And on the seventh day...

Apparently we needed to be taught a lesson about keeping the Sabbath day holy. In the midst of research papers, computer programming nightmares, and a library of books that need to be read, we managed to convince ourselves that some long-awaited fix-ups to our domicile would be considered rest, and therefore appropriate for today--Sunday. And so I set to work as Jess made our very first Downs family Christmas stockings. My first task was to put blinds on our front door which is covered in classic single-paned windows. Although its look appeals to our taste, the door leaves us feeling exposed, even though we are tucked away in the basement. Ask my sister Amy who can testify that peeping Toms are not beyond crouching down to look on unsuspecting coeds and surely, married couples.

The first time I tried mounting the blinds, I put the mounts on wrong. On my second attempt the screw broke off inside the door. Jess astutely observed "Maybe you shouldn't do that on Sunday if it's making you frustrated." The blinds would have to wait.

On to project number 2: mounting our recently-purchased shelves from IKEA. They are incredible if I do say so in the manliest, hammer-swinging, Ty Pennington kind of way, not that of his very expressive interior decorating buddy. Turns out the wall is made of concrete. After a minute of drilling I had made less than one centimeter of progress. And that's assuming the torque on the drill was responsible. I was pushing hard enough on that sucker that my sheer anger may have been equally effective. Now we're looking into buying that super sticky business the bearded guy sells on infomercials.

Because I hadn't got the message yet, I moved to project number three: sinking a hook into the ceiling to hang our new/old light fixture. This time the drill made progress quicker than John Henry. Alas my hope was in vain. Within thirty seconds it had hit what I can only assume was a wood beam and my dull bits and wits could not make it go deeper.

I felt like Elijah tonight. It took a wind, earthquake, and fire of sorts before I heard the still small voice of my wife. If you're ever looking for us on a Sunday, you'll likely find us much like our tools, resting in the place where we belong.

There comes a time...

A new duo's first blog post is monumental. Consider this our quinceanera... bar mitzvah...our first tattoo. In contemplating what might go into this first episode of our new epic, we considered the time of year: elections just passed, America's Ba-rockin', and Thanksgiving just came and went. Now is a time to proudly wear our red, white, and blue, and give you a little taste of our all-American side. Perhaps some photos of our homemade cranberry sauce or whole-wheat bread? Maybe even the serious kitchen appliances that made that possible? or how about Josh's Ameri-manliness as he participated in a Turkey Bowl. The best idea, however, came today: Black Friday. To celebrate this time-honored American tradition, we planned a trip to a local department store to find and wistfully wear some all-American matching sweaters. What an idea. How appropriate. However, we were a little disenchanted while eavesdropping in the checkout line at the Ream's on Center: Wal-mart employee trampled and killed in the early shopping frenzy to get the best deals.

We didn't make the conscious decision NOT to go to the store--we just didn't. I suppose that after hearing about people dying in Mombai, and others held hostage...the deaths over toys for little and big kids alike made us want to go to our little swirley-colored-carpet basement to eat leftovers of our "we're-all-just-so-grateful-for-what-we-have" turkey. Bless that bird. Bless the pilgrims. Bless Squanto. And surely, bless all of you.