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Obama

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I have spent the past month and a half moaning pretty much non-stop, muttering under my breath, seething and spitting at google.  Companies that swallow small and beautiful things, chew them up and spit them out – destroyed, demolished, evaporated.

Thus it was with Picnik 

Then. I found PicMonkey. YAY. Built by Picnikers. Yay. Yay. Yay. The day is saved. No more moaning. Although it should be said that it is very unlikely that my opinion of google will change any time soon.

We have recently returned from holiday. So some pictures.

Laundry in Havana

 

 

H on the Malecon.

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It will be Easter then..

I could make a list of what will be better by then. But that would not be a good. So I’ll leave it at that. It will be better then.

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All that’s old is new again

18 months is a long time and I wonder how much I have forgotten.

One of the benefits of this is that one rediscovers some lost bits.

Robert Louis Stevenson ~ A Child’s Garden of Verses.  Everyone should own a copy. I think. With illustrations by various including Jessie Wilcox Smith. I had forgotten this picture – always one of my favorites. Now I wonder whether forgotten, this much loved image resided in my brain and seeped out in our window seat.

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Be Gone

I am going to dream on this for awhile.

Think about what a Canon Mark II can do:)

Dream about playing with pictures. The pure joy of playing with pictures.

And the peace of this place I love.

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The Straw That Broke the…

‘s back….

So just when we are at the point that I think I might be able to see the end  BAM.

Today, it being a cold snowy day, I went to get my winter boots out of the closet in the bedroom. I discovered that the extension that the owners of our current abode had added to the back of the house, in anticipation of expanding the closets after we move out, had been completed without a vent.  You may be starting to get where this is going.

The water was dripping down the back wall of the closet. The floor was soaking. The shoes on the floor were soaking. Many things were covered with a thin layer, but a layer nonetheless, of mold. All of this having happened sometime in the last three to four weeks. It would appear.

A lesson to be learned here. Vents are VERY important.

I had stored a large number of Christmas gifts in that closet.

Wait. You’re going to laugh. Okay. Maybe not now. But a year from now. This will be funny.

I put the Christmas presents in the closet because I didn’t want to put them in the basement of the new house and risk them being damaged by dampness in the basement.

Really. 

Current casualties include a water colour belonging to my mother (which will never be the same) Tim’s Engineering Degree. A really really nice frame that I had stalked for ages and then scored on sale for 50% off. Covered in mold. (I do get that the Diploma is substantially more significant) Books that I bought for the Girls for Christmas, chocolate bars (nice ones:) ).

 Oh yes. One of my all time favorite summer jackets. It had fallen in the back of the closet. Now covered in mold.

We won’t talk about the brand new never been worn and now soggy shoes.

 I am going to start a count down to the move out date.

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Monday, November 30, 2009

Almost December.

Feels like a holding pattern.

Yesterday I stopped by the Little House on my way home. It was late in the afternoon. Amazing Floor Finishing Guy (whose name is Eric pronounced Iric) had put the first coat of urethane down on the ground floor. Loverley.

Today, or rather tonight I expect, another coat will likely go on. Maybe not. Depends when it is dry enough to buff.

In the meantime I will meet Kitchen Guy briefly sometime today re this and that.

I will drop in at Goudey’s to double-check the stain colour for the downstairs vanity. I was there last week but so wrapped up in floors was I that I was not paying proper attention to the stain boards. Nor did I make proper notes.

And then there is a sample of trim board I need to pick up.

And I need to call Railing Guy to postpone his arrival by at least one day ~ so as to ensure the floors are dry.

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