50th Anniversary

While at the Supper Club tonight, mom and I ran in to one of her high school classmates, Wayne. Wayne's wife was not there, she is in ill health. He was out to pick up dinner for them.

Mom mentioned to Wayne that there is a big 50th anniversary party tomorrow for some of their other classmates. I know mom is afraid to drive on any freeway and you have to take a rural route to get to that party. So, I asked Wayne if he could pick her up and take her since it's on the way. He got very nervous and told mom how safe the road was. Then she got out a pen and asked for his phone number so they could coordinate. He then bluntly told her that if they arrived together it would start rumors. He told me I should take her. Mom then looks at me and I'm now trapped.

She had pulled a similar stunt on Bob and I when he was home for R&R in August. She invited us to attend her class reunion picnic. Bob and I pulled up to the picnic, and she was waving and happy to see us. We assumed that this was an event that people bring their families to, but they all looked pretty old. It turns out that the only "young ones" that showed up were us. Families weren't invited, she just wanted to "show us off." As she introduced us around then, Bob's name was no longer Bob, but the General. She told us she has never been so popular. We could not wait to escape.

Today at Leo's, mom asked me to find a 50th anniversary gift. I told her nothing there was gift worthy, and she said to look harder, these people don't know any better. I picked out an old wasp nest still attached to a branch. Mom did not think that was funny. Maybe that mounted deer head that the mice ate the fur off. (Picture attached for all you who think I'm a liar.)

Happy anniversary.

Deer heads and dead rats, oh my!

We were back at Leo’s today. We approached the house only to find a dead rat outside the door. I had to think hard if this was a message from some Mafia family. I’ve heard of the horses head in bed, but I guess this rat just died from running back and forth from Leo’s house.

Mom thought it was still alive and had to use a stick to confirm it was stiff as a board. Then we just left it for awhile. But every time I’d walk out of the house, I’d almost step on it and freak out. So, mom finally buried it.

We worked until I could no longer breathe in any more dust, then we went back to mom’s farm. I was just getting over the horror of the dead rat image when mom’s 15 year old crippled dog, Dopey, came back from the woods with a deer head in her mouth. Mom proclaimed that my brother had not done a good job of getting rid of it. I think that when my brother disposed of it, he figured that Dopey would not be able to walk that far. Dopey can no longer see or hear, so who would figure she could smell.

So, I had to watch Dopey gnaw on some vein from the bottom of the deer’s head while the deer’s cute eyes stared lifelessly at me.

Nightmares coming tonight, I guarantee it.

Dumping Junk

Mom and I were back at Leo’s farm today. Allen and his son came out to help and we took another load to the dump. Allen likes to load the truck over the top and until the frame is only inches off the ground, I can’t watch as he drives off, it looks like Sanford and Son meets Beverly Hillbillies. Definitely a road hazard.

Mom convinced Allen to keep an old mattress. This mattress was super old, off an antique bed and contained springs. I also watched her load him down with other junk such as flannel shirts, a couple of flashlights, a bag of soiled hats, and five buttons. He refused the console TV, even though she proclaimed its beauty as a piece of furniture. She dumps more crap on this poor guy than a cow dumps in a barnyard. I’m afraid his wife will tire of the junk and forbid him from helping anymore.

I found a bunch of postcards from 1910, it appears that postcards were how the people here communicated back then. They would say things like, “See you at the church picnic on Sunday.” Two of them were from my grandmother, who died in childbirth at age 34 when my mom was only three. We have hardly any mementos from her, so it was a special find.

I convinced mom that the antique canning jars full of hundred year old lard had to go to the dump, so they will all go in the next trip. Those guys who work at the dump have a pile of “collectibles” that they save from the crusher and seem to have lost their sense of smell, so this one could be interesting.

When life gives you lemons, go to wine country

My sister Kim and I went to San Francisco this past weekend. The highlight of our trip was going to be attending to the 49ers game and sitting in the box with Coach Mike Nolan’s wife and her family. Unfortunately for them (and for us), Coach Nolan got fired five days before our trip.

We got to our hotel on Friday night. We took a cab to the North Beach Restaurant and met Ron Barr, our new friend who had helped arrange our trip and who is the voice and part owner of Sports Byline.

The cab ride was a thrill. Unlike most tourists, we told the driver we had never been there before and said it was okay to go out of the way to show us a few neat sites. He took us for a joy ride on the steepest road and the windiest road, we were screeching. He stopped the cab and we took pictures of the view of the city at night. The cab driver walked with a cane (when we got out for pictures), so I suppose that helped the meter run up. I asked him what happened to his leg and he said his foot was run over by another cab. He made it sound like an accident, but Kim and I decided that the world of cabbies is cut-throat. We gave him a big tip.

It was great to finally meet Ron in person. He knew the owner of the restaurant, who sat with us for awhile and let us sample olive oil made from his grove. Ron ordered some awesome pasta dishes which we sampled. Then our friend Pat and his girlfriend Lisa came and joined us. Pat had just gotten back from testifying at the fratricide trial going on at Fort Bragg. Ron left at close to midnight and Pat and Lisa took us around the city for another hour, showing us the sights at night.

On Saturday, we went to Ron’s house and met his wife. She had to go to a memorial so we didn’t get much time with her, but she was really nice and looked awesome. Amazing what a lifetime of aerobics does for you (note to self). Ron took us around for a couple hours, showing us where to come back to, and stopping a few times for us to walk around, take pictures, and sit by the water. We had lunch by his pool and then Kim and I went to Salsalido and next walked the Golden Gate Bridge. We got back to the hotel and were lucky enough to find a free parking spot for the second day in a row and declared ourselves to have parking karma.

Pat and Lisa picked us up and took us to the Fisherman’s Wharf area and Pier 39. Pier 39 has hundreds of fat sea lions lying on docks. They were bedding down for the night and there would be a pier full all spooning together and a new one would swim up and jump on top of the rest, causing them to bark and yell and bite each other. The stink was incredible, but it was so mesmerizing. We walked around and then ate at a delicious Italian restaurant.

On Sunday, Kim and I got up early and hit Chinatown. Then, instead of the game, we went to wine country. We met at Pat’s and he had borrowed a 1966 Mustang convertible from his friend and we drove to Napa in it. Pat’s dad and his wife also went with us in their classic Jag convertible. I haven’t seen Pat’s dad since Bob was a captain teaching at West Point and Pat was a cadet, and he looked great. The weather was perfect and the drive was fun. Pat would look back and say, “Too windy?” and Kim and I with hair sticking out every which way, would say, “No.” We went to Sonoma next and sampled wine there. You have to love the life there, beautiful location, fit people, and surrounded by wine!

We had to leave for the airport at 4 am on Monday and it was then that our parking karma ended. We had a $50 ticket on the car. We sat there stunned wondering what we had possibly violated. Then we realized that it was Monday and when we parked, we followed the rules for Sunday, we hadn’t thought through that the midnight hour was coming to change the day. So, their $70 million deficit is now $69,999,950.

Love Letters

Today we were out at Leo's as we are most days, sorting and cleaning. We wear paint masks because the dust is so incredible. By the end of a few hours, the white cotton of the paint masks is gray.

I had worked today on sweeping and mopping and polishing the furniture in the two rooms that are cleared. It was a great sense of achievement to see how nice things looked. I had also gone through the contents of an old roll top desk, which meant discarding a bunch of old magazines, bills, and propaganda newsletters that Leo had subscribed to. Then I found a beautiful stationery box that contained letters, all in a tidy cursive handwriting. I wanted to take a break from work to read them to see if there was a love interest, but I set it aside and worked on.

A few hours into our work, we heard a car horn on the yard. It was two of mom's long-time friends from high school. Marilee, who is crazy funny, and Marilyn, who was diagnosed with cancer two weeks ago. Marilyn had been feeling blue so Marilee "kidnapped" her and took her to see us at Leo's. Both had talked with mom earlier this morning and knew we'd be there.

Marilee had a cooler with a six pack of Busch Light and we stood out in the sunshine and had a beer together. We talked about the work and then I mentioned the box of letters. I went into the house and got them and read the letter at the top aloud to them. When I finished, we were all mesmerized. They were from a woman named Eileen from Madison who talked about the weather, her church, her work doing EKGs at the hospital, and their next date.

None of us knew Leo had dated anyone, so we were all surprised. He was never married, a die hard bachelor, and a loner. Who could have guessed? Marilyn read the next letter aloud and we all interjected comments "she gained weight?" "she has kids?" "where do they meet?" I then dug through the box of letters and found the first one in the box, dated May 1980. The previous two were from October 1981. We read that one and in it she stated that it was hard to belive they had been dating a year.

We all wanted to hear more, but the sun was going down and the weather was getting cold, so we called it a day. I caught mom trying to sneak the box of letters home so she could read them all, but I stopped her. We decided to have girls days and read them together. Savor them one letter at a time.

Now I need to find the letters from 1979 so we can start at the beginning.

Who's the Crazy One?

We were back at Leo’s farm today and I laughed so much I had tears running down my face. Unfortunately, I was the only one laughing and I did it alone in a bedroom stacked with a lifetime of junkmail, newspapers, magazines, letters, and survival gear.

First off, mom told Aunt Julie not to rent a dumpster. This house has been in the family since 1900 and nothing has ever been thrown away. The mice have gone crazy and chewed on almost everything. Leo had subscribed to all these survival magazines and had about 100 one gallon cans of dehydrated food. Also still there was every church bulletin dating back to when the church was in German in the 1920’s. Sears catalogs, we got ‘em. There are clothes with Leo’s grandfather’s name in them.

Uncle Bud was supposed to start a burn pile. He searched for matches for three hours and the fire was never lit. Then we found out you need a burn permit.

We are attempting to clear this house room by room. But where do we put the trash? The kitchen and living room are now stacked to the ceiling with bags of trash. Luckily, Allen came over again today and took some treasures. He brought his son, the 15 year old who found Leo dead. They are strong, hard workers. They loaded his truck so full that they had to put the tailgate down to put some more bags of 20 year old seed on board. (see picture)

Mom was working in the pantry (where you can smell there’s a dead animal) and keeps handing Allen more and more crap. He finally said no when she tried to give him a 1963 calendar. She used the plea, “That’s the year JFK died.” Yep, that made the calendar valuable. He wouldn’t take it; now it’s back on the wall.

This family has a knack of hanging calendars on top of one another, so when you remove 1963, you’ll find 1962 and so on. The stack behind 1963 goes back to 1945. I know some of you think I make this stuff up, but I’ll take pictures.

Mom and Uncle Bud worked all day moving junk that was heaped on the kitchen table. I came down carrying my 15th box of Publishers’ Clearinghouse propaganda and told them how remarkable it was. Then I looked at the stove and realized they had moved the junk from the table to the stove. Now the stove that was previously cleared is heaped with crap.

They next moved on to dumping canning jars full of unidentified stuff from decades ago. Allen had to open one of the jars of pickles, which they had previously tried to convince him to take home for dinner, and the stink was mind blowing, it leaked onto his clothing and made him very unappealing. Then they found that there are about 50 antique canning jars full of lard. Lard just doesn’t pour out into the hole they dug, but the jars need to be saved. I had to walk away while this discussion was going on.

Allen’s wife said they will not eat the survivalist goods, because it is 15-20 years old, but would feed it to their chickens. There was one case of dehydrated chicken, I thought that was funny, chicken cannibalism. Hopefully, we don’t have a barnyard full of dead chickens tomorrow. He also wants to burn the 20 year old corn seeds in his pellet stove to heat his house. I questioned whether this was a good idea as the seeds are coated in fertilizer and insecticide. He looked at me like I was the crazy one.

Rest in Pieces, Cleo

I was back at Leo’s farm today. Cleo the cow is gone, she went to market and Allen (the little farmer who took care of Cleo) told us that she willingly boarded the trailer and did not put up a fight. He asked me if I wanted some of the meat. “I can’t even think about eating a pet.” He looked at me like I was crazy. Mom and Kim and I are just sick over it. At least Cleo is with Leo now. Maybe we’ll bring a hamburger to Leo’s grave. My friend Rob said he’d carefully watch the Packer games to see if he could see Kim and I cheering wearing black and white fur coats.

Uncle Bud and Aunt Julie are up here to help work on Leo’s house. They are staying with me. We cleared out one bedroom at Leo’s, among thousands of other things, it was full of about 30 one gallon cans of food to be stored until Armageddon. Allen took them and said his family would eat the food.

As I would load bag after bag full of junk to be thrown away, I’d catch my mom and Uncle Bud pulling “valuables” out into little piles. One such gem that was saved was a red and black plaid wool deer hunting pants circa 1950. I’ll have to get a picture of them to post here, they just can’t be described, maybe my brother can wear them for Halloween. Or maybe my friend Rob will be getting a care package.

Allen may turn out to be a lifesaver in that he takes anything. He saw a Genetics Breeding hat and said he’d always wanted one. He’s got one now. “Allen, know anyone who would need 35 ice cream pails?” “Oh, my wife loves those, she does the chickens and could use them.”

“Allen, see all these pails of seeds, they are dated from 1997…oh, not any good? If you take them you can keep the pails.” “Allen, do you need any rags for your barn?” “Allen, how about these castration bands?” And on and on.

Allen left with a full pick up truck load of crap. God bless him, he was so happy. We told him to come back tomorrow and we’d give him more. We may not need to rent a dumpster after all.

Cleo's Last Day

Mom and I have been to cousin Leo's farm for the last two days. I got one bedroom cleaned out and mom kind of wandered around unsure of where to begin.

The little farmer, Allen, who has been caring for Cleo has an appointment today for Cleo. She won't be coming back. I hate that we couldn't find a better option, but we were able to work out with the estate that Allen pays for the processing and gets to keep the meat. At least Cleo's remains will go to a good home. Allen and his family do not have much in their lives and I suppose this is the best option for Cleo.

We had considered taking her to mom's farm, but the barn isn't heated and the cost of feeding her isn't cheap. Plus, mom keeps animals until they die on their own, so then how do you bury a 1,000 pound cow? Then we had an offer from the woman in Tennessee. But she had another cow and Cleo had no way to protect herself and the local farmers said the other cows bullied her. She may have died of fright in the long trailer ride to Tennessee.

I was up before dawn this morning thinking about how hard the farmer's life is. I was also thinking about how my blog on the fundraiser was like a country song. I also thought about taking a trip. I also thought about my 'luigi' for Cleo. I guess I do have ADD.

The Fundraiser

I volunteered at a fundraiser today. It was for a family of a woman recently killed in a house fire. She initially escaped the fire, but then went back in because she thought one of her sons was inside. She never re-emerged, her body was found just feet away from the door. Her three sons survived, and the son she had run back into the fire to search for was at the bar looking for his dad to try to prevent him from getting another DUI. The police quickly discovered that her husband (and the boys’ dad) was the one who had set the fire.

There were over 200 people at the fund raiser. I talked to an aunt who had made 32 pounds of sloppy joes. She had taken the boys in. I told her that I had heard their dad was the murderer, and she began to cry, the boys’ dad was her brother. (Oops, foot in mouth as usual.) She said the shame and horror of it had crushed their family.

There was a fundraising baseball game and a dinner for $10. There were raffles, and silent auctions and a 50/50, where money used to buy a chance is split with 50% going to the family and the other 50% going to the holder of the ticket drawn (the pot was $250 and the winner donated it back to the family). My job was to help set up and then to “guard” the valuable raffle prizes. They were great items, with three autographed footballs, four autographed NFL pictures, two autographed baseballs, and an autographed bobblehead –plus a bunch of craft items. Although the crowd was not wealthy by any means, they were very generous. All the funds raised will be matched by a Lutheran financial non-profit organization.

Living in a small town where people do such wonderful things for each other is very much like living in a military community. We take care of one another.

Birthday Evening

My mom threw me a little party for my birthday tonight. She made apple crisp, her friend Marilee made a cake, and mom and her other friend Shirley each bought a frozen pizza to be cooked at the VFW. Mom also brought a jar of her homemade pickles. It was a really nice party. This is my third birthday in a row without Bob. Maybe next year.

When I got back to the lakehouse today, I noticed the doors to every room were closed and the drains on the sinks were all closed and the sinks filled with water. Hmmmm...I called mom. She had come to my house to check on things while I was away and heard a noise that she thought was probably a bat. So, she filled the sinks with water so that it would drown itself. Then she called my neighbors, Jerry and Shirley, and left them a message asking them to get in the house and kill the bat. Jerry came over and figured out that the smoke detector needed batteries and was making noises. Whew, no bat.

I couldn't talk to mom tonight about Cleo the cow because her friends would make fun of us. I got her alone for a bit and told her about what had happened and she felt like the Tennessee option sounded great because the person was originally from Wisconsin. We'll have to talk more soon. Mom's first response was that we needed to call off the slaughter immediately.

Kim Just Wouldn't Listen

A quick update regarding my sister Kim's ad on Craigslist regarding Cleo the Cow. She has gotten responses. One person said she could donate money for Cleo but wanted to ensure this was legit. Another from Tennessee who rescues dogs and lives on 14 acres with one rescued bull said she could take Cleo in early November when she brings the next batch of rescued dogs to Wisconsin. Another from Michigan is asking her grandma if they can take Cleo. Then, my a-hole friend Rob (who paid to rent-a-cow in Switzerland) contacted Kim saying to deliver Cleo to Germany as 2 inch thick t-bones.

Last night, I told Kim not to do the Craigslist ad. Now what do we do? The estate expects some money to come from the beef. We have no idea if any of these people are legit (other than Rob) and we may send Cleo to slaughter anyways. And how do we get Cleo to ride all the way to Tennessee or Michigan when she runs away as you approach her? She'd probably die from shock at the experience. And then, what if Cleo ends up in Tennessee and that bull rapes her? It's amazing, I thought we were the only freaks on earth that would try to save a cow.

Tonight it's my birthday (which is what we were celebrating last night) and I'm meeting mom out. I'm going to have to break this news to her. More to follow.

Cleo Still Alive

I have been traveling for the past couple of weeks and didn't dare to hear anything about Cleo the cow. I called mom once and she said she hadn't asked because she thought Cleo was probably slaughtered. Mom said she drove by the slaughterhouse and couldn't look. Well, today, I talked to mom and she said that Cleo lives. The farmer, Allen, who was told by the big wig lawyer to put Cleo to market, did not follow orders. Mainly because he felt he had no authority or money to do so. (Processing a cow isn't cheap, you know, plus the cost of hauling her).

So, I'm in Milwaukee with my sisters and brother and my sister Kim and I did a great ad on Craigslist to find a home for Cleo. Yep, we did have a couple glasses of wine to enhance our creative writing, but we think it's only a matter of hours before we begin to hear from people who want to send money or sponsor our cow. We wrote the ad to appeal to the patriotic, God-fearing, disabled, lonely, vegans, and animal-loving farmers.

http://milwaukee.craigslist.org/pet/870700887.html

Plus, one other option exists. I just heard from my friend Rob in Germany and he was recently in Switzerland and "rented" a cow. For a not so small fee, he gets cheese from all the milk she produces. http://www.usatoday.com/tech/webguide/internetlife/2003-07-14-cows-internet_x.htm

I think we could possibly start this in the states with Cleo being the first producer. We may have to buy Kraft cheese to trick the renters (would slices wrapped in cellephane be too obvious), but anyone stupid enough to rent a cow won't know the difference.

We have only a few days to act. The new execution date is Tuesday, October 14th.

Homecoming Dance

My niece Julia is 15 and going to the Homecoming dance tonight. First, she bought a dress, next, had to buy the shoes that matched. Then, put that on-- and of course she needed the accessories, like earrings, necklace and bracelet. Why, for crying out loud, you can’t have the complete look without getting hair, nails and makeup done.

And then, you go to the dance. Kick off the shoes, chip the nails, and sweat off the makeup and hairdo.

Well, my life is on a parallel. I first stripped the wallpaper and painted the dining room. But then the kitchen didn’t match. So then I did that. Then the living room had to coordinate with the colors. But that made the entry way and hall look dated. So, now I have painted for 36 hours, stayed awake due to ghost noises another 15 hours, and slept 10. The paint job looks great. But then I look at the leak stains on the ceiling and the crappy carpet. It’s got to go.

And then, you check in the renters. And before you know it, there are fingerprints on the walls, stains on the carpet, and scratches on the furniture.

The ghost seems to approve of all the work I’ve done, he let me sleep last night. You have to read the comments on my haunted house blog. My sister always has to outdo me with her humor. And sweet Liz telling me to “be brave” as she is about to pop a baby out. She’s the one that needs to be brave.

Tonight I took myself on a date to a nice restaurant. I met two other single women there. We ate in the bar area. Then we went to the club next door which had an incredible blues band playing. One of my new friends claimed to be a professional dancer and she rocked the house… (was she maybe a stripper and I didn’t catch on?)…the other new friend pointed out a trans-sexual on the dance floor. I had to ask her what a trans-sexual was.

I stood there with my jaw dropped. The trans-sexual looked pretty sexy to me. I wondered whether the man who was dancing with her knew.

Haunted Beach House

This picture shows our beach house in the early 1920's. The ocean is to the right. It was an old house that in 1985 was put up on a foundation (but not properly). Over the years, it's had additions and that's what causes all the leaks as it sags everywhere.

A few years ago, a renter told me she thought the house was haunted. The doors would shut and things moved. I figured that was because everything is crooked. Then, a year ago, my sisters and I were here and in my bedroom, the light turned on at night. So did the radio. We freaked out, screamed, and all jumped into bed together. I had put this out of my head until last night.

All alone, I went to bed and started to hear creaks. I tried to think happy thoughts, but kept reverting back to the light and radio turning on (we no longer use that plug, maybe that was it). Then I felt like someone was sitting on the bed. I could not move, I was so frightened. The door was rattling. But that was probably because I had the window open to hear the ocean and the breeze was blowing in. But then again, who knows?

I stayed up most of the night. Keeping the light on seems to keep the ghosts at bay, or at least my imagination. When you look at the picture from the 1920's, it appears that there is some ghostly figure to the left of the group. Those of you who could see Elvis in the pine knot posted earlier will surely see the ghost in this picture.

The burnt orange paint I did in the dining room looks nice, but now I need to paint everything else in the house to match the look. Given that I no longer sleep, I guess that will not be a problem.