tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24374832563214265512024-03-04T23:33:54.422-08:00This Old Blargharmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-46876796006535884982011-06-14T12:04:00.000-07:002011-06-14T13:38:55.415-07:00Happy House-a-versary!<span style="font-weight: bold;">June 14th: Happy House-a-versary!</span><br /><br />It was on <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZOE6uAP3bCoi6pLI9aQTO9SuaFp5maLWxuBP4t0lfhCReXCNwmzoLrDsIrwTB5rp2JlyfbILVfjOmzhXih2ZQ-jkabWRe_FBLvTXd8ozQqAlPDcKGNes3P5nCo8K3E2Z2qML5ptZ4x0/s1600/1129001234a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZOE6uAP3bCoi6pLI9aQTO9SuaFp5maLWxuBP4t0lfhCReXCNwmzoLrDsIrwTB5rp2JlyfbILVfjOmzhXih2ZQ-jkabWRe_FBLvTXd8ozQqAlPDcKGNes3P5nCo8K3E2Z2qML5ptZ4x0/s320/1129001234a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618168211952328658" border="0" /></a>noon of this day, one year ago, that Jason held my left hand under the table while I signed (and signed, and signed) the mortgage papers that would make this dear house mine. My mortgage broker gave <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGna_C5oDeLzUzNoFKZvCLwd3qFdmGGbrQ8bObMUnfGlCNY7aNQDCsB9_QJZLpPSZ75tt7M1SBNO-ECHFZJ6YveaqaiIcHn_Sg9dIAoHsIykTkRtMvB7bIa6Yo7NA5L6bLzmtYTXDY0Q/s1600/0703001923.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGna_C5oDeLzUzNoFKZvCLwd3qFdmGGbrQ8bObMUnfGlCNY7aNQDCsB9_QJZLpPSZ75tt7M1SBNO-ECHFZJ6YveaqaiIcHn_Sg9dIAoHsIykTkRtMvB7bIa6Yo7NA5L6bLzmtYTXDY0Q/s320/0703001923.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618174610918902322" border="0" /></a>me a tin of chocolate chip cookies and a ink roller that stamps my name with new address on return mail. The woman who officiated the sale asked me how strong I like my bubbly. She did not seem surprised that I opted for As Strong As Possible; I guess I didn't give off the LDS vibe. I left the office with a bottle of champagne, a tin of coo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ldpVjV5tQzQiK7KaKg2C4IKWRjZsxKTXWUI3ftO7op6_Db2TnIE9zR132U-1wpk_FH01lI8D0UYuYKxbidjB9Mq3RD_R5TPtLLDWn1kOGy6zTHC8bFBFslO3vYC-HXw8Nsw-Gg5Tqpo/s1600/1129001240.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ldpVjV5tQzQiK7KaKg2C4IKWRjZsxKTXWUI3ftO7op6_Db2TnIE9zR132U-1wpk_FH01lI8D0UYuYKxbidjB9Mq3RD_R5TPtLLDWn1kOGy6zTHC8bFBFslO3vYC-HXw8Nsw-Gg5Tqpo/s200/1129001240.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618170947782244322" border="0" /></a>kies, and a very thick folder of mortgage documents.<br /><br />Dear house, you didn't know what you were getting in for. Between roofing woes, tippy beam and moldy wall, you and I got to know each other, warts and all. This winter, there hasn't been so much renovation as there has been ruining, but what is a good love if it isn't worn in, a little bit? Dear house, I've nicked your delicate lathe and plaster walls, I've scorched your clean new paint, I've let your windows get filthy. But now, it is a new summer, and with summer comes the Season of the Blarg. Watch out, dear house: I've paid off my Home Depot credit card<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yCKiZXLwAOcaitNjX-dUrz0mCvgeawVDC_z6QrOavEOkrhIxwxAK7_PKrV1wJHfZmivCpas2ZbP4SyT2gOIoIrJwq56b1XsOWtNJySeJSb1oQlh6h-2_4iW2G8jim4VWAL2GlG4w6W0/s1600/P1050911.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yCKiZXLwAOcaitNjX-dUrz0mCvgeawVDC_z6QrOavEOkrhIxwxAK7_PKrV1wJHfZmivCpas2ZbP4SyT2gOIoIrJwq56b1XsOWtNJySeJSb1oQlh6h-2_4iW2G8jim4VWAL2GlG4w6W0/s320/P1050911.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618171791039061986" border="0" /></a>.<br /><br />Granted, there have been changes that a good blarg would have documented. Most importantly, Jason and I are no longer alone in the house. On January 29th, a new life form came to call this house his home: Briscoe, the dog. For the full story on Briscoe (and all things fabulous and thrifty) <a href="http://thrippiegalore.blogspot.com/2011/04/guest-blogger-harmony-button-thrippie.html">check out my gues</a><a href="http://thrippiegalore.blogspot.com/2011/04/guest-blogger-harmony-button-thrippie.html">t blog on </a><a href="http://thrippiegalore.blogspot.com/2011/04/guest-blogger-harmony-button-thrippie.html">ThrippieGalore</a>, my dear friend and colleague's life & fashion blog. Let's just say, this house loves a dog, and so do I.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We have yet to finish the studio apartment in the back, but the wood has been purchased, and the Greenhouse Window has been installed. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIS53TRHzNZF1-ZjKRkRXVrqBbgyuS9CMhl_n_v8pAN1KEc10kV3nv3I0M0F2h9O7SbzojX81maOnuld5RUhS_6iAxd95PwPsG5Y2AcmPSTAA-kh9q5SEVY0GBSwAyTs2v2TqmhxaYc_8/s1600/1028002125-1.jpg"><br /></a>The back bathroom is still a staging area for future construction, but hang tight, dear readers: I've boo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv-B_hd2qaqm821mpouoOZWbXm4kQjJG5ECgcn7UsS5gCSjgUw3jdezrWkWd0fZhhQyZ4kFlf95LlCGDhG_U4lCK_37a037u0zUUfpAIwx5ABBGpqTQ7DIPk6uF0BAyfmUU7LfXoa0wek/s1600/1017001340.jpg"><br /></a>ked Jason (of Artisan Hardwood Flooring, a true gentleman and professional) to make some progress as of next week. We've spent a winter sitting and pondering and watching Battlestar Gallactica. We're like the Cylon: we have a plan. It's posted on the refrigerator door, and color coded. In fact, we're so good, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCN4fcctrR5c80r9nvkOCx0yR5luNR91qn45IlLLF_30SsapCrqVGjIS6ikZs4BhYl5a_eYHFxWDV6DBzKszLHIvHmEO4gVTXoDLqH3RID99vUkdH8gjc7jSZXmXT3c1lpATMylaUFoo/s1600/1111002203.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCN4fcctrR5c80r9nvkOCx0yR5luNR91qn45IlLLF_30SsapCrqVGjIS6ikZs4BhYl5a_eYHFxWDV6DBzKszLHIvHmEO4gVTXoDLqH3RID99vUkdH8gjc7jSZXmXT3c1lpATMylaUFoo/s200/1111002203.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618171280908243490" border="0" /></a>we have two plans. We may not have chosen a which one, but hey: color coded.</div><br />Also in important news, we can add another character to the cast of This Old Blarg: meet Brother Button, the archaeologist. Seth is good at many <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtDWzzXIxE6dgGqRVW4KMDsBN0-cdCx85Qr5jEHYUaOS3F0OHgJWAXBGPt-YI-8V-AiHgxGVQbCBegJw8RYqYuMgwvTFGGbqqffrUJHIaSgyJDjsTy6IEGsCwUi5lhY2KsJZaq7tD2fc/s1600/1017001340a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtDWzzXIxE6dgGqRVW4KMDsBN0-cdCx85Qr5jEHYUaOS3F0OHgJWAXBGPt-YI-8V-AiHgxGVQbCBegJw8RYqYuMgwvTFGGbqqffrUJHIaSgyJDjsTy6IEGsCwUi5lhY2KsJZaq7tD2fc/s200/1017001340a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618171426420158018" border="0" /></a>things, and seems to share a genetic predisposition for playing in dirt. While he is working for an archaeology firm down in Moab, Seth occasionally comes to spend a weekend in Salt Lake with me, Jason, the house and the puppy. Seth is particularly tolerant of our lifestyle, taking in stride the curious conditions of life in our house. He does not question comments like, "Oh, you can't lock it from that side," or "That tape? Yeah, that means don't use the sink." He has patiently washed his hands in the bathtub for the past month while I procrastinated a plumbing probl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jAaciaacTntTSAhybF0qltto-erQjoi4TpIhBFS8RixsdBGQFWAzfK8fcl6JZ4MoBHzX42IOph8y8K9iD4dt8v1_2v9g8uIEe8lEpP8euyzggpiHCQC8grzhmC7C3pJ77RdeDjUjidg/s1600/0429012343-1.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jAaciaacTntTSAhybF0qltto-erQjoi4TpIhBFS8RixsdBGQFWAzfK8fcl6JZ4MoBHzX42IOph8y8K9iD4dt8v1_2v9g8uIEe8lEpP8euyzggpiHCQC8grzhmC7C3pJ77RdeDjUjidg/s320/0429012343-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618168434262260818" border="0" /></a>em, and didn't even curse when the puppy chewed up the power cord to his computer. He knows that the big hole in the backyard belongs to Briscoe (it's only bad behavior if it's not supervised) and he knows not to hack up Audrey III, the grandmama of all thistle plants that is spawning by the compost pile. One weekend, I left Seth out back with a shovel and a general description of the area I'd like to turn into a garden bed. I kid you not: 15 minutes later, the sod had been cut and turned into the rich top soil in a perfect 20' x 5' garden bed. Dear house, I know you've wanted a garden very badly, ever since we met. Our giant pots of last year were a poor substitute. Look, house -- there are baby tomato plants growing in the backyard! You must be very proud.<br /><br />This spring, Mama Screech, our resident owl, showed up with two fuzzy owlets. The biggest pine weathered the winter with ease, despite heavy, heavy snow and winds. It was a snowy winter -- the snowfall in the mountain exceeded the slang spectrum and the skier dudes were left speechless. This spring, after we finally cleared the last of the mulching leaves from fall off the sad lawn, Jason di<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAb6-t0VEGQ_rBGEzwp2CKEe1C77I8T7FF187r75EgMiAYBkcHSWXWc3gaJENjiHlw9RYAkKu7mDkYF4kUbnwq6sWxAmzdOgGfqHbKJgU680E452qKkbkiCTrKKAzNJg2X1Rc0T2LtRKQ/s1600/Mama+Screech.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAb6-t0VEGQ_rBGEzwp2CKEe1C77I8T7FF187r75EgMiAYBkcHSWXWc3gaJENjiHlw9RYAkKu7mDkYF4kUbnwq6sWxAmzdOgGfqHbKJgU680E452qKkbkiCTrKKAzNJg2X1Rc0T2LtRKQ/s320/Mama+Screech.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618166952629449202" border="0" /></a>scovered a latent love for mowing grass. With a puppy sleeping in the shade of the porch and a handsome redhead pushing whirr of the reel mower, I great a great sense of satisfaction from collecting piles of fresh cut grass. If it was a salad, I would eat it with strawberries and red wine vinegar. If we had a horse, I would feed it with my hand. As it is, we only have a hungry compost pile behind the garage (which Jason has started to call the Barn, which I love, because we never park cars in there and it just sounds much more romantic) and, of course, Audrey III.<br /><br />Out front, I've added a raspberry bush and some more strawberries to the Things You Can Eat bed by the porch, and a baby peach tree is currently deciding if it wants to survive in the front strip. The blueberry bushes are dangling tiny white flowers, but the birds have eaten all the wild strawberries before they've turned ripe. The snacking tomatoes (Mexabilly Midgits, Sungold, Ace 55 and Juliets) grow by the flagstone path that desperately needs weeded, and $2.50 worth of terra cotta tile from Re-Store inspired me to build an official walkway where the mailman would step, anyway.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpC-fmcs4hSVRO5_3mGdCB2LMSY0zmg-0R3PGl88uA1ypHS3Aw4OSb0idPm_pigKcJYbvJbXBfWFswHEx4caHJNgzQeyI6G-MfeGen8wLFwv75E9kAdkvbz3yDSdylkxU8lUK1BFHbqNU/s1600/P1050702.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 348px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpC-fmcs4hSVRO5_3mGdCB2LMSY0zmg-0R3PGl88uA1ypHS3Aw4OSb0idPm_pigKcJYbvJbXBfWFswHEx4caHJNgzQeyI6G-MfeGen8wLFwv75E9kAdkvbz3yDSdylkxU8lUK1BFHbqNU/s320/P1050702.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618173698721539202" border="0" /></a><br />So what's on tap, blargers and blargistas? Well, remind me to tell you the story of the bathroom sink and the demon inside it, along with my most quotable encounter from Home Depot: "If you're buying a Sawzall, that means you're ready to f- some shit up." Ready? I don't know about that. But willing? Well, I'm really tired of brushing my teeth in the bathtub, even if Briscoe likes to lick the toothpaste when I'm done. And really, what else is summer vacation for?harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-21696495007271062982010-10-08T13:41:00.000-07:002010-10-08T15:06:55.521-07:00Love Hurts, Mr. Vine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDDzxf6u4OUQda_Lkj4dCyOlNj2dgUjiPxRUZq7Xnd3J2IJv4Oa0CPX5IOuhGx47EDguqA_nv7XTALf2I3zMVdNiejk2m4N-7zdABuGBeotkJG0IIJRwJWg00kuqTh8pG2rVYGBOHHtI/s1600/0905001945b.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDDzxf6u4OUQda_Lkj4dCyOlNj2dgUjiPxRUZq7Xnd3J2IJv4Oa0CPX5IOuhGx47EDguqA_nv7XTALf2I3zMVdNiejk2m4N-7zdABuGBeotkJG0IIJRwJWg00kuqTh8pG2rVYGBOHHtI/s320/0905001945b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525785696691130706" border="0" /></a><br />All too often, our favorite things are also the source of our greatest anxieties: career ambitions, romantic partners, giant pine trees... The things we love keep us awake at night, make us reconsider choices, make us promise to do better, find the answer, work harder.<br /><br />I was drawn to the pine trees from the very beginning. They're the tallest trees on the block, towering over the rows of single-story Utah ramblers like those rare and beautiful 7th grade girls who sway above the boys with grace and elegance instead of scrunching downwards into the offending spine, the emerging collarbones, the chin, the leg. These pine trees were content to be tall.<br /><br />They are not, however, identical. The first one -- the one closest to the house, is a different kind (note: already I am comparing her as if the other were the standard; she is different) with branches that are a<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThRDIXXP4wPYEPdnGMAxgncOYofGIS4y598BwX18lhYPlGrfYo7jAXUL9xqfrLLrm3r-MOC3OFem6Hv-5STJ_DQeQ9LcbtYYF6IKEW5fBo39M2fi_XpGJC8XJ34a75ZvBGMfi5djsQFU/s1600/suffleupagus.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThRDIXXP4wPYEPdnGMAxgncOYofGIS4y598BwX18lhYPlGrfYo7jAXUL9xqfrLLrm3r-MOC3OFem6Hv-5STJ_DQeQ9LcbtYYF6IKEW5fBo39M2fi_XpGJC8XJ34a75ZvBGMfi5djsQFU/s320/suffleupagus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525782651693039122" border="0" /></a>ll single swoops without any divergences. They sway like cartoon Snuffleupagus trunks in the wind, back and forth, up and down. They mock dramatic weather with their gentle circles, buoyant ease. Occasionally, I worry that her elephantine branches are too close to my new roof, that she will drop too many needles in my gutters (oh wait, I haven't put my gutter back on -- Add To Do), or in the midst of an especially powerful gust, the grace of her limbs will be pushed to the limit, twisting something until it goes *twang* and tumbles down and pierces through the shingles, tar-paper, OSB and rafters and goes into the attic. Sometimes, knowing exactly the make-up of your shelter gives you leave to worry about it even more. But most of the time, I trust this tree. Everybody likes a Snufflsupagus: simple, slow-moving, and predictably endearing.<br /><br />The second one -- the bigger one, in the back yard -- is denser and darker and more complicated. She is thicker at the base, with branching limbs that nest above in thatches and droops. She is also the one that has been twined around and around with ivy: vines as thick as my wrist gro<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3Mm4jv5eF8DkE6GfRjLP4HoncFJozL5M0s_g_zzAcaNk9nljZ3ibTA97AIKHpL9VOME8j0gaLsulbrAB4CFkNMccsdqWZL0_QZU0Tw0iIRM1YL4dhrhH3auS_iAnU_LmCUsvhw-T-08/s1600/0905001945.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 354px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3Mm4jv5eF8DkE6GfRjLP4HoncFJozL5M0s_g_zzAcaNk9nljZ3ibTA97AIKHpL9VOME8j0gaLsulbrAB4CFkNMccsdqWZL0_QZU0Tw0iIRM1YL4dhrhH3auS_iAnU_LmCUsvhw-T-08/s320/0905001945.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525785711891831746" border="0" /></a>w from the base up into the canopy, twisting out alone the lower limbs and drooping down long curtains of dense foliage. This is tree I love and worry over in the wind, in the rain, when I think of the Ice Storm of 1991 in Rochester NY when all the trees were pulled down limb by limb from the weight of the ice that formed in thick, clear, brilliant flesh around every imaginable surface area. The violence caused over night was gorgeous, silent, and without mercy. This is the tree I worried about when I bought the house, when I leave the house, when I come home to the house. This is the tree that hosts the owl's nest near the top, above the clot of ivy choking the thick trunk, above the bench Jason and I scavenged from a pile of loose shingles and roofing materials on the side of the road four years ago, that my mother sewed cushion covers for that we stuffed with left-over camping foam after the road trip when J and I drove his new car from Michigan to Utah, following his return from Africa. This is the tree I worry about when I sit on the same bench that Jason fixed a couple weeks ago, using his drill gun to reattached the leg that had fallen off in transit, using the hand-sander to polish off the fuzz of aged wood splinters, using linseed oil to condition it for winter and bring out the grain. This is the tree that I worry about when we grill vegetaria<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihk6xoq_2QfhEWDNVr6beH0p8L7-XOts18uBk2adYHO1CoHRBFZl8GT10FKlqkIJxtH5aaad179nlcGvV4fb96P-ji41LGh4_s_ZsDsstXI9yCc3KG-cpCpDR3AwkkNNnkxZkdChmOduw/s1600/0905001945a-1.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihk6xoq_2QfhEWDNVr6beH0p8L7-XOts18uBk2adYHO1CoHRBFZl8GT10FKlqkIJxtH5aaad179nlcGvV4fb96P-ji41LGh4_s_ZsDsstXI9yCc3KG-cpCpDR3AwkkNNnkxZkdChmOduw/s320/0905001945a-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525785708767449778" border="0" /></a>n Italian Sausage on two prong sticks above a fire in the grill that technically belongs to Erik but at this point I think we have squatter's rights, and besides, Jason got him a newer, better one anyway, I think. This is the tree.<br /><br />So while I indulged in ambient anxiety, listening to the fall rain patter off the roof and plink against the tops of the paint cans I still have piled up outside my back porch door, Jason asked The Google what to do about our friend the vine.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. I liked the vine. It had big, lush leaves that shaded the summer's hot and drip-dropped the rain into a thin mist during our wet fall. I loved how it sent out spines of roots along the trunk of the pine, weaving itself into the bark, the bone, the marrow. But as we suspected, beauty kills, and eventually, even the loving ivy will overpower its<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1hJWKMUVX-5rfDT34hT_cdejVJFqUE1rkGe41cymz0j2tsgGTodWWlkwA1ElBrRJAfNkpaJVY9okarHSWwvB0vtpIXN2LSP6iIodOelZFp6Hwam33K_CeOiDmJM3mnMT4ay-HlWQGQUA/s1600/0905001940.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1hJWKMUVX-5rfDT34hT_cdejVJFqUE1rkGe41cymz0j2tsgGTodWWlkwA1ElBrRJAfNkpaJVY9okarHSWwvB0vtpIXN2LSP6iIodOelZFp6Hwam33K_CeOiDmJM3mnMT4ay-HlWQGQUA/s320/0905001940.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525785703261146626" border="0" /></a> pine host.<br /><br />I took my saw-knife (it came in a 2-pack for $12.99 at Home Depot with a set of garden clippers) and I cut the vine off at the base. Then, Jason continued to cut another root, at the other base. And another root, around the back. Without the life-blood of the ground, our ivy began to wither.<br /><br />Fall is here. The ivy leaves are brown and crumpled, but not quite ready to be dead. When they're weak enough, I'll pull them down in long strands from the tree. I'll try to do it when the owl isn't home, so I don't disturb him. We will not burn them, because Th<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcovyq50Xc8R-4cO_jqJxPvsvFmJKQqieJkXAQjydpdCOIk-QckOKONezGERZVZVHq6TqwkJl0jzqzApezifaQehuoPdazAXRFxYFCVquAOkixs-vTz6vyp3RBltFv7jApuaB3IFHkpQw/s1600/0905001944.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 352px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcovyq50Xc8R-4cO_jqJxPvsvFmJKQqieJkXAQjydpdCOIk-QckOKONezGERZVZVHq6TqwkJl0jzqzApezifaQehuoPdazAXRFxYFCVquAOkixs-vTz6vyp3RBltFv7jApuaB3IFHkpQw/s320/0905001944.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525778469031890210" border="0" /></a>e Google also told us that many vines give off toxins when in fire. Also, do not each the berries, even though they are pretty.<br /><br />The backyard is a wild place, but even this year, we'll do our best to prevent my favorite pine tree from falling down on top of my house in the middle of the night with one great thumping SQUASH. Even wilderness appreciates a little pruning. Love hurts, my friend the vine. Sometimes you have to cut back in order to grow forward.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-2544878377847432792010-09-28T14:00:00.000-07:002010-10-07T19:36:46.071-07:00Shame DanceBack when Nicole and I lived together in the Roosevelt Grotto O Good'n'Plentitude (a creaky but spacious apartment we proceeded to cram full of a thousand of our favorite things, even after they became broken or defunct or occasionally, moldy), we sometimes indulged in an evening movie or two of the variety commonly known as God Awful. This includes anything to do with dancing, or cheerleading, or men on white horses. Sometimes, we watched these movies at home via Netflix on one of our computer screens, dragging the cable across the floor from underneath the small wooden table that we used sometimes for eating and sometimes for collecting things like paperclips, old mail, books, papers to be graded, random Mortgage materials (mine) and dissertation drafts (Nicole). Sometimes, we would go down the road to the Dollar Theater and plan ourselves a double-feature with an interlude at the bird-house looking little beer shack that serves beverages by the juice-glass and has nowhere to sit besides the bar. In between the locals watching sports on tiny cracked screens and the Simpsons paraphanalia, we would sip on a juice glass or two, pay in singles and quarters, and tromp back up for Round 2 of cheesy chic flicks. Good times, I tell you: good times. After a few repeat performances, we decided to name our personal film festival: SHAME-DANCE. It's like Sundance, but for movies that you don't want to admit that you watched... and enjoyed.<br /><br />I feel as if I have had a similar attitude towards my house so far: I relish and enjoy every cranny of its half-unpacked, half-finished space, but I've been a little ashamed of it, at the same time. Even as the house shaped up, I became increasingly aware of how my shabby stuff looked inside it. Grandma Turpin's green and gold couch (which belonged to Nicole's old roommate's grandmother -- this couch is at most distantly related to me, yet has become an intimate acquaintance) looked especially faded and squarshy in the corner surrounded by the rapidly degrading cardboard boxes that lost a little more of their structural integrity every time I went digging through one looking for *that* shirt or *those* shoes. My end table lay in pieces in the corner, one sad leg dangling half-attached from the frame. My giant Hefty bag full of "Kitchen Overflow" items (mostly Tupperware that at one point belonged to friends who sent me home with food) squatted prominently in the middle of my living room.<br /><br />This was my house, and I loved it, but it was not a house for guests. Yet.<br /><br />And then, one weekend, we started cleaning out the shame. Jason made me pick out four tupperware containers and then put the rest in the garage. We moved my bed into the real bedroom, on the nice new floor, set up my closet, unpacked my clothes, moved in the dresser and end tables, hung the China Ball / Hornet's Nest light (depending on who you ask to describe it) in the corner, and swept out a summer's worth of dust and construction and Dickens hair from the office, where I had been sleeping. We cleaned. Everything. I mixed up a hand-labeled container of "The Good Stuff" -- eucalyptus castille soap with lemongrass essential oil. Jason single-handedly cleared the front room of ALL b<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCp7NwARTyVkhwD1JSeNxdzOyIW194hhpE42u6OiDdIoDZXsGW707QMo6j2zK7VsEXMw_6iu4OTmiJWwbXGyexXW0XBtQPnvxETNY_XI_b6QAE72CVwrsnUSDfE2lPfjhcX59NklGNh1g/s1600/0905002238.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCp7NwARTyVkhwD1JSeNxdzOyIW194hhpE42u6OiDdIoDZXsGW707QMo6j2zK7VsEXMw_6iu4OTmiJWwbXGyexXW0XBtQPnvxETNY_XI_b6QAE72CVwrsnUSDfE2lPfjhcX59NklGNh1g/s200/0905002238.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525496904816290274" border="0" /></a>oxes. He put books on shelves. I washed dishes. He built furniture. I graded papers. He washed dishes. I graded papers. We ended the day with a campfire in the newly formed grill-pit in the backyard, underneath my pine trees, on the newly refurbished bench, listening to the owl who lives in the tree. <span style="font-style: italic;">Hoo, hoo-hoo. Hoo.</span> He says.<br /><br />Now that's one dance I'm not ashamed of. Fall is here. My house is ready. Kind of. Almost. It will be.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-74267823551769954242010-09-01T19:02:00.000-07:002010-09-01T20:02:04.433-07:00Still-Life Without Hummingbird<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvPyKcIVirZnSyOmpkdKzF-OZLKJthwYw42bCWp3et8WzMotYtxX8t6pZpducdE9U9Lk-FDEGf2Zv6-aAGYh62PIE6qe9zkPR73eDfPiylGRE7hQDx8MRebd1n5hMPY8MeRzl-3n5_HU/s1600/0823001933.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvPyKcIVirZnSyOmpkdKzF-OZLKJthwYw42bCWp3et8WzMotYtxX8t6pZpducdE9U9Lk-FDEGf2Zv6-aAGYh62PIE6qe9zkPR73eDfPiylGRE7hQDx8MRebd1n5hMPY8MeRzl-3n5_HU/s320/0823001933.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512136853721863874" border="0" /></a>September 1st... the Summer Of Blarg is almost over. This week has marked the beginning of the school year kicking into high gear, with all the host of meetings, photo-copying, and high-wire balance-act attempts at Classroom Decoration that are to be expected. As a testament to the work that I've done this summer and how it has facilitated my personal growth, I put my hand in a giant spider's nest at the back of a bookshelf that was full of -- get this -- crunchy globs of spider eggs, and not only was there no screaming, there wasn't even an "eww," just a judicious nose wrinkle and a decisive wiping of hand on pants. New definition of "teacher clothes" = Can Wipe Spider Eggs On. Along with the new school schedule comes a new definition of "clean" in my kitchen: if you can't see old food caked on it, it's good enough. The tomatoes are starting to take over all the surface areas -- they are piled into nooks and crannies -- they fill the bread box, hide on top of the fridge, and teeter at the edge of the kitchen island (aka, computer desk, but hey, I have re-nomen-ed its clature and that goes a long way. Barthes says.).<br /><br />In any case, here is a virtual tour of some of the almost finished projects around the house. Oo and Ahh as appropriate. Thank you very much. But first -- here's a recap of some of the all-time best "before" pictures when things were look pretty far from ever finished: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1ENLwDwrjt7sa4WtUA7EziK38f65l7hYDiNNrsx6YWqGJ4xY2olV6UGJEDiewxcNU_izlBwFHB3p4lA8_0QXlC544OBvuw3Cowa7qfroF50fPnFIijaxBNWju_tJX4jtYWDlv5GdMw0/s1600/0823001934.jpg"><br /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PsA_eLdNc9sdotvMdlpZBKUexjmnyx6sOBMDhU70lcAWL4F_KYIefmDG6fEzrjPxvYkTgVOZtFMG7ear3vPyb4vsMcVohZsZ6qa8w1Xb8uSdFYz-zNYaaVRPOdktULOJqXB93gp4Yro/s1600/0712100051a.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 117px; height: 156px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PsA_eLdNc9sdotvMdlpZBKUexjmnyx6sOBMDhU70lcAWL4F_KYIefmDG6fEzrjPxvYkTgVOZtFMG7ear3vPyb4vsMcVohZsZ6qa8w1Xb8uSdFYz-zNYaaVRPOdktULOJqXB93gp4Yro/s320/0712100051a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512133369710761522" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBxW2f7x_p0n21vbwQHymjVOn9uu0oltTnft7q07p1BZp7rA4JlyEQKcwwIoYgqQdRzTpNp7efcRnlDgjo24RL0vAWygNer6Sy1rYRQJKaTfTqftZfxpm4uzPm68Z2ZfmM_j-H6JbfFVE/s1600/0709001535a-1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 156px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBxW2f7x_p0n21vbwQHymjVOn9uu0oltTnft7q07p1BZp7rA4JlyEQKcwwIoYgqQdRzTpNp7efcRnlDgjo24RL0vAWygNer6Sy1rYRQJKaTfTqftZfxpm4uzPm68Z2ZfmM_j-H6JbfFVE/s200/0709001535a-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512141458436047250" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbpRzywR52XRSpdYV6xV-D7nuUDNA8cuUZqq15sdL-jI1xnX-Xbxm9MDMvB5GPPO41KHvcPAROUZEIXOJwERi5UrKJTl7BdxNXxCUQQQxPkG7kTHKeUEf0y_ZhRRKtrtJgbQNPToM0-c/s1600/0720001004.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 155px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbpRzywR52XRSpdYV6xV-D7nuUDNA8cuUZqq15sdL-jI1xnX-Xbxm9MDMvB5GPPO41KHvcPAROUZEIXOJwERi5UrKJTl7BdxNXxCUQQQxPkG7kTHKeUEf0y_ZhRRKtrtJgbQNPToM0-c/s200/0720001004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512145080786328594" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbRHIxTPD-CX2GF6fc18izZRB_XSnf1nGgq3Ws9wmRJd7nhVTCrUXLACmBhkblWlmRGH8mC6C3t8OzXnyY9pJKMULi3-GaZe0s22AGFo3-ZzJZ3jvcVV6zpiAAd53QypK9B1DtSLx-Io/s1600/0722002025.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbRHIxTPD-CX2GF6fc18izZRB_XSnf1nGgq3Ws9wmRJd7nhVTCrUXLACmBhkblWlmRGH8mC6C3t8OzXnyY9pJKMULi3-GaZe0s22AGFo3-ZzJZ3jvcVV6zpiAAd53QypK9B1DtSLx-Io/s200/0722002025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512141468414442418" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7nb04BT0_YadX25zeCrIa0vu06hOCuQbWbm6QJm99bq6o6RkcvgLvJTdL6zl2fswl9BJtv_UgZuHNmByKmf3QMcZmS2371U31LvBUdPLbykwZkfPQH9LcEl09ReCOX1Z_2qYvV0Vybk/s1600/0711002311.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7nb04BT0_YadX25zeCrIa0vu06hOCuQbWbm6QJm99bq6o6RkcvgLvJTdL6zl2fswl9BJtv_UgZuHNmByKmf3QMcZmS2371U31LvBUdPLbykwZkfPQH9LcEl09ReCOX1Z_2qYvV0Vybk/s200/0711002311.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512141467690115890" border="0" /></a><br />Remember that? That was July, back in the 99 degree days, full of toxicity, sweat and tears. Now, this is the new floor -- minus carpet, linoleum, and paint, plus stain, seal, and 4 coats of finish.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTZYTnG3IcEteRod6WsOlFlJIYRy0LgE0U0bo-R0iJGmwjAfx8O7TrgiTCpQiJdaYtVU-SqaChY1s-m8UnUR9yr-hJNv6fYJbmLeaxfHdZuOoTV4ypi-uduIE8GdfAP8im6G51lMZz-U/s1600/0823001916.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTZYTnG3IcEteRod6WsOlFlJIYRy0LgE0U0bo-R0iJGmwjAfx8O7TrgiTCpQiJdaYtVU-SqaChY1s-m8UnUR9yr-hJNv6fYJbmLeaxfHdZuOoTV4ypi-uduIE8GdfAP8im6G51lMZz-U/s320/0823001916.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512133373280557378" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />I call this one, "Still Life With Ladder" -- it is an evening picture of the bedroom in the last stages of completion: finishing the last coat of yellow paint in the upper reaches of the closet. I hate painting closets -- they're stuffy and you don't even really look inside them all that often. You could paint, "screw you, closet!" in yellow on the upper corner of the wall, and nobody would ever notice. In fact, maybe I even did that - you can't tell, can you?<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46KZn60XtqbhJPGusur-CMZVEH6_fCMbywiKEqAHf8QUpSxZj8y8A83v2A3_nEgKAl8qKx3lxvjoXKIiLsn0Q1svPpfX1NVwIGqraDT9cHskdU0rfWF0BNVJJdvLsYDKguuFuHwZT1TA/s1600/0823001928.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46KZn60XtqbhJPGusur-CMZVEH6_fCMbywiKEqAHf8QUpSxZj8y8A83v2A3_nEgKAl8qKx3lxvjoXKIiLsn0Q1svPpfX1NVwIGqraDT9cHskdU0rfWF0BNVJJdvLsYDKguuFuHwZT1TA/s320/0823001928.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512133379913632818" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We decided on going with a rich, dark stain in the bedroom to offset the pale yellow and green of the walls. It is a coat of Rosewood covered with all the Cherry and Golden Oak we had left in the bucket. It really popped out the grain of the pine, and there are some gorgeous knots and textures that are very striking. I'm a huge fan. Next to the Vermont Cream trim, it has a clean, classy look. The floor is so very, very smooth, the wood grain glows, even in artificial light, and it doesn't seem heavy or too dark. It's like Jason said -- the floor is the frame for the picture of the room, and having a little con<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_F9ZZk17Gs5F2EptEPrXuEas5RbXT0HGfpS8SlPbIVi0wHdwwX3HK760TAb6kanXDewJPcX6N2ucNj1XhvzgwRS_LB55r35z4Gx1suJ_QYHTNNW8Aw-a_g_2n95BeNH5lHxCT-OrWdk0/s1600/0823001932a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_F9ZZk17Gs5F2EptEPrXuEas5RbXT0HGfpS8SlPbIVi0wHdwwX3HK760TAb6kanXDewJPcX6N2ucNj1XhvzgwRS_LB55r35z4Gx1suJ_QYHTNNW8Aw-a_g_2n95BeNH5lHxCT-OrWdk0/s320/0823001932a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512136860839749266" border="0" /></a>trast is really nice. Dang, that man is good at his job. I helped, a little.<br /><br />Now, I'll have to get him to do his other job and get some good photos that do this floor justice. My little ol' cell phone camera isn't really capturing the magic.<br /><br />This is actually the new laundry room -- freshly painted in full-on crazy. I love it. My "It's Not Pink" is recently adjusted to be "Really, NOT Pink" -- and even Jason shrugs in a more agreeing than not sort of way. Shannon confirms it: "it's totally not pink." Still, the poor wall is doomed to a life of being always defined by what it is not -- there's a lit theory reference in there, too, but dude, I can't remember who that was. Saussu<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdfJakLsfctoEB_tOXM5fV32-zPNtEgCbzQ2dG3jQyu9jRBxu1A-vic4XOOyIZz1QfDct7MC7gpndCnOpefHFNzuBfuY7POiavMQGqXkUtHHI6sFjVB6XDfodW24uY2AzlIwsEVLGH5I/s1600/0823001930.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdfJakLsfctoEB_tOXM5fV32-zPNtEgCbzQ2dG3jQyu9jRBxu1A-vic4XOOyIZz1QfDct7MC7gpndCnOpefHFNzuBfuY7POiavMQGqXkUtHHI6sFjVB6XDfodW24uY2AzlIwsEVLGH5I/s320/0823001930.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512140564059896194" border="0" /></a>re? Derrida? I'm kind of pleased that I've reached a degree of sufficiently washed up as a recovering ex-grad student that I can't remember. My real-world therapy and diet of Buffy and nachos must be working.<br /><br />And look at the color of that green/blue wall -- I love it! For a former mushroom colony, it sure cleans up real nice. Now I just have to get the time and vehicular power to make an arrangement with the generous Johnny W, who is donating a laundry-machine to the cause. It must be a public service because after a summer of this much hard work, I have GOT to be pretty stinky by now. Sheesh.<br /><br />Oh, and last thing. The pipe wasn't my fault. Home Depot sold me another bum part. It was missing a tiny cap to prevent previously described peeing phenomenon. I've rectified the situation. I have water. It's totally done. It's the least I could ask. Let's not talk about it any more.<br /></div></div>harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-42263039296264872462010-08-27T16:56:00.000-07:002010-08-27T17:13:49.146-07:00SCORE! Re-StoreFinally<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIxyjhZYjhZHknOp8pcpbsHxHMmfaWyqhn_RXzP8XRpfWgIC5Y75HCk3nvcbDtfSyV7Ixfg9RIyb_l8AMmEbd2K9laQzaL8FsArsYNDGmcA3VSgwYxYtEGRdhyphenhyphen25fRh0D0NpbWsv41OQ/s1600/0823001759.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIxyjhZYjhZHknOp8pcpbsHxHMmfaWyqhn_RXzP8XRpfWgIC5Y75HCk3nvcbDtfSyV7Ixfg9RIyb_l8AMmEbd2K9laQzaL8FsArsYNDGmcA3VSgwYxYtEGRdhyphenhyphen25fRh0D0NpbWsv41OQ/s320/0823001759.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510243117012775186" border="0" /></a>, some <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpztvrSm39KAjMNSRKZu-bNE-UET88o8LyWZeU0oTLYncfOkyMm0-eVqkZO32eHqjfmJ_cbAO9HnyyX-OEA3wdu-O38OeRv3ji26V94zyPF2eDivzNgQfWttyC6njqBG11G1BPbWdJEM/s1600/0823001757.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 171px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpztvrSm39KAjMNSRKZu-bNE-UET88o8LyWZeU0oTLYncfOkyMm0-eVqkZO32eHqjfmJ_cbAO9HnyyX-OEA3wdu-O38OeRv3ji26V94zyPF2eDivzNgQfWttyC6njqBG11G1BPbWdJEM/s320/0823001757.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510243102633857474" border="0" /></a>pictures of low to moderate success stories! I've discovered a new place to shop for discount home goods in town -- it's the Habitat for Humanity second-hand shop, called Re-Store. It's full of lots of donated goods from other people's remodels -- everything from sinks and bathtubs to light bulbs and bathtub caulk. They have a sale on office chairs for $5 right now, and if I cou<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BqGXCcBUSZOdzkdGLNCzYAWZVyKpUtT7qe1XVKoNxbv-ZIhuVpJs7qrXo1ot8mqlG3yMwyycGnpO8kVbqWLirys7W2V-PKg5oEjvYPXCjO1wnLO4QFFE4R1X_aWPajcPXLd77fqDHdk/s1600/0823001508a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 129px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BqGXCcBUSZOdzkdGLNCzYAWZVyKpUtT7qe1XVKoNxbv-ZIhuVpJs7qrXo1ot8mqlG3yMwyycGnpO8kVbqWLirys7W2V-PKg5oEjvYPXCjO1wnLO4QFFE4R1X_aWPajcPXLd77fqDHdk/s200/0823001508a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510246348382052354" border="0" /></a>ld have fit a $15 couch into the back of Honda, I just might have done it. Here is the Hall Of Doors, as well as photos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFARBjcjWEQVvnKJWEs3aylSJrErujrc6D7cBxvjfAJr3SLIira2mRI54tbAM_sCIOdRW-u6dPieHtJwB6M6ev-CDbDW1rapbwLCrogNrIACFWkQfo8XP06rcuDpkxrfx7uCagZULtJc/s1600/0823001508.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFARBjcjWEQVvnKJWEs3aylSJrErujrc6D7cBxvjfAJr3SLIira2mRI54tbAM_sCIOdRW-u6dPieHtJwB6M6ev-CDbDW1rapbwLCrogNrIACFWkQfo8XP06rcuDpkxrfx7uCagZULtJc/s320/0823001508.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510243113698831538" border="0" /></a> of the new stainless steel sink I got for the kitchenette. I went in search of a cool retro metal medicine cabinet, but decided to go with this oak one when I saw it. I'll keep it in the front bathroom, and put the fake oak one in the back bath, after painting it white to match all the other clean white things back there.<br /><br />After getting a five dollar sink and a ten dollar medicine cabinet, I asked my refrigerator what it wanted to eat. Chocolate milk! my refrigerator said. Tha<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBd8MaZjYfZXyBQcI5_TCfWa_YMgevVctWLA6V8TYh7hI803rT8OYTwiKC2DtV4M0VMXKOwqLssDbuYtikJ2I2JgTDbfUgO4rZO__L2G4IIxwpKojf5L-iCHwxqgMSRXIzHO-nfiPtg8/s1600/0823001805.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 168px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBd8MaZjYfZXyBQcI5_TCfWa_YMgevVctWLA6V8TYh7hI803rT8OYTwiKC2DtV4M0VMXKOwqLssDbuYtikJ2I2JgTDbfUgO4rZO__L2G4IIxwpKojf5L-iCHwxqgMSRXIzHO-nfiPtg8/s320/0823001805.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510243119465541458" border="0" /></a>t's weird, I thought, but had to oblige.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Speaking of Honda, I finally decided to go on the books as a Utah driver. Now that I own a house and all, I decided it was long past due to register my car. Two trips to the DMV, an obscene amount at the Honda Dealership and a can of WD-40 later, I got new Utah plates on little old Honda. The big question: which plate did I go with? Not that snooty skier, of course. I'll take earth-tone mountains over skier dude, any day. </div>harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-26352866389791232662010-08-27T15:51:00.000-07:002010-08-27T16:12:33.360-07:00Pipe dreams<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyb64lbXH2zDC8Pe3QjjCiDnHItw08wST7tuPPvFw_nrtByVxh0I2poaQID08KaSlOyiME0d7ekvEAzX9pfc0ivz2_LE-qD5yqQyI6fgvMFN0IAF3XWRCxRcDOF8UfWhpKq7IhS_K0tP0/s1600/0827001656.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyb64lbXH2zDC8Pe3QjjCiDnHItw08wST7tuPPvFw_nrtByVxh0I2poaQID08KaSlOyiME0d7ekvEAzX9pfc0ivz2_LE-qD5yqQyI6fgvMFN0IAF3XWRCxRcDOF8UfWhpKq7IhS_K0tP0/s320/0827001656.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510229073399174850" border="0" /></a><br />This is my dream: I wish this pipe was the right pipe, and not the pipe that has a hole in the side of it for "draining the line" (isn't that what leaving the kitchen faucet running is for?) so that when I don't notice drain-hole, install New Pipe and then turn water on, all the water from the line wouldn't run continually out in a comically pee-like stream in my face in the basement. "I Love Lucy" has NOTHING on my home-improvement attempts when it comes to physical comedy.<br /><br />If this pipe could arm-wrestle, I'd kick its pipey butt. Then I'd make it eat dirt -- basement dirt, the kind that gets ground into my knees and then I can't wash off my hands because I've turned off all the water to the house. A curse on you and all your pipe-like kin!harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-1795810759485215552010-08-23T11:53:00.000-07:002010-08-23T12:42:51.862-07:00Good digs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jLNHc0WZ6pMKoafdA7UDsBPpZFVI9V977RL3s2nXqz1q1LSNY-9-naTt55oMP-YJwGQgtE_1ZQbUeQqkXmGWP68YiVGAclDe6xD9H8Yrwvjj2GzvhvXJ9t_TwtsGvJ4bBWaA0uW4vNE/s1600/0823001319a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jLNHc0WZ6pMKoafdA7UDsBPpZFVI9V977RL3s2nXqz1q1LSNY-9-naTt55oMP-YJwGQgtE_1ZQbUeQqkXmGWP68YiVGAclDe6xD9H8Yrwvjj2GzvhvXJ9t_TwtsGvJ4bBWaA0uW4vNE/s400/0823001319a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508689569930802050" border="0" /></a>August in Utah is out to kill: it bakes the earth in high 90s with full sun all day, every day, broken only by high winds and angry, stingy rainstorms. We had a doozy of a storm yesterday, complete with falling limbs and lots of trashcans and lawn furniture exchanged between neighbors. I was inside, trying to remind myself that getting nervous and worrying about my big pine trees squ<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKxDnSoGHLndWvUCbocbQkFBwW1ZCWlfXCUlhqz-e6GM9n_SaSohT7fPk6CSuTTD4_WV1TOdeVVkxQVA7sZyzWxgSogg_NeRXyt9Sq3c1k8Lgtcz6MsqzRqiL_mATXs-R6GgkDCikxSY/s1600/0823001243.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKxDnSoGHLndWvUCbocbQkFBwW1ZCWlfXCUlhqz-e6GM9n_SaSohT7fPk6CSuTTD4_WV1TOdeVVkxQVA7sZyzWxgSogg_NeRXyt9Sq3c1k8Lgtcz6MsqzRqiL_mATXs-R6GgkDCikxSY/s320/0823001243.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508686430278275250" border="0" /></a>ashing my house won't do anything to prevent said squashing. I spend some time looking out the windows at the tops of the trees blowing back and forth in cartoonishly wide swoops of their long piney branches. Then I turned up the radio and painted the closet, which is, by the way, the last thing that needed to happen in the re-done bedroom, besides the little nails being pounded into the baseboards to hold them into place, which is something Jason will do as soon as this inconvenient employment is over... honestly, doesn't this movie know that it's getting in the way of my home improvement? Oh, to be cursed with a boyfriend who is both artistic and handy... sigh. What more could I ask for?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvWXz3_aSJkw7wzoCAL7girAuCFqOho9vwpcHP5X-3EDeaRcgKJhlweIV47Rse5LfHieHm7iedMBxYCTeBmooZkSrXxEi3SznxLCeZ4-gPBuBbB-PPuIvgNwr5WqwrgG4NEnBna1PY3s/s1600/0823001242.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 374px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvWXz3_aSJkw7wzoCAL7girAuCFqOho9vwpcHP5X-3EDeaRcgKJhlweIV47Rse5LfHieHm7iedMBxYCTeBmooZkSrXxEi3SznxLCeZ4-gPBuBbB-PPuIvgNwr5WqwrgG4NEnBna1PY3s/s400/0823001242.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508686748297824946" border="0" /></a><br />This morning, the rain left the ground actually moist, cool, and perfect for digging. The temperature was also perfect -- at a high of 80 today, Utah has decided to give me some respite from the desert heat. Still, I started early: 7:30am found me with a shovel, starting in on a new track of dead lawn. After digging up the beds nearest the house and turning a strip along the sidewalk into a blueberry and tomato bed, I decided it was time to continue the garden patch along the flagstone walk to the drive.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRJmbEVprmc7vnc6JXJ5EqwxK_Tu0WWjHGVTT2t46eTx9E-0ucZLdLPWzxlTxNuAew2Yh1M7-wMmugR0bQO_Y4_vqwMh0rk1VV5RClFXMYnRTsVPP1ep2hf4XBzYJPcd4DIonpRtqcuM/s1600/0823001320.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 402px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRJmbEVprmc7vnc6JXJ5EqwxK_Tu0WWjHGVTT2t46eTx9E-0ucZLdLPWzxlTxNuAew2Yh1M7-wMmugR0bQO_Y4_vqwMh0rk1VV5RClFXMYnRTsVPP1ep2hf4XBzYJPcd4DIonpRtqcuM/s400/0823001320.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508689555719195746" border="0" /></a><br />There is nothing quite so much fun as digging in the dirt. I love digging up the old turf, especially - you cut the edges, wiggling the shovel under the turf from both sides, then slice it into manageable chunks, turning the patches of dead grass over to expose the root base, still full of good rich soil. The sun was still behind the neighbor's big tree when I got the point of raking the bottom of the turf to loosen the soil, shaking and shaking and thumping and shaking all the dirt out and tossing the dead clot of oldroots aside. Honestly, is there any happiness turning yucky old lawn into soft, silty earth, ready for planting with pretty things? But I get ahead of myself -- before I can plant, I started to turn the soil... and found that, like the other stretch of lawn I dug up, there is a layer of hardpack gravel and clayey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQLTuxb3NlsZPe3vKHsYjvgL5v6DIDC00GrFdNdkg5A_6pDaMHReM0RzSrncVSoBYsFhyphenhyphenvgf75ovII6fHinjvUrlJrYYeEc70PqFDzv5XTZTPc67PzueeWnyzb5NwXwauzlaOAXbwZrU/s1600/0823001242a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 436px; height: 327px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQLTuxb3NlsZPe3vKHsYjvgL5v6DIDC00GrFdNdkg5A_6pDaMHReM0RzSrncVSoBYsFhyphenhyphenvgf75ovII6fHinjvUrlJrYYeEc70PqFDzv5XTZTPc67PzueeWnyzb5NwXwauzlaOAXbwZrU/s320/0823001242a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508686434382984418" border="0" /></a> earth about 8 inches below the good top soil. There is some perverse pleasure in searching out and prying up rocks the size of my fist, but around noon, I had to give it a break. There was this strange soreness in my side that I recognized from earlier in the summer: those are my digging muscles. I spent a day or two repenting this binge-like behavior before, wondering what I could have possibly done to deserve such punishment by lactic acid. Still, I thank my back for being a good back and only getting muscle sore, not pinchy owchy oopsy damaging spinal sore. I am old enough to know such things can happen to people who think they have indestructible backs. Still, there is always another rock to dig out, and such lovely weather, and as long as I am digging, I can't be expected to work on my school syllabi, which are quickly becoming unavoidable...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPVimjx3z4z4SjopZUnsr7VxRiuX7IKnFyN6KkZ3sI14MEQFpmFVWbzlUgvs2wLUjwjDY0aKi97Vv-j4jjKVITZvILQMo0dLkvKmO8GCiBXgnoqQU1qyTs5ZTV36iYb1Qxyzq_5CHFNU/s1600/0823001319b.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 393px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPVimjx3z4z4SjopZUnsr7VxRiuX7IKnFyN6KkZ3sI14MEQFpmFVWbzlUgvs2wLUjwjDY0aKi97Vv-j4jjKVITZvILQMo0dLkvKmO8GCiBXgnoqQU1qyTs5ZTV36iYb1Qxyzq_5CHFNU/s400/0823001319b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508689563361502146" border="0" /></a><br />Here are some pictures of my yard so far. I love the blueberry bushes especially -- they are a lovely green against the dark mulch. Next year, the yew bushes will be fill out and the Russian sage will be sprawling into the pathway. The blueberries will be loaded and the hummingbirds (I saw one!) will zoom around the honey bees. The tall grasses will shade the porch and my rosemary will grow even bigger than the bush I had to leave behind at my old apartment. I'll plant the pear tree in the front yard for some shade, and it will magically only give me delicious fruits that don't fall and rot all over the yard. The tomatoes will do even better next year, when they get to be in the ground from the beginning of summer, although they're not too shabby this year -- look, aren't they beautiful? I love the actual plants -- I think I would grow tomato plants even if they didn't give any fruit. They're lush and hearty and brilliant. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdlOnX7rgwwiXbX4ZCoXnkelneZsTgowwOdWTRwssDAmTLG4VuRuAWs-LIIQWxEjv9gnR9nBUPTLoBiEydhMRp7hS8rrKy3E3SEi359EemMyYstPTrvzmZ2J6GZYnF-z2yWwvZ7whnBo/s1600/0823001319.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 461px; height: 345px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdlOnX7rgwwiXbX4ZCoXnkelneZsTgowwOdWTRwssDAmTLG4VuRuAWs-LIIQWxEjv9gnR9nBUPTLoBiEydhMRp7hS8rrKy3E3SEi359EemMyYstPTrvzmZ2J6GZYnF-z2yWwvZ7whnBo/s320/0823001319.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508691796738664034" border="0" /></a>harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-82163630301996395612010-08-22T12:24:00.000-07:002010-08-22T13:18:46.503-07:00Frosting the Cake from Hell, or Why Plumbing Sucks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXOvd_gYejMRrNj9bPVXZJY50u7zqgCLDKgrI1REhO3u50nk8-HKiNj79qWcR9Mk2rMxyPgs2x96Gy-urMoEOUZqlpc11OoRIJmG6LlwGbV5kkhM1r3g4qWIr6bO-9FiZwxOIz0fEu2w/s1600/0813001609a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXOvd_gYejMRrNj9bPVXZJY50u7zqgCLDKgrI1REhO3u50nk8-HKiNj79qWcR9Mk2rMxyPgs2x96Gy-urMoEOUZqlpc11OoRIJmG6LlwGbV5kkhM1r3g4qWIr6bO-9FiZwxOIz0fEu2w/s320/0813001609a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508328716939158802" border="0" /></a>To be fair, there are two separate issues at stake here: one is the drippy outdoor faucet, the other is the bathtub. Luckily, the two plumbing problems have not progressed to the point where they are connected. That would be bad.<br /><br />The story of the outside faucet goes something like this<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-Fgx4Zf6nOXtm_y8L9xFOcVzT5E26vfmHc0GIu_k55P18_PG_EjjvWcqLFLvocuWPEdXIH-UdReFt1DF7_Rx7VVkGBxNld783gATx_tfUYxZ-vrqHXmLJpq2ecZU6_XKCyIT5L0IJHM/s1600/0819001240a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 119px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-Fgx4Zf6nOXtm_y8L9xFOcVzT5E26vfmHc0GIu_k55P18_PG_EjjvWcqLFLvocuWPEdXIH-UdReFt1DF7_Rx7VVkGBxNld783gATx_tfUYxZ-vrqHXmLJpq2ecZU6_XKCyIT5L0IJHM/s200/0819001240a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508329719603981394" border="0" /></a>: Faucet broke pipe broke other pipe. Spider in my pants. Install new pipe -- Maybe..? No. What if... No. Or... No. Or... yes! I AM AWESOME! No, I'm not. Damn. Damn damn. Jason? Yay! Ohhhh... Damn. There are metal shards in my foot. Home Depot, you suck.<br /><br />If this one of those super fast moving videos where 16 hours of work is sped through in 2 <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5vJxoRJTqysSp7MOYHOhJA1JLna8ZXSvJmrV2hP-D-2xTXdRMiwBeLjkLqu8p_C_-oZfB-sUvxFwJZR9KeyDaxQ_1rpSZXfK5G2brR48X1INKdVSL6CXNXfd1cq9pk28UP4loopCdgc/s1600/0819001240.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 122px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5vJxoRJTqysSp7MOYHOhJA1JLna8ZXSvJmrV2hP-D-2xTXdRMiwBeLjkLqu8p_C_-oZfB-sUvxFwJZR9KeyDaxQ_1rpSZXfK5G2brR48X1INKdVSL6CXNXfd1cq9pk28UP4loopCdgc/s200/0819001240.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508329729981997314" border="0" /></a>minutes, what you would see would be me crawling in and out of the basement (THE most inconvenient part of the basement, too, where I have to scramble behind the furnace, climb the foundation embankment, and then scoot back on the raw dirt with two feet of total headroom) and then waving pipe wrenches around angrily and trying to turn things tighter and tighter when the new pipe dripped, and then Jason coming over and re-fixing my "fixed" pipe by taking it off and doing it all over again, only to find that it dripped WORSE! Let me repeat: Jason came to fix it, and it got worse. We both sat there and stared. Something was clearly amiss. Jason<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEHjB3GUW0tfcwPziFlI1Ni9HzqPlqwaE9htIyLd8T_XIUOQteXCFnetLmY0rHU-ZzOYvI-7bNskJbJ9fIEvCBKUrqJqoRMKbIT9IBH0b4xv5-hbMShz-ZYZcvME9_V1Dx4I-_k_8BmyQ/s1600/0819001241.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 126px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEHjB3GUW0tfcwPziFlI1Ni9HzqPlqwaE9htIyLd8T_XIUOQteXCFnetLmY0rHU-ZzOYvI-7bNskJbJ9fIEvCBKUrqJqoRMKbIT9IBH0b4xv5-hbMShz-ZYZcvME9_V1Dx4I-_k_8BmyQ/s200/0819001241.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508329723962607522" border="0" /></a> fixes things, not makes them worse. So we shut the water off one more time, took off the whole mess of new pipes, and discovered that Home Depot had sold me a faulty part! The stop valve was cracked - hence, the dripping. A week, a pile of dirty dishes, a whole roll of teflon tape, some very thirsty tomatoes and a lot of curse words later, I have found the source of the problem: shoddy Chinese manufacturing.<br /><br />In between fighting with this drippy pipe and watching episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for a good dose of witty and unpretentiously sappy girl-power, I talked myself into re-caulking the bathtub by myself. Again: to Home Depot. I purchased this stuff called Tub Surround. It came in a caulk-looking tube, and it included information about how to Surround Tubs. I was convi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PKow9qd3VolT_9PTyfxxSS9938TTouDUuwwYeB8KApCqO47WWxL7_58UrXw0Kc2a0qS5BFH4LiyyI_uHDRjkr4YbgnAVD3qeKTSlsCh4JKKt6wDu1p5LFGNBFa91t-zpTUfKzZi_yNE/s1600/0813001609.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PKow9qd3VolT_9PTyfxxSS9938TTouDUuwwYeB8KApCqO47WWxL7_58UrXw0Kc2a0qS5BFH4LiyyI_uHDRjkr4YbgnAVD3qeKTSlsCh4JKKt6wDu1p5LFGNBFa91t-zpTUfKzZi_yNE/s320/0813001609.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508328720690016274" border="0" /></a>nced I was on the right track, until (after prying off the old crappy tub strip, spraying lots of Clorox all over the years of funk growing back there and scraping it all off with what is proving to be rather stale elbow grease) I started squirting this Tub Surround all around the brand new, nicely cut and placed white strips. Not only did it come out in great globs of indeterminate consistency, it was GRAY. Having never caulked a tub before, I was not to be scared off. I squirted it all around the tub, and then tried to use the "one wet finger" technique to smooth the caulk. It was like frosting the cake from hell -- the more I tried to smooth, the stickier, lumpier, and more All Over The Place it got! I finally stopped, having covered all my hands, some of my feet, and the whole bathtub in gray goo.<br /><br />Once again, I called in J<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tOEi2Ni2bn285ZGjJ0WOArxBMF3RfwfC2XhfRVTba2F4YmjRdL7aGqkKhafGZvR8-RdO_JuEWosaeVqBd2cQl1xj8T7ze-i8e0QXfnWH1eqpTn94xzi9trDLxhowFdKe6NhZRaN63ls/s1600/0819001237a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 389px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tOEi2Ni2bn285ZGjJ0WOArxBMF3RfwfC2XhfRVTba2F4YmjRdL7aGqkKhafGZvR8-RdO_JuEWosaeVqBd2cQl1xj8T7ze-i8e0QXfnWH1eqpTn94xzi9trDLxhowFdKe6NhZRaN63ls/s320/0819001237a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508328723650860962" border="0" /></a>ason: "That's the WORST caulk job I've ever seen!" said the expert, with a kind of respectful horror, the way you'd say, "wow, that's the worst case of sunburn I've ever seen," or "Wow, I've never seen anybody wreck a car quite THAT hard, so MANY times in a row!" I, however, was not amused. "At least it won't leak," he offered as consolation. It was true. There was way too much goo all over the tub to let any moisture through. I suggested that maybe it would turn white over night, as it dried? Jason was skeptical. He was right: it was just as dark and gray as ever. At this point, I turned my attention to the tube of offending caulk, only to realize upon closer inspection that it was not caulk at all... it was Construction Adhesive. It was for installing bathtubs and gluing them into place, not for caulking the cracks. I'd smeared heavy duty GLUE all over my bathtub! This was not fixing anything. This was creating a massive, gooey, gray MESS.<br /><br />Despair ensued. I considered pitching a fit in Home Depot along with a lot of tears and fist shaking and scowling and waving around the tube that said TUB SURROUND and accusing it of false advertising, but then I realized that this would only emphasize my stupidity an<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcLQTadU98TPYsDMZSpgLCiIFO9lVuP7lF_7nXpUQgs1ttSuvkBg1pZJVl6tSq_HowS8VPflVU7hn80QzKbCI4u5pplEsm2SU2_dEsKFV_hu823XDkq8Vqoc_-SE_vFCeOAxiYy8_Nrs/s1600/0819001238-1.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcLQTadU98TPYsDMZSpgLCiIFO9lVuP7lF_7nXpUQgs1ttSuvkBg1pZJVl6tSq_HowS8VPflVU7hn80QzKbCI4u5pplEsm2SU2_dEsKFV_hu823XDkq8Vqoc_-SE_vFCeOAxiYy8_Nrs/s200/0819001238-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508329739704821826" border="0" /></a>d so instead I took of ye ol' paint scraper and started a long and frustrating job of undoing the mess that I had made. This is some kind of life lesson, I am sure: messes are easier to make than they are to clean up. Eventually, however, I re-installed the new white strips, clean of Construction Adhesive, and re-caulked it with real white bathtub caulk that came in a little tube and behaved as desired when smoothed. Sort of. It was more like trying to frost an ornery toddler than the cake from hell, but everybody turned out all right, even the bathtub. This is a picture of the bathtub. Notice the lack of gray cement all around it. That's right. I'm awesome.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-1767232282234938162010-08-13T11:55:00.000-07:002010-08-13T12:05:30.706-07:00Desert Water TortureDespite liberal application of the tried and true method "Ignore it and Hope It Gets Better," the outdoor faucet's drip has turned to a gush and is now a pretty much constantly hissing flow. For a few days, I have periodically moved the end of the hose around to the base of different plants, pretending like my plumbing malfunction is actually some kind of sophisticated drip irrigation system... but seeing the Water Meter Man walking around the neighborhood in his orange shirt and metal meter-picker-upper-to-reader pole reminded me that eventually I will have to pay for these indiscretions. Ironically, having hit the August blues, my motivation to fix any last darn thing in this house is all dried up. Let me emphasize that analogy: Leak is gush; motivation goes "uggghhh." It's kind of like the noise the rest of the faucets in the house now make when I try to turn them on, having found a simple solution to the outdoor leak: I turned off the water main to the whole house. Presto! No more leak. The side effects, however, will soon become unlivable. You see, I've gotten used to flushing the toilet and washing the dishes. In about 15 minutes, I will be forced to address this problem, for real. I do now know a thing or two about teflon tape, and I own a pipe wrench. For the next 15 minutes, however, I am going to enjoy a moment of blissful desert oblivion.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-46793207178466499492010-07-26T21:14:00.000-07:002010-07-27T01:21:54.281-07:00It's Not Pink & Anime J<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgekj2h8RPjnAHuWMnOkDHMRJhyphenhyphenORsw-7LFqopIfVNkb6qtGFlXvT80Z60yXw7YWQriWiQOWGwWh4nZ8zWMPjgq8AY6etka-h6mZlWguTbOLOYrj6zKdj27_YxR08gbiB6eOWjKHkvEjME/s1600/0725001639.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgekj2h8RPjnAHuWMnOkDHMRJhyphenhyphenORsw-7LFqopIfVNkb6qtGFlXvT80Z60yXw7YWQriWiQOWGwWh4nZ8zWMPjgq8AY6etka-h6mZlWguTbOLOYrj6zKdj27_YxR08gbiB6eOWjKHkvEjME/s320/0725001639.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498497031768287826" border="0" /></a>I've reached a new level of neurotic: instead of selecting one of many fine colors prepared by Behr or Glidden or even Martha Stewart Living, I have indulged a childhood fantasy and have, however ill-advised, started mixing my own paint colors. The only problem with this practice is knowing when to STOP tinkering with a color. See exhibit A: the laundry room. We tested out a million different colors (all with corresponding made-up names such as Yucky Green and Hells No Blue) and I finally decided on a bold, bold move: one wall "Anime J" (the color of Jason's eyeballs if he was an Anime character - the color directly behind my head in the photo) and one wall "It's Not Pink" (it's not Pink... it's clay pot / terra cotta / peach-esque). The result is kind of hideous, but so dramatically, vibrantly, shockingly hideous that I'm tempted to leave it for a while. Painting this wall It's Not Pink has somehow made the truth sink in -- this is MY house and I can paint the walls whatever color I want to, even if it is ugly, and nobody can tell me not to! Interesting, how tearing off the roof, busting up bathroom fixtures and tearing out whole walls didn't *quite* do this for me. I think that all those things were just so responsible and <span style="font-style: italic;">productive </span>that it wasn't until I did something foolish that the real power of home ownership became manifest. That, and sending in my first mortgage payment. Oof.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JI-oyXymxQ7JmFtS5_5d_TUmIvCRW9I4Qfm5MnHmHdPv9ALM7XAWi-3FELnINDCik9JraBeE1UQy0OwfcV-JsUND10as2HQO6nFPkN4oh1nuPirDu0uKMMWG3AP6UF2ekfDKij6A8j0/s1600/0726001227.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JI-oyXymxQ7JmFtS5_5d_TUmIvCRW9I4Qfm5MnHmHdPv9ALM7XAWi-3FELnINDCik9JraBeE1UQy0OwfcV-JsUND10as2HQO6nFPkN4oh1nuPirDu0uKMMWG3AP6UF2ekfDKij6A8j0/s200/0726001227.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498496520909348834" border="0" /></a><br />At the same time as I proceeded to turn the laundry room into a Cinco de Mayo inspired playhouse, Jason talked some sense into my decision for a classy, elegant bedroom floor... yet we still managed to create a custom stain by mixing Rosewood, Golden Oak and Cherry. We laid down a solid Rosew<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29U2Z1aEJOsJYqEijWnsBJ5GaX4fMxEcuZ0Pfsge5wldDt-yvknHLsH-RDLSyB3yrGqhxJkqpVxQ5EfGLgPtKOIgovsmFt-WkEUNES8Sp0KQ6liROXKOR5VBdK4-Y4S69eVbd4TWPV5Y/s1600/0724001415a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29U2Z1aEJOsJYqEijWnsBJ5GaX4fMxEcuZ0Pfsge5wldDt-yvknHLsH-RDLSyB3yrGqhxJkqpVxQ5EfGLgPtKOIgovsmFt-WkEUNES8Sp0KQ6liROXKOR5VBdK4-Y4S69eVbd4TWPV5Y/s320/0724001415a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498498128423246818" border="0" /></a>ood (a rich, dark stain) and then rubbed a coat of Golden and Cherry into the grain over top, to bring out the highlights. Jason got to name this one -- he calls it "Black Cherry" and every time he says it, I sing the one line I know from the Goldfrapp song.<br /><br />Dickens, however, disapproves of the stinky stages of home improvement. He behaved himself for the most part, only chewing on the dried stain stick once and tracking a tiny little bit of It's Not Pink onto the It's Still Gold arm chair. Then, after a bit of a bath, he hid in a box to make his displeasure known.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-77589337883216045642010-07-23T19:13:00.000-07:002010-07-23T19:52:56.376-07:00A Tale of Two Walls<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_s4xw7Ny6sZL757FZRa9J5ARv-FcZZiJSBTSgD7v1zs1Ohyphenhyphenr0eUXeD9TlpmLzaKjcM5Qhnxi4jLjHnCUEQLQKclbr0jPiZg7ti_5eZ072XnbNQCC_Qkb7qYW-E6KQGiaNg3uCmC3cfA/s1600/0722002041.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 204px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_s4xw7Ny6sZL757FZRa9J5ARv-FcZZiJSBTSgD7v1zs1Ohyphenhyphenr0eUXeD9TlpmLzaKjcM5Qhnxi4jLjHnCUEQLQKclbr0jPiZg7ti_5eZ072XnbNQCC_Qkb7qYW-E6KQGiaNg3uCmC3cfA/s200/0722002041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497299314150726978" border="0" /></a><br />The parents have finally made it back to Rochester, despite being stuck overnight in JFK in what sounds like an epic Delta screw-up. Here in Utah, progress continues to be made on the house as Jason brings the Big Machine into the bedroom and proceeds to sand the floor that the stripper has finally succeeded in scraping up the old linoleum, with the help of a lot of elbow grease and a wire brush. [Aside: construction terminology sounds funny. This is a photo of me in Home Depot one night when it was 9pm and we were still loading lumber and I was carrying a blind and searching for a Furring Strip, which I accidentally called a Furry Strip and outed myself as incompetent to Phil, one of many Home Depot employees who now recognize me on sight]. After the past 90 years of crud was sanded off the floor, exposing beautifully tight boards that are so long they span the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FNo7WcICuLyPS22S9qqBh-KfPP_6OS5fl5jI-eerpF1e9s5WcOrhcLFUmOps9hU48SImhcoJvrFskEbyI8Vxd0W7udnxvkVQ2bYAAix5YrK14bSMMc0toF2TtZNwAE8Qceu_QaJEh1Q/s1600/0722002042.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FNo7WcICuLyPS22S9qqBh-KfPP_6OS5fl5jI-eerpF1e9s5WcOrhcLFUmOps9hU48SImhcoJvrFskEbyI8Vxd0W7udnxvkVQ2bYAAix5YrK14bSMMc0toF2TtZNwAE8Qceu_QaJEh1Q/s200/0722002042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497299303535901314" border="0" /></a>whole length of the room, I said: "oh! That's why we scraped off all that crap." and then Jason laid down about a dozen test patches of stain so I could choose. This was a bad move. The more choices I had available to me, the harder the choice. At one point, I proposed patch-working my bedroom floor in different colored stains a la Buddhist monk sand sculpture. Jason said, "have fun <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzT6K-rMkBpjhrI5P2esN7GFjo_JJSiPMkCjRj3mBX3ddZt3BF7_FpX4Zzn30uMTuYF_FrVsv9gIGFi9mYLoX_4uu9bDMRkkFBwWhtyF-V_h9m0rsgL7hbGNNtpkh8O2Yw5-MExPkVdk/s1600/0718002000.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzT6K-rMkBpjhrI5P2esN7GFjo_JJSiPMkCjRj3mBX3ddZt3BF7_FpX4Zzn30uMTuYF_FrVsv9gIGFi9mYLoX_4uu9bDMRkkFBwWhtyF-V_h9m0rsgL7hbGNNtpkh8O2Yw5-MExPkVdk/s320/0718002000.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497297106783874434" border="0" /></a>with that and let me know how it goes" or something like that which was probably nicer, like, "uhhhhh... I could help you with that..." or else, "hmmm. <sigh>". This is a picture of us sitting on the floor at midnight, yucky and dirty and undecided on stain.<br /><br />While the floors were setting up an</sigh><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbn3F3f0Mh_dINh7P8rMY0MPBZNofwWimtk1ZngLXHXJ6IBxT9vPaFTwpUV_moNI4us1pDjBpx73noGXbi0ensHIKti2AxB17ELCZ-S7TqD_Bfu8pgjIU46E9SgfR_KDsMzyQTsETIf4/s1600/0722002025.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbn3F3f0Mh_dINh7P8rMY0MPBZNofwWimtk1ZngLXHXJ6IBxT9vPaFTwpUV_moNI4us1pDjBpx73noGXbi0ensHIKti2AxB17ELCZ-S7TqD_Bfu8pgjIU46E9SgfR_KDsMzyQTsETIf4/s200/0722002025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497299323436456002" border="0" /></a><sigh>d decisions were percolating, we continued the assault on the laundry room, working over the </sigh><sigh>last few patches of mudding tha</sigh><sigh>t needed to be applied to the walls to smear over any rough spots.<br /><br />Now, for those of you who don't know anything about walls, I've had an education this last week. So, first, there are the wooden thi</sigh><sigh>ngs that make the framework and hold the wall up. Then comes the insulation stuffed in all the gaps. Then the sheetrock goes over all that to cover it up and gets screwed in. Then you use this drywall stuff that comes in a giant (very heavy, surprise surprise) bucket to smear over all the screw holes and netting-like tape that goes between the pieces of sheetrock. This is what eventually gets painted over so your wall looks like one smooth surface.<br /><br />My favorite moment in this educational process was when Johnny's two youngest kids came over to drop off the Dickens and see the house, and Ilona took one look at the laundry room and asked, "so what color are you painting it, white or green?" I laughed because that is exactly what I would have asked, if I hadn't seen the whole thing happening. To her, it looked like a little room with funny smears of white goo all over the green walls. I told her tha</sigh><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUotGCY-zKEEN2Vfoljx6Xz5v0gUEsvPpcCMePaJdwBiBx1a9LyXdS5nIozP9hFx__ZIadpQN7EIcJmB7KW8-g_7Iw6WnR5g9hXU93M6DLU1uA_7_6mi-jKBzMLzHXkX7eStVIBoY0B8/s1600/0720002024.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUotGCY-zKEEN2Vfoljx6Xz5v0gUEsvPpcCMePaJdwBiBx1a9LyXdS5nIozP9hFx__ZIadpQN7EIcJmB7KW8-g_7Iw6WnR5g9hXU93M6DLU1uA_7_6mi-jKBzMLzHXkX7eStVIBoY0B8/s320/0720002024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497297095479016722" border="0" /></a><sigh>t was still all</sigh><sigh> the stuff under the skin, and the final thing was going to be yellow! or maybe blue. Or both.<br /><br />You know what else is messy? Wet-sanding the drywall once it sets up. You take this fine sponge that is somewhere between foam and sandpaper, and you smear it all over the surface of the wall to even out any imperfections. It takes a long time, is susceptible to mistakes that put dents in your wall, and tends to drip plaster into your armpit, which, if you forget to wash it out, gets you funny looks when you go grocery shopping covered in plaster. [I don't have any photos of this event, but it happened].<br /><br />Interspersed in being covered in plaster: many trips into the bedroom to contemplate the floor stain. My conclusion -- WHY did I paint that wall red? I don't even like that red wall. Decision made: I will stain the floor dark Rosewood and repaint my one wall light green instead of brick red. Hey. I never said that just because I made a decision on the paint color, it would stick. Again, I am heavily wooed by nomenclature. The yellow that is on the majority of the</sigh><sigh> walls in the bedroom is called Corn Silk, and the green that will replace Misguided Red Wall is called Corn Husk. Conclusion: I have corny walls.<br /><br />Outside, Mom and I attacked the front yard on the last day. She did some epic weeding -- including a long stint in the Utah sun with tiny clippers, on her hands and knees, clipping by hand each over grown weed cropping out of my front yard! [no photos -- too tragic -- "this is why I encouraged you to get the lawnmower BEFORE your parents got here," Jason s</sigh><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hAu16iLYa4CZhbRh9DfeRnaso2aj2L7l9HfooRirETn8MEPsX1N9DLxTTzGlGELErUk7zFbaFHIFO1DnGeifKwhAARiCz3quivwTW2DZEOQgQB_doqQam3Yygew_qxWzMvz5aoGq8XE/s1600/0721001752.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 351px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hAu16iLYa4CZhbRh9DfeRnaso2aj2L7l9HfooRirETn8MEPsX1N9DLxTTzGlGELErUk7zFbaFHIFO1DnGeifKwhAARiCz3quivwTW2DZEOQgQB_doqQam3Yygew_qxWzMvz5aoGq8XE/s320/0721001752.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497297113473509122" border="0" /></a><sigh>aid]. I took the shovel to the front beds and struck the good dirt jackpot -- clearly, someone who lived here before has nourished those garden beds. This was the most exciting thing of the da</sigh><sigh>y -- real, rich, good, dark DIRT! Dirt without a million tiny rocks packed into it that need to be broken up with a pick axe and sifted out. Dirt without killer tree roots and that hardpack layer of red sand. Real, fertile dirt. Awesome. I was so excited, Mom and I went out and bought some plants -- Russian Sage, Rosemary, Lavender, tall grasses, ice plant, groundcover, echana</sigh><sigh>sea and yarrow -- and I will plant them as soon as the sun gets low enough in the sky to give me a little relief from the heat.<br /><br />Tomorrow, Nicole comes over for brunch! D</sigh><sigh>ickens is excited to see her, too. She has been away too long.<br /></sigh>harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-9435874016126174562010-07-23T18:56:00.000-07:002010-07-23T19:12:40.458-07:00Dickens Approves of the House<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1bP3bD2N5tqQQcIPTJ6x8HvPzTCY6EURjAbWcPNR1C-aLZTx0OXmWUevWgiaLme7deWShKB6SSr2Kw7cyNtVJCi471CJBdRsmuskzX8lBbN3TKzAkEJgdhkNguyTLxNkzxg2WMV3pC0/s1600/0722002021.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1bP3bD2N5tqQQcIPTJ6x8HvPzTCY6EURjAbWcPNR1C-aLZTx0OXmWUevWgiaLme7deWShKB6SSr2Kw7cyNtVJCi471CJBdRsmuskzX8lBbN3TKzAkEJgdhkNguyTLxNkzxg2WMV3pC0/s320/0722002021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497288365276401106" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Dis ees DICKENS! I has eccsplorrd de Houz and i think ees GUD houz. Thank u 4 de Beds and Windo Sills . I hope u r verry comfortbul on de Sofa tonite<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZUeUqH4XlRXxdpFY5hHrkW-UeiMQJxM_m3q0KhGV_EAHvmbYpRmSOsM7zbYnx3HZGGK6_52DtRFhPisg_ZpUUtqkOi1_M4viLv_tHZjI04UZE8VvQyrwTi0eY_G4zkS-71312Q4x7A-4/s1600/0722002051.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZUeUqH4XlRXxdpFY5hHrkW-UeiMQJxM_m3q0KhGV_EAHvmbYpRmSOsM7zbYnx3HZGGK6_52DtRFhPisg_ZpUUtqkOi1_M4viLv_tHZjI04UZE8VvQyrwTi0eY_G4zkS-71312Q4x7A-4/s320/0722002051.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497288374015753858" border="0" /></a> beecuz I hav no move from dees beds! i am 1 complaynt: dees door nobbs ees TOOO hi. I can nod REECH for to go OOTside. I wud verry much like to go OOTside now plees. Thanku! -D.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_yqDWccX8o-G-KdCTVTeho9at3FMqg0oN4JberSZIK-R2MXrrrZ10Rch7GHbln55Wc6D2mpVO0uYhssML7kJSDKwjC3RnBs8aaM1OjRzTilhiaf27FSAIwaL7p85r2DT-O9F0GxZ-CY/s1600/jpeg_reencoded-3.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_yqDWccX8o-G-KdCTVTeho9at3FMqg0oN4JberSZIK-R2MXrrrZ10Rch7GHbln55Wc6D2mpVO0uYhssML7kJSDKwjC3RnBs8aaM1OjRzTilhiaf27FSAIwaL7p85r2DT-O9F0GxZ-CY/s320/jpeg_reencoded-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497288370037796322" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3YK2_yINDCgRHOx96aaO6jFDz7SXAQwYRoQvQKbOCvYWS_LdVigb76T-bULvt4NFyVEZGG8nySZvYlayf8IfFBTlpcoer7q-KU1OjnSrPGapsWxIUFEnovyY_RQG_wJRWoWuqQR5FOh0/s1600/0721001912a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 312px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3YK2_yINDCgRHOx96aaO6jFDz7SXAQwYRoQvQKbOCvYWS_LdVigb76T-bULvt4NFyVEZGG8nySZvYlayf8IfFBTlpcoer7q-KU1OjnSrPGapsWxIUFEnovyY_RQG_wJRWoWuqQR5FOh0/s320/0721001912a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497288381717330402" border="0" /></a>harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-15983625328367807352010-07-20T10:02:00.000-07:002010-07-20T20:02:13.553-07:00Parental OVERHAUL!The new toilet is ins<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPMeasCfNY5RvrHmEab09qfs5d-2ElYQutJHpGQaP4so4-UcljYlP8aG0H3S0aeaNVhyHLn7nSJkoJWRof7_h76BWndn8XLxiPoivOQYXCO5Zj-KjwBrM_Jg9m07n19WyuugAyr6j6Ug/s1600/0712001831.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPMeasCfNY5RvrHmEab09qfs5d-2ElYQutJHpGQaP4so4-UcljYlP8aG0H3S0aeaNVhyHLn7nSJkoJWRof7_h76BWndn8XLxiPoivOQYXCO5Zj-KjwBrM_Jg9m07n19WyuugAyr6j6Ug/s200/0712001831.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496184740495680498" border="0" /></a>talled! Cheers to toilets. Jason and I maneuvered it into position just in time for my parents to arrive and want to stay in the house. I figured that making my parents crawl through the back window to pee was not really an option. A bucket behind the back shed was an option... but also not a good one. So this is us, the night before the parents got in, toasting the new john.<br />The parents have been here this week, and launched themselves into various projects with great gusto and energy. It has been a virtual whirlwind of cleaning, fixing, tearing out, putting up, painting, papering, and planning. My father had the pleasure of tackling Moldy Wall, and before I'd even woken up one morning, had already ripped<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QS9weER24XijaegZ45ZgkHdjMOlKjjc8Bp7eRGDCu3liJ9wVP-bLWg2NOMnK8_uY_Kfv8oq76m1ncnCEtPDCpeeYGrtTIbf3pI8YsLoKDevZjyQRxhJdQT72Zz1u3j7Qg3aGGwE9338/s1600/0719001651.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QS9weER24XijaegZ45ZgkHdjMOlKjjc8Bp7eRGDCu3liJ9wVP-bLWg2NOMnK8_uY_Kfv8oq76m1ncnCEtPDCpeeYGrtTIbf3pI8YsLoKDevZjyQRxhJdQT72Zz1u3j7Qg3aGGwE9338/s200/0719001651.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496186833919501394" border="0" /></a> out much of the old sheet rock. I wandered bleary-eyed around the corner of the house to see mounds of yucky moldy insulation coming flying out the laundry room window. After Moldy Wall turned into Moldy Wall(s) and Moldy Ceiling, Dad sent Jason and I to Home Depot with a shopping list that only Jason could de-code. There were lots of numbers on it that translated to lumber and insulation and some caps and screws and t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXoALfLeJ9HtStBXCzExht1AxDkDB10C1ZztF7WM7tkq9nVhJBay5FdDApM8CxL2pqQP0YONuBOKTbGSU46qbIbo3LgS7VGi_y46gXEipLorVl-uvmTMQsPr5TUvaMyEz4drZySyr0SM/s1600/0718001928.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXoALfLeJ9HtStBXCzExht1AxDkDB10C1ZztF7WM7tkq9nVhJBay5FdDApM8CxL2pqQP0YONuBOKTbGSU46qbIbo3LgS7VGi_y46gXEipLorVl-uvmTMQsPr5TUvaMyEz4drZySyr0SM/s200/0718001928.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496184730893591586" border="0" /></a>hings. We also got a Circular Saw! At first Jason was reluctant<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8f-9wzDjr96q0HM4JFMT9X1v_hyphenhyphenHHdsRjx-HhODqWJtdhC_Z3SuJcT32x6nTf7rLyWkQ8oWnATLn2-LBr7h6NYHyz3ZYWejcPOf5kkNldVFL4QDAnvnnZWty-wGZwv38Y_eNoWJ0c_zA/s1600/0719001652.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8f-9wzDjr96q0HM4JFMT9X1v_hyphenhyphenHHdsRjx-HhODqWJtdhC_Z3SuJcT32x6nTf7rLyWkQ8oWnATLn2-LBr7h6NYHyz3ZYWejcPOf5kkNldVFL4QDAnvnnZWty-wGZwv38Y_eNoWJ0c_zA/s200/0719001652.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496188739535816306" border="0" /></a> to be the recipient of this Saw, but I told him either it would belong to him, or it would belong to me but only he would be able to operate it, so the Saw will have a good home in his van. My dad and Jason spent a long time happily comparing saws and picking A Good One. Now, there are three saws in the back yard and lots of hammering. Dad declared the laundry room construction Buggered Up. "This is all buggered up!" he said. I agreed. For one, it is all crooked. They also put the studs in sideways, so that the lower half of the wall came in farther than the upper half of the wall. Three, it's al<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOMUqkkFNcRLQ-6vEKihJ4g-AmoWnoaX33H3ewexL51kvwehaJwDjDUxFU0pEfvbvJ_ZWErvNMANsTVZFC-Fxd5qEsNYFszAgz1q8PJp07FbbqoItGn4Kuo5SkYeaf8buDjAiRJXea1Q/s1600/0719001644.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOMUqkkFNcRLQ-6vEKihJ4g-AmoWnoaX33H3ewexL51kvwehaJwDjDUxFU0pEfvbvJ_ZWErvNMANsTVZFC-Fxd5qEsNYFszAgz1q8PJp07FbbqoItGn4Kuo5SkYeaf8buDjAiRJXea1Q/s200/0719001644.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496186845062811538" border="0" /></a>l crooke<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIraGf6e6XbGhzW98dwgJP_YVSsLcbzyDv9eiD3MheMRy6YeuWragkqVwl_bmgG2VzqYt68ZfbgLF3l2ahmF4b8VXz1W-Bno2gruac7jV43uXmsRLcQr9BpqUp-KSxHr5RP0qpEGpWNU/s1600/0718002017.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIraGf6e6XbGhzW98dwgJP_YVSsLcbzyDv9eiD3MheMRy6YeuWragkqVwl_bmgG2VzqYt68ZfbgLF3l2ahmF4b8VXz1W-Bno2gruac7jV43uXmsRLcQr9BpqUp-KSxHr5RP0qpEGpWNU/s200/0718002017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496184747677617522" border="0" /></a>d. There were lots of other things wrong-headed about it, but Buggered Up pretty much sums it up.<br /><br />Even though the mold issue has been fixed and Cloroxed to death in the walls and there shouldn't be any more water leaking in from the roof, I bought the Mold Tough sheet rock, so that even if there are any lingering little molds, they won't be able to grow in my wall. I also discovered that sheet rock is <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAIKuUd9HDnS8ZAsk8wF_o37iIkcM1V_ClNU8abVTWBGhMBumTfSjeiYOVjtS5gZ8FqMiuuutrXL2gSHtLe9OYGBuCSNRLJK8JVeRTGhs_nI-vQwPw1R6rsmP3fZ2qVd_hON2wXFKQfCI/s1600/0718002000a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAIKuUd9HDnS8ZAsk8wF_o37iIkcM1V_ClNU8abVTWBGhMBumTfSjeiYOVjtS5gZ8FqMiuuutrXL2gSHtLe9OYGBuCSNRLJK8JVeRTGhs_nI-vQwPw1R6rsmP3fZ2qVd_hON2wXFKQfCI/s200/0718002000a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496184724747080562" border="0" /></a>very heavy. Five large pieces of it in Jason's van were added to the list of Very Heavy Things we've loaded and unloaded.<br />While all this was going on, Mom cleaned, painted and laid contact paper in the bottom of all my kitchen cabinets. I had an adventure in installing roman blinds. The first one said Ins<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcKgY3ql1bwUFf9BA5XfxMq0CX2QxXEx0nT_yFawmWRZ5a4CVW1S6976Y0B0mjdfW0bv-WoxIc4jpHUgtS5H_g2aj3ODrgvJgumkjMAzReRbp_5i3x7SynI10xXVyhXSnyymH0pEdnVPw/s1600/0720000915a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcKgY3ql1bwUFf9BA5XfxMq0CX2QxXEx0nT_yFawmWRZ5a4CVW1S6976Y0B0mjdfW0bv-WoxIc4jpHUgtS5H_g2aj3ODrgvJgumkjMAzReRbp_5i3x7SynI10xXVyhXSnyymH0pEdnVPw/s200/0720000915a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496186834692722274" border="0" /></a>tall in Fifteen Minutes! but it took more like an hour. The second one actually installed in fifteen minutes. Curious... they were the exact same blind. :) The second time, I installed the thing before the sun came through the window and made my knees so sweaty that when I tried to use the electric drill on the wall, I pushed myself right off the counter top. [ This is Jason's Duct Tape Shoe. It is time for a new shoe. This is also Jason fixing my Moldy Wall. He's a good man, and gets around pretty well in that Duct Tape Shoe!]<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ998dsSQxm2jNdya8ETI8rYxpRclwto7-yJJnTsq4zAwhSF6Kr9C-aRLnrtt8aFrz0Nkbw513GqlaHXdSosV1Yfew-JZ0WjgjQdXZ2EKFwS-jkttVzDjpmc-u0RNHdcKj_JgUI3j368g/s1600/0720002007.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ998dsSQxm2jNdya8ETI8rYxpRclwto7-yJJnTsq4zAwhSF6Kr9C-aRLnrtt8aFrz0Nkbw513GqlaHXdSosV1Yfew-JZ0WjgjQdXZ2EKFwS-jkttVzDjpmc-u0RNHdcKj_JgUI3j368g/s200/0720002007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496188744141382498" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid4U_ssoHg9rJb8S282u_8L3t0-M99nTJ-GgZosDRQHsyhdjWeJCDB29QHZagBl-djvWBGL7QB7w2PJWcdIkQRXSseSrZbKGfTN-sos6BriYaqzvGYp8Wl6koSYXdVkCJLHi5vCldnfyo/s1600/0720002024.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid4U_ssoHg9rJb8S282u_8L3t0-M99nTJ-GgZosDRQHsyhdjWeJCDB29QHZagBl-djvWBGL7QB7w2PJWcdIkQRXSseSrZbKGfTN-sos6BriYaqzvGYp8Wl6koSYXdVkCJLHi5vCldnfyo/s200/0720002024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496184751350163442" border="0" /></a>After my new (New!) refrigerator arrived, the kitchen actually looked like somebody might want to spend some time in it at some point. We still hadn't found the plates and were eating our sandwiches off of tea saucers, but I had found my can-opener and some silverware, so we were living large.<br /><br />At the same time, work continues with the bedroom: I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYHTLfx_GjYkV7w1SkquS4cE05zKywJ9x7-027dqEt3fia1Kz5kgbNYSKohrEV2L-Ss5MeTFBPVhFJnflmZfy12_2Y-Ah5wNVUBJJqSQ0e3EiNMdoS9UsAhmldiBltcOIyKwFs_2mva0/s1600/0720001004.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYHTLfx_GjYkV7w1SkquS4cE05zKywJ9x7-027dqEt3fia1Kz5kgbNYSKohrEV2L-Ss5MeTFBPVhFJnflmZfy12_2Y-Ah5wNVUBJJqSQ0e3EiNMdoS9UsAhmldiBltcOIyKwFs_2mva0/s200/0720001004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496186832455194082" border="0" /></a>made a final decision on the colors of the walls -- Corn Silk and New Brick -- and we have continued the assault on the floor. The linoleum goo is all gone, but we're still scraping, scrubbing, and wiping up the weird green paint that was under everything on one point in the floor. I think this bedroom used to be an outside porch at some point, and this green paint is probably from 1922. We're scraping it off with stripper and lots of gooey chemicals so that Jason won't sand it off and breathe in lead dust and poison his brain. I like his brain very much un-poisoned, so there has been lots of gas-masked scraping.<br /><br />Here are some other photos from this week. Good times. Soon, I'll even start unpacking boxes! A very exciting stage is happening this evening: DICKENS is coming to stay at the house! He has been enjoying a sojourn at Casa d'Wall (Johnny's house) and will be a little miffed to downgrade to Stinky Room, Formerly Moldy Room, and Room Full of Boxes, but I'm sure he'll get over it. Besides, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN32kwZALeyNFrHN6oZ3u44Q-k7C3UqCK6tAK7R39xZt2Q2jlAhIzaQYsyQ_XUN7KhqxIzCYqulKVvXZ4_PxTTTGn7rIR-eml8SgDqiJMi4dSPRxAJGYg6EiLgLTDHUbqnwDhLVRqY158/s1600/0720001006.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN32kwZALeyNFrHN6oZ3u44Q-k7C3UqCK6tAK7R39xZt2Q2jlAhIzaQYsyQ_XUN7KhqxIzCYqulKVvXZ4_PxTTTGn7rIR-eml8SgDqiJMi4dSPRxAJGYg6EiLgLTDHUbqnwDhLVRqY158/s200/0720001006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496186821004343394" border="0" /></a>there are so many things to sniff, and the new house needs a coat of cat hair all over everything to make it feel like home.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-45287976466033915162010-07-13T15:10:00.001-07:002010-07-13T15:26:09.146-07:00It's not a real basement 'till it smells like woodchipsMy parents are coming in from Rochester tonight! Although there are still many projects around the house to do (including lighting the pilot on the ancient water heater and hoping it doesn't blow, and acquiring a refrigerator so the parents can eat food that needs to stay cold), at long last, the steel beam is set in the basement, all the sisters are holding up floor joists, and the bedroom floor no longer smells like Evil. Dumpster-man has come and taken away our very full dumpster, and the new toilet has been installed.<br /><br />A word on toilets: Glacier-Bay, your instruction manual is the WORST. It is not just unclear or confusing, it is riddled with inconsistencies and bald-faced LIES. There are bits on the toilet that have been installed in one way when you buy the damn thing that you need to UNinstall and rearrange in order to follow the instructions. It is an instructional atrocity. I have half a mind to write all over the instructions in red pen and mail them back to the Glacier Bay company because they should know just have embarrassingly awful their literature is. But after a lot of patience and impatience and luck and a hacksaw and a pile of extra washers and a lot of gooey wax everywhere... three test flushes produced no leakage, so we're declaring toilet to be installed, in the face of Glacier Bay's best <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFpz8LsQ7RilGB_sUj-trX5MxMiOCAOhxM3vHU6wtdHg47jvC3isC3JN0U5HTQAsGIiJ38GL2l3zaUAC8eKrFdLo_UctdLS5BSmvADQgFg7yFVvKtyW5WMFIS1lyIFv1ml87sXK6LXYw/s1600/0709001535a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFpz8LsQ7RilGB_sUj-trX5MxMiOCAOhxM3vHU6wtdHg47jvC3isC3JN0U5HTQAsGIiJ38GL2l3zaUAC8eKrFdLo_UctdLS5BSmvADQgFg7yFVvKtyW5WMFIS1lyIFv1ml87sXK6LXYw/s320/0709001535a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493520086385572914" border="0" /></a>attempts to screw up the process. Damn you, Glacier Bay!<br /><br />Nobody is going to mention the fact that my toilet is oblong instead of round, and looks a little silly in my tiny bathroom. Shh.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ04_lCeRXk3nfk_MaH-jafwvhGf-i_EhY1VxaI6y5DQqydM-eTCqxFkTtT1iMhSQHwi0NvtMDqIJmFbtOX_u84MKMfUQfNfrUTvOmNJszjQfWam04_CFiwE_-WUYFDIXN4_lxSqpTlJY/s1600/0710002155a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ04_lCeRXk3nfk_MaH-jafwvhGf-i_EhY1VxaI6y5DQqydM-eTCqxFkTtT1iMhSQHwi0NvtMDqIJmFbtOX_u84MKMfUQfNfrUTvOmNJszjQfWam04_CFiwE_-WUYFDIXN4_lxSqpTlJY/s320/0710002155a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493518647190894642" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Here are some left over photos from the other day -- Jason and the linoleum floor. He looks bad-ass in his plaid headband and elbow gloves. What a rock 'n' rolla. Somebody give that man a drum set.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-51898273141469808222010-07-12T12:11:00.000-07:002010-07-12T13:35:15.031-07:002 Very Sticky Situations<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-KbAflxoTGDZdCwMRGn4Pvq9oF_94ydkuGC0jEQ1koCfsDJ7qTrwR0dBox3EuMC6LavjP911xsQ4zvHndyaxP6m2LXbzQ29PULd-M5xXEiriD7KUFbOf6PTVWPngxUwxVinV73Gr5do/s1600/0711002311.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-KbAflxoTGDZdCwMRGn4Pvq9oF_94ydkuGC0jEQ1koCfsDJ7qTrwR0dBox3EuMC6LavjP911xsQ4zvHndyaxP6m2LXbzQ29PULd-M5xXEiriD7KUFbOf6PTVWPngxUwxVinV73Gr5do/s320/0711002311.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493114818736913794" border="0" /></a>The weekend has been dedicated to glue: putting it on, and taking it off. First, we ripped up the carpet in the bedroom, only to discover that it had gold linoleum underneath! This was no ordinary linoleum -- this was super old, super thick, super sticky linoleum. We laid down coat after coat of very toxic solvent in order to soften the ancient adhesive. The nice man at Home Depot suggested we spend $20 on a tool that converts a hand paint-scraper into a long floor-scraper by attaching it to a pole. Oh, we who have scoffed at 20 dollar poles! If only we had bought the pole. Instead, 2 o<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgudl1MACSzCWTNpkq4W_WBYHmXV4Y9UiXKVrg9O69HdM-z8i9EArT7okna_YDt4iqtpn8WWggMXcBXCCgXO35hs3zsNStn4DxPSTfy3yLPwbUDN8WkU6OWUXpqMcOVYxa2zfR8BrJIak/s1600/0710002155.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgudl1MACSzCWTNpkq4W_WBYHmXV4Y9UiXKVrg9O69HdM-z8i9EArT7okna_YDt4iqtpn8WWggMXcBXCCgXO35hs3zsNStn4DxPSTfy3yLPwbUDN8WkU6OWUXpqMcOVYxa2zfR8BrJIak/s320/0710002155.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493114163825595618" border="0" /></a>'clock in the morning found us on hands and not-even-knees (you can't put your skin into contact with the toxic solvent stuff), still scraping away at the linoleum. We couldn't leave it on forever, or it would just eat through the old floor. We had to stay until it was juuuust right. It was like an unfortunate twist on a fairy tale: Goldilocks and the Evil Solvent Floor.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-uJzSG3hdiak_qivpi21wNuz2ID-gzlNA-VP3HMcQ9dOpIokZ628XVCAY-HW4KKtBwlTATltpSEkpynwgLgbOQzRnhq66ENV9fYGce6MQrS9AswoxwXPK2dObPOVSYwLo9Hw4Lg1CNM/s1600/0710002046.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 388px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-uJzSG3hdiak_qivpi21wNuz2ID-gzlNA-VP3HMcQ9dOpIokZ628XVCAY-HW4KKtBwlTATltpSEkpynwgLgbOQzRnhq66ENV9fYGce6MQrS9AswoxwXPK2dObPOVSYwLo9Hw4Lg1CNM/s320/0710002046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493114712904071154" border="0" /></a> [These photos are of Jason and I wearing most uncomfortable gas masks with filters on them to prevent us from dying of Terrible Ick disease from in<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCjdfOY6zmJZ7Bou7yskFhs3MnO3ISP__tYYZ4U2vtrT7uuFAoKcxZ6k6rsy9m-OflVqyA62owmj8ExvZgQWjRKDhI-CNio7NkeC3IHOr7c5g1X-nsFXYk5tEKLiX2aCaY0bPpIsIUwI/s1600/0712100051a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 321px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCjdfOY6zmJZ7Bou7yskFhs3MnO3ISP__tYYZ4U2vtrT7uuFAoKcxZ6k6rsy9m-OflVqyA62owmj8ExvZgQWjRKDhI-CNio7NkeC3IHOr7c5g1X-nsFXYk5tEKLiX2aCaY0bPpIsIUwI/s320/0712100051a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493112106766048642" border="0" /></a>haling solvent fumes. I look really happy about it, don't I? Note: Jason is actually DOING something in this photo, while I am squatting uncomfortably looking like I might put that scraper to use at some point].<br /><br />In the meantime, while we waited for the strange alchemy of chemicals eat through the glue on the floor, we messed around with the basement problems -- namely, other people's poor choices. There were two places where important wooden parts of the floor had been sawed through or otherwise abused by good-intentioned home-owners or bad-intentioned plumbers making room for their pipes. [ See picture -- the little white cap is the new one I put on (with PIPE WRENCH!) after removing stupid big old one that was the source of the conflict with the center beam, causing Mr. Previous to saw off a section of a Very Important Beam]. We had to get really big long heavy boards and first glue them, then screw them into place alongside the existing beams for reinforcement. The story isn't all that exciting -- just a lot of crouching and grunting and hammering and yanking and asking of "WHY DOESN'T THIS WANT TO FIT" when trying to squeeze new planks in around existing duct work, floor joists and water pipes. Oh, and there was a hydraulic jack involved -- that was exciting. We put it into place to make sure the floor didn't sag while we ripped off the old "sister" board that was this wimpy reinforcement that somebody had nailed in, like a poor attempt to keep the zombies from climbing through the windows (and everybody knows that that zombie is just going to bust through that wimpy nailed board). This new sister board is so tough, it will keep my toi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXNnehFwzOyhEPmIlYWN2jGOJ8j9p9-8IW_91CwzHL2XDioV5St7uuomBmG5t7Fxm0LXXmiItD8nHZ7mCCOViHWoSNhkdXAtGHVjcg69WMHqBpySXPcM9vres0V-5d3mzXgk3NY9-XJ8/s1600/0711000032.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXNnehFwzOyhEPmIlYWN2jGOJ8j9p9-8IW_91CwzHL2XDioV5St7uuomBmG5t7Fxm0LXXmiItD8nHZ7mCCOViHWoSNhkdXAtGHVjcg69WMHqBpySXPcM9vres0V-5d3mzXgk3NY9-XJ8/s320/0711000032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493112241066841506" border="0" /></a>let from falling through the floor when even the largest of guests sits on it, and I would bet money on it holding back the worst of the zombies that might try to bust through. Plus, I wrote my name on it in glue, so it is for good luck.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-68695238616540320672010-07-11T14:58:00.001-07:002010-07-11T15:00:09.942-07:00quote of the dayHarmony: "I believe in wood. It holds up trees!"harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-62074819857853075612010-07-10T13:56:00.000-07:002010-07-10T14:59:13.565-07:00In which I fix the roof and get toilet goo in my hair<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdi2_7Tk36GglIT-iulAKKieDAzeeZGzmsZB-c1SjvDgbuOGRmRcYPz-IayxDI8gnZff604Kz7BG337haj71LJpRKdkz7DnTYYk23q-63Z92UYBn_81gUDf7HzvZa8qsF-8ACKezLR_0/s1600/0702001429.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdi2_7Tk36GglIT-iulAKKieDAzeeZGzmsZB-c1SjvDgbuOGRmRcYPz-IayxDI8gnZff604Kz7BG337haj71LJpRKdkz7DnTYYk23q-63Z92UYBn_81gUDf7HzvZa8qsF-8ACKezLR_0/s320/0702001429.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492386299250207218" border="0" /></a><br />The past few days have been so full of working on the house that I haven't had the chance to post any news! The roofers started tearing off the old roof on Monday... and the final powerful blast of the nail gun went down on Saturday morning. We had some nasty surprises as we tore off the old roof -- more "what the heck were they thinking HERE" moments to add to the list. After two layers of cedar shake shingles and a layer of asphalt came off and into the giant dumpster that is parked in my driveway, we discovered that the old roof has no plywood decking -- only aging, brittle slats that were 3-4 inc<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijf9PNv_dnAJsI8CAFIdB-WQphhrrxPwSh0byXkSij7fH83zM6d46Qldoz-9aSK516Na_2XJQPP8UChSf7EGLljw-4Ft9Ymq1WN6MklM7jClcpnlxqIIJY6n2wJPjNHioFDj57RbpPQ7o/s1600/jpeg95reencoded.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijf9PNv_dnAJsI8CAFIdB-WQphhrrxPwSh0byXkSij7fH83zM6d46Qldoz-9aSK516Na_2XJQPP8UChSf7EGLljw-4Ft9Ymq1WN6MklM7jClcpnlxqIIJY6n2wJPjNHioFDj57RbpPQ7o/s320/jpeg95reencoded.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492392907360703154" border="0" /></a>hes apart and allowed you to look straight down into the giant itchy pillow of insulation that has been blown into my attic. We also discovered that this house was built back in a day when people thought that making an attic complete air-tight was a good idea - there was absolutely no ventilation through the eaves, and only a couple little turtle vents to release air out the top. [This here is a photo of my favorite roofer: Jason Rogers looking cool in what was actually bloody hot, hot Utah desert weather.]<br /><br />So started a marathon of roof-repair: Jason and I ran off to Home De<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38o_MZVW0byhesMsF3f2CJ0dduNA2BQSJUC5a1AIdcCb2nyNpHFgZV0Urwz6YuALJ1I0o9reSP8ZIe5C1hkPWAYn4boQhmru953_uOuO-RqGDryz6JBEihhMZ3L17bRcRF4KfnQZoqlA/s1600/jpeg_reencoded-1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38o_MZVW0byhesMsF3f2CJ0dduNA2BQSJUC5a1AIdcCb2nyNpHFgZV0Urwz6YuALJ1I0o9reSP8ZIe5C1hkPWAYn4boQhmru953_uOuO-RqGDryz6JBEihhMZ3L17bRcRF4KfnQZoqlA/s320/jpeg_reencoded-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492393326978663698" border="0" /></a>pot to purchase 40 giant planks of OSB (flat, plywood type stuff) and loaded it into his van (no small feat here). We also got a dozen plastic trough-like looking things that you install inside the attic by nailing them between rafters. They create a channel for the cool air to come in from the eaves (the bottom of the roof) push hot air out the top (from the soon-to-be ridge-line vent). In order to install these plastic vent-things, we had to pry up boards near the base of the roof and knock out the board that was plugging up the airflow from the eaves. Now, when I explain all this, it sounds fairly straight forward. In actuality, there is no photo-documentation of this process, because it was NASTY. It involved me, laying belly-down on the roof, shoving my littler arms in between the slats, mushing down itchy insulation, not dropping the staple gun, and then stapling the plastic vent back UP against the rafter on the correct little part of the plastic lip without warping or twisting it, or being able to see what it was doing. Also, some small amount of demolition, which was fun. It was hot. It was dirty. It was very, very satisfying to be able to say, at the end of the day, that *I* fixed my house! Afterward, I was very, very tired. Who knew that roofing makes you FEET sore? Sore feet, sore thumbs, sore forearms, sore back, sore body, sore self. Big yawn. This photo has been titled by Jason as "Roof-y-ed: After A Long Day."<br /><br />I should mention at this time that it is pretty much thanks to Jason's help and advice that this whole particular chapter of the roof episode was made possible. The roofer I hired was a friend from Waterford who was AWESOME and did fantastic work, but was also totally open and flexible to our last minute changes in plan, and had faith in our ability to pull off the whole Operation Vent Attic, even though he secretly suspected that it would take us all month. Luckily, he was pleasantly surprised... as was I. Once we figured out the system (and consulted with various physics types, engineers, and fathers across the continent) it went in fairly quickly. Still, as Jason and I scrambl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcLUsCgX_IHzTxDyQFCdOVoaIj1TDBz_1dJiXb7j4VcsMxYNZ5eB-aP2ogSpRKed39yi5Ti0TRLo2vxzRHcfr321h35F7Fq_0XF3fUs-EyvdTU9aUwF_DCgkCz3Y34M6yZm5k2GkEvfg/s1600/0707001954.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcLUsCgX_IHzTxDyQFCdOVoaIj1TDBz_1dJiXb7j4VcsMxYNZ5eB-aP2ogSpRKed39yi5Ti0TRLo2vxzRHcfr321h35F7Fq_0XF3fUs-EyvdTU9aUwF_DCgkCz3Y34M6yZm5k2GkEvfg/s320/0707001954.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492393837470070258" border="0" /></a>ed to finish up the venting system, the roofer chased us around the roof installing the plywood. Once the plywood was down, it was tar-paper, shingles, and ridge-line vents. This was also the point in time that the weather started to turn. Big, dark clouds started blowing in across the valley from the west. I'll tell you -- nobody is as in-tune to the weather as a new home-owner who's house has no roof. By the time the storm blew though, we had everything weather-tight except for the ridge-lines. There were a few exciting moments involving me and Jason and some big blue tarps that turned into SAILS as we tried to wrangle them into place and hold them down with bundles of shingles, but all in all, the storm was more bark then bite. A little blowing, some thunder and lightning... and then a few wimpy sprinklers before the sun broke through again.<br /><br />During this same span of days when the roof is coming off, getting a tune-up and then being replaced, I was also working hard on destroying things inside the house. The toilet was <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoOm0F71t8Eq17vweeCreWmYI58qIe6H2-It7WRRwNWcBeJgHVJ1dHaT_G8XPXES-GDNe3BzuZmboq0YegFhi-L4vmbKz6G7AuJPH8qcX4aoM2uo72hPFATd6kyHuN3yXcJlC7OyEbCU/s1600/0706002012.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 338px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoOm0F71t8Eq17vweeCreWmYI58qIe6H2-It7WRRwNWcBeJgHVJ1dHaT_G8XPXES-GDNe3BzuZmboq0YegFhi-L4vmbKz6G7AuJPH8qcX4aoM2uo72hPFATd6kyHuN3yXcJlC7OyEbCU/s320/0706002012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492394388198890882" border="0" /></a>a large success: I have learned how to uninstall an ancient toilet when the bolts that hold it to the floor are so corroded that they can not be turned, pried, or otherwise persuaded with WD-40 and a big old wrench. This is when you take the next step up the Useful Tool ladder and reach for the hammer. That's right, I smacked that toilet 'till it gave up the ghost. Unfortunately, I got mungus from the old wax seal (the thing that seals the toilet to the hole in the floor so you don't get gross stuff on your floor every time you flush) in my HAIR. It kind of served me right, because I was using Jason's Wonder Bar (this awesome crow-bar like thing that has different prying options) to try to lever up the toilet, but then I didn't clean it off afterward, and then we used it on the roof, and he got mungus on his hand (ewwww) and I said "oops" and then he wiped his hand on the roof and then I put my hair in it during Vent Installation (EWWW) and I said "Gross!" and that's how I got toilet goo in my hair. Later, I scrubbed it out with baking soda and Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap, because I haven't had the time to buy more shampoo. I call this photo "Victory Dance With Hammer." <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGEJxJ12vbYDdHruNNzW_Z9mo3D4RSgM4u_SU84REhA5UbKI_BX7vAZsf-zP5SXLymWo8_MyhRBa_FT52i3wlxg72X_GyX1jqrdTnYq9Kom8xuaAoDdPLt5BkS7mKj1A3fvzLu1VfRp8/s1600/0706002011a.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGEJxJ12vbYDdHruNNzW_Z9mo3D4RSgM4u_SU84REhA5UbKI_BX7vAZsf-zP5SXLymWo8_MyhRBa_FT52i3wlxg72X_GyX1jqrdTnYq9Kom8xuaAoDdPLt5BkS7mKj1A3fvzLu1VfRp8/s320/0706002011a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492394810871476866" border="0" /></a><br />Also happening during this time period was the overhaul of the bedroom. The color selection has now gravitated from Moon Mist and Surfer (yellow and blue) to Torchlight and Autumn Harvest (yellow and rusty orange). We put down a base coat of white to cover up the crayon red wall, and discovered upon tearing up nasty old carpet that somebody somewhere along the line thought that linoleum was the right choice for that particular room. YUCK. Now we have to figure out exactly what chemical will make the old glue holding the linoleum to the wood floor underneath gooey enough to peal up. There are photos of this particular variety of mungus forthcoming.<br /><br />The moral of the story this week has been that even gross things can be fun, but you can't fix anything without getting very, very dirty.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6580UNme4SVQSLhNeuYznaIBwh0BpwYpdrAlmNPTGtvmRyujgWPv0hjExhGLMgfvaJNwDQ7kags5pOuCArAlcmjDD6AzxGimhX-8KU7YhbTZHV4ws4l6vaSG8c5q1dEUlNhL6G8Ll87g/s1600/jpeg_reencoded-2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 419px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6580UNme4SVQSLhNeuYznaIBwh0BpwYpdrAlmNPTGtvmRyujgWPv0hjExhGLMgfvaJNwDQ7kags5pOuCArAlcmjDD6AzxGimhX-8KU7YhbTZHV4ws4l6vaSG8c5q1dEUlNhL6G8Ll87g/s320/jpeg_reencoded-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492395637935210322" border="0" /></a>harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-59600723225197576892010-07-04T10:23:00.000-07:002010-07-04T10:41:56.562-07:00Transporting Valuables<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDpv8L0xR_qpoIdTibvAdgRzm-YOrw-TLkD_R8Ddi4UYb9TSsSTXtSBztMNitveqVX1nGPi3h5cvfSGH43uP40C0QsN4T2K-U8FDhbrr8Hc4m5GeQRKxL6rFqLdgN7AXDSLpQDnV4uDc/s1600/0703001749.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDpv8L0xR_qpoIdTibvAdgRzm-YOrw-TLkD_R8Ddi4UYb9TSsSTXtSBztMNitveqVX1nGPi3h5cvfSGH43uP40C0QsN4T2K-U8FDhbrr8Hc4m5GeQRKxL6rFqLdgN7AXDSLpQDnV4uDc/s320/0703001749.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490106883171968338" border="0" /></a>Finally, the day has come to transport the most delicate and valuable items to my new house: the tomato plants! Let me just say: filling large tree-sized pots full of good compost and rich soil has a way of making tomato plants become incredibly heavy. In the Which is Heavier contest between Tomato Plant vs. 80lb Concrete Mix, I'd have to vote for Tomato Plant, hands down. But with minimal whining and some panting and waddling and hefting, we managed to get all the little tomatoes into the van. In fact, they FILLED the van. The only way I fit in the van, myself, was by sitting underneath plants. As soon as they arrived at the new house, I felt like the house became a little bit homier. The front no longer looks quite so stark and drab, now that the front porch is filled up with plants, and my old park bench. That bench was the first thing I bought (along with a breadbox) when moving into the old H St apartment by myself. The paint wasn't exactly new, then, so now, 3 years later, I'd say it is definitely in need of a little TLC. So is the outdoor futon that we lugged to the back yard. One of its legs fell off... but I have faith that we can bring it back around. After unloading a ton of tomatoes and railroad ties, we somehow scrounged up the energy to hike up the Pipeline trail at Millcreek, to a lookout point over the whole valley. We got there just in time -- the firework<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUvRKrp2dTmKV5EW4AqQf6b8P7EmjW-QFNIVErXNS_J6gd_17wBaJrqjlQFHKDyfJ-qJs7TQwE1AXeXbV3QJpgWu0Q-dfNKLKci3ICbFf3296hksc9-wA35ckoKeZ7nN3VLNmm5SL370/s1600/0703001923.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUvRKrp2dTmKV5EW4AqQf6b8P7EmjW-QFNIVErXNS_J6gd_17wBaJrqjlQFHKDyfJ-qJs7TQwE1AXeXbV3QJpgWu0Q-dfNKLKci3ICbFf3296hksc9-wA35ckoKeZ7nN3VLNmm5SL370/s320/0703001923.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490107223901910162" border="0" /></a>s started soon after, and we watched the little puffs and sparkles all across the valley. Fireworks aren't nearly as impressive when you are looking DOWN on them, but being above all the crazies and the crowds, listening to crickets and wind and the very much delayed deep pops from the big fireworks that flash like one bright bursting bulb... this is the way I'd have it. Salt Lake can, on occasion, remind me that it is an awesome place to live: copious sunshine, a big back yard and a gorgeous hike that gets you to the mountains in less than an hour? Awesome.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-78242930786994271982010-07-02T08:13:00.000-07:002010-07-02T08:36:59.459-07:00In which we scrub the baseboards (and other distasteful tasks)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNg0fMYqo_apEwnOg4EyOv6tt2KABajneB_Aasvkvi-v-5DYS95yuAJi51RWsopMaBIgdNNV7X2Q_HbHuiABxDQ-jt5MoKgna1yLbuPL1C0JqUvPQz8AvuKeYMkCBClTpU4L0_-MPjMk/s1600/jpeg_reencoded.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNg0fMYqo_apEwnOg4EyOv6tt2KABajneB_Aasvkvi-v-5DYS95yuAJi51RWsopMaBIgdNNV7X2Q_HbHuiABxDQ-jt5MoKgna1yLbuPL1C0JqUvPQz8AvuKeYMkCBClTpU4L0_-MPjMk/s320/jpeg_reencoded.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489328489929651346" border="0" /></a>I am officially moved OUT of the old place! After two days of scrubbing, sweeping and cleaning, it looks fantastic. In fact, I walked in and thought, wow, I'd rent this place! The process was fairly grueling, though. Here is a picture of me at 5pm after another super hot day of moving and cleaning, knowing that there are hours to go and much to do before we call it quits. It is amazing how much STUFF fits into a little apartment when all belongings are tucked into drawers and crannies! Jason has been putting all else on hold to help me -- brownie points do not do justice to the kind of debt I owe him.<br />Here is a picture of t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWkX8GBpj6JmxsxJtJvhSNRqB99FnCOvgYJ0ss227gN42O3FkAyqpQPYqhdeTBmT7miM-vk79cK1ak8T8CqJ9db-1DmKt733d8BvbSlaZCcpWe98mM47Mav6vMR0aCVIJGVw4hHisiDg/s1600/0630001605.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWkX8GBpj6JmxsxJtJvhSNRqB99FnCOvgYJ0ss227gN42O3FkAyqpQPYqhdeTBmT7miM-vk79cK1ak8T8CqJ9db-1DmKt733d8BvbSlaZCcpWe98mM47Mav6vMR0aCVIJGVw4hHisiDg/s320/0630001605.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489329858903896738" border="0" /></a>he Natural Gas Van, into which we shoved all the stuff, including the big awkward things. Now the only things left to move are the tomatoes! Here is a picture of part of the tomato grotto, awaiting transportation to a new location. The big on on the left is Mexi-billy midget, a cross between a Mexican Midget and a Hillbilly -- both small cherry tomatoes. The other big one is Jet Star, a new kind of heirloom I didn't start from seed, but bought at the Wasatch Gardens plant sale. He's an early variety and already has a big tomato on, oh boy oh boy! The goals for today include ushering in the arrival of the dumpster pending roof-removal on Monday, buying the right kind of post for the basement, moving the tomatoes, and maybe, just maybe, Iron Man II at Brewvies.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjw78KFUPsflVVay0ozu-fdl3A0PCHdFrtdWZu3fgd895zyB2oWrUkhqgtE2UDpcOXIbzn9dyv8uJSTWEktu4bexaOgIB-wH34lB3w5AauUYDBoNs9bBbEJbokXlYQOQ5cvB3uGGxfC6w/s1600/0630001623.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 168px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjw78KFUPsflVVay0ozu-fdl3A0PCHdFrtdWZu3fgd895zyB2oWrUkhqgtE2UDpcOXIbzn9dyv8uJSTWEktu4bexaOgIB-wH34lB3w5AauUYDBoNs9bBbEJbokXlYQOQ5cvB3uGGxfC6w/s320/0630001623.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489332457611603762" border="0" /></a><br />Tomato Grotto!harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-82919831772275074132010-06-29T21:51:00.000-07:002010-06-29T21:53:31.680-07:00This is how...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2pld_qmH9ALkvrqu6KjI6m2RAnqMzaqGP_q99pOEH6D5MdQQyJtHdPgE3EjJADKWvoF7RsyU9mcXyqVEskWKdSqp5D02CxNLRUv5rgTszz3Nb5Qo6GAgzd9sxgs5-I5I9H5N7Azdb0s/s1600/0629002133.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2pld_qmH9ALkvrqu6KjI6m2RAnqMzaqGP_q99pOEH6D5MdQQyJtHdPgE3EjJADKWvoF7RsyU9mcXyqVEskWKdSqp5D02CxNLRUv5rgTszz3Nb5Qo6GAgzd9sxgs5-I5I9H5N7Azdb0s/s320/0629002133.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488425216756289362" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">... my basement entrance will be fixed: with calculations written on the back of my homeowner's insurance envelope.<br /></div>harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-57905858615071189172010-06-29T21:40:00.001-07:002010-06-29T21:51:44.621-07:00In Which I Discover Dry Cement is Very HeavyAccomplished today:<br />Zero moving from old to new house: too hot.<br />One slightly used medicine cabinet from Craig's List from lady's garage<br />One discount refrigerator supplier discovered in Cargo Bay #4 on the West Side next to freeway.<br />4 very large windows with mostly intact glass panes but crummy crummy frames recovered from side of road.<br />One 6 x 6 pressure treated post to insert under Tippy Beam in basement; accompanying 5 bags of dry cement that prove Very Heavy to carry.<br />Painting supplies including telescoping pole.<br />Massive indecision regarding paint colors for bedroom; depression<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFqlTt9bKETCedroyv19HNg6lQKjEYPqQmJBXBYB2nRd-EcqBAcoLZyLqogkLJgwJAxIh6E5EJxtJCsxnCVlpxKerLUy2BKil4RQw6gnzOLbZdhKPUU0nr8sLVFcmKzKVRxXD4yrS4Ik/s1600/0629002133a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFqlTt9bKETCedroyv19HNg6lQKjEYPqQmJBXBYB2nRd-EcqBAcoLZyLqogkLJgwJAxIh6E5EJxtJCsxnCVlpxKerLUy2BKil4RQw6gnzOLbZdhKPUU0nr8sLVFcmKzKVRxXD4yrS4Ik/s320/0629002133a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488424405034243314" border="0" /></a> ensues.<br />One $12 Whole Foods Salad -- peace is restored to the universe.<br />Three mold tests: for visual mold, to test air quality in rest of house, and control test of outside air.<br />I revert to Drawbridge idea to solve Hobbit Basement problem.<br />This is J and I at the end of a long, hot, semi-frustrating day. We are sitting in Mold Central, trying to design Non-Hobbit basement. Note attractive and professionally taped up plastic in background. I used the staple gun and it was fun.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-14871078630834802752010-06-29T10:19:00.001-07:002010-06-29T10:22:02.302-07:00Dickens Disapproves of the Move<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirx9s6J64siZwxxHULTnsaGJQP6nMJUm2fvg7MDMbouFwOtQoNr6zMXFz3DB_KesoeHtQ9DB7xK754JYyfPB7QMqpHyG79qbfmu94m7V00mzdPv6t72f_Ts4NRqBdPvOyHlyT09INoR-o/s1600/0625001251.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirx9s6J64siZwxxHULTnsaGJQP6nMJUm2fvg7MDMbouFwOtQoNr6zMXFz3DB_KesoeHtQ9DB7xK754JYyfPB7QMqpHyG79qbfmu94m7V00mzdPv6t72f_Ts4NRqBdPvOyHlyT09INoR-o/s320/0625001251.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488247025591101522" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">THiz ees DICKENS. I am NAP on Thees bocks so no u can Moov.<br /></div>harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-393294881958865472010-06-29T10:10:00.000-07:002010-06-29T10:18:51.473-07:00We Quarantine the Yuck<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECVcsAWuemxUqUSLNAVq6JRSQqRnhixRYJ_8x5ZaMXYJrhyphenhyphen_qFDi6fG2ZMxuMBIHvu4eAUtv3ZjuTwe_z97rwe9zvwWMTIU3-mWqmNGRToZGxd5cJ1Wi6r9wP7QCIP6-FFUGIktj94aI/s1600/0628002107a.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECVcsAWuemxUqUSLNAVq6JRSQqRnhixRYJ_8x5ZaMXYJrhyphenhyphen_qFDi6fG2ZMxuMBIHvu4eAUtv3ZjuTwe_z97rwe9zvwWMTIU3-mWqmNGRToZGxd5cJ1Wi6r9wP7QCIP6-FFUGIktj94aI/s320/0628002107a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488245734873792594" border="0" /></a><br />Progress is made: we staple plastic up over the doors and tape it down so that no mold spores can sneak into the rest of the house when we tear apart Moldy Wall. Luckily, after taping off the first door, we could go out the back door. Unfortunately, after taping off the second doorway, we had to climb out the window. Also unfortunate is that if we have to use the one working toilet now, we have to climb back IN the window. Secretly, I fou<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QTKIW2dIoJsINjG45Fz8YbvBqsUKapKmLGi1VoJsy9T_AbZzrQ3FDzTm1bsixpxPjGS5V8kAfim1PRijceARtXFPHoRk-5yNAwoEcjgoz0avehZ_L5zlZDG-fALhymjA8iExqMMuZa4/s1600/0628002107.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QTKIW2dIoJsINjG45Fz8YbvBqsUKapKmLGi1VoJsy9T_AbZzrQ3FDzTm1bsixpxPjGS5V8kAfim1PRijceARtXFPHoRk-5yNAwoEcjgoz0avehZ_L5zlZDG-fALhymjA8iExqMMuZa4/s320/0628002107.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488245827932571202" border="0" /></a>nd this great fun. Who doesn't want to climb in and out the windows of a new house? I tried to take photos of the taped off doorways, because they are quite impressive, but they came out really uninspiring. Instead, here is a picture of the tape that we used, and one of Jason holding a hammer.<br /><br />Almost all my belongings are now piled in the front room! We moved the big table and the wardrobe yesterday. Nothing was broken, including my back. Afterward, we ate fish sandwiches and milkshakes outside. Summer is awesome.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-80704286977263932752010-06-27T10:59:00.000-07:002010-06-27T11:00:44.508-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoGmVGt88UZlvZUODBM-4vXXWlm9u9QLIMaQtBp86UhTfd4zC0Tkn8BsSwJAfi1RObmL98PQWuM2_ZPukJc6rejSGE1pW3tHV34KEhnhjYSD3GtwSsyXbR5ZzJ7IKe9FkK_U7AHwyEqs/s1600/0627001057.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoGmVGt88UZlvZUODBM-4vXXWlm9u9QLIMaQtBp86UhTfd4zC0Tkn8BsSwJAfi1RObmL98PQWuM2_ZPukJc6rejSGE1pW3tHV34KEhnhjYSD3GtwSsyXbR5ZzJ7IKe9FkK_U7AHwyEqs/s320/0627001057.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487514895955612930" border="0" /></a><br />Today, I have reached a new packing low: I've locked my stuff into a truck to which I have no key. Oops.harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437483256321426551.post-55684491971243868692010-06-24T16:45:00.001-07:002010-06-24T16:51:16.160-07:00The first of the boxes arrive<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Ah7I8MeJA3U-1VwoBsNcB9qV3fgO1qteM8pWNBZYT9tY041160rPdNLD2LQCI65_yrmi7rZcC29QjfXneFqSSRxnp6FnaRPiMX-CWjQYb5ZMQqnhJbfoh23RqGCfJHr5Ku3rVk4fq88/s1600/0623001850.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Ah7I8MeJA3U-1VwoBsNcB9qV3fgO1qteM8pWNBZYT9tY041160rPdNLD2LQCI65_yrmi7rZcC29QjfXneFqSSRxnp6FnaRPiMX-CWjQYb5ZMQqnhJbfoh23RqGCfJHr5Ku3rVk4fq88/s320/0623001850.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486491667197077314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsrSnChuoLYN6CMS-0LMNFQWUIMOUY0vzxI5tZwuNDrvB7B5QvuSYVu1tZyFHEt1qa8MxhT0V2DxAwR3LF0t-mTGytTVnmwcZVhHb1BvJN5nohwzn7g0fdl2p80aPFL8JxKKv3sH_G_24/s1600/0623001849a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsrSnChuoLYN6CMS-0LMNFQWUIMOUY0vzxI5tZwuNDrvB7B5QvuSYVu1tZyFHEt1qa8MxhT0V2DxAwR3LF0t-mTGytTVnmwcZVhHb1BvJN5nohwzn7g0fdl2p80aPFL8JxKKv3sH_G_24/s320/0623001849a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486491662184471362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11REPwZ6fCIcIhgW8YIKLiBpnq9Ghq-FexmfXUjgK991n9yKylt9ECEMna2isweuPuph1lAlXWQ38olljvE3xeyej0HQUuvJTwB5HliM1DWKWsSxX3l0rDqXatwLVQuwxgU6boEGDz98/s1600/0623001849.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11REPwZ6fCIcIhgW8YIKLiBpnq9Ghq-FexmfXUjgK991n9yKylt9ECEMna2isweuPuph1lAlXWQ38olljvE3xeyej0HQUuvJTwB5HliM1DWKWsSxX3l0rDqXatwLVQuwxgU6boEGDz98/s320/0623001849.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486491657708163554" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Here they are, the first of many boxes that I'm beginning to schlep over to my new house. The evening sun was really nice coming in the windows, so I took pictures of the kitchen and living room.<br /></div><br /><img src="file:///Users/harmonybutton/Pictures/iPhoto%20Library/Originals/2010/Jun%2024,%202010_3/0623001849.jpg" alt="" />harmonybuttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02330150285758007811noreply@blogger.com0