First Coat

When one doesn't feel like doing a job, one can always sub-contract it out! I hired my niece to help me paint the garage.





























I was very impressed with how steady she worked. She painted for the entire 8 hours we agreed upon with a short break for lunch, and she did high quality work. I'm quite pleased with the end result. I've still got to put another coat of primer on, then a coat of enamel. Three sides are done, but I hadn't cleaned off the back of the garage in time to paint.

It was nice to get a visit from my sister and my other niece too. My sister read under the trees while my niece watched DVD's on her portable DVD player. THAT was an amazing device...Great color, crisp picture, and clear sound on something a 10 year old carries around. We are a rich country indeed.

Wasting Time

Sometimes I feel that I waste too much time. I call it relaxing, and I have a low stress level because of it, but I'm not getting the things done around the house that I planned on.

I do dishes and laundry, and the occassional clean up when needed, but I spent many hours watching movies or otherwise having fun this weekend instead of working on the garage, which needs painting, or working on the inside of the house, which needs a ton of work. At least I bought the paint and brushes yesterday. I really need to decrease my 'laying around daydreaming" time.

I guess I really need a swift kick in the ass to get me moving. The funny thing is, at work, I'm a machine, working steady most of the time, but when I get home, I don't feel like doing anything. I don't get it.

Senses

Yesterday was a dreary, rainy day. Not too cold, but chilly. Drizzle. A nice day to travel, or stay indoors. Pensive.

I went to my parent's house, but they weren't home. I took a nap on their couch, holding one of the Free Kittens advertised by the sign at the driveway. I had forgotten how soft a kitten is. Kitteny-soft. She purred, and I drifted off to slee....

Friday night, we had a cookout. Neighbors, we sat in the dark, illuminated by firelight, and listened. I was asked if they were cicadas, crickets, katydids, or some other insect. I replied that I knew, unequivocably, that they were bugs. I didn't think they were cicadas, because I remember that distinctive summer sound only in the afternoon. I tried to immitate the sound, starting off low and quiet, then raising both decibels and octaves. Patty laughed. She told me that she assuredly had never heard that sound before.

I cracked open a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream. Poured over ice, the Bailey's was the perfect after dinner liquer. I'd sip some into my mouth, and let it sit there, bathing my tongue. It was cold and sweet, with a hint of bite. "Music by moonlight"

I love the smells one incurs on a motorcycle ride. Diesel fumes of the gear-climbing Peterbuilt, and the stinky incompletely burned gasoline fumes of the 15 year old beater sedan crowd the rare whiff of perfume from a red convertable. The smell of water, hidden by trees, or hills, waiting to be discovered and identified as a stream, or farm-pond. A corn field. Fresh mowed hay. There's the dairy farm. Now the restaurant, advertising home-cooking, makes me salivate and want bacon for breakfast. I think I'll stop here.


"Look at the clouds...what color are they?", Vermeer asks. "White. No. No, they're not white.", Griet answers. "Yellow. Blue...and gray. They are the colors of the clouds."

Sight is my favorite sense. As a child, I'd watch ants and grasshoppers, army men and hotwheels, clear skies, and lightning. As an adult, I watch conduit and cables, womens' behinds and sailboats, sunrises and sunsets. Halfdome and Diamonhead, Navy jets at full afterburner, calves being born, a crack deal, the Pacific ocean, I-71, a woman waking, dust and dirt, paint drying, movies, paintings, drawings, nature, tv and a computer. What could have been. What could be. Life, both real and imagined.

I'm thankful for my senses.

Stumpus the 3 legged dog

I'm thankful for how happy Stumpus makes me, and how happy he is to see me. He's getting old, and I dread the day when he won't come hobbling over to see me.

Meeting Molly

Molly is 2 months old. I'm 43. She's around 10 lbs. I'm 20 times that weight. I'm used to moving heavy electrical switch-gear. My hands are strong from bending copper cables one and a half inches thick into tight places, just making them fit. Today I moved energized 15,000 volt cables out of my way so I could route new cables for tomorrow's job. I feel I could accomplish any task I put my mind to. I'm a big, construction worker, dammit! How come Molly scares the hell out of me?

I thought I had her beat. We had dinner Thursday night, but while we were eating, so was she. I sat next to her waitress (my sister), while she was fed the most nourishing meal for a newborn, while in the privacy of her own tent. I heard her. I saw her. I waved at her. I said hi. Then I left.

Yesterday she was inducted into her parent's church in a ceremony that I missed. In her honor, we had a cook-out and volleyball. It was really a meet-and-greet though. We all had fun, enjoyed the food, played ball, laughed at each other (I took pictures!) then settled in the living room to watch the two teenage boys control their pixels to slash pixel swords at other pixels, while listening to the teenage girls laugh at the pictures, and the boys. Once the kitten pooped on me, I figured it was time to go.

I had almost made it! I had my coat on, and my sunglasses. Keys in hand, I was in the kitchen, headed for the door, when I heard the spine-chilling words: "Shawn, I don't have a picture of you holding Molly." I froze. I was caught. She had bested me. The only thing to do was to make the best of it. I did what I do best in high-pressure, nerve-wracking situations...I winged it. I took hold of her like a football, cradled like Walter Peyton, and gingerly stepped over the mass of legs on the floor (again, like Walter Peyton) to the couch, where I was able to sit down with a sigh, knowing that even if I did fumble the Molly, she wouldn't fall far.

I even warmed up a bit. We played Supergirl! She loves to "fly" on her stomach. I pretened to let loose Supergirl's most heinous weapons, projectile vomiting, on the 3 teenage girls, the 2 teenage boys, Molly's mother, my cousin, and anyone else in the room. Then we settled down for some pictures. I know Molly looked good. I hope I did too.