Didja Miss Me?

I've been taking a little field trip! For my birthday this year, my family sent me on a real live vacation. I went to San Francisco, where my pal Carson and I solemnly swore that we were up to no good.

The DeYoung museum was hosting my favorite painting of all time, which I had the great good fortune to see.

We ate this.

And drank that.

Monet, Poplars on the Epte

And saw this,

Seurat, La Luzerne

And this,

Raeburn, The Reverend Walker Skating

And this. All with our very own eyes. I'm never washing my eyeballs again.

Partners

It has come to my attention that last week's post about our laundry adventure could be construed as "somewhat hostile" in tone, toward my husband. Specifically, the dogs think I was unfair to him in my retelling of the story, and because I lack any other editing staff, I have to honor their opinion. Geez;  you threaten one spouse's life and all hell breaks loose around here.

By way of reparation, I'd like to list some of Phillip's fine qualities. Also, this way, if he suddenly goes missing, maybe I'll seem less guilty.

Fine Quality #1:   The Way He Humors Me

Generally speaking, Phillip is so laid-back that we sometimes have to check for a pulse. Which is a really useful foil for someone like me (for those who haven't personally met me, I routinely reach 11 on the Spaz-O-Meter). So in many cases where other partners would express annoyance ("OW! I sat on another knitting needle!") or even dismay ("No, you may NOT drag me to another sheep and wool festival!"), Phillip is hardly bothered at all. So easy-going is he, that when I walked away from a highly-paid position in Information Technology to become a starving string artist, his response was: "Cool, Baby. We'll make it work".

I could never do the work I love without his support, so if you think I'm doing a good job, you should really thank him. If you've ever wondered who looks after my kids while I go galavanting off to play with the knitters, it's Phillip. And if you think it might be a challenge to live with someone like me, who has an appalling excess of creative energy, you're right: Just ask Phillip.

Fine Quality #2:  The Sort of Dad He Is

Without question, Phillip Huff is the most engaged, involved, and overall present father I have ever known. There is not so much as a hangnail that escapes his attention, when it comes to his children. When the report is due tommorrow, when the performance is next Wednesday, when the permission slip has to be signed, it's Phillip who remembers and follows through. He's there to drive them to the birthday party (and buy the present beforehand). He's the one who takes them to the big game/rock concert/scout campout. And he's also the one who says "Yes! You should totally invite all your friends over to watch movies this weekend!"  and "Yes! I'd love to chaperone the field trip!" Things my children are learning from him that I could never teach include:

1.  How to relax

2.  How to survive and even enjoy the adolescent social landscape

3.  Math

Fine Quality #3:  He's Gentle and Loving

As a person who moves through life with all the thoughtfulness and subtlety of a stump grinder, I know that God put Phillip in my live to remind me that it's okay to embrace your softer side. He's really good at hugging people (and critters) who don't know they need it yet. He's kind to teenagers who don't deserve it. He's a bottomless barrel of forgiveness and forgetfulness for those who slight him. My husband doesn't need big trucks or power tools to compensate for anything; he's totally secure in his masculinity. So much so that his gentle nature is always available for those of us who need a soft place to land.

Those are just a few of the nice things I wanted to say about my husband of 18 years, in case any of you were afraid I might really wish him ill.

He's just not allowed in the laundry room anymore.

Lightening Up

It all started when I fell in love with a beat-up old window. My inner magpie just couldn't resist the wavy glass, and the crackled paint was just as compelling. But resist, I did, because the window was wearing a $35 price tag. I resisted for a whole week. Until I found myself in a schmancy boutique of oddments and curiosities, where a substantially less-beautiful window was priced at (I am not making this up) $350.

I may have left skid marks on my way back to the first window.

I brought it home and scraped off the loose flakes of paint, cleaned the glass until it was sparkly, and then commenced the execution of my Cunning Plan. See, my kitchen is unbearably dark. But my Cunning Plan was to steal light from the room's only window by placing a mirror on the opposite wall. Now, my new old window was a window, not a mirror, but I never let a thing like reality get in my way at a time like this.

I painted the backside of my swell new old window with mirror paint! And my Cunning Plan was complete.

I was so smug about the sparkly new old window in the kitchen that I turned my mad skills to another dark corner that has been taunting me: the living room. The corner where our TV lives was previously illuminated by a recessed fixture that could only be described as a giant eyeball. It was supposed to swivel around so you could direct the light, but being only one sad little bulb, it made no difference to move it. It either glared directly at us, or directly on the TV screen. So for almost 9 years, our solution was not to turn it on.

I hadn't tried to change the fixture because recessed lights can only be changed to traditional ones with the aid of a pricey electrician.  Or so I thought!  Flush with my light-problem-diagnosing sucess, I hit the Interwebs for a solution. And sure enough, some clever beastie has invented the cure for the common eyeball light:

Thanks, Interwebs! With Campbell's help (he threw the breakers, retrieved dropped screws, and closed his ears to my bad language while I balanced on the ladder), I installed this beauty. See you never, Eyeball! Now these are some lights you can direct. I pointed one at the wall behind my knitting chair, one at the opposite corner of the room, and two at the coffee table.

Which was fantastic. So bright you could land a plane in my living room. Maybe a little too fantastic. Turns out some of the people in my house want to watch the TV, not just listen to it while knitting (weirdos).

So I got them this, which Campbell also helped me install (lad is getting good with a screwdriver):

And now we have choices, not only about where the light is directed, but also about its brightness.

Yeah, I know: I'm fabulous. Somebody stop me before I light again.