It's a Mann's World (Let's Make a Home): January 2014

As I sit at my desk, breathing in the fumes from the polyurethane and stain I used today, I can't help but think...what a fucking week.

But first...this is mostly a blog about my house, and though we've been on pause for the last month, RJ's brother mentioned recently that he wanted to come down for the Super Bowl this Sunday. This, in addition to another friend of RJ's who takes one winter weekend a year to go snowboarding at the nearby Wolf Creek Ski area, wanting to visit soon. Currently, we can provide a comfy loveseat that would likely suffice for someone under 30. But, dammit, isn't this what being a responsible adult with your own house is for?! Providing pleasant accommodations for your buddies! So, this weekend, I cleaned out the guest bedroom (aka tool storage) and prepared it for some flooring. Sunday, RJ installed more of the lovely blue stained pine we have in many places in the house. I put the first coat of polyurethane on Monday, with a second coat going on 24 hours later. By Weds., we'll move the guest bed out of storage and into the room. Combined with a kick ass little desk/table thing I picked up, we will now be able to provide a semi-finished sleeping experience for our visitors.

That's the good news. That, and I was on a network tv show last week, which was pretty cool. Yay, Acting!

In other news, we had to put our giant pup Buford down this past Tuesday. He was an amazing and loving English Mastiff we had for over 5 years. He was around 10 or 11. His age was only a guess because when RJ got him through his brother in 2008, the shelter said he was 4 or 5. Large dogs like the English Mastiff, have a life span of 6-10 years. Not long at all. Being so big is murder on their hearts and joints. So, for a giant dog, he was doing pretty well. But in the last year, his arthritic knees were clearly causing him pain. We put him on an anti-inflammatory as well as paid medication, but for the last few weeks, it didn't seem to be helping much. A couple of weeks ago, his back right ankle swelled up like a tennis ball and he could barely put any weight on it. It was around this time that he started hiding behind the dining room table instead of on his bed, which he's never done. He was clearly in pain and facing the end. We could either keep him around for us and watch him totally lose the ability to walk, or end his pain. We chose the latter. Tuesday morning, he was spoiled with treats and hot dogs, and I spent a long time with his big head in my lap. Around 11am, a couple of friends came by and helped us get Buford and his bed into the back of a truck. RJ rode with him in the back to our vet, Dr. Howard. They administered the pink vial of death in the back of the truck. Buford was a champ. Being as old as he was, his veins kept collapsing, so it took a while to find a good vein. But he remained calm throughout the pricking ordeal. We stroked his sweet face, while the injection slowly went in. He gave a couple of sighs, like he would do when I would rub his ears with my thumbs (his favorite thing) and let go. What a sweet, sweet doggie. We assume he is wherever doggies go, "running" after something little and fuzzy. Rest in Peace, dear Buford.

In addition to being sweet, he was also hilarious.

Then, early Saturday afternoon, I received a call from my mom that my last living grandparent, Bill Nunn, had died that morning. This was not a surprise. He was 91 and a half years old and had lost my grandma early last year. Honestly, we were all surprised he lasted nearly a year after her. My mom had called me earlier last week to tell me he'd been moved to hospice.

He spent his last year reading a lot, and having a lot of trouble with his short term memory. It was simply old age forgetfulness. One of my favorite memories of Grandpa Bill was the fact that up until a couple of years ago when he had to be attached to an oxygen machine because of emphysema (he smoked for over 50 years--don't smoke, kids!), he would get up in the morning, get on his rowing machine and then lift weights. He loved black coffee and sandwiches. He preferred to converse with you in the kitchen of their house in Terrace Park because, my mother told me, he could hear best in that room. For as long as I can remember, my grandpa had worn hearing aids. They would buzz and sing out loud every once in a while. His obit is here.

Toasting at their 60th wedding anniversary in June of 2004.

Together again. Or what you will.

Like I've said, it's been a pretty crazy week. I head out Thursday to Ohio to attend Grandpa Bill's memorial. I was unable to attend my grandma's because of a show. Then, in opposite land, I'll continue on to North Carolina to visit my best girlfriend and her 6 week old son, Isaac. Life goes on.

I recently read an article about Russians who just couldn't believe the one word answer most American's give to the question, "How are you?" A Russian wanted to tell you EXACTLY how they were--bunions, divorces and all. Whereas Americans use the phrase mostly as a simple greeting. So...how am I? I'm okay. I've been lucky that death hasn't come to my immediate family in much of a tragic way. I've always been able to accept death in old age, when one has lived a long and full life. But one's awareness of death does eat away at you a bit. You can't help but think about your own mortality. And that a part of your own life is over. About 14 months ago, my grandparents moved out of the house and little town they'd lived in for 60 years. No more staying in their house for a visit. No more gatherings in the kitchen and eating Capt Crunch and riding the old Schwinn to the local pool. That is what I miss. Those little things are gone and it's time to make some new memories. As a result, I am kind of tired, and sad, and just...ugh. But looking forward to getting out of Creede for a bit.

Okay, enough Bummy McBummerton.

Come visit, friends! The guest accommodations will continue to improve. We can hang out around the kitchen table. I'll even pick up some Capt. Crunch!

And now...pictures!