The 4th of July came and went, and I forgot to write about it.
Too bad, because Juliet put on a neighborhood barbecue that was tasty and fun.
I just knew all those dead animals I’ve buried for her over the years would pay off some day.
Pot Luck
Marshall, the oldest member of the family, died a few months back and his memorial is happening this week. Every single member of the family is showing up. I’m not talking ‘all his siblings.’ I’m talking ‘all his siblings, plus all his descendants and theirs, their spouses, their kids, their in-laws, and their exes. Plus friends. It’s gonna be a doozy.
Monday, we’d planned to have fish tacos for dinner because – well – because we had leftover fish in the refrigerator. Out of the blue, I got my first-ever Facetime call from Mary. I didn’t even know how to answer a Facetime at the time, but when I finally figured it out, there was Mary, telling me:
“Drop everything. We’ve got company coming for dinner in 2 hours.”
I put down my bottle of glue, and I gave it some thought.
I made up a list, and I fired up the motorcycle.
I grabbed a couple of re-usable bags, and I went grocery shopping.
I brought home the fixin’s for lemony shrimp, and Mary worked her magic.
2 hours later, Mary had dinner for six ready to go, with matching place mats.
We did a little tour while Mary ran the kitchen and, as Steve’s son Alex seemed to be a mature young man, I asked him:
“You ever drive a motorcycle before?”
“Yeah”, he said. “Oh yeah.” “Uh huh.”
So I fired up the Kawasaki and put a helmet on Him and Him on It, and I watched him kill it twice and then dump it sideways, at zero mph, onto the driveway. Yeah. I don’t think he knew what he was doing.
45 years ago, I used to do the same sort of thing and suddenly, I’m not embarrassed any more.
The next day, Ella and Celia showed up, and they brought Suri for good measure.
And her little dog, too, newly spayed. Cone and all.
The house next door is rented out, so all 3 of them are piled into the extra bedroom for the night. I am still not clear on how they pulled that off.
Another amazing sit-down meal by Mary, and a little star gazing on the deck.
The next day, Charon needed help. Her bathroom cupboard is busted, the towel bar fell off, and she’s got 40 people showing up in 2 days for a wake. I sprang into action. I loaded the motorcycle with all the tools I thought I might need, and I headed for East Fairfield. I fixed everything I could find that was broken, and Charon came over to give me a great big hug. That hug lasted for quite awhile, and the cast iron pan on the burner she’d walked away from had started to smoke and glow. Hug over!
The next day, Maggie and the girls were coming over, so I spent the morning in the cellar, savoring the solitary monotony of a dado blade before the coming storm.
Lets run the numbers: Lemme see: two of us, plus three already with us, plus three coming over. That’s …..
That’s a lot of females! Woo hoo!
That’s also about when Mary reminded me that Chris and Nina and Merrit were coming too. The more the merrier! Oh wait! Amara and Wendy and Milo are in town!
And quicker than you can say “Par-tay!!”, I was sent on an emergency motorcycle mission into Town for 4 pounds of powdered sugar and 2 bags of ice. Game on!
I had a great time. Maggie chopped, Ella cooked, Celia made margaritas, and I got shitfaced drunk. Even the cone dog had a good time.
The next day, Mary frosted 5 cakes while she baked a ham in the oven. I loaded a cooler full of wine (just in case we ran out). Mary picked out my best clothes, and I put them on. We headed to the church, where there was music, poetry, and a bunch of speakers who left no doubt in anyone’s mind:
Marshall was quite a guy.
The next day, all of our visitors were elsewhere, and it was raining, so I holed up in the shop, picked up where I’d left off with that dado blade, and promptly made 2 stupid mistakes.
It’s good to be back to normal.
The next day, we were a party of 8 again, and we – um – interviewed a prospective new family member. He seems like a decent guy.
The next day, the utility room next door started to smell. Mary made sure I made a mental note of it.
The next day, it stank even worse, so I grabbed my tools and followed my nose to the washing machine. The drain hose needed work. I fixed it and thanked God it wasn’t something complicated.
The weather has been shit, and I could really use a motorcycle ride.
The weather turned nice and we were low on milk, so I fired up the motorcycle, drove it over Smuggler’s Notch, stopped for a creemee, bought an 89 cent part at the hardware store, picked up some milk, and meandered on home, the long way.
Best milk run ever!
A couple months ago, I fumbled my 6″ metal machinist’s ruler, and dropped it. It landed in my Big Pile of scrap wood and I couldn’t find it at the time. “Oh well,” I thought. “It’ll turn up when I clean up.” I don’t clean up often, though, and the Pile only got bigger. And since the ruler never turned up elsewhere. It had to be at the bottom of the Pile.
The other day, the Pile had gotten so big that I had to watch my step walking past it. It was time to clean up. I cut up the big pieces, boxed up the little ones, and sucked up the sawdust. I wound up with 7 boxes of kindling, but I never did find my 6″ metal ruler. So sad.
(If you’re thinking to yourself: “What a great Christmas gift idea!”, it is.)
Having barely survived this month’s deluge of visiting relatives, I decided we need another spare bedroom. In my “long-range big-picture mind’s-eye view” of this house, there’s an apartment stashed away in the basement. Details are scarce, but that’s – sort of – the plan. I probably ought to get started.
Back in 2012, thinking ahead, I put some extra drainage pipes under the slab.
I even took some photos before they poured the slab.
I even found the photos!
And from the looks of them, I can plumb up a real nice living space downstairs if I start by cutting 2 small holes in the slab to get to the pipes. The slab is criss-crossed with embedded pex tubing for radiant heat, though, and my photos aren’t very clear about exactly where they are. This is a recipe for disaster, so of course I couldn’t resist. I got out my diamond blade and my hammer drill and … the first hole, for a toilet, went smoothly.
On the second hole, for a tub, I managed to drill into a pex tube, and water started spurting from the slab and puddling up. Fuck!
Long story short: I shut it down, mopped up the mess, finished my hole, and … it could be worse.
I suspect you’ll be hearing more about this.
I was moving stuff around in the basement (which counts for ‘cleaning’ in my book), when I came upon a basket of desiccated onions from 2019’s harvest, saved and forgotten on a dark shelf in the back. All but one of them had sent out shoots, gone mushy, and expired. I took that last onion, on the verge of death, and I planted it in the sun, in the fertile-est spot in the ellipse, right next to a soaker hose. Tune in next month to learn whether too much kindness will kill you.