girl at large

bigtime nesting (text)

see pics below...

Two new additions to the household, now that I have so much more house to hold things: a tambour-door cabinet and a large glass-topped coffee table. The coffee table wasn't what I imagined getting (that's another story, about the burl-wood beauty that got away)...it's bigger than I would have thought the room could take, and I usually feel that glass is too cold (and always dusty!). But, as you can see, I was wrong on both counts. The glass makes it visually lighter than its size suggests, and the oiled-teakwood base warms it up. And I love it.

The cabinet, well, that cabinet! Gorgeous finger joints on the tops and sides, solid all way round, deeply colored finish, and the two tambour doors---who doesn't adore tambour!?!??!

bigtime nesting

Mom is so proud.

My brother Tom on Ring My Bell. Can you get a Drunk and Disorderly fine online?

It's hysterical---note the correlation between taking shots and the use of the word 'dude'.

upstairs, downstairs

I can picture them, waiting, watching the clock...at exactly 9:01am, flip the switch...and my Sunday morning sleep-in is over, bam! She is one of the upstairs neighbors, the switch belongs to what I can only imagine is an industrial vacuum with the optional 'maximum sound' attachment. Imagine a Harley running on hardwoods over your head. Exactly one hour before you want to wake up on your day off. Slumber to seething in 60 seconds.

What I don't get is, why start in the bedroom? Why vacuum the hardwoods? Every Sunday, it's the same thing--start in the bedroom, vacuuming hardwoods at 9am. Never mind that I'm jolted out of peaceful rest...what is she doing scratching up those beautiful floors with a beater bar? And why don't they have an area rug in there?

I'm tempted to put my card under their door....with a special discount on a rug.

10am update: They've just left. Sunday morning schedule: rise early to disturb other residents and then leave house IMMEDIATELY. From my experience with their schedule, they'll be back at exactly 5:01pm. Why not vacuum then?

where are you going mr. sunshine?

Ruby scans the skies from our porch, saying her last goodbyes to the sun as the fall season begins...

vorbotten

I know, I know...I haven't blogged regularly in ages...aside from being overwhelmed with work, lately I've had Technical Difficulties. Each attempt at posting brought the same malfunction message: "FORBIDDEN".

I don't know what irritated me more: being Forbidden from my own damn diary, or feeling like a complete moron for not being able to fix it, despite all my brother's assistance.

We finally figured it out tonight, it was something simple I was doing wrong but couldn't see clearly for lack of good sleep and perhaps because of the the nasty cocktail of back meds I still need on occassion. Anyway, it's all good now and I owe Tom a Krispy Kreme or something.

Thanks Tom. (who, by the way, hardly has time to deal with a cranky sister with minor malfunctions..he's launching a HUGE project (WoWtv) full of it's own, much more important and more interesting functions.

good mornin' sunshine (original post from 8/25)

Miss Ruby leaves bed early each day to enjoy the sunshine in the new living room...and to chase something she hasn't seen in awhile...the resulting shadows.

test entry

just testing this out for Kate.

Vicadin anyone?

I recently informed that I've been inexcusably remis in my blogging....more than 25 days without entry...well, let me share the explaination:

Me a few weeks ago: shuffling, old lady style, pacing back and forth because sitting is intolerably painful. Bent forward in an awkward position, grimacing. The grimace is for the August 1994 copy of House Beautiful laying on the waiting room table. The awkward position? The result of another 'thrown back' incident. I move furniture every day, have for years. I'm fat, but freakishly strong. What did me in? Leaning over (from the waist, forgot to bend the knees, take note!) to empty the waste paper basket. The. Waste. Paper. Basket. That's right folks. First thing in the morning, a simple wrong twist and I'm toast.

Worst of all? Let me tell you...

After managing to drive myself to the Urgent Care Center, I had to wait nearly three hours to be seen. It was tough enough to leave work as it was, waiting with nothing to do was torture. I come from midwestern stock, where the highest honor is given to those who drop dead at work ("He was a hard worker" = "I loved him" to a Lutheran). How humiliating to explain that a puny little trashcan did me in...why couldn't I have been lifting a car from off a trapped child? At last, I get in to the exam room and am handed the gown. I can barely stand, can't sit at all, can't lift my arms above my head--the only way to keep white-hot pain at bay is to shuffle back and forth at a 45 degree angle. Getting undressed takes half an hour. Getting the gown on? Well, let's just say I had to be creative...the wrap-dress is back in style, right?

So, crunched and crabby, completely freaking out that I might be useless at work or, god help my Midwestern soul, NOT MISSED during my convelesence...there I barely stand, in yesterday's skivvies...

...and in to the exam room walks THE MOST GORGEOUS MAN ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH.

Your mother was right about the fresh undies thing. Every day ladies. Every. Day.