This month, E and I are breaking new ground in our marriage. We are becoming "Land Lords". Even though we have more than one house at the moment, we have never owned anything that would become a rental property. We currently are trying to sell the house that E's family left in the estate and it is in Escrow at the moment. We are hoping that it actually closes soon.
But to complicate our lives, we decided that we needed to buy a condo near San Diego State College so that our last fledgling could have a more stable housing situation. And only one roommate. That means we will be needing to rent out a room to another student until she finishes school. Then it would become a regular rental property for some long period of time.
I got notice today that the property recorded and we are the official owners. Whoohoo! Now I need to furnish it. Then I need to move the little bird into the new nest. Then find her a roommate. Then... the fun never ends.
But it has a pool and jacuzzi and I plan on visiting often.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Fertility Rituals
Every year, I anticipate the garden season and try to figure out what is best for each type of plant in my "zone". I am often confounded and wrong about the season here. We live in a coastal climate that imitates a Mediterranean climate in many ways. I am able to grow many of the normal plants found there, like dill, anise, fennel, garlic and onions. If I plant in December, I can grow lettuce, but it is too warm by the end of April for lettuces. I have sometimes been successful with celery if I water enough. My other plants are grapes, figs, and peaches. Occasional apricots happen here. And I have blueberries in boggy pots. We have grown macadamia nuts in abundance, but only marginal asparagus. Citrus, we have it. And every type of weed you can imagine.
But trying to get beans or cucumbers is almost impossible. And melon or squash, well lets just hit ourselves with sticks. The wet nights just mildew everything.
So this year, I decided to try something really different- cotton. I cleaned out a low dirt area that was the hottest spot in the yard. I turned the soil and added amendments. I used fertilizer abundantly and watered the sandy mass deeply. When the soil attained the desired 60 degrees F, I planted seeds of dubious quality.
Some of the seeds looked really good. I had picked the cotton lint off the seeds myself and they were this year's seeds from a woman at the weaver's barn. They were plump and firm. Then I had some that I received as a gift in the mail. They were natural brown cotton and may have been stored for at least a year. They may have been squished a bit too. And lastly, I had some seeds from cotton that had been stored for a couple of years. I picked the lint off of them too, but they looked a bit shriveled and dry.
The growing instructions suggested three seeds in each hole- 1 foot apart in rows. This is a good test- one of each seed went into every hole. Water deeply. Silent prayer for warm weather.
My area is known world wide for June Gloom and May gray. The temperature hovers just under 60f and it drizzles often. Nights are cool and windy. More prayers for warm soil.
The instructions suggested that two weeks would pass before the seeds sprouted, and to water them well when they were up about four inches tall. At the end of day 5, the first plants emerged. I have never seen a baby cotton plant, so I can't be sure, but they look like they were in the hole spot and seem to be in rows like I planted them.
The worry and frustration with the weather, rains, storms, bugs, animal disruption, and soil quality must have driven the ancient farmers crazy. Each year, the guess about when to plant, how to fertilize, were the seeds viable, can we keep the wild pigs out- it is mind boggling. And now, with the passage of the ages, I don't even know what god they prayed to for cotton crops. I have to rely on science and the farmer's almanac.
So today, I went to my cotton bed and had a little talk with it. Who would know best about growing than the plant itself. We talked about fertility of the soil and I asked it to tell me if it needed anything. We discussed the weather and I told them that I just didn't have any control over it, but had chosen the warmest spot and would do my best. Then I told them that I would water them every three days because the soil was very sandy and didn't hold water well regardless of how much mulch I used. I suggested that they could show me if they were needing water by bowing down a bit- you know, body language. And if they looked a bit moldy, I could hold back on the water.
We tried to come to some agreement on the communication but, I just don't think they were paying any attention to me.
But trying to get beans or cucumbers is almost impossible. And melon or squash, well lets just hit ourselves with sticks. The wet nights just mildew everything.
So this year, I decided to try something really different- cotton. I cleaned out a low dirt area that was the hottest spot in the yard. I turned the soil and added amendments. I used fertilizer abundantly and watered the sandy mass deeply. When the soil attained the desired 60 degrees F, I planted seeds of dubious quality.
Some of the seeds looked really good. I had picked the cotton lint off the seeds myself and they were this year's seeds from a woman at the weaver's barn. They were plump and firm. Then I had some that I received as a gift in the mail. They were natural brown cotton and may have been stored for at least a year. They may have been squished a bit too. And lastly, I had some seeds from cotton that had been stored for a couple of years. I picked the lint off of them too, but they looked a bit shriveled and dry.
The growing instructions suggested three seeds in each hole- 1 foot apart in rows. This is a good test- one of each seed went into every hole. Water deeply. Silent prayer for warm weather.
My area is known world wide for June Gloom and May gray. The temperature hovers just under 60f and it drizzles often. Nights are cool and windy. More prayers for warm soil.
The instructions suggested that two weeks would pass before the seeds sprouted, and to water them well when they were up about four inches tall. At the end of day 5, the first plants emerged. I have never seen a baby cotton plant, so I can't be sure, but they look like they were in the hole spot and seem to be in rows like I planted them.
The worry and frustration with the weather, rains, storms, bugs, animal disruption, and soil quality must have driven the ancient farmers crazy. Each year, the guess about when to plant, how to fertilize, were the seeds viable, can we keep the wild pigs out- it is mind boggling. And now, with the passage of the ages, I don't even know what god they prayed to for cotton crops. I have to rely on science and the farmer's almanac.
So today, I went to my cotton bed and had a little talk with it. Who would know best about growing than the plant itself. We talked about fertility of the soil and I asked it to tell me if it needed anything. We discussed the weather and I told them that I just didn't have any control over it, but had chosen the warmest spot and would do my best. Then I told them that I would water them every three days because the soil was very sandy and didn't hold water well regardless of how much mulch I used. I suggested that they could show me if they were needing water by bowing down a bit- you know, body language. And if they looked a bit moldy, I could hold back on the water.
We tried to come to some agreement on the communication but, I just don't think they were paying any attention to me.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
The Year of the Cowboy
There is a wild west element in my life lately. That kind of shoot from the hip, caution to the wind, wild and free stuff is all around me.
When I am looking at a home made spinning wheel, I first look for something that had true, talented craftsmanship and an understanding of the actual use of the end product. Many of the old wheels don't have many available replacement parts or ways to fix stuff. The weirder they are, the less likely they will actually make yarn even under the most skilled hands. Just turning some wood and sticking the parts together doesn't make a good wheel. Or even a good display wheel. These thrown together cowboy wheels are about people just making something that looks close enough, but doesn't really get the job done.
Now, granted, real cowboys actually rounded up the cattle and drove them to market. They had a job to do and worked hard at it. But what most of us think about when we imagine a cowboy, is the Movie Cowboy- all for show, special wardrobe, fake gun, trained horse. Some of these actors could actually ride a real horse. They might even be able to shoot a real gun. But they probably would be lost around a real cow.
This issue of 'quality product that can really do the job' transfers from spinning wheels to other real aspects of life. I want a stove that really works, a car that really runs, and clothes that really fit. I want a house that is built to stand up in a storm with windows and roof that keep the rain out. Lately, I have been running into products that just don't do the job- dishwasher that doesn't clean dishes, vacuum that doesn't suck the stuff up, cleaning products that can't get the grease off, screw driver that destroys itself while removing a screw.
I think this is the reason we all want to have some "quality control" in the items we buy. We want consumer reports and feed back on the web. We want to let the junky, ineffective products languish while we only get the good, well built stuff. And this is especially true when we buy very expensive items. It is hard to pay good money for something of questionable quality. Even getting something free, when it might be dangerously built is not worth the risk. We want UL approval.
E's father tinkered in the garage and built many tools. He was a cowboy. He built stuff then used it, then left it and moved on to the next item. His garage is full of questionable, possibly dangerous, stuff. A rock tumbler, a spot welder (220v), a metal milling machine. Frankly, I am afraid to plug any of it in. The wall could catch on fire. The item might explode. I might explode. For those of us who question the safety and quality of the items, I can say, "there was no quality control testing here."
That brings us to the end destination of some items like these. What do you do with a garage full of unsafe, home built, old and dirty, most likely dangerous tools and machines? What do you do with old, poorly build, not actually functional spinning wheels? Well, the wheels go into the bonfire, but the old machinery gets to go to the scrap heap for metal recycling. It is a sad thing, but really, I am afraid to plug it in and turn it on. I value what is left of my life and now I don't heal all that well anymore.
Next week, the scrap metal truck comes. When it leaves it will be full. My job is to dismantle most of what is left in the garage so that it can get to the truck. Wish me luck. This is not a job for the faint of heart. With my tool belt strapped on, I will climb a ladder and start to undo 25 years of creative fantasy, one knob at a time until parts crash to the floor. And when the job it done, there will be a silent prayer of thanks that no one exploded.
When I am looking at a home made spinning wheel, I first look for something that had true, talented craftsmanship and an understanding of the actual use of the end product. Many of the old wheels don't have many available replacement parts or ways to fix stuff. The weirder they are, the less likely they will actually make yarn even under the most skilled hands. Just turning some wood and sticking the parts together doesn't make a good wheel. Or even a good display wheel. These thrown together cowboy wheels are about people just making something that looks close enough, but doesn't really get the job done.
Now, granted, real cowboys actually rounded up the cattle and drove them to market. They had a job to do and worked hard at it. But what most of us think about when we imagine a cowboy, is the Movie Cowboy- all for show, special wardrobe, fake gun, trained horse. Some of these actors could actually ride a real horse. They might even be able to shoot a real gun. But they probably would be lost around a real cow.
This issue of 'quality product that can really do the job' transfers from spinning wheels to other real aspects of life. I want a stove that really works, a car that really runs, and clothes that really fit. I want a house that is built to stand up in a storm with windows and roof that keep the rain out. Lately, I have been running into products that just don't do the job- dishwasher that doesn't clean dishes, vacuum that doesn't suck the stuff up, cleaning products that can't get the grease off, screw driver that destroys itself while removing a screw.
I think this is the reason we all want to have some "quality control" in the items we buy. We want consumer reports and feed back on the web. We want to let the junky, ineffective products languish while we only get the good, well built stuff. And this is especially true when we buy very expensive items. It is hard to pay good money for something of questionable quality. Even getting something free, when it might be dangerously built is not worth the risk. We want UL approval.
E's father tinkered in the garage and built many tools. He was a cowboy. He built stuff then used it, then left it and moved on to the next item. His garage is full of questionable, possibly dangerous, stuff. A rock tumbler, a spot welder (220v), a metal milling machine. Frankly, I am afraid to plug any of it in. The wall could catch on fire. The item might explode. I might explode. For those of us who question the safety and quality of the items, I can say, "there was no quality control testing here."
That brings us to the end destination of some items like these. What do you do with a garage full of unsafe, home built, old and dirty, most likely dangerous tools and machines? What do you do with old, poorly build, not actually functional spinning wheels? Well, the wheels go into the bonfire, but the old machinery gets to go to the scrap heap for metal recycling. It is a sad thing, but really, I am afraid to plug it in and turn it on. I value what is left of my life and now I don't heal all that well anymore.
Next week, the scrap metal truck comes. When it leaves it will be full. My job is to dismantle most of what is left in the garage so that it can get to the truck. Wish me luck. This is not a job for the faint of heart. With my tool belt strapped on, I will climb a ladder and start to undo 25 years of creative fantasy, one knob at a time until parts crash to the floor. And when the job it done, there will be a silent prayer of thanks that no one exploded.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Wrapping It Up
It has been a very long trial. Not the kind you read about in the paper, or the kind Judge Judy hears, but an Endurance Trial, like a marathon. This started about 8 years ago and is not yet over, but it getting close. It is the decline and care of my husband's parents of which I speak.
I was not long married to Eduard, only a couple of years, when his parents started to come undone. First his father was diagnosed with Emphysema. He refused to quit smoking or use the oxygen regularly. He didn't like the lung meds and generally just ignored his condition. But it got worse fast, and soon he was having a hard time breathing without the oxygen. At one point he caught his face on fire while smoking with the oxygen on. He did finally quit smoking about 1 1/2 years before he died, but at that point, he was a total mess. His brain started to die from lack of oxygen, his lungs stopped transferring CO2 out and then it was over in 2009. That was only 5 years after the diagnosis.
In the meantime, mom in law developed colon cancer. There were operations, chemo, radiation, lots of xrays and MRIs, tests. She started in 2006 and we told her we would be there to see her through it. She made it to remission in 2008. The colon cancer had spread to her lungs and the forecast was bleak, but she was fighting hard and things looked up. Even still, she smoked like an old car- 3 cartons per week. After FIL died, MIL traveled to Oregon, went out to dinner some, but didn't really get out much. She seemed to be waiting to die even though her health was improved. In 2011, the cancer in the lungs started to grow again.
The choice of more Chemo pretty much destroyed MIL's body functions. In August she chose hospice care and went to bed to wait for the end. We visited daily, hired 24 hr. care, ran all the errands and shopping, started repairs on the house. She had a brief upturn in health, then a rather quick and continuous slide down. It ended in January.
Well, it ended for her, but we were still doing stuff. We have now gotten almost all of the work on the house done, things tossed or donated or retrieved. We have interviewed real estate agents and are prepared to sell off the assets. There are a few big items left to clean out of the garage, but for the most part, we are looking at getting our life back.
But what will that life be? I am weary to my bones from the work and disruption. I want to go someplace and just relax for a month and try to find my center again. I have a year's worth of work here, just on the yard, projects that have been on hold, people I need to contact, things to do, places to go, sheep to meet. Where is my ordinary world? How do I start putting my life back together?
It was a couple of years back that I started cleaning out and tossing old stuff. Now the garage is full again of things I don't recognize. Please tolerate this mess while I try to recover, find the floor, and clean my refrigerator and shower. Like the other house, all I can do is start at the front door and move from room to room until it is done. Hopefully, it will get done and there will be time for the hammock before the summer is gone. You have all been wonderfully patient and I appreciate that.
I was not long married to Eduard, only a couple of years, when his parents started to come undone. First his father was diagnosed with Emphysema. He refused to quit smoking or use the oxygen regularly. He didn't like the lung meds and generally just ignored his condition. But it got worse fast, and soon he was having a hard time breathing without the oxygen. At one point he caught his face on fire while smoking with the oxygen on. He did finally quit smoking about 1 1/2 years before he died, but at that point, he was a total mess. His brain started to die from lack of oxygen, his lungs stopped transferring CO2 out and then it was over in 2009. That was only 5 years after the diagnosis.
In the meantime, mom in law developed colon cancer. There were operations, chemo, radiation, lots of xrays and MRIs, tests. She started in 2006 and we told her we would be there to see her through it. She made it to remission in 2008. The colon cancer had spread to her lungs and the forecast was bleak, but she was fighting hard and things looked up. Even still, she smoked like an old car- 3 cartons per week. After FIL died, MIL traveled to Oregon, went out to dinner some, but didn't really get out much. She seemed to be waiting to die even though her health was improved. In 2011, the cancer in the lungs started to grow again.
The choice of more Chemo pretty much destroyed MIL's body functions. In August she chose hospice care and went to bed to wait for the end. We visited daily, hired 24 hr. care, ran all the errands and shopping, started repairs on the house. She had a brief upturn in health, then a rather quick and continuous slide down. It ended in January.
Well, it ended for her, but we were still doing stuff. We have now gotten almost all of the work on the house done, things tossed or donated or retrieved. We have interviewed real estate agents and are prepared to sell off the assets. There are a few big items left to clean out of the garage, but for the most part, we are looking at getting our life back.
But what will that life be? I am weary to my bones from the work and disruption. I want to go someplace and just relax for a month and try to find my center again. I have a year's worth of work here, just on the yard, projects that have been on hold, people I need to contact, things to do, places to go, sheep to meet. Where is my ordinary world? How do I start putting my life back together?
It was a couple of years back that I started cleaning out and tossing old stuff. Now the garage is full again of things I don't recognize. Please tolerate this mess while I try to recover, find the floor, and clean my refrigerator and shower. Like the other house, all I can do is start at the front door and move from room to room until it is done. Hopefully, it will get done and there will be time for the hammock before the summer is gone. You have all been wonderfully patient and I appreciate that.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Time Warp
There was a time when people who were shocked by the fast pace of change used the phrase- future shock. It is when you step off the plane from Kansas and find yourself in downtown New York. Everything has jumped forward about 50 years. It is disorienting.
So Eduard and I went out on a date on Sunday. We have been buried in work on his estate issues and our own life has been on hold for months. We needed to escape to something quick and close. We went to the movies- you know, the theater where you can see a new movie before you down load it on cheepflicks/netshows/blockbummer- later in the month. To be painfully frank, we haven't been in a movie theater together for about 4 years. I think he went on a work escape one time during that last 4 years, but it has been a long time for him, too.
We went to see "Mirror, Mirror"- a children's (and a bit of adult) movie. Because they had great costumes, and it had some of my favorite stars playing bit parts, but mostly because we just needed to get away and it seemed like a good idea at the time.
The disorientation started as we approached the building- there was no place to buy tickets. No guard at the door. Just walk in. There was a full alcohol bar that took up about 2/3 of the lobby and the area where the ticket office used to be was now a space age lounge. There was a computerized ticket kiosk on the wall and a small area where you could buy tickets with one helpful agent. We waited in line because we were confused.
When we got to the "agent" we ordered two tickets for Mirror- we had to select our seats from the few that remained. We chose the very back wall for that privacy you get when avoiding a child packed theater, but I have never chosen a seat for a "movie" before. Eduard offered a $20 bill and the agent stared at him. The tickets cost $34.50. He had to grope around in his wallet for another $20 bill. I was staring at the food area, trying not to notice his embarrassment.
They had gourmet popcorn- you know, the kind with chocolate dribbled on and coconut and nuts. And cheesecake. And sushi. And a variety of wild coffee drinks. You could get chocolate fondue with fresh fruit to dip or donuts. Somewhere on the menu was some regular popcorn, but it was buried in fine print, no pictures. Don't forget that full alcohol bar. There is a margarita waiting in there for you, to go with the gourmet nachos.
We slipped past the food and headed for the theater. Finally, we found the guard who checked tickets. He directed us to our theater. It was empty and the show started in about 10 minutes. I remembered looking at the seating chart, and was able to find our seats without help. A few other patrons wandered in behind us with the waiters. Every thing was black except for the table lamps between pairs of seats. The seats were fully reclining leather like lounge chairs- automatic, too. There was a little bottom lighted table tray between the seats to rest your food on and a lamp. The arm of the chair had a cup holder. The waiters were dressed in inconspicuous black and took your order quietly as people wandered into the room. There was a menu and drink list on the table tray- we looked.
Eduard and I decided that we would order some outrageous coffee drinks if the waiter made it up to the last row before the movie started. Fortunately, he did not. Then a group of children and a couple of parents clambered loudly into the section next to us- one of the young ones wanted the sushi and the parents ordered it. I took out my knitting for comfort.
As the house lights dimmed just a bit, the waiters delivered the food to the comfortable guests and the "previews of coming attractions" filled the screen- for 30 minutes. Too dark to knit, too weird to get comfortable, too light for the main movie, too loud to chat. I realized that this additional time would stretch my bladder but I didn't have time to go before the show- damn!
When the show ended, we exited last and climbed the stairs to the restrooms. I was really glad that I had not ordered that coffee drink. The upper floor was fully dressed with seating in clear plastic tables and chairs to a view over the railing- glass wall construction. Down below, the afternoon crowd was filling the bar with a big screen tv above showing previews, bites of sports, and some of the latest fashion. In between bites, there were little commercials about the grand theater company and how they loved their audience.
Eduard- we are not in Kansas anymore.
So Eduard and I went out on a date on Sunday. We have been buried in work on his estate issues and our own life has been on hold for months. We needed to escape to something quick and close. We went to the movies- you know, the theater where you can see a new movie before you down load it on cheepflicks/netshows/blockbummer- later in the month. To be painfully frank, we haven't been in a movie theater together for about 4 years. I think he went on a work escape one time during that last 4 years, but it has been a long time for him, too.
We went to see "Mirror, Mirror"- a children's (and a bit of adult) movie. Because they had great costumes, and it had some of my favorite stars playing bit parts, but mostly because we just needed to get away and it seemed like a good idea at the time.
The disorientation started as we approached the building- there was no place to buy tickets. No guard at the door. Just walk in. There was a full alcohol bar that took up about 2/3 of the lobby and the area where the ticket office used to be was now a space age lounge. There was a computerized ticket kiosk on the wall and a small area where you could buy tickets with one helpful agent. We waited in line because we were confused.
When we got to the "agent" we ordered two tickets for Mirror- we had to select our seats from the few that remained. We chose the very back wall for that privacy you get when avoiding a child packed theater, but I have never chosen a seat for a "movie" before. Eduard offered a $20 bill and the agent stared at him. The tickets cost $34.50. He had to grope around in his wallet for another $20 bill. I was staring at the food area, trying not to notice his embarrassment.
They had gourmet popcorn- you know, the kind with chocolate dribbled on and coconut and nuts. And cheesecake. And sushi. And a variety of wild coffee drinks. You could get chocolate fondue with fresh fruit to dip or donuts. Somewhere on the menu was some regular popcorn, but it was buried in fine print, no pictures. Don't forget that full alcohol bar. There is a margarita waiting in there for you, to go with the gourmet nachos.
We slipped past the food and headed for the theater. Finally, we found the guard who checked tickets. He directed us to our theater. It was empty and the show started in about 10 minutes. I remembered looking at the seating chart, and was able to find our seats without help. A few other patrons wandered in behind us with the waiters. Every thing was black except for the table lamps between pairs of seats. The seats were fully reclining leather like lounge chairs- automatic, too. There was a little bottom lighted table tray between the seats to rest your food on and a lamp. The arm of the chair had a cup holder. The waiters were dressed in inconspicuous black and took your order quietly as people wandered into the room. There was a menu and drink list on the table tray- we looked.
Eduard and I decided that we would order some outrageous coffee drinks if the waiter made it up to the last row before the movie started. Fortunately, he did not. Then a group of children and a couple of parents clambered loudly into the section next to us- one of the young ones wanted the sushi and the parents ordered it. I took out my knitting for comfort.
As the house lights dimmed just a bit, the waiters delivered the food to the comfortable guests and the "previews of coming attractions" filled the screen- for 30 minutes. Too dark to knit, too weird to get comfortable, too light for the main movie, too loud to chat. I realized that this additional time would stretch my bladder but I didn't have time to go before the show- damn!
When the show ended, we exited last and climbed the stairs to the restrooms. I was really glad that I had not ordered that coffee drink. The upper floor was fully dressed with seating in clear plastic tables and chairs to a view over the railing- glass wall construction. Down below, the afternoon crowd was filling the bar with a big screen tv above showing previews, bites of sports, and some of the latest fashion. In between bites, there were little commercials about the grand theater company and how they loved their audience.
Eduard- we are not in Kansas anymore.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Life Can Be Scary
I think about those scared straight programs, and some of the education programs that teach kids what their lungs look like when they smoke. What they really need to do with young kids is to make them clean a house that has had 50+ years of smoking in it. The yellow brown gak rolling off the walls as you try to wash off the sticky goo of smoke debris makes me gag and wretch.
Today, I was cleaning the lamp globes from the MIL house and the sickening brown ooze came off with muscle, toxic cleanser, and a wire brush. Kiddies, just imagine your lungs and the snot in your sinuses oozing brown sludge into your stomach and intestines. No wonder she died of colon cancer and he of lung disease.
The living room has a lovely Tiffany lamp over the dining room. It was so brown that I was not aware it had any value at all. When I started to clean it, the brown glass turned white. It has a most beautiful design and artwork. It weighs a ton, too. This is a real Tiffany and you would never have known due to the years of crud and goo.
Every window was coated, every wall, every fixture, every inch of the house needed to be cleaned with heavy duty chemicals.
Children, if you smoke, you will die an awful death in a depressing and filthy environment. No one will want to be with you in the haze. And the family that has to clean up your mess will resent you.
There! the rant is starting to let some of the trauma out. Even though I have worked and cleaned and hired help, I can't get the stench and gag me memory out of my head.
Next Rant- dog piss in the house. Different mother, but distressing nonetheless.
Today, I was cleaning the lamp globes from the MIL house and the sickening brown ooze came off with muscle, toxic cleanser, and a wire brush. Kiddies, just imagine your lungs and the snot in your sinuses oozing brown sludge into your stomach and intestines. No wonder she died of colon cancer and he of lung disease.
The living room has a lovely Tiffany lamp over the dining room. It was so brown that I was not aware it had any value at all. When I started to clean it, the brown glass turned white. It has a most beautiful design and artwork. It weighs a ton, too. This is a real Tiffany and you would never have known due to the years of crud and goo.
Every window was coated, every wall, every fixture, every inch of the house needed to be cleaned with heavy duty chemicals.
Children, if you smoke, you will die an awful death in a depressing and filthy environment. No one will want to be with you in the haze. And the family that has to clean up your mess will resent you.
There! the rant is starting to let some of the trauma out. Even though I have worked and cleaned and hired help, I can't get the stench and gag me memory out of my head.
Next Rant- dog piss in the house. Different mother, but distressing nonetheless.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
New Loom, Just can't get enough
I bought a not so new loom.
And I am working hard to get it cleaned up and operational. Currently, I am ordering parts.
I don't really even have time to use the other tools I already have, and yet, more.
Medication? maybe, but I am really enjoying these past times type past times.
I need to get a picture of it before I do much more work.
Be patient.
I have posted many pictures on my flicker account, but just this one here.
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