For years, I have been thinking about painting antiques pink. I bought the milk paint but didn't have the time to experiment. I waited so long that I couldn't find the paint I purchased and had to buy it again, but here it is at last. I love the bread board so much, I don't even mind if I have to keep them.
I thought I was overdoing it with buying so many spice cabinets, but they have been flying out of the shop. Only the small one is left, the others lasted only about 5 minutes.
I hate change. I really really hate it. Life is all "change change change change and change some more." 2024 was the great "you will do nothing but deal with ridding yourself of piles of crap" but the piles of crap just kept growing. I decided my life started going downhill when the Clarinda house was sold and just never got back on an uphill trajectory. We gave away so much of the furniture from that house and stored the rest in our downtown building, and then out of nowhere, someone wants to buy the building. I give away more stuff, I rent a storage locker and still there is too much left--a pile of furniture has been sitting in my sister's tractor shed for almost a year now, thank goodness she doesn't care. Then there was the father-in-law motorcycle and car part nightmare to deal with because I had to sell it all to settle the estate. In the end, we just bought the motorcycles that were complete to be able to close the estate, so I still have those to deal with. There are still assorted radios and piles of speakers and 78 records piled up on my porch. Oh, and there is a stack of unsold parts sitting in my music room, along with 2 cupboards that we put there "temporarily" two years ago. Hoping 2025 will see the final clear out, but old change has to get in the way again. Husband should really be retired, but not only is he still working, but he agreed to help the hospital start a new clinic in a town a bit closer to us than his current clinic. New patients mean stress, and more stress. A joyous change, but also a stressful one is that my daughter Anna is expecting a baby girl! Yay! Stressful part is she can't afford to not work, and I have volunteered to care for the baby while she is teaching. I did raise my two girls and did it well, but they were a year old when i met them, and I don't have too much of a clue on what to do with a newborn. I am also no help at all when Anna has questions about being pregnant and have to refer her to my sisters for advice. There is a possibility that she and her husband and new baby may move back in with us, as their apartment is so tiny and lease up right when baby is arriving. Finding a larger yet affordable home has been daunting. In some ways it would be so much easier to have them here, baby wouldn't have to be driven back and forth, but it would be hard on them to lose their autonomy. Starting a family is hard enough without having to move back in with your parents.
In the meantime, I must work madly to get all my projects done before baby becomes my job.
After the months and months of emptying that house, I started to try to work on my shop. BAM! I get Covid. Well, crap. Thank goodness they let us have medication this time around. Unfortunately, many are getting it and having doctors tell them it is just like a cold, so go home, rest, drink fluids, no medicine needed. My brother and sister in law are VERY sick because they had one such doctor. We all got sick at the same time, I had a couple bad days, but pretty much cured except for the very irritating cough. They are still having high fevers and terrible head aches. Back in the old days, my husband could have prescribed medicine for them, but all the new "government bureaucrats control the doctors" bull shit, he can't prescribe for any family member. It is ridiculous. All I get to do is pray for their recovery and hope some of the over the counter stuff will work.
On my worst sick day, I had the misfortune to encounter the most evil, vile, bitter, evil, did I say evil? human being that has ever walked this earth. All because he thinks he will buy the motorcycles and that no one else has any right to them, including us, the people that own them. He has been hounding me to sell them, told him I was sick, he told me he hoped I would die. I just said FUCK YOU. It got worse, called me a whore, guaranteed that he would get the bikes no matter what. I don't think so Beelzebub. I hope my run of bad surprises is done for the year at least. I do need to add that every biker guy that came to the house to buy something has been very decent and kind, they all helped me identify parts and told me how to find serial numbers and figure out what year things were made. The psycho is definitely an outlier.
Since I hate doing nothing, I have been painting a lot and making fall things between coughing fits, so I guess that is one bright note.
