5 years of Springy G!

In skimming over the archives, it just came to My attention that this blog is now slightly over 5 years old.  According to the date stamp on the inaugural post, I started the Blogger version of The Springy Goddess on February 18, 2007.

Somewhere in Astrejurhof I have an HTML archive of My previous LiveJournal blog, which contains some earlier vignettes about life through the eyes of a modern Norse goddess:

• The acquisition of My first clarinet;
• Getting attacked by the fragrance department at a local department store;
• Why archmagi should stay the heck away from MRI machines;
• And getting a "Good morning!" chomp on the nose from a little silver-grey tabby named Walter.

I'm weighing the merits of digging up those older posts and rolling them into this one, so don't be too surprised if the "start" of TSG magically migrates backwards to 2004 or so.

Do not want.

As I was walking home from the bus this afternoon, I came to an odd conclusion: I don't really want a Chinese straight sword.

And I don't particularly want a Stratocaster XII electric 12-string, either.

Not all that long ago, I thought I did. One of the reasons I wanted the above-mentioned things is that I used to possess them and lost them.

I don't need them any more. I no longer practice Chinese martial arts and in fact have not done so for at least 14 years, so what would I do with that jian?  I've already got a perfectly good short sword, made of much better materials, in a homemade scabbard with Futhark runes that clearly identify the sword as Astrejureldingblót.  And a dagger called Thorn.  (And the Staff of Magius -- Long story.)

As for the electric 12-string, I'm barely playing My guitar Dr. Venkman and My bass Spiny Norman... And, right now, there are a lot of instruments I'd rather have:  A French horn; an alto sax (wouldn't mind a tenor sax, too); and All the Clarinets There Are (a professional-grade B♭; an A clarinet; an E♭; a bass; and perhaps even the wily alto clarinet).

Y'know, decluttering is a lot easier when you get rid of stuff before it arrives.

Real goddesses don't tweet.

I've watched the current Canadian political brouhaha with great amusement, particularly the ironic "Vikileaks" campaign.

I am not currently a Twitter user, nor do I aspire to be.  The reason is simple:  I'm verbose.  I like My words, and sometimes 140 characters just isn't enough.

This kind of Internet shorthand does have its uses, though:

#oppressedmsz Revolution will be televised after all
#oppressedmsz Camera crew at 15th and Main

Or...

#sadkitteh Baked u cookie but eated it
#sadkitteh Gots no more flowerz butter suggarz
#sadkitteh Pls pickup more I try bake u cookie agin kthxbai

Amusing, but not My style.

So if a certain Canadian Cabinet Minister wants to know what I did today, he'll have to read My blog like everyone else. So there, nyah.

She who laths last laths best.

Note to Big Box stores everywhere:  We don't need you.  Especially when you can't supply Us with what We want in quantities less than Ludicrous Size.

Earlier this week I attempted to purchase several pieces of plastering lath in order to close off the large gap in My kitchen wall... The one I had created when I removed some old iron pipes.

I needed three pieces.  The store had a lovely bundle of 24, which would be just the ticket if I were, say, constructing a brand new old-fashioned wall.  I certainly wasn't in the mood to buy eight times as much as I actually needed.

So today I made My own.  I started by cutting up a piece of ¾" plywood I had in the basement.  Then I used a chisel to split and plane the strips down to the right thickness:

Plywood is good that way:  All I have to do is take out the layers I don't want. 

 

And then, rather than run out to buy suitable short nails, I just cut down some longer galvanized nails I already had:

By cutting on an angle, I also gave the nails a nice point that made them easier to drive.  Dare to compare:

This is what the wall looked like after I nailed up the homemade lath:

And this is what it looks like currently, with the base coat of  plaster well underway:

Looks like I do need that store, after all:  I've run out of plaster.  Hopefully they sell it in something smaller than a 50-pound bag.

Reciprocating saws are full of win.

Today I tackled a problem that stood between Me and Nice New Kitchen Cupboards.

Behold the Wall of Doom!

This was lurking under the old cupboards, which Red and I removed last fall.  Bad enough someone painted the wall such a ghastly shade of dark salmon -- The thing that stood between Me and new cabinetry was this:

Mysterious iron pipes, jutting out of the wall.  This will never do.

So I took the liberty of attacking the plaster and lath with extreme prejudice (plus a claw hammer).

To My relief, one of the two pipes had already been disconnected.  That meant that the pipe on the right was the one connected to this thing:

Já, that's yet more Mysterious Iron Pipe jutting out of the basement ceiling... Through a cold air return duct, no less.  It, too, had apparently been out of service for untold aeons but no one could be bothered to finish removing it.

Of course, it didn't help that both the upper sections of pipe continued above the kitchen ceiling.

So, this is what I did Sunday afternoon:

• Pulled down the 2 remaining ceiling panels in the kitchen, which I had to do eventually anyway.
• Got My trusty reciprocating saw out of the basement tool storage and installed a 14 TPI metal-cutting blade.
• Started cutting.

There were a few interesting moments, such as when I opened the cold air return duct to cut a lower section of pipe:

Wait, what?  A cold air return grate is not supposed to lead to a solid wall.  No wonder there's so much cold air lurking around the kitchen floor; it has to queue up to go down that itty bitty slot right at the bottom of the wall.

*reaches for claw hammer again*

Well, I had to open that wall anyway.  *reaches for reciprocating saw and resumes cutting and removing pipes*

And this is the last bit of the pipe on the right, duly plummet-proofed so that I could safely cut it free from above.

 Total elapsed time:  3 hours, 40 minutes... Including cleanup!  Mission accomplished, and I still had some Sunday left at the end of it all.

"Put down the yoga mat and back away slowly..."

I dodged a metaphorical bullet tonight, thanks to a cup of coffee and a plate of chicken wings.  Allow Me to explain...

One of My not-so-deep, not-so-dark secrets is that I like to start projects. Unfortunately, I like to do that so much that sometimes -- Often -- Okay, most of the time -- those projects go unfinished.

This is something I've been trying to fix, and overall it's been working. Looking back on 2011, I finished the subfloor in My study; painted the dining room ceiling; painted the living room and most of the main hall (currently repairing plaster cracks in the 4th wall); got a new garage constructed; and did an amazing uncluttering of My abode by giving away mass quantities of stuff I wasn't using.

So how did I develop a fixation on yoga mats? More specifically, why did I come home from work this afternoon with the express intent of going out later in the evening to buy one?

Well, a couple of days ago I had been considering going out to a few hot yoga classes to ease various wintry aches and pains. That, however, would mean buying Myself one of those roll-up sticky mats and possibly also a pair of shorts.*  There's perverse humour in this, considering that last year I gave away an exercise mat (not the yoga type, though) and a pair of shorts as well.

Fortunately, I came to My senses sometime between feeding the cats, shovelling a bit of snow and sitting down to enjoy an early supper of chicken wings and coffee so I wouldn't grab something at the mall and call that supper.  I realized that there's already enough going on without opening up another battlefront, and asked Myself if I really, really needed another demand on My time.

Or a yoga mat.

Or shorts.  *shudder*

It felt good to say no for a change, and just relax at home and play My clarinet rather than going shopping for more Stuff.

This doesn't mean yoga is forever off the agenda.  What it does mean is that I'm starting to recognize the mental triggers and motivations that prompt Me to rush into new projects before I'm ready to take them seriously.

Because it's the serious projects that get done properly.  'Nuff said.

---

* Shorts are My way of staring into the Abyss and having it stare back.

The shifting tide of passion

First of all, a belated happy birthday to Burton Cummings, who turned 64 on 12/31/2011. Somewhere in the middle of Saturday afternoon, when My alphanumerically-inclined brain actually twigged on the date, I thought back to My days as a devoted fan of The Guess Who. I have a confession to make tonight: Springy G has a long history of serial fannishness, dating back to around 1963 when I fell head-over-heels in like with Ringo Starr.

The trend has only *slightly* abated since the days of playing the album Twist and Shout on a monophonic RCA radio/turntable combo unit in a kitchen in Otterburn, Quebec. Come to think about it, the trend predates even the Beatles: I have vague memories of being a diminutive fangrrl of the Project Mercury astronauts, John Glenn in particular. Before them, I apparently liked Canadian entertainer Gordie Tapp (although I have no memory of what, exactly, I liked about the chap).

I find it interesting that, with the exception of Suzie Mouse (of Chez Hélène fame), My role models have tended to be male. I'm not even going to try to explain that one, but I will attempt to enumerate them. In addition to Messrs. Cummings, Tapp, Starr and Glenn, as well as drag racer Don Garlits and Montréal Canadiens stars Gump Worsley, Jean Beliveau and Ken Dryden, I've also developed emotional attachments to various fictional luminaries including Batman, Illya Kuryakin and Raistlin Majere.

So what *am* I trying to say here? I'm not getting mushy and nostalgic about all this, but I am seeing a pattern that I can't quite explain even to Myself. Part of it is that all these gentlemen (and Suzie Mouse) have inspired Me to explore parts of reality that I might otherwise not have examined. I've studied drums and piano, and a few other instruments as well; I've learned to drive and quite enjoy it (although I feel no overpowering urge to travel a quarter of a mile in 6 seconds or less); and know enough about hockey, comic books, espionage, Krynnish magic and space travel to hold My own in a conversation.

Although I have no idea what kind of conversation would involve hockey, comic books, espionage, Krynnish magic and space travel. Why do I never get invited to parties like that?

Happy 2012, everyone! If you run into Suzie Mouse, tell her the first round of fromage is on Me.