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Checking on the progress in the cluttered chaos my hating retirement husband calls a cellar, I was delighted to see these:
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Looks like someone took my advice about using brackets on his shelves…. and if that’s not a genuine grade ‘A’ miracle? Ethel Kennedy didn’t own a black dress.
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Shelves are making their way along the newly insulated front wall…
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And might have a better chance at withstanding the onslaught of useless junk treasure that’s sure to follow.
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A project was just finished at Casa River.
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Without a word of nagging or litany of snarky comments from yours truly.
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Yes boys and girls, somewhere in Maine pigs are flying.
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Because the backyard stone wall rebuild is finished… and the only reason I can give is the fact that I blogged about it.
So if you sent positive completion waves and good juju? I thank you.
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As does Lord Dudley for the fresh patch of rolling dirt. And if finishing a project he started in less than a year wasn’t shocking enough?
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I came home a few days later to a freshly laid patch of sod. Which he hasn’t watered once, but hey…. one miracle at a time.
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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. )
First my husband wanted to clean out the barn.
Then he planted some trees.
And if those two things weren’t miraculous enough? I woke up the other morning to this:
The husband, behind the baby barn.. with a pick axe.
Rototilling some dirt the old fashioned way.
I couldn’t believe it was happening.
But he was finally willing to do something with the giant patch of weeds he wouldn’t let me turn into a garden bed.
He turned the soil over.
He raked it.
He even *gasp!* spread grass seed.
I couldn’t believe it.
Then he pulled this out…
And I could.
No new fangled high tech sprinkler for my husband. No sir.
Not when one from the middle of the last century he bought at a yard sale for a quarter is available.
Did it work?
Well, not quite.
The twirling sprinkler didn’t twirl…. but the husband was not deterred.
He twirled it manually with the rake handle while I tried (unsuccessfully) not to laugh.
But the biggest miracle of all?
Was his sacred pile of dirt.
That weed encrusted dirt pile has been an eyesore for almost 5 years. I was forbidden to touch it because, it’s dirt.
He might need it one day.
But…
He dug into it….
Leveled it flat and spread grass seed.
Though he did switch to my more modern hose attachment for the final watering.
So there you have it. Proof positive miracles do happen.
And come in threes.
Strange things are happening at Casa River this year.
First, the husband wanted to clean out the big barn ( Okay, he didn’t really. It was just a bit of organizing… but I’m counting it.)
Second, the husband helped me make a garden bed. ( I would have laid money on that never happening. )
And a week ago…
I looked out back….
And saw the husband planting a tree.
Planting! Not chopping down.
Somewhere in America, pigs are flying.
Okay, he didn’t buy them.
And only one of the three stands taller than my knee, but hey.
It’s still a miracle.
He dug them up from the wood line and I seriously doubt he got enough roots to make them viable…. which is why I told him they were going to need lots of water for the first few weeks.
Shall I give you one guess who has to drag that water to the far reaches of our property line because we only have 200 feet of hose and it won’t reach?
Yeah.
I didn’t think so.
Apparently even miracles have limits.
Try as I might to avoid it, sometimes I have to go upstairs in our barn.
This usually forces me to emit a heavy sigh over the husband’s new acquisitions.
You know, the ones he snuck in there without me noticing.
While I was pleasantly surprised to see he’d done a little organizing (read – shoved everything to the sides) and the floor was visible this time….
And also delighted to see a small section of crap had been put on a shelf.
A shelf!
(What? You don’t collect dusty old water stained cardboard boxes half full of rusty rivets and tacks…
Why ever not?)
A groan did escape me when I saw more bed frames….
And old rusty pesticide sprayers…
As well as whatever the hell this is in front of the vintage cabbage slicers.
I’m thinking I should make him use that in the baby barn to level out the dirt floor.
You know, as penance for bringing the damn thing home in the first place.
I wish I knew.
And if you’re thinking to yourself, geesh River, that didn’t look so bad…. let me point your eye downstairs where it looks like this:
And this:
And this:
Enough said.
When I woke up to this…
A big old rainbow in our backyard.. almost a double.
And if that wasn’t beautiful enough?
Later in the day, this happened….
My husband…. who never throws anything out?
Loaded up his truck and went to the dump!
He cleaned out the giant stack of empty boxes and some of the crap that’s been clogging our garage for years.
We went from this…
To this…
Walls.
I can see the walls!
And he even got rid of that old sink he brought home from God knows where.
Of course now I can see the vintage cash register and faded bed frame that I had no idea he’d snuck in as well.
But hey…
Even miracles only go so far.
No….
My husband didn’t clean out the basement.
Or the barn.
I’m not talking miracles here.
But finally…
After watching, feeding and photographing the deer in our backyard for the past 17 years?
A doe brought her fawn!
Bambi made an appearance.
And isn’t that just the sweetest?
In case you didn’t notice, Sunday night ushered in episode 1 of the final season of the epic HBO series Game of Thrones.
I’m a huge fan girl and had been looking forward to it for a long time.
I was wearing my shirt…
Twitching in anticipation…
And expecting the usual – I don’t like GOT even though I’ve never actually watched GOT – look from my husband.
It goes something like this….
But this was the final season!
I was excited, I was nervous, I was sad….
But I was also speechless, because at 9:00 Sunday morning my husband…. the husband who for 8 years had refused to even entertain the idea of watching GOT… asked to watch GOT.
From the beginning.
I was shocked.
And quickly hit the DVR before he changed his mind.
So we watched GOT.
For 15 hours!!
All of season 1 and most of season 2.
He loved it…. and was absolutely hooked.
It took all the restraint I could muster not to wear a smug satisfied grin.
And no, I didn’t even say that.
Although it damn near killed me not to.
Monday morning brought Patriots Day (a New England recognized holiday) and my husband…. asking for more GOT.
10:00 in the morning till 11:30 at night.
Season 2 and most of 3.
Epic!
He’s never binge watched a series in his entire life, but at the rate he’s going he’ll be able to watch the final season with me in real time.
That’s the good news.
The bad news?
When I asked him halfway through season 1 who his favorite character was and he said Ned Stark.
Oops.
River's world..... 