Ben Folds

Though Ben Folds Five has been creating music together since 1995, I never really took notice of them until last night. A friend of mine (Kellie) had an extra ticket to see Ben Folds perform at DPAC and invited me. Let’s just say that Ben Folds was really unfamiliar territory for me. I wasn’t ecstatic to see them perform. I didn’t recognize a single song of theirs on iTunes. I guess I spent too much of the ’90s listening to Mariah Carey and Celine Dion – that and hard-core gangster rap. You think I’m kidding.
We got to the venue right on time, unsure if there would be a cover band. There were two. Miniature Tigers was the first band. Straight out of Phoenix, they have been touring with Ben Folds since Feb. 11 of this year. The band is comprised of 4 members and they rocked out in ’80s sweaters and skinny jeans. I loved their music, not so much the lead singer’s voice though.
The next opening act was a big surprise and delight: the Carolina women’s a cappella group, the Loreleis. I am a huge dork and admittedly love anything that involves “Carolina” and “a cappella” in the same sentence. They were awesome. Beautiful, chills-up-the-spine, pitch perfect voices. I’ll go buy their CD as well. Their connection to Ben Folds: Ben Folds is working with 18 a cappella groups across the country to produce an album featuring the band’s songs, performed a cappella of course.

Camera phone photo of Ben Folds Five at DPAC.
Sorry – it leaves a little too much to the imagination.

Ben Folds Five eventually took their spots on stage, to face a hungry, fanatical, wildly interactive and drunk crowd. I loved just about every song they performed. Ben Folds plays the piano with extreme talent, precision, and speed. His fingers must hurt today. He is an amazing artist. He writes the songs, the music, the lyrics, he can sing and play multiple instruments. I’m awed by his dorky talent. His band plays an unruly range of instruments from drums to bass to guitar to French horn to maracas to the tambourine. They are a pleasure to see perform live.
Ben was a great storyteller as well. He talked about how they create “fake” tracks and leak them on the internet before the album is out to create a buzz. Sometimes fans like the fake tracks better than the real tracks, he joked but then played one anyway. They write the fake tracks in an hour and record them in one short session; they aren’t supposed to be any good. Yet they still are.
He spoke about how their newest album (Way to Normal) was named after its title track “Way to Normal,” which didn’t even make it onto the album. Not that that matters much to him.
Instead of buying expensive synthesizers to tweak the sound of his grand piano, he placed a tin of Altoids on the second strut to create a new sound. The result was magical as well.
This guy is just all around a quirky and gifted artist. I regret not listening to him sooner.

The parking lot conundrum

At work every morning I pull in to the lower parking lot (where us lesser than employees are required to park) at 9:00 a.m. sharp. The walk through the parking lot, up two flights of stairs, through the warehouse, and to the time clock takes no less than 4 very breathless minutes. After making it to the time clock safely, a 2-minute walk to my desk still awaits – all for a grand total of a long 6-minute walk into work.
I say all this to preface my next story.
While 6 minutes doesn’t seem painfully long it actually is, particularly when you are spending all 6 endless minutes walking with a coworker you barely know, or even worse, one you barely like. There is always an odd tension. What is there to talk about besides work or the weather? It is always very forced conversation during a time when most people are just waking up, collecting their thoughts and wishing for one last moment of silence before plunging into the workday.
Every day, as soon as I pull into the parking I scan for other cars pulling in at the same time. What I have begun to notice is that there is always a tug of disappointment when someone arrives at the same time as I do. I dread the walk in (not always, but dependent on the person). I get the notion that the feeling of dread is mutual. The person in the other car also hates the idea of walking in with someone else.
What ensues is a game of cat and mouse. One person lingers in their car, finishing up an early phone call, collecting their belongings, or adjusting their coat and mittens. The other person jumps out of their car and makes a mad dash to the door. It becomes a race to put as much distance as possible between the two people. Remember, the goal is to avoid walking in to work together.
It happened this morning. I pulled in right after another employee, one that has an obvious and unwarranted distaste for me. She parked, then I parked. We made eye contact. I figured she’d hustle out of her car and scurry up the steps. She didn’t. I feared I might actually have to walk in with her. There was no way I was going to make it out of my car before she did. But she kept sitting there feigning busy! I was saved. I breezed out my Honda and up the steps, making it – albeit very out of breath – to the time clock in a record 1.5 minutes. My morning walk salvaged.
And that’s the story of how it begins, each and every day.

You ate what?!

In my previous post I wrote about Anthony Bourdain eating some crazy food (rattlesnake, anus). My friend Kristin informed me that the anus he ate was more specifically boar’s anus. This got me to thinking: what gross and unusual things have I eaten…
Some people’s gross consumption habits include odd combinations of ingredients – things that would be considered disgusting and unusual. For example, my friend Pam combines cooked Lipton noodle soup with ketchup and cinnamon – gross and unusual indeed. My friend Bridget used to eat saltine crackers topped with jelly or mustard. In college I knew a guy who drank a concoction of 6 raw eggs and Tabasco sauce every morning. I don’t really get my kicks from odd combinations so much as from bizarre foods, and even those are few and far between, mostly due to the heightened expense of obtaining them.
Some of the most disgusting things I have eaten include: eel (usually encased in a roll of sushi), sweetbreads (thymus glands of a cow), escargot (snails, typically drenched in butter and garlic), cow’s tongue (I’m surprised I did this at the young age of 11), alligator, paté (a paste of liver and fat), foie gras (fatty duck liver), oysters, and pork belly.
I’m willing to try most anything at least once. Even something like fried grasshoppers or monkey brain stew. What’s important to me is the quality of the preparation, not necessarily the ingredients. I say that, though I probably wouldn’t eat Italy's Casu Frazigu Cheese, a.k.a. rotten or maggot cheese. Well, that or boar’s anus. Or any anus for that matter. But to each his own.

A chef visits Durham

For part of Hubby’s Christmas present this year I got him tickets to see Anthony Bourdain live at the new Durham Performing Arts Center (DPAC). Hubby is a big fan of Bourdain’s. He has read “Kitchen Confidential,” “A Cook’s Tour,” and “The Nasty Bits,” all works written by Bourdain that highlight life in the kitchen. I think for hubby, Bourdain is someone he can relate to, someone who tells it like it is, someone who doesn’t glamorize the culinary world. Before the show, I knew almost nothing about Bourdain except that he was a chef storyteller that spared no dirty details.
Hubby and I raced to Mellow Mushroom for dinner before the show. It was well worth the 30-minute wait. I ordered a build-your-own green pepper, onion and green olive pizza. I saved the crusts in a napkin to sneak in to the show so that I could eat them like popcorn. It was genius.

A slice of delish pizza from Mellow Mushroom.

Pizza crusts make the perfect snacks to sneak in to a show.

We practically ran to DPAC after dinner (I still have the shin splints to prove it) and got to our seats about 10 minutes before the show started. We were seated in the lower balcony. It’s true what DPAC says about every seat feeling close to the stage. Bourdain came out, a little heavier and older looking than on his book jackets, but lively and well spoken as was expected.
We hadn’t been there more than 15 minutes when it became obvious that most of the audience was fans of Bourdain’s Food Network show “Chef’s Tour” and his Travel channel show “No Reservations,” not of his books. A lot of the performance was Bourdain rehashing events and episodes from “No Reservations.” All the stories were extremely entertaining, most involving intoxicated evenings abroad, unthinkably repulsive meals, explanations of why he hates Rachel Ray, and much cussing. Actually, the only Foot Network icon he didn’t bash was the Barefoot Contessa (Ina Garten).
Bourdain goes with the flow when in foreign territory. It can often be seen as rude not to. So in Russia, when the Russians drank 14 shots of heavy duty vodka over dinner, Bourdain complied with the custom as well. He’s eaten rattlesnake and, dare I say it, anus (I forgot from which animal, but does it really matter?). Bourdain admits he should be grateful for his success and for every inedible hurdle that perpetuates it.

Inside the new Durham Performing Arts Center.

Anthony Bourdain. No you can't actually see him because they don't allow cameras and I couldn't use a flash. But it was worth a try.

The show was rather short and afterward we headed with friends over to Revolution, Chef Jim Anile’s new hotspot downtown. We lingered at the bar for an hour, sipping drinks and not so secretly hoping Bourdain would walk through the doors. He never showed and thus, we headed home after a wonderfully, well-rounded evening out.

The bar at Revolution. Can't wait to eat dinner here one evening.

Feeling hot hot hot!

I realize that in past blog postings I wrote about hubby and I trying to figure out where to go on vacation this year. I went on and on about places within the US that would be excellent destinations. Hubby and I were both pleased with the idea of Maine in April, taking a tour of a few cities and setting up camp at various Bed and Breakfasts.
Honestly hubby seemed very distant from the whole decision process. His heart wasn’t in it, mostly because he wanted to travel internationally. But I kept reminding him we needed to be cheap. The flights to Maine were very cheap. But the accommodations were not.
As thoughts of Maine faded I began to desperately crave somewhere hot, with clear blue waters. I didn’t want to travel somewhere cold, which Maine would have been. Hubby was completely agreeable and so began a search for warm destination travel. We looked into the Keys, Mexico, Destin, a cruise, and the Dominican Republic all before narrowing down our search to Jamaica.
Jamaica is very affordable, especially in mid-April. We booked a Breezes All-Inclusive resort for 5 nights and I couldn’t be more happy. Thoughts of white sands, lush tropical foliage and crystal clear water makes me smile. It also reminds me of the one trip I’ve taken to Jamaica with my family in the mid ‘90s.
We were aboard a Carnival cruise ship during one of our annual summer trips with the Andersons (friends from New York). The cruise ship docked at Jamaica for the day, and we took an excursion to Dunn’s River Falls (a set of pretty intense waterfalls that the public is invited to hike up).
I dug up some old photos for proof. Enjoy!

Jamaican residents trying to make a living. I hear they've gotten even more persistent and annoying since I last visited.

My sister Melissa (far left), me (middle), Jennifer Anderson (far right), Tricia Anderson (front and center). How do you like those outfits! We sure did. If you can manage to look beyond that whale of a man taking a video, the water sure is pretty.

Lush foliage and small waterfall.

Ahhhh, the Dunn's River Falls.

I'm sitting in the middle of the photo, looking absolutely whiny and miserable. My dad is to the right of me. He had just fallen and was trying to get his shit together. I didn't attempt to comfort him. I just sat there and pouted because I was scared of falling. Sorry Dad.

Ode to pot roast

Ever since a few days ago when my dear friend Jeni posted a blog featuring a delicious-looking pot roast she had cooked, I myself have been salivating for one. Though I’ve kept this fact to myself, somehow hubby read my mind. I came home from work tonight to a fragrant, meat-and-potatoes kitchen and was happy to see a piping hot pot roast pulled out of the oven. It was delectable – tender juicy meat, savory carrots, onions, and potatoes swimming in rich broth, crispy french bread to dip in the remaining jus. I devoured every last crumb in partial humiliation as hubby’s plate sat across the room still full of food. That’s how much I love pot roast.

Hubby's Tuesday night pot roast creation

My infatuation with this hearty dish goes way back. It is my #1 favorite dish of my mother’s. When I was growing up, my mom would make a feast of pot roast about once a month. Pot roast suppers far surpassed any others, although I did thoroughly enjoy her roasted turkey frozen dinners with mashed potato and gravy volcanoes.
The preparation for pot roast began early in the day. I can still smell the aroma of the contents of that giant steel pot simmering on the stove, in it one solitary bay leaf dancing in the frantic churning bubbles.
Beside the giant steel pot rested another equally important pot, holding the highly-anticipated Uncle Ben’s white rice. My mom’s rice is without a doubt the best rice in the entire world. Creamy, fluffy, plump grains coated in just enough butter and black pepper. Cooking rice always required a specific pot. This pot was not shiny and silver but instead brown and ecru striped, characterized by a curving lip at its top. This pot was straight from the ’70s and it was ONLY used for rice. Rice made in any other pot would have probably amounted to nothing short of tragic.
I would sneak peeks of the pot roast throughout the afternoon, impatiently awaiting my dinner, which would take place promptly at 5:30 pm. I don’t recall ever eating later than that. I even enjoyed plating my dish once we were called in for supper. Selecting the juiciest pieces of meat, watching it fall apart in front of me. Fishing for the biggest chunks of carrot. Pouring the sauce on my fluffy pile of rice. Every last bit of the process made this dish my favorite.
Though I dearly miss my mother’s preparation of the dish, I am ever grateful to have married a pot-roast-loving man. Especially one that can cook the dish well enough to evoke taste bud memories from an earlier time.

College athletes

For Valentine’s weekend – an occasion for which hubby and I are atypically unromantic – we drove to Winston-Salem to meet up with our friends (Bridget and Tim) from Morganton. We booked our Friday night stay at the Marriott downtown and both headed out of work a little early to check in by 7 pm.
Even with our attempts to completely ignore the Hallmark holiday, the stay ended up being reasonably romantic.
The hotel itself was top notch. A u-shaped driveway teeming with valet staff, a grandiose marble entrance stocked with eager bellhops and clerks, a king-size bed overflowing with no less than 6 crisp, fluffy pillows, and a bathroom supplied with Bath-and-Body-Works personal care products.
We all changed into fancy clothes for dinner and met in the hotel bar for drinks before heading out to our 8 o’clock dinner reservation at the Old Fourth Street Filling Station.
While waiting for the valet to pull our car up, we all silently noticed a very tall handsome basketball-player looking guy to our left. Bridget and I additionally noticed the girl he was with (we were both jealous of how skinny she was in her jeans).
As we piled into the car, we started talking about this couple, about how pretty the girl was and about how the guy must be a basketball player. Tim said he recognized him as one of the players for Wake Forest. Tim also said that when the Wake Forest player pulled out his wallet to pay the valet, he shuffled through a stack of hundred dollar bills.
This began a discussion about how the money was probably given to him by rich supporters, fans and sponsors. Hubby said this type of thing happens all the time, mostly because people feel bad for athletes because they can’t have jobs during the season, so they assume they are broke. I personally have never had sympathy for college athletes, nor will I ever.
We went on to have a wonderful dinner of Brie in croute, crab dip, calamari, Brie and spinach stuffed chicken, seafood ravioli, jambalaya, and rib eye. We drank a Chateau Ste. Michelle “Indian Wells” Merlot and a Luigi Bosca Malbec Reserva from Argentina.

Visit from my sister and niece (Magpie) at the Hanes Mall on Saturday morning.

After a brief Saturday morning shopping excursion to the Hanes mall, hubby and I headed back to Durham to work an evening shift at an event at UNC’s Kenan Center. We were servers at the UNC Women’s Soccer Team Banquet, celebrating their 2008 National Championship title.
But what I found quite coincidental was that before the program began, as us worker bees were setting up tables and linens and place settings, we noticed a man enter the room. He was rather old and feeble and he made a beeline to one of the soccer team assistants. We overheard the old man say, “I’ve got some extra cash I was gonna give to the girls. You don’t mind do you?”
The assistant replied with professionalism, basically saying he could have no part in that and couldn’t support it.
I just thought it interesting to run into this instance of giving money to athletes twice in one weekend. If it doesn’t happen, as so many people will argue, then why did I see proof of it twice in two days?

Photos of the Day

If you have a blog and you have pets, it is crucial to occasionally post photos of them just for the hell of it. This morning Jean (aka Miss Little Bitty) was gloriously sunning herself on her cat ledge beneath the window. It was a beautiful sight. Thus, a small photo shoot ensued.

"Oh, it's such a hard life being a cat."

"Why are you looking at me? I should charge for this."

"Well, I guess just a few more photos...since you're already here."

Then Pinto (aka The Big old boy) got jealous and made a point to rub against my legs and pose beneath me to divert attention from Jean.

"Please look at me mommy."

"I'm all yours...just take a few photos."

"Gosh I'm so handsome. You know you can't get enough of me."

Gaping sidewalk holes

Within the last 2 weeks, hubby and I have noticed some work being done throughout the neighborhood, with a particular focus on the sidewalks. It has grown increasingly more obtrusive, as we now how to leap over the giant gaping holes in the sidewalk while on our morning walks with Paxton the dog. (I will admit though that Paxton has thoroughly enjoyed going potty on the newly shoveled piles of dirt and concrete.)
We can’t quite figure out what the purpose of the construction is. It seems the construction team has created about 4 or 5 sets (within a half mile stretch of sidewalk) of square holes. In front of each hole is a new ramp.
I first thought maybe they were new driveways. But there is no space for new houses behind them. Then we thought, maybe they are planning fire hydrants. But the gaping holes have been placed in close proximity to already existing fire hydrants. Perhaps maybe they are sewage grates or maybe they will help route runoff water.
Obviously, since there is more than one point of construction, the focus is not on one particular problem spot. Instead the work appears to be a more general upgrade of sorts.
Either way, in an economy such as this, we are a little turned off by the seemingly unnecessary allocation of funds. Hopefully in the near future we will discover the purpose of this project and how it will improve the quality of life in our neighborhood. (And yes, we do have a neighborhood association, though it is very inactive and will be 100% as clueless as us.)

A religious ride

I spent a portion of my day Sunday traveling to Henderson (40 minutes north of Durham) to meet one of Debbie’s (my mother-in-law’s) oldest friends (Danny) she knew from Memphis. It was kind of a Facebook miracle that they reconnected.
We attended Danny’s Sunday church service and then headed to a local Mexican restaurant for brunch. Over the course of chips and salsa and three hearty chicken enchiladas, I was entertained with stories of the two of them from 30 years ago. One story stuck out in particular: the bus ministry.
Danny and Debbie used to drive a bus around town, knock on doors and ask families if they could borrow their children! The kids would get on the bus and I assume Debbie and Danny would teach Bible lessons and give their testimonies, etc. Debbie said the parents were eager to allow their kids to ride the “ministry bus.” At the end of the day it came down to how many “riders” had been saved. Debbie and Danny had to reach a certain quota. And according to them, they usually always met that.
Here’s how…
At the beginning of the bus ride, Danny would promise that if the kids committed themselves to Christ, or at least behaved well while on the ministry bus, he would perform some totally unnatural feat that any kid would deem amazing. This usually involved people getting to throw pies in his face…stunts such as that. He was known for his promise to eat a goldfish. At the end of the bus ride, he’d throw his head back, open his mouth wide, and have someone toss a goldfish into his mouth. Yes, he swallowed. Sounds like a guy willing to take one for the team. He is definitely a guy who loves children (he has 4 of his own).
I was very relieved when nearing the end of this story, Danny said, “Yeah, I can’t believe parents actually allowed their kids to ride around on a bus with strangers all day.”
Negative me; I thought I was the only person at the table thinking the worst. I mean, times have really changed. No person in this day and age would remotely consider allowing their child on a bus with strangers for the day.
But I guess therein lays the beauty of the story.

Do you hear what I hear?

Living in Durham has made me very aware of my surroundings. When my mother first learned of my intentions to move to Durham she wasn’t very happy. Let’s be honest – Durham has a reputation (one that I’d like to say is slowly changing for the better).
Unfortunately, only 3 short days after moving into our Durham neighborhood, police cars and yellow tape surrounded a house about a half-mile from ours. It ended up that the homeowner was shot to death, his body rolled up in a carpet and left on his couch for the authorities to find. Word around the water cooler at work was that this guy was a heavy-duty drug dealer. While he had surveillance around most exterior areas of his home, his live-in girlfriend decided to let the burglars in the one entrance that didn’t have a camera upon it. Her plan was to let them “steal” his drugs and drug money, and then ditch her boyfriend once he was dead. She was never seen again after the accident. Or so I’ve been told.
Needless to say, my mom was certainly unhappy to learn of this catastrophe. Nothing has happened since. The worst thing that has occurred in the neighborhood since the murder has been a number of home foreclosures and maybe a house fire.
But from time to time I still hear what I believe to be gunshots. I heard three in a row this morning while sitting at the kitchen table with my mother in law. She tried to make me feel better by saying, “Don’t worry, we hear them all the time in Orlando.” My question is, who is killing someone at 8:30 in the morning?!
My next question is, are there other sounds that might mimic the sound of a gunshot? Perhaps it wasn’t a gunshot at all but a backfiring car or firecrackers. Any opinions?

Famous in Morganton, NC

I don't know if you remember my post about hand-me-down clothing in our family...but I spoke a bit about my niece Madeline who was baptised in a century-old Christening gown. Well, the story made news in my home town. Read on...


Family uses heirloom Christening gown to honor tradition
By Tracy Farnham | The News Herald

Published: February 5, 2009

MORGANTON - Traditions aren't always easy to keep, but local descendants of one family defied easy to carry on their family's tradition. They smuggled a cherished family heirloom out of Cuba.
When Maria Atkins' mother was a baby she was christened in a handmade gown.
"The gown was handmade for my mom in Cuba," Atkins said.
As the oldest of her family, she was the first one to wear it, and every one in the family has worn it since then for their christening, she added.
Four generations and 94 years later, Atkins figures that nearly 100 family members have taken part in the family tradition thanks to the wisdom of her mom.
"My oldest sister was pregnant when we left, and my mom had the foresight to bring the gown in the one suitcase we were allowed to leave Cuba with," Atkins said.
"We had to smuggle it out when the Castro regime took over," she said.
All the jewelry had to be left behind allowing only a watch and wedding bands if married to be worn out of the country, she added.
Maria was 12 years old when she and her sister were sent by ferry to live with family in Florida. The family typically visited the United States on vacation, but always traveled by plane.
"My parents didn't tell us we were not coming back, but when we were enrolled in school we figured it out," she said.
Her parents came to the United States a few months later and never returned to their homeland.
"The government went into the house and confiscated everything, and we haven't been back since," Atkins said.
Since that time others brought a baby album to Atkins and relatives have sent photographs in their letters, she added.
Left with mostly memories of her childhood in Cuba, Atkins took comfort in the fact that the most important family heirloom was safe.
She has two daughters along with her three siblings who have all used the gown, including their children and grandchildren.
During the most recent christening service in December at Grace Episcopal Church in Morganton, Atkins brought the gown out of storage for her own granddaughter, Madeline.
"The gown is very fragile so the baby wears it for the christening service, and we have to take it off immediately after," she said.
Atkins has consulted Patricia Lackey, owner of Patterns, about repairs to the heirloom.
"When you repair these garments sometimes the repair puts more stress on the rest of the garment and the repair looks bad," Lackey said.
Over time they become dried out and the least bit of stress will cause a tear, she added.
"If I can't fix it I won’t even try because it only makes it worse," she said. That was the case with Atkins family's christening gown.
Through the years people had made repairs and many times a small repair becomes larger creating a chain reaction, Lackey said.
"I've done many repairs and the one thing you don't want to lose is the family value. What makes the garment valuable is the history," she said.
Lackey said, "People are going back to tradition and some have kept it all through the years like this family."
Not sure if the gown will be used for a fifth generation, Atkins said they may eventually have to retire it.
More than 90 years ago and spanning a family's exile to freedom, the gown continues to be a family legacy.
Tradition will be carried on once more though as she sends the gown to family in Florida for another christening service in late summer.

Technologically speaking

I’ve always been under the assumption that I grew up smack in the middle of what I call the “great transition into technology.” I experienced the dot.com boom, Y2K, the transition from dot matrix printers to ink jet and laser printers. I can remember back to when I was 7 years old playing on my dad’s computer, which featured a very basic MS-DOS menu. We actually used 5 ¼” floppy disks to store data back then.
I can also distinctly remember our Media Specialist in 8th grade showing off her brand new CD-Rom as if she’d discovered an amazing secret. In middle school we took keyboarding/typewriting classes, but in high school these became Computer Applications courses. It was also during my high school years that most teachers began requiring typed research papers as opposed to handwritten ones. It was around the same time that we were allowed to start using Web sites as sources for our assignments. Even the technology behind overhead projectors changed while I was in school. The memory of all this is unshakeable. Jump forward and the world we now live in is based around virtual reality and online social networking.
So it came as quite a shock to find out that another generation could have possibly experienced as big of changes as I had, technologically speaking. I was talking to my AFLAC representative yesterday, a woman who told me she recently celebrated her 70th birthday. We were mutually bashing the undependable nature of the office copying machine and other such pieces of equipment when she said, “Well, I can remember being in grammar school and we didn’t have copying machines back then. I was the teacher’s pet and my teacher would always select me to be the student who got to bring home with me a copy of the next day’s assignment. I would place it against a light-filled window and trace by hand copies of the assignment for each of the other students.” She spoke with such pride as she described what I would consider an abysmal assignment.
I just found it astonishing to think about the changes she has seen in her lifetime. And it serves as a reminder that while I feel overwhelmed at times by oh so many new options, I cannot imagine how older generations must feel. I will surely be able to provide my own children with a good laugh when I one day tell them that I used to store files on something the size of their heads. They’ll whip out their inevitably invisible thumb drives and gawk in my face.

Indian Tigerwood

That’s the name of our new flooring – Indian Tigerwood. It was finished when I got home from work yesterday. I have to admit that it is quite startling to come home to a transformed house. This type of makeover doesn’t happen often, and especially not over the course of 4 hours.
The two Lowe’s contractors arrived at 8:30 Tuesday morning. Both very laid back dudes. One was a baldy with tattoos lining his neck and head. And yes, one of the tattoos was a Tweety bird.
I left the two youngish lads in good hands (hubby and Mama Busbee, who is in town visiting for the week) and headed to work. Just a few hours later hubby called to inform me that they were just about done installing the flooring.
Here are some of the DURING and AFTER photos that hubby took throughout the process:

Tweety bird tattoo man, hard at work.

That lovely piece of graffiti adorns the back of our bookshelf,
which is in the center of the room in this photo.

There's Mama Busbee on our finished floors.

Here is the finished room. We still have to move all the books, etc. back to the shelves. And we are in search of a new coffee table.

Home updates

Miguel the contractor arrived promptly last Thursday to finish tiling our bathroom floor. His final tasks were cleaning the surface and grout, reattaching the moldings, and hooking up the toilet. The floors look fantastic, if I do say so myself. I am so happy with the outcome. I am even happier to have our second toilet back in service. You never realize how much you need it until it’s gone.
Though I’ve found it quite a challenging task to take photos of our tiny bathroom, here is the finished floor.

Next on the list of house updates is installing our hardwoods throughout the family room and “hallways.” I put quotes around the word ‘hallways’ because they are only about 2’ x 2’ in size, so they just barely count.
This Saturday hubby spent about an hour and a half ripping out our disgusting carpet. He was so efficient with this that I think he should do it as a part time job. They charge a lot for this task at Lowes (almost $300 for our small room). Hubby could make a killing.
So with carpet removed, we began configuring the room. Nothing looked better than the initial arrangement, so we’ll go back to that once the floors are in.
I thought you might enjoy a Before shot of the family room, including messily arranged furniture and cement floors.

Notice the 6-pound weights on the coffee tables. I sit in front of the television and pretend to lift weights. Usually I do 3 sets of 15 reps before I forget that I’m supposed to continue. It’s a lovely little faux workout.
I’ll post our After photo on Wednesday after the installation!