Not much exciting or even mildly humorous to report now. And if you’ve ever done drywall mudding you’ll know why.
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It’s a tedious time consuming process made even more unenjoyable by the fact that it all has to be done over our contractor’s head. My shoulders and neck are spasming just thinking about it.
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Scrape, tape, mud, smooth, let dry.
Repeat.
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The fact that it keeps raining and the dew point is high makes the quick dry mud anything but so a fan has been strategically placed to aid the process.
I was born in Jersey and lived there until I was 15. I don’t look like Carmela Soprano or a blinged out housewife, no leopard print leggings or teased shellacked hair … but I did retain a bit of New Jersey twang in my speech (think dawg and cawfee) and I’m most definitely a fast talker.
Jersey people have places to go and people to dump in the Meadowlands swamp, we don’t like wasting time with slow conversation .
Work continued on day 5, with the focus on prepping the surface for drywall.
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We have one of those stupid popcorn ceilings and I’m not lying when I say it makes a mess.
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But by the end of the day it was sufficiently scraped… and drywall covered the giant hole.
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By removing all those stupid little pieces of useless plywood the contractor found up there, he was able to give the beam a much lower and less defined profile than it had before .
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It’s still there, but no where near as deep, which is nice.
Next step will be mudding. (Which spellcheck just changed to muffins. You can never go wrong with muffins, but I don’t think they’d give us nearly the smooth finish we’re hoping for.)
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The end should be in sight now…
Though I know His Lordship is going to miss the plastic room.
Though my husband isn’t crazy about their food, I finally wore him down enough for another evening at one of my favorite cocktail bars, The Blind Pig.
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Located in downtown Gardiner…
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In a lovely old brick building…
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With a terraced outdoor seating section…
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We made straight for the bar… because that’s where the magic happens. The Pig’s cocktail list is epic and changes with the seasons. I started with a pear mojito because it’s my go to there and never disappoints.
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Luckily the salmon baked in parchment paper with roasted fingerlings and asparagus tickled my spouse’s tastebuds so much he agreed to rethink his previous Blind Pig ban.
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I had a yummy lamb bolognese, and because we were sitting under a pig wearing a pink cowboy hat…
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A blackberry lavender margarita as well.
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Dessert was homemade lemon blueberry cake…
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Which the husband didn’t like and I was forced to finish by myself.
Things started out well early that morning with Lord Dudley Mountcatten innocently gazing at the plastic room.
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Yes, I’m talking about you.
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He knows he’s not supposed to go in there, so of course it’s the only place he wants to be…
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And before long our smiling, happy contractor was busy replacing the insulation and installing strapping for the sheet rock.
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By mid afternoon he had both sides of the beam done…
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And the ceiling was ready for the next phase.
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Which is when he hit a snag.
Thankfully it wasn’t with the project per se, but when it started drizzling outside and he set up his saw in the garage to stay dry… things went a little haywire.
We love Tom. He’s a very clean and conscientious worker. So when he started cutting things in the garage, he turned on his shop vac to suck up the sawdust and splinters at the same time… but in doing so he also overloaded our sometimes squirrelly electrical system and knocked out power to the entire garage and part of my laundry room.
This resulted in a solid hour of trying to figure out why.
Thankfully Tom knows his way around electricity and after removing a few outlets, testing various circuits and doing a whole lot of other things I can’t explain…. he had it up and running again and would be able to resume work.
Until my husband came home a few minutes later and decided it was time to call it quits and consume adult beverages in the man cave.
No sheet rock was installed that day.
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But at least we had garage lights to illuminate our way home.
Excess wood… that served no purpose other than to act as useless shims… was removed, and everything was repositioned, leveled and put back where it should be.
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Extra heavy duty hangers were installed on both sides…
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And all the rafters were secured to the beam as they should have been 30 years ago.
When the contractor left for the day?
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His Lordship was on the move.
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He thinks we put up the plastic room just for him.
The author wrote a poem from a template and after reading hers I knew I had to do the same. To honor my parents. To relive my idyllic childhood. To reflect on the varied ancestors who had come before.
It was a bittersweet journey of remembrance and I’d love for you to do the same.
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Where I’m from.
I am from the well worn but oh so comfortable reading chair in the library.
From Stewarts Root Beer floats and Fralingers salt water taffy.
I am from brick walls and polished slate floors. The solid, firm foundation that wrapped me in a warm embrace.
I am from the central rose garden. Fragrantly scenting the air… delicate, yet able to survive the storms.
I’m from magical Christmas Eves in NYC. From never losing your temper and treating everyone with respect.
From Lovey and Lottie Mae.
I’m from a stiff upper lip and a dry sense of humor.
From don’t take any wooden nickels to follow your dreams.
I’m from quiet personal faith, the kind that doesn’t need a church to know right from wrong.
I’m from a serene English garden transplanted to the middle of suburbia, from bangers and mash to boeuf bourguignon.
From painful separation on Ellis Island. From family betrayal and loss of legacy. From the sacrifice required to hold a family together. From the triumph of perseverance, hard work and above all… love.
I’m from the wall of framed pictures that line our hall… and from that beautifully bound and gold monogrammed navy leather photo album, brittle with age but continuing to hold us together.
The faces and places. The history of a lineage whose many parts came together to form…. me.
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Here’s a link to the template if you’d like to try your hand at poetry.
They say don’t knock it till you’ve tried it… but I’m going to pass on that particular experience.
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I blog more than anyone I know, but even I don’t need that.
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To hell with music, fame and the rest… I just want to know where she got the seeds for that fabulous garden.
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72%? Sure, that’s close enough for surgery. A 28% chance of losing something vitally important seems worth the risk.
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Turns out it does. Men are thrilled and claiming the heatwaves covering half the country have increased the size of their members. For these overly proud men… I have one word.
Thermoregulation.
Winter is going to be such a disappointment.
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I should know better than to click on penis stories.
I really should…
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 