Necessity is a mother

Here's the original plan:  we make a few improvements to the house on Mac's Lane so that someone can move into it; you know, new carpet, a little paint, done.  Then we convert the garage into a studio for me (and Dragonfly Arts) and we build a shop for Dave. The room I am currently using as a craft studio reverts to being a guest room.

Here's what happened:  The facelift to the Mac's house turned into a full reno- an undetected leak had eaten away the joists and the subfloor in the kitchen and diningroom, which had to be replaced before the new flooring could be laid; the kitchen had to be gutted and rebuilt from scratch; every wall required repair and paint; the duct work needed to be replaced; the house needed new windows and new doors and a new roof...  need I go on?  So much for new carpet and a little paint making a house a home.  Sigh.  My son and Mike Singleton have made the old house absolutely beautiful.  Of course, it required a big budget.  A really big budget.  A no art studio, no shop budget. 

SO... I have had to rework my small craft room yet again.  It now contains not only my scrapbooking material but my computer and office, and a small fridge.  Strangely enough, this present configuration is the best and most efficient arrangement to date.  Everything is at my fingertips. 

My cutting station is to my left.  My Cricut and its Jukebox are on the Scrapbox table. 

I reorganized my bookcase, and moved the small fridge into a nook on the office wall.

Next to my "office" is the back of the door, which holds my ribbon and my aprons.

On left, the sewing cabinet and my wonderful Janome.  To the right, the cabinet for embossing, all my Xyron equipment and my woodworking material.

I reworked my closet.  It may look over-stuffed but I can see and get to everything quickly and easily.

I moved a shelving unit into the corner to hold my albums and upholstery fabric, among other things.

I used a craft table to hold my stamping pads, my tools, and both my cutting machines.  Under it I have bins and drawers for my punches, fibers, brads and specialty paper. All of this is within arm's reach of my craft chair.

My work table.  NOTHING lives on it now.  I have my drink holder/scrap bag to the right.  Under my table are all the accessories to my Cricut (top drawer) and extra cutters and matts (bottom drawer).  There is still plenty of leg room.

The Scrapbox folds closed, so there is space behind this black panel which was being wasted.  The next picture shows the panel opened.

Looks messy, but no one sees it but me. 
I store folding chairs behind the panel on the other side.

Well, guess I will close this mess and go make something wonderful.  Serendipity- the need to compress everything into one small space made me utilize every square inch.  I didn't get the studio of my dreams... maybe someday... but I got a very workable space.

April showers bring...damp

April is the time of year that the trees leaf out and spread their pollen.  Doesn't sound like much of a big whoop unless you a) have allergies, b) like to breathe or c) value the paint job on your car.  My black PT Cruiser is currently wearing a yellow coat of tree pollen about an eighth of an inch thick.  Very attractive. 

April is the time of year when vegetation literally LEAPS from the ground.  I think it's because of the showers.  I left for San Francisco, where all was cool and damp and gloomy, and less than two weeks later returned to Tennessee Flora on Speed.  There are buds on my peonies.  My monster hosta, feared killed by the yard dudes, has returned from the dead with a vengeance.  Only my sorry azaleas continue wan and mopey.  They need to be transplanted- to San Francisco, where they will fit right in.

April is the month when we open our pool.  Yes, you sad Northern readers, it is true.  We open our pools in April down here in the South.  Of course, we spend most of April and May fishing pollen and seeds out of the pool... but nah-nah anyway.

There is no place on Earth more beautiful than Tennessee in the spring.  Spring may be a short season, caroming into summer all too soon, but while it lasts, it is glorious.

The Olympics,facial hair and other mysteries

So the Olympics are blessedly (and blissfully) over for another two years.  Sports.  I just don't get the interest in them.  Though I must say, I truly enjoyed the ice dancing and the women's figure skating.  Also the short track speed skating.  Apolo Anton Ohno.  Do they come any cuter?

Or any stronger, braver, or crazier?

I was amazed to hear during the Olympics that his mother abandoned him!  What kind of mother abandons her child?  Well, her loss, really. While I was appalled that some commentators were insensitive enough to ask him about her, I liked his answer. He's 27 years old, he doesn't need a mother, she is not a part of his life, and he doesn't miss her.

GOOD ON YOU, APOLO! You have a great dad, a great talent and a good life. And some really strange facial hair.

Maybe THAT'S why his horrible mother took a powder.  Apolo was BORN with that weird semi-beard and it freaked her out. 

OR... maybe he's a secret member of the Sohma family, and when his mama picked him up, he turned into a rabbit, or a rat or some other extra-zodiacal creature.(yes, to my shame, I read the manga "Fruits Basket".  What can I say?  I like reading things backward), and she wigged out, as so many of the Sohma mamas did.

Which got me to thinking..  how do men take care of facial hair?  Do they just wash it when they wash their faces, or do they shampoo it?  What about conditioner?  Since their faces are covered in hair, does that now make their faces scalp?  Can a guy get dandruff in his beard?  Are they ever tempted to take a curling iron to it? (Cascades of pretty little ringlets- much better than that rat's nest on Brad Pitt's face).

And what about mustaches?  How do they keep from getting food and drink clinging to it all the time?  Do they ever accidentally chew some of it off, and, if so, do they even notice?  Just wondering.  Like you do.

I don't much care for facial hair myself.  It makes me look too butch.

HOW CAN IT BE FEBRUARY ALREADY WHEN I HAVEN'T BLOGGED FOR JANUARY YET??!!

Yes, it's true.  I have once again let an entire month pass without updating my blog.  I'm not sure that anyone really cares one way or another, but my New Year's resolution was to update my blog on a biweekly basis.  And in only 39 days, that resolution is moot.

Travel is settling into a routine now.  I spend two weeks in San Francisco and two weeks at home.  Of course, it's not that straightforward- I spend the last week of one month, and the first week of the next in San Francisco- so technically I was in California January AND February of 2010.  And I am going back in February, to return to Tennessee in March.  Since I am temporally dyslexic to begin with, I never know where the hell I am.  My world... and welcome to it.

Somehow, in all this travel, I seem to have been targetted as a threat to national security.
Every time I go through security at SFO, I am pulled aside and frisked. Nothing starts a journey better than a full body pat-down.  People, this is what I look like.

Puh-leeze! I am only a threat to plastic flamingoes.  I am too old, too fat, and too adorably cute to terrorize anything.  Yet still, without fail, I get spread-eagled and manhandled every time I try to leave the Golden State.  The airways have been protected.  Tennesseans can rest well in their beds, secure in the knowledge that the Kate Lapczynski threat has been neutralized.  Sigh.  Makes me really want to rush home, you know.

That, and the fact that in Tennessee I have Obligations and Responsibilities.  I have O's and R's to my family, to my friends, to my church, to the GFWC Tullahoma Woman's Club, (of which I am President); to the Highland Rim DIstrict of the General Federation of Women's Clubs of Tennessee (of which I am outgoing president); to the Order of the Daughters of the King; and to my cats.  That all these O's and R's are also the great joys of my life helps to diminish the stress, but life is more stressful in Tennessee than in California.

In San Francisco, I don't have stress.  I have housework.  No friends, no family except Dave, no cats.  I cook, I clean, I do laundry, I grocery shop- in short, I do all the things I pay other people to do for me in Tullahoma.  I suggested a housekeeper for the apartment in SF but Dave somehow found the idea preposterous.  Here was his reaction to that suggestion.

Men. Do they really think women LIKE to do housework?  I know somebody has to do it, but why does it have to be ME??  I have always HATED housework. I've been doing it for 42 years now and it still sucks and it ain't likely to go away.  While in San Francisco this last time, I did 30 loads of laundry.  That's right, you heard me, 30 FRIGGING LOADS! How does one man generate that much laundry? 

But I digress.

There's never any urgency in San Francisco but, sadly, there is way too much in Tullahoma.  I live my life on a permanent two week deadline, which makes my life at home hectic.  For example, this week, I have to finish the reports that go in to GFWC every year, due on February 15th.  On the 10th, I have my TWC Board meeting.  On the 11th, I have a luncheon date with the woman who will be succeeding me as District President. That evening, I have a meeting of the Daughters of the King.  On the 17th, I have the general meeting of the Tullahoma Woman's Club. The 19th is Becca's birthday. Did I mention that I am also teaching two on-line biology courses this semester?  

I go back to SF on the 20th.  It will be restful and boring. 

The one upside to SF is that while I am doing the dishes, I am looking out at Mission Bay.  This past week there was a small scale Spanish galleon in the bay.  Which doesn't suck.  And I do a lot of walking, since the grocery store, Starbucks, Panera, Borders, Walgreens, Wells Fargo, an IMAX theatre and many other wonderful things are all within three blocks of the apartment.

And, of course, that is where my husband lives now.  It's nice to see him every couple of weeks.  He's a pretty good guy.  He just needs an attitude adjustment re domestic help.

Now... about those stowaways

Frank Sinatrat usually hangs out with my daughter Kelly.  Lion L Messi usually hangs out with Anne-Geri'.  SOMEHOW or other, they ended up hanging out with me and David in England.  Yes, they stowed away in my luggage, the little devils.  I didn't even notice them until I unpacked in Horsham.

Yes. there they are, in among my undies. Messi looks a little... messy, but Frankie maintains his Chairman of the Board cool.  (Figures they'd end up in the underwear drawer.)

Like all of us, the guys were looking forward to a nice bath and a couple of drinks after the long trip.  Fortunately, our hotel room had a bath tub just their size.  I think they called it a bidet.

A little refreshment was called for.

Lion L is a tea-totaler.  Frankie is not.

After a toddy or two, they were off to scope out the hotel (and look for babes.)

They found a goody locker right off the bat.

And they found a "babe" without too much trouble.  They both overwhelmed her with their charms.

Back at the room, they investigated the tea caddy... and ate all the cookies.

But in the end, they settled on a good cuppa Joe.

After a good night's sleep in the most comfortable bed known to man, they were ready to head out and explore.

First, they borrowed some wellies.

In stomping around the 96 acres upon which the South Lodge Hotel sits, they encountered a rabbit hole.  Messi was all for diving right in after the rabbit, but cooler heads prevailed.  "Man, don't you remember what happened to that Alice chick when SHE followed a rabbit down a hole?  Don't be a schnook!," was Frankie's advice.  It took some convincing, but Messi finally listened to reason.

They took some pretty good pictures of the hotel grounds.

They made themselves very popular when they decided to pitch in and help the staff during a rush.

The boys accompanied us to London after three wonderful days in Horsham.  David and I set off to Poole to visit with our friends the Bryants, but Frank and Lion L decided to stay behind.  They claimed they were too pooped, but I think it was because they discovered room service.

When we returned, the guys joined us in a bit of sight-seeing.

Outside the British Museum.

Inside the British Museum.  Those are some of the Elgin Marbles in the background.

At the Sherlock Holmes Museum, 221b Baker Street, London.

At the Victoria and Albert Museum- where Messi was recognized, but Frankie was not!  A little tension there for a few minutes, but all was soon well.

They LOVED the Science and Technology Museum.  They posed with the symbol of the Museum, Dan Dare, who was deliberately created to compete with and offer an alternative to American comic book superheroes- which were (and are) too violent.  Lion L was very impressed with Dan Dare. 

Frankie called him a wuss.

All in all, the guys were good company.  Lion L 'got' England a little more than Frankie did.  In fact, at one point in our journey, Frankie turned to me with a skeptical look on his mug and asked, "You gave up Hawaii for this?"  To which the only answer is... DAMN STRAIGHT.

And now my travel journal comes to a a close.  Dave and I had the most wonderful time in England.  We both love the country, the people, and the style of living.  The Brits are just good folks and England is everything you ever dreamed it would be, no matter WHAT you dreamed it would be.  I could go back tomorrow.  Sigh.  Oh, well,  ta ta for now from Tullahoma.  Happy New Year to all.

The game's a foot!

Dave humored me by taking me to 221B Baker Street.  A devotee of the British, the Victoria and Albert, and the British Science and Technology Museums (all of which we visited, by the way), he needed convincing that I was serious about wanting to go there.  A museum dedicated to a person who never existed located at a place he never lived for the amusement of readers of Victorian fiction?  Not his cup of tea.  It suited me right down to the ground, though. 

I bought a copy of this print while in the gift shop.  This is how we imagine 221B Baker Street... and, absent the carriages and attire, this is how it looks.

                                       

I don't think this sign is original, however.  (Note Lion L. Messi and Frank Sinatrat on top of the sign; more on these stowaways in a later blog).

After passing through an outer door, a short foyer, and an inner door, I climbed the steps to the "first floor" lair of the great detective.  Oddly, he was not in.  However, Dr. Watson was at home, and was most gracious.

                                  

Watson in his chair.  (Is this a cake job, or what?  The actor portraying Watson gets to sit in a comfy chair in front of a warm fire and meet fascinating people like myself for a living!)  The study is perfect.  I felt like I had stepped into one of A. Conan Doyle's stories.  Here are some more shots of the study.

                                    

A Holmesian homage to Queen Victoria: the intitials V.R. tatooed into the wallpaper. Holmes created them by shooting his pistol one afternoon when he was bored.   The settee is barely discernable beneath, while the dining table peeks in from the left.

                                                    

Holmes' chair and corner desk/laboratory.  His violin is sitting atop a pile of papers and sheet music.  I sat in this chair.  I also wore Holmes' deerstalker hat.  The things you can get away with when the host is not at home.

                         

What passes for a dining room faces the street.  Notice how it is jammed into a corner so that only Holmes and the doctor can dine.  I imagine the room could be reconfigured whenever they entertained guests.  It's amazing when you see the attention to detail the curators have brought to this room.  All the Victorian flourishes and overcrowded rooms, tables and desks thrilled me beyond words.  I was ready to move in.

Holmes' bedroom is off the study on the first floor.  His rogues gallery assures that he goes to sleep with villains he has defeated glowering down on him.  The bedroom is spartan, compared to the opulence of the study.   

Up a flight of steep narrow stairs, and the rooms of Dr. Watson can be seen.  They are a bit less austere but oddly, the curators chose not to set up a bedstead for the good doctor.

Yet another flight of steps and voila! It's like stepping into Madame Toussad's.  There are vignettes of many of Holmes' most famous cases, beautifully done and wonderfully maintained.  Of course, no museum vignette would be complete without the two arch-rivals themselves, Holmes and Moriarty.

Watson, Lady Frances Fairfax, and the great consulting detective himself.

Professor Moriarty.

And, to end, I must tell you that there is, in fact, a bathroom at 221B Baker Street.  You just need to go up 3.5 floors to find it.

No tub.  No shower. LOTS of pans and tubs.  Okay, I take back my previous statement about being ready to move in.  Back down the 3.5 flights, and out the door.

Off to Mrs. Hudson's rooms (now a gift shop) and her fabled kitchen (now a tea-room).

SUCH FUN!