Our home is in total chaos but, I feel ‘Pharrell happy!’ Open windows and fresh air, early morning birds and lawn mower buzz, barbecue smells wafting over the neighborhood . . .
As of this weekend, we covered the floor joists with plywood, the new pipes are better supported and wall insulation added. One of my favorite tools is my electric stapler. Love the sound: “Click-thump, Click-thump!” Although it’s not as nice as the original 1960s wood, we did manage to find the same pattern in MDF paneling at Lowes. With primer and paint it’ll blend right in.
It wasn’t all work this past weekend. We managed to fit in a ‘scrum-dilly-ump-tious’ breakfast at Cracker Barrel, plant a few annuals, barbecue two nights in a row and sip a little wine. We’re sore, a little sun burnt, tired but feeling very accomplished.
As we reminisced (often hilarious) memories while closing Grandma’s turn-of-the-century home, we found many priceless treasures. The grandchildren were jubilant when upon finding a coffee can full of quarters on a closet floor their Great Grandmother told them to divide the booty amongst themselves (greedy buggers that they were). One sister lugged home a massive, broken concrete bird bath. The other, carefully wrapped a small child’s rope chair that my Grandmother and her siblings had sat in as children. I wanted the windows from the top of the carriage garage.
Yard overgrown, we found the shallow indent where the pool had once stood. I like to think of “Green Onions” playing in the background as we rode our “banana seat” bikes to swim at Grandma’s during those 1970s summers.
Lazing about on the hammock, eating brown paper bag lunches. Grandma’s constant directive to “Hang that beach towel on the line.” Sunburned noses. Barbie’s(r), and cardboard box homes. The tire swing under the massive oak. What a blast!
The other day, as I was valiantly (yet not succeeding) to clean out the garage, I came upon a ratty old cloth sack. At that “just toss it all out” stage; something held me back. Instead, I carefully peeled it open – – hoping nothing live was inside. What a smile I had. A worn, handmade sack full of rocks and a note written in my Grandmother’s hand:
“Rocks from Alaska gold mine – ??? – 1945-46-47
given to me by the owner I forgot the name
I carefully washed the sack. Dusted off the “gold.” Shared with my mom.