Special Exposure Wordless Wednesday

This is shut.







This is open.






This is in use.






I just thought I'd better let you know after all the "ick" comments yesterday!

This is one place that you can buy a "Nifty Recycling Aid" at "Stacks and Stacks." Mine was a gift. Beforehand, I used this.













I do have some words over at my other site, "Alien in a Foreign Field" called "The Invisible Hook."




If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to"DJ Kirkby" over at "Chez Aspie" and test your brain power.

Tackle it Tuesday - lil green

*** Here's a teeny tiny project for those attempting to go green but still have cold feet.

Maybe this should be a 'guess what it is?' post instead?




O.k. so what is it?

Need a bigger clue?

O.k. so whilst you think about it, first a little back ground to explain the truly ironic nature of this tackle.

Several life times ago I was married to a different man and therefore enjoyed a relationship with a different mother in law. The house of my mother in law, was like none other. Even now, some two and a half decades later, I have never experienced a household such as that.

To say that the house was clean would be an atrocious understatement. Not only was it hygienically pristine, it was also ordered. Her whole house was immaculate. Not the immaculate of Homes and Gardens, but the kind of immaculate where screw heads were sanitized with a tooth brush. To say that it was tidy would be tantamount to a lie. For example, I slept in the spare room. The spare room housed spares, spares of everything. Each spare was lined up in the closet and when I say ‘lined up’ I mean you could take a ruler just to check that each item was exactly spaced within the available space. The twin bed spreads were hand crocheted, as were all the other bed spreads within the house,……but I digress.

One of the most staggering, heretofore never witnessed by any living breathing creature, was the kitchen. To enter the kitchen was unwise unless you wore sunglasses. Bear in mind that this was England, mid winter where the light twinkled once every 24 hours on a Wednesday when there is an R in the month. I would stand in the kitchen wearing my muffled feet on one single linoleum square in total awe as I watched my mother in law wash plastic bags in the sink and hang them up to dry so that they could later be re-used. I would remain static in part due to the three hounds of the Baskervilles that glowered in the hall ready to eviserate anyone who so much as dropped a hair follicle. I knew at the tender age of 18 that house-wifery was not the career choice for me.

Later as I sat on a freshly laundered and ironed towel on the sofa, drinking Evian water from a dazzling, lead crystal tumbler, I wondered if I would ever reach such exotic levels of exactitude?

So now, I know that I too have advanced to bag washing and recycling. Furthermore, I have been reduced to making a bag, or rather a bag dispenser, for my washed bags, because for some reason, few people are willing to re-use a used bag when there are also new bags available.

Thusly, the first thing to do, is to hide the box of new bags and instead display this handy dandy bag dispenser, stuffed to the brim with old or rather, newly washed bags for everyone to use.

Now whilst I'm sure you're clamouring for the 'how to' details, as luck would have it "Dioramarama" has step by step instructions over "here" which is just as well as I didn't capture the moment myself.

I would just add that the careful selection of the correct material or fabric is paramount if you wish to engender co-operation and participation by other family members. Forget colour co-ordinated, aim for soft, or better still, super soft, as we wouldn't wish to damage those little digits, now would we?

Get the code:-
Cut and paste
from this little
boxy thing below

<a href="http://www.lazyorganizer.com/"><img src="http://i135.photobucket.com/albums/q158/mmcewen/tatuesday-1.jpg" /></a>

Validation – thank you Nonna

I begin to think that I may be an American afterall. [translation = able to use and understand the psychobabble language without effort] It came to me earlier today.

At the moment we are lucky to have Nonna, the children’s Italian grandmother staying with us for a few weeks. One of the advantages of having another adult at home all day, every day, is that teeny tiny things are confirmed, such as my own sanity.

For instance, I have been known to complain that they boys are my shadows. If I leave the room, or am otherwise out of visual contact, a hue and cry ensues. I appreciate, that when I explain this, that most people, not unreasonably, believe that I am exaggerating.

A simple task such as taking the recycling from the kitchen to the outside bin, a distance of some 25 paces, involves careful planning. Over the years, I have tried any number of different approaches to this tiny task. I can run outside and back again, having deposited the recycling in the bin of course, in approximately 44 seconds. Yes, I have timed it, and that’s my all time record to date. However, this option has a number of disadvantages. The main disadvantage is that when I return, breathless with empty bin in hand, there are two small boys flapping around on the floor like landed salmon. [translation = but much louder] Apart from the distress and trauma caused to my boys’ by my fleeting absence, in addition, I will then spend upwards of 30 minutes trying to calm them down again. [translation = thus reducing my efficiency quotient for the day]

Now, I know what you’re thinking! ‘My, my Madeline, you are missing the perfect opportunity to therapize those little chaps!’ As always dear pal, you are completely correct. Sometimes, we do take the therapy option, afterall, any chance to lure them outside would always get my vote. [translation = both are ‘allergic’ to outside] There again, if someone hates to go outside, it might be better to make the ‘outside’ experience, a little more positive and enjoyable, and sadly, recycling doesn’t fall into that category, outside or otherwise.

Sometimes when I’m feeling brave, we will attempt this feat; negotiation of the step, carry ‘horrible’ thing in your hand at the same time, [translation = tactile defensiveness at the very least] pass through the door jam without making contact,[translation = motor planning] or at least avoiding painful contact, [translation = insufficient sensory input for one, as well as the challenge to depth perception ] step into the sunshine, where are the sunglasses[!], walk the seven steps to the big bin, avoid looking at the plants and or bees, wait, [always a tricky one] whilst the bin lid is opened for you, attempt to hurl horrible thing in your hand into the open bin, cover your ears to protect you from the noise of the horrible thing falling into the bin, then sequence your way back into the house to wash your hands. [translation = times two] And of course those are only the edited highlights.

Personally, I cheat and go for the easy option, due to my cowardly nature. [translation = do everything at night whilst they are asleep]

So now, with Nonna here, I believe that I might just have a chance of nipping out to dump the recycling, whilst the children are present and awake, without the usual fall out.

I make my 50 yard dash, with bin, U-turn and return in 33 seconds flat, [translation = a new world record!] to the kitchen, where Nonna stands on the middle of the floorboards with two small boys flailing at her feet. Her hands flap at me to help make herself understood over the din, “but you were only gone for a moment! It’s like dey think you are dead or something!” Her eyes widen in disbelief as the word ‘dead’ penetrates her grandson’s ears. [translation = increase in volume of at least twenty decibels] Nonna’s hands fly to her head to rip out the hearing aides, whilst I grovel on the ground with my grief stricken guys.

And that my good pal, is the story of how I lost my efficiency but regained my sanity. [translation = a sprinter not a marathon runner]