The Inner Sanctum

Since my last three posts have been about food, I thought I should move onto a different topic, lest you think I’ve developed a tapeworm. Today we’re going to delve into remodeling or as I like to call it, Hula Plucks Herself Bald. We are currently on Week 10, yes 10, of this project. I know this by counting the winkles on my forehead.

We’re far enough along that real progress is being made. In fact, we hope to have all of the big stuff done and the house emptied of workers by the time we leave for vacation next Friday. And I am dropping to my knees in prayer as I say that. If all goes well, we could have the appliances delivered on the 19th, but let’s not talk about it ‘cause that tends to jinx things. (I know, Mia-two weeks, right?) Everything takes “two weeks”.

I should start by explaining why we decided to do so much work on the house. After all, it’s fairly new and is a fine home. However, there were some basic things that HAD to be done such as painting and replacing all of the dirty worn out carpeting. There were also some important roofing, window and exterior door repairs. We knew we could live in the home only if it looked somewhat different than it did when Sissy lived there. We wanted it to be lighter and brighter, so that called for some cosmetic changes. We also wanted it to have certain amenities since we hope to live the rest of our lives in that house. In other words, we wanted it to include the items we’ve always dreamed about and to be accessible in our old age. That amounted to quite a bit of work that we believe will make us comfortable there and significantly increases the value of the home. If we survive the remodeling.

Things are starting to look noticeably different around the house, but there is too much to cover in one post, so I thought we’d focus only on one room today, the master bathroom. It’s one of the rooms I’m most excited about. But before we get knee deep into that, can I just get one teeny tiny thing off my chest? GREAT GERTIE HAVE YOU PRICED AREA RUGS LATELY AND WHO CAN AFFORD THOSE THINGS?!!!!! Okay, back to the bathroom. This is where we started.

And here’s what we wanted to achieve.
The orange wall color had to go. It made the windowless bathroom really dark and was an unsettling color. Whenever I looked at this room, all I saw was brass, brass, and brass. In fact, the whole house is covered in brass, and I have made it my personal mission to wipe out all traces of that gold. We wanted better lighting and needed a new toilet which you can’t see because it sits behind that short wall on the left. The beige countertops were stained and didn’t really match the bright white tile and tub or the earthy floor tile.
I love the floor tile, and it’s staying.
It desperately needed to be cleaned and resealed, though.

There was shiny white tile around the tub that made it sit like some kind of white elephant in the corner, especially when the shower curtain was pulled and hid the white shower. Hubby and I wanted to replace the shower-tub unit with a walk-in tiled shower that we could more easily step into when we’re old and creaky. It would also make the shower roomier for Hubby, who is 6’4”.

The work in that room started with the removal of the popcorn ceiling, which created quite the mess.
That living room mirror you see in the shower has floated from room to room this summer as we try to protect it from various work hazards. I can’t explain the coat rack.

While this was going on I spent a fair amount of time trying to pick a blue for the walls that would be soothing and coordinate with the blue in the floor tile.
Despite the many attempts you see there, I failed miserably, so please ignore the hideous blue you’re about to see in the next photos. It is not staying. In fact, it’s being covered with a few coats of Cottage Cream as I write this.

In the weeks that followed, we got new countertops and faucets.
And the big work on the shower and tub began. The tub moved around alot.
One day I stopped in and it was sitting in the bedroom.

As of this week, it all started to come together. The tub is much better, I think. (Ignore the blue! Ignore the blue!)
And the shower will be beautiful when the clear glass doors are installed. Those are ordered and will be here in, you guessed it, two weeks.

Most importantly, Hubby got his new toilet. He very proudly picked out the Grand Champion model with the oval seat. It can allegedly flush a bucket of golf balls. He’s very excited about the flushing capability. Men. He’s also very exciting about the light/exhaust fan that will sit over the toilet. When the electrician asked why in the world we would spend $150 on the Cadillac of exhaust fans, I had to explain how it would greatly improve the, ahem, lighting for reading purposes in that corner. Like I said, we tried to add the items we’ve always dreamed about, and that was high on Hubby’s list. Let’s just leave it at that.

The next time I show you pictures of this room, it should be finished. And that should be in less than…..two weeks.

Sweet!

While waddling around the BBQ Festival last weekend, we stumbled into my favorite ice cream shop. It will close soon for the winter season, leaving us to wait until spring for their reopening and a tasty scoop of their peach ice cream. There’s something charming about a business that does things the old fashioned way, like shut down for winter. In fact, the whole darn place is pretty charming. I can sit there all day soaking up the atmosphere and savoring a sugar cone filled with any one of their flavors.

I love the long counter.

And the tin ceiling with pendant lights.
There are the old milk bottles on the top shelf.
Have I mentioned that my great grandpa used to deliver milk to people’s homes?

I like the old fashioned décor.
And I really like the nice people who work there.
This guy is married to a woman who used to run around with Hubby in his teenaged years. He knows some dirt on Hubby and likes to share it. He’s fun that way.

Best of all, I like the ice cream. All homemade and delicious.
My flavor pick on this day? Cherries and cream.
When it comes to ice cream I can usually take it or leave it, but this place has me wrapped around their udder.

The Bears Eat Some Pig

Once upon a time Hula-Locks and Hubby-Locks went skipping hand in hand through the woods and over to the local BBQ Festival in search of a good time. There they found thousands of other people doing the same thing. It was so crowded Hula-Locks and Hubby-Locks missed the sign at the big intersection that told you where everything was.
So they followed the smoke and the smell, wandering past BBQ houses for naughty little pigs.
And really naughty little pigs.
Until they came to the house that looked just right. (And there is no picture of it because Hula-Locks forgot to take one.)

Anyway, they looked around for their main course. They tried a sandwich, but it was spicy hot. They tried some boiled shrimp, but it was too cold. Then they tried some ribs. And they were just right so they ate them all up.

Still hungry, they looked around for some sides. (Editor’s note-That’s side dishes for all of you not from the south.) They tried some baked beans, but they were too hot. They tried some potato salad, but it was too cold. Then they tried some Cajun corn, and it was juuust right. So they ate it all up.

They drank some sweet tea, listened to some music and still felt hungry. Well, not really, but they weren’t ready to quit eating because hey it’s a BBQ Festival and special events calories don’t count.

They looked around for some dessert. They considered a hot fudge sundae, but it was too hot. They sampled cheesecake on a stick, but it was too cold. Then they found some ice cream. And it was juuuuuuuuuuust right, so they ate it all up.

Full and tired they wandered home for a nap in the recliner, and in the middle of that nap the phone rang. It was Mama J. Bear and Papa T. Bear wailing about how Hula-Locks and Hubby-Locks had been to the BBQ Festival without them and they were hungry and there was nothing in the house to eat. Anticipating this because it happens every year, Hula-Locks and Hubby-Locks reached into the fridge where they had stashed extra ribs and sandwiches from the BBQ Festival and took them next door where Mama J. Bear and Papa T. Bear declared it juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuust right and ate it all up.

And they all lived happily ever after. Until Hubby-Locks got indigestion.

Favorite Childhood Foods

Thirty five plus years before KFC started dumping mashed potatoes and corn into a bowl and mixing them up, Hula was swirling her taters and corn together with copious amounts of salt and black pepper. Today, she stills mixes her taters and corn. With copious amounts of salt and pepper. And butter. Mmmmmm.

The down side to this is the amount of fat and sodium in that bowl. The up side is the corn doesn't slide off the fork or plate.

Hula thinks that when she is old she shall wear red hats with purple dresses, grow tomatoes and mix her potatoes and corn.

I Had A Three Day Weekend....

But I’m not sure where it went. The Hula-gen’s are running in circles these days, which would account for my four day absence at this site. The highlights:

-The remodeling is about 3/5s done, but it’s starting to drag a little, and we are trying to crack the whip. We go on vacation in two weeks, and we want this stuff DONE by then. Done I tell ya’, done. Finished, finito, get out of my house.
-I am so over painting and picking paint colors. We are down to the master bathroom which has one coat of a blue that I was just sure was the perfect blue. Until it was put on all four walls, and I screamed, “Stop!” It’s butt ugly. Every one from the electrician to the brick layer thinks so, so it’s going. I don’t have the energy to look for another blue, so I told the painter to slap on some of that cream color that’s in the foyer and the hallway and call it a day. I can live with cream. It's the new black.
-New faucets in brushed nickel are lovely, simply lovely. Until you find them leaking about 9pm, three hours after the contractor has left the building and about fifteen minutes before the bottom of the cabinet is about to give way. T-Y-L-E-N-O-L.
-I am in serious need of that vacation. The Emerald Coast here I come! With swimsuit, sunscreen and library books in tow.
-Our days and evenings have suddenly turned a smidge cooler, and the thought of jacket weather is TICKING ME OFF, but I am trying to be grateful for the beautiful days that are upon us. It’s hard for a summer baby like me, but I’m going to try. I wore white shoes the other day just to be stubborn, though. Nobody noticed. BTW..am I the only person who hangs onto sandals long after they’ve worn out? Even when they’re stinky and faded, I can’t seem to turn loose of them.
-While we haven’t had a firm offer on our old house yet, it’s showing well, and we are upbeat. I am, however, tired of trying to keep it sparkly clean for unexpected lookers. The neat freak otherwise known as Hubby is loving every minute of the sparkliness. I swear, that man is crazy in love with neatness. It must be a disease. If it’s a gene, I was born without it.
-Our niece’s son, W., has had three cobalt treatments in the last week and a half. His hair is starting to fall out. They keep running tests but haven’t really given us an indication yet of how bad his leukemia is. The two times they’ve tested his spinal fluid they have not found cancer cells there which is a good thing. The teachers at the elementary school where his mother teaches and the high school where is father teachers are putting on a mini-Woodstock type fundraiser for little W. next month. It’s wonderful how friends have started to rally around him, but it breaks my heart that he’s going through this. I cry if I think about it, so I try not to think about it.
-The dog and the cat lay side by side in Hubby’s lap for about forty minutes Friday, and we thought we’d had a major breakthrough in their showdowns. Until an hour later when he chased her into the dining room and she slapped him in the face with a furry paw.
-Papa T. has been cranky lately. Arms crossed, mouth poutin’ seriously cranky, and we’re not sure why. His mama would have whipped him with a peach tree switch if he had acted that way with her. We’re about ready to find a peach tree.

Twelve more days until vacation. Twelve more days.

Almost an Ordinary Day

An interesting thing happened yesterday. The ninth anniversary of my nephew’s death passed, and I almost missed it. I rushed through the day without realizing the significance of the date until I got home around 5pm and saw a small group of balloons in the garage. Every year on the anniversary of Chance’s death, we release a few balloons and watch them sail over the tree tops and out of sight, marveling at how high and far they go.

In past years, I’ve awakened on September 23rd to immediate thoughts of Chance. I always wonder what he would look like now and what he’d be doing. He would be 22 years old now and I suspect he would have made a fine young man. He likely would have graduated from college and found his first engineering job. Or would have run off with a rock and roll band as a roadie. We’ll never know for sure, but it’s nice to imagine what might have been, and for the past nine years I’ve spent a fair amount of time on September 23rd thinking about what might have been. Yesterday, for the first time ever, I didn’t. I almost missed it. I almost let the day slip away without remembering what day it was.

For a brief moment I felt a pang of guilt and worried that I was starting to forget him. Sometimes now, it’s a little hard to remember what his voice sounded like, and that bothers me. I brushed away the worry though because in my heart I know I haven’t forgotten. The joy that I gained from knowing him, and the life lessons I learned from his passing are always with me. I live each day with the knowledge that life is short, and we don’t have much time to make the most of it. That we should live without fear because some things are worse than failing. Whenever I do something adventurous or courageous I think of him. And I smile.

I think my forgetfulness yesterday was a just a sign of healing. My memories are tied less to the horror of the day he drowned and more to the love that we shared. I carry him in my heart every day, not just a single day in September, so yesterday was just another day. And that my friends, is a good thing.

Chance 1997

A Moment of Silence for the Maytag

Appliances are like celebrities; they die in threes. We have mourned two losses in the last week and are awaiting the third casualty. The shower died Sunday morning, and the dryer crapped out Monday. We are taking bets on which appliance will be next. The washing machine? How about the water heater or the dishwasher? Heaven help me if it’s the dishwasher. I have a gag reflex that’s so sensitive I can almost puke on demand, and I don’t do well with food floaties in dishwater. I can scrub toilets all day long, but wash dishes with lettuce and noodles floating in it? I’d rather juggle snapping turtles.

I’M betting on the washing machine. It’s the oldest thing in the house next to Hubby, and it’s sounding a little squeaky on the spin cycle, which I have pretended not to notice in recent weeks. The squeaking that is, not Hubby. We’ve already had one disaster with that washing machine a few years ago which resulted in oil all over the laundry room walls, so a relapse isn’t out of the question.

Being a home owner means staying in a constant state of despair…I mean repairs. Something always needs fixing. Most of the time it’s something routine, but it always costs money. Sometimes it’s something major, and when it is, it seems like the hits keep comin’ until you’ve racked up a trifecta of big purchases. Right now, I have two problems: 1. I have already spent my money on the new house and 2. I’m no longer interested in spending money on the old house. Once we decided to buy the new house, I lost all interest in doing anything to spruce up the old one. The old one is pretty much move-in ready for the next owner, so it doesn’t need much. And even though I still sleep there and park my butt in front of the TV occasionally, psychologically, I’ve moved on. I’m done with the old house. Finished. Over it. As in we could use some time apart, let’s just be friends and here’s your ring back. I’m just not into it anymore. It’s kind of like when Papa T. turned 75 and declared that he was done with all routine preventive tests like colonoscopies because he just didn’t think it was worth the expense, time and trouble. I don’t want to spend one more dime on the old house, but the appliance gods aren’t listening. Every time I turn around, something breaks.

I promised God last Friday that I’d quit swearing, and I think I heard him cackle out loud. Sunday morning, the handle on the shower screamed, “Psyche!” and refused to turn when Teen Angel got into the shower. In fact, the whole dadgum mechanism that controls the water and the water temperature broke apart. Hello plumber. Goodbye wallet. *#@%! The following night I came home to find a load of clothes that had been tumbling in a cold dryer for two hours. Upon investigation it was determined that it had indeed joined the shower in the category of Things That Make Hula Reach for the Margarita Mix. Double *#@%!! It had been on life support for weeks, and we knew it was terminal so it was no surprise. After uttering the serenity prayer, clicking my heels together three times and saying, “There’s no place like Lowe's,” I declared the dryer dead. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out and a pox on your family, twenty year old gas dryer. But instead of heading to Lowe's for a replacement, I said, “Whoa, Nelly.” Not because I didn’t want to go to Lowe's, because goodness knows I haven’t been there in at least three days, but because I refuse to buy a new dryer when we are about to move. The new house has a dryer. A beautiful, shiny front loading lusty babe that is just waiting for us to spin her cycles. I see no need in buying another one when we should be living there in about a month.

So, I did what any red blooded (does blood come in any other color) American woman does in a time of necessity. I hauled my clothes next door to Mama J.’s house and borrowed her dryer, which is my plan for the next few weeks. If I get desperate, I may purchase a really cheap dryer at the used appliance store or out of the want ads, but I’m spending no more than $50. I’ll hang clothes on every flat surface inside and around the house, which is why you’ll find Hubby’s underwear on the deck rail during the month of October. And I’m being extra gentle with the dishwasher because I refuse to buy one of those either, and the thought of noodle floaties scares me more than hanging my drawers on the yard lights.