Smokey the Magnificent

Well, duh. To do a third of the things required to move house.

I’ve made a list, three pages long and counting, of tasks ranging from “scrape paint off the bathroom floor” to “check if Tia Maria has gone off and throw out bottle if so”. Actually Helpdesk Man has to do the Tia Maria thing, all alcohol tastes like the sputum of Satan to me, wouldn’t know if it was good or bad. Does Tia Maria even go bad? Anyway. I was going to give myself Points for each task, but alas - the spirit is willing, but the funds are gone. All my Suite101 money has been amassed into the common fund, like a pure riverlet being swallowed by the roaring ocean. Bear in mind that analogy says more about the size of the riverlet than the ocean. But still though. Frivolous spending is on hold for the time being. Just as well I got that fabric before we found the house, no? :p Then again, I suppose I could still amass the points and hope my Suite income will start skyrocketing enough for me to make good on the debt one day. It’d certainly make moving house seem cheerier.

I’ll probably have to spend a good chunk of tomorrow taking the snortlepig back to the doctor, too. The nail failed to make its appearance, so she’ll need another X-ray to see what it’s up to. (Probably been assimilated, which means it will take only the mildest of electric shocks to transform her into Iron Pig, snortliest superdude of them all. Good reason not to get a trampoline, at least until she’s past the terrible twos.)

Oh yeah, and… anyone want to help us move house? *beams* Not this week, obviously. When the time comes. Sure you do. You promised you would, at Lent.

It is dis one. (Drat. Classified just expired.)

Now we just have to…

• try to coerce some poor homestay student into staying with us
• break the news to our current landlords, who were hoping we wouldn’t need to move until nearly November
• switch over Internet
• redirect our mail
• pack up all our belongings, decluttering as needed
• buy (preferably through bartering loaves of bread or Helpdesk Man’s soul or summat, being a bit strapped for cash) a mattress, some bookshelves, a desk lamp, two desks, three chests of drawers and a drier in order to accomodate our new arrangements and the homestay student
• come up with the dosh for 3 week’s bond plus 1 week’s rent (see above and cash-strappedness)
• clean the house
• scrape paint off various windows and floors from dodgy paint jobs
• get someone in to clean the carpet to erase the presence of the snortlepig
• find someone to babysit the chickens, as Mother (who kindly agreed to adopt them if the landlord didn’t fancy the idea, which he doesn’t) is away for moving week
• empty the garage, oh my

and… am I missing anything? All before October 2.

But still. A house. Yay. Better than a dose of swine flu, I always say… with conviction and fervor these days, as it happens.

…is to do at least one thing every day that will make moving house easier when the fateful day comes. I was thinking of cleaning under the spare bed today, for example: the snortlepig hid a potato under there some weeks ago and I’m curious to see how it’s coming along.

Question the First: If you spend two and a half hours cleaning the house, make a nutritious dinner and then make custard from scratch for dessert, but forget about the custard and hop in the bath while it’s cooking, does the latter incident cancel out the former industry?

Question the Second: Why do all Bond women look alike, even those of different races? (We watched Thunderball tonight, a snooze-fest if ever there was one, and I spent most of it thinking there was one too many Bond girls, because the redhead looked brunette when her hair was wet. Terribly confusing, and when I did figure it out the plot didn’t make any more sense anyway. One has to admire a director who can make a big-budget underwater scuba battle, complete with circling sharks and bombs, drearier than a wet weekend.)

Question the Third: Why, after twenty minutes of searching, did I finally find the snortlepig’s other boot curled up inside Helpdesk Man’s laptop under the bed? Why would it be there?

Question the Fourth: Anyone know a mnemonic device to remember the difference between infra- and supralapsarianism? I always get them confused. I did, however, learn one yesterday for remembering the difference between stationery and stationary, not that I have a problem in that regard anyway. BA, innit. But according to the IRD lady, “E for envelope”. (”And A for automobile”, mused I immediately, being of quick-witted and of sharp mind.) Cunning, no?

…is to atone for my housewifely and culinary deficiencies of last week, occasioned by The Quilt, as a pre-emptive strike against Helpdesk Man running off with a large Swedish masseuse. So lots of cleaning - my sewing room is a sight to behold - running a bunch of long-overdue errands, and so on. I also need to make some mooshy foods for Mother, who is now allowed to eat but not to chow down beefsteaks. And just to mix things up, Helpdesk Man and I are going gluten-free this week. Not for health reasons, particularly; mostly because I got a book on gluten-free cooking out of the library, in fact; but if it should give us an extra twinkle to our toes and shinier spleens, so much the better. (Or not, actually, because giving up bread and baked goods would be a heck of a nuisance.)

I also need to catch up on my Suite hair care articles and try to do something with sister-in-law before her infant makes its appearance. It will be a busy week, I think. Plus I need to finish the snortlepig’s winter top before the weather heats up unduly; and oddly, making The Quilt has inspired me to finish a flimsy I made for the snortlepig’s changing table before she was born. You’d think I’d be put off quilting forever, but no - the free motion quilting was fun, or would have been if I hadn’t been doing it at a frantic hundred miles an hour and snapping needles into my eye, and I even enjoyed the binding process.

Did you know there’s a whole hobby among movie costumers of identifying reused outfits between films? I came across some examples here; fascinating stuff. It seems the BBC is a major culprit, which is hardly surprising given how liberally they recycle their filming locations, extras and (according to horsey people I know) horses. Still, very eco of ‘em.

Yesterday I spent my first quantity of money from my points system challenge thing! Four wrought iron fleur-de-lis hooks for eleven dollars something each. I need to obtain a few more, which they didn’t have in the shop, and I’m gonna hang them in vertical rows of three in the bedroom to hang out hats, coats and bags on. Cunning, no?

In other news, meh. Life is looking a little bit moop here, folks. Helpdesk Man slid his motorbike last night coming home from swordfighting and managed to bruise his finger, rip up a brand-new pair of trou and scuff his gear up to the point of needing a new helmet and jacket. Not to mention new tyres, which he blames for the crash (thought: possibly in a several-hundred-dollar attempt to save face?). The snortlepig has developed the lurgy and is alternately lapping up her snotters with her tongue and vomiting them back up again. The latter at least I can understand, but it is trying; and the pig thinks so too. Plus, last night she was making pre-vomit gurgles while sitting with Helpdesk Man on the bed, and while holding her over the side to be sick - none too bright, as carpet is harder to divest of upchuck than a duvet - he managed to fall spectacularly on his head. And the house is a mess in a dingy bits-of-fabric-and-pattern-pieces-strewn-round-the-floor-amongst-half-chewed-bits-of-apple way. And we’re having guests tomorrow night. And I can’t figure out how to make the snortlepig’s top without having raw edges exposed to the world.

So, anyway. If you were offered - by a chap, say - a lifetime supply of turnips for only $50 - not all at once, but delivered to your house on a weekly basis, wherever you lived in the world - would you take it? Discuss. There’s no right answer, but there is a wrong one - and if you should choose it, remember that I’ll be right here, silently judging you.

I think I’ve revised the points system to a usable format. To wit:

Tasks Worth 1 Point

• Take snortlepig for a walk
• Give chickens fresh water and food
• Vacuum
• Have dinner ready before Helpdesk Man gets home (main dish, that is, not veggies; we eat late)
• Complete Bible study homework before 5PM on Wednesday
• Try out a new recipe
• Empty compost bin
• Post article on Suite

Tasks Worth 2 Points

• Clean out chickens’ cage
• Take snortlepig to Mainly Music
• Get toy from toy library
• Change sheets and pillowcases
• Mop

Tasks Worth 3 Points

• Run errands in town
• Plant veggies/flowers in garden
• Have guests over for dinner

Tasks Worth 20 Points

• Write and have published a print article

Other One-Off Tasks with Values As Specified

• Finish sister-in-law’s quilt - 10 points
• Finish snortlepig’’s mini-quilt - 8 points
• Mow entire lawn - 6 points (not really one-off, but sporadic)
• Make snortlepig’s felted jacket - 3 points
• Make snortlepig’s winter hat - 2 points
• Make snortlepig’s green winter top - 3 points
• Make jeans gardening apron - 3 points
• Finish painting sewing room - 4 points
• Sand and paint sewing room windowsills - 10 points

As for the bribes,  I had the brilliant idea last night of simply calculating it at one point per dollar. Duh. Not including shipping, though, because that’s confusing and I don’t feel like it. And it’s my blog. Yah boo sucks.

So anyway, starting from today my grand total is 5. Yay! Those being posting a Suite article (on Victory Rolls, which are my new favourite hairdo), feeding and watering the chickens, taking the pig for a walk and taking her to Mainly Music.

The latter was surprisingly pleasant. I’ve been putting it off for yonks but I accidentally woke up in time today and felt I should get it over with - largely because the snortlepig has started moshing and dancing jigs every time she hears music. Of course, as soon as we got there the selfsame pig thrust out her lower lip and scowled for the duration, declining either to wiggle like a worm or clap, clap, clap her hands. I couldn’t really blame her; the songs were no Billy Joel.

Afterwards, though, she cheered up, aided by a handful of crackers and a sippy cup. They had a sippy cup for each child with just a little water in the bottom - I was in awe at the brilliance of this. The poor kid even got to try a bite of banana, a substance I rarely allow at home because the smell gives me the perishing feebles.

Also, there was a kid called Edge. Edgy, no?

After it was over I decided to carry on down the road to see if the op shop had a brown woollen extra-large sweater I could felt down for the snortlepig’s coat. It didn’t, but I did run into a girl who enthused about my crown braid and asked me all sorts of questions about growing her hair long. I was waxing lyrical about biotin when I realised this was all an elaborate preamble to selling me a copy of The Baghavad Gita As It Is. Hmph.

Also, in a radical executive manoeuvre I have decided to christen this Gratuitous Pig Shot Week.

Well, minions, I feel it is time to shake things up. This afternoon in a listy mood I devised a cunning stratagem to keep me on the baking-apple-pies-in-a-ruffly apron side of the tracks. (Having led a sheltered life, I’m not entirely sure what goes on on the other side of the tracks. Scarification? Hash beef Wellington? Power-padded shoulder suits?) I have decided to bribe myself.

Basically, I’m gonna use my Suite101 earnings to buy nice things for myself and the house; but given that many of the items I like aren’t strictly frugal, I’m going to use them as a reward for being clean and virtuous. With points. For example, small domestic tasks such as giving the snortlepig a bath, taking her for a walk or changing the pillowcases are worth one point. (So is “eating a piece of fruit”, which might be seen by some as a copout, but given that from one season to the next scarcely an apple touches my lips, I thought it was worth an entry. I don’t like to brag, but the future of the human race would probably have been a good deal brighter if I had been the one kicking about with Adam.)

Slightly more complex, time-consuming or unpleasant tasks, such as cleaning out the chickens’ cage or taking the baby to music class, get me two points. Running errands in town and planting veggies in the veggie garden (to which I have a strong weather-related aversion) get me three; and so on. I have assigned various values to several one-off tasks I need completed, such as finishing various sewing projects and painting the house; and have further decided that the successful sale of a print article is worth an entire 20 points.

Then, of course, I have to assign values to the things I want. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to go about that; probably intuitively rather than mathematically. I was thinking the Dieselpunk bodice I want might come in at about thirty, whereas something really marvellous like this ought to be worth, ooh, a hundred and fifty? Difficult to say. It has to be hard enough that I have time to actually acquire the funds via Suite, otherwise the whole bribery thing is a bit moot.

And not everything will be quite as frivolous as steampunk corsets, I hasten to add. Mostly I’ll be using it to buy fabric, I suspect, for my ever-growing list of Quilts  I Want to Make. And a hat rack.

Helpdesk Man, as usual, treats this scheme with tolerant amusement, telling me that I can buy myself dieselpunk bodices whenever I please without having to assuage my guilt by cleaning out chicken cages. He is a pleasing sort of husband to have; which is all the more reason to clean out the chickens, innit.

For me, cleaning the house is 99% inspiration and 1% perspiration; it’s all about the mental rather than the physical oomph.  My mind usually being on Higher Things (such as the perplexing question “Would you accept a million dollars if it meant that once every week for the rest of your life at a random time you would throw up with only thirty seconds’ warning?”), it is unlikely ever to occur to me that the doorframes need wiping down or the valance needs waxing, or… you know… whatever it is housewives do.

But just last week I lit upon a stratagem so brilliant I’m considering approaching the publishers of The Secret and marketing it as a sequel.  What you do is take a microfiber cloth, the kind that works wet or dry and can wipe up an entire powdered elephant without flinching.  You clean something with it until it is good and smeggy, then toss it in the machine.  When you next do a load of laundry and are hanging up the wet clothes, you come across the now-pristine and usefully damp microfiber cloth and think “Aha!”  So instead of hanging it up to dry, you wander round the house with it until you find a surface that needs cleaning and clean it, pausing not nor blenching until the cloth is once more in a state of disarray.  Then you simply toss it back into the enpty washing machine, where it awaits the next load.

The good thing about this is that microfiber cloths can be used on a whole range of surfaces that are easy to forget about cleaning, such as mirrors and windows and windowsills and… well, in my house, everything really.  The first time I did this I got all excited and wiped off half the house, starting with cleanish surfaces and moving to more atrocious ones. I’ve been doing it for three weeks now, and my ceilings have never been less fly-specked.

Try it.  It’ll make your house a good 3% cleaner, I guarantee… and when your husband comes home from work and says “What did you do today?” you can beam at him with the smugness of a Stepford wife and say “I wiped the skirting board in the bathroom“.  And he’ll be like “Uh, k” and then cautiously congratulate you, eyes flicking round nervously as if he is afraid you will go for his neck.  And that is a Good Thing.