No, I've not landed in the garbage chute. But I'm not certain that would smell and worse.
We're finishing up the remodeling of the Mud Hut. Squib named it. Not me. In the course of doing so, we had to **of course** remove the toilet to put in the flooring. I was prepared for the, um, the stench. However, we discovered that the sewage pipe from the toilet wasn't vertical. It was running at more like forty-five degrees. Not only that, it didn't fully match up with the opening with the toilet. No wonder there's a "toil" in our toilet. I've been saying it for a while now, but this is unbelievable.
Soooo.....
We've been rectifying matters. (Get it? Blahaaha. I'm sorry. Really. Only not.) And oh my goodness is it ever stinky in here. The force of a thousand wild cherry candles is nothing compared to this.
Anywho.
In the process of things we got a good look under the baseboards since we intend to lay tile and lo-and-behold the Mud Hut "ain't even 'tached to da flo" to put it in my best mild East Texan. That was exactly what a builder friend said when he came over to consult on what was snowballing into a major building effort. In other words, you could see daylight between the wall and the floor. And rain could just waltz into my bathroom from out-of-doors. And it has been for some time.
Please let's not discuss the sheetrock and wall board that have since exited the building.
So, in short, we had to dig a hole under the back of the Mud Hut--which is settling--and pour a huge concrete pad. Wait for it to dry and jack up that portion of the Hut. Good thing we bought those 12-ton jacks, no? I balked at the purchase, myself, but hey--I'm not the head jacker around here.
Now we can put the flooring down. And theeeennn....we have to take the wall apart even further down and deal with all the moldy junk. Yay.
Remodeling is not for sissies.
Scat.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
Once A Chemist...
It's no lie. True chemists LOVE to make things 'from scratch' as many are fond of saying. I can't adequately describe it to the non-chemist faction of Green Acres, but there is something inspiring about gathering ingredients and thermometers and watching pots and hovering over ovens. Ovens especially need hovering over--why that is escapes me, but usually if someone is going to ferret with your product it's during the time it's in the oven. Anyway, the process rejuvenates me. I feel that mad scientist vibe again and I love it.
It's fair to say that I haven't actually been in a "real" chemistry lab for a while. I assert, however, that every kitchen is a "real" chemistry lab if you know what you're doing (and sometimes even if you don't). And between kitchens and that thing we call a shop under the Big Red House I have been moderately happy. But...
Now I'm approaching seriously almost hopping up and down with glee. The inhabitants of Green Acres have acquiesced. They are going to let me use my mad skillz to produce much of what we have been spending (wasting) our dollars on around here. Because, let's face it, if you buy it and it has a label on it you can probably make it yourself with easily obtained chemicals. Dish washing soap, laundry soap, other soaps, ant traps (not kidding), candles, etc.
So I sent Buddy off with a different sort of shopping list today. He looked at me a little warily after reading some of the ingredients, but he took the list nonetheless. He probably agreed because I told him I could make laundry soap for a year for what we're paying monthly. Chemistry be damned. Who cares!
Color me chemically happy!
Scat
It's fair to say that I haven't actually been in a "real" chemistry lab for a while. I assert, however, that every kitchen is a "real" chemistry lab if you know what you're doing (and sometimes even if you don't). And between kitchens and that thing we call a shop under the Big Red House I have been moderately happy. But...
Now I'm approaching seriously almost hopping up and down with glee. The inhabitants of Green Acres have acquiesced. They are going to let me use my mad skillz to produce much of what we have been spending (wasting) our dollars on around here. Because, let's face it, if you buy it and it has a label on it you can probably make it yourself with easily obtained chemicals. Dish washing soap, laundry soap, other soaps, ant traps (not kidding), candles, etc.
So I sent Buddy off with a different sort of shopping list today. He looked at me a little warily after reading some of the ingredients, but he took the list nonetheless. He probably agreed because I told him I could make laundry soap for a year for what we're paying monthly. Chemistry be damned. Who cares!
Color me chemically happy!
Scat
Saturday, November 10, 2012
It's Electrifying!
No. We are not, in fact, staging a revival of Grease.
I am sitting here attempting to choreograph a version of Silent Night for the Hanging of the Green and the upcoming Nativity play as well as ferret out some other musical nonsense. Meanwhile, Buddy is attempting to right all the plumbing necessary to complete phase two of the remodeling of the Mud Hut's bathroom.
The Mud Hut. That's what we've decided to call our little apartment out here. It isn't really little, but who cares, right?
So...I was sitting here working on some PowerPoint junk and thinking choreography when I hear the fatal words.
"Oh, crap."
Then buddy emerges from that unfinished portion of the room we generously call the "shower" with blood dripping down his forehead and asks for a flashlight. I gently remind him that he's slowly been raiding my tool table and that no such device resides there any longer (I take almost all the strength I have and stifle the urge to mention the tape measure, multimeter, screwdrivers, and electrical tape that have also 'vacated the premises'). Then he divulges the fact that he thinks he's drilled through an electrical wire and severed it.
Fabulous.
File that under "Things I Am Better Off Not Knowing After-The-Fact."
Generally, it is my job to hover about Buddy's shoulders and contribute to the construction discussion with helpful hints such as, "That looks like romex back in there." or "Hang on while I turn the breaker off to this part of the house." But that generally spoils the overall point of these exercises which is to accidentally die of unnatural causes.
However, this isn't really like when I was being yanked backwards by a tree that definitely did NOT want to fall in the direction it was cut to fall. In that case we made every effort to fell the tree in the direction we wanted it to. It just had other ideas in its head. Diametrically opposed to our thoughts, that sucker yanked me and my truck backwards like a yo-yo on a string instead of an SUV on a cable.
Drilling into a wire, though? You pretty much have to do that as close to on purpose as it gets without actually targeting it.
Squib ran through the Mud Hut last night screaming, "We are all going to dieeee!!!"
Maybe he's onto something.
Scat
I am sitting here attempting to choreograph a version of Silent Night for the Hanging of the Green and the upcoming Nativity play as well as ferret out some other musical nonsense. Meanwhile, Buddy is attempting to right all the plumbing necessary to complete phase two of the remodeling of the Mud Hut's bathroom.
The Mud Hut. That's what we've decided to call our little apartment out here. It isn't really little, but who cares, right?
So...I was sitting here working on some PowerPoint junk and thinking choreography when I hear the fatal words.
"Oh, crap."
Then buddy emerges from that unfinished portion of the room we generously call the "shower" with blood dripping down his forehead and asks for a flashlight. I gently remind him that he's slowly been raiding my tool table and that no such device resides there any longer (I take almost all the strength I have and stifle the urge to mention the tape measure, multimeter, screwdrivers, and electrical tape that have also 'vacated the premises'). Then he divulges the fact that he thinks he's drilled through an electrical wire and severed it.
Fabulous.
File that under "Things I Am Better Off Not Knowing After-The-Fact."
Generally, it is my job to hover about Buddy's shoulders and contribute to the construction discussion with helpful hints such as, "That looks like romex back in there." or "Hang on while I turn the breaker off to this part of the house." But that generally spoils the overall point of these exercises which is to accidentally die of unnatural causes.
However, this isn't really like when I was being yanked backwards by a tree that definitely did NOT want to fall in the direction it was cut to fall. In that case we made every effort to fell the tree in the direction we wanted it to. It just had other ideas in its head. Diametrically opposed to our thoughts, that sucker yanked me and my truck backwards like a yo-yo on a string instead of an SUV on a cable.
Drilling into a wire, though? You pretty much have to do that as close to on purpose as it gets without actually targeting it.
Squib ran through the Mud Hut last night screaming, "We are all going to dieeee!!!"
Maybe he's onto something.
Scat
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Tight
Money is tight around here. So tight, in fact, that I've been stalking every store I could imagine for a huge set of markers at bargain-basement prices. Squib NEEDS them. Like air. I finally found a 24-piece set for $2. Now I shall hover over him like a deatheater threatening to suck the life out of him if the caps are not replaced before each marker touches the table and before another marker is opened. Each. And. Every. Time.
He also requested a journal. How can I possibly deny him that? Obviously I cannot. Thankfully they were on sale as well. He now has new theme book with a silver, glittery cover just like Lewis on Meet the Robinsons.
But I spent four whole dollars! EEK!
So I left them in the sack for a while so as not to feel like I was truly committed to the purchase or anything like that. I did skip lunch while I was out. That was my rationale at the time. Sorta.
It isn't so bad around here that we're starving or turning off the AC/heat or anything. We are counting our change out of the money jars on occasion. Well, one occasion. That particular occasion seemed to convince people that I was not necessarily keeping track of the money we had just for giggles, snorts, and boredom and that, perhaps, they should check to see if we actually had money in the bank before trying to spend it. After all, getting gas with quarters is a sight to behold these days. As is a trip to Walmart.
Not everyone here at Green Acres finds our bookkeeping and budgeting system...how shall I say this...copacetic. Some don't want to have to consult with anyone (or anything) before spending money. At all. Color me baffled there. What if you don't have the money? What if you need it for something else you want more...like food? Since I have been doing the books for a while and/or helping Papa Scat do them, I know he got around that by keeping a huge cushion in the checking account. I now officially understand why he started to panic when the balance started to approach the cushion amount.
Others are just panicking about whether or not their budget items are being considered. As though we're just not going to include them in our accounting? At all. Ever. Good-bye. Nice knowing you. (Seriously??!?)
So....in an effort to prevent terror from reigning across the earth we have to conduct most of the Green Acres Finance Committee business on the porch of the "Big Red House" or in hushed tones in the living room. Meetings are unannounced and conducted while standing. It works sort of like this:
Me: Um, we have $mffthpth.00 in the bank right now and we owe *&^*@#!!, ^%&^##, and @$4%#!!!
Buddy: (Staring. His thinking face is mouth slightly slack and left eyebrow down and right eyebrow
up.)
Me: How do you want to pay for those? You wanted to pay for @$4%#!!! out of Mkmomk, but what about ^%&^##? It's kinda big, too.
This is the part where we stare at each other. It's been proven that staring at each other does NOT generate revenue.
Buddy: (Sighing) Pay for *&^*@#!! and ^%&^## out of Nghgnhg and @$4%#!!! out of Mkmomk. But, wow, we have to watch the balance on Mkmomk really, really closely.
Me: Oh, I'm watching it. (Go off the deep end.)
(There is some eye rolling here on our parts.)
Then, we observe a moment of silence. This is unofficial. We have nothing left to say, but when you know there are things coming down the pike that you have no idea how to handle or even discuss there is sometimes just a weight in the air. In your mind. When you're with someone who is also aware of it you sometimes stand there and inadvertently observe it for a few seconds before you realize you are doing all you can. Then you shake it off and move on. Thus endeth this meeting of the GAFC.
Beanstalk, unlike Squib, is harder to stalk for. His tastes run toward the musical and theatrical. He also breaks out in hives if you bring school (looking) supplies near him after 3:00pm. Just try and find some bargain basement opera. G'head. Go. Look. I did find some cheap-er Andrea Bocceli, but the Bean was not so thrilled with the concert in Tuscany. How was I to know that Andrea chose that particular night to get a little more modern with his sound??! The concert was barely started when Beanstalk was on his feet digging in my back pack (from whence cometh all DVDs, ya know) looking for something--anything--else. It was NOT a good day.
But, perhaps, all is not lost. Or maybe things have taken a turn for the worst. The opera purist has developed a new habit. That's right. The kid who won't listen to music unless it's sung with an earth-shattering vibrato in a language other than English has a new fave. You will never guess this one in a million years, so I'll just have to hit you over the head with it.
Eydie Gorme.
No. Not joking. Why would I even kid around about this? How did his tastes even get there from here? Easy listening muzak. Was it all those rides in hospital elevators? Possible. Very, very possible. Even I had a close encounter with The Girl From Ipanema.
I didn't exactly want to download Andrea Bocceli onto my iTunes because it wasn't my sort of music. I still felt like it was, more-or-less, worth the money but I did balk. Eydie Gorme, however is crossing some sort of line into the realm of ridiculous things to buy a ten year old. At least in my mind. The rational, mommying portion of my brain that knows he's incredibly special and a gifted musician and definitely not like other kids says to spring for the muzzz...yyyeeeahh I can't even type it.
And, Eydie, if by some quirk you read this--nothing personal--not my genre. I had a breif *thing* with Bert Kaempfert's music when I was somewhere around Squib's age and 8-tracks were king. However, my parents were deeply at fault there. And it passed. My son, however, luuuuvs ewe. But, in short, I can't see myself being his dealer for this particular habit.
At least she sings in English. Mostly.
Scat.
He also requested a journal. How can I possibly deny him that? Obviously I cannot. Thankfully they were on sale as well. He now has new theme book with a silver, glittery cover just like Lewis on Meet the Robinsons.
But I spent four whole dollars! EEK!
So I left them in the sack for a while so as not to feel like I was truly committed to the purchase or anything like that. I did skip lunch while I was out. That was my rationale at the time. Sorta.
It isn't so bad around here that we're starving or turning off the AC/heat or anything. We are counting our change out of the money jars on occasion. Well, one occasion. That particular occasion seemed to convince people that I was not necessarily keeping track of the money we had just for giggles, snorts, and boredom and that, perhaps, they should check to see if we actually had money in the bank before trying to spend it. After all, getting gas with quarters is a sight to behold these days. As is a trip to Walmart.
Not everyone here at Green Acres finds our bookkeeping and budgeting system...how shall I say this...copacetic. Some don't want to have to consult with anyone (or anything) before spending money. At all. Color me baffled there. What if you don't have the money? What if you need it for something else you want more...like food? Since I have been doing the books for a while and/or helping Papa Scat do them, I know he got around that by keeping a huge cushion in the checking account. I now officially understand why he started to panic when the balance started to approach the cushion amount.
Others are just panicking about whether or not their budget items are being considered. As though we're just not going to include them in our accounting? At all. Ever. Good-bye. Nice knowing you. (Seriously??!?)
So....in an effort to prevent terror from reigning across the earth we have to conduct most of the Green Acres Finance Committee business on the porch of the "Big Red House" or in hushed tones in the living room. Meetings are unannounced and conducted while standing. It works sort of like this:
Me: Um, we have $mffthpth.00 in the bank right now and we owe *&^*@#!!, ^%&^##, and @$4%#!!!
Buddy: (Staring. His thinking face is mouth slightly slack and left eyebrow down and right eyebrow
up.)
Me: How do you want to pay for those? You wanted to pay for @$4%#!!! out of Mkmomk, but what about ^%&^##? It's kinda big, too.
This is the part where we stare at each other. It's been proven that staring at each other does NOT generate revenue.
Buddy: (Sighing) Pay for *&^*@#!! and ^%&^## out of Nghgnhg and @$4%#!!! out of Mkmomk. But, wow, we have to watch the balance on Mkmomk really, really closely.
Me: Oh, I'm watching it. (Go off the deep end.)
(There is some eye rolling here on our parts.)
Then, we observe a moment of silence. This is unofficial. We have nothing left to say, but when you know there are things coming down the pike that you have no idea how to handle or even discuss there is sometimes just a weight in the air. In your mind. When you're with someone who is also aware of it you sometimes stand there and inadvertently observe it for a few seconds before you realize you are doing all you can. Then you shake it off and move on. Thus endeth this meeting of the GAFC.
Beanstalk, unlike Squib, is harder to stalk for. His tastes run toward the musical and theatrical. He also breaks out in hives if you bring school (looking) supplies near him after 3:00pm. Just try and find some bargain basement opera. G'head. Go. Look. I did find some cheap-er Andrea Bocceli, but the Bean was not so thrilled with the concert in Tuscany. How was I to know that Andrea chose that particular night to get a little more modern with his sound??! The concert was barely started when Beanstalk was on his feet digging in my back pack (from whence cometh all DVDs, ya know) looking for something--anything--else. It was NOT a good day.
But, perhaps, all is not lost. Or maybe things have taken a turn for the worst. The opera purist has developed a new habit. That's right. The kid who won't listen to music unless it's sung with an earth-shattering vibrato in a language other than English has a new fave. You will never guess this one in a million years, so I'll just have to hit you over the head with it.
Eydie Gorme.
No. Not joking. Why would I even kid around about this? How did his tastes even get there from here? Easy listening muzak. Was it all those rides in hospital elevators? Possible. Very, very possible. Even I had a close encounter with The Girl From Ipanema.
I didn't exactly want to download Andrea Bocceli onto my iTunes because it wasn't my sort of music. I still felt like it was, more-or-less, worth the money but I did balk. Eydie Gorme, however is crossing some sort of line into the realm of ridiculous things to buy a ten year old. At least in my mind. The rational, mommying portion of my brain that knows he's incredibly special and a gifted musician and definitely not like other kids says to spring for the muzzz...yyyeeeahh I can't even type it.
And, Eydie, if by some quirk you read this--nothing personal--not my genre. I had a breif *thing* with Bert Kaempfert's music when I was somewhere around Squib's age and 8-tracks were king. However, my parents were deeply at fault there. And it passed. My son, however, luuuuvs ewe. But, in short, I can't see myself being his dealer for this particular habit.
At least she sings in English. Mostly.
Scat.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)