by Patti and Cathy
If there is one thing we don't mind saying about ourselves it is that we are some highly resourceful beeyotches. Let's face it: life is dynamic, and sometimes you find yourself in a situation where all you can do is ask yourself, "now what?" For some, those "now whats" are easy to fix. Maybe they have the time. Maybe they have the money. But for us? Time and money are often the scarcest of commodities, and that is when we are forced to MacGyver our way right on through those "what nows".
If we don't get resourceful, it doesn't get done, it doesn't happen, it doesn't change. And that is how each of our own personal Book of Solutions was written -- out of sheer need, will, must. Sometimes we will go back and read some of the chapters in our books, and even WE cannot believe what has been written -- even though we wrote the stories. Indeed, sometimes these "solutions" of ours end up being more like slumlutions.
Patti
My dear friend Janie and I sang for years together in a society band. The gigs called for formal wear, from flirty cocktail wear to trendy evening dresses. We were working a lot, which meant a lot of outfits that I simply did not have. This is where my resourcefulness came to the rescue. I had a velvet (what? it was the 90's!) top that served me well for a good couple of years, but it was starting to get stale. So I took a needle and thread and created a va-va-voom low-cut neckline by scrunching the fabric into a cleavage-baring masterpiece. When I showed up at the gig, Janie couldn't believe it was the same top I'd been wearing for the past two years. "It looks amazing!" she marveled. Perhaps - but I could only hope Janie didn't lean in too closely. If she did, she might see the multiple colors of thread I'd had to use, and the amateur zig-zag sewing methods I'd used to create this "scrunch". One wrong move and I'd go from va-va-voom right back to Victorian librarian.
A few weeks later, I showed up in a brand new pair of gold strappy sandals. Except - they were actually three-year old black strappy sandals that were worn and tired and reincarnated into sparkly gold sandals via a can of "Hammered Gold" spray paint purchased at Home Depot. "What?" Janie declared me a fashion genius, and I just shrugged my shoulders, knowing that such "genius" was merely a creative flash of resourcefulness that struck my fancy at the last minute. Of course, had I taken off my shoes, she might have seen the "hammered gold" paint crusted onto the soles of my feet. I had spray-painted my sandals in such a hurry, I got paint in all the wrong places. And then, of course, because the paint job has been a last-minute flash of "genius", the sandals hadn't had time to dry. Hence, hammered gold toes.
And I don't know whether I'm proud or ashamed to say this resourcefulness? Runs in the family. M is the King of Resourcefulness. He pulls it off with a bit more finesse than I do, though; being raised in Argentina and having ridden a bicycle with no seat growing up forced him to get pretty creative in life.
Last summer, M and S left the country for two weeks together, leaving me at home. He was a little nervous about leaving me here by myself, and, for his own peace of mind, decided to install an alarm system before he left. Behold:
It's an old-school transistor radio hung by a neon green cord from the outdoor light fixture on our back porch. That radio has been playing day and night since July of last year. Sometimes I come home late at night after a gig, and as I am walking up the sidewalk to my house, I hear an "Ah - ya - yi!" coming from my back porch. As I get closer, I realize it's the "alarm system", set to some Best! Of! Latino! station, blaring out merengues, salsas, and cumbias all night long. M insists this is without a doubt the most genius invention ever, this homemade alarm system, and we are safe as long as Elvis Crespo keeps singing away those intruders.
We may be safe from those intruders, but who is going to save us from ourselves?
Cathy
We had a four poster bed. You know, those Victorian, regal looking beds made of deep, cherry wood with scroll detail on the headboard that sit about four feet off the ground? I say 'had' because that is how our bed started out when we purchased it almost 15 years ago while I was in my antiquey stage.
When Bella was five years old, she discovered that the posts can double as exercise equipment! Onto our monstrous bed she would hoist her little body every spare minute of the day, first using her knee to climb onto the bench at the foot of the bed and then again, leveraging that little knee to help haul herself over onto the fluffy duvet. Then she would grab onto that pole (that's what we called it) for dear life and start swirling around it and climbing it like a rope, her little feet gripped tightly to the beautifully engraved etchings. And every time I would see her do this, I would warn, "Honey, that's gonna break. That's gonna break! You're gonna get hurt!" my voice would rise.
Sure enough, one day as she was twirling around it, the pole broke. It snapped. And of course, Bella got hurt. And of course she cried. And of course I had to tell her so. The fourth pole had broken right at the base of the footboard and a sad, puny little fitted piece was all that was left. After I lamented the death of my four poster bed, I took charge. I grabbed a hacksaw (my neighbor had this) and sawed that little sucker right off. I then sanded down the stump gave it a few good coats of wood stain. Voila!
I stepped back and admired my...limpy three poster bed. I knew what I had to do. I secured myself into my gym shoes, stepped back and let at it. Tae Bo had never come in so handy. My roundhouse kicks were the bomb and my ass was getting a good workout to boot! I switched legs for an even workout, loosening that third post, cracking away, by the second. Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma'am. Down it went. I repeated the process on the other side and now admired my symmetrical bed. I was happy and well, proud.
What I wasn't so proud of? The time I came home from midnight mass one chilly Easter. It was a challenge just to bring the lit candle home, as that is our tradition on the night of the Resurrection; we bring the light of Jesus back to our house and keep it burning all night. What I didn't count on was not being able to find a suitable candle holder - or even A candle holder - at 1am and half asleep. Looking around my kitchen, I spotted my food processor. Ding! I unscrewed the lid and popped that candle in there for the night. Done and done.
It took me a while to get all that hardened wax unglued from my kitchen appliance, but you know what? Whether we are faced with half-sewed Victorian shirts or half-posted Victorian poster beds, we make it work. And it works.
