Oh, we are working on the floor in the upstairs hall bathroom – yes, the one that has half-planking from where the original house stopped and nice plywood from where the added-on house began. Der Bingle was surprised, but I had thought about it one night and figured it was going to be like the original kitchen and the extended- on part.  Fortunately, upstairs in the bathroom is not decades of black incredibly strong bonding material. Do you have any idea the amount of time it took me to get that off the kitchen floor way back when. Well, a lot. I would get out the the heat gun and I would hear, “She’s DOING it again.”

Some preliminaries are being done this evening. At one point Cameron said he was going to get something to eat and I bellowed, “What? This isn’t one of those sissy new age jobs.” I’m stretching the truth. I wasn’t clever enough to pop that out; I was more in the “this isn’t any union job, buddy” vein.

I may be a slow starter on this work thing, but once I’m going, meals are out of the picture. Just give me iced tea. I mean: Time’s a-wastin’ . . . We’re burning daylight . . .

But, then, sometimes, I’m  a little different when I’m not the bossman.

I was not much of a texter on my phone, and so when the screen got a blob on it, it was not a big deal. And then when Summer started sending me texts and I could make out the word “cops” and not much more, I decided I should upgrade. (As it was, she had texted:” I am going to raid the fridge and the cops can’t stop me.”)

Anyway, Der Bingle has had Sprint forever and, bit by bit, we have the Everything Plan, although he refers to it as the everything under the blanking sun plan. Since I was qualified to upgrade, I selected a Samsung Instinct s30 – it’s trimmed in copper, dontcha know. Well, it is completely touchscreen. Yes, isn’t that thrilling? I purchased a new ringer – Moonlight Sonata – for it and the Digital Lounge at Sprint pointed out that this ringer needed vision. No prob, right? I have everything, right?

I get the text message telling me what to do to download it to my little copper-kissed Samsung Instinct s30 and guess what? I was told to push the “Option” button and then “Go”. Ha! Like where are these buttons on the touchscreen ? Not there, that’s where. I thought to myself  that I must have everything but vision. I looked at my plan and I didn’t see vision listed . . . but, according to the info, I would have to have vision to have the web.

I checked with the internet and latched onto a hint to go to “FUN” (are we having any yet?) and then to “SHOPPING”. I don’t know what happened; I didn’t find options or go or anything, but somehow I got the ringer to download. And now I am waiting for someone to call me so I can relax to the strains of Moonlight Sonata.

I did look at the all-screen phone and decide to get the phone insurance. I may need it because I might get so frustrated I throw it. SPRINT: I AM ONLY KIDDING. I will not throw, stomp, drown nor eat this phone.

Almost every morning right after the school drop off, Sydney and I head out to the fairgrounds to mosey around. We have been doing it for years; he’s 12 dontcha know. But, anyway, for two weeks around Memorial Day and another two weeks about Labor Day, the Bluegrass people show up for a get together of picking and strumming. The old-timers who like to gather in groups  and stay up picking until almost dawn, they park on the north side under the trees; those newer to the music, those interested in the workshops and whatever, they park on the south side down by the grandstand.

When Sydney and I drive in, we take the route through the trees and I like to look at the RV’s. Bluegrass spreads across all economic sectors and some of the RV’s are impressive with all sorts of pull-out sections. And then beside the door or stacked at the end will be a pile of firewood for those night time picking sessions. In the morning, Sydney and I see the remains of the gathering fires. Most people are sleeping, but this morning –  maybe because the official Labor Day Festival has not started –  when we drove up a rise sitting on a curve, we saw what appeared to be a very nice lady sitting in a lawn chair, watching our progress with a pleasant look on her face.

I thought, “Hey, it would be nice to be friends with her – our trailers parked side-by-side.” By then Sydney and I were almost at the point in the road where the surrounding fairground is an overgrown area not intended for camping or parking. It is here that we stop when things are crowded for his morning romp.

I opened the door; he got out. I sat in the relative warmth of the burgundy Buick and reflected that if I were to disappear into the Bluegrass community, I would have a problem faking the singing. I would stick out like a broken banjo neck. I would be a fugitive, dependent on my new and imagined friend to vouch for me.

And so I wondered if it would be possible to become a bluegrass mime.