photo du jour

What we encountered on our walk to the store: 
Dog or Gargoyle.  You decide.

This sighting will soon become a rare one.  The owners said that this was the last night he got to sit on the roof b/c he doesn’t come down anymore to go to the bathroom.

*Beware* of the 60 year old double-hung, storm window!

Who knew windows could be so scary? But they’ve already run off the first window guy, who said (as soon as we let him in the house), “Are ALL your windows like those in the front?” “Oh, hello Window Guy #1. My name is Carolyn… we’re only trying to help put food on your family’s table. Nice to meet you.” After a quick look-about, he left saying he’d bring back an estimate. We haven’t heard from him since.

So tonight we met Window Guy #2 with a reserved hopefulness. I was afraid that as soon as he’d pull up he’d lean out the window, look my home up & down, and yell “NEXT!” Then my home would have to climb back onto the bus and pretend he wasn’t her type anyway. Oh stop it, we all know you watch that show when no one is looking.

Not only did Window Guy #2 not NEXT my home, he took her out to dinner and a movie. Thrice the experience we had with Window Guy #1. Now we can actually open them up and have a cross draft. Who ever thought this would be that exciting.

I like this post. Wait, no I don’t. Wait, yes I do.

We went to Blockbuster last night to rent Woody Allen’s most recent film and the cashier tried to cross sell us the latest deal.. You can rent however many movies/games you want right from the store & there’s no late fees, but you have to rent from the same store every time. I told him we couldn’t because we’re fickle. And then, in my head, I giggled.

First off, I love that word. Fickle. I like how it’s pronounced… how your tongue rests for a juuust a beat longer than normal, right where the roof of your mouth meets your teeth. Dr. Benson from KSU would be so proud that I’m even discussing tongue placements with you. We spent an entire semester dissecting Spanish dialects and where the sound originates in your mouth/throat & also where you place your tongue throughout the pronunciation of a word. My final project was comparing the Andalucian pronunciation with the standard Castillian. I later studied in Andalucia and realized quickly how tongue placement is thrown out the window when the horse you’re riding decides that he wants to take a scenic route down the side of a mountain instead of staying on the trail.

But more importantly, what I like most about the word fickle is the immediate image I have of Lucy Ricardo convincing both herself & her husband that she can’t go out into the living room to see Bill Holden. That’s the main reason I use the word. It’s my own personal homage to one of my favorite t.v. characters.

Here is the scene in question. If you have time, check out this earlier scene with Lucy & Bill Holden in the restaurant. Absolute classic.

No Joke.

Tonight we saw The Dark Knight. I saw it only fitting to bring along our adopted joker hat. We treat him just as if he were one of our natural hats.. One day we’ll sit him down and tell the story of his delivery. How his father selflessly talked with Bacardi girls in tight white tanktops…saving him from who knows what kind of abusive life lay ahead. He probably would’ve been smashed tightly in a cardboard box (A BOX! — it makes me shudder) with other orphaned joker hats, longing for their time in the sun. No, we’ve upgraded him to a top-quality rubbermaid container in our damp & dark basement. What a lucky guy.

Anyway, so he was pretty excited and really took to a good cleaning. Trying to be as sparkly as possible. Look at him…what a ham. Just like his mother.

He was so good the entire day, waiting patiently by the door until it was time to leave.

He begged me to drive. And so because it was a special occasion, I let him steer as I put on makeup.

We waited in line together. He was the one that wanted to get there almost two hours early. It was never our idea…never.

Eventually he got hungry and followed R. up to the food counter. He ended up buying the 3 for $7.50 deal: popcorn, milkduds, & coke (they were out of diet coke).

R. & I thought the movie went well and were getting up to leave when we saw joker’s hat with his hands in the air. He was distraught & offended at the portrayal of his lineage. I think he’s going to start up a blog and boycott the movie. R. & I had fun though….so who cares! Back in the rubbermaid box –er, container– you go!

Lawn Mohawk

welcome. this is our backyard. we haven’t mowed in almost two weeks. rock, paper, scissoring for who’s to mow next wears us out and then neither of us does it. it doesn’t help that the yard is a mishmash of clover, weeds, grass, and what just might be mary jane. not too enticing to make pretty.

one area in particular we call the mohawk. it’s a straight line of grass that grows extremely fast. about 7 months ago, we had our sewer line replaced. (sorry for the two that stayed over that particular weekend when it collapsed. we tried to use as many candles as we could). well, bob hamilton had to come out and dig up a trench. no, literally. *the* bob hamilton, himself. (i played it cool around him, though.) they basically said that because of us, they are re-working how they give an estimate. apparently, digging through a solid concrete bomb shelter of a house was not an option on the checklist.

we eventually filled the trench with dirt but weren’t expecting the onslaught of greenery and let it be. i like to think we were just giving a patriotic nod to our region’s past… or at least to Brad Pitt.

while R. was mowing, he found a tennis ball that probably belongs to our next door neighbor’s dog. i don’t blame them for not attempting to retrieve it. who knows what was lurking in there. one time i was mowing and the next thing i knew there was gray and white fluff all around me. i thought i ran over a rabbit, but oh..nothing to worry about. it was only a rabbit’s nest. there were four little ones huddling in there.

this is a good shot of the dollar mower i found at a garage sale. it only sputters and breaks down a couple times a mow. and if you can barely make out the tall tree-looking thing growing up on the fence in the pic below. yeah, that’s a weed. i kind of like it.

Biking and Breakfasting

Okay, so instead of writing the obligatory “why am I starting a blog” post, I’m just gonna dive in and make it seem like I’ve been blogging my entire life (which I kind of have — just verbally).

This past weekend R & I went to Rocheport, MO to celebrate keeping up on our laundry throughout the week. Every time I go east from Kansas City, I drive by Rocheport and solemnly vow to stay at a Bed & Breakfast there. That has been circulating in my head for the past 5 years and finally I just upped and booked a room with a few days notice (and if any of you know me, that’s about 165 days too late).

This is where we stayed. The Schoolhouse B&B. You can’t see our window because we were all the way in the attic (Miss Edna’s room). We had to use a tiny skeleton key to open the attic door which resembled the door in Willy Wonka.. you know, the part when you were kinda grossed out at witnessing an old man going to town on snozberry wallpaper, but then were rewarded for your courage when the door opens to a land of huge gummy cinnamon bears? Or were you too busy getting your pink floyd cd to work.

On the way up to the room, we passed by little touches that the owners placed throughout the house. An antique sink full of misc shampoos, conditioners, lotions; a (now empty) cake stand that was once full of home baked cookies; and small antique furnishings strategically placed to make me gasp and squeal after every step. After the third “oh my gosh, look at the [insert noun here — spider, beautiful flower, antique fan, car that’s about to hit us]”, R was ready to go home.

And my favorite part of the room, our little claw foot (“ONE PERSON AT A TIME”, says the owner) bathtub, complete with a wooden screen and two waffle robes.

After dropping off our things, we went to the local winery for a couple glasses before dinner. Halfway down the pebbled path, I realized with shrieking horror that I forgot my wallet at home. Instantly I was transported back to freshman year in college trying to sneak into hole-in-the-wall bars. I mean, maybe if i part my hair in the middle to show off my grayness or.. if i take off my sunglasses to show my eye wrinkles, won’t they *know* that I’m over 21?? Palms sweaty, we find a little table overlooking the bluffs.

R scurried away to buy a bottle of wine and I tried to maneuver onto a picnic table in a mini jean skirt while still upholding our good name. What not to do: step over the bench with one leg and sit down straddling it, thinking you can slyly pull the other leg over the bench and then under the table. Doesn’t work. Everyone is watching you and wondering why you wore granny panties. Meanwhile R returns with a bottle of white and only one wine glass. “You have to be carded to get a glass”. Quickly, i thought of two options: I can drink from the glass and R can drink from the bottle….or I can drink from the glass while R watches me finish the bottle. I opted for neither and we ended up sharing the glass, while I glanced nervously about for the “people who are suspiciously sharing one glass” patrol.

After a wonderful dinner at a quirky bistro (we got to sit on a comfy leather couch to eat– divine!) and an even better breakfast at the B&B, R & I packed up our things and headed for the Katy Trail. An old railroad track that was ripped out and turned into a biking trail. Beauty, beauty, beauty surrounded us as we passed by the MO river and through old train tunnels that now house pigeons & owls. The morning hours went by way too quickly, and soon we returned our bikes and headed home.