When I "dreamed" this up ..... this Corndog Casserole .... I was half joking. But, here it is. The hash browns are not the shreddy kind, but look more like diced potatoes, but that is what happens when I send he, who loves to run errands, to the store. I threw them in a skillet and browned them a little first. I should have melted the cheese first for more even coverage. The corndogs look like some kind of bizarre alien eyes staring up in their bed of potatoes. They were only partially thawed and that made it hard to get the stick out. The breading was nice and crisp, though. It did take 25 minutes in the oven and I was glad I had added a little salt and pepper to the potatoes while they were in the skillet.
The bathroom is on the back burner again. I was right, though, he did re-think his trim and is now doing it my way. It is more labor intensive on the router, but will be so much easier to install. The medicine cabinet is in the way. I told him to simply reverse his thinking on the trim that will top the bead board and have only one inch above it, instead of three, making it fit neatly under the obstacle. He has routed a three inch lip that would sit upon the bead board since the boards are level at the top (well, now they are, after a little wife induced re-do). He put it all up and then tried to cut out the area to fit under the medicine cabinet. The results were ...... I really can't find the words to describe it. If you are sitting there reading this and wondering why we don't just move the cabinet up three inches.....
Well, it is already there and inset into the wall. It looked like a bigger project than simply changing the trim. I already have one big opening in the adjacent wall for some shelves that have yet to be installed. He made one set, then he used them to draw the lines to cut out wall. He cut the hole and then decided he did not like the way his shelf unit looked. He then made another that I agree looks nicer and is sturdier. But ........... (you knew there had to be a "but"), he did not allow for the width of the boards when he cut them and it will have to be rebuilt to fit. Actually, he wants to just cut the opening bigger ...... It sits all lonely and dusty next to his side of the bed. I put it there hoping that seeing it everytime he was bedside. Instead, like all men, he no longer sees it, This is why I didn't want to move the medicine cabinet. I can at least have some toiletries like deodorant in its proper place for the duration of the re-do.
Speaking of deodorant. I have been forgetting to apply it. My routine of personal hygiene is out of kilter. Bad enough that I have to take all the necessities of showering out to the bathhouse. I try to stream-line it as much as possible and have finally just been leaving body wash, shampoo and pouf in the ladies shower room. I even took some rugs out there. We are using the same shower, so I have all of his stuff in there, too. Only problem is that I have to go gather it all up if I have a camper come through. But, back to applying my Secret anti-persperant. I leave everything I can in the house. After showering and remembering a towel, I put clothes on. You can see the problem, can't you? When I re-enter my house with my clothes on, I forget to apply my Secret, because I am dressed and that is just backwards. Given the roaring fires that he, who plays with fire, likes to build in the wood stove and pushing the temp up to 80 .......... my lack of Secret is no secret.
The fires in the wood stove are fueled with the wood from downed trees here in the kampground. This makes for some economical heating if you don't mind the smell of wood smoke. Most of the wood is hickory and oak, so it always smells like we are big BBQ fans. The smell gets in your clothes and hair and in your dogs fur. After awhile you no longer notice it until your children tell you that they found you by following the smell of wood smoke, but that is another story.
I had trouble getting the fire started yesterday morning and mentioned it to he, who plays with fire. He pushed his woman aside and grabbed his trusty propane torch and proceeded to light my fire. Literally. I complained that it was extra smoky in here. He mumbled something about having to hold the door open to apply the torch to the logs and the smoke escaping. Since this is his usual method of firestarting, his explanation did not ring true, but I was off to my sewing lair and didn't care.
After I had sucked all the creativity I could out of my cold footed self I meandered back to the living quarters (my sewing room is on the far side of the office/store. I have a small electric heater in there, but the temperature seemed to be dropping rapidly. It seemed too smokey to me and my throat was raw. I am blessed with a sensitive nose and at some point in the night when the temperature dropped to single digits, I awoke he, who plays with fire, and told him that it was too smokey in here and that I had dreamt that the chimney pipe was clogged with a birds nest. He dutifully, if reluctantly, got up to check it out. He said it was just fine and added more logs. Yes, you read that right. So, it just got smokier. He slept on. I lay there remembering the time our house burned years ago.
No, the house has not burned. What a great tragedy that would be, he would never have to finish the bathroom. I wonder if the addition of those logs was a sub-conscious act of defiance about the bathroom? Anyway, the flue is indeed clogged with something. He, who plays with fire, went into town to the local builders supply to get a pipe cleaning brush to remedy the situation. They were too proud to part with the one they had, it being $80. He is now on his way to Lowes to buy the same model for $20.
I just hope he gets back before Smokey the Bear shows looking to see what is smoldering in our house.
As I sit here bleary eyed sipping the magic elixir of caffeine and review the week in my mind, I am seriously considering going back to bed.
The skies are gray, I slept fitfully, having pulled my nightshirt on backwards in the chilly air last night. That alone deserves a re-do. I tugged at the neckline all through the night as it was trying to choke me. I knew it would not be a good night when fat old doxie, Oscar, sidled up to my head last night. I could hear his tummy churning, and like all children, Oscar wants his mommy when he does not feel so good. In his younger days he would insist that I sit up in bed and hold him in my arms and gently pat the gas bubble out of his body. Now that he is old and fat, he is content to lie as close as he can get to me and I am compelled to keep my hand on his belly, lest he wiggle and whine.
So, with my shirt choking me, the hotdog burning my side, and the husband snoring I don't think I ever reached that level of sleep that actually refreshes the mind and body.
Oscar woke me at 3 am and we made the pilgrimage to the back door with the other 3 dogs in tow. I was in a warm and fuzzy state and anxious to crawl between the sheets before that feeling escaped me. The dash out the back door to retrieve the near-blind and hearing-challenged Emmy took care of that. The bitter wind that billowed up my backwards night shirt brought me fully awake as I dodged dog leavings to reach Emmy on the other side of the yard as she wandered aimlessly in search of my voice and what must be a big blob to her cataract covered eyes.
You would think I would have noticed the choke collar my backwards night shirt had created and remedied the situation, but I was on task getting 4 dogs back to bed and settled. Toni, the dog pound dog, took advantage of the opportunity to snag a kindling stick out of the firewood to take to bed to chew on and Wall-E, the wonder dog, decided to cower just out of reach under the table when I scolded Toni. Wall-E is a sensitive little fellow and takes all my scoldings to heart, whether they are directed at him or not.
When finally climbing back into the bed, I found that sleep had entirely escaped me. So I lay there, counting dogs and thinking, my mind seeming to be in high gear. I pondered the problems of the world in this state. Okay, the problems of my world ......... You know, things like the current status of my still undone bathroom.
I have noticed a trend. I will point out an obstacle that will prevent the ease of installation in a pending step of completion; he who fancies himself to be a carpenter will appear to be listening, but will subsequently disregard my advice and continue on to do it his way. This produces unsatisfactory results and will stay that way for a day or two. Some times I don't even have to comment on it. He will halt all progress and busy himself with other things. Then I will see the offensive results of his way leave the building and he will then go back and do it the way I said to do it in the first place. It will at that point have become his idea. Right now we are in a holding pattern and another week has passed as he is reconsidering a piece of trim.
At some point I decide that these thoughts are causing anxiety and decide to think other thoughts. I review the contents of our freezer in my head. He,who would bring home the bacon, bought a hog two years ago. He helped with the processing of the meat. There was no bacon or ham involved when he found out the cost of that process. Pork steak, pork chops, ribs and sausage was what came home with him. No pork roast, he didn't think about that. The sausage was seasoned by him and he didn't want to over-season it, so it was really ground pork. We have been eating this for two years and are now sick of it. My job is to find creative ways to prepare it so that he does not recognize it. Last night we had lasagna. I made the meat sauce with ground pork, but after a couple of bites he identified the meat and voiced his preference for beef in this dish. I wanted to tell him that we could celebrate with a beef dish when he completed my bathroom, but I am sick of my pork diet, too.
So, I am left with some chicken thighs and corn dogs. At the end of the "season" we are always left with whatever doesn't sell. Some years the corndogs are a big hit, some times it is the individual pizzas. The burgers are always a hit, so, there are usually only a few of those left. This year, we were left with a nearly full case of corndogs. As I lay, sleepless in the kampground, I pondered the lowly corndog. They can be fried or baked. They can be eaten on a stick or pulled free and eaten with a fork. You can eat them plain or you can add condiments. What goes with corndogs? French fries? Mac and cheese? Beans?
In my sleep deprived state I conjured up a new dish. Corndog Casserole. In Minnesota this would be called Corndog Hotdish. Casseroles and Hotdish both have one thing in common ......... cheese. And this one thing I am sure of .... my husband will eat anything slathered in cheese. In my mind I concocted tonight's dinner. I will spray my dish with non-stick spray, then put a layer of hashbrowns, a layer of velveeta (what my mother referred to as "real cheese"), topped by a layer of sliced corndogs. Pop into a 350 degree oven and cook for about 25 minutes until the corndogs have browned and the breading is nice and crisp. This will allow the cheese to be melted into the hash browns and hopefully be a little crispy on the bottom. This will be served with a side of baked beans (also from the kampstore). Nutritious? Probably not, but it will use up some of the stuff I already have.
Having planned tonight's dinner and still awake, I decided to save the world and fell into another fitful sleep that was interrupted by the alarm and the sounds of my husband bumbling around as he dresses himself. The dogs clamber to the end of the bed and beg for his attention, he ignores them and goes on about the business of readying himself to head out to hang out with his buddies and contemplate what is on the schedule for his day.
The dogs persisted and I got up and took them out and fed them and here I sit with my coffee cup drained and little ambition to move from this spot.
Nothing like the power of the pen ..... or blog, in this case. He, who does indeed read my blog (okay, I confess, I read it to him .....), has started working on the bathroom with a vengeance.
Maybe I can't take all the credit. Could be the forecast for snow and colder weather. He is tiring of the trip to the showers as much as I am. The weather has been mild of late and the inconvenience is not so bad. But, when there is ice on the sidewalk and the wicked cold wind blows, then the trip to shower blows, too.
He is getting all the trim pieces ready for me to paint and my job today is to get the wood-puttied and ready to prime. The sweet smell of progress will soon fill the house as I wield my trusty paint brush.
If this keeps up, I might just post some "after" pictures soon.
Five weeks invested in the bathroom re-do. Still not to the point where the finishing work starts. The tiling is done and sealed. Still no sink, but this makes me keep all the dishes clean and put up, lest toothpaste spit should find it's way onto the dishes I usually just leave in the rack to dry.
Yesterday found he who is annoyed with his wife moving the electrical box that houses the light switch and outlet to where I had originally wanted it. It will make the installation of the chair rail so much simpler. I could not resist telling him that had it done it the way I said to the first time ....... This is what he refers to as beating a dead horse.
This morning I decided to move all the excess tile that I was going to re-use out of the hall and clean that area up. Hoping this will inspire him to finish the last two pieces of bead board today. I had used some plastic milk crates to carefully stack the whole pieces of tile in. Needless to say, I could not lift the fullest one. Made me think of my youngest daughter. She used to say, "Mommy, there is no way in how ......" There really was no way in how, other than to unload and reload all that tile.
I am beginning to think there is no way in how I will ever have a bathroom.
I have no pictures of the new bathroom. Because, I don't have one. Not a picture, a bathroom. While it may be true that Rome was not built in a day, I am confident that it would never have been finished if my husband had been in charge.
Now, when he announced his intention to "knock this project out this weekend"; I had no illusions of it happening. I knew it would take maybe two weeks. But, it has now been one month. A month of taking showers in the kampground bath house. It was only a week of hovering over a bucket in the middle of the night. I do have a place to go now, but, no window ........
I can live without the window. The tile was purchased on the way home from visiting the kids. He wasn't through with the walls, but had to get that tile up. When the grouting started I said I would go behind him and clean the tiles as It started to dry. Probably would have gone a little smoother had he started on one end and worked his way around. He started at the top in the middle, didn't go all the way to the bottom, then moved on to an end. So, when I tried to sponge the areas as they dried, I was in his way. He finished applying the grout and pretty much took my sponge away.
Since I was in the midst of sewing inspiration, I retreated to my sewing room, where the fake sun shines on me and finished the garment I was working on. I came back into the living room to find him watching TV. I assumed he had finished. You know what they say about assuming ....... making an ass of you and me.
This was Monday night. Tuesday morning, after my trip to the showers, I went into the bathroom to raid the medicine cabinet for deodorant and that is when I saw that the grout had dried to the tile. I was on my way out and thought to myself that someone was going to have a good time scrubbing that grout off.
That someone was most definitely not going to be me. No way was I going to tackle that mess. Not me, I had no intention of scrubbing that mess out of the tub either. There is also a saying about good intentions, too.
Arriving home yesterday I went into the bathroom to see what progress has been made. Very little, not really even noticeable. But I did notice that the floor around the toilet was wet. I later mentioned this to he who was trying to scrape the grout off the tile and making little progress. He said it was because he had been working in the bathroom. Later when I was getting ready for bed I noticed that the floor was wet again. The tile is on the wall in the shower area. Any water would run into the tub, wouldn't it?
This morning he went and acquired the trim. Whoa, he who has attention deficit disorder! Let's finish the grouting job first ....... not to mention the bead board on the wall ..... before we trim anything. So with a resigned look he heads to the tub to try and take over the job I was finishing. I sent him on his way to do whatever it is he was doing with the trim boards. It took a lot of elbow grease and several buckets of hot water, along with a good scrub brush. Not to mention the determination of one irritated woman. I worked for about 90 minutes and not only did I get the tile cleaned up, but the tub, too. Big globs of tile glue and grout decorated the tub. It looks like someone tried to scrape the goo off with something that scratched the finish of the tub. I was really not happy.
I decided to clean up the mess of construction attempts that littered the bathroom and the hall way. In doing this I discover that the floor around the toilet is wet again. Okay, I know I did not splash water on the floor while I was about the business of scrubbing.
When he who loves to get the mail out of the box comes in, I drag him to the water and tell him that the new floor we put in will not continue to hold up to what I think is a slow leak. He thinks the leak is the tub drain. I am not so sure it isn't the toilet ...... but I am not a plumber.
Obviously, the water has to be dealt with.The tub is not coming out ........ the wall behind the tub is shared with what used to be the kitchen and is now the dining room. The wood stove is next to that wall. That wall that is no longer there. Yes, he had to rip part of that wall out. More construction debris.
Turns out the faucets were leaking. Took most of the day to fix them. I was hoping it was the toilet. No ripping out of walls and I could have the new toilet I wanted anyway. Instead we seem to have taken one step forward and ten steps back. In the game of bathroom remodeling ....... I am not winning!
The phone rang as we were having dinner. I know some people simply ignore the phone and let it go to voice mail when they are otherwise engaged. I can't do that. When you have a business, you can't afford to. I will simply hang up on a telemarketer ..... but that is another story ...........
I answered the call as I always do, identifying the name of the business. The caller wanted to know if we had an available site for a 50 amp pull-through, full hook-up. I assured him that we did. He then told me where he was and asked which exit to take. I gave him directions and he seemed a savvy traveler, as he knew what I meant when I said that I was on the north side of the interstate. He would be a late arrival and I indicated that he should stop at the office where there is a night registration. I gave him a site number and told him the price was $30.
I finished my dinner and mentioned to my mate that it was refreshing to talk to a man who could take directions.
This morning, he who doesn't mind sticking his hand into the night drop box, announced that there was no envelope with payment inside and that the occupant was still on site. So, I am assuming they will pay when they are leaving.
He, who hunts wrecks, leaves to go to the base camp where he can smoke and gossip with his little buddies to his heart's content. I have enough trouble breathing in a house heated by a wood stove, we will not be adding vile cigarette smoke. He instructs me to watch for that 5th wheel.
I suppose he pictures me with binoculars spying on the campers, alert for signs of leaving. I suggest that it would be easier to knock on their door and ask to see their registration. Then they could carry out the paying for the site ritual right then and there. But, he disagrees, afraid he might wake them.
He will write down the license plate number of those who have parked without paying. What we will do with this information is unclear to me. Will the state patrol run these non-payers down with siren and flashing lights to demand they return and pay? Maybe. At the very least it would be humiliating to have an officer of the law chastise you for skipping out, but would that compel you to actually make payment?
I ponder things, you know. But, when I looked up to see the 5th wheel, in clear violation of my speed limit, headed out the exit, I wondered what he expected me to do. Was I to grab my keys and give chase in my car? If they did stop for the crazed, caffeine deprived woman in the VW bug, what then? Do I drag him from the drivers seat and proceed to berate him for not paying to stay?
I decide to go check the drop box, since I am still clad in my jammies, coffee cup in hand. I tend to move slower in the morning, as my joints protest the chill in the air. They have indeed dropped an envelope with cash inside. But the amount left has left me puzzled.
Inside I find a twenty and four ones. The cost of a 50 amp full hook-up site is $30. A 30 amp full hook-up is $28. Without sewer it would be $28 and $25. My point being that I have nothing for $24. So, do I assume that this is all the cash they have on them? Or ...... did they simply decide that the stay was worth $24?
