A (not THE) key to marriage

Complementary skill sets.

The Fairy Queen can do many things: laugh at herself, bake a pie, host a party, remember important dates, and occasionally move 32 children from one place to another with ninja-like stealth.

What she cannot do is fix things. Breaking things? No problem. She's Olympic-level, medaling in all the categories (random, creative, how could you possibly? and I told you not to force it!).

When the FQ lived alone, her household fix-it solution was known as Call the Landlord. Now, 14 years into being a joint homeowner, it's clear that the only solution ever is Call Phrodaux. He will find/make/hammer/weld/cajole a fix into place.

For example...
We did not make it to the farm during the recent hideous cold snap. Nice neighbors down there kept us posted about the roads (terrible) and the temperatures (5 degrees, yikes). Check out the waterfall (essentially the same view as at the top of your screen right now).

When we finally did get down to our little house...

we found that things were mostly OK. No burst pipes, no flood. But also, no cold water in the kitchen. Easy to live with on a Friday night, but not for the whole weekend. So Saturday, bright and early, Phrodaux started down the curvy road to problem identification/resolution.

Here's the FQ-abridged version: Big chunk of ice in the well house pressure tank scraped a bunch of rusty goop off the side of the tank, which then began a journey through the pipes. Journey is the key word here, as this problem was on the move! Fix it here, it crops up over there. Water here, no water there, at one point water everywhere.

My job, as is often the case, is to stand by. Hand over some tools, turn a faucet on or off, listen for yelling. Toward the end of this interesting morning, I was doing the yelling, as Phrodaux did something somewhere else in the house and water shot out of the disassembled faucet. I tried to cap it with my hands, but it had already reached the ceiling.

Phrodaux, upon  witnessing this exciting scene, calmly said, "That's some pressure." Proving that another key to marriage is never to panic, followed shortly by the reminder that it's better to get all the messes out of the way before you start the clean up.

At any rate, it was all wrapped up by mid-afternoon, leaving plenty of time for a trip into town, a visit to the egg lady, and a tall grass ramble with the dogs (always fun, but even more so when you're properly attired):

PS: You know it's a good day when a) you have hot and cold running water in all faucets; b) Nubie doesn't look TOO nervous; and c) Mo gets tired.

 (Phrodaux: don't ask FQ about the gallon jar of brownish but drinkable water that we set aside for while the water was off, there was going to be a picture. See paragraph after the pie picture above)

the nice (non-porn) part of the tubes.

So, there are the trolls.

not the good/fun kind that want to make jelly from hobbits and get turned into stone when they are too dim to get inside when the sun comes out. (oh, come ON! it is not that unusual of a reference, it is a major motion picture, for jimminies sake, it is a reference to geek/pop/everyone culture)

they are the ones that say mean things for no reason other than to say mean things (I'm sorry about the sheet vinyl mocking... sorta, I'm funny, really, ask my mom, no don't, she thinks I'm more "odd" than funny)

Then there is the part of the web that shows us that sometimes people can be non-horrible (even when they are not trying to make jelly from our squishy bits)

exhibit (a)

 

(you should click the above, really, do it, not a trick, really)

See, wasn't that nice? even when the jerky pants guy yells at the nice piano. The guy dancing?

exhibit (b)

1-719-26-OATES

yah, we/I know it is not really the web, but someanabisch use your phone, it can make phone calls (really, trust me, it does things besides text and take pictures of your junk)

call this number, it will make any day better (different/better that is the same thing, right?)

use only in case of emergency, or boredom, or if you happen to read this and wonder what the !@#! am they talking about now, those odd, odd people.

exhibit (c)

then there is this.

exhibit (the best)

(I fully support the idea of large hairy men in tutus, well, conceptually, I like the idea of society accepting large hairy men in tutus, well, yes, me in a tutu, they can be slimming)

and finally...

exhibit (x)

those pants make your ass look GREAT!

(please, if you need confirmation, provide photographic evidence and 2 letters of recommendation, but you can really just trust us, your ass does look amazing.)

and... if you think you know a nice corner of the the tubes, please let us know in the comments. We will (may) include it in a future post.

 (and make a comment about how nice your ass looks, really it does look amazeballs, yes, I am ashamed about using amazeballs, not the part about your ass, really, just wow... wow)

there is only the now...and the after pix

you've seen those pictures on the web, you know you have, we all have.

I'm so ashamed, we all are, but we keep looking.

here is where we come clean: "Hi, our names are Phrodaux and the Fairy Queen, and we never take 'before pictures.'" Free coffee in the back, and why is everyone smoking cheap cigarettes?

I feel better, but that might be the liquor talking.

We take on big projects, we do all the work ourselves (this might justify an intervention from those whom we have heard referred to as "the sane")

...and most of the way to the point where we say "done" we realize we have no "before pictures." The only comfort is that I rarely get to the magical and mythical point that hobbits and the elven folk call "done."

(bathroom... before)

all those shiny magazines and equally shiny websites that say "what an amazing job" or "what the F' did you just do, you sad, sad person"...They all have the underexposed and weirdly lit from some angle that is never to be reproduced "before" and the oh so well lit, and taken from an angle that highlights the amazing view of the sunset dropping over the mountains to the east (yes, I know, assume I'm being "funny") "after." All is well. I will never poop in a hole in the ground (or a lavender toilet) ever again.

(bathroom... after)

This room went from functioning 70's stylin' (there was at one point plasticy embossed pink/baby blue wallpaper and an overly routered/underly styled "bathroom" tissue holder ) to nothing but studs (boom, chicka wow-wow) then back to sheetrocked (and rolled... sorry, that one kinda sucked) then new walls, bead board, sink and toilet, the whole shebang. Wires, 'lectricity, indoors plumbing and everything. But no "before" so, you all have to take our word for it, that and those that came over during the 3 years it took to go from "after the carpet bombing look" and "we have to go where to pee?" to a bathroom that they fear going into as we might be funnin' them, but really is kinda nice, if I do say so myself.

 

(ok, it is not a before, but it is a mid. Note bad lighting and not the same angle)

(here is an after picture of the kitchen. Superman is there for scale, the Fairy Queen does not like bananas so I have none for scale)

should mention the garden, or the kitchen, or all the weird baby blue trim (that shedded new paint like water off an overly waxed ranchero) and window treatments that looked more like square dancing skirts likely worn by that large lady with a 5 o'clock shadow and an Adam's apple. (she was quite the dancer and she let me lead, but that is another story about a christmas season years past that at one point has a Truman Capote look alike with a chihuahua sitting on the bar drinking from a highball glass and a young geologist from Oklahoma disappearing into the night, never to be seen again).

[Fairy Queen sidebar: Phrodaux SWEARS this is a true story.]

Before-ish...you can see individual plants and expensive rocks.

Half the grass gone, art in place, but no steel fence.

(Voila, a garden, no more grass or english ivy, fancy rocks mostly engulfed by plants)

...sometimes we think we are the before (shut up, it isn't just me, it's EVERYONE!) and if you think you're an after then just shut up, you, and put the damn camera away, or not. Really, we are what we are, in 10 years when you look back you will think "It wasn't bad" except for the hair (spiky mullet? really?) and the neon shirt that is oddly coming back into style (but not for you, at some point you can't wear things ironically and those shoes? argh). Stand up, get the "before" picture taken, and realize that ten years from now you will be become the before picture for that guy that was the after way back then (despite his obvious bad taste in hair, clothing and footwear, but still has dancing the night away with that nice "lady" that made you feel pretty to look forward to).

...and the bathtub is still in the driveway (so technically, the bathroom is still pre-done).

You can't control the weather

...but you can sure wail, whine, kvetch and complain about it because really, for here, it's JUST NOT RIGHT.

Exhibit A: Where we live, winter is supposed to be temps in the 40s and rain. Yes, I know, people complain about the damp gray days, but it's what were used to, it's what we're prepared for.

Exhibit B: TV news weather reports. This is a mostly dry cold snap, so they can't use SNOWMAGEDDON or SNOWPOCALYPSE. Instead, it's ARCTIC INVASION. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Exhibit C: Recent temperatures at our house (not the farm, that's another story).

First this:

Then this!

(side note from Phrodaux, it was actually colder than this, it was below 10 deg F, but the frog lies, and there is no cake. THERE IS NO CAKE!)

That, my friends, is WRONG. Just plain wrong. We do not live in Alaska or Greenland or Siberia or Antarctica for a number of reasons. Not enough food carts, for one. Our dogs prefer it here, for two. And INSANE COLD is a pretty big factor.

The Fairy Queen is already a person who is always cold, something like 7 months of the year. And now, it takes a solid 5 minutes to gear up for a trip to the backyard with the dogs: t-shirt, sweater, sweat shirt, hoody, big coat, scarf, hat, double gloves. It might as well be a haz mat suit. Even Mo has figured out that a quick out and in is the way to go.

Phrodaux, of course, has been ingenious. To keep the various fountains going (a source of fresh water for the poor parched birds), he has rigged up contraptions that suspend Mexican candles (they burn forever) in the water. It's not a lot of heat, but it keeps a tiny bit of water from turning to ice.

 Every time I checked on this fountain, there was a bird sitting on it:

The garden, of course, looks bedraggled and strung out and sad, with a few noteworthy exceptions. Want a plant that can stand anything? Dry shade, drought, 9 degrees? Plant some epidmediums, people. We know lots of nice nurseries that will sell them to you.

Well lovelies, it's true what they say, you can't change the weather. So stay in, stay warm. If you have the time (and the ingredients on hand, by no means leave the house for provisions!), make soup... 

 

...and cookies. 

 

You'll feel better. And warmer. Trust me.

Sometimes you make the recipe...

...and sometimes the recipe makes you kick and scream and curse.

Don't get me wrong, the Fairy Queen loves to cook. An afternoon making lovely things from scratch sounds perfect. IF, that is, the lovely things turn out somewhere in the vicinity of lovely. Several hours of attention and care and ingredients that turn into nasty swill, however, turn the FQ into a cursing sailor.

Take a recent Sunday, for example. After a wonderful morning of provisioning:

• Farmer's market for mushrooms, tomatoes (!), cider, pears, and local sweet potatoes
• Spice store for pomegranete molasses and korean chili threads (future kimchi)
• Urban homestead store for a new canning pot rack - check back for the ranty post on this topic
• lunch at the most sublime dive bar ever

...we returned home for dog play and cooking. On the docket were granola, ricotta, and yogurt. The first two were to come from a new DIY book Phrodaux found at the library. I've been reading it and loving the tone, the author's sidebar stories, the whole vibe of the thing.

But #$&*(#$&*(#$&(*#$&*(.

These recipes do not work.

Granola: Instead of golden, toasty, and ready to be broken into chunks, mine was DARK brown, burned smelling, and ultimately just a big pan of oats with a few minor distractions.

Ricotta: This was the tantrum inducer. After a really long time on low heat, we finally reached 175 degrees. Then, per the instructions, it was time to turn the heat up and watch the pan as it "looked ready to erupt" but "should not boil."

Hmm. It almost immediately boiled. And definitely started to erupt, 18 inch high spurts of hot lemony milk, a geyser in my kitchen. Every time, I screeched. At some point I reached in to adjust the thermometer just as a major eruption shot into the air but encountered my arm instead. While flinging my arm away (fire hot!) I also managed to fling the thermometer into the air and across the kitchen.

So, let us recap: lousy recipe + milk burns + broken glass = fairy queen tantrum (and no yogurt, as it too requires a thermometer and mine looked like this:

Don't zoom in! The debris is unnecessarily filthy, as I'd swept it up with the rest of the dog/kitchen dirt before deciding to photograph it. Really, trust me. Don't zoom.

For my efforts, I got about a cup of this. Big whooping deal. Ricotta is not that special and not that expensive. I'm buying mine next time.

After the FQ meltdown, Phrodaux took over: soothing words, icy cocktail, homemade pizza, assurances that we really could buy ricotta next time. And vows that if I followed through on my threat (Burn this book! Pay the library!), he would still stand by me.  Ah, love.