to return them. S/he insists you try them on. You decide to humor him/her. To your amazement the skates fit. Suddenly you are overcome with the urge to skate and … (tell us what happens next in 500 words or less).

So. see you the 15th!  In the meantime . . . 

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