Category: Our Humble O’Bode
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Super Soaker
Looking around the house for something really manly to do after lunch, I was absolutely gobsmacked when a manly fix-it project came looking for me. I shouldn’t have been. By this time I should really expect something like a broken water pipe to sneak up on me while I’m trying to work on something else. Read.
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Time out
Hey! This is my last week of near-absolute freedom to do whatever I want before I start my new job on Monday! Yay, me! I think. There are still all kinds of things to do around Our Humble O’Bode before the snow flies, but I don’t know how many of them will get done in Read.
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Up
I didn’t intend to spend all afternoon painting the house but somehow that’s what I ended up doing. It started with the gable over the garage roof. I’ve let that go for quite a while, under pretense of various excuses too ridiculous to try to explain, but because it’s already the third week in September Read.
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Honeydew
Day after Labor Day, back to the grindstone. Oh, wait. I’m still on seven-day weekends. Never mind. Or not. I’ve still got some yard work to do before the snow flies, and from the way the weather’s been acting that’s probably going to be at about noon on Thursday. I’ve pledged that I will finish Read.
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Timeline
Eleanor Roosevelt used to write a daily newspaper column called My Day. I’ve read the ones that were considered interesting enough to compile and print in a book (imaginatively titled My Day) and they’re about what you’d get if you went to any random blog, adjusting for the fact that Eleanor had a finger in Read.
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Unbuilding
I got a bug up my ass after lunch, grabbed a wrecking bar and a hammer, and started tentatively picking apart the framework around one of the windows alongside the back door to see if I could figure out how to take it apart. It’s usually not too hard: I find the first piece I Read.
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Shelf-Improvement
I don’t know how many books we have. I wouldn’t be able to give you even a ball park figure. Could be hundreds, could be thousands, I have no way of knowing, because most of them are doubled up in the garage-sale book shelves we’ve collected over the years, and a significant number are still Read.
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Covered
I’ve always had this far-away, make-believe kind of idea that I might be able to finish painting the house some day. Actually, in most of my “Thank God I’m Finished!” house-painting fantasies I slap the last coat of paint on just moments before I suffer a massive cardiac infarction, or some similar mortally final lightning Read.
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Carcase
This, my friend, is possibly the most overbuilt cabinet carcase on the face of the planet. That’s three-quarter inch plywood you’re looking at. Orson Welles, were he still walking this green, effective earth, could perch on that, after it’s put together of course, and it wouldn’t give a fraction of an inch in any direction. Read.
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Paint Guilt
I passed a couple of quiet hours yesterday afternoon pursuing our never-ending attempt to repaint the house. You read that right: I said painting the house. We started the enterprise almost two years ago after inquiring of several professional painters how much they would charge us for them to paint our house instead of us, Read.
This Is Drivel 