Rosie the Roomba Rocks!!!

Okay. So I like to think that I’m sort of “with it” when it comes to new things and technology. I mean, I manage the eCommunications group for a Fortune 50 company where I’m responsible for all the corporate electronic communications vehicles, including our corporate web and social media presences. Yes, it’s true that I have hired a team of amazing young people who tell me what to do everyday. But still, I rub shoulders with technology-savvy people constantly.

How is it possible, then, that I have missed the Roomba Revolution?!Roomba

John (my retired husband and live-in maid) and I were shopping in Costco yesterday when we came upon a pallet of Roombas billed as “Pet Series” models. Now, anything that cleans up after pets is high on my radar, especially since we recently adopted our third Persian cat. We studied the box and marveled at the claims of effortlessly clean floors listed thereon. But we were very skeptical that anything so small, cheesy and poorly named could effectively clean floors. Really?

Still, we were intrigued, so later, I read all the Roomba reviews on Amazon and decided that we had to give this thing a try. We drove to back Costco and procured one, naming her Rosie–because it seems much more maid-like and productive than Roomba.

We brought Rosie home and plugged her in. While Rosie was charging, John vacumed our floors–a combination of handscraped dark wood and wool area rugs with a few scatter rugs in the kitchen and mud room. I sat and enjoyed a glass of wine on the couch during this observation phase.wine

Once Rosie indicated she was fully charged, we set her off to clean our kitchen-great room-informal dining room-mud room area. Basically, everywhere we live downstairs minus our bedroom and bath. On Rosie’s inaugural run, she cleaned our floor for around two hours, easily gliding over the hardwood and making flawless transitions to the rugs. Ceramic tile in the mudroom/powder room? No problem for her! Rosie has this really cool “whisker” brush that she uses like a tenticle to get even fine crumbs (or cat hair) located in corners and along the baseboard. When Rosie was done, John emptied her “holding tank.” You would NOT believe how much dirt, ick and yuckiness she had managed to pick up.

In the past couple of days, we have run Rosie in this same area three times, each time disgusted by the amound of dirt she continually finds on our floors. Earlier today, we put Rosie to work in our master suite, a combo of carpet and ceramic tile with scatter rugs in the bathroom. The results? Unbelievable! She actually raises the nap on the carpet, so you can tell where she’s been. It is seriously like someone ran the vacum in there while I sat on the couch drinking a glass of wine. One of the coolest things? When Rosie gets low on energy, she goes back to her dock and recharges herself!

A couple of things: Rosie is not systematic and her pattern of cleaning might make you crazy if you’re deliberative and methodical. But I will say there’s a method to her madness, and by my non-scientific estimation gets about 80% of the floors each time she runs. Then she gets a different 80% the next go-round. It’s kinda like shaving your legs quickly every day–what you don’t get today, you’ll get tomorrow. And Rosie probably won’t replace vacuming altogether, especially when you need a deep clean or have particularly dirty floors for whatever reason.

I have to say, tho, after only two full days of Rosie cleaning our floors, we’re delighted with her and we’d purchase all over again. Apparently there is a wet washing version for wood and ceramic that I’m going to check into. I’d love for Rosie’s cousin to mop my ceramic tile while I’m at work. Or while I have a glass of wine on the couch!!

The Baby Cakes Says

The Baby Cakes just turned four last Wednesday. In four short years, she has said so many hilarious things that I could have written a book by now. I’m sorry that I’m just now taking time to write them down. Even so better late than never. I’ll be back from time to time to update.

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Baby Cakes at 3-1/2 years

Animal Doctors

We’re driving in the car a few months ago, and we pass our veterinarian’s place. “What’s that?” says the Cakes.

Me: It’s Mo and Alice’s doctor. They call animal doctors ‘vets.’

Cakes: Vets? A vet?! I’ve never heard of such a thing!

Me: Yeah, well, you’re three. There’s a lot you’ve never heard of.

At the Movies

We’re sitting in the theater waiting for the movie to start. Baby Cakes looks at me and says, “I’ve been wanting to see this movie my whole life.” She just turned four.

In a Day’s Work

I work for the world’s largest premiere construction machinery company. When she and I are in the car and we see one of those famous yellow and black machines, the Cakes squeals at the top of her lungs, “Nana tractors!” With all of the construction on I-74 between Peoria and Morton, it can be non-stop. And the Cakes thinks I single-handedly built each and every one of them.

“Look there’s another one!! And it’s moving!” the Cakes squealed with delight after about the tenth machine. “Wow, Nana. You sure do have a lot of work!”

Stopping for Rainbows

We keep the Baby Cakes every Thursday and alternate Saturday mornings. The Cakes is,  in a word: Amazing. She teaches me something everyday. We pick her up at daycare and usually head out to Wolf Crossing for tea parties, pancakes and Peppa the Pig videos. Last Thursday was no different. And now that Grandpa built the coolest playhouse in the world out back at Wolf Crossing, the Cakes can hardly wait to get there. IMG_1904[1]IMG_1898[1] Now she has a set of pots and pans and lots of fake food to serve anyone who comes to visit her in the tiny house! The time flies when you have such cool stuff to play wiith. Last Thursday before we even knew it, it was time to go meet Mommy.

We loaded the car, buckled our seat belts and headed to Peoria Heights. But before we got out of our subdivision, I saw a rainbow high in the evening sky. I was certain Baby Cakes couldn’t see the rainbow, and even tho we were running late, I asked her if she had ever seen a rainbow. She said, “No.” So I pulled over and the two of us got out of the car so we could see it. “It’s full of beautiful colors!” the Cakes squeeled with delight while pointing at the sky and jumping up and down. She was so happy to have seen her first rainbow and I was blessed to share it with her. Afterwards, I was so glad that we had stopped and gotten out of the car.

I hope that someday, after I’m gone, whenever Cakes sees a rainbow, she will think of me and smile.rainbow

The Journey Home

This is a story I wrote to be entered in an animal shelter contest to help the great folks at Specialty Purebred Cat Rescue. They do amazing things. Check them out at http://www.purebredcatrescue.org/?gclid=CL7ptdCZ77MCFe5FMgodAAIAJg

Our kitty’s story begins in Cairo, a city whose people once revered and worshipped cats in ancient times.  Ironically, today millions of stray cats roam the troubled streets of Cairo—starving, neglected and abused. A true Egyptian Mau with bright green eyes, our kitty was born not only homeless, but with both back legs severely deformed and useless, void of joints. It would seem a hopeless situation to most. And for most, it would be.

We can only imagine how our kitty was able to survive his first few months. Dirty, scraggly, bone-thin and dragging his dangling legs behind, he must have been a pitiful sight. Through the Egyptian Society for Mercy to Animals (ESMA), our kitty was given a chance at life—a plane ride to Chicago, where he was met by ESMA partner, Specialty Purebred Cat Rescue (SPCR) of Kenosha, WI, USA and whisked to his foster home for love, nourishment and medical care.

When our kitty’s picture appeared on the SPCR website, Miki, a vet tech, instinctively knew she was meant to adopt him.

Our Kitty’s Picture on SPCR Website

But after meeting him for the first time, it was only then Miki understood how extraordinary he is. “He has such a huge personality. He’s very self-confident and always on top of things,” she said. Miki named our kitty Chenzira—Egyptian for “born on a journey.”

Chenzira now happily lives with Miki and her husband, two dogs and four kitties. But don’t tell him he’s handicapped. Chenzira doesn’t know it.  Miki says he’s the fastest of their cats and even faster than the dogs, racing up and down the stairs at will. From the streets of Cairo to the safety of his forever family—a journey indeed. And just one more happily-ever-after ending made possible by SPCR.

Down by the Sea

Vacation. It’s a lovely word, really. And what better vacation is there than a few days with amazing friends in an amazing resort relaxing under Florida’s ever-changing October sky? Our friends and foodie soul mates, Doug and Diane, having made a generous charitable contribution, were in turn given the keys to a small kingdom for a few days of paradise. And they invited us and another lovely set of friends, Mike and Heidi, along for the ride. How lucky are we?

View at Hammock Beach Resort

My, but it was a beautiful place, too, located on Hammock Beach—a three-bedroom mini-palace decorated in hushed earth tones with a striking marble entry, Viking appliances and opulent linens. We spent hours walking on the pristine beach, cooking fresh seafood and drinking wine. Paradise, indeed. Now, the resort is located just a few miles south of St. Augustine–which according to the locals–is the true unsung birthplace of European settlement in North America. Who knew?

St. Augustine, Florida

One evening, about a week before Halloween, we decided to make the trek up to St. Augustine for an evening of tourism-style ghost hunting. And so, anticipating the journey, the six of us piled into our friends’ rented Crown Victoria–a massive, formidable ghost-busting vehicle if ever there was one. Upon our arrival, we met our tour guide for the evening: affable Alice, outfitted in black boots, a flowing-fringed cape and possessing paranormal-activity-locating paraphernalia. And of course, we had our cameras ready, too.

Huguenot Cemetery in St. Augustine

For about two-and-a-half hours, Alice guided us through the city gates, down cobblestone streets and into tiny alleyways where the folklore of yesterday’s mischief and mayhem still live today. And we frequented several pubs along the way. Of course.

Alice encouraged us to take pictures and study them later for aberrational images. Hmm. See the one photo below I took in the upstairs of a 17th century pub where the then-owner, “Annie,” apparently plunged down the stairs to her death.

Aura above the left arm of the chair? You decide.

This photo shows an aura or something that looks like a pillow on the left arm of the chair, although there was nothing in the chair. Who knows? But we had a great time talking with Alice and each other and visiting the history of this lovely little sea-side city to which we hope to return someday.

St. Augustine Beach

Reflecting on Resilience

It’s been a couple of months since I’ve written in my blog. No reason, really. I guess not much happened in my life that seemed worth writing about. And isn’t that usually the case? Life. It’s what happens while you’re waiting around for something big. And mine seems to be flying by.

In a couple of weeks, I will turn 54 years old. Wow. Just looking at that number shocks me. How did this happen? Yesterday I was 17. That was the year that I got married-way-too-young. I was 20 when Luke was born and 23 when Amie arrived. I was 27 when I got divorced and 32 when I graduated from Purdue. I was 33 when John and I married and moved to Peoria. I was 38 when I struck gold at Caterpillar and 44 when I became a grandmother for the first time. AND I had a tummy tuck later that same year. I was 45 when I first went to Europe and 50 when we built Wolf Crossing in Morton. These are the milestones of my life.

There are some important things I’ve lost along the way. . .some because of neglect, some due to inconvenience and some just because that’s the way life works.

And while I’ve lost some important things, I’ve kept some unimportant ones. Like a few boxes in the basement John wishes I would part with. And what about the philodendron in my kitchen? It’s origin dates back to my paternal grandfather’s funeral. He died on my birthday 30 years ago when I was pregnant with Amie. Someone–who I also have since lost–sent it to the funeral with my name on it. The plant has been big and small and cut back to a stub more than once. I remember John accidentally dropping it one time and nearly all the roots were broken. He said, “Well, if it’s possible to kill this thing, I just did it.”

Here’s how it looks today.

And so it is. And so let it be. Will I actually buy an apartment in Paris someday? Will I ever again weigh what’s listed on my driver’s license? Will I write that book? Who knows? But life is good and I am happy. So is my philodendron!