Weighty subjects...

So while out in his workshop, Carey somehow managed to drop a tool into a gap that caused it to fall between the interior and exterior walls.  He armed himself with his "good" flashlight and a line of some sort and started fishing around trying to retrieve it.  

In the process he dropped his good flashlight into the gap as well.  (Picturing this is making me chuckle as I type.)

Apparently previous owners have been equally as unlucky, as he could see other objects down there too, so he set about retrieving fallen treasure.  

I asked him awhile ago if he had been able to recover his flashlight, and he proudly announced that he had...as well as a small 3-pound dumbell which he then used to give his bum shoulder a short workout.   "But it made my shoulder ache.  Do you want a little dumbell?"

So I gave him the look and replied, "Thanks, babe, but I already have one."  To his credit, he laughs at all my jokes, even the ones that he walks right into.  

Merry Christmas to all...

I was looking on my computer for a photo to put on this post, and for some reason I noticed the similarity between these two photos.  The one on the left is of Carey who was born in August of '53.  The photo on the right is of Jared, who was born in July of '83.  So these were their second Christmases, and they both got bouncy horses.  

Both of these photos had been scanned and were in the same computer folder, but I had never noticed before that they were so similar...maybe because there was an older sibling and Christmas tree in the photo of Carey that I cropped out tonight, and I converted Jared's photo to black and white, and I added the years to both.  :)  But really, the same age and the same gift!

I don't know about Carey, but Jared rode thousands of miles on his horse.  He absolutely loved it.

I hope that each of you has a wonderful Christmas that brings you much joy.

The accidental comedian...

image credit: Bing clipart

Well, it's scorpion season.  I have killed a couple of them in the house in the past few days.

This morning I decided the dust and detritus on the bathroom floor had reached critical mess mass and had to be dealt with.  I retrieved the broom from the laundry room, and when I started to sweep the floor, a scorpion magically appeared.  I yelped and exclaimed that there was a scorpion hiding in the broom.

The hubs innocently replies that it probably thought I'd never find it in there.

If I had said that, it would have been dripping with sarcasm at how infrequently the broom gets used .  I admit it; I'm a smart @$$.  The hubs, however, imparts his words with no ulterior intent.  

Sometimes that man cracks me up...even if he doesn't mean to...especially if he doesn't mean to.

One of us is crazy...

Remember the old Ingrid Bergman/Charles Boyer movie Gaslight, where the husband tries to convince his wife that she's imagining things and does things that she doesn't remember?  Welcome to our world.  The difference?  There is no clear villain, just two very confused people.

More and more frequently, Carey and I are diametrically opposed as to how we remember events.  It is absolutely maddening!  Who told whom what...and when...is getting to be a regular source of frustration.  I would think that it was just a communication problem, but even cut-and-dried memories of who did what come up often also.

This week he has vacation days scheduled that I could swear I knew nothing about.  He's going to the hunting lease with his brothers, which is completely fine with me, but I thought they were going next week on his regular days off.  He is equally sure that he told me.

Today we went to IKEA.  His first time, because I always go when he's out of town.  He said he would start assembling the shelves tomorrow.  I don't remember him ever putting IKEA furniture together.  He says he put "all" the shelves in the office/craft room together.  Ummm...I put those together!  I will admit that he helped me put them in place and anchor them to the wall, but put them together?  I really, really do not think so.  In fact, he's always offended that I don't trust him to do it right, and prefer to do it myself.  That's not exactly true...I don't trust him not to get totally frustrated with the pre-fabness of the product, which is why I go while he's out of town and try to get things assembled before he gets back.

These are just two recent instances.  It happens all the time.  It makes me wonder if anyone else has this issue in their relationships, and how they deal with it.  Anyone have a cure?

My love is retro(active)...

I went a little old school when preparing dinner tonight.  My crazy husband used to eat a lot of TV dinners, and Salisbury Steak was his favorite.  Unfortunately his aging system no longer tolerates the pre-fab ingredients well, so he has given up his beloved Hungry Man Dinners.

These days he still takes frozen dinners to heat up at work, but they are all homemade by me.  We have a large collection of freezer-safe / microwave-safe containers.

Since he's been a little down...he had a slight (but hilarious to me) accident when he was cutting his hair yesterday, after which there was no alternative but to go cue ball, and he has to work an extra day this week...I thought I would try to make him something that says, 'You are special to me."

I made it up as I went along, but it turned out really well.  Both Carey and Jared really liked it.  I had to write the recipe out before I forgot it.  I put it up over at What's Cookin' 4 Miles North of Nowhere.

The Lawn Ranger...

Carey began mowing lawns to earn money when he was eleven years old.  He's a bit of a perfectionist.  He never procrastinates (more proof that opposites attract).  I think he actually enjoys it.  He mowed the entire yard, inside the fence and out, two days ago.  Keep in mind that he just had outpatient surgery one week ago.

You might think that that is him on the mower in the photo above.  You would be wrong.  That is our neighbor from down the street.  He is, I guess, the self-appointed keeper of the easements.  Soon after we moved here (almost five years ago) we noticed that he mows outside the fences along the entire street and around the corners...sometimes down to the four-way stop which is almost a mile away.  Did he skip ours since it had just been mowed?

No.  He brought a helper!  And they easily made six to eight passes in front of our house.  What is he trying to say?  I think he is saying, "Hello, I have OCD!"  Not that I don't appreciate him...our neighborhood is very well groomed.  

He is possibly the only person in the state who has to change the headlight on his lawn mower, because he routinely does not head home until long after dark.

I told Carey he should stop mowing outside the fence and just let the neighbor do it, but I know he won't.  It's his yard, and he's going to mow it.  If the neighbor wants to come along and do it again, so be it.

Men!

Tales of the old goat...

image credit: Bing clip art

Responding to something on television or a menu (I can't remember the exact setting) my husband stated, "That sounds really good, except for the goat cheese."  

me:  You're just saying that because you're prejudiced against goats.

him:  No, I'm not.

me:  You've eaten goat cheese and liked it, I say.

him:  No, I haven't.

me:  The tortellini salad I make has feta in it.

him:  I know.

me:  Feta is goat cheese.

him:  Mm-hmm.

me:  You like the salad.  

him:  All except the goat cheese.

These conversations with him are frustrating.  He's easy to feed, because he's always grateful and complimentary...to the point of me not knowing that he doesn't like something.  

It makes me a little crazy.  

Thirty.  Nine.  Years.