Husband had promised to help me put out my bluebird boxes although I could tell he was not as excited about it as I was. And who could be? Our old bluebird house that was here before we bought the place is pretty decrepit. The pole it was on kept swinging around and causing the house to swing towards the south. I'd braced it with a plant stake and used duct tape to try to keep it from spinning. I knew when I used that duct tape that Husband would likely have a meltdown when he saw it. He actually did pretty well.
"What is THAT??" he asked in horror.
"Duct tape," sez I, "Works great."
Sometimes the best defense is a good offense.
"Where did you get it?"
Fighting back the irritation, I started to tell him I had my own stash but decided the truth would be even more horrifying.
"I got it out in the barn." (which meant I raided HIS stash).
"I need to hide it better," sez he.
He then whipped out his knife and slashed the duct tape so he could pull the pole free. I pointed out that the duct tape did a magnificent job of holding it in place, especially when you consider all the snow and ice we've had - afterall, he had to use a knife to loosen things up.
He pretended he didn't hear that. The man has such an attitude, sometimes.
"Who dug this hole?" he asked.
Okay, now I am biting my lip to keep from shooting off my mouth. (The SERVANTS!!!!? Who ELSE do you think dug the hole??? Evelyn?).
"I did," I said, shortly.
Okay, I knew I was in trouble because I used his spade and didn't clean it, properly and he is obviously loaded for bear.
"I used the square shovel."
"That is a SPADE!! That is not what you use for this sort of thing. Where did you get it?" He asked, with rising panic, I could tell.
"From the barn," I responded, breezily (while actually thinking - "My sewing room? Honestly, doesn't the man know where he keeps his tools? Hmmm???").
Truly, I am a saint. I have a halo.
I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. How is he going to keep me out of the barn in the future? I have a key.
"Where is it now?" he asked, clearly trying to maintain his composure.
"The barn. I put it back. Of course. I wouldn't leave it just lying around. It is a tool," sez I (not mentioning that I put it back with mud on it - I'll deal with that, later).
We trudge back the barn, immediately. He is like a crow with a shiny thing when it comes to his tools. He finds the spade that still has mud on it.
He stands and looks at it. A long time. Then picks it up and carries it to the front of the barn where he has opened the large garage doors to allow for an east/west cross breeze. There is a door on each end of the barn. It feels marvelous. I stand where the sunlight hits, close my eyes and just feel the air moving. I can smell the sawdust and you can practically visualize the crisp new air flooding in to replace the stale, winterlogged air. It is heaven. Then I start looking around and thinking that I may nab one of the large worktables near the west end of the barn for my dyeing and other crafts. He has three large tables and surely won't mind me having one of them. Surely.
He interrupts my thoughts with, "You don't use a spade to dig post holes. I'll clean it."
"It's a good shovel," I say, agreeably, not looking at him.
The tension is high. Sometimes he can be just unreasonable.
We take the old blue bird house back to the garage and open it up. I am a little worried that the bluebirds would have already started building a nest and I might have interrupted that. It is clean, however, so one less thing to worry over. I want to re-post the old bluebird house by the front gate but Husband thinks that would look tacky. He doesn't share my opinion that the neighbors will understand that a bluebird house is important. I keep telling him that sticking it on a metal plant post isn't going to work but he gets stubborn on me. He won't put it on the fence where is has some stabilization because of the looks, and he won't put a cross brace on it because that would allegedly cause trouble when it comes time to do trimming in the growing season.
So he puts up the bluebird house on a sad little plant stake and pronounces it adequate. I am suprised at him. I push it and it falls over. No place to patch it up with duct tape, either.
"That is not going to work," I say, going all stubborn on him.
So we march back into the barn and find a broken bed slat (I'd like to say it was broken in a night of frenzied passion but let's get serious, here). He uses it to brace the metal pole and, again, pronounces it sufficient.
He is such an engineer.
After that, we walk back to the old blue bird site and set up the new house that I bought a couple of weeks ago.
"When I have my workshop set up," sez he,"I will be able to make you TEN houses, just like that."
Normally, my response would be to go all gooey eyed and tell him how wonderful he is and how manly I think it is to be able to use power tools. Yesterday, I was not particularly inspired. Don't know why.
"Your workshop is not set up,"I answer,"and the houses need to go up, now."
For such a pretty day, it was sure tense.
Husband insists on screwing the box facing the north because it fit the post, better. I think that is a little like looking for Easter eggs on Independence Day because you happen to run across an Easter basket while looking for the extra American Flag.
"It is not called a glide slope," claims Husband.
"Yes it is," I insist, although I have no idea if that is true or not. If he can make up stuff, so can I. At that petty thought, I feel a bite of guilt and shame. "And even if that is not what it is called, that is what it is," I continue. I may be a bit testy but I can't just make stuff up and still look myself in the mirror.
I also point out that it used to face east (when it wasn't swaying towards the south) and I am afraid that will confuse the birds.
"The birds don't care that it is facing this direction," he assured me.
I know for a fact that he has no clue what those birds like. But I don't say anything. I am a saint.
Anyway, the good news is that I can see the birdhouse better from the patio and have hopes that the bluebirds will move in. But I do not take comfort in that because I know for a fact that those birds aren't going to move in just because it gives me a better view.
I took the bird cam and tried to find a place to put it to spy on them while they are nesting but may need to do some adjusting. When I got the bird cam, for Christmas, the box claimed that four "D" batteries would last about a month. It has been over two months and the batteries are still 67% charged so I'm pretty happy about that. There is no good place to put the birdcam at this point, so I ended up setting it on the foundation of the propane tank and propped it at an angle. I am not sure I actually have it pointed at the birdhouse. I figure I will catch some pictures of Evelyn pooping because she hides behind the propane tank in an attempt to find privacy out on the Great Plains that is our backyard. I'll be sure to post a picture if I do.
I can probably get Husband to build a bird cam holder and need to write that down on his Lowes list so we can get the proper materials. When I mentioned that to him, he said something about "more junk," but didn't elaborate. I gave him the opportunity and was willing to hear him out.
I am a saint.
I retreated to my sewing room when the sun went down and worked on my Sylvia Brights Sampler. I made the block, Chinese Coin, and it went together in no time flat. Unfortunately, when I measured it, I realized I'd made a mistake on the measurements and would need to redo it.
I was having an off day, yesterday.
The smart thing to do on a little 6 inch block made of scraps that took about 20 minutes to make would have been to start over. But no. For some reason, I dismantled the whole thing, saved about a two inch scrap of fabric (as if I need to save fabric!) and ended up spending over an hour re-doing it. And I accidently used the wrong fabric, to boot. Here it is:
Husband came in about half way through it to tell me that a virus had infected his computer so he couldn't log on. He looked distressed. Poor man was having a bad day. I suggested he reboot and he looked annoyed and said he'd done that several times, already. I suggested he try it, again. He left but I don't think he much cared for my suggestion. I started to suggest that he stay off the p*rn sites but while I think it is hysterical to say such a thing, he would think that was sort of rude on my part. So kudos to me for not making a surprisingly tense day more tense!
Sometimes it doesn't seem fair that I always have to be the grownup.
At any rate, I got up early this morning while he slept in. He had the nerve to wander in here after sleeping late with a big smile on his face and plopped down on the couch, going on and on about how nice it was to sleep late and wake up in our nice house with me and his dogs. He looked over at me and said, "Why are you looking at me like that? Is something wrong?"
"You were drunk last night," I said, nastily.
"I was not!"
He acted surprised. Even shocked that I would say such a thing. As if I couldn't tell. Sheesh.
"You were in a bad mood all day, yesterday,"I sniffed. And I gave him a steely look to let him know I meant it.
"I was not!"
"Well, if that wasn't a bad mood," sez I, "you are suffering from a bad character flaw because that was just ridiculous."
"Do you want some sausage and biscuits?"
"Oh, sure," I think, "Change the subject." But I don't say it out loud because those biscuits and sausage sound great and I'm starving.
That man needs an attitude adjustment.
Penny, Evelyn and Pearl