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Man reportedly ODs at busy Wilkes-Barre intersection with child in car

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WBS Penguins not dwelling on past playoff success to prepare for Providence

<p>I live in a very old house.</p><p>If we don&#8217;t (I mean if I don&#8217;t) keep up on things, it will fall down around my ears.</p><p>Old houses, like us old women, are historically fabulous, but tweaking layers are a must if we all don&#8217;t want to be a wrinkled, decrepit, peeling mess with varicose veins and saggy knees.</p><p>Currently, my attic is begging for a facelift.</p><p>The best time to ask my husband any favors, or tell him about any speeding tickets I&#8217;ve incurred, is during a very important televised golf tournament. The Masters was on last week, so I waited for my prey to become transfixed.</p><p>&#8220;Nancy,&#8221; I said softly, &#8220;I want to completely renovate the third floor. My office is up there and it feels like a hot, musty suitcase holding old body parts.&#8221;</p><p>Him: &#8220;Huh?&#8221;</p><p>Me: &#8220;I need to paint, put up a wall, and lay down some carpet. We also need air conditioning up there, because it&#8217;s hot enough to grow cannabis on the window sill.&#8221;</p><p>Him: &#8220;Huh?&#8221;</p><p>Me: &#8220;Awesome! I took the American Express and I&#8217;m going to Lowe&#8217;s &#8230;&#8221;</p><p>Him: &#8220;Buy me some licorice!&#8221;</p><p>The last Heck renovation was a kitchen that almost cost us our marriage. It was worse than giving birth, because at the end of that debacle I didn&#8217;t have a baby; I had a husband I hated.</p><p>We fought about <em>everything</em>. From the floor to, literally, the ceiling.</p><p>He&#8217;d insist: &#8220;I don&#8217;t <em>care</em> what kind of floor we put in the kitchen. You choose! Whatever you decide, I&#8217;m sure it&#8217;ll be fine!&#8221;</p><p>Two days and one floor purchase later:</p><p>&#8220;What the hell kind of floor is <em>that</em>? What are we building here, a barn? Too rustic!&#8221;</p><p>Another day:</p><p>Him: &#8220;You choose the faucet &#8230; I could care less! Really. I mean, it&#8217;s a faucet for God&#8217;s sake; it&#8217;s not like it&#8217;s a putter!&#8221;</p><p>Two days and one faucet purchase later:</p><p>&#8220;What the hell kind of faucet is <em>that</em>? Ick. If you think that&#8217;ll match the stainless-steel appliances, you are <em>&nbsp;&nbsp;c-r-a-z-y</em>.&#8221;</p><p>I like him better when he has no taste and no preferences &#8212; except to ask for the mild salsa instead of medium. The fact that he has a viewpoint about something he rarely, if ever, uses &#8212; like an oven, dishwasher or attic &#8212; astounds and annoys me.</p><p>Lowe&#8217;s should have an aisle dedicated to divorce attorneys &#8212; between the paint, lumber and power tools that can kill.</p><p>I think with any home improvement project a wife should just plan the whole thing: rent the dumpster, lure the contractors, buy the carpeting, then tell her husband when it&#8217;s all over.</p><p>He&#8217;ll never even notice; it won&#8217;t even register as a blip on his screen, especially if the screen is filled with boring golfers in sherbet-colored shirts, immersed in strange, whispering crowds.</p><p>The US Open is in June. That&#8217;s when I plan to tell him about my latest adventure: a new front porch. With a swing. And lights. And ceiling fan. And &#8230; I guess that would also be the time to tell him about the big, fat speeding ticket I just received &#8212; on the way to Lowe&#8217;s.</p><p>Renovation can be painful and expensive.</p><style>
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<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck</p><p>Life Deconstructed</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck of West Pittston is a mother of three and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at mariajh40@msn.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Life Deconstructed: Harrowing home renovations and when to bring them up