Helpful hints for cleaning hot tubs

Every few months it becomes necessary to clean the hot tub. Somehow, despite all the nasty chemicals, an ozonater, and mineral wand, micro-organisms manage to survive, multiply, and make the tub unsanitary.

Hence, the need to clean it out.

Here are some practical tips anyone can employ to make this boring (but necessary) chore easier:

Tip #1:

Get someone else to clean the spa. Plead, wheedle, whine, bribe, blackmail--all techniques work, it just depends on your personal preferences. Once someone else is doing the job, you can sit back, relax, enjoy that 5th cup of coffee and read/blog/watch paint peel.

Tip #2:

If tip #1 doesn't work, or isn't employable at this time this time-saving tip, courtesy of a suggestion from my friend B., works like a charm. Once you've got your hot tub mostly drained--as in as far down as the drain will let you, and you're down to the extra fun part of the task where you 'bail' water out, get out your shop-vac.

Yes, your shop-vac* Simply turn on the suction, plop the hose into the tub, and watch the machine do the bailing for you.

This so-simple-its-stupid tip (notice, however, that I wasn't smart enough to come up with it all on my own...) saves you 30+ minutes of labor intensive (OK, well, long and boring, but easy) work.

I am so in love with my new strategy for cleaning the hot tub, it makes the chore so much less tedious, and speeds up the process a lot.

Try it out. Let me know how well it works for you!



*make sure your shop-vac is a wet/dry model, and that you have removed the 'dry' feature filter.

First Date

Saturday morning (11am) rolls around in all its sunshiny glory. I am a nervous wreck. I can hardly believe that I am going to call B.J. and try to figure out how to get to his house on the other side of town, the rich side of town.

I heave a few humongously deep breaths and phone him. He's pleasant, cheerful, and gives me his address.

"Do you know how to get here? Do you need more directions that that?" He asks, already considerate of how I may or may not be directionally challenged.

"No. I think I know how to get there." I lie. Flat-out, through my teeth lied. I have not the foggiest clue of where his house is or even less, how to get there. "So, I'll see you as soon as I get there!"

"Great. See you soon." Click.

I'm thinking to myself, I'll just look up a city map in the phonebook (this is before Mapquest, or at least before I knew how to access maps online--at this point in time it's like $1.99/minute to use the Internet. Hard to believe we actually paid for it by the minute.). I locate his street and the cross street he gave, so I'll just follow the streets across the city that look like they're the most direct routes.

WRONG!

I climb into my dirty car and try to traverse the city. I was so painfully naive. It was quite a lesson in city planning, for me, that afternoon. I had no idea how many streets dead-end and are one-way and not marked as such on the map in the phonebook. As I'm driving, and getting more and more lost (no cell phone, those days, either) the minutes are ticking by. I began to worry that he would think I blew him off, and that I wasn't going to show up because by this time it has nearly been an hour! The drive, he said, should be about 20 minutes. Oh, man, was I a wreck.

Finally, by the mercy of God (whom I didn't know, at that time, either) I made it to his house. He teased me good-naturedly about how long it took me to get there, but at least I'd arrived.

He told me how to drive half-way around the block to access the alley that led to his back-yard/driveway. That was quite a little adventure in and of itself. See, my car was a little Plymouth Colt (aka Mitsubishi Mirage) and at its stock sitting height it could conservatively be called a 'low-rider'. It was a small wonder how I managed to navigate my little car up the steep driveway that led into the alleyway without tearing a hole in the oil pan!

At any rate, I'd finally arrived at B.J.'s house, safe and sound, albeit 40 minutes later than originally anticipated. B.J. had all the accouterments needed to clean my car (in all actuality he wound up detailing my car for me) and he had me park myself on the edge of his porch while he went to work.

In retrospect, I can't believe what I chose to wear. On that 'first' date I showed up at his house with my hair in a ponytail, a pair of Nike's, black sweats, and a t-shirt that said "Fukengruven" (a la the old VW ads that utilized "Fahrvergnügen" in their campaign).

Doh!! (Clearly, I was not thinking)

B.J. was not the slightest bit daunted (or at least he didn't appear so). He cleaned my car, until it was its proverbial 'squeaky' self. And then he came and sat down on the porch next to me.

My heart must have been pounding at least loud enough for the surrounding zip-code to hear it. We made some small talk for a few minutes, but before it knew it he was scooting closer and closer to me. He was right next to me! Aak!

I kept thinking to myself, I really sort of like this guy. He seems so genuine and sweet and thoughtful.

That was when he leaned over and kissed me. Our first kiss was right there, that sunny sun-drenched March 9, 1996 afternoon, sitting on the edge of his porch, our legs dangling, with a view of my very shiny and newly clean little purple car. I'll tell you this much, electricity surged through his lips to mine. Not only was he a good kisser, but there was some instant chemistry.

Oh, yes, chemistry indeed...

Nikon-gone

D-50. Mucho mega pixels. Almost 3 photos per second.

And, I can't use any of it right now. That's right, I haven't had my baby (camera) for going on 2 weeks now.

Sigh.

I never realized just how much and how often I grabbed my camera before it went out of use. See, it's not lost or broken or anything dramatic like that (thank goodness!). It was well overdue for a general cleaning, and most unfortunately the shop that we bought it from has pulled out of our fair hamlet, so I had to drive the hour north to the bigger city to have it worked on.

I really miss it. I can hardly wait until we get that glorious call from the shop saying we can come and pick it up.

My fingers have been absolutely itching to be able to set my f-stops and aperture to capture the beautiful fall foliage that is directly outside my kitchen window (my Japanese maples are showing some to-die-for crimson and orange right now). But I can't.

Not yet anyway.

I hate waiting.

In pursuit of better diction

I read. A lot. (I bet you remember that) And, as I read I discover just how limited my understanding of language is.

Yes, I speak my mother tongue (English) fairly well (most days), and I speak Espanol (badly, most days). When we were over-seas I mumbled and stumbled through Francais and Deutch well enough to get around. But how much do I really know? Or understand?

The point of this meandering ramble through language(s) is that I'm always learning more and more. Take for instance this little tidbit:

In flagrante delicto.

Whos-its-whats-its-huh!?

That was what I was thinking the first few times I read it. So, being the geeky type that I am I had to immediately throw caution to to the wind and look its meaning (gotta love Wikipedia):

in flagrante delicto = Latin for "caught in the
act of committing an offense", caught red-handed, caught in the act; The Latin
term has come to be used far more often as a euphemism for a couple being
caught in the act of sexual intercourse;

Well. Now you've been learn-ed.

You'all can talk like a Cambridge scholar too (it sounds like I should add in: for ONLY 6 payments of $19.95, plus S+H...).

So, the next time you're hanging out at Chuck-e-cheese, you can drop this little kernel in your conversation (gossip) about the neighbor's, cousin's kid's best-friend's nephew.

Whew!

I just love new words and random arcana, like this new phrase. After all, you never know when Alex Trebek will call and tell you there's an opening on Jeopardy!

Cruising toward the end of an epoch

I just love Craig's List. It is like the eBay for weenies. Like me.

You know the people who pretend to be techno-savvy, but are really only mediocre at the computer stuff. The folks who would love to be able to be one of those eBay whizzes who sells snow to Eskimos online and makes a mint doing it? Yea. That's me. Craig's List is less hassle, less risk, and no credit card numbers involved. I can and do handle that. It lets me dabble in online sales, without all the commitment.

I sell random stuff on Craig's list. Probably the strangest thing I sold (in under 24 hours, mind you) was my old Amana Dryer. It worked as well as you'd expect a 10 year old used dryer to work. And, someone bought it *snaps fingers* just. like. that.

The most recent of my sales on the list was this: A three-sided 'Little Tykes' play structure.

Over the summer I watched my two babies play on/with it less and less. It was becoming clear that its usefulness and time at my doorstep was coming to an end. It was with mixed emotions that I posted it to Craig's List. A part of me was thrilled to have more room on my back porch, but another part of me didn't want the fun with it to end.

I remember when I found the little play structure, I was so thrilled! I had been coveting one of these structures for Peanut because it would be a lot of fun for her, and it would be easy enough that (given her physical limitations) she would be able to play on it and feel good about herself.

Peanut, and later Chubbers, had such fun playing on it. They both could climb, slide, and play under it in the 'fort'. It was just the right size. But, as I said, over the summer it became more and more clear its time was done.

So, it was with great sadness that I posted it on Craig's list. I half hoped it wouldn't sell. If it didn't sell, silly as it sounds, it was a way to keep a small vestige of 'babyhood' around. I've been slowly but surely getting rid of all my baby paraphernalia. The baby-car-seat: Gone. The changing table and glider rocker: gone. I have the crib disassembled and ready to be sold in the garage, but I'm dragging my feet.

I don't know why, but it seems so sad to let go of all these things. I posted it online about a month ago, and as of yesterday the play structure is gone.

It is the end of a period in our lives. I debate with myself, and B.J. whether or not we want a third baby. I know in Heaven I will have all three of my babies, one is already waiting for me. But here, on Earth, I wonder if we're done. Most days I know that we are; but then there are other days where I get this dull ache in my core that yearns for another of those sweet little bundles. I sometimes really miss that sweet milky breath, and rocking a tiny little love to sleep. Some days.

I feel like if I get rid of all of my baby stuff, it sort of seals the deal: we're done. Finito. Fin.

*sigh*

I am looking forward to the new stages we're about to enter: Kindergarten and (for Chub-chub) preschool. It just seems so strange to think: no more babies.

I wonder if all moms feel this way? Do you ever find that peace where you know in your heart and your mind "I'm done."? Some days I think I have that feeling, but then something happens--I see or smell or hear something that pulls on my heart strings and I'm lost, all over again.

Gimme a lift?

Soon enough, time came to pass that I was to run into B.J., again. This time we really had some time to chit-chat and get to begin to know one another. I instantly liked him, because he was fun and made me laugh. But, it was in a guy-friend sort of way. Not in a romantic-I-would-like-to-date-you sort of way.

He was unattached, and so was I. My friends, God love them, got to conspiring and decided that they needed to set me up with B.J.--forcefully. The decided we would be a perfect match.


Again, I wasn't looking for anyone at the time. I had never felt a need or desire to be with a guy at any one time in my (albeit brief) life. I was quite as content in life to be single and hang out with my girlfriends as I was if I had a guy to date. I really didn't care. I didn't think I'd ever want to get married, and I certainly did NOT want any children in the remotely foreseeable (as in up to age 40) future. I was just happy to be me. So, the fact that my friends wanted me to go out with this guy, wasn't exactly unappealing, but neither was it a priority.

It all shook out like this: I agreed, grudgingly, to go out with B.J. on the condition that we go to a party I'd been invited to and he take my girlfriends along --since they needed a ride. I know it wasn't even remotely nice of me to deal with him that way, but like I'd already said I was fairly self-centered at this point in my life.

B.J. picked my friends and I up, and we went to the party. It wound up being broken up sooner rather than later on account of some drunken fools who decided it was necessary to brawl. It was a bit of a drag, but so be it. B.J. drove us (what a sweet guy he was, to put up with 3 very drunk and very rowdy girls) home, and managed to drop me off last (pretty smooth move, on his part). As we were sitting in my driveway, at 3am, he and I started to talk. Now, when you're me, and slightly inebriated (or as this case was: totally plastered), you talk about the highly philosophical or the utterly mundane; my conversation that evening took a dramatic, ninety-degree turn straight into the mundane: how my car was dirty and needed washed.

Doh! (a la Homer Simpson)

Somehow, B.J. and I decided to meet up again. He gave me his phone number, and told me to call him the next day for directions to his house so that I could drive over and he could help me to make my car clean.

Our first 'official' date was set for the following Saturday afternoon: B.J. was going to wash my car.

The Second Encounter

After the first party, I didn't think about B.J. again. I had no reason to think about him. In fact, I was still with the guy from the party B. But, our paths were to cross very soon.



"Stranger than fiction" has always been a theme in my life, and in dating there were no exceptions.

B. and I had gone out on a few dates. As I said before, I was not looking for anyone at the time, and what did come my way certainly wasn't going to be for anything long-term. We had a good time, but I knew it wasn't 'the one', whatever that was supposed to mean. We were just enjoying one an other's company for the time being and it was just fine. I was barely 18 and B. was somewhere between 23-25 (I've forgotten over time) and he worked at a pizza parlor. Sad to say, but I knew he had no ambition in life and was just one of those folks who'd be happy to float along on life's current, wherever it would take him. Even at the tender age of 18 I was a 'hard driver' and high-strung; I knew I needed someone in my 'future' who wasn't entirely aimless. I'll be brutally honest: I was very self-centered and wasn't above dating guys for their cars or the good time I'd get to have with them (gosh, that sounds just as awful as it is; no way around that). I was with B. just to have fun.

Since 'fun' was on the agenda, it came to pass that he and I were asked if we wanted to go on a double date with this couple, C. and B.J. Yup, my B.J. We decided 'why not?' and so the date was set.

It is funny how some things work out. On that date C. and B. decided it would be a lot of fun to get 'messed up' on some illegal substances. At this point in my life I had started to 'wean' myself off of any sort of 'stuff' (if you catch my drift), as I was about to go to college and partying was getting old. In retrospect, it is hard to believe all the partying I did and the kind of partying my friends and I did. Just totally wrong, in every way, shape and form. I chalk it up to good experience nowadays, and I don't necessarily regret it, but sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if only I'd done things differently. But, that is another stream of posts all together. As usual, I'm off on a tangent.


Anyhow, B. J. and I had declined any stuff and that left us stranded in a living room together, without our respective dates. We talked for a while and enjoyed some laughs. Eventually we wound up leaving, separately, in our own cars.

At this point in time, I thought B.J. was a nice guy, and pretty up-right. Never had done drugs, and aside from his twenty-first birthday didn't drink--one bad hangover, his first, was enough to end that type of activity.

I was still not exactly interested, but it was quickly becoming clear that the dating that B. and I had enjoyed was soon to become past-tense.