Even though I prefer Blogger, since Blogger and Wordpress don't work well together, the content of this blog is also at Wordpress at Marti's DIY.

Privacy Disclosure: Blogger uses cookies. If you're ok with that, stay here, read, and comment. If you're not, then don't.

Monday, March 14, 2016

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow. Or Not.

I had such high hopes for this day. I was going to get up at dawn (now that it's an hour later), get all my housework done, and then get my sewing room set up. But my house conspired against me. Yes, I am blaming it on the house. The front door to be exact. It just doesn't like me.

I was surfing the internet trying to find out how to clean something, when I saw a neighbor pull up outside. We trade books we've read and I saw her grab a bag that looked like it was full of books so I went to the front door to meet her. I had already cleaned the kitchen and had the back door open and the glass pulled up on the storm door to get some fresh air into the house. I had the storm door locked though. Unless I'm outside, I always keep the house locked. So when I saw my neighbor strolling through the flowers in the front yard, I went out to join her, leaving the front door wide open so it couldn't play any dirty tricks on me.

We chatted about trading some daffodils and irises, and what was this, and do you want that, the typical chatter of gardeners, when I heard the front door shut. It used the breeze coming through the two doors to shut itself, and then laughed when I ran to see if I could open it. I couldn't. Our front door has two piece lock and handle; the deadbolt is one piece and the handle below it isn't keyed, it just has a latchbolt. Lately, the inside knob will turn the latchbolt, but the outside thumbpiece on the handle won't move at all. So when it shuts, it's as good as locked, except no key will open it. And this time, no key would open the back door either because we don't have a key to the storm door. I was SOL.

So I walked a few doors down and borrowed a neighbor's phone to call Hubby. He was fifty miles away, on the way to a meeting, but bless his heart, he postponed that meeting because he had another later that couldn't be moved, and he came home to rescue me. While I waited, I tried the credit card trick on the front door, tried to pry apart the trim on the back storm door, and even tried to pick that lock. Nothing worked. Finally, I just sat on the front porch and started reading one of the books my neighbor had left me. When Hubby came home, he was in the house in less than five minutes and he didn't even have to break anything.

That's the last time I feel safe with just the storm door locked.

I was going to run out and buy a new lockset, but after taking the old one apart, shooting some WD40 in it, and shining the brass, I just couldn't part with it. So I spent most of the afternoon taking apart the door handle, cleaning it, stripping off the remaining lacquer and tarnish, and getting it ready to go back on tomorrow. It took a trip to the hardware store and then another trip to the big box store, but still much less than a $150 replacement handle, and I have a lovely rubbed brass handle.

After doing that all day, I didn't get anything done in my sewing room. The only accomplishment of the day is culling through some books in my bookshelf. I am torn between keeping or donating some of the books, and I hate that I can't just let them go. But then there are other books, like a cookbook my mother gave Hubby. It's title is Game Cookbook, How to take the "gaminess" out of wild game. Make every dish a gourmet's delight.

On the cover are pictures of the kind of game Hubby hunts, but inside was, well, game that Hubby never thought of hunting. In fact, I don't know that I've ever heard of anyone hunting some of it. We had a few laughs thumbing through it (even though that was not the intent of the cookbook) and after the crummy day I had, I needed it. So I am going to end this post with a bit from the section titled "Small Game."

Porcupine
The porcupine can be done in with a rock or a club, but even when he is dead, his quills can do damage. If you're that hungry, do as the Indians did - just throw the porky on the coals of a fire, heap with more coals and roast for about an hour. Then remove the burned hide.
(Insert Julia Child's voice here saying "bon app├ętit")