Spread

Aw.

Neighbor kid just fixed my fence. I wonder if he's any good at electrical work. Or closets.

Laodicean.

I feel a bulleted list coming on.

• I've been on the hunt for a coffee table for my new TV nook. I needed something smaller, preferably with some storage space – drawers or shelves or something for my DVDs. But, just like I say I want this or that in a man and then find myself falling for the complete opposite, I went with one with neither of those features. But I love it. It's big and square and a little retro and just perfect for puzzles. Best of all, I found it at the Salvation Army in Ishpeming for $12.

• Did anybody watch the national spelling bee finals last night? I tried to play along; when they announced a word, I took a stab at it on a scrap of paper. But geesh, that's a tough competition: menhir, oriflamme, schizaffin, reredos, becquerel, fackeltanz, oeillade. What? In fact, the only word I actually recognized the whole show was neufchatel. Which I spelled wrong just now (adding an s after the f). Crazy smart kids.

• So yesterday, I was driving, and this kids zips out into the street out of nowhere on a motorized scooter thing. He's right in the middle of the road, and like seven years old. So I slow down, chill behind him until he pulls over one way or the other. I pass him, and his mouth is moving like maybe he's singing, and I'm still thinking how little he is to be such a king of the road, when I look in the rear view mirror and he's flipping me off! No way. And the worst part, my hand just went up without me even thinking, and I flipped him off right back. I'm awful. I'm sorry, little brat, if you're reading this.

• But I did get over it when I started spray painting. Oh my goodness, I did this metallic paint on some picture frames, and they look so great. Where has this stuff been all my life? What else can I cover in gold and silver? The "canvases" are covered in a couple coats of chalkboard paint. Is going to be cool, once they're done and up, I think.

All right. That was my yesterday. Discuss.

And I can’t get up.

The sun is finally out this morning, after two days of rain. That's good because I want to do some spray painting outside. I bought three giant paintings, which I'm going to transform into chalkboards so Little Sweet can keep the art in here current. The tricky thing is that I've had a sore lower back for the past two days, and it's still all hurty. I'm wearing this strip of gauze with heated pads tucked into the pockets, but without much relief. It's not debilitating so much as just annoying, but what really stings is that it seems like such an old person ailment. That, combined with an upcoming birthday and the fact that I let my roots grow out long enough to discover I actually do have grey hairs coming in – well, criminy. Soon, I'll be holding a menu out at arm's length, looking down my nose at it, and tsking after kids using swear words in the mall. Gr.

So I'll do what I can do: dye my hair (vanilla malt), stretch out my back. Just keep going, I guess.

Yo gabba.

Memorial Day came early this year, and thank goodness: I was jonesing for some group time. Rubapalooza changes every year, depending on who's there and what's blooming. This year, there were no boys (except the teenage ones, of course, who will run errands for you or puts some brats on the grill if you ask). Just four girls under the solar-powered umbrella and with nail polish and quizzes and a Buddha board and never-ending orzo salad. Ruby's is the kind of place you can forget to pack a coat or a book and you'll be just fine. (Do bring your own straw if you're particular, though.) We talked a lot, but thank goodness, the only thing we really decided was that the reality show we'd have the least success on is the competition to be Paris Hilton's BFF. I just don't think she'd appreciate reading time, or head scarf training, or a hike to a mucky beach, or the trip to the grocery store for her own girl products. (I wonder if she's pro or anti-wings?) Not to mention she'd probably be freaked out by the actual-sized dogs.

On the ride home, I learned some dinner etiquette (though it may not stick), and then I got the pleasure of coming home to a freshly painted living room, as if I'd left myself a surprise before I left.

Do I lie like a loungeroom lizard.

Did I say 77? Yesterday, it hit 90 degrees here. Miserable: broiling hot and crazy windy. There are wildfires to the west. I'm worried about John's yurt.

But I did finish painting anyway. This morning it's raining, and cool, and I feel much more human. In fact, there are severe thunderstorm warnings. I read recently they redefined "severe thunderstorm" because none of us were really frightened by the warning. But geesh – on one website they're saying hail and winds of 60 mph. Gather your cats. But another site says scattered showers. Which is it? Honestly, I don't know why we don't bet on the weather. Meteorologists could set odds on the rain, the temperature over/under, we could bet on the next city to experience a natural disaster or the city with the greatest snowfall at the end of the season. Maybe that's my calling: weather bookie.

45 degrees yesterday, 77 today?

I can't get a grip on this weather, and my place is a disaster. I've turned it completely upside down, and now I'm annoyed at myself. I'm going to finish painting the other walls today. Then I'm free to move furniture, but things are heavy. How do I get my giant TV where I want it all by myself? I don't even remember how it got where it was.

I did move the couch all alone. It's along the back wall now, and I kind of like the view from here. Not the view of the mess (aargh), but I can see the driveway, so I'll have a few more seconds to anticipate neighbor kid's arrival. Not that he surprises me often. His bike has no back tire, so it makes quite a racket. Plus, the cats always come running in the door when they see him coming.

I'm just trying to avoid standing up and getting to work. Okay, okay. Here I go.

Boys.

Can anybody tell the difference between the thirty men on the new Bachelorette? I was cleaning up while it was on, but I swear every time I looked up, there was the same guy: sharp jaw, gelled spiky hair. I could only tell the one guy apart because they played the special foot fetish music every time he was on screen.

But I guess there are bigger problems. Somebody just stumbled onto my blog by searching "tampon in sump pump."

I went with Rope.

I'm so happy with how the walls are looking, but I'm so tired of working on them. The paint color looks glorious, but I only did half the walls so far (the dining room plus the wall behind the couch) because I couldn't find a way to clear the space to do it all at once. I have to say, my patch work is not half bad. And really, I like the prep work so much more than the actually rolling of paint, which is just tiring. Prepping is all potential; painting is where you can screw up. Though I only fell into a wet wall once today, which is probably a record.

And I'm doing it all with only nine fingers, since I reached into my hammer drawer last night and found the business end of a steak knife instead. When I went to buy a second gallon of paint today and asked the girl if they sold band-aids too, she said, "No. Do you need one?" I thought that was sweet, but instead of just saying no thanks, I said, "You sell a lot of things here that can cut you." It made sense to me at the time. Though I guess they don't stock hot dogs just because they sell grills.

Ok, back to work.

Mudding.

Working on my drywalling skills, people. Turns out, I am not a natural talent. A couple of my pieces of tape look pretty good. The other one's all bubbly no matter how I mess with it. I'm letting it dry for now. Any inside secrets are, as always, greatly appreciated. Oh, and I took down that random piece of vertical trim that always bothered me, but was hiding a great big hole between the wall and the header. My fix there is still in progress as well, and even if I patch it nicely, there will still be a gap, but it annoyed me every time I looked at it, so I'm glad it's gone.

Even beyond the huge cracks, these walls are a mess – lumpy and wavy and pitted. Who built this silly, little house? I can't make her beautiful all on my own, but my hope it at least she's happy she's getting some love.

Birdbath.

I thought I was kidding about the snow. I thought the weather girl was crying wolf, or referring to some tall mountain not on my block. But there were some flakes coming down on my drive to the hardware store. Now I'm thinking gray for the living room. Rope is my favorite, although Gray Ghost isn't bad. I'm trying really, really hard not to choose the same color as my bedroom and Little Sweet's.Today, I go after the crack in the wall. Wish me luck. So far all I've done is make it worse.

Neighbor kid just came by to take the cats out, but it's freezing and crazy windy! Check out the radar. There's something wicked coming straight this way from Wisconsin. Or maybe we shot something thataway. I'm not sure.

Update: There were more than a few flakes. And then, tiny hail, but not the surprising fun summer anomaly kind. This hail fit right in.

TV6 morning news, the highs and lows.

Vicky Crystal just called it "TV Sex." Then the weather girl said there might be more snow tomorrow.

Or somebody.

Speaking of bad game show answers, in the past few days I have seen the following three names complete the phrase, "Their Eyes Were Watching God, by _____________." (The correct answer is Zora Neale Hurston.)

1. Zora Nelson.
2. Hurston Wanston.
3. Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Gotta get with my friends.

I went to a surprise party last night. The best part was that, even though I wasn't the guest of honor, it was surprise to me too. I thought I was just meeting a friend in from out of town, but we walked inside the Nickel to find people and food and parents a flashing pink tiara for the birthday girl. I played darts for the first time in a million years, and I let only nine-year-old in the bar (birthday girl's little sister, who shares my Flag Day birthday) play with my phone. I said she could text her sister and her mom, and take all the pictures she wanted. She downloaded "If You Wanna Be My Lover." How can that not be my new ring tone?

And the survey says…

A few weeks ago, a student asked me in class how much TV I watch. I said I had the TV on a lot, but that – and he said, nodding, "For the noise," like it was just what he expected me to say. No, I said, on mute. But it's true. I have the TV on, but on mute, all the time. I'm not sure why. Actually, I think it's mostly a way to know what time it is. If Regis and Kelly come on, it's 10:00. Who cares what they actually talk about. Of course, if suddenly Edward Norton is a guest, I'll turn up the volume and watch.

My favorite show on mute is Family Feud. I get to see the responses without knowing the question. Just now -- curfew, car, money, privacy. The question's got to be, "Name something teenagers argue with their parents about."

How about this one? Name the question if the answers are: parachute jump, retire, exer./lose weight, get divorced.

Okay, that one's not so interesting, but check out this site for some classic bad answers.

Can’t grocery stores write off spoiled food?

Last week, a woman in the grocery store asked me the date. I told her, and she recoiled. Seemed weird at first, until she showed me: Super One was selling chocolate milk for 30 cents a half gallon. A bargain, except that it had expired four days earlier. Who takes that deal?

Today, they had a whole grocery cart full of liters of tonic water also for 30 cents apiece by the checkouts. I should have stocked up; I can't imagine tonic can go bad. But I was still suspicious, so I left it all there to rot.

It’s rumbly out there.

Today's weather is my favorite kind: sunny with distant thunder.

Employed.

I've got a contract for next year, so I can afford to keep the blog. Celebrate good times.

The news came the night before my previous contract ran out. I almost had to turn in my laptop. And worse, my boss put me through the ringer by calling me at 9:45 p.m. and telling me to come over. (That sounds weird, and it is, in that it's kind of late for an invite from your boss, but it's also not weird in the way you think. He was at my friend/his ladyfriend's house, and they are like my local mom and dad.) But I was positive it was bad news. I thought, if they want to be with me when they tell me what they're going to tell me, they must be worried about how I'll react, or they want to hug me and tell me things will be okay, or make sure I don't crack up. On the ride over, I tried to imagine a whole new life without work. Well, without a paycheck and health insurance.

But they had good news for me. I'm still on the team. I don't know my full schedule for the fall, but I do have two of my favorite classes, so it'll be good regardless. In fact, hm, I have a book order to put in.

So big picture, life's good. But when big cat jumped in the window last night with a celebratory baby rabbit, I had to tell him it was not necessary. Oh dear. The bunny was so little, but luckily, not terribly hurt by the trip inside. Big cat let her go, and he and the little cat tag-teamed her around the living room. I was on the phone with Peter, and he told me, "There's plenty of rabbits." (You'd think with a name like Peter you'd be more sympathetic to rabbits.) I suppose so, I said, but I really really didn't want this one eaten on my watch.

She made her way under the loveseat, and from there, I used my curling skills to broom her into the open and toward and out the door. She jumped off the porch, twenty times her own height, and my hope is she made it back home. She did.

Peter thinks one day the cats will capture neighbor kid through the window, and he'll read it here on Spread: "Oh no, everybody! The cats left me a little boy in my living room!" The prey is getting bigger and bigger, so I wouldn't be surprised.

Stories about dust.

I heard neighbor kid on the porch, talking to my wounded kitty. (Cosmo has a big puncture wound, and I took him in today for antibiotics and shaving and pain meds. He hasn't moved from under the table since but seems content.) Then he stuck his head inside and said, "Would you like to come outside and talk with me for a while?" Such a gentlemanly invitation I have not had in a long while. So I took my coffee outside for a visit. We fretted about the swine flu, and he told me how vaccines are made. We theorized about how Cosmo got hurt, and he told me about he sprained his wrist jumping off his bike. He told me I might be better off vaccinating the cats every six months, just to be safe. (Oh, not for swine flu, this was a separate moment, but you can see how we got form one topic to the next.) We drew pictures in the soft yellow pollen that had fallen on my glass top table. And he told me how his grandfather used to take a paintbrush into his grandmother's garden and swoop it across the tops of the flowers, spreading pollen from flower to flower like paint.

He's a good kid.

Nature.

Sixty-six and sunny means no complaining. What a pretty day. I put my table and chairs out on the porch, though I still don't know what the trick is to seeing a laptop screen outside. What do I need, an umbrella?

But spring brings out the little annoying animals. I have a squirrel who just complains and complains from up in the tree outside my front door. Wah wah wah. I think he's angry about the cats. I went out there and told him to shut up, that I'd throw a rock at him, but he didn't seem fazed. Then a bumblebee got caught inside the torn screen, and in trying to guide him out, I got jumpy and threw a puzzle box top out the window. And I saw my little cat catch and eat a mouse, every little bit of it. I had managed to never witness this before, but he was right outside my kitchen window. From the carcasses I usually find inside, I thought it would be a more delicate process. But not with this guy: probably five chomps and the thing was gone, bones and tail and all. And I'm still buying him the fancy cat food? Why?

Now I'm heading into the woods proper. Last night, I discovered somebody's building a house right at the place where the trail starts. You don't think they'll block off our Jenny Lane access, do you? There's a lot of ATV riders and dog walkers who wouldn't be happy about that.

Pretty.

Manly vs. Shepherd.

I stumbled on the World Championship of Darts quarterfinals this morning. Crazy TV. It just goes so fast; I can't keep up with who's kicking whose butt. They're playing 501, but it appears they can only score with doubles and triples? (One guy needed a 10, and he went for the double 5. You wouldn't do that unless you had to, right?) But they throw, throw, throw, in two seconds, and then next guy is right behind him ready to go. They played seven sets (legs?) in like five minutes. I don't know how the even have time to subtract.

Like right now, dude needs 161. That's T20, T17, Bull. But it would take me more than a second to figure it out.

I just love any sport, like poker, in which participants can be normal, pudgy people. In fact, from the participants this morning, you'd think a good-sized belly helps. Perhaps it gives them more solid footing?

All right. I'm heading down to see my niece. Expect pictures next time.

Between the apples and the chloroform.

I returned from a walk today to find neighbor kid playing with the cats through the open window. Actually, he scared me out of my shoes. I had my iPod on, and was pretty much in my own head, so when I passed the garage to find what I thought was some man reaching into my house, I yelped out loud. (I know, great strategy.) Ah, it was just him. We haven't spent a lot of quality time together, so I opened the front door so the cats could get out proper and we sat on the porch a bit. Things I learned: cats eat more meat than dogs. (I tried asking what this meant exactly. In the wild? Given a sample of dogs and cats who fend for themselves?) And that doves often freeze to death. He thinks the one in my house was probably already frozen when a cat brought it inside. I don't know. Maybe. He found one in his compost heap. Though part of me wonders if that was my dove, the one I threw outside, and if Cosmo carried it over there as a present for him.