The Ring Bear

Tex came by The Bungalow to earn some money this past Sunday.  I gave him his invitation to the wedding and strict orders to be sure and tell his grandpa and grandma they were invited to come with him.  I doubt that info made it home.  I may have to make a phone call...

As we were spreading pine straw down the sides of the front walk and around the crepe myrtles, Tex asked me if he could be our ring bear.

Me:  "You mean ring bearer?"

Tex:  "That's what I said, your ring bear."

Me:  "Well, we don't have a wedding party, so Eric's going to have the rings in his pocket..."

Why do I feel like Barney Stinson has a hand in this?

Addendum:  If you do not watch How I Met Your Mother, you may not understand this joke.

A Weekend in the Woods

Eric's approval for our cabin at Monte Sano State Park.

We couldn’t get out of town fast enough this past Friday.  A very late birthday trip for Eric and a week made of Mondays were the occasions.  Monte Sano State Park was our destination.  I had discovered their rustic cabins during a search for Civilian Conservation Corps buildings in Alabama (this search prompted by a discussion with a coworker during which we both expressed our desire to see the revival of FDR’s New Deal public works programs to relieve, recover and reform our nation…a discussion that led to many digressions on my part, thus my ending up reserving a historic cabin in a state park). 

Monte Sano State Park is located on a mountain in north Alabama that overshadows the city of Huntsville.  The park is home to fourteen Arts & Crafts stone cabins, most with working fireplaces and original hardwood floors, and all with stunning views from the attached screened porches.   There is no real roughing it in these cabins.  Although it was small, our cabin (Cabin #1) came fully furnished with the same amenities (or more) as a hotel:  two beds (one full –sized, one twin), a dining table with four chairs, stove, oven, refrigerator, coffee maker and microwave.  The bathroom was stocked with plenty of towels, wash cloths, soap, shampoo, lotion, and a hairdryer.  On our porch, we had two chairs and a table which we moved from facing the view of the woods to face the view of the bluff overlooking the valley where the chocolaty waters of the Tennessee  River flowed.  There was air conditioning (which we didn’t even have to use, the temperatures were so unseasonably cool) and cable (which we DID use ever so sparingly since we do not have cable at home and it is a novelty to us), and a blessed quietude that hung on the bluff that entire weekend, a quietude that was not even broken by the pulsing chorus of tree frogs that began to sing at nightfall.  And the fireflies…they danced out of the trees to the rhythm of the tree frogs’ song and surrounded the cabin like twinkling Christmas lights.  It. Was. Perfect.

We fed ourselves with blackened tofu salads and fresh spring rolls with bee sting sauce from the amazing Chef Will, whose food truck is located in the Lowe Mill Arts district of Huntsville, and other treats that we picked up at the Whole-Foods-on-steroids store Earth Fare.  One evening was spent at Below theRadar Brewhouse, which claimed to have gluten free options, but clearly didn’t fully grasp the meaning of gluten free by offering bangers boiled in Guinness and covered in Stout gravy as one of their safe options.  Yeah, nothing about Guinness-boiled sausages and Stout gravy sounds gluten free to me.  Because it’s not.  And the wait staff were a bit independent, if you know what I mean (they disappeared for no apparent reason for long periods of time).  But they did have an amazing array of beers. 

Chef Will, Lowe Mill, Huntsville, AL

Blackened Tofu Salad, Chef Will

What time not spend eating and sleeping was spent walking trails (or, if you are Eric, running), reading (The Body by Stephen King for me, California by Edan Lapucki for Eric), yoga-ing on the porch, or meditating (again, on the porch).  At one point, while the voice on Eric’s iPhone app urged us to listen to the sounds around us while concentrating on our breathing, a squabbling ruckus from an unidentifiable bird broke from the trees.  The squabbling ruckus was immediately meditated away.

View from our cabin.

Our cabin from a trail head.

State of the Bungalow Address 19 July 2014

The Bungalow and garage just received a fresh coat of paint.  In some cases (the red doors), FIVE coats of paint.  We opted out of the DIY approach for this project (scraping, sanding, caulking in high places, knocking down wasp nests, replacing rotting boards and such) and hired the very entertaining, former policeman Hugh Cox to handle the job for us.  It took us a month to choose the colors (yes, a month of back and forth to Sherwin Williams, small pots of color to paint on a board that we moved around the outside of the house day after day, during different times of the day).  And once we chose the colors, we then hopped into the car and drove all the way to South Dakota so that we could get far away and marinate on our choices (actually, we drove to South Dakota to attend Eric's best friend's wedding in Sioux Falls, which is a whole other wonderful story for another time).  When we came back, almost a week later, Hugh and his team started the process of transformation.  It took awhile.  But now The Bungalow is sealed and painted and almost sea-worthy.  We would buy her all over again.

The Bungalow cleaning process, before paint.

The Bungalow, after a good scrubbing and paint.

Back of The Bungalow, post-paint.

Garage, after Eric finished out the front, pre-paint.

Garage, mid paint.

Garage, done!

Porch ceiling, before.

Porch ceiling, after.

Colors used, all Sherwin Williams:
Link Gray SW 6200-Body
Cast Iron SW 6202-Trim
Rare Gray SW 6199-Porch Ceiling
Rookwood Dark Red SW 2801-Doors

Next projects:  Staining the front door, spray painting the brass door hardware, and building a deck across the back of the house.  To be continued...

The Fault In Our Stars

Saturday, while the menfolk of our urban family smoked and/or grilled lots of meat, us womenfolk went to the movies to watch The Fault in Our Stars.  We love John Green and his novels.  We love this particular novel very, very, very much.  So much so, it holds a rather sacred place in our hearts and bookshelves.  I was skeptical, as I always am when a book is made into a movie.  Rarely is the movie better than the book (except in the case of The English Patient and Legends of the Fall).  And although this movie was good, it was not as wonderful as the book.  The book is magical.  The book made me cry.  Ugly cry.  The movie only made my eyes a little sweaty.  And my nose may have burned some.  And there may have been a lump in my throat.

After the movie, we joined the menfolk and the kidfolk on the mountain and ate some of the meat that was smoked and/or grilled.  Children, slippery and pool-pruned, scampered about the backyard like woodland fairies.  Cafe lights illuminated our oasis...

Photo by Zoe.

State of the Bungalow Address 9 June 2014

Home improvement projects always occur in multiples.  Start one, and you end up with at least one other project that needs to happen in order to successfully complete the one that you started in the first place.

Case in point:  Eric and I hired a contractor to paint the Bungalow and the garage.  But the garage front was wonky and unplumb and needed to be fixed before we could move forward on the painting.  So, based upon some conversations with jack-of-all-trades and good friend Mike Utter, it was determined that some braces and some concrete board would take care of the job. Yesterday, Eric finished out the front of the garage with some (rather little) help from me. 

Now, if we could just figure out the colors of paint that we want to use.  We've had the chips for a week.  We have narrowed the body color down to a grey shade.  A grey shade of what, we don't know yet.  Green grey?  Brown grey?  Blue grey?  I DON'T KNOW.  I'll see Sherwin Williams later today about some sample paints...

Before

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After

State of the Bungalow Address, 7 June 2014

We've been getting some more things done around here, things we've been meaning to do for some time.   So, to catch everyone up on the state of the Bungalow, here is an update.

In preparation for building a deck on the back of the house (one day), we had the AC compressor/condenser unit thingy (technical terms) moved to the side of the house.  The process was capably handled by AC expert and all-around great guy, Chad Brewer. 

Green truck in green landscape.

Choosing the spot.

Finito!

The following week, I decided to paint our small back deck because it had been poorly painted/stained by the previous owner and was showing some serious signs of wear.  As Eric and I looked it over during the scraping process, we noticed several rotting boards.  And, when Eric pulled on the stairs to see how difficult it would be to remove them from the deck, they released effortlessly...a scary thing to witness, considering how we had no idea how rotted out the support and facing boards were.

As with many home projects, the quick paint job of one weekend turned into several days of tear-out and rebuild BEFORE any priming and painting could ever happen.  And after about two weeks (we are having quite the rainy season again this year) and much gnashing of teeth later, the deck paint job was done.  No longer known as the deck of death...

Nice.

A Tugging String by David T. Greenberg

A recent gift from my future mother & father-in-law was a signed copy of A Tugging String by David T. Greenberg, son of Jack Greenberg (former director of the NAACP Legal Defense Fund). A Tugging String is a nonfiction novel set during the Civil Right Movement, specifically during the 1960s and the years leading up to the Selma-Montgomery Voting Rights March of 1965. 

What a great resource this book would be in a classroom (late elementary into middle school) where the Civil Rights Movement was being studied!  Author David T. Greenberg's very accessible and autobiographical account of his childhood as the son of a leading attorney for prominent Civil Rights' leaders gives readers a riveting front row seat to history being made.  A Tugging String contains facts.  But A Tugging String also contains the raw storytelling that comes from someone who stood as witness to the events of that volatile time. 

Having a deep and abiding interest in the Civil Rights Movement, I found Greenberg's novel an important read, especially considering the recent Supreme Court case of Shelby County vs. Holder and the ruling where "the coverage formula in Section 4(b) of the Voting Rights Act (VRA), which was used to determine the states and political subdivisions subject to Section 5 preclearance, was unconstitutional."

We have a lot to think about as a nation right now.  Discrimination comes in many guises.  We have to be vigilant and, as Greenburg says in Tugging, we have to "do what's right."

Near the end of the novel, David's father shares with him the poem If by Rudyard Kipling.  Outside of rope skipping rhymes and Roberta Flack song lyrics, this particular poem is the first poem that I ever memorized as a youngster.  Sadly, I can no longer recite it on command.  But it is a beautiful poem, full of meaning.

If by Rudyard Kipling

(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!