September 30, 2014

Wanting...and the very hard art of waiting

I am ready for a house.  My house.

I know I shouldn't complain.  This townhouse is very nice...but it's not mine.  I know that good things come to those who wait...but still.

Pinterest and Houzz are exacerbating the matter in that, no matter how hard I try not to look, everywhere I see houses and projects and ideas.  And then I look up and remember that I'm not in my own home where I could paint the walls, the cabinets, the whatever.  Where I could replace two of the ugliest light fixtures I've ever seen.  Where I could rip out those poor, sad looking Nandinas and the pitiful Hostas - which are singed and burned because they were planted in full sun - near the front door and replace them with some of my favorites.

Despite the fact that there are things I could do - temporary things - I don't want to because I know we aren't here for the long term - but yet, I don't know how long we will be here.

The houses we've seen are ripe with possibilities....if we wanted to outlay the cash to renovate them.  And to do that would mean they would have to give the house to us.  We've yet to meet an owner that is willing to do so.

I still think we will build, eventually, but the Husband is continuing to entertain the idea while resisting it at the same time.

In the meantime, I sit here - wanting - all while reminding my self to be patient.  I tell myself that by rushing the process I will end up somewhere that I don't love.  I tell myself that the house isn't as important as the people who are in it...but...still....

I want a house.

September 27, 2014

NOS4A2...a book review

I read this book about a week ago.  One night, I actually had a nightmare, which all credit goes to the book.

I recall thinking, as I was reading, this guy is good!  Good enough that I might have to list him right up there with Stephen King....

Well no wonder.  Tonight, as I was researching the book online (since I gave the book to Man-Child to take to school) I discovered that the author, Joe Hill, is none other than the son of Stephen and Tabitha King. He's done his parent's proud.  Although, this leads me to wonder just what the conversation must have been like around that dinner table!

At any rate, this thriller is a must read.  The heroine of the story, Victoria (aka Vic) has an uncanny ability, aided with her trusty bicycle, to find things - no matter how far away they may be.

One day she goes looking for trouble.  And she finds it in Charles Talent Manx.

Charles has created "Christmasland."  And he finds children and transports them to this "magical" land where the children can experience his version of Christmas every day.  Vic was able to escape Charlie's grip once and her life was changed forever.

But, as with most unresolved issues, eventually they must be faced.  And after a hard life, Vic finds herself once again seeking out Charlie and Christmasland all in effort to save her son.

So if you are looking for a good, scary read this book is for you.  As for me, after reading some fluff to rid my mind of the scary, I will be seeking out other books by this author - because he is that good.

September 16, 2014

My Husband Thinks I'm a Genius....

I know!  I'm as floored as you are!  But it turns out, he only thinks I'm a genius because of this one, teeny-tiny, completely common-sense thing I said to him.

But, apparently, this one, teeny-tiny, completely common-sense idea absolutely astounded him.  It struck him as the most glorious idea that had ever been spouted.

Something, that I have ALWAYS done.  And he's just never noticed.

It all began as I was emptying the dishwasher.  The very same dishwasher that he had thoughtfully loaded earlier.  One of the chores he dislikes - but will do - is emptying the dishwasher.  I don't mind emptying the dishwasher, if it's been properly loaded.  Which, it never is, unless I load it.  But I think that is probably pretty much the same for everyone; we all have our own ideas about how the dishwasher should be loaded and that's fine.

But, just so you know, I am THE master at loading that dishwasher and I have it down to a my way is the best way hands down.

Be that as it may, this particular evening I was emptying the silverware caddy and I mentioned, in passing, to the Husband, that if he would load all the like spoons into one section, all the like forks into another section, all the like knives into another section, and let all the random silver go into the remaining slots that removing the silverware would be a lot less tedious.

I said this in passing, never really thinking that he would actually hear and process this information.  Much like he has never heard or processed other bits of wisdom I have passed onto him.

But hear and process he did.  Because for the next three times he emptied the dishwasher, that he himself had loaded, he proceeded to proclaim that was a GENIUS idea.  And every single time since, that I have emptied the dishwasher that he loaded, I find all the like silverware separated into separate slots.

Now, if I can only convince him that to listen to few of my other common-sense nuggets, then maybe this house would run like well-oiled machine.  But so far?  It hasn't happened.

September 6, 2014

From the "Eerie" files....

Once, a long time ago (approximately three years ago), a light bulb went out. 

This particular light bulb was in a sconce in the hallway.  A sconce that had a little, screw-in thingy that held it up.  A little, screw-in thingy that somehow escaped the Husband's fingers as he un-screwed it and then disappeared.

It literally disappeared.  We scoured the hallway.  We moved the bookcase.  We moved the buffet.  When it didn't turn up, we branched out.  We scoured the intersecting hallway, the staircase, the floor below, that little, screw-in thingy was GONE. 

So we headed out to our local home improvement store in search of another screw-in thingy to anchor the sconce to the wall.  We found one.  But, of course, the new screw-in thingy's finish didn't match the finish of the old screw-in thingy's.  *sigh* 

As a compromise, we switched out the un-matching screw-in thingy with another fixture; one that I wouldn't see on a daily basis - because the whole un-matching thing would have made me twitchy.  Seriously.

We had fully expected to find that piece in our move.  It didn't happen.  Where in the hell had it gone?  Was there a tear in the universe?  Had it somehow slipped into an alternate universe?

Flash-forward (approximately three years or so; and a whole move later) - guess what I found the other day?

The screw-in thingy.  And the eerie part?  In a Stephen King book.

*cue the scary music here*

In a Stephen King book that was amazing that I even kept - despite my adoration for Stephen King.  Why?  Because I normally don't "do" short stories.  I usually want "whole" stories.  But, I adore Stephen King so every single one of his books made the cut.

Including the one that has held the screw-in thingy for the past three years.

I suppose this is supposed to "tell me something."  Like maybe how what seems to be lost isn't really gone?  It's only hiding away, waiting for the right time to reappear.

Nah.  More likely - it was just one of those weird things that happen in life.

September 2, 2014

Seriously, Husband?

I love my husband, I truly do.  One of the many reasons I love him is the fact that he is "manly."  That he is the one I can count on to open stubborn jars, and whatever else he does that is "manly" around here.

But... (you knew there had to be one, didn't you?)

Sometimes his "manly" strength irritates the life out of me. 

Like whenever we are dealing with something plastic.  If he is the one in charge of repairing it, it inevitably gets broken further.  Because a "twist" isn't just enough when a full on "wrench" is surely better.

Or like this morning. 

Which, of course, requires a little bit of a backstory.  Yesterday we were attending a cookout to celebrate Labor Day and Hubby was the designated driver.  (That's probably THE shortest backstory I've ever given you)

As the designated driver, he drove us home and parked the car safely on what must be the shortest and steepest driveway in the history of the world.  A driveway that definitely necessitates using the parking brake.

And everything was fine. 

Until this morning when I found myself struggling to release the brake.  As he does with most everything he hadn't just tugged on the brake; he had YANKED the brake.  Making sure that he YANKED that brake as hard as he could.  What he didn't realize while he was YANKING on that brake was that his wife - the one with the puny arms and thumbs - would be the one fighting with the brake the next day...after he had already left for work.

After five minutes of struggling, I sent him a text telling him of my dilemma.  He gets credit for immediately calling and asking what he could do - he was even willing to drive home and fix it.  But as I was scolding him and reminding him that not everything in this word requires brute strength; that sometimes a little finesse is in order, all while still fiddling with the brake and getting more and more frustrated and then?  Success! 

Apparently, adrenaline finally kicked in and I was able to unlock the brake and drive to work.

Now, what are the odds that he is going to remember this the next time he drives my car?  My bet?  Slim to none.