Tag: spousal relationships

Call 911 Are You Kidding Me?

Real men don’t call 911.  Lacerations, contusions or amputations are only emergencies for mere mortals.  Men will refuse to call or seek help for any illness, accident or even heart attack unless forced to do so by an outside party, such as a spouse or partner.    The only reason a man will willingly seek out emergency help or call 911 is if he needs help finding a missing appendage in case of an amputation.  Then he will try to shake off any help by the paramedics except to maybe reattach the amputated limb.

Believe me I know this from experience.  Mitch has refused to seek medical attention even under threat of physical force to drag him to the hospital.  I came home from work one day and no one was waiting at the door to greet me, which was very odd.  I walked into the house and still no dog or man came to say hi, getting weirder.  As I walked into the bedroom there was Mitch laying on the bed, his right thumb and forefinger wrapped in blood soaked bandages.  I asked what happened and he just pointed skyward.  I looked at the ceiling and saw a hole about the size of a silver dollar with more pellets imbedded around the main hole.

There were bloodstains on his jeans and my first thought was that those are not going to come out.  There were bits of ceiling and insulation on the floor next to the bed.  Again I asked what happened.

His explanation so plausible to another man was just as ludicrous to a woman.  He was working on one of his shotguns by cycling a single shotgun shell in the chamber when the gun went off.  Of course the shell had to be live.  What was I thinking?  Obviously a stupid question.  His thumb and forefinger were wrapped around the end of the barrel of the gun holding it steady.  Once he realized that he had not blown off his thumb and forefinger, then it became just another cut, no big deal.   The shot caused a nickel sized laceration on his thumb and forefinger that looked like someone had taken a grapefruit spoon and scooped out a section of flesh.  Needless to say both fingers bled profusely.

I told him that I wanted to look at the wounds and he said, “No the blood would be too much for you.”  That I couldn’t take it.  Me – who has raised two boys through broken bones, broken noses and visits to the ER for stitches.  After examining the wounds and re-dressing them, I asked why he didn’t call 911.

“Call 911 are you kidding me?  It’s just a small cut almost a scratch.

It’s Time to Start Writing Again

I realized the other day that I hadn’t been writing since AJ died.  I had nothing to say.  Nothing funny or witty came to mind; I just felt this empty loss.  I guess I needed the time to get past his death.  I still miss him, but now I know that it was for the best for him.  No more pain.  I’m just sorry that I didn’t clue into his pain sooner.  That makes me sad that I didn’t see the signs, the growing rib cage, the slowing down and most of all not picking up on his refusal to eat with the usual gusto he had exhibited in the past.  Does that make me a bad pet owner?  I hope not.  But I hope that I will be a more aware pet owner for Charlie and Orso.

When a member of the family dies all you feel at first is the sorrow and pain of the loss of a dear loved one.  All of their faults are forgotten.  I could only think of how much I loved him, what a devoted dog he was and that I would never get to see or pet him again.  AJ wasn’t perfect, far from it in reality. 

He had severe separation anxiety issues that we could never overcome, even after ten years in a stable loving environment.  AJ was a consummate counter surfer, stealing and consuming multiple loaves of bread and many coffee cakes that were still in the baking dish.  How that glass pan survived multiple crashes to the floor is a testament to the strength of Pyrex.  He even broke into the pantry and ate his way through two loaves of bread, chocolate cake mix, taco shells, dry pasta and a bottle of Magic Shell in one scavenger attack.  He survived without getting sick, even though I would have felt some sense of justice if he had.

I can look back now and remember the carnage and mess and smile, but not then.  Mitch and I went through a period of trying everything we could think of to contain the dogs, with AJ as the ring leader, and keep the kitchen contents safe from theft and destruction.  The pantry doors will have to be replaced because of the scratches from AJ working to pull the doors open.  I can’t remember how many times AJ knocked over the trash can and dragged the bag out into the room and searched for something that might be tasty, leaving a nasty mess for us to clean up. 

AJ chewed his way through a pair of Mitch’s boots, a pair of my gloves, a pair of 360 ear muffs (my favorite ones of course) and a couple of my cookbooks over the years.  I don’t know if it was out of boredom or fear, but it was so frustrating on my part, looking at the destruction and the cost to repair or replace what was torn up.  We even tried kenneling him when we were gone.  There wasn’t a crate made that could hold him for long.  AJ had an uncanny ability for escape.  His nickname should have been Houdini.  First we tried a wire crate.  It took him maybe four hours to force the welds at the corners to pop and collapse the crate.  I’m only guessing at the four hours because that was how long I was gone.  After the failure of the wire crate we tried an airline crate, formed plastic with wire windows and door.  The door lasted three days before AJ had pushed against the hinge pins long and hard enough to bend the catches so the door would swing open.  Mitch tried to get creative and cut a door out of clear Lexan, drilled vent holes and hung it in place of the bent wire door.  That solution lasted one week.  Long enough for AJ to chew through the formed plastic base all the way across under the door, causing the door to just fall out.  Done, we were out of ideas on ways to lock up Houdini. 

What can you do with a dog that is that determined to be untethered with a myriad of phobias and bad habits?  The only option we had, love him and deal with the phobias and bad behavior on a day by day basis.  For all of the destruction and mayhem, I wouldn’t have missed one moment with AJ.

One Day Two Countertops and Only Three Meltdowns

One more project down and only a gazillion to go.  I gave Mitch two weeks off from home improvement projects and threw in a weekend hunting trip to boot to relax him before tackling the latest project, new kitchen countertops.  Should have been a cakewalk right, especially since both countertops were only six feet long and no corners.  Wrong, never is in this house. 

First surprise of the day was when I just pulled the one side off by myself, shocking Mitch that the old countertop was not anchored to the cabinets.  Not surprising to me, by now nothing surprises me about this house.  We switched out the old countertop for the new one, done easy peasy.  I thought that the second would be almost as quick, unhook the drains, garbage disposal and faucet, and lift off.  That part went fairly fast so things were looking hopeful. 

Cutting the new hole and fitting the sink was a bit more challenging.  Many measurements with the tape measure were taken, just to be sure that the hole wasn’t cut too big.  You can always make a hole bigger, but you can’t make a hole smaller.  I walked into the kitchen to find Mitch drawing the outline of the sink in permanent marker on the top of the new countertop.  I rubbed the center line he had drawn to the edge of the countertop that would be exposed, it didn’t come off.  I looked at him and said that this will not work having a black line across my new countertop, oh no.  He turned and left to find something that would remove the marker and thus would get to reside on the planet another day.  Luckily, Windex worked like a champ.  Mitch is off the endangered species list for now.

The jigsaw wouldn’t get quite close enough to the back splash to make the back side cut, so that took different blades, cutting angles and eventually a different saw to get a close cut.  Next came the fitting of the sink into the new hole.  It didn’t, surprise.  How can you measure, measure and measure again and then it doesn’t fit?  That caused Meltdown number one.  Out came the rubber mallet, at least it wasn’t the sledgehammer.  Two new dents to the stainless steel sink and it fit.  Woo hoo. 

The container of plumbers putty was dried up and hard, so Mitch had to add water to soften it up.  Meltdown number two came when he asked for my help holding the sink in the hole so he could attach the fasteners that clamp onto the underside of the sink and secure it to the countertop.  I walked to the backside of the countertop which was sitting on blocks in the dining room and waited for direction.  Evidently I had turned off my mental telepathy switch and didn’t know that I was to immediately grab the countertop and sink in a death grip to hold it in place.  Mitch bent down and flipped up the front side causing the sink to slip.  Huge meltdown.  I told him he needed to use his words.  Not very smart on my part, using sarcasm in the face of unmitigated rage.  At least he didn’t toss me across the room, just sent the dust brush flying.  Second attempt and this time I grabbed the sink but it slipped again, causing Mitch to say that he would just secure the sink to the countertop on his back in the kitchen with the countertop supported by the cabinets, among other more colorful words.

We carried the countertop sans sink to the kitchen and placed it on the cabinets.  He set the sink in the hole in the countertop and I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be very long before this would be finished.  Wrong again, I should be used to being wrong a lot.  I made myself scarce when I heard the comment, “If one more thing goes wrong, I’m lighting a match.”

The third meltdown was almost anticlimactic compared to meltdown number two, sort of like an aftershock.  Mitch decided there weren’t enough sink clips to secure the sink to the countertop.  That set off a string of ranting and raving about why nothing is ever simple and easy about the house.  I wisely chose not to remind him that the house was in his family long before I came into the picture.

Ten o’clock at night and the new countertop project was finally finished.  It only took fourteen hours and three meltdowns, a new record somewhere I’m sure.

I Am Weak

I succumbed to the media hype touting “Black Friday Deals” even though I swore long ago to not ever participate in the lunacy of the mobs shopping on the morning after Thanksgiving.  Years ago, eight to be exact, our refrigerator went out on Thanksgiving evening loaded to the gills with enough leftovers to feed a small army.  Desperate to not lose the food Mitch jumped in the car and bought many bags of ice to fill the coolers loaded with food that wasn’t thoroughly chilled.

Very early Friday morning we entered the fray in order to find the best price on a refrigerator in stock in one of the many stores that sold appliances.  I could not believe the crush of people pushing and shoving each other just to save a few dollars on some totally useless prize.  There were men and women snatching up their finds bashing into other shoppers thoroughly thoughtless of their actions.  I didn’t hear one “excuse me” the whole day.  But I did hear, “watch it” and “that’s mine” a lot.  At Best Buy, the line to check out and pay snaked from the front of the store up and down aisles to the very back of the store.  I told Mitch there was no amount of money we could save that would cause me to stand in the line to buy the refrigerator.   Needless to say, we went elsewhere in search of a refrigerator.

We found one later at Factory Direct Appliance, and were helped promptly and courteously.  We paid and loaded up the fridge, swearing to each other that we would never venture out on Black Friday ever again.

But this morning I fell for the hype.  I ventured out well after the lunatics had pillaged the stores and had driven home with their plunder.  I had my own treasures to find.  Where did I go for my plunder?  Petco where I bought two bags of dog food and RedX where I bought a case of wine.  Got to stock up on the staples, winter is coming.   I have priorities you know.

I am so weak.

A Man and His Home Improvement Store

What is it about a man and a home improvement store?  I love to shop as much as the next person, especially for shoes, but come on, what is the enticement of plumbing parts?  Shoes and boots have a stylish appeal that expresses your personality that you can show the world whenever you step outdoors.  But hose connectors?  Who’s going to see them?  When guests come over you would show off the tile or pedestal sinks in a newly remodeled bath, but no one would point out the shiny new hoses for the hot and cold water.

But yet Mitch will stand and gaze over the plumbing aisle forever with a look of sheer awe at the variety of shapes and sizes of hoses and connectors.  I even asked if he had measured before we got to Lowes and he said yes he knew exactly what he needed.  After ten minutes of watching him stare transfixed at the huge assortment, I said that I was going to go to the tile section to find something that would work for the gap at the top of the shower to the ceiling.  He said, “Okay,” in a faraway dreamy voice like a drug addict that had just gotten a fix.

On my way to the tile section I found the kitchen countertop that I fell in love with instantly and took pictures of it with my phone so I would remember it later.  I wandered through the tile section and came up with all kinds of solutions to the three inch gap.  The guest bathroom is not only small in area but with a very low ceiling, so with the shower on, there would be condensation and back splashing that would cause the sheetrock to get wet.  With having to remodel the remodel, Mitch is extra cautious about moisture in the bathroom. 

After spending a very productive ten minutes finding our new kitchen countertop (this will be Mitch’s next project, although he doesn’t know it yet) and coming up with a number of solutions for the top of the shower I wandered back to find Mitch still in the plumbing section.  He had one two inch section of hose fitting and a tube of sealer in his hand.  I asked what else he needed and he said no he had everything he needed.  So why was he still standing there?  It has to plumbing crack.  I looked skyward for guidance.

I dragged him away to show him the new countertop I wanted and my ideas for the top of the shower.  We made a decision to use porcelain tile at the top and grabbed a couple of pieces to take home to try out.  He then said he needed to get caulk.  Oh no, not caulk, anything but caulk.  I don’t know how many hundreds of tubes of caulk Mitch has bought over the years, but each time he needs to buy caulk, we go through the same process.  He stares at the variety of brands, types and colors for minutes, and then when he finally makes a decision, he stands there and reads the entire back section of the tube.  Why?  What could he possibly learn that he does not already know about caulk having caulked four bathrooms in the last three years?

God help me if the caulk industry ever does invent a new and improved caulk.

Grace and Brains Too

With my usual grace, I was able to maim myself once again with yet another innocuous object.  In this case the skeleton key on my necklace was the weapon of disfigurement.  Mitch constantly asks how I am able to cut or bruise myself on something that doesn’t pose any threat to the majority of the human race.  I have a gift that’s all.  I don’t a pose a threat to anyone else, just myself. 

My injury occurred at work on Friday, while trying to be ecologically conscientious.  The company I work for recently passed out blue bins to each of us for the express purpose of paper recycling.  We are responsible for filling the bins and then carting the bins downstairs to the warehouse and dump the paper in specially marked boxes.  I normally try to empty my bin when it’s about half full, because when the bin is full of paper, it is very heavy.  Or maybe I’m just a wimp.  But in this case I haven’t had a chance to empty it in about a month so it was pretty full and heavy.

I lugged it all the way to the warehouse and when I hoisted it up to dump the paper into the box, the lip of the bin caught the skeleton key whipping it up and smacking me in the middle of my forehead cutting me.  I almost made a smart ass remark about workman’s comp when I turned around to see the HR manager waiting patiently for me to finish dumping my bin so she could dump hers that she had pushed in on a cart.  Not only am I “graceful” but evidently not very smart either.

An Unproductive Day

It’s just a rainy Saturday, a perfect day to get caught up on cleaning the house, the closet or some other productive household chore.  But I’m just not in the mood.  This is something I’ll regret tomorrow or the next day, but not today.  Today, I just want to relax and do nothing productive.  The dogs aren’t even any fun.  They’re lying curled up on the bed snoozing, enjoying the rainy day too. 

The only one who is getting anything accomplished is Mitch.  He is diligently working on the re-construction of the guest bathroom.   He’s mudding and sanding and re-mudding and re-sanding the sheetrock seams, giving it his best shot, even though applying mud and sanding is not his forte.  Of course this is adding to my guilt level, knowing that I’m being a slug and he’s slaving away. 

I feel like painting something, maybe the kitchen.  Painting is therapeutic for me.  One small problem, I have no paint and haven’t even picked out a color yet.  But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about painting the kitchen; it just adds to the mental guilt list of one more thing I could be doing if I had been more proactive in deciding on a color and buying the paint.  I could run to Lowes and hurriedly pick out a color and just start painting.  Of course we all know how well my painting projects go. 

Good thing it’s a small kitchen.

Fire And Ice

Mitch told me this morning that we were the same story, just different editions so you wind up with the same story content being on different pages.  I asked him to explain what he meant.  He said that when I ask if he’s happy his usual answer is that he’s okay.  Okay to him is that yes, he’s happy and content.  He went on to say that while his happiness level on a scale of ten, he is maybe a five or a six (perfect for him), my happiness level is closer to a nine or a ten.  The reason for his declaration was that yesterday I had confronted him and asked point blank if he was happy because he had been walking around for almost a year now with this look of desperate misery.  He has been more closed than normal and giving off people repellent vibes.  I gave him the chance to clear the air and tell me up front what it would take for him to be happy.  I’m a true believer in making yourself happy because no one else out there is going to.  If you can’t be happy and content with yourself how can you possibly be happy in any kind of relationship?

I have to explain something about Mitch.  Mitch is reserved, closed and mostly very stoic. A classic introvert.  I think he was born old, an old soul is how his mother used to describe him.  Me, I’m probably never going to grow up. Where is the fun in that?  I on the other hand am open, happy most of the time and very demonstrative.  An extrovert through and through.  He was raised in a family that didn’t touch much, very little hugging, while I was raised in a family that hugged and kissed all the time.  We told each other that we loved them (not my brother when he was kid – yuck!).  That was a real challenge for Mitch, getting used to me touching and kissing him especially in public.  In reality we are total opposites, maybe that is what attracted me to him, the quiet reserve.  I wanted to dig and uncover the fire underneath all the layers.  And yes there is a fire way down deep.

He went on to explain that he is very task oriented and focuses all of his attention and energy on the one task at hand.  He does not multi-task well.  That was why he was coming off distracted.  It’s like a news reel in his head, total focus on the current project or problem.  Right now it is the remodel of the dining room and before that, The Great Bathroom Remodel, where every forward progress was accompanied with two steps back.  Maybe I’m working him too hard. 

I know that I’m a challenge to live with and he certainly is too, but isn’t that half the fun, having to figure out what truly makes us tick?

Our Exotic Vacation or What I Did on a Work Release Program

Our friends tell us that we really know how to take a vacation.  Of course I think they are being a bit sarcastic.  We planned our vacation for the first week of May for a reason.  Hopefully the weather will be nice, not too hot and no rain.  The plan is to tear out one of our retaining walls and replace it before it collapses at an inopportune time.  Like when a car is parked on the second tier drive.  Our property is pie shaped on a hillside.  The house sits at the lowest spot on the hillside with a large detached two car garage behind the house.  There is a large two car driveway up to the garage then a single car driveway just above the garage leading to the shed door.  Above that is a long graveled single car pad.  In essence we have multiple parking spots for lots of people to park for parties we never have.  Mitch is not social.

The retaining wall was built with railroad ties and after almost forty years was dilapidated and in need of repair.  It ran from the garage to the end of the second tier drive.  There was a bow half way down to the end making pulling into the drive a bit of a challenge.  We would have to swing wide then pull back to the left to miss the railroad ties that jutted out.  Bright and early with low skies we started the demolition of the wall.  The demo went very quickly with me filling wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with dirt dug out to expose the wall until we uncovered the reason the retaining wall jutted out.  There buried in the side of the hill was a huge granite boulder.  Evidently when the retaining wall was originally built they just built around the boulder instead of removing it.  We tried to dig it out but it was way too big.  Demolition was done for the day.  Now we had to find someone with a backhoe or bobcat to dig out and remove the boulder.  We always draw the black marble.

We called all of our friends (a very small list) to ask if anyone knew of someone who owns a backhoe and would be willing to come out and unearth our boulder.  All laughed long and loud at our predicament.  Funny, we didn’t think it was so humorous.  Day two we found the best backhoe operator in the world who came over within a half hour of our call and dug out the boulder in record time.  He even placed the boulder where I wanted it.  Maybe there is a silver lining once in a while.  Between the two of us, mainly Mitch, we finished removing all of the existing rotting ties and readied the area for rebuild.  Mitch wisely called two friends to come and help re-lay the new railroad ties.  At ten feet long these babies are way too heavy for me to help carry. 

Day three the new retaining wall was re-erected in less than three hours with three strong men at work.  Now the only thing left is to back fill the wall with the dirt we dug out to provide support front and back to keep it from collapsing.  Guess who gets to wield the shovel?  That is something I can do.

Another Test of True Love

It must be true love.  We are still married.  Some days I’m not so sure why though.  After the Great Bathroom Remodel was finally finished, just two days short of nine months, I waited for a couple of weeks to spring the next remodel project on Mitch.  You know, give him time to recover.  The latest project we’re (Mitch) starting is the dining room.  What can you possibly remodel in a dining room?  Well in most homes, not too much, change the paint color or wallpaper, maybe new carpeting, but in our house it’s a major undertaking.  Our house is one of those homes that was added on to multiple times, with or without any regard to the local building codes, depending on the decade the addition took place in.  The original structure, the kitchen and front room, now our dining room was built in 1928.  No building codes then.  Two bedrooms were added on in 1932 or 1934, still no building codes.  The final addition, the living room, master bedroom and bath were added in 1985.  This time built to code. I think.

Back in the early twentieth century one of the more popular indoor wall types for cottages was knotty pine planks.  Our house was originally built as a weekend fishing cottage, very rustic.  Hard wood floors, knotty pine planks for the walls and ceilings.  All stained dark brown.  You get the picture, a big brown cave with rooms.  When the final addition was built in 1985, sheetrock was used for the walls and ceiling, and for the floor, the ugliest gold carpet, yuck, and now gone, yay!

When we started the Great Bathroom Remodel, one of the first things that had to be done was to widen the front door, in order to get the new bathtub in the house.  That meant removing some of the knotty pine planks for the wider door.  When Mitch began finishing the front door project and replacing the outdoor light fixture, I started thinking about just removing all of the knotty pine and sheet rocking the walls.  We could cover the wood ceiling with sheetrock.  This would lighten up the room and make it look much larger.  As I’ve said before, I’m the idea person, Mitch is the implementer. 

I sort of tossed out my idea at a weak moment for Mitch, after a steak dinner and three glasses of wine.  I am also an opportunistic woman, I carefully plan my moments of surprise.  In his weakened state of mind, I laid out my ideas, glossed over the rough spots and finished on a high note. 

“It shouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks, don’t you think?  Nothing like the bathroom.” I was determined to put a positive spin on it.  Of course nothing done in this house takes a couple of weeks.

“God I hope not.”  Then he even got in the spirit of the remodel and offered a suggestion.  “We could even put down the bamboo flooring that we did in the living room and bedroom.” Yes, wine and steak, works every time.

Four weeks ago Mitch started the demolish of the dining room.  As always, he is very methodical, careful to salvage as much of the lumber he takes down, in case he has to reuse it again.  Me, I’m more of a bulldozer when it comes to demo work.  Isn’t that the point – demolish?  He was able to salvage a major part of the planks he removed, which will be used to patch a hole in one of the spare bedrooms and build a closet in the other.  We discovered there was no insulation on the exterior wall, no wonder that room is always hot in the summer and cold in the winter.  The very dated (ugly – definitely ’80’s) ceiling fan went away, which means I get to go SHOPPING!

 I spent hours in the paint department and grabbed armfuls of paint chips in all colors and hues.  The clerk kept asking if I needed any help.  I told him no I just wanted a variety of colors to compare.  He thought I was nuts and carefully backed away.  I found a ceiling fan and wall sconces that we could both agree on.  That’s always a challenge.  Our tastes and styles are complete opposites.

Demolition took about a week and a half.  Mitch only took down the knotty pine planks and left the wood ceiling unmolested, leaving it as a base for the sheetrock to be screwed into.  Hanging the sheetrock on the ceiling was a challenge.  The ceiling is vaulted with a four foot wide flat space in the middle of the ceiling where Mitch built a rafter for air conditioning duct work six years ago.  So he had to hang sheetrock at an angle up to the area for the rafter on both sides.  Of course this would have been easier if the room was level, but nothing and I mean nothing in this house is square or plumb.  After he finally got the ceiling hung, he found out the floor has a slight bow in it when he tried to hang the first piece on the wall.  I thought a Mitch Fit Warning was going to go out over the National Weather Service.  It wasn’t pretty.  Time to take the dogs for a walk.

He finished hanging all the sheetrock on Thursday except for the four inch high area above the front door.  That was proving to be a challenge.  The ceiling comes down to just above the door leaving little space to hang the door trim above the door.  For five days he has experimented with different ways to brace up the offending section and for five days Mitch has been just a bit testy.  He finally came up with an idea to brace up the sheetrock but the trim for the door will have to be different from the rest of the trim in the room.  I don’t think it will be that big of a deal and it solves the problem so no more Mitch Fit Warning. (At least for now).

 For the mudding and sanding I hired a neighbor that does it for a living to come in and do the finish work.  For all of his talents, mudding and sanding is not Mitch’s forte.  The mudding and sanding process has taken about a week and a half and should be finished this week. 

That leaves me painting the ceiling and walls.  Mitch will install the new pretty ceiling fan and wall sconces.  After that Mitch can then start installing the bamboo floor, and because the room is not square that will definitely bring on at least one Mitch Fit Warning maybe more.