Sneak Peak

The kitchen in progress, the table will be beneath the lights in the foreground the shelves will be painted white to match the walls.  As I pack a minimalist is emerging. I’m a little bit EXCITED!


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Goodbye Hippy Hill

IMG_1819 IMG_0659 IMG_1816 IMG_1285 IMG_1163 IMG_0973 IMG_1130 IMG_0997 IMG_0986 IMG_0722 sunflower-on-hippy-hill1 nervous-skunk IMG_1539

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White Paint

The ceiling and walls are the same paint, which creates an airy open feeling. I am not a fan of ceiling paint, it seems oppressive paired with white walls as well as being completely unnecessary. White paint accentuates the view too. The floors will be oak, stained to match door slabs and baseboard. There will be sills and aprons on the windows. The counter top is cherry butcher block- 1/10 of the cost of honed slate, which I love but is a little bit cold and harsh for this application. The base cabinets are maple. All of the door knobs, window hardware, and cabinet pulls are bronze. The hall doors are wood with full length frosted glass panels. Light fixtures and ceiling fans are nickel. Oh and I saved my rewards and got two area rugs and a coffee table for $23.75- go me!

There is a LOT to say on a variety of topics but I’m saving it until I get through this final push.

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Daybell Does It Again

It will be worth your while to visit Daybell and click on his typewriter. He’s so clever, I bet he votes for Bernie.

Richard Daybell – Novels, stories and short humor

Source: Home

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Happy Endings

I met a well-known artist. His engagement and wedding were announced in TNYT. I had no idea he was married until I googled. In fact, he’s a gentleman of a certain age so I thought that perhaps I could arrange for one of my single friends to meet him.

There are certain observations for civilized behavior in this kind of matchmaking. We do not tell either party that we want to set them up, it destroys spontaneity. We never tell the 1st party that we think they may have an interest in the 2nd party or vice versa. We are talking about two unique human beings, not a new couch or a pair of shoes. We do not allow one person to “shop” the other person, it’s insulting. Just to let you know, I was shopped once, I did not care for it at all. When I discovered what transpired I decided the gentleman in question was not nearly as attractive as I had originally determined. Over before it began, can’t even remember his name, banished from my memory.

Back to our story. The artist is funny and, as a person of a certain age, he has interests similar to mine. In addition to that, I like his work. I was drawn to it by a piece that reminded me of my husband.  I took the latter part of last Saturday afternoon off to go to his studio to choose something for my office. We had a conversation. I enjoy a good conversation. I like to know what position the other humans have on the collective condition.

While I was at the studio I talked about my husband. I explained that we work together, that  self-employment in a business context, rather than a creative one, is not fun at all. The artist is interesting. His marriage has entered a passive phase. It is possible that it will end. I hope it does not. He seems like a good guy. The wedding piece in TNYT was lovely. It quoted both of them. They were in love. I told the artist I was sorry, he quipped “That’s life” meaning to to allude to the metaphysical topic we had covered. I can tell he misses his wife. I talked with my husband on the dreaded cell phone while I was at the studio. I bought something tasty to take home to him. I mentioned the artist and his work briefly that evening.

We have our own little traditions. Sometimes I think they’re habits we’ve recently embraced but that’s only because I forget that we have always been this way, doing these things. Each fall we take a long ride to look at the colors. We get coffee and doughnuts and ride down long country roads and highways that cut through miles of uninhabited fields and woodlands on the way to Canada. We talk about things.

Sunday was our own personal peak color day. As we were riding along, I described some of the pieces I saw in the artist’s studio. I repeated parts of our conversation. My husband was just a tiny bit threatened. He was jealous! I was floored, flattered, and very sorry. Really, you should see my 53 year old carcass. I’m in a state of constant disrepair. Believe me when I tell you there is nothing conventionally attractive about me. I’m so far beyond that kind of awareness that I couldn’t find my way back to it with a compass and a road map. The extent of it is, I’m clean and pretty happy with my wardrobe.

I love my husband more than air. I just do. There are times when I’d like to smother the breath right out of him but never in a million years would I behave in a way that was designed to make him jealous. Jealousy is a horrible emotion, it’s painful and awful. I tried very hard to think of something that would put his mind at ease. Finally, at the tail end of the day I remembered why I’d been drawn to the artist’s studio in the first place.

My mother-in-law told me this story. When my husband was a little boy, a puffin was blown off course in a storm and landed at my in-law’s house. My husband found it and believed it was a penguin. He put it in the barn and fed it hot dogs. When he woke up in the morning, he was crestfallen to discover the puffin was gone. I love puffins because of that story. The artist has several studies of puffins in the studio. I returned to look at them on Saturday to choose one for my office.

I told my husband the puffin story and why I’d gone to the studio and that I’d told the puffin story to the artist. I hugged him. He didn’t try to wriggle away.

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Autumn Nuances

It’s October. Fall has arrived. Once vibrant summer gardens are subdued and refined in contrast to the tree foliage. A slower pace has been adopted in the hinterland, allowing conspiracy theories to travel Main Street and beyond. I have been apprised of a geoengineering conspiracy whereby we’re all being poisoned in a mass extermination attempt utilizing huge areospace element dumps, aluminum sulfide among them. Maybe it’s true, maybe not, can’t tell-don’t care.

Why is it that scary news is dormant through the summer, emerging in autumn to wreak havoc with my already loose grasp on reality?

I have achieved new levels of pure temper and unmitigated disdain. Two weeks ago I slammed my cell phone onto the pavement as I was walking down a curvy country road to town. Even though there are usually no witnesses to  my creative displays of resistance, (what uninformed people may describe as outbursts) it is very important to get the negative energy OUT, to free the radicals, before I expire from internalizing discontent. Yesterday, I received an unwelcome bit of news via the same cell phone. Once again, I was walking along, enjoying a very brief respite from what can only be described as indentured servitude. The news was so distasteful that I flung the phone on the ground and jumped up and down on it whilst wearing my boots. It did not break. I think a smart phone would have been destroyed. If you are in need of an indestructible cell phone I can assure you that the LG flip phone has endured rigorous trials without any significant damage.

Last week, I refunded a customer 100% of the amount paid for work completed. I never lost my composure and channeled Miss Manners as I wrote-
“Please find enclosed a refund of the total amount paid via your check number 12345. This refund releases XYZ Corp from any obligation to you, your heirs, and assigns pertinent to property, described in Book 321 Page 54 of the Outback County Registry of Deeds, commonly known as 666 Asshole Lane.

Most sincerely,

Elroy Jones”

Nothing expresses disdain quite the way a 100% refund does. This person had no complaint; the work was completed satisfactorily, the workers were a pleasure to have around but the cost was more than could be justified. The cost just about covered the work for something that was an IMMEDIATE need when the contract was signed. It was an inconsequential amount and worth every penny for the gratification I had in returning it.

I don’t know what to do about my husband. I love him more than air but sometimes I would like to hold the frying pan in a batter’s stance and pretend his head is the ball. It’s encouraging that I never imagine blood in the fantasy.

The construction project is going to be the death of us, too much to do. Quite frankly, it isn’t worth worrying about; although there are others who insist that it is.

This is the kitchen.


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Peasants’ Progress

IMG_0642 IMG_0647 IMG_0653 IMG_0656 IMG_0662IMG_0665There are no stairs so I’m confined to going up the ladder and restricted by the thought of hoisting myself up to the 2nd floor. Hoisting is not so bad, I know I could do it but someone caught me ascending the ladder (without a helmet) and made a very mean spirited, pessimistic prediction about my ability to get back down once I got up on the 2nd floor. He wanted to know if looking out the windows was worth breaking my neck on the cement floor if I fell off the ladder. People don’t need to be so literal about every little thing!

I zoomed the picture of the door, next to the door are the windows over the kitchen sink, the two windows way up high in the wall, in the second row left, are in our bedroom. The sheetrock fire wall is almost up and I am beginning to get excited in earnest.

I have some fun things on my desk here but I don’t think I can take those things to my desk in the warehouse office. I like to keep my fun things at home. I chose the smallest office there; people wonder why, more believable when I say someone else is in charge.

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