GOING NUCLEAR: Day one. Damage report.

Day one of the retro-active lifestyle is chaotic. I'm coming to the conclusion that this process will be one of growth and learning, and after my own little Beaver Cleaver doused the cat with toothpaste last night, I figured that for every three steps I make, I will be cleaning up thrity-five. C'est la vie.

So today I have done just a basic inventory of the chaos.
Let's start with the magical basement. Six years ago, a pack of hungry estate buyers ravaged the house. What was left was deemed "junk."
So it seems.

But after looking throught the piles of mouse-poop and dust (this is really a filthy labor of love) I say, "YOU WERE WRONG, ESTATE SCAVENGERS!"

There are plenty of great things in the basement. Like this lovely toilet-lid-shaped clock! What were they thinking leaving this monument to masculine culture down there? Finders kepers, my adversaries, finders keepers.

Now, we move onto the wet bar. Not much to look at. The water isn't running to the sink, but I think I can rework it. The biggest problem with the bar is that it is only full of silly things like 1950's radios and not full of the important things like booze. My picture was horrifying. You'll just have to wait.
No matter.

And finally, for the day, me. This picture was taken in my favorite, yet non-functional bathroom. There is a lot of work that needs to be done...to both the bathroom and the dame in the mirror.

What'd I tell ya? June Cleaver would be crying into her martini if she saw what half-a-century had done to domestic culture.
I'm considering myself as the ultimate work-in-progress. That's it for today. So many wonders, yet not enough time between kids, gym, laundry, etc.