What's the deal with WOOD?

I was reading my newest edition of House and Home during breakfast (aka quality time with my husband) and mentioned to Doug that the editor was editorializing a discussion she was having with her husband that a lot of women have with theirs.  At which point, totally unprompted, Doug chanted "men should leave all decorating decisions to women".


But I said, no not that - the other major discussion:


To paint or not to paint WOOD (all in caps because it's up there with GOD).


The editor was talking about her kitchen cabinets - they were cherry and she wanted to paint them a charcoal colour and add sleek metal pulls.  I was all, absolutely!  I would love to have that in my kitchen.  But of course her husband didn't want to paint wood.  I ran into that with so many clients where we wanted to repurpose furniture or cabinetry and for the most part any mention of paint caused anaphylactic shock in men.


(We once had a cabin that was made all of wood - the floors, the walls, the cabinets, the ceilings - everything was wood.  I wanted to paint the walls to brighten it up and Doug just laughed and laughed, saying "You don't paint WOOD".)

So I asked him "What's the deal with you guys and wood?"

And this is what he, in all seriousness, said:

"Men have a closer relationship with wood than women do.  We work with it and women don't."  And then he left the room.

I'm all "What?  You're What??  OK Mr. Computer Programmer/woodworker guy, I failed to notice the amount of whittling, carving and sanding that was required everytime you wrote some code".

And he pointed out to me that he had built the room downstairs (and yes, I do remember those gorgeous 2x4's) and had made a coffee table and I will concede that.  And I promise never to paint the coffee table that he made.  But really, this relationship with wood is just weird.

At the end of the magazine they have a regular column called "Ask a Designer".  And the questions was about how to decorate a master bedroom.  Cameron McNeil, the designer guy, said about the furniture that was in the room:

"Your wood furniture is nice, but all of it together seems a bit heavy.  To vary the look, paint your bedside tables in Bone White".

Now there's a man worth marrying.

Way too Quentin Tarantino for me

I really think that Quentin Tarantino is a brilliant story telling genius.  I just wish I could watch his movies.

I've watched parts of Pulp Fiction, Natural Born Killers and Kill Bill.  Parts.   That's it.  Because there always comes the part where I've had to bury my head in the cushions and then wait for Doug to tell me that it's ok to look.  Only there never seems to be a time for me to look.  But that's just me, squeamish as hell.  But I have watched enough of those movies to appreciate the brilliance that is Quentin Tarantino.

So why I thought I could watch Inglourious Basterds?  Not sure.  Probably because of Brad Pitt.  And because the reviews were all "The most entertaining movie of the year" "Quentin Tarantino's most entertaining film yet".  Entertaining, they said.

And it grabbed me right from the start.  Until I had to bury my head in the pillow - oh, about 15 minutes in.  And unlike the others times I watched his movies, this time was in high definition with surround sound.  So even with my eyes closed the clarity of the sound left NOTHING to the imagination.  Not since I was 11 and watched Hitchcock's The Birds have I had worse nightmares.  15 minutes!

And based on those 15 minutes?  Bloody Brilliant!

Doug will have to watch the rest later.  And then  he can tell me the sanitized, prettier version.

This is NOT airing our dirty laundry, Doug

Doug doesn't want me to post these pictures, but considering that I'm the anal one and I'm good with it here they are.

This is what our kitchen looked like after three days without hot water.  Apparently one of the side affects was that we couldn't take out the garbage and recycling or put anything back in the cupboards.

What you can't see is that the garbage under the sink is full.  That 's why we just piled up the used coffee filters.

X-Files'ish

This usually happens in October - not January.

Pioneer Days

We’ve spent the last three days without hot water. Sucks to bits. Doug had to completely shut off the hot water tank because it sprang a leak. Which meant we couldn’t use the dishwasher. Or the shower. For THREE days. That’s how long it took to get someone over to install the new one.

For three days I’ve been boiling water on the stove, chopping wood, using the treadle sewing machine, lighting candles, melting snow…..ok, not really, but it was reminiscent of days gone by.

But now it’s fixed. And I’m off to shower, finally.

Impulse Shopping

Doug and I have been known to impulse shop. And not on the stuff that marketing gurus have determined that people will impulsively buy if you position them near the checkout or at end of aisles. We’ve gone out for breakfast and come back with gym equipment. Gone for coffee and come back with a television. Gone on vacation and bought an apartment. And the conversations that took place to get us from say, eating breakfast to "hey we need exercise equipment", were quite interesting. No marketing executive could have predicted how impulsive people are if they are Doug and me. There was nothing at the cashier that hinted to us that we needed to get in shape. Nothing! That would be counter productive to them – they don’t want people to stop eating. Except that one of us probably said “ugh, I ate too much”. That’s all it would take. Off to the races! We need to get in shape and we need to do it RIGHT NOW – let’s go buy some gym equipment!

Last Christmas our stove went on the fritz. It started cooking the turkey and then suddenly decided to shut itself off and not start up again. It’s a gas stove so there really isn’t a lot that can go wrong. It’s old, it didn’t cost a lot and really, didn’t owe us anything (and once it caught onto that concept it went "oh hell yeah"). Doug took it apart, we ran it through the clean cycle and it would work, sometimes. And if it did work it would take up to 40 minutes to come up to temperature. Dinner parties were a luck of the draw. Come at 6:00, we’ll eat by oh maybe 9:00. Or we’ll order pizza. Who knows???

Here’s the thing. We buy only big ticket items on impulse. You would think that we would have gone out and bought a new stove long before we had major problems. I wanted to. Doug didn’t think we should. WE should try and fix it. Really?? WE can buy an apartment in Hawaii because we went there on vacation once and we had the discussion that kinda went like “Wouldn’t it be nice to live in such paradise and holy crap look how cheap it is to buy apartments here”, but we can’t buy a stove that will actually work without me threatening to stick a fork in it’s face. For a year we have had the discussion. Granted, all of our appliances are white and if we are to replace any one of them it will change to stainless, and then I suppose, you can surmise that all would need to be changed in order to match.

Regardless, fast forward to this Christmas and the game we like to play called “Spin the Dial on the Stove”. The first three hours passed uneventful as the turkey aroma filled the house. The aroma was interrupted by the distinct smell of gas around hour 3.5. So we did what most people would do. We turned it off, then turned it on, then turned it off, then turned it on and it still wouldn’t light. 10 people for dinner – no pressure. Start up the barbeque. Only it completely dries up any juices that might have turned into gravy. Doug takes the stove apart yet again and realizes that he can light it with the barbeque lighter once it shuts itself off. The turkey comes off the barbeque and back into the oven. And each time it gets to temperature and shuts itself off, Doug relights it and we continue on.

Using the handy dandy device that Roddy bought me for Christmas, Doug and I are elated when it registers that the turkey is cooked. An hour and a half late, but no matter. Everyone has wine, there are plenty of veggies, salmon for the non meat eaters, gravy thanks to chicken broth, and non-dairy non-wheat dessert.

And the Christmas Miracle – besides the other one….

We’re getting a new stove – one that’s planned.

No More Hockey Pucks

It’s a well known fact in my family that I like to cook all meat until it is done – well done. No hint of blood. At. All. Roast beef? – crispy on the outside. Pork Chops? Crunchy like bacon. That’s why god invented gravy. And for years the kids didn’t know any better.

Until one day when Roddy came back from having dinner at his girlfriend’s parents and very excitedly asked me “Did you know that you can eat roast beef rare?????”.

Really….Apparently, he informed me, it was very good.

Years passed, and now the kids come home for meals on occasion and while their tastes have changed – some are vegetarians, some won’t eat red meat and others have wheat and dairy allergies – and I have adapted by cooking to everyone’s food issues, one thing that hasn’t changed? Cooking meat until they’re hockey pucks. And I think Roddy had enough because for Christmas this year he gave me:



And it’s amazing. What a great invention. It wasn’t that I really wanted to cook roast beef or steak or pork chops until they could chip your front teeth – I just didn’t know when to stop.

And now this thing tells me that it’s ok, move away from the heat and no one will get hurt.