Daddy 'Poked Me' From Beyond the Grave

Our dogs just loved my dad. He grew up with dogs worthy of the long stories he repeated whenever we asked.  But he only owned one during his adult life, and that great dane, Missy-dog, stayed at home with Mom while he lived in a apartment to teach at the University during the week or traveled.  At times we couldn't tell if he'd come to visit his house, us, or our dogs.

Birt, our newest house dog would've been especially enamored.  We've been taking him to work with us at our office/studio.  Although we provide rawhide chew sticks to keep him occupied, Birt prefers paper towels and napkins out of the office trashcan.  If Daddy was still around, Birt would have a handy supply at every table and in every chair because Daddy left a trail of tissue.  Whenever Daddy wiped his beard clean he'd put the napkin in his pocket so he'd have one to go with the rest of his kit, a pocket sketchbook and pen. And there's a limit to how much a pocket will hold.

Last weekend I finally got around to moving obstacles from the concrete pad in front of the ancient garage we use for storage.  In 1997 we had hurriedly  unloaded a mess of 16ft. long heart pine boards torn out during renovating our buildings where the office/studio is now.  We'd planned to return that week with a crew to put the wood up on racks and then use it for sculpture crates.  The strong young men who worked for us soon moved on to other jobs, and then the European Union passed a law that all wood shipping crates must be stamped 'kiln dried'.  That put that project on the back burner. For 16 years.  True, most of the wood had been eaten by termites and I could throw it on the truck by myself, but enough boards were heavy enough for me to welcome having two teenagers to direct.  Troy and Ka'Harie have been helping me clean up all the abundance ever since they moved to Parrott three years ago. It has been a long list.

With visions of "American Pickers" invading the garage, and room to park and fill up (finally! because we re-cycle) our curb side trash bin, the first storage item I got rid of was Daddy's suitcase with summer clothes.  I remembered seeing him in each shirt, pair of pants and even the turquoise swimming trunks, on our trip to Mexico the summer of 1966.  That trip was before he discovered guyaberras. Those were distributed to family members when he died in 2005. All these shirts were dacron polyester/cotton mixes no good for rags and too hot for us to wear even if we overlooked the paint stains.  Still, I set aside 2 and the only pair of cotton pants, tan classic bell bottom corduroy Wranglers, knowing it would be a miracle to get out the funky old garage smell.

I put the shirts and pants in to soak over night in 20 Mule Team Borax and Wool Light. 

This morning I finished the cycle on the heavy-duty agitation mode and spun out the water.  I pulled out the pants.  There were little pieces of paper stuck to them.  I checked the right pocket.  Sure enough, an ancient  much agitated wad of paper napkins. 

Hi, Dad!

Tonight I learned that if you put the kitten's medicine in canned catfood, inside a cat crate, with the door shut, (on accounta the kitten is busy playing on the floor with a Q-tip) the dog can still eat it!

Speed Bumps in Our Whirlpool Bath

For months now, we are installing a whirlpool tub in our master bedroom suite.

Promised we'd do it when the electric water heater died. Replace it with a tankless heater leaving room for the tub. We'd been expecting it for some time because the heater was put in in 1976 when my father, Lew Tilley first designed and built Huckaby House, in stage 1 (of 8) he called "The Cricket." At last! this January, there was so much lime in the bottom we couldn't turn the burned out element to remove it. We jumped right in and ordered the tub, heater and propane tank.

I must admit that we have a second water heater attached to the fourth bathroom at the other end of the house (stage 7). We were not desperate.

Having a tub in a box in the middle of the room is only one of the many speed bumps we've had to work our way around to move beyond hot water in the shower and an unfinished tub room. I hit my limit this week when Abby learned how to climb the 2x4 wall studs.

I was amazed, and she was triumphant for good reason. When we met her, as a kitten, last September, she had three broken abscessed legs and was almost starved to death. How she found her way to our cat patio we'll never know. During her month long stay at Dr. Lee's I visited her daily to hold her and listen to her purr - as her purr was what saved her. When I first picked up this stranger, she purred. Could have been a fear purr, but it showed me (and the vet) she had a will to live. That was more to the point when deciding what to do; not Dr. Lee's unfair question "Do you love this cat?" Unfair because I can honestly say I love every living thing, even mosquitos. (That doesn't mean I have a no kill policy. After all, I eat. I practice self defense e.g. swat mosquitos, and sometimes an animal is better off dead.) I committed a considerable amount of time, and effort to meeting this bent-legged animal's will to live.

She'll never be able to leave the house.

She was a wild animal and still goes into panic mode.

We will always have a lot to adjust to and to learn from each other.

So, the first time I found her walking on the top of the stud wall I gently took her down (after taking her picture).

The second time she was stepping from the stud wall onto the plate rail. I was in a hurry to get her down and not so gentle. I even squirted water at her. That'll teach her to stay down!

Immediately she climbed back up, and before I could move the ladder she ran to the next plate rail to jump THUMP! onto my side of the water bed. That sassy cat!

I thought I'd blocked her way up or I wouldn't have let her stay in the bedroom the next night. Around midnight I heard her scramble up the wall. I sprang out of bed as the huge 45 year old carved gourd from Nigeria hit the floor and broke. I grabbed a ladder, then Abby, before she could continue her path of destruction. I scooted her out the door. I was madder at me than at her.

Until the tub is in and the wall covered, I won't have the luxury of midnight snuggles with Abby. The only way to keep her down is to shut her out. I'm certain she'll find a way around my barricade. Eventually I may have to install plexiglas in front of the whole plate rail. It runs around all 8 sides of the central room.

SO! Yesterday my first waking thought was, " We need to unblock the energy in this room by fixing the door so it will open all the way." I'd been watching one of those TV Feng Shui shows last week. It had entered my subconscious.

The floor is rough brick and has a high spot in the doorway. Every time we opened the door it'd hit the bricks - scronk . Over time the door sagged until we couldn't open it more than about 70 degrees. It happened so slowly we hadn't noticed we could no longer lift it over the hump.

Our first attempt to fix it only answered the question, "Can we smooth out the floor with a terrazzo machine?" Yes. The bricks we ground were solid inside; but too bumped up for hand grinding to finish the job.

Finally we drew a line on the door with a pen held flat on the floor. It took both of us to move the solid wood door to the saw horses on the porch to cut off a wedge about 1/2 inch wide at the corner.

We didn't have to believe in Feng Shui to feel relieved when we opened the door all the way. Who knows, maybe that small irritation every time we opened the door (20 times a day?) compounded our renovation frustration. I'll let you know if the tub project moves any faster.