A lament for the public restroom

(I have no idea who would possibly care about my pet peeves about public bathrooms, so the blog is where they land. If I ever become a stand-up comedian, this will find its way into my act for sure.)

Other than the obvious gross factor of public restrooms, there are some pretty blatant areas for improvement.
1- Why are the latches on the stall doors ALWAYS broken? Can the great inventors in this world not figure out a fool-proof latch that will endure the beating? Really. They are always broken!

2- Who invented that toilet paper holder that doesn't turn? As if the frail quality of the toilet paper wasn't enough, "let's put it on a spool that doesn't turn and make them work for it."

3- The counter-tops by the sink are always wet and I would rather throw my purse in a pile of cow manure before I set it on the floor. Public restrooms need to put hooks on the edge of the counter-tops for women to hang their purses.

4- The smell of public restroom cleanser is enough to make anyone gag. And the smell of public restroom hand cleanser screams at you the rest of the day. Bleh.

5- Because I loathe those air hand dryers, I always choose the paper towel dispenser. The sensors on those things make any self-respecting adult look like a complete moron.

That's all for now.

It's that time of year...

I love this time of year. It is time to roll up my sleeves and make things grow!!!

Being organized pays off... Literally

As a single-girl who grew up without a dad around to tend to her vehicle, I found myself grunting through auto-repairs with a limited budget and always at an inconvenient time. I am still driving my 2005 Honda Accord that I love, and love even more because I do not have a car payment. Will. drive. until. wheels. fall. off.
I have always been diligent in keeping records of my repairs, oil changes etc. I am as diligent about these files as I am tax documents. A responsible quirk that I often questioned.
But, lo and behold, this organization will pay off. Literally. A Honda recall on a power steering hose issue that I had repaired 4 years ago will result in a reimbursement any day now! I am so glad I kept those receipts!

Do you smell that?

Did you ever see the movie Someone Like You starring Ashley Judd, Hugh Jackman and Greg Kinnear? I have seen it at least one trillion times. Jilted Jane is unexpectedly dumped by her love; a predictable premise all too familiar in those types of chick flicks. In one scene, she asks her doctor if he will surgically remove the part of her brain that processes her sense of smell. You know "the part that smells his cologne in the middle of the city street or smell his freshly laundered shirt even though he is no where to be found".
Have you been there before? I know I have. We have all experienced a smell that reminds us of a person or a time associated with a painful memory. But then there is the other side, when our olfactory senses surprise us when we least expect it. When a simple smell transports us to a place that we want to remember, a place where positive memories were made. Today that happened.
I stopped into a local Mediterranean restaurant to pick up my favorite hummus plate. As soon as I walked in, the smell hit me. I was so distracted I couldn't think straight when the sweet girl was taking my  order. The smell immediately transported me to the restaurant my grandfather owned when I was young. It was in the tiny town of Conehatta, Mississippi (that is pronounced Cone-uh-hat-ta).

I was in elementary/middle school and spent several weekends there. It was only open on Friday and Saturday night, which is a business model crazy enough to be successful in a small southern town. From what I understand, it had the best hush-puppies and catfish around. The odd thing was, my grandfather was a vegetarian and didn't eat much of anything that was served. My sister was old enough to waitress alongside my grandmother and great-aunt Frances. Unlike my sister, I was not old enough to work, so I just spent my time doing homework and eating chicken tenders. I remember the gentleman who folded up a one-dollar-bill into the shape of a ring as the tip for my grandmother. When she passed away, that dollar-bill ring was still in her jewelry box. Many hours were spent rocking in the two over-sized rocking chairs by the cash register. The blonde-colored wood paneling from floor to ceiling screamed of country life. The cook in the kitchen was "as-round-as-she-is-tall" and I remember her always being so nice and welcoming even if I was in her kitchen space. My great-aunt Glynn, a retired school teacher whom everyone knew and loved, acted as a hostess speaking to everyone who walked through those doors.  She would take the time to sit with me at the red and white checkered tables and have mature conversations with me, which many adults rarely do with kids that age. My grandfather, who only ran the business for a few years alongside his brother, was great at working hard. He was in his element at that "fish house." I remember how I felt there with my family- I remember feeling like I was part of the family business. But most vividly, I remember the smell of that place.
There isn't a day that goes without missing my grandfather. His nickname was "Scoot" and he was the funniest man in my world. He assumed the role as my "father-figure" after my dad died. I would give anything to spend a little bit more time with him. Today that smell, even though it was only his memory, gave me just that.

written yesterday, April 4, 2013