View current page
...more recent posts
All Business
A man out here recently known for his philandering with a much younger girl (girl then confessing the deeds on a Sunday in front of the entire Baptist congregation), has a wife who in the past has done periodic cleaning of the bighouse, but I just received grapevine news that the man has in the last few days been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and I am hesitant to contact his wife for menial house cleaning, so I am doing it myself.
Picking up rubber bands in the kids room I hear the words of Mrs. BC upon last leaving--you boys better pick up all those rubber bands before we leave. If Jim has to pick those up he's going to be plenty mad and will by all rights be forced to put your little heads in a bench vise and turn turn turn he will until your little heads pop like ripe cherry tomatoes. That may not be a direct quote.
The bighouse is not inaccurately named so this detail cleaning is taking some time. I am vacuuming and wiping all ledges, above doors, windows, along sashes and window sills, across 6 fireplace mantels and sucking spider and cobwebs from corners and sucking up bugs and dead wasps (which is unusually gratifying), toothbrushing gunk marks on the wood floors, and shop vacuuming the fireplaces free of creosote droppings. Mopping, washing sheets and towels, and searching out mouse doo-doo wherever it may lie.
My insurance on the New Orleans house has lapsed because obviously one year after devastation the mail system is still not operating flawlessly and 17 days is not enough lead time for mailing in a renewal check for an amount obscenely more expensive than last year. I have left a voicemail with my agent. Why she or someone else is not in the office on a Wednesday at 10:30 a.m. I have no speculation. I did finally take care of that back taxes thing, with much help from L, and also received reimbursement from that bitch realtor/lawyer who was supposed to take care of it 6 years ago, with escrow funds.
Just went down to my PO box and my renewal notice was in the mail, so that was some pretty damn fast response time. I called my agent, she was in the office, and said, forget that earlier message.
Parked in front the Post Office and that guy who rides his lawn mower around town and along the highway was walking out of the cafe and giving me the look while I perused my insurance documents. He wasn't going to be ignored so when I looked up and pretended like I was seeing him for the first time he motioned for me to roll down my window and he then bummed a ride to the Co-op for chainsaw parts.
I called Geico and got the Jeep and trailer covered. Now I think I need to drive into Culpeper, drop off that trailer license plate at the DMV because I forgot to do it last week when that ad man was driving me there, running every stop sign in town, until he got corrected by smokey bear. I think I'll get new tires for the Jeep and then drive into Remington and see if that guy can mill me some siding to replace that which is rotted on the bighouse because evidently whatever they used on this house doesn't exist at any of the local lumber yards (a slightly modified version of german clapboard).
I really need to get on the stick though because I still have to get back here and finish cleaning this big house, before the cocktail hour
List Of Lists
An advertising man and a real estate man came to the farm over the labor day weekend and I'm not saying which one and I'm certainly not saying it was the one that owns the farm, but one of them set off a package of firecrackers in the house, right under the bedroom I have been sleeping in. And in which I was sleeping at the time, so that the first two blasts echoing well beyond their intended outdoor potential because they weren't set off outdoors but instead as I keep mentioning, indoors, in the acoustically triumphant foyer of a 150 year old house, well, they, those first two blasts made me wake up in New Orleans, which is quite a bit of instantaneous transporting, but then I was awake and realized it was just firecrackers as the final 18 blasts did that audible dance very unlike gunfire. I did not at first know they had set them off indoors, right below my room, until a minute or two later and all that noxious firecracker smoke started seeping into the quarters where I had been perchancing to dream. I do not know how giants of business behave in your part of the world but out here it is becoming increasingly obvious that you can't really know a thing about human potential until after the last act is written. Until each and every individual giant of business has explored their inner insanity.
It has been suggested by more than a few that as a way to address the unique lack of structure to my life out here that I keep lists. Lists of accomplished tasks and lists of tasks to be done and lists of materials to acquire. I could also make a list of lists.
Yesterday, a day I don't feel I was overly ambitious, I got up and unloaded the dishwasher and loaded the dishwasher. I went out and clipped the dead hydrangea blossoms. Clipped or dead-headed the daisies. Turned off the new sprinkler system which did not seem to be accessing its computerized potential of knowing that it was raining, and has been raining off and on for several days. I checked the pool skimmer and found no baby marmots floating. Added some chemicals, skimmed off a few floating leaves. Trimmed off the tops of the seven foot tall round bushes in the center island out front and raked into piles those trimmings. I had a mid-morning business meeting with the guy who mows the 5 acres of lawn and sent him off with promises of future lawn cutting profit. I tested Mr. BC's new fly rod for a few minutes on the pond. Had late breakfast of hanger steak, lentils, and swiss chard. After breakfast had a brief business meeting with the advertising man's wife about local real estate potential. Then I went out and removed the 12 purple martin apartments from their pole and loaded them into jeep for storage in the barn because there are no resident martins yet and the pole will have to be moved elsewhere, away from the soon to be constructed outdoor fireplace and bocce court. I think the pole took a little knock from the backhoe and is bent so I'll let those worker guys extract it. I trimmed back the bushes from the side of the house by the pecan and walnut trees and set up the ladder and ran the extension cord and put on my dust mask and set to ready my Makita disc sander and then it started raining. I went inside and installed the new toilet paper holder and toilet handle in one of the bathrooms.
My lovely guests left--and I peripherally count as my accomplishment--without blowing off their fingers or sinking a barbless fly hook into their lips or initiating a lawsuit for slipping on the bath mat. I located and removed from premises some mouse doo-doo.
As it has been a guest-laden couple of weeks I paused and luxuriated in the solitude while gazing at wispy white clouds moving across the green mountains surrounding me 360.
A car comes up the drive and it is my tennis pro friend just stopping by to chat. Who gives a damn if I'm all chatted out? Followed shortly thereafter by my hay-cutting friend who needs a new kidney, and in his own right is quite the chatterer. They left and I watched some tennis for awhile until Mr. BC's brother shows up with his French girlfriend. He brought me a 300gb hard drive just because they were on sale and he is wonderful and thoughtful human being. He did not set off fireworks in the house but he did bite the tip off what could have been but wasn't a deadly hot pepper. At least he didn't intentionally step in a pit of fire and then accidently fall in nearly frozen pool water, which I'm not saying he ever did anymore than I'm saying his brother set off fireworks in the house. I shared a couple of roma tomatoes dipped in sea salt with the French girlfriend, then said, ok, its time for yall to get the hell out of here, and forced on them a bottle of champagne and some pistachios, for the road.