Sunday, November 4, 2012

The beginning

This is the house.  An old "colonial/farm house" as the described.  Circa 1850.  Bought "as is" with a lot of repairs to be done inside and out, notwithstanding some re-doing of the "re-dos".  Unfortunately, the previous owners did not appreciate the antique nature of the house, and decided to "modernize" it with recessed lighting throughout, taking out a built-in bookcase and closing off a door for the purpose of  a huge plasma TV, and other equally hair-raising ideas.  Not to mention the assemblage of colors they managed to paint on the walls.
But that's enough complaining.  It is what it is, and we are going to take it one step at a time.  (Is that enough cliches, or would you like one more?)
We are slooooowly moving in, not having sold our old, (as in the previous one, not ancient) house, we have the luxury of moving all our belonging over a period of time.  (Hopefully not too long a time, mind you, paying two mortgages is not anyone's idea of a fun time.)
Anyway, every time either of us goes over to the new house, (hereafter referred to as "the new house"), we always make sure we fill up the cars with our (why-in-the-world-do-we-have-so-much-stuff) belongings.
I also try to do some repair/cleaning/organizing etc. of the new place, and thanks to my very strict and organized nature I am able to find the most important things to do before moving in.
This is why, today, I decided to rake and clean up the having-seen-better-days patio, and moving all the old wood that was on it.  Since there was already another woodpile started in another spot, albeit on the far end of the property, I thought "We can't have two woodpiles on one property", and proceeded to move all the rotten, slimy wood that was closer to the door of the sunroom, in which the wood-burning stove is located, to the far end of the property.  You see, I hope you're starting to appreciate my fine nature as much as my long-suffering husband.  Now, I know what you're thinking, and yes, it was a lot of work, but fortunately  I found three volunteers, (my mom, her friend and my son), all of  whom had nothing better to do with their life that to help me carry decomposing old wood from one place to another, understanding, as well as I, the impossibility of moving into a house with two woodpiles.
I know you're dying to know, and yes, I have pictures to show you of this all important process.

See the pile of wood in the corner of the patio, by the boxwood?  
I'm sure you would have decided to move it ASAP as well, right?

Just to give you an idea of some of the wood that needed moving.

A job well done.

And for extracurricular activity, I made everybody stack up the loose 
brick, which brought a rather unexpected result, in which my son 
started taking apart the still good part of the patio in order to stack the bricks 
just as I instructed.  Now that's dedication!

This is probably just about enough from me for a first post.  I will leave you with a little factoid, a tidbit of information from my great arsenal:  If you choose not to wear gloves for gardening activities, at least cut your nails short, so that you don't spend hours trying to clean slimy fungus from under them.
                                                                                                                                     Your welcome.

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