One Day More...

For a couple days there I was thinking that I must be horribly inept when it comes to achieving a neat drywall finish adjacent to the colossal glu-lam beams that hold the roof above our heads. I have done my best with putty knife, utility blade and spackle, and still the corners most resemble the dark side of the moon, minus a landing module. But I hadn’t checked out comparable edges other rooms with beam exposure, and the truth is they ain’t much better, despite having been--in theory--finished by someone with more experience than I. It’s an iffy proposition, getting smoothness in such joints. So, we will have to write these spots off as another nod to rusticity in architecture, and paint anyway.

In other news, I have found a source for a replacement sash for the Hurd window in the family which suffered the sling of fortune a couple years back, (from a rock, not an arrow, as far as I can tell.) Whether we will be clever enough to install it, once ordered, is yet to be established. But I am also gratified that the same vendor offers replacement screens. Not gratified by the price--$107 per--merely by the availability.

This Youtube video came to my attention a day or so ago. Don’t miss Obama, as the blue, white and red Les Miz gamine, on the wall posters. I had to smile, and I also had to buy the soundtrack to the symphonic recording of the musical as I am highly susceptible to melodramatics put to a soaring score, and I haven’t seen the show in some time. In fact, and sadly, I have never seen it live. Olivia’s suggestion is that we fly to London where it’s currently running on the West End. Practicality obviously notwithstanding.

Today I came upon this quote from an old Dave Barry column on weasel-poo coffee:

But I came to need that coffee, and even today I can do nothing useful before I've had several cups. (I can't do anything useful afterward, either; that's why I'm a columnist.)

I do miss Dave Barry, and found, in this nugget, evidence that I must have missed a life cue somewhere along the trail. Unless, of course, there are other careers which are ideal for those of faulty focus.