Now, this is scary

Dan and Joe came to fix the plumbing leak this morning. It was right there under the sink. Dan even raised the foot on one side of the dishwasher to make it level and stop the door from binding.

As I always do, I took a picture of them on their hands and knees, working. You know, illustrated stories. Didn't think any more of it until an hour or so later. I was visiting with a friend, and my phone made a new ping.

I took a look, and wound up appalled. My phone was offering to let me share a photo with an apparent Google circle entity at the location the photo was taken. That circle member was identified as the management company of my mobile home complex. 

Still baffled, as I could not make out the picture from the thumbnail, I tapped for the full offer, and there was a picture of Dan and Joe, fixing the leak. I would never have used the picture; it was rude. But, Google looked at a picture on my phone, associated it with the location and wanted to post it to their employer's Google circle.

And, that is frightening.

At my Thanksgiving gathering, one guest and I were chatting about the intrusion of intelligence into our lives. She told me that "they" listen to phone conversations, and then flood your internet with ads relating to subjects or products you might have discussed. I was skeptical.

After today, I think I will enlist a friend to help me conduct a test and find out if we're watching Home Depot and Victoria's Secret spots streamed down both sides of our computer screens after we chat them up.

I have one more subject for today. I cannot think of a category for this one. When Dan and Joe came in this morning, about nine, Dan complained it was cold. But, he complains about everything. I knew I'd just turned the heat up from my overnight 62 degrees, and blew him off.

When I came in from work at two this afternoon, Dan was right. It was cold in here. Sixty two and sinking. Management sent the dynamic duo right back. Joe ran back and forth for tools; Dan lay on his stomach in my small laundry room, testing out theories with volt meters.

Here is the conclusion. The red wire from the thermostat to "the board" in the furnace is shorted. "Some fool" probably stapled it down ( they could not pull it more than a foot out of the wall at the thermostat) instead of letting it lay loose "up there," and a probable nick has shorted through.  It cannot be fixed until tomorrow, when "Chip" can come a pull a new wire. Shame that fool stapled it down, else a new one could be pulled along the same route.

Dan and Joe went to the office and returned with two space heaters for us. They put one in the kitchen and one in the living room. After supper we turned them on, to warm up the house before bedtime. We promptly popped a breaker. We unplugged the kitchen heater; Nancy Drew located the breaker in a flash and put it back in order.

Looks like we'll be sharing the cat tonight.

Home

This Google Earth image was taken in June of this year, the month before I moved in. When I called the trash company for service, the representative had to find my GPS coordinates. I said about half way down my road, on the east side, a double wide. "With the red roof?" "The next one south!" Mr. Next Door has the only red roof in the park.

In June, my unit was brand new, surrounded by mud and ruts, no drive yet. You can see my front and back decks. The next unit after me has a tenant now; lovely lady. She finished the deal with the lone handyman to get dirt in between our units and get it ready for grass. I have a shed back there, now, and I believe her clincher was "She's going to fall back there, and won't you be in trouble!"

All those brown rectangles are sites prepared for a trailer "to drop." Management seems to drop one or two a week. Those two rectangles behind me have units in them, being prepped for occupation. The rectangle 4th down from the red roof has two rows of concrete plugs in the ground; each as big around as a 55 gallon steel drum, and pretty deep. The unit rests on them. You know I just have to know everything.

Years ago I worked for Forest City Enterprises in Cleveland, and they built high rise apartments from prefabricated units that were built in Akron and taken by train to their location. When they left the old car barn in Akron, where they were made, the sinks were installed, the closet rods in place, lighting--just the toilet was secured in a closet so it would not break in transit. 

I realized that's exactly the situation here. Manufactured homes. These are not trailers, but they are mobile homes. I need to stop saying "the trailer park," and say "the mobile home park." Or not.

A unit going in behind me. The yellow unit beside it is in one of the two rectangles behind me. This one is in place but not dropped. It's still on wheels.

Now the wheels are off, on the left, and the axels are on the right. Workers will get underneath and get the hook ups situated, then drop the unit and install the white skirting. I'd love to be here when they "drop" it.

Don't mourn, organize!

You can call the House Oversight Committee and add your voice to the call for a bi-partisan review of Donald Trump's financial records and potential conflicts of interest. The phone numbers are: 202-225-5074 or 202-225-5051. They are counting every phone call! If you can't get through, call the White House switchboard: 202-224-3121.

When is a 10 o’clock appointment not a 10 o’clock appointment?

September is well gone! Here are some tidbits.

For the last year our overzealous family doctor has Laura followed for thyroid nodules. The endocrinologist, of course, will never spring her until the day there is no annual follow up appointment made. I don’t care one way or another. The annual appointment was last Wednesday, at 10 a.m. At 10:45 I went to the front desk to cancel and never reschedule. The doctor had yet to put in an appearance. I passed her in the hall, and I told her the lateness was not excusable.

She informed me the schedulers had put Laura in a diabetic appointment, not an endocrine appointment. She could not explain the difference, only that 45 minutes was the time she needed to spend with the previous diabetic child. She could not explain why a 10 o’clock appointment was not a 10 o’clock appointment. I have all the orders for next year, but have yet to make the appointment.

Laura came through the door the other day, stopped dead in front of the thermostat and took a picture. I walked over to look. The indoor temperature was 69. (I’m not waiting late enough today for that!) “It’s an inside joke, Grandma. You wouldn’t get it.” I told her I think I was fourteen, too, when a girlfriend explained 69 to me.

I have a cedar chest that was my grandmother’s. It’s at least one hundred years old. Back in the early seventies I could not look at the black, crackled finish any longer, had it stripped and refinished its natural cherry color. Let’s move past that to the story. It’s been in my bedrooms since the sixties, doing its blanket holding job.

When we hung the little black shelves in my room, the chest was the handiest step stool, and Laura hopped up, and slid straight back, as the chest lost one of its carved front feet. Today I said we would repair it. My plan was wood glue and a couple of very long screws. But, on examination, it will be a professional job. The foot had wood blocks inserted in part of its construction; one of two screws no longer could be seated.

I explained the problem and my Plan B to our local hardware store fellow. He agreed the wood was too dry to be repaired by an amateur, and since I considered the chest on life support, he’d sell me what I needed, extreme glue and a wood clamp that would open at least 14”.

The real kicker is, my brother had a wall of wood clamps, every length. But, the old house is almost empty, under contract but still closing. So, I had to buy a wood clamp to add to the tool box repertoire I expect some grandchild will find of use.

M.o.l.a.s.s.e.s.

So help me, the day after I cash out my house, I am going on vacation. At the risk of jinxing all, we have two interested folks at the moment. Unaware of each other, but each slower than slow. Their realtors have indicated to my realtor there is a lot of interest, but both parties proceed slowly. 

I know there are people like that, but I try not to be involved with them. To quote Charlie Brown, "Aaaarrrrrggggghhhh."

There have been close to fifty people through the house, and on the whole what they are looking at seems not to compute. I cannot believe so many are so far from 'the country.'

"We wondered if there would be yards," said one tourist. "We are looking for a neighborhood," said another. 

In the meantime, Laura hung three shelves to hold the tchotchkies I brought with me. Emily hung the pictures, and sent Laura packing with the little level Laura was anxious to try. When Laura and I started in with the shelves, I bemoaned the lack of a level and Laura came back with the cutest little level. And, it worked.

After the two of us hung the long shelf, level, I had the chutzpah to suggest how to proceed with the two smaller shelves.She completely ignored me, and her level as she flipped the other two shelves, made marks, held out her hand for a drill bit or the screwdriver (she's become proficient with the electric drill, chucks, that kind of stuff), and fitted the shelves to the wall.

Here's a quiz. The shelves are grouped by decades, except one. Give up?

The lace skirted ballerina on the bottom shelf was made in occupied Japan; the four soapstone babies were presented to my father on my birth in 1943. The red vase and the white ballerina stood on opposite sides of the banjo clock in my grandmother's living room, from my earliest memory, and from the twenties, according to my mother.

Up top, the cast iron elephant with one missing ivory tusk was given to my great grandmother, certainly before the turn of the previous couple of centuries, and Paddington came for my mother, but not in time, at the end of the last century. It seems there is a theme there, too.

I do need a vacation.

Pointy roofs

I've written a couple of posts about Harry Potter houses and especially the missing Harry Potter house in Versailles, Indiana, at the intersection of US 50 and 421. Here is one of the posts. 

I'll be darned if I can find the other one, the first one,  in which I turned Google Earth on its side to show the house and discovered the house had become a government office building covering about an acre of land. But I had to go looking, as I've lost the picture.

Linda was file cleaning the other day, and sent me the picture! Who would believe the master of chaos would pull it from an envelope and think "Joanne might like this." That is how I got it back, and without further ado, here it is.

The house no longer at the intersection of US 50 and 421 in Versailles, Indiana

Hamilton has graduated and leaves tomorrow to spend the summer with his father and his sister. I dropped him at a meeting with a church minister lately and doubled back to take a picture of this house in the neighborhood.

I always look for ways to have pictures of Harry Potter houses, though I find that five or six sided conservatory with who knows what upstairs is a more common feature on ostentatious new construction. I always will  have porch envy.