Category: Retired Life

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This Post Is For the Birds. Well, Partly…

As I was sitting out on the back patio with my morning coffee, I noticed a couple of birds sitting in my neighbors tree.  That’s a euphemism, btw.  The “back patio” part, that is.  It’s actually a carport.  When I started house hunting down here, I kinda wanted a garage, because, why not?  The problem with that lies in the fact that, due to the fact I really wanted an older house, garages aren’t typically part of the deal.

Back in the day, garages were not as important as they are today I guess.  If I found a house with a garage, it was an old, small, one-car size but as often as not, not only did the house not include a garage, it probably shared a driveway with a neighboring house.  Carports, on the other hand, are everywhere down here.  And I’ve grown to like mine a lot.  It keeps my car out of the rain/snow (so far) and provides me with a lovely spot for coffee (in the morning) or sweet tea (in the afternoon) or what have you.

Can I just take a minute here and sing the praises of sweet tea?  Cause I’m going to anyway.  That stuff is the King of soft drinks.  Or is it Queen?  Not sure if a gender has been assigned to sweet tea, but either way it’s the real deal.  It migrated north a few years ago, you can get it at ubiquitous fast-food joints in every part of the country, but it’s like an art form down here.  Although, if last night is any indication I need to watch my intake.  It’s not like I had the caffeine shakes or anything, but I had a couple of glasses with dinner (a lovely pot roast ftw) and slept like crap last night.  Like I was back at the firehouse.

But I digress…

I’m enjoying the heck out of my carport.  I need to get some actual furniture to set out there.  I’ve got an old office chair, no longer fit for office duty due to an unfortunate tipping incident, that is kind of a “make do” patio chair for now, but I’ve been scanning Amazon and checking out the local home improvement stores waiting to see what I can find.  I need to relocate my garbage and recycle bins, but that’s nothing.  The concrete needs a good cleaning too, since the previous owners apparently had an oil leak or twelve on their cars.  I think I’ve got a photo of it from one of my pre-purchase visits.  

Found it!

The Big Wheel isn’t mine btw.  Don’t ask me why I’ve got two back doors either, it’s a mystery to me too.  There’s also a side door in addition to, of course, the front door so… If the zombie apocalypse comes to Asheboro I guess they’ve got a 1 in 4 chance of guessing the right door, which works in my favor.  I think.  If there’s any zombie apocalypse experts reading this, feel free to chime in.

Peace

PS- Because, well, you know, I started this by watching a couple doves in a tree and that got me to thinking, I haven’t seen any pigeons since I moved down here.  Like, not a single one.  I wonder if the story of my interaction with Jake the pigeon last summer preceded me down here…

 

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Snow Days

So, I was just outside for a bit, puttering about in the yard.  Even though the current temp here is 16° with a wind chill of 4° (fear not northern friends, the forecast calls for 60° by Friday #sorrynotsorry) checking to see if the recycle bin has been picked up yet (it hasn’t) and at one point I sat down and just kind of looked at my backyard.  Now, to paint the picture, I knew I wouldn’t be out for long, so I just threw on my old Carhartt overalls since I’m still wearing shorts and didn’t feel like getting dressed yet on account of I also knew I

A.) Wouldn’t be outside for very long

B.) They’re very comfortable

C.) They’re very warm

D.) I was kind of looking for an excuse to wear them since I haven’t needed them in a while.

I got them several years ago, when I used to do fire investigations on my days off.  The job required working outside in, occasionally, extremes of weather.  From blazing hot, sunny, humid, August days to blistering cold, sub-zero, January days.  My Carharrts came in handy for the latter, not so much for the former.  They served me well for many years worth of winters in that job and now, like me, are retired to softer duty.

But as I sat there taking in my view, I noticed the fly was open.  This is not unusual for this particular garment.  They came with a button fly instead of a zipper.  I don’t know why.  But one of the first things I learned was that; due to the nature of that particular job, including the weather conditions that would necessitate their use, it was far better to leave the button fly undone rather than fumbling with the buttons with cold-numbed fingers in case, ya know, nature called.  Just sayin.  But this got me to thinking… what the heck was the response, back in the day, when the zipper fly was first proposed?

“Wait, what?  You’re going to put that thing, with those teeth, where?  Seriously?”

The things I think.

Winter reared its ugly head here in the southeast this past week.  In addition to the above mentioned temperatures, we got our first measurable snowfall a couple of days ago.  And I use the term “measurable” loosely.  It’s all a matter of perspective as I’m learning.  Down here the maaayyybe one inch of snow crippled the town.  I was sitting here at the house that evening and one of my neighbors stopped in.  She said the streets were a mess and on her short trip from one end of town to the other, she saw as many as a dozen fender benders.  I’m sure the incredulous look on my face accurately described my surprise at hearing that.  She also said there was a young girl (16 years old or so) parked (in the turn lane) down at the end of our street, in tears because she was too freaked out to drive further.  My neighbor stopped to check on her, she was unhurt, but was waiting for her Dad to come pick her up and drive her the last several miles home.  We walked down to see if we could help, and I ended up driving the car back up to my neighbors driveway so it was off the street and she could wait for her Dad in the warmth of my neighbor’s house.  To the girls defense, this was probably her first time ever driving on snow, so I’m not judging or anything.  But as I explained to my neighbor, having driven in this crap since I was 16, I was fairly confident in my ability to negotiate the three hundred yards or so I’d need to drive.

Now, curiosity doing what it does, I decided I needed to drive to the gas station, about a mile down the road, to see how bad things were here.  In that two-mile round trip I saw two more cars on the side of the road, for no apparent reason, with the four-way flashers on and another fender-bender.  And, as I drove over the interstate, I  glanced down and saw an eighteen wheeler that may have been facing the wrong way.

It snowed for maybe an hour and had stopped by the time I got out.  I knew coming down here, people weren’t accustomed to driving in this mess.  But this really kind of set the bar for just how inexperienced folks here are at dealing with snow.  I guess if I had to draw a parallel from back home, this was the equivalent of a 10″-12″ snowfall in northern Illinois.  But instead of hitting a slick spot and driving into a snow bank, these folks just parked where they were and flipped on the four-ways to, I don’t know, wait till it melted?  The one car I saw appeared to be a guy in his 20’s or 30’s and I thought to myself “who the heck are you waiting for to come rescue you?”

I really wanted to stop and ask if he needed help, but I didn’t think I’d be able to keep a straight face.  Ok, maybe I am judging.  A little.

Peace

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Falling Leaves

In my yard, or immediately adjacent to it, I have five beautiful, mature oak trees.  They’re huge, old trees, maybe a couple hundred years old, and really kind of majestic.  To think of how things were here when they were saplings, and the changes that have taken place on this landscape over the course of their lives gives one pause some times.  Nature can be quite spectacular when we allow ourselves the time to reflect upon its beauty.

Standing in the backyard, watching the leaves waft gently down to the earth can be fascinating.  Twisting and turning, sometimes rolling, ever gently cascading toward their ultimate resting place in the yard, it’s mesmerizing.  One by one,  gingerly drifting downward it’s a  beautiful, serene, pastoral, calming scene.

But as they conspire to fall by the hundreds, thousands even, changing the landsca- GOOD CHRIST THEY WON’T STOP FALLING WHEN WILL THIS MADNESS END

Sorry.

It seems as though I’ve traded in my snowblower for a leaf blower.  Not a bad trade mind you, but let’s just say I’ve spent a fair amount of time here these first six weeks on leaf relocation.  On the plus side, the local Public Works Department does a pretty decent job of picking them up.  The street side of my yard is as far as I have to deal with them, after that the city comes by on a semi-regular basis to vacuum them up and take them wherever leaves are taken.  I did the most recent leaf roundup last Tuesday *shout out to my neighbor for coming over to help me play “Beat The Clock” with the sun* before the pending arrival of the Boy Child, PhoJoMama™ and family, so the yard would look somewhat presentable.  Of course by the weekend you’d never know the yard had been raked.  Ever.  Except for the ginormous pile of leaves defining the boundary between street and yard.  I assume the holiday has their pick up delayed since said pile is still there.  It’s kind of had me holding off on leaf blower detail since I planned on waiting until last week’s pile was gone to start over.   I don’t think I have that option any more though since the new crop of fresh fallen little demon leaves have blanketed my yard in various shades of brown.

In a somewhat related vein; and proving the theory that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, (see what I did there?) this article  was placed on my social media yesterday by the Boy Child.  While it raises many solid environmental points, I’m choosing the vanity of a (reasonably) well-groomed lawn in its stead.

In a delightful (is there any other kind?) bit of serendipity, I hear the rumble of the leaf-vacuuming truck as it moves in to the neighborhood, clearing a spot in leaf purgatory for the past weeks collection.   Wow, that’s kind of metaphysical for this time of morning.  I guess my coffee has kicked in sufficiently to start the removal.

Peace

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And So, We Give Thanks

Sometimes you have to strike while the iron is hot.  I just had this text conversation with my friend, my go to guy for all things southern, the internationally renowned podcaster and the pride of southern Arkansas, Seth.

Seth: “I’ve got a super southern thing to tell you.”

Me: “Oh?”

Seth: “Met a man called Possum whose dog’s name was Ray.  Ray and Possum get paid to search for deer that get shot and can’t be found.”

Me: “Not only did I literally lol, I can’t stop.”

Seth: “True story.”

Me: “That’s amazing.”

As we wheel into the Thanksgiving holiday, there are so many things for which I’m not only thankful, but grateful.  First and foremost; friends and family.  I may be biased, but I think I’ve got the best of each.  And if I don’t tell you that often enough, shame on me.  I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.

Speaking of which, I’m thankful for what I’ve found here in my newly adopted home.  As a new Asheborower (Ashboroian? Asheborogian?  Asheborologist?) I’ve been welcomed in to the neighborhood, at least by the neighbors I’ve met.  And even the ones I haven’t yet met still use all their fingers when they wave at me, so that’s a plus.  And I’ve only gotten honked at once by someone that was less than satisfied by my driving skills.  Also a plus.

I told myself I wouldn’t stoop to “weather shaming” when I’m asked about my new environs.  I’ve slipped a couple times, but really unless someone specifically mentions the weather I’ve held back.  It hasn’t been spectacular, but in all honesty, it’s been pretty nice.  Coolish, a little rain here or there, but certainly nothing like what I’ve heard it’s been like back home.  No snow, really not even what I’d call a hard frost.  So I’m thankful for that too.  Since climate was one of the reasons I chose to relocate.

I’m thankful for my new-found sense of restraint too.  As most of you know, a couple months ago, I had to have Sophie put down *skypoint* and I thought I’d get a puppy after I got down here.  I started watching a site that featured rescue Labs.  I found several I wanted to see, even went and looked at one although three other visits fell through for a variety of reasons.  I planned on going to a puppy adoption event last weekend to check out a bunch of puppies but, as the time to leave came and went, I found myself questioning my motives.  I decided I didn’t really want I puppy right now, rather, I wanted Sophie.  I miss having her around more than I miss having a dog around, if that makes any sense.  I kind of enjoy, for now anyway, the freedom of not having to watch the clock to get back home in time to let the dog out/feed the dog/whatever else  particular need the dog may have.  I  know the time will come when I’m ready.  But, just like the time for me to start saying “y’all” hasn’t arrived yet, neither has the time come for me to take on a puppy.

Lastly, and kind of circling back a bit, I’m thankful the kids and the littles are all coming to visit soon.  The Boy Child and PhoJoMama™ and their brood are coming for Thanksgiving, Oldest One and the Heir for Christmas, and the Quiet Child, Boy Genius and Reigning Princess will help me welcome in the New Year.

So, yes, life in general and retired life in particular are pretty good for yours truly.  I hope each of you can find the things in life for which you’re thankful and celebrate it with the ones you love.  If not, call me.  I’m more than happy to listen.  Because we’re all in this together, like it or not.

I’m still laughing btw…

Peace.

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Mailing Chickens

There’s an old saying – “an army marches on its stomach” and a quick GTS tells me it either comes from Napoleon (Bonaparte, not Dynamite) or Frederick the Great.  So either way, it’s been around a long time.  I guess it isn’t exactly applicable to me, since I usually eat on the fly or load the front passenger seat with easy to grab munchie type foods when I travel, but I’ll get to it’s applicability in a little bit.  Probably.

See, I traveled to Nashville last weekend, for the wedding of two lovely people, shout out to Steph and EJ.  I wish you both much love and a lifetime of peace and happiness.

Since it was my first time there, I decided to make a weekend out of it.  When I wrote about the trip last week, I solicited suggestions for where to go, what to do, etc.  I mean, Nashville is known for music, obvs, but I wanted ideas from people that I know (and that know me) to get a better feel for what I’d enjoy there.  Got recommendations to visit the Ryman Auditorium (Yes, it was very cool) the Country Music Hall of Fame (also worth the visit, and I’m not a “country” guy) but, without question, my favorite recommendation came in the form of a text from my good friend and internationally renowned podcaster, Seth *skypoint*, minutes before I got on the road.  I’ll paraphrase- “If you get in a bind I’ve got a couple hookups down there for bail money, etc. And whatever else you do, EAT AT MONELL’S!  It’s a f**king mazing.”

The man does not lie.

I mean about the Monell’s part.

I didn’t need bail money but I believe that part to be true too.  But I digress.

Monell’s is, indeed, a f**king mazing.  It’s set in an old house, in an old neighborhood. The food is served family style, meaning, you’re seated at whatever table has room for you and whomever you’re with.  When I say “family style” I mean they cook for a family of roughly 84,326 people, each of whom is ravenously hungry.  Good Lord there was a lot of food and each plate was at least as good as the one that preceded it.   Bite-size cinnamon rolls, biscuits and gravy, corn pudding, cheesy grits, peach preserves, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and country ham.  Oh and before I forget, a ginormous plate-full of fried chicken.  Jesus, my eyes are glazing over just typing this.  It was incredible.  Bob and Melissa joined me on Friday morning for my first visit and when we finished we all kind of looked at each other with a “what the hell just happened” look on our faces.  Seriously, ridiculously, incredible food.  And when I went there yesterday morning for my pre-road meal it was a repeat of wonderful.  I had to step a little bit out of my comfort zone to sit at a table of total strangers, but this food would make you do things like that, it’s so worth it.  And the people I broke biscuits with were all really nice too, so that helped. If you ever go to Nashville YOU MUST EAT HERE.  You have been warned, if you don’t go you have no one to blame but yourself.  Seth, my man, any time you feel like sharing foodie recommendations, fire away.  My stomach now trusts you completely.

Quick road trip related note… I crossed, I think a couple times each way, what may well be my favorite river, by name only at least.  Every time I cross the French Broad River it brings out my inner 15 year-old and I can’t help but giggle.  Out loud.  I picture in my head a bunch of early settlers standing on the bank of this river, wondering what to name it.  And one of them shouts out something about a woman they’d met at a trading post a ways back.

“What was her name?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know.  That French broad”

Of course that’s not what the name means, but I have to confess a conversation like that will play out in my head every time I cross that river.  And I’ll laugh.  Every time.

Before I hit the road, I had to swing by the Post Office to ship out some of my excess candy from the Halloween that wasn’t.  As I walked in with my packages, I noticed a couple at the counter with several boxes, each box with numerous holes in it.  I assumed they were shipping plants somewhere.  But as I stood there, filling out the address tags for the various destinations, I heard a strange sound.  I couldn’t quite place it at first.  It was very soft, and my brain took a few seconds to register since the noise wasn’t one I’d ever expect to hear at the Post Office, of all places.  But, as I listened more intently, sure enough, I heard…

Clucking.

I looked up at the couple, now having set the first pair of boxes up on the counter, and sure enough, they were mailing live chickens.  And I’m not even joking.  Live.  Chickens.  In the mail.  I don’t know if that’s a thing or not btw.       *door knock* “Who is it?”   “Chickengram”   “Oh!  Great!  I’ll be right there!”  And I wanted to know so much more.  Who gets mail-order chickens?  What’s the survival rate for mail-order chickens?  How many mail-order chickens does it take to make a full load?  What other animals can you get mail-order style?  How many chickens were in each box?  What happens if the chickens don’t care for their traveling companion?  What does a chicken battle royale sound like in transit?  What happens if the chicken lays eggs in between Point A and Point B?  Is there an extra charge, since you got more mail-order chickens than you paid for?

Ok, I’ve got to stop.  The more I sit here, the more I want to know about mail-order chickens.

Peace.

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Scary Creatures. Somewhere Perhaps, But Not Here.

Does anybody need three wardrobe boxes?  Asking for a friend…  The amount of leftover cardboard seems staggering, it certainly feels like more than what I bought.  I filled the recycle bin last week and immediately refilled once it was picked up.  I saved the boxes that survived the cross country transport in the best shape and put them up in the attic, you know, in case I ever decide to move again…  LOLOLOLOL, I crack myself up sometimes.  At any rate, it’s safe to say I’ve still got a surplus of cardboard products.  Now, this also means that I’ve essentially got everything unpacked.  It may not be where I want it to be, and I’ve still got much to do as far as getting this place the way I want it, but small victories are, in fact, victories nonetheless.

Something else I’ve got a surplus of; Halloween candy.  I had not. one. trick or treater. yesterday.  No goblins, no ghosts, no Kardashians, or any other frightening figures knocked on my door.  What the hell?  I, of course, bought candy that I like (obvs) and I bought a bunch of it because who wants to run out on Halloween amirite?  That’s just asking for trouble.  So now, rather than risk putting on a fast fifteen pounds of post Halloween weight I’ve decided to send out “care” packages.  Because I care about maintaining my svelte, boyish, figure.  Again, LOL.

I decided, since I’m traveling to Nashville for a wedding this weekend, for one of the guys from the firehouse, my brothers from Red Shift in the high-rise district will be the beneficiaries of some of my overestimation of candy.  You’re welcome!  I think I’m going to send some to the littles too.  Sugar load coming courtesy of someone who won’t have to deal with the after effects!  Speaking of Nashville, since this is my first time there, I’m open to suggestions of where to go and what to see so fire away.  I’ve gotten a couple of good ideas from people, but I’m making a weekend out of it and I’d like to see as much as I can.  I’m kind of bummed on one thing; I knew I wanted to check out the Bluebird Cafe, even more so after it was recommended by a friend who has a trustworthy sense of quality music, but when I signed on Monday morning to get a ticket to a show I wanted to see, it was sold out less than three minutes after it opened up.  It’s a very small venue, so I get it, but it’s still kind of a drag.  Sigh.

Moving right along… I thought I had mentioned, either here or on the old site not that long ago about how I made chocolate chip cookies after a baking fail at the firehouse.  I was pretty sure I’d commented about it, at least in passing, and a deep seated fear of redundancy initiated a fifteen or twenty minute search through old posts which produced nothing.  So, let me just say that those cookies were pretty darn tasty.  If you read this even semi-regularly or if you know me IRL, you know how fond I am of baked goods.  So it is with no small amount of shame that I admit to you, I neglected to buy anything of that nature during my first couple excursions to the grocery store since I got here.  I know, right?  I don’t know what I was thinking.  I’d like to blame Bob and TJ somehow, but I just couldn’t make that work in my head, so I guess I have to own this one.  To that end, I bought a Kitchen Aid mixer.  This is something I’ve been putting off since the first batch of homemade cookies.  It was a bit of a mess, literally, since I wasn’t prepared hardware-wise for baking at home.  Bowls were a little on the small side and the old hand mixer I’d picked up at an estate sale was almost overmatched.  I found out just how overmatched when I smoked it (literally) at the conclusion (thankfully) of my second batch of homemade cookies.  I waited because I wasn’t sure where I’d end up, or rather, what type of kitchen I’d have.  And since I’m nothing if not a color coordinating fool *snark* I waited to make sure it matched whatever appliances I’d end up with.  Actually that’s a little less snarky than I care to admit to, but whatevs.  So I’ll soon have no one to blame but myself for not having delicious baked goods whenever I desire.  Spoiler alert- there’s really never anyone to blame but myself, so…

I’ve decided my maiden voyage in the new mixer will be – brookies. That’s right,  you know ’em, you love ’em, you can’t eat just one, that little piece of euphoria inducing splendor will be coming to me from my very own kitchen.  I already can’t wait.  If you’ve never had one, well, you need to change that, pronto.  You’ll thank me, I promise.

Peace

PS – I can’t believe I forgot to add that at the end of my last post.  It’s been kind of my unofficial official closing here for years.  So you’re getting another one here.

Peace