As usual, this was a busy weekend. The constant battle between man and weed continues with the weeds winning 'fronds' down. Despite the loss on that front I did manage to clean up the refuse that was drug into my yard (as it always is) when the nephews visit the in-laws. More poorly behaved children I have never seen.
The Japanese Barberry's on the west side of the house are dying I'm afraid. Even the one specimen that survived the winter now shows signs of decline. I can only guess that the somewhat shady side of the house where they reside has caused them to be vulnerable to fungus. I suppose it's time to move them out into the yard somewhere proper. The kitchen is officially marked for tile and ready for my attention. I'm afraid that nothing but the most strictly quotidian attention to the area will satisfy my wife on this point and rightly so. She's been waiting for the tile to be done for what seems like ages so nothing sort of a couple weeks of devoted attention will likely pacify her about certain other unrelated points that cause this to be less diurnal than she'd prefer.
Our eldest today bought a Harry Potter book (though she's forced to remain 3-books behind the current one due to issues with content) and it almost made me wonder if I should bother myself to read the stupid things and be done with it. I hate to break with my tradition and read something inane and modern but one does sometimes wonder what the plebeians are doing with their time. Well, that is except read People magazine and watch television.
My wife once again placed an order at Snapfish to have a few dozen pictures printed. Just like last time she ordered a couple of postcards for my parents. One for my father who hands them to my stepmother and one for my real mother who tears them up as quickly as she can and throws them away. (Or at least we assume so. Some of them get mailed back to us.)
Oh, one item of interest from the news. Apparently someone retyped the first few chapters from a Jane Austen novel and submitted them to several publishers. Along with the one who recognized it and sent back a witty response the rest were rejections stating simply that the novel wouldn't sell or that it was an 'original idea' but not something people would want to read. Anyway, here's the whole story. It just goes to show where modern fiction has gone.
Showing posts with label home improvement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home improvement. Show all posts
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
7/15/07 - Remodeling update; in God we Trust; More of Me; Inspiration in the Toilet; Little Women
You know, with weekends like this I'll be glad to get back to work for a little relaxation.
The guest bath finds itself another hairs breadth closer to completion as I scrubbed dutifully at the floor today and reset the toilet. The rest of the morning was shot by an inexplicable malaise that lasted even after several fruitless hours browsing the local bookmongers. Inspiration did strike later and my wife and I managed to heave off the linoleum in the kitchen in preparation for for the magnum opus of tiling the kitchen. I do not look forward to tiling in such tight spaces as the refrigerator nook.
One thing I did take note of while circumnavigating the city today was the ubiquity of 'In God We Trust' plates. While I think everyone should be free to express whatever they believe I am still waiting for the 'Whose God is it anyway?' plates to become available. I further wonder if the buyers of these plates realize that, unlike other specialty plates, there's no actual charity getting anything from their purchase. The pay the state the extra $45 for the plate and the state promptly keeps it. It seems to defeat the purpose unless the purpose is that of conspicuous consumption. Going back to the WWJD concept, I suspect that Jesus might just recommend that people simply give the $45 to a real charity rather than trying to advertise what good Christians they are on their bumper. That said, I still laugh at those bumper stickers that say, "In case of rapture this car will become unmanned." Ahh, the pompousness.
Yesterday one of my wife's friends said that I was finally starting to look healthy again. On further questioning she indicated that a few months ago I was looking gaunt. The only appropriate response I could think of was to blink back at her incredulously. At my lowest I was 237 pounds (down from 325 in college) and I'd hardly call that gaunt. Now at a jolly 245 I can't imagine those 8 pounds really make a difference. Clearly someone just caught me on a bad day.
So if you're ever in the Borders in Castleton take a visit to men's stall #2. If someone's in there just kick them out. Tell them you have important research to do. Now, as you walk in on the right you'll see some unpleasantness. Just ignore that. On the inside of the door you'll notice some Russian (well, something in Cyrillic anyway). Unless you know Russian ignore that too. Just to the left of the toilet paper holder you'll see a paragraph written in pen. I wish I'd had a camera to take a picture but basically the text goes something like this: "July 9th, 2007. From this day forward I solemnly pledge to get my life together. I'm going to go back and graduate from college. I'm going to give my girlfriend a reason to love me and be more responsible for my life. " I was honestly dumbfounded. This is a whole new level of bathroom graffiti that I'd really never expected to find. I wonder what ever happened with THAT anonymous wall scribbler?
Alright, on to less mundane bantering. I did pound out a few pages of Little Women tonight after the dust settled and one thing that really impresses me is the way she so readily references other literature. Every character is referred to a "Mrs. This" or a "Mr. That" from some novel of the time that her contemporary readers would have known. It seems that modern society is not nearly so well read though certainly if I said, "He was a real George Costanza" you'd know exactly what I'm saying. Perhaps it's all one in the same but it seems a shame that we've moved from being able to readily quote Shakespeare and Dickens at the drop of a hat to memorizing lines from "Full Metal Jacket."
Lastly, while on my circuitous trip to my usual bookstore haunts I heard a bit on NPR about... well, I heard a bit about a lot of things but one thing in particular caught my attention. Specifically, someone has done a rather obvious study that reading Shakespeare makes you more intelligent. Now, as much total bullshit as that statement is it's never a bad thing to put your mind through a few textual acrobatics and herpaps hiccup a new word or three. So I close tonight's post with a few words picked out from tonight's reading.
"After much study and careful thought Diane finally decided that Terrill's seeming complaisance was merely a diaphanous affectation of company loyalty and an attempt to curry favor in anticipation of his impending review. Now the only question that remained was how best to reap the tares while disturbing the rest of the department as little as possible."
The guest bath finds itself another hairs breadth closer to completion as I scrubbed dutifully at the floor today and reset the toilet. The rest of the morning was shot by an inexplicable malaise that lasted even after several fruitless hours browsing the local bookmongers. Inspiration did strike later and my wife and I managed to heave off the linoleum in the kitchen in preparation for for the magnum opus of tiling the kitchen. I do not look forward to tiling in such tight spaces as the refrigerator nook.
One thing I did take note of while circumnavigating the city today was the ubiquity of 'In God We Trust' plates. While I think everyone should be free to express whatever they believe I am still waiting for the 'Whose God is it anyway?' plates to become available. I further wonder if the buyers of these plates realize that, unlike other specialty plates, there's no actual charity getting anything from their purchase. The pay the state the extra $45 for the plate and the state promptly keeps it. It seems to defeat the purpose unless the purpose is that of conspicuous consumption. Going back to the WWJD concept, I suspect that Jesus might just recommend that people simply give the $45 to a real charity rather than trying to advertise what good Christians they are on their bumper. That said, I still laugh at those bumper stickers that say, "In case of rapture this car will become unmanned." Ahh, the pompousness.
Yesterday one of my wife's friends said that I was finally starting to look healthy again. On further questioning she indicated that a few months ago I was looking gaunt. The only appropriate response I could think of was to blink back at her incredulously. At my lowest I was 237 pounds (down from 325 in college) and I'd hardly call that gaunt. Now at a jolly 245 I can't imagine those 8 pounds really make a difference. Clearly someone just caught me on a bad day.
So if you're ever in the Borders in Castleton take a visit to men's stall #2. If someone's in there just kick them out. Tell them you have important research to do. Now, as you walk in on the right you'll see some unpleasantness. Just ignore that. On the inside of the door you'll notice some Russian (well, something in Cyrillic anyway). Unless you know Russian ignore that too. Just to the left of the toilet paper holder you'll see a paragraph written in pen. I wish I'd had a camera to take a picture but basically the text goes something like this: "July 9th, 2007. From this day forward I solemnly pledge to get my life together. I'm going to go back and graduate from college. I'm going to give my girlfriend a reason to love me and be more responsible for my life. " I was honestly dumbfounded. This is a whole new level of bathroom graffiti that I'd really never expected to find. I wonder what ever happened with THAT anonymous wall scribbler?
Alright, on to less mundane bantering. I did pound out a few pages of Little Women tonight after the dust settled and one thing that really impresses me is the way she so readily references other literature. Every character is referred to a "Mrs. This" or a "Mr. That" from some novel of the time that her contemporary readers would have known. It seems that modern society is not nearly so well read though certainly if I said, "He was a real George Costanza" you'd know exactly what I'm saying. Perhaps it's all one in the same but it seems a shame that we've moved from being able to readily quote Shakespeare and Dickens at the drop of a hat to memorizing lines from "Full Metal Jacket."
Lastly, while on my circuitous trip to my usual bookstore haunts I heard a bit on NPR about... well, I heard a bit about a lot of things but one thing in particular caught my attention. Specifically, someone has done a rather obvious study that reading Shakespeare makes you more intelligent. Now, as much total bullshit as that statement is it's never a bad thing to put your mind through a few textual acrobatics and herpaps hiccup a new word or three. So I close tonight's post with a few words picked out from tonight's reading.
"After much study and careful thought Diane finally decided that Terrill's seeming complaisance was merely a diaphanous affectation of company loyalty and an attempt to curry favor in anticipation of his impending review. Now the only question that remained was how best to reap the tares while disturbing the rest of the department as little as possible."
Saturday, July 14, 2007
7/14/07b - Death by Cart; Death by Grill; Advice to Wives
Well, today was certainly an adventure. I'm still a bit giddy about it for some reason.
I went to Menards to purchase my 100 paving stones for landscaping bricks but found they only had 48. Looking about for a flat-bed conveyance I found none so with a sigh I resorted to a normal cart. Apparently my sense of proper load-balancing was in error as I got the loaded cart all of about 10 feet before the overburdened packmule dove forward, twirled 180 degrees and several feet down the aisle despite my efforts to control it spilled its hundreds of pounds of bricks all over the ground. I'm lucky to have not been injured in some way. I'm luckier still that someone else wasn't in the way to get injured themselves. Three more minutes of manly, affected aplomb and my better-balanced cart was on its way safely to the checkout.
Later, my wife's friends came over to share inane chatter and pick up a free Webber grill my in-laws are throwing away. I, of course, escaped to the in-laws during their visit where the smalltalk is of a much higher grade and on my way back brought the subject grill. The husband of the visiting couple espied me and so came out to help load the grill into his own car but about 5 minutes into the process the somewhat poorly cared for cooking device began a most comical disintegration as we attempted to lift it into the car. Clearly, you had to be there and more clearly, you get what you pay for.
On a less harried note, the bathroom tile stands a hairs breadth from utter completion, the $11 tree planned yesterday was installed and the remaining trees were staked to augment their suffering horizontality. Overall, quite a productive 24-hour period.
Penultimately, I offer a few random words I've come across today in my traipse through literature. For whatever reason, these little amalgamations of syllables didn't make any sense in their current context so I was forced to resort to a dictionary.
Oddly appropriate for me today we have the word pilgarlic from the m-w.com word of the day. Originating because of this item's similarity to a peeled clove of garlic a pilgarlic denotes a bald head or a man who has one.
Our delightful Little Women encountered some piquant French girls in today's reading. These damsels aren't hot to the taste as we usually use the term nowadays but instead unusually charming or provocative.
As you might guess, a marplot is one who meddles in the affairs of others and thus spoils their plans.
And lastly, a word that I will suggest to my wife when she goes back to school, obstreperous. Meaning one who engages in unruly noisiness this will go well with her annual introduction of the word logorrhea.
Finally, on a post that is already much to long I leave you with Alcott's advice to wives everywhere. While I'm sure that modern critics find this rather sexist I must admit from personal experience that this is achingly realistic. Anyway, those interested can read Little Women Chapter 38 for yourselves and judge...
I went to Menards to purchase my 100 paving stones for landscaping bricks but found they only had 48. Looking about for a flat-bed conveyance I found none so with a sigh I resorted to a normal cart. Apparently my sense of proper load-balancing was in error as I got the loaded cart all of about 10 feet before the overburdened packmule dove forward, twirled 180 degrees and several feet down the aisle despite my efforts to control it spilled its hundreds of pounds of bricks all over the ground. I'm lucky to have not been injured in some way. I'm luckier still that someone else wasn't in the way to get injured themselves. Three more minutes of manly, affected aplomb and my better-balanced cart was on its way safely to the checkout.
Later, my wife's friends came over to share inane chatter and pick up a free Webber grill my in-laws are throwing away. I, of course, escaped to the in-laws during their visit where the smalltalk is of a much higher grade and on my way back brought the subject grill. The husband of the visiting couple espied me and so came out to help load the grill into his own car but about 5 minutes into the process the somewhat poorly cared for cooking device began a most comical disintegration as we attempted to lift it into the car. Clearly, you had to be there and more clearly, you get what you pay for.
On a less harried note, the bathroom tile stands a hairs breadth from utter completion, the $11 tree planned yesterday was installed and the remaining trees were staked to augment their suffering horizontality. Overall, quite a productive 24-hour period.
Penultimately, I offer a few random words I've come across today in my traipse through literature. For whatever reason, these little amalgamations of syllables didn't make any sense in their current context so I was forced to resort to a dictionary.
Oddly appropriate for me today we have the word pilgarlic from the m-w.com word of the day. Originating because of this item's similarity to a peeled clove of garlic a pilgarlic denotes a bald head or a man who has one.
Our delightful Little Women encountered some piquant French girls in today's reading. These damsels aren't hot to the taste as we usually use the term nowadays but instead unusually charming or provocative.
As you might guess, a marplot is one who meddles in the affairs of others and thus spoils their plans.
And lastly, a word that I will suggest to my wife when she goes back to school, obstreperous. Meaning one who engages in unruly noisiness this will go well with her annual introduction of the word logorrhea.
Finally, on a post that is already much to long I leave you with Alcott's advice to wives everywhere. While I'm sure that modern critics find this rather sexist I must admit from personal experience that this is achingly realistic. Anyway, those interested can read Little Women Chapter 38 for yourselves and judge...
7/14/07 - Tale of the Tiles; crappy mail
Well, here I am in the deadspot of the day. The grout is down; the tiles are scrubbed and we await only the final scrubbing today in a few hours. The outdoor portion of my day has apparently been pushed into the afternoon as the wife and eldest have gone swimming and leave me here to tend our youngest and her headcold.
Now might be a good time to review the lesson learned while doing tile:
* The instructions on boxes of tile adhesive and grout are off by about 20%. Either they assume that the user cannot accurately measure liquids or they're trying to trick you into using more product but whichever the case if you follow the instructions on the package you'll have a heck of a time spreading the stuff. Both should have the consistency of creamy peanut butter. Wet sand is right out. 5 pounds of grout took 3 hours in the entry and looked like crap. 10 pounds of grout in the bathroom took about 30 minutes and is as smooth as a baby's forehead. All for the want of an extra 100mL of water. Bah and double bah humbug to you grout manufacturer.
Today our eldest when confronted with the writing prompt task produced a paragraph in about 4 minutes. This is a vast improvement on the 3 hours it took yesterday. A heavy sigh to the meaninglessly headstrong child.
I'm really disappointed in the mail lately. I've probably never mentioned that I'm really just a little kid. I just love gettin' crap in the mail. In fact, I typically keep something on order at all times so I can anticipate it's arrival. Back in the deep, dark, gloomy past this was mostly baseball cards. There's nothing quite as exciting to an old magpie like me than a big box of crap to go through. Anyway, as of late I've been meandering my way through my own amazon wishlist picking up all those missing 'A' titles on my too-be-read list (oh and the other list). Anyway, St. Thomas Aquinas is taking frigging forever. It further seems like everything has been taking a lot longer lately. If the pace doesn't pick up I'm going to have to break down and buy some sea monkeys or x-ray glasses.
Anyway, enough ranting, time to check in on the Little Women before the second shift starts...
Now might be a good time to review the lesson learned while doing tile:
* The instructions on boxes of tile adhesive and grout are off by about 20%. Either they assume that the user cannot accurately measure liquids or they're trying to trick you into using more product but whichever the case if you follow the instructions on the package you'll have a heck of a time spreading the stuff. Both should have the consistency of creamy peanut butter. Wet sand is right out. 5 pounds of grout took 3 hours in the entry and looked like crap. 10 pounds of grout in the bathroom took about 30 minutes and is as smooth as a baby's forehead. All for the want of an extra 100mL of water. Bah and double bah humbug to you grout manufacturer.
Today our eldest when confronted with the writing prompt task produced a paragraph in about 4 minutes. This is a vast improvement on the 3 hours it took yesterday. A heavy sigh to the meaninglessly headstrong child.
I'm really disappointed in the mail lately. I've probably never mentioned that I'm really just a little kid. I just love gettin' crap in the mail. In fact, I typically keep something on order at all times so I can anticipate it's arrival. Back in the deep, dark, gloomy past this was mostly baseball cards. There's nothing quite as exciting to an old magpie like me than a big box of crap to go through. Anyway, as of late I've been meandering my way through my own amazon wishlist picking up all those missing 'A' titles on my too-be-read list (oh and the other list). Anyway, St. Thomas Aquinas is taking frigging forever. It further seems like everything has been taking a lot longer lately. If the pace doesn't pick up I'm going to have to break down and buy some sea monkeys or x-ray glasses.
Anyway, enough ranting, time to check in on the Little Women before the second shift starts...
Friday, July 13, 2007
7/13/2007 - Incredible exploding child; random household updates
Today was marked by a stunning explosion in the household. Not of a chemical kind but purely emotional. Our eldest has demonstrated immense recalcitrance when asked to write to a writing prompt in school. Since she'll be taking the ISTEP this year and required to do so for the test the wife and I have been worried that she'll just refuse to complete the test and shout, "But I can't do it!" in front of the whole class. Her standard response is to claim utter ignorance. If she has any doubt whatsoever about what she's doing she just throws up her hands and sobs. I'm not sure what genetic trait we passed down or how we've erred in her upbringing but this is EXTREMELY irritating in the most irrational manner imaginable. The child fills notebooks with stories about imaginary beasts complete with illustrations but can't provide us with a complete sentence about what a farmer does at work all day? How in God's green earth do we fix THAT?
On a lighter note I managed to do some work today (at my real job) that I enjoyed. I spent most of the day writing Crystal reports and actually having real development to do (rather than hours and hours of virtual paper shuffling) and it was amazingly gratifying. It's refreshing to remember much better I feel after having done something meaningful for a few hours a day rather than the non-technical administrative garbage that comprises the majority of my job.
The tile in the hall bath is down and sealed and tomorrow... we grout. Er, rather, I grout. On a similar home improvement note, the 4-foot hole in the yard designed to accept the largish tree to be removed from the in-laws' yard when their in-ground pool goes in is ready. Apparently if you dig down far enough (in Indiana at least) you hit a horizon of decaying corn stalks. The smell of anaerobic decomposition in the hole had me concerned for a bit that I was approaching a sewer. Apparently it was just mountains of corn from years gone by... well, and maybe some farmers septic tile long disused. Tomorrow after the grout we buy another $11 tree, get about 200 landscaping bricks to properly ring off the trees we've planted in an arduous 600-step process and lastly, if I remember and if you're VERY unlucky, I'll take the garden archival snaps for July before it's no longer July.
On a lighter note I managed to do some work today (at my real job) that I enjoyed. I spent most of the day writing Crystal reports and actually having real development to do (rather than hours and hours of virtual paper shuffling) and it was amazingly gratifying. It's refreshing to remember much better I feel after having done something meaningful for a few hours a day rather than the non-technical administrative garbage that comprises the majority of my job.
The tile in the hall bath is down and sealed and tomorrow... we grout. Er, rather, I grout. On a similar home improvement note, the 4-foot hole in the yard designed to accept the largish tree to be removed from the in-laws' yard when their in-ground pool goes in is ready. Apparently if you dig down far enough (in Indiana at least) you hit a horizon of decaying corn stalks. The smell of anaerobic decomposition in the hole had me concerned for a bit that I was approaching a sewer. Apparently it was just mountains of corn from years gone by... well, and maybe some farmers septic tile long disused. Tomorrow after the grout we buy another $11 tree, get about 200 landscaping bricks to properly ring off the trees we've planted in an arduous 600-step process and lastly, if I remember and if you're VERY unlucky, I'll take the garden archival snaps for July before it's no longer July.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
7/11/07
Our neighbors to the east are just damned unfriendly. Now you must realize that I'm not particularly friendly either but I don't consider myself *UN*friendly. It took a full three greetings this evening to get even the merest acknowledgment from them. I did the neighborly wave. Nothing. I did the nod and smile. Nothing. I finally calmed it down to just a simple nod and got back half a nod. Heck, it could have been nothing more than an involuntary spasm. Point is, why are we so damn keen as a society to isolate ourselves. I'd very happily make acquaintances with the rather grim-looking people next door but my repeated attempts to approach them have resulted in nothing but sour milk.
I started another couple of holes today. One for the huge tree that is to come over from the in-laws yard when their pool goes in and a smaller for the happy $10 twigs I keep dragging home from the home improvement store. For some reason, there's nothing quite so satisfying as digging a hole. Sure there's the sweat and the grit; it's no easy task to dig a big hole but somehow the thought of pounding through layers of soil and clay that no human has touched in hundreds or thousands of years (if ever) has a certain romance. Not to mention the fact that a hole is one of those few things that you can create no a whim from nothing but is in fact completely immovable.
The new word to work into my vocabulary for the day is 'bijou.' Rob was amused today to learn that one of the people in his company was leaving to pursue a new job. The fact that is combined this person's primary interests in live made it a great bijou. In fact, I'm at least completely jealous but it made me try to determine what my 'bijou' job would be. Botanist? I'm not trained for such a thing. Landscaper? Doesn't pay enough. I don't know but it'd clearly have to be something that actually used both halves of my brain. I can pump out code all day but the creative part of my job takes about 30 seconds a day on average and the part that requires me to think only about 12. Clearly computer programming is the new 'blue collar' job of the 21st century. I think more when I'm laying tile in the bathroom than when I'm doing my real job. So perhaps that's the optimal job... the one that changes so much and so often that it requires constant adjustment and personal evolution. Much better than one that exercises only your patience over your intellect.
I've been thinking for some time that having everyone home for the summer (and therefore as good as in my office 24/7) is starting to drive me a bit nuts. Problem was that I couldn't quite put my finger on WHY this was the case. I have a separate office so I can work away from people when needed. It's a constant source of amusement that I can always find a child to pester on a moments notice. It's nice to have more organized lunches and with someone here to do the laundry I needn't worry about as many household chores. On the surface this should be really beneficial. Then it struck me what was missing. I need some level of solitude, a time during the day when I can walk down the hall and scream at the top of my lungs for no reason whatsoever. I need to be able to talk to myself for 40 minutes about how appallingly the Oxford Rugby team is doing this year despite the fact I know nothing of the topic. Working at home has inflicted such a level of utter solitude on me that I now find I NEED it. When my family is home they're constantly underfoot, utterly inescapable. If our toddler isn't our running around or threatening to run up the stairs then she's asleep and you have to watch every sound you make. It's quite maddening and I think my wife is ready to go back to school as well. She's falling under the spell of cabin fever as she looks for any excuse to go to the mall and see over human faces.
Hrm. Annual in-person company meeting about a month away. This is where the at-home worker begins to ask, "Keep the mohawk or let it start to grow out?"
I started another couple of holes today. One for the huge tree that is to come over from the in-laws yard when their pool goes in and a smaller for the happy $10 twigs I keep dragging home from the home improvement store. For some reason, there's nothing quite so satisfying as digging a hole. Sure there's the sweat and the grit; it's no easy task to dig a big hole but somehow the thought of pounding through layers of soil and clay that no human has touched in hundreds or thousands of years (if ever) has a certain romance. Not to mention the fact that a hole is one of those few things that you can create no a whim from nothing but is in fact completely immovable.
The new word to work into my vocabulary for the day is 'bijou.' Rob was amused today to learn that one of the people in his company was leaving to pursue a new job. The fact that is combined this person's primary interests in live made it a great bijou. In fact, I'm at least completely jealous but it made me try to determine what my 'bijou' job would be. Botanist? I'm not trained for such a thing. Landscaper? Doesn't pay enough. I don't know but it'd clearly have to be something that actually used both halves of my brain. I can pump out code all day but the creative part of my job takes about 30 seconds a day on average and the part that requires me to think only about 12. Clearly computer programming is the new 'blue collar' job of the 21st century. I think more when I'm laying tile in the bathroom than when I'm doing my real job. So perhaps that's the optimal job... the one that changes so much and so often that it requires constant adjustment and personal evolution. Much better than one that exercises only your patience over your intellect.
I've been thinking for some time that having everyone home for the summer (and therefore as good as in my office 24/7) is starting to drive me a bit nuts. Problem was that I couldn't quite put my finger on WHY this was the case. I have a separate office so I can work away from people when needed. It's a constant source of amusement that I can always find a child to pester on a moments notice. It's nice to have more organized lunches and with someone here to do the laundry I needn't worry about as many household chores. On the surface this should be really beneficial. Then it struck me what was missing. I need some level of solitude, a time during the day when I can walk down the hall and scream at the top of my lungs for no reason whatsoever. I need to be able to talk to myself for 40 minutes about how appallingly the Oxford Rugby team is doing this year despite the fact I know nothing of the topic. Working at home has inflicted such a level of utter solitude on me that I now find I NEED it. When my family is home they're constantly underfoot, utterly inescapable. If our toddler isn't our running around or threatening to run up the stairs then she's asleep and you have to watch every sound you make. It's quite maddening and I think my wife is ready to go back to school as well. She's falling under the spell of cabin fever as she looks for any excuse to go to the mall and see over human faces.
Hrm. Annual in-person company meeting about a month away. This is where the at-home worker begins to ask, "Keep the mohawk or let it start to grow out?"
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
7/10/07
Today, like most days was miraculously uneventful. Well, not exactly miraculously perhaps.
I discovered today to my surprise that one of my work colleagues has horticultural aspirations. Since this falls in line with my current urge to propagate things from my garden I told him I would provide the odd infant sprout or two.
In place of my lunch I put in the second $10 tree in the back yard only to have my wife refer to them as hopelessly small. Clearly she's not overly endowed with patience. For $10 I'll happily accept quite a bit of 'twigginess' in my trees thank you very much.
The entry tile finally approaches completion. It has been sealed and partially trimmed and, in my opinion at least, looks quite tidy. The wife says simply that it looks 'fake'. My offers to rip it all up and start over are still being rejected.
My real job has become even more ponderous than usual. I find my mind wandering throughout ever-growing days punctuated only by heavy sighs like the smoke that rises from a slowly burning human soul. I can't help but get the impression that my boss is himself steaming under the usually calm facade and is ready to boil over any minute. I'll brace myself for an explosion in my direction.
On a more positive note, Little Women continues to be a joy. I'm thinking of publishing a family newspaper as the March's do but I'm uncertain the wife would participate.
Further on the topic of wives, I seem to be getting along with mine astonishingly well lately. I can't say why exactly but it seems indisputably to be the truth. I can imagine several factors that might contribute to this. Is she comparing me to her New York friend's husband in some favorable way? Is she finally just adjusting to being home for the summer? Perhaps her high school friends stories about her deadbeat ex-husband are finding their mark? Or is it is just that she's happy to be seeing her plans for the house come together? Hard to say but I've surely analyzed it enough now that any excessive connubial joy has been completely jinxed into oblivion.
I discovered today to my surprise that one of my work colleagues has horticultural aspirations. Since this falls in line with my current urge to propagate things from my garden I told him I would provide the odd infant sprout or two.
In place of my lunch I put in the second $10 tree in the back yard only to have my wife refer to them as hopelessly small. Clearly she's not overly endowed with patience. For $10 I'll happily accept quite a bit of 'twigginess' in my trees thank you very much.
The entry tile finally approaches completion. It has been sealed and partially trimmed and, in my opinion at least, looks quite tidy. The wife says simply that it looks 'fake'. My offers to rip it all up and start over are still being rejected.
My real job has become even more ponderous than usual. I find my mind wandering throughout ever-growing days punctuated only by heavy sighs like the smoke that rises from a slowly burning human soul. I can't help but get the impression that my boss is himself steaming under the usually calm facade and is ready to boil over any minute. I'll brace myself for an explosion in my direction.
On a more positive note, Little Women continues to be a joy. I'm thinking of publishing a family newspaper as the March's do but I'm uncertain the wife would participate.
Further on the topic of wives, I seem to be getting along with mine astonishingly well lately. I can't say why exactly but it seems indisputably to be the truth. I can imagine several factors that might contribute to this. Is she comparing me to her New York friend's husband in some favorable way? Is she finally just adjusting to being home for the summer? Perhaps her high school friends stories about her deadbeat ex-husband are finding their mark? Or is it is just that she's happy to be seeing her plans for the house come together? Hard to say but I've surely analyzed it enough now that any excessive connubial joy has been completely jinxed into oblivion.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Project: Laundry Room Cabinets
Anyone who's been to our laundry room knows that for almost the entire time we've lived in the house the cabinets there have been... well, somewhat sad. When we installed them, my wife wanted them painted white and we did that in the sloppiest manner possible. Then my wife decided she'd like pictures painted on them so she painted a rather lop-sided blue dress on one and then promptly decided she didn't like it and it's been sadly sitting there ever since. One door with a crazy blue border, one door with a poor-looking blue dress painted on it and one door just stock white.
This weekend as her valentines day gift I've finished my wife's laundry-room project by cutting some flowers out of some plywood and applying appropriate paint.
This weekend as her valentines day gift I've finished my wife's laundry-room project by cutting some flowers out of some plywood and applying appropriate paint.
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