This weekend Jen and I decided we needed a break. We’ve been running nonstop for three months; between sorting out her Dad’s situation, the end of school for Finn, work and other obligations, we’re  all worn down to nubs. Finley got sick last weekend, coughed in Jen’s face a couple of times on Monday (thanks, Finn) and got her sick too. We were at her Dad’s house all day Sunday and I came home right into three days of travel to D.C. for video shoots while Jen took on a mountain of short-notice design work.

Video shoots are fun, for the most part; there’s a lot of technical stuff I have had to dig back up and remember, especially because I’m training a full-time video producer and a video intern as we go. But it’s a lot of running and setting up and testing and checking and then there’s the waiting and then there’s shooting and reshooting and staying on top of the technical stuff while also listenting to the content because that sentence was just a little too long, could you please go back and try it again? Then we have to break it all down and either move somewhere else or at least organize the footage and get it ready for production. By the time Friday rolled around I was wrung out.

We begged off on all responsibilities and slept in both days this weekend, which was heavenly. Hazel read the room correctly and allowed us to doze in bed until 8 both mornings, which was awesome; I crept out of the house on Saturday and took her on a long neighborhood loop—a 2 mile walk she desperately needed. On my return I got Finn involved in some long-delayed yard work: She broke down one of the empty wood cradles while I sprayed Roundup on the weeds behind the greenhouse and cut the brush back along the garage. We made a dump run and did some other errands, and then we both cleaned the house while Jen had brunch with a friend. It’s amazing how much a clean bathroom is good for mental health.

Sunday was even slower; Jen and I crawled out of bed at 8:30 and rallied to walk down to the coffee shop by 9. We hit the farmer’s market for some empanadas and wore Hazel out on the long loop, then futzed around the house until Finn woke up. We had some errands to run so we dropped her off in Ellicott City to walk around while we hit the Ace hardware for some stuff, and then the liquor store for supplies (Baltimore County is still under Prohibition-era blue laws) before heading for home.

I ordered a boat tank from West Marine along with some fittings last week, and it showed up on Sunday morning: it’s a sturdy 3-gallon jerry can with a no-spray lid, a built-on gauge, and a feed fitting. I’ve got fresh fuel hose but had to look for a brass fitting to screw into the carb itself, and Amazon will deliver a 4psi fuel pump this week. With all of that assembled, I can bypass the mechanical fuel pump on the Chrysler and hopefully get her running steadily the next time we visit. I also have to break the brakes down and see what that situation looks like—but for now a couple of 2×4’s in the driveway will prevent us from coasting off into the woods.

I’m writing this now from the comfort of our front porch: the fan above us is moving the air briskly while rain patters the windows outside. We’re sipping on our second mix of Suburban Anxiety, and they’re going down smoothly. Jen has another mountain of work to tackle, and I go back to D.C. for another video shoot tomorrow—but right now, we’re relaxed.

We returned to Lexington Park this weekend to keep things moving at Jen’s Dad’s house, and I think we made some excellent progress on a couple of fronts. I packed our pressure washer in the Honda and used it to clean off the front porch and walkway, which was very much overdue and very satisfying. As I sprayed the ceiling I was flashing back to my freshman-sophomore college summer job, when I spent a fair bit of time running a commercial pressure washer off the back of a flatbed ford, spraying horse barns, pavilions, houses, boats, trailers, and miles of fence on the days I wasn’t painting. Good times.

I brought a box of new plug wires for the Chrysler and installed them, then pulled the cap off the distributor and cleaned the points and breaker with some sandpaper. After all of that, I’m still not having luck getting her started, and I’m running out of ideas as to what the problem is. I have to do some more research into how to test for spark and what the failure points could be before I throw in the towel and arrange for a tow to a shop.

This is a mix someone put together of a bunch of obscure Boards of Canada tracks that I always forget about; I’ve got their entire discography on the music server and always forget to spin the lesser-known EPs and demos. Excellent working music. Hiscores is a standout track.

Jen and I finished the first half of the new Stranger Things season, and we’ve enjoyed every minute of it so far. I have minor quibbles with the direction they took some of the characters, and I could do without several of the B stories, but overall I’m happy with where it’s going and I can’t wait for the second half.

It occurs to me I’ve not mentioned how the deer skull turned out since I boiled it last month; it’s been mounted to the side of the garage since then. I think it came out pretty good! I didn’t use a ton of hydrogen peroxide to bleach it, but I like the way it came out, and for a grand total of maybe $10 it’s a nice piece to decorate the yard.

I’ve had Invisalign in for a couple of days now, and I guess I’m getting more used to them. As much as I can get used to having plastic sofa covers on my teeth all day, every day. Overnights are the easiest, because by now my palate has gotten used to the position the trays have pushed it into. I’m supposed to change them every week, so the first day of the change is going to be a total drag.

It’s shifted a lot of my daily habits, which is for the better, I think. For example, I obviously have to take them out each time I want to eat something. Sounds easy, right? Well, because my teeth are aligned so poorly, it takes a bit of work to get the trays out—and it’s not very comfortable. I have to start with one side way in the back and work my way around. The plastic can hurt my gums if I do it wrong, and my whole jaw is sore to begin with, so chewing is a delicate matter. And because I’ve got all these nubs glued to my teeth, the inside of my mouth is tender from them rubbing so much.

I had to find a way to surreptitiously pull them out at a company meeting on Thursday before lunch, then quietly run to the bathroom to wash them out and pop them back in. The next step is to set up a tiny travel kit for them with a mini toothbrush and toothpaste that’ll fit in a pocket.

Invisalign would actually be a great way to aid a diet, because it makes grabbing a quick snack an investment of time and effort: take the trays out, wash them, gently chew something, brush teeth, brush trays, reinsert. Where I used to graze a lot during the afternoon now I’m strategically planning what to eat and when. It’s also good for brushing habits: if I’m brushing at least three times a day after each meal, I’m finally fulfilling the wishes of all of the dentists I’ve ever seen, 40 years too late.

Yeah, pretty much want to rip my own face off.

I have crooked teeth. They’ve been slightly crooked for years—I never received orthodontia as a kid, and my teeth were straight enough then to avoid picket fencing and headgear and palate keys and all the other hellish shit my sister had to endure. She got the business while I sat in the waiting room for hours reading Archie comics as they jabbed hot pokers at her face behind the partition. I’d say I won that particular battle. Mom says they couldn’t follow up on me because they had other bills to pay, and I don’t fault them. Thirty years later, insurance still barely covers any of this shit, and it’s expensive.

As I’ve gotten older my teeth have gotten more summer—summer here, summer there—to the point where my lower incisors are pointed backwards and overlapping each other, like a fence about to fall down. My molars have all turned inward, and my top incisors have slowly followed the lower ones in alignment. My whole palate has shrunk, actually. I’ve always been self-conscious about my teeth, but having a teenage daughter who needed braces put any notion of self-care on the back burner until those bills got paid. Finn’s still got the braces, but the monthly payments are behind us so I figured I’d finally step up and get my shit fixed.

I talked to her orthodontist about Invisalign and he set up an appointment to have my mouth scanned, after which he showed me terrifying 3D models of my face and assured me we could straighten things out. That was three weeks ago. Today I went in and they attached small plastic nubs to my teeth with some stinky glue, and then popped a pair of clear plastic trays over top of it all. I left with a box of thirty new trays and the maddening urge to peel at the plastic off with my tongue.

All afternoon I’ve been trying to stop myself from futzing with them, and I’m losing. I can feel the pull of the trays pretty much across my whole palate, but the strongest right now is my right upper canine area, which feels like someone’s pushing on my face from the outside. Taking them out to eat is worse—I can feel all the nubs sticking out on my teeth, like barnacles on a tramp steamer.

Yeah, I signed up (and paid for) something like seventy weeks of this shit. If I don’t tear the skin off my own face by the Fourth of July, it’ll be a miracle.

Extremely satisfying. I’m still working on consistency from one weld to the next, but I was pretty proud of this one. Tomorrow night we start hands-on stick welding, which is supposed to be harder than TIG but much more flexible.

In the face of supremely bad news on Tuesday morning, I’m going to write a little bit about welding class so far to keep myself from screaming. So far, I love both oxy-acetylene and TIG with a new passion; both are excellent in their own way and both come with drawbacks. But it’s like my instructor told us: each one has its uses. Oxy-acetylene is slow and methodical: it’s heating metal with a flame. It’s also the coldest of all methods, so it takes longer and demands patience. But I enjoyed a kind of meditation while welding two sections of 1/8″ metal together. It’s soothing; “knitting with fire” is how my instructor described it. Not quite something I’d do on the couch in front of Netflix, but it would definitely go with some cool jazz or mellow electronica in the garage.

TIG is immediate and gratifying and makes short work of anything. It took half the time to weld the same length of steel together with TIG, and it’s easier to dial in the temperature and keep it steady. I see now why the pros on YouTube bust out the TIG torch when making metal stick together. But I spent half the night running to and from the sander to clean the electrode, even when I kept the tip away from the puddle. That’s a pain in the ass. With skill I bet there would be half the tungsten cleaning nonsense and a lot more productivity; I’d need to take the intermediate TIG course to learn more about how to dial the machine in for different thicknesses and situations. On Thursday we’re going to do another hour of TIG and then start learning about different chemical processes in the leadup to plasma cutting, and then I think we move to stick welding next.

Last night I joined about fifteen other guys in a cinderblock room and sat through my first welding class. The training facility is on the other side of town on Pulaski Highway, surrounded by commercial printers, auto shops, machinists, small factories, and cheap motels. I got there early and found I was one of three men over the age of 30; as we went around the room for the getting-to-know-you part, I learned I was taking the course with a farmhand, two young men who were learning a trade to get out of their houses, a father and his two sons, and another kid who was being put through the course by his company, among others.

My instructor is a year older than me and became a welder the same year I started college. He’s a bit gruff but approachable, has a sense of humor I haven’t cracked yet, and seems to really know his shit. Don’t judge a book: when a guy in frayed Dickies starts explaining the different molecular reactions behind different welding processes, I lean forward. We sat through the standard safety and basic background presentations, got some books, and did some light Q&A before calling it a night. Tomorrow night is nothing but theory, and we’re starting with oxy-acetylene for the first hands on practice. From there we do TIG, then stick, then MIG, and some quick demos of cutting with torch and plasma. I have a giant binder of reading material to go through and a test to take at the end of the course. I can’t wait.

Here’s all of the action from Monday, from morning to cleanup, minus the sections of no activity (namely, four trips to Ace Hardware).