Foolish Mansion

This past weekend was moving day for Robert. He has gotten a new job as a security guard/firefighter in Mt Vernon, IN.

Robert’s only form of transportation is his motorcycle, Vera. She is a grey café racer made by John. On the side of the gas tank is Robert’s own personal Captain Skyhook logo. Captain Skyhook is Robert’s alter ego. He is a one eyed pirate who fascinates the nieces and nephews when Robert is not being Robert.

When I arrived at the Man Haven to get Robert and have some work done on the truck by John, the boys were in the midst of working on Vera. Or at least Robert was working. As the expert, John was merely back up. 

I had arrived primed for John to start work on my truck and then go pick up the trailer, in my usual hurry. John, however, was in the mood to relax. We sat and talked and an hour later, without working on the truck, John went with me to get the trailer. Afterwards he and Robert gave the truck a tune up and fixed the muffler. (The truck is running much better now.) Robert finished up on Vera and then the boys loaded her up in the trailer.

I had hoped to leave early Sunday morning but I had forgotten about Payday Park.

Every Sunday that follows a pay day, Chris and I take the kids to the Park Restaurant in Mays, Indiana. It is about 9 miles north of Rushville, a famous local restaurant that serves great home cooking. There, each pay day, I order walnut pancakes and the kids and Chris order biscuits and gravy. The place is almost always packed.

At breakfast we sit and talk and laugh over inside jokes and old family stories interspersed with family news and personal opinions. Breakfast with Robert at the table started out a bit differently. Within minutes, Robert had built a wall with the creamers, Mary Elizabeth had made a sailboat out of the creamer dish, a fork and a napkin sail and Patrick used the sugar packets as sandbags to build a “retaining wall”. As I was beginning to protest, Chris got to the table and, mercifully, made all of them knock it off and return everything to its place.

Robert had packed his Mass clothes in the moving boxes. He was dressed in the same clothes he had used to work on Vera: a tee shirt and horrible old cargo pants with a hole so big the fabric flapped back and forth over the knee that was hanging out. He looked scruffy and disreputable. With his one eye, I imagine that he was a sight to see at the Park. His glass eye is too uncomfortable to wear, so he goes without it. Fortunately, he was very excited about his new job and apartment and spent most of his time wearing a disarming grin. I had taken one look at his outfit before Mass and said, “We have to live here you know.” He was unapologetic.

After breakfast we went home and the kids helped Robert pack the trailer.  At the last minute Chris handed me directions that he had printed off. I considered this very thoughtful of him. Then I got a good look at the print offs. He had handed me an ad for a sailboat on Craigslist and directions to a house in Seymour, IN. He wanted us to go see the boat “on the way” to Mt Vernon.

Chris has been obsessed with sailing, or his idea of sailing, for years. I have read many sailing books to him in the car on our drives and at night before we go to bed. Vicariously we have lived on ketches that sailed around the world, traveled the Mediterranean or navigated the canals of Europe. In his dreams, Chris hopes to retire and live on a sailboat for at least a year. I plan on spending the entire time knocked out on Dramamine as I get seasick on the front porch swing.

I have been researching a way to incorporate these sailing goals into our vacation this year. I have looked at American Sailing Association classes on Lake Michigan and the Chesapeake Bay. I inquired about a sailing camp for the kids and weekend classes for me. All of it, other than the weekend classes, is very expensive. As in “cancel Mexico” expensive.

Then I came up with the small boat idea.

I was able to persuade Chris to pause in his search for 26 to 40 footers long enough to peruse the ads for dinghies. The night before Robert and I were to leave, he finally found one…..in Seymour.

Robert and I left late, around 1 pm, and headed for Seymour, which really was barely out of our way.

The boat itself looked good to me, based on my very limited knowledge. It also looked good to Robert. My ability to talk the seller down by $250 added to its attraction.

Robert and I called Chris. He asked questions such as, “Does it have a ——-?”

“I don’t even know what a ——- is,” I replied. “Here, talk to Robert,” I finally said.

Robert knows, if possible, even less about sail boats than I do. However, he did his manly best to talk his way around the boat with Chris. When it came down to a yes or a no, Chris’ answer was a predictable, “yes”.

Since we already had the trailer hitched to the truck, we made a down payment and I arranged for us to return next Sunday to pick up the boat.

Now Chris will be able to take the weekend sailing classes and hopefully take us to the lake on weekends to sail. Of all the children, Patrick, burned out from scraping paint at the apartments, was the most enthusiastic. He asked, “Does this mean we can go sailing on the weekends instead of work?”

Chris and I thought, “ Amen to that.” We are all exhausted and sick of work, and winter. Sailing around the lake doesn’t sound all that exciting to me, but it sounds a whole lot better than painting and scraping and sanding. Thank the Lord it is almost over. (Our tenant is moving in next Monday, so it has to be over soon.) This will make three apartments down and one to go. Fortunately, Joseph will be home in five weeks and, hopefully, eager to earn money. If it weren’t so cold Patrick, who never hesitates to speak his mind, would already be threatening to move out and install himself, his sleeping bag and his legos in the tree house. In the meantime, he is counting his money and playing soccer games with Mexican kids in his head.

On the way to Mt Vernon, Robert and I talked about his new job, his new apartment and his “friend who is a girl”. It was a surprisingly enjoyable, if exhausting, trip.

When we got to Mt Vernon, Robert directed me to his apartment complex. He had rented his apartment sight unseen, so we were both a bit apprehensive about seeing what was behind door number five.

We found an apartment with new paint, carpet and linoleum. It was just perfect for  a “new to town” single guy.

After unpacking the furniture and Vera, Robert detached the trailer and we headed to the grocery store.

Grocery shopping with Robert was interesting. He didn’t seem to notice prices or brands and he had no system or list for shopping. Fortunately, we were both flexible and worked out an amicable arrangement. I pointed out the bargains and asked if he needed this or that. He made the decisions and paid the bill.

After we got “home”, I unpacked and washed the dishes and cookware. Robert put a pizza in the oven and unpacked everything else. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to pack a single chair and had no coffee table. We sat on the sofa and ate with our plates balanced on our laps, perusing Robert’s new digs with satisfaction.

The next morning, Robert reattached the trailer to the truck with a minimum of cussing and stomping.  I drove off just before he left for work. We both sent up a few prayers that Vera would start without problems so Robert could get to his new job on time.

On the way home, I tried a variety of combinations of speeds and gears but no matter what I did the truck just sucked up gas, as it had on the way down. This was bad for Robert, who was paying for it. Our part of the deal was the time, the trailer and some furniture.

It took me four hours to reach Indianapolis. I had made it the whole way without once backing up the trailer. I couldn’t wait to return it. I had never driven with a trailer before Robert’s move. I think I need lessons. If Chris gives them to me he will probably require that I learn to back up while eating a cheeseburger and spinning out on the ice. This is pretty much how he gives driving lessons to the kids.

When I got home Monday night, I felt as if I hadn’t seen the kids in forever. “It’s only been one and half days.” Patrick said when I told him how much I had missed them all.

“It was a very long day,” I replied, giving him a big hug.

Robert loves his new place.

Spring Break was last week. Poor Mary Elizabeth spent a good portion of it laying floor tile. She earned a lot of money, but I don’t know if she thinks it was worth it. I do. The apartment kitchen and bathroom she was working on look fantastic.

Jenny and Patrick worked as well, scraping and sanding woodwork. However, they work best when Chris is around, so they did considerably less work during the week. On the weekend, they made up for it. They also earned money and they also are not sure if it was worth it. Patrick, however, probably had more fun working than he did on our “Grand Day Out” to Indianapolis. We spent almost all of it clothes shopping for the girls. The only think Patrick liked was the food.

For breakfast we went to a Mexican grocery and bought pastries. The selection was a pale shadow of the ones available in our favorite bakery in San Miguel, but the quality was good. Lent also limited the selection, as Mary Elizabeth and Jennifer have given up sweets. We bought Mexican buns and rope cheese from Oxaca to take with us. This was a favorite lunch in Mexico.

After the bakery, we began a serious hunt for Mary Elizabeth’s prom dress. We tried Thrifty Threads, the resale store for the Julian Center, a battered women’s shelter here in Indy. This is where all the slim, stylish people go to donate their clothes. Unfortunately, while the donors are slim and stylish, they are not always young. Finding clothes that are appropriate for a teenager is a challenge. However, Mary Elizabeth eventually succeeded in finding two dresses, one winter and one summer, and a pair of sandals. She looked great in both of them.

 Thrifty Threads keeps shoes and bras right by the front door. Patrick took one whiff of all the estrogen and made a beeline for the Half Price book store next door, where he could take refuge in manly books.

Jenny lasted about ten minutes and then left to join Patrick.

After Thrifty Threads, we headed off to the Vintage store in Broad Ripple. The Vintage store has a strong 1960’s flavor, with a wild décor of brightly colored kitsch. The men’s section has racks of fringed leather vests, shiny polyester shirts and old suits. The women’s section has bell bottom jeans, peasant blouses and long dresses in satin, chiffon, silk, taffeta and velvet. I think the former represent the rebels of the era and the latter represent the country club/ prom set.

Mary Elizabeth is very artsy and has distinctly Bohemian tastes. She was in Heaven. Jenny Anne is pretty much a Brooks Brothers dresser. She was in Hell. Patrick, curiously enough, was drawn to the men’s suits that were about ten times his size.

Mary Elizabeth eventually found a prom dress of dark green taffeta and velvet. She wasn’t sure of the dress, however, and wanted to look elsewhere.

We asked to have the dress held for the day and, leaving the car where it was parked, took off on foot.

Our first stop was “Shop Tibet”. This was Patrick’s first relief of the day. Clothes composed only half the inventory. There were little brass Hindu gods, Tibetan prayer beads, incense and huge, bulky necklaces. Monotone prayer music droned in the background and geometric paper lanterns hung on wires draped from the ceiling.

While Mary Elizabeth and Jennifer tried on clothes without success, Patrick made the big discovery of the day….leather bound journals of thick, handmade paper. The leather was richly carved with exotic designs. Each journal had a silk string binder.

Clothes were forgotten, as all three kids hurried to pick out a journal. Later Patrick commented, “My journal reminds me of one of those books in the movies. You know, the kind that make everybody chase after you because they want the book.”

After the Tibetan store, we walked around Broad Ripple looking for another vintage clothing store. There was none.

Instead we found a Mediterranean Restaurant. The Mexican cheese and bread were quickly forgotten as we went in and sat down, perusing the menu. Mary Elizabeth had never had a Gyros before, so that was her choice. She loved the spiced roast lamb. Jenny Anne ordered curried chicken in pita bread (she didn’t know it was curried or she would never have ordered it. The entire family hates my curry.) I had Baba Ghanouj, an eggplant dip rich with olive oil that was served with quarters of pita bread and garnished with baby cucumber pickles.

For dessert we had huge, doughnut shaped anise cookies that were dry and sugarless. They were probably for dunking in strong Turkish coffee but we were not up for that.  The girls didn’t like the slight licorice flavor at all. Patrick and I loved it.

After lunch, we headed over to some more clothing stores. Mary Elizabeth found a boutique store with stylishly funky clothes and sky high prices. Luckily for Patrick, it was next to a book store cum art gallery.

Mary browsed the boutique for a while and then went to join Patrick. Jenny Anne, curiously enough, hung in there, trying on hats and eventually finding the clearance rack. She tried on a shirt that was completely tailored in front with a semi-train in back. It fit perfectly. The long pleats of fabric swept down and around like a skirt, flowing out behind her. It was Brooks Brothers with a Bohemian flair. She loved it.

As Jennifer was trying on the shirt, Mary Elizabeth came back in. She took one look at Jennifer and green started to seep into the whites of her eyes.

“She’ll never wear it,” Mary Elizabeth said.

This was not an entirely unreasonable remark. Jennifer has, in the past, bought adventurous clothing in a moment of impulse, and then refused to ever wear it. However, I got the impression that Mary Elizabeth didn’t as much think Jennifer would never wear the shirt as she hoped that Jennifer would never wear it. Jenny Anne was poaching on Mary Elizabeth’s style. And Jennifer knew it.

Either because she really loves it, or more likely just to rub it in, Jennifer decided to change into the new shirt and wear it for the rest of the day. With her fitted jeans and high boots it looked fabulous.

Patrick was still in the book store, and we went to fetch him. It should have been a quick trip, but Friedl’s never rush through book stores. They meander, savor and browse. Finally, when the children refused to cast a majority vote for leaving the book store, I made an executive decision and we left….slowly.

Back at the Vintage Store Mary Elizabeth tried on a few more dresses before buying the prom dress she had originally chosen. After her triumph at the boutique, Jenny Anne looked around with new eyes. She tried on some hats, but found nothing to inspire her.

Afterwards we picked up Chris, and gave him his Gyros to eat. He was ravenous. I think he had worked through lunch….again.

On the ride home Mary Elizabeth and Patrick stripped my purse of pens and began to write in their journals. Jenny Anne stuck her head in a book. It had been a good day.

On the weekend that began Spring Break, we celebrated Frances’ birthday at the Man Haven. Mary Elizabeth made a homemade lemon bundt cake with lemon glaze for the occasion. Chris and I gave Frances an old rotary phone that looks like something out of a 1940’s mansion. It is plastic, but it looks good and is very old. I hope she can get it to

work if she ever gets a land line.
Frances loved the phone, which she had seen in an antique store. She now wants to decorate her apartment around it. We are planning on giving her a second hand couch, which has to be white and elegant and cheap, to go with the phone and our budget. (Robert has also just moved into his first solo apartment.)
John and Crystal made homemade candles for Frances. John also finished Frances’ café racer motorcycle. On the spur of the moment we decided to take it home with us. Unfortunately, the only way to get it there was for someone to ride it.
Frances is still learning to ride so Chris did the honors, escorted by the rest of the family in the minivan. Chris had not ridden a motorcycle for any distance in twenty or more years. He was not dressed for the occasion and it was a chilly day. As we progressed on the hour long drive, the kids kept commenting on his appearance.
“I don’t think Papa looks very happy.” Mary said.
Patrick commented, “He’s all hunched over, like the motorcycle riders in the cartoons.”
“He has a funny look on his face. It’s all scrunched up.” Jenny said.
Frances was just panicked that he might somehow damage her precious motorcycle. She kept up a steady commentary about what he should and should not be doing as he rode it.
“He’s in the wrong lane. He needs to get over.”
“Now he needs to get back in this lane.”

“He’s going too fast.”

“He’s going too slow.”

“He’s too far back.”

“He’s too far in front.”

I wanted to blindfold her until we got home….just to keep her quiet.
Chris was also on my list. I had told him to take the back roads, since John had told me earlier that the bike is not fast enough for the freeway. As we left downtown however, Chris roared ahead of us, taking the on ramp to the freeway. By keeping an eye on his speedometer, he kept it to a reasonable 70 mph. Even at that, he was amazed at how fast everyone else was driving. He was getting left behind by semis that blew past him, and cars that zipped around him. I expected him to be run down any minute. I tried to keep behind him, protecting his back and facilitating lane changes, since the bike was missing rear view mirrors. The kids watched in morbid fascination.
When Chris stopped at a gas station I jumped right on him.

“Do you know how dangerous it is to do 45 mph on the freeway?”
I was very put out. We were off the freeway, and onto smaller roads by then, or I would have been even more upset.
“What do you mean 45?” he asked? “I was doing 65 and 70.”

“On no you weren’t,” I fumed, “You were doing 45 the whole way. Once you got up to 50, for about a minute at most.”
Chris then called John and found out that, unlike the engine, the speedometer had not been repaired. He commented, “I wondered why everyone was passing me,” and promptly changed the subject.
There was payback however. By the time we got home, macho Chris’ teeth were rattling and he was shivering with cold.

The thing is, I don’t really like motorcycles. I think they are dangerous. But I really do like being married to the kind of guy who pushes the envelope…. on a motorcycle, in a cave, or in a hang glider, a parachute or scuba gear. So I put up with these things. I don’t like many of these hobbies per se, but I really like having the kind of guy who does  them. Irrationally, I retain the right to nag when he acts according to his nature.
Frances was thrilled to have her motorcycle home.
“I’ve been trying to decide what to name him,” she said.
“Call him Reginald,” I suggested. Whenever Frances makes fun of romance novels, she always says the name of the hero is Reginald.
“That’s what I was thinking,” she said.

And now, bright, red and shiny Reginald spends his nights chained to the bottom of the apartment stairs, awaiting his lady.

On Friday, March 4, Chris and I celebrated our anniversary, just one day late. The actual day was taken up with work for Chris and Red Cross volunteering for me. There has been flooding in Jay County and I was part of a team helping out with flood victims. It was interesting for me, but also a bit depressing. A lot of people had sewage come up in their homes, and none of the ones I talked to had any flood insurance.

 After our sewage fiasco the first year we were here, I can truly relate. At least we had basements to contain the mess. Also, the gas company, which broke the lines in the first place, paid a biohazard team to disinfect the basements. These flood victims are not so lucky.

On Friday, I spent the morning shopping, as usual, and found a huge couch for the living room. We have all been trying to squeeze onto one love seat when watching tv on the computer, since we do not have a plasma screen to connect to it. We watch the computer because we prefer life without a television. We also watch DVD’s on an old TV I got picked up for forty dollars second hand. The tv, however, is a million years old. It works only for DVD’s and has no antenna.

The couch only cost $25 at the Goodwill Outlet store, much less than a plasma screen TV. It was a steal, and it is enormous. Now we all have comfortable places to sit to look at our tiny screen.

I am constantly amazed by the number of huge tv screens I see in peoples windows when I go for walks at night. Houses that have ancient asbestos siding with brick designs printed on it and washing machines on the front porch inevitably also have huge flat panel televisions. It’s as if their real lives are lived vicariously, taking place on the screen rather than in their actual homes.

I am admittedly prejudiced in this regard. The tenants who stuck us with the most unpaid rent and left the most filth and damage in their wake, ironically, had the biggest TV of all. It’s not that I wouldn’t love to have a large screen TV. I think it would be great. But if I have to choose between that and sailing camp for the kids, or a bunch of bus tickets to Mexico, it is really a no brainer.

But again, I have digressed.

Our adventure on Friday was to go out for lunch to a Greek restaurant, where I ordered my usual spanikopita and an additional cheese dish cooked in flaming brandy.

As we drove there, Chris asked, “Do I like Greek food?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. What I really meant was, “I don’t care.” I had been waiting for months for an excuse to go to this restaurant.

Afterwards, we drove to a sailboat yard. This was Chris’ treat. We climbed aboard a bunch of boats that were for sale. It was damp and drizzling and we had to climb up these little bitty swim ladders. It was almost as bad as the rope ladder to the tree house. But it was worth it. After all of our reading, it was fun to finally see what an actual sailboat looks like.

Most of the boats were in the 25 to 26 foot range. Forget the sails, engines and electronics. I want a boat with a bathroom, a private sleeping compartment and an adequate galley (better known as a kitchen in a tea pot). I want to be able to stand up straight, which at 5’1.5” should not be too much to ask. Also, the more teak and mahogany on the inside, the better. I do now want to spend my time surrounded by fiberglass.

 Chris said,“We’ll be spending most of our time outside.”

I thought, “You will be spending most of your time outside. I plan on holing up in the cabin with some regularity.”

There is no single activity in the world that can keep me entertained without interruption for days at a time. And even if there were, we have to eat and sleep. And when we do, I want to be comfortable.

We do not want to get a boat right now. Well, that isn’t entirely true. We want to, we just can’t afford to. For the moment Chris keeps drooling over them on Craigslist.  From the pictures I had see, I expected the boats to be like sardine cans with sails. And the ones we could afford were. But the ones we are dreaming of are not.

We found a book at the boat store about the advantages of having a smaller sailboat. I read a lot of the book to Chris while we were driving up to Purdue to take Joseph his CAP dress jacket. (He was to receive his Mitchell award this evening, and had forgotten to bring the jacket up for the occasion.)

When we arrived, Joseph showed us his fatty tire unicycle. He is thrilled with it and apparently rides it all over campus. Our visit was brief, as we had an anniversary to celebrate.

After the lunch, the sailboats and the trip to Purdue, Chris and I went to a movie.

I told Chris,“I don’t want to watch one of those movies like the Pelican Brief, where afterwards you have to go watch another movie, just to unwind from the movie you just watched.”

We watched a mildly entertaining bit of fluff, not so bad that the pretzel was better than the movie, but not so good that it beat the raisinettes. And then we went home.

On Saturday morning, I had to get up at “O dark thirty” to accompany Mary Elizabeth to a speech tournament. The team needed an extra judge at the last minute. Or more likely Mary Elizabeth just put off breaking the bad news until the eleventh hour. The team had to assemble at 6 in the morning and we didn’t get home until about 5 pm.

Mary Elizabeth did not make it to State, but she was happy with the experience. I was happy for her and less than thrilled for me. I only had one event to judge, which left me to spend about nine hours sitting on a hard stool in a school cafeteria with hundreds of meandering teenagers.

 I knew I was at a speech contest when I arrived to see students standing alone, delivering speeches to banks of lockers while entire speech teams stood in circles practicing gibberish tongue exercises.

Next year I hope that Mary Elizabeth changes her poetry selection. There is so much more to poetry then “The Charge of the Light Brigade. Besides, it’s my “disaster poem”.

Whenever I have had truly terrible situations in my life, or moments full of dread, I have never failed to have the following lines pop into my head, “Cannons to the right of them, cannons to the left of them, volleyed and thundered. Into the valley of death rode the six hundred.” I won’t even describe the times when this has happened to me. They are just too painful. But the fact that they are inevitably accompanied by Tennyson is just bizarre.

I don’t know whether this is the result of an excellent education in high school English or the consequence of some deep seated paranoia. Given that I avoid disasters at all cost, it is probably the latter. I would never visit the Alamo. I do not watch Civil War or WWII movies and my personal idea of Hell would be spending an afternoon watching the movie, “Titanic”. Seeing the re-enactment of the drowning of 1500 or so people is not my idea of fun.

Chris and Patrick spent all of Saturday going from rental property to rental property fixing things, primarily roof leaks. Now we have to wait for more rain to see if the roof repairs worked. If not, they may have to spend next weekend doing the same thing.

This week we are supposed to have a couple of warmer, sunny, days. I can, theoretically, get back to work scraping the outside of our apartment building. More days to spend on yet another never-ending job.

On Saturday Jennifer and Patrick started laying backer board for the tile floor in an apartment kitchen . This is the last of our apartments that is not rented. They are not disappointed to have the work. They are saving their money to spend in Mexico. More work equals more money.

And yes, we are most likely going to return to Mexico this summer, as soon as the kids sailing camp is over.
At my first, tentative, mention of Mexico, the kids lit up like Christmas trees. They can’t wait to go. Truthfully, neither can I. This year the long trip to Laredo by car and then by bus to San Miguel should be a bit easier. Instead of being filled with the nervousness that accompanies a voyage into the unknown, we will be returning to a familiar place, full of the memories of good company, adventure, great food, warm people and beauty. Not to mention the shopping.

The shopping is what motivates the kids to put plenty of money in the bank before they leave. The apartment should be done and rented in record time.

On Sunday, after Mass we went to the Park Restaurant to have breakfast. It was packed, as usual, and the food was great. Then we came home and relaxed, taking naps or just hanging out. In the evening Frances came over and we had a great dinner prepared by Jennifer.

 Afterwards Jennifer was unhappy. I asked her what was wrong.

“Nobody said anything about the food,” she complained.

I replied,” You’ve become too good a cook. They all take it for granted that your meals will be good.”

 This did not seem to cheer her up. I think it helped later, however, when Mary Elizabeth mentioned “the good dinner” later that night in the gratitude portion of family prayers. Mary Elizabeth has her priorities straight.