Cleaning in Oblivion

I avoid my oven. Not to cook. To clean.

As I open the oven door to cook the weekly za' from TJ’s, I’m reminded that the remnant burnt crumbs from last week, won’t just fry to nothing.  So, PB & J for dinner, it is.

I’ve become great at math. Received a home degree in Arithmomania with minor in OCD. After using the stove, I have checked the knobs to be sure it’s off, more than Trump says “terrific” in a sentence. Both to calm fear, only mine in truth and sincerity. I’ve always been afraid of fire so I make sure all knobs are pointing up.  As well as chins, hopes, and dreams.

Maybe you can relate. Ever make coffee at home, then go to work only to realize that you can’t stop obsessing on whether you left the coffee maker on?  Then drive home to be sure? Better to be safe, right? Or maybe it’s just best not to turn anything on. Except yes, Netflix “I’m still there” just not to become a contestant on Survivor - Home Edition.

I love cleaning the bathroom, and using the fragrant cleanser “Fantastico” to make the countertops shiny like my forehead. I tried something new after cleaning recently. I hadn’t done in months, and thought, it’s time. Let’s do it.

I blow dried my hair. I couldn’t believe it, and I used a straightening iron. Then napped for two hours. So from here on out, here’s my shortcut for Pandemic Pretties and using a flattening iron. Don’t plug it in.  I’ve been resembling “Lilith” quite a bit these days.  Have had my hair in a perpetual bun permanently molded that way. Not only is easier to maintain, but functional. I store my hand sanitizer in it. I’ve been getting really good at cleaning. It’s the ultimate avoider. My “deal later procrastination pile” is now shined up by Fantastico. My mom would be proud. She was a big believer that your surroundings are a direct reflection of your headspace. So after a full day of cleaning, I feel productive hitting the pillow and traveling to sleep land. Plus, I get the whole row to myself and no one behind me kicking my seat.

5 Quarantine Cleaning Tips:

1. When you have dishes, keep them in the sink for a few days. Feels like you had a party.

2. After returning from the grocery store disinfecting and unpacking bags, order take out for delivery.                   

3. Make your bed everyday. It reminds you when getting back in it, it’s a different day.

4. Clean your car. One day you’ll go somewhere.

5. Purge and go through an old box. It avoids cleaning your oven.

The Volley

“Hi, how are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?”

“Good, good, you?”

“I’m good, yah, you know. Fine, good ..you?”

Your serve. You pick up the ball and hit it into the ping pong match of the how are you abyss. Often a long volley because the answer to the question, is the question to divert the answer. Or maybe the question is the answer all along.

These days the pause to ask, mirrors the pause to answer. And sometimes, it can feel that no matter how many times you try to serve that ball to volley, a task to be in conversation. Sometimes so much is said without any words at all. Like that incredibly beautiful scene in the movie Big Night with Stanley Tucci and Tony Shaloub . I always tell my students in stand up, the POV is what drives the joke, you could say the alphabet, but if you say it pissed off? It’s funny. When you are performing, it’s like you’re playing a game of catch with the audience. You hold the ball, throw a joke - the audience catches it, and throws it back by way of laughter. And that, is what makes for a great volley. 

I’m an outgoing isolator. Love a good party.  Netflix, my pup,  and a flavorful mix of sweet and salty. These days, the quiet in our direct surroundings is loud from the noise of the world. It’s like there is a constant “bzzzz”, like telephone poles with a short circuit, a constant low frequency of unrest sparked daily into the well abyss.

(Takes bite of ice cream).

So I try to change it up. I do the opposite. When I feel like napping? I go for a walk. When I feel like a chocolate wafer bar from Trader Joe’s? I make a fruit shake. When I feel like browsing on Amazon at more throw pillows to distract from working? I start writing. Yet while I’m getting good at “contrary actions”, the challenge I’m reminded of is , how will I learn to engage again with people? Be on stage? Perform? Teaching comes easy,and fortunately I’m active on line providing workshops and coaching, but how does an outgoing isolator adapt again?  As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed a few mumbles to myself, an occasional nod, and remember my mom doing that. I’d look at her while she was drinking coffee pondering, and could see her thoughts. Her brows would start to move, an occasional shrug of the shoulder, and then a final a blow on her coffee to sip. Maybe a trait I learned from her, but when I muster sound and actually talk full sentences to myself? One of the perks to living alone because you always get the last word.

What if more activities were done by contrary action? How bout an “opposite day?” in quarantine?

Five Tips to Opposite Day:

1.) Napping: Remember as kids, we didn’t want to go to bed? Go to bed before sundown if you’re tired, you’re tired!

2) Make up: It used to be put on a little lipstick, and cease the day! Now, it’s keep on the pajama’s and write down which day you took a shower. We used to wear makeup to look a little older, now I don’t wear any, to keep the lines from cracking!

3) Hiking hellos: Instead of smiling and waving to that person you may see along the path of your hike, do it on the freeway in bumper to bumper traffic.

4) Put your opposite shoe on your opposite foot, walk around the block, and see how each step is different and accomplishes a whole new task.

5) Read 3 things that make you smile vs reading the news which doesn’t.

For more ways we can find the funny in everyday life, reach out! 

We’re all in this together.

Keep serving the ball.

The Safari Maze

I used to live inside a Talbott’s catalogue. Youngest on my block by about 30 years. Was very good for the ego. Sidewalks jammed with traffic bustling to the local Ralph’s, where carts were always put back in place. Store windows hadn’t changed since 1979.  Mannequin’s  wearing Lans of Landsburg nightgowns, making those in Handmaid’s Tale seem risque. The local bar scene was a glass of Ernest and Gallo with a tuna melt for last call at 6:00pm and a big night out was then going to $2 Thursdays, at the discount theater down the street. For 3 years they played one movie: Back to the Future. Folks thought was a documentary.  

Even though it was a bit boring at times, there was never a shortage of comedy around me all the time. And finding the funny was abundant. There was something about living in a smaller area, that lessened my anxiety, so all in all, it was a good move. Walking Luna for blocks without stepping over needless, bottles, or lost dreams, felt safer.

A trip to the local Rite Aid was sometimes a treat. Going in for my prescription and walking out with lawn furniture, new slippers, hoop earrings, 3 issues of Home and Gardens, a cross word puzzle, mounds bar, flip flops, and a Thrifty cone of strawberry. But my favorite part, was looking in the card section. I used to dread it, finding that right card.  Is it funny enough? Or serious enough? Or sentimental enough? Depending on the occasion and who you were buying it for, was hard enough. But to then find the correct slot to put them all back?  Nearly impossible.

I’ve always thought blank cards were the best. That way you could write what you wanted inside. But the outside image had to be just right or else Angie Anxiety (the worry wort in my head) would chime in: “Oh god, does this seem too impersonal”? “Wow, a blank card, that says alot!”  Did it seem like I just grabbed a blank one like that extra wrapped candle kept in the lazy drawer? After many Angie chats, here’s what I concluded. If you are getting your ex a birthday card, stay away from the nature cards. It’s too obvious you are missing them, and trying too hard. If you choose the card with a picture of a rainbow over a wheat field? Pathetic, and obvious you’ve been doing nothing but binging Netflix gorging on a party size bag of Doritos and washing it down with Rose. If you choose the card with a picture of a rainfall in Hawaii? He knows you’ve stalked his Insta page to know he went there three years ago. If you choose the picture with the tree frog outside in the dewey rain? Stop now. You’re the frog, and the rain your tears. But if you pick the puppy and kitty with fire department helmets on? You need an in person coaching, immediately.

My father had a real knack for finding the perfect card. And on birthdays, there was never one but three. Each to discover a maze with his inscribed riddle, or sentiment in his beautiful penmanship.  Every year, I looked forward to his cards often pictures of beautiful animals: The panda bear, ducks, koala bears, penguins, turtles, giraffes, and although I’d never gone on a safari, herds came by way of post.

In the recent years, cards became less easy to read. The flow of my father’s beautiful cursive, seemed to read with potholes and rougher conditions than the flawless, smooth, turn of each stroke. It was clear to me, the challenge to write superseded the messages inside, and the lack of receiving them, his years growing older.  I used to want to find the perfect card for him. And because he was so intelligent, would chuckle wondering  if I’d get it back with red ink marks and a grade. He wasn’t a fan of the marshmallow land of Hallmark holidays. This was the first since he’s been gone. The blank section during holidays, can feel just that. But remember to find the funny along the way, and memories will always fill each one.