Happy Summer!

At lunch today, DH said, "One year ago today, you were pouring me out of your car."

I just stared at him, confused, trying to remember the last time he was in a state that would require me to act as designated driver.

"My surgery."

Oh yeah! A year ago, DH had minor surgery, and after waking up in recovery and trying to convince both me and the nurse that he was perfectly okay to drive himself home, he relented and let me do the honors.

Then the derecho hit and we were left with quite a mess.

So one year later we're sitting in our living room on a 90° day and I hear a noise. Not a really bad, the high-voltage power line just blew a hole in the neighbors' driveway kind of noise, but one that concerns me.

"Something's wrong with the attic fan," I say to DH.

"What?"

"The attic fan. Something's wrong. It sounds like...like the motor is running but the fan isn't kicking on."

DH, which in this instance refers to "Distracted Hubby," replies, "uh huh." My fault really, we just picked up an airsoft gun for target practice/squirrel deterrent and he's understandably enthralled.

Old-ass attic fan, Glamour Shots style.

So I do what I always have to do in these situations, I went up in the attic. And just like when I go up on a ladder, DH then becomes very concerned, what with me being the Queen of Clumsiness and all, and he put down the shiny new toy and went up into the 120° attic to discover that the fan, in fact, was not spinning.

Why? Well, because as all really old, crappy-ass fans are wont to do, it broke. Spun itself right of the shaft, it did. And now it's in our living room.

So while DH is on a quest to find a replacement for a fan that is quite possibly older than either one of us, I say to you, dear reader (hi, Mom!), happy summer, and may your attic fans be in better shape than ours.

When I said done...

...what I actually meant was mostly done.

After the floor was painted, I felt a great sense of relief, to be sure. 2 years after that fateful Saturday morning and we finally got to the point where we could think about moving everything that had taken over the rest of the house back into the utility room.

But first...cove base. If you think you don't know what cove base is, think again. It's that edging at the base of the wall that you don't necessarily notice but it adds a nice finishing touch to a room, kind of like quarter round, but with less drama.

More glue!

Less drama, but more glue.

And more rolling.

Rolling out the bubbles...

Isn't that a nice color combination? I picked it out  myself. Occasionally I get things right.


 Once the cove base was down, it was time to put together the work table. 'Cuz really, what kind of utility room doesn't have a work table?

Not ours.

You can see the cove base and how it adds that nice finishing touch to the walls. Props to DH for the idea. I hadn't actually realized it existed until he suggested we add it to the room and then I started seeing it everywhere.

Jill approves.

While DH was assembling the work table, I was retrieving the ridiculous amount of stuff that had spread out throughout the rest of the house and trying to organize it all on our new, fabulous shelves.

And putting our tools in their new, fabulous home.

DH isn't a fan of my describing the manly tool chest as "fabulous," but this is my blog, so here, it's fab-u-lous!

This, my friends (hi, Mom!) is a pretty bitchin' utility room work area...with enough buckets to make even the most discriminating walrus happy.

So the joy of my day was topped of by a brilliant moment when I actually impressed DH. We've been together almost a decade now, so whenever I do or say something that I think should impress him...it doesn't. But this day...on this magical day moving back into the utility room and reclaiming the previously overrun spaces...I impressed my husband.

He needed to drill 1/2" pilot holes in the bottom of the work table's top and as he's reading the instructions aloud, I go over to the newly-organized shelves and pull out some painter's tape. Why? 

Well...because this:

As I'm pulling off a short piece of tape, DH, while still looking down, says, "Could you get me some tape?"

"You mean the stuff I have in my hand?"

And that...as silly as it sounds...is how I impressed my husband. I knew the trick.

The trick: If you need to drill a pilot hole to a certain depth, use a piece of tape to mark that depth directly on the bit. It's simple and it works.

I wasn't the only one who found a bit of bliss on this day. As I was restoring order by putting things away in their proper places, the kitty rediscovered the linen storage in the spare bedroom.

Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr.

...DONE!

On this day, the 5th of May, 2013, I'd like to thank all those who made this incredible accomplishment possible.

To my family: Without all your support, encouragement, and good-humored mockery, this day wouldn't have been nearly as gratifying.

To the makers of alprazolam—the generic Xanax: Without your product, my marriage would have had the lifespan of a Kardashian union.

And most of all, to my dear, patient, hard-working husband: Thank the Universe your back is stronger than mine.

Before...

Now it just needs to cure.

...after!

Wait for it...

It's been too long since my last post, I know. But here I am again, on Star Wars Day, sharing how the Force is with us.

Many moons ago, DH (oh yeah, we're hitched now!) gutted the utility room. As part of the re-do, we decided to paint the floor. After the stripping step, the project went exactly nowhere.

Until yesterday.

Is that...progress???

 Yesterday I masked the wall. That, my friends is progress.

Funny thing about masking the bottom of the wall, though, it's not super-easy. I could have, of course, bought that masking paper that's a combo of tape and paper, but eons ago when I bought the supplies, I figured I'd save myself a few bucks and just the plain ol' paper. We already had boatloads of tape, so it'll be a cinch to just tape it up—or so I thought.

Oodles and oodles of wasted paper.

This is what happened when I tried to just hold up the paper and tape it just high enough off the floor that the tape would hold it in place.

I failed.

That might not look like much all bunched up, but that's about 15' of paper and probably 20' of tape.

Sitting on the steps with camera in hand—because what kind of DIY'er would I be if I didn't document my failures along with my successes—my mind wandered to FrogTape.

As you may remember, I love the FrogTape and I believe it makes any painting project so much easier. But I knew that it wouldn't solve the problem of taping up the masking paper...or would it?

FrogTape to the rescue!!!

FrogTape comes in a sturdy plastic container slightly larger than the tape itself. And guess what. The tape widths I had were both narrower than the tape I was using to secure the masking paper.

So in a stroke of genius—or so I like to tell myself—I put the roll of masking paper on the FrogTape container and slowly unrolled it against the wall, taping as I went.

It took hours, literally, because there are a whole lot of corners and bends in that tiny little room, but I got it done. Go me.

And this morning, with the aid of the Force, DH and I put the first coat of paint on that floor. It's a multi-part system so we still have 2 more steps to go, but if we don't get it done in 48 hours, we'll have to start again from scratch.

I refuse to start again from scratch.

So, my friends, enjoy May the Fourth, and may your day be unaffected by the Dark Side.

(The wait is over...)

And then it just hit me.

My life is really amazing. Not just right now, but right now especially.

I have an incredibly supportive family that includes some of the best friends a girl could ever wish for and in 8 days, I'm marrying the man I love. And by "love" I mean respect, adore, laugh with, laugh at, get laughed at by, rely on for strength, offer my strength for, and so many other things I can't put into words.

I've been so caught up in a whirlwind of stuff and I think I lost sight of the amazing things happening around me. But this morning, I paused to take a breath, and it just hit me.

My life is amazing.

Holy crap, that's me.
(Thanks for the pic, Jane.)

[PS: Don't schedule your wedding 11 days after a professional conference you're helping to organize and host...especially if you're slated to give the opening talk. It's not a good idea.]

My 3am revelation

It's 3am and I'm awake. My alarm is going to go off in less than 2 hours and I'll have to get ready for and then go to work. It's going to be a beautiful day.

As I'm sitting at my laptop, playing Bejeweled, I see the 3 response cards I've received for our upcoming wedding and my mind starts to wander.

I made our wedding invitations. It's going to be a low-key picnic wedding, not a fancy affair, so it seemed appropriate. I put a lot of time and thought and care into making them. Of course Danny (DBF went from "Dear BoyFriend to DannyBoy Fiance...but at 3am he's just Danny) had a say, but he knows how particular I am about the things I create and he pretty much let me do what I wanted. One of the many reasons I love him...he gets me.

When I mailed them out, I was very happy with them. Excited about them, even. I thought they were clever and very us and perfect for the event. I was proud of them.

And then, when Danny got the first text from a friend saying he had received the invite, I started to worry. What did he think? Did he like it? Did he think it was stupid? Oh my gosh, he must think I'm an idiot to have made our wedding invitations...and like that? What was I thinking?!?!?!

And that's the 3am revelation...that's the same thought process I have about myself and that, my friends, is my social anxiety problem.

Ultimately, I care what people think about me. I tell myself that I try not to let it define who I am or dictate how I behave, but really I do to some degree. Danny's different. He is who he is and he's comfortable in his own skin. His attitude about what people think of who he is and how he behaves is, literally, "if they don't like it, fuck 'em." He makes no apologies for who he is and I admire that about him.

I, however, am like those wedding invitations. Despite what I think about myself, if someone doesn't like me or thinks I'm silly or not pretty or too fat or inappropriately dressed...I feel like I've failed.

And that is why I stay away from a lot of social situations. Not to stay away from other people, but to avoid the potential of even one person disliking or disapproving of anything about me...even the stuff I can't control.

Now that I've started worrying about what people will think about me when they read this...all the ways they'll find fault or think I'm being stupid or narcissistic or childish...deep breath...I'm going to post this before I chicken out.

And in case you're wondering about why I thought the invitation might be seen as stupid, here it is.

...and then this happened.

I was all set to get back on track with the blogging and actually doing the wedding things that I had just been making lists for...

Me...doin' stuff.

...when this happened.

That, my friends, is the 200-year-old oak tree that Derecho 2012 decided to bring down across my road and drop squarely in my driveway. It's also the tree that snapped a high-voltage power line resulting in not one, but TWO explosions...and a fireball, but that came later.

Explosion one came when the line snapped. I happened to be staring out the bedroom window at the exact moment the line snapped sparks were flying everywhere...well not everywhere but mostly in front of our neighbor's house. I was very afraid their house would catch on fire so I screamed at DBF to call them and tell them to get out. As I'm yelling, there was another larger and much louder explosion that lit the whole house bright orange for a few seconds.

This was the result. A hole in a 4" thick concrete driveway where the high-voltage line landed.

Electricity will win every time.

Thankfully our neighbors were fine and their house was relatively unscathed. Funny thing about ground wires to your house, though, they're not picky about which way they send the current. They'll send that current into your house just as readily as they'll send it out of your house.

It took 5 days before the city got out to clean up that tree. So our road was closed at our driveway for 5 days. For us to leave, DBF had to take his truck off-roading across our front yard, around the downed power lines, and in between a tree and the damaged telephone pole.

Do you know how a power company (or at least our power company) tests the lines? They make them live and see what happens. Do you know what happens when you make a high-voltage power line live when one end of it is sitting in a pile of tree debris? Fireball.

I wasn't present for the fireball, so I have no pictures. But I imagined it looked something like this.

But I do have a hyperactive imagination, so there's a very slight chance that it looked nothing like that and I really just wanted to include a picture of an explosion in my blog. Mission accomplished.

Anyway...the fire department came out but, since it was an electrical fire, they had to get the power company to turn off the power they turned on which caused the fireball. That took a while, so the neighborhood gathered to watch the fire since that was pretty much the only thing going on.

This thing that DBF is holding was in our front yard. It used to be on the telephone pole.



















A fantastic crew from Blue Bell, PA (3 hours away according to Google) hooked it back up:

While this guy, who actually works for our city, did this:

...a lot, in fact.

But there was some good in all of this.

1. We were unhurt and we suffered no property damage (a miracle in and of itself).
2. I got a really good workout cleaning up the tree debris.
3. We got to know more of our neighbors and, as it turns out, most of them are pretty cool people.

I've also redeemed myself regarding yard work. I managed to clear a whole crapload of debris, plus a monster shrub, without breaking anything.

It's good to know that I am actually capable of operating yard tools without ending up in the hospital.

Rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated

No, I'm not dead. Just lazy.

Well, lazy when it has come to blogging for the last 6 months. A lot has been going on, though, so let's work on getting caught up, shall we?

The once-broken foot is mended. I lost the toenail...a totally strange experience, btw, but it's growing back. Yay!

There has been absolutely no change in the Holmes magazine saga. Despite several attempts at recovering my partial subscription fee, I've received no word from either the publisher or the publishing house. Irritating for sure, but fortunately it was less than $10, so I'm not too put out. But you better believe that I will never subscribe to a Holmes Publishing Group publication again. Never ever ever.

I met my blogging idol. See? There she is, Jenny Lawson, on the left. And that's me on the right. And in the background is her security detail. 'Cuz we blog fans can get a little scary sometimes.

If you're looking for a laugh-out-loud funny book, read hers. I'm not usually one to literally laugh out loud when reading, but with Jenny's book, I just couldn't help it. DBF kept looking at me like I'd lost my happy mind until I'd read passages to him. Then he, too, was literally laughing out loud.

And speaking of DBF, we're now engaged. And us being us, the proposal was full of smart-assery and stolen one-liners from TV. 

Leela: I wish this moment could last forever.
Fry: Leela my love, will you marry….
Alien: Bernella my love, will you marry me?
Bernella: Blorg! Blorg! A thousand times blorg!

When we watched the "Reincarnation" episode of Futurama months before the proposal, I asked DBF if he'd lose his mind if, should he choose to propose, I responded with "Blorg! Blorg! A thousand times blorg!' We laughed about it, but that's really what happened.

And for us, it was perfect.

As it turns out, once you're engaged, wedding planning sort of takes over your life. Neither one of us really wanted anything big or fancy. I figured we'd head to the courthouse and then have a small gathering of family and friends to celebrate.

Yeah...um...no.

So the great home improvement project has been replaced by my biggest challenge ever:

How to plan a wedding in 145 days without losing your mind and with minimal bloodshed.

Wish us luck.

Can you see what Jill sees?

As I mentioned in my birthday post, I bought myself a subscription to the HOLMES Magazine: The magazine to make it right.

I didn't receive my December copy of the magazine,^* so I went to their website to see if there was a December issue. I was met with a surprising note to subscribers.

The Holmes Group regrets to announce that Dauphin Media Group has decided to cease publication of HOLMES magazine as of the December issue.

I almost cried. But instead, I kept reading and was slightly comforted that they plan on continuing publication once they find a publication house. I took a deep breath to exhale a sigh of relief, but then something struck me as being off.

If you have ever worked in publishing, you know that publishers produce the content and layout of a publication, but a production house prints and distributes it. Production houses are contractors hired by publishers. Again, production house = contractor.

If you have ever watched a show with Mike Holmes or read the magazine, you know that most of the nightmares he comes in to fix happen for one reason: Bad contractors.

See where this is going?

Now, the magazine features a regular column called "Can you see what Mike Sees?" This column shows a construction project, points out features that laymen would see, and then points out what Mike would see, highlighting potential problems with the project.

Lengthy set-up over.

Can you see what Jill sees?

So let me sum up:
The Holmes Group hired a contractor. They wound up in some kind of dispute that they apparently can't resolve. The contractor decided to stop doing the work, leaving the publisher in the lurch.

Sounds like the Holmes Group hired a bad contractor...the guy who has made his name by cleaning up after bad contractors has himself become the victim of one.

Hello, irony!

^*I did eventually receive my December/January issue on January 5. The "Can you see what Mike sees?" column is all about Christmas-time safety. Timely.

There was also a little problem with the spine. The December 2011/January 2012 issue reads "November 2011." Oops.

The lesson here is that it really is important to do your homework when hiring a contractor...any contractor. Maybe next time Mike's people will follow his advice.

2011 in Review

'Tis a new year and as most people do at the beginning of a new year, I'm looking back on the last year and, well let's be honest, thanking the Universe that both the house and I survived.

Let's take a look at some important lessons, shall we?

• Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey...usually. If you're working upside-down, remember to adjust.
• Shutoff valves are your friends. Know where they are and make sure you can access them and your pipes.
• If you're going to lubricate your oh-so-squeaky dryer drum, use the fluff cycle.
• If your boyfriend has offered to take care of the yardwork, let him. Raking leaves can be dangerous. Additionally, if you end up with a broken foot, get one of these scooters. It beats the crap out of crutches, and is pretty fun.

I'm happy to report that I'm back on both feet, no more scooter, crutches, or orthotic boots. That means I'm gearing up to get into more stuff, which always means more hijinks.

And if you're wondering what I've been up to while I was off the foot...'cuz you know I can't just sit and heal...check out the barrage of baby blankets I've been cranking out.

Next up, why Mike Holmes should really take his own advice.

Happy new year!

Bow down before her...the Queen of Clumsiness

A week ago today, I had a great idea. I would go rake the leaves in our yard. Usually DBF is in charge of the yard, but he was at work, it was a beautiful fall day, and frankly, I could use the exercise. So I threw on a jacket and went out to rake the yard.

Google Maps view of my street.

As I've mentioned before, my house was built in 1960. For me, one of the joys of these older neighborhoods is the older trees. Big, full trees with lots of character which usually means 2 things:

1. Lots of raking in the fall and
2. Massive root systems.

Massive root systems can be trouble for a few reasons...interfering with underground pipes, breaking up concrete, and my personal favorite, providing lots of things to trip over.

So there I was, trying to clean up DBF's yard (as he has since reminded me), getting some exercise, enjoying the fall day, and I stepped on a tree root, twisted my right ankle, and started to fall.

Here's a tip from me to you. If you start to fall, let yourself. If you try to catch yourself, you're likely to wind up more hurt than if you just let yourself fall.

Case in point: Imagine a really silly gym class relay race where awkward 12-year-old kids going through growth spurts are supposed to run to the middle of the gym and then run back to their relay race lines BACKWARDS. Sounds like a bad idea, doesn't it? Well, it was. But the worse idea was mine. My 12-year-old self lost her balance about halfway back and instead of falling on her ample rump, she tried to catch herself.

And wound up with 2 broken wrists.

So more than 2 decades later, I was raking leaves and I twisted my right ankle and started to fall. Did I remember my 12-year-old self? Of course not. I shifted my weight to my left side and brought my left foot down on (no surprise) more tree roots! But this second patch of tree roots was far more diabolical than the first so I ended up with a hyper-extended knee and 3 broken bones in my left foot. Not to mention the twisted right ankle.

At that point, I didn't know that my bones were broken, I just knew that I'd fallen (into the road, no less) so I jumped up and got back to the sidewalk. And since I had only raked about two-thirds of the front yard, I figured I'd just walk it off and I continued to rake.

Yes, I was in pain. But being me, with an insanely high threshold for pain and a near-pathological aversion to leaving things unfinished, I finished raking the front yard.

And then I swept the driveway that can hold 6 cars.

And then I swept the front porch and the sidewalk.

And then I put the tools away in the shed and picked up some stray branches in the backyard.

And then I went inside, took off my shoe and sock, and sent DBF a text message:
"I think I may have broken my foot."

There it is, my broken foot. The second, third, and fourth metatarsals are all fractured. The fourth was so badly displaced that it required surgery to realign and pin it so it would heal properly.

Now, a week after my "great idea," I sit at my desk with my pinned and splinted foot propped up, sharing my symphony of clumsiness so complex that only I can achieve.

Oh, and the day before surgery, it rained...and brought down so many more leaves that you can't even tell I raked. That, my friends, is the Universe, in its best Nelson Muntz voice, saying, "ha ha!"

My house smells like lighter fluid.

Okay, so sometimes I do some really stupid things. And the really, really stupid things are usually things I try when I think I'm being clever.

Jill being clever = trouble.

Case in point: The day I tried to fix—or "fix"—our dryer. We have a stacked washer/dryer and by "stacked" I mean "temperamental, abused, holy crap how soon can we get rid of this thing, oh wait we have to pay the mortgage, so I guess we keep it since technically it still works". One of the joys of the machine was the hideous squealing noise that came from the dryer. At first it was sporadic and you could only hear it if you were in the vicinity. Then it got louder...and louder...until one day, when DBF came home, he greeted me with, "What in the hell is that noise? You can hear it outside!"

So I decided I needed to eliminate the squeal.

Remember when I said you need to keep WD-40 around? Here's why...you can usually silence squeaks and squeals with it.

These are our dryer innards. My first plan of attack was to lubricate the belt because sometimes they get squeaky. Using the little red straw that's now conveniently attached to the WD-40 can, I applied the lubricant to the belt.

You know, while the dryer was running.

It's important to do this while the dryer is running so that you get the WD-40 on the whole belt. At least that's the general rule of thumb when lubricating belts, I had never tried this on a dryer.

Unfortunately this squeak wasn't coming from the belt. Next plan of attack, lubricate the drum.

As you can see, the drum is much bigger than the belt. Instead of trying to apply the WD-40 to the drum with the little red straw which would take a very long time, I folded down the straw and went full on sprayer.

Better coverage faster.

Again...with the dryer running.

Now, the smart(er) way to do this would have been to have the dryer running on fluff cycle...no heat. The belt and drum still turn, but there's no flame.

Flame?

Yep...it's a gas dryer so there's going to be a flame.

And lots of lint and dust.

And Jill sprays a flammable liquid into the innards, with the flame going...and sets them on fire.

Well, just a little.

It wasn't a big fire, it was just a little one fueled mostly by the dust and lint that had accumulated over time. Fortunately I was able to blow out the fire pretty easily, so no harm was done.

Interesting thing about WD-40: When you torch it, it smells like lighter fluid.

Interesting thing about torching WD-40 in the room adjacent to your HVAC system: It makes the whole house smell like lighter fluid.

Fortunately the lighter fluid smell dissipated in a couple of days...and I killed the squeal.

The hole in our house.

We have a very old-fashioned kitchen exhaust fan. It's a hole...and it usually has a fan mounted in the hole, but in this picture, it's just a hole.  The fan's on/off "switch" is controlled by that dangling metal ball chain which also opens and closes a spring-loaded door.

Like I said, old-fashioned.

This picture with the fan removed and the door open begs the questions: Why did we remove the fan? And what's with the pot o' beans?

I'm so glad you asked.

Just a few nights ago, while making dinner, DBF tried to turn on the fan but the spring-loaded door was stuck. Spinning fan + closed door = bad. So I tried to un-stick the door by gently tapping on it with a long-handled spoon...to no avail.

"I know how to fix this," came DBF's voice from the next room. He came back with the broom.

I should tell you that he had just gotten home from an 11 hour day, so he wasn't at his best. I should also tell you that while part of me knew this wouldn't end well, a much louder part of me was screaming, "I'm hungry!"

You see where this is going, right?

DBF successfully knocked the door loose with the broom handle. But he also popped the ball chain out of the connector, leaving us with a hole in the house we had no way to close.

**sigh**

Sometime after dinner...obviously neither of us was going to get much done on an empty stomach...we figured we should try to at least close the opening since it was 45 degrees outside. Fortunately once we removed the grate and the fan, it was simple enough to reach through the hole and pull the door shut.

Unfortunately, when we took the whole thing apart, we realized that the fan wasn't actually black metal, it was just black because it had 50 years of kitchen ick on it.

All together now... EEEEWWWWWWW.

Time to break out the big guns.

Krud Kutter. It works. Seriously.



Tools we used to fix this ick:

1. Krud Kutter. It works. Seriously.
2. Hammer. If you leave something in one place for 50 years, moving it is going to take some convincing.
3. Flat head screwdriver. Apparently DBF would rather use a real screwdriver than my pocket knife.
4. Bent-nosed pliers. Sure I bought these for jewelry-making, but pliers are pliers and when working in small spaces trying to pinch that little ball chain connector shut, these will certainly get the job done.
5. Pocket knife. I'm totally cool with using my pocket knife's screwdriver when the knife is closer than the toolkit.
6. Tongue and groove Channellocks. While we had it apart, DBF tried to adjust the switch to make it a little less finicky...he gets points for trying.

As for the pot o' beans, DBF made Boston Baked Beans from SCRATCH.

That's right people, not all baked beans come from a can. Who knew?

Concrete and Cookies

We have amazing neighbors. They're the kind of neighbors that I didn't think existed anymore; when we moved in, they had us over for a cookout. That evening was full of good food and great company and before the evening was over, we felt like we were home. ***warm fuzzy***


That evening, we also learned 2 very exciting things about the husband:

1. He loves my butterscotch cookies and
2. He's a general contractor.

Not just any general contractor, mind you, but the general contractor who has done more work in our house than we have and who knows the history of our house pretty darned well.

Like that super-high kitchen floor, for example...it may be super-high but the tiles are straight because of him. He couldn't talk the previous owner out of laying the tile right over the existing floor, but at least he talked him into laying the tile straight. Yay, neighbor!

Being a general contractor, he immediately came to mind when we needed a concrete guy. When we asked if he had a good concrete guy, he said, "Yeah, actually, and it's the guy who did your sidewalk."

Our sidewalk? You mean the one stretch of concrete on our property that isn't buckled or cracked? Heck yeah!

So we hired the concrete guy to put in our new driveway. As part of that process, we needed to put in area walls to protect the basement windows. You know what area walls are...you just might not know what they're called. Here's a photo...with labels (how helpful am I?).

As it turns out, of all the tools we do have, the one needed to attach the area walls to the house is not among them. But our AwesomeNeighbor does have the right tool...and kindly offered to attach the area walls for us.

The weekend after the area walls were attached and the driveway was poured, I took a fresh batch of butterscotch cookies to AwesomeNeighbors' house to say thank you. Then I smiled and said another thank you, this time to the Universe.

A pigeon for your thoughts.

I've been away for too long, but I'm afraid I must stay away a bit longer.

You see, my alter ego must work in order to pay for the house about which I write. And right now, work's pretty busy. A few weeks ago I was in Montreal (QC, not MO) for a conference. Now I'm trying to finish a paper for another conference. Next week my group is hosting a 2-day meeting followed closely by the conference for which I'm trying to finish the paper.

But fear not, loyal reader (hi, Mom!), I have planned topics that I've just not yet had time to write or photograph, including:

• Good neighbors = Gifts from the Universe
• My house smells like lighter fluid
• One of these things is not like the other

And hey, if there's something DIY or home improvement related you'd like to read about in a self-deprecating and hopefully humorous way, lemme know! Chances are I've tried it.

And now, as promised, a pigeon...Canadian, no less.

There's a list for that.

As I've mentioned before, I like lists. Scratch that, I love lists. They help me think things through, remember stuff, and stay on task. So in the earliest days of my relationship with our house, I made a lot of lists.

There were lists for projects, project supplies, small tasks, "someday" wish lists, things for which we needed professional assistance...I even considered making a list of lists so I wouldn't forget any of the lists.

When you come to the point where you're making lists of lists, you either spiral into a recursive hell or you step back and try to find a better way. I stepped back, took a few (thousand) deep breaths, and came up with a better system.

Behold!

This is my "better system." Each one of those index cards represents a room in our house.  The list on the left side of the card is stuff that needs a-doin' and the list on the right side is stuff that needs a-buyin'.

Over time, we've added to the lists, crossed stuff off when it's done or bought, and once or twice, we've scratched parts of lists out when our plans changed.

Take the workroom, for instance...I know, it's the example for almost everything...but it really has been a microcosm of the house as a whole.

So, please, take the workroom (formerly called "Utility Room"). The list used to be 3 items. Then the plan changed. We decided to gut the room, and redo it. So we added a fourth item:

That scratched-out word is "Gut." I made the mistake of writing "Gut & Re-do" as a list item. Looking back, I probably should have just written "redo," not just because it shouldn't have been hyphenated, but apparently DBF stopped reading at the first word.

So one Saturday in January, I'm sitting in the dining room, figuring out what projects to tackle today, and I hear very loud noises coming from the basement. When I went downstairs, this is what I found (DBF has been grayed out to protect his "innocence").

Does that hammer look familiar?

That's the ceiling on the floor, by the way. Fun!

Yes, I know the demo needed to be done, but I hadn't thought the whole project through. Which meant I hadn't made a list for it. And I had hoped...well...I had hoped to make a list for it.

One of the best things about DBF is that sometimes he saves me from myself. 

Happy birthday to me.

What I really want for my birthday is for Mike Holmes and crew to come take care of some stuff around my house.

The mystery pipe.

This is the shutoff valve for a hose bib. On the bottom left, you can see that there are 2 90° branches. One of those branches goes to the hose bib. The other one? We're not sure. There's no extra water flowing anywhere (we've checked and rechecked), so we're hoping it's capped off. But again, we're not entirely sure.

The sagging ceiling.
There's nothing quite like a powder room with a ceiling that screams "cave-in imminent!"

The exposed power cable.
During the workroom demo, DBF discovered that the built-in shelves were hiding the power cable feeding the laundry room electrical outlets. Awesome, no?

No, not really.

The wall of shame.

Not my shame, but the same of whoever decided to put a carpeted bedroom along the wall with the main water shutoff, the front hose bib shutoff, and the master drain for the house. As I've mentioned before, being able to access your pipes is a really, really good thing. 

During the home inspection, Inspector Bill had to break out an angled mirror and a flashlight to find the front hose bib shutoff. The main water shutoff had an access panel, but the hose bib did not. So I had to install one. The wall now has 2 access panels so we can get to the shutoff valves, but the master drain is still behind drywall.



Moment of bragging (it is my birthday, after all), that's my very first drywall patch. You can see a pencil mark (we've not yet painted that room), but no seams. Go me.



The super-high kitchen floor.
Our kitchen floor is noticeably higher than it should be...we question what they actually put down before laying the tile. Our back door is in the kitchen, so that door had to get trimmed in order to clear the super-high floor.

Hey, is that daylight under that door? Yep, sure is.


Since I don't think the Canadian crew is going to make it down to the US to grant my birthday wish, I'll make do with a subscription to Mike's magazine and the company of DBF as we relax in our very own project-filled home.