Middle aged musings from farm & hearth
If you EVER…here on this blog…. read the words “OMGwe-just-found-the-coolest-old-place-for-sale-that-needs-alotta-work-but-the-bones-are-beautiful-and-the-property-is-awesome-We’re-just-gonna-inquire-and wouldn’t-it-be-a-neat- project? You know… anything even remotely like that?… Just shoot me.
While we still had another coat of tung oil to put on the floors, we were getting antsy to do SOMETHING… so after the middle coat had dried we began hanging things on walls…
Remember the “stuff” I got at that little antique red cottage? … This is the finished product..very easy to make. My son said… “Mom, aren’t you gonna paint all the chipped up stuff? ” I told him that’s exactly the way I like it. My one mistake was using too much glue to make sure the half teacup wouldn’t fall off the chalkboard painted background. Now I have to find some chalk to go in the teacup.
She was twelve years old. By rottweiler standards that’s a long life. We were wondering how she’d take the move to This Old House. Last night we had to make the decision to end her struggle with a tumor in her spleen which kept rupturing and rendering her weaker with each episode. Our vet explained her deteriorating condition and gave us time with her. She passed peacefully in my arms ….but how I hate those moments. How I hate having to make those choices.
See, this is where our differences kinda make for a humorous situation. *sigh* We need a new mattress. Our old one, a king, has hills and valleys probably where we do…. and it’s time.
This is my husband’s idea of comfort.
And this is mine…
So we went mattress shopping today. I got there before him, so I explained our issues to the saleswoman and she gave me a tour of the five mattresses she thought we could make work. One mattress was too soft, one of those temperpedic things… and I swear I was getting seasick laying in it. Something about that slow molding memory action makes me feel like I’ve got a hangover. Then there was the sheet of plywood very firm mattress, which made my shoulders and neck hurt instantly when I rolled on my side, which is how I sleep. I knew that would be the one for Mike. There was a mattress that felt heavenly, but it cost just about $5,000… and that’s plain ridiculous. There was a middle of the road, however, and I hoped I’de be able to talk him into it. It actually has some of that memory foam on the top of it, but not enough to suck you in.
Mike arrived and of course liked the plywood rendition, kept going back to it infact, but the middle of the road version appealed to him too… and so that’s what we bought.
Hmmm… we arrived at a compromise quickly and with ease. Could this be the beginning of a new era?
Don’t bed on it 🙂
I don’t really have an explanation, not sure where it’s coming from, just not my normal thing. For some reason, chickens have been on my mind when planning the decorating of This Old House. I’ve had alot of animals over the years – dogs, horses, rabbits, cats, fish, fire-bellied toads and even a rat for a brief while. But never chickens.
The teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment:
” Please ask your parent to tell you a story with a moral ending”.
The next day, the kids came back and, one by one, began to tell their stories.
There were all the regular types of stuff, spilled milk and pennies saved.
William was the last boy to tell his story.
“William, do you have a story to share?’
‘Yes ma’am. My daddy told a story about my Aunt Karen.
She was a pilot in Desert Storm, and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory, and all she had was a flask of whiskey, a pistol, and a survival knife.
She drank the whiskey on the way down cause she knew the bottle was gonna break, and then her parachute landed her right in the middle of 20 enemy troops.
She shot 15 of them with the pistol, until she ran out of bullets,killed four more with the knife, till the blade broke and then she killed the last of them with her bare hands.’
‘Good Heavens,’ said the horrified teacher. ‘What did your daddy tell you was the moral to this horrible story?’
William gave her a look like it oughta be obvious, and said..
‘Stay the hell away from Aunt Karen when she’s been drinking!’
Stained and Tung oiled, two coats left to go…and then… WE’RE IN!!!
Walter has been haying the fields behind This Old House for many years. We’ve asked him to continue the tradition because we don’t have harvesting equipment or cows to feed. He has both and so he’s happy to oblige.
The fields have been in a state of neglect for years and are in need of a good dose of fertilizer. Walter plans to bring in six to ten loads of chicken manure later this year to fortify the soil once again.
One of my favorite scents in the whole world is freshly hayed fields. The sound of the tractor putt-putting across the field could lull me to sleep.
We don’t always see eye to eye, and sometimes our taste in things couldn’t be farther apart on the spectrum. One of us is a natural navigator, one of us can’t find his way out of a wet paper bag. He’s super organized and I’m… well… not.
