Can they win another game for Joe

It’s the state semi-finals tonight, Joe. And they’re matched against the same team that took them down last year, but barely.

It was a beautiful night last year. As I left from taking Emily for band inspection, folks were beginning to gather at the intersections of the residential and main roads. Why, I wondered, and then realized they were gathering to cheer the team buses. (They probably cheered the band buses, too.)

The team spirit of the city impressed me, and I swing around back into town to sit in the grocery store parking lot and watch. It was inspiring. Homemade signs, the beat up yard signs signifying the home of a band member (Loud is Good), anything they could get over their heads, the parents waved.

Tonight I had to get Laura to school way early.  The director wants to see how many gave up the holiday to march in the band, decide what sort of a show they could put on, and run through it. Sadly, it’s cold and drizzly. I bet the parents were at the corners anyway; football is a pretty big deal around here.

Instead of going home tonight, I went straight through on the main road and out to another township past mine. An old acquaintance is newly admitted to a care facility there, the memory unit. When the aid took me to her, she knew me and knew my name as soon as I spoke it. She remembered and used it the rest of the visit.

We had such a good chat. One of the sisters associated with the facility stopped to introduce herself, and my friend introduced me. The sister asked me to stay to supper and went and arranged us a private table and another meal. I couldn’t believe I signed out more than two hours after I signed in.

So, a cheer for Jean, too, who told me she would be ninety on her next birthday, “whenever that is. I was born in 1927.” That needs cheering from the street corner, too.

Why she needs a head start

December is Laura's flat out favorite month.

Early on, her birthday. Later on, Christmas.

It's the present thing, I believe.

It started last weekend when Laura wondered what we should do for stockings this year. I volunteered to ask Aunt Janice for ours, and she asked if I would be offended if we just looked for our own.

"What about any of the ornaments?" She hoped never to see those again, either.

So, we went to look at what is up for sale this year.

Needless to say...

We picked out a little tree, some garland, and the beginning of the ornaments.

We do have thirty odd days to accumulate ornaments we like. (I liked the owl!)

Mr. You Know Who hasn't knocked it over yet, an annual occurrence at the old house.

He does nap on the tree skirt every day, 

after his obligatory pounce to shake out mice or things.

One of the first things Laura hopes to find is the star. 

In the meantime, a Santa hat.

Perimeter patrol

My cat ownership goes back to my college days, and I've never permitted a cat on a counter.

At the old house some cats were hell bent on hitting the counter when the two leggers were done in the kitchen. Purrl was an awful offender, looking for the last splatter.

Toby had Purrl to show him how to do it, but was never interested.

The first time I saw Toby in this window he raised two paws and said, "You caught me, but it's the only south facing window I can reach. Don't take it away from me."

And, I haven't.

As you can tell, he did have a job to do up here. Something has his attention. He is all purpose.

Watching him settle in is worth the price of admission.

Of all our treasures up there, 

only the bird moved.

Look at that tail, just so, around the butterfly, under the bird.

And look at those ears! Something he must know about is happening on the street.

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.

Lunch with Jeanette

I lived at the top of my old road for twenty eight years. Jeanette lived at the bottom most of her life. She called on the new owner of my old house and told her what to expect, and to be prepared to tell her if the mail has been delivered in the winter. Jeanette has a long lane and cannot see her mail box from her house.

Then Jeanette headed off for my house. The lovely new lady of the old house called and forewarned me. 

I like Jeanette. She's self entertaining; she talks all the time and seldom expects an answer. She had two invitations to lunch sponsored by the middle school (where Laura was just last year), and the person she always takes is feeling poorly, so, of course, "I thought of you right away." And off we went.

Heading to be served our Thanksgiving dinner. The little face over Jeanette's shoulder is leading us to the head of the line. I apologized to the youngster in red shoes for cutting in, and he said, "No, please, you go first."

The string ensemble played, and probably well, but could not be heard over the lunch room din.

My place mat. I considered obliterating the name at the bottom, but on consideration I think the lovely little saying may be one of those ubiquitous Irish proverbs, and is cited as Ireland, County Derry. If some parents with the surname of Derry chose to name a child Ireland, Hooray! I am descended from County Derry.

Jeanette's plate.

My plate. Same as above, without turkey, shredded, and dessert. From six o'clock around, one ice cream scoop of Stove Top stuffing, extra salt. That large, horrid canned corn. One melon scoop of sweet potatoes, extra sugar, oatmeal topping. One spoonful of apple pie filling. One serving of jellied cranberry sauce. One ice cream scoop of instant mashed potatoes, extra salt. I'm still waiting for the salt and preservative induced skull splitting headache to subside. 

We were constantly attended by seventh graders who wondered if the food was good and what did we have for family Thanksgiving. When their shift ended, they disappeared and were replaced by new caretakers. It was all too sweet, and Jeanette had someone to listen to her for an hour.

Jeanette's bumper sticker. She said once she got out of her car and found a perfectly coiffed and well dressed woman reading it. When Jeanette came back to her car, she found a dollar bill under her windshield wiper. It said: "I am rich, but I will help you." Jeanette pulled it out of her purse and showed me.