Not Quite Spring Cleaning

We have not made it up to the Old Place for quite a while.  There is always some work to do but as often happens when neglect sets in, there is a bit more than the last time.  That loose shutter is now hanging forlornly by one hinge, looking like nothing so much as a bird’s broken wing.  We never leave food behind, unless it is in a jar or can but the box of old toys, and some newer ones, apparently gave the local masked bandits no end of fun!  They were scattered all about the front room, not broken but obviously played with.  After pulling on an old pair of White Mules, I take a moment to open the flapper, clear the leaves and chimney swift nests out of the floo and start a fire.  The Old Place starts to warm up.  Soon the pot is whistling and I settle down to a hot cup of Moroccan gun powder tea, so named because the flavor, “explodes” in your mouth.  I do not know what it is with this schizophrenic weather.  The cold normally does not bother me but lately, MaMie’s old shawl is needed to keep the chill out.  After tea, I go outside and engage in a little yard work.  Raking leaves never felt therapeutic before but there is a certain satisfaction to it today.  I slide over to the tractor shed and pull the cover off Dad’s 1947 Ford 8n; we call him, “Fezzie.”  Because of the recent heat, you know the “wahses” are there but the current chill has made them sluggish and easy to deal with.  I had drained the gas out of the tank and carb back on Thanksgiving and changed the oil, so there is not all that much he needs.  All that needs doing is pouring in fresh fuel, sanding the gaps on the plugs, and shining the points on the magneto (No, not that Magneto).  A new 6 volt battery spins the old grandpa over smartly and after blowing some carbon outa his “zause pipe” he chugs to life.  While he warms up I go around and hit all the grease points.  There is no real hoggin’ to do yet but old men need their joints loosened up before any serious activity.  Soon we head out on our trek around the lake.  I stop every so often to toss fallen branches for the wood pile onto the bush-hog.  Ruth, our retired Marine comes off her porch at the sound of our approach.  She is sharing an Irish coffee with Tim, our game warden.  I guess the cold is testing everyone today.  Amid squeals and cries of, “come see Gramma!” three young rascals come pelting up the path from the lake.  To the best of my knowledge, Ruth never married, so. . . sometimes it is better not knowing.  The youngsters ask for a ride, big surprise there.  Fezzie is on level ground but I do not have the extra seat and belts mounted.  It is safe to just shut him down, drop the hog and let them pretend.  I learned to drive on ole Fezzie, so did Hannah, maybe one day this bunch will follow in our tracks but not without that second seat!  You knew safety was going to find its way in here somehow but did you catch them all?  If you know what White Mules are, you got the hand safety reference.  Clean out the chimney?  That was Carbon Monoxide and fire prevention.  Spraying the wasp nests was next.  Warming up and stretching muscles and joints on a cold morning will protect us and ole Fezzie from strains and sprains.  Although not as obvious, but hey, not being nosy about a mature single woman’s ‘personal indulgences’ shall we say (especially when she is a Marine) is also very good for self-preservation.  Hannah is 21 now, so it will not be long before I pass the keys to the Old Place on to her and hand over the “reins” to Fezzie. Life rolls on; the safer you are the longer it rolls.

Sitting in a rocker at the Old Place I am, Col. Jim.