A Woof Makes it all Better

I am annoyed with Sarah Palin's speech last night and bummed that Rain had to leave this morning. So instead of posting I will just share some Iona Pig. The woof makes it better. These pictures were all taken by Rain. She took about 30 photos of Iona and the bossy woof just tolerated it all without even a little growl. I still don't know what kind of weird mind connection these two had.


You just gotta love the Iona Pig.

Lord, We Thank You For The RAIN

Sometimes you just need people, and that begrudgingly includes me. I needed some pre-NC life to visit and Rain's trip was timed perfectly. I get the sense from our conversations this week that she too needed me, so we balanced each other well. I am quite thankful that she's been here. But WHO KNEW? Who knew that God was also thankful? At least the god in Seagrove, NC is appreciative. And lest you are not so observant, please take a closer look at the church that's singing my girl's praises. Yep, Why Not? When in doubt, God just says...Why Not?

Speaking of needing...my sister Elizabeth called me the other night and said she needed me to come home. I am only too happy to oblige as five months without her is just five too many. I will need to stop drinking this very moment (well, after Rain leaves) in order to prepare my liver for the assault coming its way. We still haven't celebrated her divorce in person and I haven't met the new boyfriend yet. He is a little older and seems a bit more prepared to handle the real life than "The Black Man that Ran Away", so I am looking forward to him meeting my approval.

Rain leaves tomorrow, sigh. I will miss her. I will miss looking down upon her and seeing her crane her neck to look up and talk to me (see below). Actually I think she was looking longingly into the sky wondering why God hadn't made her taller. Rain, don't ask why. Ask, Why Not?

Labor Day Cont...It was a dark, dark day

In my previous post I referenced the strange change of events that occurred on Saturday after our successful ceiling demolition. In brief, it included things like:

• Me accidentally throwing out a LARGE check in a trash can outside Costco and not realizing it until I had been shopping in the store for over an hour and was already on my way home. Yes, I did manage to retrieve it. It entailed me thrusting my rat arm down into the trash bin and yanking my money to freedom. No amount of Lysol can erase the day from my poor left arm.
  
• Michael calling me to say that his truck wouldn't start. Fortunately he was parked in front of our House and not stranded in the parking lot of Home Depot.
  
• Us attempting to get jumper cables at ANY PLACE other than THE BAD PLACE. Keep in mind that it was now 6.30pm on Saturday. If we had been in LA, this would not have made a difference as you can get anything and everything there 24x7. Not so much here in Raleigh. The Ace Hardware was closed, the gas stations we stopped at didn't have cables, Target was on the other side of town...so, sigh, we had no choice. Do you hear me??? We HAD NO CHOICE. We went to the BIG BAD PLACE.
  

I know, I know that there are lots of people that love this place. People we love, love this place. And really, I don't judge you if you do (maybe just a little). I just don't like their business practices against suppliers and vendors, their strong-arm tactics against local business, their tendency to pay lower and give fewer benefits to employees than their competitors, and their aisles and aisles of crap. Yes, there are valuable products like cleaning supplies and jumper cables available, but you do have to wade through miles of poorly made merchandise.

In this particular case though, we needed the BAD PLACE and so we went in. I must say that this particular store was in a rough part of town, so that just added to the experience. We also noticed that there were no windows in the entire store and the smell of McDonald's and "Hot Chicken" permeated everything. I expect that if you walked out of the store wearing a shirt you just purchased that a pack of feral dogs would be close on your heels. Yummmm...chicken.

We grabbed the cables and then stood in line FOR LIKE FOREVER. Every shopper appeared to have brought their entire extended family, had giant baskets of crap to purchase and wanted to pay by check. I read a People magazine while Michael stood quietly and pretended to be invisible. Again I acknowledge a little bit of judgment happening here.

The worst part? The jumper cables did no good because the battery turned out to be dead. We went to the BAD PLACE for naught! I guess we'll chalk this experience up to a mini cultural immersion program. I think I deserve a passport stamp for this.

It's not called Labor Day for nothing

Yesterday was one weird day and it seems like too many strange disconnected things happened all within the 24-hour period. The day started fine and rather productive. We went over to the House to take stock of the attic space and tear down the ceiling that had been dropped sometime in the last 85 years. I think we were both looking forward to some demolition.

Starting any home improvement project with Michael flashes me back to childhood and doing similar things with my dad. Gary and Michael are so painfully alike when it comes to projects. Now don't get me wrong...I am grateful each and every day that I married someone as meticulous and precise and innovative as my father. I can't even imagine what it would be like to have a husband whose home improvement skills amount to nothing more than writing the check out to a contractor. In turn, I know that Michael is grateful to have a wife that is willing and able to contribute sweat equity without TOO many pulls of the girl card. (I average .25-1 every major improvement project, and we'll get to this one later.)

A typical conversation at the beginning of these things with Michael (Dad) sounds a bit like this:

Me: "What can I do? What can I do? What would you like me to do?"

Michael/Dad: "For now, I just need you to stand there quietly and hold this [insert: tape measure, ladder, pencil, hammer] for me while I do this incredibly important preparation step for the next hour. Only I can do this or the entire project will fail completely."

Me: "But can't I start something? Anything, while you take ten times longer than necessary to [insert: measure, tape off, straighten tarp, inspect, pencil mark]?

Michael/Dad: Not yet, as I am not finished being right and important. Please be quiet and stand still until I am finished."

Me: "Can I go sit somewhere and read a book until you are ready for me?"

Michael/Dad: "No. You must stand here and watch me and learn something."

Me: "When do I get to use a hammer and hit things?"

Michael/Dad (a little frustrated now): "Why is it that people (meaning me) always think demolition involves a hammer?"

Just in case you were wondering, THIS DEMOLITION DID INVOLVE A HAMMER/MALLET. I win. It also involved a ton of dirt and plaster and old wallpaper and crap dropping on our heads. It was wonderfully fun and it was progress, progress, progress which made me smile through all the dust. We gained 2 1/2 more feet of ceiling height in the foyer AND a hidden window over the front door!


It also involved a RAT falling from the ceiling and landing on my arm. Granted it was a shriveled up, petrified rat that had managed to get into the drop ceiling through a hole in the attic and then realized too late that there was no escape. I don't even remember getting off the ladder, so I suspect that I jumped and then backpedaled across the room with a grace and speed that a clumsy person only possesses during a crisis. Of course I was screaming and pointing the entire time. The girl card was played loud and clear.

Michael has spent enough time with me and been married to the Neumann's for almost 14 years, so a bit of irrational emotion no longer fazes him. He did thankfully pick up the rat and put him at the bottom of the trash bin so I wouldn't have to see him anymore. He also nailed a large piece of plaster over the rat hole so his rat buddies couldn't find me. If that damn thing had landed on my head we would have had to sell the house. That very, very minute.