Alright, I planned on taking the night off. Kick back, eat my peanut buster parfait, watch Hell’s Kitchen and then probably play some Call of Duty (yes, I’m basically a 14-year-old boy in a man’s body). Not think about tomorrow. Not think about the large semi truck with my foundation on it. Not think about how they said “we’ll try our best not to run over your neighbor’s [100-year-old] tree” when they deliver the foundation and haul a crane up my driveway.
I wasn’t even going to post to the blog. But I just had to tell you about my, our, impulse buy tonight. Christine told me about an email we got from a local ski resort where we do one of our art shows at. I checked it out and it struck accord with, I think, number 4 or 5 on my list of reasons of why we’re moving to the country. Because in the county you can do whatever the hell you like and go off and buy something like this:
It’s a vintage 1977 quad ski lift chair. Just about the most random, coolest thing I can think that we’ve ever bought. A steal at $200 if you ask me. Bought completely on a whim with no idea what we’ll do with it. But it’s ours. And I’m pretty sure not too many of you out there know anyone who has an authentic ski lift chair. I so badly want to put it inside the house but alas I think I will lose out to the “turn it into a swing” crowd. Either way, I don’t care. Maybe by the outdoor fireplace.
Send me ideas.