To sell, or not to sell...

That is the question!

Yesterday, I spent some four hours at the pond, whacking weeds and actually clearing halfway around the inner edge, reaching down to the water as far as the whacker would reach without pulling me over and into the water ;-)

After that I went back up to the house, unloaded the machinery, reloaded the golf cart with two folding chairs and a cooler and three (!) cold Black IPA.

I took three beer because I can't stand on one leg, and I needed one extra for the always expected guest. That is who the extra chair was meant for, too. And you wouldn't dare call me a bit whacky because of that, would you?

So I sat at the edge of the pond and watched the birds and the insects and there was a pair of painted buntings and many swallows and blue birds cavorting over the water and a big dragon fly landed on a reed nearby, its broad spread of gossamer wings iridescent in the sunshine - again, I stumbled about the plenty and the beauty and used up all the 'ands' on can possibly squeeze into one sentence.

I also reminisced and Ema was everywhere. I finally used old Martin Luther who said, "God is everywhere. He is over and under and around and through." And I argued that, logically, since Ema is with God, she also is everywhere. Oh, cool logic is great.

And since Ema is everywhere, and Lulu is with her, I should not worry about letting go of everything, since even without anything, they would still be close to me. Even though Lulu urged me to make sure that this property does not get into undeserving hands.

So why can I not make peace with the thought to get rid of all these wonderful trimmings of our life on earth, specifically my life? That is the question - again. Is it greed?

Fooling around with my iPad I came across the invite to download Zillow, the real estate website. And from there it was just a small jump to open Zillows' map of homes for sale around 1446 Townhill Road. If I did not know this area, I would think that every house around here is for sale, which of course is not true. But looking for a house here must be for a buyer like standing in a fully stocked supermarket in front of the cereal shelves and having to make a choice. Of course, he eventually will make one, but his pick is as chancy as buying a lottery ticket when the jackpot is up to 750 million.

The old farm house across the street, which currently stands empty and most recently was rented by that retired Marine and his family is listed as foreclosed by Zillows'. Foreclosure estimate is below 140 G, less, much less than half of what I would ask for the place across the street from them.

What puzzles me, by the way, is that Zillows claims this foreclosure took place in 2008. Why, that house was occupied even a year ago.

I came across a relatively recent post by Laurie in which she makes a case against clutter. In consequence, I will wait here 'til I have help to haul clutter. I made a great beginning by taking the two plastic model pistols from the window shroud in the living room and giving them to the church ladies for their rummage sale. I also gave away a set of garden tools hanging on a heavy gauge wire rack and sized to do gardening in a bonsai pot. Lulu has left one here. It is 4-3/8 by 3-1/4 and obviously the tools had not increased its tenant's survival chances. 

The little tree was brown and dry already over three years ago, but even in its death it has retained such beauty and calming rhythm, it is not clutter. On the contrary. If the pot were of a light color, I would put it all by itself on Steve's and Kaarin's new killer-mantle. Nothing else. It would be ornamental, not clutter. Seeing it sit up there on that mantle would keep me sitting in front of the fireplace and contemplating questions of eternity on the basis of an old bonsai, so beautiful even in its days of final decay.

My thoughts are wandering again . . .

The hills are awash with the heat of summer - you know that song? I'm sure you've heard it before, perhaps with other words. It is so hot up here I opened up all windows and doors and turned on all fans. Nothing helps. I'm sitting on the front porch and there the temperature is just at the edge of bearable. But inside the house - I had closed the blinds at the sliding door to the deck and adjusted them so they would throw their shade into the room without impeding the flow of the draft through the house. But these blinds acted like the wings of birds in the wind and rattled and clattered until I had to move them to the side. That immediately stopped all air from moving in the house and within minutes I was awash myself.

The thought occurred to me that I could drive to Greenfield where there is the nearest Home Depot. They were offering portable air conditioners a few weeks ago, just after the last snow had melted up here. I declined the offer then, thought about it on occasion during the past weeks and my mind locked on this option today. A/C in the hills of Vermont! Perhaps Al Gore does have a point? But then I read a report that claimed this spring was the coldest since 1978, and the eighth coldest since records are being kept. so who needs A/C? Are we just getting soft? So, off to Greenfield? But on Saturday and Sunday the roads around here belong to the tourists and unless you are a very highly experienced driver you best keep your car locked away in a garage for these days. 

“Speed! Malise, speed! such cause of haste

Thine active sinews never braced. “—

They are in such a hurry to have fun on the weekend, they forget what they come up here for.

Perhaps Monday! I must go down to Brattleboro again to get the car an oil change. I also must find an oil filter for the tractor and give it an oil change and I must change the oil on the weed whacker also - so busy with all those worldly musts.

Speaking of oil - Cleaning a bit in the refrigerator I came across a jar of pesto. It had been opened sometime ago, but it was refrigerated during all the past months - years . . .? But I could no longer resist my longing for pasta with pesto, so I fixed me lunch: two ounces of dry rotini, boiled to proper tenderness, one heaped teaspoon pesto, three thin slices pork loin, Smithfield, on herbs and garlic marinade, barbecued to absolute and juicy perfection on my infrared grill and smoked with apple wood chips.

I also added a glass of muddy water - remember what that is? It is so good when diluted wit Early Times, but for this midday meal I dared it straight. Not bad at all.

After lunch I scrutinized the labels on the pesto jar and came across a very disconcerting note: best by 8/10/08. Almost instantaneously I felt a bit queasy in the linings of my stomach. While I composed this message to you, the feeling did not go away. Should you not hear from me anymore, come and claim the then-your property, look in the kitchen for that jar of pesto and have it analyzed. The world might learn something about pesto. I now go and have me a shot of Jägermeister. It cures all ills. But do come anyway!

Happy weekend to you, and with loving thoughts to you all, Isa