father

Saturday’s Alright for Shelving

Posted on by bangscrafts

Father and daughter days are so great.  They go way back too.  Before I was in first grade and able to attend PSR, my dad and I spend Saturday mornings together when Mom and Molly were at PSR, as teacher and student, respectively.

There was this coffee shop in Mayfield Hts/Lyndhurst that was in a plaza behind another plaza, and it has a huge front window that looked onto the stage that they had against the back wall.  There was once, and one time only, a magician on that stage, but I think that sealed in my little 5 year old mind that the coffee shop was magical.  Real or magic or not, it was magical because of the memories it created.  Dad and I would play card games, mostly War or Go Fish!, because again, I was about 5.  I remember winning War against him on a couple occasions and feeling like a rock star.

The best thing about those mornings was radio’s predictability.  Every one of them “Saturday’s Alright for Fighting” would come on the radio, and dad would turn it up and lip sync animatedly to the lyrics.  To this day I think of those mornings when I hear that song.  Riding in a red Thunderbird with my awesome dad, blasting some Elton John gold.

The song wasn’t played this morning, but dad and I were up and at em bright and early this morning.  The most important part of any day is of course breakfast, which is another shared love of ours.  We arrived at Nick’s Diner on Lorain with bells on, and ordered specialties of the place, like breakfast champs.  After cleaning our plates with lip-smacking delight, we were fueled up and ready to go pick out some lumber.

Arriving at Cleveland Lumber was a bit of a dream come true for me.  I’ve passed it on multiple occasions, and I’ve been curious of what wonders it contains.  Going with my father, who is the reason I even think about lumber stores (let alone fantasize about them) is where the dream really takes flight.

Once we told the man behind the counter our shelving plans, my dad did some really impressive on the spot math, and we were pointed in the direction of the lumber garage.  Entering this area was a sight to behold, because it was eye to eye lumber, and two dozen some ginormous saws.  Two guys came in and asked what we needed, and in maybe 25 minutes we had everything cut and loaded into the car.

On the drive home my dad said, “they must have thought we were cute,” because that lumber store mostly sees big projects that take upwards or hours to cut and load.  Arriving back at my apartment, we got right to fitting the pieces together, which put my dad in the bedroom with a drill and sander and myself in the living room with a somewhat archaic hacksaw contraption called a Miter Saw.  I had to whittle down the tips of 3/8” dowel rods, then hack them into 1 ¼ pieces on the Miter Saw.  I wasn’t very good at it, and dad kept saying “by the time you’re done you’ll be an expert.”  That wasn’t untrue, except I do not think I will ever be a whittling expert, which held me back.

We finished the day off around 1:20 PM with some pretty damn perfect looking shelves.  We will live to fight another day, because we know how to keep killing it.

Optional information:

Playlist: Jamie N. Commons (download everything he has, we have to get that guy more famous ASAP in order for him to tour ASAP).

When not watering your plants is a blessing

Posted on by bangscrafts

Just a routine day in my life.  Stacks of pancakes and partaking in my family using up at least a whole quart of maple syrup to ourselves.  Getting a new phone that may end up making the whole talking to myself even a bit more dangerous.  Receiving a gift from my father from the comic-con he visited the day prior.  Listening to “Slow Ride” too loud while freeway driving with the windows down on the way home.  Deciding to hang said comic-con picture in a MacGyver-like fashion, which meant going into the basement to find some wire.

Going into the basement isn’t always the most convenient thing to do, since I have to go outside and then back in again to get there.  In most cases I try to do it when I’m just home and still wearing my shoes.  It is winter still, anyways.  Today’s unseasonable weather influenced my going down there in some floral PJ shorts and a light pull over sweatshirt with flip-flops.  I had opened all the windows in my living room/kitchen, and it was feeling nice and breezy in my apartment, so warm weather clothes were what was comfy.

I find the wire in seconds, because I have a strategically drawered system of organizing my wires, glues, tapes, tools, gadgets, and miscellany.  Grabbing the wire, not pocketing because I don’t have them currently, as to the reason why my phone wasn’t with me, and started my long trek back through the catacombs of my basement.

Opening the green door, a synch (since the WD-40 was applied to it)!  So getting to my door predicted the same experience.  But no, the bottom lock, the doorknob lock, won’t turn.  I think it hits me as a slight inconvenience at first, because I assume I’ll be able to wiggle it to open.  After a few tries I start to sort of freak out.  After a few minutes, I’m stressed out completely.  I leave the entrance way and exit the building, because I think, “well I have my car keys!” so I get in and once the engine is on, I realize what is it that I’m going to do from here?

Thinking that the door would fix itself with some time and space, learning it did not was a bit of a blow.  When I was outside I had surveyed my windows, realizing for the first time that if I jumped out of my kitchen window for one reason or another, it’d be a lot longer of a drop and a concrete landing more than I had been expecting.

There are alleyways that flank this building, and the one is a wide causeway for dogs and getting your mail by not walking all the way around the block.  The other (the one that my windows look out onto) is blocked off by what look like fence doors, that are nailed to posts keeping that line of dead plants and air units completely closed off.

I grabbed the one slightly loose board, threw my weight back, and pried the nails out of the wood.  I then pulled the frame back, making as much as a 7 inch opening with a lot of effort.  There were sticks, logs, prickers, mud, and a bed and breakfast next store to possibly witness everything I do.

There is an AC unit just to the right of my second living room window, and so I scramble and stomp my way through dead branches of plants until I am climbing on top of the thing.  I use my keys (now attached to my bra strap because of the pocket lacking situation) to jiggle up the screen, and push up the slightly ajar window.

I am a cactus person.  I’ve at most had 7 at once.   They are all kept on my windowsills, for sunlight reasons.  Once the window was open, gently as I could,  I knocked them all the the floor.  The sound of cute antique planters filled with dirt crashing to the ground is certainly a depressing one.

I am at an angle and about two feet lower than this window.  The closest thing to me is a gray box, concealing important modules, I’m certain.  Next is a small pewter pipe that is wrapped in black foam insulation.  Next are two PVC pipes, jutting out further than their predecessors.  Taking one foot, I judge the strength of each of them, having a very unique Goldilocks experience.

The last PVC pipe is the strongest, and with one bounce I hoist myself up using all the arm strength I  could muster into the tiny opening of my window, still moving things out of the way, and trying not to break the new chair I have sitting right beneath the windowsill as I dive into my apartment.

Once I am sitting on the ground surveying the mess I had made, panting to catch my breath, I look up at my front doorknob, and flick it off.

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Also, The Martian was watched shortly after this craziness.

My mama can dance, and my daddy does rock ‘n roll

Posted on by bangscrafts

My mom is pretty much my best friend, and there is little contestation in that.  (Except, as a friend pointed out, when it comes to my sister, my dad, or my sister in law).  I welcome the day with a “good morning” text to her; one of us always says goodnight before whichever of us heads to bed first.

On occasions people have asked me if I’m checking Facebook when I’m texting her.  For starters, I do not have Facebook, and I never have.  And since those circumstances, I have referred to my mother as my Facebook.  I told her that once and she sent me a blushy emoji face.

She is the most the most graceful person I know.  Whenever I have a tough conversation, or a bad day at work, I try to emulate her approach.  She invented devil’s advocate because there is always another side and usually it is important to see that.  My mother created in me someone who wants to be fair, to stand up for myself, but to also be patient and kind.

Mom and me

My dad is my dad.  He is exactly the exception of all the stupid He-Man bullshit the world puts out, while simultaneously being the most capable and coolest man possible.  He set the bar high, to put it simply.  When I was a kid all I wanted was to be exactly like him, even down to being an electrical engineer.

Once I hit the age where I realized literature was more my forte, I had to come to terms with being so different from my dreams.  But then I became an adult.  And I started asking to borrow the staple gun, or I got fed up with my landlord and I nailed down the floorboards myself.  It was a great day when I realized I become more like my father every one of them that I live.

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I hit the jackpot with these parent units o’ mine.  My favorite description of myself is that I am the perfect amalgamation of the two of them.  I have my mother’s beautification skills…with my dad’s power tools. 😉

Be still my heart, Home Depot

Posted on by bangscrafts

Growing up, my father would always tease my sister and I about going to Builders Square conferences that would last for hours and hours.  We would chime in union with our little voices saying “no daddy, no!!” and he would giggle.  Both Molly and I really detested hardware stores.  Molly was fearful of the fork lift, the floors were so gross, there was nothing to play with because, heck, it’s all pretty dangerous to 7 and 9 year old little girls.  The only fun was found in the kitchen furnishings department, where we could play in the model kitchenettes that we were in a house…and not in a hardware store.

Builder Square ceased to exist starting in 1999, and the Home Depot replaced the location we would always frequent.  I remember us all going and my dad was pretty bummed and leery, but it turned out to be the exact same thing, just with more orange.  Molly and I were still displeased.

I remember going to a movie once and afterwards my dad said we would just make a quick stop at the Lowe’s around the corner.  Lowe’s was pretty new (at least to our area) at the time, and upon walking in Molly exclaimed “ugh this is just Builders Square in disguise!”  My mom nearly busted up from laughter.

One day, something happened.  I cannot even specify what, but I needed something “home maintenancey” and I went to Home Depot, all on my own.

Since then, I have been smitten.  I walk through those aisles, and I see all the different Dremel bits, I peruse the coarseness of sandpaper blocks, I get particle board cut into appropriate sized pieces, I ask when the next shipment of joint compound will come in, I buy a whole brick of cellulose fiber insulation.

My favorite saying of mine is probably, “I am the perfect amalgamation of my parents.  I have my mother’s beautification skills and my father’s power tools.”

There is no culmination to a story pertaining to the Home Depot and me, because we are a love story that will endure.  And not that it matters, but my favorite color is orange.

I knew the oven was something to fear.

Posted on by bangscrafts

I have been cooking for three plus years now.  In my mind, on a professional level.  Ask my sister, she might agree.

Ask my ex-boyfriend how difficult it was to make a darn cucumber and cream cheese sandwich.  He used to insist on making them for me, based on how easily I would slice skin when trying to slice cucurbitaceae.

What you need to know is that when I was a non-descript young age, my wonderful father told me about how when he was stove-height, that the hot electric coils looked cozy, and he put his chin on them.  I’ve never seen my father without a beard, but that’s a scarring situation..

Ergo, I inherited a stove and oven fear.

Then I was destined to be in a relationship where I was forced to make food.  Up to being 22, I avoided the oven like the plague.  But how do you just sit idly by when the person you want to be with is only heating up circular bread with pasta sauce?  Especially when that’s one of your least favorites?!

My first meal cooked was something out of an easy cookbook Molly gave me.  My third recipe, I swear to god, were these veggie pesto eggrolls that my entire family hold me accountable for now.

I just want to remind you that I was initiated in the land of food by a horror story from my young father.

My mother can tell you much better about my fear; she would ask me to get things out of the oven in attempts to save me from what my fate at that time was sealing.

I suppose it takes dating a baby to realize how much of an adult you are.  Ex-boyfriend guy wanted to make a frozen pizza every night.

This post isn’t about him actually.  You know who it’s about?  It’s about me, and this great new person in my life named Otto.

Jims words

It’s actually mostly about the fact that I didn’t realize that my “warming drawer” is essentially just a drawer to being 400 degrees.

But I would also like to mention that I am clumsy as fuuuurrrk.

This amazing person I literally just met nearly took care of my finger better than I ever could.  First of all, how cool is it to meet a person who wants to do that?

Second is, how cool is it that you do not need help to live?  You just thrive on loving those who want to help you, and you wonder how you got so lucky to meet them.

Don’t place your chin on a stove.  Don’t finger hot hot pans.  Do be careful when you’re cutting gourds.  I am a great chef.  Please ask me advice on how to cook and not how to be hurt.