The Ecumenical LOC and Me

As you know, we are in the middle of Lent.  The LOC* is Catholic, while I am Protestant, so it makes for some interesting dining and dialogue during this season. (Lovable Old Coot*)

Not only are we from divergent backgrounds, we are what might be described as "doubly so" given that the LOC spent three and a half years in a preparatory seminary when he was a teen, planning to become a priest.  At seventeen, he felt God speak to his heart one morning in chapel and came to the conclusion that he was not called to the priesthood.  He subsequently left the seminary and His own father did not speak to him for quite a while, as a result of the family disappointment at his decision.  I admire tremendously that he could be so forthright and clear in his convictions at such a young age.

I, on the other hand, spent twenty years a pastor's wife; and that phase of my life ended painfully and poorly.  Thus you can see where we come to our own spiritual persuasions with a good deal of prior convictions.  Neither of us believe in divorce, and yet we both are, and we have had to struggle with our place in the congregation of God's people as a result of that.

My own mother (a died-in-the-wool fundamental evangelical) was shocked when she learned I planned to marry a Catholic, but mellowed somewhat when she met him, saying cryptically, "Well, he certainly is good-looking."  I couldn't see what that had to do with anything, but Mom's logic often escaped me.

Still, we have been married for over twenty three years, and we have come to have a lot of respect for each other's traditions.

I am glad to eat fish with him on Fridays during Lent, and we have found a little cafe near home where they serve a wonderful batter-fried cod.  It must be really good since I don't ordinarily like fish very much. 

The LOC, however grew up in the Bay Area near San Francisco, and loves nearly any type of seafood, including lots of shell fish.  Oysters, clams, crab, etc. tend to make me gag.  Sorry, but they just do.   So when we go to a "surf and turf" place, he does surf and I eat turf.

Today our own little ecumenical efforts go a bit further.  This evening we will attend his Saturday evening mass.  Tomorrow morning he is going with me to the church I attend.  We don't do this often, but when we do, we always come away with something new to talk about.  It surprises and amuses me how much of our protestant music has been incorporated into Catholic services in recent years.

It continues to puzzle the LOC that Protestants regard the communion elements as "symbolic" whereas I cannot accept the doctrine of transubstantiation, wherein Catholics believe the body and blood of Christ are actually present in the Eucharist.  I am looking forward to having Jesus straighten all this out for us when we get to heaven.  Meanwhile, we have agreed to disagree.

Right now, however, he is down at my own church, participating in a free computer clinic.  He loves that stuff, and a couple of men from my new congregation (we only moved here recently) stopped by to welcome me as  new attendee.  The LOC enjoyed meeting them, and praying with them (even though I was not home at the time) and he received an invitation to this computer thingy, which he happily accepted.

The Lord does, indeed, work in mysterious ways.  What the LOC and I try to keep in mind at all times is that we are both Christians and that is paramount. The rest is tradition, theology, and interpretation.  Important issues to be sure, but not as important as "And the greatest of these is love."  That is the most important hallmark of a believer and we are reminded during this Lenten season of how great the love is that God extended toward us through the sacrifice of his son.

May we be gentle with one another in our differences, and steadfast in our shared faith.  Hope your Lenten observations and your family are blessed this week.  Until next time ... Marsha 

Back .. weaker but still smiling

Thank you, to those who sent your well-wishes during our recent run-in with the virus known as the wish-you-were-dying flu.  Trust me, it has the swine and bird varieties beat all to pieces.  This stuff could kill a rhino. The front page of the local paper informed us two weeks ago, that they had opened an unused wing of our local hospital because it had reached epidemic proportions here in the area.

We are back among the land of the living, but I've got to admit it was touch and go there for a few days.  One day I was thinking I might die, and the next I was afraid I might not.  I was so miserable I didn't even want to be in same room with myself, and the LOC* was most definitely not volunteering for the privilege either.
(* Lovable Old coot)

He did, however, helpfully offer to open windows, turn on ceiling fans, and spray with room freshener every five minutes ... while looking decidedly green around the gills himself.

But we survived, although we have now bought stock in a major plastic garbage bag manufacturing company, and taken out a smaller interest in sterile gloves, and Clorox wipes (and all things Clorox, for that matter).  Just to be on the safer side (you are never really safe from this wretched ailment - and yes, I got my flu shot the first week they offered them) we bought an annuity invested primarily in Kaopectate with options on Imodium AD, and settled down with a little side mutual fund vested heavily in Lysol disinfectant.  I do believe we are now both domestically, medically and financially prepared to weather the next bout.  

                                        # # # # # 

In the middle of all this, I did not open my email for several days and when I did there was a completely unexpected and fun little surprise awaiting me.  A national blog/talk/radio show had invited me to be interviewed on their program.  (Quite honestly, I had never heard of blog/talk/radio - what is that anyway?)  Well, I guess I will find out, because the producer said he "loved my style" and plans to interview me by phone next week.  He asked to do it this week, but I politely explained that I was indisposed.

Anyone who doesn't think God has a since of humor just needs to spend a little time around the old scatter - otherwise known as the Young ranch. You will either go out of here laughing uncontrollably or running for your life.  Maybe both.

Me, I'm just going to bed  ...  in my weakened condition, I cannot afford to get too excited about anything.  :)

Until next time ... your weaker but still smiling friend ... Marsha 

 

DIY - Disaster LOC Style

Here is a helpful hint to those who might want to stay married longer than a Kardashian.  Do not ever, and I mean EVER, tell your spouse that you have hired a plumber.  That is do not tell him in advance of the event. 

For if you do, here is what will happen.  Guaranteed.  It is hard-wired into their DNA.  First your significant other will look a little hurt, then puzzled, then put out.  After that, he will ask for the name and number of the plumber you have hired and place a call canceling the service call.

THEN he will patiently explain to you that he can do this himself.  After all, he has watched five or six episodes of DIY (Do-It-Yourself) on TV and .....after that, well honey, you are on your own, because all heck is about to break loose.
                             
However, today a miracle happened at the Young ranch.  I am talking a bona fide, outside the course of normal events in human history, miracle.  The LOC* called a plumber.  Here is why. (*Lovable Old Coot)
                                        # # # # #
Several years ago, we awoke one cold December morning about 3:00 a.m. - and trust me, I do not ordinarily wake up that early.  But Holly was barking about something, and ordinarily she does not wake up that early either, as she is no spring Lhasa herself.

At first, the LOC thought maybe we had a prowler, but it turned out to be something much worse. We had a water pipe in the downstairs bathroom that had burst loose and was spraying water all over the floor.  By the time the noise woke Holly up, the water was already about an inch deep and had flooded that bathroom, the hallway, the kitchen, the family room, and had moved about one-third of the way into the living room. 

It was all hands on deck (that would be the LOC, me and Holly) for the next two hours while we set up the wet vac to begin vacuuming the water up, moved furniture out of the way as quickly as possible, and called the water damage company to come ASAP!

A mere six weeks and fourteen thousand dollars later, why we were completely back to square one.  Fortunately, insurance covered about ten thousand dollars of the damage.  That only left us out-of-pocket the remaining four thousand or so. (I quit counting after awhile, because my heart, not to mention our budget,  just couldn't take the strain.)

For the first two weeks of that six weeks, we had ten industrial size blowers (kind of like a fan on steroids) placed strategically about the downstairs by the clean-up crew.  These were to prevent mold forming in the walls, where the water had cunningly crept up to nearly two feet high, even though the water itself was never more than two inches deep at the worst spots. 

But as our philosopher-cum-repairman shared with us, water naturally seeks to go where anything is dry that can soak it up.  Sounds reasonable.  Sheetrock in your walls, therefore, is a natural habitat for the intelligent water-seeker.

Those blasted fans ran 24/7 for endless days.  It was like trying to sleep in an airport hangar, with some jet engine constantly roaring. At that time I was a vice-president in a good sized tech company, and had to try to show up for work each day in a decent looking suit and shoes, which is no easy feat, when you are stumbling over wires, hoses, pipes and machines all over the downstairs. 

Add to that the fear of blowing up the house, or electrocuting myself if I plugged in the wrong appliance upstairs and somehow caused water and electricity to meet up downstairs; well let's just say I wasn't at my best during those particular executive sessions.

How had all this begun?  That, my friend, is the moral of this little saga.  The LOC had, in a flurry of DIY enthusiasm, replaced a small flex hose behind the downstairs toilet.  This piece of equipment was about a foot or so long and cost approximately two and a half dollars.  He said it was a no-brainer.  (Perfect descriptor!)

Problem:  when you affix a new hose onto anything, you must adjust the pressure of the fitting to match the water pressure of the flow that will be going through it.  There is probably some dynamic law of aqua-engineering that puts this in more succinct terms, but essentially, there you have it.  The LOC had worked on this little gem a day or two before the flood, and he had put too much torque on the connection - in other words, he tightened it too much.  As the pressure built up in the hose, eventually it was bound to blow.

                                                # # # # #
Isn't that just like life?  We can think we are attending to things in a timely manner; but if our own frustrations or intensity cause us to put too much pressure on even a small thing, something is bound to blow.  When it does, the damage can be completely out of proportion to the initial issue.

We may then find ourselves wandering about in a flood of emotions, with our inner-angst fans blowing regret and dismay 24/7, and all the while we are thinking, if only I had approached that issue with a little more finesse, a little more kindness.  If only I had not put the tightening pressure on her/him to that extent. 

Indeed, we live and learn.  So today, the LOC first visited the local ACE hardware.  He is practically renting space there lately, and our little mountain hamlet hardware store has helpful, friendly staff.  So the LOC nips down there frequently, sometimes two or three times a day.

Today's visit produced good suggestions from the professionals there as to how the LOC should go about fixing a leaky sink problem we are having.  He followed their instructions to no avail.  Then he cleverly took photos on his phone of the problem areas and went back down to Ace Hardware.  After much consultation they suggested the problem might be a little more involved than they initially realized and that it likely was going to require some drilling, replacing equipment, etc.  And guess what?

The LOC called a friend, got a good recommendation, and called a local plumber!  Then he called me to brag about his newly found wisdom.  I'm as proud of him as a speckled pup. (My grandfather used to say that.  I never understood it, but it seemed to fit here.)

Meanwhile, Mrs. LOC (that would me me) is trying to learn when to ease up and not put quite so much pressure on myself and others... I hope.  The cost and the disruption to daily living are simply too high.  Just a thought....Until next time - Marsha

The LOC Is Sick - Alert the Media

Yesterday I arrived at our little half-acre of heaven a bit later than usual; because on my way up the hill, I had stopped at the local wood-burning stove store to buy a new fireplace tool set. 

I knew right away that something was amiss because the garage door wasn't open, there was no Holly barking a greeting, and no LOC* waiting in the doorway with a smile.  (*Lovable Old Coot)

Instead, both the LOC and Holly, the resident Lhasa Apso, were stretched out in his recliner, with a blanket over him, and with Holly on top of both the blanket and the LOC.  As I walked in he feebly said, "Feel my forehead."  This is never a good beginning to a conversation, now is it?

Sure enough, he had a fever, and he pitifully lolled his head to one side to look up at me and said, quite unnecessarily, "I'm sick."  His reddened eyes confirmed his own diagnosis.

There is nothing quite as helpless as a grown man who is sick.  I have known three year-olds who can fend for themselves with more efficiency than a adult male with a cold.

"Have you taken any Tylenol for the fever?"

"No, I was planning to do that just as soon as I felt well enough to walk into the bathroom and get it out of the medicine cabinet", he said in a tone that implied that effort would be tantamount to ascending Mt. Everest.

"Would you like for me to turn up the thermostat?  Are you warm enough?"

"No, that's okay.  Holly has been keeping me warm."

Now I am flooded with a guilt-trip; because I am down the hill taking care of my son who is seriously ill after a difficult surgery, which means I am unavailable to take care of the LOC, who clearly could use some TLC himself.  How to be in two places at once?

"Would you like me to make some fresh coffee?"

"No, I am sticking with my green tea for now."

Yes, I have read all about the antioxidants per cup of green tea, etc. and I'm sorry but I can't stand the stuff.  Even the smell nauseates me.  But the LOC likes it, so good for him.

"Okay, can I get you anything to eat?"

"No, thanks.  I'm not hungry right now.  And I don't think I could eat anything that would go well with the cough syrup I've been taking all night."

Turns out he has been swilling that stuff all night like a lush on a bender, and is barely cogent.  Like I said, I've known three-year olds....

God bless his pointed head, I did what I could for him for the next three hours before I had to head back down the hill (about fifteen miles door-to-door) where K. was still bed fast and waiting for me to bring him some dinner.  Clearly I am spread a little too thinly, and I only wish my dress size reflected that reality.

I phoned the LOC later in the evening to check on how he was doing.  A little better - was the report.  Now if only Holly does not come down with the sniffles, maybe we will make it through this week. 

It is Thanksgiving this week, and I am thankful.  God knows my heart.  But right this moment, my thankfulness may be more along the lines of the old quote from B.F. Skinner (famous behavioral psychologist) who once said,

"If, at the end of the day, nobody died, nobody went to jail, and nobody threw up, it was a pretty good day."
                        * * * * * *
Hope everyone is doing well at your domicile.  Until next time ...Marsha  (not in jail, and not throwing up ... so far)

So Excited - It's Giving Day!!!

I am so excited that today is finally here that I woke up at 4:00 a.m. and have not been able to go back to sleep.  (Well, actually it would have been 5:00 a.m., but daylight sayings time ended last night, so it is earlier than a sane person would ever wake up.)

We have worked and planned for this day for weeks now, and we are looking forward to having some fun today.  It is Giving Day !

As those of you who regularly stop by here know, we moved about three weeks ago.

Younger, stronger backs unloading our stuff.

The home we had occupied for the past twenty years had about the same square footage as our new place, but it was divided into more rooms.  We had a formal living room (although ours was always pretty casual), a family room (where Holly, the resident Lhasa Apso was allowed on the furniture) and a sun room (where the LOC*, and Holly, and I would loll about on rainy days as we listened to the rain drops beat on the roof. (*Lovable Old Coot)

Now we do not have a family room or a sun room, we just have one big living room and all the stuff that was in those other two rooms needed a new home.  So we are giving it away!

The LOC said we could have a yard sale.  Yes, and after lots of work in tagging and hauling things out to the yard and then hauling off everything that did not sell, we would have a little bit of cash to show for our efforts.  Some people enjoy that kind of thing.  I do not.

I agree with the guy who once said, "If you go to enough yard sales, eventually you wind up with enough stuff to have one of your own."  :)  Don't get me wrong; I have nothing against yard sales.  I just do not have the time, energy or interest in hosting one of my own.  I'd rather give stuff away to someone who needs it.  And so would the LOC once he got into the swing of it.  He gave the people moving in across the street from our former home, a refrigerator, the big gas barbecue, his roll top desk, and other items we decided not to take to the new place.  They were a young family, who did not have much except for three young children plus a brand new baby, and they were thrilled to get those things.  Win,win.

So today, a couple of extended family members who recently lost pretty much everything they had and are now starting over, are arriving with a U-Haul to pick up our contributions to their new place.

Many years ago, my family lost everything we owned overnight.  It is a long story, and we will not recount it here, but we were suddenly left without (as I used to say) a chair to sit on, a bed to sleep in, or dish to eat from.  It was traumatic to say the least.

Many kind people gave us things to help us recover.  And some were generous beyond anything I could have imagined.  But I recall opening one donated box, and finding old clothes too worn to be worn, and even one sock  - not a pair, mind you, but one sock; and it had a hole in the toe!  I could not make this stuff up if I tried.

So I have always tried to be sure that when I give anything away, it is something that I would enjoy receiving.  If it is worn out, I recycle it or send it to the dump.  But I do not give it to another person.  To do so, for me, is disrespectful.

But today - oh, joy!  We are on a lollapalooza, bonanza of a give-away, and I can hardly contain myself.  We are giving away two wicker chairs, four small occasional tables, two lamps and a rocker/recliner.  Towels, sheets, bathroom accessories (we used to have three bathrooms and now we have two, so right there you have an extra set of throw rugs, soap dishes, towels, etc.)  Wall pictures, knick knacks, dishes, bedding, and a double bed.

Now my daughter, that would be Denise over at The Quiet Quill, will be thrilled to learn that we are replacing the double bed in our new, larger guest bedroom with a new queen sized bed.  Yea!!  She and her spouse have scrunched up for years, once or twice a year,  in that dinky little double bed.  No more!  :)

And the recipient of the double bed (and it is a good quality bed) has been sleeping on an air mattress on the floor for months now, so she is really excited, too!

An extra rocking chair, a candle holder, a floor fan (we now have two ceiling fans) ... and on and on it goes.  We gained an extra washer and dryer with our new house.  We already had new ones, so thus, we have this set which is less than five years old - good quality front loaders - to give away.  Isn't that just too much fun?

The LOC can hardly wait, as he will be able to really begin to sort out his new garage, once this stuff is hauled out of there. 

We have been blessed.  We know this.  And we are so happy to be able to share what we have with others.  Not just our stuff, but our hope and our joy in doing so.

So smile along with us today - it is Giving Day!  And we are excited.  Hope your day allows you to share something good with someone else.  Until next time ... your excited friend, Marsha

The Dog's On A Diet

Holly, the resident Lhasa Apso, went to the vet this week.  She has had the same vet since she was born, twelve years ago last month.  Suddenly, because we have recently moved, enter a new dog doctor and the poor pooch is wrecked. The new doctor is a bit blunt - or to put it more clearly - she said Holly is too fat.  Period.  Not chubby, not chunky, just
 plain old  f-a-t.

This is just pitiful, because it obviously is not the dog's fault.  She isn't tall enough to reach the cupboard where her food is kept.  And it cannot be mine, as I am not the one who feeds her; not to mention that I have been largely absent for the past several months.  That only leaves one other potential culprit:  the *LOC.  Oh, dear, this is does not bode well for either him or Holly.  (*Lovable Old Coot)

He came home from the trip to the vet looking mildly non-plussed.  He took her in for an allergy shot, but he came home carrying a little measuring cup the vet had thoughtfully provided.  She suggested that he measure Holly's food; that is measure the amount he would normally give her, then cut that in half.

In telling me this sad tale, the LOC says woefully, "Well, we don't want her to starve, do we?"

I try not to smile and decline to point out that this seems highly unlikely, since she is carrying enough extra cargo on her little frame that it could see her through a six-month stint on the frozen tundra.  She could bunk with polar bears and not have to borrow from their food supply.

Okay, so now the dog is on a diet.  I sympathize with her.  I have personally tried a few of those voluntary food deprivation experiments from time to time and it was no fun.  Some worked fairly well, but most made no appreciable difference; unless you counted the difference in my daily mood as I fought the calorie curmudgeons.

The LOC and I try not to eat in front of Holly right now.  If we do, she sits up and begs quietly and politely (although she has a hard time balancing her rotund little body on her bottom).  She reminds me of a Weeble-Wobble.  Remember those?

If the expression in her eyes could be verbalized, I suspect it would be saying something like, "Please, people, how much harm could just one french fry do?"

I don't know how much longer we are going to be able to hold out on her.   And it has only been two days!  She may be pitiful, but we are the pathetic ones.

Wish Holly luck; because with the two of us taking care of her, she is going to need it.  I'm just saying ...
                                           * * * * *
Hope any diets you are managing are going better than Holly's.  Until next time ...Marsha

Moving Marathon

For those of you who have never stumbled in here before, we just moved for the first time in over twenty years.  It has been a daunting effort.  And I certainly cannot complain as the *LOC has done the lion's share of the packing and unpacking. (*Lovable Old Coot)

The view out the kitchen window

I on the other hand, have popped in from time to time, and placed a little item or two that appealed to me.  The little welcome ceramic in the kitchen garden window appealed to me.  The LOC didn't even notice it was there for two days.  Of course that could be because he was knee deep in boxes in the garage.

The stained glass window by the front entry way.

Sometimes I just admire the little details that made this house so appealing in the first place.  This window is just what I would have chosen myself, if I had been building this house.  I love roses and I love stained glass, so a window of stained glasses with roses as the artistic theme, well, it just makes you think this is the house we were supposed to "find."

However, while I am bringing new favorite things in, or admiring the ones that were already in place when we got here, the LOC is still out in the garage plowing through the flotsam and jetsam of our lives.  I'm inclined to just ditch it all and start fresh. 

Not very practical, I suppose.  But very tempting.

Your priorities get strangely skewed when you unpack.  I have not yet found the Claddaugh ring the LOC bought me when we were in Ireland earlier this spring.  And I have no anxiety about it at all, although it was fairly expensive.

But I was uneasy until I found the little plastic coffee scoop that my mom used every day of her life for decades.  Technically, it probably isn't worth ten cents, but it is worth a great deal to me.

Meanwhile, the LOC is finally feeling more "at peace" as he finally found the box that contained all his USB ports, thumb drives (quite frankly, I have no idea what it is you drive with only your thumb), his HDMI cords (apparently those are nearly priceless) and all the other mysterious treasures that make his day.

                                               * * * * *

So whether you are finding new treasures, or enjoying old ones, hope you are enjoying this evening.  Until next time ...Marsha

Finally - Two Pictures of Our New Place !!

View from the Living Room

Cozy and Just My Size

Okay, so obviously I do not have the mechanism down correctly quite yet.  But I do finally have pictures uploaded onto my computer and have (after trial and error) been able to post them on this page.

I thought I would at least show those of you who have been asking for pictures of our new home, two photos:  The picture of the woods is from our living room window; and then a shot of our new kitchen.

More to come, when I can work out the glitches! 

Until next time ... Marsha

Paradise Found

We are now officially living on "our half-acre of Paradise".  No, really, that is the name of the town we moved to last week, and we did buy a house on a half-acre lot.

I'll bet some of you thought I was kidding when I wrote about our half-acre of Paradise a few blogs back.

The town welcome sign says:  May you find Paradise to be all the name implies.

Yes, it is rustic.  So much so that it does not even have a Wal-Mart.  It is only a little mountain village.  It has no Red Lobster, but it has the ComeBack Diner.  It has no Olive Garden, but it has Annie's Country Kitchen. It does, however, have the Paradise Symphony which is playing next Saturday evening. How I wish I could attend.

If only I could, or rather if only the *LOC had time to show me how to get the pictures I have taken of our new surroundings onto this blog, I would be glad to share the view with you.  But alas, he is buried up to his neck in his office.  Poor man found a stapler and a pen yesterday and I could hear his "whoop" of elation all the way down the hall. (*Lovable Old Coot)

If that sounds a bit odd, you must remember that others helped us move; and when you do not pack and label and unload your own stuff, well, it can be a challenge finding things.  You may run across an egg timer, but hunt in vain for an entire box full of silverware.

The LOC gave Holly (she is an "only dog" and knows it) a bath yesterday in our handy-dandy new laundry room sink.  But then realized he had no idea where her brushes were - so she had to just air-dry and now she will have Lhaso-tangles until we can either: a) find the brushes or, b) get her to the groomer.  We have an appointment for her, but they could not fit her in until next week.  Holly is not best pleased.

The movers got a kick out of her "attitude" - basically she runs the household - and one of them commented with amusement, "But she pulls it off."  She does, indeed, and woe be to those of us with only two legs who try to interfere. A princess of the realm knows her prerogatives.

                                        * * * * *
Breaking news: (but no pictures at eleven, until I can get some instruction on that USB port/import/thingie)

A friend stayed with my son at his house the other night, so that I could go spend a night in our new home.  Oh joy!  As we sat in the living room with the patio door open late in the evening, I could hear the frogs and crickets chirping and singing away.  It was the most peaceful sound in the world and I smiled all the way to my toes.  I cannot remember the last time I could hear that sound at night.  In the city where we lived for the past twenty years, "night sounds" ran to sirens and helicopters circling overhead.

Next, I had the pleasure of waking up in my own bed for the first time in months, and the view from our master bedroom window ... well, words fail me, and that does not happen too often.

The sun breaking through the pine forest right outside our window.  Deer wandering around next door. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

And then to top it all off, we received a call from the doctor's office telling us that ALL K.'s lab tests came back with good improvement this week!  Thankful, thankful, thankful ! 
                                           * * * * *
God is good - when we know it, when we forget it;
when we believe it and when we doubt it;
when we hope for it, when we lose hope;
when we succeed, when we fail;
when we laugh, when we cry;
when we love, when we fail to love;
when we remember to thank him and when we forget to thank him - God is good all the time.  All the time, God is good.

My understanding, or lack thereof, has no influence upon his goodness.  His goodness, however, has every influence upon my understanding.

God bless you, until next time ... your friend in Paradise - Marsha

Absent - and the Dog Ate My Homework

You were all very kind with your comments and good wishes about our move-in yesterday.  Thanks so much!

By and large the Post-It Notes worked like a charm.  Only one lamp was broken in the mayhem, which I take as something of a minor miracle, compared to other moves I have made.  Did I ever tell you about the time decades ago, when someone who was helping us move grabbed a pot of cooked beans right off the stove and put in on the tailgate of a pickup truck that was pulling out of the driveway to go over to the new place?  If not, we will just save that little cautionary tale for another day.  Talk about gas up and go.

But you know it is always the "little foxes that spoil the vines" and just to double-up on the cliches, the devil is in the details.

My dad hated moving day, even though we moved often, because of the nature of his work.  He was also extremely superstitious and would not allow my mom to move a broom from one house to another, as that was supposed to be bad luck. 

Now everyone knows how irritating new brooms are. They just won't behave; they keep flipping stuff back in the direction you just swept because the bristles are too stiff, and you have to sweep the same area about four times with a new broom, as compared to one that is well broken in.

Poor mom (who did not have a superstitious bone in her body) probably hastened her own demise from over-sweeping because she could hardly ever keep a broom long enough to get it properly broken in.  Once she hid the broom, and thought she would be able to sneak it into the new place.  When dad discovered her deception, he about had a coronary and declared that everything from rickets to world famine was going to ensue all because mom had dared bring the darned used broom to the new place.

Now how did I get from our move to brooms to rickets?  Oh, yes, I was absent for a good part of the day yesterday (at the clinic with my son) and thus the LOC and the movers were left free to do their best....or worst...depending upon your point of view.

When I later returned for a quick walk-through, I found things mostly acceptable, but some details were disturbingly confused.  For example, lamp shades had been screwed onto the wrong lamps.  I politely asked the *LOC why he couldn't tell which went where by looking at the style of the finials?  (*Lovable Old Coot)

He gave me a look that said, "Lady, if you had been here during the last excruciating hours, keeping the dog from chasing her new friends, the squirrels and the three deer walking brazenly down the lane, and keeping the movers from attaching cables, wires and hoses to things that were never designed to accommodate them, you would not be asking me about finials.  What the heck is a finial anyway?"  (The LOC can say more with a look than most people can with a dictionary.)

Well, there you have it folks.  It is not pleasant to be present in the middle of a move, but it really does not pay to be absent either.  In any case, all finials have been restored to their proper location and all is well with the world....or at least the 1/2 acre of it that we now occupy.

Until next time...guard your finials as best you can, and if they get away from you...just chalk it up to experience! ...Marsha

Post-It Note Sofas

When the movers begin to unload our "stuff" tomorrow morning bright and early, I have left a little trail of clues for them.  A kind of 21st Century bread crumbs - Post It Notes.

I cannot be there when they unload, as tomorrow is clinic day for K. and I am needed there.

But the LOC* was not comfortable deciding where to tell the movers to put the larger items, knowing that if he got it wrong, he and I would be huffing and puffing trying to muscle them around by ourselves, long after the movers have departed. Trust me, this would not be a good thing for either of us. (*Lovable Old Coot)

Thus, he suggested that I draw diagrams and leave them where they could find them.  But my artistic skills run to the paint-by-numbers variety, and besides, diagrams can be turned around in the wrong direction and suddenly the sofa is sitting backed up to the bird bath.  You know what I am talking about.

So I decided to place Post-It Notes in each place a major piece of furniture is supposed to be deposited.  Let's hope it works.  Otherwise, the LOC and I have sore backs, frayed tempers, and lots of scuff marks on the new hardwood floors to look forward to.  I just hate scuffed up floors, don't you?

I must say, though, placing little colored squares where you envision the sofa residing isn't very satisfying.  I also tried putting pillows down in approximately the space a chair or sofa would require.  That did not seem to quite do it either.

Phooey!  Let's hope those beefy young mover-guys are fluent in both pillowese and Post-It Notes, or I may find my sofa on the roof when I get there.  Oh well, if so the LOC and I will just climb up there and sit a spell.  That would be kind of welcome after the chaos of the past few days.   * * * *

Hope your sofa is right where you want it to be this evening.  I'm hoping mine will be by this time tomorrow evening.  Until next time ...Marsha

Jam-Packed: The Move Is On

Tomorrow the big move finally happens.  In some ways it has all come together pretty quickly. 

It is our first move in over twenty years.  Boy, have we accumulated a lot of stuff.  And that is mostly just what it is -  just stuff. 

The fact that I have now been absent from home for three months, living out of one suitcase shows just how little of that "stuff" is really necessary for daily living.  But I do miss some of it.

The LOC* told me that he wrapped my teapots carefully. And I appreciate that.  However, his son, who helped him pack up the kitchen, said he also packed jars - lots of jars.  We don't need jars.  I haven't canned anything since 1978. I don't want those jars, but the LOC* kept them. (*Lovable Old Coot)

J. said, "Dad, you are seventy years old, its time to get rid of the jars."  The LOC just looked at him and said, "But I might need them sometime."  Uh - huh. 

Then there is his mug collection, his DVD collection, his sports memorabilia collection .... need I go on?  I have heard that in every marriage it is likely that one is a collector and one is a tosser.  In our household, I am the tosser.  If I have not used it in the past year, out it goes.  My ideal dresser drawer is one that is only two-thirds full.

I like bare places in the floor space, open areas on the walls, and room to move around in the garage.  The LOC, left untended (which I most certainly do not intend to do) would cover every square inch of every wall in the house with family photos.  Every square foot of the garage would contain a box, a bin, or a piece of equipment.  He has a bicycle with two flat tires that he refuses to get rid of "in case he needs it in an emergency."  Really ?

What's the plan?  Put the emergency on "pause" while he pumps up the bike tires?  I'm just saying.

Tonight, when I called to see how he was holding up, because I cannot be there and he is doing this solo now that J. has returned to Portland, he proudly but tiredly told me he had packed another fifty boxes today.  Another fifty!  Can we say jam-packed?

Thank the lord, the movers come tomorrow and he will be forced to stop and just leave some of it.  And the following day, all our stuff will arrive at the new house, just 15 minutes from where I am staying with K., and I can begin to sort - and toss - and sort - and toss - and .....  until we are no longer jam-packed.  I hope ...
                                          * * * *
Hope whatever you are jamming or tossing tonight, you are doing it with a smile.  Until next time ...Marsha

Comfort Food

Yesterday, while standing in line at the checkout counter at Save Mart, the lady behind me smiled and said, "Can't forget those Cheetos."               

I smiled and replied, "Yes.  After the day I've had, I need comfort food."  She nodded knowingly.

The weekly clinic visit had not gone well.  The blood tests results were not encouraging, and K. was frustrated.  Me too.

Yes, the doctor had said "They will fluctuate.  It won't always be a downward trend.", but K. had been hoping that the inflammation markers, so critical to his recovery would, of course, plummet like a duck shot in midair.  Not this week.

Thus, the Cheetos.  And the vanilla bean ice cream, and the ingredients for another batch of corn bread.  Sometimes they help ... a little.

However, there is another type of comfort food, that always helps, much more than a little, and will last more than a lifetime.

In John 6:35, Jesus said, "I am the bread of life."  


One of the spiritual disciplines that I practice consistently, is that I do not read any other material before I have read the Word, first thing in the morning.  Usually I read two or three chapters, but occasionally, if I am in a hurry to get started on my daily tasks, I may only read a few verses.  But I believe it is important that my spirit be fed before the challenges of life begin to take their toll.

As many of you undoubtedly know, sometimes during the day you will encounter some issue that one of the verses you read just that very morning will address perfectly.  It is one of those little "comforts" that God sends our way just because He loves us.

As we are also in the middle of a long-distance move, as well as an ongoing family illness, I seem to need a little comfort food more often than usual.  The LOC* just called from Sacramento to ask about how to pack the lamps.  (Remove the bulbs and the movers will wrap the lamps.)    *Lovable Old Coot

Here is another comforting thing.  The LOC's younger son just drove 10 hours straight from Portland to Sacramento to help his dad pack.  Tomorrow they are going up to Penn Valley to retrieve the travel trailer and then haul it and two truck loads to our new house.

This is truly an answer to prayer, as I just did not see how the LOC was going to get all this done alone, and I cannot leave K.  We did check with the doctor again yesterday to see if he could be allowed out of bed, and in his wheelchair for ten minutes at a time a few times a day (this way I could leave for several hours at a time.)  The answer was "no". 

Hand me the Cheetos.  No wait ...

I can do everything through him who gives me strength. Colossians 3:13 NIV

If you are also in the middle of tough challenges, hope you are taking time to ingest the Bread of Life.  And, of course, a little snack of Cheetos, ice cream or whatever tickles your fancy can't hurt either.

Until next time ....  Marsha

Sign Me Up - and Down and Sideways and Backwards and ...

                                                                                              
Today we signed documents.... lots, and lots of documents.  Long ones, short ones, several that were almost blank, and not a few which were completely indecipherable except to the mortgage lady who simply pointed to a line and said, "Sign there."

We have bought our little "half-acre of paradise" and I am going to smile to myself as I drift off to sleep tonight.  But it has been a journey getting here.

My husband, the LOC*, is very familiar with how these things work.  Or at least he used to be in his former profession as a banker.  But even he was astounded at how complicated the whole thing has become since the "big melt down."     (*Lovable Old Coot)

Because I can be just a little obsessive (to which my three children shriek from the peanut gallery, "A little?"  Ha!) I actually counted the number of documents in just one of the earlier packets we submitted.  It was 96 (ninety-six) pages.  And that was just one of several different packages of documents we have submitted, received, acknowledged, signed and returned. 

You would think we were attempting to negotiate the national debt reduction behemoth, instead of buying just a modest little house in the woods.  But said modest cottage does happen to have a lovely stained glass window next to the front door, with a rose pattern.  I simply love it, and I have always wanted one, and never dreamed I would buy a house that had just the very thing.  It is almost as though someone designed this one for me.   Actually mine is prettier than this one, but you get the idea.                                                                                  


When I am "off the tether" so to speak, I truly hope to learn how to move pictures from my camera to my blog, so that I may share our little adventure with you. 


Until next time, stay away from all enterprises that require signing lots of paper, unless you just have to, and think happy thoughts as you drift off. ...Marsha

He Liked It - He Really Liked It !

Remember when Sally Field gushed at the Oscars ceremony, "You like me, you really like me!" ?  She had obviously just won an Oscar, but her amazement revealed her underlying insecurity.

This past week I took a leap of faith, more like an Evel Knievel canyon-jump stunt, and bought a house without my husband ever having laid eyes on it.  Can you imagine?  I could barely imagine it, and I was DOING IT!!

But distance, and family illness, and time factors, and about a dozen other things meant it was now or maybe never.  Of course, I consulted the LOC* and we had talked at length about his preferences and our requirements for a retirement home.  But to sign on the dotted line, sight unseen by the other half of our domestic team, well, that was a bit daunting. (*Lovable Old Coot)
However, given the way the whole thing came about (see my post on A Half-Acre of Paradise) I felt pretty confident about this decision.  But it was still a leap of faith.

Today we drove up into the foothills together, and he walked through the house for the first time.  He opened and closed doors, cupboards, and the garage doors; he flipped switches, listened to the door chimes, and walk around the yard a couple of times.  He didn't say anything. (Now that was scary, because trust me on this, the LOC loves to talk) and finally he turned to me and said, "You did really well, honey.  This is a good house.  I like it."

Whew!!  This was one of those decisions in life that is not a "moral decision" or a "spiritual decision" but it was a major life-decision, as it literally affects where we will, in all likelihood, live for the remainder of our lives. 

Now that it is settled, I realize it was also a bit exhilarating to do it "all by myself" and have it turn out so well.  Oh, wait, I wasn't doing it all by myself.  I believe I was given guidance, direction and peace at every critical juncture.

So, now that I think about it from that perspective, well of course he liked it.  :)
                                         # # # #
Hope your most recent life-decisions and leaps of faith are turning out well.  Until next time ...Marsha

Nail Guns and Nail Biting

You know what they say, "If it's not one thing, it's your mother."  Or something like that.

Last summer our HVAC system blew a gasket and several thousand dollars later we had a new contraption that could launch a NASA lunar shot, if it needed to.

We had to learn a whole new skill set to even run the new remote wireless thermostat because if you touched the wrong button at the wrong time of day (or night) you could suddenly find yourself plastered up against the opposite wall, with your hair standing straight on end, and your eye lashes fluttering in what was more like a gale than a breeze.

Well, this summer it is the roof.  We had some Jim-dandy storms this past winter.  Some shingles blew off and the handwriting was on our twenty year-old roof.


We made some calls, and set appointments for vendors to come and pitch their wares.  Back in the day, I seem to recall you met a guy, he told you what he could do and how much it would cost, and how soon he could get it done.  Then you hired him.

No more.  Now you get folks in uniforms with badges and laptops.  They fire that puppy up and you have a PowerPoint presentation followed by a Q and A session.  Thereafter, we (all of us together, as this is now a team sport) review their creds on the Internet, check out fifteen neighbors who have also used them, and then (and only then) if all is well (meaning they haven't hired any ax-murderers to nail you with their nail guns) you begin the CBA (cost benefit analysis for the uninitiated - and oh how I envy you).

After a few of these three-hour productions, that would rival an early Cecile B. DeMille production, the LOC* and I were so wrung out and overwhelmed that we were about ready to skip the whole deal and just move.  Let the next owners go through this whole complex integrated-roofing-systems marathon. (*Lovable Old Coot)

But we are good soldiers, so we forged ahead and pondered the pros and cons of asphalt shingles, vs. steel roofs, vs. renewable energy and green-technology, wood shake roofs, and topped it off with the mysteries of GAF (don't ask) roofing systems.

Whereupon one proceeded on to the new Title 24 requirements, about venting.  Now that, at least, I know something about.  I can vent right along with the best of them.  But they of the badged uniforms had something else entirely in mind, so my venting skills must be put to good use here.

And who knew from "magnetic yard sweeps" and two-week after the installation, third-party vendor quality control inspections?  I am pretty sure I heard something about the DEA, FBI and even the CIA running a little interference on this gig, as well.

After all of this, you maaaay decide to sign a contract.  Or you may just decide to run off to the Antarctic or wherever and rent and igloo.  Because if you rent, you will never have to shop for a new roof again...and that says nothing of the necessity of paying for the thing -  an amount that would run a small-ish third world country for at least a year. 

So now, we nervously await the project manager, the technical foreman and their army of nail-gun-wielding roofers.  I personally am terrified, and beginning to bite my nails.  Something I have not done since third grade.

Hope you are safe and sound under your own roof this evening. If so, be thankful!    ...Marsha

How To Stuff a Duvet - #4 on the Re-Do Series

In my day, I have stuffed many things.  I have stuffed turkeys, bell peppers, and pork chops.  Once, when I was about twelve, I tried to stuff my bra with kleenex.

I have even, on rare but necessary occasion, told the LOC (Lovable Old Coot) to stuff it- not my bra but whatever nonsense he was putting forth at the moment.

I have experienced a stuffy nose, a stuffy house, and many (too numerous to mention) stuffy business men in stuffy board meetings.

But until yesterday, I had never stuffed a duvet.  It is a challenge.

My tastes have traditionally run more to bedspread and quilts, with the random foray into comforters and throws.  However, when the time came to replace the bed linens in the newly repainted and re-carpeted guest room, I thought, why not go a little upscale?  Expand my horizons, even live a little?

So I took myself off to the nearest mall (this alone should tell you I was serious about redecorating, since I hate malls and almost never shop in them) and after wandering about for a bit, lighted upon a wonderful clearance sale at Macy's.

And suddenly there it was, a lovely cream/bisque duvet, with subtle gold tone threads embossed upon it, on sale for over 80% off!  My goodness, they were practically giving it away.  Of course, by the time I also purchased the matching pillow shams, which were not included with the duvet itself, because after all, this was not some run-of-the-mill, bed-in-a-bag special, it was not quite as inexpensive as I had hoped for, but still.  When you are expanding your decorative horizons, you either go big or go home, as the saying goes.  I went big.

Thus, yesterday afternoon, there I was, standing next to the bed with the feather comforter in one hand and the duvet in the other pondering my dilemma.  How does one go about stuffing a duvet?

I thought about rolling the duvet back from the inside out, much like rolling up the sleeves of a shirt, then placing the comforter inside and trying to unroll them simultaneously.  But I couldn't quite figure out how that would work, so I forged on.

It occurred to me that perhaps I could stand on the bed, holding the duvet open, and sort of drop the comforter into it, a little at a time, until the whole thing was encased.  But even with the added height, I am too short to extend the entire duvet such that the comforter would not bunch up about three-quarters of the way down.  Shucks!

This was proving to be more difficult than laying out the money for the darned thing in the first place.  I'm a basic sort of person, and I probably should have stayed in my familiar bedspread/quilt neighborhood. Who was I to think I could sashay right on into duvet-land, after all?

It was rather like, after driving a well-aged Chevy all your life, thinking you could just pop into a BMW dealership and drive off in one.  Not as easy as it sounds.

Well, neither was stuffing this doggoned duvet!

Next I tried laying the duvet out on the bed and then (I'm embarrassed to admit this, but here goes) sort of crawling into the duvet head-first, while hauling the comforter in after me, like a miner going in with a head-lamp on, dragging his tools behind him.  As you may have already guessed, it didn't work.  First, I realized that my body took up too much room in the duvet to leave adequate space to spread out the comforter, and secondly, my arms weren't long enough to spread the comforter from corner to corner and every time I moved to smooth out a section, the section beneath or around me scrunched up.  Foiled again!

So I backed out, and thought about my options.  Finally, the inevitable truth dawned on me.  I needed help.  Oh, phooey, I just hate that.

About this time, the LOC wandered into the room, looking puzzled at the fact that there were bed linens everywhere, my hair was standing straight on end, and I appeared to be near hysterics.  He looked around quickly for my attacker, but spotting no one, carefully inquired as to what was going on.

"Don't get smart with me", I admonished him.  "I am in no mood to be made fun of."  I then added, quite unnecessarily, "I have a problem."

Never one to be intimidated by my bark-worse-than-bite temperament, he mildly replied, "You think?"

I then reluctantly explained how I came to be "in over my head" so to speak, and what I was trying to accomplish.  Between the two of us, using the buttons provided for the purpose on the duvet, several additional safety pins, and four arms and two heads, we got it done.

I must say, it looked great on the guest bed in all its shimmery glory.  But I was so exhausted from the whole ordeal that I just flopped back upon it, and took a nap!

Hope your day allows for a nice nap, too.

More Sorting...More Subterfuge - Part 3 of the Re-Do

Ok, so here is the thing. I don't read comics in the newspapers, I don't lick the wooden stick in the middle of ice cream bars, and I do NOT discard books.  Not saying there is anything wrong with other folks engaging in these activities, but they just don't work for me.

However, in re-doing the guest bedroom it became obvious that something had to go.  Several somethings - dozens actually.  And some of those were going to have to be .... gulp...I can hardly say it (much like the Fonz could not say llll-liver) some of the things leaving the house forever were going to have to be books!

There, I said it and lightening has not struck.  I am trembling, though.

The LOC (Lovable Old Coot), whose hoarding tendencies have already been alluded to in this series, could not believe his own eyes.

"Are those books you are putting in the give-away boxes?" he asked in much the same tone he might employ if he were asking, "Are those two-headed puppies in the front yard?"

He knows I love books.  Yes, I love to read, and I love to write, but I also love the books themselves.  I like the frontispiece (isn't that a great word?), I read the acknowledgements, I peruse the footnotes, and sometimes I look at the bindings just to see what kind they used.  I run my palms over the embossed covers, I examine the artwork on the book cover, and then I take off the paper cover, and checkout the hardcover to see if they went cheap or upscale.  You know, did they put a great outfit on over cheap underwear?

Ok, now that you officially know I am weird when it comes to books, as in yes, I always check out the published date, and the paperback re-issue date, and even the Library of Congress ISBN, you can begin to understand why the LOC could not credit his own eyes, when he saw me packing up books to give away.

Granted the "give aways"  were not Longfellow, or Twain, Shakespeare, C.S. Lewis, or even Robert Frost.  But Drucker, Peters, Covey, Kozner and others of their ilk were definitely going elsewhere.  For those who have never made their living in corporate America, or in a management role somewhere, those may not be familiar names.

But for a person who taught "What Matters Most" for years, and pretty much lived by Warren Bennis (Dean of the UCLA School of Business) and Max DePree (CEO of Herman Miller and leader extraordinaire) - well, it was hard.  Senge was sailing away, along with his Fifth Discipline. 

I am no longer a corporate consultant, telling others how to "get it done" - and thus, of all the books I have accumulated over the years, I decided that the business management books were the ones I could bear to part with. 

The LOC said, in cautious amazement, "But don't you want your library anymore?"  It is a moot point. 

"There are only so many square feet in this room" I say airily, "and if I want guests to feel welcome and able to breathe in here, something has to go."  I say this with little pointy darts shooting out of my eyes toward his office-cum-man-cave.

This is the" sorting" part of the re-do which, while temporarily painful, feels better and better with each passing day.  As to the subterfuge portion, that involves "out of sight, out of mind" planning.

When our VHS collection topped 1200 movies, and we still had all of them, years after we, like the rest of the nation, had switched to DVDs, I began to discard the old tapes.  The LOC came in unexpectedly one day, saw what was going on, and said, "Just don't tell me.  If I don't see it, it isn't happening."  Yep, he and his first cousin Ollie the Ostrich.

That little episode, however, taught me that it isn't that he minds so much if I toss things away, he just can't bear to watch it happen.  So over these past three weeks, during the re-do, I have quietly placed some things in boxes and bags, and set them aside.  If he asks about them, I retrieve them and he inevitably keeps them.

(No matter that he is unlikely to ever be a waist size 34 again; if he wants those cuffed slacks in the strange plaid, so be it.  It was not that many years ago that he finally relinquished his white sport coat.  I had tossed the pink-carnation years before, but never had the heart to tell him or Marty Robbins.)

However, if after a week or two, there is no inquiry about the absent extraneous items, then I figure I am home free and off to the Goodwill store I go, grinning like a lunatic all the way!

Life is a series of trade-offs - never more so than on the domestic front.  So in the spirit of, what he does not ask about/he does not wish to know about - I am clearing this place to the baseboards.

Don't you just love it when a plan comes together?  Hope your "do", or "re-do", or "make-do" is a happy one today.

Sorting, Re-Sorting and Resorting to Subterfuge

#2 in a series on the house re-do project in progress at the Young household.  This post was originally published two days ago, before the website maintenance by Blogger caused it to be deleted.

Why is it that two generally reasonable, rationale, human beings cannot agree on what to throw away?

Why is it that, the same two people, living in the same house, experiencing the same incidents can have totally different memory-banks of what occurred?

Why is it that any household project inevitably leads to a discussion of how we came to buy/own/retain various items - known collectively as "our stuff" - and further, what are we going to do about it?

Inquiring minds want to know.  That would be the LOC's (Lovable Old Coot's) mind, because mine, what little there is left of it, is too tired to contemplate this Solomonic dilemma.

When I am really tired I tend to devolve into verbiage that includes tidbits like "Solomonic dilemmas", and trust me, you do not want to have to experience anymore of that, so let's move along.

I have previously explained how, five years ago, we came to redo the entire house, upstairs and down, except for two small rooms.  One is the guest bedroom, the other is.... well, that is a good question.  It is either the home office, the LOC's "man-cave", or the junk room, depending upon how recently it has been dusted and vacuumed, and/or whether he has put up the current baseball/football season's pennants, etc. as the decor de rigour.

At the moment, the 49er gear is down, the S.F. Giants stuff is up, and all is well, in his little corner of the world.  Well, almost.  The LOC pitifully whined about having to disconnect various pcs, routers, modems, etc. in preparation for the new carpet going down.  But he got it done.
Silly, me, I thought once the new carpet was laid, we were through the worst of it.  I mean, just give me a well-glued seam, and I am a happy camper.

There were some rewards from his perspective though, namely the joyous re-discovery of his 33 and 1/3 vinyl collection. (Younger readers may wish to look up vinyl on Wikipedia, since you have likely never actually heard, much less seen one.)
So all afternoon, I was serenaded by Bing Crosby, Patti Page, Tony Bennett and Perry Como.  Granted, he is several years older than I am, but our muscial tastes are decades apart.

There was not a single Eagles or Hall and Oates break in there, anywhere.  So right now, his Kiss is not On My List, he does not Make My Dreams Come True, and I am about ready to check myself into the Hotel California.  It is such a lovely place.
Meanwhile, I am tossing junk like crazy, while he is retaining things like 200 plastic bags (along with the green tie-thingies) "just in case we ever need them."

I cannot even imagine how much junk we would have to accumulate to fill those 200 bags, and even the passing thought gives me the willies. 

After a drape-ironing-marathon, at least I got the drapes re-hung in his room.  He glanced up from digging in some box that had not seen the light of day in at least a decade, and remarked appreciately, "Nice curtains.  Where did you get them?"

I stood stock-still, hoping there were no errant flies entering my gaping mouth.  "They are the same ones I took down awhile back.  Before I could re-hang them, you moved a desk in front of the window, and I could not get behind it to put them back up."

"Nope," he responded cheerily.  "I would remember them.  Never saw them before.  Nice curtains, though." 

Arrrgggghhh!!!

All this friendly difference in perspectives has worn me completely out - so that is all for now. Hope your little domicile is full of goodwill, and nothing else.
Part 3 - Resorting to Subterfuge - tomorrow.

The Mess Has Moved

Note:  Due to website maintenance by Bogger yesterday, this series on house re-do projects was somehow deleted.  The next post in the series, Sorting, Re-sorting, and Resorting to Subterfuge was also deleted and will be re-posted later today.  This post was originally published earlier this week. 

Lately we have been living in the middle of a mess.  And I don't like it one little bit!  We have been renovating the only two rooms in the house that did not get a makeover five years ago, when we "re-did" the rest of it.

Why leave those two rooms undone?  It is a fair question and I have half an answer.  We did not plan it that way, but the work that had been scheduled for weeks, and an emergency surgery (mine) that jumped up unexpectedly - occured on the same week, five years ago. I needed one bedroom from which to recuperate, while workmen traipsed up and down our hallway and stairs, hauling ladders, paint cans, and carpet rolls.

The "other room" - well, what can I tell you?  It is variously either our home office, my husband's "man-cave", or the general junk catcher.  Whatever it is, it isn't pretty, on a good day - and lately we have not seen one of those.

But today we began the clean-up phase of the latest re-do.  Dressers  and bookcases that have been standing in the upstairs landing for the past three weeks, have been put back in place.  I can finally reach the linen cupboard which has been inaccessible during the re-do.  I have been folding towels and sheets and laying them on stacks of books in the hallway, then averting my eyes whenever I had to pass that way during the day.  This in the spirit of "if you cannot fix it, don't dwell on it.".  :)

The good news is that the new paint and carpet match the new duvet in the guest bedroom just about to perfection.  Probably dumb luck, but I'll take it

The LOC (Lovable Old Coot) has actually agreed to give away some monitors, keyboards, etc. that we have not used in a decade or so. This is, believe it or not, progress of a major sort. He insists that some of his computer equipment is vintage, real geek- antiques. Yeah, right.  And my old jeans, with the bleach spots, are the latest rage on the runway.

Now, if I could just figure out where to stash all my scrapbooking stuff, so that it was invisible.  Why is it that there is a sudden abundance of man-caves in the land, but we hear nothing of lady-caves?

Oh, wait, I know.  It is because we would not settle for a cave, we would insist on at least a small cabin, preferrably with gingham  curtains and a matching quilt.  And that would be just for starters! :)

In any case, the mess has been removed from the upstairs hallway, and we are now in the process of restoring order on the north side of the house.

Of course, the sun room and back patio still need attention, but that is for another day.  It just never ends, does it?

Hope there is order in your little corner of the world today.