Category: The Non-Writing Life

William “Duke” Procter
August 18, 1899 – December 14, 2005
Served: World War I, 1916 – 1919

Who do you remember today?

I visited a corn maze recently. Well, okay, in September. But I’m lazy, so I’m just getting around to posting the evidence now.

Have you ever gone through a corn maze? I haven’t. But My Liege and I happened to be near a spectacular corn maze a few weeks back, so I made him take me through it. Here’s an aerial view of the maze:

Cowahumungoid, huh?

Ten points if you can guess the province (or state!) in which it resides.

A hundred points if you can guess what wonderful city it’s near.

Two thousand points if you know what “BH” stands for.

Six million points if you can correctly identify the figure within.

Fine Print: Points are not redeemable for monetary or merchandisable value. Points are for your personal validation only and a shout-out in the Comments section, typed, I kid you not, personally and without assistance, by Cindy!

So, we parked near this maze and trundled our way to the tenty-thing. Now, I thought we’d enter the maze, get lost in under fifteen minutes, then screech for help to find our way back out. But no. The Maze Guardian informed us that we had to guess two sets of clues hidden within the maze, solve two puzzles as a result of finding those clues, and then, only then, would we win a prize.

I wanted that prize. I needed that prize.

The Maze Guardian handed us a map/drawing of the maze so My Liege could mark off the segments as we searched them (no way could I do that job—I’d have gotten us lost in no time) and I could correctly guess the clues as we happened upon them (seeing as I’m the brilliant one). It took 90 minutes to complete the maze and find all the clues! It was like running a partial leg of The Amazing Race. I loved it.

What the inside of a corn maze looks like:

What an exhausted writer nearly finished the corn maze looks like:

I won a can of Pepsi.

You never know, someone might need to google this topic someday, and voila! I’ll be there to help.

I’m talking painting furniture, not painting your deck or the outside of your house. Now that we’ve got that covered, here are my directions:

1. Don’t check the Weather Channel and realize you only have two days to complete your project before an early snow might come (ack!). Panic just sets in. Panic is not your friend. Especially when you have PMS.
2. Don’t count on warm sun in the morning meaning it will remain warm and sunny (if windy) all afternoon.
3. Lug furniture to be painted into carport (get husband to lug kid’s heavy dresser). If you don’t have a carport, borrow one. If you have a garage, stop reading.
4. Park car in the driveway.
5. Tie dog to running chain, because otherwise she’ll disappear.
6. Don’t take it for granted that the swirling maple leaves WON’T fly into the carport.
7. To protect the cement floor, wrestle a bolt of thin plastic to the ground, securing same with old paint cans you meant to take to the recycling depot but didn’t (clever you!).
8. When empty paint cans fail NOT to topple over, thank God your husband just brought a load of wood home, and race back and forth to wood pile, replacing the paint cans with solid chunks of wood.
9. Pat self on back. You have persevered!
10. Realize you forgot to place cloth drop cloths (old sheets, old mattress protectors, etc.) on top of the plastic, so start all over with the wood chunks again, fighting the wind and blowing plastic all the while.
11. Curse your stupidity.
12. DON’T skip Step #10. Remember the time you were too lazy to double up on drop cloth layers, and you slipped on spilled paint ON the plastic and hurt your back and had to go to the chiropractor? You never painted with only plastic drop cloths again, did you?
13. Yes, you’ll spill the paint. You always do. Don’t try telling yourself that you’ve learned not to.
14. DON’T remove plastic—retain under cloth. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you can use ONLY cloth drop cloths. Remember, oh, 17 years ago, when you painted the bathroom window frame, which is IN the carport, and you didn’t use plastic as well as cloth? Remember when you knocked the gallon paint can off your ladder? Remember how the paint soaked through the cloth and into the concrete?
15. If you don’t remember, go into the carport and have a look, because the stain’s still there.
16. Lug old dresser and nightstand and drawers for same onto the drop cloths. Wish the husband would come home for lunch NOW to help with the dresser, but he doesn’t.
17. Change into the most paint-splattered set of clothes you own.
18. Sand furniture to within an inch of your life. Pride yourself on wearing protective eyegear so the wind doesn’t blow the sand into your contacts. Pride yourself on wearing a nose filter, or whatever those mask things are called, so you don’t inhale dust over the next hour.
19. When dog howls from lack of attention, resist the urge to waltz to the yard wearing alien-like mask and goggles and throw your arms wide, addressing dog as if she’s human, “What’s the problem?”
20. Smile at the mailman who happens to be standing right behind you (instigating dog’s howl), then ask if he has a dog cookie for your dog.
21. Congratulate self on hopefully coming across sane.
22. Remind self that he knows by now you’re not, so don’t waste time feeling embarrassed.
23. Continue sanding.
24. The next day, when your ears won’t stop ringing, remind yourself you MUST remember to wear the ear mufflers the next time!
25. Open can of paint and realize it’s the wrong shade.
26. And the sun has disappeared.
27. The wind is gathering speed.
28. The leaves are going crazy.
29. After making husband’s lunch (now he shows up?), hightail it to paint store to deepen tint. (Take dog for car ride). Pretend you’re a contractor, and that’s why there are 18 different colors of paint on your clothes. For good measure, blame wrong tint on kid who served you the day before rather than admitting you asked for that color.
30. Hightail it back home. Pick up an A&W chicken burger en route, because by now you’re starving. (Feed dog just a little bit—she’s starving, too). Don’t let dog have any of your root beer.
31. Paint!!
32. Realize it’ll get too cold at night to leave the furniture outside until you paint the second coat, so you’ll have to convince husband to cart heavy dresser into the laundry (after he installs new washing machine he’s bringing home because yours decided to break at a very inconvenient time).
33. Pat self on back that you bought water-based paint instead of oil (like the time you spilled the gallon in the carport). Take bath and scrub paint off hands.
34. Realize two hours later when the wind still hasn’t died down that it WAS NOT wise to park car UNDERNEATH huge maple tree branches when the last time there was a windstorm, one of the biggest branches flew off, breaking your fence and smashing the light at the front of the driveway.
35. Race outside with car keys to move car—

Fill in the blank.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to journal my journey through Empty Nest Syndrome. Reading this article made me feel a lot better about the emotions I’ve experienced since dropping Eldest Son off at university seven days ago (that’s him between me and Y.S. in the truck). And guess what? Ta-da! I’m normal. (Bet you never saw that coming).

Yes, it’s completely normal to feel like you’re in a sort of mourning when your child leaves for college for the first time. It’s perfectly okay to feel like a mountain is sitting on your chest. The good news is, the mountain gets up and leaves. It’s funny how a one-line email from the child in question or communicating with him via your other child’s Instant Messaging System of choice can suddenly right your world again. Days 3 – 5 were the worst. Then the rational side of me realized, I’m not mourning him. He’s alive and well and healthy and hopefully having the time of his life. What else could a mother wish for? (For the grammarians among you, read that, “For what else could a mother wish?”).

We had a great time as a family and visited old friends who greatly helped in the transition. It’s wonderful to know my dear friend J. is only a short drive away from the campus. Plus, E.S. is attending my Alma mater, which My Liege also attended during my second year. Yes, the campus is a lot bigger than it was “back in the day,” but we covered a lot of familiar territory, and I realized the university still holds a special place in my heart. A beautiful city, a beautiful campus, beautiful friends, and a beautiful son…

Life is good.