Monday, September 19, 2011


I was going to save this for a blog on coping with spondylolisthesis, but even healthy people can do this, so here goes.

The thought of the nice, fluffy dust on those fan blades falling into my sleeping nostrils or my breakfast cereal is just disgusting. I have, from when I could paint anything, a medium-long paint roller handle for what they call a weenie roller. If you wrap the fluffy part in a sock, it can fit right over the fan blade and get most of the dust. If you only have the big fluffy paint roller, you may have to take a stitch or two in something. Or get a sock from a really big guy.

First I put my raincoat over the bed, since no cleaning method is foolproof. Then I drag in my step stool and put it right next to the bed, under part of the fan. If your balance is at issue, a long handled roller might still allow you to do this. The roller fits right over the fan blade and the sock grabs the dust. The fan wants to revolve, so I have to hold on to the next blade. I may put an artistic dot of a favorite color on one blade, so I won't lose my place. 

On to the dining area. Fresh sock, repeat raincoat and all the other steps. Give self a gold star. Or something even nicer.

Thursday, September 15, 2011


I am shamed daily and threatened with global annihilation or at least detention by every magazine, webzine, and the occasional neighbor.  Why?  Because I don't recycle everything including leftover soymilk and purified water.  

Yes, I have tossed the occasional mooshy banana or unchewable melon half.  But please!

The real shame is in my bathroom.  A really good conditioner and sunscreen are available only in tubes.  Have you ever tried cleaning out a tube for recycling?   (We won't even go into the dabs of sunscreen on my clothes from a tube that gets surly most mornings.) 

 By some contrary coincidence, these tubes sprouted up just when the urging to recycle was upon us.

And dare I go into the matter of the really good body lotion, conditioner, or whatever that comes only in a skinny bottle with a pump?   The tubes, surely not by evil design, wear out long before the bottle is empty.  (Note the lotion bottle that's been on it's side on my nightstand.  When I have time, I can shake the last of the lotion out of the now-pumpless bottom. 

I could smear myself with honey instead of buying lotion (if it's good for a facial, why not?  Or are they designing a tube for honey?)  

This could go on for some time, unless some container designer has a horrible nightmare that his granddaughter is surrounded at sea by a million discarded tubes.  Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

 Or we could boycott.  Or write more letters . . .