Tuesday ToolTalk: The Lawnmower

When the time change took effect last month, it was still pitch black when I left for work in the morning. I’m happy to report today, within minutes of boarding the bus, the sun is rising in the sky. That’s a very welcome change.

What hasn’t changed from about a month ago is the temperature. It’s in the 30s this morning, quite cold indeed. I’m beginning to think that winter is never going to end.

The grass is green and growing at an alarming rate, so much so that I know the lawnmower is going to come out very soon. Maybe even this weekend. I was going to buy a new mower this year, but I’m going to see if I can’t limp this one along ‘til next spring. Next spring when, ideally, things like raises and bonuses are back.

That means I’ll need to do a few things to get the mower running:
1. Replace the oil. I usually drain the engine every season. This is something Young Tom did religiously and he would haunt me if I didn’t.
2. Check the filter. I’m usually pretty good about cleaning the filter before I put ‘er away in the fall, but frankly, with everything that was going on last year, I’m not sure if I did. It’s really not a big deal though. Rinse it off with a little soapy water, coat it with a thin layer of engine oil, and put it back in place.
3. Buy some gas. The good news is that gas is cheap, so I’ll probably top out my 2-gallon container. I’m usually pretty careful though about not buying too much, regardless of price, because “old” gas can make a mower run badly. I usually don’t keep gas more than 30 days, though I think you’re safe up to right around 60 days.

At this point, the forecast is calling for dry weather and highs in the 60s for the weekend, so maybe I can not only give the lawn its first cut, but also get back to work on the shed and get it finished. That would get those boards out of the family room and I could begin to think about how to make sense of the mess that’s down there.

You’ve got to start someplace, right?

Death and Taxes

“In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes." – Benjamin Franklin

As for death, we’ve seen quite enough of it around here. And taxes? Well, those were filed months ago with refunds long since received. Or, more correctly, the ones where refunds were coming were filed. Now there's a deadline fast-approaching next week. Ugh.

Living in one state and working in another is a hassle that materializes only at tax time. Otherwise, those twice-daily trips across the river are the only evidence that I don’t live and work in the same state.

As a result, I have not yet filed my Illinois taxes. I’m not getting anything back from them, which more or less make the federal and Missouri forms more of a priority. Based on this news story, it’s probably a really good thing that I did Missouri in a hurry, too.

In Illinois, I have to not only fill out the state 1040 form, I have to fill out a CR form to get credit for what I pay to Missouri. Then, I have to send them copies of both my Missouri and federal tax forms. It has gotten a little easier with the advent of online returns.

That’s another reason why Missouri and federal tax forms get done first. I just key in the information and go. For Illinois, it’s not as simple. There’s a whole set of paperwork to make sure I include.

The kicker is not only am I not getting money back from Illinois, I don’t owe them anything either. At least not ‘til next year when our new governor jacks up the income tax by 5o percent!

Kind of seems like a waste of time, effort, paper, and postage doesn’t it? Especially when you consider how many government officials don’t bother to pay their taxes.

At least I paid mine. I’m just saying I should skip the filing part!

The Wrath of Ole Man Winter

That wicked Ole Man – he just couldn’t go quietly. It’s in the 30s this morning with wind chills in the 20s. While they said snow was possible, there hasn’t been any yet. Just cold rain and a light drizzle.

This isn’t exactly the weather that one would expect for Opening Day of the baseball season. No, not at all.

I have colleagues who are planning to go today and on Friday, they were already planning to wear long underwear! There were people on the news last night who had made themselves a “tent condo” inf front of the stadium in hopes of getting tickets to the sold-out game. I like baseball and I’ll root for the Cards as hard as anybody, but there’s only one word for people like that: crazy.

The game is supposed to start at 3:15 so getting out of downtown at rush hour tonight should be complete and total chaos. I just can’t wait. *rolls eyes*

I actually do feel a little better today. I’m just very tired. It would have been a good day to stay in bed. If I could get about five or six more hours of sleep, I’m sure I’d feel like a new person.

I should have been able to get some extra sleep yesterday, but Toby was a complete and total menace. As a result, I didn’t get to sleep in like I normally do, so I’m paying for it today. And I spent a good chunk of the day just catching up on those routine things that I can normally divide between Saturday and Sunday.

In spite of the weather, which casts a gloomy shadow on everything at the moment, here’s hoping for a much improved week.

AWOL, Part 2

There were a few key ingredients that made Saturday morning an overly painful time for me.

First, I was attending a funeral. They're just not fun. Second, my aching back found the wooden church pew to be nothing less than a form of medieval torture. (Add this to what I call Catholic calisthenics -- sit, stand, kneel, reverse!) And third, the priest performing the service.

I always HATE when someone who has never met the deceased tries to talk about them on a personal level. Some men and women of the cloth can pull this off quite well. This priest? Not so much. He would start a sentence well and then trail off into something pointless. He opened by talking about the scene played out on the roof of the church (outside, which confused those in the audience who were unfamiliar with the church) and going on to talk about the importance of the Virgin Mary. This then snowballed into him pointing out the beautiful statues around the church.

I could scarcely believe what I was hearing. What the hell is this guy talking about? Is he drunk?

"Bill appreciated nature. He liked to hunt and fish." Cool, I thought. This is going better.

"The fish has long been a sign of Christianity, the way Christians would identify with one another." I thought some parallel would then be drawn. But it was not to be.

He went off on a tangent about "the good news" and how the word gospel literally translates to good news. And he kept interspersing the family's last name -- except 90 percent of the time, it wasn't even their name. Most times, it wasn't even close. I bit my tongue a lot before finally leaning over to the mother and whispering: The good news would be if he could get the deceased's last name right, just once.

The priest wasn't the only one guilty of a faux pas. The Knights of Columbus made what would have been a very nice presentation by presenting a gold chalice that would be sent to some church around the world in Uncle Bill's name. It would have been awesome, had before he explained about the chalice, he hadn't said: "unlike an inscription on a pagan plaque ..." to which I immediately noticed the VFW post representative seated across the aisle from me squirm in his seat -- clutching a memorial plaque that he was next up to present.

And then the priest spent between 5 and 10 minutes talking about who could and couldn't take Communion later in the service. During this, he directly addressed the non-Catholics by saying "We love you anyway -- but you can't take Communion. as communion means community and unity and if you're not part of the community ..."

A lovely bit of talking down to that group. Never mind that at least 98 percent of those present were either Catholic or at least raised that way, so we knew the rules already.

The bright spot in the service were eulogies from a nephew and niece. These went a long way to make up for all the foibles. The best part: seeing three of my two baby cousins' (who are now in their 30s) children deliver the gifts during offertory. They're 9, 7, and 6 and too cute for words.

But the day only got better.

The MonkeyGirl picked me up later in the afternoon and I got to salvage most of my planned scrapbooking event. Laughing with good friends, and playing with my pictures is always fun. And she and I finally got to catch up after not seeing each other for months.

It was a great way to end what had been a really distressing week.

AWOL

I don't do these extended silences for very long, but the past few days have been awash with emotion and activity, making it hard to find both the time and the mental capacity to try to string words together in a coherent way.

Friday
I worked until noon and then went to spend 2.5 hours in the doctor's office. Within the first 2o minutes I found out that: I don't have diabetes (blood sugar after eating 2 hours earlier was 107). Both my red and white blood cell counts appeared healthy. (No appearance of sinister disease at work.) And no sign of a urinary tract infection, so it would also appear no kidney or related issues were involved. All good news.

Then, I spent about 25 minutes in various and very uncomfortable positions getting xrayed. By the time I got up, my back hurt 10 times worse than it did when I got there. The fancy photos showed no broken bones in my back -- more good news. Xrays don't however shed much light on thinks like nerve and disc problems. So, the diagnosis for now is sciatica (just like suspected) due to a compressed nerve in or near my tailbone. This is possibly an after effect from the bookcase incident way back in January. The doctor said it can take some time for these kinds of injuries to make themselves known and the fact that my current pain started about 4-6 weeks after the fact seems to fit in with his diagnosis.

So, for now, I've got anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers. Applying heat and avoiding lifting more than 20-25 pounds during the next few weeks is also part of the regimen. (Thankfully, this is not during a project like the walkway where lifting 40-60 pound bags of materials was normal.) When I go back later this month, if it's not much better, the next step is an MRI.

Saturday
Saturday began very early. I was up nearly as early as on a weekday even though I hadn't gone to bed until almost 2. The mother and I were dressed and out the door shortly after 8.

We were supposed to meet our family at 8:30 at the church. We were there a few minutes early, giving me plenty of time to marvel at the empty lot where one of my gradeschools (I went to two different ones in three total buildings) once stood. I knew it had been torn down years ago (one of my first jobs at the newspaper was to cover the Archdiocesan hearings that would ultimately close the school) but this was my first time seeing it. It was very strange indeed. It was a neat old building with lots of beautiful wood accents, including its original floors in each classroom, and a huge marble entryway that carried through the steps to the second floor.

The church across the street, site of the funeral, appeared to still be in good shape. It has a huge dome and I can remember being a kid and marveling at its size. The interior was equally large, about 3 to 4 times the size of the church for the other half of the merged parish, the tiny church where my grandparents were married and both buried from, where I was baptized, took First Communion, made my confession, and was confirmed. (And the same tiny place where Uncle Bill and his late wife, my grandmother's baby sister, were too.)

Oddly, when we walked inside, I was immediately taken by how small the church seemed. I said this to the mother. Oh, it's plenty big. I just recalled it being so much bigger. Later, when a small crowd gathered for the visitation, I couldn't help but laugh when a fire captain in his late 40s, someone who was several grades ahead of me in school but who took great joy in regularly knocking me down after school, said to his mother: I remember this place being so much bigger.

It's the first time I'd ever been to a visitation inside a Catholic church. Granted, I haven't been a practicing Catholic for more than 20 years, but I've still been to at least a dozen funerals during that time. It's not done regularly that I know of. I have to say, after a lifetime of seeing this process done one way, it was awkward and I didn't like it. It was particularly awkward and heart-wrenching when, just before Mass was to begin, the funeral directors came in, carefully removed the floral drape and closed the coffin -- with about 75 people watching. Then, they rolled the coffin out to the vestibule so it could be draped and blessed before returning for the funeral mass.

I'll continue in another post. This one is getting out of hand!

Can't We Get It Right?

Both the viewing and the funeral are on Saturday.

There’s a point in all this that’s bothersome to me. OK, truthfully, there’s many points in all this that’s bothersome to me, but only one that has nothing to do with last wishes, family issues, or my previously made weekend plans.

And that’s time of death. They have his death date listed as yesterday. He most assuredly did not die on April 2. Granted, he died in the final hour of April 1, but, since he was not on Eastern Time, he technically died April 1. Apparently, they go by when the official from Hospice arrived on the scene. This must be part of procedure for an at-home death.

I’m not sure why this is bothering me so much. It probably just gives me something to focus my attention on while avoiding the obvious. But still, shouldn’t your death date be accurate if someone actually knows when you died?

I know there are cases where no one knows for sure and all a coroner can do is guess. I sat through years of inquests and there were at least one or two of those annually, including murder cases where someone was found days or even weeks later. Those bothered me, too.

I guess it’s no different really than births in the old days. I seem to recall there was some dispute about which side of midnight my grandmother – who was born at home in 1910 – arrived on. She used the “official” record, Feb.8, though I think her mother always contended that the actual date was Feb. 7.

I guess it must be both the reporter (I was one for several years) and the genealogist in me. I like to be as accurate as I can, in part, because telling that story is really the only thing I can do for my ancestors. And I feel like I owe it to them to get it right.

Apparently, more "official" channels don't agree.

Renovation Realities

Oh. My. God. The mother and I laughed for almost a half-hour solid. Last night (several hours ahead of the phone call), there was this crazy guy named Shae on HGTV on a show called “Renovation Realities.”

Within a few minutes:
· Without knowing where the shut-off valve was, he took a saw to a gas line. Then he casually says: “I guess the worst thing is that the house could blow up.” Duh!
· After removing a beam from the kitchen, he wiped out the glass in a French door while carrying it into the back yard.
· He wanted his wife to buy 10 tape measures because he keeps misplacing his. (She only bought eight, but he’d lost most of those by the end of the show.)
· Thought 45 minutes would be enough time to install cabinets.

And that’s just some of the foibles. Maybe it’s wrong to enjoy the misfortunes of others this much. (No, it’s not. This guy’s an idiot.) I have to say, if you’re feeling bad about your own projects, or even if you just need a good laugh, definitely check this show out.

“I haven’t laughed this much in weeks,” quoth the mother. (And she hasn’t.) I was laughing pretty hysterically, too. I may even have to try and watch it again!

A Long Night

My grandmother was about 10 years older than her younger sister. So, the mother served as a surrogate child of sorts for her aunt and uncle until my godmother – their own child – arrived. I’m not sure how or why, and I’m not sure Uncle Bill himself could have told you, but he started calling the mother “Stinky Sue.”

It was a title that transferred to his own daughter (my godmother). From her, it came to me. And when he got his own real granddaughter, my baby cousin, it went from me to her. (I had the joy of being their surrogate grandchild for the first seven years of my life, much the way the mother had been their surrogate child.)

I used to stay all night at their house – just across town, a 10-minute walk – from my childhood home. And, along with my grandmother, I was a regular “anytime” guest. We would walk over to visit her sister quite a bit. As a kid, I was always fascinated by my aunt's microwave (it was the early '70s and not everybody had one) and the play-by-number organ in their livingroom. They were among the first people I ever knew with a "finished" basement and they spent most of their time down there.

Back then, Uncle Bill was the city’s fire chief. When I was little, I can remember marveling at his firefighter boots which were nearly as tall as I was. They sat at the end of the hallway, next to the cove in the wall where the main upstairs telephone was.

An even greater sight to marvel at was of Uncle Bill, charging toward and jumping into those boots when the fire whistle went off. (At about 6’4 or 6’5, this was not a small man.) The grace with which he landed inside his targets could rival Fred Astaire.

Sadly, Uncle Bill will call none of us Stinky Sue, or any other name, ever again. He died late last night. The phone call came, oddly enough, while I was texting the MonkeyGirl about Saturday. Talk about timing. Those plans may have to change now. Proof positive that I can never plan anything.

The mother went over to the house, where luckily, my godmother hadn't been alone. I waited up for her. She came back about 1:30 a.m. A nearby funeral home had just left the scene as well. I had no idea that there was so much bureaucracy tied to dying, even if you were in a hospice program. (That meant that more than 2.5 hours passed between the time he died and the time the funeral home showed up.)

I wasn't surprised by his death -- I've known it was coming. I guess I thought it would be longer. I'm glad for his sake -- and for my godmother's -- it wasn't. Consider it a sick April Fool's joke. I'm still sticking by my theory that death is a design flaw. It should be easier.

Death has darkened my doorway quite a lot lately. Please go away now.

Loose Ends

One of the loose ends I need to clear up is finishing the columns on the front porch. When I put the brick down, I just worked around the base of each column. I didn’t attempt to raise it up.

All that did was create something of a basin for rainwater around each column. I actually found somewhere I could buy just a PVC base almost five months ago. Do you think I’ve done anything about it? Um, no.

I need to remeasure, see which ones I need, add two more for the carport for when I get to fixing it and the driveway, and get them already!

I need to get started on the shed, too, and Saturday would be a perfect day to do it, but … I’m going to a marathon crop with the MonkeyGirl. (It’s at her work and for a good cause. AND … I haven’t seen her since bleepin’ JANUARY!) You might recall that she kidnapped me the last time they had one of these. This time, she didn’t need to twist my arm.

I refuse to feel guilty, even though I did do a marathon last month – but it wasn’t 12 hours like this one. It was only 9. (Justification mode has kicked in.) Between work, Tigger, and Uncle Bill, I can really use the break.

The Farmer’s Almanac is predicting a warmer and drier April and May. Here’s hoping. I’d like to get a much earlier start than last year!

Midweek Musings

I called the transit office on the way home last night and I asked the driver this morning – no sign of my work badge. Here’s hoping that the cleaners found it on the bus last night. If not, I’ll have to get a new one.

Seems like a rather insignificant thing right now. My godmother is having a harder and harder time with her father. It doesn’t seem like Uncle Bill has too many days left. In some ways, that’s a blessing. Watching him slowly deteriorate is cruel for both of them. Even so, it’s got to be hard knowing what’s coming. (She’s a hospice nurse by profession, on leave to care for her dad.) She’s a very empathetic person anyway and is almost always deeply touched by the death of a patient. So I can’t begin to imagine how this must be for her.

The house always seems to be full as he has a big family. She’s lucky that her aunts and uncle, her kids, and even a friend or two stand ready to help. (Some of them though are old and sick themselves so I think she probably ends up caring for them a little, too.) And, the mother and I are just minutes away which has been a blessing more than once already.

The mother has been talking to her often and helping where she can. And she’s upset, too. I can’t even temporarily distract her with talk of appliances. That’s pretty bad.

On the plus side, it’s going to be a gorgeous day. The sun is already shining brightly so I can slip on my new shades, crank up the iPod and not think about anything.

Why I Hate Doctors

Or at least why I hate calling their offices. It's bad enough that you get an answering machine, even after you push the number that the automated system told you to in order to "make an appointment or speak to a receptionist." And this wasn't during evening or early, early, hours either. This was between 9 and 10 a.m.

I finally did reach someone in the afternoon. I may have been better off with the automated system.


NV: Yes, I’m a patient of Dr. X’s and they said to call today and make an appointment this week. I can do any day except tomorrow.

Receptionist: How about 10:30 Wednesday?

NV: That’s tomorrow – the one day I can’t do.

Receptionist: 2:15?

NV: Not if it’s on Wednesday.

Receptionist: Oh. Well, that time isn’t available the rest of the week.

NV: No problem. Is there another time that is available?

Receptionist: How about 1 p.m.?

NV: What day? Thursday or Friday?

Receptionist: That was for Wednesday. Oh, wait. You can’t do Wednesday, right?

(This was starting to sound like an Abbott and Costello bit.)

Now I have a headache, too. But I did manage to get an appointment – on a day that’s NOT Wednesday. Finally. I think I might have had better luck with someone who didn’t even speak English.

Feels Like Monday

I know it’s Tuesday, but I would swear it’s Monday. The whole day has been a comedy of errors – more typical of a Monday.

It started out by raining, followed quickly by me losing my badge for work. It doesn’t have my name on it or company name on it so I don’t think any wrongful use can be gained from it. And it HAD to have slipped from my pocket on the bus. I realized I didn’t have it just as I reached the lobby this morning. And went immediately back out into the rain and retraced my steps all the way to where I exited the bus. Honestly, I can’t believe this has never happened before in nearly 8.5 years. Here’s hoping I can get it back.

I need to call them, or I might just ask my driver to radio it in tonight. (My regular evening driver should be back today.) I’ve been trying to call the doctor’s office to schedule an appointment for a workup, some of which requires fasting. Right now, it sounds like a case of sciatica, so I’m taking high doses of ibuprofen.

I feel a little better. I just have to get up a lot. Sitting for more than five minutes gets rough, unless I wiggle and squirm. (That’s going to be precious with a client in for meetings tomorrow. I’ll no doubt be the crazy woman who fidgets constantly.)

The Sistahood

I’ve been very lucky. Blogging has put me in touch with tons of awesome people. Some that I know only in Cyberspace like Vicky, Ann, and Jayne. Or it’s put me in touch on a more regular basis with people I know in real life, like KayO, MamaMartha and sewwhat.

But among my regular readers – and commenters – I’m proud to include three of the very best friends in the whole world. You know them as cd, the MonkeyGirl, and plumbelieve. Both cd and the Monkeygirls (Mr. and Mrs.) have had active roles in This D*mn House projects. But get this, that’s not even half of ‘em! That’s right. There’s more! Four more to be accurate.

These seven fine ladies and I went to high school together. Our lives have now been intertwined for more than twice as long as they weren’t. And while the gatherings have tapered off over the years (due to conspiracies involving jobs, spouses, homes, weather, family vacations, and children) the bond is not diminished. It doesn’t seem to matter whether we last spoke five months ago or five minutes ago.

But the gatherings have tapered off. So, a serious nod to plumbelieve for taking the initiative in getting everyone together. She’s put a call out to regroup one Friday night next month. All eight have responded so far. (One of whom will be there in spirit only as she lives out west. A second may or may not make it due to a previous engagement. A third will come if the eldest daughter doesn’t have a game.) Not a bad showing at all. Now if we can all just get there.

I know it will be a great time.

Waylaid

A nasty, nagging backache that has been causing me grief for a while, has me waylaid today. I'm giving in and staying home, stretching out on some heat.

It might be another round of sciatica, because my right leg and foot are involved this time. It might be my nerves. i might have pulled something out of whack. Who knows? I've been trying to call the doctor's office without success. (Answering machine is still on.)

Not sure what good he'll do. He always acts like I'm nuts. (This was the doc who let me go with a sinus infection for three months. Allergist cleared me up in a single visit.) Thinking it's time to get a new one, but it's hard to find one accepting new patients.

Love those PPOs.

Finality

I had postponed the inevitable long enough.

The ground was snow-covered part of the day, and filled with mud for the rest, coupled with vicious winds. So, I could not take the final of final steps. But today, I did everything but that.

In opening the door, the absence of light seemed out of place. But the mother had turned out the lamp days ago. I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I cleared away all the bedding. (Tigger had four beds at one point.) I dismantled and pitched his well worn scratch post. I threw away his pillows. And mats. And bowls. I emptied and discarded his litterbox.

I created a bag for things that could or should be laundered. Everything else, I threw away. It seemed so wrong as I did it. It seemed surreal. It took several episodes of stop/start to complete the task.

Once I had carried everything outside (tomorrow is trash day), I started pushing things back into place. (We'd moved things to make it easier for Tigg to navigate.) I ran the sweeper and mopped the floor.

I surveyed the scene. An empty bed shell. A stack of laundry. The only evidence that a cat had once existed here: the frame of a window perch and some toys scattered on different parts of the floor.

Once outside, the darkened window caught me. (Second time in as many days.) But I did it. I trudged back into the house and breathed a sigh of relief.

A Messed-Up Calendar

Clearly, Mother Nature didn't get a calendar for Christmas. I know it happens, but it's just not supposed to look like this a full week into spring. My neighbor's just-blooming flowers look oddly out of place, don't they?

This photo was from early this morning. At least now it is already going away.

I think we got between 2 and 3 inches at most. The sun came out a little while ago and between it, and a slowly rising temperature, the snow should soon be a remnant.

Works for me.

Springtime? Really?

Yesterday, it was almost 60 degrees and sunny. It didn’t start out that way, but as the morning progressed, it turned into an awesome day. I only got to enjoy it on the way home.

So, of course, it’s raining today. And now that the grass is turning green and the trees and flowers are blooming, it’s going to snow. Yep. I said s-n-o-w. (A four-letter word with good reason.)

The rain will mix with snow later today and then change to all snow overnight. They’re saying 2-4 now, but that it could be 4-6, and if the “thundersnow” happens, well … we don’t even want to talk about it.

The last time I heard a forecast for 2-4 inches of snow and we were hit with thundersnow … it was January 1982. We ended up getting more than a foot and it shut St. Louis down for days.

The mother and I are preparing to head out in a bit and grab some stuff so that going anywhere tomorrow isn’t necessary. I imagine we’ll have lots of company in our travels.

I feel real bad for my young colleague that we had the bridal shower for earlier this month. She’s getting married this afternoon. Maybe it will hold off long enough for folks to get through dinner at her reception. I hope that everyone stays safe and that it all goes well.

That’s the thing about life in this part of the country. No matter what time of year you plan something, there is always that change for some kind of weather anomaly.

So, off we go. But the best part is that when we come back, we’ll have Chinese food!

Itchin’ for a Kitchen

The topic hasn’t been breached in a while, but, redoing the kitchen came up again last night. The mother restated her desire for new appliances, though I don’t know what we can get when she was stuck so unwaveringly on this model, an appliance that will not fit in This D*mn Kitchen.

I should have seen this coming, what, with the sighs followed by, "I wish my kitchen looked like that," whenever any HGTV show sports a nice, new kitchen, complete with stainless appliances.

I’ve yet to measure using this formula I found online to get a rough estimate as to what we need for countertops and she wants to go to some shop in a nearby town and look. I have no idea if $39/sq. ft installed is cheap for granite! (Somehow, she seems to think I know all this stuff as if this information should fall as trippingly from my brain as the questions seem to from her lips.)

OK. My brain is trying to add this up as we go. New appliances. Paint or stain for the cabinets. (We already have the new hardware for the cabinets as well as the sink fixtures.) New sink and countertop. And we haven’t even discussed flooring yet. I’d love to get ceramic or marble but I worry about putting that much weight down. D*mn. This is getting expensive fast.

“But I have to get my ceiling first,” she said suddenly. Huh? The Michelangelo Project likewise has been a non-discussion topic for a while. It, too, seems to be front-burner again. Of course it is. It is the mother’s preferred approach to projects, the one whereby there is complete and total chaos.

Nevermind that the family room is now jam-packed with supplies for her bedroom and mine, and the storage shed, as well as an assortment of yet-to-be-painted gingerbread for outside.

Oh, and lest we forget TWO pieces of furniture for said familyroom that are in need of assembly as is the new mantelpiece, that also needs to be stained. And, as an extra project bonus, the downstairs ceiling needs to be patched from adventures in electricity and the closet, built more than a year ago, still needs to be trimmed out. I’ve now made myself tired, just contemplating all of it.

By all means – let’s start on the kitchen. We don’t have anything else to do.

Speaking of kitchens … If you aren’t already a follower of Jayne over at The Kelly House (formerly Dainty Digs) now is a great time to start reading her adventures. Unfortunately for Jayne, weather has sidelined her porch and kitchen projects. Unfortunately for the rest of us, it also halts the adventures of Jayne and her ex, Mare, who is helping her with these efforts.

They’re on hold ‘til late next week.

Luckily, there already are two installments in what I dubbed Kellapalooza. And therein, I feel is also the beginnings of one hysterical play, or maybe even a sitcom, as Jayne has shown that her talents are not limited to her profession and DIY.

At Long Last

Most days, I really love my job. But, just like everybody else, I still wait for Friday.

And finally, at long last, it’s here! This has been an exceptional week, so in a lot of ways, it was really good that I’ve been as busy as I have. I even have another busy day ahead today.
I was quiet last night because the Ladybird needed some love. The other night, amidst all the Tigger drama unfolding, I walked out to find that the mother had left the headlights on on the car. Luckily, only about 30-40 minutes had passed between the time she got home from Uncle Bill’s and I took off to get a few things or I might have gone out to a dead car.

The reminder bell that tells you when you’ve left your lights on was dinging to beat the band. How in God’s name had she gotten out of the car and not heard that?

In addition to noticing that the lights were on, I also noticed that only one of them was burning. Remember a few months ago when I had a fishtank for a headlight? It didn’t do that again at least, but it was burned out just the same. I was too tired Wednesday – and probably wouldn’t have made it in time anyway – to get it fixed. Since we needed an oil change anyway, the mother picked me up last night at the depot and we shot up the highway to the evil Wal-Mart’s automotive department.

We got in right away and it only took them 30 minutes or so to both change the oil and headlight. In the meantime, the mother and I did some household shopping, including picking up some items my godmother needed for Uncle Bill.

The mother has been over there every day this week; I’ve even been by once. It’s really hard to watch. I’m going to add dying to my list of what I think are human design flaws. It’s too hard. It should be much easier for not only the person who is dying, but for those who love them. (Actually, this applies to more than just humans, now that I think about it.)

What, you may ask, do I consider to be other design flaws? The first, and largest by far, is a lack of satisfaction. I don’t know anyone, myself included, no matter how good they’ve got it who wouldn’t rather have something else or something more. We don’t know when to quit, we humans. More. There always has to be more.

Case in point: The other design flaw on my list. I think that two is a grossly inadequate number of hands. (I know the moms are with me on this one.) C’mon admit it. You’ve wished you had another hand or two or six. I know I have. On the downside, manicures would be more time-consuming. And the cost of nail polish? Oy!

Unfortunately, I don’t think the extra hands would help me much today. Unless an extra pair of eyes came with them. Now there’s a thought ….

A New Routine

Twice yesterday I had to remind myself.

I need to check on … Oh, right.

Hey, I’ve got to feed … no. No, I don’t.

This morning, I got up, stumbled through the dark house, and was standing in front of the refrigerator when it hit me. Oh, yeah. I’d even forgotten to reset my alarm. I now have an extra 15-20 minutes in the morning.

Responsibility for Tigger had shifted through the years. I initially was the main caretaker. Then, I switched jobs and had to be in by 5 a.m. and the mother retired, so she took over. When she got sick a few years ago, I took that responsibility back and I just never stopped. (She has 95 percent responsibility for Toby and about 70 percent for Ozzie during the week. And she’s fanatical about their care. If everyone were cursed with this kind of care, I guarantee you that the world would be infinitely more peaceful.)

Until the past few weeks, Tigg and I had a well established system. I guess it’s time to create a new morning routine. I guess I’ll just play it by ear and see how it goes.

One big plus for me in all this has been discovering just how many people really, really love their animals. They are full-fledged family members; way beyond pet status. So it’s nice to not be thought of as totally nuts but to instead find such a well of understanding. A lot of you are responsible for that. I thank you for taking the time to share those feelings with me.

The mother was much better last night. She said that, for all the trouble he is, it made it easier having Toby. (And believe me, he’s a lot of trouble. But he’s cute.) Toby had been uncharacteristically loving yesterday, and Ozzie, who was not sure what to do with her crying was even more attentive than normal. And both were apparently on their best behavior yesterday. It’s amazing how they know.

I went to bed early (for me anyway) and, considering all the sleep I didn’t get the night before, am better for it. Good thing, too, as it’s going to be a busy day.