Kimism

What is a Kimism you ask?  Well, let me just give you an example.  I've been saving this one for you.  I haven't even shared this with my husband as I wanted to avoid the rolling eyes which is generally accompanied with a sympathetic, yet somewhat exasperated, "Oh, Kim".

Remember back a bit when Itchy and I did our wool dying project. 

Well, before you can skein your wool it has to be completely dry or there is a risk of mould developing in the fibres....or something like that.  I hung mine in the shower to dry but as we live in a very humid climate, 12 hours later it was still wet so I decided to put it out on the clothes line  You know?  The clothesline my loving husband hung for me at one point in the Summer.    It stretches from the upper deck of our house across the driveway and makes its return trip from around a tree in the forest beside our yard.  I figured the wool would dry quickly as it was a warm yet breezy day.

From time to time, I glanced out to check its status and noticed the wool was drifting down the line toward the trees.  I hadn't used any clothes pins to hold it in place because I didn't want to damage it so I would occasionally haul the line in and re-adjust it.  Well, I must have gotten busy doing something (distracted, as usual) and suddenly noticed that the breezy had turned into gale force wind (slight exaggeration).  I ran for the window to find my wool of many colours tangled in the trees, and the SF who just happened to be in the back yard perched on his John Deere, completely oblivious to my plight.

I headed to the deck to pull in the line.  Argh!  At some point I must have forgotten to straighten the line out.  You know there is that thingamajiggy that joins the line and hinders it from making a full rotation on the clothesline.  It's either hampered by the tree at the other end or the other what'sit wheely thingy.  Well that sucker was not in a good place as I only had feet to go before I ran out of line.  With each hopeful tug, my heart dropped because the wind would push my rainbow shaded locks back into the trees.  I look to the SF riding his JD intently willing him to come to my rescue, but to no avail. 

Time for a Macgyver moment.  Since the line is probably 10' or 12' off the ground there is no way I can reach it by hand, even if I stand on my tippy-toes.  Then it dawns on me, a broom might work.  I fetch one and return to the scene of the crime.  (Look over shoulder at the SF.  NOPE.  Still not paying attention).  And then I go for it.  I extend my arm as far as it will go, holding the broom handle with the tips of my fingers and standing on my tippy-toes.  SH%$  Just short.  Okay, in doing my math I would say I have underestimated the height of the line.  If I am 5'7", add 2' for my arms and a broom that is about 4' and the wool hanging down about another 3'....let's adjust that to 15', give or take, above the ground.  At least from where I was standing, buried in the trees.  Let's rethink this.  Wait!  I've got it!  While prepping the deck for painting, I used the extendable broom the SF bought to clean the trailer.  That should do it!

Back I go.  (SF?  Still not giving me the time of day).  I add a couple of feet to the length, probably not enough because in hind-sight, I was still standing on my tippy-toes when there was plenty of length remaining available to me.  Regardless, I was able to gently pluck the wool from the tree and began sliding it back toward the house.  Unfortunately the wind was not cooperating.  For every foot I moved the wool, the wind would blow it back 6".  (SF?  WTF?)  It was slow going.  After a good minute or so, the end was within sight.  A couple more feet to go, a quick dash back up to the deck to retrieve it and I should be GTG (good to go, people).

At this point my arms, having been unnaturally over my head for longer than they are meant to be, are on fire.  The SF is still ignoring me and the sun is blinding me.  I'm not sure which is worse?  But the finish line is oh, so close so I give it my all when all of a sudden, the damn wind gives a mighty hurricane level gust and the wool wraps itself into the bristles of the broom.  With every twist of the handle, I entangle the wool further and panic sets in.  Now I seriously look to the SF to come to my aid.  Nope.  In fact, he's now bouncing to the beat of whatever his ipod is feeding into his ears.  In vain, I try to free the broom from its captor and, at the same time, will the SF to get off the damn tractor to help me.  If you've ever had long hair and tangled it into a brush....?  Well that was what I was up against.  The pain in my arms is now searing and I've induced a hot flash accompanied with a bit of a panic attack.  Trying to maintain the broom in one hand, I wait for the SF to round the corner.   He'll be heading straight for me.  He's bound to see me.  NOT!  In fact, now, I swear to God, he's playing the air-drums using the gas pedal as the pedal on his base drum and the steering wheel as his toms.  (Must be listening to RUSH!)

I guess I'm on my own here.  So I think.  WWJD?  (What would Jesus do)  NAAAH!  If I leave the broom hanging from the wool and run up to the deck to try and pull it in, I not only take the risk of damaging my wool with the broom's weight, I may fall over the rail as it is still troublingly far away from reach.  At this point, my arms have gone numb.  I swear there is so little blood pumping through them that amputation is certainly going to be required.  A calm comes over me as I face my reality.  I take a few deep breaths and try to think rationally.  Just like getting your hair snaggled in the teeth of a brush, the only way out (besides cutting a hunk out) is the same way it entwined itself.  Just reverse the twist, add a couple of jiggles, patiently wait for the wind to make up its mind which direction it wants to blow and....VOILA!  Free!  Phew!

I drop the broom and make the dash up to the deck where I rescue my masterpiece and, once again, confirm the SF's status.  Yep, still not paying any attention, whatsoever.  I consider leaving the damn broom in the middle of the yard, but then he'll surely question what I was up to.  I can hear the exasperated "Oh, Kim" already.  Instead, I just return the broom to its rightful place and with a self-indignant 'harumph', I can't help the smile that overcomes me.  I count my blessings. I'm just all the better for him not knowing....YET. 

So THAT is a Kimism.  They happen every day around here.