Today was lawyer day. First I went to see David about whether I need a written lease agreement to rent the apartment (I don’t), and then I went to see Michael about finalizing probate and Joe’s estate (hopefully soon). Then I met with Jim about further work on 4th Street since it didn’t sell. He’s not a lawyer. Then I went to Martha’s and set up one of my old computers for her. She’s not a lawyer either. Maybe it was half lawyer day.

I put my baby on a plane today, and it was harder than the last time. I don’t know why–she’ll be home at Christmas, and I intend to visit her. Maybe it’s because she and Kyle are in a different place. Maybe it’s because I am in a different place. I depend on her a lot–too much. I feel good that she’s making her own way and pursuing her dream. I’m sure she won’t regret it later on. So stiff upper lip, Woman. She’s only an ocean away.

I knew I had to start blogging again because I so expect Caitlan to do so when she goes to England. I miss more frequent entries from both my sons, but I can’t rag them when I post even less frequently. I have used si-kus such as, “I’ll start when KK leaves,” or “When things calm down a little at school. . .” but after tonight I know I must grab the baton, at least for a while, because Uj has suspended his blog. Now I can’t begin to tell you how that affects me. I am connected to my family–by various degrees, rhythms, wave-lengths, and mind warps. But the Log & Company’s hiatus (I absolutely, categorically refuse to say demise) brings on a feeling something akin to the end of an especially good season of M:I–before the days of VCRs and Tivo, folks, when, for at least a summer, you had no Bruce Geller fix. Oh, yeah, he says you can “click random,” but what if you’ve already savored them many times previously–it’s re-runs, man, pure and simple! No way to fill that void. So I will publish my woefully inadequate musings and support his decision to refocus, but I gotta tell ya, there’s separation anxiety or something going on here. Mombo–start typing!! Pick up the torch!

But we’ll keep having them, just to have a reason to say, “I’m just going to give this stuff away–it’s not worth anything.” Friday night I loaded doors and sawhorses to make tables into Joe’s truck and took them to Michele and Frank’s yard. Ben and his girlfriend Jennifer (an old Ballet friend of KK’s) were having a yard sale, and Michele offered to help me price stuff if I wanted to put anything in it. KK got more stuff together than I did. I said she could have the money for England–only about $100, but more than we had before the yard sale.

They cleaned everything up while I went to ACRES OF LAND, a new vineyard/winery at Poosey Ridge here in Madison County. My FOREPHS club (4 f’s meaning faculty, former faculty, and friends of St. Mark) had lunch and then a tour of the winery. Very interesting–just a tobacco farm that the son inherited after his 84 year old dad died (farmed until the day he died)and wanted to figure out a way to keep. Decided to try growing grapes–Kentucky was the 3rd largest grape producer in the U.S. in the early 1900’s.

They also grow tomatoes, silver queen corn, green beans, herbs,etc. so that their chef had fresh everything right outside his door. They say they try to buy all their meats locally and produced without antibiotics or steroids. They have a mini-farmer’s market in their wine shop. The restaurant used to be the tobacco barn. The home place may become a bed and breakfast. On Sept. 8th they are having a big party for $25 a ticket which includes a buffet dinner, wine tasting and dancing to music by a Mike Rousculp-like band called the TORQUES. Sounds like fun.

It made me think of what Kelley Ridge could be — “if I were a rich man, yah-dah-deedle-deedle-didle-didle-deedle-deedle-dum. . . “

Yesterday was a good day because I spent the day with my friends the Willetts. You know those friends that are always there for you and even if you haven’t been together for a while you just take up where you left off in the conversation. We raised our kids together and grieved our losses together and still consider our kids each others’s. Verla and I left Pat, Simon, and Andrew on Chestnut working on Simon’s car and supervising Reno, the Hispanic man who was doing yard work and went to Katherine’s house in Paris to a scrapbooking party held by Katherine’s daughter Stephanie.

I just kept having “ketch-up” experiences (that’s “cats-up” in Verla-speak) like seeing Katherine and Billy in their farmhouse again***(last time I was here it was a wedding and Andrew and I danced together)(last time I saw Billy he was having a deep conversation with Joe, and Joe told me later how much he liked him)(last time I saw Stephanie she wasn’t such a mature, fascinating young woman)(last time I saw Antoinette she wasn’t a poised, capable mother of 4)***and I started to work on my England scrapbook again and then went back in time to a little over a year ago and I was in England with Sharon and Uncle Bob and Aunt Carol***(seeing St. Paul’s Cathedral for the first time and hearing the choir at Sunday service)(the sign MAKING POVERTY HISTORY which we laughed at because we knew we were spending so much money on this trip that we would be making poverty history in our own lives)(playing the TEN FOODS I WOULD BRING TO DESERTED MAGIC ISLAND)***and Verla drug out pictures from the past and asked me to help her identify the dates***(the pictures of our 6 kids outside our under construction home on Carlton Drive) (the pictures of Pat and Neal and Bill Bryson and Dean and a man I can’t remember and Wayne loading the moving truck) (pictures of THE FIRST GRADE MAGIC show with Monica and a magic wand) (play group with Michele at Nancy Brown’s at Halloween and at Marion and Abby’s at Christmas)***and then we went to Mass together at St. John while I left Greg in the Willett yard and celebrated Katherine’s birthday which is the same as Caitlan’s by having a Mass said for her***(saw Tom and Kathy Fister who kept my kids when I would have the next one) (saw the playground that Verla and I had to fight to be able to build for the kids at our new school)***.

I had brought Greg Brown with me because I had left him alone all week, and I just couldn’t leave him at Kelley Ridge without me again. Simon and he got along very well (Simon, the Cornell architecture grad who Ian to this day refers to as “mybestfriendsimon”) and I think this is why Greg was willing to wait in their yard for me without digging out. After Mass we all went to O’Charley’s (Verla, Pat, Katherine, Billy, Stephanie, Simon, me) and talked a lot with Simon about his trip to Italy and about what he was going to do when he got back to Ithaca (he left this morning). He talked to me about building my house in the Valley.

So what’s not an accident? I had originally thought I would go to church at St. William’s in Lancaster, but because I was in G-Town, I went there and slept in on Sunday morning. Then, when I did get up, it was pouring rain all morning, and so I couldn’t go back to Kelley Ridge and mow as planned, so I did my favorite Sunday morning thing and listened to the radio. Of course, I was doing chores at the same time, since I seem incapable of not multi-tasking these days ( I realize this is no longer a virtue). When Morning Edition was over and I had listened to Dr. Zorba’s health advice, I realized that the Car Talk guys were next and that I had listened to them on my way to G-town yesterday. So I changed stations. Now I changed stations to AM religion radio because I had been to Mass yesterday. So I decided I would switch to AM and listen to something religious since it WAS Sunday–maybe the 1380 Catholic station, although I realized that the Mass would already be over. That’s when the Holy Spirit took over (PUT YOUR HANDS ON THE RADIO!!) and stopped me at 1340 AM and I was transported to First Baptist Church in Richmond, KY (Sharon’s church)to witness the singing of the Youth Choir and the Baptism of two people, and the message delivered by Pastor Bill Fort (whom I consider a personal friend–I taught his kids). I ended the broadcast on my knees and in tears. There is no division, no Baptist or Catholic or Methodist in the Body of Christ. There is only Christ and those for whom he died. How I was so blessed this day, I have no idea. I just know I was. It wasn’t an accident any more than going to Mass on Sat. or having already listened to Click and Clack was. http://www.firstbaptistnet.com/ Thanks, Bill.

I have been working with the kids at Lebanon Elementary and Calvary Elementary for two weeks now. I love my job. I love my kids. They think I am cool because I play (very badly) three chords on the guitar and sing “Hello, Hello,” and “Down by the Bay.” I am teaching them to read silently as a group–that is a very hard thing, apparently. I do silly stories with stuffed animals and read aloud from EACH LITTLE BIRD THAT SINGS to the older ones. I only see them for half an hour so they come in and go out in nothing flat.

My last class on Fridays is my MBD kids. There are a total of 6, but they don’t all come. Usually there are at least 2 or 3 aides with them. They are a wonderful way to end my week. All I do is sing songs or read stories. I really don’t know what else to do, but they are amazing–I never know what is going to cause a break-through with one of them. This week, Hunter, who is my Downs child, never talks, but when I read LITTLE GORILLA, he stood up and said, “My momma loves ME!” Now, the Holy Spirit told me what he said, because it was not very intelligible, but when I said back, “Your momma loves Hunter,” he nodded yes and so did the aides. So I guess I was right. While I love my job so far, I need to be at least three or four people instead of one. I have 650 kids and no time to do any of the “library” stuff–catalogue, order, etc. I try not to worry about it.

I ate a whole ripe mango today all by myself and as the juice ran down my chin I was transported as clearly is if through crystal to our hand-laid marble patio on the Mexican Riviera with Joe sitting across from me and hibiscus in bloom all around and a sea breeze and his feeding me slices he cut with his pocket knife. And his blue eyes in mine. 3 years ago. And then I had to go floss my teeth because when you eat a whole ripe mango all by yourself that is what you need to do.

Okay, it is time to start blogging again. Why am I compelled to restart only on month beginnings or at least half-way through until the next beginning? John says I will ever be condemned to the name “nukey-buns” if I do not start blogging again. Do not judge me if my entries are short or mundane. You see, I cannot be Nukey-buns.

My old email at St. Mark has been invaded by spam. I guess guess the unknowing tech teacher took down the wall. Above was my latest message. Is this the same as “the nuclear option?”

Tomorrow’s the birthday of poet and novelist Louise Erdrich born in Little Falls,Minnesota (1954). She’s best known for her series of four books that follow three generations of Chippewa Indians in North Dakota during the twentieth century. She grew up on the plains of North Dakota. Her father was of German descent and her mother was a Chippewa Indian. They encouraged her writing right from the beginning: Her father gave her a nickel for every story she wrote, and her mother wove together strips of construction paper to make book covers for them. Erdrich later said,”At an early age, I felt myself to be a published author earning substantial royalties.”

It’s also the birthday of novelist Harry Crews born in Bacon County,
Georgia (1935). He’s the author of many novels, including The Gypsy’s Curse (1977), Body (1990), and Celebration (1997). He grew up on a series of farms in one of the poorest parts of Georgia. He said the only reason he knew that there was a world outside of rural Georgia was through books. When he was 17 he volunteered for the Marines. He went off to fight in Korea, and it was there that he got his real education, reading whatever books he could get his hands on. He later said, “When I got to my first duty station and walked into the base library, it was like throwing a starving man a turkey. I did my time in the Corps with a book always at hand.”

That’s why I want to be a librarian.

(Apologies to WRITER’S ALMANAC.)