I am in love

His name is James Dyson...and yeah, I mean that James Dyson.  Well, actually, it's not even James Dyson.  It's his vacuum.  We are in the initial stages of our romance and I am positively giddy.

People talk about how dirty their houses are and I always know, with absolute certainty, that mine is worse.  I think they don't believe me when I say that I have tumbleweeds of dog hair blowing through the house, but I do, and here's the proof.

These

and these

are everywhere!

And here's the culprit.  Her name is Emma, she's fourteen, and she usually looks like a rat has been chewing on her.  She has terrible arthritis and she moves about as fast as a slug on a sidewalk.  Until you get the brush out, that is, and then you should see that dog go.

I even found this little bird's nest (it was on the ground, people, and the egg is just a shell I found) one year made with her hair.

To date, I have been losing the battles AND the war.  I go through vacuums like Elizabeth Taylor went through husbands.  I can vacuum the living room rug, fill the canister from just that one rug, and two hours later it's covered again.  She's like Pigpen from the Peanuts with an ever-present cloud around her.  Plus my vacuum stinks like wet dog when it's running and the filter is clogged with dog dander and hair.  Emptying the canister is not for the faint of heart or those with weak stomachs.  It's a filthy, sneezy job and just plain gross.

Dyson commercials are porn for a woman like me with a house full of dog hair.  I breathe hard and lick my lips, knowing it is an unrequited love because I will never be able to afford one.  So imagine my delight when I found a Dyson DC07 at Sprouse's last week.  $30.  Shut up.  I know.  I put it in my car and locked the doors like I was in charge of a Brink's security truck.  I had treasure on board.

Looks just like my fella!

I brought my handsome yellow companion home and immediately began exploring his physical features.  Part of it was the lust of a new love, but mostly it was because there was no manual.  We are four days into this relationship and I am already certain that I can never love another vacuum.  Two main reasons.  Shall I tell you what they are?

First, the hose.  You don't have to disconnect anything or close up anything that was connected to something else.  You just push a button, lift the handle, and you are instantly using the freakin' hose!  It was a little difficult because the hose is not too terribly long and the suction is so strong that it wants to keep the hose pulled in tight, but I was willing to overlook that because of the "instant use" feature.  Two days later, I was pushing the limits to try and reach some distant dust...and lo and behold, there is a long wand inside the hose that extended to easily snatch that dust.  And suddenly the hose didn't seem to be such a shrinking violet anymore, either.

Second?  The canister.  OMG, the canister!  I think I have already mentioned what a filthy, revolting, disgusting job it was to empty the canister on my other vacuums.  My nose wrinkles just thinking about it.    So...time to empty the canister on the Dyson.  Now remember, I have no manual.  And I am either too stupid or too stubborn to look it up online.  I can figure this out.  How hard can it be, right?  Sooooo...  I push a button and voila, the canister pops free of the vacuum like a wine cork leaving the bottle (yum.)  I give  the top a twist...no joy.  Aha...there is another little button on the side of the canister.  I depress the button and again I try to twist off the top.  Nada.  I push, I prod, I cajole, I beg...nothing.  Then suddenly, the hinged bottom of the canister swings down and empties the dirt in a pile on the floor.  I cannot tell you how excited I was.  What a clever design.  No muss, no fuss...except for the pile that I just dumped on the floor...but who cares?  It's genius, I tell you!

James Dyson, you are my hero.  I think I'll go have a glass of wine in your honor.  Right after I vacuum the rug again...

Creatures of the Night

I took the dogs out for a spin after the big rainstorm a couple of nights ago.  They took off to do their doggy business and I meandered after them.  On the edge of the deck was a huge toad in the funniest stance.  He was spread-eagled and up on his toes, looking for all the world like a little soldier in camo doing his nightly calisthenics.  

About thirty seconds later, I realized what he was really doing and why.  He was bracing himself for another drive-by from the dingo.  Digger hurled himself onto the porch with gusto, which is pretty much his m.o. for everything.  He ran over to the toad, gave him a good smack on the rump, and took off after a low-flying bug.  Within moments he was back for another smack and a big lick.  Why?  Why does he do that?  He knows the toad tastes terrible, but he does it anyway.  Back in the house, he ran around clacking his tongue like an old woman playing with her false teeth until I gave him a dog biscuit to cleanse his palate.

Tonight, it was an imperial moth when I opened the door.  Three dogs and one cat filed in.  Too late, I noticed the big yellow fluttery thing in the dingo's mouth.  A lot of yelling and wrestling  ensued, but I won in the end.  By some small miracle, it was alive and unhurt, even after I had to pry it from his jaws and then recapture it once it was loose in the house.  

O, heavenly Father, protect and bless all things that have breath;
guard them from all evil,
and let them sleep in peace.

~ Albert Schweitzer

Fruits of Summer

Watermelon is one of my favorite things about summer. I think I could live on it. Well, watermelon...and cheese...and wine...

Can't live without wine!

Anyway, I love watermelon. Especially when it's made by Krylon and comes in a spray can.

Yesterday's project was my grotty little pink metal porch rocker.  It hadn't been painted in two or three years, and the elements had taken their toll.

A can and a half of Krylon Interior/Exterior Watermelon to the rescue!  And just like it says, a smooth finish that dries in 12 minutes or less.  Voila!

Now where's my wine...?

Carved in Stone

The most wonderful things often happen quite by chance.  Today, under just those circumstances, I had the honor of meeting a master craftsman, Mr. Toru Oba.

A friend and I were going to look at some materials that were advertised on Craiglist.  We had arranged to meet in front of the old local soapstone company...he "knew a guy" there.  The two were chatting when I arrived, introductions were made, and then...we were invited in to have a look at his latest projects.

I was, quite simply, in awe.  In fact, I didn't even have to the good sense to ask if I could take a photo or two.  The images below are from his website:

http://www.toruoba.com/toruoba.htm

Please take a moment to visit his site, read his biography, and be amazed by the beautiful art he creates.

A granite boulder reveals a quiet pool for birds to bathe.




From plain slabs of rock, he brings forth flowing forms...structures that look as if water has been carving holes and curves for hundreds of years.



From rough stone emerges a mirrored surface, smooth as glass.



What an honor and a pleasure.  Someday...when my ship comes in...I want a Toru Oba sculpture in my garden...  It's officially on my wish list!

I have a blog!

Actually, I’ve had a blog for a whole week, now.  I just haven’t done anything with it.  As usual, I’ve been dithering and fretting about what to write first.  Should it be about furniture?  The store?  My flowers!  They’ve been exceptional this year.  But then again, maybe I should write about an event.  And so, I’ve managed to do nothing.

Yesterday, it was decided for me.  An event involving the store and furniture and flowers it would be, because yesterday, I killed a piece of furniture. 

The day started well enough.  I went to pick up a couple of pieces from my friend Sheila.  You may have seen some of her amazing paint finishes in the store.  She had converted an old ladder back chair into a planter and a night stand had gone back to her for a facelift.  The night stand was French Provincial with a wrought iron fleur-de-lis knob.  She had antiqued it and added a piece of bead board in the back.  She had gone to some trouble to spiff it up and it looked great.  You’ll just have to trust me on this one.

We chatted with her mom, I annoyed the dog for a bit, and items were loaded into the truck. 

I heard the thump as I was backing out of the driveway.  Something must have fallen over in the bed of the pickup, but I didn’t see anything...so I started to back up again.  Cruuuunch!  And in that instant I knew.  Oh, egad...I knew exactly what it was.  The night stand had never actually made it into the truck.  It had been forgotten behind the bumper...and I had flattened it.  Smashed it to smithereens.  Sheila and her mom ran out, the neighbor from across the street came over...uggh!

A friend offered to try to repair it.  Was I sure that it couldn’t be glued?  Then he saw it...  and offered to put it on his burn pile, instead.

Sigh...  I know everyone has a mindless oops now and then, a “What in the world were you thinking?,” but this felt incredibly stupid.  I’ll bet Miss Mustard Seed never ran over a piece of her own furniture...

Oh, well.  As Miss Stacy told Anne Shirley, “Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it.”