Home Improvements

Now that the office has been moved to the downstairs floor of my house, it seemed neccessary to do some outside "yard work" to spruce things up for when clients came over.

The stucco is rather ... dingy.

A fresh coat of paint goes a long way.

The paver edging was in need of relaying and straightening. Rough on the tender "keyboarder's hands"!

I think the results were worth the couple hours in the hot sun.

The other end of the house was a jungle of weeds and rotted landscaping ties. I pulled out all the rot first and then weeded out the jungle.

Another shot of the end of house "flower bed".

The downspout was leaking and water was getting on the porch and into the garage.

More dingy stucco - the dirt is from the stump grinder that removed an old stump that was under the drain pipe here.

A new drain pipe to move the rain water away from the house. I got a pile of dirt to do some back filling - but it was 92 degrees F and equally humid - so that waits until a day comes that I won't get heat stroke moving dirt!

A gallon of white stucco paint makes such an improvement!

Another view.

The gutter had a leak right over the steps from the driveway to the front door - when the leaked water froze over the steps were "tricky" - we don't need any clients falling on the steps here! I never rode a bucket before - and now I never want to do that again!

I decided to dig a trench to help the drainage around the back porch - hot and humid meant taking it slow.

Repairs to the down spouting after the tree stump was removed. Some more white stucco painting when on...

The day lilies never bloomed before - they were buried in the jungle of weeds.

The new trench with gravel fill. We had a massive thunderstorm last night, and the gravel remained bone dry as did the porch!

I plan to paint the woodwork soon.

There is a lot more to do, but its coming along.

New Year 2015

I was unable to determine what became of my Mother's childhood "long walk" friend posted previously. However, she mentioned another childhood friend that was last seen at her wedding 57 years ago. After a couple hours of "pigheaded" sessions with Google, I found the woman's daughter-in-law and an email address! My mom spoke to the daughter-in-law and will talk to her friend soon. I guess batting 50-50 isn't too bad.

The year 2015 will include some big changes for me. The office was put up for sale and the first two months of 2015 will be busy with sorting through years of stuff and moving.

No matter how hard we tried, we couldn't afford to keep the building.

The advance of technology is relentless...

Yesterday, I started testing and learning Windows 10.

I know some of you were daunted by moving away from Windows XP. Windows Vista is on Microsoft's hit list now.

Microsoft decided to skip the name "Windows 9" since there apparently is some old code written that checks the version of Windows by seeing if the number starts with "9" (i.e., Windows 95 and Windows 98) and this might cause problems here and there. So they skipped "9" and went directly to "10."

Below is a preview screen. I would characterize Windows 10 as a mash up between Windows 7 and Windows 8. Click the photo to "enbiggen."

I'm both underwhelmed (by Windows 10) and overwhelmed (by the ceaseless change).

Stop and Smell the Roses!

On Sunday afternoon, on my way home from the houseboat, I was stopped in Georgetown, Maryland when a drawbridge opening occurred. I've been keeping track of how often I have to sit and wait at this bridge (not that I mind, the views up and down the river are nice!) and have been stopped seven out of seven times heading home and two out of seven times heading to the houseboat.

I took this photo with my cellphone and sent it to my mother and to the one-legged lady at the wharf telling them I had been stopped once again and both of them told me, "Patience! Reflect on the fun you had during the weekend and enjoy!"

The hood of my car is a mess, I parked under a tree at the wharf to keep it in the shade!

Before heading to the wharf, I make sure I mow my lawn, sometimes I use a push mower when I want the exercise. It takes me about two and a half hours pushing - the riding mower is much faster, but I've been having trouble getting it to start. Turns out the connector to the starter was loose - and I fixed it, so when I'm in a hurry, I ride the mower and get the job done in about forty minutes. I was so happy when I got it to run!

My mom's birthday is coming up soon - and I've been looking around for something she might want and like. I spotted this wooden wire reel at the wharf and asked the owner if he had plans for it. He said, "Take it away and it's yours!" So I stuffed it into my car and brought it home. The next weekend my mom said, "Durn, the wire reel is gone! I was going to ask if I could buy it. I think it would make a neat patio table.

Mission accomplished.

One day last week, I got home from work and saw an ambulance and a police car in my neighbor's driveway. I was very concerned about them, they are good neighbors. By the time I walked over, the ambulance and police car were gone and no one answered the door. Their dog, a seven year old mutt that thinks she is still a puppy was tearing around the backyard like a maniac. An hour later, she was still out there and no one answered the door - it being hot as heck out, I let myself through the gate and made sure she had a bowl of water (she did). She seemed a little lost, so I sat with her for a half hour, hoping her mom or dad would come home. It grew dark and quite late so I went home, but I checked her a while later and a light was on in the house so someone came home.

Turns out her mom, who had lung cancer, had a dizzy spell and was choking on something. She called 911 for herself and put the dog out in the backyard so she wouldn't jump all over the EMT. She went to the ER and her husband drove there straight from work. I told them I "doggy sat" and they were quite pleased that someone was around - I told them it they ever needed a doggy sitter, emergency or not, I was "up for it." And if they needed a helping hand, I was "up for that" too.

Last weekend was the annual "Swim for Life" event at Rolph's Wharf. I loaded some photos into Flckr. There were about 300 swimmers and they swam 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 miles - unless they were in the triathlon, in which case they swam 2.4 miles and then biked 110 miles and then ran a marathon.

I was feeling somewhat cocky, having swam a mile and a third at the YMCA the week before in an hour and fifteen minutes. And then I heard during the awards ceremony for the swim, someone had swum a mile in nineteen minutes! Some days, I can't even walk that fast!

Life keeps ya humble...

Wordless Wednesday (A Day Late)

From the old box in the attic

My Dad was recently rummaging through some old boxes he had in his attic and came across this old wooden case. It belonged to my great-grandfather, Harry Davis Mousley. He was born on 3 Jul 1883 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and died rather young at the age of 47 on 9 Nov 1930 in the same city. He married Emma Louise Dreby, who was born 25 Aug 1884 in Gloucester, New Jersey and who also died at the rather young age of 48 on 7 Mar 1933 in Philadelphia.

My father never knew his grandparents - he was born a few years later - and his understanding of the "family lore" was colored by his father who did not get along with his mother. "She was a good cook" is about the only thing we can recall him saying about her. Harry Davis and Emma ran a foundry on Cedar Street in Philadelphia known as the "Cedar Street Foundry". How original huh? This foundry was established when Harry Davis' father, Harry Lincoln Mousley was not included in his father's foundry business (Charles Mousley and Sons). So the family had two foundries in the city of Philadelphia around 1920 being run by cousins competing against each other.

Harry Davis and Emma owned a small summer cottage in Cape May, New Jersey, and my grandfather told tales of his summer vacations there - how they drove on sandy paths in a Model T Ford that was constantly blowing tires - and how he caught lots of fish and caddied at a golf course there. The cottage, no longer in the family, still stands - and seems to be in good condition (I've not been inside it!)

From what I understand, Harry Davis drank a little too much and got himself run over by a streetcar or wagon one day. His wife Emma suddenly inherited the family business and ran it with an "outsider," and eventually sold some (or all of it) to him just before she died - to the great dismay (and anger) of my grandfather - who would slowly buy the "outsider" out and forever hold a grudge against his parents.

Somehow this case survived the "purge" and "turmoil." I suspect my great-grandfather burned his name in the wooden case.

Inside, are several drawing tools, and unfortunately, not the complete set. The case is labeled "The Technical Supply Company of Scranton" - and a look on-line uncovers a 1900 company catalog which would have been about the right time period and in facts, shows a similar case on page 65.

I wonder what he drew with this set of fine tools. They still shine, even a 100 years later.

Barn Charm

This morning, I drove to beautiful downtown Douglasville, PA. My path took me past the Limerick Nursery where they had a sign out saying, "We are so excited about Spring, we wet our plants!" I can relate to that!

I quickly snapped this photo from my car while driving back to the office this morning. When I was a little kid, I remember seeing a ton of cows here - when the family went to Swenksville's firehouse for a smorgasbord dinner, something we often did.. I can still taste those dinners - the hushpuppies were out of this world.

My cellphone has a crummy camera, but I like what it did to this scene. It seems a little haunted to me...

I've been really busy of late - I've a bunch of things to post - but haven't the time to do so... yet. I got the following gem in an email - it simply shouts "Spring is coming!!!!"

*Giggles* The stories this photo could tell... or make me tell.... :)

The Three Musketeers...

My parents named my brothers and I with names starting with the letter "K". None of us have middle names. While we were young boys growing up - we were often called the other's name in confusion - and we were often called the the "Three K's" when we were all together. Of course, we were called the Three Stooges when we messed up - and the Three Musketeers when we did something my folks approved.

Me in the blue coat with my older and younger brothers standing in front of my Dad's parents house in Philadelphia.

My older brother in his Cub Scouts uniform, my younger brother getting squished, and me. This is inside my grandparents sitting room - The color is badly faded (I'm still wearing that blue coat!)

Both of my brothers named all their children with names starting with "K". My older brother went one step further and added middle names starting with the letter "J". So we have the "K.J.'s" My younger brother gave my niece the middle name of Edith to honor my Dad's mother.

I hope this is oh-KAY with them!

Wordless Wednesdays

Link to Place

The Birds!

My take on Alfred Hitchcock's classic film.

Wordless Wednesday

Will the last person out...

...turn off the lights?

It was with certain feelings of sadness that I closed up the houseboat for the season this past weekend. I always hate to see the end of a season - with its uncertainty as to what the winter and the next year will bring.  This past boating season was a mixed one - interrupted for a long stretch in July when my dad suffered a heart attack - it was also interrupted by a number of rainy weekends too.

I did however, enjoy getting to meet the dogs, Huckleberry, Newfie, and the new wharf dog, a black Labrador named Gracie.  Gracie provided a bit of comic relief a couple weeks ago as she got her head stuck in a red bucket that held feed corn for the ducks, geese, and chickens.  Unable to shake it off, she ran around the parking lot like a maniac until she rammed into a parked black pickup truck - the impact freed her head from the bucket and the appearance of the "huge truck that came out of nowhere" scared her witless.  She jumped up and backwards at least three feet!  The owner of the truck, and the owner of the wharf and I witness this cavorting and broke out in laughter.

Huckleberry and Newfie are the "tree farm guard dogs" - but neither of them seem to see many people and both are as shy as can be.  I started carrying "Beggin' Strips" when I walked up the long wharf road past the tree farm to see if I could tempt them.  The first meeting was uncertain, just as Huckleberry was just (finally!) going to allow me to pet him, my cellphone beeped for an incoming text message - that startled him so badly he took off and soon had a hundred yards between us!  The two dog slowly warmed to me, however as the weekends went by - and this past weekend, I was met at the farm boundary by two drooling dogs in search of a head pat (I suppose they actually just wanted a Beggin' Strip).

The boats are being taken out of the Chester River, one by one and the Water's Edge will be out within the week.

Until next year... I leave my water-borne friends and neighbors.

..and get ready for the "Pumpkin Season," those 6-7 weeks between now and Thanksgiving.  I do enjoy the cool air and the changing leaves.  Recently, I went to the Morris Arboretum and looked at the scarecrow contestants.  They are in my Flickr account (here).  I think you will enjoy them.  They are so creative!

In search of old memories...

I have, in the past, written about my "honorary" Aunt Bea.

Aunt Bea was one of my paternal Grandmother's friends - she grew up "around the corner from the church" they both attended. Later on, when my dad served his 2 weeks a year in the Army Reserves, my mom stayed with my dad's mom with my older brother (who was a one year old) and got to know Aunt Bea too - and the three of them became "best buddies" and they all went shopping together. Aunt Bea moved out west to California with her second husband (the first one died suddenly) and has lived out there for more than 40 years (the second husband died too, of cancer). When my parents had their 50th wedding anniversary she came back to the east coast to join the party and has become very active once more with our family.

This June, she turned 90 years old and asked me to locate her second husband's younger brother.  I have tried a number of times to "find him" but have had no luck so far.  His name is (or was) Richard Donald Kane, born July 19, 1930 in Chester, PA.

While I was searching for him, I rummaged through the box of stuff my grandfather left behind and found this photograph, dated circa 1941..

It shows my dad between two recently made US Sailors.  The man on the right is an "unknown" but the man on the left is Philip Lewis Hallworth (Jr.); MOMM2 (Motor Machinist 2nd class) US Navy World War II (22 Oct 1919 - 13 Oct 1963), my Aunt Bea's first husband.  My eye was caught by the navy hats (you may recall my recent "acquisition" of my great-uncle Marshall's WWI sailors hat.)

I was just a toddler when Philip passed away - and do not recall ever having met him.  Everyone that knew him (that remains with us today) speaks very highly of him, and recalls he went deaf while working in the engine rooms of the various ships he worked on.  Today he rests in the Beverly National Cemetery, in Beverly, NJ (Section X Site 3315).  My Aunt Bea plans to join him there someday.

The mystery man seems to be hauntingly familar, as if somewhere in my past, I encountered him - but nothing more that the vaguest of shimmering thought surfaces to the forefront.  Perhaps, some night, it will come to me - that elusive memory.  Looking at the photograph, he seems to have been a nice guy.  My dad has no memory of this "photo op," and says the events of the time (the outbreak of the war) and his um... unfortunately timed, flying of a Japanese Flag out his bedroom window and its aftermath are all he can recall.

Another photograph sends me down memory lane...

Mandy's Glade

With the family out of town this past weekend, I needed to keep busy in order not to feel alone.  My younger brother is at a trade show in Boston this week - so I continue to be alone.  In order to keep busy and my mind off the "not good" thoughts of just why I was alone, I went to the houseboat resolved to do a laundry list of activities.

I got a late start on Friday (messing with my Dad's computer was slow going!) but Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny and not too unpleasantly warm, so I headed over to Chestertown's "City Dock" and looked at the Schooner Sultana, the first I have seen her this year.  She's been busy, out of port, on "road trips" ("river trips?) to places like Saint Micheal's and Baltimore.  From there, I went to the local Farmers Market and looked but didn't buy.

I went to the supermarket. My shopping list was simple:

Kitty Litter - Check! Wet Cat Food - Check!  Laundry Detergent - Check! The sign on the reverse had a different list: Paper Towels - Check! Dog Food - Check! Dog Biscuits - Check!  Leaving the supermarket, I went to the Humane Society of Kent County with a trunk full of goodies where they were received with happy smiles.  Perhaps too, Ruby was smiling also.

From there, I took a quick swim and then headed to the Atkins Arboretum where I spent several hours walking through the meadows, lost in thought:

..and into the woods.

...amd before I knew it, I had walked nearly 7 miles and my lingering thought was that of the goat herd I had seen - and how cute the goat was that stood on top of the picnic table, overlooking her domain.

I returned to the houseboat and took a most refreshing swim, before settling down to read for the evening, a history book I got from the Chestertown Library about the "resettlement" of the Native Americans from Georgia to Oklahoma back in the 1830s.  A most terrible and sad moment in American History.

Sunday morning found me restless and anxious - so I hit the road and headed home.  Once there, I decided I needed to do some tree-hugging.  So I headed to Valley Forge National Historic Park and feeling like I was nearly my old-self as far as walking form, selected a combination old-new trek.  I combined the "Pawling's Farm" shown below with the "Deer hunt Walk," followed by the Schuylkill River Trail, and returning to my car on the "River Trail."

Pawling's Farm

I've not been "up" to walking on the Schuylkill River Trail of late, I think it was a combination of couple factors, my being sub-par with the health issues, and well... the walk takes me past a place with special memories.  Memories, I have been avoiding.

The Schuylkill River Trail is a walk/bike path created from the Pennsylvania Railroad's Schuylkill Branch.  It ran from Philadelphia to the coal counties beyond Pottstown, Reading, Hamburg, and Pottsville.  For a short distance, the abandoned right of way carries the walker (or biker) over the small streams and through the meadows of Valley Forge.

There is a place, where the trail goes over a small stream on an old stone arch culvert/bridge that has some powerful and lingering memories for me.

View from the trail

A while ago, I lost a dear and special friend.  Her name was Mandy, and she lived in far away Australia.  We "met" on-line and talked about everything under the sun.  Her beliefs were odd to me (she was Wiccan) and her speech and mannerisms were intriguing and different (should I say, "unique"?)  I found myself learning from her and enjoying her "company."  One of the things we talked about was, where we would go if we were to ever meet - and at this quiet little spot, I envisioned us having a picnic, while seeing the many deer wandering about.

...and so I have, perhaps unconsciously, avoided the place since she passed away at a far too young age - apparently mostly from giving up the battle against the many injuries life inflicted on her.

As a strong-minded, determined, independent, woman, she had her opinions and wasn't afraid to voice them.  Among those opinions, were her religious beliefs.

Wiccan teachings say nothing of "the afterlife."  Many of them believe that when someone dies, if they mourn at all, it is for their loss, for the loss of the person to the world, for themselves, their family, and for what the person could've done had they lived. Few Wiccans mourn the fact that a person has died.

So to honor that - I mourned what she might have done - had she lived on.  Mandy's ashes were scattered by her children at a very pretty seaside village called Port Fairy, located on Giffiths Island, Victoria, Australia.  There is a lighthouse there - near the waves and sea creatures that Mandy adored - and this is where her children celebrated her life.

I held my own celebration of her life ... here, in this quiet little glade.  As I pondered what she might have done had she lived, I came to appreciate the Wiccan ideas of "do no harm to others" and Mandy's thoughts on "pantheism" (the belief that everything composes an all-encompassing, immanent God, or that the universe (or nature) is identical with divinity. Pantheists do not believe in a personal or anthropomorphic god.)  Here I was - "held in the cusp of nature" - and alone with my thoughts - but not alone... I was connected to everyone and everything - through some deeper, unseen but powerful links.

So, having spent some quiet moments of reflection - with bitter and regretful thoughts turning to far more positive ones - I left the glade - and although I think Mandy was "not there,"  she was in some way, "connected to there."  As are each of us - interconnected - and a part of each other.

I headed back to my car along the river, past the turtles,

..and over the stream that created the glade,

 ... and past the tree that reminds me of two other dear friends (that I've neglected of late)

The walk went steadily.  I soon put seven miles on the trusty pedometer - and was happy enough to see my car waiting for me in the parking lot where I had left it.

As for the deer... I saw none of them - but I'm sure they were there... somewhere.

Boston On My Mind

Sometimes, timing is everything.

My mother called me this morning and said, "I was standing in front of the hotel where that bomb exploded, just a couple weeks ago."

My mother was born and raised in the city of Boston. Her grandfather was a streetcar conductor from the poor neighborhood of Paisley, Scotland who came to this country seeking an opportunity.

Somehow, through a turn of fate, his daughter met a sailor boy from the wild, exotic "Indian Territory" that became Oklahoma and a few years later, my mom was born.

Yesterday I got a package in the mail from a cousin in Arizona. Inside where some photos I've never seen before.

A short while later, I heard the news of the Boston Marathon bombing.

I found myself wanting to escape all the ugliness of the world, into the soft flowers of the coming spring... like I did this past weekend...  but my mind kept dragging me back... but... I can escape backwards in time. At least briefly.

A Christmas holiday in Jamaica Plains, Boston, Massachusetts, 1949.  My mom is holding a guitar on the far left, her older sister holds an unknown little girl with a doll.  My grandmother sits behind my grandfather who is playing with one of my cousin's toy.  My boy cousin looks like he has a ray gun or something aimed at the camera.  My cousin Belle (Isabella, my grandmother's sister) sits with her father and my great-grandfather Robert McPherson on the sofa. ...Pondering who the mystery girl was... another photo fell out of the package...

A simple scene.  But so powerful to me.  My mom's mother stands in the snow, having shoveled out to the clothesline behind the farmhouse in Milton Mills, New Hampshire.  My best memories of her are from this very place.  The field behind the farmhouse, heading out to the trees (and a stone wall) were not farmed, but held wild clover and strawberries that smelled so good in the basking heat of the summer sun.

My grandmother had a twinkling eye and a low chuckle she would use to express her obvious glee and delight she took when me or my brothers did something "cute."

Her last 10 years spent with failing memories as her numerous strokes to away her personality and in fact, her very being, were very hard - especially on my mom - who visited the nursing care facility she was in, faithfully week after week.  My seeing her with such life in her eyes was a special moment and a treat indeed.  I can't thank my cousin enough for this...

What my great-grandfather would have thought of the bombing of a race on Patriot's Day, I do not know.  I scarcely know what to make of it myself.  I hear that many of the citizens of Boston have opened their homes and wallets to those that are far from home and stunned and shocked by this ugly event.  I saw in the videos shown all over, over and over again, a large number people running towards those that were hurt and maimed to offer help and aid...  Knowing Boston as a "removed Bostonian," I'm not at all surprised.  The people there are "Yankees" in the best and most admirable sense of the word.