Wednesday, April 27, 2016
Monday, April 25, 2016
Hola, and Bonjour from the depths of my bed.
If you've been missing my #OOTD's, thank you, and we hopefully will resume programming as scheduled. The past 8 days have seen me in nothing more than pajamas, and the biggest grandpa cardigan I can find with the deepest pockets for my cache of Kleenex.
Things I have leaned in 8 days: You can blow your nose approximately 3-4 times with 4 squares of toilet paper before it becomes completely soggen. Yeh.. I know..
So it started Sunday with a bit of a sore throat and a general feeling of tiredness.
True to form, I trampled to the local do- it -yourself center and picked up some patio furniture to enjoy the day. I felt like a low key day of sitting and putting chairs together could knock it out of my system. Never mind P had been down for the count the previous 2 days.
Or it may have been one of the many monsters I see each week coughing up a mucus sandwich while Mommy says, " I know,, It does sound bad, doesn't it!?"!!!
So business as usual came Monday morning, and off I went.
And then proceeded to leave some 90 minutes later.
Somehow my car managed to find it ways to urgent care. Where inside the pretty nurse is complimenting my outfit and I have to stop her and let her know she has about 2 minutes to get an i.v. into my arm before I... ohh Yup..Pass out in her chair. Thank god I wasn't naked (previous blog post from last flu round)
So off to bed for me it was for the next few days.
They call it the "super flu" and I can assure you, the only thing "super" about it, has been my ability to stay standing long enough to take these shots.
So do yourself a favor, start drinking some (pineapple) juice Now, so you can avoid passing out!
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Friday, April 15, 2016
Yesterday as part of our #bathroom renovation, I took some of our old doors to a local woodshop.
We've decided to preserve the integrity, as much as possible, and keep the doors. Our old bathroom door will have glass cut into the upper panels, and our kitchen door was to have an old window I resurrected out of a French bakery, cut into it.
I'm well aware that there are door for sale every day, and even doors that can be made to look exactly like the old ones we have, minus the 17 coats of white paint.
But That just Won't Do, for this Dame.
Bob is a man in his middle 70's that used to employ 7-8 men. Now he's just a one man show. His eyes we're icy blue and I imagined for a moment the man he looked like in his late 20's. We talked about my project, and he told me to pull around to unload.
I opened the door to his dimly lit shop and was completely overwhelmed.
I almost lost my breath. The wood shavings, the sawdust, ad That smell.
I had been in plenty of shops before, but this was on a different level.
This was tens of years of hands on wood work.
This was exactly like walking downstairs to my grandpas basement.
Bob felt the need to write everything in an old spiral bound notebook, including his hourly rate.
He said he liked to keep everything on the "Up and Up". I have no doubt this man knew every piece of inventory he had in that whole shop.
We settle on an estimated price and I give him a deposit.
He is again insistent he write me a paper receipt, and then "photocopy" it.
I am once again left to get lost in what I see.
All the bottles of wood glue, all the coffee cans of wood "biscuits", and all the markings of one man's work. I have no doubt he knows what's all here. I can see it and smell it.
I can see his hands on the planer, I can see him holding a saw, and I can see the wood shavings flying. And then it hits me.
I don't have a Grandpa.
I no longer have this man, that will make it his life's duty to fix what I've doomed.
And though I have to hire this man for his work, his work won't compare.
His work won't compare to the commitment my Grandpa had. This is the man that re- roofed his house at the ripe age of 90. Yes 90 people. The man that decided to re- brick his entire chimney, from basement over roofline, one bucket of bricks at a time, when he was about 89. The man that drove every day until he was 99. And The man that wanted to work harder in his retirement, than most people work in their regular life.
I shouldn't sell Bob short.
I've never had him work on any other of my other crazy projects.
I haven't even asked him if he has children. We didn't get That close upon our first meeting.
Maybe I'll ask him when I go again to pick up my doors.
But for now, because I don't have one, Bob will just have to be my,
Grandpa, for Hire.
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
Sunday, April 10, 2016
My Mom has a Life Lesson that apparently I hadn't learned until today.
Her lesson is, Once you've lived in a place, after you leave, you are to Never go Back.
You are never go back to see what has been done, or Not done. What has been kept or carted out.
You are never to see, anything less than when you left it.
Rewind, approximately 14 hours ago.
I woke up with a address in my head. The exact address of where I used to live. Numbers have always been a very strange thing to me. Scary, when it comes to math, and shockingly accurate when I have to pick a winner. Strange fact #441: I have picked the Kentucky Derby winner almost every year, for the past 12 years when prompted.
So there I was at 5am Google searching N 5899.
And there she was...169 Days on Zillow. A "One of a kind Property".
I hadn't lived there in almost 7 years.
It wasn't just the "re-decorating" that had been done. It wasn't the fact that someone else was forcing themselves into a home I built with these very fingers. It wasn't even the overstuffed obnoxiously tacky leather couches that seemed to line every wall, that was so weird. What was most disconcerting, was the amount of Dianah that could Not be undone. Those flowers? I planted every single one of em. The red door frame that I festively trimmed and painted? Still used for the For Sale cover shot. I guess the other girl gave up, and realized, it could never be , Her Home.
They said I built one, I'd do it again, if not, just for fun.
And though I'm not a wine girl, I do believe, I have gotten better with age.
I'm more of a whiskey girl, not every ones cup of tea, and that's completely okay with me.
That little yellow house deserves a great girl, not a complete hack,
but as for This girl, She's Never looking Back
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
It was a banner day...
I had absolutely No plans of this happening.
I stopped by my local thrift shop to donate a bag.
It was a bag of clothing and sheets my Mom had in her car, from her parents house.
I knew if I didn't take them out, she would ride with them for weeks.
I truthfully tried to avoid the dress area. It's where I usually get into trouble.
Who doesn't Want to wear a dress?! And most recently I sent 19 dresses to be consigned..Yes 19!! Didn't eve make a dent in my "Dress Closet"(I know...)
Thankfully I have been gifted the ability to de-construct, re-design and sew any thing that doesn't seem to fit. Last week I bought a dress I size XL. (I know..) But the fabric was so amazing, I Had to have it. Roughly, an hour later, the lovely dress was my size.(more later on that)
I made my way from the dresses into Men's shorts, then shirts them ties Have I mentioned that P only wears a tie about 3-4 times a year?! Suddenly I am seeing 6 ties tossed over my shoulder. I needed one for Derby(more on that later), well the Buffalo check? That Had to come..The red one with the crabs? Heck Yes..At $1.50 each, even if I covered a lampshade with the silkies, I was So worth it(what a Great idea!!..) and..Do you even Know what a Vineyard Vines tie sells for?! ($89.50)
Well I digress,, and obviously made it to the dress area.
And Conveniently.. most of the dresses coordinated decadently with the designer ties.
Did I mention there are no wedding nuptials to attend in our near future?!
Someone close to me recently put it all together..
They said that when you thrift, You really Can have it All and more.
You may not realize that Hundreds of retailers donate everyday to take the tax write off, rather than continuing to mark it down. People die. People die with brand new clothes in their boudoirs.
Someone donates those dresses, and people like me buy them.
More has always been more to me.I'll never be one of those girls with Just the Basics.
I can be a class act, and spend only cents on my outfit..You'd never know.
And if I'm being honest, that $1500 handbag, I have my eye ain't gonna buy itself, so I need to Save somewhere!
Next Tuesday, or maybe tomorrow, Go have yourself a Thrifty Tuesday!
Sunday, April 3, 2016
First things First.
I am Not late.
This is a post about time management, and showing up on time.
Just so we're Clear.
(But in my opinion, unless your planning on Being late, it's never a good thing)
I swear I Must have posted about this before...Anyone? Have I?
It's just such a Gawd awful occurrence that every one of us has had to endure.
Unless of course, You're the one that's Late.
I once had to let a former employee Go for her inability to show up on time. Ever.
Well, maybe she showed up once or twice, On Time. And she pointed it out to me as if I was suppose to congratulate or treat her. Nope. Problem was, she kept people waiting. She kept Me waiting, and more importantly, she kept people wanting to spend money with her, Waiting.
She didn't understand How detrimental her tardiness was. She even went so far to tell me, "This is my Only place I'm Late. I'm Not late Anywhere Else". Perfect. You're biting off the hand that feeds you.. Being late for the person(s) that pay your bills? Not permissible. I went even so far as to buy her a watch, and an alarm clock. After that, I sent her off, to join the flock.
I completely understand the notion of not wanting to go somewhere. Heck, in the last 2 years of trying to figure out some funky stomach issues, I barely left the house at times. So when the t- shirt comes up For sale that Reads, "Sorry I'm late, I didn't want to come", it makes complete sense, but doesn't smooth over the silence that occurs when people are awaiting your presence.
When your late your essentially telling the person(s) waiting for you
I am the only one that matters here. Nope.
People will use all sorts of excuses, to explain their lateness. Traffic, lost keys, their dog has fleas, the list goes on and on. I have someone now that regularly calls when they are suppose to Start working, that they'll be running late. Because I'm aware of where their abode is, they have the audacity to leave, when they should be rolling up their sleeve(s)
So blame it on your kids, or your car, or the fact you had to travel (so) far.
When you show up late there's no one to blame, but the shame in your game.
Because I'm not playing when I say you suck at time management.
Your presence isn't That Great, and there's
Nothing worse Than be Being Late