Tag Archives: crap

A bridge too far.


Things have started appearing on our barn porch.



Rusty things.



Old things.



Things that look like my husband chose them.



He swears he didn’t, and since we weren’t home when these things showed up? I have to believe him.

Someone is leaving things on our porch.

Things we don’t need.

We have more than enough things!

So please, whoever did this?

Keep your things to yourself.

And we’re stuffing again.


Work continued on the big barn ceiling insulation project and one corner was finished.



And as I knew would happen, the covered pool table became a repository for stuff.

(Not to be confused with a suppository for stuff, because no one wants the husband’s stuff there.)



On this day I was given the task of hauling more  useless crap  treasure upstairs.




In case you were wondering…. the answer to the question how much stuff is too much stuff?  has yet to be determined.

Christ, there’s even stuff hanging from the rafters.



Antique collectibles…. or torture chamber implements?

Tough call.

But downstairs, stuffing progress was made.



And yes, there’s a bathroom sink on the love seat.



I think it looks quite comfortable, don’t you.

Was it our sink? No.

Did we need an ugly ass shell shaped sink from the 1970’s? No.

But we have it all the same, because….

Say it with me now:

It was free!



One side of the ceiling was fully stuffed when the husband realized he had a problem.

I would tell you his problem was not listening to me 5 years ago when he insisted on putting these ugly, bright as the surface of the sun, fluorescent lights in…



And running them on one electrical line with no junction boxes, but I doubt he would admit it…. because, you know. Men.

But now that he’s outfitting his man cave with a heat pump, insulation and a ceiling …. he’s changed his mind about those ugly ass lights and wants to put up these more attractive, appropriately rustic fixtures instead.



Which is great, except there are no junction boxes and they’re all on the same line.



Not being an electrician, he’s been pondering this predicament for a while…. and was forced to set up temporary lighting. (Which throws an equivalent BTU level as the bonfire at Burning Man. I swear our electric meter was spinning so fast there was smoke…. and the stock holders of Central Maine Power were chortling with glee.)

If he figures this all out without electrocuting himself and/ or burning down the barn, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Well, crap.


And yes, I mean that literally.

Continue at your own risk.

Remember, you were warned.



And I’m not talking about a little poo. No.

To be precise….



It’s a dozen piles of crap.




On top of our stone wall.









All along the top of the wall….






It looks like skunk to me, although why the little devil feels the need to climb up there and poop every night is beyond me.

More stuffing.


When you’re doing a lot of stuffing?

You need a lot of stuff.



Truck loads full of stuff.



Stuff that needs to be dragged across the porch….



Through the little door… (because the big doors are temporarily blocked)



Stuff that has to be carefully maneuvered past all the other indoor stuff….



And stored amongst useless piles of other stuff.

(Yes, that’s a giant metal chicken. It was a gift I can’t seem …or want… to find a place for.)



Once the stuff was in the building, stuffing resumed.

Although there was a bit too much stuff in the way.

So stuff was moved from here..



To here….



But then that stuff was in the way of the temporarily blocked doors and it’s stereo.

Stuff blocking the power button?

No problem.



A pool cue reaches over the massive pile of stuff.

Feel free to roll your eyes.

Because it was free.


That was his reason for coming home with this:



He saw it on the side of the road on his way home from Lowes.



Imagine it.

Someone no longer wanted this filthy, faded, and broken in two places crab sand box.



The husband thought one of our neighbor’s kids would want it, which was thoughtful.

But guess what?

None of them did.

So it shouldn’t surprise you that this is where it ended the day.




Holy crap!



I’m literally going to talk about crap…. and you’re going to wonder why you ever started following me in the first place.



Piles of crap have suddenly begun showing up on our front lawn.



Same spot, by the kitchen door, every morning, totaling 4 piles.



Sorry, I can’t.

Weird as it sounds, we’ve lived here for 18 years and have never had a dog leave a deposit. Ever!

It’s too big for woodchuck or fox. And it’s not skunk. They leave a trail of small black poo nuggets on the driveway.

We have started seeing raccoons late at night, and they do make the rounds.



But I’m thinking coyotes might be setting us up as a rural rest stop.



So if any of my readers are expert scat identifiers?

Now would be the time to weigh in.

*Poop Update –  since writing this the other day.




The count is up to 5 piles, and since it rained…. closer examination of contents was possible.

(Still with me? You really are loyal readers!)





I think we can safely rule out coyote now.

Things my husband does that make me say WTH?


So I went out to the garage a while ago and saw he had moved the snow blower.

And while that in itself isn’t strange…

This was.


truck 1






Yes, that’s a bungee cord with one end hooked to the mirror…..




And the other end hooked to the blower chute.

It took me a minute to realize he did this due to the limited space on his side of the building.

How limited?

Here’s a shot of the back end.








I’d say he had backed up as far as he could.




The more logical solution of throwing out all that crap treasure not withstanding.




I hate to admit it.

I really, really hate to admit it.

But every once in a while, the husband’s giant barn of crap treasure will yield something useful.

Case in point?


That I found buried in a pile of scrap wood yesterday.

Two masks.

And not just any masks…. but the highly sought after virus blocking N 95 masks.

Treasure… in the barn!

Real treasure in these currently difficult times.

Who knew?

A little drip now and then….


Leaking roof saga continued.

Winter is the worst possible time in Maine for your roof to spring a leak … so of course, that’s exactly what’s happened.

Remember when I said I’d cringe every time it rains?



That’s the sound of me cringing.

It poured the other day… and so did our ceiling.




So much so I had to add another pan.

Which drove the husband nuts when he came home…. and because he’s a man and had to do something?




Yeah. He decided to climb up into the attic to see where it was leaking.

Naturally this isn’t as easy as climbing a set of stairs… because no.

Here at Casa River, we like a challenge.




The den closet, home to an overflow of the husband’s useless crap  treasure.

(Yes, he collects old wooden hangers. Don’t you?)




Half of one side had to be emptied and strewn all over the room….




Because the only way to access the crawl space we call an attic is to remove all the shelving and climb up a hole at the top of the closet.




A design paradigm we curse the builders for quite often.




It’s a bit of a nightmare getting up there.




And no, the husband didn’t appreciate me making a Kodak moment out of the experience.




He wasn’t thrilled that I stuck my head up through the hole to offer advice either.

Men. There’s no pleasing you.




But look… I found an antenna from the 1970’s!




Did I mention there’s no actual floor up there? Just a few scattered pieces of particle board that break when you kneel on them.




So after scuttling around like a crab and lying on his back…




And pointing his flashlight near the section of the roof of the addition you can’t access from the crawl space, he did find where the water was coming in. Halfway up the peak, and running down the beams…. which we can find absolutely no reason for.




Doesn’t this look like fun?




Especially since there’s not a damned thing you can do about it until spring when you can rip off the shingles to find the bad spot.




Meanwhile I’ll have this lovely and ever expanding wart to look at.

And every time I do?

I hear a cash register.










Oh, good grief.


Try as I might to avoid it, sometimes I have to go upstairs in our barn.

This usually forces me to emit a heavy sigh over the husband’s new acquisitions.

You know,  the ones he snuck in there without me noticing.




While I was pleasantly surprised to see he’d done a little organizing (read – shoved everything to the sides) and the floor was visible this time….




And also delighted to see a small section of crap had been put on a shelf.

A shelf!



(What? You don’t collect dusty old water stained cardboard boxes half full of rusty rivets and tacks…

Why ever not?)

A groan did escape me when I saw more bed frames….




And old rusty pesticide sprayers…




As well as whatever the hell this is in front of the vintage cabbage slicers.




I’m thinking I should make him use that in the baby barn to level out the dirt floor.

You know, as penance for bringing the damn thing home in the first place.



I  wish I knew.

And if you’re thinking to yourself, geesh River, that didn’t look so bad…. let me point your eye downstairs where it looks like this:




And this:




And this:




Enough said.