The Cheap Life is a Life Worth Living

Barn-ilicious

Published on by Lisa

A few months ago, Nick got a storage box from home. It was heading toward the trash and we salvaged it, thinking we could use it for Isaiah’s things. Nick didn’t tell me right away what the storage box looked like. He just said, “Just come see it.”

It was a barn.

Oh.

Well, that’s kinda cute, I guess.

We took it home and put some baby clothes in it, hand me downs from Isaiah’s cousins who quickly outgrew of barely used some of the outfits.

I forgot about the barn the past few months.

Then, last night, Nick and I headed to a good-bye party for one of my co-workers who was moving to Boston with her husband and 7 month old son. It was a special party. You weren’t allowed to bring gifts and you had to take a “treasure” with you. Meaning, the things they couldn’t take to Boston were up for grabs. There were some pretty nice items including deck furniture, shelves, books, trinkets, frames, unused clothes and jewelry…I was busy sorting through the frames and ransacking the unopened spice bottles when Nick calls me across the room, “Leese! Do you think that’s up for grabs?” He’s pointing near my feet.

I look down and don’t see anything.

“Where? Which one are you talking about?”

He points again, “That one!”

I look and see some sort of vintage, Fisher Price box that I thought was garbage.

Oh, this thing? I ask.

“Yes!” Nick was so excited, I honestly didn’t know how to react to his excitement over this dirty box.

But it was no box.

It was a BARN.

He explains as his eyeballs roll over it, “We had one just like this when we were kids!”

Oh. Ok. So you want it, then?

YES.

So, we bring it home and I say that it’s an interesting toy. The barn doors open to a Moooooooooooooooo sound. It came complete with animals and tools to play with.

As we are leaving, Nick gathers bags of treasures – books, spices, a baby swing, a frame, and countless little things I can cook with.

But he’s most excited about the barn.

I wondered what was up with the barn theme. Then I heard him introduce himself to someone at the party, “I didn’t grow up on a farm, but I’m definitely a farm boy.”

Well, that explains it.

The Year is 2100

Published on by Lisa

Last night I came home from work at roughly 9:30pm. Driving in a rental, I pulled up and saw Nick sprawled on the couch, watching our old but new to us TV (huge applause to Nick’s cousin, Abby Cordonnier and fiancee for selling us a monstrously large and much improved telly) with an intent look on his face. I was chatting on the phone with Kelly, Nick’s sister, about the joys and woes of the growing Pinto Bean in my belly.

As I babble, I observe Nick is flipping the channel between some NBC news special on the White House and an ABC special program about what the earth will look like in the year 2100. After I got off the phone, Nick scooted closer to me and says, “It’s good your home. I was about to kill myself after watching this,” he referenced the Earth 2100 show.

I sat down to watch.

In the next 20 minutes, I watched the most depressing and strange story which told a part cartoon, part computerized tale that predicted what the world will become should we continue in our fossil fuel consuming ways. The southern states of the USA were desert, the coasts were in perpetual threat of flooding, and everyone was hoodlums with shopping carts on the side of the road, hitch hiking their way to Canada. I felt like I wanted to just bury my head in a sand dune and hope for a quick death. That or drink myself into an oblivion.

“Ugh,” I grunted at Nick, “it IS a good thing I came home when I did. You might have put a bullet to your noggin if you were alone watching the world go to shit.”

We tried to focus on something else to cheer ourselves up from the morbidity of 2100 and impending doom of human life.

Nick asked, “Did you see our new car?”

Yesterday, we had our insurance agent shop and find us a car. When they find one that fits your general description, s/he will arrange a test drive and get the car to us for inspection. If we like it, we buy it on the spot. It’s a nice FREE service from Nationwide. (Nick asked the agent 3 times to make sure it was FREE.)

Our used but new to us (do you see a theme emerging yet?) car is 2006 Honda Accord, blue, with a non-descript gray interior. According to Nick, back in his seminary days, one of the older priests drove an Accord and Nick told himself, “If ever someday I have a lot of money, I’m going to buy an Accord.”

I don’t know anyone whose car fantasies began in the parking lot of a Cincinnati seminary.

As Nick retold me his vow to buy an Accord someday, I jested, “Well, we are just rolling in the millions these days, so let’s pull the trigger. It’s now or never.”

The test drive was scheduled at 2pm yesterday and I was not able to get off work. Nick was hesitant to be the only one driving/inspecting the car, but I told him, “Look, this will be the second biggest purchase you have to make without me. Remember, we bought our house without my ever seeing it. Now it’ll also be our car.”

The Accord runs beautifully.

We returned our rental last night and then drove around Cleveland, frequently getting lost because we are the two most geographically challenged people in the midwest.

“I like it,” I told Nick. “Good job.”

Nick muses, “This thing is going to last forever. I mean, it’s an ACCORD. It’s supposed to run forever. For real, the world is going to collapse on itself in 2100, but this car is still going to be running.”

Bike Shop Talk

Published on by Lisa

I had a free and open day. Nick was off in the afternoon.

You have two lovebirds, free as real birds, and a 70 some degree day in April? That’s good stuff right there.

We returned to our tennis practices. Or, shall I say, Nick lightly hitting the ball to me and I return it with full force while he watches it wail over the fence behind him. he’s such a good sport.

Then we went bike shopping.

Often when we shop together, it turns into a conversation about things other than what we’re shopping for. For instance, after we walked into the bike shop and learned about the different styles and amenities that come with the bikes, we thanked the sales associates and walked out into the bright sunshine.

When we were about 10 steps from the door, our conversation goes something like this:

Me: Sometimes I think it would be funny if there could be a big blimp above our heads that shows our real thoughts and what we’re thinking when someone is talking to us?

Nick: Like ‘Pop-Up Video?’
He makes the funny pop up noises to illustrate.

Me: (laughing) Yeah, exactly!

Nick: So, it’d be like –

Me: (laughing harder and interrupting him) It’d be like when he showed us that first bike that was $400, my blimp would pop up and read, “Mhm, that’s about $350 too expensive.”

Nick: I think it’d be hilarious if you could see two pop-ups at the same time. Yours would read, ‘Mhm, that’s $350 too much,’ and mine would read, ‘Mhm, looks like we’re not buying anything today.’

**If you’d like to see a fine example of the entertainment that comes with pop-up video, click here to watch a tune with Rick Astley. Doesn’t come with the fun pop up noise though… **