Labor Day Love

Can I just say–right now–how much I love Labor Day? As a holiday,  it doesn’t tend to rank that high and often gets overlooked.  But right now, it’s my BFF.

Pierre is coming down and I’ve already begun to compile a house list (poor guy).  I’ve reached a point where I feel that the house is pretty good, very liveable, and downright pleasant.  But now it’s time for some detail work and finishing touches.

Take escutcheons, for instance. They’re the little round shields that go around the radiator pipe on the floor. (And who knew there were so many meanings of this word!) Back in June, we took them all off and cleaned them. The intention was to paint them, I think, but as I write this, they’re piled in a corner on the workshop gathering dust.

So, this week-end I’m all about escutcheons, hall ceiling fans, and the delivery of….the NUETON! This is so exciting that it will certainly deserve its own post.

Too many good things all at once! Labor Day and the end of the Lawnman.

Bliss, my friends, pure bliss.

Tonight’s telly tip

If you’re home tonight looking for something to watch,  I’ll recomend Crazy Sexy Cancer on The Learning Channel at 9:00.  It’s the new documentary film about cancer survivors by Kris Carr and it looks fabuloso. You can find more details here.

I’ve ordered her book and can’t wait to check it out.  Since I don’t get TLC, I’ve got my dad on recording duty. Plus, it’s past my bedtime.

The Juggle struggle

Now that the semester has begun,  I’m going to have to juggle my work (teaching classes, attending meetings, reading student papers) with my house work (painting closets, choosing light fixtures, scraping old-person sticker glue off bottom of tub).  This should be interesting. As I left for work the other day, I stared longingly at my neighbor who was putting in flowers.  All I want to do is stay home and play! I want to say in my paint clothes! I miss my damn bandana!

Alas, mama has to make a living in order to afford the roof (which needs to be painted) that shelters her at night.  My new intention (notice the effect all this Buddhism is having on me) is to leave the worries of work behind me and make my new home my new sanctuary.  Whether it’s dealing with recalcitrant plumbers or crazy colleagues, I’m working on leaving them all behind me. For years my inner monologue has been Voltaire’s reminder: We all must cultivate our own gardens.  Now, for the first time ever, I’m not only taking this to heart, I’m taking this  literally.

I will find peace in my sweet 100s, my overgrown lawn, my big kitchen sink, and maybe even the basement (which is way better now thanks to a dehumidifier). And when the worries of my job and even of the house find me (as they invariably do), I will sink into my sofa and read celebrity tabloids and not feel guilty.

My Own Private CSA

It just so happens that one of my colleagues has too much produce! Guess who’s the lucky recipient of this bounty?

Curious Things

I’m beginning to discover the many quirky oddities to the house. Take the refrigerator, for example. Instead of being in the kitchen, it’s perched on the basement landing. I’m getting used to it, but it’s not great. Then there’s this thing: creative outlet work. Have you ever seen such a device? Even though it screams inept electrician, I’m beginning to actually admire the inventive pluck of whoever thought to install it. It has, I think, its own kind of understated elegance.

I’m just not sure why one would need it in the hallway.

My House, My Self

I’m sitting here with my coffe and my MacBook on a cool morning. So lovely.

Here‘s a nice article about a woman who sees her home(s) as a reflection of her personality. Beautiful? You bet. She has, um, four houses? C’mon!

Perhaps I have a future in real estate renovation….

Then there’s this little piece on Molto Mario and his summer home in…Northern Michigan! I really have to laugh, though, because as any good Yupper knows, the “mitten” is so “downstate.” Ain’t nothing northern about it, Mario. Sorry, buddy.

Big Tasks, small problems

Why is that when I am confronted with huge tasks (like planning a course,  writing  a syllabus, preparing to facilitate a professional development workshop), I find myself obsessed with tiny details? And I’m not talking about details pertaining to these huge tasks either. I’m talking about focusing on things like the amount of lint that came off my bath mat just now, the fact that I need to buy more stamps, or thinking about the way the kitchen towel gets folded on the rack.

They say that housework expands to fill the time you alot it, right? Well, clearly the same is true for thinking about house-related issues.  My brain spends far too much time dwelling in the space of ‘what’s-for-dinnner” and “man, it’s-time-to-find-that-dustpan.”  All of this worries me a tad bit because with the semester fast approaching, I need to get my head out of “house” space and into teaching space….fast.

Dear Readers

Thank you! I’ve been neglecting to edit my pictures in iPhoto and have thus used up tremendous amounts of memory and headache. I vow to get better at this. And I’m also trying to figure out CSS so that I can enlarge the font from 7pt to something slightly more readable. Did I mention that I have two syllabi to write? Does it still count as procrastination if I’m learning something?

On Lawnmowers

For some reason mowing my lawn has emerged as the bane of my existence. I’m not sure why this is.  One reason might be that mowing the lawn was one of my chores as a kid and it takes me back to those hot days of childhood. My dad made mowing the lawn seem cool (I think he convinced me it was a form of driving–machine, steering, control).  I watched him with envy and then I literally begged to do it. How smart was he to use reverse psychology on his kid in order to get her to do chores. It’s brilliant, but sick.

By the age of nine, mowing the lawn had become my job and after the first five minutes of machine-awe wore of, it felt like one.  Because the mower regularly spewed out sticks and small rocks in unpredictable arcs, mowing the lawn required full-on protective garb: sunglasses, old grass-stained nylon Nikes, sneakers, tube socks (pulled up to the knee), long sleeved shirt, and a Sony walkman (with the volume turned up to 10 in order to hear something over the noise of the mower).

Looking back on this now, I realize that the lawnmower was missing 1) a bag and 2) a guard/shield thingy. It was a treacherous piece of shit.

And now I have another one.

I mowed the lawn yesterday and once again felt that old fear of flying stones and run-away blades. Pierre used some black electrical tape on the cable and now I can start it.  I just can’t turn it off, so I kept mowing.  I began to feel ridiculous. I  had visions of my Lawnman taking off on its own, mowing down small children and little dogs, careening recklessly through the neighborhood like some kind of small engine version of Christine.

Here’s the thing: in the end, I had to use a SLEDGEHAMMER to move the bracket-thingy connected to the spring-hoodickey that is linked to the engine or something to finally cut off the gasoline supply.
All of this only hardens my resolve to plant all perennials and vegetables next spring. I’m so over lawns.