Home Again

Returned Sunday from Skidaway Island off the Georgia coast to chilly weather. Barely 60 degrees F but we expect a warm-up by the weekend. No, this is not going to be another one of my weather reports. Pulled some winter clothes out which I efficiently put away before heading southeast for my grandson’s May 14th wedding.
My son, his wife and I took a rental home at the Landings on Skidaway for the occasion and it was nice to be back in my home area. Sat on the patio at night and listened to the swamp sounds coming from our lagoon. A resident Blue Heron successfully fished ten feet away. Anhinga dived for their dinner and then spread their huge wings to dry in the sun. The rehearsal dinner was at Bonna Bella Mariner, a Savannah landmark and as mariner oriented as the name implies. Had a somewhat formal version of a Frogmore Stew/Dump/Low Country Boil (different names given the same dish depending on which part of the Carolina-Georgia coast it’s held), chicken and accompanying fare. Saw people I had not seen in thirty years and another even before that from the west coast. Took my older sisters and another to lunch in the kitchen at Savannah’s “World famous” (are they sure?) Johnny Harris’. Shared memories with family, friends and enemies equally. Toured my late mother’s old home with its wealth of photographs and art and gave tours of it to all as well. The wedding took place there outdoors facing the east and the Vernon Estuary after a full day of steady rain that stopped an hour before the ceremony. My mandatory grandmother heels sank a bit on every step as one of favorite grandson’s friends from his cradle days escorted me to my seat. The reception followed at a Golf Club on the nearby Landings where I darted between the Peacocke’s family table, my birth family’s table and the bride’s family while watching the dancing expertly coordinated by an emcee imported from Atlanta and designed to entertain onlookers. Fun, exhausting but the change was good for me.

Augusta, Georgia Revisited

Spring, pre-Easter, brings unstable weather particularly in upstate Georgia. Severe thunderstorms rolling through as cold and warm fronts meet progressing to tornado watches and warnings. Sorta like early autumn brings hurricanes to our coast. Have lived through many harrowing experiences with hurricanes but I feel more comfortable, maybe familiar is a better word, with those threats than the uncertainty of a first tornado experience. No lengthy warning time with tornadoes. Monday night was severe weather that almost instantly brought ‘The Night the Lights went out in Georgia.’ We had no power until the next day, minor since six people lost their lives in the area. My battery operated emergency high powered light enabled me to check for any debris (from within the safety of my home) when a nearby transformer exploded and intermittently check for any visible Georgia Power crews. Nothing from either. Got bored with that but noticed an interesting fact in the high beam of my flashlight: my house is filthy everywhere. I don’t see it in the daylight or with my predominant fluorescent lighting so I was shocked. That discovery led me to go out after the storms passed and buy an electric, vacuum broom. My floors are all new within the last two years and I thought those easy, convenient swiffers were keeping them clean. Not so! Hmm… what is my problem that with a storm like that I focus on the cleanliness of my house? The best news is my seemingly forest has reappeared as vast and green as a barrier against a busy intersection. Georgia’s pleasant spring event, The Masters golf tournament began… delaying my usual, already-too-late-at-night Craig Ferguson show. Having spent ten plus years in Augusta I’ve never looked back, not even at Master’s time. Since it was watch The Masters or do something productive, I watched. Made me all nostalgic. The picture of the course may look like a staged production but it really is at least as beautiful as the cameras show. My friends the late Helen and Forest Boshears lived adjoining it and during Masters had a week long Open-House for friends. Their drop-in guests, Southern style, didn’t arrive empty handed so there were always wonderful dishes and liquid refreshments. Their comfortably convenient shelter was welcoming if the weather or tournament play got dreary. Good times! At the Boshears’ you met new people from all over the globe since Forest was in Aviation. Must share Forest’s experience when he, hard of hearing like most aviation pioneers, got a loud radio call at Daniel Airfield in Augusta that he manned, often alone. The call was, “Look outside.” When Forest opened the hangar door from his small office, he gasped at the plane that was inches from the hangar door complete with skid marks. The 747’s pilot had mistaken Daniel Field for the Augusta Airport. No damage or injury but the national media had a field day.Last time I attended a happy event in Augusta it was at the signature Green Jacket the closest establishment on Washington Road to Magnolia Lane. It had sadly gone out of business as its former self and was then a Special Events site.

AHHH...

Ahh…
A welcome, early and beautiful Spring. I witnessed my first customer at my new personalized birdhouse, a lovely hand-made Christmas gift from family. Know naught about ornithology but it was a small bird with a large caudally curved beak. Actually feasted on the “whatever” food that came in it.
Am having my kitchen redone which means work-men in and out. It began with my son’s gift of painting my two story high foyer that I couldn’t reach. Then I had the 4 ‘ x 7’ “oriental rug” I spent 19 years painting on duck hung in that space. Guy did a so-so hanging job so my oldest grandson re-hung it. It made the adjoining space look neglected so I painted it a new color of peach (chosen from the many colored “rug”) which everyone offended me by calling pink. So I painted the trim apricot which made it look less pink. Wanted molding which my grandson did a beautiful job on (naturally as he’s perfect). Then I painted the loft room over-viewing the “rug” the darker rose color from it. The paint store salesman warned me when I chose it that it was the hardest color of all to paint regardless of the quality of the manufacturer. He was right though understated. Impossible to paint would have been more accurate. Two and three coats later I hired a painter to do the adjoining alcove as I was exhausted. Now he is.
My grandson and I discussed re-doing the kitchen. His pending May wedding seems to have taken over his life, however, which is understandable. So hired the painter and associate to do the kitchen cabinets and walls in a deep blue (again selected from colors in the “rug”). I don’t care for hardware on my cabinets so they placed curved carvings on the inside lip which won’t show when I open one with flour on my hands. His comment: most people are afraid to use colors the way you do. Pictures to follow.

LIFE IN A "DOC MARTIN" EPISODE

Cut over 10,000 words from the Completed trilogy before preparing for a reading for Audio disc. Lost nothing important but merely tightened the writing. At my age, it was more important to complete it than to tighten the writing.
A delightful week of spring weather allowed me to get my tulip bulbs in a week ago and my ponytail palms, snapdragon and hen and biddies plants from the inside to the patio since. Patio thermometer was eighty today. As the checkout line at the Supermarket agreed, we’ll probably get a March cold spell yet though. Meanwhile I check for the tulips each morning but nothing… probably something to do with a watched pot.
Have been having a “fun” week of Russian roulette with my blood pressure medicine. Ordered it weeks ago and although they promptly claimed to ship it and efficiently charged me for it, no medicine has arrived. My Health/ Prescription insurance has a deal with a Mail-order pharmacy so after hounding them and the USPS went local pharmacy counter to pharmacy counter literally begging from previous providers. After two claimed they couldn’t help went to Wal-Mart’s and they “gave” me one since they couldn’t charge me for it with no prescription (ran out on a Sunday). Monday one of the former two denials gave me the equivalent of six after going online and transferring my original prescription. That begging carried me a week and when still no delivery from the mail-order people, called the doctor’s office and asked them to call me in another Rx to another local pharmacy which they promptly did. Meanwhile again called the mail-order people and they tried giving me the run-around again. Finally got a supervisor and told them to either get me the medicine STAT or refund my money. Said they’d ship again tomorrow. This morning opened the new local Rx picked up yesterday. It wasn’t my usual shaped pill so called the providing pharmacist. Seems the doc’s office sent in a different but similar RX!!!! Do they know it? It’s Sunday again so went ahead and took the medicine which is minus one ingredient and will deal with the doc’s office tomorrow. Meanwhile life is like an episode of Doc Martin.

WHINE! Whine! Wine?

It is snowing. It has been snowing for hours. Each time I think it's time for moderation... a banner on one of the three columns on our state flag... they predict snow. If I liked snow I'd move to northern Europe, north of the Mason-Dixon Line, Colorado, Alaska or some other uninhabitable place on the planet.
Mea Culpa! We're in great shape compared to the mid-wheast (It's an American in-joke), Northeast US and , alas, the Aussie floods. Still, I've done little lately other than write, make sure I have enough food/supplies to be marooned for awhile, celebrate never-ending family birthdays and generally survive cabin fever. Busy Busy Busy!
And the upcoming wedding in the family, my oldest grandson's, is beginning. First party for moi to attend is on the 19th. The groom had his bachelor party in Vegas last weekend with half the US airports closed and dudes due in from the west coast, North Dak etc.
Most of my current writing still at the back-up research stage. Have six books in front of me and on an important quote, two say his majestie's and two say her majestie's (we're talking 17th century, European non-fiction here so it matters!). Finally resolved that conflict with my 1930s french book. They're both sa majestie so a matter of personal choice. Such is the life of a writer.
Still snowing but I'm good. Have humus, tarragon chicken salad, lots of other food and wine.
Hmmm... need to check on other essentials like when in the world can I dispose of my garbage and recycling.

AND "THEY" PROMISE MORE SNOW TOMORROW

Our third significant snow of the year with prolonged subfreezing temps gave lots of time to ponder. Had more blog thoughts than energy to commit them to site. Most resulted from too much TV time.
My first thought was to comment on the new N word which is the O word. Being Southern I don’t like to needlessly offend anyone so Political Correctness hasn’t particularly changed my speech habits… except PC seems a pretty un-American practice. However, PC has left “them” with no one to be humorous about... except old people! And boy do “they” ever heap insult on top of insults on the O word, old. And it isn’t even very humorous. I get more original and humorous material from Seniors being self- deprecating via Emails. I thought “they” wore themselves out on the subject on poor McCain during the last presidential race but they merely shifted to Larry King et al.
One of my favorites, Craig Ferguson, brought up an interesting question: We know when the Age of Enlightenment and Reformation began but when did it end? I could write 500 pages on that but will merely suggest: apparently recently.
I put quoyes around the third person plural because a big and humorous question with definite implication in the 60-70 era was: Who are they? I’m thinking it may be time to revisit that old question. Oh no! I’m the O word!

PROCEEDING TO 2011

Mixed holiday season! Lots of snow for Christmas Day with long spells of bitter cold and impossible roads. Still it was merry. My daughter-in-law ordained only hand-made gifts in the family so all creativity was tested and passed with flying colors (no fair counting clichés).
Hand or homemade was an excellent idea since nothing is made in the USA except Omaha Steaks which likewise was a smart gift received. Hope we continue it. While looking for made in the USA items I discovered www.usamade.com and www.itsy.com, both recommended. I recorded a reading to disc as a gift and received a disc, a wonderful montage of family home movies circa 1950-1960s that should’ve been subtitled Leave it to Beaver’s Happy Days. Wonderful to review the ham displayed. My youngest but older brother thought it hilarious to act out the intricacy of chomping an apple to death, romancing his wife followed by beating her… and it was. Visiting northern family spent quality time enjoying our beach and golf lessons from their Dad. When the latter became too intense (and golf lessons always do) they spontaneously broke into cartwheels and flips leaving him to display his perfect Ben Hogan swing alone. All understood the concept of moving because it’s a movie. Half those performing are now deceased so that made the gift more precious. My own stellar performances were how to move at a traditional Savannah New Year’s Eve party of that era (though not at my usual Johnny Harris’s) and passing a seemingly endless supply of babies (my own, nephews and nieces) back and forth with relatives. Interaction of the then youngsters puts the similar professional TV version to shame for humor. OMG (an expression I hate but it allows one the illusion of not breaking one of those 10 biggies) were we happy but poor then!
OMG to the nth power! Just answered knock at my door: Remember my neighbor who likes to cook? I call her Meals in Heels. There she stood with a huge container of baby back ribs, collard greens, cornbread and black-eyed peas! It was two hours before suppertime but the aroma forced me to the table to finish off half the greens immediately with a pinch off the bread. Fabulous! For the unknowing there is a cast iron menu on New Year’s Day for Southerners but I was working so hard I’d totally ignored/forgotten it as I often do. The superstition is no greens= no money all year, no pork= no ease, without Hoppin’-John (black-eyed peas and rice)= bad luck. I’m good for a banner year with enough left over for the same feast tomorrow. Happy New Year!

HOBSON'S CHOICE IS CHOICE

This was a rare morning (I use that last word loosely) because I didn’t take my first cup of coffee on the patio. The patio was being dusted. Briefly I thought I was “in the land of cotton” as in that grand song Dixie but it was only snow. Normally bad weather doesn’t deter me as I then sit in the small, covered portion but I found the sudden and severe arrival of winter ahead of schedule offensive. The snow showed me by becoming heavier so I had no choice but to adapt and enjoy. In spite of the wind that drove it, there was a quiet beauty. I raised my window blinds and absorbed the view from inside in warmth. We don’t expect the temperatures to rise out of the mid 30 s today and tomorrow they won’t rise to 30. I don’t even think of what the lows will be.
I survived last week, spending seven days away from the comforts of home with no reliable TV and only an Apple computer. Rustic, particularly when playing timed Web Sudoku where the delete key is backward from my PC‘s.
Discovered a new favorite film, Hobson’s Choice, last night. It was a bit reverse sexist but Charles Laughton outdid even Charlie Chaplin as a ridiculous buffoon (I’m not a Chaplin fan). I’m not sure yet if he outdid M. Hulot/Jacques Tati but will need to watch that classic again.
Six hours later the snow has continued all day but has slowed ‘though more is forecast. That means a renewed devout interest in religion this Sunday for our young people as they take to prayer… for school closings.

ON THE RUN

Autumn came. In the US it is her jumping off point since Florida has scant seasonal change. That, after all… like southern California, is that state’s main attraction. My scenic view is southeastern so even for Roswell Fall comes late for me. The trees have been brilliant but as MOST real people have a seasonal change, everyone knows the deep reds through the myriad of scarlet and oranges to chartreuses and brilliant yellows of nature’s Crayolas. A fantastic festival of ripening for our Thanksgiving.
My feast was traditional but with Native American wild rice that turned out well this year. As healthy as it is, I cheated and threw in a bit of celery (saltiest of vegetables) and a spoonful of bacon bits with the standard ‘shrooms and onions. The oyster gravy helped but oysters deserve their own blog particularly with “the troubles” of the Gulf’s seafood shut down. I was thankful for much and the USA for more.
Speaking of which, we recently sneezed (with the disaster of the real estate crash) and no one bothered to say, “God bless you” (the world hates us and I relish that Everyone knows how ungenerous and uncharitable we are!) Now THEY all seem to have come down with the flu. If they aren’t plagued by inflation it’s bankruptcy. Sorry Nobel for Literature committee but if we’re too isolated for relevance then why the waves of financial angst? Get over yourselves and do try to keep up. Washington (the prez, not the city or state) taught us to mistrust you and your performance since has only validated his advice.If my prior paragraph seems hostile, it is possibly because I’ve recently moved beyond US history to the history of Western Europe (inching eastward.) What a murky blur that is. Among other questions: is there anyone over there who knows who Louis XIV’s father REALLY was? Yes, I know: it shouldn’t matter… except the only requirement for the job was gender and genetics

O

I QUIT MY DAY JOBS

Every writer’s dream: quit the day job. It’s really simple but unfortunately my only day jobs were housekeeping and writing. I still do both but now I do them at night. As a night owl, an insomniac, it made no sense to keep faking it. I spent my pre-retirement years meeting the clock punctually (even got a raise once for being the only one who consistently did) and fighting my nighttime energy. Somehow, the Protestant work ethic made me feel guilty that I couldn’t sleep at night. If I put in an honest day’s work, why was I sleepless? The stigma is that sleeplessness is caused by a guilty conscience. Night people in a world attuned to day productivity have it bad enough without feeling guilty about it. And that was before they put me on thyroid pills.
Now research has lifted me from that snake pit. In case you didn’t catch the article, it went something like: Morning people make better grades etc. but night people are more advanced in the evolution of our species. I don’t care if they found we were less advanced, I’ll take it. At least I no longer wonder what my obviously guilty conscience is hiding from me.
No global warming worries, nights are cooler, nor about more sun damage to already desiccated skin. I don’t choose between thousands of lousy daytime TV shows, only a few lousy night ones since I don’t care for gratuitous violence. Energy companies give big discounts if you avoid their busiest grid hours. Stores and streets are less crowded at night. Noisy leaf blowers, telemarketers, lines of consumers, traffic jams, lawn mowers, garbage collectors, neighbors, door-to-door salesman and vandals are all asleep (guiltless with their past report cards of good grades). Hmm… it’s beginning to sound like this “research” is a plot.
My lifestyle change began immediately upon release of the new research Wednesday. I slept until 2PM and went grocery shopping at 8 PM. I worked until 3 AM and then to bed but sans sleep until 6 AM. Had my morning 2 cups of coffee on my patio and listened to the birds and commuters’ singing tires on the nearby expressways (a new experience). Read the morning papers (on the net), did daily crossword and websudoku and read my Emails then gladly went back to bed and sleep. Slept soundly before waking naturally. Had a 7:30 PM dinner engagement and by TV time was POOPED! Still I did my usual late night until 2+ AM-ish. Woke up noon-ish. Obviously must work out a few kinks but when I do sleep it is because I am sleepy.

HEALTH WEALTH WHYS

Certainly hope I’m not senile because must make two life-changing decisions with time constraints: What to do with meager income/ life savings and what to do about health insurance. Time easily matters as deposits must be made to cover expenses as you switch from one institution to another made murky by direct deposits versus automatic bill pay.
What a nightmare changing financial institutions is!! Between routing numbers, account numbers and balancing the usual monthly checkbook over possibly three months of transition I see so many numbers I can barely stand to play Websudoku. The three-month transition is because direct deposits can’t be facilitated for two months at least and the third month is in case they mess it up with or without my help.
I’ve kept with banks because of patriotism. And, oh yeah, flavored by a bit of paranoid superstition. You see, I sold my most lucrative investment, a mortgage I was holding, and about 15 minutes later the real estate market went belly up. With the resultant problems of banks, I figured if I pulled my $1.98 out things could only get worse. Such awesome power! I resolved to ride it out BUT another bank bought my already thrice bought-out bank, and the new guys want an agreement that they could unilaterally decide not to send me monthly hard copy statements. As a child of the REAL depression, that seemed unwise so I’m putting myself and my $1.98 through this ongoing torment. We’ll see if I manage it with no bounced checks.
Before you think that’s all I have on my plate, the confusion of the new Health care says Seniors have a shorter than usual time to select the annual changes we wish in our “supplemental” health insurance. I use quotes because the cost of it is four times the cost I paid for full insurance before retirement with employer provided subsidy… and at my age, the country thinks the government pays for my health care via Medicare. What a joke! Don’t get me wrong. I support the new health care law. Which gives you a clue as to how messed up US health care delivery was. The real stickler is that once I make my selection of “supplemental” insurance there is no guarantee my doctor will accept it and I’ve already been forced to change doctors once because he, make that HE, decided not to deal with people “covered” by Medicare and instead went to a “Park Avenue/Nieman-Marcus” style.Can’t wait ‘til the polls open Tuesday.

EVANGELINE

Family dinners should be a time for emotional, intellectual and cultural stimulation as well as nutrition. I’ve pretty well abandoned TV because family dinners depicted there are usually generational, sibling and Freudian rivalries. The only common thread to real and fictional family dinners is humor. I miss dinners, not merely family ones, of Savannah where, once past sex, politics and religion, wit and humor are essentials. There, one is at a real disadvantage if not well read and educated… unless they bring wholesale humor with them. Some of my best, recent, Savannah memories are amusing table talk with the late writer/editor Arthur Gordon and friend John discussing hoisted upon one’s own petard or which monuments in Savannah’s squares should be replaced and with whom. You’d better know your American History before wading into the latter.
This week’s multiple family dinners covered Namibia and Cajuns, two totally unconnected topics. I knew nothing about Namibia but quickly learned since I was told my oldest son was there and offering a bribe/trip over to his nephew, my teenage grandson. Hmmm…
My father was responsible for my basic knowledge of Cajuns (of Acadia) which has been expanded by frequent visits to family in Louisiana and other trips just because until the 60s it had the only big city in the South. I don’t know who brought up the subject and we were three Southerners and two Nons but I believe it was one of the Nons. After my oldest grandson gave a humorous, verbal Cajun imitation, I shared the first fact my father had given me: that they were kicked out of their original homes in Canada and New England which immediately shocked the Nons. My son, well versed in history, took up the explanation as I mused that such very well educated people could not have known it (and so the previously mentioned rivalry evidently persists).
Since, I’ve spent pleasant hours this week with Mr. H.W. Longfellow, generally considered our nation’s best poet, and his Acadian masterpiece, Evangeline. What DO they teach in schools these days?

Ramblin' Unwreck

As always I am scouring the internet booksellers for long-out-of-print books with little or no luck. When I do find one I covet, it is usually priced in triple digits in some weird currency (meaning anything other than $US). And the current value of our dollar vs the Euro or GBP discourages plunging head long into international shopping. So if any know where I can get a copy of the story of my life by G. Allan Heron or Thomas Gerald Lamford without mortgaging my grand childrens’ future, do let me know. I have my favorite person, Trevor, working on it on the other side of the pond.
Meanwhile the weather, though not the road traffic, in Roswell is Idyllic. It’s our dry season so I’m having to hand water the last of my summer Impatience, lime “tree” and one-bloom-snapdragons but my bonsai can flourish on its own. The only negative is that ragweed and its equally toxic cousins are still spilling pollen everywhere so I’m a bit nasal. Have cut off the AC and not needed heat yet so my energy consumption is almost zilch. The deciduous trees are stingy with their Autumn pigments so we’re still quite green.
Had to take my son to NE Atlanta in rush hour traffic Thursday... a bit like joining the July 4th Indianapolis 500 mid race. Made it almost home (300 feet from the Chattahoochee River bridge) without losing my dignity, if indeed I have such a thing. Fortunately was well off I-85, I-285 and GA-400 so traffic was consistently about 50 MPH bumper to bumper. A young man in an over-sized truck cut me off from the shoulder to my right (there wasn't even an emergency lane there) and glanced in his rear view to see if I was going to ram him. That one glance was enough for me to distinctly but quietly enunciate my feelings which caused even that young buck to blush. I din't hit him, of course. He was far too lovely and I'm not so old as to not appreciate that. Unfortunately my words reflected more on his family, particularly the maternal side. Unfortunately the English Language seems to offer few curses that do otherwise. On the other hand my late, angelic looking Mother told me the reason English was spoken worldwide was because it was the only language that allowed a cursing person to peel the paint off a barn at 50 feet.

OOPS!

I was celebrating Christmas in October yesterday and so missed my usual posting. (Can’t wait to see if anyone noticed.)
My daughter in law gave me a day at the theater and dinner but her life got immediately out of hand. (Should have told her marriage does that to one but figured it was too much the mother-in-law thing to do.) So at last we got around to observing it yesterday. The delay wasn’t her fault, my son’s schedule and mine played a part also.
The play, Meet my Husbands by Fred Carmichael, was a delightful two-act play at Roswell’s Kudzu Theater. Unknown to me, my son had to forgo taking his youngest son to the Braves baseball game to accommodate taking us to the stage performance. He sent him and a friend there instead. If I’d known, I’d have postponed it again but I’m not sure I have that authority.Dinner on the patio of a Greek restaurant followed and the wonderful early Autumn weather was perfect for it. Hadn’t had Musaka (you know: ground beef, eggplant and potatoes with a sauce) in years and it was just as delicious as I remembered it. A lovely Christmas present just in time for Halloween.

July in Georgia
The billowing, high-rise clouds in today's sky look like a clothesline filled with white sheets in an Oxydol or Tide commercial. Atypically there is also a bit of a breeze that even makes billowing of "the sheets" a possibility. I've been told by more than one person visiting Savannah that the clouds here are awesome and I suppose they are. We take them for granted. The painter in me is particularly appreciative of our phenomenal clouds. Sometimes I think of them as Savannah's mountains... like our own Rockies. Because of our flat terrain the horizon is infinite in almost every direction. Makes for a wonderful canvas to display an impressive assortment of clouds, often more than one variety at the same time. Today they also remind me a bit of the primitive sky and clouds that children do. The sky is too blue to be real, sort of like in child drawings. The clouds are lined up and all puffy, typical of such art also.
My son and grandson returned from their trip to Africa. Have yet to catch a glimpse of their thousands of pictures. No one was mauled by wild animals and neither was the victim of anti American enthusiasm or a spur of the moment civil war. So far neither has come down with Malaria or the myriad other diseases we associate with that continent. We're saving the pictures for the annual family beach week. Hope the current idyllic weather keeps through that occasion as well.

Grandson Brad only allowed me to paint this portrait of him because I painted his first puppy, Rachel, whom he lost shortly after he received her for his birthday.

Witcher Coming Soon

I have way too much energy. At least mentally and perhaps even physically. I just finished RE-painting my grandson's portrait. I had completed it once but when he saw it he was unhappy with the outfit I had dressed him in (his Oshkosh overalls and brogan shoes). His mother had him photographed in them and he was adorable but he didn't want that look for his portrait. I had to cut the pants off and give him long socks for a more classical attire. It was a lot of work. Probably the same as if I'd done it with sewing rather than paints but I like to think not. I had to match it to one I had done of his older brother but no ready-stretched canvases were available so I got one larger and figured the framer could cut it down. Not so! Once I had invested all the time and work in the painting I could find no art store owner who would consider cutting it down. They all feared ruining it and getting sued (It's a US sporting pastime). So then I had to go to Home Depot, find the proper tools, buy them and do it myself. My hands should be wound-free in a week or so. I taped the raw edges of the cut canvas with cloth first-aid adhesive tape and used the rest for the blisters on my hands.
My third and final book of the American War for Independence is being edited after I've been through it with a fine tooth comb. I did that and the picture at the same time. Single tasking is drudgery but dual tasking makes both works seem like a break from drudgery. Not sure why that works but for me it does.
As I was winding down from those tasks the boredom of having nothing to do but my real job loomed threateningly ahead. We have a tiny piece of land that's been in the family since plantation days. It was used by my forefathers to float the products of labor down river to Savannah for marketing. Since the invention of the railroad it has been lying idle. Got a call from a distant cousin saying they were putting in an airfield and he feared they might be encroaching on my land. Several trips up river and I found they indeed had put in an airstrip. It wasn't encroaching but it was at my front door if I'd had a front door there. It's a lovely spot though as remote as possible in the nineteenth century let alone the twenty first. A perfectly beautiful spot. Just the place for a writer and artist to live. So I'm building a house there. Made progress on that today. Called for a building permit and was told I first needed an address for 911 responses. They explained to baffled me that in case of emergency (how did they know I was that old) they needed a place, ie an address to respond for emergency calls. They require it before issuing a building permit. So today after much back and forth this remote, isolated place now has a proper address for the first time since forever...Oglethorpe nor the Indians required one. So now I can get a soil perk test to make sure I can have a septic system. The next step is sinking a well which is equally needed for plumbing. My builder told me that's still done by diviners (witchers) in spite of civilization's progress (I want to be there for that and have a go at holding the divining rod myself). Those two items will take two months. If all goes well then I'll build a new house. That should keep me off the street for awhile.
I've drawn the plans for the new house. Anyone know how to legally print money? I have very expensive ideas but a very small purse.

I was stopped by the police the other day. I was walking. They were driving. They stopped me between my parked car and my front door. They wanted me to explain (brace yourself) where my purse was.
I didn't know which point to rant about first so I merely explained that I don't carry a purse. Haven't carried one for five years. Not since it was stolen out of my car while I stepped inside a doorway for less than a minute. It was such a hassle filling out police reports; calling my bank and companies to cancel credit card; getting a new driver's license et cetera that the other paraphernalia I carried in a purse wasn't worth the bother of hauling one around. I have a leather snap case the size of a business card attached to my key ring. In it is my driver's license, credit card (no s), insurance card...period.
The dubious looking policeman apparently wasn't impressed. I got the lecture of leaving my purse in the car anyway. He ran through the fact that doing so would cause someone to break my car windows to get my purse when they saw me leaving my car without one. I wasn't impressed. Instead I was thinking of mentioning the thousands of people walking into our country everyday without any lawman stopping them. I was thinking of reminding him of Savannah's staggering crime rate with murder and drive-by shootings along with the regular garden-variety kind every day on our streets. I was considering pointing out that this was 2006 and when did he think he could get past such a sexist attitude as to assume all women are expected to carry a purse. I mentioned none of these facts to that man. I'm not stupid. Just angry. In short I was livid on all of the above accounts but kept my cool.
When he finished his lecture and I was only aware that he had when engulfed by silence, I smiled and repeated the same thing I had just told him. Obviously he hadn't heard me or he wouldn't have said all that he had. To which he replied, "Well, they'll break your car window if you're seen without one."
I interpret that to mean I must either carry a purse (empty) or leave my car unlocked with a note on the windshield saying so. Otherwise I'm inviting crime.
As someone else said: "You can't make stuff up better than the comedy you run into just living in this messed up world."

Curiouser and curiouser!

Curiouser and curiouser! I believe Lewis Carroll's Alice said that and I couldn't put it better myself. Recently I found myself reporting for my dental appointment a few minutes ahead of schedule. I realize that makes this account suspicious because who in their right mind shows up early for the dentist. Nevertheless, forging ahead. The office was locked since the staff hadn't returned from their lunch hour yet. I retired to my car parked under a nice, cool, shady oak tree rather than wait in the hot sun on the porch. I relaxed which I seldom have time to do, content to wait in comfort. I heard a metallic click and looked around for the source. My driver-side door had locked. Strange I thought but didn't get upset. Perhaps I had inadvertently pressed on the lock button of the automatic devise attached to my key. I unlocked it with that same automatic devise and sat back again to rest and relax being careful of the placement of the automatic devise so that couldn't happen again. It did happen again almost immediately. This time I knew I hadn't pressed the lock button. I unlocked it again. I have a passion about not being controlled by machines. It happened again. Repetition with timing showed within less than a minute of my unlocking it would automatically relock. Panic time? Moi? No, no. Definitely nyet. I pondered this phenomenon. Was this some sort of safety feature in my automobile that I was unaware of? Perhaps a built-in system to automatically lock an idle car for safety. I was skeptical. I could think of situations where that could be disastrous and quite unsafe. Children in the back seat's car seat while the adult got out and went around to see about them. My mind was full of reasons this wouldn't be a good idea. I planned to sit down with my owner's manual and find out if there were such a stupid devise. But then the dentist's office opened and I went in for my appointment. The whole incident was forgotten. That's how paranoid I am. Just remembered it days later when I discovered my spare car key set missing. Hmmmmm. I'll worry about it sometime when I'm less harassed.

Road Runner

Road Runner
Beep! beep! Like that coyote rascal I'm off up the road again tomorrow. To Atlanta. About 250 miles. I drove there on the Sunday of the Master's Golf finish (in Augusta). Atlanta has such traffic problems that cars can't easily get there anymore. Not surprisingly interstate traffic came to a dead halt about 65 miles out of the city. At about 3 MPH I crept, often on the shoulder to the next exit and took back roads. It was farther and slower but the countryside was beautiful. If you were watching the end of the golf tournament that day I drove about 55 miles through azaleas and dogwood in full bloom under the towering Georgia pines. My own private Amen Corner as the CBS golf sport casters would say. Passed a magical spot called Indian Springs where the white water of a rushing stream fanned out over lichen encrusted boulders. Went through a small town with numerous southern homes that made Tara look like an outhouse.
Returned to Savannah eight days later and took a similar but different route anticipating the interstate stagnation. Blew through an isolated community (unincorporated) called Hillsborough where gas was $2.44 a gallon. Slowed and was tempted to turn around but figured there'd be another. There wasn't. Next station I came to was almost Macon and it was $2.81. Today it's about that same price and I'm headed on the road again tomorrow. Shouldn't. Wouldn't except my son needs me to help him set up a new household. He sold his house and is moving so I'm to do an instant decorating job for him. I like to do that sort of thing. Haven't seen the new house yet but it'll be fun.

Oh, yeah. And it turns out he left the automatic electronic garage door opener in the last car he traded a few years ago. The people who bought his old house would like to have it. He lives in Atlanta where they don't even close the door, let alone lock it. I lived there 15 years and left my keys in the ignition if at home or at the mall (never had a problem. Locked the doors once when I left it at the airport while taking a plane to Durham. Locked the keys and the suitcase inside and had to pop the lock with a coat hanger. Took me a while after moving from Atlanta to adjust to keys and locks. In Savannah such would be irresponsible behavior and punishable by prison while the violator, thief, walks) Back to the subject: Sounds like I need to make a trip to Electronics R Us or Home Depot while I'm there as well.

Maybe I'll come upon Hillsborough again. This time I'll be prepared to stop. I doubt I can find it though. That's the problem with being a happy vagabond. You travel by directions, east or north or whatever. No maps to keep up with where you've been, are or going. Fun.
When I get back home here I'm not budging again until gas returns to 21 cents (is it a sign of the times that there's no cents mark on the keyboard) a gallon as it was when I was in college.