Most of you are used to me writing about my neighbor Gwen who knows something about just about everything. Just to recap, Gwen knows how to take apart and put back together a computer, a Porshe, a dress, a suit and the upholstery of a sofa.  She can figure out a solution to nearly any problem one might put to her. That she sometimes stumbles with her Smart TV is, I believe, because I am sitting there, emanating confusion about technology and gumming up the ether. It’s not her fault. In any case the little story I have to relate is under P for potatoes, small, in the Gwen Book Encyclopedia.

It all begins with me swinging from being a yard sale aficionado to someone who is aspiring to minimalism. I am getting rid of stuff hand over fist, trying to consolidate my possessions. To that end I have gotten rid of carloads of stuff and extraneous furniture. The secret is to grit your teeth, don’t think too much, be ruthless and don’t look back.

The resulting room flow and livability has been gratifying, leading me to greater excavations of stuff and more discriminating feng shui. There was a dark, creepy little area at one end of the piano where I sit when I teach. (Note to piano teachers: always sit on the treble end. When you demonstrate, you aren’t rumbling down there in the bass and frightening the children.) I always have a little table in this dark area to put stuff on: pens, pencils, stickers, my cup of tea. More recently, I’ve been using the old piano stool that goes with my grandmother’s (over 100 years) old Haddorff and upon which I will let no child sit because children squirm and the stool creaks and squeaks and disturbs my equanimity. I am all about not frightening the children.

I got rid of the table/stool concept altogether by ordering one of those overarm pouch thingys that hang off chairs and sofas into which one can put a TV remote, knitting, cat treats, baggie of marjiuana, whatever. The item came and it was way too big. Half of it worked perfectly, the rest hung off the side.

The problem

I couldn’t figure out a way to work with it. Then I got pen stains on it so I couldn’t send it back. I thought about just cutting it in half and duct taping it together so it would match the other side of my classy teaching chair.

The heretofore classy end

I knew, of course, that the solution was across the street, probably watching the cooking channel. I am judicious (or so I tell myself) about what I ask of Gwen because, well, you know, she is from Wisconsin. If her clothes caught fire from your lit match, she would apologize for being such a flammable person. She doesn’t say no easily although she has gotten better about it in the 17 years we’ve known each other. It’s also difficult to return a favor in kind because she can do everything better and faster than I can. This is the difficulty with living across the street from Wonder Woman.

After a week of deliberation, cursing the thing and threatening it with a utility knife, I took it across the street. I outlined the difficulties I was having and asked Gwen if she could do something about it.

“I can do anything,” she said.

I put that in as Gwen stating a fact, that’s all. Plus it delighted me. But she wasn’t saying she would do anything. I am keenly aware of these nuances.

“Just cut it in half” (she could even do that better than I could) “and stitch it up on one of your industrial-sized sewing machines.”

An hour later, she called to say it was ready and I nipped across the street. I said I wished she were the huggy, kissy type because words were inadequate to express how grateful I was for how beautifully she had taken apart the pouch and put it back together per my needs. This alarmed her so I controlled myself.

“Oh please, the hardest part was matching the thread.”

That wouldn’t have mattered to me. I’d have grabbed the first spool in the box or the one with the least amount of thread on it so I could then get rid of THAT piece of household detritus.

My new pocket-pouch made me so happy, I showed it to the next five people that came to my door, including the guy delivering my Imperfect Produce box.

The solution

Not frightening the children

Here I am, equanimity in tact, in my feng shuied teaching corner, futzing around with pens in the pouch. Since I don’t know how else to thank Gwen and since I am already watering her plants for the weeks she is at Lake Pewaukee, this post is my thank you. I hope it’s not too much exposure, her being from Wisconsin and all.