I think we’ve established Lord Dudley Mountcatten is not your average rough and tumble feline. For a cat we rescued from a shelter… who had been found as a stray wandering the streets, he’s quickly adapted to the finer comforts life at Casa River provides. And while he loves to go outside in fair weather? The winter walkies are proving troublesome.
.
.
There are shoveled paths all around the house, garage and barn but this furry numbskull plows through the snow instead. And when he does? He shakes and shivers and mewls pitifully.
.
.
Which means my husband (the man with an infinite amount of patience for the cat but not his wife) has to pick up his Lordship and deliver him upon a path.
I came home from the grocery store the other day and found this:
.
.
A bird viewing platform assembled by the husband for our slightly spoiled but quite adorable cat.
.
.
Consisting of one dining room chair and a filthy, covered in cobwebs, paint stained step stool from the garage.
.
.
Lord Dudley Mountcatten was quite pleased with it. I would have been more pleased had he washed off the 10 years worth of dirt the step stool had accumulated in the garage.
My husband is still not enjoying retirement. He’s bored, antsy as hell and no matter how many times I show him the honey do list… is always looking for something to do. When he’s not twitchy? He’s moping around the house and driving me crazy.
.
.
Damn. That sounds perfect! He has a bar in the man cave and knows how to tap a keg … he has experience!
Pardon me while I check airfare prices to Piel Island, County Cumbria.
My husband has a weakness for health food stores. Does he eat healthy? Not unless I force him, but he loves to stroll the weird item laden aisles all the same.
.
.
Whipped cream or whipped rice? That’s a no brainer for me, but I suppose someone might buy that sorry excuse of a substitute.
.
.
I really wanted to buy this bizarre looking fruit… But the husband balked at the price. Good grief, it’s named after a hand.
.
.
If that isn’t worth a little extra scratch I don’t know what is.
.
.
He’ll bitch about high prices but then go get a ridiculously small container of freshly churned peanut butter. Probably because he knows I won’t eat it.
.
.
Worst waste of money that day? This cleverly marketed bag of dried fruit. I love kiwi, so I bought it.
.
.
They weren’t lying, it’s ugly. And completely unpeeled. Who the hell wants to eat that!
After a verrrrry long day at the antique mall from Hell my husband came home with relatively little in the way of treasure.
I was all for buying an antique wall phone to hang in the man cave and a vintage steamer trunk to use as a coffee table, but no. He wanted none of that.
His final purchases?
.
.
An old wooden egg crate. Do we have egg laying chickens? No.
Moving on…
.
.
The seven pieces of ephemera it took him two and a half hours to find.
.
.
Did we need this classically decorated snake oil salesman’s card that claims to cure cholera?
.
.
I think not, but we own it anyway.
Since my barn phone and steamer trunk were vetoed, I only came home with a handful of vinyl.
.
.
Though one of my selections has a specific purpose.
.
.
My husband went to Woodstock. The largest, greatest rock and roll event in history… he was there on day one.
For about half an hour. He walked around, didn’t like what he saw, and left. (If I had known this before we got married, it would have been a deal breaker.)
So because he turned his back on that once in a lifetime experience …. and kept me in that often cold and dark chicken barn antique mall all damned day…. I bought the original Woodstock album and will force him to listen to it. Over and over again, while I slaughter him in Scrabble.
Onward… through the never ending stalls of useless crap timeless treasure we went.
.
.
Box of 1950’s risqué playing cards?
.
.
Check! There were two.
Vintage hi fi speakers?
.
.
Check! Two as well.
Absurd 6 legged patriotic corner table?
.
.
Yup. That was there as well.
Because I don’t spend nearly as much time examining the junk unique items on sale as the husband, I’m always far ahead of him in the store. So when I see an area I think might be trouble?
.
.
Like an entire room of rust…
.
.
I try to steer him clear. But this time he surprised me and passed by the tool stall of horrors with nary a glance. We were halfway through the store by this time and I was lulled into a false sense of security that we would exit before dark.
And then….
.
.
He found a pile. Actually he found pile upon piles of ephemera. For the uninitiated pickers among us, an explanation.
Ephemera – items of collectible memorabilia, typically written or printed ones, that were originally expected to have only short-term usefulness or popularity.
There were boxes stacked on boxes, files stuffed in drawers and a floor to ceiling shelf full of ABSOLUTELY nothing worth a damn. But this didn’t deter my husband, oh no. The more he looked and found nothing? The more he was sure there was something. He just knew an undiscovered copy of the constitution or Abraham Lincoln’s handwritten will was waiting to be unearthed .
I walked the entire mall three times, sat down and blogged for half an hour, chatted with other customers and read two old Life magazines. He still wasn’t done.
.
.
I found old shoes that made my bunion hurt just looking at them.
.
.
And World War II German mountain trooper boots I wouldn’t want to hike the Alps in…. but still, the husband wasn’t through.
After 2 hours and 38 minutes…. ( That’s how long he stood there sorting and sifting through stinky brittle old scraps of paper. Yes. I timed it. ) I pulled him away and gave him an ultimatum. He could finish browsing the store before it closed or I was taking the car and leaving him there.
Since it was a 65 mile walk home? He deserted his giant pile of vintage grocery store lists and life insurance policies and resumed browsing.
In an effort to amuse my recently retired husband, I took him to the largest antique in Maine. Five full floors of crap no one needs treasure housed in an old chicken barn. Okay, there was no heat in parts of it and the lights went out twice… but my spouse will tell you that’s part of the charm.
.
.
To say this place went on forever was an understatement. Knowing I was going to lose the spouse over the course of the afternoon I made sure he had his cell phone fully charged and within reach. Many a “I’m standing in front of the walrus tusk, next to the embalmer’s table” calls were made that day.
.
.
When you antique shop with my husband? It’s an all day affair. Each and every ludicrous piece of crap treasure must be thoroughly examined.
.
.
And I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say this is where ugly lamps go to die.
.
.
Good grief. That one looks like it has a tumor.
And since this is a northern Maine antique mall?
.
.
There was the required Wall of Death.
Not being a hunter, these displays always make me cringe. Mounting trophy heads is barbaric as far as I’m concerned. I’m sure this poor fellow agrees…
.
.
Taxidermy.
When it goes wrong? It goes really wrong.
.
.
The juxtaposition of this World War II gas mask with the jauntily hatted little cherub defies rational explanation, but proves you never know what will be around the next corner.
I’m trying to see the bright side of my husband’s latest purchase. It’s not easy, but when he brought it home last week and attempted to park it in the garage?
.
.
I saw a glimmer of hope that he might actually throw some things out to make room. You know, like the old broken gutters, the yard sale fake oil painting and the air conditioner that hasn’t worked since 1999?
.
.
But we’re talking about my husband … so things just got stacked in higher piles.
I told him there was too much junk. Repeatedly.
Did he listen?
I think you know the answer to that.
.
.
He did not… and ran into the broken air conditioner instead.
The husband and I celebrated our 38th wedding anniversary recently. It doesn’t seem possible since I’m only 39 years old, but the Hallmark cards don’t lie.
My other half is a sweetie and had a nice flower arrangement delivered.
.
.
It’s a little lopsided because the delivery man came early and slipped on the driveway ice we hadn’t yet treated. Thankfully he was okay, and that must be some tough glass because the vase didn’t even chip.
.
.
I can tell my husband answered the florist’s annual question “what’s her favorite color?” with the technically correct… though wrong for this situation…. green.
I do love green, and it is my favorite … but when it comes to floral arrangements? A bit more color would be nice.
.
.
I’m not complaining, but there are enough lilies in this one to make our house smell like a funeral home.
And though he didn’t get that quite right, I have to say… when it came to card selection?
He totally nailed it.
.
.
Remember ladies, picking the right man is the most important decision you’ll ever make.
On the coldest day of the season so far, with wind chills below zero, my dryer stopped working. Since hanging clothes outside was not an option…
.
.
It was time to examine the faulty equipment.
.
.
This involved my poor husband trying to clamber over the washing machine in our tiny laundry room in order to unplug the dryer.
.
.
The small space was originally a half bath and trust me… there’s not much room to maneuver.
.
.
Thankfully it was an easy fix and just a matter of cleaning a lint clogged vent.
.
.
But moving the appliances and hooking them back up was a nightmare.
.
.
To heck with Baby, I put my husband in a corner.
.
.
And I’m sorry, but watching him try to extricate himself and climb back out had me laughing so hard I could hardly take the picture. But I’m a dedicated blogger so here you go….
.
.
My bad. But it was hilarious…
🤣
.
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 