Handy People

My father is the ultimate handy person. I have never lived anywhere that he didn't build or remodel something. I am 45-years old and the trend continues.

The closet in my childhood bedroom is about 1/8 the size of the closet in the home I shared with the husband. Needless to say, I haven't moved all my clothes here (and I need to get rid of a lot) but for this transition period, I need enough to get through various situations including appropriate items to wear to job interviews and to church.

We bought one of those portable, snap-it-together clothes racks on wheels. Flimsy and useless. I hung a few things on it and it fell over. My dad and I picked it up and later it snapped. I'm not talking coats or anything heavy -- just a few sweaters, etc.

Yesterday, he went up in the garage loft and hauled down some spare lumber. (Doesn't everyone have a stash of timber ready to go?) Plus, it was about 10 degrees outside. He made this super-sturdy closet rod and mounted it in the laundry room. It's very large.

If he had surprised me with a Mercedes, I would not have been as happy.

Out of Butter

Our garage refrigerator went on the fritz. Something is always broken around here.

It's fixed now but there were a few casualties. I lost a pork roast and some beer. Since I don't drink beer, I don't care.

I also lost my last pound of butter, bought by the Belle. I haven't bought butter in over three years because she always bought more than I could use in a year with every shopping trip. Throwing it out made me sad -- like a last nod to my oldies.

When I return from the lake, I will have to grocery shop. I will have to buy butter. I will probably have a meltdown in the Dairy aisle.