Plumb Out of Luck

The cabinets look wonderful. They fit snugly into the alcove. The vanity top looks great too. Today we established that Dave cannot cut a straight line, but that's why God made moulding. The faucets that our daughter wanted have been purchased and are in place. In fact, everything is in place except for 2-3 inches of pipe. If I have the guts to turn the water on, we have virtual plumbing.

I simply lack faith. I don't believe that the water will flow from that 1-1/4 pipe to the 1-1/2 pipe, evenly crossing that gap, without flooding the bathroom. I wish it would. Because after three trips to the hardware store, this thing ought to be done. But we're still short some pipe. So tomorrow, it's Home Depot, Lowe's, or someplace with plenty of inventory and the right stuff.

Meanwhile, I had a great time with my fellow Hoosier. I had a couple of beers. And my friend brought me a few ounces of butter rum tobacco. So it's been a very, very good day.

Progress

I have added comments to the blog. These would have been here at least a week ago, but HTML continues to baffle me. I guess I need to read the directions. I hope this doesn't shatter my reputation with my lovely wife. Over the years I have trained her to act as if she believes I can do anything with little or no instruction. She has become a gifted actress. I'm even beginning to believe it. And now this ... HTML.

Today is part two of Repair the Bath. Our daughter turned sweet 16 over a month ago. She still has not had her party. This vanity replacement (the bathroom's, not the daughter's) and general rehabbing is part of her gift. For her entire life she has had no drawers to put her stuff in behind the vanity front.

Lavatory storage has been primitive. It's been cardboard boxes heaped with things. Almost invariably, the item one was seeking had somehow burrowed its way to the bottom of the box it was in. But this is the dawning of a new day for our sweet daughter. Her new setup will have only one sink (more temporarily open space on a horizontal plane), two doors (the better to hide your dustbin, my dearie), and six--count 'em--six drawers. She'll think she's died and gone to Purgatory. Not quite Heaven, but the sort of place one ends up on the way. Not worse, but at least different.

The craftsmanship of the work being done is highly questionable. It's the converse of my bride's trips to shop. "Honey, it was on sale. Add it up. See what we've saved?!" In this case it's, "Honey, I did it myself. You know the bid we got for this work. Think of the money we've saved! And if you want it to look as if it's done well, you just press this switch down and wait for your pupils to dilate."

So today will be a thriller. Two Hoosiers rehabbing an indoor privy. It already sounds like the beginning of a bad joke told with relish by either a Buckeye or a Kentuckian. In fact, the forebears of both craftsmen were Kentuckians, so the work will run long on practicality even if it is lacking polish. I just wish I'd had the foresight to stock up on chewing gum, baling wire, and a discarded tire or two. It's amazing what a fellow on a mission can do with the right raw material.

The Music's in the Barn, Hon.

I saw a piece in the Howard County Times about some folks who meet every Sunday afternoon in a barn in Clarksville to play country music. Not "we'll put a boot in your a**" country music, but more in the vein of Hank Williams the Elder, Ernest Tubb, Kitty Wells and Patsy Cline. Basically, yes this IS your parents' country music. In a barn. In Clarksville. Every Sunday afternoon for several years now. They way the article explained it, the host feels like this is "just like the Grand Ol' Opry." It sounds a skosh less commercial to me.

I think that's pretty cool. The Baltimore area hosts country music. Local music (well some of the 5-piece band comes from Hagerstown, but that's much closer than Nashville) done for the love of it. I hoped my folks would be up for it when they came out this spring, but it'll be a quick trip and it's all about the grandkids. Hats off to them, they are great grandparents. ((No Mom. Katie is fine. No buns in the oven. I didn't say great-grandparents. Neither your heart nor mine is ready for that. Of course, with Dad's new plumbing he'd do fine with it.))

Since my favorite little sister is coming up from the Sunshine State, I hope we go ahead and take in the show with her.

We got favorable reviews for our recent work on The-Project-That-Is-Not-To-Be-Mentioned. Praises for that! So the long days and the occasional late night were worth the effort. Hopefully that means I can rinse out my mask & snorkel and drive south in a couple of weeks. If not, I may rinse them out anyway and practice in the tub. There has been all too much cool weather. I'm ready for warmth.

I'm also ready to throw that pesky squirrel out of the attic. I saw him today. Grey and twitchy. And too sleek. He (or she) has had a mild winter. I took charge of the situation and chased the bushy-tailed rodent up the maple tree. Aha! Not this time, Rocky. You stay the hell away from my house. Well, folks, the little stinker shinnied up the tree, ran out on a tiny branch (that apparently needs to be pruned), leapt onto the roof and disappeared. Just moments later it reappeared, gave me a disdainful look and flipped over the gutter like a circus trapeze artist, then clambered into its little entrance and into the attic. Cheeky bugger.

I hope it's taking big bites when it's going out. Yeah, squirrel. I'm talkin' about you. Because I'm not real concerned over your whereabouts. Dine heartily you rascal. I'm covering that hole this weekend. Now's a really good time to find a new place to call home. Like maybe a tree?

I just looked out the window and saw the bare branches of our maple tree. They looked like a net scooping stars from the night sky.

Saint Patrick's Day

Actually, we're doing nothing Irish today. I may drink later, but I consider that more Hoosier than Irish. It's a bourbon thing. In fact, it may be Kentuckian rather than Hoosier.

Today in the life of the brain candians, the domestic crew came in again. Every two weeks now we try to get our act together. The folks were supposed to show up around 1:30, but Katie was home and scrambling to reveal more floor space before they arrived, so I assume they were late. I imagine they were either surprised or disconcerted as well. The back porch holds an overflowing recycling bin that never made it to the bottom of the access road, a solid oak cabinet front made by a friend when we were married (but never completed--sort of our homage to the faux fronts of western establishments that were actually tents), and two bathroom sinks as well as the vanity from which they came. That bit looks for all the world like the key bit of furniture from a two-hole outhouse. Soon two Home Depot vanities will grace the space formerly occupied by these items.

Meanwhile, the guest bathroom shows a lot more tile floor. And when our cleaning crew vacuums the living room they will be working around one assembled vanity cabinet, the box of another, and the vanity top that will cover them. They've probably already kicked the faucet box to the side as they vacuumed the upper hallway.

In a mad effort to make their job easier, we took all the toolboxes down to the basement this morning. We made the bed, hung clothing on hangers or put it in drawers (imagine that), put shoes in the closet (I hope I can find them again. Thank goodness summer is coming.) and even cleared the kitchen table/desk/maildrop/grocery landing zone/put things out of the dog's reach thingie. That left the check in plain site. I figure if they were able to accomplish nothing else due to the state of the house, they'll still manage to cash that check.

So---as with some of our friends---our old domicile is getting some upgrades. We might as well do this. It's for future generations, after all. At the rate our taxes are rising, we certainly won't be there long enough to derive the full enjoyment of them.

Meanwhile, let's celebrate. A toast to cleanliness. A toast to order. A toast to improofment. A toasht to emPLOYment. Anna toasht to whaddevva we ain't toashted yet. S'there! Happy Shaint Padrix Day!