There are three days left in the month and I’m three reviews behind. Even I’m in suspense over whether it’ll get done or if I’ll have to tack the balance on to the four planned for April. I’d like to say I’ve been busy with the Miami Open but that hasn’t been the case. Nor have I wallpapered the cottage; the special adhesive required for that task didn’t arrive until this evening. Instead, most of my spare time this week was spent unloading the dishwasher (Crankenstein’s been on a cooking spree, with an emphasis on pad woon sen) and staring sleepily into the distance.
It’s undoubtedly boring to read the same complaints again and again, so let’s skip past the usual “Argh, my neck!” and “Oy, I accidentally got paint all over myself yesterday because my hands went a little haywire!” razzmatazz. My big concern these past few days has been figuring out how to reorganize my home office so there’s space for both work and hobbies. Despite my best efforts, the cramped corner of the Grandma Suite is impractical for my needs — and Muriel’s.
Crankenstein’s ol’ buddy ‘Niles’ was concerned about Muriel being in chomping distance of miniature items and paints containing cadmium. For four or five weeks I toiled in the guest bedroom to help assuage those fears, but Muriel’s happier when we’re on the same floor of the house.* It’s probably also better for me to be closer to the kitchen as I attempt to reestablish an acceptable eating schedule. Food has fallen by the wayside lately whenever I’m immersed in something, even though I need to time my intake carefully for both j-pouch and levodopa reasons.
Sometimes I simply lose track of time and other times I’m aware that I should head to the kitchen. But there’s this feeling that overtakes me when I’m in the middle of something, whether it’s work or leisure: “Finish it now or you might never finish it at all.” (By which I mean other distractions will appear or fluctuating dopamine levels will intervene, not that the Grim Reaper’s lurking around the corner just waiting to spring out at me.) Overall, my caloric intake is fine. But my pants are getting looser and this pattern needs to be broken now, before it becomes a bad habit.
By this weekend I should have a hobby area set up in my office, and Muriel can doze in a nearby armchair while I go about my business. Anything that’s potentially hazardous to her will be done elsewhere or stored where she can’t reach it, which shouldn’t be too difficult due to her short stature and lack of thumbs. She has minimal interest in my new pastimes so far, anyway. This evening, while Crankenstein was at church and I worked on the following, Muriel snored on the couch.
Here you’ll find elements of several projects, and the little jar in the rear is Grandmother Stover’s Glue, the aforementioned adhesive. The van in the foreground is diorama-bound and the nail polish remover and Q-Tips were for getting rid of its red trim and fire department details so I can turn it into something else. The jumble of furniture is for the keeper’s cottage: I bought kits instead of finished products and have to stain and glue it all together. It seemed wise to verify that I knew how everything fit prior to getting started.
This handsome wardrobe was laser-cut, like the rest of its matching set, so one side of the wood is normal and the other’s a little crispy. I didn’t have all the boards facing in the right direction earlier since gluing is still a few days away, but loosened the clamp holding this together just enough to flip the wayward door so I could snap a better photo.
Here we have a scale fail: I wanted a choice of two dogs, a poodle or basenji, for the cottage, and purchased these half-scale figures and a pet bowl set from the same artist who made the resin couch hiding in the back of the first photo.** Though she tries to get everything as close to 1:24 as possible, the standard poodle and the bowl look mismatched. (The basenji is on its stomach; if you picture it standing, the bowls are moderately closer to accurate.) I’m not sure what color to paint the poodle. My heart says apricot or silver-beige, but that might trigger Muriel by reminding her of Pepper, an arch-nemesis from our old neighborhood.
And now I need to wrap this up because — insert either a drumroll and Ed McMahon chuckle or a sad trombone here, whatever you prefer — I’ve again neglected to eat and my stomach is growling.
* On the advice of her vet, we try to keep her away from stairs.
** Only one will make the cut. Otherwise the basenji would eat the poodle.