Tag Archives: marriage

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I rarely post in real time….

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But I’m in pain and quite cranky, so here goes.

Remember a while back I stained our back deck on my hands and knees? I do it every few years but this time it caught up with me. Thank you (not so) old age, you suck the big root.

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My knee had been stiff and sore for the last month but I’m tougher than I look and just went about my business.

Bad move. Very, very bad.

Yesterday I stepped off my kitchen porch and something snapped. Like a rubber band… and yes, I screamed. Did I mention we had a big storm the night before and had been without power for 10 hours by then?

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Good times.

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I hobbled back in the house and iced it down but holy hell it hurt. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t bend, couldn’t put any weight on it whatsoever. Spent a very uncomfortable and sleepless night, then woke up looking something like this:

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I didn’t dare attempt a shower, so I limped to the doctors office this morning with my radical bed head and frightened a few staff members along the way.

Hey, ya gotta take your jollies where you can.

Turns out the doctor they assigned me wasn’t really a doctor just a nurse practitioner. And when he put me on the table to start pulling and tugging my leg in different directions? I was ready to cram his stethoscope where the sun don’t shine.

After the exam and manipulation I was almost in tears. Which is when he told me to go across town for xrays and an appointment with an orthopedist because oh, by the way… he had no earthly idea what was wrong with me. As I made my way back to the waiting room… with the speed of a 200 year tortoise… I discovered my husband had decided now would be a good time to request his flu shot.

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Which we waited a good half hour for.

So.. by the time I got across town, had xrays and was ready for my orthopedist appt? We found out the orthopedist leaves at noon.

It was 12:05…. and I was not a happy camper.

Long story long, I have an appointment tomorrow morning at 8:00am and they think I either tore a ligament or ripped a tendon. Either way, it’s not good.

And oh yes, my devoted spouse who took the day off from work to care for me? He’s at our local pub having a late lunch. Me? I had to make my own.

Ain’t love grand?

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Let there be light….

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Bright and early Sunday morning the husband and his friend were hard at it.

Removing the stuffing they’d previously stuffed and drilling holes for the continuous feed wires to slip through.

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This, as you can imagine…. was a royal pain in the  *ss.

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But finally,  it was ready for a light fixture.

And my husband used the pool table as an auxiliary ladder.

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Viola.

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A light fixture.

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Which receives the husband’s very technical and OSHA approved tug test.

Just kidding, OSHA reps run screaming in horror from any project my husband oversees.

More stuffing, more plywood.

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Light fixture number two was not at all cooperative, and adjustments I don’t even want to contemplate were made.

This might be a good time to mention the time my husband installed a ceiling fan in our living room in North Carolina.

It took an electrician 2 hours to undo that mess.

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But after an hour of tinkering, and some oh so colorful language…

Fixture two was up.

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Were the proper amount of decorative screws used?  They were not.

Was it in perfect alignment with the first light fixture?  It was not.

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But since this simple job took them over 5 hours?

I doubt they cared.

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  • For informational purposes only – the husband can not decide whether he wants to put ceiling fans in between the lights or just another light, hence the open middle space.
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*Cue the Pointer Sisters*

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I’m so excited!

We had multiple contractors come over and give us estimates on our exterior barn project… (Staining, trimming, soffiting) and after I picked my jaw up off the ground and cursed the fact we didn’t have any children to sell… we chose a locally owned and operated company.

We’re on their schedule, but I don’t know when they’ll start.

 

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I’m sorry, that was a cruel tease…. and a shameless attempt to lure aged disco fans to my blog.  Please feel free to play Neutron Dance and curse me at your leisure.

Not trusting anyone else to pick out the trim boards, the husband dragged me to a lumber yard…

 

 

Where he closely examined and rejected dozens of 16 footers in the premium grade.

* Note to lumberyard workers – if you see my husband coming? Run. *

He refused so many, I swear the kid who was helping us starting sprouting grey hair.

After the first hour he delicately suggested we upgrade to the finish grade.

Which we did.

 

 

But…. silly boy, did he really think that would make a difference?

It shouldn’t surprise you to learn we were there the entire afternoon. And just when we were ready to leave?

The husband met a fellow Marine.

Another hour later… we left.

It’s amazing how exhausting it is standing around doing nothing. So much so, after we unloaded the truck…

 

 

Does that look like $450 worth of wood to you?

 

 

We fired up the grill….

 

 

And poured the adult beverages.

Dinner that night?

 

 

Lamb chops.

Life is good!

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Because I was tired of waiting.

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Ever since we installed the new deck railings we’ve needed to re-stain the deck. And by we, I mean me… because while he’ll constantly remark it needs to be done? The husband never does it. Not once in 18 years.

 

 

Problem is, we needed to buy a new pressure washer to clean the siding and I didn’t want to stain until that happened.

So I waited. And waited….. and waited some more.

( Never nagging. No. Not me.)

 

 

But after the husband saw the prices of a new Honda pressure washer?

I feel confident saying it’s not happening anytime soon.

So I moved things to the lawn, grabbed my brush and went to work.

 

 

Many  holy hell why is it surface of the sun  hot hours later…

 

 

I was done.

 

 

And pretty pleased with the results.

 

 

Dirty siding aside, it looks nice.

 

 

Clean, fresh and ready for the red squirrel family’s onslaught of poo.

 

 

Next morning fog shot just because.

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What is it with men and old westerns?

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They say there’s a little boy in every man….. and if that’s true?

Mine is playing cowboys and Indians.

Left to his own devices, my husband could easily watch the western channel 24 hours a day.  I know…. because True Grit, Fort Apache and Rio Bravo have been the background soundtrack to my life for the past 36 years.

He likes westerns, ergo he likes John Wayne.

Not as a real person, he neither knows nor cares who that was….. but rather as an idealized portrait of what a real man is supposed to be. At least on screen.

So when we went to Lowes the other day and were standing on the check out line? You know he had to grab this:

 

 

“Manly meals”.

I’m sure you can hear my eyes rolling from there.

 

 

Who knew my husband wanted to be a cookout legend?

The man who has never read a recipe in his life, but had to buy this book. And may I just say?

I was not impressed.

 

 

 

That is the saddest excuse for steak I’ve ever seen. And with pesto made from cilantro as an accompaniment? The Duke and his horse should be run out of town with their heads hanging down in shame.

 

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Now correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t Texas do everything up big?

If so, these are misnamed…. because those are the skimpiest, most pathetic tacos to ever grace a shell.

And I’m from Maine.

We fill our tacos with haddock and lobster… what do we know?

I’ll spare you the Gun Smokey Barbecue Chicken and the Ringo Kid’s Skirt Steak, but suffice it to say I doubt any of Wayne’s dishes will ever make it to our table.

And now, because this is my blog and you know I can’t help myself…. here’s one final picture of the quintessential manly man.

You can thank me later.

 

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Just call him Johnny Appleseed.

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Hope springs eternal, at least for my husband when it comes to trees.

 

 

The three oaks he transplanted a while ago croaked and had to be dug up.

 

 

So when we were in the middle of a drought and a heat wave?

 

 

He figured that would be a great time for us to plant 10 apple trees.

 

 

Holes were dug in ground that felt like cement.

 

 

And I had to run the bucket brigade again.

 

 

Because naturally he wanted to plant them at the far ends of our property.

 

 

But I did find some wild raspberries.

 

 

And blackberries.

 

 

 

It took us all damned day.

 

 

But trees were planted.

 

 

 

The heat was intense and I told him this was the wrong time of year to plant.

 

 

 

But you know how that went.

 

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Will he water and fertilize and care for these new transplants in this mid summer heat wave?

Hell no.

Say goodbye trees, you’re doomed.

 

 

 

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He shouldn’t be happy, but he was.

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He shouldn’t be happy we had high winds that brought down part of our choke cherry tree two nights ago.

 

 

He shouldn’t be happy.

 

 

But you know he was.

 

 

Because as soon as the sun came up?

 

 

He was out there.

 

 

Trimming weight.

 

 

Anxious for the fun to begin.

 

 

Ready!

 

 

 

You know he’s been itching to cut something down.

 

 

So he was one happy camper.

 

 

It had to be done, but when he started eyeing the rest of the tree?

I threw myself in front of it to save the poor thing from total annihilation.

 

 

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And then there was wood.

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But you probably guessed that from the first picture.

 

More specifically it was 16 foot long boards that weighed a ton and had to be dragged out of the big barn and across the lawn with yours truly trying my best not to drop them on her toes.

 

 

Of course it would have been too easy if they’d fit in the 16 foot long spaces. Where’s the fun in that? No… each one had to be measured and cut around the wonky interior frame.

 

 

After tar paper was laid out.

Why tar paper? Because the husband wanted a moisture barrier… but more importantly, because he already had two ancient rolls buried in the garage.

 

 

What was holding down the tar paper as we attempted to fit the boards you ask?

Absolutely nothing.

Good times.

 

 

Was it hot?

A mere 92 degrees in the shade.

 

 

Vintage tools and make shift tables?

Check.

 

 

Did he have enough boards?

Not really.

 

 

Were they all the same width?

Of course not.

 

 

Did he care?

I seriously doubt it.

 

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I thought we were done!

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The baby barn.

It really is the gift that keeps on giving. Like venereal disease, but with splinters.

As you know, the baby barn had a hard packed dirt floor when we remodeled it. It had a hard packed dirt floor when we moved here 18 years ago and it had a hard packed dirt floor when it was originally built sometime in the mid 1970’s …

 

 

And for some inexplicable reason, the husband removed some of that hard packed dirt when he was redoing the frame.

 

 

So for the last few months there’s been a decided drop off at the far end.

 

 

I’ve said repeatedly he needed to back fill that section and level it off, but no.

 

 

I walked out there the other day and found him busy with a shovel instead.

 

 

Removing 26 years worth of hard packed dirt.

 

 

Why?

I’ll let him tell you…

 

 

Good grief Charlie Brown!

The man is a sucker for punishment.

 

 

22 wheelbarrow loads full of dirt dumped on the outer edges of our property line later….

 

 

He had a smooth playing field…. and an aching back.

And I was called in to assist.