The furniture

Have you ever found a piece of furniture that you can honestly say brings you joy? Like you look at it and you're glad you have it. When you use it, you're genuinely happy at how well it fits.

The house I bought is right next door to my grandfather's house. He doesn't live there (dude owns two houses, he lives in the one by a river, not the one by my four screaming children. I can't blame him), but it contains artifacts from a life well lived. One such was his sisters table.

I knew of that table. I first saw it when I visited my great aunts house decades ago. It's a coffee table, cut from a single piece of wood and left with its original shape. Engraved in the surface is a checkerboard on one side, and cribbage holes on the other. It's a unique piece that caught my eye even when I was a kid.

When she passed on, the table found its way into my grandfathers home. It collected dust, and occasionally served to hold random odds and ends in his detached garage.Once my basement was finished, (and a good opportunity arose) I wasn't shy about telling him that this beautiful thing was going to waste sitting there.

He let me take it.

The finished half of my basement is divided into two rooms. One is distinctly an office, the other I made into a lounge. I found myself a very large couch (the kind you can effectively *hide* in, as I've proved to my dear wife already), and while I'm quite pleased with myself on finding that big soft blue thing, that table has history.

It's strange how I'm drawn to things like that. Like my house. I could have bought any house, but I bought the one my mother grew up next to. The two families knew each other since the 60's (the house stayed in their family from when it was built until I bought it), and selling it was apparently a hard thing. But since I was no stranger, it was a lot easier emotionally.

But I digress. I know the history of this house. I have relatives that had sleepovers here when they were kids. I keep hearing stories about the place, and I relish it. The table has the same appeal.

I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever be able to take myself away from it.

The subterranean spot

My basement is, I would say, 99% done. The trim got weird in some places (the places where I forgot what I was doing), but I 200% don't care about that, so it's still a victory.

The dank 70's era carpet is long gone. The moldering ceiling tiles are gone. The walls have a fresh coat of paint. The new ceiling is raised up so it doesn't block half of the window. The new floor is *not* carpet.

When I had time, I had no supplies. When I had supplies, I had no time. When my other half finished the tax season, I suddenly had both. That was about a month ago. Now the work is just about done.

Feels good. This basement is, on average, 10-15 degrees cooler than the rest of the house. So I was really hoping to have it done and ready *before* summer decides to go full sauna on us.

Now if only I had some furniture down there.

The city dream

Ok, dream time.

Jerusalem, instead of being a city on a hill in the desert, was instead on a high cliff by the ocean. Only for some reason, the ground underneath it had been carved away, and now the top was crumbling into the water below. Like they dug too deep or something. Either way, the foundation had eroded. Also, there was a small army approaching it.

Someone I work with (Let's call her J) brought in a professional photographer and was bent on getting some real good shots of everything as it happened. In the dream, it didn't feel out of place. Meanwhile, there were people on boats under the city investigating what happened. I was on one such boat, and so was Terry Crews. Apparently, he made the boat go faster.

I have the weirdest dreams sometimes.

Twenty seventeen

Things I'm looking forward to this year:

Not moving.
Finish working on the basement.

I have a bunch of other stuff, but most of that is fairly private. For now, moving twice in as many years was more than I cared for. (I typically gain a bit of fondness for a place I live, and having lived in my previous home less than a year I developed none. It was strange being somewhere so briefly)

I type this from the as yet unfinished basement in the house I* own. Four separate rooms in the basement. A workshop, (work benches and everything), laundry room, what was a bedroom, and a craft room of sorts. The bedroom and craft room were finished. Horrid wood panels, a pinkish carpet that was older than me, and an aging drop ceiling. Had to be dealt with. Carpet torn out, walls painted, ceiling worked on. New lighting. I'd say I'm halfway done. My goal is to make an office out of the craft room and a lounge/library/study out of the bedroom.

This whole wife/kids/house thing has really taught me how to split my time up. I used to play a lot of video games. Now I feel like I'm curating other people's lives. Very fulfilling, more than I expected. I sat down and played Uno with my two older boys tonight. I used to play massive online games with dozens of people coordinating all sorts of strategies, and it was wildly entertaining. But playing an age old card game with a six and seven year old just warmed my soul.

*The bank owns it, really

Oh look it's New Years Eve again

Everyone has been whining about 2016. Celebrity deaths and politics.

Newsflash: all of those celebrities were going to die anyway. Many of them were rather old, others had famously done a lot of drugs. There were, of course, a number that died at what we would consider young, and those losses are lamentable. But when you whittle it down, it's not surprising. The Boomers are retiring in droves now, and their idols (which are in their age range +10) are just as plentiful. There aren't more celebrity deaths *per capita*, I don't believe. Just more celebrities in total.

The politics, though, oh wow the politics. I didn't see any of *that* coming at all. I refuse to discuss politics in my aging, dusty blog, however. So enough of that.

I bought a house this year, and that's awesome. My two oldest sons (the ones in school) have shown a sharp increase in their reasoning and negotiating skills (and their math). My third child started speaking in full sentences (having little conversations with him is amazing, and he can ask plainly what he wants, and tell us what bothers him. Makes a world of difference). My daughter understands what we're saying to her. While she can't speak just yet (she says "DA DA DA" when she wants me, and that seems to be it), she can sign a little and motion to what she wants. Again, makes a world of difference.

I appear to have made a full recovery from my surgery, too. The only changes to my diet that I really needed was a switch from larger portions of fat, grease, and salt to smaller ones. And more spaced apart. And never concurrent. (I get to pick one, and have a small amount) It would seem I'm losing weight as a result, too.

I rather enjoyed 2016. I expect to enjoy 2017 as well.

Surgery Pains

The pain. I kept thinking that maybe I had eaten something that didn't agree with me. Or perhaps that something had gone bad that my deficient sense of smell let past. It was the kind of pain in my abdomen that turned up sharply, and you could never find a comfortable position once it set in. The only thing that ever worked was simply waiting it out. Being very still worked best, and I'd lay there until I fell asleep. That was the only way the pain ever stopped: falling asleep. Sucked.

It started about three years ago. It would happen once every few months. I didn't put much thought into it until this past year. It went from every few months to every month, then every couple weeks. Then every week. Then twice or so a week. The increased frequency was joined by a worse pain.

I only told my wife about it two months ago. I never though to bother her with it. (She always thought I had a weak stomach anyway, so I never got the impression she would think any different) She did, to the surprise of no-one, recommend seeing my doctor. So I did.

The poking and prodding showed a specific pain. The x-ray showed nothing. The blood work said my liver was up to something. The sonogram showed a huge gallstone. The doctor then sent me to a surgeon. The surgeon looked at it and told me that I could just walk away, but that this thing would likely cause some severe damage to my life. (Something about obstructive jaundice or  pancreatitis)  I just needed to give him a go-ahead. So I did. The gall bladder had to go.

They put me down for two days later. Apparently that's quick.

Just over a week ago, on the 15th, I was hoping that the snow would pass. I hate waiting, and I hate rescheduling. I got there in time, but everyone *else* was delayed. Oh sure they admitted me and stuck me with an IV on time, but I sat with that thing in my hand an hour longer than I expected.

I'm not complaining. Really.

My dear wife got the wifi password and we watched stuff. She had a coat on. I wore a very unflattering gown that opened in the back. She had the eggs. I wasn't allowed to eat. I've had better lunch dates.

Then they rolled me into the operating room. Out of nowhere a hand holding a mask pops over my mouth and a voice tells me to take ten deep breaths. So I did. I counted them. When I reached ten, I told them that whatever was in there wasn't very good. The voice told me I only made it to five.

Dude, I counted.

So I started again. One, two, three-

And like changing the channel, I was suddenly in a different room. It wasn't so sudden as to be unnerving, but there I was. Once the staff noticed I was awake they were very attentive. I asked how it went, and he was happy to show me the four gigantic cuts in me. I had been unconscious just under two hours. He didn't know who my wife was to call her in.

Across the room, I saw another man recovering from a surgery. Same IV, same ugly gown. We noticed each other and gave each other this weak nod, as if to say "I need to get the heck out of here and into my *own* bed".

My wife appeared. So did my stuff. What little food I ate almost reappeared, too. (I'd complain about the anesthetic, but I think the pros vastly outweigh the cons here) I couldn't bend down, or twist. I couldn't use any of the muscles in my abdomen without massive sharp pain.

For the first time ever, my wife put my pants *on* me.

Then we drove home. With anesthesia induced nausea. In a blizzard. I was intensely grateful that my pharmacy was on the way, else I wouldn't have had my amazing pain meds when I needed them the most.

I spent the next several days cleaning out my YouTube 'watch later' list. I'd say I'm about 80% better. So far.

Yay surgery.

No shave Novemburrr

As I have often done, I refused to shave during the month of November.  No-shave-November, Movember, Novembeard, I've heard quite a few variants of the name. It's supposed to be to raise awareness of something, but I just use it as an excuse to be lazy.

Also, my wife seems to really like it. I start to hate it about two weeks in. (I'm lazy, but not that lazy)

So three days into December, I decided I needed to see my face again. This year was met with some similar experiences, and some new ones.

Old ones:
My face is cold. As in the gentle breeze caused by simply walking put a chill to my chin. More pronounced this year due to cooler weather. Still old news.
My wife did a double take and said nothing.

New:
My 19 month old daughter caught the sight of me, and made it very clear that I did not have her permission to shave. She can't speak yet, however her ability to communicate is unparalleled. If I ran this by her in advance, she would have said no. Maybe it's better that I didn't.