tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

I keep forgetting to recount this really funny moment from tiling.

We needed to draw some lines on a tile to guide an angled cut. I had been using a Sharpie on the floor, so I handed that to Aaron. I guess the tile was a little wet so the Sharpie was having difficulty writing on the tile.

Frustrated, Aaron stops writing. He looks at the Sharpie with a very stern expression and snaps at it, “I’m trying to Write Out Loud!”

–

I guess you have to have seen the commercials for that to make sense, but it cracked me up!

This is my new favorite song, perfect for the holidays. Beautiful, haunting, irresistible.

Xmas Song
~Meiko

I don’t think Santa’s coming this year
cuz I’ve been a bad, a bad girl.
I’ve made my bed, now I’m lying in it
without a care, a care in the world.

And I took his heart,
I tore it apart,
I left him outside in the cold.

I shot him down,
in the middle of town,
oh I left him outside in the snow.

I won’t have no presents this year,
cuz I’ve been a bad, a bad girl.
I’ve made my bed, now I’m lying in it
without a care, a care in the world.

And he took me in,
he made me sin,
and I never wanna go back again.

So I did him in,
I made it all in,
oh I never wanna go back again.

…maybe next year I’ll be good…
…maybe next year I’ll be better…
…maybe next year I’ll be good…
…maybe next year I’ll be better…

…maybe next year I’ll be good…
…maybe next year I’ll be better…
…maybe next year I’ll be good…
…maybe next year I’ll be better…

It’s that time of year again. The time of year I call up my brother and say, Hey, we’re going Even Stevens on Christmas this year, right?

Maybe if we still lived in the same town, even state, it would be worth exchanging gifts with family – but at this point it’s really just exchanging checks, right? I usually get him a Best Buy gift card, and well, he works there now so it seems sort of anti-climactic. And what would they get me? Something off my Amazon wish list? I would rather they buy themselves something nice that they truly desire, than get me something. I mean the thought is really nice, and I do love getting packages in the mail, but they would not make out very well on the return. I am not the best gift-buyer ever (except for Aaron) so they would probably do better buying something for themselves.

I prefer buying presents for birthdays and events, when a reciprocal gift is not ‘expected’. You know the old, Great, they got me something, now I have to get them something! Something said fairly often by my dad. And I hate making other people feel like that.

I already know my mom is donating to charity instead of sending gifts, which I applaud (but I do smile wistfully at the irony as I remember how often she used to tell my brother, ‘Charity begins at home!’)

And my sister apparently has no interest in my life anymore, so I feel a card should suffice, and even that is generous.

I decorated our tree last night (white lights, not colored) and wrapped all of Aaron’s presents. He’s away for work until Friday, so he’ll have some Christmas cheer to come home to.

Other than that, my birthday approaches. I used to want a big party for my 30th, but now? Not so much. I guess because most of my friends have moved away – at least the big partiers – and the ones still here, I rarely hear from. I’m kind of sick of sending emails and texts and not hearing back, not hearing back, and then finally! getting an email saying So sorry, been so busy, we really must do dinner! and then I respond with, Great! What days in the next few weeks work for you? and then not hearing anything back after that. And stop, I know it’s not a sign that they are trying to pull away like an escaping boyfriend and trying to force me to break up with them. Lives are busy. And if you’re too busy for dinner, you’re too busy for a party. So I’m not having one.

Instead we’re going to dinner with two very dear friends, who, shock! gasp! actually make time to spend with us. I know we will have a blast and eat and laugh far too much. It sounds very perfect to me.

Of course, I’m open to having dinner with other people, if they do remember my birthday and would like to recognize the occasion somehow. We’ll see if that happens. But I think the party thing has died for us in this area. The friends we have here – longtime friends and new friends – don’t all seem to be friends with each other, and I don’t think that will ever develop, so it’s easier just to keep our little groups separate. I’m fine with that. I do miss the days of getting together with a bunch of people who all know and like each other, but time passes, things change. Soon I’ll be setting up play dates and befriending other moms, I’m sure.

Life, it trudges ever onward.

I signed up for another BzzAgent* campaign, this time for an actual product that I get to use and keep forever. How exciting!

I am a big fan of my Sonicare toothbrush – and my dentist always gives a very satisfactory grunt of approval whenever he asks what kind of toothbrush I use for my ‘home care’. Aaron and I each have our own brush head for it. They come with plastic caps that go over the brush, which I presume is to keep the bristles somewhat clean. However, the caps get so mucky, so you know that brush head isn’t clean if the cap can’t even stay clean. And we all know how filthy bathrooms are – germs jump three feet straight in the air when you flush your toilet! No joke! And I’m guessing those little bastards don’t just fall right straight back into said toilet, either. No sir – once they’re free, they are f-r-e-e running and jumping all over your bathroom!

So the campaign I signed up for is for the Sonicare Sanitizer.  It’s a cute little container that you stick your brush heads in (two at a time, please) and point them toward the uv light bulb. Shut the door, hit the buttom, and you see the blue uv light shining, killing all the nasties on your brush head. Simple, convenient, and I’m assuming effective. I mean, how the hell would I really know if it’s actually doing anything? I won’t, but I feel better about using it. Plus, it keeps the brush heads hidden out of sight. They look a little creepy sitting there on the counter, like someone just decapitated my toothbrush.

I don’t know how much it costs so I don’t know if I would actually pay money for it, or at least a lot, but I would say it’s a good gift idea for the germaphones in your life. Hey, every little counts, right?

*Being a BzzAgent means you try out products for free, and then do some word-of-mouthing about them, good or bad.  So you get free stuff, and you just have to talk about it. Cool, right? Right.

For 12 hours straight yesterday, I laid tiles. Twelve. Hours. Straight.

Aaron had the unglamorous job of grinding down concrete around the toilet drain to make the floor level – hopefully the tiles won’t crack when we put the toilet back on. He also had to saw down some more door jams. As well as cut a few remaining pieces of tile.

Let me tell you, being on your knees for 12 hours is no fun. I’m all tiled out.

No pics yet as the tiles need to be cleaned, and then grouted. Patience.

Our tiling project is nearing completion, after a back breaking day of labor. Aaron set up the wet saw and we went to work cutting tiles and laying them out. We probably should have been laying them out in thinset and cutting as we went, but I wasn’t mentally prepared to start mixing thinset today, as the consistency has to be juuuuuuust right, so we ended up doing all the cutting and making sure everything lined up perfectly.

Aaron is a master with saws. I know from experience I was never meant to be a carpenter. You can ask my brother – he has a cd holder I made him for Christmas one year. It’s just two enclosed shelves that will hold cd’s, among other things. I swear, not one edge on that damn thing is straight. I think he still has it, which I’m not sure I should be happy about. Sure, I was like 10 when I made it, but it’s still pathetic. So I let Aaron saw into the door jambs and cut all the tiles. He was perfection.

Here he is making an angled cut.

Perfect fit!

And here it is, laid out dry. Tomorrow we pull them up a few at a time, trowel down thinset, and smack them back in. Hopefully it won’t be too difficult and we’ll be ready to grout on Monday!

It’s our first Thanksgiving as a married couple, and also the first Thanksgiving we are staying home.  Aaron had grand visions of brining a turkey – but for just the two of us, it seemed a bit much. So I made prime rib.

I made a garlic rosemary rub for it, and it turned out fabulous. I can’t wait to eat the leftovers!

Instead of gorging on carbs, I made mashed cauliflower – so good! The secret is sour cream – full fat, no less. Hey, it’s the holidays, ok?

I discovered a lovely recipe for chipotle sweet potatoes, which I thought was amazing. Aaron acquiesced and took a tiny bite, only to confirm that yes, he still does loathe the taste of sweet potatoes. And no, adobe chipotle peppers do not mask the taste of the potatoes. Well, I tried.  (And they are really good).

And what’s Thanksgiving without pie? I love pumpkin, but Aaron loves apple. And it seemed a touch healthier, so I made apple.

Here’s the full spread. Doesn’t seem like a lot, but it filled us completely up. Took all day to make, and 5 minutes to finish. Of course, I don’t care about that – can you see how full my wine glass is? That’s a root beer bottle by Aaron’s seat. Ah, we know how to party.

Aaron and I are both big, huge fans of all things Camelbak. We don’t step foot on a slope without a camelbak strapped under our snowboard jackets. We don’t go hiking without one strapped to our waist if we’re not carrying anything else, or in a backpack if we are hauling stuff with us. Even our every day water bottles are Camelbaks.  I know, we should buy stock.

Anyway, so my bottle started leaking the other day – I don’t think I did anything to it, like put it in the bottom rack of the dishwasher, but I was messing around cleaning it by hand so it’s possible I jacked up the vent somehow. I wrote an email to Camelbak, asking if they had any advice on how to fix the leak. They responded almost immediately saying they were sorry about the leak and they stand behind their products, so please provide my address and they would send me a replacement lid.

Just like that!

God, I love good customer service.

I also took that opportunity to ask them if red wine would wash completely out of the bladder, or if I should purchase a separate one dedicated for wine use. I wonder what they’ll make of that. But hey, you gotta sneak your drinks into a football game somehow, right?

Go. Buy. Love.

My dad would have turned 90 years old today.

I had always been afraid that memories would fade, and the pain never would. I’m happy to report that neither of those are true.

I can still hear his voice, clear as day, in my head. I can hear his laugh. I can picture him sitting in his favorite chair, one hand cupped behind his ear so he could hear the tv better, one hand holding a mug of steaming tea. I can see him playing his piano, hear him hitting the wrong notes, hear him repeating those same 8 measures over and over until he got it right – or close enough. I can even smell the tomatoes he grew all summer and then pureed to freeze for the winter. I can smell the God-awful breakfast concoction he used to make every single morning, along with a piece of rye toast and instant coffee. I can see him practicing his tennis serve against the wall – I remember how he served differently with his left hand than his right hand. I can see the lump in his wrist from where it never healed right after he broke it. I can hear him chuckle to himself when he makes a really good zinger at one of us. I can hear him yell, “Jiggers, guys!” whenever my mom’s car pulled into the driveway. I can feel the iciness of his cheek when he would come inside after a cold winter’s day of crossing guard duty – he would say, “Want to see how cold it is outside, Shell?” and he would present his cheek so I could kiss it and see just how cold it really was out there.

I remember placing my hand over his clasped hands in the coffin, how cool they felt, and soft. I remember how his hair felt as I brushed my hand over it one last time.

All these things I can remember. I can’t remember saying goodbye.

Happy Birthday, Daddy. I love you.