...in downtown Decatur on the weekend. Nearly a dozen tiny tidily compact houses, much smaller than the average mobile home, completely furnished with kitchens, bath space and sleeping area. Some had ingeniously contrived storage spaces, designed to make every square inch useful, others streamlined, with practically no storage, more towards the vacation hideaway end of the scale.
All were thoughtfully built, either using recycled materials to keep costs low, or using lots of energy efficient, modern technology to help reduce utility expense as well as being 'green' and environmentally friendly. We thought we would go early, get there before the crowd and peek into the little homes, but apparently everyone in the metro had the same idea. So there were lines standing in front of every little house, people patiently waiting to get in and see the clever ways they were designed to be compact and space efficient. Some of the houses were being shown by builders, some by designers, and one by the woman who actually lives in a tiny house of her own creation.
One of the houses was made from a shipping container, with the end doors open, and a neatly made, coverlet covered double bed sitting there for all the world to see. Appearing to be much more a DIY job than many that gave the appearance of being professionally designed and built. I firmly believe that a great deal of the sub-standard housing problems all over the globe could be solved with used cargo containers. Big sturdy metal boxes that are currently being discarded and used to make artificial reefs or left abandoned in foreign countries when the military evacuates their encampments.
There was even a developer/realtor with a sales table, showing a proposed design of a place where you could buy a teeny lot to park your tiny house on in a wee little seven acre development someone is starting in east Atlanta. I'm thinking there are going to be lots of zoning issues that will arise when people start to downsize and try to move these little boxes on wheels into established neighborhoods. The idea of developing a space that is for these little miniature homes is probably a great idea, with the developer having perfect timing.
Though I am not mentally prepared to live in such a confining space, there is a lot of appeal to the idea of paring down. Perhaps the solution is to do it incrementally, parting with stuff over time so it is less stressful? I know I would be happy with a lot less clutter, things I never use, enjoy, look at, or at times, unaware of ownership.
Saturday, July 30, 2016
recent road trip...
... was a run up to SC to visit my pen pal. He is 93, so I get up to see him as frequently as I can. I usually go about once a month, making an effort to pace myself as it is really too much to attempt in one day. I will either invite myself to stay overnight with a cousin who lives nearby in SC, or sleep in Decatur. Otherwise it adds up to about eight hours of driving - not really doable in a day.
After spending the night in Decatur, I got up early on Friday to drive up to Greenville. Always hoping to get well out of town and off the perimeter highway, past that fearful scene of twelve lanes of traffic, before the congestion is at it's peak. They seem to go from one extreme to the other: either stalled and slowed to an 8 mph crawl, or driving at breakneck speeds. I was well on my way east, before the sun was above the tree line, so feel like I missed the most intimidating part of the lunacy.
We had a nice visit. He as always entertaining, amusing, interesting. We talked about his family history. Someone he knows had done some genealogy research for him, and printed a lot of pages from Ancestry.com, going back well over a thousand years. Really impressive. Plus he loves to organize, so he had hole-punched and put all the amassed info. in a binder, in chronological order, naturally. With origins in France, Wales, and England before they immigrated to North America. (Interestingly enough, some were buried in the town in southwest UK I visited in early July.)
He wanted to go out in the country, west of Greenville to look for a church with a cemetery where relatives were buried. And said there used to be a fresh water spring nearby, explaining that was why the area was originally settled, with a water source for drinking. We found the church, but had to stop at a house to ask about the spring. Still right there where he left it, over eighty years ago. The church has apparently been decommissioned, and is no longer in use. We found his people, there in the cemetery, right where they were planted in the 1800's.
The heat was miserable by mid-afternoon, so we quit the search, and plan to continue when I go again. Having been taken to cemeteries as a child, by grandparents who would want to visit their forebears in middle GA., I have an affinity for visiting graveyards. Those places associated with death seem to be so peaceful and serene. Even in the blistering heat of July, that abandoned place of repose was not depressing or sad. Not a place to drag out the feeling of loss or grief, but some how providing comfort and a feeling of connection.
After spending the night in Decatur, I got up early on Friday to drive up to Greenville. Always hoping to get well out of town and off the perimeter highway, past that fearful scene of twelve lanes of traffic, before the congestion is at it's peak. They seem to go from one extreme to the other: either stalled and slowed to an 8 mph crawl, or driving at breakneck speeds. I was well on my way east, before the sun was above the tree line, so feel like I missed the most intimidating part of the lunacy.
We had a nice visit. He as always entertaining, amusing, interesting. We talked about his family history. Someone he knows had done some genealogy research for him, and printed a lot of pages from Ancestry.com, going back well over a thousand years. Really impressive. Plus he loves to organize, so he had hole-punched and put all the amassed info. in a binder, in chronological order, naturally. With origins in France, Wales, and England before they immigrated to North America. (Interestingly enough, some were buried in the town in southwest UK I visited in early July.)
He wanted to go out in the country, west of Greenville to look for a church with a cemetery where relatives were buried. And said there used to be a fresh water spring nearby, explaining that was why the area was originally settled, with a water source for drinking. We found the church, but had to stop at a house to ask about the spring. Still right there where he left it, over eighty years ago. The church has apparently been decommissioned, and is no longer in use. We found his people, there in the cemetery, right where they were planted in the 1800's.
The heat was miserable by mid-afternoon, so we quit the search, and plan to continue when I go again. Having been taken to cemeteries as a child, by grandparents who would want to visit their forebears in middle GA., I have an affinity for visiting graveyards. Those places associated with death seem to be so peaceful and serene. Even in the blistering heat of July, that abandoned place of repose was not depressing or sad. Not a place to drag out the feeling of loss or grief, but some how providing comfort and a feeling of connection.
a crowd of people...
...came to my house recently, nearly unexpected. I readily admit to having offered, with a willingness to open the door. Agreed to let them in, but almost caught by surprise when they showed up. Even though I was sure they would eventually come, I did not know when.
The group I meet with regularly on Wednesday night takes a break over the summer. Maybe meeting one week as a study group, and deciding on where to go to share a meal in a restaurant the following week. Skip a Wednesday, then start over. I suggested they could come to my house, instead of the usual home, where we have been going for years. I know how tedious it would be to have to be sure everything is neat and clean on a regular basis, even though I am not the world's messiest. So thought: a change of venue would be a break for the people who usually host the crowd.
I just did not know when they would be at my house: until the day before they came. I had cautioned them to come prepared for pot-luck, bring a dish to share. Otherwise it would be beer, chips and salsa. I did make a big taco salad, but they all brought things to eat, so we had plenty of food.
After I had extended the invite, I started cleaning in a random/half-hearted fashion. Whittling down the clutter - thus the epistle on Cleaning By Condensation. Which gives the opportunity to be Self-Righteous x 2. Resulting in all the clothing in the house being clean and tidily stored, plus a slight reduction in clutter. Sort of a 'good news-bad news' joke in that: laundry is done, the clutter is not visible, but the laundry baskets are now full of your junk mail/mess/stuff/hoardings.
Anyway: they came, brought good eats, enjoyed sharing food and conversation. With so little notice, I did practically no cleaning before they arrived. Stuck all the stuff in the bathroom down in the cupboard below the sink, and chose to ignore everything else. Knowing I would rather do the work after they left, to enjoy the results of my efforts when no one would come along and spill stuff.
Got up on Thursday morning and swept and mopped my kitchen floor. Yes, it is clean enough to eat off. That's the way I like it, but it does not happen very often. Just enough to avoid being a health hazard.
The group I meet with regularly on Wednesday night takes a break over the summer. Maybe meeting one week as a study group, and deciding on where to go to share a meal in a restaurant the following week. Skip a Wednesday, then start over. I suggested they could come to my house, instead of the usual home, where we have been going for years. I know how tedious it would be to have to be sure everything is neat and clean on a regular basis, even though I am not the world's messiest. So thought: a change of venue would be a break for the people who usually host the crowd.
I just did not know when they would be at my house: until the day before they came. I had cautioned them to come prepared for pot-luck, bring a dish to share. Otherwise it would be beer, chips and salsa. I did make a big taco salad, but they all brought things to eat, so we had plenty of food.
After I had extended the invite, I started cleaning in a random/half-hearted fashion. Whittling down the clutter - thus the epistle on Cleaning By Condensation. Which gives the opportunity to be Self-Righteous x 2. Resulting in all the clothing in the house being clean and tidily stored, plus a slight reduction in clutter. Sort of a 'good news-bad news' joke in that: laundry is done, the clutter is not visible, but the laundry baskets are now full of your junk mail/mess/stuff/hoardings.
Anyway: they came, brought good eats, enjoyed sharing food and conversation. With so little notice, I did practically no cleaning before they arrived. Stuck all the stuff in the bathroom down in the cupboard below the sink, and chose to ignore everything else. Knowing I would rather do the work after they left, to enjoy the results of my efforts when no one would come along and spill stuff.
Got up on Thursday morning and swept and mopped my kitchen floor. Yes, it is clean enough to eat off. That's the way I like it, but it does not happen very often. Just enough to avoid being a health hazard.
an amusing quote...
...the cousin had on her apron. It was long ago, more years than I care to count, when I saw it. So funny it has stuck in my brain all this time. Probably not something that has ever actually come out of my mouth, though I have thought it to myself innumerable times over decades. When viewing some event or individual that should not have been on display. On occasions when I would have cause to think: 'this is something your mother should have talked to you about before you left home.' Or more precisely: 'Does you mom know you are out in public looking like that?' Thinking it, but not saying it, as you never know who has a concealed-carry permit in this scary world we live in.
The quote that was silk-screened on the front of the hostess apron: "Who invited all these tacky people?" Sadly, the term 'tacky' is no longer in common usage. Too old school? Or maybe lost it's place in daily conversations due to the popularity of four letter words becoming acceptable? Perhaps I could begin inserting 'tacky' in my speech and start a trend?
There are certain to be a variety of topics to which 'tacky' would apply? Ample opportunities to point out circumstances, individuals, events that I find inappropriate? (Wearing short-shorts to church! Wearing pajamas in public! Wearing holey jeans as proper garb! Wearing leggings as pants!) I say: let's bring 'tacky' back into the lexicon, revive it and encourage the world to treat it with proper respect and admiration?
Feel free to use it at your discretion, as there are many occasions for application. You may even want to talk to your television when things happen right there in your living room that should not be on public display. This is one of the reasons I choose to not devote my time to tv. Another is the addiction factor, and the amount of time it can mindlessly steal from your day/life. So: TV = tacky.
And this is just for starters...
The quote that was silk-screened on the front of the hostess apron: "Who invited all these tacky people?" Sadly, the term 'tacky' is no longer in common usage. Too old school? Or maybe lost it's place in daily conversations due to the popularity of four letter words becoming acceptable? Perhaps I could begin inserting 'tacky' in my speech and start a trend?
There are certain to be a variety of topics to which 'tacky' would apply? Ample opportunities to point out circumstances, individuals, events that I find inappropriate? (Wearing short-shorts to church! Wearing pajamas in public! Wearing holey jeans as proper garb! Wearing leggings as pants!) I say: let's bring 'tacky' back into the lexicon, revive it and encourage the world to treat it with proper respect and admiration?
Feel free to use it at your discretion, as there are many occasions for application. You may even want to talk to your television when things happen right there in your living room that should not be on public display. This is one of the reasons I choose to not devote my time to tv. Another is the addiction factor, and the amount of time it can mindlessly steal from your day/life. So: TV = tacky.
And this is just for starters...
those fat caterpllers...
... completely decimated the parsley. There is nothing but thick stems left poking up out of that pot that was so lush and green before they found their favorite food. I've long known that the parsley was the first choice for some type of caterpillar, but did not know what it was. And guess I am a bit surprised that the plant has been striped so completely. From the appearance of the bugs, enormously well fed, as well as the looks of the nearly non-existent herb, it was a perfect match.
I am wondering what I will find when searching for cocoons. They were so big and round there on the remaining stems, I'm sure they could not have crawled off and gotten very far. Like being so full after eating Thanksgiving dinner, you need to go take a nap, lay down to ponder what caused you to stuff yourself. Hopefully, the next step in metamorphosis will occur nearby, in the flower bed close to where they stuffed themselves like the Christmas turkey.
I noticed there were big fat caterpillars, as big around and long as my pinky finger. And several lesser ones, smaller in diameter than a pencil, and a bit shorter. I assume they came along when there was less feeding material. I don't know if those smaller ones would get bigger with more to eat, but assume they are like humans and would eat as long as there is food in front of our faces. So I have been to the Big Box for more parsley, picking out pot that had several plants. To put it in the big concrete planter where they gnawed the other down to the dirt.
Now that I know they will eventually turn into beautiful yellow swallowtails, I feel the weighty responsibility of feeding. I will BOLO (be on the look out) for the nondescript well-camoflauged cottony cocoons and hope to watch the life cycle unfold, but awaiting the end product nonetheless. Watching for those gorgeous creatures flitting through the Butterfly Bush blooms conveniently located close at hand.
Monday, July 25, 2016
fat striped caterpillars....
.. getting bigger by the minute as they consume my parsley. The plant is in a big concrete container near the front door, and covered with maybe a dozen yellow and black caterpillars in various sizes, merrily chewing their way up the nearly bare stalks of parsley. You know I am seriously math impaired, so not sure how many. Every time I counted them yesterday afternoon, when I noticed the parsley plant was virtually leafless, I got a different number.
I'm not sure what sort of butterflies I can expect as the end product of those fat happy crawlers being so well fed on my herb plant. But I am very optimistic, expectantly looking forward to having a great crop of beautiful butterflies flitting around when this crop of chubby caterpillars transforms into winged wonders. I'm guessing if I had not smooshed the big fat green horn worm on the tomato plant, it would have made a cocoon and eventually turned into something far more attractive, but instinct caused me to act before considering.
The expert google-er reported those insects eating my herbs also like Queen Anne's Lace, dill weed, and will become big pretty, yellow and black Tiger Swallowtails when they complete the life cycle. Hopefully, if I can pay close attention, I will see the location of the the cocoons, to watch for hatching. I would love to see metamorphosis actually occur, and be witness when they emerge and spread their wings to get ready for flight. I've seen it on a film at the Callaway Butterfly Center, but never in real life. And since I spend so little time at home, it is not likely I will see it happen. But wouldn't that be the coolest thing?
I'm not sure what sort of butterflies I can expect as the end product of those fat happy crawlers being so well fed on my herb plant. But I am very optimistic, expectantly looking forward to having a great crop of beautiful butterflies flitting around when this crop of chubby caterpillars transforms into winged wonders. I'm guessing if I had not smooshed the big fat green horn worm on the tomato plant, it would have made a cocoon and eventually turned into something far more attractive, but instinct caused me to act before considering.
The expert google-er reported those insects eating my herbs also like Queen Anne's Lace, dill weed, and will become big pretty, yellow and black Tiger Swallowtails when they complete the life cycle. Hopefully, if I can pay close attention, I will see the location of the the cocoons, to watch for hatching. I would love to see metamorphosis actually occur, and be witness when they emerge and spread their wings to get ready for flight. I've seen it on a film at the Callaway Butterfly Center, but never in real life. And since I spend so little time at home, it is not likely I will see it happen. But wouldn't that be the coolest thing?
Sunday, July 24, 2016
book review: "If I Am Dead or Missing"...
...by Janine Latus. Subtitle: 'A Sister's Story of Love, Murder and Liberation'. I did not actually 'read' it, but have been listening to the set of eight CD's checked out from the library last week. Riveting story. I found myself, more than once, arriving at my destination and just sitting someplace in the car, with the AC running, listening. Unwilling to stop the recording, in a parking lot at work, or in the carport at home, waiting to hear more. Copyright 2007, read by the author.
Most of the story is about the author's experience, growing up in Michigan, in a Catholic family with siblings, and a very dysfunctional father. Leaving home as soon as she was of legal age, struggling to finish high school, living with friends, bunking in family rooms/dens on couches, feeling like a misfit. Some sexual abuse, a rape in her late teens, so lots of emotional baggage. Marrying a guy she met in the workplace, while she was attending college, working towards a journalism degree. He was in the medical field, already married, but fell into a relationship with Janine.
When dysfunction meets dysfunction, there are bound to be blowups. They eventually got married, he had half custody of two small children, so there was 'instant' family. He was demeaning, demanding, insecure, emotionally and physically abusive, as well as bullying when he would continually remind her he was the primary source of income. Their home was a battleground, with constant criticism, self-doubt, demands, recrimination, with sweet interludes of harmony and peace, as well as fierce, needy sex, when they would make up after a battle .
The title refers to her sister Amy, who met a man online, while living in TN. This guy was Bad, seriously, with a capital B. Unemployed, criminal record, alcoholic, philanderer. But Amy loved him. And wanted to believe he loved her. Amy had a job good enough to support him, and most of his bad habits. She agreed to buy him a truck and trailer, supplies to start a painting business.
When she did not show up for work, though she was well liked by co-workers, dependable, responsible, they began to think something was amiss. Where upon they found an envelope taped to the inside of a desk drawer in at work, with an outline of her suspicions, as well as description of all the funds she had loaned/invested in Ron. Her body was found two weeks later, at a house construction site. Where it had been buried, wrapped in a canvas painter's tarp/drop cloth.
The narrative takes you through many conversations Janine had with her sister, about men, life, love, living with men, self-recrimination, anxiety over being single/alone/lonely and fear of the consequences of having to live on one income. None of which are grounds for a man to strangle a woman, and hide the body. I'm left with the thought that men 'hold the power' due to pay inequality. If women were paid for their skills/talents/abilities at the same rate as their male counterparts, our society would be a different place.
Most of the story is about the author's experience, growing up in Michigan, in a Catholic family with siblings, and a very dysfunctional father. Leaving home as soon as she was of legal age, struggling to finish high school, living with friends, bunking in family rooms/dens on couches, feeling like a misfit. Some sexual abuse, a rape in her late teens, so lots of emotional baggage. Marrying a guy she met in the workplace, while she was attending college, working towards a journalism degree. He was in the medical field, already married, but fell into a relationship with Janine.
When dysfunction meets dysfunction, there are bound to be blowups. They eventually got married, he had half custody of two small children, so there was 'instant' family. He was demeaning, demanding, insecure, emotionally and physically abusive, as well as bullying when he would continually remind her he was the primary source of income. Their home was a battleground, with constant criticism, self-doubt, demands, recrimination, with sweet interludes of harmony and peace, as well as fierce, needy sex, when they would make up after a battle .
The title refers to her sister Amy, who met a man online, while living in TN. This guy was Bad, seriously, with a capital B. Unemployed, criminal record, alcoholic, philanderer. But Amy loved him. And wanted to believe he loved her. Amy had a job good enough to support him, and most of his bad habits. She agreed to buy him a truck and trailer, supplies to start a painting business.
When she did not show up for work, though she was well liked by co-workers, dependable, responsible, they began to think something was amiss. Where upon they found an envelope taped to the inside of a desk drawer in at work, with an outline of her suspicions, as well as description of all the funds she had loaned/invested in Ron. Her body was found two weeks later, at a house construction site. Where it had been buried, wrapped in a canvas painter's tarp/drop cloth.
The narrative takes you through many conversations Janine had with her sister, about men, life, love, living with men, self-recrimination, anxiety over being single/alone/lonely and fear of the consequences of having to live on one income. None of which are grounds for a man to strangle a woman, and hide the body. I'm left with the thought that men 'hold the power' due to pay inequality. If women were paid for their skills/talents/abilities at the same rate as their male counterparts, our society would be a different place.
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