The 2004 Christmas Shopping Crusade is in full swing, and Jen and I have our marching orders. I’ve got my sister, ¾ of Jen, and my mom covered; My dad is in the works and I’ve got Jen’s brother partially done. Problem is, we’re picking up the slack for Jen’s parents while they attend to other matters, so there’s an extra five people to shop for this year. (I just got part 2 of Jen’s gift today—hee hee hee!)
Meanwhile I kicked up about a pound of dust last night in the first round of sanding in the stairwell. I had to pull about 32 square feet of plaster down and replace it with ¾” greenboard, which was lots of fun and involved much hammering. There’s still much to be done, but we’re making progress in there.
Heh, heh. This story just gets better and better, folks. Note to self: when the Man has you dead to rights, and you’re facing some jail time, and your dying mother is in the damn hospital, it’s probably best to arrange for a public defender, instead of smoking crack, or whatever you’re doing at the time.
Enjoy that prison shower, kid. I hear it’s a load of laughs.
Music Of the Day. Vince Guaraldi, A Charlie Brown Christmas. Because I need a little Christmas, right this fucking minute.
Brighten The Corners. I spent about five minutes locking and unlocking the Jeep with the keyfob buttons this morning. I’m sure it would have made a great picture—the first time the village idiot sees fire. It honks when you’ve locked it, so you don’t have to walk back and test the doors. It’s the small stuff, people.
Yesterday we headed to the LP City to see Jen’s Mom, who has been bedridden for the past three days in slowly worsening condition. I’m going to let Jen explain the situation in her own words—but suffice it to say when the patient is burning through enough Percocet, Oxycontin, Neurontin, and Tylenol to bring down a charging elephant and still unable to lay flat on a bed—that’s not a good place. Most of the afternoon involved hoisting her from the edge of the bed to the commode and back again, making sure she was drinking water, and convincing her that the hallucinations she was seeing were not actually there. Toward the evening, it was decided that she was better served being admitted to a hospital, so we carried her down the stairs, out to the car, and in through the big sliding doors. Let’s all hope she gets the care she needs there.
My wife is one of the strongest, bravest people I have ever met. Her grace in the face of all this shite leaves me awestruck, and I am a lucky man to have her as my bride. In the past week, I’ve seen her deal with more stress, worry, and abuse than any one person should have in a month, and she hasn’t failed herself or her family—at great cost to herself. I spent a good deal of time yesterday quietly stewing on the sidelines, watching her deal with the situation, and it made my blood pressure spike. She shows no emotion in the moment (emotion is weakness on that particular battlefield) but I see the toll it takes on her daily. Were there one thing I could give her for the holiday, it would be the most peaceful, worry-free, uninterrupted month of sleep and relaxation possible.
Today has been a day of mental and physical recovery—after yesterday, my heart is heavy and my back muscles are tighter than piano wire. We’ve been screening calls, getting some minor work around the house done (some wall patching in the stairwell, a new color in the kitchen), got a few minor surprises (two commercial potting tables from the garden center clearance sale, the missing key remote for the Jeep) and generally taking it as easy as we can.
Clue. You know you’re near a Naval Air Station when a Landcruiser passes you with a license plate holder that says:
TOO CLOSE FOR MISSILES
SWITCHING TO GUNS
Reality. Discussing bowel movements and Rush Limbaugh in front of Mrs. Lockard (who was convinced a tiny Rush was crawling around the carpet by the closet), and trying to get her to laugh about the situation:
Jen: (relaying earlier conversation with her mom, which probably brought about the Rush sighting in the first place): I’d never get addicted to Oxycontin. Look at Rush Limbaugh; no wonder he’s so puffed up all the time–he’s upset because he can’t take a poop.
Me: That’s what I love about being a Democrat: Loose stools!
(I think his technique is a little aggro, however—throwing those elbows around in some of the pits I’ve been in would have earned St. Nick a punch in the back of the neck.) Substitute a little S.O.D. for the supplied soundtrack, and you’ve got yourself a whole bootful of Christmas cheer!
As you may have read elsewhere, Jen’s Mom is fading pretty quickly—the feeling in her legs is gone and she’s now on heavier meds (the stuff Rush Limbaugh was addicted to), which means Christmas is definitely not at our house, and we’re most likely going to have a very subdued holiday.
Kick Myself Dept. Two points down in the karma category this morning, and it’s not even eleven o’clock. Sorry, friends.
Printer Update. After some consultation with the generous Kristen last night, I’ve decided against the Epson printer for a couple of reasons:
- The printer is $400, and the prepress RIP for CMYK files is another $500. Booting into OS9 to print an EPS file from Quark every five minutes does not appeal to either of us.
- The printer model is now discontinued by Epson, and probably due to be replaced with something new.
- Consumables are expensive, don’t last very long, and aren’t UV-safe.
I’m sitting here at work, silently thankful for forgetting my leftovers at home, because if I eat any more stuffing, gravy, or yams, I will explode in a cloud of turkey-scented goo. Our weekend was fun, exhausting, comfortable, and relaxing at the same time. After inhaling the feast (and killing the last four bottles of white wine left from the wedding), we laid around and watched football. Friday we split off into three groups—my Mom and sister headed out to Ellicott City to shop, my father and I went to check out the B&O Railroad Museum, and Jen crashed out upstairs, trying to recover from a chest cold.
The B&O Museum has come a long way since my Dad and I saw it last. We crawled around the engines in the parking lot about five years ago one Sunday when the museum was closed, but the closest I’ve been to the exhibits inside have been drunken paper shows held by the AIGA where I was more concerned with remembering names than looking at locomotives. Last year, the dome over the roundhouse collapsed under the weight of a heavy snowfall, and I think it may have been one of the best things to happen for the museum (damage to some of the priceless exhibits notwithstanding.) They’ve taken the opportunity to expand the whole facility, redesign the interior layout, and add staff. We were surprised to find a long line outside the front doors, packed with young children waiting to see Santa and the model trains. There’s a food concession stand, new model exhibits on extended loan from the Smithsonian, and several newly refurbished engines sitting outside the work shed (which will be open in 2005.) I’ve not seen my father’s eyes that wide in a long time. Saturday we made the Annual Pilgrimage To The Shrine Of Inexpensive Swedish Furniture, and later hit Home Anthology to wade through the midcentury modern goodness. All in all, it was a very good visit.
Plug. We had the good fortune to catch The Shipping News on AMC last night—if you get a chance, check it out. It’s a quiet, slower-paced movie, but rewarding and entertaining. From the director who brought you Chocolat.
Advice.I’m thinking about taking some current freelance cash and finally getting a large-format color printer for the office; I’m leaning towards a Canon but put off by the $500 price for an inkjet. Anybody have one they can recommend?
Holy Fucking God, does Windows XP “Professional” suck donkey balls. I’ve had it running for three weeks and it’s the buggiest, crashingest, most spyware-infected, slowest piece of shit I’ve used since Windows 3.1.
Our visit to Pax River was good. We visited with Mrs. Lockard for the afternoon, and she was better off than I was hoping. She was mentally sharper than I’ve seen her in a long time, even if she’s physically weaker. We took her out for an early dinner, and hopefully brightened an otherwise dreary Saturday afternoon. I really hope we’re able to celebrate the holidays with her and show her a good time. Of course, the Ghost of Dysfunctional Christmas is standing between us and those plans, but we’ll have to deal with that when it comes.
Hard On My Toys. I’ve had a Delta table saw for about the past five years. I bought it at a time when I didn’t have outrageous amounts of money, but decided that using a handheld circular saw to rip 10′ boards lentghwise was getting to be tiresome. I went out to the Home Depot to browse, and after half an hour of looking through the field, I selected the best American-made unit I could find for under $150. Since then, I’ve ripped a couple miles of board-feet between two houses’ worth of projects. During that time I found that the saw had a number of shortcomings (cheap fittings, a very wobbly motor, few allowances for attachments, a small fence) and only a few pluses, but I was able to jury-rig it enough to get it to work for me.
This past week, I’ve hustled to finish a bunch of outstanding projects so that I could get to one that I was looking forward to: finish carpentry around the front window in the dining room. I bought some very clean, expensive wood for the trim (the good stuff is hard to find) and had just begin to rip the sill to size when the saw cut out. I unplugged it, applied Dugan’s Second Law Of Fixing Stuff (unbolted the motor, took it apart and put it back together) and got another five seconds of juice out of it before the whole thing died in a puff of ozone.
Add this to the Skilsaw circular I burned out milling the door down this spring and that makes two expensive tools I’ve killed this year. It’s not like I’ve been throwing these things off the roof or leaving them in the rain; this is everyday use we’re talking about. I think I’m going to have to stick with the brands I trust at this point—A DeWalt cordless that actually has fallen off a roof and continues to work flawlessly; a Makita circular that’s followed me through two years of High School setbuilding, four years of college, and two houses; a Porter Cable sander that’s touched every woodworking project I’ve done; and a Craftsman ¾” drill that’s older than I am and deserves a new set of bearings.
I always wanted to buy the best tools I could afford and have them for the rest of my life, and this is one of those times when a compromise burned me. And the killer is that I don’t have the cash to buy that beautiful DeWalt replacement I saw last month. I can’t say that the Delta owes me anything, but I’m probably going to have to buy another 5-year saw and kill it as well.
Tomorrow Jen and I are driving south to share a preliminary Thanksgiving with her folks. As you may have read, her Mom is not doing as well as we had hoped—things are looking kind of grim, really. I think she (Jen) is handling this admirably, given the circumstances and history. Since the wedding, we’ve been trying to toe the line between our own sanity and keeping close by for the “in case” we know is coming. I’m feeling guilty, on reflection, for the amount of time I’ve not spent with her family since the wedding, but I think we both needed some time by ourselves to cement our little family unit in preparation for this eventuality. As always, we’re hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.
Sunday we continue the preparations for Turkey Day in Catonsville, which will involve much food preparation, cleaning, some finish work upstairs, cleaning, and then some beers.
Heh, heh. This is funny. (via matt)
Gulp. As you’ve read here earlier, Jen’s Mom has been recovering from the side effects of chemotherapy for the last couple of months. Having walked right up to the edge of death a few months ago, she’s not up to cooking, cleaning and getting ready for all five children to descend on the house in December. Jen’s brother none-too-subtly suggested our house as an alternative, which was the unspoken understanding between Jen and I since July. Last night we got the official endorsement from the Boss, which means we’re hosting the dysfunction on our own turf.
This is a good thing, because even though we will be running around like mental patients for the two weeks surrounding Christmas, we will be able to crush any dissent among the rabble, make other people do the dishes, and sleep in our own bed. (The time to upgrade the Full to a Queen is upon us.)
This weekend I took advantage of the freakish warm weather and mowed the lawn for the first time in about two months. It was looking like a shag rug under a spilled box of Wheaties after the tulip tree lost its leaves, and I was ignoring it for as long as I could. After I bagged up a bunch of next year’s mulch, I grabbed a paint can and climbed out onto the roof above the atrium to paint the last street-viewable portion of white siding. Now, as far as you can tell, the whole house is blue. Meanwhile, Jen is making welcome additions to the guest bedroom—the whitewash has been covered by a cheery new color, we have designs on a rug, and it’s beginning to come together. Meanwhile, the medicine cabinet door is still in progress. After deciding that the first placement of the hinges was wrong (the door opened only about 80°, which was less than optimal), I pulled them off, filled the mortises with wood filler, and got it ready for Plan B. Stay tuned.
“There is no underwater camera system that is right for everybody.”
SSI Guide To Underwater Photography. Courtesy XLT. (I would have left this as a comment on his site, but Blogger’s comment system sucks ass.)
A few years ago I came into possession of a designer’s Holy Grail: a CD burned with meticulously organized font collections, obviously compiled by some lowly summer intern and then passed, hand to hand, like a Grateful Dead bootleg. Not long after I got the CD, I bought a second-hand laser printer and burned out two ink cartridges making spec books. The four (!?!) binders were carted to each job I took, placed high on the Shrine Of Anal Retentive Designer Worship, and consulted in times of crisis.
Since I made those books, we’ve bought, traded and collected a bunch more fonts from various sources, and I’ve lost track of what we actually have. So last week I began to take advantage of the double-sided print function here at work and print out the catalogs we don’t have spec sheets for. I’m through the second catalog and I have a stack about an inch thick, four-up on a sheet. And there’s five catalogs to go.
View From The Top. My Dad took a plane ride this weekend and sent us the digital pics from his trip: here’s my grandparents’ farm looking south from across the road.
My Kidneys Hurt. Renie got a late start on the road Friday, so Jen and I drove into the city for some dinner before she got in. It’s always a good thing when your server recognizes you with a smile, and even better when they offer you a free round to welcome you back. Saturday morning we drove down into Ellicott City for some breakfast and to drop in on Home Anthology, where we found a shelf full of old signage lettering and lots of beautiful furniture we can’t afford right now. Continuing on to the IKEA, we wandered through the aisles and made it almost to the checkout with only a bag of tea candles before a new wine rack jumped into our cart. Back at home, we helped Jen put dinner together, a mouthwatering pork tenderloin with saffron rice, and we stayed up late talking, polishing off three bottles of wine.
Sunday we nursed hangovers and headed into the city to help our friend Shelly move out of her apartment; between the five of us and Doug’s box van, we got everything into the house in an hour and a half. They then treated us to some of the best sushi we’ve had in years, at a little restaurant at the foot of the hill in Mt. Washington. (From what we understand, the sake martini wasn’t too shabby, either.) The rest of the evening was more relaxed, mixing a bit of freelance, lots of couch time, and an evening walk to the local ice cream stand.
Renie’s at the house right now working on the resume and keeping Penn company; she’s promised us dinner tonight, so Jen and I have to decide where to go. Ideas, anyone?
(Special shout-outs to Shelly for the fantastic music I didn’t even know I wanted.)
We’re in the middle of making plans to have my sister Renie join us this weekend for a much-needed break away from her job, and I think we’re all getting excited. There are some tentative plans for IKEA, possibly some Home Anthology, and a lot of refreshment.
Update: Looks like Renie’s going to need more than a few drinks- her asshole company just laid her off. We’re going to see if she wants to come south a little sooner than Friday. That makes a combined four five layoffs for the Dugan family in the last five years. “Recovering economy” my ass.
Lucky Break. It turns out that our atrium windows are ½” away from being standard size—I was able to find an off-the-shelf storm window at the Lowe’s for $33 to button up the side of the house. That’s much better than $130/ea. I was quoted for custom-built versions, and I can work around the missing half-inch.