we probably shouldn't be pen pals

I know, I know. I'm a terrible correspondent. I can't even be bothered to keep one paltry blog updated. It's ridiculous.

Hopefully that's enough shameful groveling, because it's boring. Not a lot is going on with the house. We did spend some time this weekend deciding (okay, arguing about) what we want to do with the interior. And we bought a tree trimmer.

Tree trimmers are very strange. They seem to be large saws combined with scissors. On sticks. Operated by pull-strings. How archaic. We haven't taken ours out of the package yet. Don got all fired up Sunday morning and wanted to trim the large, overgrown, covered-in-mysterious-red-fuzzies tree in the backyard before we went to his parents' place to watch the Super Bowl. Like the sensible, sane human being I am, I talked him out of it. Really, who wants to trim a tree when you can go over early and get dibs on the chips and salsa? Right, I know, nobody. Plus, you know, there's the whole 'know-what-you're-doing' thing, that would probably be good too.

In addition to buying the venerable and mysterious tree trimmer, we also spent quite a while roaming around Home Depot looking at things like tile and light fixtures and faucets and the like. We were ostensibly there to write up a price quote for a project Don is working on for someone else, but we got distracted. I love Home Depot-- and not because I used to work there, either (and no they don't give you discounts if you work there [dammit]). I like to walk up and down the aisles realizing all of thing things I can do. It makes me feel well-rounded. Because, you know, I can create a spreadsheet, write federal guidance procedures, change a tire, write a poem, and tile a countertop. I'm so neat.