Lunch Break Ramblings

I’ve been down in my basement workshop all morning getting ready for my two fall craft shows, but now its lunchtime and I feel like removing from my brain some of the random thoughts that have come to me whilst I’ve been working.

Tomorrow is the land auction. My husband and I will be attending, but only to watch. We can’t buy the land because the bank said “no”. Mind you, the loan officers we worked with were very nice, and they wished the property was smaller so they could’ve lent us money, but they still said “no” politely. However, we’re going to watch and see who does buy that land and then we plan to approach them and ask if they’ll sell us a 25 acre chunk. I want the east half of the north field because it has a site in a draw that would be perfect for a pond. Doubtless the buyer already knows that and if they’re buying the land to build on, then they probably have the same ideas we did. Great minds travel on the same wavelength.

My dishwasher is broken. It was leaking from the pump a couple weeks ago, so I shut off the water and now I’m using my dishwasher as a glorified drying rack for the dishes I hand wash. I have to do the handwashing because my backup dishwasher (my husband) is super busy. After work and supper, he helps the girls with their homework (including helping the oldest with her music lessons) and then does his homework. Plus he still has some lawn work to finish and vehicles to maintain, so washing dishes is pretty low on his priority list. So I do the dishes. No problem, except that prolonged exposure to soapwater does a real number on my hands. I have excema, plus I take thyroid medicine, and the combination of the two makes the tips of my fingers dry, peel and crack. What’s that, you say? Wear rubber gloves? Sorry. Gives me a rash. I asked my husband if Moose Mutt could do the dishes, and hubby grimaced at me. Maybe if I did let the dog do the dishes, my poor overworked, underappreciated husband could find the time to fix the dishwasher. Hmmmm…….

I mentioned earlier that my husband helps my oldest with her music lessons. He plays the trumpet while she plays the trombone, and he explains to her how the notes and counts and metres and all that stuff works. However, my husband’s playing lip is a little out of shape, and my daughter is in the early-early stages of learning, so sometimes their duets sound like a farting cow crushing a yowling cat. If he sees this blog, he’s gonna kill me. Oh, well.

I gotta get back downstairs and work some more, or I won’t have anythng to sell at my shows. So long!

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