Painting

My honey and I have been working on painting our new home. When we bought it, the exterior paint was peeling away like crazy. Not exactly weatherproof. The trim was the worst, so we started there. Scrape, sand, wash, paint. Scrape, sand, wash, paint. Scrape, sand, wash, paint.

There's a lot of trim. 

Finally, we're done with that (at least as much as we can reasonably reach). So we picked out a color for the main body of our home. Before, it was a deep red. By the time we're done, it's going to be what I've fondly been referring to as really f*cking red. 

The color we picked for the house is called Burning Bush. The color we picked for the trim is called Snowbank. Fire and ice. Seemingly opposites that complement each other. Like a lot of things. Including my honey and me. 

NewsPocalypse

In the evenings, my honey likes to watch the news. We watch the news on several different channels in an attempt to get a well-rounded idea of what's going on in the world, and what different channels deem to be of importance. We've noticed an alarming trend spreading across channels. 

The news seems to have lost sight of what News is. The dictionary defines News as "a report of a recent event; information; the presentation of a report on recent or new news" (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/news). And yet, the news "reports" on television try to sensationalize more stories than they actually report. They turn everything into a NewsPocalypse, NewsGate, or NewsAgeddon. At the risk of sounding like NPR, isn't it time to put News back on the news, and get rid of the sensationalist verbiage that is nothing more than a pathetic fight over ratings? 

In other news, isn't "news" one of those words that sounds like nonsense when repeated multiple times? 

The Crud

I typically really enjoy sharing things with my honey. We share the best spot on the couch when we're watching tv. We share ice cream and ideas. We also share germs. Strangely, I'm not as agreeable to this last kind of sharing. Whenever we share germs, whatever kind of crud it is always seems to hit me harder. Maybe next time my honey will find a way to share some of his killer T cells. 

Ninja

When my hubby and I moved from a condo by the beach to a retreat in the mountains, we obviously took our critters with us. Roxy (the dog) and Ninja (the cat) immediately took to their new life--Roxy spending hours digging for gophers and pooping where no dog has pooped before, and Ninja honing the skills that earned him his name: hunting, climbing trees, and (of course) chasing Roxy.

Until now.

Ninja went out on Sunday night, like he's done countless times in the six months since we've been here. Except that he hasn't come home. My hubby, Roxy, and I have all gone out searching for him, but so far without success.

I've been to two animal shelters, but no one has delivered him into their care. Today, as Roxy and I were putting up flyers in the hope that one of our neighbors may have either seen or abducted him, we came across one of the neighbors going for an afternoon stroll. I explained to him what we were doing, and he candidly replied that "your cat's probably been eaten. We have about 200 cats, and they get eaten all the time." Exactly what I wanted to hear--not. Then came his insight: "Is your cat a mouser or a pet?" 

Aha! 

I have been worried sick about Ninja since Tuesday. He is a member of our family, but has also worked diligently to ensure that the mouse population doesn't get out of control. While it is too late for my feelings about Ninja, perhaps this will change my perspective on our feline companions in the future: perhaps there should be a difference between a mouser and a pet, at least on the mountain, where much bigger kitties roam the night.

I haven't given up on Ninja. My dreams have been filled with him coming home nonchalantly, wearing his signature "oh, hi" expression. I'm still hoping these dreams become a reality, and that he's out having the biggest adventure of his furry little life. Until then, we still have Roxy and our two little mousers-in-training for company. 

Accidental Housewife

For the past several weeks, I have found myself to be an accidental housewife. Which essentially means I have been on a hiatus from working. Which has been fantastic.

Contrary to the popular mythology, I have not been getting into screaming matches with other housewives. Nor have I been sitting around in pajamas drinking mimosas and eating bonbons.

I've been busy getting things done. In addition to coordinating all of our appliance deliveries and making sure none of them frightened the dog, I've finished unpacking (mostly). I've made countless trips to home improvement stores to get things for the house, the yard, and the water feature that is still balanced precariously between hot tub, pond, and primordial sludge. I've planted vegetables and waged war on the critters trying to eat them. I've cleaned up after the cat when he nabs the critters (three mice, a lizard, and a young squirrel, to date. Unfortunately, no gophers).

I've also been preparing for the end of my time as an accidental housewife. At some point, I will have to rejoin the workforce. Probably sooner rather than later. And I want to simplify my (and my hubby's) life for when that happens.

I've come across a trend called freezer meals. Basically, you prepare a meal (preferably from scratch) and then freeze it for later, to be thawed, heated, and eaten when you have less time to make dinner but still want a delicious home-cooked meal. A delicious home-cooked meal is more or less a nightly occurrence on the Mountain, because, oddly enough, no restaurants are willing to deliver. Which is probably going to keep us healthier in the long run.

Awesome

My honey and I haven't exactly had the easiest time settling into our new home. Delivery drivers don't want to trek onto the dirt road (and then they get lost once they do). The water heater broke. There are mice living in the walls (three fewer than there were before, thanks to our illustrious cat). The dryer keeps tripping the breaker. Something keeps eating my herb garden. The kitchen faucet started to leak. We're 30 miles from the nearest grocery store (I don't trust the meat counter at the liquor store). We still don't have a long-term way to dispose of trash. 

But I know we made the right decision about our home because of one simple thing: we both get excited about it. Whenever people find out about where we live, we both start gushing about how awesome it is. And that's pretty awesome, too.

In Hot Water

Actually, my hubby and I are not in hot water. We're out of it. When the propane guy came out last week to sign off on the safety of our house, he lit the pilot light on the water heater. It was amazing to have hot water--I splurged and used it on luxuries like bathing. A mere 48 hours later, the pilot light went out again.

This morning, a different propane guy came out to fill up our propane tank. Not having enough propane in the system can sometimes cause the pilot light to give up. Once the light's back on and the tank is working again, it takes about an hour to have enough hot water for things like bathing (which I was hoping to do before work, for some reason).

Unfortunately, my hot shower has to be put on hold (maybe for a day or two, yuck!). Even with a full propane tank, the pilot light won't stay lit. So now we are faced with a dilemma: should we get the gas-burning water heater repaired, or should we upgrade to a snazzy new tankless one? Benefits of a snazzy new tankless water heater include lower energy use and an endless supply of hot water (as long as we're not running our nonexistent dishwasher and showering simultaneously, according to energy.gov). Benefits of keeping the water heater that came with our lovely home include not trying to find someone to get rid of it and probably keeping a few more dollars in our bank account. Hmmm.