Winter Storm

We openly flouted last night’s dramatic winter storm warnings.  We drove the big-ass honkin’ truck with three bald tires to our friends’ house for dinner.  Other friends defied the warning, too, but they brought pajamas and toothbrushes and four good tires.  They believed the forecast and assumed the roads would be closed.  We knew better than to believe we’d get to stay overnight in our friends’ beautiful house.  We were right.

The winter storm held off until long after we were tucked into our crappy mattress flopped on the soon-to-be-replaced carpet.  There’s so much drama over weather in Oregon that winter storm warnings sound like the pending apocalypse.  Kids stay home from school and cars stay off the roads for two hours until the sun comes out, it warms up to forty degrees, and everyone’s already bored. 

We lived in Montana when the General and the Vegan were little.  One winter it didn’t get warmer than -30 degrees for three weeks straight.  They went to school.  They didn’t have Snow Days.  Even when they were preschoolers they went to school.  Even when it was -30 degrees they had recess. 

I remember watching the teachers take a long time to get all the kids bundled up.  It took even longer to get them outside because one by one they’d ask to use the bathroom, and have to peel everything off, pee, and put everything back on.  “They go outside everyday,” the teachers said.  “Even if it’s only for ten minutes at a time, they go outside.”  That’s how you raise manly men in Montana.  For the Vegan’s sake, we should have never moved.

We left late from our friends’ house last night, hoping the roads would freeze so we didn’t have to come home to . . . home.  I have a bad case of house envy; I love everyone’s house.  People say, “I’m so embarrassed; my house is such a mess.”  Are they talking about their house, I wonder?  Are they being polite?  People only say these things when they’ve never seen the mess in which I live. 

 “I love that house,” I said when we finally left. 

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” Charlie said.  “You said, ‘I couldn’t live in their house.  There’s nothing to fix up.’”

“What an idiot I was.”

I’m continuing in my idiotry; I haven’t been to Peet’s for almost a week.  My friends are worried.

“Will we see you at Peet’s in the morning?” a friend asked me last night.

“We can’t do that anymore,” I said.  “We don’t get started on the house until noon.”

I saw confusion on my friend’s face.  Normal people don’t stay at Peet’s for three hours?  “How long do you stay?” she said.

“At least until noon.  Remember, Charlie can do four refills.  We used to drive our kids around all day on the weekends just so we’d have an excuse not to get started on the house.”

“You must be happy with the progress,” she said.  “You’ve got a potty.”

I wonder if most people talk about their friends’ toilets during casual conversation.

We went to bed determined to start up on the house tomorrow with motivation and excitement.  We woke up and couldn’t find our excitement anywhere.

Last weekend we wasted our Peet’s time watching poker.  Charlie and I made bets with each other over who would win the tournament.  We had to watch the whole thing to find out both of us were wrong.  We don’t know much about poker, it turns out.

This weekend we avoided the poker tournament except on commercials.  Bob Vila was on TLC, and watching this isn’t like wasting time.  It’s more like school.  This might be why we spent most of the hour making fun of him.  Bob’s adult son was helping plaster on this particular show.  Bob ordered him around and interrupted him mid-sentence, making this one of his more interesting shows.  It was almost like being at Peet’s.

Charlie accidentally flipped to the Discovery channel where he lost two hours of work time to Engineering Marvels.  Even I was tired of sitting by this time, so I decided to do some cooking to see if I still knew how.

It’s amazing how little counter space you really need.  Charlie ripped up the kitchen last summer and before he got distracted with the front deck, he installed the free-standing range.  This is my work area. 

I line up all the ingredients, utensils, and everything I need on the back.  I mix and work on the left front burner while I use the right front burner for actual cooking.  I don’t like the smell of burning plastic and so far I’ve been lucky.  If I need more space, I can always use the top of the microwave.  This is heaven compared to the open pit I cooked in when we were building a house in Montana; warmer, too.

I ended up making soup, two different kinds of bread, and vegan chocolate cake while Charlie watched bridges being built in France.  Eventually he went downstairs to start his day.  “I should be done in an hour,” he said.  I knew better.  This house is as cheap and nasty as they come.  Add 32 years to cheap and nasty and nothing’s easy.

Soon I heard swearing coming from downstairs.  I hate being right.

 “I’m missing parts,” he said.  “I’m calling up George Morlan.  If they’re open, I’m going out.  Pray for me.”

I looked outside.  The little neighbor kids were under the big-ass honkin’ truck pulling off icicles.  The big neighbor kids were sliding down the street on saucers.  Freezing rain means everything’s covered in an inch of water, trapped by an inch of ice.  The big kids are probably getting some good sliding but they won’t be out long.  Freezing rain is wetter than Montana snow.  There’s not even a car on the road.

Charlie started up the big-ass honkin’ truck while calling his buddies to find a good safe, passable driving route to the plumbing store.  The Vegan walked up, sliding around.  He was at his Dad’s and decided it’d be fun to slide around outside, too.  I think it’s the only time I’ve seen him walk since he got a car.

Charlie loaded up the sink while the Vegan loaded up on cake.  They both hopped into the truck and skidded off. 

“It is super-slick out there,” he said when he returned.  “You can’t go more than five miles an hour.  I turned to come into the cul-de-sac and slid down the hill instead.  I had to turn around in the Korean Church parking lot.”

“Did you get what you needed?”

“I almost had to return the $39 sink.  We couldn’t find anything that’d work. Luckily, I found the guy who helped us buy this sink and he figured something out.  ‘It’s not the right part,’ he said, ‘but it’ll work if you stick a bunch of construction adhesive on the back of it.”

I left him alone and it didn’t take him long to start swearing again.

“Why are you swearing?”

“I’m swearing?  I didn’t notice,” he said.  “I got the sink installed, I connected the faucet, I turned on the water, and everything’s working perfectly.  I look down and the shut-off valves at the bottom are both leaking like crazy.  I have to go back to George Morlan and get replacements.”

He held up the shut-off valve parts.  “Look,” he said.  “Look at all that crap in there.”

I looked and wished I hadn’t.  The opening was full of icky brown goo.

“We could have been brushing our teeth with that,” I said.  “Can’t you go back tomorrow?  It’s dark and slicker than before.”

“I don’t care,” Charlie said.  “I’m not stopping.  I don’t want to start tomorrow with this hanging over my head.  This is war.”

This time he left without even calling his buddies to check road conditions.  Charlie’s from Florida.  The only Florida road hazards he’s mentioned involved Snowbirds and Blue Hairs rather than sliding down hills and turning around at the Korean Church. 

If he returns, I’ll have to ask about his preschool years.

A little help? [] 8:33:46 PM