A Virginia Beach New Year's

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2023

These past few New Year's holidays, Brugger and I have gathered with our regular partners in crime, Terry & Beth, and this year, friends Joe & Suzy joined the mix. This year, we had decided on Virginia Beach as our destination and made reservations at the Dolphin Run condos on the waterfront. Since we were all heading from different places — and I had geocaches to stop for — each couple drove separately. Ms. B. and I left about 11:00 a.m. Sure enough... there were some cool geocaches to snag along the way. We hit a few spots of traffic, but overall, the trip turned out to be a mostly pain-free six hours.

Once ensconced in our lodgings, we opened some wine for pre-dinner drinks. Come the dinner hour, we saw a few nearby restaurants, so we walked up to an appealing-looking place called Waterman's Surfside Grill, but the wait time — about an hour — struck us as a bit much. So we ended up walking another partial block and found Mahi's at the nearby Hilton Hotel. They specialize in sushi, and I ended up with some of the best dead fish I've had in ages... maybe ever.

Then we returned to our lodgings and — scandalous, I know — we opened some wine. Our revels, debates, and mud-wrestling lasted fairly late. Brugger and I took a nice, late-night walk on the beach. Then there was some heavy-duty bed-crashing.

The Dolphin Run Condos by night

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 30, 2023

After plenty of coffee, I set out walking after geocaches. Found a few physical hides and stages of several Adventure Lab (virtual) caches. I ended up hoofing it about two and a half miles, which is fairly typical of my daily walks back home. The wind behaved brutally for much of the distance, so I was still rather glad when I made it back indoors.

For lunch, our gang decided to give Waterman's another try because the menu had appeared appealing. This time, we were able to get seated quickly. One of their daily specials was an Angus burger with brie and applewood-smoked bacon, and it hollered at me. No drinks but water for me because I'm certain there will be no shortage of such refreshments this evening. The burger was very good, a bit shy of great. Still, it's been ages since I've had a burger, so it hit the critical spot.

To my dismay, I discovered that our power back home had gone out. Apparently, it was a widespread outage in Martinsville, as people all over the city were posting about it. It lasted a couple of hours, and I don't know what caused it, but at the moment, all seems well again. We certainly did not want the cats and their sitter to get too cold!

Writer/editor/Crossroad Press CEO/good friend David Niall Wilson was apparently in town, and we'd had an idea we might try to get together during the afternoon, but circumstances didn't come together for it. However, come April, we'll be seeing each other at the upcoming AuthorCon III in Williamsburg, so we'll have a good time there to anticipate. 

There is a walkway along the beach that runs just below our eighth-floor balcony — the "boardwalk," it's called, although it's not so much boards as concrete. It's been all done up with a holiday light show, so, during the evening, a huge parade of vehicles rolls by to go through the show. It doesn't bother us at all, though now and again, we venture out to the balcony to hurl insults at the crowd and look at some of the visible lights.

Several of the gang were out and about for the afternoon, so they picked up vittles for dinner, including a couple of rotisserie chickens for the main course. Joe made us a lovely Italian concoction of beans and escarole to go with the bird, and so we were set. Once well-fed, we settled in for an evening of wine, games, and generally acting up.

Crazy white people!

The opening of the light show below our balcony: "Welcome to VA Beach!"

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2023

I'd hoped the weather might be a bit less blustery this morning to go walkies, but while the sun blazed brightly, that air remained frigid. So... no. I got some writing done. Finally, at about 11:00 a.m., the temperature pushed up to the 40-degree mark, and I decided to head on out. Joe & Suzy had a lunch date with her sister, who lives nearby, and the rest of us planned to eat leftovers, so I reckoned I could walk as far as I wanted to, and we'd be on our own time until later this afternoon. I went a full two miles outbound, grabbed a traditional cache and the stages of a couple of Adventure Labs, and I had just reached my farthest goal when Ms. B. shot me a message. Apparently, the gang had decided to check out lunch options other than leftovers, and could I please get back pretty soon? Hoo boy... long way....

Fortunately, I walk pretty fast.

Our lunch destination was Firebrew Bar & Grill down by Oceana Naval Air Station, where Terry and Joe had been stationed back in our nation's earliest days. Terry and I started with a couple of bloody marys (quite good) and ye women opted for wine. Possibly the wrong thing to do because we're having a big New Year's Eve dinner, but I went for a half-rack of baby back ribs, and damn... they were delicious. There was a cache nearby, so I grabbed it... and ran into a local geocacher in the process. We had a brief, enjoyable conversation.

From there, ye women went shopping, and Terry and I headed down to Oceana to meander around his old stomping grounds. For me, the real treat was getting to view a fair number of "antique" Navy aircraft up close and personal. Due largely to my model-building days, which ranged from my wee childhood until post-college, I recalled the names and types of the majority of the jets. Fun stuff!

F4 Phantom

F2H Banshee

F14 Tomcat

The Lunch Bunch

For New Year's Eve dinner, we had reservations at Mermaid Winery. It was a three-course dinner with choices of pork belly, scallops, crabmeat-stuff lobster, filet mignon, and various sweets for dessert. They served really good wine with dinner — not their own, which turned out to be fortunate because Kim and Terry sampled some of theirs and came away with expressions that were not at all pretty. Regardless, the atmosphere, service, and food made the overall experience a great finish for the year.

Back at the condo, we sat up playing tunes and making merry. Brugger entertained us with nonstop dancing from the time we arrived until we crashed, well after midnight.

2023 has left the building...

Our Gang at Mermaid Winery for dinner

The final moonrise of 2023

A LOOK BACK...

Without question, 2023 has been one of the most eventful years of my life. It was my first full year of retirement and included a major move back to my old homeplace in Virginia. In Greensboro, Ms. B. and I went through some of the worst household issues ever, first and foremost being the downright monstrous expense of replacing our sewer line ("Ain't That the Shit!"). Once we decided to move to Martinsville, we simultaneously went through the processes of upgrading our Greensboro house to sell and upgrading Pleasant Hill to move. What a long, expensive, labor-intensive job ("I'm Getting Too Old for This Shit!"). Fortunately, we got a good price on the Greensboro place, and while there are still some things we need (and want) to do in Martinsville, the house and town have turned out to be — unlike Greensboro has become — a comfortable, peaceful place to settle.

Early in the year and into the summer, along with all the physical labor, I was immersed in editing Deathrealm: Spirits, which came out in October from Shortwave Publishing. As with any anthology, it was an involved process, but overall, I reckon things came together as smoothly as I could have hoped. It's a beautiful book that includes superb work from many of the biggest and best names in the business. I hope you'll avail yourselves to it if you haven't already.

One of the hardest events to deal with this past year was the death of my good friend and regular geocaching partner, Rob Isenhour. We had well over a decade of experiences together, and whenever our (mostly) weekend geocaching group, The No-Dead-Weight Irregulars, manages to get together (sadly, not as frequently these days, since we are far more spread apart), the gap that Rob left behind seems massive. We do so miss him.

Having turned fairly old, this year has hit me with a few health challenges — none all that severe, but numerous and just serious enough to become real, if mostly temporary impediments. This last round of dental difficulty ("Fun & Games with Tooth Extractions") was the icing on the medical cake for this year. I can't say I approve, but at least I've mostly mended.

All in all, I can safely say this year has been another positive, if bumpy step forward in the walk into the unknown. I suppose, to put it in the immortal words of Dr. Franklin Ruehl, it's better (at least sometimes) than being slapped in the belly with a wet trout.

Movin’ On

Casa di Rodan, 1994–2023

After nearly three decades of living in the same house in Greensboro, NC, I have bid the old place adieu. Casa di Rodan (1994–2023) is now sold. It officially belongs to someone else. Brugger and I are more or less settled in my old family house in Martinsville, VA (although the place is still very much in a state of transition — and for cats, a state of confusion). We have a host of reasons for making this move, but the single most significant is the Great Sewer Line Debacle of 2023, from back in March. Because of that single, massive expense, something had to give.

After inheriting my childhood home when Mom died in 2020, I had hoped to keep both it and the Greensboro residence for as long as possible. However, after spending so much money on that accursed sewer line, holding onto both was no longer financially feasible. It wasn’t all that difficult for Brugger and me to determine that keeping the Martinsville house (which Mom called “Pleasant Hill” but that I officially dubbed “Ground Zero”) made the most sense.

And so it is.

I love the prospect of occupying my old childhood home full-time, though I can’t say I don’t have mixed emotions about the whole business. I moved with my ex-wife into the Greensboro house back in 1994, and we lived there together until our separation and subsequent divorce well over a decade ago. For the next ten years, the cats and I lived in the house as a happy family unit. In 2021, Brugger and I married, and we all became a happier family unit. We immediately set to refurbishing the whole house, which proved to be a long, extensive, and not inexpensive job. Despite the house being relatively small and somewhat cramped, we figured we were set there for a long, long time.

No.

Especially during the solo years (well, solo with cats) and the days with Brugger there, I lived some mighty happy times. Hell, even my ex-wife, Peg, and I shared some enjoyable moments in the old place. My tenure there is the longest I’ve ever lived in one place, so I guess I can’t help having developed some attachment to the dwelling. Still, as the negative aspects of staying there have piled up, Ms. B. and I look forward to moving on to this next stage of life, however long it lasts. I’m not that young, and, well, even at the best of times, you never know how things are gonna shake out.

So, there it is. Huzzah. Brugger and I still have many friends in, and solid ties to, NC’s Triad, so it’s not like we’re going to be strangers to the area. Just to the former Casa di Rodan, I reckon.

It’s out with the old and in with the new (or older with a facelift, as it were). Onward and upward, and all that. Or wherever life sees fit to lead us.

Ground Zero

The Turkey Trots!

I swear, I dunno what's going on. Since Brugger and I have (mostly) gotten ourselves moved into Pleasant Hill in Martinsville, this well-stuffed Thanksgiving turkey keeps appearing in random places. It apparently belonged to my mom, although I have no recollection of her ever putting it out for Thanksgiving (or Yog forbid any other time; it is so inconsistent with her typical decorating style). But in recent days, yon turkey has appeared on shelves, at computers, in bedrooms, on the john... all kinds of random places. Brugger denies all knowledge of this affair, but I somehow suspect she might be behind it all.

If all goes as expected, we'll have the Greensboro house on the market in the next couple of weeks. As it is, we're now pretty well ensconced in the house where I grew up in Martinsville. Mom called the place Pleasant Hill, and it's a nice enough name, sure, but Brugger and I are thinking something not quite so pleasant might be more apt for us. I'm thinking Ground Zero, as it's apt for both geocaching and blowing up shit.

Ferrum First-to-Finds, The Kraken Strikes, and Pursued by Ducks

There certainly hasn't been much geocaching in my regular routine for quite a while now, due to being consumed by both the move to Martinsville and copy editing my upcoming Deathrealm: Spirits anthology. Brugger and I have been upgrading the Greensboro house to sell and Pleasant Hill to move in, the latter of which is at least very close to being habitable full-time (the former increasingly less so). I moved my two cats here a couple of days ago, and Brugger is bringing her three today. Frazier and Droolie have settled right in; whether Ralph, Rufus, and Moose will be as mellow remains to be seen.

Right about bedtime last night, a couple of new geocaches published at Ferrum College (one of my old alma maters), about 25 miles up the road from Martinsville. So, at dawn's first light, I hopped (or perhaps hobbled is a better term) out of bed, grabbed coffee, and hit the road. There's now a lovely nature trail through the woods near the campus; back in my time there, the only trails were deer paths and meandering ruts through the forest left by drunken or otherwise impaired college students (I might or might not have been among them). There was one standalone traditional cache and two new Adventure Lab caches, which provided the necessary info to locate a bonus physical cache. So, I managed to secure the coveted first-to-find honors on the lot of them. It was nice to be out in the woods alone on a beautiful if rather muggy morning.

After caching, I wandered the campus a bit. There's a sculpture, which I assume to be quite new, in Adams Lake: a canoe being dragged down by what is presumably a kraken tentacle. Wonderfully whimsical, I must say. A massive crowd of ducks were gathered on the banks near the kraken, and when they saw me coming, they all converged, no doubt hoping I had duck goodies to share. Unfortunately for them, I did not. Still, they were generally polite and a pleasure to spend time with.

And now... back to the restoration work!

A lovely but muggy morning in the woods

The Kraken strikes!

Pursued by ducks!

The Restoration/Updating Continues

View of the living room as Mom had it for many years

The restoration/updating of the old homestead hits another milestone — the removal of wallpaper, repainting of rooms, pulling of carpet, and refinishing of the original hardwood floors is finally complete. Not to mention all new plumbing (the old galvanized pipes were had reached the last of their death throes) and a new roof. We still have a ton of stuff to do before the final move, especially prepping the Greensboro house to go on the market, but from this end, there's something akin to light at the end of the tunnel.

 

I was all set to keep the work going at a strong pace, so I came up on Thursday to get a head start on the weekend. Then... boom... I get hit with a miserable stomach bug that is just now beginning to abate. No food other than a half bowl of soup and a piece of bread over the past three days. I'm feeling better, and I've been able to eat a little today, but I'm so weak, just going from one end of the house to the other about does me in. If I can keep getting a little nourishment into me, maybe tomorrow.

The walls painted (courtesy Standalone Kustoms), the carpet removed. The original hardwoods were deeply stained, but the refinishing (courtesy Macarena Hardwood Floors out of Madison, NC) worked wonders.

Before and after the floor refinishing, viewed from the opposite end of the living room.

I’m Getting Too Old for This Shit

After the horrors of broken sewer lines, hellishly expensive reparations, and restoration done improperly (which the provider must address) at our primary residence in Greensboro, Ms. B. and I have taken on a whole new, somewhat unexpected endeavor: restoring my old homestead in Virginia to livable and/or salable condition, since the issues mentioned above have necessitated the selling of property.

Before dementia crippled Mom’s cognitive abilities, as a housekeeper, she was beyond conscientious. The house always appeared immaculate, and she took care of its routine maintenance to the best of her ability. Still, she was either unaware of, or unable to address, some of the larger issues that beset the house over a long period of time. The place dates back to the mid-1950s, and a remarkable number of the house’s appliances, fixtures, and systems are original. Well, were, considering that Ms. B. and I have set about the updating with a vengeance.

Currently, the interior is a mess, as this overhaul is no trivial matter. I never realized that my mom was an honest-to-god, card-carrying pack rat, for there is virtually no corner of this outwardly immaculate house that doesn’t conceal miles of piles of stuff. Massive amounts of that stuff have gone to meet their maker or been set aside for an estate sale; but after days and days and days of clearing things out, the piles don’t appear very much smaller. Plus, we’re having all the walls dewallpapered and painted, the kitchen and baths totally redone, and the wall-to-wall carpets removed, for there is gorgeous hardwood hiding underneath. The plumbing was older than Noah’s ark, so we’ve had the waterworks redone — and just in the nick of time, as some of those old pipes were on the verge of giving up the ghost and flooding the earth.

We’ve still got a ways to go, and I can tell you, I am thoroughly exhausted. It all sort of reminds me that I might not be as young as all that anymore. On the other hand, when it comes down to it, I’m faring better than an awful lot of far younger whippersnappers, so y’all just watch yourselves, or I might hang around a while longer. You may take that to the bank.

The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade: Huzzah!

It took three weekends of chainsawing, hauling wood, stacking wood, and massaging sore muscles with various libations, but... at last!... I have conquered those big fallen trees in the yard at Pleasant Hill. Huzzah!

 

The BIG one was an ash tree, which has gotta be the hardest, heaviest wood I have ever laid hands on. Mother of Yog, a 3-foot log from this beast weighed 50 or more pounds, and when all was said and done, I calculate that tree weighed well over a ton. Which means the woodpile I made weighs that much and more, since the smaller tree that fell—a rotting poplar—is also part of the package. Now my arms are stretched out long like a gorilla's.

 

Kinda hoping no more trees fall here. Just last week, a little ways up the road, a big tree fell on a small house and totally destroyed it. Fortunately, no one was home, else they'd have been flattened.

 

Thus endeth the inaugural battle of the One-Man Chainsaw Brigade. (Part 1 may be found here; Part 2, here.)

Just starting out

A spot of progress

Last week's whittling away

L) How it began: fell over; R) How it ended: a wee bit of battle damage

The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade, Part Deux

A couple of weeks back, on my regular Pleasant Hill visit ("The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade," 2023-01-27), the backyard was invaded by a couple of grande-size trees, which had the temerity to fall down and go boom (thank you, endless weeks of rain).

So, last weekend, I set to work with newly purchased chainsaw, hoping it would have the blade length and horsepower to show the interlopers who's boss. I cut a fair bit down to size, but for a lone old fart, it's been a pretty damned big job. Now, this morning, I excised another few dozen cylindrical feet of interloper, and for the most part, ye olde 18" Craftsman chainsaw performed well — although getting through the last dozen feet or so of the tree, where it's at its thickest, appears to be problematic, as the saw up and said "nope" once I got down there near the rootball.

The image below shows the latest, possibly final progress (the "before" image may be found at the previous blog entry, linked above). I didn't take a separate photo of the wood pile that left behind by the beast, although you can see a portion of it in the "after" image. That's far less than the whole picture, as there's a separate, smaller woodpile behind the visible one. Initially, I intended to lug the logs a bit farther back in the woods, but once I determined that their actual mass far exceeded their relatively innocuous appearance, I said fuck that noise and started piling them at the nearest possible coordinates beyond the Land Where the Grass Grows. (Yes, I know it's covered in leaves right now, but Summer Is Coming.)

Now, with all that stuff done — as much as will be done, anyway, at least for now — I must ask the rhetorical question: how can so much naughty fit into such a wee little package? (I'll mention that, prior to the snapping of the photos below, yon critter traipsed across the shelves to next to the bureau you see here, prompting every item on said shelves to vacate their traditional stomping grounds and fling themselves to the floor with devastating consequences). It's gotta be rough being a cat.

Thanks, Cannoli.

The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade

I posted last week that the prodigious rainfall of the past month or so (with yet more in the forecast) did the root systems of the local flora no favors. At Pleasant Hill, a.k.a. The Old Homestead, in Martinsville, after more inches of rain in a few days than we should see in months, the roots of a couple of trees on the hillside behind the house gave up the ghost. Fortunately, the house escaped unscathed (although the Greensboro homestead is still awash in mud). Possibly unfortunately, there are still a lot of trees within falling range. Make no mistake, I love my woods, I like trees, and a totally cleared lot and neighborhood is the bane of my existence.

But I so dislike trees what cost me insane amounts of money.

 

Anyway, this business left me with the question: pay the professionals to do an expensive job or spring for a chainsaw and show the deadwood who’s boss? Well, I can’t say I haven’t lamented not having a chainsaw for the occasional jobs that have begged for one, so... I sprung for a chainsaw.

Above: Picture left, taken on the day of the falling flora. Picture right, after a couple of hours work this morning. I will tell you, that is one heavy motherfuckin tree right there. For a one-man job, it was pretty rigorous, so I'll be back at it again tomorrow — and for the final clean-up, probably next week as well. Did I mention I has a tired?

Well, I do.

Just getting going

Definite improvement. Will hope to finish on my next visit.