Let's Make a Deal

I love a good bargain.  Not that kind of bargain!  I lack the ability to find a good deal in a store or at a garage sale.  Much to my great frustration, I am not endowed with that kind of luck.

But I am a champion at the household chore bargain!

I come from a long line of bargainers.  I learned it from my older sister, who learned it from our older brother, who perhaps learned it from our oldest brother though I can't confirm that, and he probably learned it from a medicine man in Minnesota.  (They were all really good at cheating at board games as well but I, thankfully, have not inherited that.)

It went something like this:
Lanie (Older Sister): Hey will you go out and water the cows for me?
Me: No.
Lanie: If you go water them you can have my Huey Lewis and the News 45 record.  (She knew I'd been drooling over that sweet 45 record.)
Me: Deal.

Here's another scenario:
Lanie: Hey if you wash the dishes for me tonight I'll vacuum for you tomorrow.
Me: No.  I don't mind vacuuming.  What else you got.
Lanie: I'll vacuum and do the dishes next time it's your turn.
Me: No, I want you to do the dishes the next two times it's my turn.
Lanie: Deal.

There are several keys to the bargain. 

• One must know how badly the other person wants the deal.  If they want it enough you can really get some great trades.  Conversely, if you initiate the deal, do not let them know how badly you want it unless you want to wind up doing the dishes the next 15 times it is their turn. 
• One must be willing to yield a little if initiating said deal. 
• One must always be storing away information about the other party in order to bring something enticing to the table the next time a deal is desired.
• One must sometimes engage in bargains with the other party - even when not in the dealing mood - in order for reciprocation to occur. 
• One must know how to make the other party feel like they are getting the better end of the deal.

For Instance:
Me: If you run to the store for me I'll empty out the dishwasher.
Brian: I don't want to run to the store.
Me: You'll be back from the store and resting on the couch again before I'm done emptying this dishwasher.  You are clearly the winner here.
Brian: Okay.

Now, to be fair to Brian, he is easy to take because he, evidently, did not grow up bargaining.  It usually doesn't occur to him to wheel and deal with me when he wants something.  And he never makes a counter offer!!  He could totally counter offer, throw in extras, and come out a champ - some of the time at least.  But most of the time it's really kind of pathetic.  It's like he's taken the thrill of the game from me. 

Slowly but surely, he's getting the hang of it.  Just the other afternoon I was complaining about vacuuming and he asked if I wanted him to do it.  Ummmm...OF COURSE!  And then he said, bringing a tear of pride to my eye, "you have to do something for me then."  I was ready to deal! 

"Okay," I pressed on.

"You have to let me play Assassin's Creed (a video game)" he replied.

"DEAL!"

In my best Charlie Sheen voice spoken in my head I thought, "Duh, WINNING!"  I didn't have to do anything!  Except not complain about him playing a video game.  Sweet, innocent Brian.  You've so much to learn about bargaining power.  I found plenty of ways to entertain myself for an evening.  Plus I got to watch him vacuum. 

And he looked dreamy.

Give Me a Head of Hair, Long Beautiful Hair

I gave the old oil and vinegar hair care regimen a fair shake.  I really did.  And in all reality it wasn't bad.  But that chapter, my friends, has come to a close.

I began this journey with my knitting friends who challenged me to try it for the period of Lent since I was interested in it anyway.  All was going okay, but I never felt like my hair was getting conditioned very well.  My hair didn't feel as silky, tangle free, and soft as I wanted.  I kept waiting for the magical transformation in my hair - hair that had never felt healthier - that others had spoken of.  It never really came.  (Sort of like the elusive runner's high that I never once experienced in all my attempts at becoming a runner.) 

The end of June is when I was finally able to see my knitting group again.  I hadn't seen them since February!  (Which is wrong and unhealthy.)  They, in their delightful honest ways, told me that my hair looked fine except that it wasn't as shiny.  I agreed. 

I decided to try an experiment with the vinegar conditioner by throwing in a tablespoon of olive oil with my vinegar water mixture.  I hopped in the shower, went through my normal routine, and when that conditioner met my hair I thought I heard angels singing.  This, THIS, is what conditioned hair felt like.  I rubbed it through my hair ends and rinsed it out, all the while reveling in the luxurious feel of my hair. 

Ah, but what a cruel hoax it all turned out to be.  A few moments later when I was blow drying my hair I realized that I had not in fact rinsed out the "conditioner" at all.  Somehow, I had thought the vinegar would cut through the oil and allow it to rinse off.  The oil sat on my hair like those poor bird-victims of the Exxon Valdez disaster.  I thought maybe as I blow dried it the heat would help it to absorb into my hair.  This did not happen. 

I walked around with my oily cap of hair wanting to wash it so badly.  And I mean wash it with shampoo.  Not only did I feel the baking soda wash was not going to be any sort of match for this oily disaster head, but I was longing to feel the rich lather and sudsy softness of a shampoo - that complete squeaky clean feeling that comes with all that soapy goodness.  But I had come so far!  How could I just give up, revert back? 

I decided I would shampoo and condition (and I mean manufactured conditioner here) JUST ONCE and then I would go back to what I was doing.  Maybe try some other experiments with the conditioner.

In the shower I was nervous.  Would I remember how to do this?  How would my hair react?  Well, it's like riding a bicycle, the squeezing of the bottles and the lathering of the head.  And let me tell you how my hair reacted.

My. Hair. Loved. It.

I don't think my hair had ever felt so silky and supple and soft and gorgeous in my entire life.  I don't think my baby hair felt as sweet as the hair on my head felt on that particular day.  I was like a Pantene commercial, touching my hair, swishing my hair, smelling my hair, tossing my luxurious locks. 

A part of me knew right then and there that it was over.  We were going camping that weekend and I decided I didn't want to hassle with taking baking soda and vinegar and putting together my mixtures while camping.  But I would go right back to it the next week I said.

When we got home we were getting ready to leave in a few days for another weekend.  I decided there was no point in hassling with it right then either.  I would get right back to it the next week.

But the next week came, and I marched slowly into the bathroom.  I grasped my mustard and dressing bottles I'd been using for the hair care mixtures, and walked resignedly into the kitchen, where I placed them gently in the dishwasher.  It was over.  In the end, I'm simply too vain.  Woe is me.  I am too weak and too proud. 

I have decided that what is better, for my hair at least, has little to do with what I'm washing it with but rather the frequency.  My hair is so much healthier when I only wash it every third day.  It was a good run.  Now I know.  And sweet mercy, you just ought to run your fingers through my hair sometime.  I can't get over the difference. 

I am an Old Person Whom Shall Henceforth Talk About Her Physical Ailments

I've been a little tired lately.  That is perhaps the greatest understatement ever made on my blog.  (And I've been known to exaggerate upon occasion.)  I have been grossly exhausted.  To the point that I was getting ten or more hours of sleep a night, still taking naps, and when I was awake I felt like I was under water trying to move through my day.  On top of that I felt like my heart was racing all the time - a constant bounding heartbeat.

So naturally, I thought I was going to die. 

Then I slapped myself across my face, pulled myself together, and got focused.  I did what any other sane person would do.  I turned to Google for answers.  One suggestion that came up was that I might be anemic (low on iron).  Light bulb.  I don't know why I didn't think of this.  (It was probably the lack of red blood cells carrying oxygen to my brain.) 

I've had trouble with iron ever since high school.  The first time I ran into it was my junior or senior year.  I had been highly fatigued for at least six months and I remember begging my mother to take me to the doctor to see what was wrong.  She finally did.  (Although, looking back, I admire her restraint because I can't imagine how snide I probably would have been.  Oh, you're a teenager and you're tired are you?  Don't say!  I just can't imagine!  Let me alert the media!  A tired teenager!)  Anyway, he immediately put me on iron.  I was pretty much right as rain within a week. 

The first year Brian and I were married a different doctor caught my low iron levels in a blood test and again, I went on iron.  But I worry about having too much iron since it builds up in your system - so I always end up going off of it eventually.  Evidently it'd been a little too long.  So, I'm back on the sweet, sweet, iron.  Within two days my heartbeat was back to normal (the rapid heartbeat is caused by not having enough red blood cells to carry oxygen so the heart has to work extra hard - sorry heart!) and my energy levels have been steadily improving.  I've crawled out of the bed, off the couch, and out from under my blankies and I'm ready to meet the world again.

In related news: I have discovered Melatonin!  Melatonin is a hormone that helps control circadian rhythms.  It's a simple supplement that can be purchased in the vitamin section.  I think we all know I have sleep issues.  I have been taking it for a few weeks and it may all be in my head - but I'm going to sleep at normal times and waking up at normal times.  I may be able to live my life like a normal person!!  I never thought it could be possible.  I think all along I've had a dysfunctional circadian rhythm.  I don't know how long I'll take it, because I don't want to turn into that crazy supplement-taking-38-pills-a-day-lady.  But right now, it feels nice to function like the rest of humanity. 

So, my blood's all pumped up with iron and I'm sleeping normally.  Who knows what's next! 

A Thursday Kind of a Blog

After two fantastic long weekends with first my family, and then Brian's, with hosting a dinner party mixed into the middle of it, I completely fell apart this week.  Exhaustion took over and I wandered around like a zombie trying to function.  Then yesterday I got my hair cut and that, evidently, was the last straw.  When I got home I went to sleep.  And I slept.  A whole bunch.

But today is Thursday and, while not terribly interesting, here is what the day looked like:

• I'm still waiting for Doreen the dove to hatch her babies.  It should be happening any minute.  She is completely faithful.  She often gives me hateful looks while I'm watering my plants out front though. 
• I gave several piano lessons.  They were delightful.  My favorite conversation from the lessons went thusly: Me - How was your week? Student - Stressful.  My sister just got home from Belgium and I forgot that she hates me.  
• My parents popped in while I was giving lessons and were kind enough to wait around while I finished up my lessons.  Then they took me to the fair.  They paid my entrance fee.  They bought me lunch.  Clearly, I am still seven years old.  And they let me drag them through every single animal barn.  I loved every second.
• I came home and decided I needed to learn how to play the guitar.  I have done many awkward things with my hands in my piano playing career but I have never done anything as awkward as trying to play a C chord on the guitar.  And I have felt pain while playing the piano but at least the surface of the piano keys never feels like trying to make music on a cheese slicer.  Those strings are a bit ouchy. 
• Currently, the dog is sleeping on the living room rug, Brian is sleeping on the couch "watching" a Cubs game, and I'm checking in with ya'll. 
• Tomorrow - a morning walk and some garage saling with a friend.  Here's hoping your summer is finding you enjoying some easy living as well.

Birds Inc.

I hate to tell you that the bird drama is continuing around here.  But it is. 

The saga of the birds has now moved to the front porch.  Yesterday, whilst watering the hanging flower baskets on my front porch, I discovered a bird nest in one of them.  "No wonder this basket's not looking too hot," I thought to myself.  I looked in the nest: no eggs, no birds.  I decided that the birds must have moved on.  I removed the nest and discarded it in the alley where it was promptly smashed by passing cars.

This morning I awake to find a dove sitting in said hanging basket.  I thought, "silly bird, you can't live here anymore.  I took your nest.  These are no longer suitable lodgings."  When the dove was spooked by a passing car I peeked in the basket to see what damage was done, and behold, there was an egg.  Now I know that egg was not there yesterday.  This dove laid that egg this morning.

Now I'm filled with extreme remorse.  Can you imagine what I've done?!?!  I threw out this mama's nest!  She worked tirelessly to get a cozy space ready to birth her babies, came back to the nest this morning in the midst of birthing pangs, only to discover that her work had been destroyed!  And now, there was no time for her to even gather the resources to build a new one.  The baby was coming and the inn had been torn down.  I am a horrible monster. 

And what do I do about my flowers that are in that basket?  Do I just let her sit all over them and destroy them?  Will I be able to water them?  Will she and her babies be pooping on them?  I read that the gestation period is about 14 days.  How long will they be living there after they hatch?  What if they don't hatch and I've sacrificed my plants for nothing?  Are these residents permanent - will they be returning each year?

Clearly I cannot evict a mother and her babies.  That would be cruel beyond belief.  I guess I'll just be tip-toeing around the front porch for awhile awaiting the new arrivals - and for the magic of nature to unfold.

Last Lesson

It was a beautiful day for our last piano lesson, Nadia and I.  The sun was shining, the windows open: it was as if the heavens were blessing this last meeting between the two of us.

Nadia came to me as a young girl, she must have been in the fourth or fifth grade.  I had taught her older sister some years before and I was aware that their mother had passed away from cancer recently.  I wasn't sure what to expect.  Would she be fragile and shy, would I need to handle her with kid gloves?  But she came with enthusiasm for learning the piano and an outgoing, sweet, and funny personality.  And we had so many good times together as I watched her develop into a wonderful pianist and a delightful young woman.

I knew today was coming.  This wasn't one of those times where it hits me like a punch in the gut.  She graduated from highschool this spring, and this is an inevitable ending - sad though it may be.  But she gave me the beautiful gift of seeing this thing - piano lessons - through to the end.  It wasn't always easy.  There were plenty of weeks she struggled with practice or didn't make it to a lesson.  We shared the disappointments of poor performances and slow progress at times.  But we also marveled at her increasing ability, her love of music, and those times when her performances just shined.  I loved how inquisitive she is, about music and life.  We laughed A LOT in our lessons.  She also gave me one of those moments that makes me so thrilled to be a piano teacher this spring: she played me a song she had composed.  And it was enchanting - a sweet, beautiful piece of music. 

But on this gorgeous June day, at Nadia's last lesson, we also had the chance to sit and talk to each other - something that normally just can't happen in a half hour lesson.  I wanted to encourage her to continue playing, and to know what she had planned next.  And with the lesson done, we could sit and talk like two friends, without the barrier of the teacher student dynamic - another great gift to me.  She doesn't know what is in store for her next.  And in so many ways neither do I.  I love teaching piano and I know I'm going to continue to do it.  But I also have this feeling that there is something else too.  I just don't know what.  We both had a sense that we are waiting to see what God has in store for us - as if we are both sonatas waiting for the composer to finish the next movement.

Nadia has probably taught me as much as I've taught her, as do most of my students.  I can't wait to see where she goes in life.  This was a good ending, both sad and happy.  As she rose from the piano bench to leave we hugged.  Then we hugged again.  The two of us - unfinished compositions that we are.

For the Birds

It's no secret that I am officially old.  One hallmark of my advancing age is my daily bird-watching.  That's right.  I am obsessed with birds.  It won't be long now until I'm taking bird watching trips, learning bird calls, purchasing bird books, and otherwise engaging in this geriatric past-time. 

However, the birds have been angering me of late.  Frankly, they're needy and rude - not taking into account my feelings or appreciating my efforts to make their lives better at all.

1. A few years ago I purchased a lovely hummingbird feeder to replace my cheeky plastic red one.  The new one is really lovely.  I purchased it at a bird store in Indianapolis.  It's purple and has a lovely disk shape with elegant detailing and a perch for the birds to sit while they eat.  I brought it home, threw out the old one and waited for the hummingbirds to come.  I thought there would surely now be more hummingbirds than ever as word spread throughout bird land of the new and superior feeder that was hanging over by the little yellow house.  I figured I might have to purchase a few more of them so that fights would not break out amongst these charming, yet territorial, feathered creatures.  But they did not come.  In fact, the ones that had been visiting ceased feeding at our house at all.  Finally, last year I went and bought a $3 el-cheapo hummingbird feeder that was red and plastic and stupid looking just to see what happened.  Within minutes the hummingbirds returned.  All manner of hummingbirds descended on that grotesque red feeder.  I am beside myself.  I don't even know if I want them around if they're going to act like that.
2. Ah, the gold finches, with their sweet songs and enchanting head movements.  They love my gold-finch-feeder.  They really do.  I filled that baby up at the beginning of spring and they immediately came and ate.  And ate.  And ate.  They ate like crazy.  Until the feeder was only a quarter full.  And then they stopped.  No more finches.  I wondered what happened.  I thought maybe they were all busy having their babies and would return in a few weeks.  Or maybe a terrible bird tragedy had befallen them like those birds in the south last year.  Were they dropping dead out of the sky?  I worried about my little finches.  I decided to fill the feeder again, even though there was clearly still plenty of food in it, just to see what happened.  Again, within minutes they were back.  All manner of gold finches, verily, every gold finch in the county it seemed was eating their fill.  So, evidently they were all too good to eat the food at the bottom of the feeder?  What?  They want a full feeder or they won't eat?  Who do these finches think they are?  Shame on them.
3. This final example is really the last nail in the coffin for me.  I had read that birds like to eat where there is a water source so they can drink and bathe and be generally content.  So this weekend I finally purchased a bird bath.  Just a silly cheapy one but I think it looks kinda cute.  I thought it would be the final installment in my bird-paradise-back-yard, and I knew the birds would love me for it.  But I also have these little candle holders on posts in my flower beds.  The idea is that they can hold citronella candles but in reality all they do is collect rain water since we never put candles in them.  They are a few feet away from my new bird swimming pool.  And yesterday, I watched a bird reject the bird bath only to land on the edge of one of the candle/water holders.  It took a drink, which was cute so I almost forgave it.  And then.  Then this bawdy little bird turned around, placed its little tail feathers in the water (which was still kind of cute) AND POOPED IN MY CANDLE HOLDER.  I SAW THE POOP FLOAT DOWN THROUGH THE WATER.  And then it flew away.  I have now attached signs to each of the candle holders informing these foul fowl that these are NOT birdy bidets.  Okay, I haven't actually done that but I am incensed, downright offended.  These birds show no respect. 

And that, good people, is why caring for the birds might be better left to the birds.