Tales from the Shark Tank

I just went down to the coffee vendor in my building on a quest for something to keep me awake between now and 5:30, when I will be able to blow this popsicle stand. Coming back, an anomalous flash of red-and-white caught my eye. I looked up.

There at the top corner of a door about nine and a half feet tall, neatly balanced on the curve of the brush, was a pristine red-and-white toilet bowl brush. Even the handle, pointing downward at an angle, is above eye-level for a fairly tall man.

I wonder how it got up there, and why someone perched it so. And even more, I wonder how many people have walked past it unseeing.

Today we had a retirement party for a woman who is everyone’s favorite colleague. Several people retired today, but Cookie had the most amazing party. They actually managed to surprise her, which takes doing when you’re bringing 100 or so people into a conference room on a closed floor. I have never before seen Cookie at a loss for words.

I’ll see more of her; she’s a quilter, and so am I. We’ve done show-and-tell on an irregular basis ever since I hung a quilted banner on my door for Chanukah a few years back and she realized that hey, maybe there was a kindred spirit over in the legal division. There was. We’ve traded patterns, fabric scraps, ideas and sillyness for the two and a half years since. She’s a really marvelous person, and I will miss being able to walk over and share stories of the things people do and say with her.

I’ll see her pretty soon, though. She’s talked me into actually joining the local Quilter’s Guild. Have thimble and sewing case, will travel!

My mom is 70 years old. She looks rather like a matzo ball. You know, kind of fluffy? She is the quintessential grandmother, wispy white hair, well-cushioned body and all. She looks about as athletic as a milkweed pod. She really is a classic Little Old Lady.

Well, she decided that she wanted to completely remove about 20 feet of overgrown hedge. My grandfather couldn’t trim the hedges, and wouldn’t pay what it would cost to have them trimmed. So they grew…and grew…and grew. Last time I saw them, they were blurring the line between hedges and trees. They were about 12 feet tall. I know they were, because Grandad’s barn is 8 feet tall, and they were half again taller.

Note the past tense. With nothing but a hand-held lopper, and nary a power tool or chainsaw in sight, my mother cut the whole thing down. It took her about 2 days. When she called the handyman to come take away the greenery, it made two loads for a full-sized pickup with an extra long bed.

When my mom decides a thing needs to be done, she does it. What can I say? Never underestimate Little Old Ladies!