Okay, the movers are due in seven minutes. I’ll be able to check in on DrBob’s laptop from time to time, but nothing reliable until we get net in the new house. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.
Song du jour of the day: I Want to Live in a Wigwam, by Cat Stevens.
Oh! Uh, P.S. Happy Birthday Nate! (It’s still Wednesday in Seattle as I type this…)
It was peaceful and vacationy and relaxing, but it didn’t last long enough. The place was really nice, too, I’d recommend it to anyone heading out to the Bayerischer Wald – very quiet, except for the shrieking kids in the pool, but since those were our kids, I’m sure it’d be quiet for you if you went when we were not there. Continue reading
So I did the
nagging concerned wifey thing and tried to get Mr Husband to take a vacation this year, he’s running himself ragged, working so hard, getting on my last damn nerve he really deserves a break. So do I. But he kept saying he was too busy. How. Ever. Hah. Somehow he got it into his head that the kids have simply ruined our lovely (it was never lovely) wooden staircase, and before the poor renters (who have their own thundering herd of sons (fyi: a thundering herd of daughters = 10 or so. A thundering herd of sons = 2. )) move in, the stairs have to be sanded and refinished by a professional This Guy We Know. Aaaand TGWK said we can’t use the stairs for three whole days, so ha! We get a vacation! Continue reading
One side thinks poor people deserve good health care, and won an election on the promise to make sure it happens. The other side are so determined to oppose the will of the people that they harass, bully, and threaten to assassinate their opponents.
Which side has been accused of fascism?
Note to my fellow Americans: before you use words like “socialism” and “fascism,” look them up in a dictionary. Seriously. When you use words without knowing what they mean, it makes you sound stupid.
Of course, nobody who reads this blog needs that advice, so I guess I’m just venting.
Song du jour of the day: Moving to LA, by Art Brut.
As Ikea’s best customers, of course we have a huge surplus of allen wrenches, extra screws, wooden pegs, metal pegs, nails, washers, nuts that don’t fit any of our bolts, etc. And for years we kept them all jumbled in a plastic bucket that had once held ice cream, and whenever we needed anything, we had to get everything out and paw through it. One week last spring, when Aldi was featuring tools, they also had those big plastic cases divided into a million little compartments for you to sort all that stuff into, so I bought it. But I didn’t actually do the sorting for a really long time, because why?
Because that fiddly, fussy sort of work that takes a tiny mess and turns it into a tiny organized space, so that I spend several hours sorting and then afterward my house looks NO different? Is my idea of fun. So I was saving the task as a treat for one of my kids.
Yes! I don’t even have to smoke anything to be like this! Fortunately, before either of them did anything to merit such a privilege (yeah, you could wait a long time for that…), I realized that I am insane. And that since they, perversely, have decided to embrace their own brand of crazy rather than follow in my footsteps, they probably would not have been as gleeful as I was at the prospect of several hours sorting tiny bits of metal into compartments. So I did it myself. And it was fun.
I wonder what kind of therapist I should look for in Utrecht.
Song du jour of the day: Apologies, by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.