It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

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

We celebrated the holiday weekend in the bathroom. We are renovating….aka…recitifying the disastrous and unfortunate choices the builder made. Additionally, we are providing ourselves with a distraction.

“I’m not great at plumbing.” This is really not what the assistant to the self-designated contractor wants to hear. Yet, that is what started my day after the holiday, and made me ponder life. ?????? (Those question marks refer to far earlier comments made regarding hiring someone for this endeavor. As in – over a year ago?)

Fortunately, I have dealt with this dilemma before, having completed a deck and pergola, which looks fabulous. I stood careful watch, critiquing and providing guidance the entire way. (I invite you you to see the finished product.)

You may not be invited to the bathroom….for various reasons. However, it will be better than its predecessor, and it will be something we did ourselves, so hopefully will be able to be forgiven in its skewed measurements.

And, I personally think this is going to be gorgeous – and I shall sing of my spouse’s skills forever – as long as the tub doesn’t fall to the office below.

The headline a few days ago in the “Living” section:

Actually, I have spent a good deal of time learning to substitute and “wing it” when I was in a bind! To me, that is a valuable skill and one that took me years to acquire. I used to be stymied if I didn’t have the ingredients or the proper equipment, and I would bail.

“Independent Living,” the renamed “Home Economics” class of the 70’s, taught me to measure perfectly. Use that flat side of the knife to properly skim the flour – after slicing through the measuring cup for air pockets – to get the EXACT amount you were providing for the recipe. I was attentive in class, and I followed directions well. Once upon a time.

All it takes is some time in forced feeding of the masses, aka making dinner nightly for the family, and you learn the fine art of substitution. You also learn that sometimes, measurements are actually suggestions. And if you deal with a high altitude climate, you additionally adjust in other ways. And if your oven is tricky, you adjust for that.

There is no way that anyone who cooks or bakes frequently can exactly follow a recipe, unless they are professionals in the professional kitchen. (As the author of that article is.)

It’s a bit of pleasantry to adjust and make something your own, especially when you neglected the grocery shopping.

Yes, I entered the “rolling cart of uncertainty.” Since schools were closed last spring and book fairs were canceled, my little survival cart for setting up the fairs had been in the garage, collecting dust. And spider sacs full of babies. And dead moths. Yesterday was the self-proclaimed D-Day.

The first order of business was to bring the cart into the kitchen and empty it on the floor for pestilence mitigation. The warmth brought out the little spiderlings quite nicely, and I was able to peacefully obliterate them, sans icky squishing sounds on the bottom of my shoes. Hosing down the cart, I resumed sorting and tossing the miscellany.

There was enough junk in there to help me survive a year underground in any unfortunate emergency. I don’t think I used anything I had in there for seven years, other than the extra plastic bags for books. Oh – and the scissors embellished with my name. They actually were lost for a year, but faithfully returned the following year when I visited the sight of the unintentional theft.

Thus, I’m donating a bag of office supplies somewhere, as well as the nine pads of sticky notes, and keeping the rolling cart indoors. I’m thinking of wearing my previously misplaced photo ID tag out in public, just to give people an idea of what I look like without a mask.

Maybe we should all wear a photo ID? And if we do, we can choose a photo at least ten years old for additional ego boosting benefits. Brilliant idea #117.