Sandy J. Hartwick

All the latest from author, Sandy J. Hartwick

The Lavender Tool Box

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              The Lavender Tool Box

 

Some years ago, we found  a functional and quite lavender toolbox complete with lavender tools at one of the big hardware stores.

“Look dear,” I laughed, “I can have my own set of tools and I will never have to worry about you or the boys taking them!”

He thought it was a good idea too.  Yesterday, I went to get my screwdriver which is super-handy; its bit is reversible to Phillips or standard. It wasn’t there. Grrrr. I looked in all of the usual places, the junk drawer, the ongoing, bath remodel chaos room and finally my husband’s tool area in the garage. Nada.

It turns out lavender is no repellent to men that need a tool, especially when they don’t feel like walking out to the garage or shop. Over the years, not only has my husband used all of the lavender tools more often than me, he has filled the lavender toolbox with all kinds of junk tools, some of which I have no clue as to their purpose.

If you know of a way of keeping your tools to yourself that actually works, please let me know.

 

 

My Crazy-Gypsy Blood

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Photo courtesy of Markus Spiske freeforcommercialuse.net

 

“Early in their marriage, they had an intense argument where my mom threw a spoon at dad. He ducked and the spoon stuck in the wall.”

My Crazy-Gypsy Blood

I can’t prove it, but I believe I have some Gypsy blood or at least some genes from an ancient knife-throwing ancestor. Also, some genes for a hot temper.

Mom and Dad argued sometimes, as most couples do.  Early in their marriage, they had an intense argument where my mom threw a spoon at dad. He ducked and the spoon stuck in the wall.

Another memorable clash happened when I was in high school. We were gathered for dinner and my father asked for the salad dressing, shook it up, put it on his greens, took a bite and said, “This salad dressing tastes like ship!” Only he didn’t say ship.

My mom who was shaking the dressing to apply to her own greens, glared at my dad and after a moment of hesitation, cast the entire contents on my dad’s face, dressing his beard well. 

My sister and I froze, mortified, and watched dad for his reaction. I think he was stunned, vinegar and oil dripping down his beard onto the table. Then he started laughing and we all busted up.

From then on he said, “Make sure you don’t say anything about the salad dressing.”

 

The Thanksgiving Cruise Part Two

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Photo courtesy of Dylan Ferreira

dylanferreira.com

The Thanksgiving Cruise Part Two

I took Dramamine the whole time, because I’m one of those people that can get sick in a hammock. It had been smooth sailing the whole cruise, but now it was time to head home. The captain must have dropped into high gear; the sea was rough. I sat in the lowest part of the ship trying to not be sick. As the day went on, it was rougher. Soon even the crew could be seen dashing for the restrooms. White napkins were dropped over incidents. Sometimes you would meet other passengers walking down the hallway and they would say, “No, you don’t want to go that way!”

That night I could see giant waves out the window. I was so sick that the thought of the ship going down with my whole family didn’t mean a whole lot if it meant I would be out of my misery. When we arrived home the next day, there were few  who could boast of not being sick.

That night ruined me for cruises. Never again. My children, who at the time claimed it was boring and awful, now remember it as a fun vacation and as time has passed, they have regaled me with stories of how they and their cousins entertained themselves when we were not around. They were part of the reason for everything on that ship being so sticky. Someone in the group got the bright idea of running their soft serve ice cream along the banister everywhere they went. And this is why tigers eat their young.

 

 

 

The Thanksgiving Cruise Part 1

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The Thanksgiving Cruise

In 2005, my sister talked the whole family into going on a cruise to Mexico for Thanksgiving. Ports of call included Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta, and Cabo San Lucas. 

Getting there was half the fun. I had bought the kids a book about the sound effects a person can make and Tyler had perfected his baby Elizabeth cry. As we were about to take off on our connecting flight Tyler tried it out on the approaching stewardess. She smiled and leaned in close, “I’m not going to have to strangle you am I?”

The cruise had about 2,000 passengers and 800 of these were kids. Everything was overcrowded and sticky. Want to sit in the sun by the pool? Good luck, every lounge was taken and there were splashing kids everywhere.

The ports of call were the highlights of the cruise. In Mazatlan, I remember the crazy bus ride into town (I think this was my dad’s favorite part of the whole trip) we all held on for dear life and were so grateful to arrive unscathed at our destination. My kids were shocked at the houses that many people lived in and realized that we were living well compared to many in our world. I also remember the pollution and how bad it was in Mazatlan.

Puerta Vallarta was beautiful. Rex and the boys went zip-lining and Mom and I went shopping. There was a sea of beggars. As we headed back to the ship worn out from fending off and giving to so many beggars I walked past a woman with two children. I thought about going back to give her something, but I didn’t. This memory has haunted me ever since and I wish I could change my decision.

Cabo San Lucas struck me as the wealthiest of the ports. Yachts and condos were everywhere. The plan for this port was a snorkeling adventure.

Just before the excursion, Rex and I were at the highest point of the cruise ship looking down into the ocean and saw a massive hammerhead shark swimming alongside the ship. We went anyway and were glad we didn’t see any large sea life.

To be continued…

 

Photo courtesy of Stephanie Klepacki

stephanieklepacki.com

 

New Roomba and the Secret Under the Bed

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Crazy Eightball

I highly recommend keeping a journal. Even if you can’t write in it everyday, it makes for some fun reminiscing. The following is from a journal entry dated October 16, 2019.

Old Roomba gave up the ghost and I tried to get along without him. But having a large house and me being not really into housework found me missing my little Buddy. Enter new Roomba, unnamed as yet. Quieter and it seems to pick up a lot more dirt. Got hung up on the treadmill downstairs a couple of times, but so far, so good. I decided that I needed to run some errands in town and locked new Roomba in the master bedroom/bath while I was away.

I came home and opened the master and everything is normal, except new Roomba is stopped by the side of the bed with a long, black petrified-looking thing beside it. OMG. No. IT. CAN’T. BE. It surely looks like an ancient, petrified cat turd. Ugh. It is! HOW? WHY?!

I look under the bed to see if there is more or if I can spot the scene of the crime. No. Now my Howard Hughes germ PHOBIA kicks in, as I imagine the robot whacking the old, shriveled turd this way and that across the rug and everywhere. I can visualize its little brushes flicking bits of cat crap everywhere. Retch!

It took me awhile to figure out what to do. At first I thought maybe I should burn everything and then I thought disinfect everything. I finally vacuumed the rug (with a real vacuum) and mopped the hard surfaces and will disinfect new Roomba (perhaps its name should be Turd Herder). My husband laughed and said he would have thrown the turd away and restarted new Roomba. This brings me to the point that mankind would be better off if we had kept dirt floors…