Stupid Housekeeper Tricks as told by Marie Antoinette *

I consider myself lucky, beyond reasonable expectations to have the problems I complain about but I will confess with guilt and shame that my housekeeper, Linda has some pretty annoying rules. Now, I love Linda dearly and she truly lights up my world when she arrives every other Friday but there are certain traditions which have developed at my house which can no longer remain shrouded in silence. It turns out that even the best housekeepers are nosey, do not work make up hours, avoid extra work, eschew certain categories of work altogether, and make you feel guilty in ways you never fathomed. Before I complain at length, I freely admit that if I had to go to someone's messy house and perform manual labor for them in exchange for $15.00 per hour, I might engage in some pretty peculiar behavior.  Still, in defense of my position, and at the risk of being politically incorrect, no one made my housekeeper take her job with me.  Apparently, I pay her more than she could make anywhere else.  I treat her with respect.  I let her listen to Mariachi music in every room in my house.  She cannot or will not speak English. I, on the other hand, review my Spanish verbs to make my conversation more lively while hiding in a small room most of the time she’s here so she will not have to contend with my imperial presence.  Thus she is left in charge of cleaning my house and I am too embarrassed about my spoiled status to complain about her failings as a housekeeper. Therefore, I complain to you. Let me give you a sense of the unwritten rules that my housekeeper has established for my household. I have learned never to expect additional service in a room which has already been cleaned.  This means that if I want my coffee cup cleaned this week, I must get up very early so that it is waiting in room number one, the kitchen.  Furthermore, even if my Linda is still in room number one, it will do me no good whatsoever to put the coffee cup in or near the sink if said sink has already been cleaned.  Too late.  I could try leaving the cup I used at 10:00 a.m. in a room Linda won't get to til 11:00 but this seems very sneaky. Anyway, she would surely know exactly when the beverage was prepared and consumed, rule it late, and I would just have to retrieve and wash it later. I have also learned never to expect Linda to finish a load of laundry I started.  It is the starter's responsibility to finish. I have tried leaving the clean, dry laundry, half hanging out of the open dryer begging to be put away. I was rebuffed.  The laundry would somehow come to rest back in the shut dryer.  Well, ok, I thought - maybe if I take it out of the dryer and sort it but don't put it away I will solve the dilemma.  No, it still has the stigma of laundry started by another. Although Linda doesn’t iron, she clearly loves to dust. I finally had to perform a cost benefit analysis and remove cute, small objects from my shelves to avoid spending upwards of thirty dollars per week to have them dusted.  My housekeeper must have loved my collection of miniature tea sets (collectively having a retail value under $20.00) very much because she painstakingly dusted them every week. I never learned to say I like those better with the dust on them and finally resigned myself to putting them out of sight. Spiders and flies fall into a categorical exception to Linda’s love for dusting. I call this exception the spider and fly rule.  Although Linda dutifully dusted, polished and arranged my kitschy collection of pottery, every time I walked up the steps I noticed my spider web collection - well actually just one amalgamation of spider web which I, in my passive aggressive way, would leave just to see whether Linda could ever bring herself to dust anything that wasn't cute.  Apparently not. After what may have been two or three years, I finally decided to remove the web myself.  She waited me out.  Confirming Linda’s rules, I discovered while in my rarely used living room, a dead fly on the living room floor she presumably vacuumed every week.  It is rare for me to enter the living (not so named by my flies) room but my curiosity persisted and I was able to establish that Linda deliberately vacuums around flies.  I cannot predict how long the fly will remain in its mausoleum, but I think it will be a very long time. I’m guessing Linda has relegated all matters insect to me. I have had housekeepers who break things and are too ethical to dispose of the evidence but compromise by putting them away in their newly transformed state. Linda would never do that; if she breaks something, she will mend it for me and thus I learned that a vase can be scotch taped together again. We’re not talking transparent tape. Conversely, no matter how much I long to get a new fully featured coffee maker, Linda will keep restoring it to a pristine condition unsuitable for replacement. My housekeeper takes perverse pleasure in hiding things from me.  I am just astonished at the lengths will go to in order to take the papers I was working on and pack them up in a shopping bag in my pantry only to be discovered again during  - the hunt.  I have gotten awfully good at the hunt.  If I am foolhardy enough to forget to put something away, I now know where to start looking.  Please don't tell me to ask my housekeeper where something is or her hunt will consume more money than the actual retail value of my pie shaped Tupperware. Another cost benefit analysis occured to me when I asked Linda to help me cook something. I had a $2.00 package of boneless chicken thighs in the refrigerator.  and was about to put them in a pan.  Linda said I shouldn't cook them so early.  I suggested she put them in the pan for me.  Later, I learned that Linda had painstakingly removed, every speck of fat on those chicken thighs and for only $10.00arranged them in the pan devoid of any unacceptable chicken like matter.  I couldn't bear to cook, let alone eat, the worked over chicken thighs even at 12.00 a pound.   However, I did keep them in the refrigerator until Linda returned so that it could be she who cleaned the pan.  Boss's rule - never wash pots and pans dirtied by my housekeeper. I no longer put anything in my garbage which I am not thoroughly comfortable having evaluated.  Linda is very nosy. Then, to make matters worse, rather than just taking my disposed of, torn underwear home with her, she brings it to me and asks if she may have it for her charitable cause.  What about a little charity for me.  I simply refuse to feel bad about throwing out holey underwear.  So now, I get up before she gets here and throw it (and other objects Goodwill would clearly decline) away in the big can outside.  I think it's safe and I won't be rebuked for my complete disregard for impoverished people without any underwear. Still not convinced that housekeepers are nosy? Once, in the interests of maintaining enough cash flow to continue to employ my housekeeper, I rented out my mother-in-law unit to a local art college student.  To my utter shock, my housekeeper came and found me somewhere in the house and gestured to me that I should stealthfully creep up to the wall outside the mother-in-law unit and listen.  I listened and was baffled.  What exactly am I listening to?  Water.  Yes, the shower was in use.  Ok, still baffled my housekeeper explained that she has been listening against the wall because she heardt my tenant and someone else were in the shower whispering honey to each other.  My housekeeper was appalled to think of the extra water I would have to pay for.  She made it a point to spy on this poor girl for the remainder of her stint at my house.  I was informed of any infraction of my housekeeper's rules at the earliest opportunity.  I arose from passiveness for a few brief moments to defend the girl and then slipped back into silence. Redecorating is not something which was in the job description I composed when looking for my housekeeper.  However, no matter how many times Linda sees my guest bed made up with the bedspread pattern facing up, she insists on reversing it so the non-patterned side shows.  I guess she just doesn't like my color scheme. Thinking myself well armed with a solution, I salvaged the original wrapping on the bedspread and displayed the picture of the perfectly made up bed. See, this is the way that the bedspread is supposed to be. It is not just my foolish notion. There are authorities out there who agree with me. I asked a male friend who works out of his house if he had anything to add on the subject of housekeeper detente.  I was wondering if a male point of view would be different and in particular if testosterone empowered him to speak up for himself in his housekeeper relationship.  It seems that he too is saddled with guilt induced silence.  He tells me he has "cord issues" with his housekeeper.  At first I expect to be presented with an explanation of his unresolved need to be taken care of by a mother figure from whom he could not completely separate.  Instead, I find that his housekeeper unplugs many, if not most of the plugs in his house, presumably to facilitate her vacuuming, and , perhaps in order to leave evidence that she vacuumed, she leaves the cords unplugged.  How can he protest when he remembers that this woman drives an hour each way to take care of his family's home.  He replugs.  I wonder how the cord and fly issue would be resolved if ever they were combined.  * Having recently been instructed on what Marie Antoinette really meant when she said “let them eat cake,” I don’t wish to imply that my attitudes on these subjects exactly parallel Marie’s. It seems that 18th century usage of the word “cake” referred to the portion of the remnants of baked bread which had to be thrown away, but surely would suffice for hungry peasants.)

Rat Rescue


The other day one of my Facebook friends who spends far too much time sharing pictures of cute dogs about to lose their lease at the animal shelter took it to a new level when she shared a rat rescue site and appeared to be considering its merits for her own good works. At first glance, the Facebook page appeared to be a spoof and I thought, boy, Carole’s really been snookered now. When I read on I began to have a nagging suspicion that this was for real. I clicked, I drilled down and I read on.

There are several rat rescue organizations throughout the United states, probably one near you but not to worry, transport can be arranged. Something like the underground train for slaves, er I mean rats has been put in place. I was amazed by the number of rat rescue sites I found and plagued (sorry) by all the questions they raise. Is there a rat pound somewhere I don't know about? I suppose there might be exterminators providing the "pets" who advertise themselves as "no kill." I had some bees removed from my attic by just such an outfit. That was slightly more understandable to me. There is a bee shortage. Then, I discovered that the rescue rats were sourced from pets found abandoned. Apparently these are pets who were dumped by their inhumane owners and it does make you feel bad.

Rescue stories often involve heroic removal of pets from deplorable conditions. I can’t help wondering just how deplorable conditions would have to get to be unfit for a rat. I had a rat living in between my garbage compactor and kitchen cabinetry for several weeks doing quite well, thank you very much, judging from his size. Still this crawl space seemed pretty claustrophobic and it was the rat’s choice.

A couple more things to think about before you rush out to adopt. The rats must be adopted in pairs because they are social animals. Perhaps, judging by the numbers in need, you should ask, if they spay and/or neuter these rats before adopting them out? They claim to socialize the rats before they leave foster care but how do you really know? Are mice available as well? What might the penalty be if you take a bunch on the pretext of adoption and feed them to your snake?

A $10.00 adoption fee is requested but not required. I can’t speak to just how costly it is to run a rat rescue operation. Star’s Rat Rescue solicits donations and sells merchandise to raise money (picture rat hammocks and tee shirts). If you provide a temporary foster home until a furever home is found, your costs can be subsidized by the lead organization.

Perhaps, as my friend Julie suggested, it is time for a new rescue organization for people in dire straits but this time founded by rats. No orphans, just slovenly housekeepers, good cooks, and maybe the occasional teenager. I can already imagine the descriptions and pictures of successful rescues. Sponsors anyone? Did you know that humans make particularly good house pets and frequently provide their own houses?


My friend Anne suggested that we grab a currently unclaimed idea. We will report back after we investigate no kill bug killers, I mean removers. The slogans are not hard to imagine. Send a termite to a better place. And cockroach motel could take on a new meaning. Business or 501(c), I wonder?

All things considered, the "available" rats pictured are kind of cute but I suspect they may be mice posing as rats.

The Red Ottoman

While the internet and the technology it has spawned are wonderful, you would do well to be prepared to be startled by coincidences and haunted by memories. Cue up Twilight Zone music as I share a memory I never expected to retrieve. When I was about 5, I used to play in my grandmother's basement with my next door neighbor, Jean, also aged 5. My grandmother’s basement was bigger than my first and second apartments combined. My grandfather was a pawnbroker so where most people stored their old clothes and suitcases or built bomb shelters, my grandmother stockpiled her next 5 televisions, record players, and vacuum cleaners, just in case. In one room, she had a round, red leather ottoman which Jean taught me to use to its best advantage. We would put a record on, turn the ottoman on its side and play circus. Clearly my grandmother was wrong thinking the ottoman’s best days were over when she relegated it to the basement. Hard to say how many years before Jean and I tired of walking on the ottoman which would roll like a fat but lumpy log. Still, the time came when I forgot about the ottoman. My Aunt Ann and her family came to live in my grandmother’s house. I went back east to visit frequently over the next 45 years. During those years I tried to prepare myself for the great pain I knew I would feel when my grandmother’s house was no longer part of my life. Then, a couple years ago Ann died and the house was sold. Not long after, I went on a sentimental walk through the old neighborhood via Google Maps, with its panoramic pictures taken at street level doing all but reproducing the real thing. The vehicle that took the pics for Google must have driven by Ann's house during the last few days of clean up for the new buyer and a picture was immortalized showing a heap of throwaway stuff including the red ottoman at the end of the driveway.

I thought seeing the picture was a coincidence of the rarest order but the weird thing is that a year or so later, when I opened Google to see the ottoman again, it was gone, the yard magically restored to suburban perfection. I guess some things, like people, are not ready to fade away all at once.

Floating Psychosis

You might think my pool harbored the loch ness monster and sloshed on the shore of a volcano with a view directly into the event horizon beyond which lie the secrets within a black hole. If that seems a stretch to you, then, know that I approached reentry into these long abandoned waters with at least the care of the svelte newscaster turned diver who donned her dry suit to test the waters in the Gulf of Leak if not quite as much reason, well hardly any reason at all. But when it reached 110 degrees in my backyard today it seemed like just the right day to buy an inflatable chaise lounge and brave the elements of fear surrounding disrobing sufficiently to lounge submerged by almost an inch of water. My pool is hidden behind two sets of gates and 1/3 of an acre but there is a neighbor who could stand on her upstairs deck and possibly see something; there are delivery men who come up my drive way and there is an occasional hovering aircraft within a mile or less. And all modesty aside, I should avoid the sun like poison in order to defer the crepe paper that my skin is determined to become. So, this preamble explains my search through closets for just the right bathing frock. I settled on a two piece and while that description would be accurate it might be slightly misleading. One piece was a long sleeve pull over henley and the other was a terrycloth bathing suit cover up or apres bath drying dress replete with velcro closure. We won't count the other two pieces which were my underwear or the hat and I forgot altogether to bring sunglasses in the fray of preparation.
Wardrobe ready, just the final touches required attention. I composed a path made of towels leading back to the house to dry my dog should he decide to join me. The right reading matter to set the mood, a summer back yard landscaping and entertaining magazine, seemed just right. A bottle of sun screen fit nicely in one built in cup holder of my floating lounge and a styrofoam cup of fresh brewed ice tea in the other. As for ultimate comfort and hair protectorant, I folded and nestled a bath sheet sized towel into the indentation designed to receive my head. Finally, as I boarded the vessel I held a cordless phone aloft to keep it dry at the expense of the magazine destined immediately to be soaked with water and the beverage which survived more or less as long as my magazine before pouring directly into the pool. These mishaps did not spoil my fun for even one minute; they were just information to stow away for next time as I aim to perfect this sybaritic psychosis. I wonder if the lapping water and the ambient temperature reduction effected by contact with all that water didn't feel better to me than it would have to those mindless swimmers who think nothing of striding poolside, amidst crowds of strangers, leaving their enveloping towels far away from the point where they will have to exit the pool. I wonder if I have what it takes to try this again tomorrow.