Tag Archives: barn

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Is it possible to die laughing?

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After hanging a seasonly appropriate wreath on the Barn Mahal’s door, I wandered inside.

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Which is where I found my husband knee deep in nostalgia and flipping through his high school yearbook.

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First we smiled at the graduation photo.

The hair. The prominent ears. The innocence of youth.

But then…

Then he showed me something I will never be able to erase from my memory.

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My husband… was a … gymnast?

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And not just any gymnast. No.

He was a covered from head to toe in silver paint gymnast.

What. The….

What????

He can’t remember exactly why they struck that pose…. But that’s him, crouching on the lower right.

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And I’m afraid the image is burned onto my retinas and into my frontal lobe.

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Hooking.

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No, not that kind.

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This kind:

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Ring the Bull is a traditional hook and ring game played in sports bars, ski lodges and quaint watering holes all over the world.

And it has a very long history in British pub culture.

In fact, legend has it that English Crusaders brought the game back from Jerusalem in the 12th century.

If you happen to play Ring the Bull at Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, the oldest inn in England (1189 AD), you just might be experiencing the true origins of this game.

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Ringing the Bull (also known as Ring Toss or Hook and Ring) is a simple game in concept, but it definitely takes some skill and requires careful concentration. The hallmark of any great bar game. 

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In most set ups, the metal ring is attached to a rope, hanging from a ceiling by a rafter or other means. The object of the game is then to swing the ring and try to land it on the hook.

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This game looks simple but can be challenging.

And after a few toddies? It’s damn near impossible… at least for me.

Of course after a set number of toddies walking and talking is as well, so what do I know?

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Vintage recycling.

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Since I multi purposed our giant crock as a trash can, I decided I wanted something equally fun and antiquey for returnables.

You would think shopping in my husband’s vast array of crap stuff would yield the appropriate receptacle, but sadly nothing was found. Which is when my spouse gleefully suggested we visit the antique mall.

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I was on a mission and didn’t dilly dally. The same can not be said for my spouse.

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I moved him quickly away from this horror…

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Because right now the only thing the barn Mahal doesn’t have is a kitchen sink… and I wasn’t taking any chances.

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Fresh lobster made us laugh. There’s nothing worse than cheeky crustaceans.

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I had my eye on that wagon to the right. But at $520 it seemed a bit pricey for empty beer bottles.

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Even the chicken thought so.

And then I found it…

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Buried in the back and full of oars.

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$50 later…. the old barrel with original lid… made a perfect returnable container.

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The search continues.

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The search for appropriate height bar chairs goes on.

And on.

And on……

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After 4 more stores  we found one.

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The husband gave it  a test drive and was less than thrilled, with the design and the comfort level, but at that point we were ready to settle. Problem was that chair was the only one….  in the entire store. None in the back. None at the factory.

But this?

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This you could buy 5 times over.

Wow.

The 70’s are calling…. they want their velvet back.

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We found this chair at the next store. It was the right height, but had a tiny seat that was surely designed by the Marquis de Sade.

At the 6th store we visited that day, when we despaired of ever finding anything… we sucked it up and realized we’d have to pay a small fortune and go custom.

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Working with a salesman, we chose this.

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I won’t tell you what they cost per, but trust me….. it was enough to make you catch your breath.

So just when we were ready to pluck down a massive down payment to get the ball rolling, we were told that due to the pandemic….. the wait time on production was 12 plus weeks.

We’d have to wait 3 months to sit at our bar? Damn.

I didn’t like it…. but I liked the swivel, large seated, comfortable, attractive option so I was willing.

Husband on the other hand, was not.

The search continues.

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Beer run!

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Are we the only people who wait for a wind driven snow to make an hour long trip to the nearest military exchange to buy beer?

Probably.

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But look! They sell beer soap too.

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As well as this evil spirit I discovered when we lived down south.

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Purple Passion was my neighbor’s favorite and when I drank 5 or 6 of them because they tasted like Kool Aid? I was sorry.

Very, very sorry.

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Beer shopping with my husband sometimes gets out of hand.

7 six packs and a case of hard cider later?

He came home with a little something extra for the barn.

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*Gulp*

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Shopping is not for the faint hearted.

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Our search for 30 inch tall bar chairs has begun.

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And it’s not going well.

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24 inch counter height chairs abound.

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But apparently no one else (builds a two story barn with a farmer’s porch for storage, decides they rather have a spectacular man cave, spends endless months and thousands of dollars making it attractive, contracts out construction of a full bar and) needs taller than normal chairs.

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11 furniture stores later?

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Liquid sustenance at our local pub, and the husband came home with these instead.

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I’m seriously beginning to wonder if he’s going to live out there.

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A bar is born!

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We came home from the grocery store yesterday and found this:

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The contractor had been at work in the barn and started the bar!

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My husband was thrilled… but had to check the measurements to be sure.

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Can you picture me standing back there mixing margaritas?

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I’ve been battling for a nicely stained finish but the husband is trying to cheap out and go natural. I fear neither of us will be fully satisfied… but at least we’ll have someplace sturdy to belly up to soon.

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On second thought, don’t. Some things are simply too frightening to contemplate.

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And then there was beer.

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The man cave refrigerator came in a week earlier than planned and my husband rushed right out to the store to pick it up.

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We had our doubts it would fit through the small door…

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But the husband managed to wiggle it in.

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And then refused my help….

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While proceeding to crab walk it across the floor.

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Packing removed..

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And plugged in..

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It was determined to be the perfect repository for the husband’s delicate handmade airplane.

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Let the stocking begin!

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*gulp*

Perhaps we should have bought a bigger one.

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And now we throw sharp objects at a wall.

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The man cave has a pool table.. and will soon be filled with beer.

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So naturally it needs sharp projectiles.

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And a regulation distance marker to stand behind when hurling them.

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Why not the sign we bought after we literally stood on the corner in Winslow Arizona?

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Dart board cabinet installation complete….

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The husband proceeded to kick my ass in our inaugural game.

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Yes, that’s a triple 20 pointer…. twice. But splitting the damn dart?

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No one likes a show off.

And during game number two?

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He did it again.

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Hell, after a toddy or two I’m lucky if I can hit the wall, no less aim for and hit the same spot.

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As evidenced by this shot that stuck in the floor.

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Cheers!

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Going, going… gone.

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Now that the man cave/ barn Mahal is starting to shape up? The husband wanted things out. My things that is.

Our old loveseat has been stored in there for years, and I was sad to see it go because it’s wicked comfortable and matched the walls quite well.

I voted for keeping it as you can never have too many comfy kick back with a beer or cocktail places to sit, but was instantly over ruled.

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The first person turned out to be the in-law of the man who stained our barn, so goodbye loveseat.

The next thing he made me get rid of was the driftwood tree. He’s been squawking about it’s removal for months now and no matter how much I tried to convince him it would be a unique addition to the barn decor?

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The minute I listed it? Three women were fighting over it. Guess I should have sold it instead.

So two of the things I wanted to keep were gone…. and guess what was added?

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A turkey foot that flips you off.

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This was a retaliation gift for the plaque I made the previous owner of the pool table after my husband beat him badly at the first game. They insisted the foot and plaque accompany the table…. so we’re now the proud owners of a petrified foot.

What do you want to bet we’re the only house on our block with one of those?

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