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I learned the other day that groundhogs, those marmots we mostly only think about in February, eat dandelion heads (be sure to click that link—it’s a great photo). Why isn’t somebody renting them out at this time of year when the lovely little lion-heads are transforming into seed shooters and threatening neighborly relationships everywhere (or at least in my backyard)? Think about it—they would be a cute, green … er, brown, organic alternative to ChemLawn.
It’s been all about tying up loose ends around here lately, so there hasn’t been anything interesting to post. Except that I fell across this picture site the other night—Skarabej-Online Museum of Old Family Photographs. These are photos found in flea markets, attics, basements or junk heaps, mostly in the Czech Republic, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina and now a few even from the U.S. Digging through, one finds family expressions, exuberance, awkwardness, preciousness—and vintage fixtures! Do feast:
It looks like our girl is going to have to get put under sedation and have her teeth worked over. She’s had to wear this “Elizabethan collar,” as named on the bill, since Thursday. (Yes, that is the 70s-ified part of the house.)
And she was on pain meds until they ran out today. OK, so I’m telling the story backward. She was freaking out about something in her mouth, twitching and pawing at it. And so we took her in last week. And the doc looked her over and saw some lacerations on her lip and gum that we had noticed too. But he didn’t think the problem was with her one tooth that we’ve been watching for a couple years—and that another doc told us would either have to come out or would fall out on its own soon.
And she was fine while on the pain meds, but they ran out this evening and she started pawing and freaking out again. So I guess it’s back for a serious exam in the morning. Augh.
It’s our anniversary of buying the house (or the mortgage anyway). So please join us in a toast to loving old structures, learning new skills, and doing what we can to preserve the best of the past while looking forward to the strange, new reality.
Above: Old oak door that never got painted—yay!
A couple we know has very, er, traditional ways of dividing work around the house. He will not allow her to be seen working outside beyond gardening, so painting the fence, taking out the trash, etc. are his tasks only.
My oh my is that not how we work over here at North 54th! In fact, I’d wager that I’m seen outside laboring away more than he is, particularly since I have assumed the mantle of painter. Why just today, he asked me to help with pouring the footings for the new front porch. I asked what it was I was going to be doing. He said simply holding the forms as he shoveled in the cement. Marvy, I thought; I won’t even have to change into grubby clothes (though I did anyway). Well, despite—or maybe because of—his past as a mason’s assistant, he hates to mix mud. So I offered to step in for a moment to give him a break. Turns out I’m a talented mixer, so he directed me to keep at it as we had to mix another batch and then another. So the poor neighbors were subjected to this sordid role-reversal. I saw a few passersby doing double-takes at him standing there with the hose and me hoeing down.
Oh well. I like lifting heavy things and honestly am a little miffed when it’s assumed a guy should be doing something instead of me.
