** The number of different pieces of furniture the husband had to construct from boxes that seemed to be filled with nothing but large, heavy wooden jigsaw pieces, nuts, bolts, and instructions written entirely in Swedish: THIRTEEN!
In case you've never experienced the marvels of Ikea furniture, even huge pieces of furniture come in tiny boxes that weigh approximately one THOUSAND pounds apiece, and you are expected to put them together with what, I am assuming, is the national tool of Sweden: that little silver L-shaped thingy. So, the husband did that. Even the couch came in many, pieces. I wish I had taken a picture of him putting it together but, needless to say, his mood at the time wasn't exactly amenable to posing, as you can possibly imagine.
Here are a few pictures of his handiwork:
Now, on to the ducklings. The week we moved in, Harper and I had to drive in to the big city for her gymnastics class, and we noticed a police car going very slowly with its lights flashing up ahead on the tollway. When we got closer, we saw that there was a family of DUCKS ("Family of WHAT?? DUCKS!! yelled Michael. Send a police car, quick!") strolling along the cement wall inside the tollway, where cars whiz along at 70 mph. I'm sorry to report that they weren't mallards, but the Mr. and Mrs. DID seem to be holding their heads quite proudly (and obliviously) as their 5 little ducklings marched behind them. It was very sweet to see that police officer creeping along beside them. I totally meant to write some sort of letter to the editor of the Houston Chronicle noting that for all the bad publicity our department has gotten lately, isn't it wonderful to know that there are officers who will drive for miles to ensure that a family of ducks makes it safely to the next off ramp? Then I couldn't stop singing that song about paving paradise and putting up a parking lot. Or a tollway.
Mrs. S loaned me the book Seven: an experimental mutiny against excess (by Jen Hatmaker) which several friends had recommended. It's ironic that I would mention that at the end of a post in which I showed a bunch of pictures of all our new furniture in our new house. The moving has, as usual, reminded me of all the unnecessary accumulation (physical, spiritual, and emotional) I partake in on a daily basis. We'll see if I can actually DO something about it and not just feel morose about not doing anything about it. Harper and I did walk to the grocery store yesterday. It was over 90 degrees. I stopped short of vocalizing that we were just like Ma and Mary and Laura when I realized we had walked to the grocery store. Where we had bought olive oil and wine and bread made my someone else (made from grain grown by someone else etc. etc) and paper plates and a plastic bin of prewashed organic hearts of romaine and also some cereal and pancake mix. So, nothing like the Ingalls family. But we walked! In the suburbs! Where people get in their SUVs to drive to the neighborhood pool even if it's a block from their house. Teeny, tiny baby steps in the hot, hot sun. Right?
Look at this picture I just took of Hudson, who takes books into bed for quiet time, and ends up napping more often than not:
1 comment:
Thirteen??!
It looks like you have some lovely light in your new house. :)
I'm still in the middle of Cutting For Stone. It's good but slow. Very. Slow. I also just finished I Am The Messenger by Markus Zusak (author of The Book Thief), and I didn't like it much. Perhaps my expectations were too high after The Book Thief.
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