We had an spur of the moment hot dog cooking adventure a little earlier and while that was going on, Shane just wandered about doing Shane things.
You know, I have to dig; I’m OCD
And just a few minutes rest then in the ferns.
Why are they watching me so closely? Maybe they will think I am watching them . . .
Pictures courtesy of Summer Vance
I don’t know what the problem is but the internet connection appears to be breaking off fairly often and sometimes only flashing on momentarily. Yesterday, I went upstairs and looked at the modem; I don’t mean I did anything to it. I just gave it a professional “look”. Then after a few minutes, I touched it, blew air into it and did the on/off maneuver I had been sending a grandkid to do once again. Because I was inside pouting about the internet I did not realize the temperature had climbed to almost 90 and did not think about shoving the auxiliary portable air-conditioner into that room. (It’s such a pain with the crank out windows.) But now that looks as if it is in the future.
Now I am going out in the driveway and experiment with finding the place for power steering fluid on the diesel. If I don’t come back today, don’t worry . . . sooner or later I will raise my hand and go, “I am here.” *
*Quote courtesy of Emily Lou Hoo.
Each of my paternal grandparents had several brothers and sisters. They had five children and I can remember my dad talking about Sunday visits with this or that relative. Those five kids produced only eight grandchildren so you see the trend toward a giant reunion of people on someone’s lawn didn’t pan out for us. And even though there has bee n a family expansion that gives our family tree an hourglass figure, one of my cousins remarked that this would probably be the last generation to get together.
It’s people moving around the country – partly; I think it has something to do with an expanding media – to some degree; it’s busy schedules – maybe. Whatever.
Seven of us – Ronnie passed away a couple of years ago – met on Wednesday, all from Indiana with the exception of Robert Allen and he’s just across the border in Chicago. (Gee, that sort of puts a dent in the “people moving around the country” reason – but I think in our generation, leaving the Fountain County area was part of it.) Of the eight, I am the seventh . . . the eighth announced her arrival with “Let the party begin, the youngest is here!” Nine months. However, because that nine months was between August and April, she was a grade behind me in school and I remember when I was a freshman at IU, her dad was asking me about my courses and asked her, quite pointedly, “Are you listening to this?” Actually, I don’t think we had much of a choice back in the 60’s . . . Western Civ, dontcha know.
Somewhere I have the picture she showed to the others: the two of us standing side by side, blondes and quite young, with our grandpa bent over behind us, his hands on our shoulders. She was already taller than I . . . and I have the same toddler legs I had then.
Anyway, while we are sitting at lunch at the Beef House, I overhear Ronnie’s sister remark that his grandson had been heavily recruited at a college here to play basketball. And, wouldn’t you know it, the youngest – oh, heck, her name’s Lana, okay; less confusing that way. (Maybe she’s LanaJake?) Let me start over. Wouldn’t you know it, Lana’s son is the head basketball coach* at the college. Here two guys were – great grandson and great-great grandson of the same couple – and they didn’t realize they were related.
Maybe one factor is that my father was the only son and so I am the only one with the original last name, and then, I married so a lot of people don’t automatically look at last names and inquire about relationship.
* I would mention the college but you know how the internet is – someone might follow a link and ask, “Say, isn’t your mother’s FIRST cousin that weird lady who listened to DEAD Rudy Vallee sing The Stein Song for four straight hours?” And with a little more investigation find out his mother sat on a picture of scary Uncle Roy the night before their grandfather’s funeral.
I decided to head back late this afternoon instead of staying over night so I could get an early start tomorrow on chores and whatever. Once I decided that, I sort of thought, “Let’s get this done efficiently.” So – you are not ready to read this and probably I should keep it secret – but I looked around for a pushing, happy song and put The Stein Song in the play/repeat mode on the ipod.
Yes, I listened to Rudy Vallee for four hours – Rudy Vallee and his megaphone. By the time I was almost here, I was bolstering myself with the Gipper’s words in my mind:
Some time, Rock, when the team is up against it, when things are wrong and the breaks are beating the boys, ask them to go in there with all they’ve got and win just one for the Gipper. I don’t know where I’ll be then, Rock. But I’ll know about it, and I’ll be happy.
This could indicate that I am walking slightly on the crazy side. That should not be too comforting to my first cousins, so we probably won’t talk about it. Whisper? Probably; I mean, after all, four hours of Rudy Vallee.
I wasn’t going to be here because I am tired and I think, just possibly disgusted. But I came anyway for no good reason other than to jump into the fantasy world of Emily Lou Hoo . . . I am here; I am here; I am here. Today we did a little no-no at Mother’s house. I coughed up a minimal amount of money and put a minimally sized air conditioner in an east window. My purpose is obviously not to cool the house but to provide a little bit of respite on the humid days when you have no breeze.
Then, if yo do have a breeze, it is still a judgment call because the house is normally cooler than the outside air with all the shade so if you open everything up on a hot, humid day when you have a breeze, you are going to suck hot and humid air in. Then if the breeze fails or there is not cooling at night, it is going to stay hot and humid.
Isn’t this fascinating? I do this all day long – think of all these little tidbits of my life and lecture a non-existent audience. And, yes, this will be on the test.
I have to shut up and not say anything about the movie Shutter Island because the twists and turns are not fascinating enough to watch again once you know the ending. Well, that’s my opinion. It is no Casablanca or Alfred Hitchcock movie; nosireebob.
Now I am waiting to watch Breaking Bad after Ice Road Truckers. That’s my schedule. Two hours of my life. Oh, well, I’m not is a mode to be philosophical; I’m in a mood to pour the Crystal Light Peach Mango Green Tea powder into a bottle of water and kick off my shoes – oops, the socks came with them.
Might as well stretch out and relax.
I didn’t get out of the car to take this picture; I had mowed and was tired and only driving out did I remember I wanted a photo. So I hit the automatic window button and picked up the pretty much automatic camera and grabbed a couple of shots. The light was from the west and my driver’s seat was on the east side of the car, so this is what I got.
These roses came from New York State over a hundred years ago – 120 t0 150 years ago – and they bloom at first a deep rose which fades to pink and then to white. Unlike newer, designer roses, they are very fragrant.
You can see the taller grass beneath them because I was on a rider mower; some 50 years ago, I used a walk behind mower and got everything neatly trimmed. Maybe, just maybe, if I did that again, I would be trimmer also.
Some of the grandchildren of Byron and Nellie Grismore are going to get together in Covington, Indiana at The Beef House this coming week at about one in the afternoon. I thought I’d look up the website and you can see it too if you click on BEEF HOUSE. The first thing I noticed was that it has been voted the best steakhouse in Indiana, although here at The Leaning Cow, we don’t know who voted and if we want anyone to vote and, actually, if we want anyone EATING beef. But, aside from that, AmeliaJake sat down and munched a foldover and perused the luncheon menu.
And she came to this; read it carefully.
Did you see it? The “Meet” Room? Is that where Chuck meets . . . well, I don’t know if I want to think about it. And the Cheeseburger? Now, is that when Chuck comes out of the Meet Room and puts on his cheese hat? I mean, it does not appear that Mr. Cheeseburger is in the Meet Room at any time. Maybe it is Colonel Mustard who goes in the Meet Room and looks for culinary secrets . . . nah, he’s too yellow for that.
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I can’t see far from this window; there are a lot of trees and shrubs in front of it. I can see a long way back, however. Back to the days when my grandmother played Old Maid with me when I was little and I cheated by looking at the reflection of the cards in her glasses and back to learning how to embroider.
The porch was always here, but the enclosure came when Eisenhower built the Toll Road; engineers rented the west rooms of the house for an office and my grandmother used the money to have the half-walls built and the metal crank-out windows installed. I remember opening the double doors and peeking into the office when they weren’t working and seeing the big drafting tables. I also remember riding on the Toll Road before it was opened, but I didn’t see much – just the dashboard in front of my face. We stopped and turned around because an overpass had not yet been built. At least that’s what they told me – it was sort of a radio adventure for me.
I can see ahead out these windows, and I can see what is here now. And what is here now is okay with me and it is okay if it changes slowly into what is ahead. It is not a matter of cleaning out – it is one of passing on things to those who will find them of use and remembrances. That is the true value for me . . . for those who knew her so long to have something that is a link to her.
Today is the 9th; I just noticed my last post was on the 5th. I did not know I was gone. I think I came here and then started to daydream and wandered away. What was it about Sunday? Der Bingle left for the Ohio Redoubt and, oh yes, I remember: I cleaned for most of the day. Don’t know what gave over me. And a toilet clogged up and the plunger wouldn’t work and so Monday I bought a closet auger and finally cleared it. I am beginning to understand why these are not days that inspired my spirit.
Yesterday I went out for brief shopping in antique Shipshewana stores and lunch. Grilled meatloaf. Then back to Mother’s and lying on the sofa starting another one of her books stacked on the floor. Sometimes I close my eyes and think of all the different times of my life . . . and at times, when my eyes are closed, I imagine some of the ghosts of the house’s past come and look at me. If I keep my eyes closed, I think I can feel them there.
Today I mowed. How many sentences have a written in my mind over the decades of mowing that yard around that old house on an old Indian trail? Lots, I think. And sometimes I think of the sentences others have written and let the rhythm of them echo and re-echo in the bubble of silence that exists inside the chugging of the power mower.