108 Bells and a Breville Blender

I took a broken blender to my Dad's when we stopped to drop off the dog on the way to Nub's Nob for ski team weekend. "Does your Dad even expect or want this?" Matt asked, when I told him my plan. So I gave Dad a heads up, and he was, as expected, immediately enthusiastic about having a new project. I was not entirely optimistic, but I needed to get the blender out of the house, because the fact that my lovely shiny glorious Breville Blender had stopped working about 3 months after its 2 year warranty, and that the so-called "replacement part" was just a whole new pitcher and would cost almost as much as a brand new blender, was giving me rage anytime I saw or thought about that blender. Especially because maybe it was my own fault for putting parmesan cheese into the sauce too early in the blending process. And since I had to get rid of 108 items from my house before the end of the month, I packed it up and rang a bell.

But I have to go back to January 1st, to explain all this. On New Years Day, while sitting on my butt eating cookies, I decided to scroll an online article/list about New Years traditions from around the world, in hopes of finding inspiration for my New Year's Resolution, because the way my brain works, I have to have a gimmick to get motivated. About halfway down the list of 50 was a Japanese/Buddhist tradition of ringing 108 bells on New Year's Eve to clear out the old year. 

The article was quick to add this wasn't about clearing clutter from your house, but rather a symbolic release of negative desires. However, I was quick to think, "but why couldn't it be about clearing clutter?" And just like that, a plan was born. I decided to declutter, and ring a bell for each item I discarded, donated or used up. With an explanation to the family and a few loose ground rules (no credit for using ordinary items that would be replenished, but using up the "second string" items that have been hanging around forever, like the less favored scented deodorant, would qualify), the journey began. 

Yes, I literally rang a bell--part of the Christmas decor, a cutesy knick-knack my Mom had given me at some point--and tallied the items as I purged. I tried to give some attention to desires and loftier thoughts, although I have not yet studied Buddhism. Thoughts of appreciation for the things I have and of actually using the stuff I currently own, and if I can't use it, then why am I keeping it? The answer to that? It's probably genetic, and while I don't have the full hoarder impulse, I am reluctant to throw a "useful" thing away. 

But somehow, I managed to purge extra Christmas decorative items without too much guilt over whether or not it was a gift. A ludicrous quantity of pencils faced the chopping block--I don't even use pencils! I forced myself to discard any that had any type of flaw--tooth marks, too short, hard eraser, obvious cheapness, dumb cartoon characters--and cut the collection in half. I only allowed myself one bell for the pencils; taking credit for a whole dozen items felt a bit like cheating. 

By the time I decided to send the blender to Dad's house, I didn't have any expectation of a repair. I just wanted to ring another bell and get rid of that negative energy that boiled up in me every time I thought about that damned broken expensive blender. Matt asked, "How does this count as getting rid of clutter if you're just moving it to your dad's house?"

The obvious answer is that Dad's house is where clutter lives. It is where the lifetime hoard of "useful" items takes up residence. At the very least, one blender would simply disappear into the nether land of to-be-repaired TV's, speakers, tools, good-as-new-once-it's-cleaned pans, and perfectly good barn wood. Perhaps an attempt at fixing would be made. Perhaps it would join the graveyard of unfinished projects. But it would be out of my house. Not my clutter anymore. 

We returned from the long cold ski weekend with a rhubarb pie from the up north pie shop, to celebrate Dad's 88th birthday, with a dinner he made for us, of his favorite Aldi items. (Lentil soup and burnt-ends). Much to my surprise, he told me the blender was fixed. He explained about the gasket and some rubber shavings that rubbed off around the bearing, and once he cleaned it up and replaced the bearing it was just fine.

"Where did you get a bearing?" Matt asked. He still doesn't quite understand. 

"Out of a VCR" Dad said, as if this was the most normal thing ever. 

"You just had a VCR sitting around that had the same size bearing?" 

"Yeah."

Of course. Why wouldn't he? He doesn't purge his clutter and ring bells.

So now I have a working blender once again. Made a smoothie with some sad bananas and some frozen mango chunks that had been in the freezer for--ummm--years. It was delicious. 

Yes, I rang a bell for the mango. 

 

Survey Backlash

Everybody wants to know what I think.  I'm so flattered.  Every time I go on a website, a survey window pops up.  Every time I shop, the cashier is circling something on the receipt and telling me "go to our website and take a survey."  Right.  I'll get right on that.  Just as soon as I clean out my purse.  So, like three months from now, okay?

My son's preschool just sent home a 3 page survey form.  Three pages.  Front and Back.  Something about accreditation, full of questions like "My child's teacher cares about what's important to my child, and My child's teacher gives me ample opportunities to participate in classroom activities."  And I was supposed to respond Yes; Yes, but; No, but; or No
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The thought of answering questions with "Yes, but I couldn't care less, because I just want to get away from my kid for a few hours so I can shop, think, clean, shower without the voices in my head saying "Mommy, mommy, mommyyyy"," just seemed way too tedious, and too shamefully honest.

So I just whipped through that survey, circling yeses like crazy, even accidentally some that I should have chosen "not applicable" because overall, I'm satisfied with my child's school.  So yes, they have accommodated my child's special needs, language barriers, discipline issues, and food allergies, or, I assume they would have, if he had any.  Hope this helps.  

Then today, when I went to swipe my credit card at Kmart, the lovely card reader prompts a survey before I can even make a payment.  What tha..???

It asks me, "how likely are to to recommend to another person to shop at Kmart?"

Again, they don't have a choice that fits my thought process, which is, "Much to my surprise, I was rethinking my whole hatred of Kmart today because you actually sell plain white, sturdy, Rubbermaid laundry baskets, unlike Target that's so focused on being trendy that every laundry basket they sell is a non-branded weirdly-shaped modern art piece in colors that match nothing in my home or in nature.  And your employees were pleasant today which is nice.  A shocker, but nice.  But now, I'm just thinking, I'm "Not At All Likely" to recommend a person to shop at Kmart, because you are forcing me to participate in this moronic survey."

Fortunately the cashier was both nice, and smart, and as soon as I grumbled at the screen, she said, "I don't know why they do this," and quickly pushed "Likely" on the screen on my behalf.

I understand the desire for feedback, but I wonder if researchers are taking into account the "survey backlash effect."  How about you add one more question.  "Does this survey annoy you?"  

• Yes greatly, it triggered an aneurysm. 
• Yes, (I threw up in my mouth) a little bit. 
• No, not any more than your average housefly or mosquito. 
• No, not at all, what annoys me is everything else about your website/establishment/self.

Glue Sticks

If you happen to have a child who eats glue, you’ll be happy to know, your kid might just be onto something. I’ve recently become aware, that apparently glue is a rare and luxurious substance, comparable to caviar.

At least that’s what I have to believe based on the miniscule amount of glue contained in the glue sticks I recently purchased for back-to-school. I sent the requested 8 glue sticks to Kindergarten and kept a few for home use. A week ago I released one from my secret stash, into the eager hands of the girl, age five. A few days later, sweeping the floor, I find (and say) the following: 1) Glue Cap. “Dang it, this glue is going to dry out if you keep leaving the cap off.” 2) Empty Glue Stick. “What did you do?!! Did you screw the whole stick out of this glue? I am NOT giving you any more glue if this is the way you use it!” 3) Nub of the glue stick now approximately ½ inch in length. “Silent Night! What on earth did you do with all the glue? How much stuff did you glue anyway?”

Girl, age 5 finally replies to my rant: “Not a lot, that’s just how much there was.”

Of course I know better than to accept the sorry excuses of a 5-year-old, so I promptly pulled out another glue stick to demonstrate the extent of the glue misuse going on in our home. Here’s what I found:

The purple portion is the glue I removed from a new unused glue stick. 

(Also note the amazing *ahem* quality of a practically new Nikon digital camera)

I am certain that glue sticks used to be fuller than that. I’m not really that worried about the few dollars I spent on glue. But I feel the need to complain about it anyway, for a few reasons.

First, it really annoys me when I feel like some big company thinks they can trick me with a half-full glue stick. Yes, I’m sure somewhere in fine print on the package they indicate the actual ounces (or in this case fractions of ounces). And I’m sure somewhere someone is chortling at how ingenious this is, because, who would ever compare ounces on glue sticks at back to school time?

Second, it seems to me in these times of environmental awareness this company should be focusing its creative efforts on something innovative and earth-friendly, like maybe refillable glue sticks, rather than doubling the output of plastic waste by reducing the amount of glue in each container.

Third, even though this blog celebrates wasting time, I prefer it to be on my terms. It’s bad enough my family has suddenly tripled our milk consumption, requiring emergency “milk-runs”. I don’t need to be going out on unscheduled “glue-runs”.

Am I overreacting? Am I imagining things? Maybe glue sticks always looked like this. Maybe there’s a perfectly good reason for this. Please, tell me if I’m wrong.