A Muddled Day

Today, as Dad sometimes said, “Everything turned to mud.”

The day began with the last bowl of the black raspberries. The bushes planted themselves and ask for nothing from me. They are a gift I get every morning.

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I tied up some string at 7:00 a.m. for the morning glories to climb because the leaves shade the kitchen windows and give the cats some shade when they go out the window into their pen. In two weeks, these windows will be completely covered.

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I painted eight 1890 bent wood kitchen chairs black.  That took awhile.

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I went to work on a big 1930 dining room cabinet that turned out nice. I varnished the interior and painted the outside with a rich green milk paint and a dark wax. All I needed was to put the glass back in the door and screw on two big, old, metal lion head drawer pulls that I’ve saved in the basement for a piece like this.

The basement is a lovely, cool place to work. But there is a problem. The fluorescent ceiling lights don’t work in July and August. I hired an electrician to work on them about eight years ago. He said there is nothing wrong with them and that it is impossible for them not to work for two months of the year.  Well, they still don’t work in July and August. I looked it up and it is a real thing. Something to do with the humidity.

Downstairs, one fluorescent tube out of  eight comes on. Hmmm, better than usual. I plugged in the magnifying worklight and I can kind of see the lines I marked on the trim boards that hold the glass in place. Then, switching the electrical cord from the light to the saw, I cut the pieces. Eight pieces. Perfect. I need to find a tiny drill bit and switch the electrical cord from the saw to the light. Now the light doesn’t work. Ten minutes of changing electrical cords and switching the light off and on, I see that I have a 1940 RCA table radio plugged in, not the light.  The cords were next to each other on the work table. It takes time for a tube radio to warm up so it never came on. Okay, not I’m back on track.

Back upstairs I walk past the eight chairs that I’ve painted black. They look funny. And then, it slowly, slowly, oh no, dawns on me that I have painted eight chairs with an unmarked can of black chalkboard paint.

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So, I went outside for a while to think about an umbrella stand.

I’ve been trying to think of how to make an stand. Why don’t I just go buy one, you ask? Why would I spent 100.00 on a junk umbrella stand when the umbrella is junk.  Here is the plan: I lined a modern, well, 20-year-old umbrella stand with a thick clear plastic bag that fit it perfectly, taped down the edges, placed a heavy duty cardboard tube in the center and filled the area outside the tube with Portland cement. I really think this is going to work. Well, it might work.

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Talk to you soon, friends. After a cup of coffee and supper, I’ll be back on the job.

Ginene