Tiny updates

So it's been a while.

Bich has reasons, though not any worse/better/busier than anyone else's. Sometimes life just gets in the way. Or Penn State football gets in the way, or scandals, or whatever. Let's not talk about that.

Very minor updates, though, before Brooke restarts the basement project. (Last week, the Irene cleanup was completed, and repainting of the once-repainted section can commence this evening, or whenever.)

-- This morning, we had our 41-year-old boiler maintenanced. Yep, we're hangin' on to that puppy for as long as we can.

-- Our lawn has come in quite nicely -- nicely enough, in fact, that Brooke went apoplectic when she discovered that a very unneighborly pet owner let their obviously large dog defecate on the new sidewalk. Four signs were then added to our stretch of grass, with the following messages: "Your dog did his duty. Now do yours: Pick up after your dog"; "Please leave your address so I can let my dog dump on your lawn next"; "Be a good neighbor -- pick up after your pooch"; and another in that line of thinking.

-- We need a new camera. For some reason, the one we have stopped working, which meant no new pictures, which meant no blogging. Guess I'm back in the market for one.

Blood, sweat, tears, dirt

Bich is tired.

Bich is so, so tired.

After two days, 15 yards of dirt (according to Amanda, that's 30,000 pounds), two wheelbarrows, multiple garden tools, one tiller, and endless amounts of "oh, shit, we will never get this done/yes, we will, we have to or we'll be those neighbors with dirt for a lawn and we already have drug dealers down the street," we managed to rip up a lawn and lay down an entirely new level of soil that is ready to be seeded.

Truly fantastic moment: As we're cleaning up, the older couple across the street -- he's usually seen outside with his banned cigar and a Mason jar full of bourbon, while his wife is cooking inside; they're pretty cool and full of great stories, and they watch the neighborhood like hawks -- pulls up on their way out of the neighborhood, and she says, "My husband hasn't stopped talking about all the work you've been doing for two days!"

He: "You've restored my faith in American women!"

She: "Everyone expects the man to do all this work, and you've been out here doing all this work, too!"

Rich, walking up: "What about me?!"

She: "Oh, yeah, you, too, but she's the wife! I should be cooking you two dinner! We've never seen anyone work so hard on their lawn in this neighborhood in all our years here and I've been here since 1942!"

He: "You've restored my faith in American women! Seriously! You're a lucky man!"

It's good to know the neighbors know Rich is fulfilling his manly duty, and I'm apparently doing womanhood proud.

Tired.

Afterward, we walked down the street to celebrate the end of our dirt-moving with a Blue Moon at Rug's and Riffy's, the local dive. I was especially dirty, having wrangled with the garden hose, a little water and the soil (we need a new hose now).

We walked in, sat down ... and I was promptly denied for not having my ID with me.

Sure, I suppose I should be happy, but let's be honest -- I don't look that young. Can't be mad at her; she's just doing her job.

But I really, really wanted that beer.

Anyway, so many neighbors stopped by or yelled over to say hi, tell a little joke about us digging through all that dirt, tell us to be patient ... I found it all very satisfying, despite the exhaustion. I almost forgot about the cold I've been fighting all week; maybe the dirt really does do a body good.

Rich took a little video:

Tearing it down

First, before I start getting yelled at for destroying old, beautiful trees, know that:

1. It had to be done. The roots were pushing through the decrepit sidewalk, creating a situation ripe for litigious members of our society to take advantage.

2. The trees weren't as healthy as they might have appeared. Poor trimming and pruning over the years hadn't done them any favors, and every time we had a strong storm, I feared weakened branches taking down the power lines with them (and a few branches had actually grown into the wire).

I'll let Rich tell the amazing story of Woodbridge Mayor John McCormac's assistance in getting our trees taken down for free (township ordinance!). In the meantime, here's the before ...

... and here is the after:

When I got home that afternoon and saw the empty hole in our neighborhood -- of course, the day before was beautiful and sunny, while I arrived home the next day to threatening clouds -- I poured myself a glass of wine, sat on the front steps and mourned a little. What a mistake, I thought.

But we have grand plans, and I'm setting up a meeting with a landscaper to help us bring the beauty back to the house. The new sidewalks will be done by the end of the summer, and that will help immensely; we're considering tearing up the grass and putting down sod instead, and we're definitely planting two trees in the front again -- this time, between the house and the sidewalk.

Our next-door neighbor came over and said she was shocked, but in the end, she was pleased -- it'll increase the safety in the neighborhood, and that made her feel better. Us, too.

On the bright side, the township even removed the stumps:

Everything we could possibly hate about the outside of our house suddenly became very, very apparent.

I did repaint the mailbox post and install a brand-new mailbox; at its base are two sets of Little Lime hydrangeas.

Ah, well. We're taking things down to build it back up again -- it'll be ours.

*sob*

Mow Mow Mow My Boat

I can't make this stuff up.

So the woman who sold us our house used to keep the lawn incredibly well-maintained. At least one neighbor has already told me that. Apparently, her commitment to the manicuring of mulch ended the day we went under contract. Because by the time we moved in, the grass was taller than Gary Coleman (too soon?). No problem, I say to myself. I'll just call a few lawn guys to come and take care of my Amazonian side yard.

Lesson: It's not as easy to find a grass cutter at the start of summer as you'd think.

These guys are in some sort of prime time, like looking for a last-minute accountant after Passover (early April for the goys). I called a half-dozen firms and between "Sorry, can't schedule you for two weeks" and the folks who never even bothered to call back, I eventually went a new route. I hired a buddy's kid to do the lawn for me. $25 for a few hours work on his part. We set it up to get done over Memorial Day weekend. I have only held the title to this house for two weeks, so I figured that was moving pretty quick. But the kid had to attend a distant relative's funeral with his parents - and my bluegrass butchering was postponed.

It wasn't until Brooke arrived at the house Wednesday morning - to let the flooring guy in - that she found a violation from the town warning me to cut my "high grass and weeds" or face some sort of punishment. Yup. A neighbor has already ratted me out for property maintenance. True, oh sticklers of fact. That previous sentiment is clearly a supposition. It's possible that a random city official driving through New Jersey's sixth-most populous city just happened to stumble upon my house. Or maybe it was the douchebag a few houses down and across the street who actually clapped in my direction at the sight of the lawn finally getting cut.

Lesson: I think I've found our first prick neighbor.

Never being one to like even the potential of a warning-cum-fine, I immediately to set my lawn for the first time. Via an old friend who lives around the corner from me, I I managed to transport a self-propelled, gas-powered bag mower to my yard. THe bag filled - easily - two dozen times as I slowly chewed my way over and over a lawn grown impossibly large. The process took so long, the phrase "losing the light" actually became applicable to lawn mowing. I never even got to the backyard. All I managed to get was the side yard and the front, which.

Lesson: I will soon enough be purchasing my first mower - and it will be mighty..