......
SCOTTISH-IRISH MUSIC IN THE PARK THIS EVENING...Ahhh, summer is on the way!
Earlier a thunderstorm had rolled through the area,
threatening our chances of enjoying this concert.
But then the weather moved along and it was a
most lovely later, with a swelling moon
in the clearing sky.
Bonhomie abounded.
And drinks. And food.
And young people throwing frisbees,
and dancing to the music.
My Yard Man and I took our young friend Linus
with us (he's visiting from Germany; he's fifteen;
he's a handsome lad--I'll show you tomorrow).
At the end of the evening of music, after we'd climbed
into the car to go home, Linus
said, "Aha, lightening!"
"What?" exclaimed the Yard Man and I in unison.
"Did you see lightening?!" We'd just been relishing the clear night sky.
"Yes," said Linus in his endearing accent. "I've got a lightening bug!"
*"We don't have the lightening bugs in Germany," he said.**
........................................................................................
**Hmm, Dear Reader. Did you know that? Neither did I!***
..................................................................
***It gave me a new appreciation for the glowing little
creatures of summer.****
.....................................................
****It gave me renewed appreciation for summer!*****
..................................
*****Ahhh, sweet summer!
...
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
......
DAY TWO OF THE TELLING. Which, as you know, Dear Reader (if you've actually been reading my blog) refers to Day Two of the CLEANING OUT. It's cleaning out of a dwelling of which I speak! It's the house that my father built when I was six years old, and it had been sitting forlornly stuffed with the paraphernalia of daily living--but no loving inhabitants--ever since my parents died, several years ago.
It's true, my siblings and I had already spent a day soon after our mother died divvying up the furniture and other large items; but there were still cupboards, closets, bookshelves, attic and basement filled with accoutrements and memorabilia with which we had yet to deal. And that's why we called for the enormous dumpster, and had both brothers' trucks at the ready for hauling what some might call junk (referred to as treasure by others, of course) to a thrift shop.
By Day Two, we had things well on the way to their various destinies. The dumpster was accruing cast-offs at a rapid rate, and likewise the 'things for donation' truck. According to the usual family dynamics--which were put into place by fate many years ago--two of the siblings called most of the shots, while the other two acquiesced. (The missing sis would have kowtowed as well, had she been able to be there.) And that's how we worked together through the sultry heat, my sister and I pulling open storage space filled with clothing and linens, papers (many, many papers) and photographs, photo albums and slides and old home movies, games and toys, medications and toiletries, decorative items, and...(aaagh...I'll have to admit, I can't enumerate it all); and meanwhile, my brothers and my Yard Man were feverishly emptying the basement.
The time flew by, and by Wednesday evening we'd filled the dumpster to the brim, sorted out and carted away most things of value (other than the kitchen accessories, wall of books on the living room bookshelves, and a few other small pockets of accumulation [we simply ran out of time]).
I'd have to say, in spite of my angst heading into this endeavor, I felt a sense of satisfaction upon locking the doors (last to leave) and heading home. Most folks would now call the house empty*.
*(My siblings and I, we thought of the house as "empty"
on the day my mother died.)
.........
DAY TWO OF THE TELLING. Which, as you know, Dear Reader (if you've actually been reading my blog) refers to Day Two of the CLEANING OUT. It's cleaning out of a dwelling of which I speak! It's the house that my father built when I was six years old, and it had been sitting forlornly stuffed with the paraphernalia of daily living--but no loving inhabitants--ever since my parents died, several years ago.
It's true, my siblings and I had already spent a day soon after our mother died divvying up the furniture and other large items; but there were still cupboards, closets, bookshelves, attic and basement filled with accoutrements and memorabilia with which we had yet to deal. And that's why we called for the enormous dumpster, and had both brothers' trucks at the ready for hauling what some might call junk (referred to as treasure by others, of course) to a thrift shop.
By Day Two, we had things well on the way to their various destinies. The dumpster was accruing cast-offs at a rapid rate, and likewise the 'things for donation' truck. According to the usual family dynamics--which were put into place by fate many years ago--two of the siblings called most of the shots, while the other two acquiesced. (The missing sis would have kowtowed as well, had she been able to be there.) And that's how we worked together through the sultry heat, my sister and I pulling open storage space filled with clothing and linens, papers (many, many papers) and photographs, photo albums and slides and old home movies, games and toys, medications and toiletries, decorative items, and...(aaagh...I'll have to admit, I can't enumerate it all); and meanwhile, my brothers and my Yard Man were feverishly emptying the basement.
The time flew by, and by Wednesday evening we'd filled the dumpster to the brim, sorted out and carted away most things of value (other than the kitchen accessories, wall of books on the living room bookshelves, and a few other small pockets of accumulation [we simply ran out of time]).
I'd have to say, in spite of my angst heading into this endeavor, I felt a sense of satisfaction upon locking the doors (last to leave) and heading home. Most folks would now call the house empty*.
*(My siblings and I, we thought of the house as "empty"
on the day my mother died.)
.........
Thursday, June 9, 2011
......
I'VE WRAPPED UP A JOB of momentous proportions, Dear Reader! It's one that I have never, ever done before and will never, ever do again. After all---I've only ever had one set of parents, and they only ever lived in one house for the final fifty-one years of my dad's life and fifty-two years of my mom's. Yesterday and the day before, in Tidewater Virginia's sweltering heat, three of my siblings, my yard man and I relieved that house of its burden of STUFF.
In the attic, we tramped through more than half a century's worth of dust to carry antique boxes and bags to the front porch, where their contents could be perused, sorted, argued over, laughed at,* reminisced upon, pitched in the dumpster, loaded on a truck bound for the Goodwill store, or maneuvered into one or another sibling's personal stash.
After the attic, there was the basement (I'm ruing my lack of before-and-after photos--they'd be impressive!) Thank goodness for two brothers and my yard man to deal with the overwhelming array of tools! lumber! plumbing equipment! plumbing parts! woodworking equipment! appliances! materials and equipment for chair-caning, spinning, weaving! materials and equipment for the mending of almost any household object you could name! and...honestly, that basement was so clotted with stuff, I can't even enumerate all the categories under which it could all be listed!
That dumpster, which looked so vast when delivered to the site on Tuesday morning, didn't look so more-than-adequate by the end of Day One.
And that's where I'm going to leave you, Reader Dear--at the end of Day One (Tuesday evening, as you might know it). Because my yard man and I arose at four-thirty that morning. When we arrived at the old home place just ahead of the dumpster, my siblings were already hard at work and the degree of heat was still acceptably pleasant.
But by the time we decided to call it quits and take ourselves to a restaurant for supper, we were one hot, sweaty, filthy bunch! And it makes me tired just thinking about how tired we were!
So I'll have to tell you about Day Two on
Day Two of the Telling.
Is that okay with you,** Reader Dear?
**************
*Laughable
***************************
**(Oft-expressed query on both Day One and Day Two, as in:
"I'm going to take this [desk accessory, hat of dad's, stack of old maps...]. Is that okay?"
......
Monday, June 6, 2011
......
OH ME, OH MY. I PUT SUCH high hope in that southern belle, and then she done me wrong! I'm working on my twang--writing the lyrics--humming the tune: this song will be a landlording first!
Do you recall, Dear Reader, my vacantly-waiting apartment (and how could you possibly forget, with my chat-chat-chattering?) Well, here I thought I'd found the perfect inhabitants; their current landlord told me, "you're gonna love them!" when I spoke with her. The keys were waiting to drop into their hands at 12:45 today.
And then they sashayed right out of the lease-signing with a phone message early this morning: "Sorry, we had the moving van partially packed, and were really looking forward to moving in. But the new boss called last night and informed us that the company will be moving to a new location in September. We knew of the possibility, but didn't know for sure... At your apartment the commute would be a little further than we'd like. We're ever so sorry. In fact, we're wringing our hands."
When I write the song, I'll make sure to mention the wringing of hands (I'm not saying whose) and the new lease agreement forlornly destined to the trash heap.
Have you got a fiddle, Dear Reader?
I need some help.
......
OH ME, OH MY. I PUT SUCH high hope in that southern belle, and then she done me wrong! I'm working on my twang--writing the lyrics--humming the tune: this song will be a landlording first!
Do you recall, Dear Reader, my vacantly-waiting apartment (and how could you possibly forget, with my chat-chat-chattering?) Well, here I thought I'd found the perfect inhabitants; their current landlord told me, "you're gonna love them!" when I spoke with her. The keys were waiting to drop into their hands at 12:45 today.
And then they sashayed right out of the lease-signing with a phone message early this morning: "Sorry, we had the moving van partially packed, and were really looking forward to moving in. But the new boss called last night and informed us that the company will be moving to a new location in September. We knew of the possibility, but didn't know for sure... At your apartment the commute would be a little further than we'd like. We're ever so sorry. In fact, we're wringing our hands."
When I write the song, I'll make sure to mention the wringing of hands (I'm not saying whose) and the new lease agreement forlornly destined to the trash heap.
Have you got a fiddle, Dear Reader?
I need some help.
......
Saturday, June 4, 2011
......
OKAY, SO THIS TIME I DID:
Fall off the cliff , Reader Dear, for real.
(Although, it being merely proverbial, I suffered no long-term harm; I'm presently making my laborious way back, the long way around).
Now the holiday, it's just a memory; the heat segued back into silky, sensational spring; the hoped-for tenant was found (I can't say for sure, but this Georgia belle and her husband seem like a real catch). As for holding my Small Actor--
I'm still happily doing so!
I've been working at movie production, as well, whenever I get the chance.
I've got two new releases for you--one starring the Small Actor in a surfing role.
(I'm excited; he shows great promise in his acting career!)
And another which features (I'm tickled to say) BOTH of
my most popular actors. The Little Actor stars as a very young
man facing his first heartbreak. Meanwhile, the Small Actor takes
a supporting role, playing one who appears to be stealing the
affections rightfully due the Little Actor. *
......
*While this movie may leave you hanging just a bit (regrettably, I did not think through the closing scene), I can assure you, Dear Viewer--in the end, assurances of love were meted out to the Little Actor in sufficient measure to assuage his feelings of betrayal.
......
.
OKAY, SO THIS TIME I DID:
Fall off the cliff , Reader Dear, for real.
(Although, it being merely proverbial, I suffered no long-term harm; I'm presently making my laborious way back, the long way around).
Now the holiday, it's just a memory; the heat segued back into silky, sensational spring; the hoped-for tenant was found (I can't say for sure, but this Georgia belle and her husband seem like a real catch). As for holding my Small Actor--
I'm still happily doing so!
I've been working at movie production, as well, whenever I get the chance.
I've got two new releases for you--one starring the Small Actor in a surfing role.
(I'm excited; he shows great promise in his acting career!)
And another which features (I'm tickled to say) BOTH of
my most popular actors. The Little Actor stars as a very young
man facing his first heartbreak. Meanwhile, the Small Actor takes
a supporting role, playing one who appears to be stealing the
affections rightfully due the Little Actor. *
......
*While this movie may leave you hanging just a bit (regrettably, I did not think through the closing scene), I can assure you, Dear Viewer--in the end, assurances of love were meted out to the Little Actor in sufficient measure to assuage his feelings of betrayal.
......
.
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