"Stuff Happens"

This article has brought me some much-needed joy today.

"Stuff" does indeed happen, Mr. Rumsfeld. But we can do our best to safeguard ourselves from aforementioned stuff.

I'll not get into the "stuff" that transpired at the National Museum of Iraq, nor the abysmal lack of follow-through by people that should have known better. This documentary makes the whole dog-and-pony show seem even worse in retrospect.

Re: Stuff. It happened in my house this morning! Unlike the former administration, we have a giant jug of Kids 'n Pets, just in case our efforts don't work.

Our contractor came over at around 9:30 and the dogs were awful. Pickle barkbarkbarked and jumped and clawed at the door in his typical "this is my mom and you won't hurt her under any circumstances unless you want to pet me" mode. Scout barked and ran in circles because she wasn't sure what else to do. Bess proceeded to crap on the carpet; our contractor looked on in horror. What the hell, Bess? His "yeah, right" expression in response to my claims that she's old but she's never done this were pretty classic.

All in all, a fun morning. But stuff happens, after all.

From January - March

Kitchen bitching

Jeff's currently in the kitchen, pulling out the last chunks of lath, plaster, laminate, and god-knows-what-else.  It's been an interesting progression so far--hopefull it'll actually look like progress in the near future. 

This is what we started with. 

Then we started pulling out walls.  Note Scout's displeasure.

Cabinetry (and lovely aluminum trim) started to get pulled.

Above-mentioned cabinetry found a home in the living room.  Jeff = Machismo.

Now that all that plaster is pulled, what will we do with ourselves?  At whom will we swear?

Won't be cooking, that's for sure.

February is a short month and for that I am grateful.  That there are only twenty-eight cold, grey days slouching into one another seems like trickery when all is said and done--Valentine's Day was at least three weeks ago, right?

Oh.  Wait.

Today staunchly remains February, and Valentine's Day was ten days ago, not 21.  The bleak midwinter, indeed.  It's even drizzling rain.

Rather than weak and wearily ponder today's dreariness, I'm thinking instead of past February escapes.

In February of 2005 I traveled to Europe for the first time.  

I journaled (on February 28, specifically):

I spent the last week with those lines I've so loved undulating in my head. Watched them manifest as that which was always imagined became real. I stood outside Dublin Castle with my beloved at midnight as "His soul swooned slowly..." existed as a sort of internal monologue, growing louder and more profound with each faintly falling flake of snow.

We walked two miles down the freezing street to find seven Eccles in the dark, stopping at the Caulfield Hotel for drag shows and Elvis impersonators as well as 80's night and the humble disco.

A very pink nudist made his way to the Irish Sea as we ventured toward the Martello Tower. 

Mary, drunken star of the sea, recited "The light of evening, Lissadell,/Great windows open to the south,/Two girls in silk kimonos, both/Beautiful, one a gazelle"  to her American friends, for whom she bought Bailey's. She flaunted her red scarf about as she sang Edith Piaf songs, sashaying before the fire with her dancing dogs.

She said I had a beautiful smile.

Dublin was dear and dirty and the sea snotgreen and eve and adam's was passed with a "hee!" that travelled far far down the liffey. I carried lemon soap in my pocket.

The rain isn't letting up, it seems, but the sun is beginning to shine a bit.  I'm hopeful that this new corner of e-space will allow me to recall the past, evaluate the present, and consider the future.