Meridian, Idaho

Rich and I are both perfectionists. We have specific ways we want things done, and we both have a hard time giving an inch if something’s not quite our way…

Neat freaks. Precisionists. Fussbudgets. Micromanagers. OCD. Whatever you want to call it, it all boils down to us both being anal retentive — aka anal.

Anal — A term used to refer to a person who feels a need to be in control of all aspects of his or her surroundings. Or, in other words, an anal retentive person “can’t let go of shit.” (Urban Dictionary)

While both of us being anal isn’t necessarily a bad thing, occasionally we’ll look at each other with bewilderment and just think, “Are you CRAZY!” Am I’m sure others around us think the same thing. 🙂

For a long time, I didn’t think I was anal. But then my wise niece Theresa told me that I was after I complained about a particular incident while I was going to college about 15 years ago.

Since then I embrace it. And being anal has helped me get at least five job offers when I tell the story about my niece explaining to me that I’m anal.

When I am asked, “Do you pay attention to detail?”, here’s the story I tell:

I was a non-traditional student in my mid forties when I went back to school.

We had a lot of group work in my classes which could be very difficult to organize given that most of my group were also non-traditional students–we had families, we had jobs, we couldn’t just run down the hall in the dorm to meet.

I was always tasked with putting everything together for the final paper or presentation. I was tired of doing that and said, “I want to do something else. Someone else can do that part.”

Several of my cohorts looked at me and said, at the same time, “Kathy, you have to do it. You’re so anal you make it all perfect!”

I was appalled. I had no idea that they thought I was anal let alone that I was anal.

I complained to Theresa, my niece who was studying psychology among other things, about it trying to convince her that I was in fact not anal.

I ended by saying, “If I was anal, I would have done something about the six dead flies that have been laying in my bedroom windowsill for the last three weeks because I’ve been too busy to clean.”

Theresa smiled at me knowingly and said softly, “Kathy, the fact that you have counted the flies and that you know how long they’ve been there shows that you ARE anal.”

Since then, I’ve embraced my analness because there’s a place in the world for anal retentives.

I am a bit worried, though, because I am becoming more anal, analer if you will, as I get older.

My goal is to stop myself before I become the most anal, analest if you will, and thoroughly drive myself and everyone else nuts.

Meridian, Idaho

Color me happy, happy, happy!

I have REAL INTERNET!

For most of the last year, I have had to use an Internet connection that goes through a wireless tower. Well, I guess that’s how it came to me. I don’t really know. All I know is that it was really, really slow Internet. At times, like dial-up. Remember that?

As of about an hour ago, we now have a DSL connection at our house.

If you were listening carefully, you probably heard a “WOOHOO” wafting through the air…

As I was doing a happy dance…

Today’s post is late because I kept hoping we’d get the DSL connection earlier rather than later.

Alas, we did not.

But it’s here now! And I’m happy, happy, happy.

Meridian, Idaho

This is the first time Rich and I have lived within city limits in nearly 40 years.

When we first got married, we lived in a single-wide mobile home on an acre of land that Rich had recently bought.

It was only three and a half miles from town, but in our small community that was a long ways.

Our next home was closer to town, but we still called it “Going to town…” whenever we went to the store or picked the kids up from school.

Major shopping, like to Costco, and most doctor’s appointments involved driving 65 miles one way to Reno.

Then we moved to our home in the mountains near Boise. I commuted 30 miles to work. All shopping and errands required at least two hours to complete. (This is High Bridge which we crossed on each trip to town.)

Now that we’re living actually IN the city, all that has changed.

Yesterday we decided to go buy a bed for the guest bedroom.

In the past we would decide to go, talk about all the other errands we should do while we’re in town, discuss it all again as we drove 30 minutes into town…

Total change of process now.

• Decide to buy a bed.
• Research options for five minutes online.
• Get in car and drive seven minutes to store.
• Talk with salesman and buy the bed within ten minutes.
• Drive home and realize that we decided to get a bed, actually bought a bed, and returned home in less than 30 minutes–the time it used to take us to drive to town.

That is both good and bad. It’s good we’re saving time, but bad that we’re spending money in less than a quarter of the time it used to take.  🙂

Meridian, Idaho

I’ve come to love Idaho. It’s beauty, it’s wilderness, it’s people.

But sometimes Idahoans surprise me.

Case in point:

A school district in northern Idaho is thinking about banning John Steinbeck’s novella Of Mice and Men from its curriculum.

Of Mice and Men is a novella written by Nobel Prize–winning author John Steinbeck. Published in 1937, it tells the story of George Milton and Lennie Small, two displaced migrant ranch workers, who move from place to place in search of new job opportunities during the Great Depression in California. (Wikipedia)

The novella is required reading in many schools, and, because its language is raw, graphic, and now considered racist, some want the book banned from curriculum and/or removed from school libraries.

At first I was incredulous as I read about the potential banning in the Los Angeles Times; then as I read further, I actually giggled out loud.

Mary Jo Finney, a parent who has previously raised objections about books in the school district’s curriculum, declared that the book “is neither a quality story nor a page turner.” She and other committee members have a problem with coarse language in the book, such as “bastard” and “God damn,” and allege that “the teachers actually had the audacity to have students read these profanities out loud in class.” They also complained that the novel, set in Depression-era California, is too “negative” and “dark.”

To call a Steinbeck story non-quality seems absurd to me, but I must confess that his East of Eden is the best book I’ve ever read so I’m a bit biased.

And to call a book about The Depression as too “negative” and “dark” just makes me want to answer, “Duh!”

Dave Eubanks, a nonvoting committee member, supports the recommendation. “Nobody’s banning books or burning books, he told the Spokesman-Review. “There was just too darn much cussing. It was on almost every single page of the novella.”

If the reviewers think the book has  “just too darn much cussing”, then how can they grasp 14 year olds hearing (and/or saying) even stronger words that are said multiple times on the bus ride to school, in the lunch room, and on television every night. Words a lot more profane than bastard and God damn.

Heaven forbid! 🙂

Using the strongest words allowed by the reviewers, I’ll claim that Of Mice and Men is a gosh darn good book.

Raw? Yes. Disturbing? Yes. Profane? Yes. Honest? Yes. An appropriate read in high school? Yes. A better read as an adult? Yes.

Meridian, Idaho

I received the following text the other day:

Kathy-just saw your ad for bar stools on Craigslist.  Is there anything wrong with them?

This came from a woman who eventually bought the bar stools.

The text fascinated me because she expected me to tell her the truth.

I had already indicated twice on the posting that the chairs were in “excellent” condition and they were.

It surprised me that she thought that I might have lied in the post but that I would tell her the truth if she asked.

Her expectations were that people told the truth when she asked them questions.

While she might expect that, reality might be very different.

As I get older, I’m finding that I have fewer and fewer expectations that things will work out a specific way. And, more importantly, I rarely expect that people react to things the way I think they will.

Reminds me of an exchange in Pretty Woman:

Edward: “It’s just that very few people surprise me.”

Vivian: “Yeah, well, you’re lucky. Most of them shock the hell out of me.”

Meridian, Idaho

There are some of us who like to question everything, and there are some of us who like answers for everything…

Yesterday, Rich and I were at Lowe’s and Home Depot shopping for window blinds. Oddly, half of our new home has blinds while the other half does not. 🙂 So we’re trying to match the new with the old.

Rich was getting a bit peeved at me because I kept going off topic and looking at all the new items that are now available; they weren’t when we stopped building houses eight years ago.

I’m a questioner. Some of my often used sentences end in question marks:

Why? Why Not? I wonder how…? What if…?

Rich wanted answers: Who had the best matching blinds for the best price?

I wanted to look at all the newest and coolest items to see how they worked.

That got me thinking about how many questions I asked while growing up. Lots and then lots more.

In my family, asking questions wasn’t necessarily a good thing. If we questioned, then it was perceived that we weren’t respecting authority or the Church’s teachings.

That’s not how I saw it. I saw questions as a way to learn more.

The interesting thing is that I think our kids inherited both tendencies from us. They ask questions but they also stick to task when necessary.

Are you a questioner, an answerer, or both?

PS: We got blinds at Lowe’s: best to suit our needs at the lowest price. 🙂

Meridian, Idaho

While staying with and visiting my dad last week, a couple of secrets came out.

He had a legal appointment where he had to sign dozens of papers.

As I watched him sign his John Hancock over and over again, I remembered all of the times I forged his signature during high school.

I confessed and told Dad and the lawyer about it. “This brings back lots of memories of signing your name on fake absence notes whenever I cut school.”

He laughed and said that he’d never had a clue. Luckily, I never got caught being truant.

Melissa, the lawyer, laughed as well and said that no one had ever admitted that in her office before.

She then asked me if I had anything else to confess.

I said that after telling Dad that I had smoked marijuana last fall while traveling in Colorado I think that confessing two things was enough for this visit.

Dad will be 95 in a couple of months and I don’t want to shock him too much… 🙂