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Living in Maine, we have the occasional spillover from our neighbor to the north.
Canadian coins, poutine, and select craft beers float over the border regularly. But now?
I have to thank their army.
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Dessert in a glass. You can’t go wrong with that.
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So thank you Canada!
Winter never looked so good.
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It was recently brought to my attention that our barn was in need of comfortable seating in which to kick back after a vigorous session of drinking. And to that I say…
I’m way ahead of you.
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Okay, so it’s actually just the porch furniture we store inside every winter… but I’m thinking come spring, when it heads back outside? Two leather club chairs with a small table in between.
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Husband hung a few appropriate signs behind the (soon to be bar) the other day.
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Armpit lemon? Remind me not to over indulge in Puerto Rico.
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A no sewing required spot was found for the husband’s assorted patches.
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And a few more photos were carefully hung… while standing on a safe.
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As you can see, I have arrived … and finally been given representation in the man cave.
Yay me.
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A magnetic bottle opener was installed on the staircase.
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And a recent antique store purchase was displayed.
It’s time for Name That Crap!
What is it?
(Kerry, you be quiet. 😉)
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Continuing in the if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em paradigm, I gifted the husband some nice new pool sticks.
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Canadian maple of various colors and weights.
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I also gathered some of the military patches he’s had stuck in his drawer for years.
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I’m trying to think of some way to display them… you know, a way that doesn’t involve sewing. Because my love only goes so far.
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A few man cave appropriate books were dropped on the table…. and then –
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Our bar building contractor showed up with the top of the bar.
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I have to admit I was liking the 3 different shades of wood colors….
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Until I realized that was the unfinished side. But after it was sanded down and smoothed, even the husband agreed it would need to be stained before the polyurethane.
Victory is mine!
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And that called for a drink. Or a cocktail in a pretty can as the case may be.
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If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. So I did and tried my hand at a little Barn Mahal decorating.
Under the stairs, some antique crocks and a large one that will double as a trash can.
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The apple press and butter table have now found a home.
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And then it was time to supervise the beginning of the husband’s I love myself wall.
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Marine Corps dress sword and a collection of photos of him in Vietnam, Okinawa and Beirut.
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I think it turned out well.
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And for the piece de resistance …
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A pool table cover I spent a fortune on as a gift.
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Needless to say it was a hit.
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Are we the only people who wait for a wind driven snow to make an hour long trip to the nearest military exchange to buy beer?
Probably.
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But look! They sell beer soap too.
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As well as this evil spirit I discovered when we lived down south.
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Purple Passion was my neighbor’s favorite and when I drank 5 or 6 of them because they tasted like Kool Aid? I was sorry.
Very, very sorry.
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Beer shopping with my husband sometimes gets out of hand.
7 six packs and a case of hard cider later?
He came home with a little something extra for the barn.
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*Gulp*
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Since all the trim work was finished in the barn, it was time for a little decorating…. husband style.
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The old washing machine was slid across the floor.
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A few military helicopter pictures were hung.
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And of course….
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His favorite sign of all was prominently placed.
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Moving back inside….
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A second tier of shelves was built into every corner.
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And then it was time to go shopping upstairs.
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Apple press?
Check!
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Butter table?
Check!
And then my husband, the man who visibly cringes every time I put a nail hole in our walls….
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The man who has given me hell for each and every thing I have ever hung in our home…. decided this would be his I love me section and plans to fill it with photos and plaques while turning his barn walls into Swiss cheese.
I admit, I may have cackled at this point. The irony was simply too strong.
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What passes for news in my town?
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Oh no! The poor girl. Being roosterless is a terrible thing.
Or so I’ve heard…
A while back I made a Facebook Veterans Day post with some photos of the hubby in uniform. I found these after the fact.
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In Beirut, Lebanon October 1983 with the bombed out Marine barracks in the background.
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He took 12 bodies out of that building.
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A horrible day.
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This one was in Newport, Rhode Island (not sure of the year) He was receiving a commendation for saving a man’s life.
That’s my husband. And yes, I’m proud.
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A frosty sunrise photo down by the river.
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Okay, maybe you didn’t used to drink in the woods…. but I was a teenager who grew up on an Island in Maine. We drank everywhere.
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And finally, an update.
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Yay.
I love a happy ending.
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The other day I blogged about the miracle of finding my husband getting rid of things in the big barn.
I was happy!
I was thrilled!
Heck, I was downright orgasmic.
Until I walked upstairs.
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A lot of the things I thought he’d gotten rid of…
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Had just migrated upward instead. So with determination in my step I went back down to help him sort through things to throw away.
It did not go well.
Here are a few of the items he couldn’t bear to part with.
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No, you’re not seeing double. That’s a flippable measuring cup… though why on earth you’d need to flip one I don’t know.
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Blank dog tags.
A box of them.
Why? Unless he’s planning to outfit a woodchuck army…. I don’t see the point.
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A rock.
And while I’m normally all about the rocks, I do prefer mine outside…. or slowly cooling my gin and tonic.
Finally there was this:
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He wouldn’t part with it, even though he didn’t know where he’d gotten it or what the hell it was.
So let me resurrect that old blog series I used to torture you with..
Name That Crap!
What is it?
( And yes, I did research so I know the answer. )
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Our resident skunk who visits nightly.
Like everything else around here, he’s ass backwards with a black striped tail and white tip.
Regardless, he’s still a little stinker… and if the tip goes up?
Run.
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Two CH-53E Marine Corps choppers flying over our backyard during some rare state of Maine training.
We lived in the flight pattern of these babies down south when my husband was active duty, and trust me, when they go by? You feel it.
As does your house.. because everything that isn’t nailed down rattles.
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The sunset up the road from our house the other night.
You may ooh and ah at will.
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A sign I bought for the husband’s future barn bar.
Beer.
Making friends more interesting for centuries.
As most of you know, my husband is a Marine. (And as I learned many moons ago, once a Marine always a Marine…. hence the is, even though he retired from the Corps years ago)
Being a Marine means being inundated with Marine Corps stuff. Newsletters, fliers, reunion notices, junk mail and catalogs… like this:
Sgt. Grit appears in our mailbox on a regular basis because I made the mistake of ordering something for the husband from them online. I usually chuck it, but was bored the other day and started flipping through it.
OOHRAH!!
The beloved Marine Corps grunt that I’ve never managed to perform to my husband’s satisfaction. This may have something to do with the fact that I sound more like Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman than Chesty Puller…..
And that’s Army. A big no no in this house.
(A little history below for those who care…. though my husband would tell you he’s not doing it correctly either)
The catalog has all the usual USMC geegaws and gifts…
As well as those oh so subtle tee shirts young men love to wear….
Thankfully my husband hates those.
He lived it, and doesn’t feel the need to advertise.
There are knives…
And Ka Bar sporks.
For those days at Kentucky Fried Chicken when plastic just won’t do.
And now you can, for a mere $12.99
You’re welcome.
There are items for children…
And good God, there are even Marine Corps gnomes.
But it was the ladies section that made me choke.
Because even when I had the figure (way back when) to wear these?
No.
Just no…
River's world..... 