thisendoftheswamp

I have been told many times by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named that my hearing is so sharp I could hear a squirrel fart in a hurricane. In all honesty, I don’t think The Squire could hear the hurricane. The oven whispers when it has preheated, the timer speaks up at little bit, and the dryer has a buzzer that could probably be heard in the next county. I can hear all of it, but he doesn’t hear any of it.

So – after considerable discussion he finally got new hearing aids, and they are really nice. He can listen to the radio and answer the phone with his new ‘ears”, and he can now hear the dryer. All very nice. That being said, they are so very powerful that they drive me nuts. All hearing aids “whistle” if they are blocked, but his whistle if he sits too close to the something. The car window, the den wall, his recliner, just about anything makes his hearing aids shriek – and he doesn’t hear them.

But, boy! I do.

Argh!

We moved out of The Rice Paddy on October 23, 2024, and finally settled on the sale on Friday which was the 26th of September. Not quite a year, but close enough.

For reasons which totally mystify us, the settlement was at an office in Elkridge which is Howard County, on the far side of Baltimore. The agent, the folks who bought the house, and the Rices live in Harford County which means all of us had to drive quite a distance. Do not ask me to explain this.

The buyers are delightful people. They have two children – a son I’d guess is about two and a half and a five-month-old daughter. The wife is stunningly beautiful and very sweet. She likes the way I had fixed up the side bedroom and said she wanted to fix up the Barbie (R) house we had built into the dining room wall. I told her I still have most of the furniture I had made for it, and all she had to do was yell and I’d drop it by. They are well aware of all of the quirks of the old place, but I did give them a note warning them about not overloading the bathroom with too many heat-producing things. No more than two – space heater, curling iron, hot rollers, blow dryer – one from column A and one from column B, as the old Chinese restaurants used to say. Replacing the fuse involves a step stool and a flashlight. As I told them, it is a lesson quickly learned.

As we were driving home The Squire remarked that he hoped they hadn’t bitten off more than they could chew. I reminded him that my parents had said the same thing about us when we bought it!

. . . or maybe just the Rivers of Joppatowne . . . we sat down and wept.

Back in early November – while we were still lugging things from the house to the condo – The Squire hit the back end of a pickup truck and totaled his Kia. I’ve driven nothing but Nissans since the ’90s and loved them. My first Nissan was older than the fellow who came to take it away, and I’ve had two since then. With that in mind, The Squire bought a Nissan Rogue which he also liked very much.

He got a message that his car was due for routine maintenance and took it to a dealer not too far from here. Normally, we deal strictly with Dan, a mechanic we’ve known for about 40 years, but The Squire decided to take it to the dealership instead.

BIG mistake.

We got the Rogue back from the dealer on the 10th, and on the way home Monday afternoon (9/22), the car stalled at a traffic light and then got what I call the “jump-steadies” – coughing and bucking dreadfully. We managed to nurse it across the highway and onto Dan’s lot and called our friend Mac to come get us.

Tuesday morning, The Squire called Triple A and had the Rogue towed to the dealership that had done the maintenance and followed in my little Versa. Instead of waiting around all day, The Squire took the Versa down to a shopping center to grab some lunch – and locked the keys in the car. One more call to Mac, who came and got me and the spare keys and delivered both to The Squire.

The upchuck of the whole business was radiator had blown, and what with one thing and another, we needed a new engine and $10,000. This on top of the $1400 we had paid the first time around.

Not bloody likely. Especially since the notice on the bottom of their bill says they do not offer any warranties on their work.

We left the Rogue and came on home and had some dinner, then The Squire went to the library to take his mind off the entire mess. He hadn’t gotten a mile from home and my car started acting funny. Once again, Dan to the rescue! It turned out to be a small hole in the exhaust pipe – easily located and easily repaired, and The Squire was on his way.

Once this is settled, I’m going to have a nice little nervous breakdown.

And a mystery solved

I wasn’t up to taking our regular walk on Friday morning, so we went out in the evening, instead. Again, I had picked up some trash along the way, and when I opened the dumpster, I found this basket lying on top of the stuff that was already there. Naturally, I grabbed it and trotted on home, but I had noticed some bath towels under it and returned as soon as I had this safely stowed. Soap dish, toothbrush holder and mugs, all with the price tags still on the bottom. I tossed one mug because it was cracked, but why anybody needed four mugs for two people is one of those things I may never figure out. Maybe they had grandkids? I dunno.

There were too many towels for me to take in one trip, so Saturday morning I went back with a beach bag, loaded that, then then stuffed even more towels into two plastic grocery sacks I found in the dumpster. And then went back to make yet another trip with the beach bag.

As I was lugging all of this stuff home, I ran into another resident who told me about a woman in another building who had died. Her husband had absolutely no idea what to do with her things, so he had simply trashed all of them. That would explain the American Tourister bag full of those nice slacks that I got last Monday.

I washed everything – two full laundry loads – folded, sorted, and stacked. Most of the bath towels were part of sets and didn’t seem to have ever been used. There are SIXTY wash clothes. Some of those are little more than rags, but for goodness sakes! I’ll load them all in my car and take them around to the thrift store Tuesday morning.

It is truly sad that this poor man is so lost without his wife that he is simply unable to cope with the simplest things. The resident with whom I spoke suggested that I approach the man and offer to help him. As much of a busybody as I am, that is something I can certainly try.

The Squire and I take a walk around the complex every morning, and when we see a Japanese Lantern Fly, we stomp on it.

This morning saw one that we had killed yesterday, with a couple of slugs chowing down on it. We were nearly back to our starting point when I thought to ask The Squire if he had brought his cell phone. By the time we got back to the scene of the crime, all the evidence had been tampered with. There was absolutely nothing left of the fly and the slugs had all left.

We were both amazed. It had never occurred to either of us that slugs actually did anything useful!

The Squire and I go for a walk every morning except Sunday. We have to leave at 7:30 to get to church, and that just doesn’t leave us enough time, so we set out after supper and do our two laps around the complex. Right now, it is quite cool – bordering on chilly (60-F) – but by mid-day it’s usually in the 80s. By7 PM, it’s started to cool down again, and it’s perfect for a walk. Even here, in the ‘high rent district’ people can be slobs, and I frequently pick up candy wrappers and other bits of trash. Last night was no exception. I had collected three pieces by the time we were done, and The Squire joked that I needed to start carrying a bag. When I stopped to put my little collection into the dumpster, I noticed a tapestry bag tossed to one side, and being me, I grabbed it and dragged it out. When I came around the corner, The Squire rolled his eyes – he does that a lot – but I just reminded him that he’d told me I needed a bag, so I got one.

When we got home, I dumped everything on the bed. TEN pair – count ’em! – of very nice women’s slacks. Several were “velvet” and would be nice for the holidays, and one still had tags. The bag itself was American Tourister.

I simply do NOT understand home people can just trash things that are still useful. This entire “catch” will go around the corner to Tabitha’s tomorrow morning.

In the late 16th century, coffee was still a mysterious and exotic beverage in Europe—dark, bitter, and associated with the Islamic world, and considered the wine of infidels, unfit for Christians to consume. Many of Pope Clement VIII’s advisors urged him to condemn it, calling it “the bitter invention of Satan.” But Clement, ever the curious soul, insisted on tasting it himself before passing judgment.

According to legend, after taking a few sips, he declared:

“This Satan’s drink is so delicious that it would be a pity to let the infidels have exclusive use of it.”

Now, for the upstairs: This is Martin Grainger, Annie and Howard’s five-year-old son. Martin wants to be a basketball player when he grows up, but if his mum catches him shooting baskets over the back of the rocking chair, he just might not make it to “grown up” status.

His bed has a quilt that reads “Little Boys Make Noise”, along with a few throw pillows. There are a few toys on the shelf, and in the toy box under the window.

The parents’ bed was purchased from my favorite shop, now long closed.

When he’s not being a respectable bank branch manager, Howard likes to wear loud Hawaiian print shirts. I cut three of them from a piece of novelty print fabric. The chair is another resin piece from the Biltmore Mansion in Ashville, North Carolina.

Annie’s robe and slippers are waiting for her morning routine.

The rug in front of the armoire is “something” from the 1920s that belong to my grandmother. It’s the wrong shape to be a coaster for under a glass, but it does help a little to hide the fact that I had to piece the green carpet.

Trying to decorate small rooms with slanting walls is beyond challenging.

I blocked off the far wall with foamcore and installed a window, but the side wall was just impossible.

How on earth Howard manages to shave in that mirror with no more light than he has, is a mystery.

The bathtub is a vintage piece, if not exactly an antique. I remember seeing it on Mum’s knickknack shelf when I was a kid.

Here is another view of the bathroom. Shampoo, band-aids – all the necessary things. There is a Kotex box on the shelf over the toilet.

Now, what I see when I write this is not necessarily what’s going to show when I publish it, so we shall see how it all turns out.

Wish me luck!