Relative worth

I think I'm a decent writer. Better than a lot of stuff I read, that's for sure. But that could mean I read total crap.

I'm hard at work on my two books - mystery thriller and middle-grade reader about weiner dogs run amuck in a retirement home. Mom read the weiner dog book yesterday. "It's good! Really. It's good."

I'm being oversensitive, I know. I don't think it's all that good (what writer does?), so I look for affirmation of that in other people's responses. But can it BE good? I seem to need other people to tell me my books are worth working on, improving, before I can find the enthusiasm to actually work on and improve them.

What was the point of this post. Nothing, really. I was going to try to make some comparision between me thinking my writing is good, and my grandma cheating the local Meals on Wheels out of money.

My grandma eats a Meals on Wheels at the senior center once a week. She dubtifully sticks two dollars into the money bin, the money bin clearly labeled "Suggested Donation: $3.50."

I asked Mom about the discrepancy later. Mom rolled her eyes.

"Grandma seems to think that since she only eats about $2.00 worth of what they serve her, she only owes $2.00."

The pure, insane illogic of that hung in the air like a cloud of escaped flatulence.

I guess it really doesn't matter how good or how not good I think my writing is. I enjoy doing it, and I enjoy doing it to the best of my abilities.

As for the cheap bastards known as "The Greatest Generation", I hope Meals on Wheels prices their meals with the assumption that they're not going to be paid full price, so they ask for more and get reimbursed for what the meal actually cost in the first place.

I'll probably never sell a ton of books. But at least I can always count on senior citizens to keep the "overstock" shelves empty of my 75% off books.

A green pinky finger

My legendary cheapskateness brought me to try to plant tomatoes from seeds this year, rather than almost grown in Jiffy pots that you can just plop in the ground. I bought the teeny jiffy pots, seed mix, and have hovered over them like a mother hen. I gently mist the dirt several times a day, as it basks in the warmth of my laundry room (and new boiler). I started tomatoes, canteloupe, zucchini, basil, and catnip.

Seeing the first green shoots sprout from the dirt is a potent feeling. Like creating something out of nothing. Every day I rush home from work to see how the sprouts did today, what measurable growth there is.

I never thought I'd enjoy something as pedestrian as gardening, but I'm actually kind of good at it. All of my seed pots are sprouting something, even if I have no idea what it is. Mom's right - should've labeled things. I've got the basil mixed up with the catnip. Might make for some interesting spaghetti. I've got tomato stalks in an old bundt pan. Alyssum in egg cartons. I'm not planning on eating the Alyssum. The only pots not growing are the ones I think I forgot to put seeds in. Other than that, I have to say - my fingernails look much better with a little dirt under them.

Score one for the little guy (or gal)

I haven't wanted to blog on this for the past six months for fear that me and my big mouth would jeopardize it. But now it's over.

What is it? "It" would be me, all 5'3, 120lbs of me (okay, in my imagination I weigh 120 lbs) suing a local heating and air conditioning company, and winning. Through mediation, I got approximately 2/3rds of what I was asking for.

This might seem like a defeat. But alas. Defeat is in the eye of the beholder. Or something. Defeat is saying, "Man, it really blows that a company took advantage of a lucrative building contract and chose to install a crappy boiler in your house that almost killed you." That is defeat.

I spent the past six months gathering anything I could that might act as evidence against the company - new heating estimates showing my boiler was too small, all of my many service receipts, photos of rust and condensation buildup on my boiler. I put them in neat ziploc baggies to present during the mediation. Evidence A) Katie watches too much TV.

It was actually kind of fun, playing a game where there were real stakes, and no real losers. My remuneration was never going to result in someone losing their job, nor would it make much difference in the company's bottom line. It did, however, make a difference in my bottom line. You shouldn't have to replace a boiler in a 6yr old house. I certainly wouldn't have chosen to spend my money on that, provided that my house wasn't leaking carbon monoxide. I'm such a tightwad that I haven't even replaced my 6 yr old retainer. Evidence B) Why Katie is Still Single.

I succeeded in keeping my cool, even when the company representatives were trying to make this my fault. Even when the company representatives were refusing to meet my bare minimum settlement offer. I took their bare minimum settlement offer when they stopped keeping their cool. I could hear their voices raise against the mediator in the other room and decided that perhaps the extra few hundred dollars isn't worth having them yell at me to my face in court. Plus, they intimated that I would have to involve a collections agency to get my settlement from them. This plus that minus those equals "Okay, sounds good, please let me know when they have exited the building so I can sneak outside to my car."

I still took a good-sized hit in my finances for a mistake that I still believe was made during the construction of my home. But my home is now safe for habitation. Ellie Bean is as hyper as ever (maybe a little carbon monoxide in the kitty would help her sleep at night?). And I chose my battle. A very scary, overwhelming battle, but I chose it. I stuck with it, and I emerged victorious.

Note to Fate: This still doesn't make up for me losing that beauty pageant in high school. But it helps.