Thirty-One

This is a total throwaway. Some time back, I made a commitment to blog on a daily basis. As you may have noticed, today is the last day of May and it is nearing midnight and I need one more blog post for the month. So. This is it. I have nothing brilliant to say, no cat photo to share, and nary a fabulous website to redirect you to. Welcome to 31! Soon, we will reset to 1 again. And it will be June. That month of rare days. I thought it was time to watch Netflix, but my yawning indicates otherwise. 

Happy Birthday, Son of Mine

I think it's fair to say that kids don't appreciate a hand-made card nearly as much as parents appreciate those made by their children. I have leapt to this conclusion based on the fact that I have a memory box full of cards made by my sons and presented to me on my birthday or Mother's Day. Reid was relegating this one to the recycling bin. I toiled, toiled!, over this sheet of notebook paper with various colored Sharpies for maybe five minutes. I suspect going out for a birthday dinner tonight will be better received. Almost as much as the cash.

Pretty Flower or Noxious Weed?

These plants have been popping up all over the backyard. And I'm hoping they're a drought resistant perennial. A native, low maintenance plant that is also attractive. The blossoms are open in the morning but close up in the heat of midday.

If it's a good plant, I'll dig them up and move them all together, maybe as a border around the flagstone patio. If they turn out to be weeds, I'll be a little sad as I dig them up and compost them. This is the sort of plant that my brown thumb yearns for.

Beer!

I have discovered a most delicious amber ale! Brewed in Wyoming, Bomber Mountain is a creation of Black Tooth Brewing. Best of all, it is packaged in recyclable aluminum cans. I've been feeling guilty about the glass bottles. I do hope it is available locally!

Sprung

After eleven days of incarceration, Newton is due for a probational release this afternoon. While in his 12x12 carpeted, daylit chamber complete with food, water, treats, and the all-important litter box, he has a 100% record for using said litter box. We'll see how this goes. I really do love this miserable tigercat. 

Towanda!

I love this movie so much I will watch it even when it is interrupted by commercials. I tuned in about halfway through the other night and was delighted when the cable channel aired it a second time right smack on the tails of the first airing! So I got to see Fried Green Tomatoes in its entirety, if a little disjointed. I can't believe I don't own a copy of FGT. And as a half Southern girl, I can't believe that an actual fried green tomato has never passed my lips. Then again, as a half Norwegian girl, tasting lutefisk just the one time was quite enough.

Don't Cry Over Spilt Coffee

The rule is plain and simple. Don't wear white clothing in the car. I was contemplating that rule, and it is a rule, not a mere guideline, as I was dressing this morning. In jeans, a turquoise cardigan sweater, and, you guessed it, a white tank top with a lacy inset around the neckline. I was feeling pretty cocky about ignoring the no-white-clothing-in-the-car rule about fifteen minutes into the trip when I sipped the last of the cranberry juice. What could possibly go wrong? Then fifteen minutes after that, I picked up my coffee and misaligned the opening in the lid with my open mouth and promptly dumped coffee down the front of my shirt. At least it wasn't blistering hot, it was perfect drinking temperature. Then I had to spend the rest of the day in my coffee besmirched tank top thinking about the lady who won a landmark lawsuit because her spilled coffee gave her third degree burns. This is why we have rules. Because things go wrong. I'll definitely remember that the next time. The time after that, who knows? But as far as mishaps on a road trip are concerned, this was a small one. And having been through the agony of a lawsuit, I'm smart enough to know you can't sue over your own stupidity. People have, though. That's why there are so many warning stickers on a stepladder. And no smartass remarks about how could I have possibly missed my mouth.

Fool Me Once

It's funny how things turn out. You are the only man I have met in twelve years of being single that I could actually see myself being with. And I can't quite explain that except to say that the quiet was comfortable with you. I am an avowed sapiosexual and proudly admit I was immediately attracted to your brain. You're smart and funny and thoughtful. You paid attention through our weeks of electronic communications and came prepared for our first in-the-flesh meeting knowing that I love a great foot massage and what I enjoy for food and drink. Though I would never have picked you out of a crowded room as someone I wanted to get to know, some things are inevitable. As that crowded room became less crowded, we would have been the last two sitting together laughing and engaging in verbal repartee while the waitstaff yawned and leaned on the bar waiting for us to take the hint to leave. So I've been sad for a while. The hardest thing to let go of, it turns out, and yes, this is the funny part, was the idea of you. The hope that despite the odds that you and I would become a we. Once I did let go, it was easy. Freeing and such a relief. The first time I broke things off with you it didn't feel finished. Which is probably why I took up with you again. Now it does feel finished. Nothing really changed, the same things that distanced us from each other the first time around cropped up again. You fooled me once and then a second time. So, shame on me. All is fair in love and war, I suppose. But that doesn't mean that's how it ought to be.

Well, That Went Fast

A year ago today we arrived at 2534. A weary caravan consisting of me and Newton in the Outback and Reid in his Taurus pulled up in the driveway just after dark. Illuminated by my car headlights, I struggled with the realtor's lockbox attached to the faucet to retrieve the key to the front door. Soon we were inside the echoing space that would in time come to feel like home. And home it is. We've each had a birthday here. Holidays have been decorated for and celebrated. Michael and Liz, Andrea and Nick, Jill, Martine, Tigh, and Kelsey have come to visit. The only thing I miss about 1408 is the huge bathtub in the master bath. Eventually I will have a soaking-worthy tub in my current bathroom. All in good time. It's good to be home.

How Ultracrepidarious of Me

Ultracrepidarian is my new favorite word. Thanks to cousin Cory for sharing it with me. Sounds like an insult Bugs Bunny would hurl in an argument. Based on his use of ultramaroon, which is another terrific word that spell-check does not like. Here is the meaning, should you desire to hurl it about. You know you want to.

Definitions for ultracrepidarian

1. noting or pertaining to a person who criticizes, judges, or gives advice outside the area of his or her expertise: The play provides a classic, simplistic portrayal of an ultracrepidarian mother-in-law.
2. an ultracrepidarian person.

Trials of Drying

I bought a dehumidifier yesterday. Or, rather, I ordered one. Despite what it says on their websites, neither of the local building supplies stores carries them as regular inventory. Actually, one of them does, but it was a fancy over-four- hundred-dollars model that was priced beyond what I was willing to spend. The other one appears to have a reasonable $149 model in a reputable brand on hand, but when you try to put it in your shopping cart online for local pickup, it won't allow you to do so. When you click on the icon to determine availability in your area, it tells you this model is not available at any store within 100 miles. It seems that the normal dryness factor in Colorado does not require the running of a dehumidifier to keep your basement smelling sweet and free of dampness. Based on last summer, I would agree. But the deluge of May 8th that dumped 1.5 inches of rain in twenty minutes prompted a local run on dehumidifiers. The $179 unit I ordered will be here Thursday. With any luck, we will have things dried up by then and I'll end up returning it. On the downside, my old reliable Bissell carpet and upholstery cleaner has bitten the dust. Which means I may have to plow the dehumidifier dollars into buying a new Bissell. Pardon me while I try to prevent future water disaster by applying heavy duty weather stripping to the basement windows.   

Guilty. So Very Guilty.

Newton has used up all his Pass Gos and collections of two hundred dollars. Today he is going into lock-up until he relearns the lesson of the litter box. Don't worry, it's a lovely room with a cozy nook with his fave rug, food and water, things to amuse himself, and, most importantly, the litter box. He will receive regular visitors and treats and ferminator grooming. And love. Because despite his extracurricular pooping and peeing, I still love this little monster. With any luck he'll be out by his June birthday. Until then, let's cheer him along until he learns better bathroom etiquette.

Listing

1. The basement carpet still has wet, squishy areas.

2. Item 1 persists despite wet-vaccing, towels weighted down on said wet areas, fans blowing, furnace cranked up, and strategically placed Damp-Rid bags.

3. Due to Items 1 and 2, it's clear I need to purchase a dehumidifier today.

4. I'm convinced that I am compelled to accomplish Item 3 as punishment for staying on budget this month.

5. My cat is a total asshole.

6. After checking the long-term weather, the plants get to spend one more night in the garage.

7. My wireless thermometer is malfunctioning. It is perpetually stuck at 68 degrees.

8. If I had relied on my thermometer, I would have neglected to move my plants inside to avoid the freezing temps and snow.

9. I have had the phone number for a highly recommended massage therapist for over a week.

10. Considering my cranky neck and left shoulder, in reference to Item 9, someone please explain to me why I have not called her and made an appointment.

Odometer Palindromes

These magical numbers popped up while I was on my way to trivia night at Syntax. Naturally I pulled over to preserve this moment. As you can see, the car is clearly in the P for park transmission position. Yes, I find this sort of thing interesting. My brain wiring is such that I enjoy trivia competitions as well. Could there be a connection? I can't say. It's too trivial to consider. 

Pillow Talk

Questionable advice at best.

Springtime!

A little late season snow! 

As it turns out, being a slowpoke with the gardening is a good thing. I only had one bed planted that required covering. The lamiastrum, coral bells, and other shade plants are under a makeshift tent of old blankets and a shower curtain.

The rain was just turning to snow as I hauled these guys into the garage.

Yup. Snowing in the front yard, too.

Lykkelig Syttende Mai!

This isn't going to be nearly as cool as, say, a boat tour through the fjords of Norway. It's the tour of Norwegian stuff around my house. Just the highlights, mind you, not every little thing with some connection to the old country. You can thank me later.

In case you weren't aware, I am half Norwegian from my mother. Just to the left of the spot where I am sitting and typing at this very moment is a Norwegian flag. It's tucked in amongst lots of other stuff and conveniently hides a hole and a scuffed spot on the wall until I get around to painting. 

Grandpa Knut was a blacksmith and furniture maker. He made this little bookcase that currently sits in my bedroom. Not specifically a Norwegian thing, but certainly a thing made by a Norwegian.

Each of the four granddaughters received a trunk upon graduating from high school, built by Grandpa Knut and festively painted by Grandma Esther. All of them are unique, painted in the Norwegian folk art style called rosemaling.

Here we have the Norwegian shelf in the sunroom. Numerous rosemaled pieces, a smaller version of the Norwegian flag, a copy of Grandpa Knut's American citizenship certificate, a photo book of Norwegian places, and a seashell that Grandpa picked up off a beach somewhere. That's the story, anyway. 

On another shelf we find a couple of other rosemaled pieces. A tiny trunk and a bowl of some sort. That's the tour, folks! Exit through the gift shop!

So Many Smackers

Seriously, I don't know what I would do with $380k per year. Even after the IRS helped themselves to a hefty portion. I do love shoes. And then there are the home projects. Always the home projects.

Things I Have Accomplished Today

1. Within minutes of getting up, dispatching a quite large spider with the hand-vac in the kitchen.

2. Newt was watching me accomplish Item 1 without lifting a paw to help.

3. Folding the load of towels I washed and dried yesterday.

4. Went underwear shopping with Reid.

5. In reference to Item 4, the underwear was for him to wear, not me.

6. As long as we were out of the house, we stopped by Panera for cheap-baker's-dozen-bagels day.

7. As long as we were at Panera, we also had lunch.

8. I recommend Panera's plum ginger hibiscus tea, iced and lightly sweetened.

9. Items 2, 5, and 8 really aren't accomplishments. Neither is this.

10. The big accomplishment yesterday was paying bills. Today the check to my garbage hauler was mailed. 

11. This item is mere padding. It's a slow day.

12. Also, it's raining and my OCD tendencies are telling me to go check the basement windows. All of them.
                                                                                         

Dear Cully

Not all that long ago I cleaned out my purse and found this. I don't know that the day will ever come when I can think of you without some degree of sadness. What I do know is that the emotional tide that accompanies my memories of you now breaks toward joy rather than sorrow. Today marks eight years since your most untimely death. Mostly, now, I can think of you and smile rather than cry. I can be grateful that you were in my life. Today's title is a salutation of sorts, but is also the description of how I hold you in my heart.

Perfect Cup for Today

This cup belonged to my grandma, Esther. She had a collection of six fancy tea cups with saucers that I never saw her use. They were kept on display in the dining room china cabinet. When I passed the china on to Courtney that had belonged to Grandma and then my mother, I kept one of the matching cup-and-saucers to add to the collection. Then there's this one that I purchased after touring Celestial Seasonings. If you ask me, pretty things ought to be used, even if only occasionally. My coffee was calling for this particular cup today. How could I refuse. 

There is No Plan(et) B

Reboot?

Call Me Chuck

Carla, your name reveals that you have a strong personality and don't shy away from a challenge. Even if life gets difficult sometimes, you hold on to your optimistic nature and enrich the lives of your loved ones by showering them with love. Your name perfectly reflects your loyal and pure soul!

No. Just no. This is not what my name means. Carla is a feminine form of Charles and means, little and womanly. Starry Sky has a porn actress sort of ring to it, don't you think? You just Googled to see if she exists, didn't you. All I have to say is, after I hit the publish button, porn seekers are going to be bitterly disappointed when this post shows up. So much for having a loyal and pure soul.

Damp Management

I lived at my last address for thirty years. In that time, there was water in the basement twice. Once because a supply hose for the washing machine broke, the second time because the dehumidifier failed to shut off when we were on vacation. In just under a year here, there is water in the basement for the fourth, yes, fourth time! Which means drying out the dampness has become a trusty tool in my skill set. At thirty hours into the current water disaster, we are in the final stages of wet-vaccing and have moved on to cranking up the heat, closing all the upstairs furnace vents, and running fans to circulate the air. The wet doggish smell is mostly gone and soon we can get to putting furniture back where it belongs. This isn't something I expected to be good at. To be perfectly honest, I hope it never happens again. The good news is that the new egress window surrounded by its much deeper well drained like a champ and is dry as can be even though there was no cover on it. Last fall I was thinking that third time is the charm thing. Now I'll settle for the fourth being with me. If the fifth comes to pass, I'll take that as a cue to start drinking heavily. Or maybe start building a boat.

Callin' it Like They Sees It!

I wish I knew who the photographer was! I would love to give credit for capturing this display that has the tagline, seen at Costco. Far be it from me to attempt to influence the masses or to incite mischief, but this is brilliant. A most appropriate place to take a Trump, if you ask me.

Guilty!

Guess who removed the downspout extension last week while she was pulling weeds? That would be moi. And who, after finishing up a couple hours of yard work this afternoon, still had not remembered to put back the downspout extension? Again, moi. And who, even though it was sprinkling and dark clouds were rolling in at the conclusion of yard work, did not put two and two together and think, golly, this might be a good time to put that downspout extension back where it belongs? Yup. Moi. I thought it was amusing when I got a severe weather warning text for local flash floods on my phone. Reid is downstairs wet-vaccing up our very extremely localized flash flood. Because without the downspout extension in place, the window well for the downstairs bathroom fills up and then gushes in around the window and soon there is water, water everywhere. Don't drink it! Guess who put the downspout extension back? Please! I sent Reid out to do it. I have better things to do. Like taking my turn with the wet-vac.

Fun With Dirt

After three days of hacking and clearing, the southeast corner of the backyard has been tamed. The raised planting beds are ready to be transformed into shade garden fairyland. After so much sweat and toil, I get to go buy plants now! 

Oops

Earlier this afternoon, when I should have been getting dressed and heading out the door to run errands, I was instead sitting in front of my computer. Spending over an hour, still in my bathrobe, filling out an application on a dating website. Why, you may ask? Why, when I have experienced only hilariously bad luck with internet dating. Why, when I know from experience that I will balk and log out when I hit the paywall. Why, why, why? Because I'm an eternal optimist? Because I haven't been out on a date in over a year? Because since moving I might just be living smack-dab in the middle of the ripest, most desirable crop of available men anywhere? All of the above. None of the above. All I know is, my email inbox is rife with responses. I opened one of them, intending to navigate straightaway to the dating website and delete my profile. I clicked and got an error message. 404, not found. I tried again. Same result. Hmmm. I'm thinking this is one humongous cosmic clue steering me away from online dating. I'll delete my profile and unsubscribe. As soon as I get something other than the 404 response. I may be a fool for love but I can take a hint. 
  

Green-Eyed Kitty

Fertility, Faeries, and Fire, Oh My!