Thankful!

Today while I was minding my own business in the Butterfly Pavilion at the Desert Botanical Gardens, a woman approached me and gushed, “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I know who you are and I want to thank you for the article you wrote about your son not reading until he was nine.” I thanked her for saying something, asked about her kids and met her friends that she was butterflying with. She wasn’t done, however. “I cut out that article and put it up in my bathroom. I read it every day! And I say to myself, ‘If Linda Crosby can make it through this, I can make it through this.'”

Her willingness to approach me and spill her beans blessed my socks off. I am so fortunate to be able to speak to homeschoolers through seminars, articles and day-to-day meetings around town. My passion is to encourage others to keep on keeping on. I am so blessed this year to be speaking in five other states, so I can love on some hurting mothers who just want to quit. This home educating gig ain’t for the faint of heart!

By no means am I the Wonder Woman of homeschooling. Far from it. I have made more mistakes than most… ask my kids! No, don’t. It might hurt my homeschool mom feelings. But there is something to be said about hearing how another mom failed over and over again, and seeing that their kids actually turned out okay… mostly, as contributing members of society who aren’t too socially awkward.

Be encouraged, homeschooling mama! The days when everything goes haywire are the days the kids will probably remember the most. (Unfortunately!) Usually they recall how you handled rough situations and they watched you get up out of bed the next day and try again at the homeschoolin’ deal.

My advice for the “End of March Blues” is to relax. Hardcore-Textbook Mom, play some board games. Stick-to-the-Planner Mom, read a good YWAM biography to the kids. Neatnik Mom, break down and let the kids papier mache outside… with the back door locked. OCD-Math Mom, cross out half the problems on today’s worksheet. Live on the edge. It’s okay to relax once in a while and have some fun. Funschooling is real.

Know that you are not alone. Find another homeschooling family… or five, and go to the Botanical Gardens! We did! It was a great break and math will still be there tomorrow!

Training Your Kids NEVER Ends!

My 18-year-old son, Keeve, did not get my storytelling-gene… at all. I feel I have not trained him in good faith as his mother in this area. #momfail2277  I offer this story as evidence and my solemn vow to work with him on his retelling abilities. Pinky swear.

(Photo credit: Monica Hortiales, Youth Pastor and fine storyteller)

Our tale begins with some backstory: it was a Wednesday night. Keeve left for church at 4:45. Nora and I left at 6:00. Rick was supposed to leave at 6:20. Austin went straight from work to church.

Upon arrival at church the sweet greeter lady hugs my neck and relays, “Your son handled that like a trooper!” I smiled. I had no idea what she was talking about… nor which son she was referring to.

Nothing else was mentioned until we were getting in the van to drive home. My husband reached down between the front seats and grabbed a piece of paper and scotch tape, saying, “I’ll be right back.” I still didn’t know what was going on… OR if this had anything to do with the other stuff I didn’t know was going on.

Upon Keeve’s arrival home that night, his dad asks him, “So, what happened?” Here is Keeve’s entire story, “I got pulled over. The license plate on the car was stolen.” THE END. I inquired a bit further and discovered the paper and scotch tape were for the temporary plate that Rick printed off at home and brought to the church.

FOUR DAYS LATER…. we had our youth pastor over for lunch and got the whole truth. She was in the church, looking out the windows when Keeve pulled in, followed by, not one, but four police cars. Keeve was told to stay in the car as one cop approached his side of the vehicle. Then SEVEN MORE armed officers of the law got out of their vehicles and surrounded my innocent baby boy in his car…. in front of the church! Yeah, he forgot to mention backup.

The officer at the driver’s window asked if Keeve knew why he was being pulled over. NO! He proceeded to explain that the license plate on the car was a stolen plate and he needed to see Keeve’s license and registration. Another officer was removing the hot plate as they spoke. The remaining officers were casing the joint, because our church is in an industrial strip-mall of sorts…. perfect cover for a chop-shop to steal cars and paint them and switch out license plates and deter the law.

At this point, the youth pastor came out of the church and was waving her cell phone, mouthing to Keeve, “Do you need me to do anything?“ Keeve simply smiled his shy smile and shook his head back and forth.

Next the kind officer asked Keeve, “What is this place?” My Keeve… hahaha… “It’s my church!” More inquiries, “Why are you at church at 5:00 in the evening on a Wednesday?” My son explained, “I’m in the worship band and we have practice right now.”

Eventually they let him get out of the car, and questioned Keeve about the damage on the driver’s side door handle. He explained the vandalism that had taken place in October when someone tried to break in. Made me think we should possibly visit a chop-shop???

“Do not move this vehicle until you get a 3-day temporary license plate,” the cop instructed Keeve. Hence, the call home to Dad, that I didn’t know about, and the printing of the temporary plate, and my husband’s late arrival at church.

Who knew thugs steal license plates? Now we know. And storytelling lessons will commence with embellished details as a side option.

 

Hindsight….. again…..

Last week, I took the kids skiing in Flagstaff on Tuesday. It is a 90 minute drive from our house, which is surprising because we live in Phoenix, AZ. But when you drive up to 10,000 feet, even in Arizona, there is snow in the winter. A blustery storm had blown through the previous weekend and the mountain was p.e.r.f.e.c.t. for my three skiers. No, I didn’t ski. Being the planning maniac that I am, I brought a list of TO-DO items that I was going to have checked off while I sat in the cozy lodge sipping cocoa. Much to my dismay, there was no phone service NOR internet connectivity at the lodge. What century are we in? And I brought NOTHING else to do. My to-do-list-checking-self had a hard time for eight long hours, as you can imagine.

At one point, I folded my arms on the table, in the middle of the noisy ski chalet between the cafe and the bar, put my head on one of my children’s discarded sweatshirts and took an hour-long nap. Nap. Check!

Wednesday, I drove north again. This time to Sedona, land of the red rocks, where my husband was on a three-day work retreat and wives were invited. Unfortunately, the first day was Tuesday… ski day. Rick and I enjoyed a flavorful Mexican meal at our favorite stop Javalina Cantina. Unfortunately, my mind was still frozen from the previous day and I thoroughly squandered salsa loaded with cilantro. Cilantro is my newly discovered #2 highly allergic food. DUH. That night didn’t end comfortably.

Thursday, for the first time in my life, I visited Jerome, Arizona. Rumor has it, people drive for forever to go there. Seven of my homeschool-mom-peeps and I were spending Thursday through Sunday at a cabin in the woods in Prescott… just to get away from it all. It was sublime. Anyway, there is a “highway” from Sedona to Prescott that goes through Jerome, a very sleepy little mining town that is truly built on the side of a mountain. I’m convinced that a map of the town would look like a Chutes-N-Ladders game. Currently it is an artsy tourist metropolis with next-to-no parking. Public restroom are in the fire hall… FYI.

The “highway” reminded me of the Road to Hana in Maui…. however, palm trees were replaced with pine trees, the drop off the cliff into the ocean was replaced with sheer rock cliffs to solid rock cavern, and the one-lane bridges were replaced with very narrow jaunts through the town. I can add this adventure and then check it off my bucket list. Jerome. Check!

Sunday 1:00 in the afternoon… pending doom hit. I got chills that were multiplying. My body’s ability to regulate temperature was losing control. I climbed under the power that the electric blanket was supplying. It was electrifying. But I never shaped up. I needed a friend to drive my van home with me in it. After days of coughing, chills, fever, sweating and “sleeping” in my green birthday chair (instead of flat on my back in my bed) I succumbed to a doctor’s visit. Prognosis: Flu and Bronchitis. She inquired if a note was necessary for work to excuse me for several days so I could rest. I declined.

Then it started. ON THE WAY HOME FROM THE DOCTOR! I hadn’t even made it to the pharmacy to pick up my meds and my very first inhaler. “Can you swing by Costco and pick up a battery for the van?” “Mom, what’s for dinner?” “Can you cut my hair?” “We’re going to the park tomorrow, right?” “There’s a birthday party on Saturday.” “Can you please change a few things on my business receipt original copy?” “Are you washing laundry?” “I got Bon Jovi tickets for Saturday night!” “There’s no milk.” Oh my stars.

Never should I have declined the note qualifying my need for rest. What in the blazes was I thinking? I could have taped it on my bedroom door…. or my forehead. (I even declined the opportunity to see John in concert…. THAT’S how much rest I need!)

Rest well, my faithful readers. And use hand sanitizer. You don’t want what I got! Trust me!

Water Filter Infomercial

You either HAVE a water filter or you ARE a water filter.

We live in Phoenix, AZ, which is in the Sonoran Desert. Our sunshine state is not know for the quality of our tap water. I’ve heard that Arizona has three years worth of water stored in underground aquifers, for which I am thankful, even though it tastes horrible. So we won’t die of thirst any time soon. I think I could probably crawl out of Arizona to a neighboring state within three years if I had to.

Remember I just ordered a new water filter for the fridge that had the ice maker, the door magnets and the water dispenser fixed? Well, come to find out, my beloved Whirlpool side-by-side refrigerator DID NOT HAVE A FILTER! What? I am semi-grossed out by this news.

After pulling out the fridge to inspect the backside, I discovered lots of broken glass under there. The glass used to be the lid to my most-used and well-loved soup pot. Bummer, dude. It almost looked like someone swept it there on purpose…. but I digress.

I wish I had action photos for you… but no.

Today I am feeling like a boss. With my new filter in hand, along with several attachments and no instructions, I turned to trusty youtube and learned how to splice the water line and install the water filter ALL BY MINESELF. (That’s what our eldest used to say twenty-two years ago.) After the second try, it doesn’t even leak! Feeling like a homeschooler.

My assistants, (okay, I had a little help) my two “willing” teenagers, tested the water, wrapped white sealant tape, emptied the pail and moved the fridge back in its hole. Thank you, my children. We will have yummy water and delicious ice cubes for dinner!

Need plumbing or large appliance assistance? 1-800-LindaIsABoss. BAM!

THE Souvenir of Choice

My sweet girl has a challenge spending money. I do not share this challenge with her. At all. I do not really even understand how anyone can suffer from this. But over the past six years I have seen that the struggle is REAL!

Nora suffers from pre-buyers remorse. She will pick out a craft kit, or a shirt, or a bag of chips that she wants more than life itself. She will carry it around the store for an hour talking about how much she needs this item in her life and how it is her most favoritist in the whole galaxy. Then right before she is to lay it on the counter to pay for it, she decides to NOT buy it and sets it down. (I apologize to those who have “put it back where it goes” OCD issues.)

Being the loving, kind and compassionate parents that we are, we have forced her to buy these items more than once with her own money. It is not large sums. Nothing over $5, trying to show her that it is okay to purchase stuff. Kindheartedly we are helping her over this stumbling block in her life…. we hope.

Once in Justice (the animal-print-glitter-bling-bling palace of the universe) she had $75 in gift cards and $25 cash in her wallet. We spent more than an hour and a half in that teenie-bopper haven trying on every blinkin’ thing she could find, while her dad made dance videos to the store music on snapchat to the amusement of myself and all the other mothers and daughters. Nora picked out several shirts, a dress, a skirt and some shorts. When it was all added up at the cash register, the total came to $78.35. SEE THE PROBLEM?!?!?

Nora started figuring out what to put back to get it under $75 so she wouldn’t have to spend any cash. The glitter and bling *may have* gotten to my husband at some point because he grabbed her wallet and pulled out $4 and threw it on the counter. It was a bit dramatic for him, in my opinion. Nora’s brown eyeballs about fell out of her head. I’m not sure if this was a healthy way to teach our daughter that spending is okay, but that is how it went down and we are all still alive.

Fast forward to this week in Maui where she has been diligently searching for the souvenir to beat all souvenirs for herself. She has admired purple t-shirts, capri sweats pants that say MAUI down the leg, brown plastic slippers, magnets in the shape of Maui, calendars full of beautiful Hawaiian scenery, pineapple scented soap, rings with silver turtles, even coconut shells with candles in them. But with pre-buyers remorse, nothing had been purchased until today… day #7 on the island.

I still can’t figure out why the wooden pocket knife was the winning prize, but there was no pre- or post-buyers remorse! Nora showed it to me in the store and I was thinking she was buying it for one of her brothers or her dad. Nope. When I asked who it was for and she happily answered, “Me!” I did one of those mom-you-are-embarassing-me loud bursts of laughter that involuntarily slip out of my lips. Ooops.

I found it hilarious that my 13-year-old daughter who loves make up and painting her nails would be sucked in by a knife! A KNIFE! For Pete’s sake and all that is holy.

She is THRILLED with her wooden sided, engraved, Hawaiian Islands pocket knife. Makes me giggle just thinking of how perfect she thinks it is! And she paid $7 without beating an eyelash!

Pushy parent progress is being made!

 

Laughing in the Midst of Purgatory, Part 2

Please read the previous post if you haven’t already.

The next day, after much laughter and hilarity and swearing on the phone, (I never say crappy out loud! I only spell it!) I realized that all my personal and family and business files are still on the email account to which I no longer have access. There is SO MUCH on there… medical info, log-ins for my different sites, copies of proposals, correspondence with publishers, disability info for our girl, all the info about changing the ESA law….. I NEED TO GET IT BACK!

My sister-in-law, Jennie, is a mastermind at computery affairs and let me in on the fact that everything that was ever on the internet is still out there in space and can be retrieved. IF YOU KNOW HOW! She then proved it to me by finding pages that I thought were lost for all eternity, saving me hours of brain power and typing time! It gave me hope.

Cox was contacted again. This time it was a nine minute hold time, but if my files can be retrieved it will be worth nine years of my time! Nice lady number two took my call. She asked me to verify my account with the phone number used to open the account. GREAT! I asked how many tries I get. She sort of chuckled and asked how many I need. I replied, “Three.” She obliged and try number three was the slam dunk. She shoots! She scores! The correct number was the house phone that has been shut off for five or six years. (Please remember that this account was only opened three years ago!) (Insert profuse eye roll.)

I explained that my account was shut down just last week, but I need access to the files. She searched her script …. and competently found section 127 where it read, “If the customer needs files from a closed account, send them to a tier two operator.” So off I went, transferring …  probably to India.

NO! It can’t be! Another person whose first language is English! It’s my lucky day! I should go buy a lottery ticket… except for we don’t gamble with the money the Lord has entrusted to us. Let’s move on. Nothing to see here, folks.

Once again, I lamented about my files in the inaccessible account. My newfound friend’s fingers were making a racket fiddling with her keyboard and I was put on “hopeful” hold numerous times. While she was digging for an answer, or my files, or playing Solitaire for all I knew, I decided to ask questions. Because that’s what homeschool moms do. We ask questions. ALL.DAY.LONG.

“Does Cox offer email accounts that aren’t attached to internet service?”

“Well, yes we do,” she claimed baffling me, “but only in certain markets. But you are in Phoenix and that market does have them still.” Well, glory be!

Through my mind went these random thoughts:

I don’t want to pay back $110 for my files! But I will.

What was that other birdbrain talking about… no emails without internet… GAH!

Do I even keep this account if I can get it back? They could close it again without telling me.

Is she simply acting like she’s trying to help me so I feel helped?

Eventually, the soft-spoken woman explained that this was beyond her capabilities and she would need to notify her supervisor who would call me back to answer my questions and find my files. Good. She asked for the best number to reach me. BAM!

Being an optimist, I believed her. It’s now been 24 hours with no return call. They probably called the dead house phone number, then sent a follow-up letter to Oklahoma.

Remembering more and more information that is stored in those missing files, my stomach began to roil in agitation. “Dear God, please let me get to my files,” was my last prayer uttered before heading upstairs to bed. Worn out and frustrated, I thought how could this get any worse?

Then out of nowhere, ZING! A blasted scorpion sunk its stinger in the side of my foot right by my little baby toe. SERIOUSLY!?! I’m not even joking.

People who don’t live in Arizona think a scorpion sting is the kiss of death. It’s not. Unless you weigh under 20 pounds. I don’t. I have been stung three or four times, so I quickly swallowed some ibuprofen, dabbed peppermint oil on the sting, and went to lie still in bed. You don’t want to pump the venom through your veins with activity. Today it is tender but I didn’t lose any sleep over the sting… or my files… thank the good Lord!

(Notice I refrained from mentioning that my husband owns and operates a pesticide business…. remind you of the cobbler whose children have no shoes? He does spray the house regularly, I simply find it ironic!)

 

 

 

Half a Century (Fiddy Cen)

Honestly, turning fifty…. FIFTY! wasn’t nearly as bad as I anticipated. I still feel the same as I did yesterday. It’s going to be okay. Five-Oh sounds really old to me, I mean, I was just turning 40 a few weeks ago. Seriously. That was the fastest ten years ever!

I declined having a party. I requested a dinner with my husband and in-state children, albeit, it has to be postponed for three days to get all the kids available on the same night. Glad I turned fifty so I could still plan my life around my kids.

My baby son, who is 17, brought me flowers this morning. Ahhhhh. My eldest son, who is 19, called from California and sang a bday song for me. My baby girl, who is 12, made  a giant card for me. For reals. It’s four feet by two-and-a-half feet. My married daughter, who is 22 and in Oklahoma, sent me texts and called and wrote the sweetest words on facebook. My husband, who acts like he’s 14 sometimes, took me out to dinner and told me he was ordering a salad at a Mexican restaurant so I could be proud of him. Then his chimichanga showed up. He makes me laugh.

My family asked what gifts I might like this year… the monumental year when I turn fifty. I mentioned that a backyard swing would be nice. We used to have one, but years and years in the Arizona sunshine fried it to pieces, literally. Nora told her daddy that I wanted a swing set for my birthday. Just trying to be young again!

We picked out the swing tonight. The selling feature, even though it is brown with a red striped canopy (I don’t do red.), was that it lies flat into a bed. SOLD! So now I’m trying to find cute pillows on Amazon that bring cute colors into the red/brown non-cute theme. Currently the swing is in a big box in the middle of the dead winter grass in the backyard. I would be out there assembling it, but it’s dark and I need help getting the piece out of the box. No one will help me at 10:44 p.m., even though it’s my birthday and I am old enough to apply for AARP now. Sheesh!

Happy day of my birth to all of you! I hope you feel as loved as I did today!

 

Credit Card Issues from the NEW BANK!

I am on credit card Candid Camera. I’m sure of it.

With all the issues from our current bank with debit and credit card issues and address changes, we applied for a credit card from another institution, hoping and praying for better results.

There is no balance on the card…. it is for emergencies only.

Today I got a call saying that my payment was late and I needed to make a payment of $75 right now to set my account straight. Um…. $75 for what? I was on my way into an appointment, so I told the proper English-as-a-second-language fellow that I would call later and get to the bottom of this. He kept yammering. I said BYE! and hung up. See? I was nice and signed off.

I called later to get to the bottom of this. (Push 1 for English. Enter last four of SS#. Push 0 to speak with a live person. Hello! Name as it appears on the card. Last four of SS#. Full card #. Whew.)  I asked what my balance was. $59. …. $59 for what? (And what happened to $75? Should I hang up and call back for a lower amount again?) I asked them to check what the charges were. Seems there is an annual fee that they break up and charge monthly. (That info was probably detailed in that really long paper they gave me with font size 3 writing…) And we missed a payment. And now two month’s payments are due plus a late fee.

I told the kind man, who was probably in India taking my call, that I would not be paying the late fee for monthly charges that I did not realize were going on the account monthly. BAM! Last I knew the balance was ZERO.

He quickly took off the late charges (probably sensing my superpowers) and then……..  we were disconnected. Perfect.

Call #3 (Push 1 for English. Enter last four of SS#. Push 0 to speak with a live person. Hello! Name as it appears on the card. Last four of SS#. Full card #. Whew.) I got to chat with a kind lady… and had to explain everything that just happened again. I told her I was calling to make the payment, minus the late fee. She told me that she could see a credit for the late fee, but that the charge would not come off until next month. Seriously? However, she would be happy to take my payment, but there is a $9.95 fee for paying over the phone. Oh.My.Stars. Not happening.

My husband did not relish hearing this story (except the part where I refused to pay the late fee) and asked me to call back and tell them we want to pay the yearly fee one time. I did. (Push 1 for English. Enter last four of SS#. Push 0 to speak with a live person. Hello! Name as it appears on the card. Last four of SS#. Full card #. Whew.)They won’t. I asked kind-man-from-India-#3 if we could just pay the yearly fee and have a positive balance on the card and the monthly fee would be taken out each month.

I had to go on purgatory hold while he checked with a supervisor. Of course I did. Well, it seems that we CAN have a positive balance but our credit score will go down if we don’t use the card and pay it off monthly.

I think we accidentally got the credit card for kindergartners.

March 2016 is upon Us! (what?)

To say I have been busy lately is an understatement of gargantuan proportions. In January and February I have been away from home 19 nights… not all for total relaxation, but close. Thankfulness is alive and well in my heart, but still, home life goes on and needs attention. Plants die without mama.

There is a relief in the force (as opposed to a disturbance) as Nora’s online school is over. We “affectionately” called it Stupid School. And it is OHHH-VER! What I learned from this experience: RUN as fast as you can from public online school. They do not care about your kid even 1/100 of what you do. Parents have the final say… period. It’s MY kid. Not yours. We endured the 100 days required to qualify for her to have double the time with her reading specialist, whom we love. Now we are in a blissful state of Little House on the Prairie…. quilting, cooking, planting, playing, discovering, reading and of course we are on season four, episode five of the Prairie-thon. Perfection! Homeschooling rocks my socks.

Today is March. How in the world did that happen? This month marks THREE YEARS since my car accident where the uninsured 19-year-old gal pulled in front of me and I hit her good. The steering wheel air bag malfunctioned and only came out one side, impacting my right shoulder. March 2016 marks THREE YEARS of my shoulder hurting every day. I am not one to whine or complain (unless we share a bed) so most people are surprised to hear this news. Low-grade constant pain is exhausting. Seriously.

Name a type of shoulder pain therapy, I guarantee I have tried it unsuccessfully. I do have a few fond memories of quirky attempts, such as the acupuncturist who put a ring of 12 needles in my shoulder and explained the it was called “Circle the Dragon” and would relieve my pain. I rebuked the dragon and called it “Circle the Wagons” but still, it did nothing. Then there was the medieval torture tools that were dragged and scraped on my shoulder creating colorful bruises… all for naught.

Today, March 1, 2016, I endured a shoulder MRI with contrast injection. Tears running down into my ears, it was all I could do to lie still and breathe. The doctor informed me that this was the epiphany of tests and he WILL be able to tell me what’s wrong. Good. I hope he’s right and no more needles are necessary… wagons or dragons.

My 17-year-old son, Keeve, drove me to my appointment for moral, emotional and physical support. I just returned home to collapse and do nothing for the rest of the day. Eight hours til bedtime. Kids, you’re on your own for dinner. It is Taco Tuesday and there is a Rubio’s gift card in my wallet. If you read my blog, you score.

Go with God.

If You Give a Mom a Lightbulb…

This is EXACTLY like the book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, except different.

I love a bright and sun-shiny house which is a bonus living in Arizona, land of the golden sun almost every blinkin’ day! But I’m also a night owl and need some electrical help for partying and mayhem after sundown. (Thank God we don’t have to kill geese to get fat, so we could rip up old sheets and braid them together to make lamp wicks!!! I’m also thankful for air conditioning, but that’s to be praised another time.)

So, when the three light fixtures in our kitchen/family room were reduced to only 7 of 11 bulbs working, I quit relying on Mr. Fix-It, and took matters into my own hands at Walmart. There are SO many choices for light bulbs these days. Thomas Edison would be in filament heaven had he lived to be 168 years old! And I’m not sure what I really think about the swirly bulbs that require a hazmat suit in order to dispose of them. My theory is that Mr. Hazmat invented the swirly bulbs to increase suit sales. Crosbys did not fall for that. We’re not from the sticks. (Well, I’M not.)

The bulbs were replaced in the kitchen and over the table. All went well. No electrocution. No falling and not getting up. Then came the family room ceiling fan/light. Good gravy, it looked so straightforward. I’m a technical woman who can change a tire and install a ceiling fan with the best of ’em. I thought I was capable of changing one light bulb without peril. Not true.

Carefully standing on the kitchen chair (not a rolling chair, mind you!), I unscrewed the bottom cutesy bolt and tried to lower the globe in one fell swoop. There were these pesky pull chains with the wide dealie-bobs that hook them together that did not fit through the little holes in the bottom support plate. If I were an octopus, I could have done it. But I’m not. Then I had to stand their holding up the globe while my little assistant fed the chickens, changed their water, gathered eggs…..slower than a turtle riding on a slug’s back!

She finally had the hens happy and pecking and she returned inside so I could hand her the light blub, each little pull cord piece, the fancy bolt screw, the support plate and eventually the burned out bulb. (Only AFTER she washed her hands to eliminate salmonella from spreading in amongst our family unit.) VOILA! Easy peasey! Yeah yeah, grasshopper, it all looks so simple.

I replaced the bulb like a pro. BAM! Next I put the paper-thin glass globe back in place, but realized I needed to put the pull cords back together first. PHUN! That done, the globe went back up and I began the trying-not-to-swear job of feeding the little tiny chains through their little tiny holes in the support plate. The globe slipped and I caught it. Catastrophe averted. I painstakingly tried again and AGAIN to get the blasted chains in the stupid holes. The globe slipped again and I accidentally slammed it back up too hard in my haste and it cracked. Not a simple straight one-inch-long crack that could be crazy glued. It was a sophisticated nine-inch crack shaped like a question mark. Cool! Um, no.

Slightly defeated, I put the globe in a plastic bag where it proceeded to break itself into two pieces. Over the river and through the woods to the hardware store we went. They do not sell replacement globes at said store close to our house. I did not want to drive all over Timbuktu to find a new globe. We looked for the cheapest light fixture that had a similar globe and bought it. Here it is:

That sounds all nice and quaint and smart and all. BUT, the center bolt in the ceiling fan was too long, so we had to replace it with the new one. Easy! The new light came with a fancy silver support plate and cutesy bolt that didn’t match. We decided to use the old gold ones, but there were no holes in the new globe for pull chains. So my husband got the wire cutters and cut them off. Just like that… no more variable speeds at the Crosby farm. Our fan is forever on high and the light is on BRIGHT! Those chains you see hanging there in the picture are placebo chains. If you ever come over to visit (or just to marvel at a hobo-Joe repair job), do not, I repeat, DO NOT pull on them. Use the light switch on the wall, please and thank you.