Who knew that Raleigh had a toad season? We certainly didn't, but trust me...tis the season! While I am a tad creeped out by them, they make our nightly walks much more interesting. Iona met her first toad about 3 weeks ago and now sees them every night. They get her so excited that she hops up and down and her little stubs are just flying. She turns into a happy little two-year old puppy when she is confronted by a toad. There are some wise ones out there though, and they just stop moving after she has herded them several feet through the grass. I guess they don't much appreciate getting stubbed and licked by an orange ball of frenzied fur.
Once she's seen one, she thinks everything on the sidewalk is a toad. She approaches every leaf and bug with the same anticipation. During tonight's walk she was confused by something not a toad when Michael blurted out, "Oh, that's a spider. Don't fuck with that!"
Apparently my husband has an irrational dislike for both spiders and snakes. When I quizzed him on this, he said he can't trust something with no legs or too many. I apologize on his behalf if you are either legless or had been born with three. Michael cannot trust you.
I've really been doing well since moving here. I don't think I've completely tripped myself up once and actually hit the ground. That all came to an end last night. Yes, I was tired leaving the office. Yes, it was late. Yes, I was rounding the corner to turn off my office light...in the same office I've had since moving here, with the same furniture and the same layout. Out of no where I am attacked by a chair! It jutted out and wrapped around my leg and threw me to the ground with wild abandon.
Or perhaps my small feet in big heels just decided enough was enough and decided to just give way. That "could" have happened. Regardless of whose fault this is, my knees are now scraped up and bruised. I guess I should wear pants today.
My mother always says that if things had been up to her, the West would never have been discovered, let alone won. She would not have been the wife willing to pack up all her children and sit in a covered wagon for months crossing the US in order to find a better land. My mom knows her limits and the intense discomfort this adventure promised would not be for her. She prefers air conditioning, hotels and dessert. I have got to say that I can't judge her for this.
My husband on the other hand? While the rest of us pseudo-adventurers are sitting around the camp fire swapping ghost stories and eating smores, he is the Scout riding solo ahead. Ahead of the wagon train he would ride, in order to learn the land, the friends, the enemies, and the possible danger. Of course, all at his own pace and on his own terms.
Flash forward to 2008 and our new adventure. Granted, Michael has been in our new neighborhood more than I have, but not by a significant margin. That said, HE HAS MET EVERY NEIGHBOR...AT LEAST TWICE. I have not. I can be there for an entire day and meet no one. (Ok, I did meet the mailman.) Michael can be there for 5 minutes and is welcomed by the block party captain and a parade. Every time he goes down to the house to take out trash bins, grab the mail or do a little work, he comes back with a new piece of information. He now knows who lives in which house, the renters versus owners, who likes who, where the best restaurants are, who has jumper cables, and which neighbor can help pick out antiques. He is the Scout on the horse riding ahead, while I am sitting back on the wagon and eagerly awaiting the news from the new land.
We fought bureaucracy today and won! Well sort of. I am still driving around with expired California plates and I expect to continue doing so for quite some time. The DMV here is antiquated and I am too tired to fax things at this moment to VW. But enough about that, as this post is about victory. We went to City Hall today and Michael very calmly and articulately described why we needed to legalize our oh-so-non-compliant property setbacks. He wouldn't let me speak to the city council because he thought I might scream out..."Seriously, do you think I BUILT THE HOUSE IN THE EARLY 1900's ON THE PROPERTY LINE?" "Do I look like I would do such a thing?" "You let the people next door build a giant peach box on their adorable bungalow, so why can't I build a tasteful addition to my Victorian?" I am just grateful he let me come along.So I was mute and approval was granted. This does not, by the way, mean that Michael won over me. This was joint victory, even though I was not so gently gagged during the winning. This DOES mean that we can apply for construction permits in 10 days and then start construction! YAY. In the meantime, we still had some dirty work to do.
I ripped down all the paneling in the foyer that was (for some crazy reason) covering some beautiful and original wainscoting. Michael took the brunt of the grime (he was jet black) by removing a portion of a closet ceiling next to the fireplace. We are putting the new HVAC in the attic and the crew needs a proper way of getting up there. In the process Michael discovered that all our internal doors are held together with homemade giant nails that I don't think a tetanus shot will save you from. He also found a ton of fabric samples for Fancy Silk Striped Worsted Suits from the Spring/Summer line of 1908. There are about 60 cards and they have THE BEST NAMES for the fabric...would you like your Summer wardrobe to be made from Disguise? How about Disfigure? Or Dislocate? Is Corrosive more your taste? It is so deliriously creepy. A nasty tailor with a sense of humor.
In addition there was an envelope stuck in the ceiling of the closet that was addressed to Mason & Hanson, 79 and 81 Spring Street in New York.
Thanks to the magic of the Internet we discovered a few fun facts this evening. Mason & Hanson were "artistic tailors" specializing in Woolens and Tailors' Trimmings. The dates we found them operating were from 1905-1921 and they had offices in Chicago and New York. I absolutely love this stuff.
I suspected that our house was older than the first recorded deed of 1924, and this just cemented it. Back to the Internet and I found this fabulous paragraph about our house used in the petition to grant the Glenwood-Brooklyn neighborhood national historic registry by the United States Department of the Interior (how cool is that???):
XXX Hinsdale Street. Archie J. Wood House. C. 1911. One-story frame Victorian house with weatherboard siding and an asphalt-shingled front/side gable roof with pedimented gables with decorative louvered wood vents. The porch has wood posts and a Chinese Chippendale railing. Other features include a foundation of brick piers with brick infill (all now parged), an interior brick chimney, an entry with transom, and 2/2 windows. Wood was Deputy Register of Deeds for Wake Co.
So there. 1911 and it has a name. I am loving, loving, loving this. It is like winning at Scrabble and Monopoly and Uno and Spoons...all in the same afternoon...while intoxicated. And you all know I could so do it too.
Tropical Storm Hanna flew through here Friday night with lots of wind and rain and very little drama. We realized how ill prepared we were Thursday night and each hit the market to stock up on things. We survived that rain, but not sure we survived Rain and her penchant for BBQ.
Being a good Filipina, Rain loves the pig. It was only fitting then that we try out a few good BBQ places during her visit. I gotta say...BBQ is 1/3 the food, 1/3 the service and 1/3 the atmosphere. Regardless, I am still full.
First stop - the Blue Mist Bar-B-Q in Asheboro. As soon as we walked in, we knew it would be interesting. We were and remained the only non-locals in the place. A cloud of BBQ scented cigarette smoke lingered in the air as we walked over to a well-worn booth. "You girls want breakfast or lunch?" sang out a heavily accented voice. "Lunch it is." I immediately noticed a very large man sitting behind Rain, as he was grinning like a clown and waving frantically at me. This ought to be interesting. He got up a few minutes later and came over to us offering up sticks of Big Red. "He's called Big Red, ya know", said the aging woman with him.
We smiled nervously and he moved on. The food at the Blue Mist was fine...lots of it on paper plates and nice waitstaff. We were given enough hush puppies to cause a corn bread shortage and I felt a little bad leaving so many behind. (I do expect they were just given to the next people sitting there.) I have to say that it was a little hard for me to eat through all the smoke. The guys that took up the booth that Big Red vacated basically smoked before, after and DURING their meals. I had never seen anyone hold a cigarette so deftly while spooning in banana pudding.
Two days later we were off the wagon and headed to Bullocks in Durham. The setting is a bit like Perkins and you'd find the clientele in either. I was thinking there must be a convalescent center nearby, but no matter as the food was damn good. I completely broke down and ordered mac and cheese with my meat and it was everything I could have hoped for. I can't recall the last time I ate the real thing and it was soooo worth it. The waitress was a riot and kept coming over to check on her "girls".
That night was Rain's last and the girl requested more of the Eastern Carolina pig, so we headed into downtown Raleigh and The Pit. This was certainly the most upscale of the two, while the prices were still great. I honestly couldn't handle any more pork so I went with the BBQ Turkey and it was divine. Their tag line is..."Everything but the squeal". I highly, highly recommend, although I would suggest not going after you've literally consumed a year's worth of BBQ in two days. I am still detoxing with the Boca burgers.
The previous owner's disgusting carpet is now gone and soon to be replaced by beautiful reclaimed hardwood floors. I must say though that the lovely collection of linoleum we found underneath the Ebola rug is tough to resist. My new favorite thing in the world is my trusty Nail Puller Claw Hammer. That thing rocks when yanking out tack boards and staples.
We filled a good portion of our contractor's truck with the fruits of our labor. Not bad for a day's work by two office slaves.
During one of our trips to the truck I asked Michael if I was the prettiest wife he ever had (while wearing a mask, safety goggles and covered in dirt). He correctly responded that I was the only wife he ever had. Sounds like demo love to me.
