Glacial knoll

 I had a letter to mail today, on such a blue and beautiful day, that I decided to take a ride through town and take some pictures for a post that's been on my mind. The drive through town was the same as last year--impassible car and foot traffic clogging the road. 

But it was a beautiful day and they all wanted out, too, and who am I to deny them the pleasure of circling town to find a parking place.

My destination was the township's original cemetery. Most of the original founders are buried there, as are their descendants; it makes me smile to see stone after stone with those old names. For me, the interest is the geography. The cemetery is built on a glacial knoll.

A knoll is an isolated hill. In this area of extensive glacial activity, a glacial knoll is not such an anomaly. It has been tested and declared not a mound. I have no idea what the 1805 settlers thought, but Mr. Stanford and many descendants are on the hill.

The first time I drove through the cemetery, which actually is around, I peered over the hood to locate the road. I still do.  I don't know that my pictures do it justice, but here we go.

The road goes up to the right, and the direction is clearly marked. You can just see the first arrow inside the gate in the first photo.

It's a lovely and well maintained township cemetery. There is a commission that overlooks both township cemeteries.

And the road goes up and up, the hill drops down and down.

We're at the top now, curving around the back and about to start down.

This is the downhill side, through my windshield. That is a wiper reflection on the window.

There are many old nineteenth century stones. Small stones, small children.

This stone is a sad, sad problem in the cemetery. Half way through the twentieth century this cemetery began to acquire the reputation as haunted and demonic. We all know what happened in the last quarter of that century, the internet came. Stories that were propagated in newspaper stories by reporters who had to produce an inch of filler became "truth" on the internet.

Suddenly the cemetery was no longer private and sacred property, it was fair game for teenagers on a lark, mediums doing whatever, cults with unorthodox religious venerations.

Headstones were fair game for destruction. The one pictured has one repair and is waiting for enough taxpayer money to accrue to repair it again. The worst I will tell you is the burning of live reptiles on stones. It is so difficult to conceive of people who feel the right to go where and do what they please. Yes, there are fences around both cemeteries. They are not electric.

Do you see what I encountered on my way out. I intended to show the rest of the circular drive, and instead I encountered two men on motor cycles, determined to ride in the opposite direction. I can see what a thrill they might find that at excessive speed.

I indicated they needed to go the other direction. They continued up the hill. I continued down, directly at them. They split, to pass on the narrow strip of grass. I made it clear that only one of them would succeed. 

They went down and roared on in the proper direction. 

On a lighter note!

Toby spent much of his day in this open widow. What a beautiful day it was! Low to mid seventies. The air conditioning came on once, about four in the afternoon.

Sadly, so sadly, yesterday afternoon and evening had dark skies and torrential rain. I'd planned on supper at Ruth's, with Beth and Caroline. Checking the radar, I could see the same storm would sweep over Ruth, until at least eight in the evening. 

So, I cancelled that engagement. I will drive in most anything, but heavy rain, country lanes and headlights and dark scare me off.  

I spent a lot of time today updating the state of weaving for sale. I found I'd left one of the towels, purple, out of the last color wheel. No doubt about it, I am no graphic designer. So many times later, I did think to list the color names this time.

                               

The latest color finished is blue denim, over there to the left. Just below the purple that went missing. Here it is, singularly:

Almost done with promotion, here. I am about to order more thread, twenty cones of natural for warp, seven colors that sold out, or that I should try. I'm still hemming the blue denim towels, and my work station remains cluttered:

The wheel of towels consumes half the table. I must clear them out tomorrow morning. There is the green I'll use next.

So, when did food get so expensive? Like the post office, it crept up on me unaware. For the last two months, my first grocery expedition of the month has been eighty dollars, almost exclusive of meat. And I bought just one pound of bacon!

When did Facebook change? I use it only to post a new towel for sale. This time, Wow. I have not been there for a month. I called my sister, who uses Facebook constantly for her quilting and said What the Hell happened, and what do I do?

I totally stymied on sharing the post on my Joanne Noragon Weaver page to my Joanne Noragon page. She slipped in and did it, so it came to my home page (and her bazillion quilting friends), and I could share it to my hundred or so friends. Why can't I copy and paste all my never changing information to Facebook posts? 

Often I wonder about the Facebook and Instagram effort. Have either resulted in the sale of a towel? Perhaps I'll keep track.

 

 

A letter to the people

 

Hello, Boston Township and Peninsula.

I live in Hudson Estates now, the trailer park on Akron Cleveland Road. For the last three months my rent check has been significantly late, though the manager has not charged me a late charge. Actually, I thought she was not processing them timely. This month I investigated. I pay my bills through my bank’s bill pay. They mail the check three days prior to the payment date, to have them arrive on time. In August my check mailed to arrive on August 7^th actually arrived August 24^th. I read the news and know the post office is being overhauled. I am extremely anxious to have my vote count in November. Based on my experience with my rent check, I called the Board of Elections to see if it is possible to know if an absentee ballot cast by mail has been received. The answer is NO.  So, I put together a short list to ensure a ballot is counted in November.

Vote in person at your polling station on November 3^rd.

Vote early in person at the Board of Elections and other stations beginning October 2^nd.

Deliver your absentee ballot to the Board of Elections in person.

If you want to know your vote counts this year, I urge you not to rely on the postal service. You can visit the Summit County Board of Elections and read everything you ever want to know about voting, early  voting and absentee voting:  https://www.summitcountyboe.gov/

The next issue of Your Community News will be published mid-September. I'll let you know. If you would like to see what concerns the citizens of a township and a village, visit www.ycn-online.net.

The bank, the post office, park management and me and us

 How do you pay bills these days? Once all was paper, and the checkbook was balanced religiously, monthly. Then I got a new computer, maybe five years ago, and it all changed--for the better.

Another blogger explained to this accountant (albeit with TBI), how to live without a check book. Just let go. As I no longer had a checkbook on the computer, and would never keep a paper checkbook again, I let go.

 I've put in place a desk pad jot method to be sure I don't overdraft the bank before month end. Voila. Home free.

Until the administration began its slow strangle on the post office. Ballots are not the only envelope through the post office. Bill payments are, too.

I've had a light bulb go off about all the companies that collect their money electronically, directly if possible. The cell phone. Internet and television access. Utilities. I think about the electric bill. I switched to paperless. Yea for me, good, tidy citizen.

Every month they noodged me. Stop it with the check you write on your bank account, for the bank to mail to us. Just switch to direct debit! And I did. 

Now I only write one check each month, on my bank's "Pay Bills" app, to the trailer park. There are other stragglers; once a year to my accountant, annually for insurance, quarterly for trash service, and so on (though most of them would like my checking account number, too).

I've had to learn too much about how my fine bank operates. I had to overcome obstacles even to get to someone who knows. My local bank has been closed for the duration of Covid, though I am told it will reopen.

My bank has few stand alone locations in this area. Basically, one in each major locality and the rest are in supermarkets. Brilliant? I don't know. Brilliant for some. My next closest branch, to call and talk to, caters to a large immigrant population, Spanish and Asian. 

I've stood in line while the manager, or a clerk, patiently, and often in another language, helps a non-English speaking person navigate an American check. I've never felt inconvenienced; I'd appreciate someone helping me. Until the coin flips, and the manager cannot understand my question.

How can I know when this check you write is mailed? Where can I read it in your instructions? The manager turned me over to a teller who was too busy to talk and never called me back.

I want to know because a check the bank dated August 7 is received by the park manager on the 24th, who assured me it was the post office and there would be no late charge, honey.

This is the third month in a row. And the bank tells me the checks are mailed three days before the date, to arrive on the date of the check.

Low level rumbling, including me, blames it on the park manager. This is basically a well run park, because, like decent citizens, we manage ourselves and help each other.  And it's time for me to stop blaming the manager, the bank and the post office.

Our government is making it difficult to deliver the mail on time.

I must write an article for the next Community News. I have my personal plan for making my ballot count. I will vote early. There are many other ways, including mail in ballots, also known as absentee voting, legal in every state. But I think we will need to know how to learn our ballot is received and ready to be counted.

This post has been a thinking through process. Thank you for listening. I need to write that article now.

Brit travel books

After supper and dishes and door locking and all, I sat down last night to write a blog. A rambling blob. Look how that's one letter from blog. I see I also did it in extra large type, which possibly accounts for why it was so reasonable to me, last night, after supper.

At the end of the day I no longer hold reasonable thoughts. Coherent. I cannot find words. I quit last night when I lost words. I woke up with the word this morning, but it's gone again. There still is hope it will return, and I'll write it on the pad.

From the ridiculous to the sublime! I got it. I wrote it down. There is a place it's appropriate, and I'll put it there.

Last night I was close to the end of a book that's sucked me straight in. Not Tonight Josephine, a sweet growing up book by a traveler, a Brit. I realized how many Brit travel books I've actually read. I even took a picture of the shelf of books I've read since I no longer have a teenager to talk to.

 

And a picture of the books I'm working on now:

Yesterday I finished weaving the Denim warp. I decided to leave it to today to begin finishing. I would have some supper, write a blog post about Brit books and get up today to finish up the warp and probably clean the house.

My most coherent thought from last night is, much as I disliked Travels in Siberia, none of the travelogues I replaced it with were equally dissatisfying, though far more readable. Notes from a Small Island, The Road to Dribbling, A Walk in the Woods are enough Bryson for a lifetime, and I see I have one left.

Maphead and Accidental Adventurer are much the same thing on opposite sides of the ocean. A Town like Alice does not belong in the pile. It was a compelling book. It was an historical novel. I didn't include Salt Path. For some reason I hold it above the other books. I was going to say that last night, and throw in "from the ridiculous to the sublime" some where about here, except I couldn't say it, and went to bed.

On to today. The day to full the denim toweling and clean the house. On the way to the studio to cut the fabric off the loom and secure the warp, I realized it had not rained overnight and wasn't forecast for today. I stepped outside to bring in the watering bucket, to remind myself to do it.

Cathy called. I'd texted that I'd finally reached the landlady, who claimed to have retrieved my August rent check from the USPS mail box only today, and she would be sure not to charge a late fee, honey. Cathy and I know this is pure horse hockey and discussed her motives extensively. But enough, that's just trailer park talk.

I put the fabric in the washer, sat down to lunch with Not tonight Josephine. I was close to the end. In fact, I'd already read the last chapter. Just to be sure. I put the fabric in the dryer and kept on reading. 

Finished the book, folded the fabric, and "Oh, crap" I forgot to water the plants!

It takes that much water to give everyone a thorough wetting down. Yes, it's heavy and I am very careful getting it outside. 

I did the zinnias no favor, not watering this morning. None of them were "real" zinnias, but they do deserve watering.

Can you see the inch of water left? The flowers were relieved. I haven't cleaned the house. And that's my post on Brit travel books.