Don’t worry, kids, there’s light at the end of your tunnel …


This whole settling in to the new home thing is beginning to wear on me; I’m ready for it to be done. Ready to get out and about. Ready to wake up and think about fun rather than more heavy treated 2x10s to be lifted or more shovelfuls of dirt or ‘Where should I set this heavy slab of flag stone?’

Also likely ready for it to be done are Ellen and Reid who have to be tired of hearing about it. But before long there will mercifully be some light at the end of their tunnel and their long weekly nightmare of reading about this lengthy transition will be over.


March 26, 2018

Ellen/Reid: Ellen, I have to ask about Georgia’s hair in this morning’s airport photo. My assessment is she got up so early she wouldn’t have anything to do with letting you fix her hair. It was just hilarious. That little goo. You won’t get this until after the Orlando adventure is over but I’m sure it was fun, energy-sapping, go-go-go, and exhausting. Not necessarily in that order.

The garden bed is finally a wrap and it turned out better than I expected. This afternoon while you were frolicking in FLA, I smoothed out the dirt and attached on a narrow ledge to sit upon while I pull weeds and otherwise putter around in the soil. It’s somewhat embarrassing to say for the last few days I’ve culled native rocks from the yard in hopes of fashioning a rock walkway to connect all the beds but it occurred to me that there was no way in hell to collect enough rocks to do so. Plus, what I did find was so disparate in size there’d be no way for the pathway to look decent. So, in keeping with my ‘buy local’ mantra, I ordered a ton of flagstone which will be delivered Wednesday. A ton. Jeez, that will really be the acid test for the hernia.

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That the stone company guy could navigate his three wheel lift between unfinished homes to deposit a ton of flagstone at my garden boxes was a Godsend – and a back saver.

But in truth it will be one stone at a time, and my developer said he’d lift the pallet with his front end loader and deposit it at the raised beds. What a guy. It’ll cost me a 12 pack of Deschutes IPA but that’s a small price to pay. I won’t stuff the plants into the dirt until next week when it settles and dries a bit. Don’t ask why I forked over $100 for 14 raspberry plants but I did just that at a funky little down-home nursery near the backwater of Rosman, North Carolina. It was so fun. There’s an old guy, Joe, who runs it and we got to talking and he told me “Let me tell you something about tomatoes …”

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The semi-finished product. My new mantra: one stone at a time. Note: I volunteered to build a similar box for Ellen when I visit Minnesota in May.

And he did. It’s just so quaint to frequent, and buy from, locals like that. It was a complete experience – he even sells seeds by the ounce out of Mason jars. I mean, you can’t see that anywhere.

It’s mildly irritating that the bluebirds haven’t settled in. They seem to be having an aerial spat over the nesting box with some swallows that won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I hope the box doesn’t go begging due to their range war.

Now installed are most of the louvered blinds but, as per usual, your dad is so dense in some ways. I completely overlooked blinds for the guest room. So now it’s another two weeks before the window coverings are done. Such oversight is maddening. What a decor fiasco.

Reid, please get to a dermatologist at some point soon. Your sister’s scare is enough to push both you and me to action. My next appointment is in mid May. It’s in our genes and we need to stay on top of things. I would, however, love to hear about your East and West coast experiences. Hopefully, one or the other will lead to full time work.

I’ll trout fish tomorrow at 5:15 a.m. with a Georgian named Billy. He’s kind of like Tim; he has far more fly gear than a person has a right to own. He has bags of gear. Big bags. By contrast I have a rod and a box of flies and some waxy flotant. We’re supposed to head a couple of hours from here to a big stream, a river really, that is supposed to hold big fish. I’d love to catch something but you never know. I tried to hike my way back to the French Broad River behind the house but could find no direct path.

It took me to move to Brevard to discover Sleepy Time tea. Man, that stuff really calms a person down. I take it most nights now. I’ve also gotta find some herbal blood pressure remedies since it’s higher than it ought to be.

All righty, I’m done for the day. Got to get some shuteye before Billy pulls in the driveway. At least I’ll be casting a rod instead of shoving dirt.

Love, Dad

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1 Comment

Filed under Writing to adult children

One response to “Don’t worry, kids, there’s light at the end of your tunnel …

  1. Richard Bargoil, Community Development Blogger

    Missing our infrequent gatherings for catching-up and a brew and local breweries. Resident Culture, less that 1/4 mile from my front door has quickly become a favorite. Well, enough of days gone by! From all accounts you have certainly immersed yourself into all aspects of new homeownership. Take care of the back and avoid any post operation issues with the flagstones. Sherry and I are still working on the details for a cross-country trip that generally follows the Oregon Trail across the northern route out to Portland and, then down to San Francisco for a few days layover before heading back east. We get very close to Jackson Hole on the way out!

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