Humpty nest

24 hours 'till moving day, but no empty nest in sight. In fact, the creatures are moving in before the new tenants do. There's a little bird building a home for his lady right under their awning-- he works tirelessly to not much of an avail. Each time Beaver and Sir Domo walk out the front door, the slamming causes him to drop a branch out of his beak. Beaver, with her extensive knowledge of woodworking, would like to help the little thing get on with his project, but she's been told that beavers shouldn't touch the branches of birds.

There is also a tiny mouse on the premises. It seems he can't decide where to set up his dwelling. He scurries to and fro between the bedroom and the guest room, sizing up the options. Personally, Beaver would suggest the guest room. The view is much better- but it is a little large and can get cold in the wintertime. Hopefully, Mouseman will have made a decision by this evening. Beaver and Domo need a good sleep.

We all live in a yellow frigidaire

The color yellow has taken the responsibility of promoting optimism throughout the little red house. It started with the bathroom cabinet; a horribly outdated little thing that had been built for a very short beaver and adorned with 1970's motel wood. The sink that sat upon it, albeit a charming shade of blue, looked washed out atop its ancient cousin. So Lady B gave it a nice hit of "Cowardly Custard" which turned out to be quite mighty next to the blue and very uber Swedish, which egales spectacular to Beaver, who very much likes that far off Northern place.

The next victim to fall under the brush was the vintage General Electric Frigidaire. Pull up a chair, lady and gents, and inspect your own refrigerators because this paint job was the best one yet. The yellow fridge has become something of a piece de resistance in the kitchen, bringing glory, hope and pride to a house under siege.

Raindrops keep falling on my bed

It was Bachelard, a nice little scribe hailing from Franche, who once said in "The Poetics of Space" that a house only comes into its own in bad weather, when the poetry of shelter receives its fullest expression. Well then, the little red house has come into its own. Just about as gracefully as a competitor in a potato sack race.

It rained on Saturday night. It rained hard. It melted three months worth of snow and sent a host of little creatures crawling towards the light of the little red house. They approached the hearth with high hopes, only to be daunted by a strange site in the living room. It was raining outside of the house, and inside as well. Disheartened, they crept back outside into the muddy night to spend the evening awash in rain and stars.

Beaver and Domo should have done so as well. The Building Inspector told them their roof was in grand shape. But the Building Inspector didn't visit during a rainstorm.

Immortar beloved

Domo and Beaver have a big fat hole in their chimney. En fait, they have two. Today Domo tried to seal them up with mortar, bricks and stones just like the unfortunate republicans at the T-Bone Depot told him to.

The bricks stayed put, the pebbles fell, and the mortar leaked all over the beautiful stone chimney. Domo felt sad. He isn't a professional contracting beaver, he's just a little guy, with lots of bushy fur. He stood in the middle of the living room and watched as the soppy, grey mess dripped onto the floor.

Beaver went and fetched him some sasafrass tea. Try, try again, little Domo! Even the highest tree will fall with enough earnest chewing.

And you thought acoustic ceiling tile was treacherous...

Beaver and Sir Domo have finally met their match in the form of wall-to-wall linoleum. As if the acoustic ceiling tile in the original log cabin living room wasn't enough of an aesthetic obstacle, the kitchen, bathroom and the entirety of the guest cottage is adorned with blue and grey industrial strength lino.

After 40 straight hours of work, Beaver and Domo succeeded in removing a mere 6" x 4" section in the kitchen. Lady B cried a bit, who wouldn't? If the previous owner had simply put down some plywood, she could have chewed it all up in no time flat and gone for a swim in the river.

Fear has taken hold- short of knocking down the kitchen all together, the lino might be here to stay. Only too late, they learn the cruelty of their error; they could have put down flooring right over the hell-raising linoleum. They didn't, though, and now it's too late. In order for their lovely, white-washed Scandinavian flooring to lie flat and never buckle, every single piece of the lino must go.

Why, former owner from North Carolina, why such ill-made choices? Had you never heard of cork?