Pumpkin in a Cup

I bought a bunch of seeds online today, in preparation for the arrival of the greenhouse.  Though up to two feet of snow is predicted for many areas of Montana this weekend, I have my sights on spring.  I got a seed starter kit (a little splurge but easy to use) to get a head start on planting.  Starting seeds indoors is a good idea with certain plants, such as tomatoes. 

I ordered some heirloom vegetables.  Some tasty tomatoes and peppers and eggplants and lettuce and onions and peas and beans.  I got some regular ol’ pumpkins that my son will enjoy this fall (hopefully).  I’m also going to attempt watermelon and garlic.  I bought two huckleberry bushes to add to the exisiting wild huckleberry bush that we have. 

Commercially grown vegetables are usually of the type that make for really good shipping and storage.  If you’ve ever eaten a Red Delicious apple, you’ll know what I am talking about.  Pretty and shiny, they look like they ought to taste really good.  If you ask me, they’re the reason that children prefer fast food.  Bite into one, and you’ll think you’re eating wet styrofoam.  They’re nearly tasteless.  Thankfully many stores are catching on to this and stocking some other varieties - Pink Lady, for example.  However, these tend to sell for quite a bit more. 

Besides providing the masses with poor-tasting vegetables, commercial food growers have all but exterminated many of the unique foods once grown in America.  There are many factors that apply here that I have no interest in ranting about.  After all, why bitch about it when you can just grow your own?  So that is what I am doing.  Part of this experiment is also because I want my children to know where food comes from.  One of the grossest things in the world, to me, is when a child is asked where his carrot came from and he replies “the store.”  While technically and usually accurate, the carrot was somewhere BEFORE the store and that is the answer that all kids should know, if you ask me, which you didn’t.

 

Besides being a really good idea, heirloom gardening is also very popular worldwide.  People with means are starting to get sick of those squishy red apples, and also sick of the fact that many types of foods are disappearing or already extinct.  Check out the Ark.  That’s one way to preserve seeds.  Another way is to encourage gardening as a hobby, especially to kids.  Tell them where their food comes from.  When I was at Home Depot (notice I didn’t go to Lowe’s) I saw that they had some really cute planting kits for kiddos there.  Fun window projects, such as Pumpkin in a Cup. 

While searching for seeds, I came across this site, which had a great quote on it that I am going to borrow:

“The federal government has sponsored research that has produced a tomato that is perfect in every respect, except that you can’t eat it. We should make every effort to make sure this disease, often referred to as ‘progress’, doesn’t spread.”
~ Andy Rooney

 

Breakfast is a Sunny Thing!

Those Jimmy Dean commercials are true!  Jesse made Jimmy Dean sausage this morning, and it was soooo good that I feel like a giant ball of sunshine!

Or maybe it’s the fact that I got to eat breakfast that I didn’t have to cook?  Hmmm….either way, it’s looking like a bright and sunny day…

 

Greenhouse

I bought myself a greenhouse, what with this being the year of living dangerously and all.  Greenhouses are not just for old people.  Or perhaps I am becoming old people.  Either way, I am so excited about this that I may barely be able to contain myself during the 2-4 weeks that it will take to ship!  It’s a good sized 8′6″ x 20′ 9″ greenhouse.  One thing that I really missed living in Colorado was gardening.  I am NOT a gardener by nature.  I do not have houseplants, because I will kill them.  I like to grow food though, that is one thing that I can do okay.  I am hoping that this endeavor will really help me hone my skills in this department.  If not, then I will have a really big building to store snow tires and lawnmowers in.  Ha!

I couldn’t grow anything at 9200 feet in Colorado.  It was too high, too cold, too windy, and the dirt was basically decomposed granite.  I have big plans…BIG PLANS for this summer and I will document their success (or catastrophic failure) here from time to time. 

The greenhouse will mainly be a home for delicate tomatoes and some peppers.  These are hard to grow in the unpredictable weather in Montana.  I plan to try a couple of types of eggplant.  Jesse made me promise to try some cilantro.  And I’ll attempt basil and chives.  The greenhouse will be a great way to start plants early before transplanting them out into the big gardens.  The hardier stuff…potatoes, corn, carrots and onions…those go right into the garden.  It’s been known to freeze at night even in June some years, so this greenhouse will be really SUPER for the more delicate plants.  

 

Thanks for the Memories

I had a conversation with my brother yesterday.  This is actually a big deal; the last time we had a conversation, it was 1984 and the topic was which one of us had better crayons.  Anyway, my son would follow his “Uncle Mike” anywhere so naturally we have to talk.  AJ was clenching his toy dinosaur during the ride, as he had forgotten Teddy back at home.  Kids love their teddy bears/blankies/whatever.  Psychologists call them “the security object”: as a child enters toddlerhood and new freedoms and knowledge, it’s common for kids to latch on to a “security object” as they venture into their own.  My security object was a ratty stuffed Cougar.  My brother’s was a brown, hole-filled teddy named Picky. 

Anyway, the conversation was about traumatic childhood things.  Not Darfur-traumatic, more like Christmas Story-traumatic.  Perhaps a shade more than that.  Either way, it began like this:

Mike: “Remember when I pushed you down the stairs on roller skates?”

Me: “I remember falling down the stairs on roller skates.  You pushed me?

Mike: (Laughs) “Yeah, I pushed you.”

Me: “I remember when you threw yourself down the stairs and blamed me for it.”

Mike:  “Ha, yeah, I was a little jerk.”

Me:  “Yeah, I know.  Remember when you climbed up on the roof and dropped that rock on my head?”

Mike:  “I thought I threw a rock over a fence and hit <name of neighbor>.”

Me:  “Maybe, but you also dropped a huge piece of quartz onto my head when I was playing in the yard.”

Mike:  “Remember when <relative> was going to burn all our toys?”

Me:  “That actually happened.”

Mike:  “It did?”

Me:  “Yeah, but I don’t think you were even born yet.”

Mike:  “Oh, <expletive>.”

Me:  “At least you had Picky.”

Mike:  “Yeah, but he was my second teddy bear.”

Me:  “He was?  I don’t remember that.”

Mike:  “Yeah, I had a big white teddy bear.   I think we lived in the green house?”

Me:  “The green house?  The one with the dirt floor?”

Mike:  “I don’t remember the floor.  It was the same house where I cut the cat’s tail off with scissors.”

Me:  “That was the house with the chimney fire.  The brown one.”

Mike:  “It was?  Oh.  Anyway, I had a big white teddy bear.  Remember?  He got wet in the snow one day and Mom put him on the stove to dry out.  Remember?  He caught on fire and melted.”

Me:  “Your teddy bear melted?”

Mike:  “Yeah.  He burned and melted right there on the stove.”

Me:  “Holy <expletive>!  That must have really sucked.”

Mike:  “Yeah.”

Me:  “Well this is depressing.  Let’s not talk anymore.”

Mike:  “Yeah.  This <expletive> sucks.”

And there was the end of the first conversation in 24 years.  It’s better this way. 

 

The Next Big Thing

You know how there are those times in life when you are asked to describe yourself?  Maybe it was an “All About Me” essay in the fourth grade.  Perhaps a job made you do a lengthy self-assessment.  Either way, almost all of us will agree that describing yourself pretty much sucks.  We’re always our harshest critic.  It’s also strange when someone else describes you…the “spotlight” feeling is not fun for people that are not actually dancing on a Broadway stage.  The older I get, the more I fantasize about being a hermit. 

Today someone at my new job was asking how things were (we’ve got a LOT going on in life, here at the Speer house) so I filled them in, and they said…

“You’re the most laid back person I know!”

Which made me raise my eyebrows.  I don’t consider myself to be laid back at all.  I have a horrible time relaxing, I’m always strategizing every move (place the empty water glass on the kitchen table instead of the counter and when I come back to this room I’ll have fewer steps to the dishwasher, at which point I will scrub out the pots and pans and let them dry on the half-clean towel and grab that on my way up to the laundry room…) and it’s exhausting, thinking all the dang time.  But I thought about what my life must look like to someone on the outside… 

In one and a half months:  New baby, new job, out of state move, flooded kitchen fiasco, pesky household guests, daycare shortage, the list goes on…and I see what they mean.  Smoke isn’t coming out of my ears or anything. 

But you know what?  It was easy.  Every bit of it. 

The next big thing is always better than the last, especially if you know it before it happens.  Which basically means that you better have lots of faith that it will work out.  And if you do, it will.  The things that go wrong in life are often wrong only temporarily, and they needed to go wrong in order to properly rearrange the events that are waiting for you, just around the corner.  You have to be paying attention to see them though, and you have to expect them.  If you’re expecting the wrong things, your eyes won’t be adjusted to be able to see the right ones.  You know this.  I know this.  Of this I am sure. 

What was in that lasagna?

 

Grizzly Bears, and Other Memories

Jesse is reading a lot of books about grizzly bears.  He’s a landscape photographer, and we just moved to Montana, and he’s taking precautions not to get mauled.  At least, he’s trying to learn what to do, should he ever get into a situation where he is about to get mauled.

At Easter Dinner, my dad was teasing my son.  We had a nice extended family dinner, see.  My mom and I had just cooked up an enormous prime rib roast, and I was cutting off Old 96′er sized slices for everyone.  “That’s grizzly bear meat,” my dad joked. 

My son’s eyes got really big.  ”We’re eating grizzly bears?”

“Yup.  Now what do you think grizzly bears eat?” my dad asked. 

“Photographers,” said my mom, with just the right amount of sarcasm.  This caused me to cackle hysterically.  Jesse’s mom did not laugh.  She had a “is she serious” expression on instead. 

Jesse’s never seen a grizzly bear in the wild.  I’ve seen two.  One was just a couple of years ago in Grand Teton National Park, near Jenny Lake.  

The other time I saw a grizzly bear was when I was quite young.  My dad, mom, brother and I were in the truck headed for Philipsburg.  Suddenly we saw a bear in the field.  My dad stopped the truck.  I can’t remember what was said, but I’m pretty sure my mom would have said something like “What the eff do you think you are doing?”

My dad then got out of the truck and headed for the bear in the field.  There was a large rock in the field.  What happened next went something like this: 

• Bear is on one side of rock, sniffing the air for something strange
• Dad is on the other side of the rock, “sneaking up on the bear”
• Bear grunts (we can even hear it from the truck) and heads to other side of rock
• Dad disappears behind the rock and heads to the opposite side of the rock
• Bear is confused, and sniffs the air again
• Children watch excitedly from car
• Mom wishes she had more life insurance on Dad

This went on for a while, until the bear got bored and went off into the woods.  All part of the weird stories of my childhood that make me who I am today…a very troubled person with an inflated sense of possibility.  Thanks for reading.  Tune in next week to read about the bald eagle incident.

 

There’s a Hole In The Bottom of My Sock…

I get more holes in my socks than anyone I know.  This could be due to either:

a) Everyone else throws their socks out when they get thin and ready to hole-ify

b) I walk funny

I can’t be sure which is the cause…of course, maybe its

c) I’m really cheap when it comes to clothes, and the 6 pack for $3.99 isn’t up to snuff

Anyway, I was invited to a mommy group last night.  This was very exciting to me, because it’s a mommy group that consists ONLY of working mothers…and coming from the land of stay-at-home snooty mothers who think you’re tragic for having to actually WORK during the day instead of taking your children to the park, and meeting for coffee klatch, and heading for the spa…well this concept was new and exciting.  But I think I blew it.

See, the mommy group was held at one of the mother’s houses, and they had just refinished the basement, and with the new carpet and whatnot we all had to take our shoes off.  For other women this is generally not a problem.  Most women seem to be able to remove their shoes and out pops a clean, trendy looking sock.  And if they were to continue removing that sock, you would probably see a precious set of toes replete with fresh polish.  Forget about calluses. 

Oh heavens. 

Out from my six year old Dansko clog came two mismatched black socks (both black, but with different patterns).  My big toe in all of it’s hangnailed, callused glory was popping out of one sock, and my scruffy, grey, I’ve-had-to-stand-too-much-in-my-short-life heel was bursting out the other.  This was totally obvious to the other moms.  I could tell, because they were all staring at my feet.  When they saw that I saw they were staring at my feet, they quickly looked away and starting chit-chatting with each other.  “Is that little Dylan?  Is he sleeping through the sock?  I mean, the night?”

Oh, why couldn’t I have foreseen this?  I’m a working mom, after all…can’t I AFFORD socks without HOLES?  Maybe scrub my heels once in a while? 

Years ago when I was commuting into Washington D.C., I had just parked the car in the lot after an hour and a half drive.  It was in the elevator that I noticed I had one brown shoe on, and one black shoe.  I had to drive ALL THE WAY HOME because I couldn’t be the crazy chick who wears different shoes.  Or so I thought. 

I must be retarded, at least in the fashion department, because it was last spring when…

One morning I got dressed for work, took the trash all the way down to the end of our very long driveway, walked all the way back to my car, got in my car and drove 25 miles to work.  There I parked in the parking garage, walked down three flights of stairs, crossed the street, went up the elevator…and then I realized my feet felt a little “off.” 

I looked down and both my shoes were black, but one had a heel.  An effing heel. 

We’re not talking about slut-heels or anything, but a height-making, chunky sort of heel that I definitely should have NOTICED while I was doing ALL THAT WALKING.  I had to bravely walk all the way back to my car, drive to Target, walk into the store (limping by now…but no shoes, no service!) and purchase a new pair of shoes.  What is wrong with me?  I guess if I can’t be bothered to check for two matching shoes, then I should stop worrying about the socks. 

Anyway, when I finally did manage to get a couple of the ladies to talk to me, I did my best to act normal and confident.  Because I am normal and confident.  Okay, perhaps just confident.  I think I will be invited back.  Maybe.

Thankfully it’s almost sandal season.

 

Maleesha’s foot…the next day

 

Fancy Toasters: Just set your money on fire instead

In fact, holding a slice of bread over burning wads of money isn’t a bad idea, if you want good toast.

 Why is it so hard to find a good toaster?  The toaster of my youth was a heavy thing that could probably survive a direct hit from a meteor.  I wonder what happened to it.  I bet my mom threw it away during the Great Toaster Scare of the 80’s, when the breaking news announced that toasters were spontaneously combusting and setting the neighborhoods afire.  She probably replaced it with one of the cheap plastic toasters that they make today. 

I just want a toaster that makes nice, brown toast.  Every toaster I ever purchased does this:  I set the “level” to 1, and the toast comes out looking a lot like it went in.  I set the level to 2, and the toast starts smoking, and I have to press the Eject button, and out comes a black chunk of charcoal.  The real laugh is that there are levels 3, 4, and 5 that remain untested!  Those must be the settings you use to heat your house in winter.

Our toaster in Colorado was a piece-o-junk so we bought a new toaster to celebrate our move.  It’s a nice Oster four-slice, but it’s four slices in two slots “the long way” instead of a fat little toaster with four slots.  It wasn’t a cheapo $11.99 toaster, either.  I’ve bought my share of $11.99 toasters and they usually die a month later (I make a lot of toast).

Well this toaster is a FAILURE!  Not only does it have the same problem discussed above, but it only toasts half the bread!  The slots, while lengthy, aren’t deep enough.  So with a decent piece of bread, the bottom of the toast will be crisp-erffic, the top will remain soft and unbaked. 

Casey had an antique toaster in his basement. 

 

I should have asked for it instead of those stupid butterscotch disks.  Little did I know that in the case of toasters, like many other things, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to.

 

Born in the Wrong Era, and other unfortunate circumstances

I realized a long time ago that it’s very easy for me to lose any contentedness that I might have about something.  I’d like to think that it’s a problem everyone has; easy to find something to be unsettled about, hard to be content with everything that is right in front of you.  I think lots of people will say they are content, especially if you ask them “are you content with your life?”  If you stop to think about it, you are probably content with your life.  It’s other times, when you just want a shower curtain that doesn’t stick together, or when you wonder what would have happened had you majored in archaeology instead of accounting, or when you wonder what would have happened if you would have gone to college at all…those are the times when little mites of discontent eat at a person. 

If you ask me “are you content with your life,” I will say yes.  And for the most part, it’s true.  My problem is definitely not sitting around harping about the changeable things in my life.  If I want to change something, I change it!  It’s the things I cannot change that keep me up at night. 

For example…sometimes I wish that I was born in a different time period.  I didn’t get to see the invention of the television set, and I think that would have been an amazing thing to experience.  Especially as a kid.  Imagine the brain-jumble that your young mind would have gone through if your Pa brought a magic box home one day, and you turned it on, and there were flat gray people in there.  Wow.  You wouldn’t have been able to stop talking about it. 

Or what about the invention of the airplane?  All those times you ran around pretending to be able to fly, and then one day, you could.  Sheesh.  How amazing would that have been to see. 

Also, I really envy people who got to grow up in the 1960’s.  Perhaps it wasn’t all that great from their perspective, but the 1960’s were such an amazing time in America and their was great music and tumultuous history and cool clothing to boot. 

I would have really liked to have been one of the first people to see the mountains in our national parks.  When you go to a national park, they always have these black and white or sepia-toned photographs in the lodges that show adventurous 1920’s folk climbing a mountain in a petticoat or a suit and tie.  They got to miss the long lines of traffic and the shuttle buses and the really expensive hotel rooms.  They didn’t know how good they had it.  Or maybe they did, because they sure have big smiles in the photographs.

So what’s up with that?  I’m happy with everything but sometimes it really grates on me that my youth is being spent in decades-long periods of housing overdevelopment, cheap crap from China, and increasing poverty in the world.  What’s so great about that? 

A better optimist might say, “Hey, Maleesha…this is a great time to live in the world!  Look at the pharmaceuticals that we’re making!  We’re curing diseases all the time!  And look at the technology we have!  You can talk with people across the world with the click of a button for pennies a day!”  Sure…but call me skeptical.  Those same pharmaceuticals are being excreted into our water supplies…and who knows what that’s causing.  Perhaps the little bits of various drugs that we’re forced to unwillingly consume that will end up being the cause of the increasing autism, allergies and mental illness in the world.  Maybe it’s what’s killing off the bees. 

As far as technology, I will be the first to tell you I love it, but can’t we all agree that there’s so little mystery left in the world?  I never have to dream about what traveling to the Serengeti would be like, because I can Google it and in half an hour, I will know everything I need to know about the Serengeti.  The mystery is gone.  Perhaps this is why G.W. is hell bent on touring Mars.  He’s an explorer, too.   

 

Do Not Call

If you know me, you know that I hate the telephone.  I have what you might call a phone-phobia.  I never have a problem talking to people in person, but the phone rings and I positively cringe*.  If I had to choose (and I often do) I would talk to everyone via e-mail or text.  I think everyone should be online all the time.  Such is the life of one in the computer field, I suppose.  If I had to choose, I would communicate with these methods, in order of preference:

1. E-mail
2. Text message
3. U.S. Mail
4. Secret decoder rings sent by private courier service
5. Smoke signals
6. Telephone

Since we’ve moved to Bozeman, we keep getting these late night phone calls.  Of course it’s no one we know…it’s telemarketers, survey automatons, and people who need money for apparently no good reason at all.  Then it dawned on me…I didn’t put us on the Do Not Call list yet!

This action should have been on my “To Do” list…an Excel spreadsheet I created to make sure we didn’t forget anything during our superfast out of state move.  I guess if you forget to put something on a list designed to help you not forget…well, what can you do about that?

I went to www.donotcall.gov a few minutes ago and registered our new phone number.  It takes a couple of weeks to kick in.  If I would have remembered to do this a week ago, then I’d only have one week left to cringe every time the phone rings.  Now I have two.  But I do remember the special button that one can press on the phone to fix all of it…the ringer’s off position. 

*There are a couple of people who I can talk to on the phone easily, for some reason.  The first is Carli, who if I didn’t talk to by phone, I’d never talk to at all.  The second is Lisa, who for some reason I can talk to her on the phone with no problem.  Lisa’s really all about getting to the point, though…no dilly-dally chit chat with her.  Maybe that’s why.  Small talk on the phone gives me the oogies.

 

News on the Job Front

So I have a job.  This is a good thing!  I’m very excited to start new job.  I have not had a “new job” in eight years so the newness is very exciting.  And it’s not even as a gas station attendant, like my dad said it would be.  I start on Monday. 

 

Pizza Delivery

It’s probably not a big deal to the vast majority of you out there, but I have to say we ordered pizza last night and it came right to the door.  Amazing. 

We moved (very spur of the moment, by the way, for a move with two kids) from Divide, Colorado.  Divide was a great place to live, if you are going to live near Colorado Springs.  We liked the idyllic outdoor setting, the rural expansiveness, the huge pine trees, the Pikes Peak views.  Colorado Springs was getting too big for both of us and we decided we should raise the nuggets in a less populated place.  There were many factors that played into the timing of the move so we did it.  And we had pizza last night, delivered right to the door.

See, when you move to a rural area you give up such luxuries.  Instead of pizza and a movie, you sit on the porch and shoot ground squirrels.  When you call a place and ask if they deliver to Divide, it’s hard to understand the answer through all of the laughter on the other end.  Instead of a backyard barbeque, you have a fire pit in your yard.  Shoveling snow requires a plow of some type, preferably one with lots of horsepower.  Checking the mail often requires a vehicle.  But I didn’t realize how much I missed the convenience of delivery services!  I am going to see if I can get Chinese delivered tonight. 

I am also thrilled to be in a neighborhood with tons of kids running around.  Some of the strange things we are getting used to: the sound of car doors slamming, the street lights, the frequent neighbors talking and laughing on the porch.  The trash truck is strange.  I got stuck behind a street sweeper.  I can’t remember the last time I saw a street sweeper.  I’m excited about my < two mile commute.  Jesse is excited to be within an hour’s drive of five major mountain ranges.  AJ is excited about the park down the street.  Macy is excited…well, she’s excited to eat and poop and that’s about it, but we assume she will like the park soon.  AJ’s new preschool is amazing…it has “Nigerian dwarf goats, chickens, a woodworking shop for kids, and the most beautiful setting one could imagine for a preschool.  Yet it’s just down the road from us. 

So I guess you could say our new town is not too big, not too small…but just riiiiiiight. 

Hopefully this means we are done moving.  I’m ready to stay put for a while.  I think. 

 

The Lowe’s saga continues…

I was going to host Easter dinner at the new digs in Bozeman, but contractors filled the house with noisy equipment on Saturday, rendering the house unliveable.  The kitchen is inaccessible because there are huge industrial fans aimed at the ceiling.  Three of the four bedrooms upstairs are unreachable because the washer and dryer are blocking the hallway.  Those appliances were moved there because there are fans up there too, blowing the sheetrock dry.  The carpet is ripped up, exposing the tacks to little feet.  They think that the work of ripping up floor and fixing walls and ceilings will be completed by Friday. 

So I’m staying in Butte while Jesse runs back and forth between Butte and Bozeman, taking care of the details of the fixing.

I want to track down the incompentent nimrod delivery guy from Lowe’s and throw him a blanket party. 

 

I Want Sleep, please

There is NOTHING more annoying to me than laying in bed with your eyes closed and having someone walk in the room to say “Are you sleeping?”  If I WAS sleeping, I’m not anymore, because you just woke me up.  If I wasn’t yet asleep, I was trying to be, and now I am irritated that I would have woken up if I had been asleep and I am also mad because apparently you don’t give a crap that I am obviously tired, and unless the house is on fire or children are bleeding I do not want to be disturbed, just for the next couple of hours if that’s okay with you.  Even if an asteroid is headed directly for North America, or if they’ve finally invented a teleportation device, or even if robbers just walked out the front door with the TV set, or even if breaking news proves the existence of aliens or that Elvis is really still alive, I do not want to be bothered. 

I just want some sleep.

 

Lowe’s “Professional Installation”

We’re renting a really nice house in Bozeman, Montana.  I haven’t been a renter for a long time.  Though it’s a rental, we had to buy our own refrigerator and washer/dryer since the landlords built a new home down the street and took theirs with them. 

So a friend of mine recommended that I go to Lowe’s, because of their great service and low(e) prices.  I took her advice and we went shopping.  Here is a summary of our experience:

Day 1:  We go to Lowe’s in Bozeman.  The nicest salesman ever helps us choose a refrigerator and a washer and dryer.  He is so good that he helps us find a discontinued refrigerator that is brand new in the box, but because it’s an ‘07 model, it’s $560 dollars instead of the ‘08 model, which runs about $1400.  We love the sales guy. 

Day 3: The refrigerator delivery guy calls and says he won’t deliver the refrigerator because there is an “enormous gash” on the side.  He suggests we come into the store to look at it and be sure we still want to buy it.  I need a refrigerator right now.  We head to Lowe’s.  The gash really isn’t that bad, a little dent really, and there isn’t any internal damage to the refrigerator.  I ask when it can be delivered.  The really nice sales guy isn’t sure, since it missed the journey this morning.  I freak out.  I have two kids.  I need a refrigerator, like now.  Sales guy nods sympathetically and sees what he can do.

Refrigerator delivery truck is there by 11 AM!  I am totally impressed with sales guy.  Truck happily backs into driveway, slowly, slowly…husband starts shouting frantically!  STOP! STOP!  NO!  Refrigerator truck backs into porch roof and tears an enormous gash into the roof.  Not a little dent, an enormous gash.  I educate delivery guy on the true meaning of “enormous gash.” 

I call really nice landlord lady and apologize.  She is really cool about things, considering her new renters have somehow resulted in an enormous gash in her expensive house.  “These things happen,” she chirps cheerfully.  She calls Lowe’s to take care of the problem. 

Day 4:  Noon.  Delivery guys (the same ones) show up with washer and dryer.  They bring washer and dryer upstairs and install.  Lowe’s website talks about their professional installation several times, and that is what these guys are doing.  We’re certain of it. 

Lowe’s delivery guys pack and up and go home.  We are thrilled to start our first load of laundry, because the laundry pile has been growing over the past week. 

1 PM - Shouting comes from the kitchen downstairs: “Shut it off!  Shut it off!”  Shut what off, I wonder?  “It’s leaking!!!!” I walk out from a phone call in progress to be greeted by a big effing soapy mess.  Water is everywhere.  Luckily we purchased a really nice washing machine, so there is a pause button.  I paused the crisis and ran downstairs.  Water is pouring out of the electrical fixtures in the ceiling. 

I call Lowe’s and tell them about their latest fiasco caused by Tweedledee and Tweedledum, their Professional Installation guys.  The manager on duty chuckles in a “Wow, this sort of thing never happens” sort of way.  I ask him if he would send somebody else.   Anybody else.  Is Pee Wee Herman on duty?  Send him, he’ll do a better job. ”Well, we only have so many delivery guys,” he explains.  He must be able to see my head spinning through the phone, because he adds, ”I’ll make sure someone else gets there.”

The Lowe’s “delivery manager” is here now, fixing the washer and dryer.  It turns out that one of those chuckleheads just failed to hook up the drain…you know, the pipe that funnels the dirty, soapy water out of the washer?  Yeah, that was just hanging there like an extra leg.  An extra dirty, soapy leg.  I wrote Lowe’s a nice letter demanding they come out and make sure toxic mold doesn’t grow in the ceiling and hurt my children.  I am also typing this blog.  And I am also never shopping there again, even though they have a really nice sales guy.  Sorry dude. 

Lowe’s sucks.