do-it-yourself fever

Even as I sit and type, my husband is working. He is replacing the old (cheap) semi-plastic bookcases in his home office with less-cheap semi-wooden ones. Given the spaghetti-tangle of wires that is always a permanent part of any office decor (at least the way he does it), he's having quite a time. I'm hearing all sorts of hammering and electronic drill noises. He has do-it-yourself fever. I always have that fever. In fact, I'm so hooked on the DIY and HGTV shoes that I'd rather watch them than any drama.

There is something immensely satisfying about creating something with one's own hands and mind. Even just changing the decor of a room is satisfying. We made a major change in our den (or family room, if you prefer) by replacing the motley collection of mismatched chairs and tables with a new leather sectional. I've never wanted leather before, but when I found how comfortable my son's leather sofa was, I changed my mind. However, the famed "new leather" smell is not pleasant. It actually makes my throat hurt, and the cat won't go near the new furniture. I don't know if it's the smell or the texture. It's a good thing that he isn't interested in scratching it, but he is equally not interested in getting in our laps while we're sitting on it.

We also discovered that we now need a new rug. Esteemed and energetic hubby had put our area rugs on the back deck and hosed them down. When they finally dried, he realized that the fallen leaves on the deck had deeply stained the rugs. But the rugs are necessary to keep the furniture from sliding on our wooden laminate floors. Every solution creates a new problem. One of those Murphy's Laws, I guess.

I'm thinking of making some mini-videos for my online classes. What is bothering me most is the sense that we can't talk and communicate except by email. A couple of them have phoned me, and that creates a bit of a connection, but if I had a few short videos that showed me explaining specific concepts, maybe that would help them feel connected. On the other hand, only a few of them sent me pictures of themselves so that I could "see" them.

It's raining, it's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sleepy. No surprise. "Sleepy" is my favorite adjective these days. Either I want to sleep and can't, however, or I don't want to sleep (like on my drive home), and I can barely hold my eyes open. Yawn. Is it naptime yet? Dr. S.