This Old House, The Story Continues

When we last left our hero, he was in the kitchen toying with a palm sander and certain death.  Let's tune in and survey the damage...

(Tour guide in hushed tones):
'As we enter the dwelling, ladies and gentlemen, I will ask that you refrain from using any flash photography.'

'You can see from the trail left in the dust that they lost the drop cloths again, leading one to wonder if there is some sort of black hole in the basement.'

'If you look to the right you will see the constellation Leo picked out in Poly Filla. It extends across the living room and up the hall stairs where it seems to turn into a map of Soho.'

'The debris pattern in the kitchen indicates that sanding and baking are not compatibly concurrent activities.'

'Step carefully in the crawl space and mind your heads.  As you will see there is a collection of hot water heaters down here which seem to indicate this culture worshipped giant hunks of useless metal too heavy for one arguing couple to lift and dispose of.'

'We would normally conclude the tour in the garage which holds a fascinating display of 12 derelict sewing machines however there is a giant spider covered in paint living in there and that's just icky.' 

'Interesting question, ma'am.  I don't believe the husband saw it coming.'

Hail Friday, Greatest of Days

Friday afternoons offer that best of all possible gifts which is hope.

      "I hope you have a good weekend!"

                               "Sure hope is doesn't rain!"
       
         "Hope the traffic isn't too bad!"

When the last of the ignore this until Monday tasks are tidied into a neat pile, Friday afternoon is the lid on the box of Schrodinger's Cat. Much as that postulated feline is neither alive nor dead until the lid is lifted, until that second hand rolls around and you fling open the escape hatch, the weekend ahead can be either good or bad. 

Endless games of cards with incomprehensible rules. A missed bus in the rain. Road trips. Street meat. The perfect bike ride. Vigorous apple slicing leading to a trip to emergency waiting room. Sambuca.  All of this and more awaits as Friday tick-tick-ticks away and the weekend becomes reality.  

Throw open the door. Peel back the lid. Be brave. For fair or foul, 'tis Friday and the world is the small locally harvested organic shellfish of your choice.  




   

A Prayer

O Closet, which art in my room, hallowed be thy contents. 
I have honoured you with fresh offerings from Karan and Klein in the hopes that you have not shrunk any of my clothes like you did last month.
Give me this day a fabulous look which will turn heads,
And forgive me for the corduroy, I knew not what I was doing.
Lead me not into polyester,
But deliver me from shoulder pads,
For Thine is the wisdom of hemlines and colour pairing.
Let my party dresses fit me,
Amen.

This Old House, Part Deux

Three years ago, in a moment of weakness, I Christmas-gifted Husband with a high speed power palm sander he'd been rubbing on himself each time we entered 'The Man Store' for a month previous.

I can't imagine what I was thinking.  Whatever it was, it certianly wasn't "Gosh, I hope he doesn't use this in the kitchen.  Without any prep.  While I'm baking."

It should have been.

Volvo: 'The Swedish are smarter than you and so are their cars'

I bid farewell to an old friend last week.  On Friday, reluctantly and with a few tears, we took the Red Wonder for it's last drive.  Without any ceremony (or notice) Husband decided there was not enough Duct Tape in the world to keep my little buggy on the road and simply replaced it with something far sturdier and with functioning headlamps. 


Turning over the keys to my beloved 'car' felt like limping an old pooch to the vet for the longest walk. As I think back on our time together I know I will never have another car like it. I recall fondly the day I discovered I could put the trunk lid back on all by myself.  I loved knowing there was only one way I could insert the bent key into the ignition which didn't lock the entire steering column.  I remember the day brought it home as a replacement for a car which had failed to function as a mode of transportation in the most spectacular of ways: the brakes failed at the same time as the transmission.  


Formed by impassive ingenuity and running on high octane Swedish chocolate, this new car of mine is not getting off on the right foot, as it were. I confess I look upon it with suspicion.  Firstly, it starts. It also smells clean and new, as though the previous owner was too good for McD's fries.  Furthermore, I have a hard time believing all the wonders the user guide promises, things like 'air bags' or 'anti-lock brakes' or 'gas mileage.'  These sound made up.


This new car, if I am to believe what I read, is also far smarter than any car has a right to be.  According to the manual, I should be unable to lock my keys in this car.  It was designed to prevent this. I am deeply offended by the implication that I would fail to have a back up plan for this situation and I am already searching for a way to disable the passenger window.

Which Wild Thing Was That?

We live with several animals.  I say several for we have two large and slobbery dogs, one she's-not-overweight-she's-just-fluffy cat, and the Mystery Beast.

The Mystery Beast wakes us up in the night to let us know in a booming voice that everything is all right.  Neither dog will have anything to say when the light comes on except "Who, us?"

The Mystery Beast eats unmonitored breakfast toast and leaves a trail of drool leading away from the toilet bowl.  The Mystery Beast leaves a warm spot on the no-dogs-on-the-sofa.  The Mystery Beast will eat baby green tomatoes straight from the vine.  The Mystery Beast eats the cats' food when the cat isn't looking.  The Mystery Beast has gas.

This Beast is not yellow or black and tan or orange and white.  This Beast, to the best we are able to guess based on the sizable dust bunnies under the kitchen table each morning, is grey in colour and, apparently, likes the taste of shoes. 

The Mystery Beast has never been spotted by a Two-Legger although the dogs and cat claim to see him on a regular basis.  Like the Boogie Man of house pets, the Mystery Beast lurks behind our doors and under the stairs, waiting for any opportunity to clear the counter of unwanted loaves of fresh bread or to carefully tie the sewing machine thread to the toaster oven.  Although we have never seen it, we know that the Mystery Beast is here to stay and while it may cost us a few slices of peanut butter toast, it is still far cheaper than the Rottweiller, who still owes me for a $400 dental retainer.

Noises Off

For the sake of peace in the marriage, and in an effort to maintain the illusion that I do not live with a crazy person, here is a list of sounds (and my guesses v. actual cause) that frequently emanate from random corners of the property which I do not question:

1.  Shattering glass.  Possible cause: Husband dropped a mirror while moving stuff in the garage.  Actual cause:  Husband dropped a mirror while flashing a low-flying airplane in an attempt to signal his buddy, the pilot, that he, Paycheck, is a complete twit.
2.  Loud banging - wooden. Possible cause: Wind has simultaneously slammed closed all of the doors on the second floor.  Actual cause: Husband has just walked into an open cupboard door, injured his head and shut the door so hard it has bounced open and hit his head a second time.
3.  Loud banging - metallic. Possible cause: Husband has used a 10 Lb sledge to remove a stubborn brake drum from the van.  Actual cause: Husband has used a 10 Lb sledge to remove a stubborn brake drum from the van (this happens often enough that the sound is now quite unmistakable).
4.  Loud banging - explosive. Possible cause: Husband has just shot himself in the foot with a nail gun (extremely likely).  Actual cause: Husband has accidentally super glued a sports ball to a dry suit with industrial epoxy.  The heat from the resulting chemical reaction has turned the Spider Man basket ball into an IED.
5.  Expletives followed by any combination of the above.  Possible cause: In four years my writers' curiosity has never driven me to investigate this and, should you find yourself overwhelmed with the need for illumination in this regard, I invite you to stop by and see for yourself.  


The dogs and I will be under the couch.