As Always, Dancing In My Chair

Hi!

It has been a long time since I even logged in here. It has been a roller coaster ride for Gary and me since last July. We moved to a new state to be closer to our daughter. She is now less than a mile away and I have been happy to be here when she needs help.

Gary overworked himself preparing our old house for sale and ended up in the hospital multiple times over the span of 3 months with 3 surgeries. It took a while but he is getting back to his usual energizer bunny routine and is skiing at a local area.

I overdid myself with the house move and doing everything while Gary was sick. I am paying for it now with the worst chronic fatigue and brain fog flair I have ever had that started just before Thanksgiving. Doing a load of wash can flatten me for a day or more. Ugh.

Basically, anything fandom-related flew out of my head. Tarlan nudged me to reopen a Dreamwidth tab on my browser and I will edge my way back in as my fatigue and fuzzy brain allows.

I do hope everything is going well for everyone. Take care!

I was doing well today by running 3 loads of clothes thru the washer and dryer. Folding can wait for a day or two. Still feeling okay, I decide to start dinner before Gary gets home from skiing.

Sweet potatoes rinsing in one side of my double-sink, I pull out a package of chicken breasts to roast with an apple barbecue sauce - a favorite.

Ew. The chicken package leaked and, since I was an idiot and forgot to put it on a plate, the blood pooled on the bottom glass shelf and down the side.

Wonderful.

Gary still hadn't managed to clean up the boysenberry syrup spill from a few weeks back - despite my asking several times - so I sigh and begin the cleanup because I prefer a refrigerator that doesn't make me retch from the smell when I open it.

Glass shelf out and in the sink, I decide to also tackle the congealed syrup. I pull out the vegetable bins to find a mess under there. However that's just the start because when I lever up the plastic part of the shelf, there's a cascade of syrup that had been trapped under there. There must have been half a bottle spilled down the back of the refrigerator from the top shelf - which still hadn't been cleaned because Gary found it easier to simply rearrange around the puddle after insisting I leave the cleaning to him.

The dogs circle me warily because I'm turning the air blue, but at least they're smart enough to stay out of the way.

30 minutes later, drenched in sweat and shaking, I return shelves and food to their allotted places before sitting down with some juice.

Just as I hit the button on my beautiful automated recliner, I remember the sweet potatoes and chicken still sitting in the other side of the sink.

Gary's still not home and the dogs are giving me their 'we're starving' look.

F*ck.

Spoons.

I have no more spoons.

ETA: I managed to get dinner in the oven and the dogs fed before Gary walked into the usual welcoming chorus. This was such a ridiculous thing to be pissed off about because there are so many out there without food or refrigerators or that work all day before coming home to housework. I know I'm fortunate, but every now and then....

Sorry, no pictures this time.

I'm in a grumpy mood because my sleep schedule (such as it was) is really screwed up. Lately I've been lucky to fall asleep by 2AM then the puppies are up at 6AM. We've gotten into the bad habit of bringing them back into bed with us after they've been out to take care of business and we all snooze until 10ish, which means I wake up feeling like half the day is already gone again. It's actually silly of me because it's not as if we're late for work. *rolls eyes*

To add to the grumpiness, we have an idiot cardinal that has been bashing itself against the upstairs and downstairs windows all day long trying to drive away that rival he keeps catching hanging around his territory. We've closed the blinds to minimize the reflection, but it doesn't matter.

thump

thump

thump

*clenches jaw some more*

I suggested putting up an owl or hawk silhouette on the windows, but Gary insists it will scare away the other birds he feeds. I'm about ready to put them up anyway but, with our luck, the crazy bird would take one look and bash even harder.

"Look, that smirky red bastard has minions!"

To add to the aggravation, Tessa has turned into a YLDFH (Yappy Little Dog From Hell) when she's outside. When I'm out with her, I work on correcting her and even pick her up and take her back inside when she won't obey. Not Gary, though. He'll let her bark away (and sometimes Molly joins in) and I end up slamming out of the house and screaming, "Tessa! NO BARK!!!!" like a banshee.

Gary will then look at me and say something stupid like, "They're barking at the ducks (or squirrels or birds - pick one)," and I try to calmly explain - and usually fail - that I don't give a fuck what they're barking at, unless it's coming to fucking eat them they only get three barks.

That brings me to the rather large male turkey that wandered through our backyard yesterday, adding to our wildlife collection. Now, while I'm really not concerned that a turkey or deer will actually eat the puppies, I'm now looking at the venison, turkey, and duck snacks in our cupboard and thinking I'll steer away from buying them anything bear-shaped in the future.

God, I need more sleep.

One of my favorite Gary stories is the day he came home from work pouting because his frozen Swedish meatball entree 'only had Swedish.' It's become a catch-phrase for when something we expect doesn't happen or is missing (and it amuses rather than frustrates us).

Tonight, the puppies first had to suffer through us eating macaroni and cheese without sharing - not that we've ever shared, but hope springs eternal in little puppy hearts and minds. Then, I had them practice 'lie down' and rewarded them with the peanut butter-flavored heart cookies instead of the Greenies I was also holding in my hand. They both sat there looking at the cookie on the carpet in front of them then up at me, back and forth, pitiful little puppy eyes insisting they 'only had Swedish.'

When I was finally able to stop giggling at them (and at Gary who said I was being a mean mommy making them eat the first treat before they got the second), I asked them to 'shake paws' and rewarded them with their meatballs Greenies.

Then I giggled some more.

Gary has been waging a battle with critters abusing his birdfeeder located in the backyard just at the tree line. The deer love to stop by for a snack and, a few weeks ago, a raccoon tried to abscond with it. While Gary doesn't mind that the birds have to share, he wasn't happy about the destruction.

Gary's solution was to repair the feeder (the raccoon tore it apart a bit) and put it on a pulley system so it's about ten feet off the ground on a narrow limb to discourage the raccoons.

Right.


Me: You do realize that when you go on a two-week ski trip this winter the birds won't get fed because I am not slogging 50 feet through the snow to fiddle with your 'system' in freezing weather?

Gary: I know.

Me: Just checking.


It worked for two days, then the rope broke (who knows how long that piece had been moldering in the basement). He went back to the store for nylon rope that won't rot.

I'm upstairs and I catch sight of him lugging the extension ladder out to the back then trying to wrestle it into extending while he had it standing up. I headed outside when I saw him nearly tip over twice, envisioning back surgery in his future. By the time I got out there, the ladder was on the ground and he was still trying to extend it and it was sticking.

Me: Did you try some WD-40?

Gary: Huh. That would probably help, wouldn't it?

Me: That's why I used to get paid the big bucks. *sigh*


The ladder extended, Gary wrestled it back up, and then I watched in disbelief as he rested it against the narrow branch the pulley was already attached to.

Me: You're not actually going to climb the ladder while it's resting against an inch-thick branch and five feet out from the trunk!

Gary: I can't reach it otherwise. I was perfectly fine the last time.

Me: I can't let you play outside by yourself anymore, can I?


He lived and the birdfeeder is back in business.

Idiot man's guardian angel deserves double overtime and hazard pay.

...are not what you might think. In fact, order is an impossible dream in the DWG household.

1. If you drop (place) something on the floor, you only need to pick it up if you need to use it right away. This means the camera case sitting in front of the TV stand will stay there until Val picks it up and puts it away, at which point all hell will break loose because you can't find the camera. Or helmet. Or gloves. Or.... In the meantime, the item nicely offsets the stack of VHS movies that are sitting on the floor instead of on the shelves because you were going through them four months ago.

2. The kitchen table's primary purpose is storage, not eating. Well, there's one spot you can place a cereal bowl and a glass, but the remainder is the prime place for your magazines and junk mail, keys, outdated lists, helmets, and anything else that hasn't been left on the floor (see Rule 1). The couch is where food and beverages are consumed.

3. Items on the desk in the study will remain exactly where you placed them, albeit precariously balanced, until the cows come home...and do the filing for you.

4. The spare room containing the treadmill Val uses is the optimal place for seasonal storage. At least the pajamas taken off three days ago to swap for ski gear are neatly folded in the middle of the floor. Your empty suitcase needs to stay right beside the door instead of being returned to the basement because of a final ski trip pending in three weeks. Ski boots look more artistic when they're not lined up against the wall, as does the box containing the few items of ski clothing not used this season.

5. Val really should have learned by now to watch her feet when walking through the house, especially during the overlap period for ski and motorcycle season.

6. Never look at daughter's room. She learned the rules from you. (see Rule 1 with the addition of used tissues)

*sigh*

I learned years ago that I could either be a raving bitch about housework or just do enough to make my life comfortable (my corner of the room/couch is very tidy) and leave the rest as-is. I consider it a triumph that wet towels are hung up and coats no longer accessorize the loveseat. Occasionally, when Gary is gone for a week or more, I'll break down and put things where they belong and there are no TV trays in the middle of the living room and stacks of papers/magazines dwindle. Then he comes home and it's as if he's marking the place, making sure it's clear that he's back, at least for a while.

Stupidest invention in the world: Self-cleaning ovens
Stupidest person in the world: Husband who uses self-cleaning oven over protests that the house will fill with smoke that will cause coughing and wheezing

I'm currently sequestered in my bedroom where I retreated, towel stuffed into the crack at the bottom of the door. I've been here for four hours, first three of which were spent drugged unconscious in an attempt to calm down the coughing and headache. I emerged long enough to take a shower and confirm that the air was still toxic to me. Turning on the air-conditioning was an ill-advised experiment that resulted in cycling the still obnoxious smells into my bedroom. I'm back to all windows open and fans.

This is not the first time we've had an argument about his desire to kill me via smoke and fumes. It's the first time I've lost on the oven issue, although I've previously lost on paint and cleaning products.

It hurts to breathe and my head is killing me and I can't simply go outside because of the sun and the mosquitoes lurking in the shade (insect repellent and sun screen are guaranteed to cause further problems). Going shopping in a nice air-conditioned store or mall exposes me to people who wear perfumes and exude infectious particles. Even when the air finally clears, my couch will still smell, likely for days. My husband reeks of the fumes and I sent him out of the room when he came in to insist that he had to put me through this torture because whatever was spilled in the oven would smoke every time he used it. Yes, it would, but not to the same extent.

I dashed out long enough to grab some drink, food and my laptop (quite amusing - my hobbling about at something less than high-speed). I have about an hour or so on the battery. Will engage in next commando raid then for power cord, but nothing will make up for having to sit in a highly uncomfortable Ikea contraption masquerading as a chair.

I hate this.

My flist is simply wonderful. I've had quite a day reading all the lovely thoughts and wishes and stories and looking at profile presents and ecards and pretty boys in collages and banners and picspams.

Wow. Just wow.

I hope I didn't miss thanking anyone for their post or comment, the number I received was incredible.

The remainder of my day was taken up by dinner and chocolate cake made by my beloved Gary and watching several SG-1 episodes with him and my daughter (we're on S8). Gary bought me Photoshop Elements 7, which I've installed and will be using for my next set of mcshep_icontest entries.

I also got a motorcycle for my birthday.

It's sort of a family joke around here. On my 40th, Gary found out his uncle was selling his '71 Corvette for an incredibly reduced price and I bought it for Gary since he'd coveted it for years. He and our daughter (14 at the time) flew out to Los Angeles to pick up the car and drive it back home (Rochester, NY). They took their time and made it quite a road trip - one she still tells stories about.

"Rachel, are we supposed to be in Idaho?"

"No."

"Well, the sign we just passed says we are. You want to get out a map?"

I've driven the Corvette once.

So, for my 52nd birthday, I bought Gary a 2003 Honda ST1300.

The story behind that is Gary won a 3-day cruise when he participated in a motorcycle tour last year. The cruise is on the west coast - leaves from Los Angeles and goes south to Mexico and back. He booked it for our anniversary, but there's no way I can handle the plane flight to and from, let alone the cruise, so he's taking my daughter. She'll be flying - he decided to ride cross-country on his PC800, something he's been planning on doing now that he's retired.

The problem is that although the PC800 has been a great motorcycle, it's showing its age (125,000 miles) and I'm not comfortable having him drive across the country and back on it with the problems it's been developing. In addition, he's planning on being gone for a month, so maintenance could be an issue. So, my birthday present is a new (to him) motorcycle that I'll never ride.

I wonder what I'll get next year. *rolls eyes*