Old House Woes

Old House Woes — 8 Comments
19
Sep 11

Musing on losing the thrill for a Chippendale highboy.

My neighbor  — artist, Etsy entrepreneur and bloggette, Trish Jones and I used to walk in the dead black of morning.

This was a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Long before we both had blogs.

Before blogs I think we (women as a group) talked with each other and discussed life one-on-one, not worldwide.

I remember a point one morning when I blurted out,

“By this age, I thought I’d have a nice house, with nice things and now I’m starting to realize if it hadn’t happened by now — it’s not going to happen.”

Insert the strains of violin and a little quiver in my voice.

Trish said something similar, but if you look through her blog, her natural decorating talent has burst forth in the intervening years and she is creating that house.

*            *            *

As for me, I have in approximately nine years since that comment, come upon metal baskets that sit on my dining room table that I cleverly switch out seasonal decorations.

Here was what I came up with for this summer.

Spectacular, I know.

 

The other day I was trying to switch out my shells for something more fall.

This happened.

One thing great about cheap thin glass. It will shatter into a billion bits.

 

A few years ago…this would have made me cry and moan and wring my pre-muscle bound knuckles over how I never can or never will have ANYTHING.

I can’t worry about that stuff anymore.

Enough time has passed that I realize how fast time passes.

I can’t worry that my mother will never understand why I can’t get the house together and can’t throw coffees.

One baby is a senior. My 10-year-old daughter is texting who knows who and my eight year old will be my third child in braces as of tomorrow.

Waterford breaks. It’s nice if it can be passed down to another generation, but really?

Lots you care about coffees and Waterford crystal. Tradition does matter.

This is not a thumbing of my nose to white linens and Windsor chairs.

I just don’t lust after 300-year-old highboys anymore.  Not that I can’t admire an aristocratic long-legged fellow leaning against a neighbor’s wall.

 I’m just more a gourd and metal basket kind of girl.

Have you ever broken anything that devastated you? (Obliterating a wedding gift does get to me.)

 

 

Family / Food / Life in Madison / Old House Woes — 2 Comments
12
Feb 11

Musing on steaks.

We went out to eat as a family last night. Well, the two boys and us. Our daughter had a previous engagement.

At the Icehouse in downtown Madison, I ordered the spinach salad and my son ordered this.

  

 Can you tell what it is?

The first clue might be the protruding

bone.

I enjoyed my salad and along with my other son’s chicken tenders with french fries and my husband’s fried shrimp.

Teenage son took his part of his steak home. I was not very full because I exercised restraint  ordering a salad.

This morning, I got up and fixed teenager leftover steak and eggs before his practice SAT today.

Okay, I didn’t and come to think of it, he’s about to leave and hasn’t had anything to eat.

Better run sharpen his pencils and start his oatmeal.

Life in Madison / Old House Woes — No Comments
24
Feb 10

I think I smell something burning. And I don’t smoke.

Yesterday dashing out the door for an interview, I ran into the kitchen and smelled… 

Cigarettes and burning rubber. Strong cigarettes and burning rubber. 

That’s not good when no one in your house smokes (at least not often and we would never, ever admit to it publicly) and the nearest NASCAR racetrack is 60 miles away. It’s especially not good when you live in a house that is over 100 years old and electricians stare at your box and shake their head. So I cancelled my appointment and called Scott Branch of Branch Electric. Then I called my husband and he immediately thinks $$$$. So then I had to be voice of reason and calmly say, “Let’s be thankful that the house hasn’t burned to the ground…yet.” He had to agree. 

I opened the cabinet door and opened the door to the fuse box and this is what I saw. 

 

See, it’s really old. Pretty colored fuses that I have no idea about even after living with this box for 10 years. A fuse blows and I just stick one in. If I don’t happen to have one of the right color, I try anything. It usually  works till I can get the right color. Or keeps working till it blows because I forgot about getting the right color. 

You can see what it looks like, but you can’t smell it. 

Scott did the minute he came through the door. 

Here’s what he showed me. 

The nekkid fuse box. Not a pretty sight.

No it would be be a pretty sight, even if  in focus. He spotted the problem and fixed it, though it was a temporary fix. We’re going to have to get a breaker box soon, but shh.. we won’t talk about that now. $$$$ 

Thankfully all was okay, but when Scott was moving  those wires around I was just glad he knew what he was doing. Electricity is nothing you want to mess with if you don’t know anything about. 

I asked him what to do if there was a fire. He recommended a type of fire extinguisher, but reminded me — it had to be a chemical product. He showed me what to rip out if the thing started smoking. Of course, he didn’t say “rip”, but that’s what I would certainly do…while screaming. 

Thank goodness for good electricians. Thank goodness our house is okay and we won’t talk about $$$ spent on old houses anymore today. 

Except if you want to vent and old house $$$ story, please feel free to comment away. 

I promise not to remind your spouse about all the $$$$ they’ve spent on the old house you wanted but they didn’t. (Johnny dearest…that didn’t mean you. Okay, that did mean you, but you are a trooper. I think you kind of like this house now. Maybe a little bit?)