In Cliff's shop

Cliff washed the car yesterday.  Today he is waxing it.  

When we were newlyweds, he washed and cleaned out his car every week or two, and waxed it every month or so.  These days tractors get most of his attention, but he still keeps the car looking pretty good.  

Twelve ounces of this stuff costs $34.95.  Cliff says it's worth it; he makes it last quite a while, using it quite sparingly.  That's Glare polish, in case you are interested (and wealthy).

I bought this hair-remover glove at the Walmarts today for three bucks, hoping it might get rid of some of Iris' loose hair.

It got rid of some hair.  I also have a Furminator, but it seems to hurt Iris, so I hate to use it on her often.  

If you click on the above picture to make it larger, you'll see Iris dozing in her favorite spot in the shop, right beside the wood stove.

 See how shiny the car is looking in this picture?  You can see my guitar case in the background; Cliff always has his satellite radio going, and I decided to strum along to the country music on Willie's Roadhouse.  My fingers need to get toughened up.  By the way, this is not where Cliff parks the car; it is kept in the garage next to our home.

On the way back to the house, I noticed the two young cats all snuggled up on the cows' hay.  

New strings

I've neglected my guitar lately.

First of all, let me say I'm not a skilled guitarist. I can chord a little... enough that I can accompany myself on most country and folk songs. That's really all I ever wanted to be able to do.

So when I got my first guitar and a chord book and learned to strum in the key of C, I was a happy camper; later on, I learned to play in the keys of G and D. I bought myself a capo (otherwise known as "a cheater") and was able to chord along to any simple song.

The time came when my guitar needed strings. How hard could it be to change strings? I took out the old strings, put on the new ones, and started twisting the keys until my tuner said it was right. This has served me just fine, all my life.

Today I decided that if I removed the old, dead strings from my Gibson and put on new ones, perhaps that would give me motivation to use it more.

Sometime within the last year, I was told there's a proper way to string a guitar; the person who told me this doesn't play a guitar, but I figured she was probably right. So I found a Youtube video demonstrating how to properly put new strings on a guitar.


Tonight, I decided to put on strings the right way.

With each string, I replayed the video and followed the instructions carefully. At least, I thought I did.

Except that somehow, I got the G string so that the tuning peg has to be turned in the opposite direction from all the others.

I haven't decided whether to leave it like that and just deal with it, or restring it properly. I'll sleep on it, OK?

And by the way, what ever happened to Black Diamond strings? The people I used to strum with would use no other brand!

Little aggravations

So Robin, a blogging friend over at AOL journals has a birthday coming up, and asked her readers to make a video of themselves singing happy birthday to her.

When I got my guitar out of the case, it was hopelessly out of tune. And it took me a good twenty minutes to find my guitar tuner.

Then I opened up the little compartment in my guitar case looking for my capo, and it's not there. I always keep it there! It's a Kyser, and I paid nearly $30 for it several years ago; I see they've come down in price, which is good if I can't find mine. Musician's Friend has them for $19.95. I'm thinking I may have left it in my cabin last fall. If Cliff and I take our morning walk, I'll check there and see.

Anyhow, what all of this tells me is that I haven't strummed my guitar in months. I'm such a slacker. I think when my husband wakes up and asks for his coffee, I'll serenade him, just to get back in practice. Yes, he will enjoy it; his hearing isn't great, and he thinks I sing like a pro.

Another little aggravation: I have mice playing around in a bathroom cabinet. I put poison out for them, but that takes so long to work that I decided to help it along with a mousetrap. Alas, the mice simply lick the peanut butter off and leave the trap unsprung.

They just don't make mousetraps like they used to. Cruel as it is, I'm going to get some of that sticky paper I with which I catch mice at the cabin and put it down inside the cabinet. I hate mice in my house; they're filthy little vermin, and they poop everywhere.