Two Haircuts and A Little Bump

Dave and I both got haircuts this weekend. His was the standard Great Clips $14-with-a-$2-tip haircut. He seems to have quite a bit of skin behind his ears this time–his haircuts are always variable. Well, the arms of his glasses fit right into the space, so that’s all right.

Dave's handiwork
Dave's handiwork

You all know how I feel about haircuts–terrible. Even though I occasionally think “time to get rid of all this hair,” as soon as I get it trimmed, I feel trembly and awful for a while. Then I think “it’s not hurting anyone, so I guess I’ll just keep it for a while longer.” My mom always cuts my hair, but I haven’t seen her in ages, alas. The ends were getting so raggedy, I asked Dave if he would do it. He said yes two months ago, but we hadn’t gotten around to it until this morning. I got out of the shower and laid out the towel (to catch the clippings), the scissors, and the comb. Dave eschewed the towel. He also eschewed Mom’s gentle habit of cutting an inch or so off and showing it to me, then going further with my blessing. He simply snipped seven and a half inches straight off the bottom. I thought I might faint, but the ends look great and my head feels lighter. One step at a time.

bent wheel

This afternoon Dave had a band concert, so he took the car ahead of time and I got on my bike to head over to the music hall (it’s only a mile and a quarter away). Two blocks from my destination, I saw a car behaving kind of strangely over to my left. It seemed like a woman who wasn’t sure if she should be going or not. I didn’t have a stop sign, so I slowed down but kept going. Then the truck sitting at the stop sign over to my right turned right into me! I wound up on the road with my bike on top of me. I wasn’t hurt–just a scratch on the shoulder and a little bruise on the chin. The poor guy felt horrible and he immediately admitted that it was his fault. Well, it was! He was watching the woman at the opposite stop sign and not looking before he turned. Luckily, we were both going slowly. Unluckily, my front wheel is mildly tacoed and my front brakes are ruined. I’m glad Dave knows what to buy and how to fix bikes. I was pretty startled and mildly shaken up, but I made it to the concert on time after walking my bike the final two blocks. The band sounded good and it was fun to hear some Christmas music. It’s in the sixties today and all of last week’s snow has melted, so Christmas seems farther away than it did a few days ago. We’ll probably get a tree this year, since we’re staying in town. Stay tuned!

Happy Birthday, Dave!

Well, since we have a blog, I thought I’d take a moment to wish Dave a happy birthday. We’re headed out to dinner with good friends tonight, possibly followed by ice skating. (That counts as living it up for we oldsters.) I forgot to bring the camera, alas, so our revelry will be anonymous. It’s hard to believe that centennial baby Dave is thirty-two—after all, I’ve known him since we were eighteen—but it must be harder for his mom and dad to believe it. I hope it’s a fun day for the birthday boy!

Food, Mouse Update, and a General Hooray!

Hooray! We finally have a comment on our blog! Ten gold stars to “Bob,” who likes the new paint job.

I thought you might be interested to hear that I was wrong about the mice being gone for the season. On Tuesday morning, Dave and I thought the bedroom smelled kind of funny, but we had to leave for work. On Tuesday night, I got home from book club and Dave announced: “The bedroom smells like DEATH. You have to go find the death.” Well, I found it—another mouse, curled up on a piece of paper I’m sure I was saving for something. Dave “handled” it while I took a bath—it was his turn. At least I didn’t find it with my bare foot—I’m sure some of you remember that horrible story!

I had an unbelievably delicious avocado for breakfast this morning. I usually only buy them if they’re 10 for $10 at King Soopers, but yesterday they were $.98! No brown spots, just creamy deliciousness. I feel very guilty about eating fresh fruit that has to be grown in a warm climate in December, but the perils of globalization are often its joys.

Falling Down (includes house photo)

Our house with a nice fresh coat of non-pink paint.
Our house with a nice fresh coat of non-pink paint.

First, for those who have been eagerly waiting for visual proof of our alleged house painting, here you go! I can’t tell you how nice it is to finally have the house painted, but already it’s beginning to seem natural to see it this color. Soon I’m sure we’ll forget entirely that it was ever the terrible, faded, peeling, pink wreck to which we were so accustomed.

Second, I’m also happy to report that I’ve finally finished installing the duct-work for the exhaust fan we installed when we tiled the upstairs bathroom back in the summer of 2007. Now when you come to visit, you’ll be able to turn on the fan and everything will be vented from the house properly. In all, it was a pretty easy job. Thanks to Don for recommending the installation kit. It had everything I needed except for a large hole saw and a ladder. I did, however, discover that there are between 6 and 8 layers of shingles on our roof, and that it takes a long time to drill a 4″ hole through that many sticky abrasive shingles with a hole saw and a cordless drill. I also learned that it isn’t really safe to climb a ladder from one roof to the next. Okay, actually I was pretty sure of this beforehand, but I really wanted to get the job done. At any rate, after several trips up and down the ladder it finally happened. The ladder kicked out from underneath me and I came crashing down to the lower roof. Physically I was uninjured stay a few little cuts and scrapes, but it was fairly quick and traumatic falling off the roof. The worst part was having to climb back up afterward to finish the job. Nevertheless, I persevered and the roof vent is now happily installed. If you look closely at the photo, you’ll see a small spot of damage in the shingles on the lower roof above our front room, so I’ll be heading back onto the roof at some point to replace a damaged shingle, and there is a small bit of touch-up to perform where the ladder scraped against the house when everything came crashing down. I’m quite happy that it missed the window altogether. I also learned, and this too isn’t much of a surprise, that gutters cannot support body weight. Hollywood is lying to you on a pretty regular basis. Sometime in the fall, I grabbed the gutter and that probably kept me from falling off the second roof, but now I also have a loose gutter I need to reattach. Had my feet not reached the roof, I’m sure the gutter would have come completely off the house.

Mice Aren’t Always Nice

We occasionally get a mouse in the house, usually in the fall when they’re trying to get in out of the cold. This year I was talking to N on the phone in one of our bi-weekly calls when I saw a little dark shape darting past the garbage can. We put out the humane mousetrap, but days went by and no mouse appeared. One day we came home and found the poor little guy expired on the floor in front of the sliding glass door—oh, the irony! I always feel really sad when they die. Why couldn’t he have gone into the trap, so I could’ve taken him outside and let him go? A few weeks later I was looking for something I thought I’d brought home from work when I left R&L. I went out to the garage to rifle through the boxes and smelled something funny just as I saw another dark little shape darting by. Oh, dear. Yep; it turns out that I had left a bunch of snack food in the boxes and the mice had taken up residence. One poor little guy had died in there and was liquefied to the bottom of the box. Everything was chewed up—gross—or peed on—even grosser. I had to wash all my pens and pencils, which made kind of a strange sight in the drying rack. Everything smelled like ammonia and/or had nibble marks. Some of the paper was shredded into a little nest. Once everything was all clean, and the dead mouse disposed of, there was still the problem of the mouse I’d seen dart away. I put some stale bread into the humane trap—it’s not necessary, but I knew he’d be hungry after a while, since I’d thrown away the smorgesboard. I checked the trap every day, but our cute little mice seem to have a death wish. When we got back from a weekend trip to Portland, there he was. He’d eaten all the bread and then died. I felt awful, as always, and chucked him over the back fence. We’re probably mouse-free until next year.