Green Cube

Here we have a Cube in the wild. 

No Cubes were harmed in the making of this post.

Getting to know my neighbors is a habit from childhood. It seems to have fallen out of fashion with the younger generations. While it's important to know your community, you never know when a neighbor will need assistance. As a teenager, a former neighbor once suffered a stroke and yelled for help for two days. We played outside in those days. Kids on bikes or with jump ropes. Anytime when the sun came out. Our neighbor survived due to the keen ear of my sister.

Perhaps the idyllic neighborly "Howdy Ho Neighbor" can also be considered nosy. I get that. It is a comforting thought though, to know helping hands are close by. Lend or borrow an egg. Help get groceries for a flu stricken family. Watchful eyes aware when we are out of town. Community is a rare find, but the memory of block parties and a billion neighbor kids in your backyard seems to fade away with the years when bustling, hustling, and isolation appear to be more of the norm. Pandemics don't help either.

I like to sit outside and work online. Load up on vitamin D and pet the doggos of passersby. I used to sit on my back patio but a Y2K like freezer now resides in my porch haven and it appears my herb garden is rivaling a McCormick warehouse operation.

On a side note, even if you are a brown-thumbed individual, I recommend buying an herb plant for $2 to $3. This is fool-proof. Keep it alive, your brown thumb is officially green now and you have fresh herbs. Go you! However, if you kill it, you now have dried herbs and you still paid a fraction of what the supermarket offers. I don't see a downside to this.

I've gotten to know some neighbors by hanging out on my two story patio. Etta (not really her name) lived across the courtyard from us and would BBQ on her patio 3 to 4 times a week. The smell was heavenly and we talked about our kids. Her ex. My grades, when I was at a local college. Her very cool job tallying and reporting box office movie ticket sales. How living with lupus had its ups and downs. Most importantly, when I was coming over for dinner. 

Did I mention the BBQ smell?

Etta moved away and I met Vlad, the new tenant in her old place. Again, that is not his name, but he is from Very Cold Place, Russia. I only learned about him and his family after an icy snowfall where he appeared on his patio in a t-shirt and shorts asking about the pool. 

I lied. He had on PJ pants. 

He did tell me he was surprised at the snowfall and it reminded him of home. Then came the incident where he hit my parked car late one night and told me the next morning, not realizing he hit my van. He may or may not have been...imbibing. Judging from our neighborly patio convos, my conclusion appears to be the most likely. I had no proof. We were neighbors. He had insurance.

Once my patio was overtaken by my homesteading jungle, I found a new perch, a little green utility box. It appeared to be a safe perch. I christened this my Green Cube. I should probably name it something cooler. I'm up for suggestions. 

Situated near the sidewalk and down a bit on a hill to give a nice low view of the side street. It is also covered by trees and graffiti, so I found it appropriate to set my arse directly on the graffiti-ed side. Take that, gangsters. Middle aged lady sitting on your tag. The same one you read about in Argentina prisons. The tags, not middle aged ladies. 

My Cube also hums. I'm sure its fine.

Of note: I will not share this tag. What the heck. Now that I have camped out here for a few months, I'm going to be calling the utility company and request a new paint job.

I'm enjoying my time on my cube and have met some great people.

Rob and his wife, Lily. They've been married for 45 years. He fought in Korea. He has great stories and a fist-sized hiatal hernia. I have to make a concerted effort to not stare at the center of his stomach. Why don't people get these things taken care of. Doesn't that hurt?

Mr DJ walks his black fluffy doggo, Shadow. Shadow was attacked by a pittie when he was a young pup. As a result, Shadow doesn't like other doggos but loves people. Shadow is a King Cocker Spaniel and Chihuahua mix. Mr DJ has disc jockeyed for many different radio stations. He likes country. His wife is a retired nurse.

Karaoke Man is known around town. He lives nearby and bikes everywhere. He turns up the juice on the amp and sings to soft hits and Motown from the 70s. Everyone knows a city's celebrity busker.

Paul lives nearby. He drives a green Kia and his wife is a pack rat. He does have a WWI Russian helmet for the low price of $600. Paul reenacts Civil War battlefields. Full dress. He plays a Confederate but he said he's not racist. It was only because they needed more Confederates and the uniforms were a lot cheaper. He also has three ex wives but now he goes to church and is happily married. He is pretty funny and his dog is very sweet. Paul will be moving by the end of the month. He is happy his new townhouse has all new appliances. 

TDG, Tall Distinguished Gentleman, walks every evening. He struts on by in a walk-jog and says ritual hellos with a trademark smile, and "have a great evening" in passing. I love his accent. It sounds almost Afrikaans or Dutch to me. As it turns out, what do I know. He is from Zimbabwe. 

He waves from across the street, "Wenza kanjani!" (Zulu for "How are you")

The Lady with the Red hat. Immaculate nails, makeup, and red lipstick. Coiffed, platinum hair, and smile. She never walks with anyone else but has a great hat.

Teenage Hoodie. Shuffles by with his wiener dog. I've never seen his neck or his eyes. His face is perpetually in the phone. 

Janet wears nothing but athletic wear. Cool shoes. She also has a friendly hello. Her Siberian Husky, "Avalanche" has places to go, things to do. Byeeeee....

Lastly, there is Rob. Rob is outgoing, but gives me 'watch him close" vibes. Just something, but he's funny. He's never been forward usually stops at my green cube to show me the crowned jewels of dumpster diving expeditions. He has mad skills. Rob reminds me of a surfer dude, Keanu Reeves, or the Turtle Dad in Finding Nemo. A few snippets should tell you a lot about Rob.

"I live down the road..a have a totally nice house. My parents own a ton so they let me live in this one."

"I'm so off the grid. I hate cell phones. Haven't owned one in years."

"I only go to the clean dumpsters. No needles in this area. I quit that shit 20 years ago."

I asked what did he do for work and the drawl is out like January molasses, "I am a maaaan of leisure. My biggest decision is which of four bathroom I'm going to use in the morning." He nods, as if in agreement with himself.

Rob carefully opens the plastic bag to show me his newly acquired goods, "If its clothes in a garbage bag, its always clean."

Modeling a white table runner with blue stripes on the ends, "Look, I'm Jewish! I'm not really Jewish, but if I was I'd look bitchin." 

Pulls out one curtain panel, "ooh, a rug!" Rob proceeded to lay this out on the side walk, kneel, and face plant. "Like this?" 

I stifled a laugh.

"So Rob, did you grow up around here?"

"I graduated in Portland. '92. I've done okay with myself."

Switching gears, he makes this jerking movement, he is gloriously excited. "OOOH, I have a uniform now." He gently holds up full Subway uniform punctuated with a Cheshire smile. On the T-shirt, over his head and clothes. The hat is yanked on and suddenly, a fashion show was born. He's animated now. He grabs the jean jacket out of bag, "Duude. And a coat! I look rad, don't I?" 

Strutting ensues further. He is exhibiting something between drunken chicken and a Monty Python sketch.

"Oh, and these aren't used, but..." Mr Point Break looks dead serious and holds up a clear, industrial plastic bag of unused Depends, "You know of anyone who has a diaper fetish?"

"Nooo?" I say slowly with a grimaced smile, holding in a flash of second-hand embarrassment. "Can't say that I do."

His face relays all the seriousness of the meaning of life, "Well, these are going back." He bolts across the street to return the unwanted item back to the oversized, apartment dumpster.

People aren't always vulnerable, until they are. 

At times, not what they appear, until they tell you. 

Not loud about needing help, until they're overwhelmed. 

Sometimes they just need kindness, but there are also moments of mind your own business. 

You couldn't know moments you've thrown a lifeline, where you've positively impacted another human (or doggo).

Sometimes I used to see Rob and wave to him driving his beater Expedition haphazardly overfilled with cardboard, garbage sacks, and other questionable detritus. I haven't seen him in some time which may have something to do with him showing up in the paper with a mug shot for suspected nefarious deeds.

Should I have not been kind, or neighborly? I may have acted differently had I know better and done better (this is also why you should listen to your gut, ladies and gents).

Neighbors are an oddity. My connection to them may only be that I live closely. The rest is up to me to foster good relations, or mindful of not fostering anything at all. Being a good neighbor on my Green Cube but still minding my own business.

~Bee does her best work outside.
Listening to The Search by NF

 ░B░e░e░ ░R░e░p░a░r░t░e░e░

 

 

Guiltless Pleasures

Hi, Dear Readers.

Its time to clip my nails. Judging the number of times I've retyped this sentence, a pep talk is in order. I planned on writing something else but perhaps, someone needs to hear about the concept of taking care of you.

I have few guilty pleasures and no, clipping nails isn't one of them. Specifically, I have exactly zero guilty pleasures because nothing accomplished in a healthy way causes me to feel regret. Unless it's using the word "pleasure". I feel The Ick when I say that word. Not because of meaning but because it should be banned from the English language along with words like "moist" and "penal colony".  But I digress...

I've never subscribed to the ideal that a luxury, hobby, or a soul-feeding activity should make me feel guilty. Chocolate? No. Not speaking of food as a whole and carbs in general. Feeding your soul is more than daily caloric intake.

Everyone should have something that feeds their soul. This is especially true for parents. Nothing is as rewarding as children. Nothing is as draining either. I know, because I am a parent of four adult children. We didn't get here without situations that built my character and inadvertently theirs. I also made Me Time. 

Reading, hiking, a daily coffee with a friend, the gym, or a continuously clean house. Self-care is the catalyst to being at your personal best to be healthy and able to give back. If the last year and a half taught us anything, it taught us what is important. To enjoy life to the fullest, hold close those who you care about and love, and not feel guilty about taking care of you. Feeling guilty implies you have bad or unhealthy motives. Taking care of you is far from unhealthy.

My non-guilty pleasures? I get my nails done. As a former compulsive nail biter, this was a Good Thing. Makes me feel feminine and put together.

A glass of wine or a small nightcap. 

When I went to an office, I used to do my daily Starbucks run. Now I buy compostable coffee pods. I have my coffee at home while saving my pocketbook and the planet. 

Reading. I'm a fiction reader. Sometimes, I'll throw in science writing, a rare biography, or cookbooks. My To-Be-Read pile is forever growing. I read to escape. Calms my brain.

 I swim and go to the gym. Endorphins and stress relief.

Morning coffee, mixed with protein and vitamin shake. I'm not a big breakfast person, aside from eating out. This helps get me going.

Plants. I own several....dozen.... plus. I find great joy in not killing my Boston fern, climbing roses, snake plant, hoya, clematis, flowers, and pothos plants.  I also have a nice herb garden, if I say so myself. 

No guilt. Just self-care. However that looks to you. Just do it.

~Bee says take care of you.

Listening to whatever musical my daughter has playing.

Wonder Woman and Moonshine

Big Sis (R) and Me (L). circa 1978

These are the faces of backyard sprinkler antics fueled by 

 Chocolate Nestle Quik and salads with Roquefort dressing.

This past weekend, I visited my sister. Its only an hour away and its great to be able to see her and her hubs, Chris...and my mom. They invited me down to sell and help in their town's annual city wide garage sale. I had a van full of goodies to sell and planned time with family. Win, win.

It was fairly hot outside. I showed up early in the morning. We lounged in retro, reclining dining chairs lavishly equipped with four roller casters and wood trim. Upholstered in swirly blue, cream, and sand colored durable fabric, these were the epitome of 1980s dining. 

After brainstorming to get more traffic at our sale, Chris went down to the Dollar Store and bought balloons for the end of the drive. It helped a little. We kept to the shade, sipped drinks, and soaked in vitamin D while the masses descended. All five of them. 

Our little sale was what they call a bust.

I take that back. Dev and Chris made out better than I did. I earned enough money for a value menu nuggets at Wendy's. It was too hot outside, I think. and we were tucked back in a flag lot in a subdivision.

This is the part where we called it an afternoon. Rolling up our proverbial tables and jonesin for fish and chips, we had limited dining options, no thanks to the risible Gov Kate Brown. Although, our saving grace: when you want pub food, the best place to go is....well, a pub.

After a good Porter, excellent fish and chips, and prize winning onion rings, we threw a few bucks in the slot machines. Did you know pubs have slot machines in Oregon? I had no clue. Silly victory dances ensued. Wins punctuated with dinging and whistling.

$1.25 win?
DING, DING, DING.....!

Three matching symbols...
*110 decibles*
"WONDER WOMANNNNNN......."

Needless to say, my weekend of debauchery did not end in eating fried food, in front of Wonder Woman slots, at a pub in the wild countryside of Oregon.

We stopped at the store on the way home so I could pick up supplies for Shark Week. You know...Girl Flu. Lady Business....but Oregon doesn't want you using a plastic bag to carry your supplies out of the store. Living just across the Washington Oregon border on the Washington side, I've grown accustomed to the differences between the states.

(I do have a point to this. Quit whining or go make me a sandwich.)

In Oregon, you can't pump your own gas, you do pay zero sales tax but a hefty state income tax, and you can't buy wine at the gas station. Oregon is also an anti-plastic bag state unless you are wealthy enough to pay five cents for every reusable plastic bag you bring home. It is widely acceptable to skirt environment laws if you have enough money to pay for every bagging convenience. Conversely, five cents a bag is an affordable way to line your diaper pails and bathroom garbage cans. You can't buy them cheaper. But I digress...

A red-faced teen boy was my cashier. He looked mortified. I got outside and pulled off my mask while waving my sole purchase in the air like I just don't care. 

I'm over thirty, the approximate age where you stop getting embarrassed over inconsequentials. You know why? Because I really just don't care and it'll probably make my sister laugh by holding pads up to my face like some Orbit Gum commercial. 

 

Kind of like this, but I never wear 

a pith helmet or white jumpsuits.

Dev was in the car with the AC going. I'm waving pads around like, "HEYYYY, BAGLESS OREGON, CANT YOU SEE? I GOT A PACK OF ALWAYS THIN PADS WITH WINGS, FAM!"  

If you didn't realize, I'm ridiculous sometimes. Dev just grins and rolls with it. She is also over 30 years old.

We got home and hung outside until we abandoned the sale in the driveway before dinner. Dev got an invite to a block birthday party from the neighbors. Apparently, the neighbors were all related in that corner of the subdivision. Lots of siblings, aunts, and cousins; all with big families. It was a crazy shin dig. 

 BBQ smelled amazing, lots of food, drinks, and two large dogs chasing so, so many kids. Kids everywhere, cycling, running around, playing Barbies, trying to sneak cake, drinking too much soda. Everyone was so welcoming and genuine. 

 Most of the guys were crammed into the house with the fight on the big screen. Occasionally, the grunt volume would increase depending on who was winning. Moonshine was passed around in a canning jar. One of the brothers, offered my sis the first sip of a newly made jar and I tried it next. I wouldn't have tried it otherwise, not during COVID from a community glass. From the strength of that sip, I would assume homemade hooch kills COVID as well as your liver. And also strips varnish or make you see God if you drink too much. Then our host issued the warning to those imbibing: avoid open flame and driving. Safety first kids.

We sang to the sweet, 15 year old, birthday girl and the adults lit off fireworks and mortars. That was about the time the police drove up the cul de sac warning the owner about a noise complaint. The policeman was a nice guy doing his job, no mention of fireworks, social distancing, drinking outside the house on the lawn, or even face masks, just letting everyone know it wasn't 10pm...yet.

At 10pm, we disbanded and walked back home. I ended up falling asleep at 11 or midnight on the couch while my sister made bigger signs for the next day. Garage sale flop didn't matter much, it was a great weekend with my sis and the family.


Bee thought moonshine was delicious.
Listening to September by Earth, Wind, and Fire (you know why, Dev!)

I Don't Care About My Neck

I had the itch to write today and thought, 

"Self. You should write today. What's the big gap in writing on your blog? Do you not love it anymore? Do you think you're too busy? Can't you shave your legs sometime this month?"

I talk to myself a lot. I also ask a lot of questions.

Everyone says they are busy - a natural response. Busy-ness makes you feel this is a solid reason for not keeping in touch with your friends. It isn't, but it feels like a good excuse. It's not like we have time because we've all been quarantined in a giant pandem... oh, yeah. Nevermind.

What have I been doing? I've been going through my mid-life crisis. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I've realized gravity is a not my friend, I'm starting to forget details.  I'm not buying anything spandex anytime soon. Aging is a reality but not something to freak over. I once read Nora Ephron's book, "I Feel Bad About My Neck". I wasn't impressed. The author was attempting to spin humor in her dry way by commiserating with her readers about aging as a wealthy woman. Organizing a purse. Making too much money to keep her upper Manhattan rent-controlled apartment. Graying hair and *oh noes* looking homeless due due to slacking on personal upkeep. The woman wrote brilliant movies. Whining about first world aging problems fell flat. Mud facial flat and not the good kind.

I've embraced my place in life and aging in a matter of fact way and somewhat like Nora, can laugh about it. I can hold off aging so much, as to not look like a shrunken head by the time I'm 50. But I earned my neck. I shop at Target with face and decolletage moisturizer coupons. Who cares, really.

As a evolving 40 something woman, and I say this because I am one, I've decided to take up new hobbies, New Things that I've done this year.

Play pool (badly)

Go to the casino and play slots for the first time.

Reading myriad books..okay, not a New Thing but still... mysteries have replaced historical fiction, fare of the day.

I've decided I've enjoyed cooking but I hate dirty dishes.

Making my business grow, but it's not my entire life. Work to live, not live to work.

I relish an occasional evening nightcap.

New tune genres: new country, EDM, lo-fi, and chillwave.

Family is everything.

My kids...oh, my youngest is now 17 and driving, schooling, and working. My oldest is 23, married to a sweet Russian boy. I'm going to be a grandma in March. Her and hubs will make chubby, adorable babies. I don't feel old enough to be a grandma.

Bible apps. I read and pray. Love all. Not in spite of differences, but because of differences. Jesus died on the cross for everyone's sin but He would have done it for just me. If I was the only one in ever to sin. That's what love looks like.

I love talking to people about knitting yarn, genealogy, and stupid, blowhard, pontificating, duplicitous politics. There is so much to talk about lately.

I'm so freaking proud of my kids. They amaze me everyday.

I have what hubs has dubbed "an old lady garden" on my back patio. Foliage is green and bountiful. Flowers beautiful. I don't care if anyone thinks it's stupid. I love it. I'm on the hunt for a pink plastic flamingo because I want one. My hummingbirds love the feeder and red flowers. I'm growing basil and rosemary out my bung hole. My climbing clematis, dahlias, and rose bush are gorgeous.

These are unabashedly, unashamedly, and unapologetically me. I decided in December to make a change. I've lost 45 lbs despite COVID. I need to lose more but that will happen when it's safe to visit a gym. Since I quit my last job, I'm down 70lbs. Go me.

All of this, I've been informed by the world, is my mid life crisis. I believe in personal growth and evolution. Do New Things that scare you, thrill, bring peace, joy, fulfillment, and fill your emotional tanks. Do New Things that make the world better for other people.

This is me and all the New Things. (Sorry, Mom. I said "bung hole")

Bee is doing weird stuff now.
Listening to DGAF by Noah Slee, Shiloh Dynasty
(because the bass is sick)