Pop the Packaging

Neighbor Logan (5) went with his dad and John to buy supplies at Lowe’s. As soon as they came back, Logan ran in with his books from school. He gets two small paperbacks every day to read at home. John was picked to be the readee and sat down with Logan on his lap. I was downloading an application, so I didn’t stand around to be amazed at the boy’s ability to read. After he read his books, Logan ran in to ask me how long you could live without food and water. I’m not sure what prompted that, but we found a simplistic answer that you could live three weeks without food, but only a week without water.

Logan’s quick eyes spotted a box filled with air bags that had protected my latest online purchase. Like bubble wrap, air bags were irresistible. As soon as he started jumping on them, I reached for the toy camera. Because there is always a lag after pressing the shutter, I didn’t think the results would be useable. The first shot caught him in mid-air, one arm and both feet blurred.

051316 Popping airbags.JPG

The second showed the pleasure on his face after popping them all. Simple things can bring such unexpected delight.

051316 The winner!.JPG

Shakedown in the Neighborhood

Neighbor Amy very kindly said my debt was paid in full. I cheated her out of a milkshake at Biltmore weeks ago and subsequently had two with her.

As I nixed John’s suggestion that time, I kept him from having a shake, too. We agreed we’d have a half-price Sonic on the way home from buying a secondhand car. Unfortunately, I ate too big a celebratory dinner and couldn’t face a shake. Days later we stopped at a fast food place in Knoxville after a concert. The voice from the order sign said the strawberry machine had been turned off. We were indignant. Who in his right mind would turn off a shake machine when we needed one? A strawberry one, at that! If my brain had been working, I would have suggested we go elsewhere. Alas, John was the loser and settled for chocolate. Please note the settling for chocolate was his sentiment, not mine. I know for a fact that chocolate is king.

Weeks later we went to another concert, this one in Asheville. We heard five Russians sing Russian Orthodox church music and folk songs. Milkshake fever was running high, and we finally had our half-price Sonics on the way home. A big plus was John’s having strawberry chunks in his.

People who read the shake saga from the beginning said I’d never live it down. It’s going to be one of those family/neighborhood tales with a life of its own. I have the feeling the next time we go out with neighbors Shawn and Bob, I’d better offer them a shake before we do anything else.

Slow Food for Mother’s Day

Almost every year John cooks on the grill for Mother’s Day, although several times we did bring home a meal from a restaurant. Saturday I took chicken breasts and apple sausages out of the freezer and prepared a grape salad, a new favorite that takes time to put together. Sunday morning I stirred together a marinade for the chicken. I removed a thick coating of yellow pollen from the porch table. The floor was a mess, too, so I swept the whole porch before we went to church. When we came home, John put charcoal in the grill and plugged in the electric starter. While he chatted with son John $, I prepared baked potatoes, a vegetable, and sauce for the chicken. I also put out the dishes and flatware, along with napkins and serving spoons.

The side dishes were ready when John found the charcoal starter was not working. We had come home at 1 and sat down to eat at 3. This was very slow food, indeed. Next year I might opt for a Big Mac or a Whopper for Mother’s Day! There will be no fuss, no mess, no guilt, no complaint, and no wait – just a big yes for fast food!

I Won!

Neighbor Amy pointed out that the ivy should be removed from the old oak tree, and I knew she was right. A year or so ago John took care of it, with one or both of our grandsons, as I remember. The day Amy commented on it, we could see one area where the thick, healthy leaves reached the second or third level of branches. I cut the stems about waist high and pulled the insidious vines both ways. You don’t need to tell me it’s not a victory, only a truce. However, if the present leaves turn brown, I shall wallow in temporary satisfaction.

051016 Ivy on oak.JPG — Two hundred year old oak tree

New-to-me Bird

The bird feeder three feet from my desk had gotten gloppy. When the seeds get low, rain blows in and mats them down. I raked the muck out, leaving the stuff scattered on the deck. Coming back with coffee mug in hand, I saw a very blue bird among the seeds. At first I thought it was a bluebird, since we see them fairly often in the bushes close to the house. The bird turned, and I could see it was a deep blue color all over, front and back. It was an indigo bunting, a bird I’d never seen close enough to identify. The bright yellow pansies near the rail quivered in the wind, looking as excited as I felt. This was a blue ribbon day!

Neighbor Shawn said she had seen a hummingbird on her porch, so I boiled sugar water and put out our two feeders. The very same day I saw a hummer at both feeders. That was rich reward for very little work.

I didn’t get photos of the indigo bunting or the hummingbirds, but I did get a pair of courting doves on the deck and a pileated woodpecker. We had doves billing and cooing on our railings last year, making me wonder if this is the same pair. They are never far from each other.

050416 Doves on the deck.JPG

I was most excited about the big woodpecker. It was one of my mother’s favorite birds. She always talked about how shy it was, and the only time I saw one with her was in a thicket way at the back of our property. She would have been thrilled to know I’ve seen one on a tree beside our road and now this one at the side of our house. The pileated woodpecker can be 16 to 19 inches long and is the largest woodpecker in the US.

050616 Pileated woodpecker.JPG

Pairing New Technology with Two Old Ladies

With John away playing with trains, I’ve been gallivanting with neighbor Amy. She’ll be moving in about five weeks, so we needed to celebrate our friendship before there are three hours separating us. Mostly, we’ve run around town doing her errands. I love tagging along when I don’t have to concentrate on making decisions or being efficient.

When we came out of Lowe’s, I reminded her we were going to pair her new phone with her car. I felt an undue responsibility for her success because I spoke highly of the Republic Wireless phone. She would not have bought it if I hadn’t said many times how pleased I was with mine. The offer was a brave thing on my part. I need precise instructions for things that are out of my league. I had paired a headset with a computer and a keyboard with a tablet, which didn’t make me an expert with a phone and a car. Noah had it easy with his prearranged pairings – no instructions, but his pairs must have looked similar.

My hand was reaching for the glove compartment as I asked Amy if she had the owner’s manual.

“It’s not there,” she said with certainty. “Maybe it’s back here somewhere.” She was rummaging under the driver’s seat and pulled out a small booklet. I began reading with one eye on the instructions and one eye looking for a telephone icon. At least Amy was familiar with her car! She punched something and told the car to call me. The car said it couldn’t complete a call to Ant Mehrling. I wasn’t offended, because I was ready to crawl under something by then. We went through all the steps several times, coming to a dead end by various and devious routes. The car should have given us a six-digit code, but kept flashing a connecting message. At long last, Amy noticed the airplane symbol on the phone, which I hadn’t thought to check.

When the car said the installation was complete, we didn’t believe it. I scrambled for my phone when Amy called Ant Mehrling again. The car may have had a grudge against me by then. It and I were not on speaking terms. Amy commanded a call to her granddaughter who was driving across the country from California to North Carolina. The young woman answered immediately. We were so thrilled that the phone worked, that we never asked where she was.

040515 Amy.jpg Amy explained to her, “We weren’t sure how this Bluetooth extraction was going. You know there will be trouble when two elderly ladies – that’s old ladies with blue hair and yellow teeth — sit in a car trying to make technology work for them.”

Look at Amy’s photo at the left, and you’ll see the blue should refer to her eyes and the yellow to her hair.

If the granddaughter snickered at Amy’s statement, our old ears didn’t catch it. I thought we’d spent maybe 20 minutes, but Amy was sure it was closer to two hours.

Neighborhood Pest and Transporting Trains

John was due home at the end of the day. I had no expectation of talking to anyone, if you don’t count the written chat that goes with blogging. When neighbor Shawn texted that I could visit her, I jumped at the chance. It had been almost two weeks since her knee was replaced, and I wanted to see how she was getting along. I thought she was moving quite well, and her scar was much prettier than either of mine. I’ll tell you at the outset that I never go home when I should. I usually offer to set a timer so that I don’t outstay my welcome, but no one has yet taken me up on that offer. One of these days they will! Shawn and I talked until she suggested we sit on the porch in the sun. I should have left then, but I was having too much fun. I finally relinquished my seat when her husband Bob and young Logan came home.

Before I reached my porch, Amy hailed me from her steps. Would I have time to look at her new telephone? I had been a living advertisement for my Republic Wireless cell phone since we moved here. It was my first smart phone, and Amy rather envied my no-contract plan for $10 a month. She was able to migrate most of her contacts and some of her photos from her old phone. I wanted to be sure she saved other precious pictures that existed only on the old phone. We managed it using one of my favorite apps, Dropbox. I was still with Amy when John called to say he’d be home within the hour. I had been out of our house from about 10 in the morning until 6 that evening without leaving the neighborhood. This might not qualify for the Guinness World Records, but it would surely stand as a record for the resident pest.

John brought friend Dennis home with him, a visit that had been planned for some time. The two had worked together for years in the Long Island Live Steamers train club. They were coming here after several days at Eagle Point, a live steam club near Chattanooga, TN. Dennis had John’s train from NY in his truck, and the two of them spent a whole day making a platform to store the cars in our garage and another for transporting them in our car. I stayed out of the way. My job was to put three meals on the table to fortify them for all that work. I enjoyed visiting with them as they took their breaks. We all watched and heard a good thunderstorm echo its way through our mountains.

The neighborhood got involved when John’s saw didn’t work. Neighbor Bob kindly brought over his saw and a marvelous gizmo to guide the saw in making a straight cut. By setting the little clamps on marks at both ends, Bob quickly made two cuts so that the board would fit in the car.

050216 Bob cuts plywood.JPG — Dennis catching piece Bob is cutting

Dennis and John attached three pairs of 2x4s which function as rails on the board..

050216 Dennis John construct train base.JPG — Wood strips act as rails

Another small section of plywood went on top of the flatcar so that the gondola could ride there.

050316 (1) Dennis JC flatcar.JPG

Both cars were moved together up a ramp and into the Odyssey.

050316 (2) Loading boxcar.JPG — Loading the flatcar and gondola into the car

I took a victory picture of the fellows leaning into the car after the whole train was loaded.

050316 (5) John Dennis pose with loaded car.JPG

You’ll give them high marks for vacuuming the sawdust from the garage before they left, heading for a big meet at Columbia, Tennessee near Nashville. A third old friend from NY, who moved to TN 20 years ago, will be there.

Living on the Edge

Neighbor Amy looked at a condo that had just come on the market. It seemed to have everything and more that she wanted. After she made an offer, the sellers had cold feet. There was nothing to do but wait a full day to see if they would make their final decision about moving. The secrecy was amusing. The couple did not want their neighbors to know they were considering a move. Amy’s realtor backed his car into their drive so that his tag with ReMax on it wouldn’t be visible from the street. (NC requires only a tag on the rear of a vehicle.)

I called to Amy from my porch, and she motioned for me to come over. She said, “I have to cook and bake.”

After having done the 6 hour round trip to Charlotte, she was gearing up for her daughter and granddaughter to come the next day. By the time I put on shoes and walked over, she had the mixer going. She darted around the kitchen, soon pulling the cake out of the oven and putting chicken in the pressure cooker. I wasn’t the one living on the edge, so time seemed to fly for me.

Although we kept going back to the condo she fell in love with, we tried to talk of other things. High school reunions popped up, and she told a funny story on her late husband. The two of them went to each other’s reunions. Amy’s class was huge compared to Ron’s. Her graduating class had more than 400 people! They sat with her close friends and mingled with others.

Let’s let Amy tell it. She said, “Ron was very outgoing and always the life of the party. People loved having him around. Of course, we always wore name tags. A woman looked at his name, repeated it aloud, and wondered if they had known each other. Ron had never met her before, but he said, ‘We had English together in our sophomore year. Do you remember the time….?’ He made up some story with pertinent details, and before long the woman said she believed she did remember him.”

With deft hands, Amy flipped the bundt cake onto a footed stand. It looked elegant. She offered me a piece, but I said we shouldn’t cut it. What I meant was, I wouldn’t have cut it before my company arrived. The knife was already halfway through the first cut. I caved. Wouldn’t you have done the same? Because I always saved a dessert for company, I never, ever tasted my own cake right out of the oven. Oh, my! Words would not do it justice. I’ve come to an important conclusion. Life is too short to refuse warm cake whenever it is offered.

A Day Alone

Because John was playing trains in Tennessee, I began the day walking alone. He misses the walk from time to time, so it wasn’t terribly unusual for me to go by myself. Planning a day only leads to frustration. If I’d planned to write or clean or play the piano, something would have come up. As it was, I drifted across the street when Shawn called to me. She and her daughter were sipping coffee on the porch. I’d been wanting to visit with her after her total knee replacement, and this was a great time. Her knee is coming along nicely. In fact, her scar is prettier than either of mine.

Her husband Bob came in from running an errand, and he said, “Y’all look like hillbillies sittin’ on the porch.”

We had to laugh. I was in my rumpled walking clothes, and they didn’t look a whole lot better.

The other day I saw a rogue wisteria vine winding itself around the skeleton of a butterfly bush. Today was the day to attack that. Gardening is like eating potato chips. You can’t eat just one. Well, you can’t stop with killing one little vine, either. I hacked at the big wisteria for good measure, trying to make sure it knows who’s the boss before it gets grandiose ideas. I pulled a few weeds and picked up some dead stuff left from last year. That was enough for one day.

Breakfast was a leisurely affair. John and I often chat after a meal, but this time I enjoyed the mountains and watched a pair of wrens building a nest under the eaves of the porch. A gentle breeze kept whirligigs going. Blogging takes longer all the time as I find more and more excellent writers I want to follow. It was nice to have nothing to hurry for.

Neighbor Amy was on my mind. She sold her house in 2.5 days last week, and she streaked over to Charlotte for the day to look at a condo that had just come on the market. Young Logan came over after school. He watched TV for a little while, played games on John’s computer, batted a balloon around with me, and announced he was hungry. Shawn texted back a yes when I asked if he could have sausage and a biscuit with me. Her friend was bringing their dinner, but it hadn’t arrived yet.

Just before eight, Amy’s car zipped in. I wanted to see how her day had been, and it was Logan’s bedtime. I wondered how I could get him to go home happily without telling him firmly, “Go home!”

I said, “Get your shoes on, Logan. It’s your bedtime. When you get to the bottom of the stairs, I’ll start the timer and see how long it takes you to get home.”

I was quite pleased at how well that worked. He raced home as fast as his legs could go. I called out that it had taken him 10 seconds. Before I could turn around, he was back at my steps wanting to do it again. The third time I told him to touch his front door. With all that commotion, Bob came out to see what was going on, and that was the definitive end of our play time.

Several times I’ve compared myself and Logan to Mrs. Wilson and Dennis the Menace. I have two cartoons that seem to sum it up. In one the frumpy white-haired woman with glasses is shown reading indulgently to the little boy.

042916 Mrs. Wilson and Dennis.JPG

The other is documentation that Dennis, like Logan, is five years old. No wonder we seem to be living these cartoon characters!

042916 Documentation that Dennis is five.JPG

Lightheaded

Once I understood why I liked long hair, I could cut it off. While the weather was cool, hair brushing against my neck felt luxurious. I had to think about why it pleased me. You see, I never had anything near my neck until I grew up. When I was in my 20’s, I wore turtleneck tops and warm scarves, having moved from Tennessee to New York. I felt cosseted and pampered with luxuriously soft fabrics caressing my neck. Long hair gave me the same feeling. It wasn’t the same as the temperatures rose, and what was once a luxury became a curse. I didn’t have to live with that botheration and begged son $ to trim it. We had the barbering session on the open deck near the bird feeder. A lot of the hair blew off in the wind, but some of it was recycled. I saw a song sparrow carry off one big curl in its beak. You know the old saying, hair today and gone tomorrow.

042716 Curls.JPG