We’re still waiting for the oh so special Marvin window reps to grace us with their presence and friends, let me tell you… things are starting to get real up in here.
Last night the temps dropped into the 30’s and the wind blew for hours. And when I say it blew… I mean right into the bedroom through the gaps in the faulty windows that are on either side of our bed.
Cold drafts on my neck? Yes.
High pitched whistling that woke me up at 2:09am? You betcha.
Now I don’t know about you, but I am not my best self at 2:09am. Being a lifelong insomniac means the hours between 1 and 3 are pretty much the only ones I can guarantee to be deeply asleep. So when I have to get up and scramble around the bedroom in the dark looking for something to plug the leaks?
It’s not going to be pretty.
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If you notice anything odd about the picture I took this morning it will be on the right hand side.
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Because at 2:09am in the bedroom in the dark?
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Socks is what I found to plug the drafty whistling windows.
Jesus wept.
This is my life now.
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At daybreak I did manage to rustle up some foam weatherstripping from the utility closet.
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But like every other piece of bad luck I’ve been having, there wasn’t quite enough.
When my husband goes out of town for a few days? I get busy cleaning and organizing. It’s so much easier to do when my resident hoarder isn’t around saying “No… you can’t throw that out!”
First up was our utility (slash pantry slash I don’t know what to do with it so stick it in there) closet. I was merciless and got rid of a huge pile of worthless odds, ends and scraps. And buried under all that crap?
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A whole lotta plastic wrap, tin foil and Ziploc baggies. When the next supply chain apocalypse arrives? We’re ready.
🤣
After that clean out I moved on to our walk in closet. This is always a nightmare because I can’t resist a bargain when it comes to clothes shopping at thrift stores. I rarely take time to try things on when I’m there because hey… when a pair of jeans costs $2 and doesn’t fit? Who cares.
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Turns out our closet shelves cared because they were positively sagging under the weight.
Question- how many pairs of jeans and capris did I have to try on and sort?
Answer- 56.
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Nine bags of assorted jeans, capris, blouses, sweaters, purses and shoes ready to give to charity.
We’ve all seen the bell ringers standing in front of stores during the holidays. They’re raising money for the Salvation Army which is one of the few charities you can trust not to spend 80% of donations on “administrative” costs.
Standing outside in Maine in December can be tough. I’ve seen bell ringers wrapped up in so many layers of clothing they look like the Michelin Man.
Hell, I’ve bought coffee and hot chocolate for those poor volunteers to keep them warm.
Because, you know… they volunteered to help.
Or did they?
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Whaaaat!
Is this a new thing… or am I just woefully out of touch.
Husband is back to work, and back to work these days means teleworking from home. While I’m not exactly thrilled with this situation, Lord Dudley Mountcatten is ecstatic.
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He’s been a daddy’s boy from day one and simply tolerates me because I am the opener of the can.
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Having a home office with a cat in residence can be challenging.
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Reports and correspondence take a back seat when the royal feline says attention must be paid.
Status: Suspended. No progress. Work stoppage until further notice.
Mood: Annoyed. Aggravated. And basically bat shit crazy.
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Part one, the windows –
We have two brand new custom built windows that are leaking air, gap ridden and nonfunctional. Our bedroom is still empty, torn apart, blind and curtainless.
We’re waiting to hear from one of the five specialty crews from the manufacturer who have been assigned to fix our problem. They cover the entire state and while they could be here tomorrow? They could also be here two weeks from now.
We are not happy.
Part two-
When last reported, our contractor had been sent out into the world to procure a door.
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A stinky little nothing special door which I figured everyone would have in stock and didn’t bother to special order because it would take too much time. I was wrong.
Boy, was I wrong.
Our contractor scoured the area, checking big box stores and small mom and pops. He even tried the Habitat for Humanity re-store.
Nada. Nothing. Zilch.
There isn’t a replacement door available in the size we need anywhere within a 300 mile radius. And probably beyond that. Hell, at this point I’m beginning to wonder if they exist at all.
So we’re going to have to do the thing I didn’t want to do in the first place, special order one. The contractor has been tasked with that job because if I have to think about doors any more than I already have? My brain will explode.
And because he’s special ordering one door?
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We’re having him special order a replacement for the other door which will eventually have to go as well. At least this way they’ll both be new at the same time.
As I write this, I have no idea of the lead time on special order doors. With my luck it will be sometime in mid December when there’s 3 feet of snow on the ground.
As you know, I’m an avid reader who buys a lot of books. Some I love, some I don’t and some I want to enjoy but can’t.
Enter S.
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It arrived wrapped in plastic with a removable hard box and seal.
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I’d read good reviews of it and was eager to jump in.
S, conceived by filmmaker J. J. Abrams and written by award-winning novelist Doug Dorst, is the chroni- de of two readers finding each other in the margins of a book and enmeshing themselves in a deadly struggle between forces they don’t understand. It is also Abrams and Dorst’s love letter to the written word.
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Made to look like an old library book, I admit I was intrigued.
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The synopsis:
One book, two readers. A world of mystery, menace and desire. A young woman picks up a book left behind by a stranger. Inside it are his margin notes, which reveal a reader entranced by the story and by its mysterious author. She responds with notes of her own, leaving the book for the stranger, and so begins an unlikely conversation that plunges them both into the unknown.
THE BOOK: Ship of Theseus, the final novel by a prolific but enigmatic writer named V. M. Straka, in which a man with no past is shanghaied onto a strange ship with monstrous crew and launched on a disorienting and perilous journey.
THE WRITER: Straka, the incendiary and secretive subject of one of the world’s greatest mysteries, a revolutionary about whom the world knows nothing apart from the words he wrote and the rumors that swirl around him.
THE READERS: Jennifer and Eric, a college senior and a disgraced grad srudent, both facing crucial decisions about who they are, who they might become, and how much they’re willing to trust another person with their passions, hurts, and fears.
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As soon as I opened it I saw reading was going to be an interactive experience.
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It was positively crammed with letters, newspaper articles, post cards…
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There was even a hand drawn map on a paper towel. You actually had to be careful how you held this book when reading because things fell out all over the place. And while that might sound like fun, to be honest… it wasn’t.
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It was a confusing mish mash of multiple voices and long drawn out tales. The book itself was a story, and a pretty lame one at that. Then there was the translator who wrote the introduction and footnotes about the mysterious author. But the most maddening part? The margin notes conversation between two people who tell yet another story.
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There are so many of them they completely take over the pages. I found it virtually impossible to follow all three narratives at once and tried various ways to finish this clearly epic undertaking.
Did I mention the book literally stunk? As in physically smelled weird. I think they were going for eau de la musty library but it came across as noxious chemical to me. 🤢
As much as I hate to admit defeat when it comes to reading, I couldn’t finish this book.
Well… okay, I could have.
I simply didn’t want to.
J.J. Abrams needs to stick to Star Wars and the visual medium of film because this thing was a mess.
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.
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
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