When this picture was taken it was not beautiful, but it was still functional.
I am still in the ugly but somewhat useful state of life!
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
When this picture was taken it was not beautiful, but it was still functional.
I am still in the ugly but somewhat useful state of life!
ageing
For years I have been told I do not look nearly as old as I really was.
Usually the number was 10 or 15 years younger. I had a full head of hair that was dark brunette. I felt younger and that added to the myth.
Then about the time Miriam died my hair started turning gray. Not a lot and still not a lot, but not that dark brunette color any longer. My beard and mustache had long gone gray, but I wore them any way.
Now I notice little things. Nothing big and nothing fatal, just little things that remind me that father time can be pushed a little but he is still there looking over my shoulder.
I have a family member, that though a few years younger than me, has shown signs of age for some time, but this person is not going to admit anything. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.” But there is and there is something wrong with me (maybe a lot of somethings).
After Miriam died I should have thought of downsizing from my small house. Instead I remarried (not sorry for that one), and we bought a house twice as large as my small house. This house came with half an acre of dirt.
Right now I am doing pretty well. I am making progress on all the projects around here, some of them are pretty ambitious. But I can feel subtle little things that remind me that time indeed is marching on.
The inevitable downsizing is coming. One day our life possessions will fit into a single dresser drawer.
Usually the number was 10 or 15 years younger. I had a full head of hair that was dark brunette. I felt younger and that added to the myth.
Then about the time Miriam died my hair started turning gray. Not a lot and still not a lot, but not that dark brunette color any longer. My beard and mustache had long gone gray, but I wore them any way.
Now I notice little things. Nothing big and nothing fatal, just little things that remind me that father time can be pushed a little but he is still there looking over my shoulder.
I have a family member, that though a few years younger than me, has shown signs of age for some time, but this person is not going to admit anything. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.” But there is and there is something wrong with me (maybe a lot of somethings).
After Miriam died I should have thought of downsizing from my small house. Instead I remarried (not sorry for that one), and we bought a house twice as large as my small house. This house came with half an acre of dirt.
Right now I am doing pretty well. I am making progress on all the projects around here, some of them are pretty ambitious. But I can feel subtle little things that remind me that time indeed is marching on.
The inevitable downsizing is coming. One day our life possessions will fit into a single dresser drawer.
fall
Spring follows winter and we are glad.
We look forward to summer and warm days and shorts and tee shirts. But summer is not permanent. I lived in Texas for a few years. Not really cold climate, though a storm on a given day could seem like it was pretty cold. There was no frost in late September or early October, but the trees would turn color, all about the same time, and leaves would fall, even without a lot of outward signals of fall much less winter.
But it was and is inevitable. Fall and winter follow summer. Gardeners are always looking toward the next season. Life and seasons, go on. We like to think (I do not know if it is true or not) that the First Americans used snow as an indicator of years. “It was 20 snows back, when. . .”
A gardner or a farmer has a finite number of “snows” to ply his hobby or trade. If one starts early and has a long run, one might get in 50 gardens or crops. That seems like a big number when you are young, but now it does not look so long.
So the seasons roll on.
We had more tomatoes than we could eat, so we gave lots of them away, then suddenly the bumper crop was gone and there are fewer ripe and ripening fruits.
In a way I am looking forward to winter. More time in my studio, more time in my shop. But it is one more “snow” or “garden” or notch on my life stick.
We look forward to summer and warm days and shorts and tee shirts. But summer is not permanent. I lived in Texas for a few years. Not really cold climate, though a storm on a given day could seem like it was pretty cold. There was no frost in late September or early October, but the trees would turn color, all about the same time, and leaves would fall, even without a lot of outward signals of fall much less winter.
But it was and is inevitable. Fall and winter follow summer. Gardeners are always looking toward the next season. Life and seasons, go on. We like to think (I do not know if it is true or not) that the First Americans used snow as an indicator of years. “It was 20 snows back, when. . .”
A gardner or a farmer has a finite number of “snows” to ply his hobby or trade. If one starts early and has a long run, one might get in 50 gardens or crops. That seems like a big number when you are young, but now it does not look so long.
So the seasons roll on.
We had more tomatoes than we could eat, so we gave lots of them away, then suddenly the bumper crop was gone and there are fewer ripe and ripening fruits.
In a way I am looking forward to winter. More time in my studio, more time in my shop. But it is one more “snow” or “garden” or notch on my life stick.
Monday, September 12, 2016
The lot our house sits on is 100 feet wide, but there is a 12 foot easement on the north side. That easement provides access for the houses behind us.
But there is a paved street on the other side of that house/lot. We have been wondering about the whys and hows. The first visit to the courthouse turned up nothing useful. But, our Title Insurance report mentioned an easement and gave the document a number.
Armed with that number we got a copy. It cost $5. Two page document signed by the owners and dated: August 30, 1995.
On the 2nd page we found this: “That the aforesaid easement shall terminate when South Georgia is opened for public use. . .” S Georgia was opened a year or so ago and runs across the front of the other house.
Tonight I went to talk to Patrick who owns the house in question.
He is quiet man who prefers his privacy and we rarely see him. We have lived here almost a year and a half and I have never really visited with him. Tonight when he came home from work I went to visit. He is a delightful man who lives alone and likes that system.
I told him about the document. He said he had not seen it. I offered to show it to him. I had no idea how he would respond.
But he nodded his head and agree to make an entrance to his house off Georgia. I told him I am not a huge rush, but asked if it could be done before winter. He agreed!
So soon we will get an additional 2400 square feet of land. I’ll make good use of it!
But there is a paved street on the other side of that house/lot. We have been wondering about the whys and hows. The first visit to the courthouse turned up nothing useful. But, our Title Insurance report mentioned an easement and gave the document a number.
Armed with that number we got a copy. It cost $5. Two page document signed by the owners and dated: August 30, 1995.
On the 2nd page we found this: “That the aforesaid easement shall terminate when South Georgia is opened for public use. . .” S Georgia was opened a year or so ago and runs across the front of the other house.
Tonight I went to talk to Patrick who owns the house in question.
He is quiet man who prefers his privacy and we rarely see him. We have lived here almost a year and a half and I have never really visited with him. Tonight when he came home from work I went to visit. He is a delightful man who lives alone and likes that system.
I told him about the document. He said he had not seen it. I offered to show it to him. I had no idea how he would respond.
But he nodded his head and agree to make an entrance to his house off Georgia. I told him I am not a huge rush, but asked if it could be done before winter. He agreed!
So soon we will get an additional 2400 square feet of land. I’ll make good use of it!
Sunday, September 11, 2016
This is Grandson Josh. His 24th birthday was yesterday. He graduated from USC a couple years ago and is working for a bank in Portland now.
I am very proud of Josh. I think he was the first of my grandkids to earn a Bachelors degree.
The pictures were taken before his Senior Prom.
church sign
I have been working on the wood sign for our church.
Miriam, my beloved passed wife, made the sign in 1984. She designed it and did the intricate cutting of the rubber mats and made sure it got to and from the monument shop that did the sandblasting. I did the wood work.
(She used a rubber mat from the people who do cemetery monuments. She would cut the mat revealing what she wanted to be sand blasted. The sand blasted from a “gun” would cut into the wood making the relief she wanted. She would go to their shop and decide if the cutting was deep enough for her design. When it satisfied her I’d load it on my VW pickup and haul it back to my shop. This process was repeated 3 or 4 times.)
The sign is a 4 by 8 foot oval. It has a sheet of 3/4 inch thick exterior plywood in the center, sheathed on both sides with 2 by 6 Redwood planks. Dry it weighs about 200#. Damp it weighed a LOT more.
About 10 years ago, I took the sign down and repaired the edges that were the most vulnerable to the weather. I used fiberglass resin, filler and paint. But it took on more weather, and irrigation water, than I expected and the back of the sign looked really bad. So a couple weeks ago I (with permission) stole the sign and brought it to my shop. I did use the word I, but it took three of us to load it onto my pickup.
Mostly I am working on the back side. I have stripped the paint and resin, have let it sit in the sun for a couple weeks to dry it out and Friday the fiberglass cloth and resin went on. Today I will apply another coat or two or resin. Tomorrow I’ll start painting. Between coats of everything is sanding, lots of sanding.
This was a work of love on the part of Miriam. She worked so hard on the design and execution (and this was before she went to art school).
As I worked my head spun with memories.
Miriam, my beloved passed wife, made the sign in 1984. She designed it and did the intricate cutting of the rubber mats and made sure it got to and from the monument shop that did the sandblasting. I did the wood work.
(She used a rubber mat from the people who do cemetery monuments. She would cut the mat revealing what she wanted to be sand blasted. The sand blasted from a “gun” would cut into the wood making the relief she wanted. She would go to their shop and decide if the cutting was deep enough for her design. When it satisfied her I’d load it on my VW pickup and haul it back to my shop. This process was repeated 3 or 4 times.)
The sign is a 4 by 8 foot oval. It has a sheet of 3/4 inch thick exterior plywood in the center, sheathed on both sides with 2 by 6 Redwood planks. Dry it weighs about 200#. Damp it weighed a LOT more.
About 10 years ago, I took the sign down and repaired the edges that were the most vulnerable to the weather. I used fiberglass resin, filler and paint. But it took on more weather, and irrigation water, than I expected and the back of the sign looked really bad. So a couple weeks ago I (with permission) stole the sign and brought it to my shop. I did use the word I, but it took three of us to load it onto my pickup.
Mostly I am working on the back side. I have stripped the paint and resin, have let it sit in the sun for a couple weeks to dry it out and Friday the fiberglass cloth and resin went on. Today I will apply another coat or two or resin. Tomorrow I’ll start painting. Between coats of everything is sanding, lots of sanding.
This was a work of love on the part of Miriam. She worked so hard on the design and execution (and this was before she went to art school).
As I worked my head spun with memories.
Grandma and Grandpa, my mothers parents in the center. My 4 daughters, my sister and my mother and step-father.
Sister taught English in Africa she worked in Washington DC, Los Angeles, Chicago and Kennewick! Our brother who is not shown married a girl from Massachusetts and after they split he married a gal from Georgia.We were often scattered.
This picture, taken in the corner of Mom and Dad's house here in Idaho, has a lot of memories.
We weren't always together. Now days sister and I live in the same town in Idaho. Brother is in Georgia! My kids are in Oregon, Washington and California! Grandkids are in those states plus Virginia!
Wow.
They are really good people
I never realized that grand-parenting could be so lonely.
My grandkids are not kids any longer. The youngest is 19, the oldest 33. Not a child in the bunch. All are employed in one way or another, all are really good kids and are not a problem to anyone.
It is not their fault that the grandpa who misses them (for some of my grandkids I am the only living grandparent) lives to far away. I the grandpa live in the town where the grandkids mothers were raised, but they moved on. All are in the Pacific Time Zone, so it is not like one or more of them is in New Zealand.
My new wife has 25 or so grandkids. Most of them live within 25 miles of us. She sees most of them at least once a year (one grandson is her/our insurance agent) and some not so often. So it does not seem that distance is the issue here.
Rather, I fear, it is that they are so busy trying to maintain their lives and living that there really is not any extra time, and grandparents are extras. I realize that, but I don’t have to like it.
My grandkids are not kids any longer. The youngest is 19, the oldest 33. Not a child in the bunch. All are employed in one way or another, all are really good kids and are not a problem to anyone.
It is not their fault that the grandpa who misses them (for some of my grandkids I am the only living grandparent) lives to far away. I the grandpa live in the town where the grandkids mothers were raised, but they moved on. All are in the Pacific Time Zone, so it is not like one or more of them is in New Zealand.
My new wife has 25 or so grandkids. Most of them live within 25 miles of us. She sees most of them at least once a year (one grandson is her/our insurance agent) and some not so often. So it does not seem that distance is the issue here.
Rather, I fear, it is that they are so busy trying to maintain their lives and living that there really is not any extra time, and grandparents are extras. I realize that, but I don’t have to like it.
Monday, September 5, 2016
When I was a young man
“When I was a young man courting the girls. . . “
That line pounded through my head a few days ago. So I looked up the rest of the lyrics. The writer seemed to be pretty sure of his desirability. It was he who was doing the choosing and the courting.
Once a daughter was divorcing her doctor husband. He said to her: “I don’t see why you are leaving me, I am such a catch!” Ahh, such self confidence. He might have been a catch, but he was not a particularly good husband (though, in fairness, he was a pretty good doctor).
When I was a young man, or tall boy might be more accurate, the girls who would be more than arms length friends were not really what I found to be desirable. It wasn’t their fault. Some were taller than my ideal, some twirled the scale a bit more than my ideal.
Then one day a girl who was short and small and cute and had beautiful auburn hair smiled at me and I was in her orbit for the next 60 years.
Then in the autumn of my life I became an old man courting the grandmothers and the great grandmothers. Different scenario. Different viewpoints, different values. What I thought would make a good girl friend when I was 16 was not even close to what I thought was a good wife at 76.
It seems that if we can laugh together, and enjoy each others company and have life values that are on the same page (not necessarily the same paragraph or sentence) there is promise.
That line pounded through my head a few days ago. So I looked up the rest of the lyrics. The writer seemed to be pretty sure of his desirability. It was he who was doing the choosing and the courting.
Once a daughter was divorcing her doctor husband. He said to her: “I don’t see why you are leaving me, I am such a catch!” Ahh, such self confidence. He might have been a catch, but he was not a particularly good husband (though, in fairness, he was a pretty good doctor).
When I was a young man, or tall boy might be more accurate, the girls who would be more than arms length friends were not really what I found to be desirable. It wasn’t their fault. Some were taller than my ideal, some twirled the scale a bit more than my ideal.
Then one day a girl who was short and small and cute and had beautiful auburn hair smiled at me and I was in her orbit for the next 60 years.
Then in the autumn of my life I became an old man courting the grandmothers and the great grandmothers. Different scenario. Different viewpoints, different values. What I thought would make a good girl friend when I was 16 was not even close to what I thought was a good wife at 76.
It seems that if we can laugh together, and enjoy each others company and have life values that are on the same page (not necessarily the same paragraph or sentence) there is promise.
Saturday, September 3, 2016
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