One of those miserable jobs.

I was going to use the “s” word,  but thought better of it.  Even though it had to do with plumbing.

And you know,  each and every time I’m about half way through one of these situations, I make a mental note of just exactly why plumbers charge what they do.  And it doesn’t have to have anything to do with human excrement to be a “shit” job either.

It’s that whole “lying on your back while trying to prop up your head” program that makes it a “shit” job.  At least for me anyway.  I’m utterly amazed at anyone who can lie under a car (for example) and work away without their neck muscles being on fire after a very short period of time.  I never could do it.

Anyway,  we have company coming again,  and so this time around I figured I’d change out the vanity taps in the downstairs quarters.  Up until now I had been leaving the cold supply shut off, and then turning it on once it was needed.  And just letting it drip. That tap has been leaking for oh I don’t know,  a few years now?   And since Daughter Number Two and her significant other haven’t been living down there since they bought their place what?  three years ago?  there hasn’t been a pressing need.  

Until I decided that today was the day.

Out with the old.

 

And in with the slightly newer.  

 

This Moen single lever gizmo looks all fine and dandy,  but it’s the one that I took out of the upstairs “powder room” (such a goofy name) to be replaced with a newer model.   Last year some time.

You may remember. 

OK, maybe you don’t.

 

It’s been damaged by chemicals that were a wee bit too strong for the finish.  I take full responsibility for this.  I got carried away.  What can I say?    Well,  “Don’t use harsh chemicals on your delicate little fixtures”,  is exactly what I would say.  Gah!

 

Naturally,  it was a miserable job,  since everything under there was corroded,  making it a challenge to get things undone.  I mean,  normally you just remove the entire sink and work on it with the sink upside down,  but the sink stays.   For now.

And again naturally,  one of the supply lines started to leak.   Had to do with the washer thingy being somewhat crushed.  Not worth it to go to Home Despot and try and find a little rubber washer thingy,  BUT I had a couple spare supply lines out in my box of tricks.

So that solved that dilemma.   You can see there where there’s more corrosion.  My fault.  Totally.  Had a container of the aforementioned “harsh chemical”  sitting in there.   Stupid stupid stupid.

The entire arrangement is well over twenty years old and will be undergoing some sort of reno at some point,  but not just yet.

 

Speaking of which,  we’ve declared a moratorium on ordering new stuff,  ‘cause Muggins here is getting behind when it comes to getting it all installed. 

 

Can you figure out what the next little project will be?

I’ve only been meaning to do this for like,  ever.

So, sometime before the fall I’ll get around to sorting this out.  I mean,  it’s not like we desperately need a new insert,  but anything would be better than what we have in there right about now.

And that would be this,

 

….rather sad example of a wood burning something or other.    A real POS,  unfortunately.

I *guess* it used to work.  And I’ve tried to make it function.  Trust me.  Bought a new gasket for the door, cleaned it as best I could, but it smokes and stinks.  I think there was just too much crap that got burned in there.  That ultimately never works.  I do think that that was why there was a chimney fire way back in the day when the house belonged to the previous owner. (my late father-in-law). Too much junk went into the fire. 

Soooo,  when the fire department arrived and poured cold water onto the hot chimney flue,  that was the end of the flue.  Hence the stove/insert/whatever that thing is.   Wish me luck.

 

Not sure what the rest of the day will bring.  It’s now sunny out,  and T.C. and I may go back to digging out the garlic chives,  or she may wish to do a final inspection on the downstairs.  Oh,  and there’s some talk of “Slovenian Homework”.   There’s that class on Saturday morning after all.

Right.

 

Keep those sticks on the ice.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

When an apple fritter calls your name.

An no,  I have no pictures of apple fritters.   And it wasn’t my idea.  Honestly.

There was a casual mention of some *thing* called an apple fritter by Travelling Companion earlier today,  and being the weaker member of the team,  I couldn’t put it out of my head.  To make matters worse,  there was no line-up at the Tim Hortons drive thru. 

I mean,  that’s not even fair.

By the way,  that’s not the way I would spell “Drive Through”,  but I guess all those extra letters would be too expensive.

Anyway,  I guess I forgot just how sweet those things are?  Holy Moly!   I used to eat those things??

I realise a person’s taste (taste buds?)  does tend to change over the years,  but I sure couldn’t have eaten more than one.  I mean,  many (many!) years ago I could knock back Cinzano Vermouth without batting an eye,  but not anymore.  Ever had that sh*t? 

Oh it’s sweet, now let me tell ya.

It’s curious what you get used to.  Or unused to.   Whatever you do,  don’t put any sugar in my coffee.  My head will explode.

 

I was on my way to Home Despot,  and those sneaky buggers put a Tim Hortons right in the way.  The noive.

 

But this isn’t about the apple fritters.  It was just something that got stuck in my head.  

As soon as I got home,  I realised that there was some gardening type of sillyness to do,  so I dutifully left the small bag of fritters on the kitchen counter to joint the ranks.   And that’s when they were really calling me.

I mean,  I was digging in the garden yesterday as well,  but it didn’t involved getting down on bended knee,  so to speak.

 

We’re once again battling the dreaded garlic chives that are destined to take over every patch of dirt.  The only thing we’re really interesting in saving are the roses,  but I’d just as soon not dig up any daffodils,  even though there were a few chives that had mingled in with them.  The bastards. 

Once or twice there’s bound to be a few casualties.

 

It’s that green shit down at the end.  Even Round Up is reportedly ineffective on this stuff.  You just have to dig it up,  separate the dirt from the roots and toss ‘em in the bins to be picked up by the municipality.   It’s not even a good idea to put them in the compost here on the property,  since they’ll just keep growing.  

Too bad they have no four legged enemies.

 

Like this little guy, who thinks that by sitting really,  really still,  I can’t see him?   And that’s not taken with a telephoto either.

 

I happened to mention to T.C. over dinner that I had a slight headache,  and lo and behold,  T.C. said she had a similar headache yesterday after inhaling the fumes from these stupid garlic chives. 

Not sure what’s going on there, but I’d really rather not break out the respirator to dig around in the garden.  Seriously?

We’ll get them all though. Not the bunnies.  The chives.  It’ll just take a few days. 

Forget the bunnies,  I’d never win that battle.

 

Speaking of dinner,  we hauled some of those frozen pirogues out of the freezer,  along with some “chicken patties”. 

Pirogues in fried onions.  Oh ya baby!

 

I’m not sure if I mentioned the Chicken Patties. Making these things is rather involved and requires a good half a day.  That’s a rough guess on my part,  since I managed to be elsewhere during that little adventure.  I’d share the recipe,  but I think it died on the old laptop.  T.C. has a hard copy somewhere. 

Meh,  it’s complicated.  You don’t want to know.

 

OK,  if I remember,  I’ll try and dig it up and post it somehow.

This whole website/blogging thing still leaves me staring at the screen like a deer in the headlights most of the time,  but that’s just the way she goes.   I’m not worried about it.  Really.

I suppose I could have a “recipe widget”.   It is possible.  I’ll need to form a committee.  And maybe take some yoga.

 

That’s about all I have in my pea brain at the moment.  We keep hoping it’ll warm up a bit,  but I suspect it’ll be hot and humid before we can turn around twice. 

Best to be careful what we wish for.

 

Thanks for stopping in.

We’re out of toilet paper!

OK wait.  Not really.  These are however,  words that I never want to hear.

Ever.

 

And let me just interject here to say I was going to hit “Publish” later on last night,  and I failed miserably.  Started watching season four of “Game of Thrones” and that was it for the evening.

Now on with the show…..

 

I’ve been mocked for having an abundant supply,  shall we say?   “You should see how much toilet paper we have stored downstairs!”    Like it’s some kind of prized possession.  Like a comic book collection or such.  And by the way,  May the fourth be with you.  (Too late with that now of course).

I’m sure any house guests we have couldn't’ care less.

 

But where was I?

Right.  Shit tickets.  You never want to run out.  Which is precisely why I went for a walk this morning yesterday morning down to the local grocery store with my twenty something gallon big plastic bag that I have saved for just the purpose from “Toys Be Us”  or some such place.  

Naturally the young cashier asks,  “Do you need a bag?”,  at which point I haul this honkin’ big bag out of my pocket and unfurl it like the main sail on a cat boat.  “I think I’m OK”,  was my reply.  

She said not a word.

 

Oh,  for the unknowing,  this is a “cat boat”.

 

See?  It’s got a pretty big sail.  There’s only one, and it’s the mainsail.

Now I’ll throw you some sailboat trivia.  This example happens to be a Nonsuch,  which was a design by George Hinterhoeller.   It’s a very short article,  worth the read.

I guess more precisely it’s “Canadian Sailing Trivia”,  but whatever. 

 

One of the other “rules to live by”,  is the notion that I choose not to ever pay full price for toilet paper.   That and paper towels.  I have an abundant supply of those too.  They go on sale.  I empty the shelves.  OK no,  I don’t really “empty the shelves”,  that would something akin to getting carried away.  I just take along a huge bag.    See above.

 

Today (it’s Monday now)  we’re doing some more sorting.   This time with the bed sheets.  Oh my goodness do we have an abundance.

AND,  since one of my sisters-in-law bought a cottage last year,  I have an idea where some of them might be going.  Eventually.

I also took a few minutes to add some time to my cell phone.  It’s a pay as you go.

I lent it to T.C. last Thursday since she had to take a trip up to Guelph to visit a sister.  

Look closely at the balance.   See a slight problem?

Even when I try and mind my Ps and Qs I still manage to get into trouble.   In my defence,  the last few several minutes were depleted when there was an accidental “pocket dial” to Daughter Number Two.  

And it wasn’t me!

Just sayin’.

 

Looks like we’ll finally have a nice day around here.

 

Keep it between the ditches.

 

Thanks for stopping in.