Pistols at Twenty Paces

I've been informed by one of the few people I know who actually reads this blog that I'm a little behind in my posting.  And looking at the calendar I realize she's right.  Been a couple of weeks.  But I have an excuse, a good one.  I'm getting ready to punt the kid out of the nest.

We came one step closer yesterday -- picked up the keys, arranged for renter's insurance, and shopped for the last few things on our list of essentials.  And some not so essential.  But hey, why have an alarm clock that only allows you to wake up to whatever happens to be playing on the local radio station when you can select your wakeup song on your IPod?  'The times they are a changin.'

We've done pretty well so far, the kid and I, buying stuff, packing stuff, making stuff.  We've managed to do it all without coming to blows.  Until yesterday.  Maybe we were tired.  Or hungry.  Or had to pee.  But the thing that nearly did us in?  Toilet paper.  It came down to Cottonelle vs Royale.  Me? Whichever is on sale.  I mean, think about what you do with it.  And then you flush it.  That's literally money down the toilet.  Oh, I have standards.  No one ply sandpaper for me.  But two comparable brands?  It's a no brainer.  Or so I thought.  Cottonelle was cheaper.  I put it in the buggy.  We were exiting the aisle when a certain someone muttered something about not liking that brand but "whatever".  Okay, you know things are getting tense when the "whatever" comes out.  I muttered something about waiting until she has to pay for it herself then we'd see what brand she picks as I stuffed the Cottenelle back on the shelf and tossed the Royale into the buggy.

I wasn't ready to kill her yet, I informed her.  I just wanted to maim her.  Maim? she said.  What does that mean?  Disfigure?  Yep, I said.  And draw blood.  Wasn't she ready to kill me yet? I asked.  No, she said.  She only wanted to punch me.  Hmmm, guess my fuse was a little shorter than hers.

Just to be on the safe side I'm thinking I better wet my powder before we start loading boxes.

Ta Da Number 2!!

It's a rare occurrence when something turns out EXACTLY like what you have in mind.

Maybe the stars need to align just so. Maybe someone up above is smiling down on you.

Or maybe it's just your turn for a change.

However it happened, the finished table came out just like we pictured -- like a rustic old table we'd nicked from some farmhouse. All credit to the kid.

First we sanded and primed.

Then the kid spray painted all the edges gold.

The plan was to paint the table then rub or sand the edges so a hint of the gold showed through.  But as soon as we started painting we discovered that if we brushed the paint on sparingly in places we could achieve that beat up look without it looking uniform or intentional.

When we finished I said to the kid, "I want one."

She just smiled.  'Cause we both know it's one of a kind.

Ta Da!!

Well, I gotta admit -- I'm pretty damned impressed with us, me and the kid. Construction took about five hours over two nights.  And let me tell you -- this is one sturdy table.  I'm talking you could dance on it sturdy.

We still need to give it a good sanding and she wants to paint it some funky colour and rub the edges.

But the best parts?  The kid and I are still talking.   And we still have ten fingers.... each.

Many times during construction I could see my perfectionist Dad shaking his head, maybe pulling some hair out, but all in all, I think he'd be pretty proud of us.

And you know?  There's probably nothing sexier than a woman with a drill and a chop saw who's not afraid to use them.

Procrastination 101

If you're reading this, there's something you should know.  I have nothing to say.  Really.  Nothing. I'm procrastinating.

There are a myriad of things I should be doing.  I should be writing Chapter 23.  So far today I've written Chapter 23.  I should be building that table.  But the kid wants to help and I have to fit that into her 18 year old work/friends/sleep schedule.  Today it's work.  I should be cutting some glass, cleaning the garage, weeding the garden, cutting down brambles.

Should, should, should.  Yes, I've elevated procrastination to an art form.  The more I have to do, the greater the level.

What I really SHOULD do, MUST do, HAVE to do, is clean out the bird cage.  Said bird is a 28 year old cockatiel (aka pig with wings).  I inherited him from my dentist seven years ago when his wife developed an allergy to his feather dander (the bird's, not the dentist's).  I just happened to be in for a cleaning when they were discussing needing to find a home for him.

"I have a critter friendly place," I offered.  Again with the big mouth.

At the time, my dentist told me that 25 years was the record for the oldest cockatiel in captivity. Either he lied to me or the Guinness people will be knocking on my door any day now.  The book people, not the beer people.  Probably a good thing it's not the beer people.

That would just lead to a whole new level of procrastination.


On another note...Ever notice when you get a new car, it seems that every car you see on the road after that is the same colour?  Well, apply that to my e-mail vs email conundrum.  Every time I'm reading now, that word crops up.  And I'd say almost 100% of the time, there's no hyphen.  Thought you'd like to know.

Me and My Big Mouth

We've been looking for stuff to furnish my daughters's apartment.  It's a very small bachelor so not much is required.  She's supremely bummed that her dream of upgrading from her current twin size bed into a queen has been put on hold, for the next year at least.  Personally, I think for a single person a queen size bed is highly overrated.  I never venture far from my side.  But that may have more to do with the dog lying stretched out full length on the other.

Yesterday we went table hunting.  Something wooden with simple, straight lines.  You know -- rustic. She wants to paint it some funky colour so we're not talking good wood here.  After a discouraging day of furniture stores, junk stores and antique stores it was fairly evident that what she has in her mind is not easily found.  Not in our price range anyway.  Here's where the big mouth part comes in.

"I'll build you one."

I said that.  Me.  Really.

What was I thinking?  I built a bird house once.  It's pretty cool. But no bird has ever moved in.  Saw one looking in the door one time but apparently it didn't suit his taste.

So I've found a pattern for a perfectly simple table and, not only do I know what all the tools are on the "tools required" list, hey, I even own them.  But it was my Dad who was the wood craftsman in our family.  I'm just hoping I've learned something through osmosis or maybe I carry the wood gene in my DNA. Either way, I guess I'm building a table.

Sure hope a tree hasn't died in vain.