There are so many stories I want to write today, and that’s a good feeling.  I’m finally feeling settled in my new home, and I’m in love with so many aspects of it – most notably the dishwasher, the washing machine and dryer, and the fact that my brother and sister in law live upstairs.  Obviously, those are not in order of actual importance.  It was a joyful Saturday morning this past weekend when, as the wind howled and sleet whipped at my windows, two of my most favorite jammie-clad people knocked on my door to lounge on my couch, drink coffee, and make Thanksgiving plans.

Living in a new space is inspiring me to be productive in new and exciting ways.  It’s partially that I have more space and new amenities, but it’s also that I have to live cognitively and mindfully.  If I don’t pay attention, I’ll end up missing my exit on my way home, lock my keys inside my condo, or forget where I parked my car (but let’s be honest – that is nothing new).  I was particularly productive today.  This morning, with the best of intentions, I packed a gym bag and planned on sweating it up on my way home.  I actually got as far as parking in front of my gym, but the gnawing rumbling in my stomach won the battle of “will I work out or eat a shameful fast food meal.”  It took me about thirty seconds of soul-searching, and the memory of the McRib sandwich commercial I saw yesterday to decide on shameful fast food meal. 

I peeled out of my (clutch and very coveted) parking space in front of the gym and rounded the corner toward the golden arches.  I honestly can’t tell you the last time I bought McDonald’s, I’ve never eaten a McRib sandwich, and I haven’t bought a value meal since grad school (that was ten years ago).  But for some reason, I was determined to purchase a McRib value meal and eat it.  I pulled into one of the two drive-through lines along with approximately forty-seven other people who wanted McDonald’s for dinner.   I got to the speaker and realized I had no idea how to order a value meal.  The menu read “McRib value meal: 500-1200 calories.”  How was that possible? What was the difference in value meals?  I tried to figure out how to ask that question of the static-y voice that asked for my order.  “What are my options in ordering a value meal?” “What?” the voice responded.  I tried again. “I want a McRib value meal.  What are the differences in value meals?” It was becoming clear that I am not a frequent McDonalds customer.  “What do you mean?” she said.  “Well….your menu says 500 to 1200 calories, and that’s a big difference.  What’s the difference in value meals?”  She had no idea what I was talking about.  I finally asked if there were different sizes, and she picked up what I was putting down.  “Medium and large,” she said.  I ordered a medium and pulled up to the collect my delicious McRib dinner.

In a comedy of errors, I ended up failing to get my diet Coke at the window, parked and went inside the McDonald’s to ask for it, refused to return to my car for my receipt as proof of purchase, and ended up inhaling my sloppy (but delicious) sandwich in the McDonald’s parking lot while I cast sideways glances at the man next to me in a mini-van doing exactly the same thing.  Hey. Sometimes you do what you’ve got to do.  I headed from Mickey D’s to my old Mariano’s to buy some staple items.  I’m all about exploring options in my new neighborhood, but it was super comforting to zip around my old grocery haunt to fill my cart with “the usual,” including my regular weekly splurge: a five dollar bouquet of spray roses. 

I got home and set to work adult-ing the hell out of my evening.  I figured surreptitiously scarfing McDonald’s instead of going to the gym was arguably a solid low point for my evening, so I should redeem myself in some way.  I arranged my new bouquet of flowers, marinated and baked chicken breasts I had previously defrosted, took out my garbage and recycling, loaded and ran my dishwasher, and then set to the most important (and disgusting) task I had set out for myself – cleaning the air jets in my Jacuzzi tub.

Now I have never in my life considered what it would be like to have a Jacuzzi tub, and in fact, have not had a working tub in roughly four years.  The tub at my old apartment had a leaky drain and was so rusted out in the hardware that I feared frequent (or any) baths would cause it to leak into the walls and eventually the whole thing would collapse into the apartment below.  On one of my first evenings in my new place, I figured “what the hell,” and ran a hot bath, jumped in, and turned on the jets.  At first, it was amazing.  I mean, it’s a hot tub.  In my bathroom.  Then I looked down to discover brown chunks of crud floating amidst the glorious bubbly goodness of my tub.  I jumped up and out of the tub, turned off the jets, and immediately got in the shower to rid myself of said crud contamination. 

Over the last two weeks, I’ve researched ways to clean a Jacuzzi tub, and learned some vom-inducing facts about what exactly those brown, flaky pieces of crud are composed of.  I’ll spare you the details, but it’s basically what builds up in the jets when the tub is not adequately cleaned often.  You can use your imagination.  Ewww.

Now, the people that lived in the condo before me were beyond immaculate in their upkeep of every aspect of this home.  In order to get the unit ready to show, the previous owner took a Q-tip to the rods in in the sliding closet doors, and there was not a speck of dust to be found.  Anywhere.  How could they have left the tub in this condition?  I can only imagine that they simply didn’t use the jets.  They had a four-year-old, and while they likely used the tub, turning on the jets may have felt like an extravagance.  It did for me (but then again, let’s remind ourselves of my previous tub-less existence). 

Now you may be wondering.  How do you clean a Jacuzzi tub? Turns out you dump two cups of bleach and two tablespoons of dishwashing detergent into a full tub, turn on the jets, and watch it fill with crud.  Then you drain it, fill it with cold water, fill it again, and repeat the process as necessary.  I ran the tub three times tonight, and it is still spitting out flaky bits of nastiness.  You are probably thinking, Kathleen. This is disgusting.  And it doesn’t have anything to do with talking to strangers.  You. Are. Correct.  But….it did get me thinking. 

There are so many things we take for granted in our lives.  Our appliances, our cars, our homes, our family, our own bodies and minds.  Sometimes, we take these things, relationships, people, and ourselves so for granted that we fail to see the “gunk” that’s building up just beyond our line of sight or the scope of our perception.  We fill the tub and drain it.  Fill the tub and drain it.  We even spray the tub and wipe it down.  We see only the glossy, clean, porcelain interior, not the innards that are slowly filling with debris with each bath – debris that festers and builds in the time between uses.  Then one day someone new comes along and turns on the jets.  Suddenly our shiny clean tub is sullied with all that nasty “stuff” we failed to see.  If we let it build long enough without turning on the jets, it will take far more than just a couple cups of bleach and a single jet cycle to clean it out.

Friends, I’m turning on the jets.  New places, new people, new challenges that scare me, shake me up, and compel me to look at the gunk, force it out, and then commit to never letting it build up again.  We can all turn on the jets – in our romantic relationships, our jobs, our friendships, our workout routines, our faith lives – you name it.  If it’s important to you, then figure out how to turn on the jets.  It’s unnerving, it might even turn your stomach, but it’s only in shifting our consciousness toward everything we’ve allowed to build up –the limiting beliefs, the poor habits, the toxic relationships, the negative self-talk, the small daily injustices we inflict on those we love the most – until we force it out, we can’t see it for what it is and wash it down the drain.  Tonight, I challenge you to turn on the jets.

 

Until next time…