How went your day?

My week is settling out well, but today did not have an awesome beginning. My Sunbeam toaster lever would not engage. Sunbeam, the brand of our mothers and grandmothers and great grandmothers!

I had bread and butter for breakfast, not my usual warm, crunchy and evenly toasted slices of eight grain bread.

I met my accountant in town. She walks everywhere, and was walking down the library drive when I spotted her. We reset a cancelled appointment for this week. I went to work, then home for lunch before my card playing Monday afternoon.

When I opened the tap for water for coffee, there was no water. I called the office—it would be a ten minute problem. I left the coffee ready to add water, ate lunch, rinsed my hands with water from the fridge, and went to play cards with the Methodists.

Cards with the Methodists is a great start to the week. The Methodist church in town is dwindling in membership and decided to sponsor a weekly card session with anyone who wanted to play. 

Sadly, only four of us are at the table. As the only non-Methodist playing, I’ve felt a little guilty, and considered offering them an out if the three of them wanted to cut bait. But, I enjoy myself so much I haven’t put the offer on the table.

Today there were three of us. We played two fierce games that can only happen when too few players have engaged too often, recognize the bidding strategies of each other and set out to play tight, well bantered rounds. I lost the first game by two points and was devastatingly ahead when we had to call the second game for lack of time.

The best news is, in their current bulletin, Mother of Sorrows will be invited to join us.

Getting home before the school bus, I packed up my five month old toaster for return to the store tonight. I put water in the coffee reservoir and flipped the switch. Nothing. I tried an outlet further down the counter. Nothing. I went to the breaker box and located the outlets. The breaker wasn’t tripped, but I flipped it anyway. Nothing.

I moved an outlet closer to the sink, and tried resetting the GFI. Down at my toaster/coffee pot end of the counter, the coffee pot looked back with a red eye. Just for fun, I unbagged the Sunbeam and plugged it in.  The lever engaged and the warm smell of re-toasted bread crumbs wafted up. Trouble shooting electricity has never been my strong point.

Next time I will listen to Sunbeam at nine in the morning.

Just shoot me

There are seven employees in my township, four elected, three staff. So, there are seven of us. You know me as the person of no authority. Among the rest of the mix, hired or elected, one is normal, like me, one is aggressive, two are passive aggressive, one does not get involved, and the last is pleasant and affable, also like me.

We all use our personal cell phones in a minor way for township business, except one of us, who does not answer or return calls. Because communication is an important part of that job, one elected official purchased a phone, put some minutes on it, and told the employee to use it. A week or so ago I saw the phone on a desk, mentioned it, and was informed it was out of minutes.

Knowing that would never be disclosed, except by me, I relayed the information to the person who bought the phone, assuming that person knew how to add minutes.

Ass…you know the rest. Oh, baby, a firestorm, directed at the other passive aggressive by the aggressive one. I ran into p-a at movie night at the library last night. I had to sympathize, actually, but after ten minutes of listening to the complaining, I said I’d figure it out today.

Today I spent an hour on the phone. About thirty were devoted to helping me find the serial and phone numbers of the phone (yes, this p-a had left the building). Ten were spent listening to the seller of said minutes reading me the minutes and expiration dates of every phone plan, instead of cutting to the chase and telling me the maximum number of minutes and months he could sell me. When he got to one year I yelled “Stop, I’ll take it!”

Another ten were devoted to confirming every bit of credit card data (J for jug, O for overhead, A for apple, N for never, N for never, E for every; N for never and so on and so on). I smiled and remembered that as little as I earn, he earns less, and probably works twelve hours a day for it. We had the best luck when I said “Listen, it’s J-O-A-N-N-E. Is that what you have? You’re one N short. Let’s do it again.” Peninsula was a real struggle. Apparently his software did not return a city in exchange for a zip code.

So, I returned the one year out phone to the desk of p-a, with a note, as p-a remained out of the building. I used my cell to call the cell of the other p-a, thus leaving no email trail, and impart the knowledge the phone was good for a year. I gathered my stuff and literally was shutting the exterior door behind me when a friendly voice said, “Hey, you. Have a great weekend.” It was the road super, who is pleasant and affable, like me.

And that’s why I take my camera to work and take my time going home.

Library day

We went to the library this weekend.

On the way into town we passed this recently renovated little house. 

I like the pea green door.

The library had new carpeting installed last month.

I was anxious to see the results.

The stone mosaic mural was designed by Honore Guilbeau-Cooke, Peninsula's famous depression era artist, and one of the founders of the Library and Historical Society.

Just past the vestibule.

Children's section.

One of the activity rooms, being readied for making valentine crafts.

The teen room.

A shot down a stack. The new carpet under the old stuff is perfect.

Perusing the music CD's. 

We refurbished Laura's old computer with no thought to retaining her music collection. 

Some things remain in flux.

I love these last two pictures of fingers and library cards.

It might as well be government work

The Wood store was built about 1820, in typical Western Reserve Greek Revival style. It was the first permanent structure in Peninsula and is one of the oldest buildings in the Western Reserve. It was restored in the sixties by Robert Hunker, an architect who liked Peninsula so much he purchased the majority of downtown buildings. He liked Peninsula so much he locked out development with restrictive zoning and by having much of the town designated historical and inviolable. No water and sewer meant no fast food restaurants in his town.

Bob Hunker did draw up his own plans for sewer and water, but could never convince any regulatory agency they were viable. The current renovation has turned up many of his shortcuts, such as laying the gas line to the store 4” under the sandstone sidewalk. His cost cutting methods installed by his contractors, for full price, are legion in the village.

The man passed from this earth several years ago, and put his buildings in the custody of the Hunker Foundation, wisely renamed the Peninsula Foundation. The Wood store passed through several tenants; galleries in the art heyday of the town, dwindling away to a “collectables” store as the last tenant. When that shop departed, the Foundation began an extensive renovation, last May. I see in looking at the Foundation’s web site, much of the work is funded by donations. That ‘splains a lot, Lucy.

A friend who owns another gallery in town signed a lease with the Foundation, to take occupancy on June 1^st. Diane intended to have her “Riverlight Gallery” open by the last weekend in June, to coincide with the big draw to town, the Boston Mills ArtFest. The work wasn’t done. In fact, the work was not done in time for any of the summer tourist trade, for the 4^th of July, for Labor Day. Not for the first week of September, or the second, or the third.

Diane has a tentative move in date of Thursday, but I’m not holding my breath. The work I’ll have on consignment has been packed since June, and another tub has accumulated since then. I had granddaughters to carry it up the stairs back then; now I’ll probably commandeer a last minute worker for the job, this coming Thursday.

This picture is of the Wood store at the last time I was associated with it as a gallery, probably around 2004 or 2005. My friend Kathleen had her Crooked River Herb Farm shop there, and sold artensinal jellies, vinegars, soaps from her farm as well as the work of many local craftsmen. My brother Walt made the panels between the windows that listed all the unique items to be found in the shop.

The next time I visited the shop was Christmas, a couple of years ago. I did a blog posting decrying the Italinate pergola installed by some shop renter, and especially the sign hanging from a bracket bolted into the tree.

I took some pictures of the interior of the shop, and its then tennant's wares, a pop-up "fair trade" shop. I pointed out to the shopkeeper the cruelty of bolting a sign into a tree and left.

I'll post some pictures of the current renovation this week, and take some pictures of what I anticipate to be a beautiful new interior when I move in my inventory on Thursday.

September 15, 2015

To the post office and back

I took my camera to run my post office errand.

It's a grey and dull day, but the river is rising and I wanted some pictures.

Well spotted, Joanne.

The heron was tall and thin and looking a lot like the reeds.

Then he moved.

I made a U turn at the end of the road.

The heron was still in the water.

I pulled off quickly, turned on the flashers

and began snapping away.

I heard a car behind and checked the mirror.

Not just anyone.

Oh, no. It's the chief.

The heron left.

"Good job, you nailed the Boston clerk."

"Not, bad. I may report it at tonight's meeting."

I pulled into the Brown Rabbit.

The river obligingly flows below.

The upstream view was dull enough,

the downstream view too dull to use.

I met my first Corgi.

She came half way across the green way,

And ignored me for the rest of my visit. 

 My friend Peggy Jo, one of the Brown Rabbit's principals,

taking in a consignment of plows.

Some spent flowers on the bank.

I'll guess May apple, but don't count on that being right.

After a visit with Peggy Jo

I went downstream to take more pictures.

This is a perfect example of why the First Nations called it the crooked river.

It bends like a snake, making peninsulas of land.

I don't know the history of the piers above, except there were several sandstone quarries in the area and the stone went to market on trains.

I also don't know when the retaining work was done to the river edge,

but again during the heyday of the quarries from the mid 19th to early 20th century.

A block of sandstone on the shore.

I passed this bunch of park guys, walking with clipboards, looking at the river and the trails.

Greeted by Mr. What Did You Bring Me?

And noticed my sister has transplanted my birthday present, complete with the "fork you" deterrent.

That's all! Linda and I are off to Boiling Springs tomorrow, on the great thread quest.

Janice will take a picture of Laura in her twirly dancing dress Friday.

Two treasurers-for-life and two weavers meet for lunch

And there were only three of us.

Linda was in town today, and she and Pam and I went for lunch

at Fishers, 

where a topiary is turned into a snowman.

Linda moved in for a closer look, and I smiled as Pam moved discretely out of  camera range.

She's much younger and prettier than the two old weavers.

Pam was Treasurer for Life of the Peninsula Area Chamber of Commerce

for the ten years after I held the title for ten years.

I'm thinking a bit longer for each of us, since the chamber had its beginning in 1990.

Interesting how we jump in because we have something to add,

then one day it's time for new blood.

All the sidewalks were lined with luminaries, I noticed on my way to work.

A lot of luminaries, up both sides of State Route 303, across the bridge, around corners.

Pam said at lunch tonight is the Chamber's annual 
candlelight walk, and she is a luminary lighter.

A lot of lighting.

An hour ago I asked Emily if she wanted to go look at a small town tradition.

I took my camera.

Not my tripod, not my gloves, but my heart was in the right place.

We talked about small town illusions on the way home,

And cheered for the people walking past the luminaries,

Bags in hand.

A picture from a couple of weeks ago, back from a training session,

wearing her official Boston Mills, Brandywine uniform.

The season has not begun, but when it does it often does not end until March.

Here's a cat who would tell you what to do with ski runs.

Mr. Yesberger's trees, redeux

When the golfing season seemed to end but the carts were still out

I stopped in the clubhouse again, but only saw "we can't have you taking pictures of trees."

So, I gave up the picture idea. They're just a bunch of tree trunks.

But the snow is such another opportunity in contrast

that I had my sister drop me on the Brandywine side, and pick me up after a trip around the block.

Hundreds of Canada geese. Like the King of France's men, they march up the hill and down again.

In the morning the open areas are a sea of brown backs.

At the corner of Truxell and Akron Cleveland Road, across the rough.

No picture yet does justice to the rows and rows of spruce,

so I'm probably through taking pictures of Mr. Yesberger's trees.

Back up Truxell, waiting for my ride.

My header pond, from another angle.