Ta-da!!!

I know I shouldn't do this... the toilet is still in the hall...*...but I can't resist showing off the new floor.

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Tomorrow I'll get the "Sta-put" putty that I just realized I need, and (if the stars are in proper allignment), the throne will be returned to its proper place... (please pray, offer up sacrifices, do hocus-pocus or whatever else might assist).

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This wizard is pooped!

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* For anyone who's wondering how it got there, see my previous post

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A Good Flush Beats a Full House

The shut-off valve works like it's supposed to, and bailing and sponging out the leftover water in the tank and bowl is easy enough. So far, so good. Time to remove the toilet.

Okay, come on... goddamit, come on... (grunt, grunt)... Oh, son of a fucking bitch... How the hell can one bolt come loose but not both? Dammit, come on... stupid little...(grunt, grunt)...son of a...(grunt, grunt).

This isn't working. Poop and eggs... And this damned bathroom is so small that it feels like I'm twins.

Radio discussing mass murder at least keeps my own little hades in perspective, although at times I can't even hear it over my grunting and cussing... Come on God, this isn't funny... (grunt, grunt)... Okay, there must be some other way. My hands hurt and I'm getting tired. Stupid friggin' toilet. Here's the real pisser: this should have been the easy part.

I take a break and check my blog and email. Two more good poems from Shaman and a message from the Judge saying the Québécois have hi-jacked my blog and all he can get is a log-in in French. And then the solution comes to me: the hack-saw... And the Judge comes back with the message that it's gremlins at his end and it ain't the Québécois after all. So the final score at the end of the break is: Two poems from Shaman, and two problems solved. Thank heavens for the computer, I think, laughing sardonically.

A few minutes and some elbow grease later the damned toilet is sitting in the upstairs hallway, and I'm off to get some carpentry tools. With any luck, I'll have a nice maple floor down here by mid-afternoon.

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I return and notice how rusty the metal floor flange is. (That's the thing that holds the drain pipe in place and anchors the toilet to the floor). The screw heads are rotted to the point of looking like old nails, and I can't turn them with a screwdriver. Shit on a fucking shingle.

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To shorten this tale a bit, after a lot more cussing and grunting, I completely demolish the damned thing (except for the plastic part that seems to be glued to the pipe). What in hell will I ask for at the local plumbing supply?? Half of a floor flange? I take a photo of the situation.

Even though it's lunch-time and I wash my hands, I can't bear to touch anything that is headed for my mouth. I try to remember if I've ever seen a plumber bite his nails...

There's been a problem with my plan since the beginning, and I know it, and I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't: there is no blessed way I'm going to be able to lengthen that drain pipe the extra 3/4 inch that the thickness of the new floor will demand. The right way to do this job is to tear out the particle board floor under the old vinyl, and then lay the maple directly on the plywood sub-floor. The problem is that the particle board runs under the walls and the built-in sink... I'm staring at Saws-all Hell, a fact quite well proven an hour later.

Hours after the first grunt and curse, the bathroom is down to plywood sub-floor, the wrecking tools have been put away, and things are looking mighty fine. Tomorrow I will take my photos of the problem to town and see if a solution can be purchased - or if I'll have to do some major plumbing work.

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There's no royal flush in the cards tonight, but at least I don't have a full house, and luckily we do have another indoor bathroom. Life is good.

Lunch Bunch

I've been feeling haikuish lately. Maybe it's my keen sense of the unrest this awkward season change is generating. Maybe it's just that I'm lazy.

The goldfinches are morphing from winter brown to summer yellow. Each day you can see the progress, but clay-colored feathers still predominate. Daffodils spear their way up through the leaf cover at the edge of the woods, but, like the goldfinches, keep us in suspense. I fried eggs yesterday morning just to enjoy something warm and sun-colored.

Here are my feathered friends at the Niger Café (click on the photo for a better look), and below them, two poems.



black thistle diners
winter coats patched with yellow
birds of a feather

and

taupe duds now blasé
runway girls strut in yellow
finches not so sure

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The Wizard's view on April 16, 2007...
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A Cold, Cruel Joke...

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Spring ground snow-covered
Robins eat sumac flowers
Frozen worms laughing
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The Velveteen Rabbit

....."What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

....."Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

....."Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

....."Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.

This morning in the woods, the Velveteen Rabbit crossed my path. I thought back to the little boy who had helped him to become real, and a lump came in my throat, for now the boy is grown and far away, and his toys are of a different kind.

I thought too of the parallel between the Velveteen Rabbit and the aging children who share this space: sometimes they, too, become real. The ones who do, do it gradually, first hiding behind carefully chosen identities, then slowly exposing themselves. I do not love them into reality like the little boy did, but they become real by the consistency of what they write and the messages they leave. They enrich and brighten my world.

You cannot truly love a fictional character, nor can you grieve the death of someone who is “pretend.” This week I learned that Lance, the blogger known to us as Baron Ectar, died very unexpectedly, and I am grieving that loss. He was a good person.
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He was someone who had become real in this pretend world of blogging.



Thank you, Baron, for your thoughtfulness and your willingness to help. Thank you for the music you shared with us. Your introspection and striving to "get life right" were an inspiration.
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May peace be with you and your family.
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You may click here for the full text (with pictures) of The Velveteen Rabbit by Marjorie Williams.

PSYCHO

As I look out at the falling snow, I know that it’s all my fault. Yes, I caused the return of winter.

A week ago, when all was sunny and spring-like, I cleaned out my dresser drawers. Daffodils were peeking up through last fall’s dead leaves and robins were singing as I packed my woolies away and hauled out some t-shirts and khakis. Then – as if I hadn’t been brazen enough in my disregard for PSYCHO – I gathered up all the wool mittens, hats, scarves and socks, washed them with Woolite and gleefully put them in storage… It’s been snowing and I’ve been freezing ever since.

You all know about PSYCHO: wash the car or hang the laundry on the clothesline and it will rain; sign up for an all-day indoor event and the sun will shine gloriously; buy a kite and April’s breezes will turn into doldrums; buy a sled and the snow will melt; plant tomatoes and watch a late frost settle on them; schedule a fall foliage tour and enjoy the two-foot-deep snow dump of a Nor’easter.

Yes, this weather is all my fault. I disregarded the theory of PSYCHO: Personal Stupidity Yielding Cosmically Hellacious Occurrences. I’m sorry.

Home Again

"You can't get there from here." That's the problem with most trips we take.

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Four hours of driving gets us to the Albany airport, where Homeland Security, baggage checking, gate finding, rental car procurement and everything else most people associate with travel begins. Nine hours after leaving home, we arrive in Washington, D.C., only two hours sooner than if we had driven the entire distance.

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Unfortunately, winter traveled with us, but despite that, we had a wonderful few days.

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It was a trip filled with "firsts" for our grandson: first airplane flight, first zoo, first subway ride.

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We saw the cherry blossoms and hiked in Rock Creek Park; the Easter Bunny left some eggs in the yard. It was a chance for four generations to laugh, eat wonderful food and play together.

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On Sunday, we traveled the route in reverse. It was a good trip. We had a wonderful time, but it's good to be home.

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And Things That Go Bump in the Night...

My basement is a bit funky. There’s the usual cellar stuff: bags of potatoes; shelves of canned tomatoes, jam and such; two freezers; woodworking tools, extra plumbing and electrical supplies; an old mini-port-a-potty; a retired foozball game; the water pump; clay pots and potting soil; a washer and dryer and – this time of year – about six inches of water in the low end that was created by pouring a level concrete floor across the cellar's higher parts.

I don’t give the water situation down there much thought. Usually I pump it out, but if ignored, eventually the water seeps back through the cracks in the bedrock from whence it came, and things dry up. This is an owner-built-home, and we owners are pretty tolerant of its idiosyncrasies.

Last week I went down there to fetch a few potatoes for supper and was startled by the kerploosh of some fairly sizable critter doing a running swan dive into the deep end. "Holy shit. What the hell was that?!?" I wondered aloud. The red squirrel that’s been coming to the bird feeders crossed my mind, but as much as I scanned the water for waves or movement, nothing further happened. There is a sort of platform above much of this low area, and the mystery diver must have quickly found a good hiding place (or maybe - I hoped - an exit), so I took my potatoes upstairs and started dinner.

For the next several days, whenever I needed something from the depths of the cellar, I would quietly sneak down the stairs, hoping to get a glimpse of the invading creature, but no sightings rewarded my stealth. The furry Greg Louganis had apparently moved on, and I forgot about him.

Last night, tired and hoping for a good night’s sleep, I worked a crossword puzzle until my eyelids drooped, and then turned out the light. At that moment, all was peaceful and quiet.

Some little time later, I was startled wide-awake: there was an animal – a fairly large, gray animal – walking along the edge of my mattress!

Now you who read here often know that I like animals; I respect animals, but I don’t fear them. Even so, let me tell you that the unexpected presence of a critter about the size of a small beagle strolling along the edge of your mattress in the middle of the night is a pretty unsettling sight!

I grabbed the sheet with both hands, creating a sort of barrier between the critter and my bare hide. “Omigod!! Bob!! Turn on the light!! There’s an animal in the bed!!” I screamed.

Bob (never at his best upon awakening) eventually noted that something was amiss and mumbled, “Can’t you turn the lamp on?” to which I answered with the obvious – and high volume - reply: “I’ve got both hands on the goddam sheet!!!” Finally he managed to turn on a flashlight and then eventually an electric light, but by then there was nothing four-legged in sight. It was as gone as last week’s diver.

I reiterated that there WAS an animal “right there on the mattress beside me!" to which Bob asked (with a measure of concern appropriate to such a dire situation), “What kind of animal was it?” and I say (still a bit wide-eyed), “An armadillo!... then realizing how nuts this sounds, “...or something that LOOKED LIKE an armadillo. My husband, reasonable to a fault, asks, “You saw it in the dark?”

“Uh, hmmm, uh, gee, I don’t know... uh... good point...” and suddenly it dawned on me that I must have dreamed the whole thing. Nevertheless, remembering the basement diver, we did a thorough search under the bed, finding nothing.

Eventually the whole episode began to strike us very funny and soon we were laughing hysterically. It took another crossword puzzle and at least an hour before I was sleepy again.

All this "wholesome living" sometimes gets under your skin, I guess, but this is the life we chose...

Say goodnight, Gracie.


Scottish Prayer (traditional)

From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
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Nature Got Attitude...

Opportunists (ferns find a toe-hold)




Co-existers (trillium and wild leeks)




Bully (raging spring torrent)




Adapter (yellow birch tip-toes over old foundry wall)




Peacemakers (hemlocks stand silently above the riverbed)


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