All posts by Rivergirl

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Another miracle.

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Strange things are happening at Casa River this year.

First, the husband wanted to clean out the big barn  ( Okay, he didn’t really. It was just a bit of organizing… but I’m counting it.)

Second, the husband helped me make a garden bed.  ( I would have laid money on that never happening. )

And a week ago…

 

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I looked out back….

 

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And saw the husband planting a tree.

Planting! Not chopping down.

Somewhere in America, pigs are flying.

 

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Okay, he didn’t buy them.

 

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And only one of the three stands taller than my knee, but hey.

It’s still a miracle.

 

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He dug them up from the wood line and I seriously doubt he got enough roots to make them viable…. which is why I told him they were going to need lots of water for the first few weeks.

 

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Shall I give you one guess who has to drag that water to the far reaches of our property line because we only have 200 feet of hose and it won’t reach?

Yeah.

I didn’t think so.

Apparently even miracles have limits.

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Behold the majesty.

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The majesty  (and the God damn miracle I’m not divorced)  that is the completed baby barn remodel.

And yes even though it’s as small as a shed, there was a horse living in it before we moved in, so it’s a barn.

A baby barn.

And I have the hay holder thingies to prove it.

 

 

Please note ‘hay holder thingies’ may not be the correct equine term, but I was born in Jersey. The only thing I know about horses is who placed in the fourth at Belmont.

We started with this….

 

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And finished with this….

 

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Looks a little better than before, eh?

No comments on the empty garden bed, that has yet to be redone.

Before….

 

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After…

 

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Before….

 

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After….

 

 

And to think it only took us a 10 mere months.

 

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Which shouldn’t be a surprise.

We started it’s larger father in 2012…. and haven’t really finished that yet either.

 

rush

 

Yup.

That’s our motto.

 

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I love trees.

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So, can you see it?

 

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Look closely now.

 

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Not until you get near enough to look up.

 

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There.

The neighbor’s tree adjacant tree house, hidden from sight by trees.

I love trees.

 

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Here’s the husband for size reference, holding the enemy of trees. The chain saw birthday gift I’ve lived to regret.

I neither know, nor want to find out what he was cutting down there.

I shall just enjoy the leaf cover those glorious trees provide.

And maybe do this –

 

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Grocery store oddity.

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Yesterday was a relatively uneventful trip…. which is almost anticlimactic at this point. It’s been such a rich source of blog fodder these past few months.

There was ample toilet paper, meat and soup so maybe the panic buying is finally subsiding.

There was however this sign –

 

 

And while I consider my vocabulary larger than your average bear’s, aseptic juice did give me pause.

To my mind the words and septic and juice are not a good mix, for obvious reasons.

Because if I’m thirsty? I don’t usually head for the tank out back that holds our bodily wastes.

 

 

But thankfully the word aseptic has a different meaning:

Aseptic processing is a processing technique wherein commercially thermally sterilized liquid products are packaged into previously sterilized containers under sterile conditions to produce shelf-stable products that do not need refrigeration. 

Whew… that was close.

My Ocean Spray cranberry almost got crossed off the list.

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What’s all the fuss about?

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I heard some Hellacious  (Yes, that’s a word. At least in Maine.) chattering the other afternoon.

 

 

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Looked out back…

 

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And saw momma red squirrel perched on the plant hanger.

 

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She was flicking her tail and screeching like a Hollywood starlet who ran out of Botox.

 

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She screeched so hard a seed fell out of her mouth.

 

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It only took me a minute to figure out why.

 

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The other visitor.

 

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No worries readers, momma escaped unharmed.

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Stupid products.

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They’re everywhere.

 

 

 

Call me crazy, but I doubt this chicka is beating the men off with a stick.

 

Do I need to feel like Judy Jetson when I dispose of that slightly blue, mold covered cucumber that got pushed to the back of the crisper drawer?

No.

I do not.

 

 

Again with the space age crap. If I don’t know what year it is when I wake up?

I need to stop drinking, not buy a new clock.

 

 

Oh, yeah. These are sexy.

Perhaps she can double date with that hot Trekkie at the top.

 

 

Zero gravity?

I’m pretty sure if I ever find myself there, writing a grocery list or a thank you note won’t be my top priority.

 

 

And while I don’t need a dehydration light to flash in my water bottle…. this product might have adult beverage applications.

“Drink! You’re starting to sober up!”

Okay.

I’d buy that.

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I needed a holiday from the holiday.

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Our last day of the long Memorial Day weekend meant a morning of yard work.

 

 

Tag team mowing with the husband on his new toy and me slogging along with the old push mower.

It was a gorgeous day.

 

 

The pear tree was blooming.

 

 

The mallows I’d planted were thriving.

 

 

And everything had finally turned green.

 

 

Except the baby barn which I decided to start painting that afternoon.

Let me preface this by saying I used to love to paint.

I used to.

Until I had to use an artist’s tiny brush around all the nooks, corners, flashing and crooked angles on that beast.

 

 

 

Did I wear some paint, get covered in dirt, rip my pants, tumble off a ladder and work until almost 8:00 at night?

Yes I did.

 

 

But paint was applied.

 

 

And covered a multitude of sins.

 

 

Three sides done, one to go!

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Barn doors and a cocktail..

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Memorial Day weekend Sunday found us back at the baby barn attempting to build it’s doors.

 

 

And as with every other part of that little building from Hell, it did not go smoothly.

 

 

I should probably point out that the husband and I do not always work well together. I’m a planner, a lister, an organizer who has all my tools and materials ready before I begin a job.

Husband is a spur of the moment, work on the fly and make do with what’s laying around type of guy.

He wants to get it done, I want it to look good. So I felt the need to sketch out the door design. Very technically as you can see…

 

 

Should the cross pieces resemble a Christmas tree, a diamond or the German SS insignia?

Decisions had to be made.

 

 

So a double Z was chosen.

 

 

Did the doors fit perfectly?

Of course not.

 

 

But after I slapped on just enough paint to install the hardware…

 

 

We discovered just how badly they didn’t fit.

 

 

Which was when the husband really got aggravated…. and I did what any sane wife would do.

 

 

I grabbed cocktail in a can…

 

 

And went to sit on the big barn porch.

 

 

Close enough that I could hear him hollering for me….

 

 

But far enough away to be out of frustration range.

 

 

And look who joined me.

 

 

Clearly there were no hard feelings from the traumatic baby ousting the day before.

Of course by the time I finished my cocktail and things had quieted down enough at the baby barn for me to return….

 

 

I realized that he’d put my door handles too closely together.

Did I tell him?

 

 

I did not.