Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Pop Quiz

Pop Quiz:  What do these things have in common:  tights, pantyhose and paper towels?  

They can all come in white?  True, but no.  They all can be shredded pretty easily?  Again, possibly true, but no.  They’re things we (or maybe it’s just me?) are particular about?  Getting closer!

Here’s a clue:  What’s the first thing you do once you’ve opened these things up?  Throw away the packaging, right?  At least, that’s the first thing I do after I open stuff up, despite all the warnings about “original packaging required for full refund” (electronics and clothing excluded—those items come under the rules of one of my Systems: If something is expensive and you’re not sure it’s going to keep living in your house as long as you intended, KEEP EVERYTHING REMOTELY CONNECTED TO ITS PURCHASE).  But paper towels and tights?  Where the heck am I going to keep all that annoying, clingy, floaty plastic once I’ve ripped it up to get at the paper towels?  Or the little piece of flimsy cardboard those tights came in?  Because who ever expects to return paper towels, and who ever has the courage to return pantyhose?  Or even tights.  Not me, at least.  So out it goes.

Which is a mistake.  Not because I want to return them.  Just the opposite:  because I want to buy them again. 

Because the answer to the pop quiz, what these things have in common, is that once opened up and the packaging has gone bye-bye, there is absolutely no identifying mark, anywhere on the darn things, to let you know what you just dried your hands on or just wore to such nice effect with your very happening knee-high Michael Kors boots and short skirt.  No identifying mark, I tell you, not a one.  

I’ve discovered this the hard way many times. 

Tuscan Pears
Paper towels are one item I buy without care for cost.  I buy paper towels because they have the cutest pattern.  (Is there even such a thing as a really expensive paper towel?  So how bad could the hit be?)  No white, a pattern please, and around holiday time, there is always a holiday-themed towel gracing our kitchen.  But the rest of year, too, I strive to find the most charming pattern.  Which involves a little bit of time standing in the paper goods aisle, sorting through all the options, be it the store brand, the brand with that Lumberjack (who is that guy, again?) or Rosie’s quicker-picker upper, looking for the cheeriest print or the one that best reflects who I am—at least on that particular day.  Am I feeling Vegetables today?  Happy Days and Shared Moments?  Maybe Tuscan Pears?  Or no, maybe at this time in my life Toasters and Starbursts will really express the inner me.  (In actuality, our current towels are sporting red and green candies and candy canes, signaling the official start of the Christmas season in our house.)  Anyway, I work hard to get it right.  And the payoff is that when I spill something, or Jimmy (our really really really cute little blonde dog—did I mention he’s cute?) has thrown up all over the kitchen floor, or Steve has (yet again) paid no attention to the fact that there are thousands of coffee grounds all over the floor under the coffee maker, I am immediately made happy just to tear off those paper towels and see one of those charming prints crumpled in my hand.  Despite the less than idyllic situation (does he not SEE the grounds???).
the culprits












So like I said, I work hard to get it right.  And after finding just the right towel to wipe up the dog vomit or the ever-present coffee grounds, I want to be able to perpetuate that lovely moment.  I want those towels again, so I can re-live that moment.  Well, or maybe re-live the moment before those things happened and I was just enjoying the towel in its holder, pre-catastrophe.  So when I get to the end of that paper towel roll, darn it, I want to be reminded of what this fabulous product is that I’ve so grown to love.  So I can buy it again.

And then there are the tights.  I love to wear tights all winter, and this, just like the paper towel selection, takes some research.  They need to be opaque enough to not see through (even in the knees, thank you), thick enough to stretch but not lose their shape (even in the knees, thank you again), and long enough so the crotch is not heading south as I walk.  (I do recall one unpleasant incident a year or so ago, when the waistband of my tights had somehow lost its hug, if you will, and the crotch started falling lower and lower, so that I had to make an emergency stop in Target to buy a new pair, and prayed all the way to the checkout stand that my waistband wouldn’t be hugging my knees before I got to the restroom to put on the new pair.  It was a very close call, that’s all I’ll say about that.)  It’s so important to find just the right pair.

And on that note, let me take a moment to stray off-topic just a bit and offer a little tip here:  If you’re a gal –and I suppose this would apply to men, too, but I’m not quite sure of the ramifications of their sizing—who gains weight from the waist up, you’re in like Flynn:  go with the sizing right there on the package.  You’re 120 lbs  and 5’6”?  (You lucky girl.)  Get the small!  Ignore that “shaded area”:  be bold and get the smaller size!  (And by the way, if you’re 5’6” and 120 pounds, I can only assume there isn’t anything you need to worry about, other than making sure your paper towels are adorable.)  But if you happen to be a gal who gains weight sort of all over, or maybe even from the waist down? (And ladies, if, perhaps, you’re anticipating weight gain--due to upcoming holidays, boredom or perhaps a looming break-up--this applies to you, too.)  Then all bets are off.  A great system I put in place here is:  ALWAYS GET AT LEAST ONE SIZE BIGGER THAN THEY RECOMMEND.  Pay no attention to helpful tips on the packaging such as: “Sized for real women” or “Now more accurate sizing!”  “Now with more stre-e-e-etch!”  Disregard all such “claims.”  THEY ARE NOT TRUE.  Always go up a size; I don’t care if you’re skimming the lower end of the chart, just do it.  You’ll thank me, I promise.  Word of warning here, though:  please don’t take this advice too much to heart and go up too many sizes or you, too, could find yourself in the parking lot of Target sending up one last prayer, before getting out of the car and starting that long walk to the store and into the hosiery section, that your tights will hold their own until you make it to the restroom to replace them.

So I think you can see how important it is to get the right product.  These things don’t just work out by chance or miracle.  There’s a lot of research and effort and, yes, frankly, emotion, put into creating a successful experience.  And as the saying goes, why reinvent the wheel?  Why start all over again the next time you venture out to buy paper towels or tights?  We’re not cavemen, after all; these things have been done by better and smarter people than I, right?

Turns out, possibly not.  Because once you’ve wiped up the last spill or worn those tights till there’s a hole in the toe, lotsa luck.  Because, unless you’re one of those super-organized aliens who anticipates things like this and comes up with a system for it (that’s what I’d call a Ph.D. level system--too much for me, I’ve tried), there is no way to know what it was that you purchased those weeks or months or even years ago.  Because, despite our current fashion system, where every designer in the world from Target to Chanel splashes their logo from the rooftops—or at least from the chest or handle or derriere—there are no identifying marks on these things.  Is it masochism on the part of the manufacturer?  A vengeful brand marketing company?   Is it too hard to print on a cardboard roll?  Are their machines not capable of printing lettering tiny enough to go on the back of a waistband?  Are they just too cheap to make the effort???  My guess is that a committee is somehow involved, and you know what happens whenever something is decided by committee.  Just look at our current Congress for the less than successful results of that little system.

Sadly, I don’t have the answer; I only have the plea.  Bounty, Brawny, Safeway Select, HomeSense, hear me now!  DKNY, HUE, L’eggs, Berkshire, Hanes, listen up!  I want to buy more of your stuff.  Yes, I want to give you more of my money!  I’m dying to!  Why won’t you let me?  How are you missing this opportunity?  Please get your board of directors together, get this on a committee agenda, get your little worker bees to write it out by hand, for heaven’s sake, but do something--print your damn logo somewhere on your product.  Pretty please?

And by the way, guess what?  Remember my falling tights?  There was no tag on those, either.  So I can’t even rest easy, certain that was a once in a lifetime experience.  Oh, the pain.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

You Gotta Love the System

   I’m very organized.  And I love to come up with Systems.  Systems are the key to a life that doesn’t involve the daily insanity and awfulness of trying to find something---my keys, my sunglasses, my purse, the bill that I know is due today (or was it yesterday?), that little scrap of paper I wrote something very important on.  Very important.  Not that any of that has ever happened to me.

Mom, aka Jeanne Eimers & Jimmy
   And I have lots of systems; some I created myself, and some I inherited from my mom, the very organized Jeanne Eimers.  Here’s a classic Jeanne Eimers System:  always keep a “back-up” of kitchen items that you really don’t want to run out of.  So the system is this: the first time around, you buy two of, say, Jane’s Krazy Salt (did you ever use that stuff?  It’s great).  You start using one right away, and you stash the second one in the back of the cabinet.  Then, a year later or so, when you actually use up all the JK Salt, are you up the creek without a paddle—or salt shaker?  No, my friend, because you’ve got your back-up salt waiting for you in the hinterlands of the cabinet, waiting for just this moment that you anticipated all those months ago.  You will NOT have to do without salt!  Ah, life is good, as my mom loves to say.

 The system depends on two things:  First, that you and everyone in your household remember you have this system so that when that last little speck of salt has floated out of the shaker, no one panics, thus avoiding ugly accusations.  (“Who was the last one to almost use up the salt and NOT take a minute to write it on the grocery list that’s right there on the fridge door; right there in front of your face???!!” …should anyone in the family tend to resort to such uncouth displays.)  The second crucial part of the system (and this is where it can break down) depends on your family members—HUSBAND--remember to follow the system.  Because as soon as you take that back-up item out to use it, and before you even think about using it, you had better write it down on the list again.  So you can buy another back-up the very next time you shop, in anticipation of that moment, months from now…   You get the picture.  But of course a system is only as good as its users (STEVE). 

  That, I think, is my favorite system.   Here’s another:  If you have a house with multiple stories, in order to avoid a million little trips up and down, put whatever it is that belongs upstairs but is downstairs, in a little pile toward the edge of a lower stair.   Then the next time you’re going upstairs, you just reach down and scoop up that little pile (warning:  this only works with small things; otherwise, injury could result, for which I have no real system)  and take it upstairs to where it rightly belongs.  And voila, you’ve saved yourself a hundred little trips in an exhausting effort to keep the homestead neat and clean.  That’s a good one, too, courtesy of Jeanne Eimers.   Of course, this one also relies heavily on family participation.  I remember my mom trying to get us to use this system when I was growing up. Mostly in vain.  (And we only had a split level, so there was only a half flight to climb.)  So come to think of it, I don’t actually practice that one now that I’m a grown-up, even though I again live in a split level house.  (Weird, huh?  Are there that many of those around?  I don’t really even like them.)   

Steve thinking about all those steps
   But the lack of that system works out fine in our house, because my husband Steve loves to take as many steps as he can in a day.  I’m not kidding!  Very handy for keeping the house neat.  But I have to say, this little quirk is not so endearing when we’ve driven to the movies where there’s a giant parking lot and it’s 110 degrees out and he parks as far away as possible so he can get in all his steps…   OK, I’m digressing.  The point is, he loves making many, many trips up and down the stairs; as many as he possibly can, in fact.  So there’s really no need for this system in our lives.  Although now that I think of it, I do sort of have my own version of this system currently--for my own things that Steve wouldn’t know where they go.  I carefully place them on the ledge above the stairs, for the next trip downstairs.  And then, about a month or so later, I bring them down.  Well, no, really every two weeks, because I have to clean up before the cleaning lady gets here like clockwork, every two weeks.  (That is, unless we’ve canceled her for the week because we’ve been too busy to clean up for her.)  So they’re only really there for two weeks.  And it’s only a little tiny problem if there happen to be any bills due in that little pile.  Not that that’s ever happened to me, of course.

  So I’m good at creating and following systems, is the point.  It makes me happy and eliminates stress and inefficiency from my life.  And inefficiency is my enemy!  Steve, in addition to loving to take lots of steps, also loves inefficiency, if you can believe that.  I find it hard to.  And certainly hard to accept.  His driving habits are a prime example.  He simply does not see any value in the concept of getting somewhere in the most direct way available.  When we’re on our way somewhere in the car, I’ll often make a comment like, “Hmm, Steve, do you know where we’re going, or would you like a suggestion on how to get there?”  This type of inquiry is usually made after I notice that we’ve traveled 3 miles south when our destination lies oh, about 7 or 8 miles north, or when I happen to notice we’ve been circling the same block for quite a while now, despite the fact that we’re nowhere near our destination.  Steve’s typical response in these situations is, “Oh, I was just checking something out over here.”  Which is not true. On other occasions I might be heard to observe, “The speed limit is 65, just so you know.”  This type of comment might be prompted when we’re traveling along the freeway and cars--and I mean all the other cars on the freeway, even those pulling trailers and those with their flashing yellow “I’m having car trouble” lights on--are passing us at what looks, from inside our car, like the speed of light.  The response to this type of helpful hint is usually something like, “Oh, are you in a hurry?” As you can see, Steve does not see value in efficiency.  And these are just the driving examples; I could give a million more on many topics if asked.

   Oh, did I hear you ask?  Well, let me think, OK, got one.  On the weekends, he does not like to have to put forth any effort.  For anything.  It’s understandable, because he works himself to the bone all week long (at something he loves, I want to add, but nevertheless, he starts his day at about 5am and works until about 7pm.  No joke.)  So you can see why on the weekend, he wants to just relax and regain his energy.  This shows up in all sorts of little ways.  In fact, it shows that he, too, has a system or two of his own.  The first is, when dressing, he will grab whatever shirt happens to be closest to his hand.  Now with that little system, the winning shirt is not necessarily the neatest or most pristine or best looking.  Lucky for me, he does include “going to the movies” in the Relaxing category.  And often, as we’re about to leave the house and I glance up and get a glimpse of his outfit, if you will, there results another wise, always helpful observation from me.  “That shirt is kind of wrinkled.”  Steve:  “Oh, it’ll be fine.”  Me:  “Well, I don’t think it will.  It looks like it’s been crumpled up in a ball.”  When I play the “crumpled in a ball” card, he’s almost always willing to go find another shirt.  He’s very easygoing and cooperative.   Another time, that glance will prompt, “You know, corduroys—especially those heavy-duty wide-wale corduroys--are kind of a cold weather thing; it’s 110 out today.”  Steve:  “I’m fine.  I feel great.  I’m not hot.”   At this point, I become the cooperative one and let it go.  But I do then manage somehow to make it look like I’m not with him as we wait in line at the movies and even while he pays for our tickets.  It’s a trick I’ve cultivated over the many years of our relationship.  (This skill was honed in the early days when Steve would wear his huge, old gym shoes with his dress pants.  And not as a fashion statement; just because they were the "best walking shoes.")

  OK, but back to systems!  Other quick, easy to do systems that make me happy:  storing smaller suitcases inside bigger ones so they only take up as much room as the biggest one (the only flaw in this system is when you have to lift that suitcase filled with all those other, smaller ones…  This is yet another instance where Steve, or possibly your own husband, comes in handy); not bringing my purse or wallet or anything extraneous to the gym so I don’t need to waste time getting a locker or worrying whether my stuff will get stolen; keeping an extra driver’s license in my glove compartment in case I get pulled over on the way to the gym and get cited for not having any identification (in hindsight, maybe you should ignore the previous system); keeping each set of sheets and one of its pillowcases folded, then placed inside the other pillowcase, so all the pieces don’t get lost in the linen closet; keeping two laundry baskets next to the washing machine—one for colors, one for whites, so I save myself that very annoying step when I do the wash; unloading the grocery basket so that all the heavy stuff goes on the conveyer belt first, so that light things aren’t crushed by, say, the gallon of milk or giant bag of dog food barreling down to the end (the flaw here—can you see it coming?—is that the bagger, who obviously has not yet earned his Ph.D. in this particular skill, just bags them as they come, resulting in some bags being ve-e-ery heavy, and others light as can be.  Major flaw, actually.  And that always seems to happen when no one (Steve) is home to help me carry the bags in.  Note to self:  you may want to re-think this system.)

  I’ve got a million of ‘em.  These are just a few.  I may tell you more later.  And I'll be certain to tell you more about Steve's quirks, er, "systems."