Changing Times

Our neighborhood could be described as "charming", "family-oriented", "tree-lined" and, perhaps even "old".  At least that's how I look at it and love it.  It's what drew us to this 'hood in the first place.

But all that's changing thanks to "McMansions".

I do not love it.

My favorite home in the area recently bit the dust to a developer's plan for "progress towards the future".

Here it is...  Gorgeous, beautifully maintained and in pristine condition-- literally move-in ready-- all 3,000 square feet of it.  Problem is that this beauty, although on a shallow lot, is located on a double wide lot and that made it a developers dream.

First a "Notice" of demolition was posted and then, way too shortly thereafter, this started...

After that it was hard even walk down the street anymore.

The sad ending is that two, count 'em TWO 5,000 square foot houses will be built on the lot in it's place.  Two monster houses in the place of one lovely home.

This isn't the first sad story like this in our community-- it's actually being written about in the newspapers and talked about on the television and radio news all the time.  But developers have deep pockets and it appears, at least so far, nothing "legally" can be done to minimize the overbuilding of lots.

I totally get "progress" and an owner's right to do with their home/property what they want to-- really, I get it.  But I don't get the pile of rubble that once was a perfectly good home that's now in a landfill somewhere.

Or maybe I'm just really sad that the landscape of our neighborhood is changing-- literally.

Is this happening in your neighborhood?

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Scream and Shout!

 Call it an "In Case of Emergency" photo...

This picture was taken yesterday at the Ringling Bros. Circus with my godson.  It was a total blast! 

I'm saving it for a day when I really need to let loose and have a good rant-- like today when my contractor waterproofed and sealed my patio in the wrong color.

Yep, I'm going to need to scream!

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

A Vacuum Cleaner Beating

It all started innocently enough--  Vacuum the house and then go for a much-needed walk on a warm Southern California day.  It's feels (and looks) like about a decade since I worked out and I figured the combo of vacuuming and walking was a good place to start and would count as weight training and cardio (That's only a little stretch of the imagination, right?).

But half way through the living room chore my trusty vacuum started wheezing-- just a little at first, but than it worked itself up into a high pitched screech that had the neighbor's dog wailing. 

I fussed and fiddle with the machine trying to make things right, but couldn't identify where the noise was actually coming from-- Not the hose, the bag or any one specific place.  Screaming at me, it was as if the entire vacuum was either in shock that I was dragging it around cleaning... Or it was on it's last leg.

Dang.  I really like this vacuum too.

Since the vacuum was still picking up dust, I kept pushing it along, praying the noise would stop, and cleaning from one room to the next, until the exhausting and nerve-wracking job was finally finished. 

By this time, I knew I had to take the machine in for repair and was giving myself a good talking to because I couldn't identify the source of the noise-- Translation:  Not paying attention when I pulled the plug out from the wall while at the same time stepping on the button that retracts the cord and winds it up inside the machine all nice and neat.

Well... like I said, it's been a while since I was the one doing the vacuuming around here and I'd forgotten about the crazy cord rewind.

Note to self:  Do not bend over, thereby putting your face too close to the machine when the cord is whipping towards you at the speed of light.

Faster than you can say "Mike Dyson", the plug and my face-- specifically my lip-- collided in a rather uncomfortable smack, just barely avoiding chipping a tooth, but definitely doing significant damage to my bottom lip.

Let's just say much blood followed and by the end of the day I looked like I'd gone a few rounds with an able-bodies contender.

But it was only the vacuum who beat me up-- The vacuum that was repaired waaay before my lip healed.  The vacuum that didn't dare wheeze or screech while I still had a fat lip.  The vacuum that taught me a valuable lesson-- not the least of which was that from now on, I'm letting someone else do the cleaning around here!

# # # # #

Gosh, I can't believe how long it's been since my last post!  All's well, I've just been really busy.  I have lots to share and promise to be back soon.

How are YOU?

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Sent From Heaven?

There has been extensive debate in our household over getting a very big guard dog ever since our home was robbed.  There is a long list of "pros" for a dog, not the least of which is the police detective strongly suggested we get one. 

Then there's the list of "cons".  Dog hair, nail scratches on our hardwood floors and the ever necessary "poop bag" when walking the dog multiple times throughout the day.  Truth be told, the poop bag is really the biggest reason I've nixed the dog idea since I'd be the one carrying around the poop.

But out of the blue today, the dog debate took a major turn!  Not only did we get a really big dog-- We got a fearless guard dog to stand watch over our house-- Literally! 

Fido arrived, much to our surprise, front and center on our roof (!) for all the world to see. 

It's as if this lovely pooch was dropped from the heavens to protect us.

Unfortunately, the dog belongs to our next door neighbor...

...And we have absolutely no idea how she got on our roof.

No.  Idea.  Whatsoever!  It's a total mystery.

I kinda wished Fido could stay up there but the neighbors asked for her back.

Have you ever had an unexpected/unexplained visitor?

For more Sundays In My City, Stop by and see Unknown Mami.

 Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

My Godzilla

There are very few things that totally and completely freak me out.  In our home, for example, I handle the spiders and bugs.  And, ahem, "mice".  It really doesn't bother me.

But snakes...  Not on your life!  I do not like them or their ugly cousin the lizard.  They pretty much put me over the edge and that doesn't seem to be mellowing with age.

Case in point--

Recently I was chatting up my husband on the telephone while packing for a mini vacation.  We were leaving the next morning and I wanted to be sure I had everything in the suitcase.  We'd run down our usual check list of warm weather packing and I'd forgotten flip flops.  So, I open the closet door and reached for my favorite orange pair and, and, and...

Oh.  My.  Gawd!!!  There was a huge, Godzilla-sized lizard stretched across the front my shoe closet.

And I almost touched it-- With my bare hand!

I was screaming to my husband to come home and help me but he heard nothing.  I was so scared, that despite my best efforts, no words escaped.  In an instant, through the hysteria, I knew that something had to be done but I was not touching that monster.  No way.  No how.

After nearly hyperventilating I'd made enough noise that the Godzilla withdrew into a shoe cubbie in our bedroom closet so at least I knew where it was.

I caught my breath, told my husband to come home immediately and then got down on my hands and knees, butt in the air, so I could see into the cubbie that was only 8 inches off the floor.
I vaguely remember Husband mumbling something about taking care of it but hung up the phone before he finished.  He knows my fear of snake things and I was confident he'd burn rubber the entire mile and a half drive from his office to our home to save me.

Confident Husband would arrive VERY soon, I mustered the courage to slowly remove shoes from the cubbie so I had eyes on Godzilla again.

He'd stretched out the length of the back of cubbie with the tip of his tail curved to fit.  In other words, he was a whopping 15 inches long!!!  Oh no, I didn't call him Godzilla for nothing!  This guy was BIG and he was in my bedroom shoe closet.

Without a doubt, I knew that if I lost sight of Godzilla before Husband got home to remove it, we'd have to sell the house.  I absolutely would not be able to stay here ever again.  And I'm not kidding.

Call me crazy but I hate lizards and snakes that much.

So there I was, my arthritic knees aching and feeling like the blood circulation in my legs was nearing its end.  My head, bent down to see into the cubbie, throbbed, and I was in a panic that Godzilla would make a move before I could figure out how to trap him in place.

What to do, what to do.

I finally spotted a clear plastic bin not far away that was the exact width of the cubbie so I could see what Godzilla was up to.  But, it had small 1/4 inch holes in it.  I sized up the holes and the lizard and was confident in thinking Godzilla would never fit through them.  He was a very big guy and these hole were pretty small.

Thank gawd.

So while keeping eyes on Godzilla, I maneuvered around to reach the plastic bin with my foot, kicked it contents and slammed it up against the cubbie.  I swear I heard the angels sing.  What a relief. 

Godzilla and I stayed in place--  Me, still bent over on my knees and him, calmly stretched out in my cubbie.  For SURE, I thought, Husband would be home to rescue me any second.  After all, it had been at least 30 minutes since we were on the phone.  WTH?!?!?!

Tick, tick, tick, tick....

Godzilla started looking board, his neck stretching out as if to get a better look at the situation.  I squeaked out some nose to scare him to stay in place but he'd been there so long he was ready to make a move.

I was so stinking happy to have that clear plastic bin covering the cubbie opening holding him in place.  I wouldn't have to touch Godzilla with my bare hands or worse, risk loosing him all together, and that was a very good thing.  He could move around the cubbie all he wanted but he was not going anywhere.

Right?

Wrong.

Godzilla got his nerve up, despite my screaming, and crawled into the plastic bin.  Then he stuck his head though one of the 1/4 inch holes.

C.R.A.P.

Where was my husband!!!

Then he did the unthinkable!  Godzilla started squeezing his BODY through the holes as if someone had pulled the strings on a very tight corset making him freakishly thin.  I became a lunatic screaming, this time a loud shrill streams of !@#%$! and I banged on the bin with my shoe until he squeezed his sorry self back into the cubbie.

I nearly had a heart attack.  Godzilla actually looked unfazed.

Still on my knees, butt in the air, I called that lizard and my missing-in-action-husband every name in the book.  If Godzilla so much as blinked I screamed him back into the corner.

We sat there like that-- blinking, screaming, backing up, for another full hour before my husband calmly walked in and asked if the "little lizard" was gone.

One look at my ghost white face and the darts shooting out of my eyes at him was a solid clue that the lizard was still in 'da house.

I immediately sent husband to find a few supplies that would allow him to slide Godzilla out of the cubbie and into a box with a secure lid so he could be removed.

Ten minutes later and with none of the supplies, I agreed to change positions with my husband providing he swore on his children's lives not to take his eyes off Godzilla-- and yes, that meant he would need to be on his knees, head bent down to the ground at eye level resulting in his butt being in the air.

Husband also agreed that if he lost that lizard I would immediately be moving into the Four Seasons Hotel until a new home had been found for us to live in-- I was taking no chance at crossing paths with Godzilla ever again.

Husband knew better than to disagree with me.

We made the guard duty switch and off I went gathering the necessary supplies.  I returned in less than 3 minutes and prepared to pass the box to Husband.  But...  Husband looked a little green in the face.

Apparently Godzilla tried to make a quick escape through the plastic bin holes in my absence and Husband saw his life, and our bank account, pass before his eyes until he got Godzilla under control and back in the cubbie.  (In hindsight, I'd have liked to have seen that.  Ha!  Coming home an hour and 45 minutes after I screamed on telephone.  Sheesh.)

So now it's obvious that Husband, who is not good at this kind of thing anyway, was not going to do the deed and get Godzilla into the box.  That would be my job.

Again, I made him swear that if anything went wrong and Godzilla was not removed from our house, that I would be living elsewhere.

With the patio door to our bedroom wide open, I said a prayer and wiggled Godzilla into a box using a backscratcher.  He flopped in and the lid was slammed shut.  My hands were shaking and I could feel Godzilla moving around in the box.

By now,  it was all I could do to stand up.  My legs were numb and with the box in my hands I couldn't use them to help me up.  That freaking lizard took years off my life.

When I finally made it to the patio, I flung the box as hard and as far as I could-- Watching Godzilla exit the box and swan dive onto the grass.  He landed, shook himself off and sauntered into a heap of yellow tiger lilies by the pool... Before losing sight of me, he stopped, looked over his shoulder and gave me a look like "I'll show you lady."

And he did.

Because now I can never go into the back yard again.

What scares the daylights out of you?

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit: © Andrey Burmakin - Fotolia.com  © seyhoeroglu - Fotolia.com  © Lonely - Fotolia.com

Waving Good-bye

It is with a very heavy heart that I say my beautiful mother passed away November 3rd.

Thirty-three days in the hospital was a very long time to keep her spirits up, but Mom’s grace was always in check even as her taste buds and tolerance for cream of wheat and red jello wained.  Despite the difficulties she faced during her surprising and brief illness, she almost always had a smile on her face and a kind word for the nurses and doctors-- if even if that "kind word" was a request for a hot fudge sundae.

After lengthy conversations with doctors, Mom made a very clear and thoughtful decision to stop treatment and all the poking, prodding and unsuccessful procedures repeatedly prescribed to her.  They weren’t working and she knew it.  Mom wanted to be back in her home, and her own bed, with her dog and cat curled up beside her.  She was not afraid of her decision to leave the hospital and placed herself completely in God’s hands.

These past several weeks have been heartbreaking, as you might imagine, but at the same time, my siblings and I, along with my 12 nieces and nephews, all had the same comforting and heart-felt knowledge about our mother, grandmother and great-grandmother.

We.  Were.  Loved.

And our mother took her job as a parent very seriously.

Mom supported and encouraged our interests, hobbies and studies attending every dance recital, horse show, school function, sporting event, party, ceremony, divorce, birth, Grandparent Day, concert, graduation, and community events we participated in-- And she was present and happy to do so.

She showed us through her friendships what it meant to be a friend, and she gave us the tools we needed to grow into responsible adults and parents.  She helped us raise our children and taught us through example to work hard for what we wanted.

Our mother also taught us the difference between right and wrong, and the importance of always telling the truth.  She insisted, for example, that we stand outside on the front porch, even during blizzards, so she could honestly tell a phone caller we didn’t want to speak with that “we weren’t in the house right now.”

Mom gave us confidence with the absolute knowledge that no matter where she lived, she would always have a “no-questions-asked” policy if we ever needed to come back home again--  With open arms she provided a bed or an extra seat at the dinner table for as long as we needed help.  She was our safe haven and always had our backs.

Our mother was always a woman of prayer and devout faith who taught us to worship the Lord in whatever way that worked best for us.  Regardless if we followed her exact path or not, mom prayed we had a relationship with God and she made no judgement of how we participated-- although sometimes not so subtly-- like during the 70s when she would answer the phone “Good Evening God loves you”-- a statement that was absolutely horrifying to us as teenagers.

Her funeral on a Sunday seemed fitting because it was Mom’s favorite day of the week. Starting with Church in the morning, always sitting in the same front pew on the right side-- a spot she told us she picked so us kids would have to behave ourselves during services-- and ending the day with her calling each of my siblings and me to “count noses” as she’d say, to make sure we were all okay, even if she’d seen or spoken to us countless times that week already.  It was our mom being our mom.

So tonight instead of hearing her voice to check in, the five of us will remember our mother and...

The incredible amount of butter she enjoyed consuming on a daily basis...

Her wearing layers of sweaters even in 90 degree weather...

The smile on her face when she ate ice cream...

And S’ agapaw -- a secret code for I love you.

We will remember how mom loved her 29 cent lectures from her mentor, protector, advisor and best friend-- her sister, and how she had a smile reserved just for her when she called her durdle-der...

And how she was the best mother-in-law ever...

Her "love 'em and hug 'em" parenting advice...

And “Flapping her wings” to help us fly home to her safely.

We’ll remember how dinners together as a family were very important to mom...

How there was always room at her table for one more...

And how she always ended Grace by saying “Make us mindful of our need for You, Lord, and our need for each other”.

We will remember how she would undress her newborn grandbabies to count their fingers and toes...

And how she blessed their foreheads when she saw them...

And how much she loved her extended family like they were her own.

With appreciation, we will remember how she kept her cool during heated teenage battles with “That’s okay, I love you enough for both of us”.

And we will remember mom’s endless wave-- Mom would stand in her driveway or front window and wave good-bye every single time we’d leave her home-- Waving with both arms until our cars were completely out of sight.

When mom passed in her home it was heart-breaking and beautiful all at the same time.  She made it very clear to us that she wanted it to be quiet so she could have her eyes wide open so as as not to miss any part of her journey-- And that’s how it was, with a peaceful smile on her face and a calmness we have never witness before, mom reached up to heaven on the wings of her deep, deep faith and gently graduated to heaven.

When the funeral director came to take mom away-- who also happened to be a lifelong friend, he gently wrapped her in a hug and placed her in his vehicle.  Our family instinctively followed him outside and all stood in her driveway.  Together, we waved, with both arms, one last time, until our mom was completely out of sight-- But she will be in our hearts forever.

Joanna

Random Stuff

Somewhere between the teen years and middle age I became very aware of my home and surroundings and the necessity to have a "place for every thing".  As I grew in years, clutter disappeared and I stopped bringing items into my home that I didn't either love or actually need.  Stuff minimized, dust rarely settled, and clutter-free lines and space became my preference.

It wasn't always like that.  Growing up, my bedroom was referred to as "the pig pen" by my parents who repeatedly told me to either clean it up or keep the door closed.  Although I had ample closet and dresser space, my clothes usually lived in piles covering the floor.  In short, it was a mess and the door was always closed, even on hot, humid Ohio nights.

In my 20s I lived in a tiny one room studio apartment and that is perhaps where the transition began.  There simply was no place for endless stuff or untidiness.  I moved into the apartment with my clothes, a few garage sale pots and pans, and a sofa that pulled out into my bed.  That was it.  Slowly the home filled but I learned to edit as I went and the space was actually perfect for me.  I loved that apartment and lived there for several years.

My 30s brought better jobs that netted bigger apartment budgets and more space to fill, but I managed to remain true to my need for useful and cherished possessions.  It also brought the loss of some of my dearest loved ones and the beginning of an accumulation of their possessions that I continue to carry with me today.  This collection of mismatched and very random items has grown significantly but I'm okay with that.

In short, I have become the minimalist with a lot of other people's stuff.

Our home is being repaired and painted this week and I needed to empty cabinets so the workers could move them.  A flood of memories nearly knocked me over, as it always does, when I pulled out piece after piece of mementos, most of which I've never used or displayed but can't bring myself to part with.

There's the single black and gold high ball glass I remember my Dad liked so much, although I have no memory of him ever drinking from it, and all the remaining glasses from the set are long gone. The silk tassels from my dear Mrs. Smith-- the ones she kept in her nightstand but for her own personal reasons unknown to me, couldn't part with are with me too as is my grandmother's blue cookie tin that never held cookies but always sat on the corner shelf of her living room-- I have them all stored carefully in a cabinet in my dining room, all out of sight but perfectly protected.

The most recent acquisition-- blue and white "pigs" salt and pepper shakers belonged to my late step-father's first wife-- She loved them so he kept them on a shelf in the living room he and my mother shared for 20 years.  None of his five children wanted them when Dave passed away two years ago this week, but I figured if he couldn't part with them, then they shouldn't land in their garage sale so I kept them for him, safe in my cabinet.

When I carefully unwrapped my favorite "pointy black olive dishes" as they've always been referred to, I burst into tears-- something that caught me a bit off guard.  These dishes graced the dining table of my youth-- the times when we used the "good china" and "fancy napkins".  They each held a jar of black olives, which for our large, budget conscious family, was considered a real treat.  These dishes were always the last thing dad would place on the table before dinner was served but the first things that were eaten and emptied before anyone even had the chance to sit down and say grace.

Those "pointy dishes" were hot targets for me and my young siblings and olives were swiped by the handful despite Mom and Dad's best efforts to chase us away and "save them for company".

All of the "points" are chipped and sharp, making the dishes totally unusable but still, I can not bear to part with them.  Their memories are too vivid and the happiness and laughter they brought to our family over the years are still to fresh-- or is it raw?-- since my dad passed away so very long ago.

My cabinet is filled with eleven pairs of crystal candlesticks from countless loved ones who passed them on to me because they knew "I'd keep them safe".  There's also the silver candle sticks my parents gave my dad's folks for their 25th wedding anniversary.  These are one of the few things I use on a regular basis-- and always keep them polished out of respect, and frankly pride, that I have them.

I found it very unsettling to look out over my dining room table and living room this week-- dust, clutter and stuff everywhere.  I've come to realize that perhaps I'm getting a little eccentric in my old age with "the need for clean" as a sink with a few dirty dishes, an untidy closet or a room covered in plastic makes me uncomfortable and, dare I say, unable to sleep until it's tidied up.

It's also true that my collection of stuff will no doubt continue to grow as more loved ones pass and mementos are shared with me.  I wonder what will happen to it all when I'm gone.  That is a questions I probably will never have an answer to.

Looking around our home, there are so many things I love and cherish-- all carefully selected and accumulated over the nearly 25 years my husband and I have been together.  I wonder if they'll be passed on and loved as dearly as we do.  Each hold special memories and most have a story about how or where we found them.  I'd like to think at least some of our things will be cherished by the younger generation and not relegated to a garage sale, but again that is an answer I will never know.

But, it's truly the random, mismatched items in my cabinet that pull at my heartstrings the most and bring that lump in my throat that makes me swallow hard not to cry.  Each piece has a story, some known only to the person that gave it to me, but a story nevertheless that I hold dear and cherish.

Do you accumulate have "random stuff"?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit: © Jan Jansen - Fotolia.com

Lesson Learned

I'd like to think I'm a fast learner-- that I pick up on things quickly, and learn from my mistakes.  It started at a young age and in my 55 years, I've regularly thought about these lessons as I trot through life.

Take my earliest memory of a hair cut for example.  I learned never to cut your own bangs like my big sister did, especially the day before you were getting your picture taken.

When my baby brother was born, eight years after me, I learned that I did not like folding cloth diapers which we used back in the day.  And I learned that if mom accidentally washed the white diapers with a pair of new red shorts, baby brother would be wearing pink diapers much to my mother's chagrin.

I learned that dressing for a luau party was fun at the time but "flashback" photos tend to crack up the entire family.

This is my baby brother and dad about 30 years ago.  My brother just sent this and it's my new fave picture of my dad who passed away nearly 20 years ago.  I'm pretty sure neither of them are wearing anything pink under those white pants.

For the first half of my life I tried to get out of my hometown and in the second half of my life I learned home will always be O H I O...

 My nieces, all for our which will be attending The Ohio State University in the Fall.

After years of trying to out-do Martha Stewart, I finally learned it's exhausting and the food tastes exactly the same on paper plates as it does on all those dishes that needed to be washed after a dinner party.  I've also learned that ordering food in, or better yet, dining out is awesome and totally stress-free.

I learned that after my retirement, it was really hard to "find my groove" and daily routine without working 60+ hours a week at my former job.  That was much harder than I ever expected it could possibly be.  For a good long time I think the lady at the post office thought I was stalking her with my near daily visits for stamps just so I'd have an excuse to get out of the house and talk to someone.

In retirement, I finally learned to quilt, which is a hobby I always wanted to tackle but never had the time for.  I've shared several of my quilts in this space, each with a great sense of accomplishment.  But with the quilt below, that "Woo-hoo!  I did it!" high that comes with the last stitch faded quickly...

Back of quilt is super soft and not nearly a shiny as it appears in this photo.

The lesson learned here is that one should always prewash their fabrics before sewing, including the backing fabric-- ALWAYS-- because the one time you don't-- things can get very muddy.

 My quilt before washing...

 And after.  Oy.

The quilt is still cool (sort of, I think) but instead of the bright "popping" white that gave it a bit of a three dimensional look, after washing, the gold backing fabric "bled" and the white became a pastel yellow.  Some of the coolness is definitely lacking.  (All this gorgeous cotton quilt fabric is from the best fabric store ever--SewModernOnline.com in Los Angeles.)

But, I've also learned not to sweat the small stuff so my bright "white" quilt is a little less modern and a little softer, shall we say.  And the memory of my brother's pink diapers is fresh in my mind-- That makes me smile.

What have you learned?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com - Joanna Jenkins

Potato Chips and Cheese

Saturday mornings at our house are pretty mellow except for the alarm blasting at 7:30AM so Husband can go play tennis.  It's not my favorite time of the morning and usually I try to fall back asleep, but today I pulled myself out from under the warm covers placing my feet half on and half off the rug causing my toes to curl and immediately go cold.  Then I practically cough up a lung thanks to yet another whopper of a cold I've been nursing for two weeks.

I made myself a cup of ginger tea, something I do not like but have been told repeatedly is "good" for my cold, and I grabbed a half eaten giant bag of potato chips because a cold, in my opinion, deserves "comfort food".  With laptop in hand, I made my way to the TV room with a view of the street, propped myself up on the sofa with a few blankets, and enjoyed my "breakfast" while I read blogs.

Then I heard sirens!  A police car came screeching to a halt in front of the house directly across from ours, guns at the ready, as officers rushed to the front door.

Long story short, the house which as recently purchased by a young couple, was burglarized sometime in the night.  The new owners hadn't moved in yet, but the previous owner left behind a big flat screen TV and a huge impressive looking safe bolted to the bedroom closet.  The safe was busted wide open but fortunately was empty.  Score one for the homeowner!

The robbers clearly knew what was in the house and came prepared with a dolly to lug their loot out!  What they hadn't anticipated was that they wouldn't be able to open the gate to the driveway at the back of the house which meant they had to actually carry the TV out the front door and down many steep stairs to the street!  This unexpected exit route caused them to forgot to take their dolly which police hope is covered with their fingerprints.  Score two more for the homeowner!

This all gave me pause because our house was burglarized in late October.  Although different scenarios, a robbery is a robbery no matter how you stack it up and our little neighborhood has had enough.

I sat on the sofa with a mouth full of chips thinking about what else I could possibly do to make my home safe in what is clearly a hotbed for burglars.  I have a big, loud, new alarm system with all the bells and whistles, except one-- video cameras.  But really-- do I want and need to go so far as to video record the activities in from of and in back of our home?  Apparently so.

As I pondered this thought, drinking now cold ginger tea and practically inhaling potato chips at a frantic stress-related pace, I heard a knock at the front door.  Mind you, it was about 8AM and I hadn't even combed my hair yet let alone changed out of my pajamas.   And I'm pretty sure I had potato chip grease on my face with crumbs all down the front of my robe-- Not attractive.

It was the police asking if Husband and I had seen or heard anything suspicious the night before.  My mind raced to even think where we were the night before when I remembered I was actually on the exact same sofa eating the other half of the potato chips ala the FEED-a-cold-starve-a-fever school of thought.  (At least that my excuse and I'm sticking with it.)

I heard nothing and was of no help, but considering how I looked, I doubt a middle-aged housewife covered in potato chip crumbs was a credible witness anyway.  But, knowing how the homeowner felt I promised to keep a watchful eye out.

To say I hate that yet another home was robbed is an understatement.  This was not a "smash and grab" burglary like ours and others in the neighborhood, rather it was probably somehow tied to the countless people who have been in and out of the vacant house doing repair work who mentioned a 50" flat screen tv and fancy safe to a friend who knew a guy, who knew another guy-- you get the picture.  Regardless, it's nasty and unsettling.

So in the very near future, if you ever come to visit me, be sure to look into the cameras and say "cheese".  And bring a bag of potato chips.  Please and thank you.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit: © greiss design - Fotolia.com

Remote

I feel like the "I've Dropped The Remote And I Can't Pick It Up" tee-shirt wearer, only worse!  Our television's Universal Remote is starting to break and I'm a bit freaked out about it.

And by "starting to break" I mean it doesn't work when it's in my husband's hand.  For the life of him, he can NOT get the remote to turn "Off".  It turns "On" just fine for him-- With the touch of one glorious "universal" button, we hear three small clicks indicating the flat screen, cable box and DVD player are all "On" and working perfectly.  But turning it "Off" is simply not in his powers.

He's changed the Remote's four batteries three times... talked to it... cursed at it... shaken it... tapped it in the palm of his hand repeatedly, cursed some more, and pushed, pushed, pushed the "Off" button-- And nothing!

Me?  One click and the deed is done.  The TV equipment is "Off" and I'm on my way.

What's wrong with that picture?  Husband has never been "Off button challenged" in the past, it only started about a month ago.  I've tried telling him to use his "On" finger, which works perfectly fine,  to turn the stuff "Off" but no luck.  I'm at a loss.  So is he.

The idea of getting a new Universal Remote is daunting.  There is no way I will EVER be able to program it myself which makes for a bit of an expense to hire someone to do it for me... Here in Los Angeles that'll run about $300 for a house call plus the new Remote!

So, do I buy a new Universal Remote and make husband's life easier or do I tie garlic around his neck to ward off evil Universal Remote spirits?  I'd really like to avoid the cash payout so I'm open to suggestions?

What do you think?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit: © antonbrand - Fotolia.com

Lights Please

Lately, my "to-do" list seems never ending with each new day bringing one more "to-do" to the party.

It all started in late October when a burglar (or two) spent time in our home turning the place upside down in search of, what I'm assuming they thought-- based on the ransacked mess, was buried treasure.  Every stitch of clothing and personal items in our bedroom were thrown about in such a mess that I'm STILL sorting, cleaning and washing trying to get their disgusting sweaty palms off our stuff.

Along the way I've learned a lot, and I've become a little too freaked out about the whole thing...

-Take photos of ALL your possessions and your entire home, room by room, closet by closet-- Literally, use your fancy cell phone camera and start taking pictures.  Gawd forbid you ever need them, but if you do, you'll be glad you did.

-Then make time to take "good" photos of your most cherished items (like jewelry?).  Place them on a solid colored surface so they show up well and take photos at different angles and with a ruler in the shot so the size is noted.

-Make a note of the serial numbers for anything that has them-- like your computer, and keep copies in few different places not just on your computer.

-And, turn on the outside lights, at least at your front door, at night.  The police said to turn the radio on when I leave the house during the day too.  The more you do the greater the chance burglars will go elsewhere.

I'm all about lights these days.  All.  About.  LIGHTS!

Yes, I now have 6 sets of exterior floodlight-- 2 lights per set-- 120 watts per bulb.  They automatically turn on from dusk til dawn with a 50 watt light.  Not huge but enough to "glow".  But, if a leaf falls, a hummingbird passes by or a car drives down the street, the yard is lit up like a maximum security prison.  I love it!

At night when we watch TV, we can see three sets of the lights though the windows-- front yard and two on the side yard.  All night long it's as if a child were flicking the light switches on and off, on and off, on and off, every three minutes.  I've never gotten such a workout because every time the light comes on I'm up and checking out the windows.  I can only imagine what our electric bill will be and, um, how long the senor lights last before husband unscrews the bulbs.

In other news..

The "mouse" and by "mouse" I mean it's much larger and significantly uglier "cousin" who took up residence in our master bathroom days before a big dinner party is now history.  He was as unwelcome as the burglars and cost me...

-4 trips to the hardware store, each time getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger traps to catch him
-1 trip to the grocery for more apples-- which seemed to be our "guests" food of choic
-1 trip to garage for a shovel to scoop up the "guest" (trap attached) 24 hours before dinner party
-20 minutes to get the nerve to actually go near the deceased "guest" with shovel
-5 hours of scrubbing the "mouse motel" from top to bottom.

The fund-raiser dinner party was certainly the highlight of the last several weeks and thank gawd the "mouse" was gone well before any guests arrived.  Husband and I agreed that this was probably the nicest gathering of people we've ever had at out home.   (No offense to family and friends.) Of course we didn't know a single person but by the end of the evening, we'd made many new friends.  It was really a treat.

And the best news of all-- You can still enter my giveaway for one of these beautiful ornaments.  Just leave a comment below and you're entered!  Easy peasy.  For more chances to enter CLICK HERE!  Giveaway ends at midnight PT, December 15th. 

Is your house "lit up" for the holidays?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins  
Photo Credit: © VRD - Fotolia.com

Uninvited Guest & GIVEAWAY

Thursday night our house will be jammed packed for a fund-raiser supporting a charity close to our hearts.  And I mean jammed packed!

The food will be plentiful, wine will flow, and if everyone shows up that have RSVP'd, it will be standing room only... Which is not exactly what I'd planned.  Of course when invitations were mailed, we were hopeful all would attend but the reality is our house isn't that big... And, this is a fund-raiser, on a week night, and the odds of 100% participation are usually slim to none. 

Call me one lucky (or crazy) girl but I have my fingers crossed that a big turnout means a lot of much need funds will be raised.

But...one uninvited dinner guest has already arrived-- Two days early!  And he (gawd, I'm praying it's a HE) is very hungry.

Bright and early Tuesday morning, my husband called me into the kitchen with a tone of voice usually reserved for big scary spiders that he wants me to deal with.  I padded in still blurry-eyed, expecting to remove the creepy crawling bugger, but instead he asked if I'd recently eaten an apple-- Which I definitely had not.

Upon closer examination, I realized, based on the teeth marks, that we had a good sized mouse (please gawd, not a rat) hanging out in our kitchen.

Damn it!

Several traps smeared with peanut butter were immediately set-- Traps leftover from a mouse scare about this time last year.  There were no mice then, but there is no doubt at least one mouse is definitely in our house now!  (Please, please, please gawd, just one!)

But the traps in the kitchen did not work and last night as were were getting ready for bed, mouse poop greeted us on our bathroom sink.  At that point I was totally creeped out and there was absolutely no way I was sleeping in our adjacent bedroom. 

About the time my husband rolled his eyes at me for the third time arguing that we did not have to sleep upstairs in the guest room, the little black mouse, now fattened up by all the apples he's eaten in the last 36 hours, ran across the room and back into the bathroom.  To say that got my husband's attention is an understatement.

We slammed the doors closed, ran for the traps in the kitchen, reset them in the bathroom-- now that our critter was captive, and banged around so the mouse would stay under the vanity until we were out of the bathroom.  We slept peacefully in the guest room sure we'd have a fat mouse in one of the many traps in the morning.

We did not.  No mouse, but all traps were snapped closed and peanut butter foot prints were everywhere. 

Today my dear, fearless friend has arrived to take matters into her own hands.  As I type this post, she's locked in the bedroom in search of the mouse.  She's talking to the rodent in a nice sweet voice as she digs through my closet, under my sink, and through the vanity.  I can hear her taking the bed linens off, and working methodically through the rooms.  Every now and then she shouts her progress to me on the opposite side of the door-- Lots of poop, everywhere.  I can't believe she's doing this.  What a great friend.

My fingers and toes are all crossed that she's successful, at which point I will be eternally grateful and in her debt for the rest of my life.  If, by chance, the fat pain in my behind has left the bedroom and moved to other parts of the house, I'm prepared with all of this...

The party is tomorrow night.  If we are not successful I can just imagine-- The buffet table fulled with tri-tip sliders, grilled salmon, numerous side dishes, and the big, fat, black mouse racing from dish to dish on the buffet thinking he's hit the mother load of food, and not caring one bit about the 40+ people gasping in shock.  That outta motivate people to reach for their checkbooks, don't you think? 

Oh.  My.  Gawd!  These traps better work-- Fast.

Any advice?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com
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 GIVEAWAY!

 Don't forget to enter my GIVEAWAY to win one of these gorgeous ornaments!  Leave a comment on this post to enter.  And CLICK HERE for Giveaway details and another chance to win!

People Who Live In Glass Houses

Around this time last year, I put on a happy face trying to make light of a scary situation-- Burglaries in my neighborhood, in THIS POST.  At that point in time, 15 house had suffered "smash and grab" robberies and I was pretty freaked out about it.  So, for peace of mind, I wore and literally carried around with me my most cherished jewelry and possessions for SEVEN months.

I did my due diligence as well to ensure our home was as safe as possible, and I talked with my security alarm company, the Homeowners Association, our Councilman's office, the police Watch Commander and all of my neighbors.  In short-- I was obsessed about making sure robberies in my 'hood did not happen again.

But they did happen, despite our living in a "safe neighborhood".  One house after another was robbed with the same actions--  Smash a back door or window for entry, grab as much loot as time allows, then run to the corner and get picked up by a waiting vehicle.  Despite so many people's best efforts the "robbery ring" continued. 

Friday it was our turn.

Very shortly after I turned our alarm on and left our home, our glass back door was broken-- the exterior door leading to our bedroom-- the 1/4 inch, super thick, glass door we had to take advantage of the beautiful view from our yard...

...was shattered to smithereens leaving our home wide open to robbers.  And rob they did.

The bedroom was methodically ransacked until they found the "mother load of loot" then it appears, they decided to leave the bedroom to explore other areas of our home.  That's when our so called "state of the art" motion sensor burglar system kicked in and the alarm blasted them right back out the broken bedroom door to disappear into the infamous LA traffic.

Our bedroom door.  Gulp.   The one place we thought we were the absolute safest in our home turned out to be the most vulnerable.  If the robbers had actually opened the door an alarm would have sounded but glass isn't "alarmable" and so they removed it.

Days later the sick feeling in my stomach is still very present.  The bedroom door is still boarded up awaiting the replacement glass and is a stark reminder of the destruction and angst caused by a very organized and skillful group of @#$%&! gang members.

I have since learned of newer, more modern "shatter detectors" for glass and, since the entire back of our home is floor to ceiling windows, they will be promptly installed.  Once again, I have made the rounds through our neighborhood distributing information and literally begging homeowners to use their alarm system (the other two houses robbed the same day did not have their alarms on).

Our alarm company representative has been to our home to review our system for recommendations on how best to "arm" our home (short of a gun which I do not want).  And I just spent an hour with the police fingerprint officer-- his black and white police car parked in front of our home brought a momentary calmness to my racing mind.

I see the horrible destruction caused by Hurricane Sandy on the television and know that millions of people are in a much, much worse place.  I'm ashamed to be so upset over a situation that clearly is minor in the scheme of things.  But still, sleep is hard to come by and I am shaken to my core.

Tonight I will be the Halloween Scrooge and not pass out candy-- The thought of opening my door to strangers is too frightening.  And, the knowledge that neighbors will ask if I heard about the burglaries means explaining I not only heard but I SAW--  I love Halloween but my yard full of decorations have been removed and the front of our house will be dark.  The window-filled back of my house will, however, be lite up like a Christmas tree so there is no doubt we are home.

My sweet husband will hold down the fort here, and tomorrow I'm running away from home-- to my first home-- in Ohio.  I.  Want.  My.  Mommy!  Soon I will be eating the worst homemade meatloaf you ever tasted but it will be my Mother's meatloaf.  As odd as it may sound, I find great comfort in that. 

Stay safe, my friends.  xo jj

Say What?!?!

Here in the Jenkins House of Colds and Flu, I knew that after more than three weeks with the worst bronchitis bug I've had in years, that I was looking pretty ragged but I didn't know exactly how bad I was looking until our neighbor, a real estate agent, knocked on the door.


Let's call this guy "Bruce".  He knocks on our door every month to hand out some useless tshatshke with his name and phone number on it in hopes that, should we decided to sell our house, we'll call him first.  He's a nice enough guy but with a drawer full of his junk I kinda feel bad taking any more of his promo materials.


This time when I opened the door for Bruce, he took a giant step backwards away from me.  That was my first clue that I was clearly not at my best and wondered if I'd even combed my hair that morning.  He proceed to chat with his notepad covering his mouth and nose despite my being a full six feet away and with absolutely no plans of kissing the guy on the lips, or anywhere else for that matter.


He chatted away as I suppressed a cough and the urge to blow my nose all the while nodding my head at the appropriate times.  For the record, if Bruce wasn't a neighbor, I'd have never opened the door.  I'm not a fan of those types of cold calls and have no intention of selling my home anytime soon.


Five minutes into his chattering and close to the moment I thought I'd teeter over from boredom and/or a cough attack, Bruce changed conversation gears, got very serious, and handed me his business card.  The expression on his face was that of a guy who'd just eaten a sour pickle.  In hindsight, perhaps he was concerned that my eyes were starting to roll around my head.


Bruce proceed, with great concern, to tell me that he sincerely hoped I had my Will and estate in order and asked if I would please include his business card along with a note stating that he was my preferred real estate agent should I pass away before I sold the house.


I stood there in stunned silence.


So he kept on talking.... Saying that it's always best not to die in the house if at all possible and certainly not to die in some horrific manner as it would stigmatize the house and must be disclosed to potential buyers.


For the record, I am a licensed real estate agent and I know all about disclosing info on a property but I have never, ever, heard a real estate agent asking to be included in a Last Will and Testament, but there my neighbor was, doing just that.
 
I stood there taking this hideous sales pitch in and wondered if Bruce was giving this spiel to the entire neighborhood or just me in all my bronchitis glory.  I thought for a moment of bursting out laughing in his face but, well, he's a neighbor and that could be awkward.  So instead, I started coughing, and coughing and coughing..... until he went away.

Sheesh.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit © alexskopje - Fotolia.com

And Then I Said "Duh".... and GIVEAWAY

I told you about the recent robberies in my neighborhood in this post and how I was wearing every piece of jewelry I own so as not to make it easy for the @#$%^&! robbers to steal my loot.

Well... That's not all I did. I became very proactive and, in addition to blasting dvds featuring loud barking pooches to trick would be robbers into thinking I had a house full of attack dogs, I also bought a big red lock for the side gate that leads to our back yard. My thinking was that anything to slow down the bad guys was a good thing.

I picked a big bright red lock for our 6 foot high gate-- The new gate we had custom made last summer that was bigger, stronger and more secure than our old 6 foot high gate. We thought the robberies were a good reason to finally get a good lock. The red color was selected because it really stood out on the white fence and seemed more serious looking then the others.

Truly, my red lock made me feel so much safer that I've actually left the house a few time without an annoying dog movie blasting.

I knew the lock would be a problem for the gardener so I was on top of things and made sure he had a key so he could come and go as needed. But, I forgot about the pool guy who comes once a week.

Oophs.

So yesterday, several weeks after the purchase of my big strong lock, I called our pool guy-- A lovely man who's been servicing our pool for the past 12 years. I never know when he works but I know he does because the pool sparkles 365 days a year-- I've always assumed he came the same time the gardener did because they're friends.

The pool guy was so sweet and actually seemed happy to hear from me. What I didn't realize when I called his cell phone was that he was actually on our property cleaning the pool-- A day the gardener was not at our house. Strange because I hadn't given him a key to our new "security gate".

What the heck?!?!? Had someone forgotten to lock the gate? Or gawd forbid, was the big red lock broken?

I wish!

The pool guy simply stepped around the "security gate"-- WITH his very long cleaning pole, gigantic hose and a bunch of chemicals in a bucket.

WTH?

So I went outside and took a long hard look at my new security gate and realized it was a complete and total joke-- A fake "security gate", useless other than to hide the garbage cans. Even I could step around it and I'm old and afraid of heights.

The big strong gate is attached to a cement wall with three large steps to help would-be robbers, and nice pool guys, up and over into the back yard! It's not secure AT ALL!

Did I mention we've lived here for 18 years and never noticed what a joke the gate was?

Did I mention that we paid $400 to have the new big strong gate built for "security reasons"?

Did I mention that the guy who sold me the gate kept a straight face when he discussed the "big strong security gate" with me?

Did I mention how stupid I feel?

Needless to say, the red security lock is a total waste and gone... But the dog dvds continues to play over and over and over.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com - Joanna Jenkins

Don't forget to enter my GIVEAWAY for a $25 Visa Gift Card and two copies of Enjoy Every Sandwich. Click HERE to Enter.

Photo Credit: © baurka - Fotolia.com

Bling

These days you can spot me a mile away, that is, if you aren't blinded by my bling. I'm wearing every piece of jewelry I own-- And I'm not kidding-- 53 years worth of jewelry-- Real, fake, heirloom, junk, even a macaroni necklace Godson made in the 1st grade. Everything!

Typing is uncomfortable with two watches on each wrist and several bracelets and bangles clanking together. My fingers are loaded with multiple rings and I'm getting an itchy neck from the many necklaces I'm sporting. Earrings were a challenge but I decided to wear my best pair and the others are in a couple of pouches in my purse-- A backpack that I have strapped on. Where I go, the bling goes.

No, I'm not making a fashion statement. And no, I am not claiming to be "Mrs. Got Rocks" with an expensive collection of jewels. I have a few nice pieces but mostly I have jewelry that I love because of the people who gave it to me. So I made a calculated decision to "use it or lose it", even if that means my fashion statement is a definite "don't" you'd see in magazines.

My reasoning is simple. Our neighborhood has been hit with a string of burglaries-- 15 to be exact, since February. Two guys in hooded sweatshirts, in the middle of the day, walking casually down driveways to the backs of houses, breaking windows and grabbing laptops, cash, medications and jewelry-- thus my new fashion statement.

For the record, I hide my laptop, have little cash at home, and no one in their right mind would want to take my lupus medication- And if by mistake they do, well, all I can say is good luck with that sucker.

Let me preface this by saying we live in what is considered a "safe" neighborhood therefore the only time we EVER see a police car is on the main boulevard for their monthly "traffic ticket speed-trap day". A cruiser actually cruising our streets is a very rare occurrence.

Until now. Cops are everywhere. Yeah!

It wouldn't surprise me if every single household in the three mile robbery radius has called our local city councilman, the police department, and the local police command station complaining, begging and pleading for more protection as a result of the unsolved robberies.

I'm guessing these phone calls are most likely from *cough*ahem*hysterical*cough* people just like me-- Women at home alone during the day-- blasting their DVD player with 101 Dalmatians and Marley & Me so would-be robbers know someone's home and seriously thinking of getting a Very. Big. Dog.

To say I'm angry and nervous about the whole situation is an understatement but I'm just this side of getting a ginormous dog for protection. I'm hopeful the thieves will be caught before I break down and get a well-trained, four-legged burglar deterrent and the dog hair that does with it.

In the meantime, I'll continue wearing all my bling and playing loud barking dog movies day and night. I figure at very least, the robbers will think I'm too crazy to deal with... At least a girl can hope.

Hope you're enjoying November!

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com - Joanna Jenkins

Photo Credit: © JackF - Fotolia.com