Author: Average Jane

My Howard Hughes-like germaphobia and Lady MacBeth-style obsessive hand washing finally let me down and I caught a cold a couple of weeks ago. All things considered, it's been a pretty mild cold, but for an asthmatic there's really no such thing.

Band practices are the hardest. I struggled through practice last weekend with vocal cords that were only nominally under my control. We actually auditioned a new keyboard player that day and it's amazing he decided to join the band considering what I must have sounded like.

My singing quality was considerably improved this weekend but I am having a lot of problems with coughing. Even though I'm already using pretty much every remedy my doctor generally prescribes, I may find myself having to go see her if this doesn't let up soon.

Last year when I got my annual case of bronchitis, I happened to be booked to speak to a professional organization while I was still in the throes of all of the coughing and throat clearing. This year—guess what?—I'm speaking at a luncheon in a couple of days. It's a good thing I have an ample supply of cough drops.

In the meantime, I've let my house fall into a state of disarray and I'm spending more time in pajamas than is strictly appropriate. I'm sincerely looking forward to going back to being a hypochondriac instead of an actual sick person.

Photo credit: Robert Francis

The last few times I've used the oven, I've noticed that it started out a bit smoky. I figured there were enough pieces of food flotsam at the bottom that it was time to run the self-cleaning cycle, so once I got finished washing the pots and pans tonight, I set the oven to clean.

Then it started to smoke. Quite a bit. It always smokes a little when it's in cleaning mode, but it was getting rather alarmingly thick. So much so that I opened a couple of windows and turned on the attic fan to clear it out.

Still the smoke kept pouring from the vents around the stove and then I had an awful thought.

I went upstairs and asked my husband, "Did you ever take the pizza out of the oven last night?"

The answer was, "No."

My plan to wait out the smoke was suddenly unfeasible. I shut off the clean cycle and waited for the appliance to cool down enough to remove the offending food item.

It had been two pieces of Papa Murphy's pizza on their cardboard baking tray. When the oven finally cooled down enough to unlock its door, I removed what remained: a charred, curled wisp of what had once been the tray, held down by two charcoal briquettes shaped exactly like olive-studded pizza slices.

Remember that scene at the end of Time Bandits with the evil in the oven? It was a lot like that, only with regular grey smoke instead of yellow.

I've finally gotten most of the lingering smoke out of the air, but I'm sure it will be clinging to all of our textiles and hair for some time to come. I think the only one who enjoyed the experience was Dr. Jones because it gave him the opportunity to fluff up his coat and sit in an open window.

The good news is that it didn't end up setting off the fire alarm, which is hard-wired into our home alarm system. It was embarrassing enough to fill the house with smoke under such stupid circumstances without having the fire department bear witness to my stupidity.

The takeaway is, of course, always check the oven before you run the self-clean cycle. Duh. Now I can no longer make fun of my husband for the time he once did something similar. 

And with that, I think I should probably turn in for the night before I do any more damage. Sheesh.

I have to say this for the current state of meteorology: they called this week's storm pretty much down to the hour. We'd been warned all week that a blizzard was coming on Thursday morning, so I made a special point of stocking up on groceries before my evening meeting on Wednesday.

When I first woke up to take the dog out on Thursday at 6:30 a.m., it was only misting lightly. I went back to bed for an hour and woke to find that it was snowing like mad.

I'd already planned to work from home and our CEO sent an email that advised not to come into the office unless you were within walking distance. The snow kept coming down for most of the day until there was about a foot of it at our house.

This guy tried and failed to drive up our unplowed street. He ended up making it another ten or fifteen feet further and his vehicle is currently stuck in our yard. (I might want to shovel out the gas meter just to make it more visible. Seeing it mostly buried there makes me nervous.)

This how our invisible driveway looked last night before I went to bed. We won't be able to leave until someone comes with a plow blade. The driveway is just too long, wide and slanted to shovel by hand. I've done it in the past (to get out at Christmas, for example), but the incentive is not there right now.

Last night I cooked a turkey breast, resulting in an abbreviated version of a Thanksgiving dinner. Tonight I'll make a turkey pot pie with some of the leftovers. I've been having my usual health shakes for breakfast and so far I'm still not burned out on sandwiches and chips for lunch.

The main problem with the snow is that Toby doesn't want it to touch him. That makes his bathroom breaks an ordeal for us both. Let's just say I did some floor cleaning yesterday. Today he was willing to give the outdoors its due on his first trip out, so I'm hoping that continues.

On today's schedule: work as much as possible (I have an article to write), shovel the front sidewalk, wash the pots and pans from yesterday's cooking extravaganza, and think of something to make for tonight's dessert that carefully shepherds my remaining egg supply (when I got home from the store, the bag with the eggs in it fell off the counter and six of the dozen broke). 

I don't know when our street and driveway will be plowed, but we have more than enough food to get through the weekend. However, it won't be long before cabin fever sets in, so it would be nice to have the option of getting out sooner rather than later. I guess we'll see how it goes!

The last time it snowed, I wore an outfit that seemed appropriate for the weather: jeans (as always), boots, a thermal shirt and a hoodie. When I looked in the mirror, it occurred to me that although I was headed to my office, I could just as well be going out to a barn to shovel out a stall.

Fashion and I inhabit completely different planes of existence. I'm sure it didn't help that I grew up in the '70s, with all of the riotous polyester ugliness that suggests. Once I started choosing my own clothes in the '80s, I did enjoy a decade of minor mall-oriented trendiness, which was good timing since I was young and thin then. By the time the grunge era arrived, I was ready to embrace the XL flannel shirts and comfortable hiking boots, and I've really never recovered.

Fortunately, I can wear pretty much anything I want to my office. When I have a client meeting, jeans are still okay and I just dress things up with a slightly better top, shiny shoes and an accessory or two.

Wear-and-tear is my biggest problem right now. Last week I threw away two pairs of jeans that had gotten so thin in the seat that it's a miracle I hadn't had a major wardrobe malfunction. Sadly, I discovered that another favorite pair of jeans has reached the same stage.

I've been throwing out a lot of clothes lately. I did an underwear drawer purge and mercilessly culled every pair that I had been accustomed to pushing to the back of the drawer. Then I went to Target and bought two enormous packages of replacements in the correct size. It was one of those little things that make life better but often get put off for far too long.

Next on the list is my sock drawer. I love my Chuck Taylors, but they're not kind to socks. Almost every time I get dressed, I discover either a thin patch or a hole in one of the socks I'm putting on. I'm big on mending the holes, but only once.

As much as I am loath to admit it, it's time for a Day of Shopping. Usually these involve my sister, who is also a hater of shopping, but is very good at helping me find flattering clothes without wasting a lot of time.

I'm always impressed with people who know how to put together an outfit and always look great. I just don't think I have it in me. The best I can hope for is to have a consistent style that fits my personality. That, and clothes with no holes in them.

I think I saw a guy who's been breaking into cars near my office. I was walking to lunch and there was a man standing outside the restaurant where I was headed, leaning against the wall. He was dressed in dark clothes and wearing a backpack. More significantly, he was holding a huge chunk of asphalt in his hand that would make a very handy window-shattering tool.

I noted all this as I walked by, although I tried not to look too intently because that asphalt chunk would also be handy for braining someone. I had a fleeting thought that I could call the police. But what would I tell them? They already know that car break-ins are rampant in the area. When we had the rash of them in the garage next to my office the day my car stereo was stolen, several people saw the thief and were able to describe him to the police. 

Of course the police know that this guy (assuming he's the only one, which may or may not be the case) is in the area and continuing his ill deeds. I figure they're either stepping up their patrols or they're not. Probably not, considering that I recently read in the police chief's blog that their goal is to limit homicides in the city to 80 this year, which indicates that they have much bigger concerns.

So we crossed the street in opposite directions, me to get a slice of pizza and he to do whatever it was he was going to do with a giant, jagged hunk of asphalt. 

Should I have gone ahead and called the police or would it have been a waste of everyone's time? Was I too cynical or just realistic?

Photo credit: Paula Bailey