The Saga of the Purple Couch

A few years ago, while i was dealing with the Roommate Katherine, a co-worker asked me if i would like to take her twin size hide a bed love-seat off her hands. I went over and checked it out and it was indeed a beautiful couch. A nice dusty plum color with ample cushioning and no large stains or tears. Unfortunately, i didn't have that much room so i declined to take it.

Now that my furniture space has changed and i'm able to fit something like that, i started thinking about how nice it would be when guests stay over/or there's someone snoring in my bedroom, to have a secondary bed area that's easily available even during the half awake stumble that occurs in the middle of the night.

So i went back to the co-worker and asked if she still had the couch. Unfortunately she didn't, but she had given it to another co-worker of ours, (we'll call her Cindy). As it turned out, Cindy was looking to get rid of the very same couch well within the time frame that i was looking at and she would be very happy if i could take it off her hands. She assured me that it was still in good condition, and that she'd get her husband to clean it before they gave it to me. I thought i had just won the jackpot.

An exaggerated example
of the "children" stains i'm referring to.

I borrowed my dad's van and pulled up to their house to take the couch. Looking back now, i should have gone to look at the couch before hand. But i trusted Cindy because she's a wonderful lady and i had no reason to believe anything less than the best from her. I could see a couple smudges from little children fingers, but overall the couch looked in good shape. So the couch got loaded up and i started to drive off.

Then i started to notice a very strong odor. My first thought was that i had gone through a skunk plume. Then i realized the smell was not skunk, but dog and it was coming from the couch behind me. I ended up driving down the highway with the windows down several inches and the rear wing windows open in the pouring rain because the stench was overwhelming. At this point, i didn't feel that i could go back, but i seriously thought about letting it accidentally fall out the back of the van. I think it might just be one of those cases where someone who lives with the smell, no longer notices it after a while. Cindy is too sweet a person to intentionally mislead someone.

Still it was a couch that was complementary in color to my Red Couch Of Awesomeness. It was originally an 800$ couch and it had a fold out bed, and i was getting it free of charge. Surely i could salvage this couch. Surely even if i had to spend a little bit of money, this couch would be worth it in the end.

So despite Boyfriend Jon's dubious looks and tactful silences when i explained my plan to him, i set the plan in motion. I borrowed my mothers industrial rinse and vac machine, created solutions of hot water, a mild citrus scented soap, and a little Fabreeze and went to work cleaning this couch.

The stuffing from the back cushion went straight into the garbage because it smelled like dog piss. I figure that i can find replacement stuffing for less than 20$ so that's no big loss. And then i sprayed my cleaning solution and used a scrub brush on every single inch of fabric on that entire couch, inside and out. The rinse and vac has a clear cover where you can see what you're sucking up. I can't clearly convey the gross factor of what i saw, but needless to say, i went over certain areas several times until the water was coming out clear.

For five hours i worked on cleaning this couch. I know because i watched the entire extended edition original DUNE movie plus over two episodes of Battlestar Galatica. I worked hard the entire time, soaking, scrubbing, suctioning, and fabreezing the entire couch, top to bottom, inside and out. I even cleaned all the hardware inside for the hide a bed.

By the end, my back was screaming, my sense of smell was completely GONE, i had a massive headache, and my knuckles were scraped raw. I had hauled gallons of water for rinsing my scrub brush, filled my water spray bottle dozens of times and gone through over half a bottle of fabreeze.

BUT!!!!

This is not my couch, but an example
of the difference before and after

This couch looks GOOD now. All of the children and pet dander stains came out after the scrubbing, and i'm positive that i managed to get almost all the body oils and other stains out of the fabric. I'm going to have to trash the mattress and replace it with a foam pad, but overall, i think this couch is saved.

I might just be optimistic, but it's going to depend on getting my mother's amazing nose in there to tell if it still smells cause i still can't smell a thing. If it still smells after that, i'll probably get rid of it. But i'm hopeful that all that work will pay off and i'll have a new couch. Fingers crossed because this couch looks good, it's just all dependent on the lack of odor.

Good news and Dinner

Today Boyfriend Jon celebrated a huge success. I am so proud to announce that he has self published his first book on Smashwords. Jon wrote this story originally before we met and I've had the privilege to watch it transform through several revisions. It's a sweet, but realistic (if you can call talking animals with armor and swords realistic) tale to kick of the Guineawick Series. 

I'm not saying this just because he's my boyfriend. This story is well written and he agonized over the plot and character developments for months. It's a short light read that will be worth your time. Besides...it's free. You can check it out here. 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/130321

So to celebrate, i offered to cook a nice homemade meal for him. Whatever he wanted. Boyfriend Jon leaned back into the cushions of the couch and pondered for a moment with a goofy grin on his face, still riding the high of the 10 downloads so far. Then he grinned even wider and looked at me and said "Chili Dogs". 

"Are you kidding or being serious?" I asked dubiously. 

"No, totally serious." he responded, nodding decisively. 

I thought hard. My dad had made sure we all knew some decent basic recipies from his standard menu. But Chili Dog had never come up. I ended up having to ask Boyfriend Jon what a Chili Dog was. 

He was aghast again. This is not the first time a seemingly "normal" dinner meal was something that never graced our table. 

I was 18 or so before i had my first ever taco and burrito. It was at a friend's birthday party and i was amazed. I brought the idea back to dad and he agreed to try it. My mother was not so enthused. 

She has what we refer to as Food Allergies to keep it simple for waiters. Although she's not allergic to anything, she does get massive migraines based on the food she consumes. So our dinner table, never had any hot spices, too many onions, mustard, aged cheeses (mozzarella and american were fine but nothing else), no fresh baked yeast breads (she believes that the yeast is still alive after it comes out of the oven so she needs to wait a day for the yeast to 'die'. don't ask...i don't know where she got that logic), Lima beans (we as kids were still forced to eat them, but she didn't have to), citrus juices or zest, complicated gravy's, curry, sour cream or nuts. That's just the major things. She won't eat standard apples from the store because the peels have a "chemical" that organic apples don't. And other things like that. 

We were constantly hearing "i can't eat that" and having to check food labels against her list which grew every year. The food we got was plain and my brothers claimed it was tasteless. We learned to cope, mostly through garlic. 

I can't say i blame her for her caution either. I've seen her in the hospital throwing up, with the blinds drawn and we have to talk in whispers so her head doesn't pound. And my mom is TOUGH. She went through shoulder replacement surgery with no pain killers other than TYLENOL! 

So in the end when we parred down the burritos to food that mom could eat...it was tortilla round, re-fried beans, lettuce, plain cooked hamburger and some cheese. It wasn't nearly as appetizing as what i had tasted at the birthday party. 

So I know i missed out on a bunch of things, and sometimes Boyfriend Jon looks at me with pure shock that I've never had a Manwich or chili dogs, fried rice or chow mein, or something else that was a major staple of his childhood. To be honest i can't remember the last time i had a taco. 

And it's not a matter of being resistant to try things, but i don't automatically think of the same kind of celebratory food. For me, luxuries were Jeiger schnitzle, Eggplant parmesean, paprika chicken, and Perrogies. All in all i'm very interested in trying out chili burgers and seeing how i like them. We'll see how it goes. 

Want to say it, but can't

The primary topic of my brain is a something i can't talk about yet because i'm afraid i'll jinx it. It'll be a couple months before i can talk about it and then you can expect a long series of posts about it. I promise.

That's the main reason why my posts are few and far between lately. When something exciting is coming it starts occupying my mind months ahead of time. I usually start planning my September birthday two months ahead of time. And by the time it's over, i'm thinking about Christmas with a vengeance. Halloween and Thanksgiving get thrown in when the birthday plans are settled. The bigger the event is, the sooner it starts occupying my mind.

I don't know why, i can't help it. At least I've gotten better about not talking about it until the more socially acceptable 2 weeks. Well, with some things. Other things the words just tumble out of my mouth to the few people i can talk about it with. I can keep a secret, but everyone knows i'm keeping it.

I can put some theories to rest though. For some people, i am not becoming your sister in law in a couple months. For other people, Doctor Shiva the Destroyer is not actively worried that i'm going to die in a couple months. This thing will most likely be a very good thing and i'm hoping any bad parts will be mild.

There that's the closest i can get to saying stuff but not jinxing it.

This bug is kicking my butt

So quick updates cause i've been remiss in my blogging.

• Christmas Eve was busy but wonderful. The feast of the Seven Fish went off with a few mild hick-ups but overall, we had plenty of food and good wine. 
• My Christmas with the family was a lot of fun, and i got a bunch of much appreciated gifts. 
• I spent the week between Christmas and New Years Eve cleaning, mending, and doing odd projects
• Then New Years Eve morning, i took a plane and caught up with Boyfriend Jon in California for a week where i was introduced to a much more extended selection of his family and friends, and took the first vacation when i actually relaxed rather than doing a marathon of tourist-ing and shopping. 
• Boyfriend Jon's family is so warm and inviting if a little crazy and bustling and loud. New years eve had at least thirty people over, and the party to celebrate Nick's graduation from the fire academy had 40+ people. It was really overwhelming but everyone was very nice to me. 

When the party was over, i had developed a small cough and some bubbling in my right lung. It didn't seem bad so we just went to bed. 

But at 3am i woke up and couldn't get warm, not even by getting the extra blanket from the closet. And suddenly the coughing was much worse. My shivering woke up Jon who came to snuggle but instantly noticed that i was burning up. Next thing i know, the wonderful man has gotten dressed and gone out into the night to get me medicine. I tried to go back to sleep after that, but i was still cold, and getting stiff and sore. 

When we woke up to pack for the trip back i felt like an old woman, i couldn't move except to hobble, and the simple task of packing took much longer than it should have. We boarded the plane and for the first time in my life, i slept during the flight. I never sleep on planes cause there's too much to look at. When my mother heard this upon picking us up, she even commented, "oh you really ARE sick". 

So for the rest of the weekend and into the week, i fought the bug. And by fought i meant passed out on the couch and snored and was pathetic. Finally when it hit the point where i had had the bubbling in my lung for a full week, i went to the doctor. 

My normal doctor couldn't see me, so i was introduced to another. This lady was a young, slender, soft spoken asian-indian woman with no trace of accent, who checked me over and then went Shiva the Destroyer on me. 

Now, it's worth noting that i hate hospitals. And having been an overall healthy kid, i almost never went into them. My parents developed a habit of, no need to go in if there's nothing wrong with you. So Annual Physicals happened every 3-5 years. When i had to start paying for them myself it became an "as needed" which turns out...translates to every 7 years. And usually it was because i was in there for something else. 

Like this time. Suddenly this sweet lady was pointing a menacing finger in my face and chastising me for not taking care of my health maintenance. I was scheduled for xray and bloodwork as penance for my forgetting. And she repeated with the same menacing finger pointed at me that she had better see me back in her office in "one week. one week, i mean it. I'll have the front desk start calling you no stop if i don't see you in here in exactly one week. Don't forget...i mean it....one week" as she was moving out the door. 

It's different than my other doctor. She just kind of has an "oh well," attitude about everything having to do with me. Quite frankly, it's nice to have someone who cares even if it does get that finger pointed in my face and her nurse is thoughtless and rude about her comments. 

Perhaps i've found a new doctor. Doctor Shiva the Destroyer. 

The Feast of the Seven Fishes

There's been quite a delay in my posts. Partially between a burn out from writing in general, and partially due to the chaos of the holiday season.

Updates:
Boyfriend Jon has gone off to the wilds (aka, California) to spend the holidays with his family. It leaves me with two weeks of pure alone time after work. Although i miss him terribly, I've already started putting it to use; cleaning my bathroom from top to bottom. I'll wash the floor tonight.
Other cleaning is in the works including an entire empty and reorganize of my cupboards, emptying and sorting of all the boxes that have miscellaneous items shoved inside them when i had company coming over. Maybe i'll actually figure out where on earth my second hammer went to.

Then i have projects galore to work on. Wood working and sewing projects which for the time being will remain unspecified because they're Christmas presents.

All i can say is i'm very happy that i found a wood supplier online that has bubinga, one of my favorite woods.

Also, in my family, we have a holiday tradition that many people don't know anything about. It's called the Feast of the Seven Fishes. It stems in my family from my grandfather, my dad's father, who was born in southern Italy. It's supposed to be very religiously related, but there's very little rhetoric in my family. We believe what we believe and that's all there is to it. The Feast of the Seven Fishes has it's own traditional meaning for us that has nothing to do with religion. It is a very special time.

When we were little, on Christmas Eve morning, dad would get us out of bed early, (7am), and treat us to hot chocolate at a coffee shop (which almost never happened during the rest of the year) then we would go to the local fish market and dad would carefully select and buy all kinds of fish and seafood. Shrimp, Sole, Salmon, Halibut, Clams, Crab (more about this later), Scallops, and occasionally Eel, Catfish, Trout, and other random seafood made the menu. Most years, we had no idea what was going to be on the table when everything was concocted.

Then we would stop off at the grocery store and pick up any extra ingredients that were necessary. Then it was back to the house. By that time, usually it was past noon, and food preparation began immediately. I always got tasked with shelling shrimp and de-boneing what i could. And my dad would cook everything, dressed in his blue and white striped apron, going in and out of the back door to check on things cooking in the BBQ.

When the shrimp was done, as with all holidays, i got put to setting the table, arranging shrimp around the rims of these short glasses with snowmen painted on them, and filling them with the sauces. I made sure we used the gold rimmed goblets with snowflakes, and pulled out the candles. And after my grandmother died, her favorite silverware was used.

My mother would go outside with a pair of garden nippers and bring back in several branches from our cedar trees and occasionally the neighbor's pine tree. Then she would arrange it all, with some pine cones and ribbon into a beautiful center piece.

It took all of us years to figure out how he did it, but all the dishes hit the table at the same time. At which point we would dig in to spinach and garlic halibut, seared scallops, grilled salmon, a plethora of other mouth watering dishes.

Even this makes me want to throw up!

When i was really little, everyone in the family would get a kick out of putting the cooked crab right next to my chair. Then dad on my left would rip off the legs and arms with gusto while i tried not to think about those horribly sickening sounds. Then being a trouble maker, he would leave the head of the crab staring at me. I couldn't have been more than five and he would try to get me to touch it, only to make it move when my finger was a hairs breath away.

One year my mother got the hair brained idea to run the cleaned out crab head through the dishwasher with the idea of keeping it to add to her collection of shells. Only she didn't count on my brother Johnny to be the one to empty the dishwasher that night. I'll give you three guesses as to what a sevenish year old boy did with a scary crab shell that made his little sister scream. Oh yeah, he chased me with it. It was cruel, but i survived usually by screaming so loud that my mother put a stop to it. Though to this day, i'm still terrified of crab in the shell. No problems with the meat, it's quite tasty actually. Just the disgusting, creepy, freakish exoskeleton, makes my stomach turn.

Anyway, that was the story when i was little. Now it's a whole different ballgame. Dad still throws a fit if any of us so much as thinks about not attending. But he always has volunteers to go do the fish shopping. When we had fifteen people to feed, the table would be filled with different dishes. Often only limited to seven KINDS of fish, but multiple variations of all of them. Now, we're all more health conscious. Baking instead of frying, and reducing the amounts of butter and cheeses in all the dishes. Also, my sister and I join in on the cooking often bringing a signature dish or two ourselves to save our dad some of the labor.

This year is another first. My sister finally finished her kitchen remodel and wants to host the Feast at her place. My father was giddy that he wouldn't have to cook. But then my sister ended up having to work. So we're going to try preparing some dishes ahead of time. And we won't be without some of my dad's signature dishes this time around.