fufaraw: (Default)
The living room is done, excepting a bit of sorting and organizing.

cat among the seagulls

wee gargoyle, glass globes

The wee gargoyle says, "I'ma jump off parapets too, when I get big!" The globe watch necklace was a gift, and OH made the display stand.

The media shelves:
full media shelves

Are finally full! There are a few spaces left empty for small hardcovers and trade paperback books.

And the dining room is done! All that media storage in that tiny sliver of space!
dining room done!

fufaraw: (Hostage J2)
Re: the banner across my screen noting LJ will be down for maintenance for an hour today beginning at 22:00 UTC, this better not be the aforetold irreversible conversion to "feed" rather than friends page. If I want "feed" I'll go to the damn kitchen. Hands off my page, le eljay!

Um. As I was going to say, when I bought the pleated cellular up-down shade for my bedroom window, I chose it because of the lovely rosy translucence. It does provide quite a bit of insulation when it's closed, but it doesn't block, rather, it filters, light.

We have new next-door neighbors, who apparently moved from the depths of urban peril, and having to constantly be on guard and maintain defenses. They chirp the car lock when they dash back inside for a coat or a water bottle. When they go inside, the door shuts solidly behind them, and you can hear the positive click of the thumb latch, followed by the chain lock sliding home. Windows are never open to the breeze, nor are curtains and shades. They're lovely people, chatty and friendly, and there are new pots of flowers and welcome signs, even patio furniture on the new deck--but it's behind a gate, which is locked.

They got a dog from a rescue (go them!) and are building a dog lot behind the house, with a narrow run between their house and ours with a gate to access it from the back stoop (oh, yay, having to listen to barkies and smell poopies while sitting on our porch). To facilitate this, they've taken down the ivy-grown partition that used to screen the door and stoop. This bemuses me because, 'Were you aware the prevailing winds are from the woods in back of your property? That the wind, rain, and occasional snow *howls* up the narrow tunnel between houses, and that screen created a barrier where you could offload groceries from the car and fumble for your keys without getting soaked and chilled through?' Which, eventually, they'll realize that. But also, in a far more acute way which actually affects, you know, *me*, that partition screened their porch light from my bedroom window. Not satisfied with the attractive carriage-style porch light, they've installed a double floodlight, one light focused toward the street, in case marauders arrive that way, never minding the elderly ladies in their walkers and scooters, the tiny doglings on their walkies, the mama raccoon prone to squatting in the middle of the street and squalling for her wandering offspring, or the squirrel doing his/her daily rounds of porch water features and prospecting for tasty leftovers. Not to mention the eight-point buck forgetting what he was doing in the middle of the street--"Uh, whut?" Yup, if the reavers come by street, next door is protected--or at least, well-lit (I should be well lit, ITYW). The other light is aimed at the white-painted door of their garden shed, in case somebody wants to steal the single pair of rusty hedge shears, the empty packing boxes, and miscellaneous trash therein.

The result of this midnight lightshow is that my lovely cellular shade does bupkiss against the light. I woke up in the middle of the night the other night and the damn wall was *glowing*. I felt like I was about to be hailed by a message from the Big Giant Head, or the mothership, or something. Dayum. My first instinct was to offer OH's services to install the sort of fixture we have on our back porch, between us and the *other* neighbor--it's a double floodlight, but it's movement-activated. If the buck wanders through, "Uh, whut?" he gets lit up. In fact, OH was on the porch one night when a baby bunny got pinned by the lightus horriblis. It goes out in a minute if there's no further movement. You know, practical.

But, unused as I am to dealing with Other People's Issues and the closeness of neighbors (spoiled. The place was owned and maintained for a couple of years before they moved in permanently), better judgement reminded me that the problem was mine, not theirs, and I started pricing blackout shades. Uh, nuh-uh. Prohibitive. So I asked the Other Human, "Do we have a sheet of corrugated cardboard big enough to cover the bedroom window?" Mr. Sleep-through-anything was never fashed, and I had to explain that yes, I *really* was bothered by the searchlights from hell lighting up the window shade and thus the room sufficient to read small print if you squint, enough that it was affecting my sleep, he went in search of flattened moving boxes, and with the aid of contact cement and duct tape, I have a panel that friction fits into the window outside the shade, and even has duct-tape fashioned pull tabs to remove it. I slept like babies last night, like a clear-conscience, innocent, creature of light and goodness. Kisses to my OH, and I give dispensation that the neighbors may live.


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