Author: Belinda O

Quite timely for me, I must say, as I did a fair amount of laundry over the weekend. I’d let it pile up and finally reached a point where I needed clean clothes, so I gave in. Apparently National Laundry Day is a day to “assess our laundry habits and teach our children to develop good ones,” so I’ve done some assessing, and reached the conclusion that I’d be a lot better off if I didn’t wait until I was desperate for clean clothing to throw a load in.

One thing that usually keeps me from doing a lot of laundry at once is my fear of the vent behind my dryer catching on fire and my apartment burning down as a result. Supposedly, apartment management has people out to clean those vents on a regular basis, but I’m not so sure. So when I do throw a load in the dryer, I sometimes pause it midway to let things cool down. I have no idea if that actually does any good, but it makes me feel better. I’d clean that vent out myself if I had access to it and knew what I was doing, but I don’t.

Another reason I should throw a load in on a regular basis and not let it pile up? I place my clean clothes on my bed, and it’s a lot easier to sort through the pile and get everything put away if I don’t have three loads on there at once. Yes, I could do it one load at a time while the other loads are still spinning in the dryer, but I don’t. My typical distractedness gets me going on other projects while the wash is still in progress.

Okay, it’s easy to develop these lazy laundry habits when you’re single and only have yourself to answer to. If I had a family I know I’d be a lot more anal about getting it done properly. But other things take precedence for me, like going grocery shopping or vacuuming or sorting through the spare bedroom. Those are all things I did while also doing my laundry this weekend. Not to mention a little socializing. I do have a life.

So anyway, assess your own laundry habits and see if you can do better than I do.

Image Credits: Buried in Laundry © Wayhome Studio–stock.adobe.com; Exploding Washer © nosorogua–stock.adobe.com

Sourdough bread traces back as far as the Egyptians of 1500 BC, and has been popular throughout the ages. It was commonly used during the Gold Rush of 1849, and some San Francisco bakeries can trace their sourdough starters back to that time. As you might guess if you don’t already know, San Francisco is famous for its sourdough bread, and with good reason. It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.

When I was in high school in California, my church youth group took a trip to SF, where I purchased a loaf of sourdough bread. I proudly brought it home as a gift for my family. My mom was irritated, saying I didn’t need to be buying food for us. Of course, that wasn’t my thinking. I just knew my family would enjoy it. Had a bought Ghirardelli chocolate, I doubt she would have objected, and I’m thinking that’s what really got to her. She wanted chocolate and instead I brought home bread. Oh well, live and learn. When I visited my mom in Minneapolis last year, we bought plenty of goodies. Not a single loaf of bread.

There aren’t too many places I can buy sourdough bread around here, but I do know of one bakery. So in honor of National Sourdough Bread day, I plan to stop by there this weekend. I hope you can celebrate in a similar way!

Image Credit: Sourdough Bread © Szakaly–stock.adobe.com

Today in church, the birthday blessing featured one special young man, who turned 18 on Thursday. I’m proud of Edward because he’s come so far in his short life, and I’m proud of his aunt, my friend Mandy, because she’s help bring him to the point he’s at today.

She’s had custody of him from the time he was 12 or 13 (I forget exactly when). Initially it was meant to be temporary, but when that first period of just a few months was over, Edward asked to stay with Mandy. I would say begged, but he didn’t have to go that far. Mandy was willing to take him on full-time for the rest of his childhood.

His younger years, the first few of elementary school, at least, were rough. Things were bad at home and Edward was struggling in school. He was placed in a special ed. class, where he was lucky enough to have teachers who recognized his problems weren’t intellectual, they were a result of a bad home life. They encouraged him to do more and be more, knowing he was capable of it.

One of those teachers was another friend, Karen, who also went to my church. She usually attended a Saturday evening service, while Edward and Mandy went Sunday mornings. However, there was a Good Friday service where we all attended. Edward couldn’t wait to tell her about an award he’d received at school, and Karen was thrilled to hear about it.

I talked to Mandy after church today, and she’s worried about him as an adult. All parents do that, I think, at least the ones who care. However, Mandy has a particular reason to be concerned, Back in the day, she had dropped out of high school to raise her two brothers. One thanks her to do this day for her commitment and sacrifice, the other, Edward’s father, blames her for everything. I mean, even really stupid stuff. That’s who he is and Mandy knows it’s about him and not her, but she’s afraid Edward will take after his father. I don’t think she has to worry, but I understand her concern.

Edward is a great kid, I mean, young man, and so much of that is due to Mandy’s care of and love for him. I’ve known him and Mandy since he was 2 or 3, and watched both of them grow. I believe he’ll do well in the future. I believe in him, just as I believe in Mandy. Who, by the way, went on to get her GED. She didn’t let her past stop her.

Image Credits: Growth © artrachen–stock.adobe.com; Academic Achievement © Mallva–stock.adobe.com

I started to get the vacuum cleaner out when I noticed Mimi was smack dab in my way. I decided to let her continue to relax there rather than stressing her with my cleaning. Okay, it isn’t the cleaning so much as the cleaning apparatus that stresses her. Whatever the reason, and maybe I’m just being lazy, I left her alone with her thoughts.

Image Credits: Paws in Heart © Bigstock Photos; Cesar Cat © Belinda O

I like to take a look at the daily prompts WordPress provides, and earlier this week this prompt caught my attention: “What is the last thing you learned?” The last thing? Don’t you mean latest thing? The last thing would imply I’d learned everything I was going to learn, and now I’m dead. A poor choice of words.

Words are powerful. As kids we learned the phrase “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Who were we kidding? Not our parents, who knew just how much words could hurt us. It probably pained my parents to see me trying to hide just how much the taunting and teasing wounded me.

To this day, I remember the boy I had a crush on in junior high telling one of my friends I was nice, but a little weird. It stings just to write about it. There’s a part of me that wants to see him again–fifty years later– and prove to him I’m not so weird. However, I think the pain would come flooding back and I’d wonder if I did prove such a thing, or if I just verified what he already believed to be true.

Fortunately, the flip side is true as well. I still remember a friend telling me she knew she could trust me to keep a secret, and I “got it” when it came to the need for privacy. That resonated with me for a couple of reasons. One, I prided myself on my ability to keep quiet when someone confided in me, and I was glad to be known for that trait. Two, there was someone else who understood that private matters are just that–private. That wasn’t something that was particularly respected in my family growing up, and it was difficult dealing with what I saw as betrayal when someone broke a confidence.

Words are symbols. They represent things in our life that we each interpret differently. I doubt that eighth-grade love interest of mine had any idea how much he could hurt me by calling me “weird.” It maybe didn’t have nearly the same negative connotation to him that it had to me. “Weird” can have many meanings, although overall it generally is a negative thing to call someone.

Of course, “geek” was not a nice thing to call someone back when I was in school. Things change. With the proliferation of computers and gadgets these days, calling someone a geek might be a term of affection.

The times may change the meaning of some words, but their overall power never changes. I know I’ve hurt some people with the words I’ve used, and my deepest apologies go out to them. Hopefully I’m more careful these days.

Image Credits: Words © MarekPhotoDesign–stock.adobe.com; Girl being shamed © Biscotto Design–stock.adobe.com; Girl being accepted © Biscotto Design–stock.adobe.com