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My weekly skunking of the husband at Scrabble in the Barn Mahal continues. And now? Even the tiles are getting in on the fun…
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Yes, those were really the letters I drew. And it’s pretty much what I did to the husband in game number one.
Not to be out done, our second game’s tiles had their say as well.
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My last four letters said it all.
Sorry, dear. I only do what the tiles tell me…
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Required picture of new family member Lord Dudley Mountcatten.
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And yes, I have to report that Ball Wash is back.
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And speaking of hanging, the other day the husband and I were out in the barn and I wanted to play an album. This is not as easy as you might think…. considering the husband put the stereo as close to the ceiling as humanly possible.
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Vinyl could get interesting after a few toddies. Stay tuned.
And finally, birds. In winter. In Maine.
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I’m guessing it kind of sucks.
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While cleaning out my husband’s junk drawer the other day (yes we all have them, but his had reached the point of overflow and wouldn’t shut… so intervention was necessary) I found a treasure.
Buried under the detritus of old coin wrappers, matchbook covers and dozens of scraps of paper with nameless phone numbers was this:
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Wow.
That’s my much younger husband on the right (wearing an outfit I’ve thankfully never seen him sporting) next to his cousin Cindy. Why this cringe worthy photo hadn’t previously surfaced in our 37 years of wedded bliss is a mystery…. but I’m guessing it’s a picture he wasn’t very fond of.
And that my friends is where he went wrong. Hate the photo? Get rid of it…. because if you don’t, your wife might post it on Facebook and then prominently display it in your man cave.
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We had a pretty spectacular coating of ice a few days ago.
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And I wish my taken while driving but don’t tell anyone photos did it more justice.
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As dangerous as it can be….
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When your whole world is sparkling?
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It’s nothing short of fabulous.
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When we travel and drink, the husband likes to get a glass from the bars and restaurants he’s enjoyed. Since we used to do this quite often… we’ve amassed a large collection of glasses. Some of them are in the house but most of them have migrated out to the barn. And though we’ve stuffed the freezer compartment of the beer fridge with frosty ready to fill receptacles….
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There was still a large portion waiting for a home.
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And a whole lotta paper destined for the fireplace.
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Sadly the husband’s aborted little two foot shelves don’t offer much useable space.
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And once the double tap kegerator is installed things will be even tighter.
Roy Scheider was right.
We should have built a bigger bar.
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I like tea.
I like beer.
I don’t want my tea to taste like beer or my beer to taste like tea… so, why?
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The best liquid ever?
I beg to differ.
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Good grief, it’s not even alcoholic… what’s the point?
And here’s another puzzler I saw in the grocery store snack aisle.
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No cheese cheesiness?
No.
Just, no.
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We started with these 3 foot long shelves under the bar.
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They’re floating shelves… and while they technically don’t float, they are an absolute pain in the ass to install. So when I told the husband I wanted two more on the adjacent bar wall, he was less than thrilled but agreed they were necessary. Of course then the stupid electrician put the new outlets too high up on the wall to install 3 foot shelves at the same height as the others. That’s when the war began.
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I was fine with moving the bottom shelf higher.
The husband was not. Which resulted in a major kerfluffle.
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We disagreed on placement…. and though I had won the 4 versus 3 custom liquor bottle shelves battle, this war ended differently.
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Busy with other things we put this chore on the back burner… or so I thought until the husband disappeared one afternoon and I found him under the bar. Removing my 3 foot shelves and all their contents.
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Unbeknownst to me, he had returned my 3 foot shelves to the store and come home with the 2 foot versions instead. I told him I didn’t want 2 foot shelves. That it would look off balance and not provide enough space.
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To which he paid no attention and proceeded to install the stubby 2 foot shelves. He was determined they fit right into the corner and ripped out the nice trim piece I had our contractor install. When I looked displeased, he assured me they would line up perfectly with the existing shelves and look great.
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I think you know how that went.
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They didn’t line up, despite the numerous hours he cursed like a drunken sailor tinkered with them.
No matter what he did, the new shelves rose slightly above the older ones and wouldn’t lay flat.
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His solution?
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A few pieces of too thick moldy old wood from under the baby barn…. to bring them together.
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Which makes me wonder what part of the invisible bracket floating shelf aesthetic he didn’t understand.
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I’m hoping once we get the double tap kegerator in there the unbalanced shelves won’t be quite so noticeable.
But either way, there’s still not enough room.
😒
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten to be precise.
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Our new little guy still goes under the bed and shies away from loud noises…
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But when he’s out and about he’s a sweetie. And a bit of a goofball.
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With enough of the typical you were put on this planet to serve me cattitude to warrant his name.
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One minute he’s a cuddle bug, the next he runs away when we walk in the room. I have a feeling this little guy saw some trauma along the way. Patience will be required.
💕
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Now that my seemingly endless supply of liquor bottles were strategically arranged on the custom made shelves…. it was time to get down to business.
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Cocktail business.
We have a favorite restaurant in Kennebunk that we haven’t visited for over a year. *insert audible sigh here* (The bartender is an old client of my husband’s and he’s been known to have a liberal pouring hand. I like that in a man.) My very favorite drink is made there and seeing that it’s won awards, I’m clearly not the only one who loves it.
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Calling it the nectar of the gods doesn’t begin to describe it’s mood elevating goodness, but trust me… it’s close.
So when our barn bar was being planned, built and outfitted? This divine concoction was never far from my mind.
Having never made one, I searched the web for a recipe but only came up with an ingredient list. Being out of Triple Sec I substituted Grand Marnier… and not knowing their homemade sour ingredients, I had to settle for bottled.
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The results were satisfying… if nowhere near the ambrosia level of the original.
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Bad Martha grudgingly approved, but said it still needed a little tweeking.
* side note – my iPhone’s spellcheck changed tweeking to twerking three times… to which Bad Martha thoroughly approves. *
Cocktail in hand, it was time to whip the husband.
At Scrabble! My name is not Martha.
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Game number one gave me a series of disastrous letters…. but I prevailed.
And the beginning of game number two?
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Didn’t begin much better.
( To answer your inevitable question… yes, I drew a ‘c’ Yes, I used that word. And yes, the husband added an ‘ed’ because in the end? He knew he was. )
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Let’s word.
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My birth year seems to have been full of scientific additions that mean absolutely nothing to me.
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But dragon fruit? I had a martini made from those once and it was lovely.
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Elevator music? Great, the next time Barry Manilow comes on at the mall everyone will blame me.
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Fetal position? I’m ashamed to say I have assumed that after a night of too many martinis…. and it was far from lovely.
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Hotdog? Now that I think about it my mother always called them frankfurters. Maybe she was a Rocky Horror Picture Show fan after all.
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And finally Japanese quail, which now that I think about it…. looks a little bit like me after a years worth of non stop Covid lockdown cooking and eating.
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River's world..... 