Back in the Shadows Again

I recently wrote on this blog that I’m getting too old for this shit, and I’m thinking I might swipe that line from Danny Glover on a more permanent basis. Whew! Brugger and I are well into getting the Martinsville house restored, although there are still weeks and weeks’ worth of (expensive) work left ahead of us. Today, it’s the new roof. Concurrently, we’re trying to whip the Greensboro house into saleable condition, which is also anything but a small (or inexpensive) job. Since all this restoration work began back in April, I’ve been going to bed each evening mostly satisfied with the progress we’re making, but so sore of muscle and bone that getting a solid night’s sleep is possible only occasionally.

Still, there’s so much cool stuff happening. It was nice to get some of my old books—all the James Bond novels (and certain associated titles), the Dark Shadows novels (and certain associated titles)—back into the old homestead where they and I grew up together. The Bond books, at least all the old Signet editions, are back on the same shelf in the den where I discovered them as a youngster, when they belonged to my dad. It was in that same den that I first started watching Dark Shadows on a regular basis (right at the start of the Leviathans storyline in 1969), so I’ve put all the Dark Shadows books together on the shelf below the Bond books. And, for shits & giggles, I’ve started rewatching the Dark Shadows Leviathans episodes on Freevee.

The other day, I dug up an envelope, which I feared had gone forever missing, of old love letters (as well as a few that expressed something distinctly other than love) from certain young ladies in my junior high and high school years. Marybeth, Gretchen, DeeDee, and Courtney... it’s so nice to read all those lovely sentiments again, haha.

We’re holding an estate sale this weekend, Saturday, 5/20 and Sunday, 5/21, from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. each day. Here’s the Facebook listing for it: Estate Sale, 5/20–5/21. If you’re in the vicinity, stop on by.

Some of the James Bond novels, the original Signet editions of which now re-reside on their original shelf
in my dad’s old den

A Perfect Storm

A much-needed evening oasis at friend Samaire’s place

Sigh. I was going to sit here and elaborate on how stressful and even traumatic some of the snowballing issues that have beset Brugger and me over the past month or so have been (I did, in fact, compose a considerable number of words on the subject). I deleted the bulk of them because it all began to sound like a great big whine. Still, I can’t help it; here is a bit of that post, abridged.

For me, April has historically been the worst month in existence, since it’s in April that I lost my dad, more good friends than the law ought to allow, and the majority of my many beloved pets. Beyond that, it’s in April that the universe, with perverse glee, releases the storm of misfortune it has saved up for us over the course of the preceding year with a great big “BLAM!”

This year, the horrendous sewer line issues that hit us, beginning in March (of which some of you are at least aware, since I did whine a bit), seemed to set off a veritable freight train of new and damn near catastrophically expensive issues.

However, as I wrote this little treatise, it all began to sound like a big whine. Now, on occasion (sometimes on frequent occasions), I have been known to vent. Anyone who has heard me vent will almost certainly testify that, to the chronic pessimist, my vent is a thing of rare beauty. Conversely, to the blissful live-for-today-first-world-problems-mean-naught-zen-is-good kind of soul (or simply the uninitiated), more a display of explosive horror (or perhaps amusement, in the way that a spectacular self-inflicted injury can make one chuckle). All that said, there is little more I hate than coming across as a fucking crybaby. Life can be a goddamn bitch, and I know damn well that many, MANY folks would trade places with me in an instant. I’m not without some degree of self-awareness.

Still, in the spirit of my original post, suffice it to say that I’m gonna call this April a pilgrimage to the summit of Fuck-This-Goddamn-Motherfucking-Bullshit-Fucking-What-the-Fuckity-Fuck Mountain. To the more level-headed, even-tempered souls among you (however deluded you might be), this was a mere uptick in the severity of pretty-damned-severe first-world problems.

There were good things. In fact, many good things. Most recently, Scares That Care AuthorCon II was one of the best events ever, as far as affirming my life choices as a writer. Similarly, Shortwave Publishing announced what I feel is one of the most important creative projects I’ve overseen, the next chapter in the history of Deathrealm, a brainchild of mine from almost four decades ago. I sold a couple of short stories. And this April saw some lovely times with good, GOOD friends, which helped me realign my sights on what’s really important.

Well, okay, yeah, I’ve still whined (and I’ll do it again, maybe soon). But this one is fucking done. At least April is, until next year, history.

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.

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

A portion of the new look at Casa de Rodan

The house is still a mess, to be sure, but it is slowly and surely coming together. Brugger has moved most of her stuff in, we've junked more stuff than either of us realized we possessed, and life in general is topsy-turvier than it has ever been. Today, I had to serve on a jury — the first time ever, though I've been called numerous times over a lot of years. It was tedious and exhausting, but we acquitted the dude, and it felt like justice was done. Writing deadlines loom, as do estate accounting deadlines, the day job keeps me hopping, the weekends are busy, and I have no idea whether I'm coming or going. It's all for a good end, to be sure. The light at the end of the tunnel gets brighter slowly.

Kitchen backsplash being installed. Almost done.

Merged, Wiped, and Weary

With the majority of the renovations at Casa de Rodan more or less completed, Ms. B. and I officially merged households this weekend. For days, we have been hauling her belongings over with a truck borrowed from our friends Terry & Beth, steadily filling the house damn near to its bursting point. Yesterday was the toughest day, with multiple trips to pack up and bring over her heaviest items of furniture. At the end of it all, the four of us rewarded ourselves with wine and yummies from Yummy Hibachi delivered by Doordash.

I had gone up to Martinsville on Friday to store a bunch of stuff for which there is no space here and to consult with a tree specialist about a big-ass tree that is perilously close to falling on Pleasant Hill. That done, I had a mostly mellow evening. Before I retired for the night, the late-rising full moon treated me to something of a spectacle. I don't believe I've ever seen a moon so big, bright, and vivid, surrounded by clouds that glowed red, pink, and purple. I took a good many photos from the front yard, but as is generally the case, my phone camera was up to capturing only the vaguest suggestion of the brilliant display.

Today, I took a brief respite from the rigors and went geocaching in Apex with friend Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob). We got in about three miles of hiking and snagged ten or so caches. It got pretty hot out on the trail, but it wasn't as bad as the past few days — nor as bad as the coming week's heat wave promises to be. Anyhoo, tomorrow, it's back to work as usual and the long process of unpacking, consolidating, and discarding. And dealing with accounting for Mom's estate.

I is tired. Here's a few shots from Apex Lake.

Another Some Week!

Odd old dude at Casa di Rodan

I’m finding time to get on here to blather about my world and welcome to it about once a week now, usually when things are winding down on Sunday evening. Apart from the day job, I devoted most of this past week to home renovation — both here and at my late brother’s place in Winston-Salem — with the merest smidgen of writing and geocaching thrown in. Here at home, I got the stairway banisters painted, the kitchen trim touched up, and the outdoors neatened up a bit. Tuesday after work and on Saturday during the day, Ms. B. and I spent a passel o’ time putting what I hope are the finishing touches on Phred’s property before listing it for sale.

Last night, we got together with our once-regular Supper Club group — friends Terry, Beth, Joe, and Suzy — for the first official Supper Club event since the pandemic began. Beth prepared a feast for us at their place, and the wine flowed perhaps a little too freely. This, at least, did make for a nice break in the all-but-nonstop work schedule this week.

Brugger and I knew we’d have to replace the range here in the not-too-distant future, but we were hoping to hold off on it for a bit. However, Friday evening, I was cooking up some dead bird in the oven, and when I opened the door to check it, I realized things appeared a bit brighter than usual in there. That’s because the heating element was on fire. Happily, I managed to save the chicken wings and finish cooking them in the skillet. They turned out grand. But the burned-out oven meant going ahead and getting a new range. It was supposed to arrive this afternoon, so first thing after getting out of bed this morning, I headed over to High Point to snag a handful of caches. That done, I entertained thoughts of picking up a couple of more in nearby Thomasville, but I was getting hungry, so I opted to come on home. Good thing I did because I had just arrived back here when the guys from Lowe’s called to let me know they were on their way with the new range. It’s a right nice range, and I managed to operate it this evening without starting any fires. I had been needing to re-season my cast-iron skillet, so I managed to get that done as well.

Brugger came round this afternoon, just after the range arrived, to further the home renovation cause. That lasted well into the evening, so we ordered dinner from Grand China and watched a few episodes of M*A*S*H. I would have said that was a pleasant, fitting end for things, but once Brugger got home, she discovered she has what is likely a septic tank problem. A pretty ugly one, at that. Ick and double ick.

Anyhoo, coming up this week...another rugged-ass week. May the lord bless and keep you and all that.

The nice natural area behind my brother’s place, now much nicer after a devoted effort
clearing out scrub and such

Phred’s patio area, which had been almost completely overgrown, now cleared and ready
for some as-yet-unknown someone to enjoy hanging out and drinking wine

Renovating the Casa di Rodan

Casa di Rodan is undergoing some pretty drastic renovations, after many years of little more than routine maintenance. Yesterday, we had the living room painted — the walls and ceiling, anyway; we’ll do the baseboards and trim after the old carpet is removed and new flooring installed. Brugger and I have painted the kitchen walls and ceiling, and are about to paint the cabinets. New countertops and floor will follow. Big jobs, lots of work, all very much needed. It’ll be sweet if I can get this place habitable, at least for anyone other than this old hermit, before it’s time to kick off.