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Auto Maintenance Lessons from Dad
Something Dad did—something I didn’t fully appreciate until after he was gone—was keep one master log book for all of his equipment. Cars. Lawn mowers. Snow blowers. Weed wackers. Anything with an engine had a place in that book.Inside, he recorded all the important details: the make and model, the type of oil it required, when it was last serviced, and the work that had been done. Oil changes weren’t guesses. Maintenance wasn’t reactive. Everything had a history, written down in his careful handwriting.
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Auto Maintenance and the Dipstick Disaster
Auto maintenance. Wow, now this is a subject that is totally out of my league. In my marriage, the vehicles were men’s work, that being Art. I never even put gas into my car, washed it, detailed it, or did whatever needed to be done to keep it functioning (most of the time). -
The Jaguar That Went Boom
My husband loved flashy cars. After his Acura died from driving back and forth to Milwaukee every day, he had his eye on a great-looking 2009 Jaguar sedan. It was cherry red and in pristine condition. He drove by the car at a local dealership every day. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He went in and negotiated a deal for his dream car. -
The Carpeting That Killed My Cat
A long, long time ago, I lived in Northern California. All my life, I had enjoyed having pets, but at that point, I was away from home all day, working full-time. It didn’t seem fair to have a dog waiting inside the house alone for so many hours.Around that time, one of my customers stopped by and mentioned that her mama cat had just given birth to a litter of eight kittens. She showed me a picture, eight tiny black kittens nestled together in a big basket, each wearing a little red bow around its neck. I stopped by that afternoon to see them in person and, as you might imagine, fell head over heels in love. They were all solid black, glossy as satin, and completely irresistible.
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Cream Carpet Dilemma
Every house has a breaking point.
Ours happens to be cream carpet.
Over the years, I’ve learned there are two kinds of home stories: the ones you plan to tell, and the ones that show up uninvited—usually with stains. When you live long enough in one place, the floor becomes a quiet witness. It records everything.Which is how I landed here, thinking about carpet disasters—because of course that’s where this story goes.
Burns.
Spills.
Pets.
Kids.
Wine.That moment when you know: Yep. That carpet’s done.
When we built our house about twenty years ago, hardwood covered the main part of the home. Cream carpet filled the library, dining room, and three bedrooms. Now you probably already know…Cream carpet is unforgiving.
The one truth about cream carpet, though, is that it never surprises you. It’s either clean…or filthy. -
Carpet Remnants Saved the Day
The atmosphere I live in matters deeply to me. I can’t stand being in a space that doesn’t feel good aesthetically—it affects my mood, my focus, and honestly, my sanity. Temporary spaces have always been the hardest. College dorm rooms and short-term houses are especially challenging, because you know you’re only living in them for a brief period of time, yet you still have to exist fully inside them every day.So what do you do when the space you’re stuck with is the tiniest, ugliest room in the house?
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The Carpet Saga
I had always loved carpeting. New carpeting, that is. It is so clean, smells fresh, and looks beautiful and pristine. Then it happens – life. We finished our basement in I would say a rather luxurious way (in a hunting sort of way, that being my husband’s hunting lodge!) It is fully carpeted with a very good carpet. We have been able to do this because we have been one of the lucky homeowners who have never had a water problem in their basement.
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Towel Troubles
Oh, to be a towel. Just think of all those bare bodies you get to wrap yourself around. That is, if you are one of the lucky ones.Now, the reality of the towel hysteria that I find when my family is all together. That is, of course, the grandkids. In reality, they are thieves of the good beach towels at the cabin. This means they covet my beautiful new soft luxurious large beach towels and then, would you believe it, they take them home, and I never seem to see them again.
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Towel Hoarder
My linen closet is basically a museum of towel history. A true hodgepodge. I still have towels from college — 1988, thank you very much — and not a single one of them matches anything else on the shelf. It’s like a reunion of every towel I’ve ever owned, all jammed together, still clinging to life out of sheer nostalgia and stubbornness.And here’s the funny part: I love the idea of matching sets. Bath towel, hand towel, washcloth — the whole coordinated, Pinterest-worthy ensemble. But let’s be honest… we don’t use hand towels or washcloths. Like, ever. They hang there looking pretty and untouched, collecting dust while the bath towels do all the heavy lifting.
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Towel Trials
The topic of towels causes me to dig deep into my imagination. Being creative here is almost out of the question. Towels are, after all, the quiet accessories of our bathrooms. Still, they play an important role. With the right colors, patterns, and textures, they can enhance the entire space — complementing the paint, the floors, and even the fixtures. Chosen well, they add warmth and charm. Chosen poorly, they can drain the life out of even the most handsome room. -
Towel Attachment Issues
The Towels We Keep
I still have the first two towels my mom bought me when I left for college. They’re thin now—somewhere between threadbare and this-could-be-a-washcloth—but they’ve earned their place. I reach for them when I’m dyeing my hair, bathing the dogs, or doing anything else that might leave me emotionally scarred. They’re not the current colors, not stylish, and definitely not “guest towel approved,” but they stay steady. Solid. Loyal. The golden retrievers of my linen world.And then there’s my linen closet.
Closets, Scents, and Clotheslines
I love a neat linen closet with the same devotion most people give a well-organized pantry. But half the items in there haven’t been used once in this house—and we’ve lived here for 22 years. Some of them didn’t get used in the house before this one either, yet there they sit: two sets of white sheer curtains for mystery windows, mismatched flat sheets from an ancient full-size bed, and boxes of attachments for shavers that vanished years ago. If those shavers ever reappeared, I’d probably just close the drawer and walk away.
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The Secret Lives of My Tools
I often say that I don’t clean the house. That isn’t entirely true. What I really mean is that I have a thing about having the right tools at my fingertips so I can get the job done easily.When Michael was alive, he felt he should help clean while I was at work. Each day, he would choose an area to work on. I always thought that was a kind and loving gesture. The only problem was that when I wanted to clean, I couldn’t find my tools. I kept my cleaning supplies in a certain place, rags, brooms, sprays, all together, and by the time I had hunted everything down, my motivation had usually vanished. I was ready to move on to another project.
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Tools and Memories
Tools have always been a big part of my life. First of all, there were none, or let’s just say some. My dad was not a fixer-upper at all. He had a brother who was, and would satisfy some of my dad’s desires when requested to do so. For example, he built bookshelves in Judy’s and my bedroom together with a corner desk. I think my mom knew more about using tools than Dad ever did. But then, there was no interest on his part to really do any type of fixing or building. I believe his only desire for tools was to have some of his dad’s old tools, my grandpa Ottos. -
The Problem With Pink Tools
When I first headed off to college, I told Mom and Dad one simple thing I wanted: tools. Real tools. The kind you can actually fix things with.And honestly, this made perfect sense—because growing up, Dad taught Lisa and me that we could do anything boys could do. That included using tools, fixing things, and generally not being helpless.
Mom… interpreted that a little differently.
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Decorating Disaster
Remember the pink-and-blue decorating craze? Somewhere between the sponge-painted walls and floral borders, we decided those two pastels were meant to be together. They crept into bedrooms, bathrooms, and even living rooms, and let us not forget kitchens.. And like everyone else caught in the wave of pastel mania, we jumped right in.When we decided to decorate one of my youngest daughter’s college apartments, pink and blue seemed like a no-fail combo. It sounded cute and timeless in theory. In reality? It was hideous.
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The Great Unloading Disaster
We’d been camping in Peninsula State Park in Door County. We’d survived the mosquitoes, eaten soup for two weeks straight (thanks, Lisa), and even Grandma Doris—cruising around on her power scooter—had enjoyed herself. The trip was a success by all counts.But as soon as we pulled into the driveway, our luck ran out. It was time to unload the camper—otherwise known as “the part no one volunteers for.”
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Beaver Dam or Bust
Some people believe in serendipity—that life lines things up just right and you fall into the perfect moment. I’m not sure I buy into that. For me, things usually come together through effort, patience, and timing. And yet… sometimes the outcome feels so right, it’s hard not to wonder if a little serendipity snuck in anyway. That’s how we ended up finding our home in Beaver Dam.We’d always said we’d move closer to family once we started our own. We began in Memphis, then moved to Chicago, then Sun Prairie—closer and closer. Eventually, it was time to go all the way: Beaver Dam.
At the time, I worked at the family business, and Tom had a good job in Madison. He was used to commuting, so the move made sense. A realtor friend met us to tour homes in our price range—translation: old fixer-uppers.
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A Hearth of My Own
Fireplaces have always been an important part of decorating for me. I love old houses where you will find a fireplace in just about every room. They offer such a fabulous atmosphere and seem to facilitate the urge to just sit by the warmth, enjoying the crackling of the fire, and read, have conversations, or just enjoy hanging out and relaxing.As a kid, I did not have a fireplace in our family home. Our house would have been perfect, but it seemed that during this time, the fireplace just wasn’t a priority for my parents as it was to me. My dad would always talk about putting one in, as we had a blank wall where it would be perfect, but it just never got done.
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Fireplace Fails and Fixes
I was never the fire starter in our family—that job belonged to Dad and Lisa. They were the official flame whisperers, armed with newspaper twists, matches, and patience. I, on the other hand, preferred to enjoy the fire from a safe, soot-free distance.Honestly, I’ve never been a fan of the whole process. Building the fire, keeping it going, making sure it doesn’t go out—it’s way too much work for something that’s supposed to be relaxing. The last time I tried lighting my own fire, it was a campfire, and all it was good for was sending smoke signals.
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Fireplaces, Firepits, and Fond Memories
I love fireplaces in their many shapes and forms. Whether they’re made of stone, brick, or surrounded by polished wood, they seem to say, “Come, sit for a while.” A fireplace is a natural focal point in any home, a gathering place for warmth, reflection, and connection. There’s a special kind of beauty that comes from gazing into the flickering flames and glowing embers. My mind often drifts and dreams as I watch them dance. Faces appear, stories unfold, and before I know it, I’m miles away in thought. It’s a meditation of sorts, quiet, grounding, and endlessly soothing. -
Flowers: My Legal Addiction
You can never have too many flowers, or enough money to pay for them. I always loved flowers, but never had many opportunities to learn about how to accomplish my vision. My first experience of planting came from taking seeds from a boulevard on Midvale Blvd. in Madison, where my aunt and uncle lived. These weren’t really flowers, but were hens and chicks. Also, I was able to gather wild lily seeds from the spent flowers the same way and planted them at home. I was thrilled at my success, but that was it until I had my first home of my own. The first spring that we actually had a lawn, I decided it was time to start my flowers. Well, I purchased two medium-sized redwood planters that I put on the front porch. Not having any experience with planting flowers, I actually took these two planters to a local greenhouse for them to plant a couple of geraniums and a spike in each one. Well, they were lovely even though a two-year-old could have planted this exciting arrangement. I, in my ignorance, was upset when my daughter, Lisa, decided to pick a bouquet for her mom. When she brought this to me, I almost had a stroke. I thought my beautiful flowers were done forever. Boy, do I wish I could turn back the clock and learn how at that age to take a chill pill and love the thoughtfulness of my daughter. Live and learn.
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Flower Power… Minus the Power
As a little kid, I loved planting flowers with Mom. She taught me the whole process—dig the hole, sprinkle in a little fertilizer, set the flower in, pack the dirt around it, and then water. We repeated that ritual for years.But somewhere along the way, my love for gardening wilted. It was much easier to just let Mom do it for me! When I moved to Beaver Dam, she handled most of my gardening. She’d practically have to drag me outside to help her—and I’d usually be holding a kid or baby, trying to use that as an excuse. Truth is, if Mom didn’t come over, the planting simply didn’t get done. Still, those years quietly taught me what worked and what didn’t.
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Forget the Books, Listen to the Flowers
The flowers I grew up with filled my summers with beauty. My mom made it a point to plant them in different spots around our yard. I loved the moss roses and the geraniums, and the borders lined with white and purple alyssum. Tulips appeared in early spring, but where they came from, how they grew, and where they should be planted was a complete mystery to me.I was the youngest of three girls and considered too little to handle something as important as planting the flowers that made our home beautiful. My sister Sandy always seemed to know what she was doing. I’ll admit it, I was jealous.
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Because Mama Rules
Let’s get one thing straight—when it came to decorating the house, I had Mama Rules. And Rule #1? Mama picks the colors.When I was a kid, my “choices” were laughable. I got to pick between yellow and red… or yellow and red. I’m pretty sure those weren’t even my choices. They were just the two colors my mom picked out of her pea-brain. So yes, my bedroom looked like it was sponsored by Heinz (you know – ketchup and mustard).
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Resilience, Relatives and Rolling with the Punches
Ah, the holidays. A time for twinkling lights, delicious feasts, and… navigating the emotional minefield of family gatherings. Add in the inevitable challenges—burnt turkey, last-minute gift shopping, and Uncle Bob’s annual political rant—and you’ve got the perfect storm for testing your resilience.But resilience isn’t just about surviving the holidays with your sanity (mostly) intact. It’s about showing up when it matters most—especially during the hardest moments, like the loss of a loved one. When grief collides with the season of joy, resilience is what carries us through.
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Small-Town Adventures
People have differing opinions on what it’s like to live in a small town and throughout my life, I’ve had differing opinions myself. When I was little, I loved it. Living in a small town allowed me to ride my bike to Grandma’s house every day in the summer. It allowed me to walk across a major street to the local Dairy Queen for a sweet treat. I felt safe and secure in my little Beaver Dam bubble. -
The Good Life in a Small Town
I come from a small town called Beaver Dam. I don’t feel it is that small, but to those who like big city life, it is tiny. It is a town that boasts 15000+ Busy Beavers. Don’t think the media didn’t have fun with that phrase a while back. We have lots of parks, a lake, and shopping, and we are near several big cities, and let’s not forget the lack of pollution. -
Surviving Wisconsin Summers
We live in Wisconsin. You might ask what this has to do with Porches and Patios? In the summer we have mosquitoes the size of crows and other flying creatures that make being outdoors difficult except if you have a screened-in space to spend your time in. -
Patio Time With Grandma
I planned and built a screened porch on my house. I grew up in a house with a screened porch. It was so important to my mom that our house had a fireplace and a screened porch.
My grandma had a screened porch built onto the back of her home. Now my mom wasn’t living there anymore, but I spent my summers there. Grandma Isabel (Grandma Is) took care of me after school and during the summers.
During the school year, I would walk to her house from Washington Elementary just two blocks away. I would rest against the cream naugahyde ottoman and watch Room 222, Gilligan’s Island, and MASH.
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The Sleeping Porch
School is out and summer is here which, when I was a kid, meant it was time for Lisa and I to sleep out in the patio every night! This was one of the best parts of the summer. -
A Good Climbing Tree
I pulled into the driveway and parked my car. Putting the car in park, I waited for Aubrey to emerge from her friend’s house. While waiting, I glanced around the front yard, noticing a bird feeder hanging from a shepherd’s hook, a shovel leaning against the garage, and a big, old tree.
Upon closer inspection, the tree seemed almost ideal for climbing. If a couple of 1×4 pieces of board were nailed to the trunk, one could reach the lowest branches.
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Trading Spaces
Having moved from a tri-level home to a larger two-story house was a bit of a challenge to get used to. You learn to live one way and then have to refigure a new environment. We had our family room on the lower level and grew to love that idea. -
Pick a Color
I was 23 years old and it was time to decorate my first apartment and then my own house. I had no idea where to start, what to do, or even what color to use. Then I remembered an idea Lisa had shared with me (after all – if Lisa thought it was a good idea – it probably was) -
Life is Best on the Water
I have always loved water activities. Once I learned to swim, anything to do with the water had my attention. At Girl Scout Camp, we learned to canoe. We were taught skills to navigate solo or with a second person. My third year of camp, we took a thirty-mile canoe trip down the Wolfe River. We slept on the river bank in two-person Alpine tents and cooked our meals over open campfires. We gained so much knowledge and had a great time.
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Outdoor Aversion
I’m trying to think of my favorite outdoor activity and I’m struggling. I’m not one that chooses to do the outdoor things. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do things outside if someone asks me to, but it’s not something that I’ll automatically choose if left to my own devices. -
I’d Rather Be Camping
Through the years I have discovered that my absolute favorite outdoor activity is camping. I especially love tent camping unless, of course, it is raining. This can make it a little uncomfortable unless you are savvy about how to set your tent up to avoid leaking. -
Bedroom of My Dreams?
As the firstborn daughter in the mid-’60s, I came home to a nursery decorated in soft pink. Mom tells the story of going with Dad, Judy, and Judy’s boyfriend, Spence, on a Saturday to buy a round, fuzzy, pink rug in Madison. Mom had exactly $13 in her purse for the purchase. Unfortunately, they were stopped for speeding. The ticket was $13. Judy and Spence bought their downhill skis, but mom decided to wait and save the money…again.It was purchased after I was born.
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From Dad, With Love
I tend to be a creature of habit. If something was done one way for me as a child, I feel the need to inflict that same thing on my kids. The Christmas cookie decorating ritual would be one example. Another example would be first bedrooms. -
In My Room
When I was a little girl, I had my own room. I don’t remember much about it except that my sister Sandy used to visit me and play. My roll-a-way had a handle that we pretended was the steering wheel on our pirate ship. Because we frequently got together to play in my room, our parents decided that we must want to share a room. -
The House That Could Have Been
When we were planning on returning to Wisconsin, we found out that a doctor was selling his practice and his home. I called him that night and after ½ hour of discussion, I made him an offer at his full asking price. I knew this house very well because when I was growing up, my best girlfriend’s family designed and built it. It was built with the Frank Lloyd Wright vibe. There were large windows, vaulted ceilings, and unique features like a second-floor living room, a large backyard with gardens, and an inground swimming pool. -
Work With What You Have
From an early age, I have loved houses. I feel every house has a possibility. I do get sort of frustrated with the HDTV shows where they take a house, tear out fireplaces, knock down walls, and completely change the floor plans. I, myself, like to look at a house, work with for the most part what it has, update it, and make decorating changes to make it functional and beautiful. Not everyone has the money to practically tear up the whole house and begin from scratch. It is a lovely idea, but not probable or practical. -
Family Commune
When asked what my dream house would be, there is 1 thing that comes to mind… It would be to have a family commune. I envision it similar to how we used to go camping. Each family unit has their own private area, but there is also a common area where we would gather for meals and general activity. -
My House is Me
“My house is me and I am
it. My house is where I like
to be and it looks like all my
dreams.” –Mr. Plumbean
I taught First Grade…forever. One of the favorite ways to kick off the school year was with a week of color experiences. On “orange day” I would always read “The Big Orange Splot” by Daniel Pinkwater. In it, Mr. Plumbean has a house and yard that don’t blend in on his “neat street”. Day by day, neighbors come to his house and leave to create their own dream house. Following the reading, we would talk about all the things we would include in the house of OUR dreams. 6-year-olds included lots of slides, pools, TVs, and game rooms. This activity always made me a bit nervous.
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Fall Gardening…NOT for the Faint of Heart
As previously mentioned in this prior post, I love, love, LOVE to garden! But not all seasons are appreciated equally. You see, I have a problem with fall gardening.
I have a very large perennial garden and after all the thought and work I’ve put into it, the end is so sad. In Wisconsin, we call it “fall”.
So many people love the changing colors of the trees and bushes. But why does no one but me notice our dying gardens? Arghhhh. I look out at my backyard and see brown ferns, the leftover stems from phlox, and weeds that were previously hidden. Don’t even get me going on the holes from when my grand dogs visited.
Here are some sanity strategies that I’ve come up with (instead of just mowing everything down and planting grass seed).
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Spring Hygge Anyone?
Spring
Raindrops and puddles
Laughter, dressed in yellow coats,
Umbrellas in hand
Yeah. Right.
Have you seen any kids lately wearing those Hallmark-style yellow raincoats? Me neither. Spring here in Wisconsin seems to be one wet, cold, windy day after another. Kids still love their umbrellas, but we all seem to be wearing damp jackets and holding our breath…just waiting for summer to arrive.
Have you heard of Wisconsin’s eleven seasons? Winter, Fool’s Spring, Second Winter, Spring of Deception, Third Winter, Mud Season, Actual Spring, Summer, False Fall, Second Summer (one week), and Winter.
Spring is sooooooo long. We feel impatience. There is a restlessness in the air.
So, how do you get your mind in a place of appreciation, mindfulness, and gratitude?
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Fern Gardeners…Beware!
Years ago when I realized I had inherited the gardening gene from a favorite uncle of mine, I lived in a different house, on a different street, and had different sun exposure.
There was full sun on all sides of my just-built house. It was fun planting flowers such as snapdragons, marigolds, zinnias, geraniums and I achieved a profusion of flowers and consistently brilliant colors. I spent hundreds of dollars every spring purchasing annuals to accomplish this result.
Then, we moved, and guess what? I now live in a house with mature maple and birch trees. This translates into a yard with almost no sun. Can you say…gardening challenge? As noted before I was used to lots of sunlight and could grow almost all sun-loving plants. -
Sandy’s 9 Tips for a Beautiful Garden
Here are some of my gardening tips:
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How Lovely the Silence of Growing Things
I am more myself in my garden than anywhere else. Its the place I feel most grounded. It is my happy place, my church. -
Gardening is Not My Favorite Thing
Everyone has decided to write about gardening. What do I have to write about gardening? I hate gardening!! Mom always tells me that as a kid, I loved to garden. No – I loved to plant a few flowers for her. That is what I liked to do. I don’t like the weeding, the soil preparation, the watering. Ugh. It’s a never-ending job!! Now, granted – I DO love the end result when someone else does it for me. (aka Mom – “Thanks Mom!!”) -
Gardening is Hard Work!
I was never much of a gardener. As a kid, I usually got stuck out in Mom’s garden in the prickly raspberries picking berries or weeding between the brick walk in the back yard. To me gardening was hard work and no fun.When my sister got married and bought her first home, these beautiful gardens started popping up. How did she do that I wondered?
When I left home I lived in apartments, condos, and townhouses so I concentrated on indoor plants. I actually got quite proficient with them.
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Gardening is Therapy
I LOVE gardening or the results of playing in my yard with flowers!
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What Downshifting Means For Me
Beaver Dam has become a member of something called “Blue Zones”. I am a beginner in what that means exactly- but with time I’m sure I’ll be on board. One of the elements that resonates with me in the “Blue Zones” information is something called “downshifting”.
What does that mean exactly? To me, it means letting go of all the crazy things that make me grumpy, psycho and just plain bitchy.