But it's a garage!

The continuing saga of  downsizing...

...moving closer to the grandchildren, reducing Karen's commute to work, getting something with less yard work demands, etc.   I think I made the mistake a few months ago of saying, "Yes.  Maybe that's a good idea," when Karen suggested it was time to sell our house and buy a smaller one in the country.  

First of all, I have learned that subdivisions in the Country are exactly like subdivisions anywhere else.  Secondly, I have learned that prices in Goose Creek are cheaper than prices in Mount Pleasant and I fear that downsizing may be the wrong word.  So far, I'm seeing bigger houses and bigger yards. 

Mostly I've learned that putting our house on the market means trying to make a 25 year old house look new.  We could have already bought a place in Goose Creek with the money I've spent on paint. 

But last week, I began to see a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel.  The upstairs has new carpet, new sink fixtures, new air conditioning registers, and freshly painted walls and ceilings...and baseboards and doors...and my shorts, t-shirts and 90% of my body are freshly painted as well.  

Karen has agreed to actually hire a professional to paint the downstairs livingroom in order to reduce the risk of having me fall off of tall ladders.  The livingroom has a huge vaulted ceiling -- one of those architectural stupidities that we Americans like enough to ignore how much fossil fuel we waste to heat (or cool) air that we can't reach without tall ladders.   

So I was looking at a ToDo list that was actually shrinking until last week when she said, "You know, we really should paint the garage."

My initial reaction was to wonder how she knew it needed painting in the first place.  We have so much junk piled up against all the walls that you can't see them.  Which, of course, means that if I am going to paint the walls, I first must move tons of old boxes, baby carriages, bicycles, pressure washers, generators, boogie boards, beach chairs, coolers, freezers, not to mention 436 old and rusty, half-empty paint cans from distant projects.

"But it's a garage!" I exclaimed. 

"Make sure to be careful around the baseboards."

"But it's a garage," I whined, realizing I was going to lose the argument.

"Women notice these things when they are looking to buy a house," she explained.  "And it probably hasn't been painted since it was built."

Since we are the third owner of the house, I wondered why she didn't notice it when we bought it, but I knew better than to ask that out loud.

"And while we are moving everything out, let's go through all the boxes and see what we can throw out."   Then she went to work leaving me to wonder why she was using the word "we."

So after throwing out 436 old paint cans and buying 110 new ones, I moved everything out of the garage, creating a pile in the front yard that looked like the Great Pyramid of Egypt.  It was only after I moved it that I realized that if I had moved it closer to the street the trash truck might have just hauled it all away when I wasn't looking. 

Of course, the housing market sucks so much the house probably won't sell anyway.  But if it does and if Karen finds a new place in Goose Creek, I'm easy.  I'll go along with whatever house she likes.  But I'm refusing to sign the closing papers until the owner has put a fresh coat of paint in the garage.

Friday Hometown Shootout -- Creepy Crawly

I didn't shoot anything new this week.  Partly because of the endless ToDo list which has descended over me like a giant spider's web...

...and partly because it has cooled down somewhat and the diversity of creepy crawlies outside has diminished. 

I did have a moment of excitement last night when we were cleaning out one of the rooms and Karen suddenly shrieked, "It's a cockroach!!  Get it!  Get it get it get it!!!"

With the shootout in the back of my mind I began to run for my camera.

Karen shrieked louder.  "Where are you going!!!  Get it!  Kill it!!  It's a cockroach!!"

So I gave in and demonstrated extreme macho heroism by catching it in a paper towel and flushing it down the toilet.  Poor cockroach.

So here are some archive shots:

And the one below has been my personal favorite for years:

I am often humbled by the realization that some of my best shots were done years and years ago.  Before digital which shows that it is not the camera that makes the picture.  This picture of the fly is interesting because I took it with a cheap single lens reflex -- a Mamiya Sekor, I think.  And I couldn't afford any lenses besides the one that came with it but I had a teleconverter from another camera that didn't fit it well.  It only screwed in halfway and I held it in place with duct tape.  But because there was a gap, it turned into a gerry-rigged close-up lens.  I remember this shot because I was stoned on pot at the time  (yes, I was a pothead before I got sober and started working in the treatment field).  I remember lying in the woods with my duct-tape macro at ground level feeling I was a tiny explorer stalking big game.  Of course, I could have just looked around like any normal person would do looking for insects, but remember I was stoned.  Insects were probbly crawling all over my backside but I was focused at a the two-inch mark.  Then a leaf in front of me quivered and I almost jumped when I saw the shadow of a fly.  The shadow walked around the leaf for what seemed like an eternity but time plays tricks in my state of mind.  I waited as if I was in a blind.  Then suddenly the fly crawled up and peeked over at me and I shot it.  I wonder what it thought about me.  Not much probably. 

This was also from that very weird micro-safari afternoon

Back to a couple more recent archive creepies:

You may recognize this last lady from my grotesque header.  I was going to post my black widow (that was really a brown widow) shot but I've posted it at least three other times and it seemed like overkill. 

BAGMAN:  "Hey.  How come you never bring us into your blog anymore?"

BUTLER: "Yes.  We are beginning to feel very unwanted."

I pause and look at them standing next to me with downcast eyes.  "I'm sorry guys.  I'm not sure why I've been leaving you out of many of my blogs.  I could rationalize that I've been rushing through my blogs and not taking time for digressions...

BUTLER: "You think of us as mere digressions?"

I think for a moment, wondering if this is the right time for a serious family talk.  Because recently, I've been feeling more integrated and Bagman and Butler haven't seemed so important.  Or maybe because I've been working on a novel and struggling with charactor development, Bagman and Butler seem kind of shallow and flat to me.   But I don't really want to get into all that with them, so I simply say, "I don't know, guys.  Maybe we'll talk about it later."

BAGMAN:  "You blowing us off?!!"

I don't answer.

BUTLER:  "Yes, Baggie.  He is blowing us off."

I leave the room and shut the door just as a large muddy boot slams off of it. 

And I scuttle down the hallway...