In which we discuss loading the dishwasher.

As with most things in life, there's a right way and a wrong way. And my way is right.

Ha! Just kidding. 

But not really. 

I guess I've never thought about this before because I taught my kids how to load a dishwasher, so of course they do it right.

Then I got a job and had to share a kitchen with a bunch of strangers.

I tell you, it's downright horrifying the things people do in a kitchen. From not separating the big forks from the small ones in the drawer to keeping some coffee mugs in one cabinet and others in a cabinet across the kitchen, the instances of "this makes no sense" are rampant in the company eating space. So to keep you from being "that person," here's a list of do-not-ever-do-this-in-the-shared-kitchen items:

1. Never leave time on the microwave. When your food is heated to your liking, remove your food (and the plastic thingy that covers it) and press "clear."

2. Wipe the place where you sat at the table. Do not leave crumbs, Diet Coke, salad dressing, or remnants of sprouts for the next person to dodge.

3. When placing dishes in the dishwasher, open the door all the way, pull the rack out, and load dirty dishes in the back first. Silverware goes in handle first, with the eating/cutting surface UP. Plates face the same direction. (Do I really need to say that?) Bowls must be positioned so the water drains out of them. Also, this is a cheap dishwasher. Rinse your dishes first.

4. When putting food in the refrigerator, tall things go on the tall shelves, short things on the short shelves.

5. Never throw another person's food away, no matter how moldy. It is acceptable to ask around the office to expedite the removal of nastiness from the fridge, but don't assume. And especially never throw away someone else's containers.

6. Do not, under any circumstances, burn popcorn in the microwave.

Now don't we all feel better?

Be thankful ~

When I was a kid I used to hear my grandparents and great aunts talk about how older people don't need as much sleep, and I've been counting on that day all my life. Now here I am at the ripe old age of 52, and I'm still waiting. I have plenty of time in the bed, it's just that the sleep thing isn't happening and I'm wondering how much older I have to be before my "don't need as much" catches up with my middle-age insomnia.

Lately I've been trying to remedy the situation with exercise. Today I set my alarm (on a Saturday!) for 6:30. I got up and took the dog for a 2-mile brisk walk, came home and ate some granola and went to the gym for a 9 am Pitaiyo class. Stopped in Walmart for some Round-Up, then came home and weeded the two walkways and sprayed them both. I would tell you about the walkways, but I almost can't do it without cursing the boneheads that put them in, so I'll spare you. Suffice it to say one is nothing but rocks and the other is made of a frillion bricks that all have 1/2-inch spaces of dirt between them. And you know what grows in dirt? Ding-ding-ding! You win the prize behind door number three!

Sorry. Once I get started . . .

Anyway, the rest of the day was filled with laundry and cooking a pot of beef stew because I was craving it. I know. Weird dinner for a 75° day.

Now I'm craving ice cream and have none in the house. Who wants to go to  Coldstone and get me a French vanilla with crushed butterfingers?

(I keep forgetting to say)

Be thankful ~

My own little United Nations

Let's talk about Maria. She won't mind.

Every day at lunch, I pepper Maria, the planning officer at the company I work for, with questions. She is from Russia, about a 2-hour flight southeast of Moscow as she describes it. I asked her if it was in the countryside, and she said, no, a small-ish city.

Maria is in her mid-twenties, married to an American. She's one of the tiniest women I know, and I bet size 0 clothes are too big for her. She says she sometimes shops in the girls' department. She wears a size 5 shoe.

The other day at lunch we were all talking about the "eat local" movement,  and knowing the source of our food, growing a garden, etc. She began telling us about her growing-up years, and how there wasn't much in the stores and they had no money anyway, so if they wanted vegetables, they had to grow them. She worked in the big family garden every day after school and on weekends. She said growing potatoes was the worst because of all the digging and you would come in filthy, but that's what it took to have food. And this girl is only 25. Can you imagine? Our view of Russia is this modern country where people live like we do here. Not so. Much of the country has very little.

Now let's talk about Clarisse. She is in her early 50s, like me, and she's from Central African Republic. (I work with some pretty interesting people.) She is the CEO and CFO of the company, wife of Jean-Paul, who runs the place. (He's from Belgium, but we'll save him for another day.)

Clarisse's first language is Sango, then French, then English. She has a beautiful, exotic accent. At this same lunch conversation, we were talking about not being able to get truly fresh meat, and she commented, "In Africa, we would never buy a dead chicken. You don't know how long it's been dead! Only live ones. Then you know it's fresh."

She is mildly disgusted with the nicest grocery store I've ever been in (Wegman's) because the chicken is not fresh enough. Who knows when it was killed?

I love working with such a diverse group of people and hearing the perspectives they bring to the (literal) table. The countries represented there are CAR, Russia, Belgium, South Africa, Holland, Mexico, and me, the token American, the only one who speaks just one language. I couldn't have asked for a more interesting job.

King of his castle

I have been trying to get outside for at least a little bit each day in spite of the cloud of pollen hanging over Northern Virginia.  It doesn't seem to be bothering Pete. 

What a weekend. Mansquared came home with his not-girlfriend and future roommate and HIS significant other, and let me tell you, I have never seen four people put away more groceries. They literally ate every scrap of food on the table at every meal. It was amazing, but gratifying too. I love feeding people who regularly subsist on the slop that's served at Liberty's dining hall, known as (not even kidding) "the Rot." So they came, they saw, they scarfed it all down. Then they went back Monday night for the last few weeks of school. It was fun, in an exhausting kind of way.

Do I have a single picture? Nyet.

Today was back to the grind, where I found out I will be training a group of translators in Cameroon in the ways of idiomatic but correct English. Hoh boy. Their first language is an African one, second is French, third is English, and that the British kind. It will be an adventure, for sure.

F is for Friday. And fatigue.

Before I started working full-time, I did not understand the significance of Friday evenings. When I was young, they were for having fun. Now, not so much, unless your idea of fun is lying comatose on the bed, trying to will your body to the shower.

This week was particularly rough, and will forever be known as the week of the really bad translation, which doesn't mean much to you unless you're the one editing those translations. This week we had three. 

So I'm super glad it's Friday. 

Here's a glimpse at the good parts of my day.

My sweet niece's save the date card. 

Warm chocolate chip cookies. 

A toasty fire. 

Believe it or not, I wrote that post on my phone so I could use pictures I had there. But when I got to the last photo, I couldn't get the cursor below it, so I just quit. And came back here (on the laptop) (the old-fashioned way) (this seems to be a theme with me) to finish.

Now I'm finished.

Good night.

#tbt

I realize I'm confusing my social media, but my old photos are on my computer which I still have not synced with my phone or my iPad, so here we are, doing things the old-fashioned way.

I'm praying extra for these two today. They are adventuring in Nashville, their home-to-be this summer. One of them is quite apprehensive about how it's all going to work out—something about not having a job, etc. The other one is stressed out because her current home was broken into twice this week, once while she was there sleeping.

Would you pray for them? Pray for safety, pray for jobs, pray for God to open doors and make their way plain. Their mama thanks you.

My Tuesday has consisted of fixing the formatting in lots of bibliographies, converting endnotes to footnotes, and a trip to the farm for three jugs of fresh milk, two dozen eggs, and around 75 pounds of hormone-and-antibiotic-free beef. 

Tomorrow is Wednesday, so that means gym first, then work, then church. I'm tired just thinking about it. 

Can it please be Friday now?

I miss my blog. It seems like every day something happens that starts a train of thought I want to put down in writing, but then I get home, make dinner, clean up, take a shower, and it's time for bed. Working-girl problems, for sure. I hope someday I have time to be a real blogger again.

In the meantime, Here's a quickie list of recent happenings.

Ben and I spent a day in Virginia Beach. Breakfast at Cracker Barrel, walked the whole 5.5-mile boardwalk (Why do they call it that? It's paved, not boards.), had a slice of bad pizza, and drove home. It was lovely.

Leah's house was broken into while they were sleeping. That's what happens when you leave a window open in the city. I'm glad she's moving.

It's pollen season, and so far it hasn't been bothering me. It's the Plexus. (More on that later.)

Work, work, and more work, but I'm thankful for a job that pays the tuition.

Pete is living at home while Abbey and Leah go check out their new home city in Tennessee. He picked up some bad habits while he was living in a house full of girls: drinking out of the toilet and taking off at full speed as soon as you open the door. And he sheds just as much.

Tomorrow is tax day, but the day after is free-coffee-at-Wawa day. Don't forget to get yours!