A Year of Sammi

A Year of Sammi

Yesterday morning my dog threw up on my sandal-shod foot while I was on a client phone call.  It reminded me that we’ve had an entire year together. I adopted her from Project Pearl, who re-homes dogs through the county animal control.  I recommend adopting a rescue pet.  She was so thrilled to be just about anywhere. Road trips? Check.  Lazing on the rug? Check.  Sitting on the couch when she thinks I’m not paying attention? Check. But she’s really affectionate, only slightly smelly, and TOTALLY ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT FOOD.  And cuddles.   As it happens, she’s also about three years old, so we’ll consider it her birthday.  I’m going to get her some treats and let her run around the lawn. Speaking of lawn, those of you who follow my blog or facebook know that I recently got a new fence. I let her out the back door without a leash for the first time ever, and she did exactly what she always does when she slips her leash: run like hell while looking back at me to make sure I’m chasing.  She made it halfway across the lawn before seeing the fence, stopped completely, and looked back at me like I’d played some terrible prank.  Then she rolled in the grass for a while. Tough life. So dear Sammi, Miss Fedorah Sandwich of Castle Danchester, happy 3rd birthday, happy one year anniversary, and here’s to many more years of looking like no one ever does nice things for...

Fences and Boundaries

Nothing at my house has happened on time.  When I bought the place, my friend Mark helpfully stated, “It will always take twice as long and cost three times as much.”  Because Mark is a dick sometimes, I let it slide. But he’s right. So imagine my shock when the fence company called to say they could start two weeks early.  I immediately said yes.  And after the crew had shown up and was busily drilling fence posts, I recalled a chore I hadn’t gotten around to doing: removing a tree from the fence line. Let me start by saying I’m so glad I hired a crew for the fence.  They brought all the right tools, three guys, lots of cement, and proceeded to tear through the work in impressive time.  They got all the posts in the ground in less than a day. But at five o’clock and the end of my work day, I had to take that tree down.  I wrote last time about being a butthead.  You’d think I would learn my lesson.  But no, buttheads don’t learn their lesson.  They go buy a bow saw instead. In the light of day this scene looks pretty good.  But upon closer inspection you realize that the one tree going diagonal sort of messes up my plans at a fence.  That’s my target.  I had to cut down the diagonal tree without crushing my house, that of my neighbor, her car, or knocking over a fence post.  It’s a skinny tree, but it’s 35 or 40 feet tall, so of course I’m the idiot who decides to do...

On Being (A Butthead)

This last spring my washing machine started making The Sound.  It was something like a jet engine, or perhaps an avalanche of fresh smelling undies.  At any rate, I started closing the laundry room door when the washer went on spin cycle to preserve my sanity. Then a few weeks ago The Sound transformed from ambiguous avalanche jet to angry cement mixer.  Full of clean undies.  I knew what was wrong, which was part of the reason I put off fixing it.  It was the main bearing. For those not in-the-know about the finer points of laundry mechanics, which is to say, most normal adults, the tub of a washing machine rotates on a bearing.  There’s a motor, and some switches, and some underpants gnomes, but most of the moving parts depend on that bearing to keep everything swishing along.  And mine was near the end of it’s spinny little life. Here’s where I put my own stamp on the situation.  Most normal adults, the ones who aren’t in-the-know about laundry machines, would call a repair man.  Not I, nay.  I decided I should fix it.  Alone.  So I ordered the part.  Let me say for the record, that even finding out what the part was took some persistence.  But I did it, and I was proud.  Like an idiot. So I took the machine apart, following directions from a youtube video.  Those directions looked oh-so-good.  They were in fact completely misleading.  I spent probably two hours doing work I didn’t need to do.  But with perseverance and 17 different tools I got the tub apart. Then came the hard...