around the house
Railing
Sometimes, I think I can’t do anything right when it comes to projects around the house. If it’s something I’ve done a number of times, I’m fine with it. The toilet in our master bathroom, for example — I’ve replaced it twice. If I had to replace it again, I would be frustrated but not overwhelmed. I wouldn’t even have to look at a YouTube video for help. Any spigot replacement is no problem because I’ve done it so many times that I simply installed a Shark Bite coupling, and it’s a simple matter of some Teflon tape and a quick trip into the crawl space. The reason is obvious: practice makes perfect.
But catch me doing something for the first time, and you’ll probably find me using inappropriate language at some point, sitting at some point with my head in my hands, standing at some point staring at what I just messed up.
Today, I put up the stair railing that we took down over two years ago when we remodeled our kitchen. Following the principle that one doesn’t want to rush into anything unadvisedly, I’d put this off for ages. When necessity finally overcame procrastination, I thought it would be a simple process — after all, it looked simple on the YouTube video. And in hindsight, it should have been terribly simple. Yet not being a professional handyman, I screwed things up (poor pun intended). I mismeasured once even though I checked it. Somehow 29 3/8″ morphed into 31 3/8″ in my head, and though I’d written down 29 3/8″ and drilled the first hole 29 3/8″ from the stair tread, I drilled the pilot hole for the last bracket a full two inches higher than needed.
That wasn’t the first error, and it wasn’t the last, and as a result, I have a number of superfluous holes that need to be patched, sanded, and repainted.
What I wouldn’t give for a second shot with clean walls…
Autumnal Saturday
The Dog digs. And digs and digs and digs. She digs everywhere. We've discovered that staw keeps her from digging up an area again.
Soon, our whole yard will be covered with straw, I fear...
Yellow
It's been a couple of years since we've had a yellow jacket infestation. For a few years, we had one or two nests just about every summer, and taking care of them became a simple process: a few gallons of boiling water around ten in the evening, when they're all bedded down in their nest, and no more problem.
This year, though, one hive made its home under the slab that supports our heat pump. If it were a concrete slab, I might consider the water method again, but it's some strange concrete/foam "slab" that is just a little bigger than the unit itself. The thought of pouring water into that area, possibly destabilizing the whole unit -- not a good thought. The other hive has made its home within a bush: it's impossible to pour the water through the bush to make a good clean shot.
So today, I went by a DIY pest control place, bought some Talstar and Evergreen Pyrethrum Dust and let them have it.
I hit the nest under the heat pump while it was still daylight: I turned the nozzle on my sprayer so it was a fast, fat stream, stood back about ten feet, and sprayed into the opening for a good ten to fifteen seconds. I went back ten minutes later and did it again. After ten more minutes, I hit them a third time. Then a fourth time.
By then, there were yellowjackets everywhere, all rolling around on the ground, all struggling through their last moments.
It's a strange moment: on the one hand, I feel a little bad for the guys. There they are, just doing what instinct has trained them to do. They're breeding, raising young, defending them when necessary. On the other hand, they're assholes. It doesn't take much to get them riled up, and with two kids, two cats, and a dog around, it's not a chance I'm willing to take.
Still, I can't help but feel a little like Ender...
The Show Begins Tomorrow
The first day of a new school year is like the moment the curtain rises on a play that is often improvisational and responsive to the audience's reaction. Each year, I reinvent myself as a teacher a little bit, especially during those first days when I'm setting a tone for the year. Always looking for that sweet spot between commander-in-chief and coach, I waver between the "don't smile before Christmas" type of teacher and the warm-and-welcoming-almost-a-friend type of teacher. Neither is sufficient in and of itself, and I really like the coach mentality more than the authoritarian mentality, but kids will be kids, and sometimes, I have some really emotionally damaged students who add a whole new dimension and need that forceful approach -- if only for a second, like a splash of cold water to get their attention -- so I waver between the two in the beginning.
And yet it always depends on the class: some groups come in and I see immediately that Joey in the back is going to be a living terror if I don't make sure I set the right tone (which might not be the authoritarian despite the initial impression that he needs a "strong hand"); other groups come in and I see, though not immediately, that there aren't any students set on hijacking the class, and I breathe a bit easier. Still, that hint of "I can become the strictest, meanest teacher in the world if I need to" must be there, around the edges, because you never know what's going to happen in October when the honeymoon is over.
So the night before, I sit thinking about who exactly I'll become tomorrow. I know who I'll end up being: I have enough experience that I can get to the coach stage fairly quickly once I've established that I know how to drop the hammer, but those first few days -- I never really know.
The magic begins tomorrow, too. I'll see wave after wave of totally foreign faces and look at attendance sheets that are just a bunch of names, and by the end of the first quarter, I'll be able to predict how each student is going to react to a given assignment. By the end of the semester, I'll even know what words a given student might use.
Flood 2018
Yesterday, it looked like this.
Today, it rained again and looked like this.
I haven't seen it like this since 2013.
In the Backyard
Afternoon Storm
Progress
The Boy declared, “This is a lot of fun.”
Working Monday
The Boy and I spent the day working, working like I never really do during the school year. Actual work. Sweaty work. Blister-biting work. Aching working. A friend — who helped us remodel our kitchen two years, without whom we would have been completely and totally lost — is making an addition to his house. Like our house, it’s brick veneer, and he won’t be able to match the brick perfectly with what’s available now, so we’re taking down the veneer from one end of the house.
We came home sweaty and tired yet satisfied.
And what did we do afterward, after a shower and lunch and a bit of relaxing? We went back outside to play soccer for almost an hour and get sweaty again.
We took on roles — E is Ronaldo while I’m Lewandowski — and played a game that must have been some kind of record as far as scoring goes: 18-14. I scored two goals accidentally: I blocked his attempts to kick the ball by me and surge to the net and the ball rolled into his net.
We were going to head out after dinner to finish the game, but a storm rolled in, so we sat and cheered K on as she made the latest batch of pickles.
Tomorrow, we do it all again — probably even the pickles, considering the amount of cucumbers we have.