Food Clubs

After my tirade on Wal Mart the other day I feel like I owe equal time time to Sam's Warehouse Club - after all, aren't they owned by the same parent company? Ultimately they should fall into the same category, (shopping hell), shouldn't they?

Perhaps it is just me and my attitude? Again, I set off for the store to purchase supplies for my upcoming college sorority reunion. But this time it was without the dread and low expectations (and crappy attitude) I had prior to last week's trip to Wal Mart. I had the same parking lot experience - crowded conditions and idiot drivers, but the urge to run over people or at least flip them off didn't overtake me today. I just placidly meandered up and down each row until I found an opening on the back row between two "dual-ies" (those ridiculous pick-up trucks with four back tires).

This time the "Greeter" did greet me. Sam's greeters differ from the Wal Mart greeters in that at Sam's the greeter is more of a sentry denying access to the promised land of shopping to those without the proper credentials, i.e. - a Sam's Club Membership Card. Right away I am made to feel special - I get in! (Note to self: This isn't Studio 54, it is a grocery store, you dork!)

Once in, the aisles are spacious, the ceiling is high, the skylights let in natural light, the shopping cart is mammoth and the other shoppers (ahem, club members) are cordial.

I'm off - I have a detailed list, I know the layout of the store, all four wheels on my cart work - life is good.

First, I hit the paper and plastic section - plastic cups, napkins, utensils - enough to see a group of forty through meals for the entire weekend in one inexpensive package. Oh, the sheer convenience of it all is overwhelming. (I will admit thoughts of all of this going into the landfill will haunt me for months.) Next, to the deli for packages of over-processed meats and cheese, then double packages of breads and chips and I'm almost to the home stretch of the produce department. But first I must run the gauntlet of "food sample ladies." Mini-meat balls dipped in bar-b-que sauce and tiny egg rolls are thrust at me. Tiny cream puffs and baby carrots dipped in hummus. After my Lilliputian food samples I arrive in the United Nations of produce. Grapes from Chile, limes from Mexico, kiwi and avocados, pluots and Haricot Verts, coconuts and pineapples from God only knows where? Even with the Country of origin a mandatory posting I was too dazzled by all of this exotic produce to notice it wasn't all grown locally by the farmer on the acreage up the road. (It wasn't until I got to my car and saw my "Buy Local" bumper sticker that I felt like a big-fat-hypocrite.)

Much like my Wal Mart checkout experience from last week I was stunned when the cashier gave me the total of my purchases. For under $200 I purchased the majority of the food and supplies for 40 women for an entire weekend.

Unlike my Wal Mart Experience from last week no one spilled a gallon of milk on me and I didn't have to deal with a surly cashier. Oh contraire - I had the contents of my cart scanned by an efficient "front-end" manager while I waited in line (one of about twenty relatively short lines.) All I had to do was hand the cashier my receipt, he scanned it into his register while chatting about the weather. I wrote him a check and was then on to the "exit-the-store-line" where an employee looks at your store receipt and pretends to match it up with the hundreds of items in your cart in less than ten seconds, lest the line of customers behind you, all eager to exit, should get angry.

Off to my vehicle to realize, oh crap - now I have a cart full of stuff to unload into my car without benefit of bags or boxes (or carry-out boy). I open the back door of my SUV, trying to ignore the "Buy Local" sticker, load up the over sized containers, jars and boxes while imagining the people driving past, coveting my parking space, thinking I'm stocking a restaurant or doing the weekly shopping for Nadya Suleman , the octomom.

I drive home slowly, careful to avoid bumps and sharp turns - there is a rogue gallon jar of salsa rolling around in the back of my car), dreading the task of finding room for all of this in my refrigerator.

But it will all be worth it - ultimately. I will show up at my reunion, say it was no big deal (and it really wasn't), just a day in the life of a food-club shopper.

I'm Eighteen and I Like It

In my continuing effort to avoid cleaning house, oops, wait a minute - isn't this blog supposed to be about CLEANING/PURGING my house??? It seems that I will use any excuse, good or otherwise to avoid the dirty job of cleaning. But this time I have a really, really good excuse - as opposed to all of those other lame excuses I have been coming up with lately. This time I am busy preparing for a reunion; too busy to be cleaning. I am preparing for my second annual college sorority reunion.

I graduated from high school in 1975 and began college at a university approximately 85 miles from my home. It was far enough away from home, but close enough to feel safe. One of my good friends from high school accompanied me and we were roommates the first semester in one of the standard-issue freshman dorms. We soon met some nice girls at the dining hall and discovered they were in a sorority. Being from, what was then, a small rural town - we didn't have much of an idea about sororities or rush or about getting "recs" from sorority alumnae. But, lucky us - they liked us and gave us a bid in open rush. So there you have it - we accidentally fell into a sorority during our freshman year of college. Little did I know that it would have such an impact on me later in my life.

I had a ball at my first college. That is exactly the reason I had to leave. After my sophomore year I transferred universities in an attempt to save myself. In an attempt to salvage some education from my college years. And that is exactly what I did. I moved on and did well in my last two years of school. I graduated with a degree and with a husband and soon began a family, a career and a new life. I always looked back on my two sorority years with fondness and nostalgia. And then a great thing happened: Thirty years after I left my sorority sisters, we had a reunion.

So, just about one year ago, I made my way across the state, with butterflies in my stomach, to a gathering of my former friends; friends whom I hadn't seen in thirty years. A wonderful thing happened. Twenty-five of us showed up, each with our own reasons for being there, each with our own baggage - most of us were over fifty, graying (or hiding it well), heavier, with bags under our eyes and on our hips. The wonderful thing that happened - within minutes of arriving we were all eighteen again. We were young, we were blithe, our gray hair and our extra pounds disappeared and all we saw were the young girls we were in the 1970s. We laughed, we cried, we drank too much, we ate too much, we stayed up too late and then we got up the next morning and did it all over again. Before we left we made the decision that we would do it again next year. Which brings me to today.

I am co-planning the second annual sorority reunion. It is in three days. I am so excited! I have had conference calls, sent hundreds of emails, menu planned, grocery shopped, (dieted), dug up old photos and yearbooks, (dieted and had my roots dyed), copied and collated address lists, shopped, (dieted), and hopefully I am almost ready to go.

This year we have an even larger number of attendees. Those who heard about the success of last year are coming this year. Those who can't make it this year are promising they will be there next year. This is, without question, a gathering that will take place every year from now on. We may have missed thirty years, but we will make up for lost time. We are not so blessed as to have not lost friends along the way. We are not so naive as to think we won't lose more. But we will relish each gathering, we will live life to the fullest - just like those eighteen year old college girls we once were and will be again in three days.

Dear Natalie

Dear Natalie,

Sorry to say I am not one of your original fans. I wasn't much interested in Country/Western music when you and the Dixie Chicks came onto the music scene. I don't think I had ever heard one of your songs (except that one about Earl and that was only because even MTV played it) until you hit the news 24/7 after your comment about President Bush.

Being a resident of your hometown in Texas, you can be sure I heard a whole lot about you after that. Funny, isn't it, the negative publicity you received after that comment is what made me a fan. I happened to agree with you.

I traveled a lot during that time and, quite honestly, I was getting tired of people outside of our home state assuming I was a right-wing conservative Republican - just because I am from Texas. In 2004, before the election, I found a button that read, "Texas Democrat" which I proudly wore. Believe it or not, total strangers approached me in hotel lobbies and airports with big smiles and handshakes, as if I were a rare breed, an endangered species of sorts. My Texas flag/Kerry-Edwards bumper sticker got horn honks and thumbs-up signs when I was on the highway.

Back home, in Lubbock, your former fans were banning your music from air play, burning your CDs and idolizing the country singers who were calling you "anti-American" and other McCarthy-era names. It seemed as if the entire country turned against you. Your off-hand comment revealing your personal political feelings brought your rising star career smashing to the ground. I really felt badly for you.

When your CD, "Taking the Long Way", came out I purchased it out of curiosity and a strange sense of solidarity. I was surprised to discover I really liked it! It actually blew me away. The songwriting, the sheer musical talent, your amazing voice and the overall attitude of it made me a fan. Blasting your music in my car or in my home became, for me, a latent form of political protest. As I endured another Bush term your voice in my car belting out "Not Ready to Make Nice" made being surrounded by a sea of "W" bumper stickers a bit more tolerable.

Fast forward a few years to 2009. We now have a fairly elected Democrat President with an enormous mess to clean up. President Barack Obama is our elected Commander-in-Chief, the one person all Americans, all good Americans, are bound to support and respect regardless of whom they voted for. Remember, it is un-American to make disparaging remarks about the President of the United States. You taught us that, Natalie!

So, I just wanted to drop you this little note to thank you. To thank you for ruining your career in order to teach the American public how evil it is, how flag-burning, pinko-commie, fascist it is, to say bad things about the President of the United States of America. Thanks to you, Natalie, I am sure no God-fearing, upright, patriotic, flag-flying citizen of our great country would dare speak ill of our President.

Sincerely,
Jenifer

Got Milk?

In case you've wondered what I've been up to while I'm NOT cleaning out the hall closet - I am planning and preparing a reunion for my former college sorority sisters. I had to go to Wal Mart last night to get paper goods, condiments, cleaning supplies, etc. to stock the house we've rented for the occasion at a lakeside resort some 500 miles from my home. I hate Wal Mart, but trying to be a good steward of the reunion money, I opted to shop there. What is it about that store that irritates me so? From my arrival at the parking lot I was peeved by the inconsiderate, stupid drivers. Had the same drivers been at my neighborhood grocery store would I have been as annoyed? Probably not.

When I entered the store (after circling the parking lot, behind the aforementioned idiot driver, two times in search of a place to park and then having no other choice but to park next to the "kart" return "korral" where I'm certain errant "kart" returners bumped into my kar, I mean car), the famous Wal Mart greeter - the kindly senior citizen posted at the door - Why? is this an attempt to make you feel as if you've just entered a Mom & Pop General Store? or are we supposed to believe that our own grandparents would endorse such a mega-market? I'm certain my grandfather, PaPa, on his best day could not have navigated the parking lot and my grandmother, my sweet, blue-haired MaMa, would still be on aisle 4 trying to locate the Sweeta, an early artificial sweetener that made her diabetes tolerable. However, my one surviving grandparent, Big Red, at 102 would probably enjoy being pushed through the store in the black and chrome Wal Mart wheelchair (provided I could find enough antibacterial wipes to sanitize it) and greeting the throngs of baby-boomer shoppers who would recognize her as their second grade teacher. Even blind and nearly deaf, she would hold their hands and ask them about all of their siblings (by name). But I digress, back to the kindly gray-haired greeter posted at the entrance to welcome me to Wal Mart - he ignored me! He was talking to another old geezer and didn't even acknowledge my arrival. To add insult to insult, I had to fight my way through the heavy, hanging strips of plastic that were protecting the shopping "karts" and wrangle my own shopping buggy. Isn't shopping "kart" valet in their job description? That and smile and actually greet the customer? This guy was obviously the Jeff Spicoli of Wal Mart greeters, a real slacker.

I could regale you with the horrors of my shopping experience, about missing shelf price tags and crowded aisles and how I had to traverse the entire expanse of the store, twice, in search of liquid hand soap. But I can't bring myself to re-visit those details - it is too soon, the wounds are too fresh. Let me just leave you with this: After carefully choosing my check out lane, opting for the one with eight customers with moderately full "karts" vs. one with six customers with heaping "karts", the customer in line ahead of me drops a one gallon plastic jug of milk (2%) as he is taking it from atop the sacking carousel. (At Wal Mart they don't place your sacked groceries back into your "kart" or have a carry-out boy or girl or man or woman escort you to your vehicle and place your purchases neatly into your trunk.) The sweaty jug of milk slips from his hand and makes a slow-motioned descent to the floor. Upon contact the plastic jug bursts open and anyone within a five-foot radius (me) is splashed with reduced-fat milk while a river of milk and Wal Mart dirt begins running under my feet.

The bored teenage cashier, who bore a striking resemblance to Napoleon Dynamite's brother, left his post in search of maintenance. Upon his return, without any maintenance personnel, he announced to his line of customers, as he flipped off the light that illuminated the number seventeen over his head, "I'm closed." Luckily (and I use that term in the loosest possible manner), my purchases were already on the milk sodden conveyor belt so he had no choice but to scan my items, as I stood there with milk in my shoes.

The total for my "kart" full of cleaning supplies, paper goods, canned food and condiments was under $50 - a startlingly low figure for the amount of items I purchased. I tried really hard not to remember the employees had no health care as I left the store in search of my car - somewhere out there in the parking lot.

Good Excuse

This morning I decided I would re-commit to my blog. I have been a slacker-blogger and I must repent. When I noticed I had 3 blog entries for the month of July by the 21st of the month and then saw I had 25 blog entries in the month of February I knew there was a problem. What happened to my desire to clean/purge my house of the 25 years accumulation of crap? Life happened!

Today as I left my office at 6:00 p.m., while simultaneously making a frantic phone call to my husband and trying to figure out why the electronic gate at the exit of the parking lot didn't work, I reminded myself that I had to blog (which, in theory, means I should clean something). But we had our weekly family dinner to get to. Arriving almost thirty minutes late I had the fleeting thought that I would forgo the requisite wine at our "Wednesday- Winers" dinner. Alas, that thought lasted all of 30 seconds. Three hours later, and three glasses of wine later, as I left the family dinner I remembered I still had a grocery store stop to make.

Once home and groceries unpacked, blog remorse began to set in - so here I am! It is nearing my bedtime after a full day, and I'm fretting about cleaning something to write my blog about. My husband gave me the perfect out - "Just say you spent the evening with your 102 year old grandmother and that is more important than cleaning anything."

So there you have it, I spent the evening with my 102 year old grandmother and that is more important than cleaning anything!

Respite

I've been at the lake house for three days, which means I've been in vacation mode. It is so much fun to stay up late, sleep late, eat whatever and whenever I want, drink a bit more than I should (it's always beer-thirty at the lake), and - drum roll please - not have to do any housework.

Getting ready to come to the lake takes quite a bit of preparation (see blog dated May 31, 2009), but once here it is relaxation time. The cabin is small, requiring very little in the way of cleaning. Making the bed and washing up the few dishes we use is the extent of the cleaning that is required.

Most of our time is spent outside, either on the deck, at the dock or on the rock ledge that juts from the edge of our property toward the lake, where we usually enjoy evening cocktails while watching the sunset - the beautiful pink and orange sunset west Texas is famous for. (The sensational color is due to the dust, but I won't dwell on that aspect.)

Life is sweet and housework is minimal at the lake; until it is time to leave. That is when we must force ourselves out of vacation mode and kick into high gear house cleaning mode. We always put it off until the last possible moment, dreading both leaving our lakeside utopia and having to clean.

Strip beds, gather towels and dirty laundry, dust, sweep, mop, vacuum, clean sinks, windows, tub, counter tops, clean out refrigerator, pack up everything, stow away, put away, turn off, batten down, lock up and leave. We've gotten our exodus-cleaning down to about 45 frantic minutes.

Then the trip home, where we silently think about (or dread) our upcoming week of obligations and commitments. Arriving at home, unpack and the housework begins. Wash the sheets, towels and clothes so they're ready for the next lake trip and begin the mundane daily chores from which we've just had our mini-respite, and look forward to when we can do it again.

I Think I Have An Illness!

I think I have hit upon the reason I am having such a hard time with my cleaning blog. I have decided I have Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. Yep, I'm sure I have it. Nope, I have not been officially diagnosed by a doctor.

You decide. This is how spent my day.

• Got up. Made coffee. Ran sink full of hot soapy dishwater to wash dishes from last night's dinner. Started dryer to "re-heat" clothes so I could fold them without wrinkles.
• Went to bedroom to dress while coffee was making. Began making bed. Gathered up clothes I wore yesterday, along with other laundry and carried to utility room. Coffee was ready. Poured cup of coffee and went out to get newspaper. Plucked dead leaves off of plants on front porch and decided to water. Watered plants on front porch and decided I should water garden in back yard.
• Went to back yard and remembered I had fertilizer I needed to put on garden before I could water. Went back into house to get gloves. Washed dishes in lukewarm water. Re-started dryer to warm up clothes. Looked for gardening gloves, but they weren't where I thought they were. Found garden diary which hadn't been written in since I put garden in in late April. Attempted to catch up garden diary.
• Dryer buzzed while I was reminiscing about garden activities. Folded load of clothes. Took them to bedroom to put away. Decided husband's clothes chest was too cluttered. Pulled everything out of clothes chest onto floor. Began sorting into piles of tee-shirts, shorts, sweat pants and shirts, etc. Took pile of wrinkled tee-shirts to utility room to wash. Remembered I was trying to fertilize garden.
• Went outside to fertilize garden without gardening gloves. Fertilized garden. Began watering garden. Decided I should transplant one of my plants. Looked for potting soil I know I have somewhere, but couldn't find it. Came inside to get another cup of coffee. Decided to make grocery list. Remembered all of the produce I brought home from farmers' market. Got out produce and washed it. Decided to cook squash, black-eyed peas, and green beans. Got everything in pots simmering on stove.
• Dogs needed to go out. Took dogs out for potty break and realized I hadn't finished watering backyard plants. Finished watering in backyard. Came back inside. Put clothes in dryer. Went to bedroom to get another load of clothes to wash. Finished making bed.
• Realized how dusty office furniture was as I walked down hall with next load of laundry. Put laundry in washer, grabbed can of Pledge and dust cloth. Set Pledge and dust cloth on desk in office and proceeded to clean off desktop so I could dust. Opened hall closet to stash some of the stuff from my desk and remembered I was supposed to be cleaning out the closet. Stood in closet, looked around for about 5 minutes, thought - hell no, not today! Went back into office. Moved everything from desk onto guest bed in office. Dusted desk.
• Remembered I had things cooking in the kitchen. Wanted to make an Italian casserole with cooked squash. Didn't have needed ingredients. Finished grocery list. Decided to take recycling to recycling center at grocery store. Gathered up all recycling materials and loaded into car. Left for store. Decided to visit grandmother while I was out. Spent about an hour and a half at grandmother's. Dropped off recycling. Realized I forgot my reusable grocery store bags. Did grocery shopping. Came home. Unloaded groceries from car. Finished Italian squash casserole while unpacking grocery sacks.
• Put away paper grocery sacks in Utility room. Re-started dryer to "reheat" next load of clothes. Saw bottle of Windex and decided to clean mirror and windows in office. Saw pile of stuff from desk I had moved to guest bed and began going through everything. Got caught up reading papers from desk. Remembered I needed to be cleaning house so piled all of the papers back on the desk. Oops, need to dust desk. Dusted desk while balancing large pile of papers in one hand.
• Decided to vacuum. Vacuum not working well. Looked for new vacuum bags. Gave up. Vacuumed with less than perfect results. Realized how many dishes I dirtied while cooking up all of my farmers' market veggies. Ran sink full of hot soapy dishwater. Dryer buzzed. Went to bedroom to get clothes hangers. Saw mess of husbands clothes still sitting on floor. Put piles of clothes on bed for him to look at/try on/purge later.
• By this time it is almost 7:00 p.m. I looked around at the mess I had created in my bedroom, my office, and the kitchen and decided it was time for a glass of wine. Sat down at computer to write blog and came upon the brilliant idea of Adult Attention Deficit Disorder.

Putting it off again...

I have been checking out other blogs just to see what other people are writing about. I am questioning why I chose to write a blog which requires me to DO SOMETHING. Why didn't I chose to write a blog with just witty observations on life? Something easy, like commenting on Sarah Palin's decision to resign as Governor of Alaska or my take on global warming or the water shortage. I could have written a blog about my favorite sitcom or a blog about restaurant food? But no, I chose to write about cleaning my house, a task I abhor and love to put off. The next time I decide to launch a blog I will give it some thought before vowing to the gods of the internet to clean my house.

I guess it could be worse - I ran across a blog today where a woman actually cooks something everyday and writes about it. My daughter's friend is reviewing art installations each day and reviewing them in his blog; he must actually go see the art everyday (doesn't sound terrible). A good friend of mine takes a photo everyday and posts it on her blog (if I could take a decent photo I might try this).

But, I'm not a great cook (I had blue cheese, crackers and red wine for dinner tonight), I'm not an art critic, and I'm not a photographer. I am just a pack rat with a ton of stuff I need to purge. So, maybe tomorrow I'll get back to the cleaning. Or maybe tomorrow I'll begin a new blog and call it Procrastination, a memoir.