Frank Friday

Sometimes I post a bunch of things about delicious food and pretty flowers and tasty cocktails, and I think, “This is not my life.”  Sure, I ate those foods and have beautiful flowers in the yard/house, but is it really a representative sample?  So to honor the “representative sample” concept, it’s Frank Friday.

For starters, we have an incontinent coffeemaker.

coffee oopsI clean it up in the evening, and it greets me almost every day with a sad little coffee puddle.  Poor coffeemaker.  It has good days and bad days, but mostly bad days.

Second, I’m not great at cleaning floors.  This week, for example, Scott started fixing the trim around our newly opened up great room.  (The crowd rejoices!!!)

rubbleInstead of getting the broom or vacuum out, I went for some protective footwear.  (In this case, protective footwear is called a flip flop, because how much protection do you really need from a few drywall particles?)  I know I should care about the state of the floors, but I really don’t.  I just feel guilty about not caring.  Not quite the same as caring.

Last but not least, it’s almost time for a warm holiday weekend, and I did promise franks.

photo by Paul Sirisalee

photo by Paul Sirisalee

While I have not tried this version of the classic summer hot dog, I can pretty much guarantee I would love it.  It’s from Real Simple, and you basically just throw some marinara sauce, fresh mozzarella, and fresh basil on top of a plain old hot dog.  I might even switch out the marinara  for a few tomato slices (or put them both on the dog… oooh, aaah) and call it perfection.

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Not Entirely Country

I’ve been slowly coming to the sad realization that I might not be as “country” as I always thought.  I mean, I grew up in the country (mostly), and I like the mountains and streams and trees and things.  That counts, right?  And I’ve been faithfully watering the veggie garden at our new house.  A house that’s on a gravel road.

But then I went outside to weed the front flower garden.  The previous owner planted some really humongous garden beds all around the house, and they need attention.  And I saw this:

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It’s a little bit creepy, right?  It was making a bee-line for something or other on the other side of the bed, and I left it alone.  I gave it a very wide berth.  I did eventually go back and get the weeds in that section, just to prove that I could make myself do that.  I didn’t enjoy it though.  Not at all.

That wasn’t necessarily an isolated incident, either.  There have been a wide variety of creepy crawlies in our new neck of the woods.  So yeah, I’m feeling significantly less confident in my skills as a country girl than when we moved here.

Honestly, I’ve been in a huge funk this week apart from the questioning of my country girl skills.  I needed something to make myself feel better in the middle of the funk, so I picked up my favorite teeny tiny hammer (a relic from single life–formerly used only to hang up pictures) and started to knock down the wall between our kitchen and living room.

Scott and I have been talking about starting the “big project” on our house full of projects.  I’ve been reluctant to start, because that means finishing, preferably by our self-imposed deadline of Thanksgiving.  The house really does work fine the way it is (was).  It needs a face-lift, but it works.  That makes ripping down walls somewhat counterintuitive.

I started the project anyway, ready to pull myself out of the funk one hammer swing at a time.  I will say that tearing down a wall was way more satisfying than running from creepy crawlies in the garden.  I think I might just go back to knocking down some more wall. I’m proud of my teeny tiny girl hammer, too.  It’s doing a great job.

See, first the small pile of rubble:

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That felt wonderful, so the pile of rubble got a bit larger.  Sunshine peeked through to the living room from the kitchen window.  It’s just one spot, but it still made me smile.

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And there it was.  I was smiling in the middle of the funk, and it felt like a pretty big success.