Is it stealing if it was put out for the trash?

Good morning from the closet office. So I have a question. I wanted a new chair, or at least a more comfortable chair, for my closet office. Right now my desk is at standing height, which is nice when my back is screaming at me to get up and unkink. I have to use a bar stool to sit at the desk, which is OK, except my feet dangle about six inches from the floor and that's not very comfortable. So I was thinking of lowering the desktop to normal sitting height and getting a comfortable chair. Except...there's that unemployed, counting our pennies thing. So I really can't buy the Herman Miller chair I want.

This is not the Herman Miller chair I had in mind!

And neither is this one, but love the ingenuity! (Photos and designs from Eames Hack)

Here's the question. Is it OK to take stuff that your neighbor has put out for the trash? Because one of my neighbors had a Herman Miller knock-off desk chair on his lawn next to his trashcan this morning. I say "had" because it is now in my garage. It was on the grass! Next to the trashcan! You can't tell me he accidentally left it out there when he was ... doing what? What do you do while sitting in a desk chair by the curb next to your trash can? It must have been intended for the trash, right?

So why did I feel so guilty while hauling it the length of a couple of houses after my morning walk? It's not like I took it out of his garage!


Anyway, my barely breathed prayer for a new chair was answered this morning. Now I just have to lower my desk top and put the bar stool back at the breakfast bar where it belongs. Unless you think I should take the chair back and confess.


Today I'm trying to plan out the final week of my unintentional sabbatical. I'm starting a three month gig with United Way next week as a loaned executive for their annual giving campaign. Only, obviously, I'm not loaned from any company like most of the loaned executives. Fortunately they have a plan for those of us who are more like freelancers. I'm looking forward to it!


But that makes this week the final week of what has turned into a two month time of evaluating my life's work, resting, reading, doing sprint remodels on a few rooms in the house, and annoying the holy heck out of my self-employed husband. I can't be bothering him too much though, since he has been out of town working with clients a lot recently.


Wait a minute! Hold the phone! I get it now. Fine mister. You just go off to California and Maryland and Texas. I'll still be here when you get back. And I'm working on a to-do list in my head right now. You can run, but you can't hide!


Just kidding about the to-do list. Yes, I am tormented by an eternal to-do list in my head, like a revolving credit account. When you get one thing checked off that just makes room for another entry. But I typically take care of the things on my own list and leave Mark out of it. Typically. But not always. Love you sweetie! *blows kisses*


Today the list in my head is long, but full of delightful things. Maybe they are delightful because I don't have to do a single one of them. Luxurious!

The Road to Austin

Austin here I come. The only place I've been in Texas is the Dallas/Ft.Worth area. Oh, and Amarillo on my way west. Oh, and Galveston briefly before getting on a cruise to celebrate our 25th anniversary. But I hear Austin is a great place to visit. I'm thinking, though, that this weekend may not have been the best choice. There's a huge winter storm headed that direction.

I planned this trip for work, and invited Mark to come along. We extended the visit by a day so we could hang out and explore the city. We may be exploring everything indoors. I mean like restaurants and shopping, people.

Weather has been a constant topic of conversation lately. What are we? Old? Only old people talk endlessly about weather and politics and the price of gas, right? What was it we talked about when we were young? I don't remember.

Mark is the Trip-Miester, planning even trips to the grocery store in great detail. Well, maybe not the grocery store. That's where he goes on auto-pilot and works the isles in exact order, neatly stacking the familiar brands in his basket in a specific order that I'm not privy to. He has a plan and a pace and I'm welcome only if I can keep up and don't drift.

Anyway - he already has explored Austin on Mapquest, plotting out points of interest and importance. He's printed out all the boarding passes and checked the weather. Now he's looking for the umbrella. I'm pretty sure he was a tour guide in a previous life. I just get to relax and follow the man with the umbrella who is leading the way.

What's mine is mine and what's your's is mine

I'm trying to think threw the whole apostrophe thing on this blog title. I think I got all the possesive's and plural's write. Punctuation has never bin my strong suite. Spelling is an issue to sometimes. Thank God for spell chick.

OK, put down that sharp instrument. You need both eyes. I'll stop messing with you're brain.

Seriously, I'm stopping now.

Annnysways, I was thinking about how everything is shared in a marriage. Am I right? Especially if it's his and I want it. I mean, if he ever starts borrowing my clothes or my makeup, well, that's just too wrong to contemplate. I'd have to pull his man card at the very least. Ewww. But that doesn't stop me from borrowing his stuff. Like the black t-shirt I've been borrowing. I mean, I never see him wearing it. And it goes great under sweaters. The weird thing is that the other day when I went to "borrow" it out of his drawer, it was missing! I had to look a long time to find that shirt. You'd think he was trying to hide it or something. Sheesh. Then, of course, the next day he decided that this was the one day in 6 months when he had to wear that shirt. I wondered why he was digging through all his (2) drawers, turning his side of the closet inside out. Finally in frustration he asks if I've seen that black t-shirt. Umm, maybe, as I point to the dirty clothes hamper. Dangit, he says. I even hid it so you wouldn't wear it. (how rude!) I helpfully dug it out of the dirty clothes and pointed out it didn't really stink. Oddly, he declined.

Now why didn't he just tell me to please not wear his black t-shirt. It worked when he asked me to please quit wearing his favorite sweat shirt, and when he politely asked that I refrain from stealing his socks. I'm a reasonable person.

So I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm sticking to my side of the closet. Thank goodness his jeans are too big. I think I'd just go kill myself. Besides, I have some pride.