Stupid Is as Stupid Does

Why does an eleven year old boy jump into a hole too deep to climb out of?  Did he follow the younger boys in, or did they follow him? They could have hit the rebar! What then?!

When I was growing up, on a hill overlooking our town, new construction emerged every couple of years as each lot was sold off. We were the fourth house to go in, and there were seven more that followed us during my childhood. I'm fairly certain we snooped around in every last one of them as they were being built. Like sirens, they called to us on quiet summer evenings, as the last glow of light disappeared over the horizon. I specifically remember jumping out of the second floor of one house into a pile of sand, likely on a dare. What we did was dangerous and stupid, but to us each house was a new adventure.

A neighbor heard the boys yelling for help and gave them a hand by lowering a ten or twelve foot ladder into the hole. My bet is that they go back and conquer that hole by the time the footers are in. I'm pretty sure I might have done the same thing way back when.

South Nelson Street Blues

Construction continues on two different houses down the street. From his telecommuting bunker upstairs at the front of the house, my husband laments the coming and going of big trucks along with all the noise and dust they create. This goes on all day, every day. At least the house closest to us is nearing completion. But today is especially noisy and congested with utility vehicles and drills that rattle your soul.

Meanwhile showings continue at the house across the street that went live this weekend. It’s a charming but quirky bungalow with cedar siding and newly-refinished wood floors throughout. But with three bedrooms and two full bathrooms, it’s sure to go quickly to the highest bidder. Everything sells fast around here. The owners of 25 years have been planning their escape to Winchester for over a year now. They, their two dogs, and two cats added a lot of character to our street that will be sorely missed. They were also our season ticket holder partners for the past two years. And our cat sitters. But most importantly, our friends.

We still have several old timers left on South Nelson Street. I ran into Mr. Ben at the mulch pit on Saturday. Diane and CC are right next door to the latest tear-down, so no open windows for them right now. Beth has been out walking the neighborhood daily, but Grizzly has been holed up in his house when not out fishing. Life goes on in some ways. But we’re looking forward to a little less activity here on our typically quiet corner of the neighborhood.

Pandemic Lawn Party

Armed with our own lawn chairs and a couple of Blue Moons, we headed over to the Lyon Park neighborhood to help a good friend celebrate his 60th birthday corona-style.

Our chosen time slot was 5:15. Others were there as early as 3:00pm, but never more than seven or eight well-wishers at once. It was strangely wonderful to see folks face-to-face, even at the requisite six-foot distance. For a short while, here at the end of Week Three, we were almost able to forget about this strange predicament that has hi-jacked our lives.

I chose to walk the two miles home afterwards, which was a nice end cap to an otherwise lazy Sunday. It felt good to stretch my legs, but even better to celebrate a friend’s milestone.

Water Boy

I’m so fortunate to have a live-in Water Boy!

If there are potted azaleas not yet planted, he’s my guy. Two lengths of sod to keep alive, awaiting installment beside the stone slabs for the new pathway, I’m covered. At this point he knows which garden plants he can water “with a Gatorade shower”, and which require a more gentle touch. His enthusiasm for what I thought would be received as yet another chore is delightful. But then, he’s always been our Water Boy.

As a tot, he loved bath time and often spent up to an hour in the tub, transferring water from cup to cup, sinking boats with with waterfalls from different heights, and learning to hold his breath underwater long before most toddlers do. Sprinklers in the back yard were great afternoon fun until the summer that swim lessons finally began.

Once swimming, he’d stay in the pool for as long as we were willing. His second swim teacher, who set up elaborate obstacles for him to swim through, said she’d never seen a kid so comfortable underwater. He relished cannonballs, front flips and eventually diving from the low board. Undaunted by slides of any height or length, water parks soon became his favorite outings. Now the best fun he can fathom is riding ocean waves with his snowboard, a rare treat.

What ever made me think he’d balk at a chore involving water?!

The War Effort

In my spare time I’ve been watching mask-making videos, which range greatly from employing elastic to bias tape to floral wire. Some have flannel on the inside with a special backing that is different from the front material. Others have only two layers. They all seem to have pleats and tightly-woven cotton material. The non-sewing version of DIY masks involves bandanas and elastic hair ties, with an elaborate folding pattern that is cumbersome at best. The stated degree of their usefulness ranges widely as well. But since we are now entering the most dangerous two weeks of this pandemic cycle, the need for masks seems to be ramping up, depending on who you follow.

There are two sewing machines sitting in our basement. My mother’s old Singer has tension issues that are beyond me at this point, but hers is the familiar machine that I learned on as a teenager. My late MIL’s Janome is specifically meant for quilting and was one of the few prized possessions she brought along in that last car trip to Virginia from Texas. Do I just let them both sit there, unused? Or do I try my hand at mask-making? Better yet, do I loan them to someone else who might be more adept at mask-making than I suspect I would be after all these years? I’d certainly rather spend my Spring Break outside in a Plot Against Hunger.

Using our existing skills and abilities in the most strategic way means doing what we already know how to do best, and giving necessary supplies or support to others who can do what they do best. On that note, I am soon off to Randolph ES for the weekly Food Pantry distribution. Today I am a foot soldier in the war effort against Covid-19. Tomorrow I am back outside in the the modern day version of a Victory Garden.

Real Life HGTV

This afternoon as my daughter and I picked up Jay Jay and Greta for their bonus walk, I finally got a closer glimpse of the day’s buzz across the street. Open boxes have been going in; taped shut boxes coming out. One person urgently packing, another doing final sweeps of closets and drawers. The Stager has been there too, mating lamps and chairs with paintings that pop. It no longer looks like my friend’s cozy house. Rather, an HGTV design rendering come to life.

The toll this is taking on my friend keeps my sadness at bay. She needs this to be done. This months-long process of winnowing down, culling and sorting, keeping and passing along, deciding and choosing. It’s almost too much for her. For them. Good thing the sisterly reinforcements arrived today. Like Mary Poppins, they dropped from the sky and went right to work, somehow knowing just what was needed, and where. They only have one more day left before the listing goes up.

Meanwhile another neighborhood friend of mine, heretofore a renter around the corner, has been eyeing the “Coming Soon” sign and yeah... I’ve already drawn her a quick floor plan and given a rundown of all the virtues of this cute but quirky gem. There will be two other small houses in this neighborhood also going up this weekend, so my buying friend hopes to see my selling friend’s place by the end of tomorrow, which I think I can arrange. Even though I probably shouldn’t be involved. I really shouldn’t. But wouldn’t it be great to have friend across the street again?!

Blogging for the Win

Yes!! I wrote for all thirty-one days in March as part of the Slice-of-Life annual writing challenge. This was the first year I participated, and now I’m not sure if I can stop. Certainly not while we are still sequestered at home for two more months.

Thanks to all my readers and commenters, including one I didn’t even know who - I’m assuming - was assigned to me as a newbie because of her longtime involvement in TwoTeachersWriting.org. Big thanks to my colleague, Tracey Shepardson, who encouraged me to try this and helped set me up on Blogger.com. Tracey has been blogging daily for about eleven years now.

I’m keeping this short so I can set up some Cat TV for Bella and Izzy, and mail a couple of jigsaw puzzles to a friend in the Costa Rican jungle who is desperately in need of ways to weather this pandemic. Maybe I’ll find a good book to slip into the box, too.