1. Had a leisurely childless brunch with J at the Cheesecake Factory on a Sunday morning. This seems like a lifetime ago by now, but we both need to remember how someday, way into the future, we'll be able to sleep in until 10 AM and then eat lemon ricotta pancakes while sitting under a cabana.
2. Spent a small fortune at Lowe's, Target, Home Depot, and Wal-Mart. As in, it isn't hard to calculate what we spent on upgrades as a percentage of the total cost of our house. (gulp)
3. Drove back to Lowe's, Target, Home Depot, and Wal-Mart various times to make returns and exchanges. Or, as J puts it, "I am so sick of hearing the phrase 'Well, I'd better head back to Lowe's.'"
4. Read Don Greene's book on performing and centering techniques. It all seems like it would be very interesting to have incorporated into my practicing, if I'd had any time for practicing beyond the bare minimum for the past few weeks.
5. Disconnected all of our bathroom fixtures. Some (the toilet) more times than others.
6.. Ripped out the old laminate and mosaic tile floors from the upstairs bathroom, then broke up the old layer of mortar underneath. This led to many prayers that the garbage company would actually be able to get the dumpster up into the truck.
7. Took a shower with the hose in the backyard while the bathroom was out of commission.
8. Learned that James is not to be trusted to tell the difference between a bathing suited person who is asking for a hose shower and a fully clothed person who is not.
9. Was approved to substitute teach in the East Irondequoit School District. A bit of a step down, prestige-wise, from the types of teaching I was doing over the last few years, but the price of folly, and probably easier to work around the various orchestra schedules.
10. Ate O'Lacy's ribs for our anniversary dinner. Just as good as I remembered them.
11. Attempted to read Browning's The Ring and the Book. Given that I don't currently know where the book is (I think Owen was playing with it at one point) the effort hasn't progressed particularly well.
12. Scraped and chiseled old mortar off of fifty used pieces of tile.
13. Trimmed the front hedge back down to a reasonable size, though at the cost of many scrapes and scratches and a pair of athletic shorts, but discovering an additional sillcock in the process.
14. Installed and screwed down a wooden subfloor in the bathroom.
15. Windexed and wiped every window and mirror in the house, only dropping the bottle of windex from the second story one time in the process.
16. Scraped and sanded the ancient paint job off of the wobbly rails on the front stoop of the house.
17. Learned how to properly apply aerosol paint
18. Learned how to properly clean a paint brush.
19. Learned that there are no home stores in the greater Rochester area that offer complementary tile cuts.
20. Rented a wet saw from Home Depot. (A wet saw, if you don't know, is a special kind of saw that is purposely designed to be really heavy and difficult to load into the back of a sedan, especially when the back of the sedan is full of carseats.)
21. Hung shutters on the front of the house.
22. Pulled off the hideous old awning over our front lower story window, finding a bee's nest in the process.
23. Attempted (with not very much success) to wash the old aluminum siding that was hidden under the hideous awning.
24. Repaired a garden hose that was scraped open in the front bush and nearly flooded the basement.
25. Attended a Rochester Red Wings game. (The mascot is still there, but only a little scary.)
26. Selected a new ceiling fixture for the library, although a bare bulb hanging out of a hole probably would have looked better than what was in there previously.
27. Hung curtain rods and thermal curtains over all the big bay windows in the library.
28. Cleaned out the brush pile by the firepit, which no longer fit under the storage tarp I'd pulled over it.
29. Painted the garage doors, with the help of J, while the kids were sleeping--maybe the quietest and nicest time we had together aside from Cheesecake Factory all week.
30. Learned how to mix and lay down thinset mortar.
31. Learned how to mix and lay down grout, which for some reason can be a transitive verb while "mortar" cannot.
32. Bought a new sink pedestal after learning the loud-crashing-noise way that the old one was not a single piece with the sink top.
33. Learned about cutting porcelain with a diamond tipped drill bit and after discovering that the new pedestal wouldn't position exactly the same way the old one did.
34. Roasted lots and lots of coffee down in the basement.
35. Visited the NY Wine and Culinary Center in Canandaigua for a brief glimpse at some of the things we'd really enjoy doing if we didn't have kids with us.
36. Learned how to anchor metal railings in cement.
37. Replaced the rotted sill under our back window.
38. Learned about and used more varieties of caulk than I ever thought possible. Caulk seems to be goo that holds together all grown-up projects, kind of like Elmer's glue sticks of the adult world.
39. Resorted the entire garage, discovering in the process an unopened 30 by 36 double hung window, an ancient Christmas tree stand, several pieces of baseboard that must have come from some place in our house, and the feces of an unknown small animal.
40. Planted a crab-apple tree in the front yard. It's a humane and beneficent activity to plant a tree, because it forces you to call the NY state dig line, and the lady that I spoke to was really excited to talk to someone. I think she must be lonely.
41. Performed a soil analysis on the dirt from my dig. Turns out that we have an alkaline soil of the sandy loam variety. (Don't know what sandy loam is, though.)
42. Miserably failed to properly install two different baby gates. As a temporary measure, I sat down Owen and gave him a serious talk about being careful when he tries to crawl down the basement steps. He seemed to understand.
43. Had an Amish Date Night with J. I pulled on black pants, a white short sleeve dress shirt, and suspenders, and she changed into her oldest and most shapeless dress. We turned off everything that had power in the downstairs and laid on the floor with an oil lantern between us and talked for about three hours. It was really a lovely time, although I was so tired I felt like I'd raised a barn.
44. Attended a third birthday party. Owen and James each came home with balloons; everyone came home with sugar headaches.
45. Saw the "finished product" of our bathroom remodel once the new shower curtain arrived and J put on the final touches. [Cue menacing music and plumbing sounds]
46. Attended East Irondequoit School District sub training, which was about 15 minutes of soft spoken Q&A about the phone system and then the presentation of From I-9 document verification.
47. Discovered that our kitchen ceiling was dripping.
48. Called a plumber to look at the ceiling, who declared after having removed the toilet that it "looked complicated" and he couldn't fix it. (Cost: $150)
49. Mounted two repair flange pieces onto the tile floor after the tub was removed, then remounted the toilet a second time.
49. Figured out how to unscrew and remount the kitchen light fixture.
50. Installed backer rod around the front window, and, of course, caulked.
51. Went to the public market to buy every known variety of squash.
52. Convinced J to pose for a passport photograph.
53. Discovered that even if you take your own passport photograph to the correct dimensions, you can't print that photograph out at a Rite-Aid, CVS, or through an online service.
54. Attempted to sell old junk on eBay.
55. Framed and put up the picture M made for my birthday, of James throwing sticks into a stream with George and Steven a la Christopher Robin.
56. Fixed the puck lights under the kitchen counter.
57. Installed a new handle and lockset in the garage door. (This required printing off key labels, since I now have only a one in three chance of remembering which key goes to which door.)
58. Sanded and spackled and damage from the failed baby gate installations and the new outlet in our bedroom.
59. Emptied the filter of the shop vac that I use to suck up coffee bean husks and spiders down in the basement.
60. Swiffered the kitchen floor after I was confident that we'd solved the problem with the leaky toilet and that there wouldn't be another drip.
61. Discovered another drip onto the kitchen floor.
62. Haggled with the old plumber about the fact that he walked off with some of our hardware and contacted a new plumber to come in and attempt to get a real fix on the problem.
63. Tacked up a saggy gutter on the backside of the house.
64. Painted all the window trim to cover up the green aluminum pieces.
65. Cleaned out all the crevasses of the bathroom wainscot. I did not, however, get around to looking up the correct pronunciation of the word "wainscot."
66. Used a circular saw on James' old Radio Flyer Wagon. (But in a good way...for the purpose of making shelves.)
67. Went to Lowe's for plumbing supplies enough times in 24 hours that the wifi began recognizing my phone without asking whether I agreed to the terms and conditions of usage.
68. Taught a trumpet lesson
69. Researched home insurance discounts, thereby ensuring a barrage of home insurance advertisements on my email page for the next few months.
70. Hit every surface in the bathroom I could reach with CLR.
71. Walked down to Netsins ice cream shop with the boys and the grandparents.
72. Generally surrendered all parental duties to J during the course of the projects.
73. Rearranged James' furniture so that he has better access to his bookshelves after I hung the shelves in his room.
74. Fell down the basement steps and got a nasty bruise on my elbow. (Maybe Owen needs to have a stern talk with me about being careful near the steps.)
75. Grew to loathe the Carbon Monoxide detector every time I had to turn off the power to the kitchen outlets when the ceiling started leaking again.
76. Made an emergency run to the Wegmans food bar for lunch when it became apparent we were going to lose the use of our kitchen AND our bathroom.
77. Celebrated our 8th anniversary.
78. Attended a BBQ with the Shewans, in which James competed at Corn Hole with Olympic level intensity.
79. Performed at J's church on a Sunday morning.
80. Began to look at some music for the first week of the Symphoria season, although only in fits and starts.
81. Visited two parks and the downtown area of Canandaigua.
82. Took showers at extremely irregular intervals, mostly due to the issues with the bathroom.
83. Hung a latticed mug mount over the console table.
84. Applied the final re-coating of tub and tile paint to the upstairs tub.
85. Mounted a curved shower curtain rod.
86. Fixed the bathroom windows that had been frozen shut all winter.
87. Had the Corolla's inspection renewed.
88. Fixed the iPod dock in the downstairs living room. (Mostly for the purpose of getting Owen to dance to the Commodore's "Brick House.")
89. Dealt with James' sudden ambition to become a professional garbageman, practiced several times a day by him in the form of emptying an enormous box of his toys into a pile on the floor, then reloading them and emptying them again several feet away.
90. Sustained a basil plant and a cilantro plant through two weeks of life on the kitchen windowsill.
91. Painted the threshold to our garage door.
92. Had the second plumber in to remove the shoe (and my repair flange) from the upstairs waste line, only to have the kitchen ceiling drip again moments after he left.
93. Stayed home from church to meet the plumber on Sunday morning...only to have him never show or call.
94. Attended a Buffalo Bills preseason game with J and the boys.
95. Used a pair of snips to custom fit a plastic pedestal for the upstairs toilet in an attempt to elevate it a quarter of an inch.
96. Completely stood up Calvus for Hebrew one morning after staying up far too late working on the bathroom the night before.
97. Found a dozen different ways for James to "help" with his tools on whatever I was doing without causing any actual damage to his person or the project at hand.
98. Read, sporadically, Homer, Ovid, bits of the Apocrypha, St. John, and some old grammar exercises.
99. Watched a lot of tutorial videos on Youtube.
100. Swore a solemn oath to give this list a thorough re-reading before ever even THINKING about attempting home repair projects again.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Owen...
I'm sitting in the library with both boys, and Owen is leaning against the ottoman. I look down and notice there is a piece of lint on the ottoman, and look up. I look down again, and the piece of lint is gone. Owen is moving his hand away from his mouth and looking up giving his biggest grin...
2015 Buffalo Bills Season Preview
It's time again for long Sunday afternoons with Pax and Kylie drinking beer and eating chips, trying not to wake up the kids when an exciting play happens, and declaring in anguish that every ill-conceived run ought to have been a pass play and every ill-conceived pass play ought to have been a run. It's Buffalo Bills football time! And after my stunningly accurate predictions about how last season would go, I'm almost hesitant to publish my thoughts on the coming year. This blog will sound have the reputation of the Delphic oracle. So, without further ado, here's what will happen:
QB: Tyrod Taylor is the week one starter, but he will not start all 16 games. Either an injury (from all his exciting scrambling) or a stretch of bad play will make way for Matt Cassel. EJ will still be on the roster throughout the year and at some point there will be impassioned speeches made on WGR by someone who remembers the Carolina game from his rookie year wondering why we don't give the kid another chance.
HB: LeSean McCoy will put up 1500+ yards of total offense, but doesn't hit 1000 in rushing or receiving. He will be an endless frustration in any losing effort because of key drops in the passing game or negative-yardage runs. Fred Jackson will be among the top 5 receivers on the team, but will not have a particularly noticeable running role.
WR: Sammy Watkins party. He will comfortably lead the team in receptions, and Robert Woods will have a nice year as well. Percy Harvin will have maybe two or three exciting plays, but at the end of the season people will ask, "Why didn't we just have Marquise Goodwin do that?" Charles Clay doesn't make 50 receptions on the year, and the big contract gets criticized. He misses at least one key block that ends up getting somebody injured.
OL: Richie Incognito struggles as a run blocker and mostly stays out of trouble, but ends up in the headlines when he says something stupid that has been blown out of context. Cordy Glenn gets shuffled at some point, either to RT or inside to one of the guard spots. Greg Roman calls at least one play trying to get a touchdown pass to a lineman. Once camp cuts are made final, the Patriots will claim one of the Bills' blocking tight ends on waivers.
DL: Jerry Hughes will lead the team in penalties, and the team doesn't manage to field all of main four linemen for more than 12 games. At the final Jets game, IK Enemkpali gets a sack on Geno Smith. Mario Williams leads the team in sacks this year.
LB: At some point a notable veteran is signed, probably someone who used to play on the Jets. Preston Brown doesn't get selected to the Pro Bowl, but multiple Sportsyaks describe this as a "major snub"
CB: Stephon Gilmore is the most noticeably improved player on the defense. Nickell Robey has at least 3 sacks, and at some point Darby supplants McKelvin in the starting lineup permanently.
S: Aaron Williams gets ejected from at least one game, and Rex Ryan defends him. Corey Graham is hardly noticeable on defense, but looks like a superstar on special teams.
Special Teams: Maybe this is the year we won't need a kickoff specialist.
Overall Outlook: Win the AFC East at 10-6.
QB: Tyrod Taylor is the week one starter, but he will not start all 16 games. Either an injury (from all his exciting scrambling) or a stretch of bad play will make way for Matt Cassel. EJ will still be on the roster throughout the year and at some point there will be impassioned speeches made on WGR by someone who remembers the Carolina game from his rookie year wondering why we don't give the kid another chance.
HB: LeSean McCoy will put up 1500+ yards of total offense, but doesn't hit 1000 in rushing or receiving. He will be an endless frustration in any losing effort because of key drops in the passing game or negative-yardage runs. Fred Jackson will be among the top 5 receivers on the team, but will not have a particularly noticeable running role.
WR: Sammy Watkins party. He will comfortably lead the team in receptions, and Robert Woods will have a nice year as well. Percy Harvin will have maybe two or three exciting plays, but at the end of the season people will ask, "Why didn't we just have Marquise Goodwin do that?" Charles Clay doesn't make 50 receptions on the year, and the big contract gets criticized. He misses at least one key block that ends up getting somebody injured.
OL: Richie Incognito struggles as a run blocker and mostly stays out of trouble, but ends up in the headlines when he says something stupid that has been blown out of context. Cordy Glenn gets shuffled at some point, either to RT or inside to one of the guard spots. Greg Roman calls at least one play trying to get a touchdown pass to a lineman. Once camp cuts are made final, the Patriots will claim one of the Bills' blocking tight ends on waivers.
DL: Jerry Hughes will lead the team in penalties, and the team doesn't manage to field all of main four linemen for more than 12 games. At the final Jets game, IK Enemkpali gets a sack on Geno Smith. Mario Williams leads the team in sacks this year.
LB: At some point a notable veteran is signed, probably someone who used to play on the Jets. Preston Brown doesn't get selected to the Pro Bowl, but multiple Sportsyaks describe this as a "major snub"
CB: Stephon Gilmore is the most noticeably improved player on the defense. Nickell Robey has at least 3 sacks, and at some point Darby supplants McKelvin in the starting lineup permanently.
S: Aaron Williams gets ejected from at least one game, and Rex Ryan defends him. Corey Graham is hardly noticeable on defense, but looks like a superstar on special teams.
Special Teams: Maybe this is the year we won't need a kickoff specialist.
Overall Outlook: Win the AFC East at 10-6.
Monday, August 24, 2015
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Recently Reading, Preachy Advice, and Style Points
I. Recently Reading
Arnobius-The Seven Books of Arnobius Against the Heathen
You just can't publish books with titles like "Against the Heathen" anymore. Too bad, although I don't think Arnobius would have had much success in the modern world anyway. His arguments are all carefully directed against the paganism of the early fourth century. They hold some interest as cultural signposts of his time, and I came away from his text with the impression that he was a careful thinker and widely-read, but not particularly philosophical--his arguments are the sorts you might find in tractarian literature against the "evils of our time." The question was raised in the prefatory notes to his section whether he might not have been a Christian at all--just a sympathetic pagan who thought very little of the Greco-Roman religions. This would seem to agree with the noticeable absence of any positively argued Christian philosophy. Thus ends my tour through Volume VI of the Ante-Nicene Fathers. I need something else to put in my "religious reading" category when I get back home, and am thinking about exploring some Niebuhr? Post-20th century Christians need to be conversant with Niebuhr, right? I'm welcome to other suggestions.
Redwall, by Brian Jacques
Cluny the Scourge is coming! I had fun re-reading this for the first time in years. I don't remember the books being so violent when I read them as child, which hopefully means that some of it went right over my head. There are so many characters! Even in the third part of the novel, you're still meeting new characters who have time to develop, play a role in the story, and find a fitting place at the end. James isn't ready to hear these books read aloud yet, but I'll look forward to introducing him in the next few years.
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
My only experience with Little Women was seeing the high school adaptation C&B were in. (I think this made me predisposed to like Professor Bhaer.) I didn't love the book--and I can't say that I'm in any hurry to read any of the sequels. The best part was the first third, and even if the girls were a little unrealistically distinct they were delightful characters. What happened to Laurie in the second and third books? He's up and down, but when he "grows up" it happens in about two chapters and he's completely unrecognizable? Charming parts, though, and it's understandably a classic.
II. Preachy Advice
We've had several pairs of friends get engaged in the last few months, and J and I are just weeks away from our 8th anniversary. This means we are one year closer to officially becoming one of Those Couples that dispenses unasked for advice upon all of our soon-to-be married friends. (And don't worry, recently engaged friends...when you get pregnant in a few years we'll be ready and willing to share unsolicited birth-horror stories as well.)
Seriously, it isn't ever our place to prescribe universal solutions based on our own limited experience. But the fragility of marital happiness has been on my mind quite a bit recently...it's hard to think of anything else in my life that can gloom up your whole life so entirely when it's going poorly or warm up and beautify everything else in your life when it's going well. It's a slippery venture to share with another human being a bank account, a kitchen sink, a child, a bed, a laundry machine, a bathroom, a calendar, and a mortgage. Here's what I know after 8 years...
1) Listening is an extremely underrated skill. Not only listening, but listening without immediately coming up answers/retorts. Not just listening to the other person's words, but having the creative capacity to put yourself truly in their place and imagine what's prompting what they are saying to you. Not merely hearing, but listening with active interest and questions in mind to further draw out and better understand what the other person has to say. In any argument, listening with a listening spirit instead of an argumentative spirit tends to immediately cool down the disagreement.
2) It's incredibly helpful to know how the other person perceives the world to be. This isn't important for the purposes of correcting or sorting out how the real world actually works--how many times the average couple actually gets out per month, how much the average pair of shoes costs, how many nights a week a young person in a new job stays and works late--but it's important because it gives you access to the lenses through which your spouse sees the world habitually. The real facts aren't nearly as important as the subtle impressions, because it's the subtle impressions that reinforce a sense of injustice, uneasiness, or displeasure.
3) Generosity begets generosity. If all of your marital interactions take the form of negotiations, bad compromises, and swaps, chances are your next disagreement will quickly fall into a negotiation. You'll stake out territory, use battle tactics, and set aside to yourself (whether you admit it or not) some standard by which you might "win" the dispute, or at least avoid losing it. If you consistently choose to act generously (or charitably or graciously, whatever you want to call it), even if you really lose out on something from time to time, chances are your spouse will be much more inclined to be generous towards you. Not only that, but acting generously gets easier with practice, and everyone feels better afterwards.
III. Style Points
I'm already thinking about winter in Western New York, and I've decided that our house needs more color throughout. I'm welcome to suggestions from any and all parties, but here are some ideas:
1) Scarves, hats, and mittens. There's no need for plain black gloves, except maybe when I'm on my way to a concert and wearing my tux. But even then, wouldn't it be more fun to have bright red gloves? Also, I wouldn't lose them as easily.
2) Area rugs. Because they'll make the floor pop and you won't be stepping barefoot onto cold hardwood
3) Food. This will be the year of purple cabbage, oranges, lemons, limes, and anything else that isn't plain brown or gray or off white.
4) Phone case. Julie has a pink one, I would take suggestions for something new as well.
5) Window ornaments. Christmas stickers, ceramic pots, plastic flowers, anything to get a little color.
6) Underwear. Tis' the season. Although, to be honest, 'tis always the season.
7) Coffee mugs. The privilege of winter is that you'll never enjoy a hot cup of coffee so much as when you come in from shoveling the driveway. Why not have it be in a fun mug?
8) Kid's artwork. We already have all the materials, we already have the blank walls. I think we need to devote a whole wall to his bright scribbles. (On the paper, of course, not the wall)
9) Blankets and sheets. Not something neon, of course, because you have to be able to get to sleep once you turn the lights out. But something fun.
10) Children. I probably can't wear bright orange to rehearsal, but James can look like a traffic cone all day long and no one will say boo. Plus, he already pretends to be a traffic cone.
Arnobius-The Seven Books of Arnobius Against the Heathen
You just can't publish books with titles like "Against the Heathen" anymore. Too bad, although I don't think Arnobius would have had much success in the modern world anyway. His arguments are all carefully directed against the paganism of the early fourth century. They hold some interest as cultural signposts of his time, and I came away from his text with the impression that he was a careful thinker and widely-read, but not particularly philosophical--his arguments are the sorts you might find in tractarian literature against the "evils of our time." The question was raised in the prefatory notes to his section whether he might not have been a Christian at all--just a sympathetic pagan who thought very little of the Greco-Roman religions. This would seem to agree with the noticeable absence of any positively argued Christian philosophy. Thus ends my tour through Volume VI of the Ante-Nicene Fathers. I need something else to put in my "religious reading" category when I get back home, and am thinking about exploring some Niebuhr? Post-20th century Christians need to be conversant with Niebuhr, right? I'm welcome to other suggestions.
Redwall, by Brian Jacques
Cluny the Scourge is coming! I had fun re-reading this for the first time in years. I don't remember the books being so violent when I read them as child, which hopefully means that some of it went right over my head. There are so many characters! Even in the third part of the novel, you're still meeting new characters who have time to develop, play a role in the story, and find a fitting place at the end. James isn't ready to hear these books read aloud yet, but I'll look forward to introducing him in the next few years.
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
My only experience with Little Women was seeing the high school adaptation C&B were in. (I think this made me predisposed to like Professor Bhaer.) I didn't love the book--and I can't say that I'm in any hurry to read any of the sequels. The best part was the first third, and even if the girls were a little unrealistically distinct they were delightful characters. What happened to Laurie in the second and third books? He's up and down, but when he "grows up" it happens in about two chapters and he's completely unrecognizable? Charming parts, though, and it's understandably a classic.
II. Preachy Advice
We've had several pairs of friends get engaged in the last few months, and J and I are just weeks away from our 8th anniversary. This means we are one year closer to officially becoming one of Those Couples that dispenses unasked for advice upon all of our soon-to-be married friends. (And don't worry, recently engaged friends...when you get pregnant in a few years we'll be ready and willing to share unsolicited birth-horror stories as well.)
Seriously, it isn't ever our place to prescribe universal solutions based on our own limited experience. But the fragility of marital happiness has been on my mind quite a bit recently...it's hard to think of anything else in my life that can gloom up your whole life so entirely when it's going poorly or warm up and beautify everything else in your life when it's going well. It's a slippery venture to share with another human being a bank account, a kitchen sink, a child, a bed, a laundry machine, a bathroom, a calendar, and a mortgage. Here's what I know after 8 years...
1) Listening is an extremely underrated skill. Not only listening, but listening without immediately coming up answers/retorts. Not just listening to the other person's words, but having the creative capacity to put yourself truly in their place and imagine what's prompting what they are saying to you. Not merely hearing, but listening with active interest and questions in mind to further draw out and better understand what the other person has to say. In any argument, listening with a listening spirit instead of an argumentative spirit tends to immediately cool down the disagreement.
2) It's incredibly helpful to know how the other person perceives the world to be. This isn't important for the purposes of correcting or sorting out how the real world actually works--how many times the average couple actually gets out per month, how much the average pair of shoes costs, how many nights a week a young person in a new job stays and works late--but it's important because it gives you access to the lenses through which your spouse sees the world habitually. The real facts aren't nearly as important as the subtle impressions, because it's the subtle impressions that reinforce a sense of injustice, uneasiness, or displeasure.
3) Generosity begets generosity. If all of your marital interactions take the form of negotiations, bad compromises, and swaps, chances are your next disagreement will quickly fall into a negotiation. You'll stake out territory, use battle tactics, and set aside to yourself (whether you admit it or not) some standard by which you might "win" the dispute, or at least avoid losing it. If you consistently choose to act generously (or charitably or graciously, whatever you want to call it), even if you really lose out on something from time to time, chances are your spouse will be much more inclined to be generous towards you. Not only that, but acting generously gets easier with practice, and everyone feels better afterwards.
III. Style Points
I'm already thinking about winter in Western New York, and I've decided that our house needs more color throughout. I'm welcome to suggestions from any and all parties, but here are some ideas:
1) Scarves, hats, and mittens. There's no need for plain black gloves, except maybe when I'm on my way to a concert and wearing my tux. But even then, wouldn't it be more fun to have bright red gloves? Also, I wouldn't lose them as easily.
2) Area rugs. Because they'll make the floor pop and you won't be stepping barefoot onto cold hardwood
3) Food. This will be the year of purple cabbage, oranges, lemons, limes, and anything else that isn't plain brown or gray or off white.
4) Phone case. Julie has a pink one, I would take suggestions for something new as well.
5) Window ornaments. Christmas stickers, ceramic pots, plastic flowers, anything to get a little color.
6) Underwear. Tis' the season. Although, to be honest, 'tis always the season.
7) Coffee mugs. The privilege of winter is that you'll never enjoy a hot cup of coffee so much as when you come in from shoveling the driveway. Why not have it be in a fun mug?
8) Kid's artwork. We already have all the materials, we already have the blank walls. I think we need to devote a whole wall to his bright scribbles. (On the paper, of course, not the wall)
9) Blankets and sheets. Not something neon, of course, because you have to be able to get to sleep once you turn the lights out. But something fun.
10) Children. I probably can't wear bright orange to rehearsal, but James can look like a traffic cone all day long and no one will say boo. Plus, he already pretends to be a traffic cone.
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
de cantante bucina
I hardly ever write about trumpet playing, but I think about it all the time. Mostly I don't write or talk about it because my thoughts are specific to the craft, and without being immersed in the craft my thoughts don't mean much. I would share my thoughts with those who are immersed in the craft more often, but that would mean I'd have to talk to trumpet players, and I avoid this whenever possible. However, here are several undeniable truths of trumpet-playing that have some general application.
1) The most difficult part of trumpet playing is finding time to practice. First, because the instrument makes a loud and penetrating sound. Even if you play music intended to be soft or gentle, trumpet playing carries through wood, drywall, and cement. Therefore anyone who has young children, spouses, or roommates must be mindful of those who share their house. Often one's neighbors will also be disturbed by trumpet practicing, especially in apartment situations. Secondly, the trumpet is a physically fatiguing instrument to play. After practicing anything in the upper register or in a loud dynamic, your lips will begin to swell up and impair response. Whenever a trumpet player practices, he is on two clocks--the first being the patience of his family and neighbors, and the second being the endurance of his own body. A great deal of trumpet practicing must necessarily be to extend the length of the second clock.
2) Professional trumpet playing is much like professional cooking. There are many amateur cooks who can concoct fine dishes in their own kitchens, dishes that would have a place in many fine restaurants. A professional cook retains his job because he can prepare these dishes and any other dish that is ordered with great speed in the midst of a chaotic kitchen in the middle of a dinner rush even when he isn't feeling particularly inspired, night after night. Likewise, a professional trumpeter must be able to perform not only one piece well, but any piece that crosses his stand. Often he'll be asked to play a wedding (using piccolo trumpet), a brass quintet ceremony, a classics concert with Haydn on the first half and Bernstein on the second half, a jazz big-band gig, and a newly composed fanfare all in the same week, while keeping an eye on a solo concerto, a rock show, and a Halloween concert that are all coming up the next week, and maybe even getting ready for an audition the following month.
3) Professional satisfaction depends largely on how well you can get along with your colleagues. For some musicians, their instrument is their religion. For others, they're stuck in an unhappy marriage with their career--bitter, disillusioned with the stage, and all too eager to get out of the hall as soon as rehearsal is over. Almost everyone has some sort of pride or disappointment tied up in where they're sitting and how they got there. It's impossible to be best friends with everyone you'll sit next to over the course of your career, but if you can find a way to be cordial and enjoy their company, it goes much better for you. Going to work is drudgery if you dread your stand partner.
4) There are infinite possibilities for equipment, and each piece of equipment does feel a subtly different. There are two solutions--you can spend a small fortune attempting to find the right combination of trumpets and mouthpieces that will feel infinitesimally better for you than every other possible combination, or you can pick up the "standard" gear, bring it to the practice room, and try to figure out how to sound good on it. Option two is better for your wallet and your marriage.
5) There's always someone better than you. Even the "greatest" players in the world have someone, some teacher or old childhood hero, who they look at back over their shoulder. Chances are, in fact, that you aren't particularly special at the trumpet, at least in the cosmic history of trumpet playing. This doesn't mean that you can't love and enjoy your instrument. This doesn't mean that you can't practice hard and always seek to improve yourself. But it does mean that you can truthfully appreciate your colleagues who do some things better than you do, and that you can take a genuine, humble satisfaction in being able to pull off whatever happens to cross your stand on a particular day.
1) The most difficult part of trumpet playing is finding time to practice. First, because the instrument makes a loud and penetrating sound. Even if you play music intended to be soft or gentle, trumpet playing carries through wood, drywall, and cement. Therefore anyone who has young children, spouses, or roommates must be mindful of those who share their house. Often one's neighbors will also be disturbed by trumpet practicing, especially in apartment situations. Secondly, the trumpet is a physically fatiguing instrument to play. After practicing anything in the upper register or in a loud dynamic, your lips will begin to swell up and impair response. Whenever a trumpet player practices, he is on two clocks--the first being the patience of his family and neighbors, and the second being the endurance of his own body. A great deal of trumpet practicing must necessarily be to extend the length of the second clock.
2) Professional trumpet playing is much like professional cooking. There are many amateur cooks who can concoct fine dishes in their own kitchens, dishes that would have a place in many fine restaurants. A professional cook retains his job because he can prepare these dishes and any other dish that is ordered with great speed in the midst of a chaotic kitchen in the middle of a dinner rush even when he isn't feeling particularly inspired, night after night. Likewise, a professional trumpeter must be able to perform not only one piece well, but any piece that crosses his stand. Often he'll be asked to play a wedding (using piccolo trumpet), a brass quintet ceremony, a classics concert with Haydn on the first half and Bernstein on the second half, a jazz big-band gig, and a newly composed fanfare all in the same week, while keeping an eye on a solo concerto, a rock show, and a Halloween concert that are all coming up the next week, and maybe even getting ready for an audition the following month.
3) Professional satisfaction depends largely on how well you can get along with your colleagues. For some musicians, their instrument is their religion. For others, they're stuck in an unhappy marriage with their career--bitter, disillusioned with the stage, and all too eager to get out of the hall as soon as rehearsal is over. Almost everyone has some sort of pride or disappointment tied up in where they're sitting and how they got there. It's impossible to be best friends with everyone you'll sit next to over the course of your career, but if you can find a way to be cordial and enjoy their company, it goes much better for you. Going to work is drudgery if you dread your stand partner.
4) There are infinite possibilities for equipment, and each piece of equipment does feel a subtly different. There are two solutions--you can spend a small fortune attempting to find the right combination of trumpets and mouthpieces that will feel infinitesimally better for you than every other possible combination, or you can pick up the "standard" gear, bring it to the practice room, and try to figure out how to sound good on it. Option two is better for your wallet and your marriage.
5) There's always someone better than you. Even the "greatest" players in the world have someone, some teacher or old childhood hero, who they look at back over their shoulder. Chances are, in fact, that you aren't particularly special at the trumpet, at least in the cosmic history of trumpet playing. This doesn't mean that you can't love and enjoy your instrument. This doesn't mean that you can't practice hard and always seek to improve yourself. But it does mean that you can truthfully appreciate your colleagues who do some things better than you do, and that you can take a genuine, humble satisfaction in being able to pull off whatever happens to cross your stand on a particular day.
Monday, August 10, 2015
How to Paint Tile
forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit-Virgil
The true tests of marriage are setting up a tent together and painting a room together-Darryl Smith
It had been a great week.
I was home all day long, and we'd really done a great job of cleaning the house from top to bottom. Sure, there were a couple odds and ends that we hadn't managed to take care of--J had never gotten around to pulling out the bin of Owen's 9 to 12 months clothing, and I hadn't ever swept and mopped the floor in Owen's room--but on the whole, we were feeling pretty good about how the week went. We switched the library and the family room, we scrubbed the whole downstairs, we kept up with the dishes and the laundry, we ate healthy, we took long runs as a family, and we kept faithful to our goals for August--no meals out and no unnecessary shopping expenses. In short, we were feeling happy, healthy, and clean.
Saturday was going to be the day that I repainted the tile in the tub.
We knew from the day we moved in that the bathroom was going to need some work. I think, the next time we buy a house, we're going to make sure that the previous owner's take care of all the "little things" before we move in. The threshold to the bathroom is still in sad shape, and although I'd refinished and painted the bathtub a few weeks earlier, I wasn't sure how the tile would go. I went to Lowe's to ask for help picking out the right type of paint, and they sent me to Sherwin-Williams. At Sherwin-Williams I was handed a spray-on acrylic. "Are you sure?" I asked. "I used a brush in a kit to do the tub, and that worked really well." "It will be fine. Just make sure the surface is thoroughly prepped and cleaned, and give it three days to cure."
The three days to cure would be the hard part. We'd timed the tub refinishing with our departure for Csehy a few weeks earlier. I shut down the bathroom on the Saturday afternoon before, worked all day getting the tub cleaned and painted, and then no one was allowed to use the shower or bath until we returned from camp. The only sensible day to do the tile was Saturday, the day before we all left for Pennsylvania. Everyone took their last shower/bath that morning, and then as soon as J returned home from Melissa's bridal fitting, I went to work masking the tile upstairs. "I'll work as quickly as I can." I told her. "You know that I have to be at church early today, and that I have a wedding to play afterwards, right? Do you know what you'll do with the boys if they wake up?" "I think they'll get to watch some TV. We'll figure something out."
Let it be stated publicly that I did all my research for this project. I watched Youtube tutorials, carefully reread instructions multiple times, and looked up information on brush and spray techniques. The cleaning and preparation part all went according to plan, although admittedly taking longer than I'd hoped. "That's alright," I told myself "Once I start using the spray-paint I'll be at the easy part." I was a sweaty mess (so much for that last shower) sitting in a plastic-sheeted bathtub filled with old yellow paint flecks, bits of steel wool, and dirty sponges. But the tub was ready to go.
The result of the spray-paint was this: It smelled so vile that it woke both boys and J up from their naps, and it looked terrible. The paint sagged and dripped, the film hardly covered any of the discoloration, and I looked horror-struck at a painty mess that was clearly worse than the mess I had just started with.
J came upstairs and asked what that awful smell was. With my head spinning and my heart sinking, I told her that I was going to need to go to Lowe's again and figure out how to take care of the spray mess before it dried and cured on the tub. She reminded me that she needed to leave for church in a half an hour. We heard both boys making noise in their rooms. Still feeling woozy from the paint fumes, I asked her to set James up with a movie in our room and to put Owen in the pack and play. I would figure out what to do with them after I managed to get a coat of paint on.
While I drove to Lowe's and tried to clear my head with some fresh air, J changed both boys and brought them into our bedroom. We pride ourselves on limiting their screen diet, but sometimes this works against us. For example, in a bona fide emergency situation, when you need to leave for work in twenty minutes and both boys are insisting on being held and have only one very specific movie they want to watch (VeggieTales: The Toy that Saved Christmas) it isn't very easy to remember how to set up the unhooked and unplugged DVD player to the TV in your bedroom.
There were tears, and by the time J finally managed to get the DVD player turned on and properly displaying on the TV screen, Owen was wailing from the pack and play, I was back in the bathtub sanding and re-painting, and she was already fifteen minutes past when she wanted to leave for work. Stepping back in triumph from the working TV, she grabbed the VeggieTales DVD case and opened it up. Inside, of course, was the DVD to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.
"I've gotta go," she yelled "and I think Owen just pooped in his diaper."
"Okay, I can break in a second." I yelled back. "Just go, and I'll look after them."
James: "Hey, George wants to watch VeggieTales. Where are the VeggieTales? George wants to watch the Toy the Saved Christmas!"
Owen: WAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I finished painting over the last potential disaster spot, and set down the brush long enough to go and attempt to sort out the boys, only stopping for a moment to grumble about how they should both be sleeping. I stepped out of the tub, and immediately left a big white painty footprint on the floor. I took off my shoes and made a note to also clean THAT up before it dried. Apparently I'd spilled some paint on the dropcloth.
Owen was in a sad state. He'd managed to untuck the sheet from the bottom of the pack and play and wrap it around both his hand and his head, which was pinned down by his flailing hand with his butt stuck up in the air. The poopy diaper wasn't even remotely contained. In fact, it was visibly dripping down his back and up to his shoulders as he struggled and flailed in the crib. Meanwhile, James kept blearily asking about watching a movie.
I picked up Owen and brought him into his room, trying not to touch him or let him drop onto the floor. As soon as I set him down he began oozing out onto the changing pad, and I peeled his onesie off and tossed it, with the changing pad, onto the floor, making a mental note to come back with a plastic bag before anybody stepped in them. The child was absolutely covered in...well, you know. "Owen," I said "you've just gotta go right into the tub."
I think I actually took a step towards the door before I remembered what was going on in the bathroom. Owen looked at me helplessly as I held him up by his armpits and tried to figure out where to set him down. I glanced back at the changing table, still covered in his explosion, and then he grinned at me and shook his head "no." (This is his newest trick.) He's very proud of it. I set him down naked on the floor just long enough to grab a handful of wipes. And in the second that I wasn't holding him, he immediately rolled onto his back, his stomach, and began to crawl away.
"AAHHH!! Why didn't I clean your floor!" Now he was not only covered in poop, but there was a poop streak on the floor and little bits of dirt and lint and dust bunnies were stuck all over his unbatheable body. I wet-wiped his wriggling body, wet-wiped the floor, and set a squirming naked boy (much happier now that he was out of that diaper) into his crib. Knowing he wasn't remotely sanitized but would need to be put back into some clothes, I struggled in vain to get some 6 to 9 month clothing over his enormous head and then put him back in the pack and play with the too-small snaps left unsnapped. James had continued asking for TV for that entire time, and was finally quiet when I unplugged the DVD player, plugged the Wii back in, and put on a George.
"Okay, George will watch himself."
J, meanwhile, had been routed by a traffic detour onto 490 E instead of 490 W and then spat out into Henrietta when she took the wrong exit onto 390 once she got turned around. She ended up being 45 minutes late to her rehearsal for church.
I finished up the first coat of paint (which looked much better than the spray job) just as James finished his George, and I texted J "I'm pulling the emergency parachute on a Wegmans pizza." With another coat to do in three (but no more than four) hours and being already exhausted, I gave up on the resolution about eating out to make sure I could get some sort of dinner on the table. I loaded the boys into the car and picked up some frozen pepperoni pizzas and a case of beer. They shared a steering wheel cart and Owen shouted in excitement most of the time we were in the store.
As soon as we got packed, Owen had another blowout up to his shoulders. I changed him again into another too-small onesie, then laid down on the floor with all the downstairs windows open while both boys crawled on me and James sang Sunday school songs. I was covered in paint chips, tub grime, and sweat. At some point the pizza was done, and I cut James' into tiny pieces. I gave Owen a bowl full of peas and corn with torn up ham and cheese, and he mostly spread them around his tray. J came into the house shortly after 6:30, and I unlatched Owen's tray so I could hand him to her. James got up and ran circles around the table, and promptly knocked down Owen's tray, spilling peas, corn, ham and cheese bits all over the freshly mopped and swept floor.
It was good, when I went back upstairs to work on the second coat, that I'd brought back some beer.
J had some too.
The true tests of marriage are setting up a tent together and painting a room together-Darryl Smith
It had been a great week.
I was home all day long, and we'd really done a great job of cleaning the house from top to bottom. Sure, there were a couple odds and ends that we hadn't managed to take care of--J had never gotten around to pulling out the bin of Owen's 9 to 12 months clothing, and I hadn't ever swept and mopped the floor in Owen's room--but on the whole, we were feeling pretty good about how the week went. We switched the library and the family room, we scrubbed the whole downstairs, we kept up with the dishes and the laundry, we ate healthy, we took long runs as a family, and we kept faithful to our goals for August--no meals out and no unnecessary shopping expenses. In short, we were feeling happy, healthy, and clean.
Saturday was going to be the day that I repainted the tile in the tub.
We knew from the day we moved in that the bathroom was going to need some work. I think, the next time we buy a house, we're going to make sure that the previous owner's take care of all the "little things" before we move in. The threshold to the bathroom is still in sad shape, and although I'd refinished and painted the bathtub a few weeks earlier, I wasn't sure how the tile would go. I went to Lowe's to ask for help picking out the right type of paint, and they sent me to Sherwin-Williams. At Sherwin-Williams I was handed a spray-on acrylic. "Are you sure?" I asked. "I used a brush in a kit to do the tub, and that worked really well." "It will be fine. Just make sure the surface is thoroughly prepped and cleaned, and give it three days to cure."
The three days to cure would be the hard part. We'd timed the tub refinishing with our departure for Csehy a few weeks earlier. I shut down the bathroom on the Saturday afternoon before, worked all day getting the tub cleaned and painted, and then no one was allowed to use the shower or bath until we returned from camp. The only sensible day to do the tile was Saturday, the day before we all left for Pennsylvania. Everyone took their last shower/bath that morning, and then as soon as J returned home from Melissa's bridal fitting, I went to work masking the tile upstairs. "I'll work as quickly as I can." I told her. "You know that I have to be at church early today, and that I have a wedding to play afterwards, right? Do you know what you'll do with the boys if they wake up?" "I think they'll get to watch some TV. We'll figure something out."
Let it be stated publicly that I did all my research for this project. I watched Youtube tutorials, carefully reread instructions multiple times, and looked up information on brush and spray techniques. The cleaning and preparation part all went according to plan, although admittedly taking longer than I'd hoped. "That's alright," I told myself "Once I start using the spray-paint I'll be at the easy part." I was a sweaty mess (so much for that last shower) sitting in a plastic-sheeted bathtub filled with old yellow paint flecks, bits of steel wool, and dirty sponges. But the tub was ready to go.
The result of the spray-paint was this: It smelled so vile that it woke both boys and J up from their naps, and it looked terrible. The paint sagged and dripped, the film hardly covered any of the discoloration, and I looked horror-struck at a painty mess that was clearly worse than the mess I had just started with.
J came upstairs and asked what that awful smell was. With my head spinning and my heart sinking, I told her that I was going to need to go to Lowe's again and figure out how to take care of the spray mess before it dried and cured on the tub. She reminded me that she needed to leave for church in a half an hour. We heard both boys making noise in their rooms. Still feeling woozy from the paint fumes, I asked her to set James up with a movie in our room and to put Owen in the pack and play. I would figure out what to do with them after I managed to get a coat of paint on.
While I drove to Lowe's and tried to clear my head with some fresh air, J changed both boys and brought them into our bedroom. We pride ourselves on limiting their screen diet, but sometimes this works against us. For example, in a bona fide emergency situation, when you need to leave for work in twenty minutes and both boys are insisting on being held and have only one very specific movie they want to watch (VeggieTales: The Toy that Saved Christmas) it isn't very easy to remember how to set up the unhooked and unplugged DVD player to the TV in your bedroom.
There were tears, and by the time J finally managed to get the DVD player turned on and properly displaying on the TV screen, Owen was wailing from the pack and play, I was back in the bathtub sanding and re-painting, and she was already fifteen minutes past when she wanted to leave for work. Stepping back in triumph from the working TV, she grabbed the VeggieTales DVD case and opened it up. Inside, of course, was the DVD to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.
"I've gotta go," she yelled "and I think Owen just pooped in his diaper."
"Okay, I can break in a second." I yelled back. "Just go, and I'll look after them."
James: "Hey, George wants to watch VeggieTales. Where are the VeggieTales? George wants to watch the Toy the Saved Christmas!"
Owen: WAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I finished painting over the last potential disaster spot, and set down the brush long enough to go and attempt to sort out the boys, only stopping for a moment to grumble about how they should both be sleeping. I stepped out of the tub, and immediately left a big white painty footprint on the floor. I took off my shoes and made a note to also clean THAT up before it dried. Apparently I'd spilled some paint on the dropcloth.
Owen was in a sad state. He'd managed to untuck the sheet from the bottom of the pack and play and wrap it around both his hand and his head, which was pinned down by his flailing hand with his butt stuck up in the air. The poopy diaper wasn't even remotely contained. In fact, it was visibly dripping down his back and up to his shoulders as he struggled and flailed in the crib. Meanwhile, James kept blearily asking about watching a movie.
I picked up Owen and brought him into his room, trying not to touch him or let him drop onto the floor. As soon as I set him down he began oozing out onto the changing pad, and I peeled his onesie off and tossed it, with the changing pad, onto the floor, making a mental note to come back with a plastic bag before anybody stepped in them. The child was absolutely covered in...well, you know. "Owen," I said "you've just gotta go right into the tub."
I think I actually took a step towards the door before I remembered what was going on in the bathroom. Owen looked at me helplessly as I held him up by his armpits and tried to figure out where to set him down. I glanced back at the changing table, still covered in his explosion, and then he grinned at me and shook his head "no." (This is his newest trick.) He's very proud of it. I set him down naked on the floor just long enough to grab a handful of wipes. And in the second that I wasn't holding him, he immediately rolled onto his back, his stomach, and began to crawl away.
"AAHHH!! Why didn't I clean your floor!" Now he was not only covered in poop, but there was a poop streak on the floor and little bits of dirt and lint and dust bunnies were stuck all over his unbatheable body. I wet-wiped his wriggling body, wet-wiped the floor, and set a squirming naked boy (much happier now that he was out of that diaper) into his crib. Knowing he wasn't remotely sanitized but would need to be put back into some clothes, I struggled in vain to get some 6 to 9 month clothing over his enormous head and then put him back in the pack and play with the too-small snaps left unsnapped. James had continued asking for TV for that entire time, and was finally quiet when I unplugged the DVD player, plugged the Wii back in, and put on a George.
"Okay, George will watch himself."
J, meanwhile, had been routed by a traffic detour onto 490 E instead of 490 W and then spat out into Henrietta when she took the wrong exit onto 390 once she got turned around. She ended up being 45 minutes late to her rehearsal for church.
I finished up the first coat of paint (which looked much better than the spray job) just as James finished his George, and I texted J "I'm pulling the emergency parachute on a Wegmans pizza." With another coat to do in three (but no more than four) hours and being already exhausted, I gave up on the resolution about eating out to make sure I could get some sort of dinner on the table. I loaded the boys into the car and picked up some frozen pepperoni pizzas and a case of beer. They shared a steering wheel cart and Owen shouted in excitement most of the time we were in the store.
As soon as we got packed, Owen had another blowout up to his shoulders. I changed him again into another too-small onesie, then laid down on the floor with all the downstairs windows open while both boys crawled on me and James sang Sunday school songs. I was covered in paint chips, tub grime, and sweat. At some point the pizza was done, and I cut James' into tiny pieces. I gave Owen a bowl full of peas and corn with torn up ham and cheese, and he mostly spread them around his tray. J came into the house shortly after 6:30, and I unlatched Owen's tray so I could hand him to her. James got up and ran circles around the table, and promptly knocked down Owen's tray, spilling peas, corn, ham and cheese bits all over the freshly mopped and swept floor.
It was good, when I went back upstairs to work on the second coat, that I'd brought back some beer.
J had some too.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
Domestic Duties
We talked about turning the downstairs around for a while.
I asked J when we returned from camp, "Do you think this is realistically going to happen, or not?" She said that she thought it would, and then it ended up happening that very night. What happened was this: We set up my library, the piano, and the desk in the front room of our house, which we ended up calling The Library, The Front Room, and The Living Room at various points. In the back room, we set up our two couches and the cube which housed toys for the boys downstairs. We called this The Family Room, The Living Room (you can see the confusion that arose from this arrangement already) and The Back Room.
There were some decent reasons for this arrangement. The back room is carpeted, the front room is not. The back room has big windows on three sides and is full of light, while the front room can be a little darker and more subdued.
But there were reasons to switch as well. J didn't like my bookshelves to be the initial sight upon entering the house, and with good reason--there isn't a matching pair among them, even the pair that is supposed to match, and many of my books are, well, more functional than beautiful. We also found that the back room was hard to keep clean, mostly because it felt too small. There was only a small carpeted area left when the two couches were in there, and James would immediately cover the whole surface of the room with toys upon getting up every morning. (On particularly difficult evenings when we didn't pick up after him he could just continue working on the previous days' mess without having to empty all his toy boxes for a fresh one.)
Attempting the room switch on Sunday night might have been foolish. We're both 30 now, after all, and at any moment we could pass by our moment of physical prime into the long, slow descent of old age. We had just arrived back from two weeks at camp the night before, the boys had both been horribly out of sorts all day, and the house was already in a state of near disaster. I brewed the rare pot of 8 PM coffee and began to pull books off shelves, stacking them perilously against the wall. We agreed to work to 11, and then we'd stop, no matter what was done or undone.
J took the opportunity to work on something else we'd talked about--reducing the toy content of the cube by about 20%. If James had 10 matchbox cars, we threw 2 of them in a box headed for the basement. If Owen had 5 stuffed friends, we retired one of them. We put away puzzles, threw out card games, and generally attempted to declutter our lives a bit. (It's amazing how much junk you pick up when you have kids.) That part went well, although there was trouble a few days later when James saw me emptying the vacuum filter into the trash bin and noticed that we'd chucked out Don't Spill the Beans. "Hey," he said "why'd you throw out Don't Spill the Beans? Are you going to throw it away." I noticed his hurt expression, remembered the wisdom of my earlier conversations with J, reflected for a few seconds about living more contentedly with fewer material possessions, and told him in a gentle and wise voice: "I guess you'll have to ask Mommy."
Once all the shelves were stripped bare and the toys had been resorted, we began to move pieces around. First we tried to move my desk (which is called "my" desk, but is really J's) into the corner. At this point we'd unloaded eight shelves of my library, excavated the furniture, moved the entire dining room into the kitchen (to clear a path for moving) and there was no going back.
"It looks awful," said J.
She was right. The desk fit horribly in the spot where we'd moved it, and the only other sensible spot would mean that we didn't have enough wall-space for the two largest bookshelves.
We tried angling the desk, and it looked even worse.
"Well, this is the nicest piece of furniture in the library. We have to make this look good, even if nothing else will."
We moved it against the back wall, and it looked better.
Then we hauled in the two tall bookshelves, and began experimenting. As the tape measure had previously confirmed, they didn't fit anywhere. I was almost to the point of suggesting that we move them to the basement when J had a stroke of genius: She tipped one of them on its side, and laid it underneath the big casement windows. We had to remove a little hardware to make it work, but the effect was striking, and the shelves look much better sideways than they ever did standing up. It opened up all sorts of additional wallspace, and gave nice long surfaces under the window for additional storage. Moving in the rest of shelves was no problem after that.
There was more trouble when we attempted to move the couches into the front room, though.
We tried the blue couch against the red wall and the brown couch against the white wall. It looked bad. So we tried the blue couch against the white wall and the brown couch against the red wall, and that looked even worse. We moved the blue couch out of the room and tried to find a place for just the brown couch. That looked bad too. I should say, by the way, that at some point an evil witch put an enchantment on both of the couches so that they grew heavier each time we picked them up. By the time we were finishing up (nearly eleven o'clock, the very witching hour of the night) we could hardly get them off the floor.
We ended up throwing out the brown couch. It sat on the curb for three days this week while we hoped for someone with a pick-up and a need for an ugly couch would come by, but I ended up breaking down yesterday morning and calling the trash company. (James still thinks "it's going to another family that needs a couch.") It served us well, that couch, for the last few years. But no matter where we moved it in the house, there was a basic problem with it--it was as ugly a piece of furniture as you'll ever see.
J didn't love the way the blue couch looked either, but she worked in the front room as the clock ticked towards eleven, and I took laundry-baskets full of books from one room to another.
We were done by 11:15, and all the furniture was moved from one room to another.
We even found Lightning McQueen, James' adored little red car which had been missing for a month. I snuck upstairs before I went to sleep and put it on his bed next to his pillow. The next morning James woke up to find Lightning next to him and excitedly showed George. I was about to get in the shower when I heard his voice calling from downstairs.
"Roy!!! Hey ROY!!!!"
I poked my head out of the bathroom door.
"James, are you trying to tell me something?"
"Hey, why'd you move all your books into the Family room? George says he doesn't like it. George says you need to move them all back, okay?"
Well, George may not like it, but we think it turned out pretty well.
I asked J when we returned from camp, "Do you think this is realistically going to happen, or not?" She said that she thought it would, and then it ended up happening that very night. What happened was this: We set up my library, the piano, and the desk in the front room of our house, which we ended up calling The Library, The Front Room, and The Living Room at various points. In the back room, we set up our two couches and the cube which housed toys for the boys downstairs. We called this The Family Room, The Living Room (you can see the confusion that arose from this arrangement already) and The Back Room.
There were some decent reasons for this arrangement. The back room is carpeted, the front room is not. The back room has big windows on three sides and is full of light, while the front room can be a little darker and more subdued.
But there were reasons to switch as well. J didn't like my bookshelves to be the initial sight upon entering the house, and with good reason--there isn't a matching pair among them, even the pair that is supposed to match, and many of my books are, well, more functional than beautiful. We also found that the back room was hard to keep clean, mostly because it felt too small. There was only a small carpeted area left when the two couches were in there, and James would immediately cover the whole surface of the room with toys upon getting up every morning. (On particularly difficult evenings when we didn't pick up after him he could just continue working on the previous days' mess without having to empty all his toy boxes for a fresh one.)
Attempting the room switch on Sunday night might have been foolish. We're both 30 now, after all, and at any moment we could pass by our moment of physical prime into the long, slow descent of old age. We had just arrived back from two weeks at camp the night before, the boys had both been horribly out of sorts all day, and the house was already in a state of near disaster. I brewed the rare pot of 8 PM coffee and began to pull books off shelves, stacking them perilously against the wall. We agreed to work to 11, and then we'd stop, no matter what was done or undone.
J took the opportunity to work on something else we'd talked about--reducing the toy content of the cube by about 20%. If James had 10 matchbox cars, we threw 2 of them in a box headed for the basement. If Owen had 5 stuffed friends, we retired one of them. We put away puzzles, threw out card games, and generally attempted to declutter our lives a bit. (It's amazing how much junk you pick up when you have kids.) That part went well, although there was trouble a few days later when James saw me emptying the vacuum filter into the trash bin and noticed that we'd chucked out Don't Spill the Beans. "Hey," he said "why'd you throw out Don't Spill the Beans? Are you going to throw it away." I noticed his hurt expression, remembered the wisdom of my earlier conversations with J, reflected for a few seconds about living more contentedly with fewer material possessions, and told him in a gentle and wise voice: "I guess you'll have to ask Mommy."
Once all the shelves were stripped bare and the toys had been resorted, we began to move pieces around. First we tried to move my desk (which is called "my" desk, but is really J's) into the corner. At this point we'd unloaded eight shelves of my library, excavated the furniture, moved the entire dining room into the kitchen (to clear a path for moving) and there was no going back.
"It looks awful," said J.
She was right. The desk fit horribly in the spot where we'd moved it, and the only other sensible spot would mean that we didn't have enough wall-space for the two largest bookshelves.
We tried angling the desk, and it looked even worse.
"Well, this is the nicest piece of furniture in the library. We have to make this look good, even if nothing else will."
We moved it against the back wall, and it looked better.
Then we hauled in the two tall bookshelves, and began experimenting. As the tape measure had previously confirmed, they didn't fit anywhere. I was almost to the point of suggesting that we move them to the basement when J had a stroke of genius: She tipped one of them on its side, and laid it underneath the big casement windows. We had to remove a little hardware to make it work, but the effect was striking, and the shelves look much better sideways than they ever did standing up. It opened up all sorts of additional wallspace, and gave nice long surfaces under the window for additional storage. Moving in the rest of shelves was no problem after that.
There was more trouble when we attempted to move the couches into the front room, though.
We tried the blue couch against the red wall and the brown couch against the white wall. It looked bad. So we tried the blue couch against the white wall and the brown couch against the red wall, and that looked even worse. We moved the blue couch out of the room and tried to find a place for just the brown couch. That looked bad too. I should say, by the way, that at some point an evil witch put an enchantment on both of the couches so that they grew heavier each time we picked them up. By the time we were finishing up (nearly eleven o'clock, the very witching hour of the night) we could hardly get them off the floor.
We ended up throwing out the brown couch. It sat on the curb for three days this week while we hoped for someone with a pick-up and a need for an ugly couch would come by, but I ended up breaking down yesterday morning and calling the trash company. (James still thinks "it's going to another family that needs a couch.") It served us well, that couch, for the last few years. But no matter where we moved it in the house, there was a basic problem with it--it was as ugly a piece of furniture as you'll ever see.
J didn't love the way the blue couch looked either, but she worked in the front room as the clock ticked towards eleven, and I took laundry-baskets full of books from one room to another.
We were done by 11:15, and all the furniture was moved from one room to another.
We even found Lightning McQueen, James' adored little red car which had been missing for a month. I snuck upstairs before I went to sleep and put it on his bed next to his pillow. The next morning James woke up to find Lightning next to him and excitedly showed George. I was about to get in the shower when I heard his voice calling from downstairs.
"Roy!!! Hey ROY!!!!"
I poked my head out of the bathroom door.
"James, are you trying to tell me something?"
"Hey, why'd you move all your books into the Family room? George says he doesn't like it. George says you need to move them all back, okay?"
Well, George may not like it, but we think it turned out pretty well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)