The thing about renovations is that nobody ever tells you the thing about renovations until it is too late. Someone should write a book entitled The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Renovations for people like me who have no business renovating anything in the first place. I could put everything my husband and I know about renovations inside a pecan shell and still have room left over.
That being said, I’d like to pitch my latest idea for the book (see above) that is going to make me a gazillionaire. Please bear with me as I’m still learning about the subject while laboring through the tedious process of trying to re-create a Better Homes and Garden magazine page right here in my own home. Actually it is a Lowe’s Creative Ideas magazine page, but it doesn’t really matter whose magazine page I am using as my guide. I am still a complete idiot when it comes to renovations. I’ve just decided to write a book about it and get rich so I don’t ever, ever, ever have to do this again.
Chapter 1: Getting Ready
Counting the cost before beginning a project is imperative. You will continue counting the cost throughout the entire project. But counting before beginning is what the experts advise. It is simply one of those things that should be done just because they said so. In reality, the figure you arrive at is merely an idea, which is what got you in this mess to start with. Somebody had an idea. Am I confusing you? Embrace that feeling because it will be with you for a long time. Here is the bottom line for complete idiots: To estimate the cost means you are coming up with an approximate cost which is nearly correct which is to say it is almost correct but not quite. It’s the not quite part that’s going to get you. But wait—there’s more!
Chapter 2: Getting Set
Any idiot knows that the job will be easier if all the necessary tools and supplies are readily at hand. So write out a list, check it twice and make sure the gas tank is full. The most important part of this step is topping off the gas tank. This is because you will not in a million years get everything you need in the first trip or by visiting one store. Make up your mind right now: this is going to require the equivalent of a road trip around the entire world to secure every last item on the list. A lot of gas will be required for this step, so maybe I should have called it “Fill ‘er Up”. Oh, and don’t forget to add the cost of gas to the estimate you created in Chapter 1.
Chapter 3: Getting Started
“Any task is hard when you do it by the yard, but it becomes a cinch when you do it by the inch”. This quote is a lie from the pits of hell. It should read “This is hard”. You will, in fact, get started about 623 times. This is because the first 622 times you are just learning how not to do it. It is true that by the time you are finished you will be an expert, but only on this particular step. Trust me when I tell you that there are many, many steps which must be started, learned and accomplished. This becomes a time issue and should also be figured into the estimate equation. By now, you should have thrown away a minimum of two estimates, if you even still care what it’s going to cost.
Chapter 4 Getting Mad
This is the most important chapter in the book. I say this because everyone has anger lurking just beneath the surface. Forget going to a counselor. All you really need to bring the anger issues out into the open is a good home renovations project. One day the final straw will be laid on the camel’s back, the other shoe will drop, or the red will fall right off your candy. And just like that, you will find out what you are mad about and so will the rest of the world. The money you saved by not going to the counselor will come in handy as you will now have to replace what you have broken during your ranting rave. This does not need to be included in the estimate (chapter 1) because you didn’t see this one coming. Also, you used money that you had never spent in the first place by not going to the counselor. If you work it just right, you might be able to count this in the plus column. But what do I know. I am an angry idiot.
Chapter 5 Getting Help
When you reach this point in the book you are almost finished with your renovations project. I know this is true because as soon as the professionals arrive, you can stop working and let them do the job the way it was supposed to have been done in the first place. They are professionals because they have done this before which means they have already completed the 622 step learning process and that is why they are called professionals. It is also why they charge three times the amount of the estimate you created in Chapters 1, 2 and 3. However you will not begrudge paying them three times the amount of your original estimate because you now realize the complete value of their services.
Chapter 6 Getting Over It
The project is complete and now it is time to kick back and enjoy the fruit of your efforts. Yes, it’s time for a much needed vacation. So pack up your paper plates and head to the back yard for a picnic because that is all you can afford for the next five years. Be sure and take a magazine along for entertainment. You never know when a good idea will make itself known, and who am I to stand in the way of a complete idiot and her dream?
If you enjoyed this book idea you will be happy to know I have other Idiot Guide ideas in process. Which means I'm trying things I've never tried before. You know...as in "honey, I have an idea". See Chapter 1 for more information.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
7.09.2009
Ya'll Come...
It was yet another funeral in the tiny white church that has watched over many Stephenson comings and goings. I am always amazed at the size of our family. Even though the church is small, most families would fill a row or two, or at the most 4 or 5 and all the aunts, uncles and cousins would be included in the procession. Not so with the Stephensons. For us they mark off at least half the church and then make sure that only the closest of the closest kin is seated. Even with all that effort there will not be room if everyone shows up.
After the service, we filed out into the graveyard where the rest of the family lies waiting for us to come to them. I’ve never been one much for graveyards and tombstones. The whole idea terrifies me. But this day was a little different. Due to a pressing personal issue for which I had no answers, I really wanted to talk to my mother in law. Don’t get excited. I do not have conversations with dead people and I’m well aware of how God feels about that. I was simply feeling the need to talk to Shirley. We buried her way too early and I didn’t get the chance to mine from her all the information I needed about taking care of the boys (a story for another day).
While the graveside service continued, I kept looking around trying to find her. Just about the time I had convinced myself that I must be standing on top of my beloved mother-in-law, my husband came to the rescue by pointing out her stone. After breathing a sigh of relief, it then took every ounce of self control I could muster not to leave the group of mourners and fling myself on Shirley’s grave. I know, I know. I sound like a lunatic. But raising children will do that to you.
You will be relieved to know I kept my senses and stayed with the normal people. I suppose I realized that I already knew what Shirley would tell me and somehow in that moment it seemed to be enough. In a way I turned a page right then and there in my little situation. I knew what I knew and it would have to see me through. Suddenly I became desperate for a breath of fresh air and humor. Funerals have a way of taking the fun out of living if you know what I mean.
As we turned from the grave and walked towards the Fellowship Hall, we ran into the funeral director. A long-time friend of our family, he reached out to greet us with a hand-shake. Without warning, humor bobbed to the surface like a pond turtle gasping for air. As the director reached out to take my hand he exclaimed how good it was to see us all again. He then issued the one-liner for the day: “Ya’ll come see us real soon”. Before I could think twice I responded “I’m sure we all will”. In a split second his comment opened my eyes to the obvious- this group was thinning out and my generation was next in line for the trip. Indeed, we’ll see ya’ real soon!
I’m still chuckling over the invitation from my funeral director friend and also hoping he didn’t hear my reply. I’m ready to “go” but I’m not really feeling the love for actually going.
Between now and the time I “go”, I’m not going to invest a great amount time worrying about how to avoid the funeral home or my friend the director. The visit is inevitable. The challenge is to be as alive as I know how in every second of my time-sensitive story. I don’t know how many trips around the sun remain for me, but I intend to squeeze everything I can into and out of this gift of earthly time travel.
The ideal trip will be filled with changes and challenges, victories and defeats, questions and answers or questions without answers, and of course laughter and tears. My mind is set on seizing every day and living fully into the gift that it offers.
When the end comes, and it will you know, I pray that someone who has read this article will call my family and have them bring in the Grand Ole’ Opry singers to perform what I now believe is the perfect funeral song: “Ya’ll come”. Yep, it’s a real song. And a fitting end for one like me who relishes finding humor in very strange places. It kind of breaks up the day you know.
Ya’ll come now. Can’t wait to see ya’!
(Carolyn’s Dare: Follow this link to hear my new favorite funeral song and try to imagine the reaction-or perhaps revival-that might happen if my family is brave enough to follow through on my dare) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXBK7sTvsTI
After the service, we filed out into the graveyard where the rest of the family lies waiting for us to come to them. I’ve never been one much for graveyards and tombstones. The whole idea terrifies me. But this day was a little different. Due to a pressing personal issue for which I had no answers, I really wanted to talk to my mother in law. Don’t get excited. I do not have conversations with dead people and I’m well aware of how God feels about that. I was simply feeling the need to talk to Shirley. We buried her way too early and I didn’t get the chance to mine from her all the information I needed about taking care of the boys (a story for another day).
While the graveside service continued, I kept looking around trying to find her. Just about the time I had convinced myself that I must be standing on top of my beloved mother-in-law, my husband came to the rescue by pointing out her stone. After breathing a sigh of relief, it then took every ounce of self control I could muster not to leave the group of mourners and fling myself on Shirley’s grave. I know, I know. I sound like a lunatic. But raising children will do that to you.
You will be relieved to know I kept my senses and stayed with the normal people. I suppose I realized that I already knew what Shirley would tell me and somehow in that moment it seemed to be enough. In a way I turned a page right then and there in my little situation. I knew what I knew and it would have to see me through. Suddenly I became desperate for a breath of fresh air and humor. Funerals have a way of taking the fun out of living if you know what I mean.
As we turned from the grave and walked towards the Fellowship Hall, we ran into the funeral director. A long-time friend of our family, he reached out to greet us with a hand-shake. Without warning, humor bobbed to the surface like a pond turtle gasping for air. As the director reached out to take my hand he exclaimed how good it was to see us all again. He then issued the one-liner for the day: “Ya’ll come see us real soon”. Before I could think twice I responded “I’m sure we all will”. In a split second his comment opened my eyes to the obvious- this group was thinning out and my generation was next in line for the trip. Indeed, we’ll see ya’ real soon!
I’m still chuckling over the invitation from my funeral director friend and also hoping he didn’t hear my reply. I’m ready to “go” but I’m not really feeling the love for actually going.
Between now and the time I “go”, I’m not going to invest a great amount time worrying about how to avoid the funeral home or my friend the director. The visit is inevitable. The challenge is to be as alive as I know how in every second of my time-sensitive story. I don’t know how many trips around the sun remain for me, but I intend to squeeze everything I can into and out of this gift of earthly time travel.
The ideal trip will be filled with changes and challenges, victories and defeats, questions and answers or questions without answers, and of course laughter and tears. My mind is set on seizing every day and living fully into the gift that it offers.
When the end comes, and it will you know, I pray that someone who has read this article will call my family and have them bring in the Grand Ole’ Opry singers to perform what I now believe is the perfect funeral song: “Ya’ll come”. Yep, it’s a real song. And a fitting end for one like me who relishes finding humor in very strange places. It kind of breaks up the day you know.
Ya’ll come now. Can’t wait to see ya’!
(Carolyn’s Dare: Follow this link to hear my new favorite funeral song and try to imagine the reaction-or perhaps revival-that might happen if my family is brave enough to follow through on my dare) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXBK7sTvsTI
6.13.2009
The Fleas are Loose
I absolutely love my two sisters-in-law. They are in fact the sisters I never had. Although distance prevents us from visiting often, it seems as though we have never been separated at all when we find time to be together. Last night was a great example of this truth.
We met for a family dinner in honor Amanda's graduation. Amanda belongs to Lisa, my husband's baby sister. The whole evening was a hoot for me. Our conversations dip and dive and loop and tumble. We differ so greatly on politics that it would seem dangerous ground for us. Danger Shmanger. Politician's names and intentional jabs roll off our tongues with little censorship. We never worry about fighting simply because we all have the attention span of tiny little gnats when we are together. If you can wait a nano-second the conversation will buzz off into a different direction altogether.
As usual, the story of the evening came from Diane. Her latest escapade involved a trip to the beach for the reunion of Zach's seventies band The Galaxy Goldrush. I am not making this up. Even though they only played VFDs and VFWs, this group has groupies. Well, only two groupies. But that counts! After all these years and no hit songs, the Galaxy Goldrush has groupies!
But the phrase that will live forever was the one liner Diane delivered while telling about the trip to the emergency room oh my goodness what are we going to do with the dog story. On the way back home, Zack had a medical emergency and they had to stop at the ER. The dog (which they soon realized was sitting in the back seat) got picked up by a friend (and oh yes, one of the groupies came to visit Zack in the hospital). When Diane went to pick up the dog it was covered in fleas. Turns out that the place they were staying had succumbed to an infestation of fleas. Only that's not how Diane described it. Her exact words were the fleas were loose. I can't remember anything else about the story once that line was dropped. It created for me an image of nervously high strung fleas being kept in a corral when suddenly, someone left the gate unlocked and they got loose!
This story probably isn't funny to you at all. That's okay. I'm still laughing just thinking about all the fleas running loose in the world.
My point is this: We all need a Diane in our lives. Someone who will declare to the world "the fleas are loose". The Dianes of the world are the ones who keep us sane by bursting into our insane worlds with rightly timed humor. In doing so, they save us from ourselves. And perhaps they save us from taking anything in this life too seriously.
After all, the fleas are loose. And who knows where they will strike next.
We met for a family dinner in honor Amanda's graduation. Amanda belongs to Lisa, my husband's baby sister. The whole evening was a hoot for me. Our conversations dip and dive and loop and tumble. We differ so greatly on politics that it would seem dangerous ground for us. Danger Shmanger. Politician's names and intentional jabs roll off our tongues with little censorship. We never worry about fighting simply because we all have the attention span of tiny little gnats when we are together. If you can wait a nano-second the conversation will buzz off into a different direction altogether.
As usual, the story of the evening came from Diane. Her latest escapade involved a trip to the beach for the reunion of Zach's seventies band The Galaxy Goldrush. I am not making this up. Even though they only played VFDs and VFWs, this group has groupies. Well, only two groupies. But that counts! After all these years and no hit songs, the Galaxy Goldrush has groupies!
But the phrase that will live forever was the one liner Diane delivered while telling about the trip to the emergency room oh my goodness what are we going to do with the dog story. On the way back home, Zack had a medical emergency and they had to stop at the ER. The dog (which they soon realized was sitting in the back seat) got picked up by a friend (and oh yes, one of the groupies came to visit Zack in the hospital). When Diane went to pick up the dog it was covered in fleas. Turns out that the place they were staying had succumbed to an infestation of fleas. Only that's not how Diane described it. Her exact words were the fleas were loose. I can't remember anything else about the story once that line was dropped. It created for me an image of nervously high strung fleas being kept in a corral when suddenly, someone left the gate unlocked and they got loose!
This story probably isn't funny to you at all. That's okay. I'm still laughing just thinking about all the fleas running loose in the world.
My point is this: We all need a Diane in our lives. Someone who will declare to the world "the fleas are loose". The Dianes of the world are the ones who keep us sane by bursting into our insane worlds with rightly timed humor. In doing so, they save us from ourselves. And perhaps they save us from taking anything in this life too seriously.
After all, the fleas are loose. And who knows where they will strike next.
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