Life doesn't necessarily occur in sequence

New digs for Emily, Laura and me.

We're moving one road north, to a trailer community, not too euphemistically called Hudson Estates.

Laura remains in the Hudson school district; I remain the township fiscal officer.

"We've signed the lease," as Laura tells the world.

Our "Estate" passes muster for one granddaughter away in college and another who scored the master with the walk in closet. She cannot wait to furnish and cook in "her kitchen" either.

We have the keys, and have been in and out a few times. The interior needs a final clean, the accessory building is not yet on site, and the drive way has the frame laid, and probably will be poured next week.

Meanwhile, back in my other world, we had a long anticipated visit from Yamani.

She landed in the midst of the first week of the house on the market, and proved a very adaptable guest. Yam can sit out a house showing in the national park, soothing an irritated cat while learning more strategy for hearts, the card game. We shopped in Indian markets, and Laura added more culinary skills to her repertoire.

To her great delight, Yam arrived in the midst of the seventeen year cicada invasion, as they emerged mercilessly, cut the oak tree's bark to lay eggs, then flew off everywhere to die. We swept the walk and drive often, to lessen the impact on potential house buyers. 

Cicadas are more than the incessant, deafening screech of a million rasping wings. They damage mature trees and kill young trees. All those brown tips on the oak tree in June indicate severe damage to its capillary systems.

In better news, the pink and white mandevillas are doing beautifully.

The red mandevilla went on strike for a better spot, so it's been relocated to the porch for a go at reclamation.

Now I am going out to buy a statue of St. Joseph to bury in the front yard--upside down. 

Up sticks

I lamented at dinner tonight, with friends and family, this upping sticks business has kept me from keeping up with blogs. I should just post the for sale sign, I sighed, and my son in law heartily seconded. Back shortly, I hope, with stories.

Two firsts and a second

Grandma Ruth and I took one of her granddaughters and one of mine out to lunch today.

Both Caroline and Laura are big fans of milk shakes, but neither had tried a malted milk.

Much as they were intrigued by the lure of essence of the inside of a Whopper candy, neither was brave enough to make the leap until I added that malt is a byproduct of brewing beer. (Not totally right, I know, but close enough to get the job done.)

Two malts went right down, to the detriment of the following lunch order, which went home in boxes for later snacking.

Laura, realizing the picture coincided with the spoon in her mouth.

So, the two firsts.

This is Francis, Caroline's big brother. He is fourteen, about two weeks younger than his cousin Laura.

When this picture was taken, at my 73rd birthday lunch, France was just back from a bicycling adventure. He and a schoolmate spent several days bicycling from Columbus back to their homes in Cleveland. 

Young Man poised for Summer Adventure

Early this morning he and his dad left for Virginia, to meet up with another cyclist. France will spend the next month cycling the TransAm Trail from Virginia to Illinois.

He spent last summer in southern Ohio, climbing rock faces with a school chum.

To his mother's dismay, he was incommunicado the entire time, and didn't set pen to paper once to let her know he was fine.

Recently Beth told me this same young man was heading off on a bigger adventure, and, be still her heart, intended to blog about it.

This grandma asked if she could give him a plug, and he said "Most certainly."

A click on the link under his picture will take you straight to Summit, his blog. So will a click on Summit.

Give him an atta boy, nice job young man.

And throw in one for his parents, too.

A cicada over the line

My garden would look quite nice this year, but for dead cicadas hanging from every leaf.

They eat nothing in this life cycle, but their sharp claws catch on clothes, in hair, and gouge holes in leaves.

Some good news is one yucca intends to bloom this year.

Back to cicadas. 

They emerge from the ground and begin calling for mates.

Laura describes it as the sound of raining needles.

I would add very sharp needles, driven by a hard wind against metal siding.

They climb trees, mating as they go and laying eggs in the bark.

The eggs feed on tree sap, grow for a couple of years, fall to the ground and burrow in.

They spend the next fifteen years feeding on tree roots, until they pop out, all at once.

The noise is deafening. People going into cicada neighborhoods from non cicada neighborhoods look around and shout What Is That Noise?

They know no boundaries.