A class on letters and the usual and sundry …

For those in Charlotte, I’m about to dip my toes into untested waters; I’ll teach two 90 minute letter writing classes on successive Tuesday nights, November 10 and 17. The class will be in my home (aka Letter Writing Central).

The class – The ABCs of letter writing – yes, you CAN write letters! – is listed at EventBrite.com, and you can register now. It’ll be a fun couple of nights. As you’ve seen (or hopefully seen) at this blog, letter writing is so rewarding and so fulfilling vs. how we communicate now; bland emails and snippish text messages. You can do better. This class will help you in that regard.

But now, on to the usual and sundry in last week’s letter to Ellen and Reid.


October 4, 2015

Ellen/Reid: It occurs to me I continue to underestimate, mis-diagnose, ill-manage and be perplexed by home projects, notably the guest bath. What was once considered a potential weekend project will now stretch into a near budget-busting few weeks. Honestly, the whole sordid affair just drives me up the wall. The tile removal went without a hitch. Hours of banging with a hammer and chisel (listening to Milky Chase, Alabama Shakes, Beck, Birds of Tokyo and Arcade Fire blasting through the Boze speakers eased what was largely tedious,

There are a lot better things to do on a Saturday than mindlessly chip away at tile. But hey, it's gotta be done.

There are a lot better things to do on a Saturday than mindlessly chip away at tile. But hey, it’s gotta be done.

mind numbing work) revealed the sub-flooring to be in far better shape than I expected.

Of course, the ‘experts’ all say fiberboard is not the ideal layer for tile. The thinking goes fiberboard will expand if exposed to water, causing the grout between the tile to crack. But there’s hell to pay to remove fiberboard that is glued to the floor joists. That’s waaaaay beyond my skill sets. My jack-of-all-trades plumber guy also does nice tile work so he and I will powwow on the issue and, in truth, I will defer to his opinion.

But at some point it was 5:00 o'clock somewhere, and, hence, Miller Time.

But at some point it was 5:00 o’clock somewhere, and, hence, Miller Time.

Ellen, thanks for the boost on both the vanity and the porcelain tile and the wall color. That made life a little easier for me. The vanity and Kohler toilet are on the premises, and the tile will be tonight. I like that the tile is rectangular in that it will make for a more interesting pattern. The Kohler faucets, valve, etc., are on order and should be here in a few days. I like your suggestion of gray walls since I have no sense of real decor style. The drywall work will commence this evening and hopefully, knock on wood, there will be no underlying, and therefore secret, surprises.

We dodged much of Hurricane Joaquin’s rain this past weekend. We still got a relatively measly six inches or so, but 90 minutes south in Columbia they got nearly 18 inches and to the immediate west and east of Charlotte the rain totals were the 15 inches and up. So we got off lucky. It postponed my golf but that time was better spent in the guest bath anyway. At least our drought is broken and the reservoir levels restored.

The shootings in Oregon just continue to perplex me and ought to perplex us as a society. I just don’t get any of the faulty logic of the NRA. I really don’t. How can the conversation about a remedy be limited, in their putrid view, to mental health issues and having more folks armed to the self-protected teeth? It just flies in the face of rationalism. The statistics alone would merit some sort of gun control, but no, zealots rule the day. We have absolute cowards in elected office. Bush and his “stuff happens” comment are proof enough of that. We are morons of the first order. Safety and security take a back seat to open carry and assault weapons slung over the shoulders of folks in grocery aisles. The rest of the world laughs at us and my sense is their derision of us is well placed and on target, no gun pun intended.

The leaves are starting to retreat in the trees out back, and I sat just outside the open garage door on Saturday night with a couple of glasses of wine and listened to the onrush of water in the stream a few feet away. Not a bad way to spend an evening, even though my forearms still tingled from the mere act of hammering away at tile, a task that should never have been needed in the first place. If only the builder had taken enough time to grout in eight more tiles – a scant eight more tiles – under the old vanity. Think of the labor that would’ve saved.

Love, Dad


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