Another blow to my self-esteem

My head hurts, you guys, because I successfully caught Johanna's cold and my sinuses are jerks. Is it sinuses or sinus? I have no idea because my brains feel like they're being squished and it's just too much for me to contemplate right now.

So I'm in the perfect mindset to tell you a story is what I'm saying.

Once upon a time, like two days ago, I started planning the weekly feature I write for the newspaper, where I "spotlight" someone in the community and talk about what it is they do that makes them ... unique or special or different or ordinary or the same, really. It's like, "Who are the people in your neighborhood," only without the Muppets.

I had this one woman in mind because she's 94 and still volunteering at her previous place of employment, except it's still her place of employment, I guess, because she never left. I knew her back in the olden days when my mother worked with her, and I figured this would be a heck of a story because hello, who works at the same place for 60-plus years?

Yeah, no one.

This is EXACTLY what my desk looks like at work.

Anyway, she apparently doesn't believe in answering machines because every time I called, I got no answer even if I let it ring like 15 times. (Which is just embarrassing.) I struck out so many times I was wondering A) If this was the path to a restraining order and 2) If maybe it was time to come up with a Plan B.

But then she answered! Whew.

And I'm all, this is Trisha! I want to do a story on you! And she was like, nope. And I was all, listen, this is going to be a great, and my mom thinks so too! And she was like, don't think so, so I was all, please? I'll make it short! And she finally relented.

Because that's what I do: Bully the elderly.

She gave me, I'm not even kidding, a whole eight minutes of her time on the phone before she decided that was enough and she was through. And I was like, well, that's cool, I'll see you Thursday morning so I can take pictures.

She was not happy about that -- people generally hate the pictures more than the interview -- but she consented because hey, we'd come this far.

So Thursday morning, I waltz into her workplace and am all, hey there! And she's like, I didn't know it was you -- I'd have been nicer if I had.

That made me laugh. I made the mistake of giving her my married name, not my maiden name -- and so what if I've been a Walker for 20 years? I was a Morrissette for 23. So I guess I should have led with that.

Anyway, the moral of this story is that I am very popular and everyone knows immediately who I am whenever I introduce myself.

The end.

Oh, wait, not the end: I ended up having to interview some of the people she works with, just to bulk the story up a bit, because eight minutes ain't all that much time. Oh, and then I had these two little kids pose with her for one of the photos, and they thought they were in trouble because I forgot to tell them what we were doing, so they were very serious and scared and now I feel bad not only about bullying the elderly, but small children.

Now it's the end, because Eric wants to play Scrabble on Facebook.

Men.

Zero Waste Wednesday: Reusable water stations

(Wow, it's been a while since we've had a Zero Waste Wednesday. I was off my game this summer, apparently.)

Oregon is green, you guys, and I'm not just talking about the landscape. All those jokes you hear about Oregonians recycling everything in sight and being able to tell the difference between Starbucks, Seattle's Best and Dutch Bros.? Totally true.

It's not uncommon to see people carrying around their reusable water bottles, but I haven't really noticed any filing stations (as I suppose they would logically be called) until the past few weeks.

We actually ran a story about this in our paper last month, when a local downtown sporting goods store put in a filling station for absolutely anybody to use. You just walk in off the street and fill up your bottle for free and be done with it.

And we have great water here, so yay us.

Well, I guess the high school also has a filling station, donated by the Class of Such-and-Such. But that one isn't public per se.

Anyway, the other weekend we went to a 100-year-old's birthday party in Salem (why didn't I write about that? I tell you what, August was not my month), and Eric, being Eric, wanted to stop at the new Cabelas store along the way. And here's what Johanna and I found when we came out of their (very nice) bathrooms:

Awesome.

 I wasn't thirsty, but I totally was wishing I'd have brought in my Klean Kanteen just so I could try it out.

(Although: Full disclosure, there was a New Seasons Market next door, so I went to the car, got my Klean Kanteen, and procured for myself a really kick-ass Americano. No regrets.)

Anyway, pretty cool, right? I was lamenting the fact that there aren't more of these, when it occurred to me that there actually really are. You just have to look for them, like so:

Lobby of my acupuncturist.

These little stations are all over town -- I've seen them at the dentist, the acupuncturist's and doctor's office. Maybe it's a medical thing? But the acupuncturist's is my favorite setup because she even has reusable mugs for us to use.

Not that I ever have. Just that I could.

This seems rather encouraging to me.

Pros:
Hey, free water!
Designated filling stations equal no waste...
...And encourage reusable water bottles.
And are way cleaner than water fountains. Uh, I assume.

Cons:
Not everywhere.
Some provide little paper cups (better than plastic, but still made of trees).

Light 2015: "The Hard Stuff"

It's possible that I've lost track a bit of what my original Light resolution (revolution?) has been about this year. I wanted to keep the word in the forefront of my mind, to remind myself what I'm trying to achieve here. (Hint: Being scattered is not as fun as you'd think it would be. I only look like I'd be organized.)

But hey, life is what you make it, and so are words.

Since my grandfather passed away in June, my family has been dealing with some hard stuff. Well, sadness and all that, but also trying to dismantle a house that has 65 years worth of accumulation inside.

Example: These meal rations (for emergencies,
I guess) that had been stored in a bedroom closet
since 1983. Yeah, these went in the trash.

Add to that the fact my grandparents are Depression babies and never threw anything away, and you can sort of start to see the mass and scope of the thing.

Side note: my grandmother is doing really well, you guys, in her apartment at the local assisted living complex. She's busy with exercise class, lunch dates, friends who pop by and the endless card games -- sometimes, she's the teacher. Not that she's happy. Just that she's busy and it's keeping her mind occupied with something other than the fact that the partner she's had for 73 years is missing.

But she's decided it's time to sell the house, and that's causing a bit of a scramble. Eric and the girls and I spent Saturday helping get ready for a garage sale, a sort of last ditch effort to clean out what hasn't already been claimed by family, taken to the Goodwill, or just dumped.

There's not a lot of options. I think about that every single time I go to the store now: If I buy this, how will I get rid of it?

Anyway, all this cleaning (and, to be honest, this weekend was the first time I'd even helped; that chore has fallen to my mother and The Aunts, and to some of my cousins. Those guys all deserve a huge medal) and thinking and ... just the physical and emotional toll of it all, you know what I mean? ... has made me want to go through my house again.

That was kind of a long introduction to get to the point, but I suppose if you're reading a blog called Pointless Ramble, that's kind of on you. ;)

Basically my mantra this month is Just One Thing. Each day, I try to get to one area of the house and separate the wheat from the chaff: The abundance of hats, gloves and coats in the coat closet (that was actually a pretty focused cleanup), my bathroom drawers (how does a minimalist acquire so many sample sizes?), or just the random places in the house where things accumulate because we don't know what to do with them (read: the laundry room, a cupboard in the bedroom, the extra closet in Abby's room, my reading retreat).

Sometimes it's more about cleaning than cleaning out, but you know what? It keeps me off my ass when I get home from work (exhausted ... why is sitting at a computer all day so tiring?!) and it also keeps me off the internets (a pleasant, if not pointless, time suck). And if my house is lighter and roomier because of it, then so be it.

I love light and roomy!

So that's what I've been up to, even though my mother is pretty sure I don't have anything left to get rid of.  I heard a couple of times on Saturday that I'm "smart" for being a minimalist, but I think it's more that minimalism is smart. We pay for stuff so much longer than just that initial store transaction (or however it is you acquire it). Sometimes, 65 years later. That's a huge burden. And one hell of a motivator.

P.S. I'm purposely sticking to my own areas or to communal areas because I'm a believer in leading by example, not by tyranny. Because you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it clean its room.