Get Your Motor Runnin’

Yard Sale Northern California May 2005. This i...

Image via Wikipedia

Saturday morning a little after 8 o’clock in the morning, my son, daughter and I jumped in the van. We were yard sale bound….

First stop, an estate sale way out in the country. It was a beautiful drive, dotted with picturesque white farm houses with multiple red barns, pure Norman Rockwell. We pulled up to the house and jumped out. Hmmm….some stuff was way overpriced if you ask me. There were some nice furniture pieces, but I wasn’t really there for furniture. I didn’t really have any idea what I WAS looking for, but I knew that I’d know it when I saw it. That is my motto. There was also a barn with all sorts of stuff in it. I found 4 school cafeteria trays for a couple of bucks. The melamine kind with the square places for each type of food. So, old school (literally!). My kids looked at me as if I were I was nuts. Like that has ever stopped me. I was thinking they would make wonderful TV trays and the kids were having flashbacks of women wearing hairnets, spooning mystery meat on a plate. Whatever. To each his own.

At this home I also found a cute wooden school chair……child size. I cleaned it up and put it in my library with one of my Boyds bears sitting on it. Perfect.

Next stop, a garage sale. WAY overpriced. If I want to spend that much money I’ll just go to a store and buy it new. The few exceptions to this were some nice vintage embroidered table cloths, pillow shams, and dressy scarves. The lady said she has so many, she was just wanting to thin out her collection. I snagged  some vintage, for a dollar a piece and got a silk scarf for my daughter. Oh, I also found a beautiful framed picture of a young Victorian girl. I wonder whose daughter she was? I always find antique pictures intriguing.

After a couple more stops to pick up a hand held electronic chess game for my daughter, a huge hot chocolate mug, and a Michael Buble’ Christmas CD…..the morning was over.

Even though my son didn’t find anything he wanted today, he enjoyed the hunt. (and getting to drive)

Time to head back home.

Until next time…

 

 

Moving Furniture And Other Big Stuff

sofa club

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I am a recovering furniture mover. I used to constantly change my furniture set up. I’d get tired of the couch being in front of the window, so I’d move it to the wall. The chair didn’t look good in the corner anymore so I’d set it over next to the end table. It was an illness of which I could find no cure.

My late husband drove a truck. The hours for a truck driver are bizarre…sometimes he would get in, in the middle of the night. I’d be awakened by a bang and a thump and a few mutterings under his breath. Opps. I guess he didn’t see that I moved the recliner over to the other side of the room. He never knew what to expect from me.You’d think he would have learned to flip on the lights to check out the layout of the room before preceding into the house.

The past several years I haven’t had the opportunity to move furniture on a near monthly basis. Before we moved, the old house was stacked with boxes. No space to move anything. Once we moved to the new house and unpacked everything, rearranging furniture seemed a chore. The couch has stayed in the same place for the past year and a half. It makes me nervous. Sigh.I’ve worked more on accessories. Easier to move. Less back strain.

Last night I got a little twitch while looking at my library/office. I’m thinking that I want to move the sofa and desk and scoot a few book shelves around. This could be dangerous. It is driving me nutty. I’m not going to be satisfied until I do something. Anything. I’m becoming desperate.

Why must furniture moving be my addiction? I’m going to end up with a hernia and sore muscles.

Is there such a thing as furniture intervention?

It’s Alive! It’s Alive!

Radiant Heated Sidewalks

Image by Canadian Veggie via Flickr

My husband and I built (and I use that term loosely) our house. Really, my husband designed the house and made sure everything was getting done, other men actually built the house. I pretty much just visited during the process and looked at how things were coming along…and made comments. My contribution to the process pretty much went like this, “This half bath will look soooo cute!”, “I like the view from the front of the house.”, or “I think I just saw a spider crawl under the baseboard. Sweetheart, have you seen a lot of spiders?”  In my defense I DID stain our big front door. In the garage. In the middle of February. When it was like -100 degrees outside—and it felt just as bad inside because the stinkin’ house wasn’t heated yet. My hands went numb and froze to the brush I was staining with. And for those of you that know about staining, I realize that one should not stain when it is that cold. But, I also know that I wasn’t lugging a 500,000 pound door somewhere else to stain it. And, I also wanted the huge gapping hole in the front of the house covered so the Arctic wind couldn’t get in. So, I made due. It was one of those experiences that I will one day tell my grandchildren about…..”Oh, yes sweethearts. Grandma’s hands are permanently stained brown because of the freezing cold, door staining incident during the winter of 2009.” Aaahhhh…..the memories.

I love our house. I really do. But…….don’t tell anyone…I think our house is alive. Yes, I still have my wits about me. No, I’m not having hallucinations. Let me explain, that I’m not really crazy…..um….not anymore than (ab)normal.

1. We have geo-thermal heating. If one happens to be standing in the garage when it comes “on”, it sounds as if the house just breathed a huge sigh. I’m not kidding. It sounds very human. Sigh.

2. We have a metal roof on our house. On really windy days (which tend to me many, here in rural Ohio) the house sounds as if it is moaning. You can really hear it in the attic. And no we are not haunted. It is not a scary moan. Besides if we were haunted it would probably only be the spirit of a dead cow, considering our property used to be some farmer’s cow pasture in days gone by. Just sayin’.

3. I’m still getting used to the fact that we have a soaking tub with jets, in the master bath. The tub is set on a timer to “blow out”  it’s jets once a day. It’s kind of like a reverse vacuum cleaner. Anyway, I forgot about it the other day. I was sitting on the toilet, minding my own business when, ‘whoosh!’, the thing kicked in. Um…let’s just say, I’m glad I was already on the toilet so I didn’t pee my pants.  I think I heard the tub laugh.

Right now, I’m listening to the hum of the dishwasher. The music of my life.