Family Archives

May 9, 2014

Early Mother’s Day Gift

One of the last things Brother Mark asked me to do before I left Cape was to check out Mother’s hedge trimmer. He said the last time he used it, it gave him a little buzz, and not the good kind. He thought maybe the power cord should be replaced.

I remembered it well: it was probably about as old as I am. It had a metal case and a 12″ blade. Since our house was built long before three-prong plugs were invented, somebody – probably Dad – had broken off the ground prong so you could plug it into a two-prong outlet.

That meant if the trimmer shorted out, YOU were the effective ground, particularly if you were standing in wet grass.

I quietly slipped out and went to the local emporium of tools and toys and bought her a newer version that has a longer blade, more power and was lighter than her old disaster-waiting-to-happen trimmer.

That’s ENOUGH!

Mother isn’t big on change, so I bought a mushy Mother’s Day card and a cute bow (which, observing the Family Frugality Rule, I affixed in such a manner it could be reused) and left it in her spot on the kitchen table while she was sleeping.

To my surprise, she loved it. Loved it so much that nothing green in the yard is safe.

“That’s ENOUGH!” I said. “You’re not going to have anything left but a stump.”

I turned around and saw her attacking a dandelion that had the audacity to stick its head out of the ground. “Wow,” she said, “I can even use this like a weed eater.”

For the record, I did a finger count when I left town. She had ten digits when I pulled out of the driveway. I hope she doesn’t think she can use the hedge trimmer on finger and toenails.

April 27, 2014

Taking Fencing Lessons

Curator Jessica sent me a text bragging about her time in a triathlon Saturday morning. We exchanged a couple of messages, then I texted her, “I’m busy taking fencing lessons, so I will probably be incommunicado.”

Mother has a porch on the east side of the house overlooking a woods that is the perfect place to sit and watch the birds and squirrels. Even on the hottest day, it’s usually shaded and comfortable. A few years back, Brother Mark cleared her a pathway to go from the front yard to the back and to get to her bird feeders and hanging plants.

The surface is a bit uneven and the hill is fairly steep, so we thought we’d put up a handrail to make her meanderings a little safer. Of course, we didn’t really know what we were doing, so don’t look to closely at our handiwork.

Since Mother’s age – 92-1/2 – and her weight are about the same, I don’t think there is much danger of her knocking it over.

The Rule of Threes

I wrote about the Rule of Threes when Kid Matt was building me a new computer. This project was worse that than. In 24 hours, I think I have been at Menard’s four times; Lowes five times and Ace Hardware at least five times. And, of course, when you are in the Big Box hardware stores, fencing materials and gardening supplies are on one side of the world and lumber is on the other.

One of the tasks Mark wanted to tackle was getting Mother’s fountain working again. We confirmed that the pump was getting power, so we deduced we were peering at a kaput pump. That was a trip to Lowes. Then, he wanted to replace a section of plastic hose with copper pipe for aesthetic reasons. That was Lowes and Ace, where he told a young worker that he was Frankensteining it and would welcome inspiration.

We got back to the house, installed the copper pipe, Gooped it in place so it wouldn’t leak, then turned on the juice. The water barely trickled out of the copper pipe. The pump was supposed to be able to handle a six-foot height, but Mark cut off about two feet of pipe to make the distance even shorter. The result wasn’t much better. He started to fill the fountain with a hose to make sure there was plenty of water for it to work with.

Leaking like a nursery school

That’s where the fountain base started leaking like a nursery school short of diapers. Water left in it at the end of the summer must have frozen during the winter and cracked the plastic.

We hit Menards again. The entrance is here, and the garden shop is waaaaaaaay over there at the far end. They didn’t have anything we liked at a price that we liked.

Back to Lowes. The entrance is here, and the garden shop is halfwaaaaaay over there. They didn’t have anything, either. And, of course, we also had to hit lumber at the far end, hardware in the middle and customer service at the entrance.

That’s just a small part of the day. My feet are killing me.

Mark went to bed three hours ago, which is where I’m headed as soon as I hit the Publish button.

Sorry for the iffy quality. I shot these with my cell phone because I didn’t have the strength to pick up a real camera.

April 18, 2014April 22, 2014

Easter Decorations

One of the problems / advantages of retirement is that you don’t have to know what day of the week it is. I shot these Easter decorations in Mother’s living room before we embarked on a ramble. Some of them, like the clear plastic tree with the ornaments on it, have been around since I was a kid.

We were bouncing down a road in rural Perry County when I asked, in all innocence, “Do you know what day it is?”

“It’s 2:32,” she replied.

“No, I know what TIME it is. I want to know if today is Saturday.”

One of us is “ready for the home”

Brother Mark and I keep telling Mother that she’s close to being “ready for the home,” but the glance she gave me clearly indicated that she was pretty sure either I was testing her or I was the one who was ready for the home.

We got to Altenburg and saw our museum buddy, Gerard Fiehler, out mowing his lawn, so I pulled into the driveway and said, “You look like you could use a break. Why don’t you get off that thing and let Mother finish the job for you?”

He said he had read how she was death on dandelions, but he wasn’t ready to turn his mower over to someone with her reputation for hot rodding.

“Do you know what day this is?”

During a lull in the conversation, Mother leaned over me and asked him, “Do you know what day this is?”

He hesitated like he was looking at a mental calendar. “Not the date, but the DAY. What day of the week is it?” I filled in.

Now, he was SURE it was a trick question. “It’s Friday,” he answered, hesitantly.

Mother gave me a smug smile

“I could have sworn it was Saturday and I had this really timely post ready to go up on Easter,” I said.

So, that’s why you are getting this gallery of Mother’s living room Easter decorations on Saturday instead of Sunday. Click on any photo to make it larger, then use your arrow keys to move through the gallery.

March 23, 2014

I’m a Year Younger!

March 24th is my birthday. Like I wrote last year, since I thought I wouldn’t make it past 60, I haven’t paid much attention to birthdays.

Sunday afternoon, the Florida Clan (note “clan” is spelled with a “c,” not a “K”) descended on the house. In addition to Matt, Sarah, Adam, Carly, Malcolm, Graham and Elliot, Neighbor Bill and Friend Anne showed up for ribs, turkey burgers and birthday cake.

Miz Anne, bike partner and Road Warrior, had the temerity to ask me how old I was going to be. I suspect she was flaunting her youth.

“Sixty-eight,” I replied without hesitation, “if I make past midnight.”

“You’re not going to be 68”

“You’re not going to be 68,” Wife Lila responded. “You are only 66. You were born in 1947. You’re going to be 67.”

I didn’t bother to pull out a calculator because it was a given if I wanted to make it past midnight to whatever my new age was going to be, the right answer was, “Yes, Dear.”

(When I got back to my office, though, I pulled out my calculator and did the math. Not unexpectedly, she was right.)

So, I just got a year younger instead of a year older. (I wonder how many forms I filled out over the past 12 months where I claimed to be 67?)

I hate to break the news to Curator Jessica. She checks the obits every morning to see if she can lay claim to my Ohio photo collection for the Athens County Historical Society’s museum, and she’s going to be sorely disappointed to find out I’m not as old as she thought.. (Although, in her case, she has to stand on a stepladder to see 30, so I don’t know if she can tell the distinction between pretty old and REALLY old.)

By the way, you can click on the photo at the top of the page to see me celebrate my birthday with my Grandmother in Advance before my cute wore off.