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Sunday, May 19, 2019

Weather, whether or not

Saturday was a nearly perfect day. All windows open and breezes wafting in the pollen. Today began dragging in the humidity, too, and suddenly it was time for windows down and air up.

Laura stopped for a couple of weeds in the garden on our way to the grocery store this morning, and she found our very own Mr. Toad has exited his winter abode.


How about that for stink eye? I just noticed his chest markings look like a couple of playful tadpoles. That would only elicit more stink eye. "Hruumph, stupid old woman. Tadpoles are not toads!"


He was close to the size of my hand, so I elected to let him be.


I have no idea what this flower is. The coral bells have grown up since last week, too.


So, back to the weather I led off with. We got to mid eighties today, and then the bottom falls out all week long.  The threat of severe weather in the middle of the country trumps my whining about forties overnight next week. I hope the potential for tornadoes spares people. 

I read an interesting quote, "They don't vote governments in son, they vote them out." Also from my lips to God's ear, we must exchange out these climate deniers, and that's just for starters.


My sister's chives did not overwinter, so I promised her a trowel full when I see her next. That could be sooner than later, or later than sooner. She says she will oversee the goods moving into the new abode as I watch them leave the old.

Laura is moving back with her mother this coming Saturday, and even has secured summer employment at a local Plato's Closet.  I'm packing slowly. 

My neighbor and I commiserate on the management of the park. Or lack thereof. We both come trailing blue ribbons in management and organization, and simply do not understand how people so deficient are appointed to positions requiring planning, scheduling and other elementary skills of property management.

I cannot get a move in date. Without a moving date, I cannot hire a moving company. "Yes, I'm moving, very soon, but I don't have the date. Can you rent me a truck and a crew for that day?"  I'm sure they think less of me than does that toad!

Today we pulled up all the garden art and stashed it on the porch. All the pictures are down. Now I need to fill boxes, taking care to leave out a sauce pan and my toothbrush.  Assuming, of course, I  get the nod from on high.





Thursday, May 16, 2019

Holding pattern

It's warmer today, but I'm still cold, of course. The thermostat indicates sixty-nine in the living room, and I'm remain in winter attire. The front window is open for Mr. Cat's use, and I guess he's absorbing all the sunshine heat before it filters back to me. 



I check the drawing of the layout of the new unit frequently, to see where things will go. One great feature is the presence of a window on each side of the new living room. I wonder if it will be warmer.

Our new lives, Laura's and mine, have not yet begun. This is the last week of classes at school, next week are finals. Last week and this, she and her mother have organized interviews for a summer job, and interviews are being implemented. 

School work happens too, every day. Laura spent much of this week recording a video for her ASL class. A good deal of the time involved tears, lost in the intricacies of computer language. I know nothing and she is one rank above me. I suggested she consult her siblings, but that was dismissed out of hand.  Some time later her cheerful self was back in place; she resolved the problems and the assignment was finished.

I've been weaving. This is a difficult warp. Not irritating, just tedious. I knew the purple would be a problem; I was quite right.


Probably two-thirds of my fifteen yards are woven to the front beam, and suddenly this  bit of the bumpity bump boucle is balking at travelling through heddle and reed. It was abandonded yesterday, to consider its transgression and suffer bed without dinner. 

I was out and about this afternoon, phone in hand, and the blooms were interesting. I got some on the way home.




And, finally, can you see what I think is a tiny, abandoned bird nest in this pine? I cannot believe pine needles just fell in this pattern. It's a small nest, and I don't know birds this small.


And so, back to getting that thread on track.













Saturday, May 11, 2019

Phones don't float, they sink

The Motorola back flipped from my pocket and went straight to the bottom of a very large puddle: glug, glug, glug. I retrieved it stripped it, took it home and left it to dry overnight.

In the morning, no luck. I went to the phone store. For $10 they would put it in the dry-out machine for an hour. If that worked, I could have it back for $100. Or, I could buy a new phone. Or...

I bought a Google Pixel 3, whatever that means. It is smaller by far than the Motorola's, I do not like Samsung and the other android brands, and the salesmen told me the Pixel 3 is the best camera on the market. When pigs fly, they could deliver the Brooklyn Bridge!


Here are the paper narcissus. They are done so soon. The ones with petals laid back are a day old.


Canterbury Bells. I do not recall them blooming so early in the past.


Dan asked me how I would move everything from the garden to the new lot, and I told him it would remain, and I hoped the new folks would take care of it. And the old grump actually said "What a shame; and it's looking so good. After three years"! The new camera doesn't seem to make any difference.


Wednesday, May 8, 2019

Back at the ranch

Dan, the maintenance man, asked me to stop and approve the way he intends to install the screen door. (That's Dan's back, in the next picture.)

I said I didn't need to stop; I wanted both door knobs on the same side. 

"I can't do that!" says Mr. Dan. "Then you won't be able to bring anything through the door."

"Why did you ask?"

"If you look at it now, you won't argue with me later."

So I went over, and took the opportunity to walk up my new steps.  The deck guys closed the risers, so my wheeled cart will work.

My front door, there, opens in, to the left. They did it that way at the factory. If the storm were hinged on the same side, it would open into the middle of the deck, using up much of the access room. 

"So, case closed?" asked Dan. I went on in.


I looked in all the rooms, but only took one picture. The window at the end of the drive will be the studio, and yes, it has the smallest bathroom in the entire park enclosed in that room. Definitely the cat's room, as there is no other adequate place.



I don't see moving before June. No water hook up yet; the state hasn't inspected yet. There is no shed, there is grading to do and grass to plant. But, it's happening.

Monday, May 6, 2019

Beautiful day, sad story

The national park has been here longer than I have, but not much. I've told the story of undervalued property, 400 displaced families. How Ohio Senator Taft and Ohio businessman Vail (who had land to donate) tracked down President Ford, on vacation in Colorado, on December 27th, to have legislation for the park signed, back in the seventies.

And so it began.

I've been fascinated by the golf course bounded by Akron Peninsula Road and Truxell Road. The corkscrew willow at the end of the pond on Truxell Road has been my header picture for the last many years.

The stately yews planted by Mr. Yesberger, straight row after row, have drawn me in for years. Sadly, the year I booked a tee time and a golf cart, for the purpose of photographing trees while a granddaughter drove the cart, I was foiled. I neglected to complete my disguise with a golf bag. I was not allowed to go on the course. I would distract the golfers!

It's the course where I followed the life and death of a young deer, who I called "The Little Guy". And, it's the course where a solitary heron has spent the summer these last several years. Today I saw the heron for the first time this year.



Mr. Yesberger, the owner and builder of this course, lived across Akron Peninsula Road, up (down?) a windy road. He died unexpectedly a few years ago, and title passed to an unexpecting grandson. The story only grows sadder; this young man could not carry on, and took his life.

I always knew there were covenants of some sort protecting the land from development in the circumstance of no heirs, but I was very hazy on the details. So, I sought them out.

That piece of legislation that President Ford signed in his vacation motel room in Colorado, has the only stipulation of its kind of any federal park  in America. In the event the land leaves the Yesberger family, it may not be developed, though it may be returned to its natural state.

The person who explained this to me wanted me to realize the amount of tax revenue lost to the village, the school, the library.  But my mind focused on "returned to its natural state". 

Yes, he explained. The ponds drained, the roughs gone, the greens gone, the sand traps gone, the hundreds and hundreds of trees removed.

This is still sinking in. 

I think I'll go post the picture I took today of the willow.