The missionaries up here in outer Radiator Springs have certainly earned those dinners we feed them every Wednesday. They came early Saturday morning, before the sun was even fully up, to help McH dig the dog’s grave. I’m sure they must spend a little time on their knees every day now, praying for the health of our two remaining dogs.
And, in case anyone was wondering, we are sticking to two dogs. No rushing out for a replacement dog this time. I think we all learned a lesson or two last time. And by “all” I mean McH, of course. Though, honestly, this loss hit him pretty hard as well, and he really doesn’t have a desire for another dog. Yet.
But really, the only reason I am blogging tonight is because McH asked that I post proof that he and my dad got the new living room floor installed yesterday. Apparently some co-workers (and by “co-workers” I mean . . . oh, I don’t know what I mean) didn’t believe that they would be able to install the floor in a day.
Neener neener neener!
They did it in about five hours.
We still need to put in some trim – like quarter-round except concave, so I don’t know what you call it – to hide the gaps between the floor (they did a floating floor) and all that oak baseboard, and I still need to finish painting around the piano border. Let me tell you, it’s time consuming but I’m enjoying it. Weird, huh?
Anyway, the goal is to have that all done by Wednesday so that we can have the missionaries help move the piano back in there when they come for dinner this Wednesday. Yes, we are big believers in allowing them to earn their keep if there is work to be done that calls for young, uninjured backs.
Anyway, here is the proof that the floor is in:
We have two boxes of the wood left over. Not sure how that happened, but we’re trying to decide what to do with it. It’s not enough to do one of the bedrooms, but we could buy two more boxes and make that work. It is more than enough to do the half bath off the kitchen, so we might do that. Without going into all of the details, which I actually just started doing but decided to delete them, that bathroom probably needs new flooring more than any other room in the house. It also needs a new light fixture, but that’s totally unrelated.
McH talked with the neighbors yesterday – you know, the ones who sold us this house so they could build a new house right next door (a couple acres over) – and he jokingly asked them how many calls they’d gotten from local townsfolk who wanted to make sure they knew we were ripping up “their” house.
“Ummm, yeah, a few,” she said.
Seriously people, when we lived in the suburbs our neighbors across the street didn’t know we had a son until 2+ years after he came home; but here? Here, out in the country where there is apparently nothing better to do than gawk in people’s windows as you drive 55 mph past their house which sits a good 1/2 acre back from the road? I kid you not, in addition to the calls to the neighbors, McH got a call on his cell the other day from a church friend that went something to the effect of:
Hey Matt, I was driving by your house and saw your wife up on a ladder in the front room. What’s going on? Do you need any help?
Okay, so the offering help part was nice and all, but people! I was painting! Do you have any idea what kind of clothes I wear to paint in? Homeless people wouldn’t wear those clothes even if I paid them to. I realize I’m working in the front room, but somehow I thought things were a little more private than that, what with the distance between our house and the road, and the 55 mph speed limit. And what is up with other people calling the neighbors to report that we threw away “their” carpet? But what do I expect when I live in a town where a total stranger strikes up a conversation in the hardware store, asks me if I live in the area, and knows the exact house when I say, “Oh, we bought M~ and A~’s place.” How do I know if he knows M~ and A~? Except everybody does. We did the same thing when we went to vote.
“Do we need to get in the north or south line?”
“Where do you live?”
“M~ and A~’s old place.”
“Ahh. You’re south then.”
Don’t misunderstand, none of this upsets me or anything. Just leaves me scratching my head and hoping the curtains in our bedroom are adequate since that is also in the front of the house. I also now understand why most of our seven or so neighbors across the street always have their front windows heavily draped. And? I have a slight itching to do something in my living room . . . I don’t know what . . . nothing horrible, illegal or pornographic . . . just something . . . something that would make me laugh and keep the neighbors talking. But that obviously isn’t very nice.
Thank you for the outpouring of comments on yet another doggie death post. I really hope it’s the last one for many, many years. It is just. so. hard.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello.