Sunday, October 24, 2010

 If my house were my boyfriend, I would so be breaking up with it right now. DISCLAIMER: I am ever grateful for this house and I love it, it's just that...we've reached an impasse in the decorating department. I am riddled with creative urgings and salivate Pavlov-style at the mere sniff of a hot-off-the-presses home decor magazine, it's just that...I should have taken home economics. My not-being-able-to-sew (or reupholster, install hardwood floors, pour a concrete countertop) is really biting me in the rear these days. So, I guess, it's not the house so much as my lack of ability in the DIY department. Maybe I need to break up with myself. Yes, that's right, (whispering softly, taking myself gently by the hand) it's not you, it's me. That's weird, I'm still here.

 (Perfect breakup outfit: Goodwill nightgown + gray pashmina. Notice how the house 
languishes in the background as if nothing is amiss.)

Sidetrack breakup story: Once, in my salad days (does that even mean anything?) of 21 or 22, I had a REAL bad breakup that required me to listen to Gordon Lightfoot, on VINYL, singing "If You Could Read My Mind"...ummm, maybe a hundred times? The tears, they flowed like wine. And the next day, when I showed up for work at the Alzheimer's Unit with my eyes swollen nearly shut, they just went ahead and sent me home--you know, to avoid confusing the patients. Just who did they think was going to make sure the women stayed out of the men's bathroom is what I wanted to know. Oh, how I miss those days. But not that jerk who broke up with me. Kidding!

So anyway, the abode. It's coming along, I's just, I wish I could move beyond StitchWitchery. And speaking of education deficiencies, how did I miss out on typing? My sister is super-speedy (and a little show-offy) when it comes to the keyboard; while I may as well be typing with my feet. No offense, Christy Brown. All I know is, I took some "computing" class in lieu of typing, and I don't remember learning anything. I do recall the boy I used to sit beside, and that once the two of us made a list of all the foods that would taste good with chocolate.  Useful, right? I do so love to entertain.

Sigh. If only select items of furniture could weave themselves an entirely new exterior overnight. I wonder, is this what heaven will be like? Regeneration of tired rising phoenix-like and becoming custom roman shades? Or, will we just not care? All will be well, I suppose. Now--and then.

While we're talking of chrysalis and rebirth, how about this?

My brother-in-law, who is crazy, smart, and game for most anything, convinced us to raise our own monarch butterflies from eggs we'd be able to find on the milkweed that grows around here.
They started out as little pin-dot caterpillar eggs, and at the end were the most gorgeous butterflies I have ever seen. And I'm not just saying that because I raised them-they really are spectacular, and the entire process was so fun for our family. When the first one emerged, we all let out a yell and then watched through a few tears as it flew away. Butterflies, they grow up so fast, you know.  I do wish they'd stick around and teach me to sew.

p.s. Observe the mess through the window and tell me you feel my pain.
p.s. #2:  Look how dirty my husband's fingernails are. He's a working man, you know.  A modern-day Paul Bunyon minus the blue ox.


The Life of Blights said...

I empathize. I couldn't cut, much less, sew a straight line if my life depended on it. Unfortch our house and bank account demand it. Stinks. Not to add salt to your wound, but have you seen this blog?

It's torture. Really.

Amy G. said...

I feel your pain. Really I do. We were recently able to buy some paint to spiffy up our little hell hole, err... I mean money pit... oh wait - boy that just sounds so ungrateful doesn't it? Sigh... anywho. Apparently all of my children's artwork on the walls needs more than a primer to cover. Now I have to go and buy a gallon of Kilz. And the sad thing is, I won't finish painting one room in this house before *some babies* need to make their mark on the house takes over... in RED MARKER.

michael moebes said...

You know how you can learn to sew, right? There's this great book you can read. Actually, that Dana girl referenced by the other commenter has lauded the aforementioned book on numerous occasions. Here, I'll provide you a link to show you how generous and loving my spirit is--

carmen said...

So glad to read all the updated Blog Posts. It helps connect with you over the miles.This really made me laugh and cry.
I laughed at your zany face/smile and cry at how much I miss it! I know you have so much creativity just flowing thru you - just not with a sewing needle! I loved your PS -the room did need a little "magic" and those nails certainly don't fit the GQ guy I once knew!

Jeanne said...

I am so happy I came across your blog. It is beautiful. I do feel your pain. Upon retiring, we moved back to FL into a house we have had rented for 15 years. It was disgusting -- to say the least. Paint at least gave it a cleaner look and it was the cheapest thing we could do. Since the house is 50 years old, we now have to re-level the house (you would not believe all of the cracks in the walls), change out the plumbing, redo the electrical, and all of that before we can do any "real" fixin' up. Can you say ChaChing. I can only hope that it will come over time. Keep up the good blog work, I love it.