And more summer memories…

Time in the trailer has me thinking about the past more often. I find myself in various places in various timeliness, and understanding the meaning of life as a retrospective.

My mom and dad both loved baseball but in different ways. Mom loved to watch the games while Dad loved to listen on the old transistor radio. I loved being at the stadium or listening in the car; still do.

I don’t remember who taught me to appreciate the game, but it was the one thing that we could all agree on, ever. (Well, if you don’t count ice cream.) If the Indians were playing, the game was on. There was no quibbling, no changing of channels, no drama, just baseball. I still know how to score a game on paper, archaic hieroglyphics.

Dad used to like sitting by the kitchen table with the little radio, while Mom preferred the living room with me. I had my own little transistor radio, a fancy blue ball Panasonic Panapet that I got for Christmas one year. With the two radios on, we’d have a makeshift stereo effect going. We would pay so much attention to the games that the summer twilights would settle, yet not one of us noticed it. There was only the baseball, the ice cream, the crickets, the fireflies, the warm unspokenness, and the baseball…

We’ve had so many great sports announcers though the years, but none could top the smooth delivery of the great Herb Score. Like the athletes he described, he was The Natural at painting the picture and putting you inside the ballpark, inside the game, there yet not-there, all worth it. Herb was a former Indians pitcher, maintaining his excellence and love of the game by being the television voice and then the radio voice of the Indians for decades.

Herb called many highlights, few better than Len Barker’s perfect game on May 15, 1981. Herb swept us right into the excitement as Lenny worked his magic and wove a spell not only inside the Stadium but inside our house. Mom and Dad and I celebrated right along with the Indians that night, as did many others in the neighborhood, their transistors on in their twilit living rooms.

The trailer doesn’t hear much baseball — Frank’s not a big sports fan, and although he doesn’t mind when I listen, I know he’d rather be doing something else. I catch my Indians in the car every chance I get, listening and watching in my mind’s eye as if I were in the new ballpark, my heart “back in the day” when we clung to those golden moments of peace in the dark.

Summer memories…

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Mother Nature has finally gone and done it.

She made it past the kinda cold and rainy season (nominally, Spring) and plunged deeply into the height of Summer. She’s all-in: hazy, hot, and humid.

We’ve had some beautiful days with all the windows open in the trailer and the breeze blowing through. I tried taking one of my engineering projects outside, but couldn’t manage the glare on my laptop, but it was so pleasant inside that I didn’t mind. The trailer has a robust AC unit as well, and we’ve had to activate it a few times just to cut the stuffiness. I’m not an AC girl, preferring to run it at about 80, and yet I’m so very glad it works when we need it. Let’s face it, Frank and Pip and I live in a metal box! (There has to be some kind of metaphor there…)

The closeness of the trailer brings old memories to mind. And when I say old, I mean old. The other evening, a particularly poignant memory surfaced. I was suddenly back in the late 1960’s at my grandparents’ house; I was there. Continue reading “Summer memories…”

Meanwhile, behind the scenes at the trailer…

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Wow, y’all. I did NOT realize it’s been two months since I posted. I had such blog momentum going — and then New Orleans ruined me, and then I realized that the trailer had made me lazy. And there are so many more stories to tell.

Let me catch us all up a bit. (This is as much for me as it is for you!)

My tiny family is here in our tiny trailer so that my husband could have all of his landscaping paraphernalia in one place. Four trucks, three trailers, two Bobcat machines (an excavator and a skid-steer), and all of the implements, tools, spare parts, and me and a dog — well, let’s just say that all of this didn’t fit at the old place. Here, Frank has three acres (and still not enough truck parking!) and a barn (that is filling up fast!) and is as happy as I’ve ever seen him.

While all of this was coming together, I wasn’t sitting on my hands. I haven’t talked much about my unusual skill set in the blog — in fact, I don’t think I’ve mentioned it at all — but thanks to a wonderful combination of factors and occurrences, much was happening behind the scenes. Continue reading “Meanwhile, behind the scenes at the trailer…”

When the starlings return to Geauga County….

Alison was smart and posted her event on Facebook, so we have the date. March 19th is both St. Joseph’s Day and the day the swallows return to Capistrano….

Strangely, Alison and I both had birds in our respective houses that day. We determined they were starlings. Hers got lucky and escaped. We’re not sure what happened to mine.

I’ll connect you to Alison’s blog (check it out at https://old-pretty-and-slightly-broken.home.blog/ — she has a lot of fun stuff there, mostly not bird-related!), where she will regale you with the whole process she and Paul went through to evict their Birdie. They got creative, and that may be why their bird lived to fly another day.

My little guy probably wasn’t so lucky. I haven’t found Birdie, so there’s always a chance, and I also know there are spaces I haven’t looked yet.

I had taken the dog out that morning and was standing by the gate waiting for him to do his thing when I heard a noise. I stood there for a second, trying to figure out where this noise was coming from. The house is empty — and yet that’s where the sound was coming from.

When I turned my head, I saw a little black starling flying and flapping against the patio door, trying as hard as he could to get out. Leaving the dog inside the pen, I headed toward the house to see if I could help the poor thing.

I knew this would get interesting and it did. As I moved to open the patio door, Birdie flew toward the window. As I shifted toward the window, Birdie flew upstairs. And I don’t go upstairs without someone else present: there’s quite a bit of stair damage that I avoid. We’ll deal with it eventually.

I stood there for a while longer with the patio door open, frustrated and hoping Birdie would change his mind and come back downstairs. I thought about leaving the door open — but I didn’t want to have to figure out how to remove the squirrels, chipmunks, gophers, opossums, and raccoons that would have wandered in because I was trying to remove one bird! I wished Birdie well, closed the patio door, locked the house, and retrieved the dog.

I’ve been inside the house several times since then and Birdie is nowhere to be found on the first floor. I hope he found a way out upstairs or was able to fly up the chimney. Poor Birdie. I leave him in St. Joseph’s care.

The trailer has made me lazy

Now that the weather is getting nicer more often, we’re busier in our lives — and planning to start actually demolishing the inside of the house. I have a goal of being moved in around October, even if I may not have a second floor by then.

The trailer has created a “situation”, however. I’ve become complacent and comfortable. Frank and I have places for what we need in this tiny space, and now it takes effort for me to move toward the next step.

Take something as simple as income taxes as an example. I know exactly where the files are for last year to reference as I prepare this year’s filing. Have I walked the 50 feet or so to grab them out of the house? No. Something that simple, and I don’t want to go fetch. Continue reading “The trailer has made me lazy”

Haunted…

Maybe I picked up an entity on the ghost tour. Since I’ve been home from New Orleans, my mind keeps ending up back there. I may be haunted. I know this visit affected more than past visits did…

However, this is not a travel blog. Life goes on and I carry my NOLA within my heart and soul always. I’ll leave you with lyrics from the end of Poco’s “Heart of the Night”, a song that runs in my background a lot:

“I’m so glad to be back in New Orleans.

Please don’t wake me, don’t shake me, if it’s only, if it’s only just a dream,

‘Cause it’s the only place I can face that makes me feel so right,

Below that Dixie moon and lovin’ you, in the heart of the night…”

(Perhaps “haunted” is too simplistic… “infected” might be more appropriate….)

Thank you all for letting me trip away.

A giant game of Tetris

It seems like we’re always moving something to move something else, to move something else.

When we were bringing items here from the old house, we stored some smaller furniture items and four wardrobe boxes of clothes inside the house-to-be-remodeled instead of in the storage tents. This was a double-edged sword. Things still got damp, just not as badly as the tent stuff. As we’re getting closer to ripping into walls inside the house, we have to move much of this into the barn. (…So we can move it back into the house later — this is getting tiresome!)

The clothes were easy, actually. At least a boxful went straight to Goodwill. (Some of these were examples of truly laughable fashion choices: why exactly did we keep them?!) Eventually, all the clothes will have to go back into the house and upstairs. I have no intention of carrying anything upstairs that I haven’t worn for a while(or looks that silly!) with the exception of some seasonal items.

We’ve kept a manageable amount for both of us on a small clothes rack inside the barn. It’s nice to have access to it all again: you get used to being able to select an item from your closet, which is generally wider than the 9-inch-wide space inside the trailer. I don’t want or need a walk-in closet, yet choosing from the same five things was getting boring.

I also discovered and moved a bunch of odd-sized knick-knacky things found inside the house, too. I had been looking for our flag all summer, and there it was, with Frank’s grandpa’s old skis, a hockey stick, and two wooden porch candles for Christmas. They make an unusual vignette in the barn now, waiting to be popped up in the loft with the suitcases and a lamp just sitting there in the way.

It seems like a decision has to be made every time we touch anything: do we move it, give it away, set it aside for trash, or keep it? Why is it even there? It does get old, yet apparently this was a muscle I needed to develop.

Taking something into the barn to keep it may not be the end of the issue, either. We have moved the washer back and forth in the same 10-foot area to be able to work stuff around it, and to move the excavator, and to move the truck, and to move the truck back in, and… you get the idea.

It’s the biggest game of Tetris ever. And no real end in sight.

…”In the heart of the night…”

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I had sooo much fun in New Orleans, and while I meant to post from there, I’ve actually been home for several days, still basking in my NOLA glow….

While I was there:

— I imbibed. And imbibed. And imbibed. I may not need to imbibe maybe ever again. To my credit, I did nothing regrettable, forgettable, or editable. And I was never hungover!

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Continue reading “…”In the heart of the night…””

A mousie in the housie

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There are things I have to get used to now that I’m living in the country. Stink bugs, mud, horse flies — and mice. Mice are cute, especially the little fakery above, but I don’t want one as a companion!

We had been moving boxes around and apparently one of us brought a critter into the trailer. I think I would have seen it somehow as I was pulling clothes out of boxes, but maybe not. It’s possible that it just ran in when we had the door open. It’s more probable that this one little guy squeezed through a tiny hole somewhere or under the barn garage door to escape the cold.

Continue reading “A mousie in the housie”

Can we get closer?

I’ve described the size of the interior of the trailer as small. I swear I’ve met myself turning around inside the thing. (I know I’ve met myself inside the shower! Scared me, too!)

When we’re not working, whether away from here or doing projects, Frank and I spend time together inside the trailer. By together, I mean side-by-side on the one sofa. Good thing we like each other.

We’ve always been close and enjoyed doing things together, yet we weren’t sure how this experiment was going to go. We hoped we had what it took, but as you know, until you’re in the situation, you just can’t tell. Continue reading “Can we get closer?”