The most costly of all follies is to believe passionately in the palpably not true.
It is the chief occupation of mankind.
H. L. Mencken
The kitchen is dead. Long live the kitchen (for which we have to wait a week and endure renovation messes).
We will live off cold food, food cooked on the grill, and take-away food. Anything needing to be washed will done in the bathroom. Things from the kitchen are now in boxes in the dining room. It is impossible to find anything, so we do not look. Water can be boiled in the electric kettle, so morning tee is easy. We have a refrigerator freezer in the basement, so I get a lot of exercise. One might call this slumming in luxury.
Republicans are men of narrow vision, who are afraid of the future.
As the English would say. I say genius...
The battle continues...
Today, we had to clear out the kitchen, because the demolition team arrives first thing in the morning. This was not a bad exercise (and I stress exercise); one discovers all sorts of surprises in deep recesses and the bottom of drawers, after years of collecting sediment, not unlike a Paleocene Ocean. Because we discarded so much, future generations will not be able to mine oil or other precious minerals from the debris. Worst case: a jar of olives with an expiration date of 2000. I do not worry about such things, but my wife does, so they were tossed.
I hate to throw anything away, because I am sure that I will need something sometime. And, I think of the money I spent on the purchase. I am penny wise and pound foolish...and I wish I could sell my junk by the pound to recover a bit of cash.
Anyway, we did discard a whole bunch of stuff. And, the entire kitchen, which is still serviceable, will be torn apart. I managed to convince our neighbor to take our oven and microwave, because they are still in good condition. A perfectly good side-by-side refrigerator-freezer will be used to pay off the demo guy.
Tomorrow at this time, a empty room will await the next injustice: knocking out all the tiles. That will create mess, leaving a fine layer of dust on the rest of the house. The work will not start until Thursday, because Wednesday is one of many holidays that bless workers in May. May 1 is Communists’ Day, as Americans would call it, but others call it the Day of Work(ers). No one works, but many demonstrate against something. I play no attention. On Wednesday, I will be clearing out other rooms that will be renovated. They get new tiles and wall coverings.
The kitchen has served us for almost thirty years...and could have held out longer. But, as I have written, women need/demand change. So, change has arrived. Let’s hope this will be worth the effort and expense....
The female is the most-viscious of the species.
Plenty of clichés, sayings, and quotes about the differences between men and women float into and out of conversations. One of these concerns the urge vs. the unwillingness to change.
There is a cogent reason for male aversion to change: work is always involved. Women love to demand something new or different, but rarely lift a finger to affect the desired change. Case in point: we are now renovating roughly half the ground floor to include the kitchen. Guess who does most of the preparation for the arrival of various companies, which will do the work. I used to do most things myself, but have more or less retired from such life (which does not include slaving for my children to save them money).
Yesterday, I had to listen to moaning about how difficult it is to sort out drawers and closets. This required mere thought, as opposed to lugging boxes and bags and trash. My daughter received a panicked call to come and help: not to carry, but to decide what can be kept and what can go. I continued carrying, after pointing out who wanted to have everything new. These are not words any women wants to hear. Or that I was happy with what we had.
I admit to being stuck in the last century, when it comes to one subject: the National Hockey League. For me, there are only six teams: Boston (of course), Montreal, Toronto, Chicago, Detroit, and New York. If asked, I could not identify the current overblown roster of uninteresting teams. Hockey is a game played outside on cold winter days; ice does not form in Florida, Arizona, Southern California, etc. In a stretch, I might accept Winnipeg, Calgary, Edmonton, and--but only maybe, because of the mild influence of the Pacific Ocean--Vancouver. After all, these franchises are all located in a country whose television station airs Hockey Night in Canada. Have you ever heard of Hockey Night in America? Of course not. For most of that nation, ice is something to fill over-sized containers of sugary drinks or to put into alcoholic beverages.
Give me the old days of six teams, even if the Bruins have to own the cellar...
Wine is a turncoat: first a friend and then an enemy.
I knew what a jeraboam was: a big bottle. Until yesterday, I had never seen one outside a wine shop and had never tasted wine from one. Now, I have tasted wine from three. Checking the spelling and definition in Wikipedia, I confirmed my suspicion that the bottle is twice the size of a magnum...and takes its name--for some strange reason--from the first king of the northern kingdom of Israel.
I’ll stick with wine and forget the history lesson. But, it’s best to have plenty of people around, when a jeraboam is opened. This is not the size for two people to open to have with cheese and crackers.
Having friends with vineyards, especially ones that are very hospitable and generous is not all bad. One tends to drink too much wine and the well never runs dry.
Prior to writing novels, the author enjoyed a multifaceted career: from decorated combat aviator to advertising professional to global communications director of a major consumer brand. He has traveled the world and met sports, film and television stars, political leaders, and royalty. He graduated from Middlebury College, is married, lives in Germany, and has two grown children.