Help - I Need Somebo-o-ody

I've heard from several readers that my blog has been acting up in Firefox. People have had trouble opening my posts on Houseblogs.net and commenting. I downloaded Firefox myself and checked it out - yes, this problem is terribly annoying, and I apologize! I wondered why my comments have slowed to a trickle recently, though I blamed it on my conversion to Blogger Beta last month.

I think the problem does have something to do with Blogger Beta and Yahoo (my site host) not cooperating fully. I've been trying to get some help from Yahoo on this, but my e-mails to their various help departments keep coming back undeliverable.

When I finally got through, I received a response detailing all the steps to correct problems with publishing via FTP from FrontPage. I don't use FrontPage and didn't mention FrontPage in my e-mail.

*SIGH*

Why can't the help department just HELP me?

I'm hoping to resolve this in the near future. In the mean time, if you are having trouble with the site, try viewing it using Internet Explorer. I know that's a lot to ask considering most Firefox users are rabid haters of IE. If you simply cannot do that, I understand. Just please keep checking, and come on back when it gets fixed!

Here's what I wrote to Yahoo, in case any of you web geniuses out there see a magic solution:

I switched to the new version of Blogger a few weeks ago, and ever since I've been having trouble connecting via FTP with my Yahoo! domain, 1902victorian.com. (My blog goes to the address 1902victorian.com/diary.html) I get error messages such as:

"server: ftp.1902victorian.com, username: kissyplusr@1902victorian.com, reason: 530-Your FTP session could not be opened. 530-If you continue to have problems, please visit: 530- http://help.yahoo.com/help/us/webhosting/gftp/ 530"

and I think a 550 error message.

My ftp address, user name and password are all correct. Eventually, it will
publish more-or-less correctly.

But then I have a second problem. I've been told by several of my blog readers who are Firefox users that the site pops up this message when they try to comment or open individual pages/posts:

"You have chosen to open this-is-my-crude-drawing-of-bookshelf which is a: application/octet-stream from http://1902victorian.com. Would you like to save this file?"

Mozilla says this is a "misconfigured file server":

"Sometimes a misconfigured web server will send a file with an inappropriate
MIME type and, instead of the file automatically opening with the browser
plugin, an "Opening" dialog box will appear, asking you to either save the
file or open it with a chosen external application. This may happen with .wmv
(Windows Media Video) files sent as "text/plain" instead of the correct "video/x-ms-wmv" MIME type (see bug 250914, probably related to the fix for bug 220807, outlined
here). A Google Groups search shows that this can also occur when downloading .swf (Shockwave Flash) files and, most likely, other types of files for which a plugin is installed, when the inappropriate "text/plain" MIME type is sent. A similar issue can occur with the "application/octet-stream" MIME type [2]. (Note that the
MIME type of the file being downloaded will appear in the Mozilla Suite and SeaMonkey "Opening" dialog box, but not in Firefox.) If the problem occurs
with some downloads of a particular type file but not others, it is likely
that the web server is misconfigured; unfortunately there is nothing you can
do in such cases except to contact the website about the problem.

Advanced users can use the Live HTTP Headers to detect the MIME type being
sent."

That sounds about right, hence this e-mail to you at Yahoo!

Can you tell me what's up with these problems? If it's something on my end,
please let me know so I can fix it. If it's something on yours, please fix it
for me.

In a search for application/octet-stream, I found a blog post saying your site's Content-type needs to match what it is (in this case text/html - not application/octet-stream), but then I checked my site, and it DOES say text/html.

The same post tells me application/octet-stream is an http specification that means "force a download."

So where's the application/octet-stream crap coming from?

Okay, I'm off now to seek out answers.

Our First Carcass

You're not officially an old house renovator until you find a dead creature. We've finally joined the club.

Here for your viewing pleasure is the skeleton and clinging gray fur of a dead rat found in our bathroom wall:



And oh look, here's another rat photo. I was zooming in on this photo on my camera's LCD screen when I saw that disgusting ratty head and his horrible little claws and realized that was no animal nest but an actual dead animal. YICK!

Our friend Ken had the good fortune of extracting this creature from the sill inside the top of the wall. You know you have a good friend when he picks up a rat skeleton with his bare hand and, after realizing what that thing actually is, still stays on to help you finish wiring.

And yes, that word I just said - wiring - it's not just an illusion, folks. That really happened this weekend. Our bathroom now has three electrical outlets (as opposed to the none it had before) and a 3-switch box to control the vanity light, overhead light and closet light.

More to come on that later.

For now, I guess the rat solves one mystery. Long long ago in the early days of our residence at the 1902 Victorian, there was a mysterious, unpleasant smell in our bedroom. We could never pinpoint its cause or even the exact location it emanated from, but it seemed to be slightly stronger near our closet wall.

Our ratty comrade was found on the opposite side of the bathroom from our bedroom, so most likely he was dead and skeletonized before we ever arrived on the scene. But it's pretty clear that one of his associates must've died in our bedroom wall.

I'm so psyched to find him when we tear down the closet. You better believe I'll be wearing gloves.

Wounded Knee

I had a non-dog-related post all ready to go, but I just have to relate this one story.

Yesterday while I was at work, Darwin took Millie out for a walk on her new 16-foot retractable leash. She was sniffing around the fig tree (on the side of the yard she prefers for doing her business), and Darwin held the plastic leash handle loosely in his hand.

Suddenly, Millie caught a whiff of something interesting and took off, jerking the leash right out of Darwin's hand. The leash immediately retracted, and the plastic handle bounced on the ground behind Millie. She freaked out and started running around the fig tree in circles, with the leash handle in hot pursuit.

Our girl is a speedy little devil, especially when being chased by a bouncing pink plastic object, which is why I've been terrified she'll get loose. Once she starts running, there's no catching her.

But in this case, she was too afraid to take off for the treeline, the highway or the neighbors' dog. Darwin watched her careen around the fig tree and realized there was only one way to stop her. He bent his knees, stretched out his hands, waited till she rounded the tree one last time, and ... dove!

His knee struck a tree root, and pain shot down his leg. But still his outstretched hands reached for the pink handle, grasped and caught!

Millie kept running and then stopped short at the end of the leash, on the other side of the fig tree.

"Millie," Darwin gasped, clutching at his knee. "Millie!"

She perked her ears, wagged her tail and trotted over. She licked his face. She was totally unphased.

Darwin didn't tell me this story until I got home last night. He knew it would frighten me less in person. With her there wriggling in my arms, I could laugh with him and call him Wounded Knee.

I choose not to think about what could have been. I love this girl so much already.

The Curious Incident of the Roach in the Night-Time

A strange and horrible thing may have happened to me Sunday night.

I've been sick with strep throat and a sinus infection for a week now, and all day Sunday I couldn't stop coughing. Every few minutes, hackhackhack. Every two hours, swig non-drowsy Robitussin.

Come bedtime, I offered to sleep on the couch so I wouldn't keep Darwin awake all night. (He needed his sleep for a rough day at work.)

I wanted a sheet from the hall armoire/linen closet, but I made Darwin pull it out and shake it because - cue foreshadowing - I've seen a roach in that closet before.

The sheet was roach-free, so I spread it out on the couch, tucked it into the cushions and made myself a comfy bed with a quilt and two pillows from the guest room. I turned off all the lamps but one, took a hefty dose of nighttime Robitussin, aimed the space heater at my feet, and arranged all my necessities - Kleenex; the TV, Tivo and heater remotes; a cup of water - within easy reach on the coffee table.

Soon, the cats settled together on the quilt behind my legs, and I caught up on the Grey's Anatomy and Ugly Betty that had been Tivo'ed while we were out of town for Thanksgiving. Then the nighttime Robitussin kicked in, I turned off the TV and drifted off to a comfortable, non-coughing sleep.

Some time later, I was awakened by a cat leaping off my legs. I groggily searched the half-lit room with my eyes and found Alistair darting out from under the coffee table, chasing an inch-and-a-half-long black roach, one of the awful wood roaches we have here in the South. The roach skittered under the ottoman 2 feet away.

Normally, a roach sighting so close to my sleeping place would send me into a minor panic. I would jerk upright, shudder in terror and revulsion, and begin the task of hunting down the roach. I hate killing roaches or any insects, hate the crunch, the squish of white or green guts, the slimy residue on the floor or shoe or both.

But if there's a roach nearby, I can't rest until I've at least tried to kill it, or coaxed the cats to do it. Otherwise, I'll worry constantly about where it could be, where it could turn up next.

Only this time, there was the Robitussin. It made me say to myself, "It won't bother you. The cats will get it," and I was already falling back asleep as I thought it.

The next thing that woke me was a tickling sensation on my forehead, then my nose, my chin. And I knew what it was.

I opened my eyes and saw the roach crawling on the back of the couch. Had I swatted it there? Had it crawled there?

Henry was standing on the arm of the couch beside my head, following the roach with his nose. He reached out and knocked it down, and it fell into the crevice between the cushions.

Again, my normal reaction would be to leap up, probably even to shriek. But the Robitussin made me say, "It's under the cushion now. What can you about it anyway? It won't bother you again."

I screwed up my face and wiped it with the edge of the quilt, thinking about things I'd read about roaches and all the germs they carry on their feet, but my eyes were already shutting, sleep was already creeping back over me.

Then - then! - I woke again. I could feel the roach crawling down into the neck of my nightgown. Henry was still there beside my head. Was this real? I grasped at my nightgown and felt a horrible, solid, crunchy little body on my chest.

This time I did jump up, faster than I've ever jumped before, and wiggled and jiggled and shook my nightgown. The black creature fell into a crease of the sheet, and I leaped backward. I looked at Henry on the arm of the couch, Alistair behind him, both alert, necks outstretched, noses wiggling.

When I looked back at the crease of the sheet, the roach was gone.

I grabbed my pillow, stuck my feet into my slippers - half afraid a roach would be hiding inside them - and marched myself into the kitchen, where the nighttime Robitussin bottle waited on the counter. I didn't want to wake up Darwin with my coughing, so I knocked back another large swig. It had been two hours since my last one.

In the bedroom, I announced, "Henry chased a roach down my nightgown." Darwin laughed and rolled back over.

As I lay there in our bed, trying to figure out the timeline of roach events, my stomach began to feel funny. My head, too, come to think of it. I felt paranoid and strange; I lifted my head from the pillow, and the room was spinning.

Maybe the second dose of Robitussin hadn't been a good idea. I crawled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. The back of the Robitussin bottle said, 4 tsp. every 4 hours. I had noticed the 4 tsp. but not the 4 hours - I was still operating on non-drowsy Robitussion time, 2 tsp. every 2 hours.

Feeling dizzy and nauseated, I dragged myself into the bathroom and leaned over the toilet. I spit and spit but never threw up.

Miserable and shaking, I finally gave up. I washed my mouth and face, drank some water, and went to bed. Somehow, I fell asleep again.

In the morning, I tried to explain to Darwin what happened with the roach, but in the light of day it didn't quite add up. It was like trying to explain a dream, only I was certain it wasn't a dream. Or at least parts of it weren't a dream.

I began to think the part about the roach falling into the crevice between the cushions couldn't have happened. My view of it wouldn't make sense unless I wasn't on the couch at the time. So I decided maybe I felt the roach crawl on my face - *shudder* - but didn't quite wake up, dreamed the part about the cushions, and then fully woke up as the roach made its horrible way into my nightgown.

That part I'm almost certain really happened. I can still feel the horror and the tactile sensation of touching that awful shape under the fabric of my nightgown. I can still see the cats, staring with me toward the crease in the sheet. The roach could have skittered away. It could easily have happened.

But I felt so crazy that night, so sleepy, Robitussin turning my brain into a lava lamp, liquid blob-blobbing in the orange half-light.

So was it real? Do I even want it to be real?

Maybe I prefer to believe it was only a vivid, awful dream. And the tickling I felt was only Henry's whiskers and questing nose - not a roach's grotesque black legs, tracking their hideous way across my face.

The Cure: Week Two

Yeah, so it's been about a million weeks since Week One of the Eight-Week Home Cure. I actually did Week Two in succession, but I just didn't have time to tell you about it, what with all my frenzied packing and then not-at-all-frenzied vacationing.

Week Two required cleaning the kitchen. Not just our usual sweeping-and-wiping-down-of-surfaces but decluttering. I was supposed to carefully consider each item in the kitchen - including the pantry - and move anything potentially unnecessary to the Outbox.

Our kitchen is, well - yech. If we want to eat at the table, we have to shove aside stacks of mail and catalogs. If we want to cook something, we have to relocate whatever clutter - last week, it was my two new purses from TJMaxx - off the countertops.

The book's first instruction was to clean out the pantry. Get rid of not only all the out-of-date food but also things you didn't really like or thought you'd eat but never have. I figured I wouldn't find much excess in the pantry. We don't cook much, and we've actually got extra room in there.

Lo and behold, I filled up our entire kitchen trash can with stuff. Much of it was outdated - I think we had some of it since our previous house ... and we moved in here two years ago. The rest was mostly junk food. Stuff we thought we'd like but didn't - strawberry-flavored YoGos (the grossest fruit snack ever), peanuts with sea salt and cracked black pepper, white chocolate-covered pretzels that tasted kinda stale, ice cream-flavored Skittles.

It felt incredibly good to purge all that stuff. I didn't even realize it, but every time I opened the pantry and saw that stuff I'd wasted money on, I felt guilty or pressured to eat it. Lord knows I don't need any pressure to eat!

So after the pantry purge, I worked on the rest of the kitchen. The book advocates getting rid of all mismatched or chipped glasses and having just one good, matching set. Yeah, that isn't even something I care about, so I ignored it. But I did use that advice to purge a set of glasses we were given as wedding presents that we never liked. Too small of an opening at the top, so the other side of the glass always knocked into your nose when you drank. They sat on a top shelf of the cabinet gathering dust until I banished them to the Outbox.

I also tackled a box of assorted nice pots and pans we bought for $5 at an auction last year. The box has sat under the window in the kitchen attracting cat hair since we bought it. So I loaded up the dishwasher with the nice stuff, and added the not-so-nice stuff to the Outbox.

Then I addressed my Fiestaware cabinet. It's a collection, not clutter, but the bottom shelf ends up getting piled with other non-collection items, so I cleared those away and found new homes for them. I also finally threw away a cute glass picture frame one of the cats broke a while back. I hung onto it even after it was broken because a dear friend gave it to me. Ditto for a broken stenciled martini glass from another dear friend.

Then onto the worst clutter-gathering spot in the room - the table. I suddenly remembered a letter-sorter box we'd used at our old house and sorted all the mail into it, filing away the older stuff. The table was still slightly cluttered, but it looked wonderful in comparison!

Finally, Darwin's "landing strip" - an orange Fiestaware bowl at the end of the countertop where he stashes his wallet, keys and change. Only it had grown so much bigger than that - months' worth of pay stubs stacked beside it, car part catalogs stacked in front of it, other paperwork wedged behind it. Some filing and discreet trashing took care of that.

So the kitchen was finished! It looked brighter, cleaner, bigger and much more inviting.

But then we went to Italy. In our frenzy to pack, I went back to my habit of tossing things on the table, including a pair of lavendar sandals with bows on top. A week's worth of mail piled up. We got home and were too tired to sort. Postcards, Band-Aids and cold medicine boxes ended up on the counter.

So yeah, it's back to normal. I think the kitchen remedy may have to extend into Week Three.

The Cure: Week One

I posted last week about how I'm a slob and our house has devolved into a quivering mass of hideousness.

Then I found a cure! I read about the book Apartment Therapy: The Eight-Step Home Cure on a houseblog, but I can't remember which one. Whoever you are, I'm indebted to you!

I ordered the book on the last day of my free trial Amazon Prime subscription, and it arrived - to my delight - just one day later.

While the author's apartment is roughly 11 times smaller than my house (250 meager square feet), the heart of this book is the same for all homes. It focuses on the "health" of your home - bones, heart, head and ... um, something else I can't remember right now. It helps you "diagnose your home’s physical, emotional, and energy flow issues" and treat them, too. (Check out the book's blog here for more info.)

I took a quiz to determine my home's health, and it scored low, mostly due to the clutter and the unfinished repairs. That means I need the Deep Treatment.

Week One of the deep treatment requires us to do the following:

1. Vacuum/mop/sweep all floors in the house. Yeah, that's easier to do in a one-bedroom apartment than a ginormous old house with constructional materials lying about, but I'm giving it a go.

On Sunday I tackled the bedroom with the broom and the Clorox ReadyMop. The bedroom was probably the most disgusting room in the house. Since we can shut the door and hide it away from guests - or potential guests, haven't had many lately since I'm too embarassed to let people in this pigsty - we tend to let the clutter get completely out of hand. Both Darwin and I pile our clothes everywhere instead of putting them away, and you saw my shoes strewn all over the floor.

The cute fireplace mantel and tile surround were completely obscured with junk - receipts and clothes tags and extra buttons all over the mantel, bags and boxes and an unopened set of flannel sheets on the hearth. A spider had built a web between a shoebox and the portable heater that was STILL sitting there from this winter.

The dust bunnies under the bed and nightstand were large enough to wreak havoc on a major metropolis. It was all so gross.

Also, I noticed my high-heeled shoes have been making shallow impressions in the soft heart pine floor in front of the door and its full-length mirror. I feel really awful about that. But after the sweeping and mopping, I got the idea to bring in a runner from the hall to replace the shorter rug beside my bed. In the hall, the runner has been sitting on top of a carpet runner because we never got around to removing the carpet. So that solves two problems in one. Actually, three, because I moved the small bedside rug into the guest bathroom to cover the plywood floor. It's amazing what a different these little shifts made!

The bedroom - it feels wonderful now. It's still cluttered with too many clothes and shoes, but that's a project for another week.

As for the rest of the house, Darwin vacuumed the living room and hall from front to back and swept MASSIVE orange cat hair dust bunnies from under the armoire beside the cats' food and water dishes. These dust bunnies made the ones in the bedroom look like tiny bits of fluff.

It's sort of shocking to realize what filth we've been living with!

Still to go: Kitchen, office, laundry room, guest room, guest bath, cats' room. The vacuum bag got full, and we didn't have another one, so those had to wait.

2. Go around the house and list all repairs that need to be done. Brainstorm solutions. Ha ha ha ha haaaaaa! The book provided a page with spaces for several repairs. Yeah, those are all full. And that was just what I listed while sitting outside waiting for paint stripper to cure; I didn't even do the full house walk-around.

Brainstorm solutions? Oh my. All the repairs are doable by us, but when do we have time? Anyone know how to weave hours from gossamer threads? Perhaps a solution we should consider is to hire some of it done.

3. Get rid of one item from your house, the bigger the better. I've been debating this one. I am a "warm" personality, according to the book, which means I tend to let clutter get out of control and tend to feel emotional attachments to objects.

Still, I've improved at getting rid of stuff. It feels so liberating! I just need to start doing it again. I'm even considering having a dreaded yard sale. This weekend Eutaw is having its first annual Hwy. 14 Antique Trail. Guess where I live? Directly on Hwy. 14! So how perfect would that be? And yet ... having a yard sale sucks. I wouldn't be able to manage one up to my typical standards; I don't have time for pricing - just big signs stuck on tables that say, "Everything this table, $1."

Candidates for my "big item" this week? One is a framed floral print that hung in our living room at the ranch house. It's been propped in our living room here, too, but hidden behind another painting. I've hung onto it because I still like the colors, but really it doesn't fit with our aesthetic anymore. A little too Hobby Lobby, y'know?

Also, there's an armchair we never sit in or a cheap, particleboard dresser we don't use anymore.

4. Sit for 10 minutes in one room of your house where you never sit. I'm supposed to consider what doesn't work about this room and do some Jedi mind tricks to visualize what could make it work. I haven't decided which room to sit in yet. Nearly every room in our house gets used frequently, and the only rooms that don't are basically big empty rooms we don't need yet.

If you don't have an unused room, you can sit in an unused corner or space. The dining room settee might work for that, or the guest room rocking chair.

5. Buy fresh flowers. Guess I'm just a low-class individual because I've never bought fresh flowers in my life. I've received some, and I guess I've probably sent some, but I've never just gone and bought some for myself. The author thinks this is important because he wants it to become something I do every week. I don't have a problem with that - in fact, it sounds fun - but I haven't remembered to do it yet. Do Publix flowers count as fresh?

Confessions of a Mindless Consumer

I've recently come to the difficult realization that I am a slob. There, I said it. While I'm confessing, I am also an addict - to clothes, shoes and antique lighting.

But I just found a cure for at least two out of my four major problems. (Winning the lottery would also be a good cure, but I digress.)

Actually, it's more of a solution or even enabler than a "cure," per se. Behold the wonder that is the Neatnix Slide N Stax:



They're so simple and yet so miraculous! Between each item of clothing is a plastic card that keeps the items separate and easy to slide out without disturbing the rest of the stack. Before stacking, you use the plastic card as a guide for tidy, slim folding. (I bought the corresponding Fold N Stax to get more plastic cards than what comes with the unit.) Another bonus is that it's easy to see what all I own, so I don't end up buying three red shirts - hmm, too late for that one.

I wish I'd thought to take a photo of that shelf "before." It used to be three distinct stacks - pants, shirts and, um, other shirts - but had devolved into one big jumble that rained clothes down on my head whenever I tried to choose a pair of pants. And let's not even talk about the shirts!

Here, I'll show you some other photos of my closet/bedroom chaos, and you'll get the idea:



About half of my summer shoe collection has navigated out of the closet and onto the floor in front of the dresser.



My bedroom closet. Believe it or not, my clothes did not cause that swayback in the rod. It was there before we bought the house.



My bedroom armoire. This originated as the place for my winter sweaters and my few dresses and pajamas. But then I bought a lot more sweaters, dresses and pajamas. It's also overflow from the other closet.

I'll wait while you turn your nose up in disgust at my meaningless, consumer-driven life.

Just so you know, I'm posting these photos not because I'm proud but because I'm ashamed. It's getting ridiculous. Not so long ago, I had trouble finding something to wear in the morning because I didn't have much to choose from. Now I have trouble because I have TOO MUCH to choose from. This is what happens to a girl when she loses a few pounds and also starts up an eBay business selling clothes that she happens to love.

We could play a "Where's Waldo?" with these photos. See if you can find the following:

My T-shirt from 10th grade gym class (hint: our mascot was the Patriot)
18 blue items (not counting navy)
My new favorite accessory, a red belt
2 cherry print items
25 pairs of shoes (visible)
2 cotton candy colored items
Evidence that I have lost my mind completely ... oh wait, that's this post.

But don't worry, I have ordered more Slide N Stax. Even if I am a mindless consumer, at least I can be a neat one.

Pity the 1/32nd Irish

All week I've been reminding myself about St. Patrick's Day. It's one of my favorite holidays, and I was afraid I'd forget to celebrate with the wearing o' the green.

So apparently, I psyched myself up for it so much that I jumped the gun. I'm 1/32nd Irish (my great-great-great-grandfather Thomas Hurley was from Ireland), but I guess the other 31/32nds of my genetic makeup won out.



Yesterday I woke up completely convinced that it was Friday, March 17. I decked myself out in St. Patty's gear - shamrock-covered tank top, dangly shamrock earrings, even green eyeshadow. Plus, blue jeans because duh, it was casual Friday!

I left for work, happily thinking about my distant Irish heritage. I had a package to put in the mailbox, so I stopped at the end of the driveway. I saw our and our neighbor's garbage cans at the road and wondered why they were still there on a Friday (garbage day is Thursday). Still didn't make the connection.

Then as I was picking my way across the yard in my heels, a truck passed by on the road. I thought about the men in the truck seeing me in my St. Patty's gear, and for some reason, a wave of embarrasment washed over me. Why? I tried to shake it off. Then suddenly it hit me! OH LORDY IT's THURSDAY!

Even then, I had to think hard to make sure it really was Thursday. I thought back to what I'd done and worn the days before (what I wear is always the way I keep track of days, weird I know).

I went back in the house and changed into something non-shamrock-related, then called my boss on the way to work and told him the pathetic story why I would be late. He didn't find it as funny as I did ... he wasn't mad; he probably just thinks I'm very lame.

So today, on actual St. Patrick's Day, I can't muster the same enthusiasm for "Danny Boy" and leprechauns. I put away the shamrock-covered tank top and went to a simpler green polo. I still have the shamrock earrings and the green eyeshadow, though.

What I wanna know is where's the green beer when you need it?

Where the Magic Happens

As promised, a photo of the bedroom curtains and new summer bedspread:



I Photoshopped the wall color because it's hard to concentrate on the curtains and bedspread with three big patches of paint in different shades of blue glaring at you from over the bed. They've been there so long I hardly notice them until I see them on my computer screen.

I could've waited to show a photo after the walls are actually painted, but then we all might be dead, and our grandchildren will have inherited the Internet. Before the walls can be painted, the closets must be torn out, and before they can be torn out, the new closet must be built, and before it can be built, the bathroom must be finished. So sometime in 2075.

The Photoshop-painted walls are more pastel than I wanted. For some reason, Photoshop would not let me paint them the lovely, mushroomy is-it-purple-or-is-it-gray? color I had in mind. The whole time I was playing with the photo, Darwin kept popping into the room and making references to Pepto Bismol, but by then it was too late, and I was past the point of caring.

Anyway, you get the idea. I still lovelovelove those curtains, and I like the bedspread. Though the sheets feel awfully coarse after a winter of sleeping on divinely soft flannel sheets. Fortunately, I have a matching peachy-orange flannel set ... they just need to be washed first.

We made the mistake of not washing our other set of flannel sheets before we put them on the bed, so we were forever getting brown fuzzlets stuck in various crevices. The first time we took the sheets off the bed, we found an army of fuzzlets gathered at the foot of the bed. With that and the cat hair tumbleweeds floating in the corners of the bedroom, we could've knitted a sweater. Not pretty, my friends. Not pretty.

What's Your Favorite Spot?

Reading Minor Adjustments' post the other day on the Flickr group Corners of My Home, I started thinking about my own home in terms of snapshots. The things your eye captures in one glance. What other people would infer about me if they saw just my kitchen table - half-covered with catalogs and opened Priority Mail boxes - or my little semi-circle nightstand - piled high with three unfinished books, a flashlight, my obligatory tube of lip balm, and a photo frame album full of our engagement photos.

It's so easy to get used to things; my eyes travel right past the junk on the table until I don't see it anymore. But as I searched for a pretty corner to take a photo of, I found myself looking at my house the way a stranger would, or any first-time visitor. I noticed a pile of paint cans by the back door and tried to think how long they'd been there. I noticed the dust on the music cabinet and the cat hair dustballs lurking in the corners. I noticed the Christmas tree still up in February - yes, again - and the way the vinyl in the kitchen is peeling up at the seams.

There wasn't much in the house I could show off yet. There was detritus of some kind in every frame.

And yet, looking at all the house's little flaws - many of them caused by my own laziness - I thought less about ways to improve it and more about how I love it. So I decided that instead of posting pictures of pretty corners that will make you sigh with envy, I will tell you about my favorite spot in the house.

I think it is our bedroom. There's a window right behind my nightstand, so when I open my eyes in the morning, the first thing I do is look outside. Somehow, seeing the sun shining and pretty green things and the white rails of my porch is so refreshing. It helps that right now, the bedroom is the warmest room in the house. And that I love sleeping. And other things. ;-)

The bedroom is just as much of a junk heap as the rest of the house - maybe more - but it is bright, warm, and - like all the best parts of our house - chock full of potential.

So now I want to know - what's your favorite spot?

Farewell, Sweet Slippers

Last week I retired this year's set of house slippers. My slippers get abused and overworked. They're intended to keep toes toasty, and that's about it. But my slippers live a life of "scandal and passion."

They climb ladders, collect the mail, bash ceramic tile, demolish walls, plant flowers, spray paint oven doors, glue shingles on a dollhouse roof, protect me from dead roaches, rip out carpet, paint cabinets, strip woodwork, take photographs ... oh, and keep my toes toasty.

With all that work, my slippers don't last long. I got these last Christmas from Old Navy for $10. Now, look at them:




Not pretty. Slippers, you have served me well.

My new slippers (K-mart, $7.99, pink) have rubber soles, so I'm hoping they will make it more than 10 months. But I won't be surprised if they don't. We have a lot more work to do, my slippers and I.

Glitchy Weekend

I discovered a little (OK, big) glitch this morning in the site. As in, I forgot to change the link to this blog on the main page. Oops. Sorry to anyone who tried to access this site over the weekend and got the dreaded Page Not Found.

This weekend was pretty uneventful. We went to the Walters Family Christmas on Saturday, and every last one of my cupcakes was gobbled up. I always seem to make the desserts the kids like. Maybe 'cause I'm still a kid at heart? Do any other adults out there like sprinkles on their frosting?

Sunday we lounged around all day watching a marathon of the miniseries, Stephen King's The Shining on SciFi. It's nowhere near as good as the original - mostly due to that annoying kid who can't seem to breathe through his nose - but it was entertaining enough for background noise while I worked on a doll for a friend and Darwin napped with Alistair on the sofa.

Sunday night we made a gingerbread house from a kit. Darwin turned out to be an expert at making frosting icicles hang off the roofline. The house has saggy windowsills and a crooked door ... some old house lover needs to come along and rescue this thing. Just like many old houses, it looks pretty darn good if viewed from a distance, but if you get too close you start noticing all the work that needs to be done.

Things on My Kitchen Counter

Pliers
Paper plates
2 cans shave gel
Insurance bill
Pay stub
7 empty soda cans
Christmas lights
Instructions to mini tape recorder
2 of Mom's casserole dishes
Beginner's box of Sculpey III clay

Combine all ingredients. Mix well. Let cure for 168 hours. Makes one disorganized kitchen.