Last year Steve went South to Florida after a stint at White Sox Fantasy Camp. This year, his fantasy was to get into the sun without having to chase fly balls. He has been in Florida for a week. I am not sure if this makes me the best wife or the dumbest. We are together 24/7/365 when he is Podcast Steve in the basement, so the ventilation is a good thing. I realize it seems extreme, even (especially) to the kids. Both of us are doing fine.
I think we are a sturdy, internet and technology connected couple. I monitor the show production each day, so that is like having Steve here for 4 hours or so. We talk, text, e-mail and Face Time. My life has its normal punctuation: the two dogs keep me at their beck and call, my friends and family are in the area. The Dahlshow crew arrives every day, so I am never alone for extended periods. It is probably stranger for Steve to go off schedule, but he gets to do it in the sun. So we do not need to feel sad for him.
Or me. After years of being the consummate extrovert, I find a quiet house is my friend. The TV only yaps in the evening. CNN does not natter at me as I come to consciousness. No TMZ, no Cops. I have stuff on DVR to fill the gaps where sports used to lull me into fake fandom. Moneyball and Ides of March will be part of the viewing parties with my friends. My Kindle is charged, and I have downloaded more books than I will read in the next year. I am pretty accomplished in the perpetual motion department, and I am not too concerned about accomplishments.
That, I realize is a character flaw, and a mistake. A year ago I made big plans.
Last January, I embarked upon a small renovation that turned into upheaval. I got myself a soaking tub for my new knee, and this meant I had to overhaul my bathroom. I reused my cabinets, but replaced the shower enclosure and sinks. Of course, the floors were rotten. Of course, the door needed to be moved. Of course, I had not one scrap of wallpaper to cover the new drywall necessitated by the new door. So the adjoining bedroom needed new wallpaper and carpeting. Which connected to the hallway. Which needed new wallpaper as well. And the wood floors were scratched, and I could not put fresh carpeting upon dog-mauled wood. Only I could set such a Rube Goldberg machine into play.
Steve missed it all. My house was ass over teacups for three months, and it was all my fault. I did penance by sleeping in the construction dust, and paying for the new stuff with a bit of money my Father left me. Now I am reluctant to start anything, because I am mindful of the inner chaos that derails me.
A year later, I love my bathroom, love my tub. My home looks fresher, and I swear I will never rehab again as long as I live. I have emergency wallpaper in the basement in case of tragedy. Even Steve the skeptic has taken to soaking his sore body in the tub. (Though he insists upon showering afterwards.) SO it was a good use of my solitary time. Tomorrow I will post a slide show of the before and after. It is on another computer, and the time I allotted for these meanderings has expired. Sorry…really, this was not a cheap stunt to get you back here….well- maybe it was.
The dilemma is: what project should I undertake this year? So far, I reorganized my attic. (I apologize for the hysterical dog calling in this, my first You Tube movie. I am still learning) My Christmas bins are edited, repacked and stacked. That is not ambitious enough, and I have 8 weeks of bachelorette time ahead.