"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." described my day, on Monday July 22, 2013. Charles Dickens was heavy on my mind as we worked.
I bet he laughed his butt off at us that day! Personally, I could have used his moral support.
Tommy and I decided to enclose our patio and turn it into a sun room and a all year art room for me. I am a person who needs light. This room will provide all the light I need. It's not a huge room 16 x12...give or take a foot, with sloping ceilings, plenty of shelves for plants, and all the other things that will find a home there sooner or later. Tonight we finally finished putting up the paneling. As soon as we get the trim, I will be ready to clean and paint. This is when I get excited. However, a lot of building had to happen between this photo at the beginning and where we are now. The one week we thought we could do this in turned out to being probably a month.
To give a little background, we have doubled the size of our home over the past 34 years. We added a 24x 24 ft garage. However, when we did all this work we had a network of friends to help. There was Rick Ballard, Bobby Ballard, Joe Hazelett, Jody Hook and Harold Dickens and Lisa our oldest daughter who was living with us when we tore the front of the house out to enlarge our den and dining area. Our friends have moved away, or work hard and we hate to ask anything of them since we are retired. So this project was all the Tommy and Vicky show. We are also 15 or 20 years older than when we did our last project.
It was the first time Tommy and I worked together as a team...just the two of us. It will also be the last time we do this!! He did all the hard work of designing it and cutting the wood, often changing his mind and not telling me what he had decided to do. Little things like that. I was the blind dog who learned to 'fetch', duck and dodge.' Just call me 'Rover' and I might even possibly answer.
Tommy knows I am afraid of our ladders. They are as old as I am and in just about the same shape. Nothing on them works right. They are not sturdy, and if by chance you need to climb past the 2nd step, you have just taken your life into your own hands!
When we started paneling the ceiling the first part was easy. I had a T stick, a broom and my ladder. All I had to do was get my end of the 4x8 piece of paneling up against the bottom of the ceiling. It wasn't pretty to watch but I got my end in the right spot and it looks fine. We took a break and Tommy says something to the effect that this next piece would be harder because we had to climb higher up the ladder. The T stick could still be used but it was now 2 feet too short. So he tells me his plan. I am to climb the ladder to the 3rd rung, wedge my T stick into the corner of the creaky, wobbly ladder and hold the paneling on top of my head until he could get his end nailed and then he would run down and help me. I sat there with my mouth open, trying my best to understand how I was going to go up a ladder with my half of a 4x8 piece of plywood on my head.
This is where all hell broke loose. I put the paneling on my head and immediately got a cramp in my neck and shoulders...I wasn't even off the ground yet. Then I slowly take one step up the ladder. The T stick was in my way and without it I could not hold the paneling. So I am stuck on the bottom step. I am also enveloped in a wall of wood. I could not see anything at all, in any direction, but drooping wood.
About this time Tommy yells that I have to move, he can't hold his end forever. No s**t!! I didn't know what to do. So I stood there and tried to get up my nerve to pick up the T stick and go up another rung on the ladder. I made the step but lost the traction of the T stick. Then I forgot which direction the T stick had to go to firm up the ceiling. I was all over the place...any place but the right place. Finally I threw the T stick down and grabbed a huge wooden broom. It was barely within my reach, because I refused to let go of the ladder completely. Tommy couldn't see me under all the paneling and he wants to know what I am doing because I have almost knocked him off his ladder. He actually said, "Why are you making so much noise?? What is going on over there? You need to hurry up".
I told him I grabbed the broom and I was trying to use it to get the paneling off my head. fu$$*&***!!! was his reply. He wanted to know what I was doing with the broom. It was too long of a story to explain.
I had to go up the 3rd step. I just knew I was gonna die, I only hoped I took Tommy with me!!! This was all his fault. I am scared to the point of getting the hysterical tired giggles. That is the point I get where I am laughing uncontrollably and on the verge of busting out crying. At which time I am crying and laughing at the same time. If there had been people around me, they would have freaked out. There is not one thing I can do to stop this roller coaster once it has started to free fall. I am just along for the ride until I can regain control...or get a xanax.
I made the third step and I start loosing the paneling that is now only half way resting on top of my head. Tommy wants to know if I have my 'end in place'. I can't even see my end, much less know where it is. So I push the broom as hard as I could up the ladder. The paneling slides off my head just about the time Tommy hammers in his first nail. I try to catch it and I am screaming. All of a sudden I hear the hammer fly by in my direction. That is when I mentally pushed him off his ladder!!! twice!
He tells me to get down. Now we will have to do it the 'hard way'. Seriously, could it get any worse?? Yes unfortunately it could. We take a break and I find my self all too soon back up the p.o.s ladder.
I get on the hateful 3rd rung and am hanging on for dear life. Tommy drags the paneling over and once again I have it nestled on top of my lumpy head. I am so far from happy, I seriously do not think there is a chart where a frowny face could describe my feelings.
I pushed as hard as I could until I felt the wall we were connecting to. I yelled, "I'm there!" Tommy wants to know if I can see. Of course I can't see, I just ran into the wall that is all I know. He says, "You better be in there." and I mentally push him off the ladder again!!
He starts hammering and I am thrilled. Then he gets to my side and it is off by a country mile. He gives me the 'look' and I know he is really, really mad. That's fine with me because I am too. I tell him not to worry about it the trim will cover it. It will be fine. He is not happy but he settles down.
He starts laughing then. He wanted to know if I knew how crazy I looked with all the paneling on my head?? Oops there he mentally went flying through the sliding glass doors.
Finally, we are done with the paneling. It is really going to be a beautifull room. However, I am putting the Scarlett O'Hara to it when she stood in the empty fields and swore , "She would never be hungry again." Well, I am vowing that" I will never build another room with Tommy Carter again" . I told him this and he feels the same way. It was almost too much for us to do...but we did it...and we lived to tell the tale, but there is no way we will ever do it again!! Quoting Scarlett once again, "as God is my witness!!!!"
While strolling down the isles of a two car garage, enjoying the touch and feel of other people's junk, I spied several things I thought I could not live without.
There was a yellow antique child's chair, in good shape to be over 40 years old. The paint was peeling but the bottom was solid...that is more than I can say for mine. It needed a home and I needed a small chair to hold an amazing 3 foot fern. Sold...it was mine.
I also bought 4 wicker baskets in various sizes. Nestled in the midst of one of the baskets was the nosegay pictured above. I picked it up then placed it on the table. I didn't need a nosegay. I wandered around for about 20 minutes, making two trips back to the table where the nosegay lay in the midst of fruit jars, a lamp and a few pillowcases.
I picked it up twice, trying to imagine the story that belonged to the fake flowers. It had to have been a wedding bouquet, probably a second wedding since it was small. I wondered why someone would sell such a memory and for a mere fifty cents. I felt the lady watching me as I held her memories. I smiled and said, "I bet there is a story that belongs to this bouquet." She looked at me and said, "You don't want to know." Her smile never reached her eyes. I broke eye contact first. I felt like I had just opened a door that should have remained closed, perhaps locked.
The writer in me wanted to know the story. The woman in me felt like I should buy the flowers and leave. I added them to the pile of things I intended to purchase.
As I was paying the lady, she spoke in a low soft voice still filled with some kind of pain, telling me that the bouquet was "bad luck, very bad luck." Without thinking I told her I would take it home and burn it. She gave me my change saying, "Thank you."
When I got home I unloaded the car, took a photo of the flowers because I knew there would be some kind of story written about that day. A few minutes later, I took the flowers out to our fire pit, doused them with lighter fluid and watched the brief blaze. They were consumed in a matter of minutes. The day was hot, the fire made it unbearable. I lit a bundle of white sage and walked around the fire pit and back into my home. This is an old Apache cleansing ceremony my daughter Lisa told me about. I do this every time something bad happens. I say a prayer and walk from room to room letting the white sage purge the air and the prayer purge the problem.
Not every thought we have needs to be said aloud. Not every story we know needs to be fully told. Some things are better left to the imagination, some doors do not need to be opened. I believe we can touch people's lives briefly and deeply and never know their name.
While wandering the WalMart isles the other day, I spied an end cap display of small rubber dolls. These dolls closely resembled a doll Santa Claus delivered to my home when I was about 7 years old. The doll was about 9 inches tall, a soft rubber skin with eyes that blinked. Her mouth was shaped to take a bottle. She faintly smelled of baby powder.
A darling little girl walked by me as I was examining the doll. The little girl asked if "I was going to buy that doll?" I told her, " probably not but I might." Then I told her I used to have a doll that resembled this doll years ago when I was a little girl. She looked at me in amazement and said without blinking an eye "They had dolls like that when you were a little girl?" I said "yes". She looked at me with big eyes like I was lying. Once again I told her this was the truth. She wasn't buying that story. So I smiled saying, "Actually we had to pull rabbit heads off the little rabbits and stick them on a pole and put a dress on them and pretend they were dolls." I do not know where this came from...it just popped out, I wish it hadn't but it did. The little girl looked at me for a second, turned around and ran. I put the doll back and put my cart in high gear and was out of there, too. I have some obnoxious genes somewhere that just show up from time to time:)
After I got away from the little girl, my mind returned to the doll and Christmas. Each year, months before Christmas arrived, I was on the hunt for the perfect doll. I would examine every doll in the Sears catalog and in the Ben Franklin Store. As soon as I picked my favorite baby doll, a letter would be written to Santa. Mama wrote the letter for me until I learned how to print. I went into great detail to make sure Santa knew which one I wanted. I knew he was busy and I wanted to make it easy for him to pick up the right doll for me.
The year I turned 7, I decided I did not want a doll for Christmas. I was adamant... no doll would be found under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. I had a list of other things I wanted, however no doll was added to the list.
Mama had no way of knowing this was a test for Santa Claus. I heard rumors there was no Santa Claus from some of the older kids at school. I was going to prove their theory wrong. I wanted a doll but I was not going to tell anyone this fact. Santa Claus would 'know' that I wanted a doll. He could pick it out this year...as long as it was a baby doll.
Thank goodness Mama ignored my wishes and bought me a small rubber baby doll. She came with a blanket and a bottle. In my mind she looks like the little doll in the first photo. She was perfect.
Instead of putting the doll under the tree, Mama placed her in the tree and toward the back. When I woke up Christmas morning, I did not see what I expected. There were the toys I had asked for but no doll. I just stood there looking disappointed. The kids were right there was no Santa Claus. Mama was watching me closely and before I started to cry she led me over to the other side of the tree. She seemed as surprised as I was, because there was my baby doll in the branches of the tree. I think that was my favorite doll I received as a little girl. I named her 'Susie'.
It would be another year or two before I gave up believing in Santa Claus. He still came until I was about 11 or 12 because my cousins Anthony and Darla believed in Santa Claus. That was fine with me. People have their whole adult lives to not believe in the magic of Santa. Children should be able to enjoy it while they can.
If I should happen to be in WalMart in the near future, and I will, I think I know a little rubber doll that just might find its way home with me. I will give the little doll to Jacy, my granddaughter and tell her this story. She has pretty much outgrown dolls but I think she will like hearing the story. Good memories should be shared.
I have learned a lot about myself ... again, during the past two weeks!! First, I hate hot weather. I do not play nice when it is 95 and I have a hot, metal hammer in my hand. With sweat dripping in my eyes and my hair soaking wet I am in no mood to hear, for the hundredth time that day, "You are hammering that nail wrong." Honestly, who cares how I hammer as long as I get the nail in the board!! Evidently Tommy cares...a lot. He says I am wasting my "energy" hammering nails too many times. I have NO energy so it doesn't matter how many times I hit that damn nail!!
Second item on the list, I am left handed...severely left handed and he is severely right handed. We are always in each others way. We cannot help this problem. When I set things up, I work from left to right. Tommy works from right to left. When we were taking measurements for the windows, I wrote down the measurements as he called them out...from left to right. The only problem he was outside the patio and I was inside...which made the windows backwards or upside down or something. I never did understand what he was so mad about. Apparently it was really, really wrong. I thought the problem could be solved by just going in reverse. However, when I suggested this little idea, it turned into a big cluster smuck and we called an early day. It was either that or he was going to kill me. Two days later the windows are in the right places and every thing eventually worked out. I knew it would.
The next day over coffee, I mentioned to Tommy that I knew what our problem was...communication. We have none. He tells me what to do and robot and obedient person that I am...I obey. Not once has this ever happened in our lifetime together! Why does he think it will work now? I want to see a plan and then I can get it in my mind. He wants me to just follow his lead and fill in the blanks. When I fill in the blanks he really gets ticked off. I can't work this way. I am not wired to follow blindly. I need a plan...something visual I can see. I do not think this is going to happen. On the flip side we are more than half way done. When we get the window air conditioner installed, and the room stops resembling an oven, things will be much better, I hope.
Years ago after Tommy and I built the patio, I put a sign up that reads, "Psychiatric Unit". I placed it above the sliding glass doors..(which is another futile carpenter story. Here is the short version. Some how, when we installed the patio doors, I threw away the hardware for the door.) That could have happened to anyone. Actually, I am not even sure I did toss the hardware. However, I was blamed for the disaster. This event also explains the reason there is a wash rag stuck in the hole where the door lock should be. And that my friends was 20 years ago...neither one of us will budge on the lock. Actually, that isn't true. It happened so long ago we have forgotten about it. Plus we have become used to the washcloth being jammed in the hole. It doesn't matter to us any more. It is just another "Carter Story" we share. In reality we both have earned this sign and it has a permanent place anywhere we live.
This picture was taken before all Hell broke loose! See we can play nice:)
Yesterday was one of those days when I felt like crap!! My back hurt, my neck hurt, my hands hurt and my right toe for some reason hurt also. My mind was mush. Every answer to any question I was asked yesterday was a total delayed reaction. I had to wait for my brain to think of something sane to say. I had the patience of a dead rat.
I told Tommy how bad I felt and that I needed a day off to regroup. That was fine with him, he needed to rest also. We slept all afternoon.
The only human I had to interact with yesterday was one idiot several hundred miles away from Missouri. That interaction could have been avoided. We have an answering machine so there was really no reason to answer the phone.
I voted to let the machine take all calls. When I wandered into the kitchen...the phone rang. I automatically picked it up.
The caller was some man in Ohio who desperately wanted to talk to a woman named Lucille. I told him he had the wrong number, no Lucille lived here. He told me the number he was calling and it was indeed our number. I suggested that he might have written the number down wrong. He became a little snippy, implying he wrote exactly what Lucille had told him. I told him nicely, at first that Lucille misquoted the wrong number. He said, "Lucille wouldn't do that." That is when my middle finger jumped up and down for 3 seconds. I had lost control of it!!! Tommy looked at me and wanted to know who I was talking to and why on earth was I giving him the 'bird'.
I could not stop my mouth or my hand. This man was on my last nerve. I told him "for the last time, Lucille does not live here" and then I hung up! I also changed the message on my answering machine. It now says, "Hi you have reached Vicky and Tommy. If you are looking for Lucille...she does NOT live here."
Today we are both fine and ready to work. I haven't heard anymore about Lucille and as far as I am concerned...that is a good thing indeed.
