The new door

We changed our front door. We had a half-glass storm door that opened out to a small mud-room like affair.
This was the only cute thing about our Cape Cod house...one of the reasons I liked it. Built like a small guard house type thing, like something that should have been covered with candy canes and gumdrops...that sort of look.
Whatever, I liked it.
But, as all things go, husband hated that glass front thing. He wanted a front door that would open inward, but because of the little guard house looking thing, the door had to open out. It needed about a foot more to allow a door to open inside.

Well, we bought a Craftsman style door. He and our neighbor rebuilt the guard house out a foot more. They found some rotten boards in the old part that had to be replaced, so they did.

I wanted some sort of stone halfway up the sides and front, but that idea got nixed. I long for it, but NO.

Anyway, he let me pick out the new light fixture for inside and a new doorbell.

Light came last week, will be installed when the insulation and sheet rock are up.
Today, the doorbell came.

Only we had to be notified by email that it came because there was no doorbell for the delivery guy to ring.

Ironic, no?

Giving thanks

I'm not in the mood.
I know I should be grateful for so many things...but I find it difficult to actually give a damn today.
It's been a rough month.

Okay, I have to mouth the words...family, friends, freedom, roof over my head, enough food to eat, all those things.
What I'd really like to say was that I am happy, but I'm not.

It will come. I can't stay emotionally paralyzed for long. But this time, it's really hard to get over it.
(Cher is voicing that line in my head. It isn't helping.)

What I need is peace.
And a good Godzilla movie or two.

Thoughts

I am tempted to write "we have seen the monster and it is us."

Then I sit here and think...I still have faith in the Constitution. I have faith in the system of checks and balances set up by those old guys back in 1789 when they came up with the rules of our land.

Their problems were different. They were mostly rich white landowners hoping to avoid the rule by the masses, until they realized that it was those very same masses who fought for and won our independence from the "tyranny" of King George.

We all have a voice. We have the duty to inform our legislators what we want, what we think is fair and unbiased, what we truly believe.

Get out your pens. Your typewriters. Your email methods. Find out who your representatives in Congress (that's the House and Senate) and make sure you keep writing to them. Let them know where you stand and where you expect them to stand.

It's always, always up to us.
It is our right and our duty.

Don't just sit there...do it.

For the bland

Have you ever noticed that the folks in advertisements on television act as if they're heavily dosed on Prozac?

Ad in particular: for one of the restaurants out there, maybe Ruby Tuesday's. Kids ask their mother how she likes her food after the father has just taken a stab at something on her plate and eats whatever it is. The woman says with a smile "Ask your father".

Now, had that been ME or any member of my family, I'd have blown up at the guy, punched him in the ribs and probably stabbed my fork into his hand.

 

I do not take Prozac or any other emotion suppressing drug.

Perhaps I should.

 

Car crash ad for insurance. Kid calls mother from the wrecked car and calmly says, "Mom, I have to tell you something."

Mother or whoever is on the other end of the call calmly says, "Well, just as long as you are all right." She doesn't start screaming, "What were you doing? Did you crash the Subaru? Do you know how much this is gonna cost?"

 

The list of these medicated people in ads goes on and on, but there's one that I do enjoy. Two little girls are "making a cake" and slopping stuff all over the counter and floor.  Mom has to scrub at the floor with a sponge mop. Doorbell rings, they pull in this huge box of Swiffer cleaning supplies. Mother says something to littlest kid, "and how does that make Mommy feel?" regarding the big mess. Kid, cute little blondie type, scrunches up her face and raises her fists.

That, my friends, comes closest perhaps to how I might react.

But you see, I'd have already blown my cool over the kids slopping cake mix all over the counter and floor.

Yes. Yes I would have.

 

The fuse to my temper is mighty short.

I no longer know what being "calm" is.

 

Don't give me any crap!

Unrequited love and labor

Thought I'd post some thoughts about my recent trip to Florida.

First, let me say, Florida is not all it is cracked up to be.

It just isn't.

It's mostly swamp and full of strangers...completely full of strangers.

It isn't New Jersey.

Second, I want to tell you about the Coral Castle.

Many years ago, this very small guy from Latvia came to America to make his fortune so he could marry his sweetheart back home and bring her here to enjoy life in the United States.

He set out to find work as a stonemason. So he goes to Florida, where there is only oolitic limestone, not sincere bedrock. (The reason there are so many sinkholes in the state is because rainwater can, over time, erode limestone.) But despite this, the little guy finds work, has kind folks take him in and get him adjusted to life in the US.

Then, somewhere in-between all this, he decides to start building something out of the limestone...a castle of sorts...where all his dreams are played out.

Hint: The woman of his heart's desire evidently either didn't want to go to America or didn't want him to go or thought he was a raving lunatic. She turned him down, yet, despite this, he started building his dream home out of solid rock for her.

Somehow, this little dude at less than 5', not even 100 lbs., created these odd standing stones. No one ever saw him work. No one saw how he lifted some 30 ton rocks out of the pits where they were dug. No one saw how he got them upright. No one actually saw how he carved, sculpted the shapes, or how he was able to align them with the sun and moon and North Star.

 He did some of the work 14 miles away from where the Coral Castle now stands. Then he got more property, along Rt. 1, and moved most of the already made rocks to where they stand today. Magic? Electronic stuff? The use of two logs in an A-frame?

Nobody knows because nobody ever saw him work. Nobody knows.

Once, two teenagers sneaked by and thought they saw him moving stones, but nobody believed their wild tale.

Here's this garden now. It is a tomb, a reliquary, a tribute to one man's determination.

And it is overwhelmingly sad to walk among the stones and hear the story. "Here is the bedroom he carved for his love and himself, with two small cradles for their never to be had children." "Here is the heart shaped rock table that weighs three tons." "Here is the swinging door rock that used to pivot on a car axle but when the metal wore down, modern day engineers could not fix."

The guy was either a genius or a maniac.

But he was all alone.

He had no wife. No children. No life other than his rocks.

He died of lung cancer in a hospital, all by himself.

I cried.

My kid, on the other hand, stated that "he should have gotten over it and gone on with his life."

Ed Leeskalnin just couldn't.