Today's project consisted of lining the firebox of the living room fireplace with cement board. Since I'm installing a gas log set, there was no need to remove the old steel box that is rusting away at the bottom but firmly attached at the top. It was a messy job, cutting the board, then trimming it "in situ" where my measurements were a bit off. I'm happy to say I didn't cut any of it too small to begin with. You can always trim a bit off, but there's no way to put it back on. As my dad used to say, "I cut that board twice, and it's still too short."
I'm also quite happy to report that the old 1948 Ford 8N started right up at the first touch of the starter. It tends to be a bit cold-blooded in the winter, so this was an unexpected treat. The backblade takes a bit getting used to after plowing with a front blade, but it's worth the trade-off of ten minutes to mount versus half a day. The storm that has crippled Buffalo missed us, so the old tractor was quite adequate for today's snowfall. Every time I fire it up, I think of Gramps. This was his baby, his pride and joy. I only got to drive it once while he was alive. He was tearing down the barn across the road, and in the middle of the project had one of his back spasms that put him flat on his back. He actually gave me his blessing to hook it up to the south wall and pull it down. Knowing what he thought of that tractor, I'm still amazed he let me do it. Great memories of him with that old machine, hauling grandkids and firewood, mowing the fields, plowing his driveway. I'm not the mechanic he was by a long shot, but I have an original manual that covers just about everything except tearing it down for a total rebuild. Next summer, I really should tackle the brakes which right now are nearly nonexistent.
This evening was grandkids night. They ate supper quickly and then hurried outside to play in the snow. Even Gemma bundled up like Ralphie's little brother. The house was strangely quiet with only Abi left with Meema and myself. Alex was babysitting. Right now, I'm waiting up for her. No one likes to come home to a darkened house.
It took awhile for me to resign myself to mortaring the cementboard in place tonight. It was all wedged in tightly, but I wanted to give it the extra strength of actually joining everything together, nonetheless, I didn't look forward to tackling the job at 7 pm, lying on my back and twisting like a contortionist to get everything tied in together. It's especially fun when globs of mortar slip off the trowel and land on your face. That being said, I'm glad I talked myself into doing the job tonight. I don't have to dread doing it tomorrow. The project is almost done, and just in time. Linda would not be happy entertaining the ladies she's having over Sunday afternoon with a stove in the middle of the floor. Happy wife, happy life!
I am grateful for these small blessings. When I think of the folks just an hour north of us trying to dig their way out of five and six feet of snow, and facing the thaw that is supposed to come tomorrow, with its attendant flooding and possible roof collapses, I am blessed beyond measure. Why some are hit hard while others are spared is a mystery to me. Gratitude when one has dodged the bullet is easy. It's a bit tougher when the dodging didn't work, but I'm determined to look for the blessing even when trouble comes. Alan Redpath once wrote a book entitled "Blessings out of Buffetings." We can't control the storms, but we can choose our attitude. Two years ago, I learned the value of gratitude (at 65, I must be a slow learner), and am committed to giving thanks no matter what. Today was easy. Tomorrow may not be, but grateful, I am determined to be.
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