Where Does the Money Go?

Here's a photo of our construction. This is where all our money has gone this summer...

Testing....One...Two...

Is anyone still reading this spot? I'm just wondering, because it's been a while since anything new was posted and, well, I know we're all busy and stuff, so I'm thinking maybe this spot has fallen off everyone's radar? This may just be another step on my path to accepting that the Girlfriend Group is pretty much disbanded. Sigh.

The Day the Addition is Weather-Tight....

.....it won't rain for six months.

My beloved is having a bit of a time with the fact that it is currently POURING rain. Now normally, rain isn't an issue around here, but right now the addition we're building is completely exposed, the entire back of the existing house has been divested, thanks to Dana the Cheap Stripper, of all its siding and weatherproofing, and something about the confluence of these conditions causes whatever water that rolls off of the structures to collect....wait for it.... in the basement. This morning's conversations were peppered with such nouns as "towels," "fans," and "tarps."

And it's all the Brit's fault, really. Last night, as he was leaving, he decided to leave a few things out because, and I'm quoting here, "it's not going to rain tonight." Well, precisely speaking, he was right - it didn't rain last night - but it's enthusiastically making up for that fact this morning...

A Snapshot of Monday Morning at My House

British punk rock.
Dana "the cheap stripper."
Ladders, levels, and table saws.
Freaked out cats.
Cracking wood, squeaking nails, and falling siding.
Sean's new haircut.
A check for nearly $5000. for windows.

And it's not even eight thirty in the morning yet.....

Misplaced Guilt

I have a terrible memory when it comes to anything having to do with my childhood. In fact, I don't trust my memory for anything before, say, 1990. It's bordering on pathological; I'm pretty sure that I could be the sole subject of a dissertation for a doctoral candidate in psychiatry.

I tell you this because I had a conversation with my grandmother the other day when she came to visit me. I'm not sure how we got on the subject - though I'm pretty sure it started when she began (rightly) complaining about the way Grampa's been treating her lately. We talked about his recent behavior, then the subject moved to his sister who, it seems, is just as much a control freak as her brother. The thing about Aunt B, though, is that she looks EXACTLY like her mother. Exactly. It's almost creepy. This fact was commented upon by me, which caused Gramma to reminisce about the apparently terrible relationship she had with her mother-in-law, hereafter known as GG. Gramma was "never good enough" for GG's son, she was constantly dissed and berated - publicly and privately. Much crap was presented by GG to Gramma at Christmas time; the litany of demeaning and aggressive acts perpetrated against this kind, lovely woman was shocking to me.

I do not have words sufficient to describe my affection, admiration and adoration for my grandmother. The adjectives "kind," "funny," "sweet," and "generous" do not even begin to scratch the surface of the soul that resides in this woman. She has accepted me without reservation and does not qualify our relationship to others when she introduces me as her granddaughter. She gives freely of her love and affection and I know, without a moment's hesitation, that she would do anything for me if I needed her.

The part about all this that has caused my brain to stew is that I remember GG fondly. I was, essentially, a homeless child when I first entered GG's gravitational pull. Utterly rejected by my own family, I was warmly and completely accepted by this warm mass of a woman with deep wrinkles who smelled faintly of talcum and rose water. She assured me, on no uncertain terms, that I was not worthless, and that I had a home in her family. After her death, I continued to feel her presence - I'm certain that she visits me on a fairly regular basis, and these visitations comfort me. At least, they did until I learned of the hideous way that she treated Gramma.

Now I'm feeling a deep distrust of my memory of GG. My profound love for Gramma in the face of this new information has triggered a defensive response that I'm not sure how to deal with. On the one hand, I recognize that my relationship with GG was very different than Gramma's, and that there's nothing essentially wrong with honoring that. At the same time, however, I wonder two things: one, am I remembering my perceptions accurately knowing, as I do, my notorious tendency to make memories up? Two, if I am remembering correctly, was that relationship ever really valid, given that GG was so horrid to Gramma? I mean, can someone be abusive to someone and kind and loving to someone else? I honestly don't know the answer to that question.

So, the point of all this rambling is that I feel guilty for remembering kindly the woman who caused Gramma so much pain and grief. I know what it is to be berated and rejected, and it bothers me deeply to think that I essentially revere the memory of a woman who abused someone that means more to me than I can adequately express. I'm not sure what to do about that. Any suggestions?

Screw Teaching.....

....I'm gonna be a stump grinder.

No kidding - the guy's got this big old robot. He rolls it out of the trailer and up the driveway, positions it in place, then does the Game Boy thing to make his toy chew the stump into oblivion. It takes LITERALLY ten minutes. Then he remote controls the thing BACK into its little house, takes a hoe and spreads the remains around a little bit (this, by the way, is the most physical labor he actually does, other than the thumb work out). It's over in fifteen minutes and he walks away with 75 bucks. THAT'S a cool gig.

It Ain't Gonna Happen....

....but I REALLY appreciate the sentiment.

I asked my cooperating teacher yesterday how she thought my next year might go. She told me that she foresaw me sitting in on the first week or so of her two English classes, then having me take over. Note the plural of the noun. This is in addition to the at least one Hearing class that I'm guessing UNH will require I take. That's one class short of a "real" teacher's work load, and I'm pretty sure it ain't gonna happen. UNH has rules about such things.

Anyway, the point of this story is the exchange between RC and me. It went something like this:

Me: So, RC, what do you see me doing next year?
RC: Well, you'll watch me for a few weeks, then you'll take one day a week, then two, and so on until you've got control of the classes.
Me: Sorry? Classes? Plural?
RC: Yeah. I've got two English classes next year.
Me: You know that UNH will probably want me to take a Hearing class too, right?
RC: I'm sure that LO will be happy to give you one of hers.
Me: Ok, that's THREE classes.
RC; So?
Me: (incredulously) Ok. You're going to have to hold me up, you know...
RC: Um, no, I don't think so. I think I'm going to spend most of my time holding you BACK.

Is it just me?

About 12 hours before I start bleeding the upper part of my thighs and my butt get sweaty, leaving me to wonder for that time whether I'm actually bleeding and embarrassing myself even though it sure doesn't feel like I've started bleeding yet. Does this happen to everyone? Or do I just have weird upper thigh/ass sweat glands?