(The new green awnings are in. The motorized one will go to the right of the back door and should be in this week. These are intended to protect the door frames, which had to be replaced due to untimely rot. With the new storm doors, kitchen upgrade new pavers, flagpole, ship’s bell stanchion, garage doors and deck refurbishment, I am about ready for the storm to come. Unless, of course, someone else gets here first and greets me as squatters after a long walk from Washington. If I get to it, I will start on setting up a workshop in the garage, which will require digesting the detritus of the folk’s estate which currently fills it up.)
I listen to the satellite radio coming down in the Panzer, the gray skies of Washington opening up into patchy blue in Culpeper. Tunes only, to start the disengagement from the criminal lunacy in Washington. It was quite a transition from the bright lights and social chaos on U Street Friday night. During the week, I listen to NPR most of the day- I analyze the content and try to divine the original talking points that frame the message in the stories. They normally get them in right at the end, or as a means of framing the proper understanding of the world.
It is either the climate alarm thing or the gun thing or whatever has caused some nastiness that requires immediate action by the Bozos on the Hill or in the Executive Branch.
Hence, The Loft, an eclectic channel that floats alt versions of great contemporary music, jazz to country stylings, and mostly stays away from anything deliberately political except for the human condition.
I got the mail from the box and stopped to read about the local issues of the day. Nothing about the national crisis, nor about the coup that overturned the City Manager. The big news for the week was the State wrestling tournament and some local fool who wants to the be the new Commonwealth Attorney General. It was a relief.
Walking down to the detached garage and shop to pile some more crap on top of the crap already in there, I glanced at the back of the house. I noticed that the awning guys from Warrenton had been on the property during the week while I was laboring up inside the Beltway. They put up the awnings over the back and side doors. They are half way done, with the installation of the motorized big awning to come this week.
Don-the-Builder is coming over after lunch to show me the bracket for the ship’s bell that will go on the back porch this week. We will determine the precise location to hang it for sonic communication with the compound across the fields.
Don told me the parts were in, and the kitchen upgrade is on track for this week as well. Then I think I am done and ready to prepare for what is to come. One of the commentators this morning is predicting the latest stock market bubble will melt down this Fall. I don’t know why then, but I do know a bubble when I see one and I do not know what on earth to do about it.
They look great- just my opinion, but the color seems perfect and will break up the brown sameness of the back wall and enable some quality sitting out under the rains of spring. I am looking forward to that. I plan on declaring the Winter over in four days- arbitrary and capricious, I know, but March will mark a year since the accident, and the time to get serious about finishing the rehabilitation process.
The Russians came over to admire the awnings and help empty a bottle of chianti and a bottle of champagne and I never got around to cooking dinner- the artisan cheese I put out with fresh sourdough baguette and sea-salt crackers I picked up on the way in were just fine for an early-bird dinner. The local-raised eggs are rich in something or other, Omega-3?
Andrew at Croftburn Farms claims each free-range egg contains 40% of the recommended daily intake of that stuff. “It’s the best kind of Omega, too,” he said. “It is the long chain variety which scientists agree is essential for maintaining good health, and helps maintain heart health as part of a balanced diet.”
“Whatever,” I said. I am keeping my views of science mostly to myself except for the World Wide Web in these days of Free-range weather. I will take the eggs back up north later today for breakfast this bold new week as we slide into whatever the hell is going to happen on March First, Sequestration day.
So wildly different than the raw human energy of youth at the Marvin bar on U Street, and the bustle of Ben’s Chili Bowl. Quite amazing. When the Russians departed for a quiet night in front of their fire, I let the mellow sounds of The Loft wash over me and sat on the couch watching the flames dance in the cast-iron stove. At peace.
I know that by the time Sunday morning rolls around my state of mind is always more pliant. This is not long enough away from politics. I need to let that crap go, stay under the radar and get reunited with the dirt that I own.
Mattski and Natasha are coming over to go to the Surplus store in town and see if there is anything we really can’t live without. Then he said he will come over to till the little garden plot in my front yard that gets the afternoon sun. A different rhythm altogether. Zucchinis and tomatoes, for sure. Never know when you may have to have a little fresh produce of your own, you know?
I am going to listen to less news and see if the increased Omega-3 helps me deal with the idiots in government, meaning no disrespect for my Government friends, as you well know.
Copyrght 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.comRenee Lasche Colorado springs