Remember the long searched for door we bought the other day?
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The one the salesman assured us was rated for exterior use?
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Turns out it wasn’t.
And according to our contractor, it’s not even close.
Of course it wasn’t what we needed. This is a renovation project at ourhouse where all attempts to improve things are doomed.
Destined to fail.
And more than likely cursed by an angry pickle God.
As I said previously, I’m done. We will take this useless door back to the store and send our contractor out to buy the next one. Maybe he’ll have better luck.
It’s a sad irony that the following post was scheduled for today. A mere 41 hours after a gunman murdered 18 of my fellow Mainers.
Our beloved state is still reeling from the shock and my area is still sheltering in place. Crazy times.
My neighbor posted this on FB today.
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Another child has lost another parent. It’s heartbreaking… and no state, no city, no town can ever be immune.
We thought we were.
We were wrong.
And now… my post.
Even with all the bad luck we’ve been having trying to renovate our house, there’s no place I’d rather make my home than Maine. It’s laid back, scenically beautiful, has abundant seafood and the most craft breweries per capita in the nation.
Here are a few other reasons I love it.
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That’s my kind of library.
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Thanks mom.
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Someday I’m going to have to drive by this woman’s house and take a peek at her gardens. Judging from the amount of flowers she gives away, it must be amazing.
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Halloween is right around the corner and these are some pretty impressive arachnids.
When the world is simply too much… what’s on your plate?
For me, it’s homemade macaroni and cheese with a buttery crumb topping. The ooey, gooey packed with fat and carbs, no such thing as too much cheese kind. I may not be able to fit into my jeans after I eat it… but I’ll be smiling when I reach for my stretchy pants.
I’m sure by now you’ve all heard of the crazed gunman on the loose in Maine. He shot and killed 18 people yesterday at two locations in a town a half an hour from us.
My husband’s cousin bowls at the site of the first shooting.
The gunman’s car was found abandoned less than a quarter mile from my husband’s other cousin’s house.
A third cousin is a police officer tasked with searching for the killer.
We have friends and family in harms way.
As I write this we are still under shelter in place orders in our town.
In Maine.
Where this sort of thing doesn’t happen.
Until now.
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I read the following on a woman from Maine’s Facebook page today. It says everything you need to know about us.
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Ah, Maine.
Majestic, beautiful, glorious Maine.
We live here not because it’s the most convenient, or because there is an abundance of opportunity for great success…
In fact, it’s the opposite, really. It takes forever to get anywhere, and don’t get us started on the weather…or, please do because we secretly love to talk about it, argue and complain about it.
We live here because our hearts are here. We are Mainers.
We live here because even though Maine is ‘YUGE,’ if someone asks, “Do you know ‘So and So’ from whatever town you’ve said you’re from, chances are we do know ‘em. Sure we do!
We live here because we can live through blizzards and freezing temperatures every year, and won’t hesitate to help shovel out our neighbors or push strangers cars out of snow banks…even if we are wearing pajamas and slippers.
Mainers.
We wear shorts until it snows and roll our windows down as soon as we hit 40 degrees in April…a tough breed, if you will.
We think you’re weird if you don’t like Lobster or if you’ve never heard of Fluff…but we’ll talk to strangers like we’ve known them forever, hold the door and wish them a good day.
When anyone from outside of Maine asks where we are from, we just say, ‘Portland’ because, well…you know.
We live here. We love here. We know each other and love each other.
Mainers.
We wanted to think that this could or would never happen here.
We are blindsided today.
We are stunned, scared, confused, sad, pissed, worried and feeling all of it.
But we are feeling it together.
Our eyes have been cruelly opened and our magnificent state is forever changed.
But we have not changed. Our Mainer hearts are still beating together.
We need each other more today than maybe ever before.
None of us are alone, you are not alone.
Reach out to neighbors today, help whomever needs it. Keep your pajamas and slippers on if you want, grab a Dunks and be a Mainer.
Pray and send positive thoughts to the victims, thank law enforcement, first responders and healthcare workers. Give blood.
When the dust settles and the devastation lessens in time, we will all still have each other. And together we will be ok again…
I didn’t think living with a dead microwave would bother me very much…. until I spent a few days living with a dead microwave.
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Reheat that leftover for lunch? Nope.
Quick cup of tea? Uh uh.
The recipe calls for melted butter? Better fire up the stove.
Turns out I actually do use the microwave I thought I never used. Who knew?
When it comes to replacing small appliances, I’m a tactile shopper. You can’t tell the heft and quality of a product from scrolling a website… so off we went. Bed Bath and Beyond stores are gone. Sears is dead. The mall is over an hours drive away. We tried Wal Mart and Target but both had cheap feeling crap so the husband suggested we go to the nice kitchen store where he bought the dead before it’s time, counter space hogging oven we needed to heave.
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Now You’re Cooking is one of those pricey specialty kitchen stores where you’ll find every gadget, geegaw and countertop cluttering gizmo you want but never need. (Yes silicon egg separator shaped like a frog, I’m talking to you)
We were pleasantly greeted at the door and lead to the appropriate aisle. When we explained our situation and said that my husband had purchased the old microwave here, the salesperson immediately asked his name and looked on the computer.
Miracle of all miracles… the silly thing was still under full warranty. If we brought it in we could have a brand new one free of charge.
I can’t tell you how happy this made me. Finally! Something was going our way.
So we beat feet home, grabbed the dead micro and drove back to surrender it. The husband was all for swapping it out with the same model but I chose to go with a slightly smaller version. Counter space is precious in our house.
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It still has his precious self closing door, and we even had a sweet $100 store credit to boot.
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With which I bought the mini Cuisinart food processor I’ve been eyeing for months.
Since our contractor has to wait for the window company service reps to inspect that particular nightmare, he’s decided to replace the bedroom door now instead of later.
To recap… the door.
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Nothing special, just a regular door.
As I said earlier we wanted to replace it with something like this, though not in brown.
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Just a pretty little window at the top. How hard could that be?
After our multiple trips to Lowes with inadequate dimensions the other day, I had the contractor pull off the trim and take the rough opening measurements himself.
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I even had him fill out the form and check all the boxes so there would be no doubt.
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Height, width, depth and swing.
Those are the four things you need to know to purchase the correct size. I thought we were home free.
I was wrong.
Of all the doors they had in stock, and trust me… we checked all of them… not one could check all four of our boxes.
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We spent over an hour and a half driving the sales guys nuts looking for one with a window before we had to change gears and settle for the same type of plain 6 panel door we currently have.
Boo to that.
Of course it wasn’t easy finding one of those in the correct size either. After another half hour of searching the hundred doors they had in stock? We found two.
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The one on the bottom shelf had busted up trim, the one we made the salesman drag down from up top? Had a massive dent on the front.
At this point I was ready to call it quits, grab a piece of plywood and go home to seal up the bedroom wall.
But from the corner of my eye, way down the aisle, in a different section… away from every other GD door we’d looked at… was a row of fire safe doors. I asked if this door was suitable for an exterior entry and was assured it was.
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Yes. It was more expensive. (I didn’t care)
Yes, the trim would have to be purchased separately and more work would be required to install it. (I didn’t care)
It was the right height, width, depth and swing.
All four boxes checked.
Thank you Jesus. We grabbed it and ran out the door.
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Straight to our local pub where I consoled myself with a few positively scrumptious apple cider margaritas.
If something is wrong with this door when the contractor starts the replacement process?
When last I posted, we had two faulty new windows installed and were waiting on a store rep inspector.
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Call me picky, but I prefer to look through the glass of our new expensive windows, not out the side.
I feared we would have to wait a week for anyone to show up, but was pleasantly surprised when the rep arrived the day after the request.
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Our contractor took him through all the installation steps he’d performed and the rep was convinced the trouble was with the windows themselves. Apparently this is the first step in resolving the issue.
As I said, we chose good, highly rated expensive windows. And since the rep told us his company was the largest supplier of Marvin windows in the state… he guaranteed satisfaction.
He said there’s a chance the factory installed the wrong track for this particular model. It’s an unusual occurrence, but shit happens. And if shit is going to happen? You know damn well it’s going to happen to the windows that we ordered because our house is nothing if not cursed when it comes to renovation projects.
So… the rep put in a request for the next level of service and now we wait for a special installer to come out and assess the problem. If it’s just the tracks? He can switch them out and we continue on our merry way. If it’s a more serious flaw, new windows will have to be made, which means another long wait and us dealing with drafty windows with winter approaching.
My fingers are crossed for option number one. But the way this cursed house fights back? I’m not holding out much hope.
Of all the awful real life pickle abominations my algorithms make me view, I finally found one worth my time.
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The Pickle Sisters!
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This was just silly enough to be true…they didn’t call them the roaring twenties without reason…. but sadly it wasn’t. Further research showed it to be a complete fallacy.
Very disappointing, that.
I mean, look how beautiful they are in technicolor.
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
