Mom finally sold her house in Oregon and was packing to move in with my sister, so there was a semi-mad dash to finish some things at Cory's place to make it ready. Over three weeks, I helped clean and paint what would become Mom's sewing room and install a shopping bag paper floor in the basement so she can make that her fortress of solitude.
Then Corbin inked a deal for a commercial space where he and Nancy are opening their new business. (Shameless plug: go to www.SacramentoCerakote.com and give them the business!!) Steve and I helped them paint and prep the space, interspersed with spilled paint disasters (thanks, Bailey!) and squirt gun fights (thanks, Nancy!). They'll be opening for business SOON!!!
I've been doing a lot of home improvementy things around my own abode. Small things. Probably not noticeable to others until I physically drag them over and say, "LOOK WHAT I DID!"
I show them the front door where I scrubbed off 20 years of cat pee and repainted and now it looks all fresh and clean.
I show them the address sign I painted but haven't yet put on the house.
I show them the other address sign I painted on the curb because I'm too adamantly DIY to pay $5 to the vagrants that come to the door and offer to paint it for me every couple of years.
I show them the bathroom we finished (finally! with a little help from our friends).
I show them the glass lanterns I've collected and, recently spruced up by painting the insides with nail polish, hung from the patio roof.
They make kind, appropriate sounds. "Cool," say they.
Not as cool are the big patches of my w-w carpet that I've had to cut out and discard because my 15 year old grand dame
all of a sudden thinks it's much more satisfying to pee on carpet than in any of the potty boxes. I'm trying to decide what to do with those areas and when. It would be dumb to have new carpet installed, only to let her pee on that; we're wondering if we want to try staining or painting the concrete sub-floor to see if we like that as much as the floor at Nugget Market. Anyway...TBD.
Some time back I became a Verified Doobert Transporter. You can read about the organization at doobert.com, but I'll save you the trouble. It's an animal rescue thing. Once they vet you and decide you're not a cat/dog murderer, you can volunteer for any relay legs you like for a given transport. For example, earlier this month Steve and I drove to Colfax to pick up Vance, a 2 year old Treeing Walker Hound, and Molly, a 4 year old Beagle/hound mix.
We schlepped them back to Sacramento and handed them off to the next volunteer. The dogs' trip originated in Minnesota and would end in Santa Rosa, so our part was small, but they were very nice passengers, it was a very pleasant volunteer gig, and we can't wait to do it again.
Oh, also, I'm teaching Bailey to ride in a shopping cart. Because she's cool and I like taking her everywhere with me.
The kids and grand-kids are all fine, although there's always the on-again, off-again saga of who's speaking to whom and whom isn't. It seriously blows my mind that this happens in my nuclear family. I don't understand it, and it stresses me out to think about it, so I mostly don't. They're all traveling down their own individual paths and they must have a reason so I just leave it alone. When they want to talk, or visit, I figure they'll let me know / invite me. In the meantime, I just respect their privacy and love them from afar.
And in closing....today would have been my 35th wedding anniversary. For what that's worth.
