At Least It’s Not Raining… Oh, Wait

Do you ever wake up in the morning and just *know* it’s going to be a bad day before you get out of bed? I actually never do, I’m optimistic AF. But that all changed within 5 minutes of stumbling toward the coffee machine in the kitchen, because on my way past the bathroom the toilet said good morning to me.

The last time the toilet started to sing the song of its people, things went to a very bad place, very quickly. I had nightmares for weeks. So you’d think when that wish-it-wasn’t-familiar glub glub noise started up this morning, I would have called the emergency pumper service right away. But no – optimist, remember?

I rolled the dice and got away with my morning business, then started the day’s writing. I got so immersed that it only registered in the back of my mind that Gene had zombie shuffled past the office into the bathroom, shut the door, and had been in there for a good ten minutes. In retrospect, I believe he would have appreciated a little forewarning of what was 99% likely to happen next. Sure enough, a panicked, screeched “Noooooooooooo” emerged from the bathroom, accompanied by frantic plunging noises. Then Gene told me I wasn’t allowed to yell that loudly in an enclosed space, particularly when he was standing right next to me, and that busting in on him after the fact was too little, too late. Then he started eyeing the rising water level and advised me to back up because I wasn’t wearing shoes.

It was *so close*. Less than inch before flood waters commenced.

So then we spent way too long in the pouring rain digging test holes to figure out where the septic tank was, with me trying to explain that despite literally watching the pumper guy dig it up last time, my brain is too full of dating advice to remember minutiae like where the access hatch is buried.

Now we’re just waiting for the “local” service to return my call. In the meantime, Gene proudly showed off his Plan B, which he had put together in the pole barn (that should have been my first warning – it wasn’t in the house):

 

I let him know that while I appreciated his artistry from an aesthetic standpoint, he should still file it under “Not Gonna Happen AKA Oh Hell No”. My butt is allergic to buckets, and I’ll happily abstain from solid food until I hear the HoneyBucket truck in the driveway.

It’s Spring!!! On paper, anyway.

It’s finally Spring! It may be brown, but we can finally see some grass. And that’s saying something, because not even two weeks ago our yard looked like this:Snow dog

Ceri would like it to be winter 24/7, but all the other critters are ecstatic. The guineas and chickens all have their favorite sun spots claimed, and there are plenty of puddles for the geese to splash around in. Except for Claire, anyway. She’s still determinedly broody, although I was able to sneak in while she took a rare break from hissing and candle all her eggs. None of them are fertile, which is good news. I really don’t know what we would have done with 11 goslings (besides give them an amazing life, obviously). On the downside, I’m pretty sure we’ll have to wait until they start to explode before she’ll give them up. Gene ranked out the entire kitchen the other day with a bad chicken egg… I can’t even imagine how bad a spoiled goose egg would be in the coop. That’ll be Gene’s job for sure.

syrup

I’m looking forward to the busy season – boiling sap for syrup, constructing the Monarch Sanctuary 2.0, building all the new raised beds my night-time pollinator garden and hummingbird sanctuary will require… but I’m also a little nervous about how to juggle everything. I’ve been full-time+ for almost a year now, but as my deadlines get tighter and the weather gets warmer all those pesky little housekeeping details are starting to slip.

We have a pretty fair division of labor… I handle most things animal related such as litter boxes and water fountain maintenance, and Gene handles the cooking and the vacuuming. Although he should definitely vacuum under the couch more often, as opposed to “never”. The guy installing the windows had to move it, and it was beyond. The vast accumulation of German Shepherd and 4 cat’s worth of fur wasn’t even the worst part – apparently Charlie uses that particular couch to cache all her “prey”. Pens and pen caps, those stupid knobs that sit at the base of the toilet, paper clips, binder clips, and about 25 of those dental floss/toothpick combo things. Those are her favorite to chase at 2 am, and she’ll fish them out if you leave the bathroom drawer even slightly open. So ya, now the Lowe’s installer thinks we just floss our teeth while watching TV and then chuck them under the couch. #Classy

When it comes to chores pretty much anything else is handled by whomever can’t stand it any longer. But there are a few strict rules – the trash gets taken out on a “he who tops it off, drops it off” basis, and if you remove the emergency roll of toilet paper from its special hiding spot, it’s on you to bring up a new package from the storage room in the basement. Guess who forgets that routinely?

Sigh. I did finally break down and clean up my desk area, though. It had gotten to the point where I couldn’t open the drawers fully, and it was driving me bonkers. Turns out a folder full of CD mixes circa 2004 was to blame. I headed down to my parents the next day, and brought it with me to see what I considered good enough to burn onto a mix tape 15 years ago.

Ahhhh ya, I totally forgot I went through a gangsta rap phase. The car was thumpin’ for that 5 hour trip, let me tell you. And I now officially represent the “218”, and let everyone know it. Or at least I would, if anyone who lived around here knew what ‘represent’ meant in that context. I also rekindled my love for Rammstein. If you haven’t heard a heavy metal rock band screech a love ballad in German, you’re missing out.

In other news that won’t make Gene cringe, we’ve been busily working on getting the crane business up and running. I even called our accountant to see if I could route all the construction expenses like diesel fuel and oil changes through my writing business, in order to offset the fact that a writing business really doesn’t incur any expenses. There was a long silence on the line, followed by a rather heavy sigh. Then he said, “only if you want a guaranteed audit.” Why does being ethical have to be so expensive???