Random Things in Day by Day

There are at least six different things I should be doing, but I haven’t been exactly stagnant.

I started a non-profit a while back and it has been growing by leaps and bounds. Of course, it will take grant money to move into the big leagues where we can make a bigger splash, so much of my time is consumed with writing those grants.

And while we wait, I keep moving us into positions that make us compliant with that foundation’s requirements. One of those things was drafting bylaws which I spent the better part of the last week writing.

I waited a week for my grant “advisor” (she’s been of some help, but lots of empty promises, too) to provide me with a set of bylaws she’d written. I asked twice. I wasn’t going to ask a third time.

So I googled sample by-laws and wrote my own. They are ready to present on Thursday. TODAY, the advisor sends me her promised by-laws. I compared the two. Mine is better, so I sent her mine.

I need to send a board member info on financials.

I need to compile a list of past recipients, their contact info, etc. for follow-up team.

This week I start to prepare for a pre-registration orientation for a matching grant campaign. That involves a LOT of writing on each aspect and a full profile on each project.

Also on the agenda: make some chocolate chip cookies for the mandatory board meeting later this month (another member is providing a light supper).

I made enough macaroni & cheese (from scratch) to feed 100 homeless people. I actually made enough for 150. Volunteers might get hungry, too.

I need to make mac & cheese for 50 by next Saturday for a funeral dinner.

Yet another project: work on magazine articles for the Jan/February edition. The November/December issue should be coming out either this week or next (not sure).

I continue downsizing. Some is so hard to part with…button pins of Nick’s picture in his Pop Warner football uniform, his school papers I so carefully saved, planning to tease him when he had kids of his own but now no one will want them after we’re gone. I live in a world of dashed dreams now, and so I rebuild by feeding the homeless and starting non-profits, hoping to save a few starfish off the beach. My life has taken such unexpected twists and turns.

We are redoing the master bath. This was the first room we remodeled when we first moved in 30 years ago. It is time to refresh. Perhaps we’ve come full circle. Since the guest bath is Old South/Victorian décor (claw foot tub, subway tile, pedestal sink, etc.), we want the master bath to be masculine yet spa-like.

Eldest son turned 36 last Saturday. He is not happy. I told him I’d be happy to trade places. He was unamused. I promised him lobster mac & cheese for dinner one night this week and thought I’d make him a pumpkin sheet cake (he loves pumpkin).

Happy Halloween! I wonder if we’ll have anyone at the door this year. The little girls across the street assured me they would come over. They didn’t last year, so who knows? I bought some regular size Reeses’ peanut butter cups and regular size Hershey with almond candy bars. If we get trick or treaters, I’ll be the one who hands out the “good candy”, if not, well, those are the candy bars we like. In case we are unexpectedly slammed with doorbell ringers, which hasn’t happened in the last 15 years, I have a bag of fun size Hershey bars. If not, they’ll be good stocking stuffers at Christmas.

Halloween was a big deal in the 1950s town I grew up in. I usually opted to be a witch until the year it rained and the orange witch’s hat got wet and orange ink poured off it and into my hair, face, and costume. By the time I was 11, I was allowed to trick or treat with friends without parental guidance. We used pillowcases instead of the paper sacks they handed out at school and stores, because even if it rained, the pillowcase would not fall apart and it was much bigger than a paper bag. It was not unusual for us to range all over town, returning home to dump off candy and head back out, making sure to hit the houses with the “good” candy a second time.

Our neighborhood was upscale. Famous people live in the town I grew up in. At the time we resided at the house on the hill, the heirs to the Schraftt candy fortune lived at the end of our street. Their estate backed up to the Country Club. As children, we would sometimes knock on their door and talk to the maid, who would hand us a little candy and send us on our way. At Halloween, they would pour handfuls of Schraftt candy into our sacks. There were hundreds of us kids running around. We must have cost our parents a small fortune.

The Schraftt grounds were park-like. The winding drive was heavily treed, so the house was not immediately seen. It rose up in the middle of the forest, resting on a foundation of round rocks, almost boulder-sized, a grand Tudor that breathed Old world style, from the chocolate brown shingles to the gabled roofline. The front porch was twenty feet wide and furnished with wicker rockers and side tables. We loved the Schraftts and they, from a distance, loved us.

And, then, suddenly, they were gone and they’d sold the mansion, oddly enough, to a CEO of Brach’s candy. But the Brachs didn’t have a nice maid. They had Doberman Pinscher guard dogs and warning signs. The dogs were scary. They did not cross the property line, but they’d rush right up, snarling and snapping and running parallel as we walked to school. Scared me to death, but they never went beyond their boundary. My brothers trick or treated there, so they obviously locked their dogs up, but I was never brave enough.

Okay. Enough random things. Talk atcha later, gators.