Making Mounts of Molehills

From certain angles, Mount Adams looks tiny... and then you try and drive all up in that piece and you'd be shocked how easy it is for that seemingly little hill to spit you out, defeated. It's almost unattainable at times. It took me several years to get the hang of it and even now, a higher level of concentration is required when navigating its streets.

My sister recently had a surprise 30th birthday party on the main drag and I had a lost aunt and uncle on my phone needing directions. Think about it for a second or two and see if you could give someone directions up to the corner Saint Gregory and Pavilion without Google maps in front of you. But the trick to Mount Adams is to always go up. So long as you're always heading uphill, you'll eventually find what you're looking for.

The holidays have officially snuck up on me again. Procrastination has made this seemingly joyous time a little more stressful. I doubt I'll ever truly be on top of things when it comes to Christmas... no more than I'll ever be able to rearrange the streets of Mount Adams... but this year, I'm going to keep looking up and maybe, just maybe, I'll find what I'm looking for.

But before it gets too crazy, the Envoi crew is headed out tonight for our annual holiday dinner. This year we're celebrating at The Rookwood Restaurant and we'll hopefully get seated in one of the old kilns they used to fire the now famous, Rookwood Pottery. The building is actually sitting right atop that snow-covered hill you see in front of you... with Holy Cross to the left and some apartment building on the right.

So here's to the hope that everyone finds what they're looking for this holiday season.

Shoes and Stalactites

Can any two individuals agree on everything? Maybe some can. I can't. With anything or anybody. Nothing. If a conversation is initiated, I switch to auto-disagreement. At the end of the day, it terrible... and I regret it, but I'm working on it and may just get it right.

That particular aspect of disagreement is something I can help. Something I can't help is my taste in style... or as some might say... lack thereof. My days of purchasing several pair of shoes a year are long gone. I've grown out of my impulsive spending habits so when making a purchase, I think long and hard about it. I came across these shoes a few months ago and wanted them bad. The more they resemble the result of a bowling shoe's affair with a house slipper, the better. I had owned a pair similar to this a long time ago and have been looking for their replacements after they wore out two or three years ago. The problem was they didn't have my size. Seven years ago, I would've bought them anyways, but I was able to, albeit reluctantly, walk away.

There was also something else holding me back. Erica hated them. She hated the shoes prior to this pair as well and fought long and hard to see that they were retired somewhat prematurely.

I'm not fashion-forward by any stretch. Actually, just the opposite. When I find something I like, I latch onto it with a death grip and wear the hell out of it. Sure, I've had my phases. I don't mind slipping on the skinny jeans, but they better have cowboy boots at the end of them. Boot cut jeans were my true savior. Full-length zip turtleneck sweatshirts... I'd be stuck with hoodies if it weren't for you. Athletic fit t-shirts... what took you so long? That red and beige belt I own? Other than when wearing a suit, I've worn it everyday for the last six and a half years.

This is why Erica's disdain of my true taste in shoes is so disheartening. I have nowhere else to turn. I found solace in the trail running shoe/jean combo for a while, but I knew it wouldn't last. So when we were out Christmas shopping last Saturday and swung in to DSW to "look around"... I knew what I was after. And there they were, sitting pretty. Not only that, they were in my size! OMG!

But I knew it would only be half the battle. Luckily, the day's hustle and bustle had worn down my wife's guard. She wasn't on her A game and I quickly stormed the gates and got the answer I was looking for... "Get them if you really want them." Of course, that statement is laced with all sorts of "but you'll never wear them in my presence" innuendos, but that's okay. I own them now. Not only that, I got them for over 60% off because of a couple coupons and an awesome cashier. What a victory.

In the end, they're just shoes. Not that big of a deal.

Recently I read where a scientist believes the aging process is simply the long term effect of millions of tiny accidents your body goes through in a lifetime. Bumps, dings, scrapes that may go unnoticed to us but over time, deteriorate our vessels to the point of failure. Stalactites and stalagmites work just the opposite. Millions upon millions of water drops only build them up... bringing them closer together.

I suppose little battles in a marriage can work either way. I, personally, find it endearing that Erica cares that much about what I look like. Better to care too much, than not at all. I think, too, our differences in style have helped curb any reactionary purchases that, in that past, I was very guilty of. And I'm sure she gets a kick out of rolling her eyes and laughing at me most Saturday nights before we head out... only to have me head back to the dresser in an attempt to make her smile. After all, agreement can't always be such an easy term to come to... how boring would that be?

Ronnie Time

It may be cold outside, but Ronald is keeping it hot with these shades. Who knows where he got them but they're pretty great.

You Decide

Tape measure or a contractor's laser pointer? Answer... both.

And Away We Go

The time had come. It couldn't be put off any longer. We talked about it, put tape on the floor, drew sketches, got a 3D model of what it would look like courtesy of Lowes and even purchased cabinets. The wall between the kitchen and the dining room was coming out. It was the next step. Had to be.

I was awake and working Saturday morning long before the alarm I set had its chance to wedge me out of bed. Erica's dad was coming over mid-morning and I had to get everything out of the kitchen and at least make it look like I had kind of started to tear things apart. He arrived and we immediately got to work taking out the cabinets, pulling trim and ripping out the floor. Day 1 actually went really well. I managed to walk away with a just one sliced finger. Just an FYI, broken tile is crazy sharp and won't think twice about cutting you deep.

Then came Day 2. Don wouldn't be around for Day 2. It was up to me and my buddy, Steve. He brought some tools and all we had to do was knock out one side of the wall and tear down the soffit. These tasks were somehow remarkably harder without the help of the gritty veteran. Not only harder, but messier. In our defense, we were dealing with some incredibly stubborn building material that we didn't have to deal with the day prior. Metal lathe in a plaster wall is beyond the realm of difficult to extract once applied and allowed to sit for 50 years. It borders on impossible. And I can't tell you how many times I missed the chisel with my hammer and instead hit the knuckle of my index finger.

But it's out now and that's all that matters. The studs were left in because they house some electric wires that I don't intend on contending with. And honestly, they toed those bad boys in with the biggest nails I've ever seen. After taking a few out, I was willing to leave well enough alone to see another day or two.

What did I learn? a) Sissies wear gloves when doing demo. Hence, I'm a sissy. b) When employing one of those 25lb crow bars, always know where the other end is. I was trying to pry a particularly staunch nail out of a 2x4 above my head and upon giving it one last yank, I damn near ripped my right ear off when the other end came crashing into it. Gave myself a good gash though and I'm having trouble feeling the entire right side of my head. c) That wall that we just spent a weekend tearing out wasn't original to the house. Someone actually wanted it there. Makes me want to see what it had looked like when it was first built. d) When your pregnant wife tells you that she won't have your child without a dishwasher in the house, just put in the dishwasher. There is no need to knock out walls and knock off ears, simply install a dishwasher and get back to admiring your freshly-built bench. But then again, it could prove to be a great arguing point sometime down the road... "I tore out a kitchen for you when I didn't even know your name."

Yeah, the larger point here is we're going to be parents. That makes us nervous. Mostly nervous that we're not ready to be parents and therefore we would be, by default, bad parents. So we join the ranks of every nervous soon-to-be mother and father in recorded history. It's nice to know we're not alone.

But it seems a waste of energy to be nervous and/or apprehensive. Kind of like that kitchen demo. I didn't know what I was doing at all. Several times a day, I would look at the still intact wall and wonder just how in the hell I was going to get that thing down without electrocuting, maiming or otherwise hurting myself or the house... and yet, there that wall sits, in many many pieces on my driveway waiting to be hauled to a dump (hopefully for a reasonable price). This is happening, whether I'm nervous about it or not and when it does, we'll do what needs to be done in order to be the best parents that we know how to be. Consider this a soft opening. Baby bump pictures (if I can get away with it) and possibly an ultrasound to follow.

Benched

We moved into our house in May. Since then, I've quietly gone about finding possible solutions to my tool storage conundrum. We have a nice bench in the attached garage that the original owner put in but Erica likes parking her car there and the bench itself would need some upgrades. We have a detached garage but it doesn't have any electric so I'd have to get an electrician to run an extra line from my box, out of the house, under the driveway and back to the garage. And even if I did get it back there, I'd still be cold in the winter.

A couple of weeks ago, I was hanging some sweaty clothes downstairs and the thought of a bench in a nook of the foundation hit me like the pungent smell of dirty running shorts... and that was all it took. I drew up a little sketch, bought the wood and began assembling my very first work bench.

It's exactly what I needed because I built it. I'm a taller guy that's always wanted a desk I could stand at while working so I made the height 47". I acknowledged that I'd probably need an area just a little bit lower for a vice grip or some other yet unknown task, so I put that in, too. All that's left to do is put a 1x4 face on it and secure some of those 2x4's to the wall.

It came in handy over the weekend when I tore the kitchen out. I had everything organized and easy to get to in one localized space. And that circular saw is just for effect. Totally not mine.

FUOH

(Sorry, forgot to warn folks there'd be cursing in the post below. It's belated, but you've been warned. Also, Brad shared this link with me this morning. Slightly heavy-handed at the end, but read and re-read each bullet.)

In college, Erica and her friend, Tommy, had a saying... Pave Canada. I have no idea the context in which it was used but I like it. It's funny and I wish it were mine. But it's not.

I found this article whilst perusing the Enquirer's site. That saying came to mind except more along the lines of Pave Ohio. Just do it already. And when you do pave it, use the same techniques you've been using. Make it half as thick as German highways so you are constantly resurfacing. That'll create jobs. This Kasich guy is on to something. What an asshole.

On a side note but not completely unrelated, Boehner said something about how the "people have spoken" or something along those lines. What's funny about that is Ohio had less than 50% voter turnout (48.7%). Traditionally, Republicans have fared best when voter turnout is low which means "the people" or "the republic" to which he's referring didn't really speak. And that's unfortunate.

One last thought but, again, not completely unrelated... if I took eight years to totally fuck something up, I'd at least give the next guy eight to fix it. Common courtesy, right? Where were all you tea baggers when we started two wars AND cut taxes? That doesn't strike me as being fiscally responsible.