Let's See if This Works

It appears the problem was with each individual post having no .html extension. Okay, I may have fixed it for future posts, though I'll have to fix the old ones individually ... or else they're impossible to fix.

Work, blog, work!

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.

Primed and Ready, Part Deux

I primed the rest of the bathroom this weekend (with no help from Darwin, thanks a lot honey), so that means no more scraping! Heeheeeheeeeeeee, I'm giddy because I'm so very sick of scraping that bathroom and getting covered head to toe in lead paint dust. If I die an early death of lead poisoning, you'll know why.



Darwin started caulking the big cracks between the beadboard (an undertaking John from The Devil Queen is also enduring). He only did this out of guilt because he went hunting on Saturday instead of helping me and went to his singing on Sunday instead of helping me and took off work today to go hunting instead of fixing the toilet in the half bath, which we knew was leaking but discovered only this morning had filled up the space between the old wood floor and the plywood on top with water, so that it squished up through the nail holes with every step.

But I'm not bitter. No, I don't mind at all that our wood floor - the one we were planning to restore - is now soaking in toilet water. I'm totally fine with that. Go on honey, playing me-tough-hunter-gatherer-man is way more important.

At least the caulking looks good. It makes the wall look about 1 million times better and will hopefully keep out drafts and make our bathroom cozier.

You can see the "before" on the left and "after" on the right in this pic:

Whiny Selfish Lady

This is my crude drawing of the bookshelf we're planning to build in the space under the bathroom window. There's already a cut-out in the wall from where the previous owners moved up the window to accommodate their bathtub. The bookshelf will indent into the wall a few inches, and we're framing it out in 1x6 trim to match the window.



Darwin bought the materials for it earlier in the week, but still, I'm getting concerned again about our bathroom progress. All we got done last weekend was a little scraping and sanding. This weekend Darwin wants to hunt on Saturday (this is the last week of deer season, thank goodness) and may have to go to a "singin'" on Sunday.

He also wants to spend every spare moment working on his project truck, which has been in progress for the duration of our marriage (4.5 years). I think he feels about it the way I feel about the bathroom: it’s been so long, and we’re so close!

I know I should be understanding; these are his hobbies, and he allegedly enjoys them. All work and no play makes Darwin a dull boy.

Besides, he hasn't hunted that much - not nearly enough to justify the hunting club fee, but whatever - and he hasn't had many singing engagements lately - fall and winter are their slow seasons.

And I'm better about it now than I used to be. He has so many hobbies and so many people clamoring for his time that I felt a little neglected. Finally I just gave up the moping and developed a million hobbies of my own – dollmaking (since abandoned), collecting dolls (also abandoned except for the occasional moment of weakness), the dollhouse (on hiatus), scrapbooking, blogging, writing, selling clothes on eBay, designing and running my mom’s online costume store, ballroom dancing, and of course, shopping, shopping, shopping.

So now I’m busy, he’s busy, and our work schedules are at odds half the time. Even when we can spend weeknights together, it’s only for a couple of hours before he has to retire early. That means the weekends are all we’ve got; we have to cram in time together, time with friends, time with family, and work on the house.

That’s why I get a little peevish when something else interferes with the weekends, especially something unexpected.

Like when Darwin’s dad called to tell him about the singing on Sunday. It’s the worst kind, the dreaded “all day singing.” The name says it all. It requires Darwin to leave the house at 9 a.m., attend the morning service and sing a few songs, stay for lunch, then sing a few sets after lunch. Some churches are faster than others – it depends on how many of the church’s attendees want to get up and sing their own “specials” – but it will typically last until 3 p.m., after which Darwin has to help load up the group’s equipment and then drive an hour or more back home.

And there’s pretty much a zero percent chance he’ll eagerly shuck his church clothes, dive into old clothes and throw himself into working on the bathroom. It’ll be 4 p.m. or later; it will be getting dark outside. We’ll want dinner in a couple of hours. Then we’ll want TV time.

Another day, another weekend will pass with little to no progress, and the bathroom’s completion will move one more week later into the fuzzy future.

So such phone calls about singings leave us both in an awkward position. I want to say, “If you go to that singing, I will kill you with a waffle iron!” But I don’t want to be the nag; he should have the right to make his own decisions.

He knows how much I want him to say he can’t make it this weekend, but he knows, too, how much his dad wants him to say yes. Half the reason – maybe more than half – he is still in this group is because his dad wants him to be. His dad hasn’t yet recovered from him moving out of their house to marry me.

So poor Darwin is stuck. Either choice will make someone unhappy. I usually vote for making me happy, but I can see why it wouldn’t be so simple for him.

In this case, he didn’t respond at all. He didn’t say yes or no. He changed the subject to hunting, something he is already doing with his dad this weekend.

So I don’t know yet whether we’ll be working on the bathroom this weekend or if I’ll be sulking at home, priming by myself or trying to figure out how to build a bookshelf.

Daydream

When I become a multi-millionaire, this is what I want: a small apartment in Venice in a quiet neighborhood like Santa Croce.

In general, I have no burning desire for vast wealth. I would like more wealth, of course, enough to buy Rejuvenation light fixtures whenever I want, a house full of antiques, a picket fence for the front yard, and an exterior paint job done by someone other than myself.

But it's only since Venice that I've daydreamed about being one of those fascinating turn-of-the-last-century expatriate writers who set up shop in Venetian palazzos and other fabulous places to write their great novels.

Suddenly it feels so desperately unfair that I can't hop a plane to Europe or Canada or anywhere on a whim. I want to go back so, so badly, and yet I can't! It makes me want to stomp my foot and roll on the floor kicking and screaming!

I admit I was a somewhat spoiled child, and I've grown up into a somewhat spoiled adult. I've been lucky in life and love, and I'm used to getting most anything I want, within reason. And I don't like waiting for it!

So it's particularly painful that my sudden desire to travel long and often - and not just travel but have the time and money to live in Venice or another city for a few months out of the year - cannot be realized. If we continue on our current career paths, we will never be able to afford a $1.5 million apartment in Venice, and we will never have a month to spare to live in it.

But there is something I can do. I can save.

If we set aside 4,000 extra dollars this year, that will pay for another trip. I reevaluated our budget spreadsheet in preparation for the new year, and there are plenty of ways we can cut back. Make that I can cut back. I have an online shopping addiction in need of a 12-step program.

Our bathroom only requires two more purchases - the faucet and the vanity light - and I already have more clothes than one person can wear in a year. So I'm declaring a moratorium on buying.

And instead of spending all my downtime online shopping, maybe I will begin working on my book again. You never know which book will capture the public's imagination; it could be mine. Then I really could become that chic author figure, typety-typing away on that third-floor terrace overlooking the canals and the red roofs of Venice.

Simplify

It's been one thing after another around here lately. Illness, surgery, recovery, eBay drama, business trip, more eBay drama, different illness. And there's more to come - a trip to Atlanta this weekend, getting my mom's costume website up for business before I leave for Italy, and eBay drama part III.

For the past several months, I've been selling stuff on eBay. I sell more each month and make more money each month, but naturally it's been taking more time.

I really enjoy it, and we all know I love money. But it's getting to the point where I can't even relax at home. I have to be doing something on eBay all the time. Taking photos of stuff, measuring stuff, listing stuff, shipping stuff, buying more stuff to sell. And even when I'm not doing that, I'm checking just one more time to see if anything's sold or staring at my inventory spreadsheet and planning what to list next.

My psyche is suffering for it, and so is the house. Our once charmingly cluttered house has crossed over into pigsty territory. No progress has been made on the bathroom in weeks, and I've begun feeling hopeless instead of hopeful.

Recently two unpleasant developments - a fee increase and drama over photos - have thrown a wrench in my previously smooth-running eBay machine. I think this is a sign that I should slow down. I just wish this had happened BEFORE I bought a big bunch of stuff to sell.

Still, I'm happy to simplify my life a bit. To Darwin's great relief, I'll have time to nag him about working on the house again.

Multiple Personalities

One of the annoying interesting elements of living in an old house is that each door has its own personality.

The master bedroom door opens with a whinny and closes with a thunk.

The guest bedroom door is a trickster. It appears to shut normally, but a few minutes later, you'll hear it creeeeeeeaking open. Though you know what's going on, it still freaks you out for a second. To get it to close properly, people without much upper body strength (aka me) have to hold on the doorknob, set their feet and lean back, using their weight to tug the door solidly against the frame. Sometimes even this only holds out for an hour or two, and the creeeeeeaking will begin again.

The office door squeaks. The laundry room door sticks. The back door has taught me to automatically pivot out my foot to catch the screen door while I turn my key in the lock.

The front door handle - one of those where your thumb presses down on a metal tab - sticks so stubbornly that those without much upper body strength (again, me) always feel a moment of panic, thinking they've somehow locked themselves outside in the cold after going to get the mail.

The worst is the master bathroom door. You must grip the doorknob lightly - but DO NOT turn it - and yank the door sharply behind you. If there's a resounding slam, you've been successful. If it's a wimpy, muffled slam, try again. If someone is sleeping in the next room, you can pretty much bet it will not shut on the first try, and you'll have to slam it over and over and over until the person (usually Darwin) is thoroughly awake.

Only two doors in the house open and close properly - the half bathroom/butler pantry door and the door between master bathroom and bedroom. Each time I close them, I smile. Such a sweet, simple joy - a door that doesn't require mental or physical olympics.

Maybe other old house owners don't have this much trouble with doors, but we also have cats. They aren't allowed in certain areas of the house (no cat hair on my clean laundry, please), so if we don't shut the door just right, a sneaky little Orangey Boy will find his way inside. Henry is particularly talented at teasing open doors that appear at first glance to be closed.

Is there a way to fix this? Probably. One by one and slowly, we could banish each door's personality problems. But that much therapy is expensive.

Seriously, I wonder which is worse - the daily frustration of using these doors or the frustration of figuring out what's wrong with each of them and fixing it. Eh.

For now, we'll keep living with it. We've got too many projects already.

Let's look on the bright side - if we're still living here when we're old, these doors will keep us mentally active.

Self Reproach

Has it really been five whole months? Working on my house scrapbook this weekend, I realized we've got very little accomplished.

Here's what we've done:

Move and unpack.

Pull up hideous green rug in master bedroom and wax part of the floor.

Demolish ugly '70s built-in desk in kitchen.

Remove old stove vent and install microwave.

Install dishwasher.

Remove old sink and faucet and install new.

Prime and paint most of the cabinets.

Add trim to a few cabinets and paint more trim.

In five months, an entire house could be built.

Then again, an entire crew works to build a house. It's just me and Darwin - with some minor help thrown in from our parents here and there - and just our weekends.

And Christmas interrupted.

And ... and ... I'm sure I can come up with some more excuses if I try.

I read about a million other house blogs (check out Houseblogs.net if you haven't yet), and it seems everybody is making more progress than us. Are we just lazy bums? Are we too busy with other things? Are we making things difficult for ourselves in some way? Or is it because we picked a massive project for our first one?

This weekend we spent half of Saturday working on the kitchen. I primed and painted trim, while Darwin worked on the hinges for the lower half of the kitchen.

Then we went to Darwin's brothers house, where he worked on his truck with his brother, and I hung out with my sister-in-law, niece and nephew.

On Sunday we slept incredibly late (for us) and laid around the house ALL DAY watching poltergeist movies and Office Space. Then I worked on my scrapbook some more.

I am torn. Half of me feels guilty for taking a break, but the other half of me says, "It's OK to take it at your own pace. You'll burn out if you spend every spare moment working on the house." I do not want to burn out because there is a LOT of work left to do.

Maybe I'm just getting impatient. I want my neat, pretty, finished kitchen. And I'm eager to move on to something else - painting the hallway maybe, or the guest bathroom, or the living room or the dining room. There are so many pretty colors waiting to be chosen.