An august August

The impending arrival of baby Springsteen has had the positive effect of making me more active in the home-improvement arena. Not necessarily handyman-ish work, but in terms of moving furniture to more appropriate areas, touching up things, etc.

This weekend we moved the futon from my office into the basement, and put some rugs down on the concrete floor. It adds a touch of coziness to the unfinished, barren basement, and hopefully will lead to it being more friendly to use. House guests will be able to sleep on either the futon OR the bed downstairs. I wedged a formerly-mounted mirror above the utility sink downstairs, so there is at least a more comfortable way to brush teeth and shave. It reminds me of my grandpa Roger’s bathroom in the basement of the Tiskilwa house. There was  a shower with a cement floor, and the water came out near a bunch of wires and metal. It was very cool.

I know that someday we’ll get a proper bathroom installed downstairs, but as we make it nicer down there  by adding some rugs and throwing out old stuff, I don’t know if I care about getting it officially “finished” so much.

I find it’s much easier to get these household tasks done after I do a Saturday-morning exercise, some jogging, walking, push-ups, lawn-mowing, weeding. Once I’m nice and soaked in sweat, I’m more in a mood to move a couch, because at that point why the hell not?

I’ve become a big fan of Saturday-morning runs. I’m not missing anything important, Kristin is usually cleaning while listening to NPR. I like the NPR shows, but not enough to care about missing them.

We had a full weekend with which to operate because we returned from vacation on Friday. A full week in Michigan, in perfect, cool weather, to just read and beach and eat, was exactly what I think a vacation should be about. Very few plans, just relaxation.  We missed Bethany and Jay of course, especially since they would have loved the very mild Michigan weather. I think it was 78 and clear every day. It was chilly a bit at night. Getting to wear a sweatshirt after this roasting summer is like heaven for me.

I think our mouse is still in the house. I’ve been loudly warning him to “get out soon, buddy, because if you stay I’m going to kill you.” If he doesn’t take this warning, I will kill him, and not feel bad about it, because I can’t tolerate stubborn mice. It just won’t do.

Can’t wait for fall. I’ve been writing that sentence for years, and years. And I always mean it just as much. I’m going to wear a sweatshirt, and drink a pumpkin beer, and read my cheesy detective novel out back and get a little bit cold, and it will be glorious.