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I didn’t pee on my garden before I read this, but rest assured I shall be passing it along to my husband who has been known to relieve himself off the barn porch.
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I have never in my life urinated on a lawn and I don’t plan to start now. But men can be very dog like when it comes to marking their territory as evidenced by this photo of a conspicuous patch of dead lawn adjacent to the barn porch.
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Apparently that goes for grass as well.
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Hard as it is to believe after the apple tree planting fiasco of 2021, my husband was back at it the other day … ripping up the dead apple twigs and filling the holes with bigger and better new trees.
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He came home with a beautiful flowering cherry I would have loved for the back lawn where I could see it every day….
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So naturally he planted it on the far side of the barn where it’s completely blocked by the building and out of line of sight from our house.
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It will however be prime viewing when playing pool in the man cave.
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It’s a pretty tree and was an immediate bee magnet. In no time flat they were circling and we were stepping away.
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I might just have to buy another for my viewing pleasure.
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Big momma woodchuck is out of hibernation and stuffing her face at a rapid pace.
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I’d thrown out bread for the birds earlier that morning but when I saw her arrive and start munching, I quickly gave her lettuce instead.
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You know, the head of iceberg lettuce my husband brought home from the store after I specifically wrote “green leaf, red leaf, Boston or romaine…. anything but iceberg!” on the grocery list.
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Even as hungry as momma chuck was….
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She left most of the tasteless crunchy white parts.
🤣
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I think I may have mentioned my husband’s obsession with crap useless vintage items. I’ve spent nearly four decades watching him sort through dusty boxes at yard sales, flea markets and antique stores…. but last week he surprised even me.
When we moved back to Maine 20 years ago he had to start a new job before we sold our house, so I stayed down south for a few months while he bunked with a relative. Since he didn’t want to make the trip empty handed, he filled his truck with boxes and stored them in an uncle’s attic. I thought we’d collected all those boxes long ago, but after taking his uncle out to lunch last week we were told some of them were still upstairs.
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Did we find the boxes? Yes, after 3 seconds of scanning from the top step I pointed them out. Did that stop my treasure hunting husband from searching someone else’s junk for a heretofore unknown copy of the constitution or a Honus Wagner rookie card? No. It did not.
I’m happy to report he found nothing but junk which thankfully stayed where it was. And after opening our leftover boxes, I would have been happy to leave some of those there as well. They were heavy as hell and mostly filled with books and clothes.
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It was a bit like a time capsule. My Pat Conroy phase reared it’s head.. and 20 years later I had to wonder why I felt the need to schlepp those all the way to Maine. But it was when I examined the clothes that a little piece of me died.
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Because it was at that moment I realized I am literally twice the woman I used to be, and not in a good way.
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten helped me sort when we got home, though to be honest it wasn’t a tough job.
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Not one single thing fit. I mean, hell… it wasn’t even close. If there’s anything more depressing than being smacked in the face with your weight gain by a box full of size sixes and eights, I don’t know what it is.
😫
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Oh, well. I did manage to dig out a few pieces of long lost jewelry … and they don’t care what size I am.
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It’s long been a dream of mine to see … no, not Istanbul or Rome, I’m a simple girl. I only want to see the cellar floor again.
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When we moved into this house 20 years ago we had a gloriously empty 2,000 square foot basement… and I had visions of carefully organized storage shelves so our closets would never burst open again. Sadly this never came to fruition because my husband filled it to the brim with crap, clutter, things he didn’t need and will never use stuff in no time flat. And when I say filled, I mean up to the rafters with barely a path from front to rear. I haven’t seen the floor in years.
So when the husband retired a few months ago and had lots of spare time on his hands, I did what any thoughtful wife would do and subtly suggested now would be a good time to go through his mess, useless junk, rubble treasure once and for all.
But as my title says, I should have been careful what I wished for. Because as I suggested, my husband started sifting though his massive piles of detritus below ground.
The problem is…. it all began to float upstairs.
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Now? There’s a World War II poster/map on my den reading chair.
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There are railroad cars on my kitchen counter.
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There are boxes, bags and assorted dreck on my office floor.
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As well as stamps and a broken clock on my auxiliary desk. So basically, it’s everywhere… and I fear for the future of our living space.
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Because if all that makes it’s way upstairs? I may end up sleeping on that newly cleared cellar floor.
🥴
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Today was the day, and I just spent the last 24 hours prepping my husband for his close up.
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Add a little chicken broth and a whole lotta Gatorade and you’re looking at everything my husband has had to eat for a day and a half. To say he was cranky this morning was a gross understatement.
New hospital policy had me sitting outside in my car during the procedure as I was no longer allowed in the waiting room. He wasn’t supposed to drive after the colonoscopy, so I was his taxi. The paperwork made it quite clear what’s forbidden and while I can understand not driving or operating heavy machinery after the relax and unpucker your butt medication, it also said you can’t cook.
Are they afraid your addled brain will add too much garlic to the Scampi…. or over sear the pot roast? Unfortunate, but hardly deserving of a medical warning.
All went well and nothing that shouldn’t have been there was found. As we were walking out of the hospital the husband gave me a blow by blow description I could have done without, but he watched the whole thing on some kind of video screen and was eager to share.
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Good thing there was a wall of Mark Chagall chicken prints for me to focus on instead.
😊
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The husband and I were on our way home from the grocery store the other day when he spotted an antique store he’d never been in. I wondered how that was even possible, but hey… it happens.
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When we walked in, I turned right and he turned left. It wasn’t long before I heard him haggling with the owner so I hightailed it over before things got serious.
Old cash registers. Fancy ones I grant you….
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But with a price tag of $2,500? I gave the husband the evil eye.
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And with a $4,500 price tag on this one?
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I was positively pulling him out of the store.
It was fabulous. But not that fabulous.
😳
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The year was 1984. I had met and married my husband in 6 days. (He was on leave from the Marine Corps, had to be back on base in North Carolina in a week and was determined to take me with him.) I stuffed clothes, shoes and jewelry in black trash bags ..crammed as much as I could in the back of his Datsun 280ZX and off we went.
I’d just turned 20 and was journeying into the unknown. Married to a man I hardly knew, leaving home for a brand new life. His family was shocked. My mother was hysterical. I was young and in love… life was good!
Until we pulled into his rental bachelor pad down south. The house was small… and bright turquoise. Inside and out. Not his color of choice, but he didn’t change it either which speaks volumes. It had all the prerequisite bachelor ecoutrements…. plywood and cement blocks entertainment center, mismatched thrift store chairs, beach towels in the bathroom. But as awful as that was? I was undeterred. Men are works in progress, I could rebuild him.
And then I walked into the bedroom.
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Not my picture, but it could be. I ignored the fact my man only had one pot and 2 plates in his kitchen cupboard. I turned a blind eye to the boot stand made from a power line wooden spool. I shrugged off the dented foot locker coffee table. But a waterbed? That I would actually have to sleep on? That was a bridge too far.
The husband didn’t mind with me filling his kitchen and bathroom with appropriate items. He encouraged me to buy new furniture and paint the walls a less objectionable color. But he loved that abominable liquid monstrosity and refused to give it up.
We lived in the sea sickness inducing bachelor pad for 8 months and then bought our first home. It was considerably larger than his extremely shabby and not so chic rental abode so we purchased a dining room set, an office suite and den furniture. We built a deck and loaded it with porch furniture, a fire pit and a grill. It was great! Until I realized we had run out of money before we reached the bedroom.
I spent another year sleeping on that horrible rubber life raft but my husband still balked every time I broached the subject of replacing it. I dreaded going to sleep at night. Every time the husband rolled over, a wave rippled under me. It was bizarre.
And then one night, Morpheus smiled upon me.
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No, not that one.
The God of Sleep heard my prayers and we both woke up shivering at 3:00am. For those who don’t know, you can’t just fill a waterbed and call it good. There’s a heating mechanism under the mattress that keeps the water warm. You can’t sleep on cold water, it will draw out your body heat in an attempt to level the temperature difference. And that’s just what the last vestige of my husband’s bachelorhood did.
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The heater broke, the water temperature dropped and we were shivering popsicles by morning. I was ecstatic! The husband was bereft. I did a happy dance of epic proportions. The husband may have wept.
We stripped the bed, siphoned out the water…. not a small task…. and discovered that not only had the heater ceased to heat, it had completely burned out and scorched the wooden frame beneath, dropping burnt ash on the carpet. I suppose being burned to death by a waterbed is technically impossible since the flames would eventually be extinguished by the burst of water…. but that’s a wood fire- burning rubber- electrical nightmare I’d rather not be slumbering on thank you very much.
The waterbed went bye bye and I said good riddance. I really wish I could find the picture I took of the husband that morning. (pre digital so there’s no telling where it could be) We were curling up the rubber mattress to push the last bit of water out the hose and he was sitting in the corner, desolate, head in hand… watching the last drop (literally) of his single life go out the window (literally).
Good times.
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I like new tech. My husband? Not so much. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that my husband uses his cell phone as … don’t faint… an actual phone. You know, to speak with people like we did in the old days before texting was invented and we didn’t have to.
His phone was old. Moldy green cheese old. It was an iPhone 4 he bought in 2010… we’re talking the tech equivalent of a dinosaur fossil. It didn’t matter that it couldn’t be updated, that the battery had to be charged every few hours, that the home button stuck more often than not or that the display was blurry and dark. He liked it because he was used to it and fears new technology in general. No matter how many times times I encouraged him to trade it, he refused.
Until last week when we got a letter from Verizon Wireless saying they’ll be switching to a 5G network on December 31rst and my husband’s beloved antiquated phone will cease to exist. Kaput. Dead. Bye bye. Needless to say the other half wasn’t pleased and railed against the injustice of obsolete tech for hours on end.
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Cool typewriter aside, Verizon was doing just that, so I dragged my sputtering husband to the Verizon store the next day to upgrade his phone before the rush caused a stock shortage. And believe me, he sputtered. He sputtered on the drive there, he sputtered to the other customers, he sputtered to the sales associate, he sputtered to the check out girl and he sputtered on the drive home. Why he was sputtering when we managed to snag a great deal I’m sure I don’t know. The man just likes to sputter.
His old iPhone was worth exactly nothing, but they gave him a $700 credit, with which he bought the new iPhone 13 …. price tag $800. $100 for a new phone? Sweet! And because the deal was so good? I traded in my XR on the 13 Pro Max and only paid $200 for a $1,300 phone. Even sweeter! And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better? I learned our bill will be $24 less a month.
Score!
Does the husband like his new phone? After an hour of very patient instruction from yours truly, he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction… but I think he loves it. And I hope that’s true, because Lord knows he’ll probably keep it until 2034.
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You know there’s only one answer to the question, “ what do you want to do to celebrate?”
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Antiquing of course.
This time around it was the semi famous, at least in Maine… Elmers Barn. A ramshackle place that looks small from the front but feels like it’s 10 football fields deep once you’re inside.
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In other words, husband heaven.
And because technically it was a barn at one time….
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This lovely fellow greeted us upon arrival.
My husband turned 75 that day and to be honest, for the last few years he’s been feeling his age. The combination of a global plague, retirement, health issues, multiple deaths of friends and family, and the general weariness of aches and pains that are more prevalent when you spend considerable time on this side of the dirt have finally caught up to him. This winter the twinkle in his eye has faded and there’s not much spring in his step. Once the weather turns and he’s able to soak up some sun and fresh air I’m sure he’ll perk back up… but for now all I could offer was a day sifting and sorting through piles of useless crap untold treasure and a promise he could buy whatever he wanted without nary an eye roll from me.
Oh, the sacrifices I make for love.
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This was one of the first things we saw when we walked in and I fervently hoped he wouldn’t want to buy it. Dolls in general creep me out, but dolls with dead eyes who look ready to consume your soul in one easy gulp?
No. Thank. You.
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Needless to say we spent hours in this store and saw our share of strange things. Vintage snow sled with training wheels?
Check!
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Taxidermy with stylish chapeaux?
Check!
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I lost the husband in the aptly named ‘tool room’ for a long period of time, but surprisingly after spending half the day in a creaky old barn that promised 3 floors of odd and unusual…. there were very few items that could be described as either. Quite disappointing, that.
And though I fully expected to strain my eyes in a valiant attempt to stop them rolling… my beloved only made one small five dollar purchase that day.
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An antique wooden tap for the man cave.
Color me surprised.
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River's world..... 