My Easter arrangement from the yard: It was so gloriously beautiful outside today, I could not resist the lure of my flower garden!
Grace is on her way to becoming quite the handful…by way of Miss Heart of the USA!
http://www.examiner.com/women-s-issues-in-tupelo/miss-heart-of-the-usa-pageant-mississippi
From the area surrounding where I live, some photography of the seasons. A lot of people speak of Mississippi in derisive tones, and judgements of its residents are no less derogatory. But the truth is, it’s quite beautiful here, both the people and the landscape, if you but open your eyes and see.
Guitars, Guitars, Guitars, and more damn guitars…
My husband is a guitar guy. I know. I know. Guitars are sexy. I agree. But if you’ve never lived with a guitar guy, you.have.NO.idea how omfg it can get. I looooove to hear him play. I do. I really do. But not only does he play guitar, he builds them too. And he always has a “project” going.
“Hey, do you think this pickup would do better in this one, or maybe that pickup would be the way to go here? I wonder if an alder body would give a better tone for this model, or should I stick with pine, because the original was pine, and I’d like to make it as close to the original as possible… If I go with the brown sunburst, and gold knobs, then the hardware for the headstock blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah blah and more blah.”
I swear to God, I’m trying here, but he may as well be speaking Czechoslovakian for all I can understand of it. And nothing I say (I don’t care. I don’t understand. Stop talking to me.) will deter him from providing me with every last detail. And not only details regarding the guitar and its parts and pieces, but also the history of each part and piece, and where it came from, and who made/built it, and who all uses similar things in their guitars, and why this piece is the right piece, and etc. etc. etc.
He says “But I don’t know anything about art, but I still listen when you talk about your paintings!” Well, yeah, score one for you. But the extent of my painting conversations with dear hubs proceeds like so : “Hey are you busy?” Yeah, I’m painting. “Whatchu painting?” Meh, it’s hard to describe. It’s kind of— “Ok, did my Mini-Humbucker come in with the mail? I ordered that Fralin, but I need to replace it.” (and sadly, yes, I know what those terms mean.)
Literally, just this second, he’s YouTube’ing a BareKnuckle pickup, trying to decide whether or not to use it in an upcoming project. “You like this one? Or did the first one sound better?” Well. Hell. I don’t know. It’s a different guitar, and a different song! How am I supposed to tell which one sounds better???
I appreciate being kept in the loop with projects, glad that we have something to talk about other than bills and grades and potty training, and very flattered that my opinion holds weight. But the bare fact is I am guitar illiterate. And after six years, I know just enough to know when to nod and Mmm-Hmm! at the appropriate parts in the conversation.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll ask him if he thinks Cerulean Blue is too cool to use for the mix for the background on the neo-expressionist painting project I’m working on…
The Trash Fairy
It is 1:05 a.m. and as I sit here, mindlessly surfing the net out of boredom and insomnia, what should catch my eye? The trash can in the kitchen…. its gleaming stainless steel exterior mocking me with its sticky fingerprints and overflowing refuse.
Yeah, I see you. Now shut up.
Am I the only person in this house who knows the mechanics involved in changing out the trash bag??
It seems like a simple enough process. Pick the full one up and out, give ‘er a spin and tie it up. Insert new bag. Boom. Done. But no. That is apparently just too complicated and time-consuming for this household. Better to keep packing it in, until it flows over the top and tumbles to the floor.
That’s ok, dear. Momma will pick it up. I have nothing better to do. I need the exercise anyway, right? *sigh*
Maybe, if I ignore it, and wish hard enough, the housecleaning fairy will come tonight. Please, oh please, come visit me!
Oh, and if you could hit the bathroom with your magic wand on the way out, I’ll be much obliged.
