There.

This Garden Feature  is something that Dad had bought but never could figure out how to use in his own garden, so it laid in the mud at his house all the while we were there, and I dragged it over here when we used the truck to take something out to their house a few weeks ago.

I couldn’t really figure out where to use it yet, either, because I’ve kept all the outside spaces to a minimum . . . so while I tried to decide, we let it sit in the backyard.

Then, as you can see, we decided while it stood there in limbo, it made a great place to hang the suet cage and the hummingbird feeder, because we are able to easily see all the squirrels and bunnies and birds congregate here.  It has turned the backyard into a recreation park . . . squirrels all chasing each other, bunnies joining in the fray, birds zooming in and out like the Garden Feature was an airport . . . and we’ve loved seeing our beautiful cardinals and hummingbirds and little chickadees.

But.

The backyard, in case you don’t know, is also the center of our activity.  The front yard is mostly ignored, while the backyard is where we take the dogs out, go to the car, feed the turkeys, retrieve from or put anything into Paw’s garage (our three-car garage).

Nearly all of our foot traffic goes from our main door, down the ramp (which I hope we will take down any day now), onto the driveway as you can sort of see here, to the garage or garden or Garden Feature.

You can’t see very well into that backyard area, because of the house, so it’s always with a little trepidation that I’ll carry the girls out and walk over the footsquares, peeking around the building at the last one before the gravel.  You never know what you’ll see, but most times, you’ll see SOMETHING, be it a fleeing squirrel or bunny or whatever.

(You know me, that’s terrifying enough, the moment of discovery.)

——

Yesterday was a very “eh” day.  I had a headache all day long, which looked to be turning into sinus pressure all over my head and then, yay, another bout of vertigo.

(Knobby says “I wish something wasn’t always WRONG with you”.  That would be a nice vacation, wouldn’t it.)

(Believe me, I wish that too!  But his ears don’t get half of all the symptom-processing that goes through my own noggin.)

He has been working round-the-clock, so he spent the day in his office while I spent the day trying to keep my head still in bed.  The vertigo cure knocked me out for a v.long nap, and I woke up around eight or nine last night when he offered me some dinner he made . . . there.  I’ve documented it.  He does know how to make a frozen Stouffer’s dinner.  HE DOES!  Thank you honey.

I ALSO, though, woke up to the news that while I laid asleep next to that window that looks out upon the backyard . . . a bear had come through, taken down the suet cage and dismantled it (tore it all apart), and taken the hummingbird feeder down as well, even unscrewing it to drink all the sugar water.

And THAT, my friends, is where I say alright! No more backyard critter wonderland!

I happened upon that young bear last year, you know . . . I was across the patio tossing reno materials into the back of Dad’s dumptruck, being very loud, turned around to go back inside, and two feet from the door, there I encountered a bear coming up the driveway about mid-ramp, just a mere four feet or so away from me.  Two feet from the door is NOT comforting when you’re four feet from a bear.  Not comforting or close at all.  My heart hammered and the world froze for years in that split-second.  That was a first time I’d ever seen a bear in real life, not in some sort of zoo enclosure.  It happened so fast — we realized each other was there at about the same time — but that split-second was enough to analyze just how soft all the fur tendrils looked, all clean and separately waving about as the bear moved, and then how gracefully it moved as it leaped away, running to the garage bay where we park the car, then leaping onto the split-rail fence and off into the woods.  So many indelible images for such a split-second.

But.  No matter how soft and scared it might have been then . . . now I’m on bear alert.  Heck no, I’m not walking to the mailbox!  Maybe we could litterbox train the girls.  Let’s move the car to one of the basement garages, etc.

Our neighbor just let Knobby know that she saw a bear up at her place just 20 minutes ago . . . yep, girls, time to learn about a little thing called litterboxing.

(Yay, a break from the novels!)

A bit of truth in this bumper sticker I spied while out with Mom:

What seems to be a lovely place to perch in the walled garden . . . unless you realize the tourists all drive at seated head-level between those walls:

Prettier when you feign ignorance, isn’t it.

The view here isn’t manipulated . . . these giraffes are huge.  And I WANT them.  I think they come as a set of three.

The detail is gorgeous.  Right down to the little “ruffles” on their necks.

How fantastic would they be, grazing in my yard?  WANT times 30000.

Also:  These owls.

My great-great grandmother’s snowball bush is glorious right now.  (There may be even more “great”s involved there, but the point here is:  waaaaaaaay long ago.)

Really, it’s more than just a bush . . . it’s a tree.

So beautiful.

Spring’s snowball bush makes up for the loss of our winter views.

It was well over a year ago, when I fell in love with this Kate Spade clutch.

When I discovered it, it was already sold out.

As someone who loves Pride and Prejudice . . . the book, the BBC production that made us all love Colin Firth, the Keira Knightley movie that wasn’t exactly in-depth but IS a lovely piece of art . . . of course I immediately thought “AH!  I MUST HAVE IT!”.

But . . . you know.  Obviously . . . it was sold out.

And . . . you know.  It was $328.

We all have our decisions to make, and three hundred and twenty eight dollars was a leeeeeetle bit more than I could in good conscience throw out towards a simple clutch.

I mean, we pick our battles, and sometimes, you DO rationalize that something is worth the price tag, and sometimes you squench your face up in feigned pain but you do it anyway, and the rest of the time you just say I’ll wait for the next thing-I-cannot-live-without.

And guess what, I survived!

Oh, I kept coming back to it . . . I’d check on various websites to see if someone had returned theirs.  I checked eBay, where I was astonished to see that some character was selling one (of course, the only one on eBay) for TWICE the original $328.  And I laughed and laughed while knowing that someone, somewhere, with too much money or room on their credit card, would probably take that character up on his/her offering, but it wouldn’t be me.

We visited an urban area which possessed an actual Kate Spade store.  Around here, you know, I’m limited to the online shopping, but since we were there, I went in to take a gander at some of the things I’d ogled, to see if they lived up to my dreams.  Obviously they didn’t have the P&P clutch, but they did have whichever was the current book of the month clutch.  I held it, really liked the nerditude of it . . .  it was just the right shape, and just the right texture, and just the right dimensions to make you feel as though you were simply carrying around a laminated-cover library book.  Well, sigh.

Then.  THEN.

It returned.  I suppose it was reissued or something, but lo and behold, there it was on multiple sites.  I guess enough people had pitypartied their customer service about it or something.  Who knows.

Yet.  Stupid silly Pixy, I hemmed and hawed and delayed . . . because . . . despite all my wishes and desirings and whatnot . . . y’all, I can’t just conjure up $328.

(I mean, there’s a lot of competition out there for my credit card number.  I count 34 tabs open right now in my browser, all competing for my next allowance.  All lined up . . . will it be the shoes I “cannot live without”?  The purses I “cannot live without”?  The beauty products I “cannot live without”?  The home decor products I “cannot live without”?  The home renovation parts I “cannot live without”?  (Ok, the home reno parts, those are more like “cannot postpone much longer b/c I’ve already been waiting months behind all these accessories and I’d like to NOT electrocute myself in the laundry room any longer”.))

So you see the problem here.

In competition with all the other tabs, I delayed along my merry way until it no longer was something I thought about in idle moments, or even checked on anymore.

Until this morning . . . when the Kate Spade Special Sale email popped up in my inbox.

If you don’t know . . . every now and then you’ll see dear old Kate having one of these.  Special Sale, Sample Sale, whatever they call it  . . .   75% off!!! is all you need to know.  You click, and most of the time you spin and spin through drab things that don’t hold your interest, looking for that lucky rabbit.  THE one thing in the Sample Sale that’s the win.  The Golden Ticket.  That purse or hat or whatever that you longed for so long ago and had forgotten about but there it is and all marked down and you must have it, must! must!

Sometimes it’s there . . . sometimes it’s not.  Well, today, my friends, today’s Special Sale held Pixy’s Golden Ticket.

There it was.  The Pride and Prejudice clutch.  All resplendent in it’s familiar nerdy attire . . . and what’s this?  ONLY NINETY-NINE DOLLARS????????

The Laundry Room electrocution would have to go on for another two weeks, because, y’all, that thing was sent straight to my shopping cart and off to checkout I went.

Then . . . BOOM.  The monitor went black, the tower stopped whirring, the house whooshed into the silence when everything powers down at once, and not half a second later there was a gigantic explosion sound somewhere down the hill from me.

By the time the power returned . . . the clutch was, of course, out of stock.  When I later checked back, just to make sure someone hadn’t changed their mind . . . it wasn’t even listed anymore.

It was sort of like this past Christmas, when we had finagled Garm and PopPop to go see the lights at Biltmore . . . approached the estate road, drove the two mile driveway, drove past the house, past the winery, all enrobed in the darkness of a power outage.  Only to have the lights SPRING to life JUST as we turned out of the estate road back towards home.

Obviously it was God punishing us for our finagling, and this morning God was telling me I had no business owning that Pride & Prejudice clutch, no matter how much the markdown.

Yes sir, over and out.

I’m still set up in the dining room from when Knobby moved me down here during the drywall day.  That was, of course, when we thought it would be a three day ordeal, however . . . I’m sort of loving being down here.  So much easier to multi-task when you’re staring at a kitchen whose dishes need to be put away, or just down the hallway from a washer and dryer during laundry day.  Makes me think of setting up a desk in the laundry room and making it . . . a womanly work room.

Is all the coffee the result of one’s birthday weekend?  Maaaaaybe.

It was pretty low-key, really.

As most people, we attempt to attack the outdoors on the weekends.  Mike mows and weed-eats, while I attacked what I tend to call the island in the curve.  Now that the dead trees have been removed, it’s thinned out and I want it to look more park-like and “naturally kept” than the usual leaf-covered “woods”.

Here’s the curve in the driveway where you turn and approach the house.

By “naturally kept”, I suppose I mean raking it free of the leaves, leaving it mostly as is beyond that . . .

BUT.

Really, you know me . . . I just can’t leave it at “natural”.  If I’m to be honest, the natural approach is just not the Pixy way.

No, see, it makes me a little frantic.  There are a lot of things around here, that I assume to be weeds (b/c there are a lot of weeds) . . . which you either take down then receive a disappointment comment b/c “Mimi loved those _____ ” which to you, just looked like weeds.  And there are so many things that bloom for one week and then spend the rest of the year LOOKING like weeds . . . and . . . well, you know that I am not up on my flora and fauna all too much, so to me . . . I approach my landscaping the way I approach the rest of life:

If it’s an intentional plant, tree, whatever . . . then it needs to be separated out.  It needs to be circled up by some rocks or those landscaping bricks, or whatever fits the landscape . . . and it needs to be brought to your attention and controlled.  Anything outside of that bricked circle?  MOW IT DOWN.

I don’t mean that vindictively . . . I need to have it that way for my own sanity and ease of maintenance.  One, so I know what is a keep and what is a kill . . . and two, so that I don’t get twitchy about “weeds” growing up.   I just like clean surfaces, you know.  Clean yards, only interrupted by landscaped areas, no confusion, natural but controlled.

So far, we’ve started a campaign against the wilds that want to encroach, by attempting to enforce a little expanse of grass to each side of the house.  Where the grass falls off the hill, that’s where the yard stops, no more trees or brush.  No weeds growing up as far as the weedeater can reach.  Past the point where you “fall off the hill”, Knobby bravely strides into those trees and cuts down masses of vines that are choking the woods, and relieves the trees of the dead ones that have fallen but gotten caught and just lie there sideways.

It’s a slow process.  He works really hard at it . . . but there’s a lot of work to be done, and obviously, this is his weekend too.  And I’m pretty useless . . . but give us time, we’ll have this place all ship-shape and presentable.

This is some work to do . . . trees have been taken out, and we need to re-sow the grass.  You can see the lower driveway here, and that’s sort of nice . . . things have opened up.

This is looking down towards the curve island.  You know what bugs me?  The area light pole.

It used to be surrounded by trees and not very noticeable.  It mostly blended in.  But now that we’ve been cleaning out the woods and the drive, now it sticks out like a sore thumb.

Like this random shot from the other day, while the drains were being installed . . .

All I see is that light pole.

We’re going to need to relocate it soon, OR . . .

I have a wishful thinking plan for flanking the driveway near that point . . . with either rock or brick columns to both sides, with fixed lanterns atop each column.

Issuing from the columns, towards the house, could be some gentle walls that gradually decrease but curve the side of the driveway . . . and serve as a landscaping bit of their own.

Knobby gives me extreme side-eye here and basically “whatever, woman”, in that tone where you can tell he thinks this is all pipe dreams and malarkey.

I’m not saying it’s going to happen anytime SOON, mind you . . . but a girl can dream.  Especially on her birthday weekend.

Our staircase previously looked like this:

It was worse than it looks here . . . water damage marks all the way up the stairs, and on the ceiling . . . and almost every time you walked up and down the stairs, or if the house shifted or settled a bit, down rained a little bit of drywall fallout.  (But, that cord situation was resolved a long time ago.  That, thank goodness, was one-day-temporary. Whew!)

Plus, the hole you can see there looked uber-moldy.  I was so sure, so absolutely sure, that there would be so much mold behind that drywall, and if there’s a certain degree of black mold, a specialist was going to have to be brought in to douse us down with something the drywall explained as “50 times Clorox bleach” . . . which . . .

I am horrible for admitting this, but I prayed more that we didn’t have uber black mold because I didn’t want what was estimated to be a three-day job turning into some sort of three WEEK sideshow of workers.  Because the thought of dealing with workers in the house was really daunting.  Overwhelming.  Three days was enough, I thought . . . surely I would have to move flat-out for three weeks rather than be nice to someone and dodge them and smile as they trekked their way past my spot in the living room as I imagined sitting there, paralyzed with the effort of having to keep dogs out of ways for days on end.

Yes, that was more dreadful than LIVING IN BLACK MOLD.  What can I say, I’m a hermit.  I have a hermit’s priorities.

Luckily, I didn’t have to dread the drywall day for very long.  He gave us an estimate early in the week, had a tiny hole of availability on Friday, but for the three weeks after this, he claimed, he was booked solid.

(How the tiny hole on Friday equaled room for a three-day job, I don’t know, but everyone else was nodding and “mmhmm”ing, so I just readjusted my grip on the girls on each hip and didn’t ask.)

(Sometimes, it’s just easier, you know, to just not ask.  Mmhmm.  Ok, fine, whatever.)

Friday rolled around, and although I had groaned inwardly at his 7:30 arrival time when I was told the night before . . . I was up, inexplicably, at SIX-thirty.  I can’t even begin to explain how in the world that happened.  No alarm or anything, BAM, time to get up and get yourself a cup of coffee.

The most fantastic part, though, was . . . that since he was looking ahead at being so busy for the next three weeks, he went ahead and bought (this is Knobby’s explanation) the more expensive, fast-drying drywall mud.  This cut our job down to less than a day.  There was no dust anywhere as I’d expected, and he was gone before two.  And there was NO MOLD WHATSOEVER.  The discrepancy between six hours and three days was WELL worth it, because, hey, I had my house back to myself and the job was done.  Why doesn’t everyone use fast-drying mud?

In 48 hours I could be priming and painting, I was told, but we’re so behind in the paint jobs now that I have a feeling it will be verrrrry dry by the time I get to it.  I’ve still got the guest room to finish painting, the laundry room to start priming to paint, and the guest bath to finish sanding then painting.

Giving myself vertigo while painting the guest room has, you might say, spooked me a little.

I’m tremendously psychosomatic — you can merely suggest to me that I look like I might be coming down with (blank), and before I know it, it’s manifesting itself.  I can remember so clearly a day way back in middle school, walking down the gym stairs to the ladies dressing room and passing our gym teacher on her way up.  She stopped me, looking very taken aback, and asked if I felt alright.  I was utterly fine, the day was great, I was wearing an outfit I liked . . . everything was all sunshine and puppies.  Two hours later?  I had fallen prey to the power of suggestion and was calling my mother to take me home.

I COMPLETELY blame that gym teacher!

(I mean, I may be SurlyFace and all, but she acted as though I had turned as green as the proverbial Grinch.)

So.  Being such an Aunt Pittypat, at my first whiff of the jellyfish head (wubwubwub) . . . I freeze.  I straighten up.  I quit doing whatever I’m doing (how dare I think I could get a dishwasher tab out from it’s box under the sink!).  I FREEZE.

What a mess.

I attempted some v.light sanding in that guest bath today.  And by v.light, I’m talking . . . I was just going to hit the three square feet or so that are behind the bathroom door.  Just a little tiny bit.

Well.  I got up on that stepladder, fired up the hand-sander, and . . . . (Jaws theme)  WUBWUBWUB.

Ridiculous.

I think I’m going to have to have a little ComeToJesus talk with this wubwubwub business, because, hello, JellyfishHead over here is approaching the OverdramaticHypochondriac territory, and things have to get done around this place SOMETIME.

Can’t even blame all that black mold for it.  Hmpf.

These days, I may not relish the thought of adding one to that number I write down in all the “Age” boxes, but . . . I still enjoy the presents like a child.

Also, these days, I feel guilty if I buy something not house-related . . . there’s so much to do,  I should use the money for the bathroom vanity lights or paint or maybe even start buying the hardware I know I want on our kitchen cabinets . . . even though, yes, you haven’t missed anything . . . there’s no kitchen reno yet in the works.  I just feel the need to start accumulating them b/c they’re pricey.

I’m not the saving type, so I even wish I could start accumulating the floor and wall tiles for our bathrooms.  You’re not supposed to do that — you’re supposed to buy all at once so as hopefully to get an even assortment.  But it sure would be helpful . . . say, one box per allowance.  Yeah.

SO, in lieu of the housewares, I’ll indulge in posting the girly shoes and cosmetics and handbags I have kept open in all my tabs recently.  It’s a Birthday Girl Flush.

Let’s start by discussing a little bit of the rouge, shall we?

Sephora recently sent me this divine little sample of YSL’s Rouge Volupte’ Shine.

There were three little square pots of color, enough for several applications, and even a little tiny brush to apply.  Cute in itself, but then when I DID apply . . . delightful.  The color was a good match for me, the texture was soft and easy, while the color was intense and thorough.  And the scent, oh the scent . . . it’s DELICIOUS.  I’ve been told it’s a combo of cucumber and watermelon notes, but whatever it is . . . it’s delicious.  Just delicious.  You want this lipstick just BECAUSE of that scent . . .it’s amazing.

(Then again, you know I’m a sucker for a surprise luxury . . . it’s not just enough that a face cream moisturize and not break me out, no, it needs to smell and feel luxurious upon application.  It’s the little details that make or break it.)

This, of course, now makes me wonder about the YSL Volupte’  Sheer Candy Glossy Balm.

And I don’t know about you, but after the typically dry winter, I’m discovering that my legs and arms aren’t quite ready to reveal without a bit of exfoliation going on.  There’s so many products out there . . . hey, Pinterest has even persuaded me that making my own could be fun and easy . . . but I’m not THAT naive.  I stick to the purchasing.  But like I said, so many products out there, I’ve narrowed it down to these for consideration.

Bliss Lemon and Sage Body Scrub.

It’s $36, I love that Bliss Lemon and Sage scent, but I’m a little reserved about the fact that this one is designed for dry, not wet skin, and therefore isn’t advised to do while you’re in the shower.  I’ve always thrown in the salt scrub as part of the shower routine, so my monster of habit wonders if remembering to do this before I turn on the water would be a hassle.

But then there’s Soap and Glory’s Flake Away Body Scrub.

At $20, this one is much easier on the wallet than Bliss, and people on Sephora seem to really love it.

Then we go back to Bliss for their Super Minty Soap ‘n Scrub.

It’s $32, and my motivator behind this is the promise that it might be as strongly zingy as a previous Bliss Mammoth Mint product I LOVED.  Oh sure, you might wonder if your skin had been frozen off as it zinged and tingled, but . . . it was so powerfully refreshing.  Deeeeelightful.

So, I’ll have to make my choice.  The Lemon and Sage — I love the scent.  Flake Away — great reviews that it really works and I’ve never tried anything from that line.  Plus, you know, cheapest.  The Super Minty — ZING!!!

Choices, choices.

You know you won’t get out of here without a few purses tossed in for good measure.

There are a few Dooneys.

The Dillen II Pocket Satchel in Tangerine.

Orange accessories . . . orange clothes won’t flatter me, so I make up for lost time with orange bags and shoes.

Of course, the Pocket Satchel also comes in a tempting Navy . . .

. . . and a Dark Grey as well.

Dooney also has the DB Retro Leather Janine on special currently, and it is so gorgeous in this Grass Green color.

It really does make you feel like spring, those intense saturated green leaves against the equally intense saturated blue sky.

Green and orange, always my accessory wins.

So of course, this NEON orange miniaudiere from JCrew is a “Wow.”.

Neon Patent Leather.  Are your eyes burning?

This should cool them down.  The dainty pale grey polka dot Lola Seatbeltbag.

She’s just gorgeous.

But lest you think we were done, we still have shoes to go.

You might laugh here, but with all the spring rain (floods) we’ve been getting, and our spring tendency to get out and start working on the landscaping and other things that may be squishy . . . I really want a pair of Hunter wellies.

(“SaintsRow Purple!!!)

As for the rest . . . this year I’d like to step away from the ever-present wedge flipflops of yesteryear and appear to be a little more put together by way of a few pairs of flats.

Flats, though, might need to be an entry all of their own.

Remember day before yesterday’s gigantor bee?   Well, now his/her kin are avenging his/her capture and death.

A smaller but just as loud version helicoptering in our bedroom window this morning.  Let it be known, gigantor bee clan:  We will not tolerate your presence.  We will take you out with whatever means necessary.

Magazines, books, scissors, nerve toxin sprays, wood chippers, flame throwers . . . Whatever. Means. Necessary.

—–

Now.  On to the beautiful house I promised.

I tagged along with Dad the other day as he ran some errands.  Little did I know that there was something in it for me.

The gates were the first inkling . . .

I’ve been talking about entry columns for our driveway.  With or without gates depending on their placement.

We curved through a sparse woodland until the house came into view.

It’s a little anti-climatic — I like a head-on full frontal approach so that you always get the full impression of one’s home.  But.  Still lovable.

The house is symmetrical, but you’ll have to use your imagination and piece it together here, because I never once got a full wide shot.

If it seems familiar to you . . . it is a reproduction of sorts, of Gunston Hall.  But I like the tasteful in-theme wings as well.

The grand foyer, though, was where I swooned.

Per. Fect.

(Well, maybe except for the shopvac.)

Space, chandelier, stairs, molding, floor, presence . . . SWOON.

How could you not swoon over such classic bones?

This is a grande dame.

The backyard held some ideas for me as well.

A classic colonial with a bit of gothic age to lend it personality . . . perfect, non?

(Well, now it’s afternoon.  We had a v.late start to our day today.)

She asks that you please disregard her furry paws.

(They are apparently v.ticklish, so she does not often willingly cede them for grooming.)

Drama on the home front this morning . . . Coco wanted to sun out on the patio, and I found this gigantic humongous monster of a bee out there.

(Yes, this constitutes DRAMA.)

I trapped it in this largest-of-the-Knobby glasses for documentation’s sake.  I can’t really convey the size of this bee v.well, even with this opportune wasp corpse I threw in there with it.

(It seems to be a day for bees.  This one was conveniently crawling about the living room floor afterwards and I of course had to smash it.  Spiders and bees, I don’t handle them v.well.)

My skin is crawling, looking at these pictures.  Ugh ugh ugh ugh.  No.  I do not handle the spiders and bees.  I feel something crawling in my hair, crawling up my leg now.  Ugh ugh ugh. NO.

My eyes are ever-fixed on the floor, on the surfaces, constantly searching about to see of there are more of them invading the house.  Caulk all the cracks, vacuum seal the entrances and exits, do whatever you must to keep out the bees.

Knobby set about to identify it.  As far as we can tell, it’s a yellow jacket (a form of wasp, and these suckers are MEAN.) . . . but while he thought something this size MUST be a queen, perhaps flooded out of her home . . . the belly markings indicate that it SHOULD be nothing more than a run of the mill worker.

Saints preserve us, I do NOT need a yellow jacket nest of these giants.  It is surely a sign of the apocalypse.

When he/she dies, I will take a better picture for scale.  Nothing, though, can really convey the horror.

I have to hop in the shower (and thoroughly scrub my shivery scalp) . . . but after that, we have a beautiful house to discuss.

That’s the chant in Pixy’s head right now, because it’s been two weekends in a row that have been all rain, all doom and gloom.

In between the weekends, there was a bit of break in the rain, enough that Knobby got one of his personal house projects finished (with the help of my Dad and his trackhoe, or whatever it is you call that machine).  Dad brought the trackhoe over to clear out the logs from the tree work we had done — it feels so long ago, doesn’t it?  Dad’s always busy though.  All the pines had to come down because they were killed by disease, and then a few other trees were dead as well.  It took out quite a bit of our woods to the driveway side, but I’ve really been enjoying the increased view.

While the trackhoe was here, Knobby got two drainage solutions solved.  All of the house gutters run underground except for one, and that downspout just poured out into the yard, turning into a pond.  Seriously, frogs camped out and sang symphonies there all night long.  So, a trench was dug, schedule 40 pipe was laid (I don’t know what specifically the “schedule 40″ means, but guys seem to put a lot of importance to it, so there you go.), and now . . . no more frog ponds!  We have hopes to turn that spot into a landscaped retaining wall, to solve a few other problems . . . but that will have to wait for the distant future — that “simple” looking two tier garden wall at the front of our Cornfields house proved to be a weekend of utter hell, so I can’t imagine what sort of havoc a five or six foot wall would wreak.

(Hmmm, must think of the best way to hide that exposed white pipe . . . )

The front yard also turned into a pond, and the driveway frequently washed out, so another trench was dug and an underground drain box placed.  I’ll want to find a few sizable rocks to shield it in a semi-circle on the driveway side of that circle.  We tossed down some grass seed everywhere that the soil had been interrupted, so the rain this weekend has been perfect for those little seeds.

Knobby’s been gone for the weekend, so I’ve been enjoying a little down-time.  TV, music, etc.  No dogs to require my attention, which, honestly was so lonely and strange at first.  You mean I didn’t have to get up and check to see if water was needed, or Ava needed to go piddle, or perhaps she wanted to relocate between couch and bed?  No one wanted to beg me for pieces of my lunch and dinner?  It was strange.  I missed them.  It’s also been really cold . . . and you know me, I don’t like to mess with the thermostat, AND, Knobby is all about keeping us at comfortable temperatures no matter the weather . . . but secretly, I sort of liked the extra chill.  It made me feel like I was . . . roughing it.  In the most first-world-housewife sort of way.  AND, bonus, heated blankets never EVER felt so good!

Now, this is sitting in my yard.  I can’t quite figure out where it should go.  Thoughts?

Let’s see, rained all weekend.  Seemed it did not once let up.

Rain and the foggy gloom makes it quite a drab day, quite a drab weekend.

Obviously the lawn-mowing was out of the question.

Knobby mowed the lawn for the first time this year, two weekends ago.  Last weekend it was certainly due, but we were out of town for the furniture party . . . now, it is no longer considered a lawn, but a veritable field.

Ava tried to piddle in it, but she got stuck.  Now she sticks to the driveway (YAY.).

You’d think being stuck in the house would encourage a Pixy to work on her house projects . . . . buuuuuuuuut NO.  No, it was so drab, I couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm.

Knobby did, though.  He summoned up enough enthusiasm to correct the three-way light switch in the kitchen, replace the last outlet in there, and then replaced the main bathroom outlet and took out the old wall-heater control in there.

Is that all we did?  I can’t remember . . . but there you go . . . drab day, drab memory.  We now have one light switch left to replace . . . and about four rooms worth of outlets to go.

Oh yes, I DID start a little drywall patching in the bathroom.  Started sanding the browned aged remnants of wallpaper paste that cover the whole room, managed to remove most of the measurement marks and nasty brown gel putty on the tile.

Drywall paste dust EVERYWHERE.  Sent Roomba in there twice, but . . . well, maybe we should keep to the sweeping.  I’d hate to ruin Roomba so early in the game.

My birthday is coming up soon . . . so many things on my “to buy” list.  Feel guilty when my attention diverts from house things to ye olde standby of cosmetics (“you have enough”) or candles/Scentsy (“you have enough”) or pocketbooks (“good LORD, woman, you have enough”).  Fashion stops for NO ONE, Knobby!  It does not pause for one’s house renovations!!!

Knobby spent the weekend working on programming our security camera system . . . it’s being expanded to include not just the cameras, but a means to operate other house things via web as well.  Think, opening gate and garage doors via iPads/phones/browser, along with some other ideas he has.  The nerd.

Today started off with Knobby trimming Coco’s nails while I started in on my second cup of coffee.  Her nail cracked, she squealed, and blood EVERYWHERE.  I was so thankful that JUST this morning, I’d straightened up a corner of the laundry room pantry and discovered a shopping bag that had gotten lost in the shuffle, which contained one lone box of styptic powder, unopened.  I’d pulled it out of the bag, thought “wow, I’m really embarrassed at how long ago we bought this and it’s been laying about undiscovered”, put it smack dab in the front corner of the dog care section of our pantry.  Less than an hour later, voila, the need had arisen.

Is that lucky, or WHAT.

Then.  During a late lunch, we walked down to the gate so that Knobby could test voltage down there.  Only, I let him and Coco walk, and drove Paw’s truck even though he acted like I was worried about nothing.  ”But we ALWAYS end up needing this or that part, or what if you accidentally get electrocuted or we encounter a bear!!!”, I said.  You can imagine his scoffing.

So voltage was measured, Coco nosed around in the stream, mailbox was checked . . . and what was this?  These dark spots on his shirt?

Ahhhh . . . Coco had ruptured her nail again.  Blood everywhere, all over his clothes (the girls are learning to stop at a certain point of the driveway, and we pick them up and carry them into the actual road to check the mailbox) . . . so to the truck we ran, and Paw’s truck roared up the driveway towards another dose of styptic powder.

Is that lucky, or WHAT.  A walk up the driveway would take about ten minutes and Coco’s paw was a faucet of blood.  LUCKY.

So there you go, be on your way this finally-dry day.  Consider yourself updated.