The Tolerability of a Prison is Directly Related to the Size of Your Cage

Now that B is back to work, Jersey spends more time alone during the day. As you can imagine, she has grown a bit and things that used to fit her no longer fit her.

Exhibit A:

Luckily we have her somewhat crate trained (except at night and that is a different story). However, she doesn't have much room to walk around. Spending 6-8 hours laying (or squatting) in a crate didn't sound like so much fun to B so he decided he was going to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

An idea was born.

B decided Jersey was going to get her own little area in the basement where she could walk around, chew things, and stretch her legs. The question, however, was how were we going to keep her down there? We have no basement door and we have shelves full of food that, given the chance and 8 hours of alone time, she could do a lot of damage.

Never one to back down from a challenge, B went to his favorite store and got a bunch of lumber. And a lattice looking fence thing:

That looks impressive. At least to me. B then spent quite a few nights sawing, pounding, but luckily not cursing. Tonight was the big reveal (although I had been peeking the whole time). Behold Jersey's new dog pen:

It is anchored to the wall and that pole (although B is going to anchor that side a little more. Her crate, if you look very hard, is way in the back. There is a lot of room for her to roam.

This is the door. It even has hinges.

So it can open:

Right now B is just working on securing it so Jersey cannot push it open and squeeze herself through like she does with the neighbor's fence outside.

This is a view from inside the pen:

Hopefully, Jersey will like her new hang out spot. She really only has to use it when we are gone. At least we won't feel too bad about keeping her locked up while we are at work. I have already told her it is just temporary anyhow.

I plan on winning the lottery.

It's Like If These Walls Could Talk, But it is a Person Telling the Story

You have heard the expression "if these walls could talk", haven't you? Actually, now when I hear that expression I think of the miniseries that was on HBO. There were two parts, the first part had to do with abortion in various periods of times and the second had to do with lesbianism over certain time periods. This post is about neither.

As I am sure you know if you are a regular reader of this blog, we love old homes. We love touring them, seeing them, living in them. We were completely thrilled that we actually have the original blueprints to our house and the original deeds dating back to when it was built in the 1930s.

Every so often we will hear stories about previous owners from our neighbors, especially the ones that didn't want us to get air, since they have lived here the longest. Usually the stories are about the couple we bought the house from and usually start with "That Mandy sure did like to drink..." Seriously, one day I am going to have to share some of the stories with you. They are too fun.

And every once in a while we we will hear about the couple before them. An older couple that lived here a while. The ones who planted all of our beautiful flowers around the house. But we don't know too much about them, mostly their name and they liked flowers. For blog purposes, I will call them the Bunkers. Why? I think it would be a hoot if Archie Bunker lived in my house. Well, as long as he didn't smoke that nasty cigar.

So, to the point, the other day B comes home and says "Guess who I met?" all excitedly. I have no clue. That man meets all kinds of people. Turns out he met the Bunkers' son. He was doing some work on the house across the street. So B forced him to come tour our house because he wanted answers about our kitchen. You know - the kitchen with the very tiny dishwasher, the weird cut out, and only one drawer? Yes, B demanded answers.

This is what he found out. The Bunkers always had their fridge in the weird cut out. Always.

We thought it might have been the stove area or a heater, but he confirmed it was the fridge. He also said that the ownes before us tore up cabinets, the counter, and A DRAWER to move the fridge over to the other area:

If I could find them, I think I might kill them. They removed storage to create nothing but space. Oh and to get a bigger fridge. Also? They put in that teeny tiny dishwasher. His parents always had a portable one. Now, I wouldn't want a portable one either, but it would seem to me maybe putting a full size one where the fridge is might be a better idea. But what do I know? I am just someone that doesn't like having to run the dishwasher EVERY day and sometimes twice. We own stock in Electrasol.

Another fun fact? The door on the right in this picture was completely covered when the Bunkers bought it. The whole room was *gasp* full of paneling. It wasn't until they looked at the blueprints that they realized there was a door there and opened it back up:

And this weird area in the basement? It was a bar area like some had predicted:

Also? We are only the FOURTH owners of this home. Before the Bunkers, the house was built for a big funeral home family in the area. They owned it, the Bunkers, the Schmidts, and then us. Fascinating.

B plans on framing the blueprints and putting them on the wall. I think he is a decorating genius.

*Yes, these are super old pictures of the house, but I am behind in updating you on our progress and didn't want to ruin any surprises.

It Really Isn't Easter Until You Have Insulted the Easter Bunny in a Passive-Aggressive Letter

Good things happen when computers break. It is true, just ask my Mom. Her computer broke about a month ago and it took about a week to fix. She said she would be okay. She was wrong. Toward the end of the week she started cleaning! Cleaning! I told the computer guy to put a rush on her computer. He got it to me the next day.

Good things come when your Mom's computer is broken and she starts cleaning. What good things? Oh maybe letters you wrote as a kid that she dug up from some old trunk in the garage that until that moment in time was mainly used as an indicator that your car was up as far as it could go. The trunk is kind of dented.

Good things come in letters written by children. Especially letters to the Easter Bunny. Do children even write letters to the Easter Bunny? Where do you send it? I need answers! I should have answers because as you can see below I wrote one myself. Wherever it was supposed to be sent, it obviously just went to my Mom. I don't mean to ruin the surprise, but I am pretty sure she was the Easter Bunny. Don't tell the children.

I would like to say I was very young when I wrote this. However, I signed my name in cursive. Also? It is quite deep for a child. Peruse for yourself:

In case you cannot read that clearly, it says:

Dear Easter Bunny,
I, Yesterday watched: the Easter Bunny is coming to town. It was cute, but some of it was scary. Have a Happy Easter. You know what Easter is really when Jesus died on the cross, not really eggs and other stuff like jelly beans and things. I think you shouldn't even come to kids houses because you know it's really to think about Jesus and when he died. But it's still fun having you.






And the second page...

My bedroom is a MESS. I still want you to come. I LOVE YOU.

Danielle

That, my friends, is the very definition of Catholic guilt. When your religious side clashes with your secular side at such a young age, there is nothing to do than to try to rectify it by insulting the Easter Bunny while inviting him into your messy bedroom. Just like the Catholic church. Or dating.

So, with that, I hope that the Easter Bunny visited your house, messy or not, and brought eggs and jelly beans and all that "stuff." Or, if you are religious, I hope you thought a lot about Jesus and his death.

But I hope he didn't visit your house literally. That would have the makings of a bad horror flick.*

*Is there such a thing as religious horror genre for films like a religious porn genre?**

**Wait. Is there a religious porn genre? Don't tell me if there is. I liked it better when I didn't know the answer.