Tag: North Carolina

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This one goes to 11

Welp, this has taken me entirely too long to get to.  I was actually a little embarrassed when I checked the site the other day to see when my last posts had been (quite a while back) and I’ve had a busy last month or so.  As a consequence, I have much to write about.  I promise not to get too wordy here though.

Kinda…

I’ve got Tom Petty blaring at me whilst I work on this, it’s a holiday weekend Saturday morning, and life, on the whole, is pretty good.  Let’s get started.

I drove back to Illinois for an extended visit last month.  And I’ve already got to back up a wee bit; my travel weekend started with a trip about three hours southwest of me to Greenville, SC for a concert.  Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit with Richard Thompson as the opener.  Great.  Concert.  My hotel was literally across the street from the venue, which was kinda sweet in and of itself, but the show was just stellar.  I’ve been a Thompson fan for over thirty years and he’s an amazing musician.  If you’re not familiar, I highly recommend checking out his music.

The morning after the concert I headed north, and, as I’d intimated earlier, I split the trip into two days.  Pretty unremarkable journey home.  That’s a good thing, btw.  Especially if you’ve read any of my previous travel foibles.  You have, right?

My time in Illinois was spent with family, splitting my time between the homes of the Oldest One and the Quiet Child, but I spent time with all the kids and littles and it was delightful.  A lot of baseball games and softball games were watched and, by and large, thoroughly enjoyed.  I even got the see the Heir To The Throne hit his first high school home run, which was cool AF.

In addition to hanging with friends and family around home, I went to Springfield with nine other members of Local 3234 (our largest contingent ever!) for the state Legislative Conference.  So I got to hang with firefighter friends/union activists from across Illinois.  Spent a little quality time with some of the elected officials there, including a couple of after-hours gatherings in local watering holes.

Sorry, no stories will come from those escapades…

I got to hang out with the guys in the high-rise district for breakfast one Sunday (one of the best experiences of firehouse life), saw several friends and relatives for coffee (not all at once), I also swung by the cemetery to “chat” with Diane and Caitlin.  To be sure, there were several people (you know who you are) I had intended to get together with, that, for one reason or another was unable to, but there will be other trips home and I’m hopeful scheduling will be a little smoother.

The visit wrapped up with the 11th birthday of the Reigning Princess, which is where this pic was taken.  I can’t believe how big these guys are getting.  Pretty handsome group, no?  Speaking of time flying, when did I turn into an old man?  That’s a rhetorical question, btw, no comments necessary.

Just sayin’

I hit the road before 5:00 AM last Monday to head back to central North Carolina.  I guess karma was in my corner after the whole Memphis excursion, as this was also a really smooth trip.  The only time I used my favorite twelve letter word was to thank a fellow motorist, one with Wyoming plates on his car, for moving out of my way, allowing me to pass him easily.  I threw out the Bruce Willis line from Die Hard, you know the one.  I felt like it was appropriate given where he was from, you know, cowboys and all.   One of the high points was a lunch stop at the Bob (don’t hate, I like it) Evans restaurant in Chillicothe, OH.

Considering the rest of the clientele, I’m guessing the median age to have been 83. #83Nation.  There was also a bonus sighting of what I believe may have been the love child of auto huckster Bob Rohrman and novelist Steven King.  Yikes.  To make my lunchtime people watching even more interesting, I’m fairly certain there was a carny convention or something in town.  Again, Yikes.  But the blueberry pancakes were just the thing to get me to my next stop, one I plan for every trip between IL and NC, Beckley, WV.  I’ve never gone through the town itself, but I think it’s similar to Asheville, NC in that it is filled with artisans and has a kind of hippy vibe to it.  The rest stop/tourist center is filled with all kinds of locally made craft-y type stuff.  Blown glass, pottery, sculptures in both wood and metal and actually really good food.  If you’re ever traveling through West Virgina on either I-64 or I-77 you must stop and check it out.  Trust me.

Finally, from the “out of the mouths of babes” file, I’d like to quote the grandchild formerly known as Beatle Baby (he’s 6 years old already, I guess I’ve got to come up with a new nom de plume for him) “Grandpa Joe, you live far away.”

Yes, yes I do.  Smooth trip or not, it’s a long day on the road and I was glad to be home.  Let’s see what kind of nonsense comes my way so I can share it with you here.  But in the meantime, I’m going to head out to the shed and see what I can accomplish…

Peace

PS- what with the holiday weekend and all, I want to leave you with a PSA of sorts.  No, not my usual entreaty to not drink and drive, although, obvs.  Instead I’d like to ask you to take a minute to remember why this holiday exists.  Quite literally, thousands have given their lives to allow us the freedoms we take for granted today.  Let’s do our part to honor their memories and, to quote Labor Activist Mother Jones “Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living.”

Again, Peace

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Road Trips

Well, I had fully intended to do this yesterday, but adulting got in the way, as it is wont to do from time-to-time.  And in the true spirit of the subtitle to this blog “where I write things about stuff” I’m going to hit to all fields today.  Well from left-center to right-center, at least.

Since I’ve got my hyphen quota out-of-the-way…

Wait, one quick side note here.  I love adjectives.  And I love the storytelling aspect of writing.  Sometimes, when I come across a particularly beautiful piece of the art, I feel compelled to share it and I want to put this in here.  Background on it is this; William Nack was a sportswriter for Sports Illustrated for 23 years, covering, among other things, the career of Secretariat.  He passed away last week at the age of 77 after a fight with cancer.  For the uninitiated, Secretariat was (imho) the greatest athlete of all time.  As I read some of Mr. Nack’s stories, this line in his tribute to an amazing horse stood out to me.

“Oh, I knew all the stories, knew them well, had crushed and rolled them in my hand until their quaint musk lay in the saddle of my palm.”

It’s one of those lines that makes me want to write forever, the image it projects in my mind’s eye.  The article itself is a long read, but it’s stunning in it’s beauty, an homage to a greatness seldom seen and I highly recommend making the time to read it.

To the trip.

I left Memphis Sunday morning, heading back to central North Carolina.  I’d gone there for a concert and a little touristing, more about both later.  The impetus for this post was the trip from Hell.  Not really, but Sunday was one long ass day behind the windshield, let me tell you.  No, really, that’s why I’m doing this.

I got on the road about 8:00 AM central time and according to the GPS it was going to be about a ten-hour drive.  That’s about what it took me to get there on Thursday, so I had no reason to doubt it.  I knew there was a storm out ahead of me, but I was hopeful I could stay behind it.

Ha!

The first thing that jumped out at me (not literally) was the number of highway patrol cars out on the interstate, running radar.  And reaping the benefits of their actions.  I’m not sure why, other than the easy pickings due to the quantity of drivers with a heavy right foot.  I’m sure the Tennessee state coffers were enriched significantly that day.  If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they had a quota to meet too.  But, according to my friends with stars on their chests, ticket quotas (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, know what I mean?) don’t exist…

I saw not less than eight officers in the first hundred miles moving east from Memphis.  I need to note here that none of them carried my name in their ticket book, so, that’s a win.  And, despite the need to monitor their presence, I was making good time.  Outstanding time, in fact.  I felt like I may have been able to shave at least a half hour off my travel time.

Until I caught the aforementioned weather.  About half way through Tennessee.  And can I just say that Tennessee is one wide damn state.  I mean, really.  Roughly 450 miles from Memphis to the North Carolina border on I-40 in case you were wondering.  As you might imagine (go ahead, imagine away) this length of trip, sharing the roadway with throngs of others, each with their own places to go (and a variety of urgencies to get there) may elicit an occassional bad word from yours truly.  By my count, a rough guess, but it’s still mine, I used my favorite twelve letter word (rhymes with “brother trucker”)  a minimum of 27 times.  This may surprise you, but I’m quite certain that if you ask the Oldest One or the Boy Child, they will confirm that is a reasonable estimate.  When they were much younger we would have to drive through downtown St. Charles fairly often and they learned some creative and colorful language earlier than they probably should have thanks to my reaction to the other drivers there.

It was somewhere east of Nashville, maybe an hour or so east, where I caught up with the rain.  An inconvenience perhaps, but not that big of a deal.  I had gained considerable time, so I really wasn’t all that bothered.  Until I got closer to Knoxville and hit a traffic jam.  About ten miles worth of a traffic jam.  That took me over an hour to get through.  So much for early arrival.  I thought I’d seen a sign as I approached the backup, something about a wreck ahead, but if that was the case it had long since been cleared up by the time I got through it.  Things flowed well for about an hour when, approaching the border, Tennessee traffic gave me one last body cavity search and for no apparent reason I hit another traffic jam in excess of thirty minutes.  Into North Carolina the rain picked up in frequency and intensity.  I made it into Asheville for fuel and coffee and figured I’d be home in three hours or so.

Again, Ha!

Figuring 8:30 for my eta home, an eleven hour plus trip was not ideal, especially the way it started out, but I was ok with it.  The volume of traffic had lightened considerably and the rain had pretty much stopped so things weren’t too bad.  Until I got near my exit.  Brief explanation, there are approximately 47 exits labeled route 64 on this stretch of I-40.  Ok, that’s not exactly accurate, but there are three plus one exit marked for the town of Mocksville, which is the first town I pass through on the way from I-40 to my home.  I, of course, chose the wrong one.  The best part of that choice was that I didn’t realize how route 64 curves.  When I choose the correct exit, I turn right to head home.  As I came up the exit ramp I realized I should have gone five more miles to the next exit.  But I had seen a sign advising another (#*@#*%) traffic jam and thought I’d stay on 64.

I turned right.

I should’ve turned left.

I was almost eight miles down the road when I saw I was heading west.  Pro tip, my home was east of me.  I turned around headed back to the interstate.  With callous disregard for a potential traffic jam I drove east on I-40 and made it to the correct exit.  Not a brake light in sight btw.  Insert eye roll emoji >here<.  Coming in to Mocksville I came up behind someone with an aversion to the speed limit.  And not in a good way.  What do you call someone who consistently drives 10-15 mph below the speed limit?  I call it the car in front of me.

I finally pulled in the driveway a couple of minutes after 9:00 PM.

This has caused me to rethink my trip home next weekend.  Not making it, I’ll still be in Illinois for an extended stay, but rather this; it’s a 14 hour drive under good circumstances.  I’m chopping that sucker into more manageable bites.

I don’t think my vocabulary is ready for another all day road trip.

Peace

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It’s A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood

Apologies to Fred Rogers, but I liked the sound of that title.

I may have alluded to this in earlier posts but, despite a recent downturn in temperatures here this past week, to my mind, Spring has sprung here in central North Carolina.  This, btw, works for me.  The oak trees haven’t started to bud yet, but a good number of plants in the neighborhood have started budding if not actually blooming as evidenced by this arrangement made from the neighbors Magnolia Bush – 

Lovely, no?  In addition to the Magnolia, which btw has an incredibly short bloom life, I’ve got a Camellia in my back yard that is also producing blooms like crazy – but in a tech flashback to a couple of months ago, I’m unable to share the picture with you.  Trust me, it’s beautiful… (expletive deleted WordPress…)

Here’s another thing I like the sound (kind of a rocky segue, I know, but whatevs.) of… this bird and if anyone can tell me what kind of bird it is, I’d appreciate it.  I’m not John J. Audubon-y enough to look it up, but I’m a little curious what kind of bird serenades me most mornings while I drink my coffee in the carport.  I’ve played this clip back for the birds sometimes, usually getting a response from him (her?) so far without getting dive-bombed as an interloper attempting to take over the little guys territory.  Although I must say I get a kick out of him (I’m pretty sure it’s a him, since I vaguely recall from somewhere that only male birds sing, either for prospective mates or to mark out boundaries) peeking between the branches of the not-yet-leafed-out bush he sits in to see where/who the other bird is.

But wait, there’s more from the This Week In Nature file…

Do female Robins look exactly like male Robins?  There’s a couple that frequent the neighbors back yard that are either –

A.) In a running territorial pissing match or

B.) in the build-up to an avian mating ritual

I can’t tell which.  They seem to stay in pretty close proximity to each other, hopping around the yard looking for worms.  If one flies up to the roof, the other isn’t far behind and usually lands within a few feet of the first or occasionally on a higher part of the roof.  I’ve even seen them tangle mid-air in a flurry of flapping wings and tangled feet that lasts as long as thirty seconds, rising up to fifteen feet or so in the air and falling almost to the ground before they disengage and land, again, within a few feet of each other.  That inability to differentiate between courtship and combat probably speaks to my inability to maintain long-term relationships as much as it does to my lack of bird knowledge fwiw.

Just sayin.

I’m gonna leave this one shortish, I’m currently on Amtrak headed back to North Carolina.  Since I’ll be relatively captive here on the train for another five hours or so, I’m going to try and use some of the time productively ish and recap my last few days.

Here goes nuthin’

Peace

 

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Now Is The Winter Of My Content

I know I said in an earlier post I wanted to avoid weather shaming, but Geez Louise, I was sitting out here in the carport this morning in shorts and a t-shirt being serenaded by neighborhood birds, so it’s kinda tough not to.  Weather shame, that is.  Besides, I needed fodder for a post so, you know, low hanging fruit, right?

Winter apparently ends in February here.  Buds are starting to appear on various plants already and while working at clearing away the last vestiges of fallen leaves yesterday (in jeans and a t-shirt) I was sweating my butt off.  Figuratively, that is.  I still have a butt, so…

I was actually back in Illinois last weekend, a whirlwind tour if you will, coming back in for Local 3234’s annual Recognition Dinner.  A wonderful evening celebrating the guys that retired last year, myself included.  I had a wonderful evening catching up with people I’ve spent a great deal of time with over the last 25 years or so.  Many laughs were shared, a tall tale or two were told, and a bunch of hugs were distributed throughout the room.  I even got a promise for some of Bob’s homemade, deep dish pizza when I come back in May for an extended visit.  At least I think it was a promise.  If it wasn’t, well Bob, you’re on the spot now, so I guess you’ve gotta come through.

Speaking of amazing food… among the high points (there were many) was a special delivery from one of my bonus kids, Courtney.  Yes, you guessed it, RVCB’S!  Amazing as always, I just popped the last one this morning.  And like the old Folger’s coffee ad, they were good to the last drop.  Since it took a Pony Express type delivery I especially liked the threatening tag on the package, something to the effect of “If your name isn’t Joel keep your hands off the goods” which made me literally lol when it was pointed out to me.

In true Illinois fashion the weather was not great.  Several inches of snow in the days leading up to the dinner and daily high temperatures in the teens for the duration of my brief visit.  The coldest I saw was 8º with a wind chill of -3º and I have to say, it was ok.

That last statement gave me pause, because if you know me IRL, you know how much I like to bitch about cold weather.  *Hint- the correct answer is “a lot” *  After giving the matter a little more thought, I came to the conclusion that it’s kind of like hitting your thumb with a hammer.  It hurts.  But if you only do it once, the pain passes relatively quickly.  I was only in town for a couple of days and so was only briefly exposed to Illinois winter.  Unlike my entire life prior to this winter, when my thumb was hit roughly 27 times a day for each and every one of the approximately six month-long Illinois winters I ever experienced.

Several hours were also spent with the kids and the littles on Sunday.  Almost everyone knew I was coming in, so we all figured it would be a good way to see each other and arrangements were made to meet up at the home of the Boy Child and PhojoMama™.  I say “almost” everyone because the Quiet Child decided to leave my arrival as a surprise for the Reigning Princess.  When they arrived, RP stood in the hallway for five or ten seconds staring at me before she broke into a full on sprint, launching herself at me for an enormous hug.  It was awesome.  Another awesome part of the weekend was having the Little Diamond spend probably more time on my lap Sunday than she had cumulatively for her entire life to that point.  It was just a really nice way to wrap up a great weekend.

Speaking of wrapping up (smooth, huh?) it’s about time for me to head over to the “Y” because, you know, fitness is my middle name.

Peace

PS- because, well, you know…  Happy birthday baby!  I hope you two are doing everything you love.  Much like every other day if it’s like we’ve always been told it’s like.  And I won’t mention any numbers because my Mom didn’t raise any dummies.

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Hey Siri…

So, since we all can agree that, to quote a very wise woman, live music is better live, I saw some the other night.  Live music that is.  A band by the name of Devil Makes Three (h/t to McG) was playing at venue about an hour from me called the Haw River Ballroom.  Great place btw, in the dye room of an old cotton mill, and somewhere I’ll definitely keep on  my watch list for future concerts.  The concert was pretty great as both acts put out excellent vibes.  The openers have, quite possibly, the longest name of any touring band – The Huntress and Holder of Hands – but they were really quite good.  One of the songs that stuck with me, actually more than anything the headliners did, was a cover of a wonderful Cranberries song that kind of slid out of my memory.  Just a really nice night.

Now the town this place is in is pretty small, about 1,600 people, and I’d never heard of Saxapahaw, NC before so I pulled it up when Mike first mentioned the band to me.  Looked pretty simple to get to, a couple state highways and only a few turns.  Piece of cake.  However.  Since I’m still pretty new out here, if I go anywhere other than Asheboro itself, I typically punch the address into a map app just to make sure I don’t miss a turn or something.  I’ve always been pretty good with directions but why mess around, right?  So I got in the car, typed in the destination and took a look before I headed east.  I looked at the map and noticed right away it was different from what I had pictured in my head.  Pretty much straight-line diagonal from my house to the venue and I thought from looking at the map that I would need to backtrack slightly to get there.

Now, if your history with Siri is anything like mine, you’d appreciate the sense of trepidation I felt right there.  I thought I’d already shared my Siri-induced misadventure on my way out here, but I just checked and apparently I haven’t.

Yet.

I got around Winston-Salem and had been going Siri-less for several hours since I had been out this way a few times and was fairly confident I could find my way to the hotel in Asheboro.  Until I caught a detour.  Since I was driving and didn’t want to pull over (an obvious sign of weakness *snark*) I said to myself “I have a smartphone, I can just talk to Siri and she’ll give me directions to my hotel.”

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I received directions to a hotel in Lexington, KY.  Several times.  I also received directions to a Waffle House in Burlington, NC.  More than once.  I received directions to so many different places and never less than sixty miles from where I wanted to be.  This, as you may imagine, displeased me.  Especially so close to the end of 14 hour drive from northern Illinois.  Fun fact.  Did you know that launching a profanity-laced tirade at Siri will cause her to, not unlike an actual human being, shut down?  She has a particular dislike for being called a word that rhymes with “brotherclucker” fwiw.  I think Apple missed the boat in not pointing out that attribute.  She’s so lifelike!

Needless to say, I finally pulled over and typed in the address to my hotel, arriving without further Siri-related incident about 45 minutes later.

So there was a brief hesitation as I left the house under Siri’s guidance.  I drove through, what I assume was a pretty bucolic part of the state.  And I’m not throwing stones with that, I mean after all I grew up in the Greater Burlington Metropolitan area (*more snark*) but since it was, you know, dark, I couldn’t really tell.  Also the two-lane, curvy, country roads were not conducive to the wandering driving eye I picked up from riding in a car with my Dad during my formative years.  All in know is, on the way home I saw, probably fewer than five cars, until I got back on the state highway about 30 miles later.

All in all it was an outstanding way to spend a Thursday evening.  The next concert on the books isn’t until April, I’m gonna have to work on something before that.

Time to search the interwebz!

Peace.

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Snowmageddon 2018

It started snowing about 7:00 this morning here, as I write this we’ve gotten about 2″ and I think we might get a couple more before it’s done.  Everything is shut down, or at the very least, delayed in opening.  The crawler on the news last night was chock full of closures, based on the likelihood of snowfall today.  I got an email from the YMCA last night advising they wouldn’t open until 1:00 this afternoon instead of at 5:00 AM as usual.  The street I live on isn’t terribly busy, but I’ve heard almost no one driving by, certainly less than a normal day.  I was just thinking, if I was in Illinois I’d probably grab the shovel and at least make the first run at removal before it piles up too deep.  Here, on the other hand, our forecast is for temperatures in the 40’s tomorrow and the 60’s by the weekend.  And I’m perfectly content to let Mother Nature take care of her own mess.  I’ll probably throw some salt on the front steps/porch so the mailman doesn’t slip, but that’s going to be the extent of my snow removal.

**UPDATE**  A follow-up email from the Y came in moments ago with the notice that they will be closed all day today and reopen at 8:00 tomorrow morning.  Insert wide-eyed emoji >here<

Now, this storm tracked across parts of the U.S. of A. that typically don’t get snow.  Including southern Arkansas which btw is home to my friend and internationally renowned podcaster, Seth.  I bring that up because I got a phone call from Seth Monday, the day before Snowmageddon 2018 was due to hit his little corner of the world.  He said that, while he wasn’t on shift, he had been in town and had gotten a phone call from his daughter to let him know they were out of milk and asking him to pick some up on his way home.

Pretty mundane request, right?

Not in the context of Snowmageddon 2018 (brief editorial note- I highly recommend reading “Snowmageddon 2018” in the deepest, most authoritarian voice you can conjure up in your head.  Try it, it’s awesome and if you can add in some “Breaking News” music as a backdrop in your head it’s even more amazing) which, apparently by default, includes undercurrents of chaos.  Seth told me when he got to the grocery store, not only was the parking lot so packed he had to park across the street and walk over, but the only milk left in the store was those little single-serve size bottles.

**UPDATE #2**  While not actively paying attention to it, I haven’t heard any traffic on my street whatsoever for roughly the entire time I’ve been working on this post.

I’m not sure how much snow is typical for this part of the country, obviously, I mean this is my first winter here, right?  But from watching the local weather on TV, I know the average high temperature for today is 49º so I’m thinking this may well be our first, and last, significant snowfall of the year.  I am absolutely ok with that fwiw.

You know, it suddenly occurred to me I may have buried the lede.  I joined the Y. Now, if you know me IRL, you know that “Fitness” is my middle name (not really).  The truth of the matter is, I haven’t done any walking to speak of since I’ve been down here.  That’s a result of being a dog-less household (pour one out to a great dog) but it also has brought me, in and of itself, no closer to adding a dog.  Just yet.  That time is coming, but, like me saying “y’all” it isn’t here now.  You people (yes, I said “you people”) will be among the first to know when I get serious about adding a dog.  But in the interim, I joined the Y last week and have done a decent job of getting over there and actually doing something.  Baby steps, no pun intended, but in the right direction nonetheless.

**UPDATE #3** I just went out to the front porch to throw the aforementioned salt for the mailman.  Our snowfall is 3″ or so.  I saw what I’m fairly certain was his footprints across the front yard.  Not close to my mailbox up on the porch.  I’m hoping it was because I had no mail today, otherwise that throws the whole “rain nor sleet nor gloom of night” thing right out the window.   I gave the man homemade brookies for Christmas for Chrissakes, certainly he could trudge ten feet to the right and up four stairs for me, right?  Hmmmm.

Ok, I think I’m good here for now.  I may go out and seek some snow mischief, I haven’t decided.  But one thing I won’t be doing is shoveling snow.

To quote Ren and Stimpy “Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy!”

Peace

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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.