http://www.arkansaslife.com/editions/digital/?pageIndex=50
Here is a link to an article a local magazine wrote up on Cat and me. There is also a newspaper article out, but this is my favorite because it has our banter in it...enjoy...
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
I Am a Bitch
The night before I went into the hospital Excy and I were in the communal dining room of the Mason House, a transplant patient house, having a take-out Italian meal with our friend Karen, who had flown in that afternoon to sit with Excy through the first surgery. We were trying to play catch-up, and also decompress from the stress of the last several weeks, as much as one can, anyway, while awaiting major surgery.
Karen flew in from upstate New York, where she and her husband had retired after a lifetime in Washington, DC. We met when she was my first boss at the magazine, and have grown close as sisters in the ensuing thirty-one years. She and Dan had bought and renovated an old house, making it into a wellness center where she offered her massage services and taught yoga. Yeah, she's awesome.
The first surgery was the scariest and most difficult one, and she had called and volunteered to be with Excy so he wouldn't be alone while waiting, which is the type of incredibly generous person she is. Anyway, we hadn't seen one another in five years, and because she had spent a few years getting licensed and the house/center in shape, we hadn't spent much time on the phone, either, so it was a rare and precious visit. She was flying home the evening of the surgery, and I knew I wouldn't be in great shape for more visiting that day.
We were engrossed in conversation, and I was savoring my few precious hours with her (as much as I could, frankly, considering how chaotic and freaked out my state of mind was), when I noticed a woman circling in on our corner table (I purposely chose one away from the mainstream). The woman was hovering, like people do when they mean to pounce into the conversation. Here comes trouble I thought, attempting to convey through body language that this was a private conversation and I didn't really care to make 'new friends' at the moment. People with no filter, however, are often oblivious to visual clues, though, and she continued to bull-doze over.
'HI! I'M XXX! ARE YOU HERE FOR A TRANSPLANT? GREAT! WHAT KIND?"
XXX didn't have an 'inside voice.' Seeing as how MH was available only to transplant patients and their companions, this question was just an opening gambit. And because I was the only one at the table with bandages on her arms and a cane propped against the table, it was an easy guess.
Sigh. Amy. Freak Magnet.
"Um. Yeah...hi...I'm here with my husband and friend. Who just flew in from New York...we haven't seen each other in years and I go in tomorrow...we are just catching up over dinner..." (She obviously couldn't relate to the obvious).
"Well. I had a kidney transplant almost a year ago, and am with my parents for a checkup." She then plopped a photo album I hadn't noticed on the table, pushing aside a salad plate. I glanced beseechingly towards her parents, who pretended not to notice, no doubt relieved XXX had found new targets and allowing them a respite. "See? My hair was this color, and it has grown in to this color now...here I am in recovery, and here is a photo of my donor, who had been killed in a motorcycle accident..." She went on and on...
I tried to be interested. I tried to tell her this wasn't my first rodeo and she didn't need to delve into the details. My voice sounded flat and oddly familiar, and I realized I sounded like the boss in the movie Office Space; the drone who keeps asking in a bleak voice whether or not our hero had "seen the memo..."
Finally I had an epiphany. I didn't have to sit and let this windbag suck our evening away. I didn't have to smile and nod and pretend to listen to her rattle on with her life story and the fact she's writing a book about the experience. I wasn't obligated to be her captive audience. I'd never see her again. What did I care?
I hopped up. "Good luck to you. Come on, Karen, I need to go to the room." Karen and Excy, unfailingly polite, looked taken aback, but recovered quickly, and Karen followed me down the hall. Excy used the break to gather up the dishes and gently bring the soliloquy to a close.
Yeah. I can be a bitch. But I am unrepentant. I've earned the right over the years, so it doesn't bother me much.
Karen flew in from upstate New York, where she and her husband had retired after a lifetime in Washington, DC. We met when she was my first boss at the magazine, and have grown close as sisters in the ensuing thirty-one years. She and Dan had bought and renovated an old house, making it into a wellness center where she offered her massage services and taught yoga. Yeah, she's awesome.
The first surgery was the scariest and most difficult one, and she had called and volunteered to be with Excy so he wouldn't be alone while waiting, which is the type of incredibly generous person she is. Anyway, we hadn't seen one another in five years, and because she had spent a few years getting licensed and the house/center in shape, we hadn't spent much time on the phone, either, so it was a rare and precious visit. She was flying home the evening of the surgery, and I knew I wouldn't be in great shape for more visiting that day.
We were engrossed in conversation, and I was savoring my few precious hours with her (as much as I could, frankly, considering how chaotic and freaked out my state of mind was), when I noticed a woman circling in on our corner table (I purposely chose one away from the mainstream). The woman was hovering, like people do when they mean to pounce into the conversation. Here comes trouble I thought, attempting to convey through body language that this was a private conversation and I didn't really care to make 'new friends' at the moment. People with no filter, however, are often oblivious to visual clues, though, and she continued to bull-doze over.
'HI! I'M XXX! ARE YOU HERE FOR A TRANSPLANT? GREAT! WHAT KIND?"
XXX didn't have an 'inside voice.' Seeing as how MH was available only to transplant patients and their companions, this question was just an opening gambit. And because I was the only one at the table with bandages on her arms and a cane propped against the table, it was an easy guess.
Sigh. Amy. Freak Magnet.
"Um. Yeah...hi...I'm here with my husband and friend. Who just flew in from New York...we haven't seen each other in years and I go in tomorrow...we are just catching up over dinner..." (She obviously couldn't relate to the obvious).
"Well. I had a kidney transplant almost a year ago, and am with my parents for a checkup." She then plopped a photo album I hadn't noticed on the table, pushing aside a salad plate. I glanced beseechingly towards her parents, who pretended not to notice, no doubt relieved XXX had found new targets and allowing them a respite. "See? My hair was this color, and it has grown in to this color now...here I am in recovery, and here is a photo of my donor, who had been killed in a motorcycle accident..." She went on and on...
I tried to be interested. I tried to tell her this wasn't my first rodeo and she didn't need to delve into the details. My voice sounded flat and oddly familiar, and I realized I sounded like the boss in the movie Office Space; the drone who keeps asking in a bleak voice whether or not our hero had "seen the memo..."
Finally I had an epiphany. I didn't have to sit and let this windbag suck our evening away. I didn't have to smile and nod and pretend to listen to her rattle on with her life story and the fact she's writing a book about the experience. I wasn't obligated to be her captive audience. I'd never see her again. What did I care?
I hopped up. "Good luck to you. Come on, Karen, I need to go to the room." Karen and Excy, unfailingly polite, looked taken aback, but recovered quickly, and Karen followed me down the hall. Excy used the break to gather up the dishes and gently bring the soliloquy to a close.
Yeah. I can be a bitch. But I am unrepentant. I've earned the right over the years, so it doesn't bother me much.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
The Reading Room
I like an eclectic reading list, and aside from a month post-surgery where I couldn't concentrate on anything longer and more taxing than a magazine article, I've been devouring books at a rate of one every two days. Some are sticking in my mind more than others and I thought I'd recommend them.
On top of 'bucket list' things to do before shuffling off this mortal coil, if I actually made a bucket list that is, is to go on an African safari (sans guns, of course). Two books I loved that detailed this life and how guides live and interact with the wild animals around them have only served to whet my appetite. Don't Run Don't Look Behind You is hilarious and hard to put down. The guide writes of just starting out, learning to be a guide (think being thrown into the deep end of a pool with no instruction how to swim), and is now teaching in Africa on how to be a guide. Often funny and, on occasion, sad, particularly for people like me who can't stand to see an animal suffer, is the occasional story of animal abuse or endangerment. Fortunately, it doesn't occur in the book often.
The Elephant Whisperer, by the founder of the World Organization and former safari lodge owner Lawrence Anthony, is excellent and totally absorbing. He wrote two other books, one about saving animals in the Bagdad zoo, and another that is coming out about rhinos. Think those are actually called The Bagdad Zoo, and The Last Rhino. You may know his name because when he died of a sudden heart attack this spring, his rescued elephant herd walked more than 12 miles out of the bush to hang around his house for two days and pay their respects. They showed up within hours of his death, and his family was baffled as to how they just 'knew.' Go to YouTube or Google him.
The Few, by Alex Kershaw, is the true account of seven American pilots who snuck into Canada and then sailed to England under false identities to fight with the RAF (Royal Air Force) against the Nazis in the Battle of Britain, a year before America was drawn into WWII. Eventually there were almost 30 Americans flying with the RAF. But of these seven, only one survived and returned to America. And their American citizenship, which had been revoked, wasn't reinstated until the '80s, which was crummy. They would have been jailed had they been caught while leaving America to fly for the RAF. Most of them saw the writing on the wall as far as war went, but they also were aviation obsessed and just wanted to fly the fast planes.
You might like to read the newest Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Power of Positive. It has some great stories. My essay on living with vHL is on page 335. If you aren't up to buying the book, read it at the bookshop!
One book that is on the NY Times list and getting tons of publicity, is Gone, Girl. I really enjoyed it --right up until the final chapter, and then it really bombed. I cannot believe the editors didn't mind the huge gaping holes in the plot that made it fall short for me. If anyone has read it please let me know whether you had a problem with the ending as well.
On top of 'bucket list' things to do before shuffling off this mortal coil, if I actually made a bucket list that is, is to go on an African safari (sans guns, of course). Two books I loved that detailed this life and how guides live and interact with the wild animals around them have only served to whet my appetite. Don't Run Don't Look Behind You is hilarious and hard to put down. The guide writes of just starting out, learning to be a guide (think being thrown into the deep end of a pool with no instruction how to swim), and is now teaching in Africa on how to be a guide. Often funny and, on occasion, sad, particularly for people like me who can't stand to see an animal suffer, is the occasional story of animal abuse or endangerment. Fortunately, it doesn't occur in the book often.
The Elephant Whisperer, by the founder of the World Organization and former safari lodge owner Lawrence Anthony, is excellent and totally absorbing. He wrote two other books, one about saving animals in the Bagdad zoo, and another that is coming out about rhinos. Think those are actually called The Bagdad Zoo, and The Last Rhino. You may know his name because when he died of a sudden heart attack this spring, his rescued elephant herd walked more than 12 miles out of the bush to hang around his house for two days and pay their respects. They showed up within hours of his death, and his family was baffled as to how they just 'knew.' Go to YouTube or Google him.
The Few, by Alex Kershaw, is the true account of seven American pilots who snuck into Canada and then sailed to England under false identities to fight with the RAF (Royal Air Force) against the Nazis in the Battle of Britain, a year before America was drawn into WWII. Eventually there were almost 30 Americans flying with the RAF. But of these seven, only one survived and returned to America. And their American citizenship, which had been revoked, wasn't reinstated until the '80s, which was crummy. They would have been jailed had they been caught while leaving America to fly for the RAF. Most of them saw the writing on the wall as far as war went, but they also were aviation obsessed and just wanted to fly the fast planes.
You might like to read the newest Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Power of Positive. It has some great stories. My essay on living with vHL is on page 335. If you aren't up to buying the book, read it at the bookshop!
One book that is on the NY Times list and getting tons of publicity, is Gone, Girl. I really enjoyed it --right up until the final chapter, and then it really bombed. I cannot believe the editors didn't mind the huge gaping holes in the plot that made it fall short for me. If anyone has read it please let me know whether you had a problem with the ending as well.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
She's B-A-A-A-K...
I'm grateful to return to this blog to discover you haven't give up and abandoned me.
Having considered waiting until my favorite holiday - Halloween - to post, I decided just finally hearing from me may be shocking enough. And if I've learned much of anything these days, it is that when I finally summon the energy and willpower to actually DO something - anything - I'd better follow through with it, because the energy will pass quickly, and all too soon I'll be back lounging in bed dozing or reading a book.
I have missed you, can't believe it's been so long, and I intend to visit you all. As you no doubt surmised, the surgeries were more hellish than anticipated, and the recovery has been as challenging. Back-to-back surgeries coupled with the deficits from 14 previous surgeries, really took a toll. We had to stay in the hospital three weeks, and the patient-transplant house on campus a month, not being able to flee for home until the end of September. We commute back and forth every week or two. We are hoping this ends by the first of the year and I can do the labs and monthly infusion here. It has been grueling experience, and I have literally been unable to do anything but the bare minimum. Last week I began feeling I am finally turning a corner and making progress. Out of the wheelchair, almost off the walker and back on a cane. Hope to drive in a week or two. Getting a handle on some of the worst side-effects. The good news is the new kidney has been wonderful. It works so well I call it 'Golden Champ,' because from the first hour it worked like a champion and when I was in the hospital whenever asked, I would say it was 'golden.' Other transplant patients named theirs 'Leroy' or 'Junior,' but I wanted to honor Cathy's gift to me. And the other great news is Cathy sailed through with flying colors and no complications.
Now that I am feeling almost human, I'm eager to return to the land of the living, and look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for your thoughts and well wishes, and patience. Peace.
Having considered waiting until my favorite holiday - Halloween - to post, I decided just finally hearing from me may be shocking enough. And if I've learned much of anything these days, it is that when I finally summon the energy and willpower to actually DO something - anything - I'd better follow through with it, because the energy will pass quickly, and all too soon I'll be back lounging in bed dozing or reading a book.
I have missed you, can't believe it's been so long, and I intend to visit you all. As you no doubt surmised, the surgeries were more hellish than anticipated, and the recovery has been as challenging. Back-to-back surgeries coupled with the deficits from 14 previous surgeries, really took a toll. We had to stay in the hospital three weeks, and the patient-transplant house on campus a month, not being able to flee for home until the end of September. We commute back and forth every week or two. We are hoping this ends by the first of the year and I can do the labs and monthly infusion here. It has been grueling experience, and I have literally been unable to do anything but the bare minimum. Last week I began feeling I am finally turning a corner and making progress. Out of the wheelchair, almost off the walker and back on a cane. Hope to drive in a week or two. Getting a handle on some of the worst side-effects. The good news is the new kidney has been wonderful. It works so well I call it 'Golden Champ,' because from the first hour it worked like a champion and when I was in the hospital whenever asked, I would say it was 'golden.' Other transplant patients named theirs 'Leroy' or 'Junior,' but I wanted to honor Cathy's gift to me. And the other great news is Cathy sailed through with flying colors and no complications.
Now that I am feeling almost human, I'm eager to return to the land of the living, and look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for your thoughts and well wishes, and patience. Peace.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
The Wild Life
We got home Friday night from the pre-op meeting. It's a 10 hr drive from Emory, with several parts of the freeway in Alabama and Tennessee under construction with delays and narrowed one-lanes shared with 18-wheelers, so it's a bit stressful. I am grateful for a week at home, soaking up Sanctuary and kitty karma, and intend to do a bit of energy work, meditation exercises, have a little fun, and do a lot of resting. I have a birthday this week, but don't have any plans other than relaxing at home and asking Excy to grill a filet -- I seldom eat red meat but once or twice a year, I crave a good steak. This afternoon a good friend and I had a lovely brunch and went to the movie Darling Companion, which is wonderful -- how can you go wrong with a cast of Diane Keaton, Kevin Kline, Sam Shepard and Dianne Weist, anyway, but the movie itself was great...with a good ending (I'm all about comedy and good endings these days).
The cats were so relieved to see us again, though they are wary because the suitcases aren't being put up. Lenny in particular was so happy to see us but also so unhappy, he still growls and purrs at the same time. I keep telling them we will be gone about 6 weeks and it'll be harder on me than them, but so far they aren't convinced. I am a bit concerned that while we are away the stray we have come to love, 'Frodo,' will wander off, despite Corey moving back into the house while we're gone. I am hoping we can figure out a way to keep Frodo with us but for now he doesn't have his shots and hasn't been tested for the kitty AIDS, and we don't have time to try to integrate him into the house anyway. Besides, Frodo now has a 'girlfriend,' I'm calling 'Cow Kitty,' for now, since she is black and white with spots like a Holstein cow, and a little black mustache on her white face....arresting, and Fro is smitten, letting her eat from his bowl at the same time he does.
We had a few wildlife incidents of interest I thought I'd write about as well.
Those of you who have read the blog for a long time know about Nubbins -- the raccoon that had been like a pet -- so named because instead of ears, he had little nubs...a genetic thing, since they weren't maimed or anything. I always had a soft spot for Nubs. When I was feeding the others, they wouldn't let him up for food, so I purposely fed him and shooed the others off. Soon they realized Nubbins was a meal ticket, and they began to treat him with more deference and respect. One night more than a year ago, I looked out the terrace and to my horror, Nubs was standing there with a huge bloody gash on his side. I could almost see bone. My friend Sharon, the 'coon whisperer, had told me once coons have an amazing ability to heal and seeing them up getting food again usually meant they were on the mend, so I was heartened. But other than one other night, we never saw Nubbins again, and I feared the worse.
He was by then an old, overweight coon and I thought his time had come. We hadn't been feeding any 'coons for some time, but one, Sad Girl, had come up as a baby with her mom and as a young adult, she just didn't get the memo, or at least refused to read it if she had. Every blasted night she sat on the terrace wall and stared at the house for hours. I finally relented when I noticed that she was nursing and began feeding her. Every night I'd tell her to bring up her babies, and one evening, she brought three about 6-week old coons up to the sliding glass door. Friday when I saw a coon on the terrace after we unpacked I assumed it was she and grabbed for the dog food... and gasped as Nubbins ran up and flung himself against the screen door. I ran outside. He was as happy to see me as I was him. And he looked great -- sleek and fit. If there was a 'grecian formula for coons,' I'd swear he used it. He actually looked younger. But it was definitely Nubbins. No one was as friendly.That night he feasted on left-over chicken thighs and grapes.
The other thing that's funny is also kinda sad. Our neighbor across the street had a white goose that decided he wanted to be 'adopted' by a family of wild geese and their three goslings that were born and raised on our pond. They had two others, but I guess he didn't care for them. The domestic goose can't fly. His wings are clipped -- not sure who did it or why...The wild ones are practicing flying, with short take-offs around the pond and outings of greater and greater distance. Saturday the white goose would not stop honking and we noticed the wild geese weren't around...later that afternoon some other wild geese landed but kept their distance from the domestic one and vice-versa...eventually the white goose's honking picked up in intensity and he waddled towards the pond as fast as he could, and shortly after the wild family made their aquatic landings...the white goose raced up to them and in their language really gave them a piece of his mind...it will be a sad day when he's left all alone...we are hoping he will begin to make friends with the three domestic ducks Corey bought and has raised from babies. So far, they are all keeping their distance.
We are off again on Sunday, and I will eventually feel well enough to write from Atlanta. Y'all be well...
The cats were so relieved to see us again, though they are wary because the suitcases aren't being put up. Lenny in particular was so happy to see us but also so unhappy, he still growls and purrs at the same time. I keep telling them we will be gone about 6 weeks and it'll be harder on me than them, but so far they aren't convinced. I am a bit concerned that while we are away the stray we have come to love, 'Frodo,' will wander off, despite Corey moving back into the house while we're gone. I am hoping we can figure out a way to keep Frodo with us but for now he doesn't have his shots and hasn't been tested for the kitty AIDS, and we don't have time to try to integrate him into the house anyway. Besides, Frodo now has a 'girlfriend,' I'm calling 'Cow Kitty,' for now, since she is black and white with spots like a Holstein cow, and a little black mustache on her white face....arresting, and Fro is smitten, letting her eat from his bowl at the same time he does.
We had a few wildlife incidents of interest I thought I'd write about as well.
Those of you who have read the blog for a long time know about Nubbins -- the raccoon that had been like a pet -- so named because instead of ears, he had little nubs...a genetic thing, since they weren't maimed or anything. I always had a soft spot for Nubs. When I was feeding the others, they wouldn't let him up for food, so I purposely fed him and shooed the others off. Soon they realized Nubbins was a meal ticket, and they began to treat him with more deference and respect. One night more than a year ago, I looked out the terrace and to my horror, Nubs was standing there with a huge bloody gash on his side. I could almost see bone. My friend Sharon, the 'coon whisperer, had told me once coons have an amazing ability to heal and seeing them up getting food again usually meant they were on the mend, so I was heartened. But other than one other night, we never saw Nubbins again, and I feared the worse.
He was by then an old, overweight coon and I thought his time had come. We hadn't been feeding any 'coons for some time, but one, Sad Girl, had come up as a baby with her mom and as a young adult, she just didn't get the memo, or at least refused to read it if she had. Every blasted night she sat on the terrace wall and stared at the house for hours. I finally relented when I noticed that she was nursing and began feeding her. Every night I'd tell her to bring up her babies, and one evening, she brought three about 6-week old coons up to the sliding glass door. Friday when I saw a coon on the terrace after we unpacked I assumed it was she and grabbed for the dog food... and gasped as Nubbins ran up and flung himself against the screen door. I ran outside. He was as happy to see me as I was him. And he looked great -- sleek and fit. If there was a 'grecian formula for coons,' I'd swear he used it. He actually looked younger. But it was definitely Nubbins. No one was as friendly.That night he feasted on left-over chicken thighs and grapes.
The other thing that's funny is also kinda sad. Our neighbor across the street had a white goose that decided he wanted to be 'adopted' by a family of wild geese and their three goslings that were born and raised on our pond. They had two others, but I guess he didn't care for them. The domestic goose can't fly. His wings are clipped -- not sure who did it or why...The wild ones are practicing flying, with short take-offs around the pond and outings of greater and greater distance. Saturday the white goose would not stop honking and we noticed the wild geese weren't around...later that afternoon some other wild geese landed but kept their distance from the domestic one and vice-versa...eventually the white goose's honking picked up in intensity and he waddled towards the pond as fast as he could, and shortly after the wild family made their aquatic landings...the white goose raced up to them and in their language really gave them a piece of his mind...it will be a sad day when he's left all alone...we are hoping he will begin to make friends with the three domestic ducks Corey bought and has raised from babies. So far, they are all keeping their distance.
We are off again on Sunday, and I will eventually feel well enough to write from Atlanta. Y'all be well...
Sunday, July 22, 2012
travels and travails
Sorry I haven't been too regular in the postings of late. Been a busy time getting ready for the kidney remnant removal and then the transplant in just a few weeks. This week we are off to Emory for more pre-op testing, and then we are home for a week and then off for good August 5. If all goes well surgery is the 7th and the transplant on the 16th. We are getting this 10-hr drive down. By the time the process is over we will be old pros on this commute!
I will post when we are back home before we go for good. Then there will be 'radio silence' for several weeks while I am in the hospital and recovering. We have to live in Atlanta probably 6 to 8 weeks unless the perfect 'cocktail' of anti-rejection meds are found. If I don't feel up to writing I at least intend to make the rounds of everyone else's blogs. Blessings to all...
I will post when we are back home before we go for good. Then there will be 'radio silence' for several weeks while I am in the hospital and recovering. We have to live in Atlanta probably 6 to 8 weeks unless the perfect 'cocktail' of anti-rejection meds are found. If I don't feel up to writing I at least intend to make the rounds of everyone else's blogs. Blessings to all...
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Sheet Dreams
If I were absolutely stinking, go-to-hell wealthy to the point of having staff like a full-time maid and cook, I would instruct my maid to change the bedsheets every day. I adore the feeling of sliding into crisp cotton sheets... the cotton sheets would be so crisp they would be slightly crinkly. I have always savored a luxurious bed...not a fan of the big bunch of pillows that decorators seem to prefer, but at least two king-sized pillows to lean into at the end of the day.
I once read that as First Lady in the White House, Jackie Kennedy insisted the staff change her linens twice daily -- in the morning, and after a daily afternoon nap. I suppose I wouldn't be too high-maintenance in comparison. I seldom nap, so once would be fine, thanks. Really.
So I was shocked to learn of a survey taken in Great Britain that revealed most people 'across the pond' (according to said survey, at least), change their sheets only once every three weeks. One in six doing so only once a month. And the article continued to state that in the U.S., people also waited every three weeks or longer.
Not to be all judgmental, but: EEEeeeewwwwww...
To me that is disgusting. "Experts" in the survey recommended once a week, citing dust mites allergens as the main reason to 'go to the trouble.' The article continued to address how much 'trouble' it is to strip a bed and remake it with fresh sheets. Please. It's all of five minutes' "work." And well worth the effort.
I have always been told one should have at least 3 sets of sheets per season--that way they can be rotated constantly. I have 4 sets for each season. In the cold weather we prefer flannel sheets, and I also have two heavier cotton sets that are a bit too hot in warmer months. I splurge with the best I can afford at the time and always on sale from outlets or the Linen Source catalog. I prefer white ones, so I can toss them in the washer with a bit of bleach if necessary. I have an eye out for a bamboo set, as I've heard they are well worth the expense.
For the record, I change our sheets twice a week. Even being slightly odd about this, ** there's only so much time on chores I'm willing to spend. Where's my house-servant when I need one?!
**A friend says her 'quirk,' are clean floors...she said when she was in the hospital, she begged family members to go to her house and vacuum and mop for her...
Another one of my chore hang-ups are dishes: I cannot go to bed with a sink full of dirty dishes, even if we've had a dinner party and it's 2 in the morning. Something about seeing a stack of grimy dishes on the counter the next day turns my stomach..other than that I swear to you, I am no 'Martha Stewart.'
I once read that as First Lady in the White House, Jackie Kennedy insisted the staff change her linens twice daily -- in the morning, and after a daily afternoon nap. I suppose I wouldn't be too high-maintenance in comparison. I seldom nap, so once would be fine, thanks. Really.
So I was shocked to learn of a survey taken in Great Britain that revealed most people 'across the pond' (according to said survey, at least), change their sheets only once every three weeks. One in six doing so only once a month. And the article continued to state that in the U.S., people also waited every three weeks or longer.
Not to be all judgmental, but: EEEeeeewwwwww...
To me that is disgusting. "Experts" in the survey recommended once a week, citing dust mites allergens as the main reason to 'go to the trouble.' The article continued to address how much 'trouble' it is to strip a bed and remake it with fresh sheets. Please. It's all of five minutes' "work." And well worth the effort.
I have always been told one should have at least 3 sets of sheets per season--that way they can be rotated constantly. I have 4 sets for each season. In the cold weather we prefer flannel sheets, and I also have two heavier cotton sets that are a bit too hot in warmer months. I splurge with the best I can afford at the time and always on sale from outlets or the Linen Source catalog. I prefer white ones, so I can toss them in the washer with a bit of bleach if necessary. I have an eye out for a bamboo set, as I've heard they are well worth the expense.
For the record, I change our sheets twice a week. Even being slightly odd about this, ** there's only so much time on chores I'm willing to spend. Where's my house-servant when I need one?!
**A friend says her 'quirk,' are clean floors...she said when she was in the hospital, she begged family members to go to her house and vacuum and mop for her...
Another one of my chore hang-ups are dishes: I cannot go to bed with a sink full of dirty dishes, even if we've had a dinner party and it's 2 in the morning. Something about seeing a stack of grimy dishes on the counter the next day turns my stomach..other than that I swear to you, I am no 'Martha Stewart.'
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