Here's my toilet installation crew (Michael, Sam, and Dan West):
They came as moral support for their mom, who was moral support for me.
Here's the final installation product:
Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Nope, no basement
I just tried to download a snazzy picture of the Alamo to start off this entry, but for some unknown reason it wouldn't work (hmm, couldn't be user error . . .). So just imagine the Alamo. Or, to quote Rod Serling, "Picture if you will."
Picture, if you will, an old Mexican mission in San Antonio, Texas. Said mission was the site of a horrific battle. Said mission was a lot bigger than what's presently there.
Okay, this entry really isn't about the Alamo, other than to say I went there last week. I stayed in a hotel right behind it while I was at a conference. Since it was right there, one day I sprung the $5 for the audio tour. Not a happy story behind the Alamo, but I learned a lot. A few quick facts:
The curvy roof deal that everyone recognizes was added many years later. When the Alamo was attacked, there was no roof over it.
All that's left is some gardens and the sanctuary dealie where everyone finally made their last stand. The original site was something like 3 acres in size, with only 200 men to defend what needed 500 men to defend properly.
There are "Alamo crackers" in the gift shop.
I liked San Antonio. Not sure why the Riverwalk was created, but it has some good restaurants. Best of all, it doesn't snow in San Antonio, or at least not while I was there, so I got five days away from cold and snow. Note: it's snowing outside at the moment. I have a hunch it's going to be a loooonng winter . . .
Picture, if you will, an old Mexican mission in San Antonio, Texas. Said mission was the site of a horrific battle. Said mission was a lot bigger than what's presently there.
Okay, this entry really isn't about the Alamo, other than to say I went there last week. I stayed in a hotel right behind it while I was at a conference. Since it was right there, one day I sprung the $5 for the audio tour. Not a happy story behind the Alamo, but I learned a lot. A few quick facts:
The curvy roof deal that everyone recognizes was added many years later. When the Alamo was attacked, there was no roof over it.
All that's left is some gardens and the sanctuary dealie where everyone finally made their last stand. The original site was something like 3 acres in size, with only 200 men to defend what needed 500 men to defend properly.
There are "Alamo crackers" in the gift shop.
I liked San Antonio. Not sure why the Riverwalk was created, but it has some good restaurants. Best of all, it doesn't snow in San Antonio, or at least not while I was there, so I got five days away from cold and snow. Note: it's snowing outside at the moment. I have a hunch it's going to be a loooonng winter . . .
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Six Sillies about Sheila
Jenn Fletcher tagged me to write six quirks about myself, and I had to try to be alliterative (is being an English teacher a quirk . . .?) I couldn't quite duplicate the "si" sound and still have my real name. Rats! Maybe "Six Sillies about Sheila that sound sibillant?" Nah.
Okay, enough stalling. Here I go:
1. I have little to no spatial intelligence when it comes to maps. I can, however, look at a jigsaw puzzle, pick up a piece, and fit it immediately into its appropriate spot without trying it lots of places first.
2. I would eat guacamole and pico de gallo for every single meal if I could figure out a way to get some calcium in me as well-- and if I lived where there's good Mexican food. Jenn, I identify with your single food quirk (okay, mine's double),
3. I have been known to sleep walk. I have practiced a lesson for Mardi Gras (in French) in my sleep, given apartment tours to amused roommates, and moved household items to odd spots where I can't find them later when I'm awake.
4. This one's related: I can sleep through earthquakes and tornados. Well, maybe not one that hit my house directly, but I slept through a tornado siren when I was right next to an open window and the cat had freaked out and ricocheted off my feet with her claws because of the noise. Yup, talent. Or maybe narcolepsy.
5. I harbor a secret dream of attending culinary school. I'd settle for marrying a chef who's into organic gardening. Or maybe I'll just learn to make some sushi.
6. I think the world would be a better place if pajama pants were considered professional wear.
There! Now I need to tag six more people. Okay, I tag . . . Meghan O'Neil, Emily Cairns, Jen West (are you reading this blog at all, Jen?), Olive Kite, Heather Wood, and Mary Brough.
Okay, enough stalling. Here I go:
1. I have little to no spatial intelligence when it comes to maps. I can, however, look at a jigsaw puzzle, pick up a piece, and fit it immediately into its appropriate spot without trying it lots of places first.
2. I would eat guacamole and pico de gallo for every single meal if I could figure out a way to get some calcium in me as well-- and if I lived where there's good Mexican food. Jenn, I identify with your single food quirk (okay, mine's double),
3. I have been known to sleep walk. I have practiced a lesson for Mardi Gras (in French) in my sleep, given apartment tours to amused roommates, and moved household items to odd spots where I can't find them later when I'm awake.
4. This one's related: I can sleep through earthquakes and tornados. Well, maybe not one that hit my house directly, but I slept through a tornado siren when I was right next to an open window and the cat had freaked out and ricocheted off my feet with her claws because of the noise. Yup, talent. Or maybe narcolepsy.
5. I harbor a secret dream of attending culinary school. I'd settle for marrying a chef who's into organic gardening. Or maybe I'll just learn to make some sushi.
6. I think the world would be a better place if pajama pants were considered professional wear.
There! Now I need to tag six more people. Okay, I tag . . . Meghan O'Neil, Emily Cairns, Jen West (are you reading this blog at all, Jen?), Olive Kite, Heather Wood, and Mary Brough.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Don't Trust Me with a Paint Pen
Yesterday afternoon I was all set to write a post about the paint pen explosion during Super Saturday while I was trying to make an advent candle. I even took a picture of the nice candle that was the model so I could contrast it with what I made (and, by the way, am too embarrassed to give away).
But you know what? I want to write about the Mountaineer Week fiddle contest I went to last night instead. I'm not a fiddler and have no idea how to tell what makes a champion fiddler. I just like the music. More than that, though, I like how fiddling-- at least in West Virginia-- seems to be more about preserving family traditions than music. I took piano lessons and learned Mozart and Beethoven from published books. These fiddlers get together with other fiddlers and learn tunes that have probably never been written down. I sat next to the wife of one of the fiddle contest competitors and asked her how people learn the music. She said they just listen and play along until they get it. Kind of a musical storytelling oral tradition. Very cool.
I'm posting a You Tube link to Elmer Rich, who took second place last night. He took first in the senior division, though, and usually takes first every year for the whole thing. Don't get me wrong; the twenty-something guy who won was very good, but he didn't have the history Elmer has. I have no idea how old Elmer is, but when he got up to tell about the heritage tune he was going to play (which means that he learned the tune from another West Virginia fiddler), he said, "Well, I learned this tune from my uncle. We played it for Eleanor Roosevelt in 1936." The crowd almost audibly gasped. This man has some serious fiddle history. I kind of felt like I listened to history last night. I did some quick math and realized he PLAYED the fiddle a year before my dad was even born. So even if he was ten at that point, that would make him at least 82 years old.
Here's what I think is the link: www.youtube.com/watch?v=57tRYDnGSAQ. If it doesn't work, do a You Tube search under Harry's High Note- Elmer Rich, fiddle. He's really fun to listen to you, and you can get some West Virginia history, too.
But you know what? I want to write about the Mountaineer Week fiddle contest I went to last night instead. I'm not a fiddler and have no idea how to tell what makes a champion fiddler. I just like the music. More than that, though, I like how fiddling-- at least in West Virginia-- seems to be more about preserving family traditions than music. I took piano lessons and learned Mozart and Beethoven from published books. These fiddlers get together with other fiddlers and learn tunes that have probably never been written down. I sat next to the wife of one of the fiddle contest competitors and asked her how people learn the music. She said they just listen and play along until they get it. Kind of a musical storytelling oral tradition. Very cool.
I'm posting a You Tube link to Elmer Rich, who took second place last night. He took first in the senior division, though, and usually takes first every year for the whole thing. Don't get me wrong; the twenty-something guy who won was very good, but he didn't have the history Elmer has. I have no idea how old Elmer is, but when he got up to tell about the heritage tune he was going to play (which means that he learned the tune from another West Virginia fiddler), he said, "Well, I learned this tune from my uncle. We played it for Eleanor Roosevelt in 1936." The crowd almost audibly gasped. This man has some serious fiddle history. I kind of felt like I listened to history last night. I did some quick math and realized he PLAYED the fiddle a year before my dad was even born. So even if he was ten at that point, that would make him at least 82 years old.
Here's what I think is the link: www.youtube.com/watch?v=57tRYDnGSAQ. If it doesn't work, do a You Tube search under Harry's High Note- Elmer Rich, fiddle. He's really fun to listen to you, and you can get some West Virginia history, too.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Read This Book!!
Okay, so this isn't a book review site-- but I started a book the other day that's SO, SO GOOD!! It's called The Zinnia Tales, published by Mountain Girl Press, and it's a collection of short stories by Appalachian women about Appalachian women. I'm a big fan of memoir types of writing, and these stories, even though they're fictional, read like creative nonfiction memoirs. Some are funny, some are poignant (I'd never thought about how women and children are affected by coal mine disasters in quite the way two stories depict them), and all of them celebrate strong women and sisterly bonds. We're reading it for book group, although I'm not sure how many women are actually planning on coming. Do yourself a favor and reward yourself with this very satisfying book!
And by the way, I'm probably the only person in Morgantown staying home and reading a book instead of watching the Cincinnati vs. WVU game that decides if WVU goes to the Orange Bowl. Yeah, I'm a geek. But I'm warm inside my house and all those Mountaineer fans are FREEZING!
And by the way, I'm probably the only person in Morgantown staying home and reading a book instead of watching the Cincinnati vs. WVU game that decides if WVU goes to the Orange Bowl. Yeah, I'm a geek. But I'm warm inside my house and all those Mountaineer fans are FREEZING!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I can't put my arms down!
Remember that line from the movie "A Christmas Story"? Ralphie's little brother in the big poofy snowsuit? I'm not wearing a snowsuit, but after two hours of painting up above my head this afternoon, I'm feeling just like him.
Some background: When I moved into my house, I noticed great big bees hovering around the balcony off my bedroom. I'm used to bees going away, so I wasn't bothered. But these bees didn't go away. Why? Because they lived in the wood in my balcony. They're carpenter bees, which for some reason like to burrow into wood instead of making regular beehives in a tree somewhere.
I called the Orkin guy. He sprayed, but he also told me that carpenter bees are really hard to get rid of because while eventually all the bees fly away, they're genetically programmed to remember where they started out. Kind of like the swallows in San Juan Capistrano: they come back to the same nest. So if you don't kill them ALL, they come back the next spring. I was hoping the Orkin guy was thorough.
Nope. The next spring, not as many bees, but still a few. The Orkin guy came and sprayed again. The only way to REALLY get rid of carpenter bees-- and even this isn't guaranteed-- is to paint the wood after they're all gone for the winter. They don't like painted wood. Maybe it tastes bad. Maybe it gunks up their mouths as they burrow into the wood. I dunno. I figured a couple of hours of painting and the cost of a gallon of paint is worth a try, especially compared to the cost of the Orkin guy coming in the spring.
Quick reminder: BALCONY. I'm short. Not that the balcony is all that tall, but I had to stand on a stepstool and paint over my head for two hours. I don't think arms are supposed to be in that position for long. I'll let you know in May if the muscle sacrifice worked.
And just for the record, I did vote this morning . . .
Some background: When I moved into my house, I noticed great big bees hovering around the balcony off my bedroom. I'm used to bees going away, so I wasn't bothered. But these bees didn't go away. Why? Because they lived in the wood in my balcony. They're carpenter bees, which for some reason like to burrow into wood instead of making regular beehives in a tree somewhere.
I called the Orkin guy. He sprayed, but he also told me that carpenter bees are really hard to get rid of because while eventually all the bees fly away, they're genetically programmed to remember where they started out. Kind of like the swallows in San Juan Capistrano: they come back to the same nest. So if you don't kill them ALL, they come back the next spring. I was hoping the Orkin guy was thorough.
Nope. The next spring, not as many bees, but still a few. The Orkin guy came and sprayed again. The only way to REALLY get rid of carpenter bees-- and even this isn't guaranteed-- is to paint the wood after they're all gone for the winter. They don't like painted wood. Maybe it tastes bad. Maybe it gunks up their mouths as they burrow into the wood. I dunno. I figured a couple of hours of painting and the cost of a gallon of paint is worth a try, especially compared to the cost of the Orkin guy coming in the spring.
Quick reminder: BALCONY. I'm short. Not that the balcony is all that tall, but I had to stand on a stepstool and paint over my head for two hours. I don't think arms are supposed to be in that position for long. I'll let you know in May if the muscle sacrifice worked.
And just for the record, I did vote this morning . . .
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