Mr. Jo showed up today, good news.

Planned on writing here today. Road to hell and all, as the day ended on a sour note.

I am at post 967, somewhere in April of 2005.

This will be post 2677.

Those stats don’t really encourage one to post every day, not for now, at least.

And I do indeed start every morning, doing 20 posts from the past.

And I do not do the math on that any longer.

No Jo today.

Who knows why.

I won’t ask, but will- at the proper moment- ask The Father to have a crew from Poland sent over to do the dirty deeds.

I’m sick of waiting.

In fact, I printed out a 14 page how-to thing, as I want to have a shadow box for The Boy’s Ajax shirt for Christmas.

Me, who could not figure out how to unroll a roll of chicken wire.

Rumor has it that Mr.Jo might turn up here tomorrow.

He has been a very busy man lately.

On bended knee, I am hoping that he now has all of the time in the world, for I have a to- do list that fills a note book.

I kid you not.

Pray for me.

You can actually note my progress of unhacking this site by watching the numbers under the category : Uncategorized.

I am so very excited , for shortly, I shall break the 400 barrier.

Yesterday at dinner- rather out of the blue- The Father said that there was a good chance that Mr.Jo could start up here next week.

“Oh, really?” I said, as I was thinking : two weeks.

On Sunday I get my first lessons on how to use, uh, plugs and screws and I guess drills of various sorts.

Look ! A new area of knowledge which I have no vocabulary for !

That time that Mr. Jo was here- for almost two years- working on the house, whenever he began a project, I would ask him about how long he thought that it would take. Rubbing his beard and staring at the floor, after a short pause he would always reply, oh, about two weeks.

He is supposed to come here once more. I actually have a very organized notebook, room by room, of things that need to be done in the house. We still don’t have a door handle on the inside of the laundry room, a fact which once found an infant The Boy and I trapped in the laundry room, early in the morning, with no help in sight until late in the afternoon. Placing my baby on the floor and covering him with towels, I bravely broke the glass window on the door. This looks much easier to do than it actually is/ was.

So, I have been waiting since about September for Mr.Jo to darken our doorstep once more. He is very busy these days.

This weekend, I asked The Father when he thought Mr.Jo might turn up.

Silly me.

Oh, in about two weeks, The Father replied.

When will I finally unhack this site ? I work on it almost every day.

I suppose it should take about, oh, two weeks, if you know what I mean.

Today, I hung The Boy’s wooden blinds ( which fell down, oh, about a year ago) back up, as well as straightening out his curtains.

I am very determined to become my own, private beunhaas.

After tomorrow’s domestic chores are completed, I plan on trying to take the extra bed in The Baby’s room apart. The Father wants to put it on the rose arbor as a bed for the dogs.

Fine with me.

Mr. Jo comes next week, if I can get it downstairs, then he can deal with it.

And I wonder if The Girland I are a strong enough team to get that sun- bed out of The Baby’s room as well.

It was supposed to help my eczema. It did not.

It now functions as a high rise apartment complex for spiders.

And I want it gone.

On Tuesday, Clark Kent received an urgent message : Superman was needed in Copenhagen the next day, Wednesday. And then on Thursday, somewhere else. Friday as well. Lois was wool gathering as usual, and so the only pertinent detail which clung to her memory banks was that she would see Clark again on Saturday.

Now, Clark jr has a keyboard lesson on Wednesdays. Usually, Lois takes little Clark there with the bus, and Big Clark picks them up. Uh, oh, no way that was going to happen this Wednesday, nope, it would be buses both ways.

To make the coming trial more attractive, Lois promised little Clark that they would pick up some of that chicken he always natters on about and once home, heat it up for dinner.

You see, Lois and little Clark have to change buses to get to the music school. As they sit for 25 minutes at the one stop- waiting for the next bus- little Clark always stares across the street where a butcher has set up a glass case, filled with chicken grilling on spits. While it does indeed smell wonderful, Lois is very stern and tells little Clark- each and every time- that she is not going to appear in public with some one chomping on a piece of chicken on the bone, rather like Fred Flintstone.

The promise of the chicken worked wonders.

But the trip was indeed a trip from hell.

Little Clark’s keyboard lesson is forty minutes long. They left at a bit before 4 and arrived home at almost 7.30. Most of their time was spent standing in the bitter cold, waiting for a bus to come.

Today, Lois went to the Big City. She wore socks, she wore the scarf that her eldest daughter had given her last year and borrowed her youngest daughter’s gloves.

Once in the city, she bought a fine pair of gloves, more socks and harbors hopes that Clark is not away for too many Wednesdays during the winter.

She now awaits a farmer bringing her two bales of hay ( 17 kilos each, 2 euro a bale), to prepare her dear camellia bushes for the coming ice age.

Sometimes, the life of a superhero’s wife is a daunting job.

But the children all loved the chicken.