Ship

I bet not all of you know the story of the ship painting, am I right? It's very large, this painting. And full of ships. Ships firing cannons at one another and burning. Also, do you think we have enough fishing poles?  No? Oh, don't worry, that's only some of them. Anyway, back to the ship painting: it made the trek over to the new house last night. I had high hopes that it was going into the Goodwill pile, but no such luck. Since I guess it's here to stay, I thought it would be fun to revisit the story of its genesis, circa 2008/2009:

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Will someone please poke me in the eye with a sharp stick?

Please, I beg of you! Someone, anyone? Lloyd is buying 'art'. Yeah, yeah, yeah, blindness is no joke, blah blah blah. My apologies to all the blind people reading my oh-so-popular blog. Now, if I may continue. Lloyd and I have TOTALLY different tastes in, well, everything. We never, ever like the same furniture, housewares, decorative items, clothes or anything else. Marital fealty prevents me from fully exploring my true feelings about Lloyd's taste in art here, so let's just let Lloyd's own words speak for themselves.

But first, a little background: Lloyd has commissioned a local artist to paint a picture of an epic naval battle, circa 1700's. He has been down at the gallery at least twice a week, giving direction: A little more tattering on the sail, please, and there's not quite enough orange in the cannon fire, and so on. The artist doesn't seem to be annoyed by this, but I guess when you are a big-shot art patron paying over a hundred smackers for a custom piece, the sky's the limit, right?

A word about the gallery- outside, as advertising, they show paintings done from photos. The paintings remind me of the 'King of Queens' episode where Deacon and Kelly give Doug and Carrie a hideous painting of themselves (Doug and Carrie, that is) for their anniversary. Doug's teeth are huge, and Carrie's arm is freakishly misshapen. Doug and Carrie hate it so much that they stage a robbery to get rid of it.

And now, here's Lloyd:

"The artist used to paint in New York and he said this size painting would sell for $19,000!" So I guess we're getting a real bargain. I didn't know paintings were sold by the square inch. 

"I told him that it had to be just right because we're going to hang it in a place of honor and pass it down from generation to generation!" Forget the sharp stick; just put me out of my misery entirely.

And, the absolute worst, the one that sent chills down my spine: "I'm going to get him to do another one, this one of a New England scene!" When I suggested maybe we get a New England scene from a New England artist, he said, "But do you know how much that would cost?" Umm, no, let me get out my measuring tape and calculator and figure it out!

Sunday, July 20, 2008

The masterpiece has arrived

Lloyd picked up his painting today from the shop. I'm not sure when the big unveiling will be but I am all aquiver with anticipation. I will put up a picture as soon as possible. In the meantime, this photo is of the very alarming painting outside the gallery. Is it just me, or does the woman look like she has a combined shoulder and elbow, or shelbow, if you will?

Monday, July 21, 2008

The moment you've all been waiting for....

Without further ado, here is the painting. I have to say, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. It is, however, very large. And, we discovered it does not have one of the agreed-upon modifications: a third ship, smoldering and foundering in the background. I'm not sure if Lloyd plans to take it back for alterations (revisions? restroking? insertions? Not sure of the correct terminology, or if such terminology exists). Also, we do not have the necessary hardware to hang it on the wall. So for now, it has found a happy home in the laundry room, propped up by a gallon of antifreeze. Hehehehehe.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Sunday

Here are some photos of Shane playing in a box that came in the mail from Grandma the other day. Weston went to Vacation Bible School this morning at church. He had a good time, though he didn't want to go beforehand. Lloyd stopped on the way home to check on his painting. It has the third ship burning in the background now, but the smoke is not quite right; it should be drifting with the wind and not going straight up into the sky. I'm pretty sure I could have learned some Korean swear words today if I had been paying attention, but they were hard to make out through the gritting-teeth smile.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

The Bad Penny Turns Up, and it has a friend

Well, it was inevitable. You may recall that Lloyd had taken his painting back to the shop for modifications. If you're unfamiliar with the painting saga, you can read about it here, here and here. Yesterday, we had a sitter so we went downtown for lunch. After a delicious meal of hot shredded beef soup, bibimbap and kimchi dumplings, Lloyd said, 'Hey! Let's go check on my painting!' I died a little inside, but I pasted a smile on my face and off we went to the 'Blue Boy Gallery'. The painting was done, and Lloyd was very pleased with it. The smoke is apparently just right now. I asked him how he was going to bring it home, because it's quite large (and valuable!) and we were on foot. He said, 'Oh, I'm just going to wait until the other one is done and get them at the same time." My head spun, I blacked out just a little, and everything started moving in slow motion. I understand that's a common reaction to shocking and traumatic incidents, like car accidents or when you fall through the ceiling. Not that I would know. Anyway, I said, 'Whaaaaaa?', and Lloyd pointed to an easel where a small canvas rested. Clearly visible were the outlines of the two ships, and it was obvious even in my discombobulation that there will soon be another, similar painting released into an unprepared world. If you're getting a little nervous, I totally understand, but you can rest easy. It turns out that his mother admired the painting, and so he is having a similar, smaller one done for her. Whew.

Cue the Spooky Music

Well, my friends, the day has come. The paintings are back from the shop, propped up in the bedroom, awaiting the unwrapping. They don't look so bad with that pretty paper covering them up, do they? If only the paper could remain... But no, I mustn't give myself false hope. Fear not, I do have options: I can always throw myself to the badgers.

If you are not familiar with the sad saga of the paintings, you can read about it here, here,
here and here. Then you can send your condolences to storiesfromkorea@gmail.com.

So! That's the epic beginning of the infamous painting. I'm still plotting its ending. The Goodwill thing didn't work out for me, SO FAR, but I'm a resourceful girl.....

House

Heheheheheheeheheh..... that's the sound of me laughing hysterically, in order to keep from crumpling up into a fetal ball and whimpering until I fall asleep in a sodden, tear-soaked heap. Remember last week, when Lloyd was going to move us while I was out of town? Well, he did. Sort of.  When I came home, I took one look and then had an overwhelming urge to light out for Mexico and consume mucho, mucho cervesas, but sadly all the cars were jammed full of garbage bags, boxes and miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam. No beers, either. Truly, it was..... well, here, see for yourself: 

So, yeah. It's pretty daunting. The garages at both the old house and the new house are full, there is a huge pile of junk awaiting a dump run, even more that needs to go to Goodwill, and nothing is where it belongs. For example, it's obvious that weapons, antlers and pilot crap all belong in the garage, right? But funny, that's not where they are. Hmmmmmm. 


On the plus side, the outside is awesome, and I haven't even been to the swamp yet. For the first time, my kimchi pots have a proper home. Oh, if you click on that link to read about when I bought my pots, just ignore the extraneous story about how I accidentally got trapped in the men's room in a Korean discount store, okay? Thanks in advance.


Here are some pictures of the outside. The garden is going to be in the front where the blueberries are; that's the spot that gets the most light. There are also empty beds all along the front. The dirt doesn't look super good but luckily there is a big pile of old rabbit poop next to the garage. Seriously, how fantastic is this place?!?!?!? You can almost NEVER find a house that comes with rabbit poop. 


Weston really wants to get some chickens right this very second but I'm pretty sure I'm not quite prepared for that. I have to go out of town again soon, though, and I never know what I'm going to find when I come back. Hell, we might have emus or something.  I'm a little concerned about the french drain that runs the entire length of the uphill side of the house, but oh well, we need to get rid of a bunch more useless stuff anyway, and flooding is as good a method as any.  


Have a good weekend, my friends, I am heading out to work in the garden!

Huckleberry in front yard

Storage building, blueberry bushes, and wellhouse

Kimchi pots

Backyard with salmonberries

View from wine drinking spot deck

Move

****Updated: in retrospect, I feel the tiniest bit sorry and guilty for what might be construed by some as Lloyd mocking. By 'some', I mean Lloyd, of course. Not quite bad enough to take this post down, only bad enough to add this disclaimer, and to state that I did, in fact, probably agree to undertake the moving methods described in an unflattering manner below. I might even have helped. But I was under duress.****

Yep, we've been in the same house for a full eighteen months now, time to move! I counted them up today, we've moved ten times in a little less than ten years. This time is a little different, of course- it's the first time we will have to pack ourselves. By 'we', I mean Lloyd, because I will be working out of town. See the picture up top? It's part of the garage. I stopped going in there, as you may recall, some time ago when I noticed Lloyd had the corpse-stashing cooler, some hefty bags, a mop and a case of bleach staged by the door. I sucked it up today, though, so I could illustrate what a daunting task the move is going to be. The first thing I noticed was the pile of firewood the size of a small sports stadium; it's much larger than it used to be. I mean, I like wood as much as the next girl, but there's a limit, am I right?

So, okay, now it's Sunday night. I started this early in the weekend and had big plans to finish up a nice long post about the new house and how I didn't see it first, which gave my sister conniptions but all my military spouse friends will know that you get to see the new house before it's picked out only about half the time, which in my experience is about the same ratio at which you get your husband to be present at the births of your children. But let's face it, I'm well into the second glass of wine and the posts don't write themselves, even though it seems like it sometimes, so I'm going to finish it up combat style:

• The new house is awesome. It has about a million huckleberry, salmonberry and blackberry bushes, its own stream and swamp, ample hoses and limited carpet, among many other fine features.

• I can't decide if I feel sorrier for Lloyd, or for myself. He has to move however many millions of pounds of crap we have, but I have to live with the aftermath. I'm thinking of the time he drove my car into the back of a U-Haul and then tossed a crib on top of it for a move from Florida to Louisiana and scraped up both sides AND the top. Oh, and also of the time he put my ridiculously-expensive-purchased-foolishly -for-a-first-child leather glider in the back of his truck and didn't secure it so it rocked back and forth until it rocked right out onto the road, and then tried to throw it away. Oh, sorry, is my bitter showing? And I changed my mind. I DEFINITELY feel sorrier for me.

• Don't worry about me, though, I have all my important junk stuffed in plastic bags in my car. I am not even kidding. I could live comfortably for quite some time.

• We had a nice picnic at Grandpa's house over the weekend. Well, nice to everyone except Shane, who informed me that it was the worst bad picnic ever. I'm not sure, but I think it was because Aunt Jennifer called a premature halt to the dirt clod throwing. Doesn't he look TRAUMATIZED? You'd almost think he was about to move.

• I'll keep you posted; I'm pretty sure I can blog from the car. Have a good week, my friends!

Winter

I think summer might be over, you guys. At least at my house. We had to turn on the heat yesterday, but it doesn't do any good because no one around here knows how to close a door, as far as I can tell. So the net effect is that we're contributing to global warming twice: once when we consume the energy that runs the heater, and then again when the generated heat flows out into the great outdoors. And I'm STILL freezing. This is a serious affront to my love of efficiency, and something needs to be done. I have the perfect solution, too; I just can't decide if I should lock Lloyd and the boys OUTSIDE or INSIDE until next May.

That's not the only blow I'm suffering, either. Lloyd has convinced me to give up my beloved compost pile as we prepare for a possible move sometime in the not super distant future. Of course, we don't know where or when this will be but we DO know that not everyone adores a giant steaming pile of decomposing vegetation as much as I do, and that it's not something we are willing to box up and move. Too bad we no longer have access to those Korean movers; they would pack that stuff up in a jiffy and not even bat an eye. I can not even tell you how much I despise throwing away perfectly good carrot peelings, egg shells and coffee grounds. It offends my very soul, but I'm a practical girl, so what are you going to do, right?

AND, our fancy stainless steel fridge went kaput the other day, freezing everything solid. The motherboard went bad; since when does a refrigerator need a motherboard? It's not like I need it to navigate to Mars or perform laser surgery. My next one is going to be from 1972. Or maybe I'll just use Lloyd's giant white cooler. You know, the one that's big enough to fit my dead body in, if a few things are chopped off first. Or maybe we'll go without! Lots of people do, very successfully. You can read about it here. And here. Tempting, very tempting. As it is, I have to go throw out pounds and pounds of previously perfectly good food. AND I CAN'T EVEN PUT IT IN THE COMPOST! The rats are CURSING MY NAME right now.

In happier news, I am finally getting a good crop of tomatoes- I have been getting Romas for a week or two but now the regular rounds ones are getting ripe also. About time, it's the middle of freaking September for Pete's sake. Oops, I sound a little pinchy again, don't I? I think I should have called this 'The Winter of my Discontent'. But at least I have juicy, delicious tomatoes!

There is a reason for my discontent, naturally. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of my mother, so that is super sucky. I've really been quite cross and out of sorts, too. Even more than usual, I mean. Mostly I've been laying on the couch, lacking the energy to do anything except scream at whoever left the door open again or get another cookie, but I did attempt a bit of retail therapy. See my snappy red canvas bag? Note the wine bottle for scale. The purse is a sporty little number, and it was acquired for a mere $1.29 at the Goodwill tag sale last week. It's quite lovely and does cheer me a bit to look at it. Or maybe it's the wine bottle that lifts my spirits. Whatever works, I always say. So bottoms up! I also say that a lot, come to think of it. See you on the couch, friends, and have a good weekend.

Independence Day

Happy Fourth of July! I don’t know about you guys, but for me, this year is DEFINITELY going to be better than last year. Independence Day 2010 started out fine. For the most part. Sure, we were living out of duffel bags in a tiny garage apartment that was far away from a thrift store, we had no jobs, and we were having Air Force withdrawal trauma. On that last one, by ‘we’, I mean Lloyd. OBVIOUSLY. I WAS having thrift store withdrawal trauma, though. Which is WAY worse.

But the early light of the glorious fourth last year dawned bright and clear; we probably could have seen the broad stripes and bright stars flying over Fort McHenry from our ramshackle abode if we’d squinted just a little. We had relatives in town and a cookout on tap. My dad had picked up a discarded self-propelled airplane from the park where he goes to walk the dog. At least, he SAYS it was discarded. I hope some poor little kid isn’t waking up this Independence Day all sad about the airplane some mean guy with a big dog stole from him last year. Either way, the kids were having a blast flying that thing around the yard when destiny guided it to a gentle landing on the roof. Lloyd bounded upstairs to go out onto the roof through a second story window to retrieve it, and all hell broke loose, along with skin, muscle, multiple blood vessels and most importantly, a tendon. You can read what I wrote about it then, and look at the gory picture.

Thus began the worst six months of my entire life, including the six months between April and October of 2007 when I was enormously pregnant and Lloyd had to go to the sandbox and I had to travel around the country with a toddler and then be on bedrest for my high blood pressure and then have a baby by myself in a Louisiana hospital and then move to Korea. No, that was a walk in the park compared to the descent into the ninth circle of hell of 2010. Hmmmm, now I can’t decide if I should bore you with all the dreary specifics or not. There’s something very satisfying about describing all my travails in painful detail, right up until everyone starts to call me Crybaby McWhinypants and throw rotten tomatoes at me. Now, THAT would suck, because only spoiled potatoes and dead rats are worse that rotten tomatoes.

Maybe just the tiniest little smidge of a description, for a speck of holiday self-indulgence: Starting July 4, 2010, Lloyd was unable to move his left hand and had to have reconstructive surgery followed by intensive physical therapy multiple times a week. We were living in a garage apartment with one car. He could not drive, carry groceries or children, cook, clean or write blog entries about how miserable was. He could, however, verbalize his dismay at his sudden predicament. Which he did. Also at this time, my mother was having chemo and requiring daily trips to the cancer center, followed by five weeks in the hospital. During this period, I had a job interview. Then she came home on hospice. I got a job offer, and we had to find a new house near my new job, and take delivery of our household goods. This consisted of two semi-truckloads and houses full, one from storage in Louisiana and one from Korea. These things, all 17,000 pounds of them, had to be placed into our small house or otherwise disposed of. Remember Lloyd’s hand? ME, TOO. We had promised Weston as soon as we had a house, he could have a cat, so we got Henry. Perhaps you recall him. Then my mother died. This was followed by a giant steaming pile of necessary planning, and none of it the fun kind. As soon as Lloyd could drive, he had to fly to the east coast to bring his truck, boat, bee hives, pine beams and other assorted items back. These things, too, had to be somehow incorporated into our tiny new home. On the way back, the truck and boat both required expensive repairs and an extended stay in some podunk town in Montana. THEN, I started my new job. You can read about the very first day here, when I had my pants come undone and spilled tea all over my brand new cube. After a while, miracle of miracles, things started looking up. Lloyd could move his hand, the boxes started to disappear, and I was settling into my job. My mother was still dead, but maybe I was getting a little more used to it. And then Henry died.

Wow, that sounds really bad, now that I look at it in black and white. See what I mean? There’s no place to go but up from there, right? Happy Fourth of July and God Bless America. Pass the beer and the roman candles, and make it snappy! I have a lot of life improvements to make and if there's something that can’t be made better with alcohol and fireworks, I don't know what it is. At least that's how it works in Auburn, where I come from.

Getting Around

I just got done counting up the places we've crashed since we left Osan a couple of months ago. The grand total is nine. I know some of you guys can beat that handily, but probably not in this century, and FOR SURE you didn't have to bring six or eight stuffed frogs along to each stop. Unless you are all WAY weirder than I thought.

For your viewing pleasure, I have put up a few pictures of our latest, and so far, swankiest pad.