Break time

I finished work at the neighbor's house about 3:30 this afternoon. This morning I removed all the faux wrought iron across the front of the entryway and this afternoon I replaced it with a single 4x4 support faced with 1x clear pine. It really cleaned up the appearance of their house. They'll paint it but they may want me to come back and make a wood railing to go between the house and that post. I showed them a mock-up of one that I made for our place (I eventually decided not to add it to my renovation) and she liked it. But they want to live with it like it is before making a final decision.
Of all the things I do - electrical, plumbing, painting, tile work, etc. - I enjoy carpentry the most. There's something about working with wood that I find satisfying. Maybe because wood is (was) a living thing. Or because it allows for creativity. Not much you can do with a garbage disposal.

I have more vinyl to put down at that project. Still two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a laundry room to go. But she'll have to order more and that means at least a week from order to delivery. It looks like I may have a couple of small jobs to do in the interim but if they don't materialize that's OK. I have TONS of work to do tomorrow in prep for Sunday, and if next week doesn't involve the work load of this week I'll use the time profitably to do extra stuff for church.
And I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find at least an hour or so tomorrow for some two-wheel therapy. It really has been a pretty tough week on this old body.

Did you see that the Obama's had $4.2 million in income last year? But at least he's not an elitist!

Granddad drove a 1950 DeSoto that he bought new in Detroit and drove back to Seattle. It stayed in the family for the next 50 years or so and for a couple of those years, while I was in High School, it was mine to drive. Not exactly a chick magnet in the early years of Mustangs and Camaros, and at close to two tons with a 6-cylinder it was slower than a tug boat with similar handling characteristics. A single barrel carb and an oil bath air cleaner (anybody remember those?).
Ballard High School was three miles from our house and when I turned 16, shortly after the start of my junior year, I drove the DeSoto to and from school. Except for the mornings when I couldn't get it to start. And there were a lot of those mornings. It would crank and crank and crank but never catch. I would try pumping the gas pedal once, twice, three times. I would hold it to the floor in case I'd flooded it. Once I even tried coasting down the hill and popping the clutch. All that accomplished was getting it stuck at the bottom of the hill.
That particular day Dad came home from work and asked where the DeSoto was. I told him it was two blocks south, that once again I couldn't get it started. On the way down to get it I apologized for messing up so often with my inability to get the car to start in the morning.
Dad said, "What makes you think it's your fault?"
That's one of the nicest things anybody said to me all through my tortured teen years.

Several years earlier, when I was maybe 10, we took a family vacation from Seattle to southern California to visit my mom's brother, Uncle Warren and his family. I don't remember how many days it took us to get there but I do remember that on the day we got to their house we all had to go to the bathroom really bad! By the time it was my turn ... well, let's just say that I'm pretty sure I came out at least two pounds lighter than I went in.
I was also responsible for plugging up the toilet.
Mom was next in line but talking to Uncle Warren. I went up to dad and whispered, "I think I plugged up the toilet."
Dad said, "That's OK, they'll think your mother did it."

My dad said some really great things. And those words of wisdom have stuck with me, lo, these many years.

It might not be your fault.
And if it is, chances are you can blame it on somebody else.