It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

How many can you toss out? First of all, I did not personally force those beautiful daffodil blooms, dear friend, Pois. The local grocery establishment tempted me and I caved. I just provided heat and water. And in light of Pabs sending me a new challenge, I’m considering dropping the daffodil dilemma now.

This goal is easily attainable, as I have a head start! My fireplace has various plumbing parts residing on it, and there is a toilet free-standing in my office, along with furniture and cabinets and a narrow path to my computer.

It’s good to be flexible during these trying times, don’t you think?

My petite daffodils are blooming so cheerfully, as evidenced by the photo. How to replant them once they finish blooming? All of my research indicates that “blooms forced in water” should be given the boot. They won’t regenerate.

I take that as a challenge and long-running goal for next Spring! It’s a low bar, but perhaps I can jump this one. As an aside, notice the measuring cups by the vase. I was actually doing a bit of culinary wonderment last night. I made gravy.

Remember when I whined about heading out to retrieve 2x4s in the snow with my sockless crocs?

I now advertise for free, a pair of crocs in two sizes…6.5 and 7.

It is possible to shrink the size of a pair of plastic shoes. I did it last year when I left my crocs outside in the sun. They actually shrank appropriately. However, this time, it was not good. The left foot of the pair shrank upon re-entry to the warmth. The right foot kept its designated size. I wouldn’t mind, but now the left foot rubs on my instep.

Now I offer to the reader a size 6.5 left size croc and a 7 size right foot. I wear a size eight. Adjust.

It might be the only workout I’m getting lately, but this one was kind of fun. Sent to me by “Pabs,” I’ve been contemplating other words. It’s best if you look in a book, or read the newspaper. Thinking of them on your own can drive you nuts and lead you to lie awake desperately seeking at least one “Kangaroo.” Just providing a little exercise for all today.

Me to husband: Are you going to eat your popcorn?

Husband: No. You are.

This is the secret to a successful marriage.

Last Minute Construction is the name, pressure is our game. It was my husband’s turn for an early morning-right-before-the-drywall-crew-arrives epiphany. We had to tweak a bit more…like four more studs we inadvertently overlooked?

It was pretty neat. I got to go outside, crossing the driveway to the garage, in the snow and 21 degree temperature, with my wet hair and crocs-without-socks, in order to retrieve some 2 x 4s. Brisk and lively set the pace for the day. Of course, I could have worn boots and a hat, but we were in a time crunch.

Thankfully, the crew arrived an hour late. Thankfully, I had an appointment and couldn’t stay for the fun. I did return home to a cacophonous abode later and admired the progress being made. I think we successfully prepared the room for the drywall.

The next contractor will be that ever-popular-and-slow-to-choose-a-paint-color professional. She had better make a decision soon or I’ll have to fire her.

My eyes cracked open ever so slightly to gauge the time. 4 AM. As I tried to return to slumber, the sudden realization that our bathroom plumbing was perhaps improperly placed for our new cabinetry, robbed me of any subsequent sleep.

When my husband found me at 6:45 am yesterday, I was at the kitchen table prepared to reveal my insights. Additionally, I had two changes to make to our current framing. Now, this all wouldn’t have been so crucial, were it any other day. However, we are installing drywall TODAY – in one hour! All of this prompted my husband to declare a name for our self-imposed company: Last Minute Construction.

We went to bed around 10 pm, having finished moving the plumbing, adding framing, and finalizing measurements for the solid surface materials. Well, my husband did all of that. I just provided the inspiration.

Looking forward to the day when cleaning the house actually makes a difference.

Inadvertently, I bid on two of the same lots in my auction pursuits. It looked as though I was destined to win dual donations of two dozen homemade cinnamon rolls. As I had hoped to do some last minute bidding on the other items in my cart, my commitment to accompanying on piano for Mass on Saturday afternoon stymied my efforts. Additionally, the auction ended during Central time….and I missed the close.

I did think that I could have slipped out during the homily to attend to my bidding, but that didn’t seem kosher. I came home to learn I had NOT obtained any of the items for which I battled. My consolation was that I upped the bidding at the very least, and saved myself four dozen cinnamon roll calories.

It was still great fun, and I can reclaim those calories with ease.

As a wee lass, my father would take me to farm auctions in the Midwest along with the siblings. Or, he’d return from farm auctions in the Midwest with treasures for us. Either way, it was fun and a good day’s entertainment.

I’ve spent the past two days bidding online for my niece’s kids’ school’s auction. (Is that even remotely grammatically correct? My great-nephews school auction. That’s better.)

Anyway, today we end the joy! I’m winning on 2 dozen homemade cinnamon rolls – which I have no way of obtaining. I was winning on about five other fine items yesterday morning, but overnight, I was outbid! My strategy is to wait until the last possible moment when I shall fly into the bidding realm and swipe up the goods!

Now I’m hungry for cinnamon rolls.

Four days ago we mixed concrete and used my good red kitchen floor bucket for said purpose. Meticulously washed and dried, it remains on the brick wall outside, awaiting placement back in its home.

However, as I’ve been staring at it daily, I was reminded of this poem by William Carlos Williams. I don’t know if anything depends upon my bucket, but it is red. Just substitute “bucket” for wheelbarrow, and “white dog” for the chickens. You’ve got my literary submission for the day!

William Carlos Williams – 1883-1963

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens