Monday, June 27, 2016
This adorable, miserable little bastard is currently in lockup in the laundry room. With the litter box. So he will become reacquainted with its purpose. It has been a stressful couple of months with many big adjustments for him. Yes, I am happy and grateful that he used the box 100% at the hotel. He also had a 100% litter box usage rate at Jill's cabin. But now that he has settled in here, this is his second lockup for extracurricular pooing. Meh. In conclusion, Newt, it is quite simple. Thinking outside the box, good. Pooing outside the box, bad.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Yesterday I was shopping in the neighborhood. Pretty much anything you need to pick up, even with only a moment's notice, can be procured within a couple of blocks. Primarily we needed groceries. And beer. Beer can be purchased without leaving my block. Let me say that one more time. Beer can be purchased without leaving my block. Any sort of beer you desire. Whether your preference falls on the lite or dark end of the beer spectrum, or somewhere in the middle. My local King Soopers does this evil thing on the hours of 4, 5, and 6pm. They bring out fresh from the oven loaves of French bread and cleverly position them in paper wrappers near the checkouts. And they only charge a buck for each one. Who can resist? I couldn't Upon returning home with the week's provisions, including a loaf of warm, crusty bread, I had called ahead to request the son to leave his basement abode to assist me in hauling it all in, I threw together a quick dinner. I was busy putting things away and keeping an eye on the stove and cutting up veggies into bite size pieces. In the middle of all this activity, I was seized with a physically wrenching feeling. I set the knife aside and leaned on the edge of the counter and realized I was tearing up. I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home was the silent mantra racing through my brain. Following a deep, shuddering intake of breath, I quietly assured myself that I was home. Yes, it's still very new. No, it has not reached the level of comfort and habit as the last home. But home it is. Maybe it's just the kitchen. The literal as well as figurative heart of the home. I'm still learning it. Familiar things in unfamiliar places. As new memories are formed they displace old ones. I need to throw some parties here, celebrate some holidays, experience the full cycle of seasons. But mostly I need to continue the task of cleaning, organizing, and putting things away. There aren't so many boxes left in the garage now. Yesterday I cleared a path to the door and actually used it to go out into the backyard! What a concept! Getting to the yard directly from the garage without going through the kitchen and sunroom! I really do love this quirky little house and with each box I unpack, each picture I hang, it becomes a little more mine. Indeed, there's no place like home, and nowhere I'd rather be right now.
Saturday, June 25, 2016
Today just seems like a paint day. I have a couple of deck chairs that need to go from dark green to white. And as long as the white paint is out, I might as well transform that mirror that I intend to hang in the bathroom. And speaking of the bathroom, I have two paint samples to toss up on the wall to see which one speaks to me. Then there's the color I like to call the oops green that was supposed to be beige but turned out green. The thing is, the oops green looks beautiful with my big comfy chair in the living room. I have a sample size container of it and may slap some up on the wall in the dining room and living room to see what the changing light over the course of the day does with it. Oh, I also have the formula for the oops green should it work out. I still haven't found the iron or the hanging light fixture for my bedroom. I have found the cookie sheets and the drill bits. I need to sell the stove in the garage, which I estimate shall fully fund the interior painting projects. And I need to go grocery shopping. And I'm out of beer. Suddenly it feels like I didn't get up early enough.
Friday, June 24, 2016
I cannot find the iron. Stop looking at my pants! They're linen. They're supposed to be wrinkly. I have rooted about out in the garage in even the most unobvious of containers and still it has not shown itself. Mostly I own an iron because I sew. I have always felt that half the job when you are sewing is the proper pressing of the seams and hems if you want a decent result. So. I had one in the other house. A nice one with an automatic shutoff feature to ease my OCD tendencies. I'm pretty sure I packed it and it came along on the journey here but at this point who knows. Those last couple of hours of packing and loading were a bit frenzied. In what I hope will be a suitable substitute, I have misted the bedskirt for my bed and have tossed it in the fancy-schmancy dryer. In about five minutes we'll know. Eventually I suppose the iron will show up. Until then, don't drop by hoping I can iron your shirt for you. Hell, even after I find the iron don't drop by expecting me to iron your shirt. I'll mist it and toss it in the dryer, though. It's the least I could do.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Behold, my hair ode to Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. Yes, my bangs have time-travelled back to 1983, a time before reliable anti-frizz products were available. I wish my ass and the number on the scale would go back to that era. What a feeling, indeed.