Here’s a rather embarrassing before picture of the mess I worked in. My home office was even more of a disaster than this shows, as it was also the rabbit and rat room. Winnie and Stew (the rabbits) now live on the back porch, and Ethel (the rat) now resides under a stone in the back yard, near where Lucy is buried.   

DURING

The desk is made from two hollow-core doors I purchased for $5 each at ReStore, and much of the wood was left over from when I screened in the porch this past spring. It was a very low-budget remodel.  

AFTER

AFTER

I still have some decorating and organizing to do, and I need to hang a bulletin board in the white space on the right, but it’s getting there. 

One thing I learned NOT to do is mess with Rustoleum magnetic paint. It’s a complete waste of time and money. Even after SEVEN heavily applied coats, it wasn’t strong enough to hold up anything but the weakest magnet. Nothing with any real weight. When I purchased it at Lowes, I had the paint dept. shake the can since I’d read that it had to be thoroughly mixed, but apparently, even that (and seven coats) wasn’t enough. It would be easier to frame and paint a flat cookie metal sheet.

More pictures to come after I finish my artwork. I’m experimenting with tissue paper and mod-podge. I miss the rabbits, but they’ll be back when it gets cold. Which reminds me, I still have some rabbit-proofing to do. (Conceiling all cords.)

“I’m running low on ideas on what to write about,” I said to a friend. “Run across anything lately that might make a good column?”

Instead of answering, she grabbed my arm and examined the bruise, which ran from elbow to wrist. It was a veritable sleeve of colors, from yellow to a deep purplish blue.

“How the heck did you do that?” she asked.

“I fell off my desk,” I answered.

“And you’re asking ME for column ideas?” she said. “That has to be a story.”

“I suppose it would fit the season,” I said. She looked at me blankly, so I said, “Fall.”

She’s must’ve been hoping there was something lascivious about my tumble, since she seemed disappointed upon hearing my injury resulted from a remodeling project and not a sexual tryst.

Basically, I was standing on my new homemade desk, screwing in a clip for a light, when I grossly misjudged how close to the edge I happened to be.

It was one of those slow-motion falls, where you recognize you’re falling, realize it’s unavoidable, and begin evaluating the items upon which you’ll soon land while adjusting your limbs to minimize damage.

Notice all the you’s in that previous paragraph. As if the rest of you are as clumsy and experienced at falling as me.

Although I haven’t yet reached the point where I’m on a first-name basis with emergency room personnel, it’s certainly not for a lack of trying.

There was the Christmas morning elbow dislocation. The stumble down the stairs at the newspaper that rearranged my ankle. The poorly placed ladder during the porch screening-in.

Fortunately, the tumble from my desk required no medical intervention, although the word intervention does tend to be spoken more frequently at our house following one of my spills.

“Maybe you should start factoring in the cost of medical care when you’re estimating a project,” my husband said recently. “You aren’t saving money by doing it yourself if we’re running to the hospital as often as to Lowes.”

My teen daughter likes to tease that I’m emo—slang for those who dress all in black and cut themselves, claiming it releases their pain.

“But I don’t do it on purpose,” I said. “What do you call people who accidentally injure themselves?”

“They’re mostly called klutzes,” she said. “But I’ll probably just keep calling you Mom.”

When Celeste shared the news of my fall to some of her friends, it inspired a round of yo mamma jokes, in my honor.

     Yo momma so clumsy, when she gets out of bed, her feet miss the floor.

     Yo momma is so clumsy she got tangled in a cordless phone.

     Yo momma is so clumsy she got run over by a parked car.

On the up-side, at least clumsy momma won’t run out of column material any time soon.

Some of you will hate me for what I have to say, but stick with me a bit before you start calling me names.

I started my Christmas shopping.

Yep. September wasn’t even half over before I put my first little checkmark next to a name on my list. And yep, I’m feeling all pious and pompous about it.

It’s my earliest ever. Most years I don’t even have a list made up until pumpkins and candy corn have been marked down to half price. Used to be I considered it against principle to shop until after Thanksgiving. But I’m older and wiser now, mindful of the outrageous prices I’ll pay for those last-minute, that’ll-have-to-be-good-enough gifts that I’m embarrassed to give.

The past few years, I’ve managed to get my act together just enough to order exactly one gift early. I’ve found that getting an early jump on the shopping can be downright intoxicating—and the inebriation can be so potent it lingers until the shelves are picked bare, until nothing but the Steven Jobs Chia Heads and the least desirable Snuggi colors remain.

This year will be different. I not only have a list and a game plan, I’ve also programmed messages into my computer’s calendar to periodically remind me whose gift I’m to find.

(While I was at it, I typed in a bunch of random compliments to myself, so I can be working away at my computer and a message will appear on my screen saying, “That’s a really nice color on you,” or “Have you lost weight?”)

Hoping to inspire others to join in my quest to shop early and often this year, I thought I’d share a few gift ideas I ran across that might work for those friends and family members who are especially difficult to shop for.

For instance, who doesn’t have at least one pickle enthusiast on their shopping list? At Perpetual Kid’s website (perpetualkid.com), you can purchase a six-pack of Bob’s Pickle Pops frozen pickle treats for just $6.99.

According to the item description, “Each pickle is squeezed right down to the skin and then the brine and pickle guts get liquefied and made into one heck of a tasty treat.”

And only 6 calories per pop!

The gift-giving season offers the opportunity to gently share a potential remedy with those who experience unpleasant personal exhaust problems.

For just $11.95, you can purchase a box of five delicately packaged 3.25” square fabric filters that have been treated with activated carbon to neutralize odors. Adhesive strips enable the patches to be strategically adhered to undergarments prior to attending chili cook-off events.

To order, visit solutionsthatstick.com and search for “Subtle Butt.”

Who can be tougher to shop for than those hell bent on nothing less than world domination?

Not to worry. Amazon.com has just the thing: uranium ore.

Imagine the expression of pure glee on your favorite little lunatic’s face when they unwrap the gift that’s been mysteriously glowing through the wrapper from under the tree.

Packaged in an easy-to-open and most attractive metal container, the product boasts a shelf life of 4.468 billion years. A little-known bonus for those purchasing uranium ore is its amazing properties as a tooth whitener, although such use generally results in the teeth no longer remaining in the mouth.

Uranium ore gift recipients should be cautioned to heed the warnings that this product is not to be used as a lubricant. And unfortunately, Amazon’s Prime Free Two-Day Shipping does not apply on orders shipped to the Middle East.

If I actually manage to succeed at finishing my shopping early this year, it might result in something I hadn’t thought of before. It just might make all those on my shopping list suddenly appreciative for all those lame gifts they received in previous years.

I was reminded recently of a scene from “Roseanne,” where Roseanne asks her mother how old she feels.

Her mother answers, “I’m 63 years old.”

Roseanne argues that she knows her mother’s age, but wonders how old she feels. Her mom says, “Sixty-three.”

Roseanne keeps pushing her.

“What do you want me to say?” her mother asks, sounding exasperated.

Roseanne says, “That you feel 16, or 24, or 35. Just anything but 63.”

Something about that scene caused it to stick with me, even though at the time the show aired, I was in my late 20s or early 30s. Years from genuinely bemoaning this business of aging.

I’m about to turn 46. And if someone were to ask, I feel 46.

Lately, I’ve been spending many of my weekends and evening hours with either a hammer or a paintbrush in my hand. Come the next morning, I feel the effects. Rubbery arm. Sore wrist. Achy shoulder. Nothing major. More like walking with a tiny pebble in your shoe.

That’s how my forties have been. Like walking with a pebble in my shoe.

I feel a kinship with battery-operated devices that have accidentally been left on for hours and with garments whose colors have faded from repeated washings.

To hear of a perfectly good car getting traded in for a new and flashier model feels somehow threatening on a personal level.

That’s what the 40s have felt like to me. Faded, nubby, a little bit drained. But they’ve also felt softened and comfortable. Starting to relax and loosen in the places that have too long been tense.

Aging:  It beats the alternative.

A few months back, a friend emailed a list she’d found called Basic Truths that I saved and have been adding onto. Since part of this aging business has to do with acquiring and sharing wisdom, it seems appropriate to share a few morsels of knowledge.

• The cheapest and most expensive models are both usually bad deals.
• Getting to the point quickly is always appreciated.
• Part of a best friend’s job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
• There is great need for a sarcasm font.
• Bad decisions make good stories.
• You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren’t going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
• If every cast member in a TV show is good-looking, it’s not worth watching.
• Everyone you meet is better than you at something.
• One cruel remark can wound someone for life.
• Most of what children learn from adults isn’t taught on purpose.
• The fewer possessions you have, the more those you have will mean to you.
• Few things feel worse than that moment during an argument when you realize you’re wrong.
• Obituaries would be more interesting if they told you how the person died.
• By using a bad picture of yourself on a column, you can generally guarantee you’ll be complimented by those who meet you in person.
• Another way to generate compliments is if you’re going to lie about your age, give an age that’s quite a bit older than you actually are.
• Managing one’s wants is the most powerful skill a person can learn.
• Those who complain the most generally accomplish the least.
• And wishing things were different is a great way to torture yourself. Especially if you wish for things you can only buy on installment plans.
• Aging happens fastest to those who lose their lust for improving, who give up on their dreams, and who cease being curious.

Remember–you’re only young once. But you can always be immature.