Spread

H, A, double-L, O.

Little Sweet is now officially taller than her mother.

Technology makes you a bad person.

I got an iPod Touch, and I'm just crazy about it. I can watch Dexter at the gym and play cribbage in bed. I keep track of my calories in one app, and if I ever need a level, it's right there in my pocket. I read my tarot cards on the way to school. But yesterday, I was walking to class and playing euchre, and I totally missed that there was a woman behind me on crutches who might have appreciated me holding the door open for her. I'm all about having less eye contact with fewer people, but I'm not such a fan of just becoming somebody rude.

Serving suggestion.

I cooked up a frozen pizza today, and what I thought was bacon turned out to be sun-dried tomatoes. Could there be any bigger letdown?

Maybe over Christmas break.

I'm thinking of painting my bedroom red. But why I do I think that's bad fung shui? That it would provoke anger rather than rest? Is that right?

Somehow, I don't think it would bother the cats. They'd cuddle up whatever the color.

Autumnal.

If Vicky Crystal's wearing turtleneck sweaters, it must be fall. I turned on my heat last night and closed the windows. The cats keep forgetting and jumping into the glass like distracted birds.

Globophobia.

No home project is ever really completed, is it?

My new door is great, but the installers had to remove the cover of my porch light because it hung too low to let the door open. They told me no problem, buy a new cover. So I took it to Lowes this morning, and then Menards, and discovered there really is no such thing as a replacement cover to my light. Both light guys at both stores said putting in a new one was no big deal. "Two wires," they both said, in the same voice.

I guess, but they're still wires, and I'm afraid of electricity and lightning and uncovered outlets and all things with the potential to shock me – like balloons. "Just make sure the power's off." They both said it like it was a footnote, but me figuring that part out seems like a project in itself.

But I will attack it. Later. I'm starting to go to bed earlier, and this morning I woke up at 6:30, a half hour before my alarm, feeling all productive, and I finished a short story evaluation and the second half of a novel evaluation by 10:00. So I feel like perhaps today I have the power.

The second light guy suggested rerouting the wires so the light was next to the door rather than above it. Insanity. Had he not heard me say I was afraid of balloons?

Sealed up tight.

Granite Street headquarters now has a new storm door. Same two guys who did the garage. They're so nice and efficient and kind to neighbor kid that I want to make a list of more things they can do. Do you think buying a new shower faucet installed is the way to get around calling a plumber for my leak? Do you think they would know anything about puzzle murals? If I buy a grill will they make me a steak for dinner?

What I like is that the store charges a fixed install price, so I don't have to worry that once they get here, they'll start finding new things to charge me for. What I liked today in particular is that it took two guys with strong arms and a stocked tool box almost an hour to put up my door. I feel much less like it was something I should have handled myself.

Fantasy football starts tonight.

I need a new category: What color is my hair? That way all my male readers can just skip it. Or anyone else who's not interested in the intricacies of my roots, which is probably most of you. But today I'm blonde. Seriously blonde – champagne sparkle -- and it's kind of freaking me out.

I used this lightener to get out all the old dark colors. It never occurred to me this product would actually work. But oh did it. A half hour on my hair, and the roots were white blonde, and the rest just a shade of yellow darker than that. So scary, I didn't even want Neighbor Kid to see it. I'd also bought dye, medium blonde, so I put that on next. Now, normally, I've got all these other colors painted on, so even a medium blonde would really look medium brown. But this time, my hair's actually the color on the box. It's like the light parts of my hair in high school when I just kept hydrogen peroxide in a spray bottle for everyday use.

I have no sense of whether it looks all right or awful, but I know it's *way* too light to go to school like this. The difference is dramatic, and my students would have to say things, and despite me being up there in front of them every day, I really don't want them looking at me and then saying things. So I'll have to do something about it this weekend. I mean, this all started because I *did* want it lighter. But I'll try a shade less crazy. Desert Flower or something.

But for tonight, and in the safety of my living room, the PLK is cheerleader blonde. Let's go, Steelers.

Fool me once.

The porch is painted, and today I do the front door. I was going to spray paint it blue, but I'd have to take the door down to do that, and I'm pretty sure I can't put it back up all by myself. It's one thing to have a half-built closet for six years, but no front door would get to be a problem pretty quickly. I already have no storm door. It broke, and parts fell off, so I took it down a couple winters ago. Last winter, I decided I'd just buy a new one at Lowe's and get it installed. Of course, some boy told me, "Don't do that. Don't waste the money. I'll put your old one back up."

It is funny how I can fall for things like that over and over.

So I'll paint the door by hand, while it hangs there were it's supposed to be. And before I need to turn the heat on, I'll go to Lowe's and get that storm door like I wanted.

What’s a pirate say?

Little Sweet wore an eye patch her last two days here, just for fun. She fell asleep in it one night, and I pushed it up on her forehead so she wouldn't wake up with sight in only one eye. She doesn't get scared or flip over stuff like I can, but that's the kind of thing that would have scared me for the next three days. Once, when I was younger, I woke up facing a white wall, and I was sure I'd gone to heaven while I was sleeping.

Cannonball.

So I have no idea why, but I have never thrown away a puzzle box since I got on my jigsaw puzzle kick. Instead, I've kept them in stacks in little girl's bedroom. Poor thing. I thought they'd make cool gift boxes or something.

But today, we took care of them, all a hundred or so. We threw them all down the stairs, then stomped them and bagged them up for Monday's recycling.

It was more way more fun than it's sounding now. I swear, at the time, we were like, "Let's blog about this!"

I like my grass long.

My late summer project has been to paint my porch. It's an all-day job, but instead, I've been breaking it down into tiny steps so it will take months. Yesterday, the goal was to paint the lattice below the porch proper. What a pain. So instead, we ripped it all off and had a bonfire. What a better afternoon it was than I had planned.

Then neighbor guy riding lawnmowered our whole lawn, front and back, so we hid inside. Today, we have to think of a present for him.

Okay, it's my first day not wearing tennies in four months. Boots or new patent leather black lace-up heels? Little Sweet plans to take notes on my students, so maybe you'll see a guest blog shortly.

Titanium chrome.

Between my comfy bed and being cuddled next to my little girl, I've been sleeping so great lately. We slept till noon today. What kind of teenage self-indulgence is that? And now, it feels like we've hardly gotten anything done yet, but I look at the clock and think I should be thinking about dinner.

I've also had a sudden ton of editorial work sent my way. Even after getting a whole list of things done, I have three novels to read and either respond to or mark up. Luckily, the rain has kept us inside anyway.

But tomorrow we head down to Esky to see all our girls down there. Baby Sweet and I have been talking in Georgia speak lately. Mommy tired. Noni's toothbrush! Our favorite is to say "whisper" in a Gigi growl. We miss her. And I miss how every time she sees my toes, she says "bunny." N's toes and her own get "shiny, pretty," but my feet look like rabbits to her, I guess. I wonder why.

Little Whinging.

What's new? We finally saw the new Harry Potter movie on our fourth try. Honestly. The movie theater girl on the phone told me to trust the phone hotline because "the Internet can list any times it wants." Though on try number three, the movie started at Internet, not phone, time, so I've just stopped believing in anything.

I'm getting ready for school next week, doing a bunch of editing, we're riding bikes, and right now Little Sweet's doing some crocheting, though she's a leftie, so I'm having a hard time showing her how. I've got my porch railings painted but not the floor part. Neighbor kid says he left us muffins when we were out of town, but we never found them. Tuna casserole for dinner tonight.

That's our story.

Puzzle box out the window.

Yesterday, it hit 90 degrees, and N and I aren't good in heat. We had to force ourselves away from the fan to meet grandpa for the play (about the orphan trains of the 19^th century, and filled with cutie pie local kids). If we'd realized it was air conditioned in there, we would have taken books and gone hours early. (The fan rotates, and Little Sweet whined every time it turned away from her. Like that squirrel who yells at my cats.) After the play, we went to the beach to collect rocks in the near-dark. Today's not supposed to be quite that hot, but still, we're heading to the longest movie we can find.

Wrong number.

Got a phone call from a local number the other day and picked up. The woman's voice was unfamiliar and flustered, so I asked who she was looking for. "I was looking for *my husband*," she said, pretty angry now. I laughed and told her no worries, that I wasn't seeing anyone's husband. She read my number to me, and I said, yeah that was it, but she must have written it down wrong or mixed it up. I don't think she really believed me even when she hung up, but I kind of wanted to keep talking to her, to figure things out. Who was her husband, why was she so worried, was she being paranoid, or had he given her reason to cold-call random phone numbers looking for him? I was curious.

Heavier than air.

Sweet Jr. and I have been on the road all day, so we're hunkering down for some Mythbusters and ice cream.

An army of frogs, a knot of toads.

I'm being stalked by a frog! He's outside on the door jamb right now, waiting for me to open it so he can launch himself onto my foot. I just know it.

Cosmo brought him in the window and threw him on a blanket. A blanket I made, thanks very much. Part of me wanted just to run away at that point (I *hate* when they bring in frogs!), maybe hope the mailman would come by or something, but I picked up the whole blanket and threw it out on the front porch. To make sure the frog went with it, and because I didn't know if it was injured or not, I uncovered him, and fuck if he didn't run right after me toward the door. He did. I slammed it behind me, but he was close enough that I worried I actually got him caught in it. So I slowly cracked open the door, and there he was sitting inches away. I slammed it shut and jumped around and tried to calm down. He'll leave. He's not really after me. The cats are in here; why would he want to come in? But I peeked again. He wasn't where he was, whew. But then my eyes moved. He was closer! He'd moved right toward the edge of the door where it opens. I think he's still there.

I'll put on my big boots and go out the back door later, if I have to.

Stairsteps.

I'm actually looking forward to tomorrow's rain, because kiddo is wearing me out. Since I last showered, we've climbed a mountain, biked to Presque Isle, and played both tennis and badminton. Lawd. Used to be I had to drag her out the door, and now she's all up for the difficult trail.

Finally though, tonight, I've got her sitting still, doing Facebook quizzes next to me on the couch. In response to which Office character she is, she got Dwight. Her color is lemon yellow. Twilight character: Bella. Wild animal: owl. She is not a potato.

Flag Day ‘09.

I always love my June 14. Today, we had a sweet party with tons of beautiful little girls running around my sister's backyard. (Pictures are forthcoming.) Then my girl and I played tennis again. We are not good, but we run around and get a lot of sunshine and come home tired and make fruit smoothies. Tomorrow, we set up the badminton set out by the horseshoes.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Remember, the trim is black.

It's finals week here, which means it's almost time to paint my living room. I'm thinking a blue this time. I like "Pail," but Little Sweet prefers "Water Fountain." Of course, she also thinks "Pail" is a stupid name for paint. "Like a bucket? Are buckets a certain kind of blue?" It's a good question, but it doesn't deter me. Water fountains aren't blue either. I also like Under the Boardwalk. If you're really interested in voting, you can go here and search (I can't find a direct link to the actual colors), though on my screen they don't really look anything like my swatches.

Waving credenza.

Little Sweet's here. We went to The Tempest last night and today we're getting all ready for mother's day and organizing the yarn. Very efficient.

I hardly had to drive at all, which was nice. But when we were driving, we listened to the radio, and now we have a trivia question for you: What 70s love song mentions carbon monoxide? (If it helps, the actual lyric is "carbon and monoxide.") We heard it on the radio, and N's been laughing about it ever since.

Spring’s first gift.

Came home yesterday to find the kitties' first kill on the living room rug. A poor dove, its head not quite separated from its body. There are still feathers everywhere. And another feather pile at the top of the basement stairs. I'm still not sure if I'm going to find another bird down there, or if that mess was part of the same battle.

I hate being the one who has to take care of these things. There's just something unreal about the weight of a dead bird.

Crickets.

Turns out I had peanuts at home, so I just put on a pot of decaf and cleaned my house last night, and it was every bit as fun as the Base. Well, probably not, but there's a lot less cat hair everywhere. I should put my dart board back up in the dining room. Neighbor kid's tall enough now to be some real competition.

Homewrecker.

My new sump pump is so loud. It's just constantly making some noise – sighing or clicking or spitting or revving itself up. It's driving me bonkers.

The backup pump is quiet, so I've been unplugging the first one and letting the backup one work when I need it to be quiet. But how dumb is that? I gave that dude my credit card so I could stop worrying about my basement. Not so I could go down there every twenty minutes and check on things. To play musical sump pumps.

Plus, the toilet paper holder has come loose from the wall. And I swear I have not asked it to do anything more strenuous that hold up the toilet paper. It hangs there all sad now. And the little edges on my fridge drawers keep falling off. But that's okay because it's the only time I bother to read them: Handi-keeper, one of them says. Handi-bin. Butter.

I need to better inspire the things that come into my house. I need to get them excited to work well for me. Is there a spell for that?

The day after.

I'm almost done with the laundry. And it's just hit me that I only have to wash everything because I'm dumb and keep my clothes in laundry baskets with holes in the sides. So later today I'm off to Target for waterproof tubs. I could have done that five years ago. But I've got bags of things to donate, and I've rediscovered some rad kneesocks at the bottom of the baskets, so I guess it was all for the good.

And the double sump pump action seems to be working. The only trouble is that they're both on the same circuit, so the plumber said I should have a friend come over and put in another box so they can be plugged in separately. I can't even pay to have somebody do the whole job. Having these buddies seems the only way to make things work up here. Will get on that.

But not today, since I have a ton of work I was planning to get done yesterday. I've got a fantasy writer who needs my feedback. "Not enough dragons," I'll tell her. "Hold back on the trolls." And I have a sump pond to plan.

Not my morning, part duex.

Okay, different plumber this time, so no getting excited about my getting married into the family any time soon.

Long story short (because I hate this story), he gave me three options, and they're all expensive, and I went with the most expensive one, handing over my credit card and asking him to just please take care of me. I'm getting a backup sump pump in the same pit but which expels the water somewhere different. I think he said the new sump pump has a magical switch made of mercury that lives forever, but that could be wrong. Let's hope.

"Plus," he said, "you know you have a situation, so you should think about some shelving down here." I know. I should probably think about a lot of things. Oh, and he suggested one of those flood sensors. Pft.

I'm off to teach. I'll come home to everything working, yes?

Not my morning.

I'm going to lose it.

I woke up at 7, came downstairs, went into the bathroom, and one of the cats brazenly pees on the rug right in front of me. At first, I'm like, you fuck. Then I think maybe he's got a bladder infection, so I ease up on my mad. But he's my little sentry. I carry the wet rug down to the basement, and find four inches of water. Everywhere – the whole thing.

I check out the sump pump. Unplug it, plug it back in, mess with the bobber thing. The things I know how to do, but nothing seems amiss down there, so I go outside, in the snow, the sun still not all the way up, and get a shovel, but I don't know what to do out there either. It's totally dry, so it's not like the water's been backing up, and I can't think of anywhere to dig that will help.

I go back inside and call the plumbing hotline. But I'm looking out the window and see my little fountain get going, so I know things are draining, and change my mind just as I start talking to the guy. "Oh no, my basement's flooding, oh, but there it goes, never mind." Crazy person. He laughs at me and I wait for the water level to go down. I start sweeping the water into the hole in the basement floor, just sad. I know those of you with partners will laugh at me, that your basements flooding is hardly some zany fun adventure, but I can't help thinking I wouldn't be such a wreck if I actually had one of those "buddies" the last plumber talked about. If I had anybody at all I could call to just keep me company. To point out the ridiculousness of it or make me some eggs while I clean up.

Clearly, I've waited too long to deal with this, and I was warned, so I guess I have to spend some real money and do whatever it is needs doing. There's a plumber coming over right now. Everything downstairs is still wet and I have to go teach all day. I don't even want to clean anything up, and if I just had a closet upstairs to keep my clothes in, I wouldn't have to wash everything I own today, which is what I'll be doing. Maybe I should just take everything out of there, fill up the garage again, and let the basement be the waterland it seems so bent on becoming.

I'll check back in, cheerier. Promise.

Happy equinox.

You should see the little fountain out in my swampyard now. The new holes in the pipe mean the water sprays up all pretty, like Disneyworld. The cats are going to have fun in it once they get back outside. But today, the first day of spring, was winter.

Nevertheless, I went for a cold walk on the beach. Just to remind myself why I live here.

Who’s Irish?

It's that time of year: my annual basement flood post. I will try to leave out the parts you already know – the water, the mess, the tears. But this was new: my line outside froze *and* the pipe inside burst apart, so water was spaying all over everywhere. I didn't know what to do. If I left the pipes apart, at least a lot of the water drained back into the sump pump hole and back out the pipe in another spray, like a very ugly fountain. But if I unplugged the pump to stop the spray, then more and water piled up everywhere. What's that called, a Hobson's choice?*

I try to handle things, and I was really worried about how much an emergency visit would cost, but I had to call somebody this time. They sent somebody over pretty quickly, and when he saw me, drenched and filthy, he said, "You poor thing," and seriously, I think I needed that more than anything. His diagnosis was quick. He wrenched the pipe back together, borrowed a hammer and nails and a shovel and put some new holes in the pipe outside. (He's actually laid off right now, so he didn't have any tools with him. Which I love because what they were really sending me then wasn't so much a plumber as it was a man.) The water started to go down. It's a temporary fix, he told me, and I should get my buddies to come reroute the out-pipes better. My buddies! Oh, I love the world I live in, I just wish I fit in better.

He called headquarters and told them they didn't need to charge me anything; it was easy. (Turns out he's the son of the owner, Tom Plumbing Jr.) But they insisted: $39. Which I would have paid for the kind words alone. I gave him two twenties and he left.

The cleanup part you know. I squeegied and mopped. I showered the muck off myself. I started laundry. (The flood didn't actually get to all my clothes this time, so I don't have to wash everything I own. Just the ten dirty towels.) I have yet to deal with the litter boxes, but I left the window open so the cats can go outside. I crossed "go for a walk" off my list because I figure hauling six gallons of water in a shop vac upstairs and outside over and over again takes care of my daily exercise.

But the magical part is that he came back a while later. He brought a drill and put some more holes in the line. He came down in the basement and checked everything out. He told me I looked better. He even brought back a dollar in change, which I tried to refuse, but he left it on the table. I showed him my flood censor, which sits on the floor near the sump pump and is supposed to beep if it gets wet. I told him I found it floating, quietly, over by the furnace when I came downstairs to get dressed for work. He said, "That's the censor, I guess. If it's floating, your basement is flooding." If he married me, I'd be an heir to Marquette's plumbing empire.

I called in flooded to school, even though it's not even that late and at this point I could still make it to my office hours. But I think I need to keep an eye on things here.

*Nope. Just looked that up, and what I had was not a Hobson's choice but a Morton's fork. Though until I called the plumber, I may have dangerously neared becoming a Burdain's ass.

The reveal.

On the left, my new orange fruit bathroom. On the right, a picture I found on online that I was going to post instead. Really, it seemed close enough, except that bathroom has actual counter space for dolls.

It's really bright. When I was working on it, and in there for a significant amount of time, I'd come out into the kitchen and my eyes would have to adjust to normal light.

Fierce?

My plumber was supposed to come back this morning for another job, but he must have forgotten about me. So I read in bed all day, and tonight is the two-hour premiere of Top Model and a Kenny Rogers puzzle. Tomorrow, I promise to leave the house for something other than cat food.

Check.

The bathroom's done. You know, mostly. I got a new rack, which is great and sturdy and actually screwed into the wall. When I was at Wal-Mart buying it, though, I got run over. I was standing in the aisle, and this old woman who works there was pushing this huge cart full of towels my way. I scooched up close to the shelves to give her room, but she must have been playing some death race game, associate-style, because she sped up and veered toward me. I tried to stretch myself skinny but she plowed into me anyway. She whacked my arm and my back and just kept going. Usually, I'm the kind of person to say excuse me when someone else bumps into me, but this was kind of insane. I yelled "Ow!" after her, not that she turned around to acknowledge it.

Trouble is I wanted to look at towels too, but I was afraid to run into her again.

Anyway, I put together my new shelf, and I finished the trim, and everything was looking great. Until I brought the rack into the bathroom. It fits, I made sure of that beforehand. But I'm in the bathroom, all proud because it's all done, and I go to open the door to leave, and boom. My towel bar on the back of the door hits the standing rack and jams the door only half open. And the pedestal sink blocks that half open space, so I'm stuck in there forever. Genius. Well, I'm not stuck, I can kind of suck in and smush myself around the sink to get out, but I wouldn't want to live that way. So, the towel bar is out of the picture, and I'll just have to find a poster or something to cover all the holes I made in the back of the door. I'm thinking Nabokov's butterflies.

Maybe Billy Mays knows what he’s talking about.

So I moved on from paint to fixtures yesterday. But hanging a new towel rack proved tricky. It came with a paper template which was nice because I think the plumber stole my tape measure, but I promptly lost one of the plastic anchor thingies inside the door. I went to my toolbox to see if I magically had extras, but all I found was a dried-out tube of wood filler, and unopened bag of steel wool, and a toy snake. So I turned to the magic putty, and you know what? So far so good.

I hung the hand towel and t.p. holders with actual screws, and wonder of wonders, they're up there pretty solidly, if maybe a little tiltly. Whatever.

Today's project is about the wire storage rack. My bathroom is so small and there's absolutely no storage. I like the pedestal sink, but it'd be nice to have some drawers or something. Just for privacy. I mean, it's not a secret I'd have tampons, but I don't think my guests (my what?) need to look at them. So I checked out those little cabinets that go over your toilet, but in terms of storage space, they're really just decorative. They're like eight inches deep. My blow dryer won't even fit in there.

Which is to say I'm sticking with my wire rack. (Are you bored yet? So what. This is my spring break.) I unwrapped the ribbon it was covered in because none of it goes with the orange (what color goes with orange is something I really hadn't considered before painting), only to remember why I'd wrapped it up to begin with. The legs are all gross and rusty. So I tried painting it, but that's not working. So today, it's either new ribbon or another rack. We'll see. Oh, and I primed the trim so now I guess I have to paint it.

Sunshine day.

The orange fruit bathroom's coming along. It's pretty bright. Every time I walk past the doorway, I think I left the light on in there.

Nasturtium.

Since we're in the middle of a blizzard this morning, and the road out of town is closed again, it might be a good day to paint my bathroom. I'm going orange, I'm pretty sure. I read the swatch names to Little Sweet on the phone yesterday, but she wasn't impressed: pumpkin pleasure ("ew"), pumpkin burst and navel ("gross"), orange nut and peach butter ("blech"), orange ice ("that's stupid"), fresh persimmons ("what?").

My favorite is called orange fruit, probably because it seems so repetitive. Should we call it orange? You mean orange as in the fruit? Yes, we should make that clear. Orange as in the fruit.

Don’t forget the decimal point.

So I did find my water meter (who knew?), and replaced the light bulb above it so I could make out the numbers. I even picked up the phone and called the number on my door-hung note to report my find. Ten minutes later, there were two men in my basement, drilling holes and running wires to install a new outside meter.

First, they said they needed to see if I had a new meter or an old-style meter, and I said I didn't even know I had a meter till today, and when we got down to the basement and I did my tah-dah gesture, the tall one said to the white-haired one, "What'd I tell you?" And I was like, oh no, what? And he said, "That's your gas meter." And I'm sure I just about started to cry of incompetence till he said, "Just kidding!"

The water guys is funny. But honestly, for the fifteen minutes they were here, I felt comforted. It's dumb, because none of it's their job, but I just felt this immense peace that if my sump pump exploded or my car ran out of gas in the driveway, they'd know what to do.

At least the women tell all tonight.

Things fall apart faster than I can deal with them. Not that I deal with anything particularly efficiently, but I want you all to know I do get my work done. I swear, at school, or when I'm doing the editing, I'm on the ball. I don't go whining to anybody else or put things off. I'm together. I don't have to google how to do everything. It's just the off-campus issues that get me.

I try to handle the immediate things. Like my windshield wipers, which got all tangled up in each other yesterday. In that case, easy. I dropped by the car dealer this morning and the guy had some special tool and he tightened a bolt or whatever and that's fixed in two minutes. But there's no dealer/service station for my house. Why not?

Because I need one. The mailbox needs fixing, so I turn to my only real source of fix-it knowledge: the infomercial. Magic Putty, right? Roll some toxic goo in your fingers for a few minutes and voila, things are tight. I left for work all excited that I'd handled it and trying to figure what else in my house I could bond. My broken fence? The hanging rod for my closet? My storm door? But either that stuff is crap or ten-degree weather isn't ideal for gluing, or magic. The mailman was cool about it again, leaving me, this time, my mystery Newsweek subscription (sister sister, are you getting this one too, along with your Midwest Living?), even though the box proper isn't connected to the post. I suppose the real solution entails screws or bolts or something, though I really don't see how or where anything was previously connected, and any googling of connecting my mailbox to a post brings up e-things like Outlook and mail forwarding.

I'm going to call a plumber or two soon (it's on the list), and maybe when he's here, I'll corner him about everything else. "Just give me an idea where to start," I'll ask him. About this, about other things I need. Just put me on the right track.

She made me publish this in Algerian.

I can't actually remember a Valentine's Day. Which isn't to say there haven't been good ones, I guess. I had my first date on the day after one, and my ex husband was always very good about flowers. But for the most part, eh. This one, though, I was lovely. We went to Hot Plate, where there were a few couples on what seemed like first dates. Very awkward. They had to get out the book of ideas, and even then they seemed afraid of the brushes. Not us, though. Little Sweet made a Fancy Cat Food dish out of glass, and I painted a spoon rest. Love.

Today, we hit the road for a mini road trip. A cheap motel along the way with a swimming pool is all we're looking for.

Housebound.

I know I exaggerate sometimes, but I was literally trapped in my house this morning. The doorknob lock on my front door reacts badly to cold, and I couldn't unlock myself to go out and shovel. So I needed to head out the back instead. But that door was frozen shut. I couldn't pull it open for the life of me. I kept walking back and forth between the doors and wondering which window I should escape out of if one of the cats started a fire before I'd figured things out. I kept trying both, pounding and kicking the edges of the back door, and breathing hot air on the front doorknob. I was about to get out the blowdryer when my assault on the back door grew to a level panicky enough to actually get it to budge.

So I busted my way out the back, tromped around the front to get the shovel and spray some WD-40 in the lock, and cleared away the snow. But only as far as the driveway, because Plow Guy is coming today. He could have been there already for all I know. I have butterflies at the prospect of sliding into a clear driveway upon my return. And I'll pull up with clean teeth. How could the evening be better?

Past, present, future.

Let's see, I found the most amazing lavender denim tool belt at Vinnie's yesterday. Now I'm heating up Vernors on the stove. That's a thing, right? I seem to remember my mom doing it for me when I was little. And I'm going to try not to watch Double Shot at Love later, but I might not be able to help it.

I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell.

Always take the weather with you.

Where are my snowplow angels this year? We got buried last night. I need to go to school and print some things, and part of me thinks it'd be easier to order and printer and some reams of paper to be overnight delivered to my house than it would be to shovel my driveway. I already tried to get out once. Shoveled as far as my car and gave up. And it's still snowing, and they say it'll keep coming down until tonight. I hate feeling trapped like this. And that dang plow has gone by like six times in the last minute. I do not exaggerate. It's like he's just there to pack me in good.

I suppose I'd have to shovel for the FedEx guy with my printer anyway, so I won't go that route. I'll just wait till spring I guess.

Making tracks.

I like how the snow leaves evidence of what's happened here while I wasn't looking. Like two nights ago, a deer in the side yard, and last week what could only have been a rabbit party around the rhododendron. I don't bother walking out to the mailbox till I see tracks from the truck. Though the past two nights, I've also left my own footprints to the back door, since both days I came home and my key wouldn't open the front door. I assume the lock was frozen, and I've tried some WD-40 though I don't know yet if that will do the trick. Of course, because I am lazy, I don't shovel all the way to the back, so the footprints are more like footholes. Maybe the chipmunks can hibernate in them. I'll know if they do.

Staying put.

I love living in a place where they can pile a Winter Watch Alert on top of a Winter Storm Warning. We've got both, right now. And it does look pretty wild out there. Though this morning wasn't bad, so I went to the gym. We'd only gotten a few inches, though snow was blowing every which way. But I'm glad to be home now and stocked with soup and student stories and yarn. What else could I need?