I'm suddenly wondering what all I did as a kid that made my teachers question my level of intelligence.
In 3rd grade Mrs. A gave us an extensive lesson on magnets and magnetic attraction. Then she took us outside with a large, over-sized magnet and let us take turns picking things to test for being magnetic. All of the other kids picked things like a nail or a paperclip from the ground (yeah, I don't think our school had the safest grounds) or the iron railing for the stairs. Me? I brought her a rock. Every time.
But this was my reasoning: I knew how magnets worked. I wasn't interested in confirming what I already knew - that the magnet was going to attract a paper clip or anything obviously metal like that. She had mentioned in the lesson that magnets were attracted to metal and that the metal was found in the earth, in rocks. So duh, I wanted to find some hidden stuff I couldn't obviously predict... it was like a random treasure hunt.
I'm pretty sure all Mrs. A thought was, "Oh great, here she comes again. With another rock. Did this girl listen at all? I've already told her that probably none of the rocks her have iron in them. Seriously, they put this child in gifted and talented? They must be desperate." As I came at her with a big stupid smile and another large rock in my hand.
We never did find one that attracted the magnet.
Easier Done Than Said: Attempts at blogging by a girl who doesn't like writing.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Problems and Solutions
I officially reside in the midwest. And while the people are lovely and our house is cute, I can't decide if I'll ever get used to it. I'm reserving judgement until I live through winter.
It doesn't help that my GI track has apparently taken it upon itself to process all the stress of the past three months into less than semi-solid waste. Thanks, colon. And whatever my colon missed, my subconscious has absorbed and refined into dreams (involving one particular ex) more bizarre than I thought possible to conceive. My subconscious thought differently.
The happy part of moving across the country and being only slightly closer to home is that first of all, we have our own home. I love my in-laws dearly but... I'll let you fill in the rest. Even when families used to stay close together, newlyweds almost always built a separate free-standing home on the family land for a reason. A good reason. I don't feel the need to further explain these feelings.
The second part is that, thanks to much help from me mam, my house is fairly well organized and on its way to being decently decorated. I've collected quite a bit of decor over the years as a single person and then even more when I moved to the state of Deseret Industries and regular flea markets, and yet even more after I received my unexpected inheritance from my baby sister. I use all of it.
You'd be surprised what a trip to the local thrift store/flea market/antique mall can solve. My favorite solutions to organizational problems were often through a trip to DI. Like my make-up, hair stuff, and jewelry: all stored and easily accessible in a hodge podge of glass trays & stemware from the thrift store. Or my extra fabric for sewing: stored in vintage suitcases under my cutting table. (Someday I'm going to paint those suckers too. The suitcases, not the fabrics.) I have never bought a single serving bowl from anywhere but the thrift store. And I have some lovely glass bowls. Needed more storage/cupboard space in the kitchen: found two cabinets on sale at the local antique mall. They are currently curing from their paint facial. And they look adorable. Needed more storage for the master bath. Small bookcase with cute scallop trim? $40 at the antique mall? Yes, please. Was it painted pitch-black? Yeah, it was. Was. It is now a charming two-tone green with white trim. Did I find a set of turquoise ceramic canisters that match my kitchen perfectly at a random thrift store while husband was visiting his Iraqi refugee family? Yes, yes I did. Did I pay more than $15 for all 4 of them? No, no I did not. Or how about my vintage kitchen table that matches my 50s diner look perfectly? That's right, it came with sparkly red vinyl & chrome chairs and a bonus bar stool, all for $200. Thank you, Confetti Antiques and my mothers for giving it to me as a Christmas present.
And finally, in a sad/hilarious turn of events, the garage sale furniture that I bought for myself in my undergrad has made it full circle. I bought a nightstand for $10, a dresser for $30 or $40, and a desk for $5 when I moved into a house with my sister during my undergrad. My mom came up for a weekend and spray painted all of it white & yellow to go in my bedroom at the time and gave it matching hardware. Then I hit the Oregon trail and my sister inherited it. She didn't care for the yellow, so she made all of it just white. Then she got married and passed it to buck-buck #3, who used it for the remainder of her undergrad before hauling it off to med school with her. That is, all but the $5 dollar desk, which when I last saw it was resting next to the apartment dumpster with a "FREE" sign attached to it. Sister #3 then proceeded to paint the set cream with a black wood crackle finish (so it's really mostly black) to match her cowgirl/western red, cream, & black room at med school. She also added a cute consul table from Craigslist to the set and changed the hardware. And now, since she up and left us, I have reacquired my college furniture, conveniently painted to match my living room and the guest room. But I changed the hardware once again. At least on two pieces. I couldn't help it. (And it's kind of her fault. She must have meant to get a few more pieces but they don't make them anymore... anyway, I solved that problem.)
Someday, the paint will dry, and I will post pictures of my achievements from the past few weeks.
It doesn't help that my GI track has apparently taken it upon itself to process all the stress of the past three months into less than semi-solid waste. Thanks, colon. And whatever my colon missed, my subconscious has absorbed and refined into dreams (involving one particular ex) more bizarre than I thought possible to conceive. My subconscious thought differently.
The happy part of moving across the country and being only slightly closer to home is that first of all, we have our own home. I love my in-laws dearly but... I'll let you fill in the rest. Even when families used to stay close together, newlyweds almost always built a separate free-standing home on the family land for a reason. A good reason. I don't feel the need to further explain these feelings.
The second part is that, thanks to much help from me mam, my house is fairly well organized and on its way to being decently decorated. I've collected quite a bit of decor over the years as a single person and then even more when I moved to the state of Deseret Industries and regular flea markets, and yet even more after I received my unexpected inheritance from my baby sister. I use all of it.
You'd be surprised what a trip to the local thrift store/flea market/antique mall can solve. My favorite solutions to organizational problems were often through a trip to DI. Like my make-up, hair stuff, and jewelry: all stored and easily accessible in a hodge podge of glass trays & stemware from the thrift store. Or my extra fabric for sewing: stored in vintage suitcases under my cutting table. (Someday I'm going to paint those suckers too. The suitcases, not the fabrics.) I have never bought a single serving bowl from anywhere but the thrift store. And I have some lovely glass bowls. Needed more storage/cupboard space in the kitchen: found two cabinets on sale at the local antique mall. They are currently curing from their paint facial. And they look adorable. Needed more storage for the master bath. Small bookcase with cute scallop trim? $40 at the antique mall? Yes, please. Was it painted pitch-black? Yeah, it was. Was. It is now a charming two-tone green with white trim. Did I find a set of turquoise ceramic canisters that match my kitchen perfectly at a random thrift store while husband was visiting his Iraqi refugee family? Yes, yes I did. Did I pay more than $15 for all 4 of them? No, no I did not. Or how about my vintage kitchen table that matches my 50s diner look perfectly? That's right, it came with sparkly red vinyl & chrome chairs and a bonus bar stool, all for $200. Thank you, Confetti Antiques and my mothers for giving it to me as a Christmas present.
And finally, in a sad/hilarious turn of events, the garage sale furniture that I bought for myself in my undergrad has made it full circle. I bought a nightstand for $10, a dresser for $30 or $40, and a desk for $5 when I moved into a house with my sister during my undergrad. My mom came up for a weekend and spray painted all of it white & yellow to go in my bedroom at the time and gave it matching hardware. Then I hit the Oregon trail and my sister inherited it. She didn't care for the yellow, so she made all of it just white. Then she got married and passed it to buck-buck #3, who used it for the remainder of her undergrad before hauling it off to med school with her. That is, all but the $5 dollar desk, which when I last saw it was resting next to the apartment dumpster with a "FREE" sign attached to it. Sister #3 then proceeded to paint the set cream with a black wood crackle finish (so it's really mostly black) to match her cowgirl/western red, cream, & black room at med school. She also added a cute consul table from Craigslist to the set and changed the hardware. And now, since she up and left us, I have reacquired my college furniture, conveniently painted to match my living room and the guest room. But I changed the hardware once again. At least on two pieces. I couldn't help it. (And it's kind of her fault. She must have meant to get a few more pieces but they don't make them anymore... anyway, I solved that problem.)
Someday, the paint will dry, and I will post pictures of my achievements from the past few weeks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)