Slackin' off

Yes, yes, I have been slow to get over here, I know. It's been a whirlwind lately preparing for the big move this weekend, a veritable weeklong dervish of packing and stacking, sorting and selling, trashing and cashing, how many more little rhymes or alliterations can I come up with, you ask? Don't ask! Because that makes it a sort of challenge to test my mettle. Or my meddle, as the case may be.

Seriously, the aforementioned yard sale was a hit-or-miss affair. Rainy Friday was actually a better day than the sunny Saturday that followed. I guess the first day always does better, folks figure the good stuff goes the first day and the second day everything has been pretty well picked over. But it was semi-fun when it wasn't aggravating, only one really annoying customer and I managed to cram the TV she bought into her trunk and partly shove, partly sweet talk her and her girl pal out of the driveway before my wyfe returned with a baseball bat.

At any rate, Saturday ended well with a young mother and her two wee ones picking through the kiddie goods that were left. The kids made out like bandits, filling tote bags with toys for free, while Mom bought herself a stack of garments and a treadmill. (Or, as it was known in our family, a glorified clothes tree...)

Other than that auspicious affair the highlight of the week was a rainy morning tour of sprintime color in the neighborhood. I got some decent pics despite the rain on my spectacles and I guess I'll add them to the East Prospect photo album as I get a chance. Even though come May 1st we'll no longer reside in that lovely little burg.

Worthy of note as well this past week were several 'sense memories', as I refer to them. Sights, sounds and so forth that evoke past places and people:

1) Posting notices locally for the 'big ticket' items we needed to sell included bringing signs to some local laundromats. The warm and clean wafting of dryer exhaust never fails to elicit  memories of boyhood trips to the laundromat and coloring books that made the time pass quickly. Our heavy duty washer and dryer won't fit into our new abode and so we may be doing the laundromat thing again for a while. I have several vintage Batman coloring books- and I'm waiting on a Cisco Kid in the mail even as we speak! -just in case I need something to pass that time.

2) Tiny rainbows of color, oh so pretty... and hypnotic... swirling... cast by the sunlight through my Mom's dining room chandelier reminded me of a crystal prism I used to have hanging from the rearview mirror in the Mustang. It wasn't safe, I know, because the right light could effectively blind you while driving! But it seemed like the cool thing to do- much more important than any potential safety hazard -and a reminder of earlier times besides. I confess, I don't recall whatever became of it... Then while cruising the craft store the other week for stuff I could use in my little arts-and-crafts endeavors I spied some small ones, I should have another one. They're so small, surely they wouldn't blind you behind the wheel much.

3) Opening a bag of red licorice was like a time portal to the camp store at the Pequea Creek campground. It was the first thing you'd smell upon opening the candy case because the boxes were open so you could count out the sticks by the penny, whereas all the gum and chocolate confections were wrapped up tight. I know we ate up more than our allowance every week from the candy case and the Tastykake rack. Three Musketeers were my favorite back then. And butterscotch Krimpets. It's a wonder I have any teeth left at all after such a dissolute childhood of shoplifting and sugar binging. Not that I don't do my share these days...

That's all. Hey, one more thing: coming up on a whole year since I began this little exercise. Whoo-hooo! All that time and still no great personal revelations or discoveries of interpersonal importance. No exponential increase in self-awareness... Nothing like that... At least that I'm aware of... Hmmm.... Where's that licorice...?

Sunday driving

   Aahhhh, I've still got it! According to grannies everywhere anyway. While on a Sunday after go-to-meetin drive- forget the high cost of petrol, sez me! We're goin' for a spin 'round the county or mebbe two! -made a stop at Hinkle's Pharmacy, Columbia PA. A swell little druggery and general goods emporium which also features a lunch counter. Well, it's more than a lunch counter because they have dinner platters and confections as well. At any rate, our counter-mates were Flossie and Vince, a mature couple who were right neighborly, offering advice on menu selections in particular to us and socio-economic observations in general to everybody within earshot. The latter mostly from Vince while Flossie recommended the Montgomery pie and compared costume jewelry with my wyfe and made my day saying, 'Oooh, he's a good-looking one, honey! And he has nice hair...!' Sadly, I had no glossy 8x10s with me to sign for her...

   Driving tour also included outskirts of Hershey, as it was already late in the afternoon we had time for a stop at just one antique shop, window shopping only but they did have a GI Joe helicopter reasonably priced that I'll keep in mind for a future toy project. I have one now that I intend to redux as a one-man Batcopter one of these days. So many fun ideas, so little time... Then out an unknown highway toward Colebrook and Lebanon, ended up in Mt. Gretna, a virtual wilderness, long winding road through acres and acres of forest, I think it's a state park or gamelands or the like. Along the way we saw llamas, sheep, cows, geese and ducks and  two, count 'em, two vintage Mustangs. Both a purple or wine color and looking sharp. I wonder if I sold all my toys if I could afford one again? Probably not. I couldn't keep up with the cost of parts for mine almost twenty years ago, ouch. Back through Elizabethtown where we stopped to look at a pretty red SG-style guitar in the window of Rhoads Music. They were closed like pretty much everything else, not much happening except at the Rita's Italian Ice shop down the street.

  Readying signage, sorting worldly goods this week for a yard sale to trim the mass of goods, lighten the load, as it were, for the upcoming move. Always an adventure welcoming the public to peruse your castoff miscellaneous goods. There are more beach and nautical gewgaws- that being my wyfe's thematic bent for the home -and Barbies- my daughter's erstwhile collection of dolls and clothing and carry cases and more dolls and clothing and playsets and more dolls...  -than one could shake a stick at without incurring serious carpal tunnel damage. Along with the usual assortment of things that seem to have appeared in the night, nobody knowing from whence or whither they came. Small appliances, garden tools, books and all the bedding and  furniture that won't fit in the downsized domicile we'll be residing in shortly.

   And right smack in the middle of that flurry of activity, it's a time for contemplation in view of the singular annual 'holiday' observed by Jehovah's Witnesses- myself included -this week, Wednesday night to be exact. Referred to simply as the Memorial; a commemoration of the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ. A short, simple ceremony accompanied by a discourse on the whys and wherefores of the proceedings, all according to scriptural directive and the lunar calendar and so forth. Nothing mystical, no rolling on the floor or passing of a collection plate. 'Nuff said.

   And that's all for now. I gotta do something like work today or I'll get fired!

Over in Dover

...there's a little trailer home that's available for a monthly pittance. And since that's what I can count on- a pittance -from month to month, it's a likely prospect for a new location for home and hearth. Going later today to measure for new carpet and see what else might benefit from some paint and TLC. Like the kitchen floor tiles. And the porch. I'm already imagining sitting out summer eves with the guitar. Though I don't believe I will have the setting sun to light the fingerboard there...

  The place also includes a little detached workspace that will become the new studio/toy lab/escape hatch. Or maybe that should be 'booby hatch'. Given events of the last few weeks- somewhat smoothed over but, alas, never completely so -I better see about installing a cot too. Maybe a Murphy bed. In good times it could fold down as a work table, in not-so-good times a sleeping rack. Brilliant!

   Oh, well, I gottta get to work! Lotsa rubber to slosh, paint to paint, teeny Batman masks and character heads calling... 'Wesss! Weeessss! Please paint us! Please make us complete!' >shiver< Spooky!

I'm kidding...! When the toys start talking to me they get consigned to the fire!

Early to bed...

...and I do mean 'early'. Like 8:30, 9... More than one night this week it just became too much of a chore to keep my eyelids open past a granny bedtime. Weird. Maybe I generally have an expectation of missing something happening if I hit the hay too early... but nothing ever does. Or hardly ever anyway. Especially down here in the sticks, quiet. Then I wake up after a few hours and read a few more. I read- or re-read, having read the first three volumes of eight in the late 70s -John Jakes' Kent Family Chronicles recently and so I picked up the first two books in his North and South trilogy. About as close as I come to an active interest in history. Tonight I'm engrossed in some serious channel-surfing is all. Bad SciFi channel junk then back to TV Land, then over to FX and back again.

   Sooo, once again- the abrupt change in venue notwithstanding - there's not much to report on. Some kind of brush fire across the valley today, we're about thirty-seven seconds from the local fire company so I'm sure they were right on top of it. Given the dry few weeks we've had it was probably a real pulse-pounder for them. A lot of smoke anyway. Collecting one egg per day from the banty hen and watching plenty o' Bonanza daily. Too bad this TV is minus the specific connector needed to run the VCR or I'd be enhancing my VHS collection. I'm getting spoiled now to compact DVD format, for sure. Hate to think of those bulky tapes piling up again. I'll tell you, I've had a lot of fun over the years though recording and cataloging, labeling and rewinding. Bonanza and Batman, Star Trek and Jonny Quest. TV Land Superman and Gunsmoke marathons. Thing is, you make it a 'project' and then never make time to watch the shows again! Aaahhh, I'm just too unconcerned about it to make a special trip and find the connector.

    I've managed to cobble together a decent little workspace in the garage for my homespun enterprise which, par for the course, is up one week and down the next. One day you can't give the stuff away and the next everybody and their cousin wants six sets of three different colors of something.

   Haven't gotten the new acoustic repaired yet and then I go and stop in the local guitar emporium with my son and his pal, Corey, today. The pal's brother, Howie*, borrowed a twelve-string and I got to fool around with that for a while. So today in RLH Guitars, Red Lion PA, I twiddled with a coupla mandolins and a Washburn 12-string they had on display. Pretty, tinkly sounds it makes... Good for a half hour's diversion. But I really shouldn't get interested in any more guitars. Not without a warehouse anyway. Maybe I could trade up one toward the twelve, hmmmm...

   Well, that's all... except for the footnote...

*Who, like his little brother, is also interested in learning guitar, wants me to teach him and I've told him I'll show him the few licks and songs I know, help him figure some stuff out but as far as 'teaching'... well, I don't know enough technically about what's actually going on to really 'teach' much of anything! I heard him sing once while I was strumming 'Let Her Cry' and thought "Hmmm, he's got a good voice and he's actually in tune." So now he's all set to try out to sing for some metal band with a co-worker. I'm afraid for him though because he's been through the mill with some bad elements, I mean really bad elements, and he's likely to repeat some old mistakes with the wrong crowd. You know, he's young enough to still be enthralled by the wicked aspects of the music scene, not old and wisened like me. Yeah, right... Maybe I can get him interested in bluegrass...!