Still in search of that last vintage beer/alcohol crate for my vinyl, the husband and I headed to a massive antique mall in Oxford.
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And I have to say we were blown away. Parts of it had the normal antique mall booths with multiple vendors and then there was this room.
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Which was really more of a museum. Those vintage hand painted sleds were da bomb.
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There were some truly fabulous items.
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With fabulous prices to accompany them. We spent hours just in that one room. And then we moved on..
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My husband probably has a dozen of these old glass water bottles and frames, but that never stops him from looking for number 13.
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I nixed the idea of hanging that on the Barn Mahal door.
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Husband wanted to buy all these Trump dollars and use them to start our next fire, but I couldn’t stand the thought of that man riding all the way home with us even if I knew he’d end up in the ash pile.
Since we’ve established my husband doesn’t want me to lend a hand in the basement, alternative helpmates must be employed.
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Meet the Dead Man.. otherwise known as my husband’s personal assistant. Since my spouse can’t lift, position and hold a piece of plywood over his head while screwing it into the floor joists, he built himself a friend. One who doesn’t offer advice or disagree with him like I do.
And speaking of holding things in place….
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When the old insulation is ripped and starts to sag?
Grab a broom.
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And balance that broom on a box, which is balanced on a few old books, which are top of another box which is on a table not meant to support that much weight.
Props to my husband for not only sticking with his horrible basement project but becoming totally obsessed by it. Clearing, cleaning and organizing ( not really, but he’s trying ) 40 years worth of junk is not for the faint hearted. Or the asthmatic… the dust and cobwebs are epic.
When last I reported, shelves were being built on the back right wall and corners were being turned.
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So now that ⬆️…
Looks like this ⬇️ …
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Because every time he carves out a small area to work…
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Thousands of pounds of junk stuff must be moved.
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Anyone need a tv antenna or an old bottle of Clorox? It’s still half full.
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Four vintage wooden crates were unearthed… but none of them were alcohol related for my vinyl collection damn it.
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This is a serious amount of work. And while I try to go down and help, more often than not the husband gets aggravated with me and tells me to get lost.
If 39 years of marriage has taught us anything, it’s that we don’t work well together. I’m a very organized person ….. I plan, I make lists, I gather needed tools and supplies, I have everything I need within reach. He wings it… no plan, always searching for tools and has to run to the store every other day for more supplies. Basically, we drive each other crazy and end up doing our projects by ourselves. Harder, yes. But it keeps us out of divorce court.
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It’s a good thing I don’t use that freezer or second refrigerator anymore.
A few more chuckles from Mary Roach before I put this book to bed.
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My husband does not moisturize, though at times I wish he would.
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As you know I have a spouse who enjoys filling our kitchen with overpriced gadgets…. so I totally get this. Though thankfully no $345 pentolas have crossed our doorstep.
Yet.
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Touchless trash cans with sensor eyes? Please don’t tell my husband.
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Preach sister! My spouse never ever uses coins but has them stashed everywhere. In the den closet, in every vehicle cubbyhole, and yes in jars on the bedroom floor.
I went downstairs to check the progress of the husband’s basement project yesterday and it was not going well.
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Nope. Not well at all.
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I stood unnoticed, chortling while I watched him attempt to wrangle trifold insulation into a corner by himself. It was quite amusing, but I took pity on the poor guy after a few minutes and lent a hand.
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You’ll notice he bought a new toy. After the first low velocity hammer tool wasn’t strong enough.. he upgraded.
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This thing is basically a small gun that fires explosive rounds to propel nails into hard surfaces. In this case, concrete.
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And while my husband is (we never say was) a Marine and familiar with weapons, his usage of this tool made me a little nervous.
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The video doesn’t do justice to the noise. But trust me, that thing is loud.
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And best observed from a safe distance.
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I have to laugh that our entire cellar is a junk filled mess except for this one little corner. But he’s determined to put a ceiling, insulation and shelves throughout so I’m not complaining.
Plywood and insulation are showing up at our house on a daily basis.
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Have you priced plywood and insulation lately? It’s enough to make Bob Villa hang up his hammer.
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But the husband is still determined to install a ceiling and insulate a room that has no heat because he’s bored in retirement.
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I can see no reason for this project.
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Nor any rhyme to his framing technique. What the…. what?
But he’s downstairs all day, every day covering everything in sawdust and making a racket and a mess in the one section of basement that was previously neat and organized. (Read – mine.)
While the rest of the cellar (read – his) still looks like this:
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It’s all about priorities.
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
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