There's a world
Where I can go
And tell my secrets to
In my room
In my room
The Beachboys, "In My Room"
We have spent the past month fixing up the most important room in the house. My favorite room. The very private room dedicated to getting naked, getting wet and taking care of bodily functions. The bathroom.
We have not used the bathroom off our bedroom since we moved in. It had no shower, only a spa tub, and we are not tub people. (Yes, I know I am a tubby person, but there's a difference.) In fact, when we sold our Sydney house we had lived in it for 9 years and never once even turned the tap on in the bathtub much less sit and soak.
Once we moved here, I made a comment which, in hindsight, may have been a mistake. I said how nice it would be to get rid of the spa tub and put in a walk-in shower,
Replacing a tub with a shower sounds simple but it's the first step on that slippery slope known as renovation. Can't remove the tub and put in a shower without tiling. Might as well tile the whole room once we start. Since we're doing the floor, this is also the perfect time to put in under-floor heating. And we certainly don't want an old vanity with new tiles. Ditto the mirrors. And just how out of place is that old toilet going to look with all this new stuff? Oh, and since we have tilers and plumbers in, shouldn't we at least replace that grotty old shower in the guest bathroom? And it's only a tad more to get new taps for the vanity and bath there to match the new shower. But don't worry. We will save money because we won't get a new vanity there.
Those, needless to say, are not all my thoughts, but rather a pretty good approximation of the logical conclusions of Project Manager Linda. With her leadership and management, we are now almost through the renovation of the master bathroom. All that needs to be done is installing the screen to the walk-in shower, hanging the mirror, putting up the bits like towel hooks and toilet roll holder, and painting the bit of wall at the top that isn't being tiled.
To be very fair, I have contributed a few ideas, most having to do with comfort and ensuring a large human can easily move around the room. Project Manager Linda has done the rest, and successfully reprised a technique she used during the kitchen renovation.
Working without a budget, she declares to me, to tradesmen, to just about anyone who will listen, that she doesn't want a $20,000 bathroom. That is a statement with which I can very easily (very, very, very easily) agree. Some time during the project, though, the success and reasonableness of the final project gets equated to that statement. If the room is beautiful and if it didn't cost $20,000, it is a success. And when, as in this case, we don't come remotely close to spending $20,000, then it is a roaring success.
As it is.
The trouble right now is that this project isn't quite done and has been dragging on well past when it should. Originally we were set to have the work done in October when we returned from the US, but Joe the Tiler had not reserved the time for us as we asked. Then it was going to start right after the New Year but Joe had a family medical problem.
And I am not even going to mention chasing down the tiles we had paid for when the company went bankrupt. OK, I've mentioned it, but I don't want to relive it.
It finally started on January 24, but Joe was backed up so badly with his projects that he has been spending only part-time here. Completion had been promised by February 10. We think it may be this week.
Anyhow, once Joe leaves, we're getting the painters in and laying carpet in the bedroom, hanging the drapes and calling 5/7th of the house done. Or 5/8th if you count the extension we are thinking about. But now is not the time to have that discussion.
I uploaded pictures of the shower installation's progress here. Having documented the stand-up part of the room I will upload the sit-down side of the room tomorrow. Completed pictures by the June solstice. (A joke. I hope.) And we will be able to go to the US then with the change left over from our not-a-$20K bathroom.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Waist Management
We've been on this diet a month now. It's pretty much the South Beach with a few tweaks here and there. The first two weeks are the toughest - no booze, no starch, no fruit, no sugar, almost no carbs and almost no fats. Of course you lose weight fast, but the creator of the diet knows that you don't get fat because you have great will power so he moves you onto Phase 2.
It seems like a mini-Christmas. You can add in a starch, a fruit, a couple of glasses of wine. It's still small portions, of course. LK and I almost drooled as we toasted a single piece of spelt bread for our afternoon snack. I even surprised myself by discovering that I craved fresh fruit more than old wine. So I had a small apple one day, counted out my allowance of 12 cherries the next and went into dieter heaven with four apricots the day after that.
All of which is odd because I ate almost no fresh fruit before the diet.
The wine allowance is vague - and I am delighted it is. "You can even enjoy one or two glasses of wine with your dinner" is the wording. Now you may not consider that vague, but I believe I am remaining well within the limits of the diet if I use large water tumblers instead of those skimpy little wine glasses. After all, they don't say you can't.
The second phase, of course, slows down the rate of weight loss. After losing a quick 10 pounds in the first two weeks, I've now lost 4 pounds in the next two. (By the way, I am truly bi-measured and can think in pounds or kilos. But there was never any question that pounds was the measurement of choice for my diet. Can you even compare the psychology of "I've lost more than 2 pounds" to "I've lost 1 kilo"? I don't think so. And if our scales measured in ounces, I would probably move to them.)
The slower weight loss in Phase 2 makes sense and must be healthier, of course, but with my size and target weight, it also means I am likely to be on this phase for another year or more. Which is where my bride enters the picture.
Linda started us down this course of weight loss with the stated desire of keeping me around longer. Had she really thought that through, I am not sure she would have been so committed to the program, but nonetheless it is her efforts that are making this work.
Like a contestant on one of those cooking competition shows, she has set about trying to use the allowable mix of foods to make meals that taste great, are varied and don't rely on large mounds of lettuce and veggies to fill you up.
And for four weeks, we have had dinners that make me forget we are watching our waistlines. Last night we had three lovely lamb cutlets with a salad of broadbeans, mint and quinoa. After hearing so much about it, last year was the first time LK used quinoa, the grain that seems to me like a stepchild of rice and couscous, and she was excited to see it on the list of starchy foods that could be added back to the diet on Phase 2.
Perhaps in her excitement, she overdid it last night with a whopping huge serve of the salad. You know you've locked into the dieter's mentality when you're eating grains and beans and the cook apologizes that tonight is a bit of a carb overload.
Which, it turned out, was OK. I still lost 16 ounces yesterday. More quinoa, LK!
It seems like a mini-Christmas. You can add in a starch, a fruit, a couple of glasses of wine. It's still small portions, of course. LK and I almost drooled as we toasted a single piece of spelt bread for our afternoon snack. I even surprised myself by discovering that I craved fresh fruit more than old wine. So I had a small apple one day, counted out my allowance of 12 cherries the next and went into dieter heaven with four apricots the day after that.
All of which is odd because I ate almost no fresh fruit before the diet.
The wine allowance is vague - and I am delighted it is. "You can even enjoy one or two glasses of wine with your dinner" is the wording. Now you may not consider that vague, but I believe I am remaining well within the limits of the diet if I use large water tumblers instead of those skimpy little wine glasses. After all, they don't say you can't.
The second phase, of course, slows down the rate of weight loss. After losing a quick 10 pounds in the first two weeks, I've now lost 4 pounds in the next two. (By the way, I am truly bi-measured and can think in pounds or kilos. But there was never any question that pounds was the measurement of choice for my diet. Can you even compare the psychology of "I've lost more than 2 pounds" to "I've lost 1 kilo"? I don't think so. And if our scales measured in ounces, I would probably move to them.)
The slower weight loss in Phase 2 makes sense and must be healthier, of course, but with my size and target weight, it also means I am likely to be on this phase for another year or more. Which is where my bride enters the picture.
Linda started us down this course of weight loss with the stated desire of keeping me around longer. Had she really thought that through, I am not sure she would have been so committed to the program, but nonetheless it is her efforts that are making this work.
Like a contestant on one of those cooking competition shows, she has set about trying to use the allowable mix of foods to make meals that taste great, are varied and don't rely on large mounds of lettuce and veggies to fill you up.
And for four weeks, we have had dinners that make me forget we are watching our waistlines. Last night we had three lovely lamb cutlets with a salad of broadbeans, mint and quinoa. After hearing so much about it, last year was the first time LK used quinoa, the grain that seems to me like a stepchild of rice and couscous, and she was excited to see it on the list of starchy foods that could be added back to the diet on Phase 2.
Perhaps in her excitement, she overdid it last night with a whopping huge serve of the salad. You know you've locked into the dieter's mentality when you're eating grains and beans and the cook apologizes that tonight is a bit of a carb overload.
Which, it turned out, was OK. I still lost 16 ounces yesterday. More quinoa, LK!
Monday, January 30, 2012
By Sea and By Land
We still have more than a third of summer left, but celebrating Australia Day always makes it seem as if we're nearing its end. The kids here in Tassie still have a couple of weeks left of their summer holidays, but just about everyone except teachers is back at work with only memories of holidays for this year.
So, before we move any further from the sun, I want to catch you up on a few things from the past month.
 |
| The tall-masted leaders approaching the Iron Pot lighthouse |
 |
| The flotilla welcomes the leader passing Kingston Beach |
It was the closest result in the race in decades, and it was quite special seeing these two huge sets of sails loom out of the ocean haze and approach the Iron Pot on their way past our place down the Derwent River to the finish line in Hobart.
I remember my Dad once commenting that yacht racing was about as exciting as watching grass grow. To non-sailors like me, that is undoubtedly true. But on a beautiful summer afternoon, it was fun watching a couple of those massive sails looming hugely over the dozens of smaller boats that came out to welcome them to our city at the end of their 2 1/2 day race. Of course, the mojitos didn't hurt the ambience.
The rest of January has been much more focused on land than sea, as we tended to our garden. What looked easy at the beginning, needless to say, is not quite the cup of tea it seemed. We lost all of our peas to pea blight (which is just about as bad as it sounds) and several of the tomatoes went down to fungus. The good news there is that still leaves us with about 25 tomato plants.
The veggies do seem to grow well here, and if we were growing them for their leaves we would be deilghted with the results. Unfortunately the bits we do want to eat are coming along but more slowly than we hoped - even adjusting for the climate. But with sunny warm weather forecast for this week, we remain optimistic gardeners.
Mind you, we have eaten a little bit of our efforts. I think the radishes are averaging $85 a bunch and the one zucchini I did cook wouldn't have cost us more than $30 to grow. On the other hand, the beans are coming along niceley and were very tasty with dinner the other night. The carrots, beets and parsnips look quite promising. The cantaloupe (rock melon here in Oz) looked like it was growing brilliantly until we realized yesterday that what we were nurturing was a weed and the melon was dead. (This is, after all, a learning year!)
I have such great memories of the garden my grandfather had in Rutland. And every summer my Uncle Bob and cousin Jerome pop round to my folks with enough stuff from their gardens to start a farmers market. So I know there's some farmer genes somewhere in my makeup. Now if I can only figure out how to make them come to the fore.
It's not quite a cornucopia yet, but the garden is definitely coming in:
 |
| Yellow and green beans, oddly round zucchini, the first little squash, weird purple carrot, strawberries,a very late spring onion and a very badly shaped RolyPoly carrot that is supposed to be round |
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Mrs K Meets Some of the 99 Percent
Welcome to 4Q's new year. Sure, it's late in the month to be posting for the first time in 2012, but with personal batteries recharged and a refreshed look for the blog, it is back for a new season.
I knew it was time to get back to posting for a couple of reasons. One, it seemed like every other phone converation LK has had recently has included comments like "I know, and I'm disappointed too, but he just doesn't seem to want to do it any more."
I am pretty sure she was talking about this blog, but actually her comments were not all that compelling a reason to re-start. Survival in retirement years requires - at a minimum - the ability to not pay attention to whatever critiques your spouse is making. And that's if they're talking directly to you. If you can't ignore it when they're talking to someone else, you may as well go get a job flipping burgers at McDonald's because life around the house will be just plain miserable.
No, the real reason I knew it was time to post again was that the other day we went through an experience and all I could do was think about how I wanted everyone to know what had happened.
And this is what happened.
With Jason and Laura moving down here in a couple of weeks, we've been doing house-hunting for them, checking out rental properties in the area. LK has been a woman on a mission, spending hour after hour checking out the ads for rentals, scheduling viewings and scoping out the prospects. In recent days she has been the Communications Center for the project, this week spending more time on the phone with Jay and Laura than she probably has in the past five years.
Her reports are pretty predictable: "It's small but in good shape, you should apply"; or, "Don't bother, it's run-down and it doesn't look like the landlord bothers to keep it up", etc, etc. We have walked into very attractive places with views of the water and very unattractive places with clutter everywhere and a dwarf trying to stop his dog from jumping on us. (Really.) The latter, by the way, elicited the report: "It's not bad, but I wouldn't apply. It's the vibe." Apparently clutter, jumping dogs and small people make for bad vibes even though, presumably, they won't be around once new tenants move in.
But the icing on the cake happened Tuesday. We arrived at a property to be viewed a few minutes early and parked near the house. While the five or six houses on the cul-de-sac were in fairly good condition, I couldn't help notice that the lawn next door hadn't been mowed in a long, long time, most likely not yet this year.
That's not a good sign for the neighborhood, I said to LK who - ever the optimist - said it was hardly anything to worry about. As we sat there, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a very large child sitting on a neighboring porch. The kid was quite a bit overweight and several years over age to be sucking away on a pacifier (dummy, to my Aussie friends). Then I started to notice the little things - a rusting, abandoned washing machine by a back door, a few engine parts in a yard. I was sure I could faintly hear banjo music playing nearby - da da da dang dang - and was getting ready to practice squealing like a pig.
The agent arrived in time to distract us from the neighboring houses. LK and she went into the house as I re-parked the car. It would have only been four or five minutes before I walked into the house, but before I got to check it out (well, other than the mattress leaning against the wall in the entrance foyer) LK came bustling out of the living room.
Her eyes were a little bigger than normal, her lips pursed a little tighter. "No, no, no, no, " she whispered to me. I thought she meant the house wasn't right for the kids, but she meant she didn't want me to come into the house and she wanted to get out, Which we did.
Apparently, after she saw the kitchen and living room, the idea of examining the bathroom and bedrooms sent her into panic mode and she was in full retreat. As we walked down the driveway, the duelling banjoes were getting louder and louder.
The agent told Linda that the house would be cleaned, of course, and LK replied that it really needed blowtorching. She later told me that even if they cleaned it, she could never go back there because she had seen what it was like now. Skeeve City was the term she used, I believe.
We saw one other house that afternoon, but LK was by then in no mood for anything but wonderful. She noted the very worn carpet, the damage to the wall and the agent's attitude that it wasn't that big a deal. LK left without looking at the bedrooms. She was so distracted, in fact, that she hadn't even noticed that the current tenant had taken a black marker and written profanities and racist comments all over the refrigerator, next to his collection of 20 or more empty bouron bottles. I waited until we had driven away to let her know about the fridge graffiti.
So we ended our househunting Tuesday learning a couple of lessons. First, our alcohol-free lifestyle experiment was officially over after 14 days and ending as soon as we got in the house.
And second, when it comes to bad vibes, we now know that clutter, a dwarf and a jumping dog are not anywhere near as bad as they seem at first.
------------
And as a postscript, today is a national holiday here (not that this is very important once you're not working.) Happy Australia Day to all our Aussie mates and family.
I knew it was time to get back to posting for a couple of reasons. One, it seemed like every other phone converation LK has had recently has included comments like "I know, and I'm disappointed too, but he just doesn't seem to want to do it any more."
I am pretty sure she was talking about this blog, but actually her comments were not all that compelling a reason to re-start. Survival in retirement years requires - at a minimum - the ability to not pay attention to whatever critiques your spouse is making. And that's if they're talking directly to you. If you can't ignore it when they're talking to someone else, you may as well go get a job flipping burgers at McDonald's because life around the house will be just plain miserable.
No, the real reason I knew it was time to post again was that the other day we went through an experience and all I could do was think about how I wanted everyone to know what had happened.
And this is what happened.
With Jason and Laura moving down here in a couple of weeks, we've been doing house-hunting for them, checking out rental properties in the area. LK has been a woman on a mission, spending hour after hour checking out the ads for rentals, scheduling viewings and scoping out the prospects. In recent days she has been the Communications Center for the project, this week spending more time on the phone with Jay and Laura than she probably has in the past five years.
Her reports are pretty predictable: "It's small but in good shape, you should apply"; or, "Don't bother, it's run-down and it doesn't look like the landlord bothers to keep it up", etc, etc. We have walked into very attractive places with views of the water and very unattractive places with clutter everywhere and a dwarf trying to stop his dog from jumping on us. (Really.) The latter, by the way, elicited the report: "It's not bad, but I wouldn't apply. It's the vibe." Apparently clutter, jumping dogs and small people make for bad vibes even though, presumably, they won't be around once new tenants move in.
But the icing on the cake happened Tuesday. We arrived at a property to be viewed a few minutes early and parked near the house. While the five or six houses on the cul-de-sac were in fairly good condition, I couldn't help notice that the lawn next door hadn't been mowed in a long, long time, most likely not yet this year.
That's not a good sign for the neighborhood, I said to LK who - ever the optimist - said it was hardly anything to worry about. As we sat there, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a very large child sitting on a neighboring porch. The kid was quite a bit overweight and several years over age to be sucking away on a pacifier (dummy, to my Aussie friends). Then I started to notice the little things - a rusting, abandoned washing machine by a back door, a few engine parts in a yard. I was sure I could faintly hear banjo music playing nearby - da da da dang dang - and was getting ready to practice squealing like a pig.
The agent arrived in time to distract us from the neighboring houses. LK and she went into the house as I re-parked the car. It would have only been four or five minutes before I walked into the house, but before I got to check it out (well, other than the mattress leaning against the wall in the entrance foyer) LK came bustling out of the living room.
Her eyes were a little bigger than normal, her lips pursed a little tighter. "No, no, no, no, " she whispered to me. I thought she meant the house wasn't right for the kids, but she meant she didn't want me to come into the house and she wanted to get out, Which we did.
Apparently, after she saw the kitchen and living room, the idea of examining the bathroom and bedrooms sent her into panic mode and she was in full retreat. As we walked down the driveway, the duelling banjoes were getting louder and louder.
The agent told Linda that the house would be cleaned, of course, and LK replied that it really needed blowtorching. She later told me that even if they cleaned it, she could never go back there because she had seen what it was like now. Skeeve City was the term she used, I believe.
We saw one other house that afternoon, but LK was by then in no mood for anything but wonderful. She noted the very worn carpet, the damage to the wall and the agent's attitude that it wasn't that big a deal. LK left without looking at the bedrooms. She was so distracted, in fact, that she hadn't even noticed that the current tenant had taken a black marker and written profanities and racist comments all over the refrigerator, next to his collection of 20 or more empty bouron bottles. I waited until we had driven away to let her know about the fridge graffiti.
So we ended our househunting Tuesday learning a couple of lessons. First, our alcohol-free lifestyle experiment was officially over after 14 days and ending as soon as we got in the house.
And second, when it comes to bad vibes, we now know that clutter, a dwarf and a jumping dog are not anywhere near as bad as they seem at first.
------------
And as a postscript, today is a national holiday here (not that this is very important once you're not working.) Happy Australia Day to all our Aussie mates and family.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
What I Did on My Christmas Vacation
 |
| The Best Present This Year |
We had been cruising in New Zealand for almost two weeks and arrived in Sydney on Christmas Eve just in time to have lunch with Shirley and then a very special dinner at Rachael's with Lily, Matt, Jason and Lora.
We haven't Seen Lil in months and she and her mother are heading north for a six-month assignment Rach has drawn, so being able to get together with her these holidays was very special.
In fact we haven't celebrated Christmas with any of the Oz family since 2008, having spent the last two with the US families. So it was a really great evening all around and was the highlight of what has been a very good month.
I know the families are eager for some photos, and it has taken me a couple of days to set up my new laptop and edit the photos, so I will make this a short post and write more about our journeys later this week.
Let's just say, we left our garden untended for two weeks, hoping for the first time that Hobart would have regular rain. Our wishes, however, must have been garbled because we had very regular rain once we got to New Zealand. That literally put a damper on some of our Kiwi ports of call, and our big concern became whether we would be blessed with magnificent weather on the only day that really mattered when we cruised the three beautiful sounds - Dusky, Doubtful and Milford.
Throughout the whole trip we also felt vaguely like neglectful parents (admittedly plant parents) as we kept wondering if all our gardening work leading up to the trip would have been for nought or if the vegetable gods would smile upon us.
Here are a couple of pictorial clues:
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| Leaving Dusky Sound |
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| The zucchini is flowering |
So, for more pictures of our month, go to dklktravels.shutterfly.com . By the way, the flash wasn't working properly during Christmas dinner so the pictures are a bit grainy and dark. But I know you all share my view - any picture of Lily is better than no picture of Lily.
More later. Promise.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Farm Report
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| Linda the Herb Lady and her elevated herb garden |
I am becoming concerned that this gardening thing is becoming a little bit more than a hobby for the two of us. Those who know LK will probably not be surprised to learn that once she embraced it, she began giving it 110%. Two days ago she spent hours tying bamboo sticks together and creating a crazy Tinker Toy city where her tomatoes can live when they grow up.
By the way, those who know me will be quite surprised that I am still sticking with it even though three weeks have passed. I find myself resenting rain showers now. Not because they ruin a nice day, but because they take away my quality watering time with the plants.
We are both spending far too much time looking at leaves and stems. Every morning LK visits her babies and reports back on who is looking good and who needs attention. Excuse me, they're not really babies, they're peas and turnips and carrots. And when I say "who" is looking good, I mean "what" is looking good.
We have undoubtedly invested waaaaay too much emotion into growing our own but I think the award in this category is LK's hands down. She seems to treat each new chute and leaf as a cause for rejoicing. Conversely, when one of our seedlings didn't thrive when transplanted, I had to convince her there was no need to change into mourning clothes.
That tomato seedling (one of about 70 ot 80, by the way) has done poorly since leaving the seed tray to live in the garden. While all about it thrived, this one failed to grow and its leaves drooped and curled. That's OK, there are plenty more so throw it away, right? Not with the new Florence Nightingale of the Veggie Patch.
LK is a gardening equivalent of the Marines and lives by the motto "No plant left behind." She is quite sure we can still save that seedling. So we will move it to its own pot and give it plenty of TLC. You know, kind of like an Intensive Care Ward for sad little tomatoes.
I am not so sure. When I checked it out, I could see only slight signs of life; its roots were sparse and on the Tomato of Life Meter it is tilting more to Dead than Alive. But we will try. Of course, as I told LK, even if we do manage to save it, it is still going to end up a vegetable for the rest of its life.
Here's some pix:
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| 3 1/2 weeks - everything's looking good |
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| Zucchini and squash looking happy |
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| The bean and pea jungle gym |
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| Strawberries - the birds love 'em |
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| Apparently the tomatoes love living in places built like this |
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Head Over Heels
Scabrous: Having or covered with scales and rough to the touch
Scabrous is one of my game words, meaning I know it's a word and can play it in Scrabble or Words with Friends, but I have to look it up in the dictionary to know what it means. Which is what I had to do yesterday.
I was pretty sure it was a nasty word and more or less suspected it meant what it sounded like - full of scabs. But I needed to be certain in this instance. Because the night before, for the first time in my life, someone had actually called me "scabrous".
The fact that it was my darling wife and it happened in bed should in no way be seen as a reflection on the state of our marriage.
No, in fact we were back to one of my old topics - cracked heels. LK expressed such disappointment as her foot rubbed against one of my dried, rough-to-the-touch heels. "What's happened to your heels? You had them so smooth, but now they're . . . they're . . . well, now they're scabrous," she said.
If I had known what that word literally meant, I would have pointed out that, yes, my heels were a bit rough to touch, but technically they weren't covered with scabs. Unfortunately I did not learn the definition until it was far too late to reprise the brief discussion that followed being called "scabrous".
("Scabrous! Thanks a lot!"
"Well, maybe they're not that bad, but I really wanted to use that word.")
Anyhow, it's now back to pumice stones and Eulactol cream. That stuff is made from urea, which seems to prove that it is better to soak your feet in a byproduct of urine than have them seem scabrous to your wife.
Backsliding on the condition of my heels is probably just one more manifestation of my general trend in retirement. I had heard that a certain class of men tend to, shall we say, lower their standards of personal care once they no longer have to answer the starting bell at a job. Or, in my instance, perhaps the standards were always lower, but having to report to work kept them in check. In either instance, I have to acknowledge that I haven't been all that good on the dapper front since I retired.
You could point to my dressing in slavish emulation of my sports hero, Bill Belichick, but the point was driven home even more strongly last week when LK insisted it was time for my semi-annual haircut. "Either get it cut or I am putting it in a ponytail," she said. Which is another instance of things that happen when you retire.
Perhaps the best way to make you understand this is to ask you to imagine the reverse -- me telling LK that she had to get her hair cut or I would force her to wear a ponytail. Nope, we all know that men are not about to start bossing their wives around about their appearance - or at least not if they want to ensure they wake up every morning with all of their bits still attached.
But women seem to fall so easily into the notion that the old guy is in his second childhood. And we all know how well they play the role of Mother.
Or perhaps it is not that psychologically complex, for when I expressed these thoughts to my beloved, she just shrugged and said, "Look, it's as easy as this - I have to look at you and you don't." I tried to argue that I was just trying to see if I could outlast Hillary Clinton when it came to getting a haircut that was desperately needed. Obviously, with LK pressuring me I wasn't going to win this particular contest with Hillary.
So back to Whitey's Shearing Shed I went. Despite its name, they really don't tie up your hands and legs and run an electric razor back and forth across your head. They're very friendly there and in a matter of minutes I was presentable again - or at least as presentable as I am likely to get.
Presentable, like scabrous, might not be the precise word to use. Perhaps I can come up with a new phrase. Does "Retirement Casual" work for you?
----
Garden pix tomorrow for the thousands clamoring to see how our peas and carrots are doing.
Scabrous is one of my game words, meaning I know it's a word and can play it in Scrabble or Words with Friends, but I have to look it up in the dictionary to know what it means. Which is what I had to do yesterday.
I was pretty sure it was a nasty word and more or less suspected it meant what it sounded like - full of scabs. But I needed to be certain in this instance. Because the night before, for the first time in my life, someone had actually called me "scabrous".
The fact that it was my darling wife and it happened in bed should in no way be seen as a reflection on the state of our marriage.
No, in fact we were back to one of my old topics - cracked heels. LK expressed such disappointment as her foot rubbed against one of my dried, rough-to-the-touch heels. "What's happened to your heels? You had them so smooth, but now they're . . . they're . . . well, now they're scabrous," she said.
If I had known what that word literally meant, I would have pointed out that, yes, my heels were a bit rough to touch, but technically they weren't covered with scabs. Unfortunately I did not learn the definition until it was far too late to reprise the brief discussion that followed being called "scabrous".
("Scabrous! Thanks a lot!"
"Well, maybe they're not that bad, but I really wanted to use that word.")
Anyhow, it's now back to pumice stones and Eulactol cream. That stuff is made from urea, which seems to prove that it is better to soak your feet in a byproduct of urine than have them seem scabrous to your wife.
Backsliding on the condition of my heels is probably just one more manifestation of my general trend in retirement. I had heard that a certain class of men tend to, shall we say, lower their standards of personal care once they no longer have to answer the starting bell at a job. Or, in my instance, perhaps the standards were always lower, but having to report to work kept them in check. In either instance, I have to acknowledge that I haven't been all that good on the dapper front since I retired.
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| Bill Belichick - Hoodie Master |
Perhaps the best way to make you understand this is to ask you to imagine the reverse -- me telling LK that she had to get her hair cut or I would force her to wear a ponytail. Nope, we all know that men are not about to start bossing their wives around about their appearance - or at least not if they want to ensure they wake up every morning with all of their bits still attached.
But women seem to fall so easily into the notion that the old guy is in his second childhood. And we all know how well they play the role of Mother.
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| Hillary Wins This Contest |
So back to Whitey's Shearing Shed I went. Despite its name, they really don't tie up your hands and legs and run an electric razor back and forth across your head. They're very friendly there and in a matter of minutes I was presentable again - or at least as presentable as I am likely to get.
Presentable, like scabrous, might not be the precise word to use. Perhaps I can come up with a new phrase. Does "Retirement Casual" work for you?
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Garden pix tomorrow for the thousands clamoring to see how our peas and carrots are doing.
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