The coolest part of life, in my opinion, are the hands-on opportunities.
Take the experience of buying a gas grill for the first time. My stepmother urged me to get it from a big-box store that would deliver and assemble one for me, but NOPE! I wanted to piece together that sucker myself. It took four hours in the freezing cold garage, and I was missing a part and had to wait another month before getting to use the grill, but I was awfully pleased at myself for getting it done. I like to know how things work, and why. There is a certain satisfaction — and better yet, lack of frustration with others— at doing the hard parts of life yourself.
Challenges of a hands-on attitude in life abound. When I finally got the missing grill part, I ended up calling the fire department before actually grilling anything because the rig failed the final safety protocol of my god it smells like gas. I was on hold with Weber, as the local fire department has an answering machine, and — despite being a bona-fide taxpayer, darn it — I had to wait like everyone else for a response, I noticed something… um, important. The knobs of the grill were set to the “on” position. In other words, the hissing and smell of propane were logical, because the grill was ON.
I hung up astutely and snorted, rather pleased with myself for discovering that I was a fool before talking to a real, live person. Grilling, I expect, will get easier with repetition and experience, like everything else. Meantime I undercooked the chicken and over-blasted the shrimp, but expensive proteins will receive better care in weeks to come, I assure you. :D
Oh, and remember the whole thing a few months ago about the prettiest underwear you’ve ever seen? Scroll back if you missed that episode, but here’s the in-progress report:
Dying your own clothes is — drum roll, please — a PROCESS. It is involved. Also, it’s costly, fascinating, and oddly therapeutic, like all processes.
I think at this point I’ve spent well over $200 on this project, and many subjective hours. By the way, the idea of using washable Elmer’s glue to create batik-like patterns is bunk, as far as I can tell. There are very faint patterns, but nothing definitive.
That said, this is just AWESOME.
I wish you could see the colors in those buckets — so pretty and deep! Eggplant, teal, wine, the blackest black. I can mix brown with pink, and I can dye in layers. I promise to post pics of the final results, when they come out. There are so many steps and mistakes to be made, among them (not surprisingly) making everything come out pink when you have one pair of red underwear mixed into the wash.
Meantime, in publishing news:
My flash fiction piece, “Son of Pissy,” was accepted by Idle Ink about a week ago. It’s a mock undergraduate paper set in a world where people pay others to use the bathroom for them. Personally I thought this concept was just too darn weird, and avoided sending out the piece for years for this very reason, though I greatly enjoyed writing the story. Glad to know I’m not alone in my fascination with toilet humor. :) Actually, it’s a family tradition — I come by it honestly from my late grandfather, who once told me that when he was a boy he could make 14 separate farting noises with his armpit. Love and miss you, Grandpa. ❤
More underwear to come! That is, if I don’t blow myself up in the meantime.
