My fears of the back porch (and subsequently the airing porch) falling off the back of my house are rather less, now. Poor Firewood Man exhausted himself getting all four 6x6 posts put in beneath the porch. He also, being a bit more concerned about the condition of the fascia board and the two outer sides of the porch, went and fetched more 2x6s to sandwich the existing frame with sturdiness. He removed the steps (more distress) and created what is essentially a second outer frame. Then, he put a second 2x6 on the other side of the original framing beneath the deck. He keeps telling me that it is not as if the porch was going to collapse, but seeing weaknesses makes him want to strength them.
I am rather disconcerted, seeing the porch bare of all its bottom siding (save for the frame). But tomorrow, hopefully, that particular wide open view will be gone. And I did not have to watch any of the "jacking up" it took to properly support the porch. Plus, that broken spigot is now capped off at the house and gone, and the bent and rusted ancient hose holder is now gone. The disappearance of long-endured eyesores is very much welcome in my book.
Tim also did one of the three porch roof supports before collapsing for the day. He switched out the old center 4x4 to a new 4x6, to give it an added bit of umph. I'm sure there is a logical reason to switch the center post first, but I also happen to think he did that one because the conduit (and switch) for the floodlight runs along the back of it and I have been fretting about that light run getting broken somehow. Tomorrow, he's hoping to do the other two porch roof supports, all the railing, all the framing for the lattice on the sides of the base of my porch, and the lattice on both porch bases.
I think that is a rather ambitious scope of work.
My neighbor remembered that today is Financial Cliff Day and offered to go with me to Target. We dropped off the too-large solar lights at a UPS pick-up spot, fetched the prescriptions from Target, used Panera gifts cards (we both had) for a sit-down lunch, went back to Target when I discovered I forgot to use the $100 gift card I had (fortunately the pharmacist was able to void the sale and re-charge it), then when to Wal-mart for groceries.
I had a smaller list.
I really did.
The cart was overflowing.
Some of my purchases were refilling of the larder, such as dark brown sugar, pepper, ketchup, Parmesan cheese (for basil burgers), etc. I was completely out of bread, milk, butter, saltines, and Ginger ale. [I decided to get two of both the latter, because the nausea has become a daily companion.] I also had run through all of the onions, garlic, and potatoes I had on hand and needed another container of Gatorade mix (I buy them when the current one is about 3/4 empty) to boot. The one item I am out of and could not find were tostada shells for chalupas! Sadness. Maybe on my next milk run I will find some.
After eating at Panera, I was ever so much perkier and I realized that I have not been good about getting enough sodium of late. When a cardiologist tells you to daily chow down on potato chips, you really ought to take the matter serious. It is just that I keep forgetting to bulk up my sodium intake. So, I moved chips from contraband status to necessity.
My contraband item, then, was some chocolate. I have not had chocolate in the house for a long while. I settled on Rolos, which are not the most economical of the options. So, I decided to buy a large bag that was 9.7 cents less per ounce and divide it into mason jars. My neighbor said if I made it last two months that would be impressive. Maybe it should be three?? I was tickled that her autistic son has taken a shine to the concept of contraband shopping and has insisted that, when they shop, they, too, should save money by only having a single contraband item each.
In any case, I thought I would be way under budget again this month, planning only to make chicken chipotle chili (for which I have all the ingredients), unless I also run out of pulled pork (for which I, too, have all the ingredients). But somehow the bill was my normal bill. I have studied it and cannot find the excess. Strange. Maybe the savings catcher app will find me some good deals and give me money back.
My neighbor emptied 3/4 of the car for me and reminded me to make lemon cucumber water right away so it will be ready tonight. I've been out of cucumbers for 5 days and have been drinking plain water. ICK. I did that, put away the groceries, divided the chocolate, fed Amos, uploaded my receipts, entered the medical expenses into my spreadsheet, and spent some time admiring the new airing porch post caps that we had fetched.
These are the post caps I chose. They are all just slipped on at the moment, but Firewood Man will attach them tomorrow.
I went with them because these are the ones on the main staircase. [Please ignore the dust.] Everything in the house is square and rectangular, with little curves. All the circular, oblong, and oval post cap toppers would just not look right. The post caps I chose were the only ones with a flat top, if just a teeny tiny bit of a square top instead of the substantial one here.
Firewood Man will be happy to hear that Becky and Gary are of the opinion that the posts need not be shortened any further. We had cut them 5 inches (or there abouts ... one is crooked at the moment), to allow for a balanced height once the cap option was finalized. These slip over (and down) the top, which makes for a cleaner join. Instead of having to ensure the cut is perfectly level, all you really need to do is plop on some construction glue and then press down using a level to balance out the cap. Of course, I do desire that the crookedly cut post is trimmed down ever so slightly.
I am not sure if Amos admired the caps, but he does already enjoy hanging out on the airing porch.
In a peaceful place where his hyper vigilance over being outside is greatly minimized.
Far, far, far away from the dreaded GREEN grass.
Opening night at the symphony was simply spectacular. I did forget just how much climbing I need to do to get to my seat, but I was welcomed so warmly by the wife of my seat mates that the cockles of my heart sang. Several folk recognized me and welcomed me back, as well.
The roughest part of the evening was when I was chatting with the woman next to me. She remembered my neurological deficits and asked how I was doing. Since she is on the board, I shared with her some of my ideas I've been having about resource development and communications with the Fort Wayne Philharmonic. After a few moments, she stopped me and said she needed me to know something. I thought, "Oh, Myrtle, you've talked too much again." But it was worse. Much worse. It was about the most loveliest of men, upon first meeting me, offered to drive me to my car any night I had to drive myself there. He said I could wait with his wife out front and they would take me wherever I found parking. My seat mate's husband died rather unexpectedly just a few weeks back. She wanted me to know, because she knew that I would be asking where he was.
I was flabbergasted. I opened my mouth to protest, "He was so ..."
"He was a kind man, a good man," his wife finished.
"He was," I agreed, starting to weep.
His wife is so very kind, too. She had had surgery on her foot last year and struggled with recovery. That was the first thing I asked about and was pleased when she told me all was well again. I quipped about how she and her beloved could go dancing once again. She knew I would notice her husband's absence over the next few performances. Sometimes, one or the other of them brought someone else, so I had not really thought about him not being there. Maybe travel or work interfered or maybe just to share the joy of music. No matter. Both were kind to me and I was looking forward to sitting with them again.
Despite the sadness over her loss, sitting in my chair, being greeted and waved at and part of the folk in the balcony, I felt like I belonged. I have never thought such a thing before. Not even at church. Not at school or work. At the front of the classroom once I was the instructor, but only in that space ... never with the rest of the faculty. Always a step behind, always not clued into the conversation. I know nothing about classical music, really. But I belonged tonight at the symphony.
I had forgotten that the philharmonic starts the year with the "Star Spangled Banner." Oh, my! How gustily the song was sung!! So many patriots in the building. [I'm half surprised a protest was not staged outside over the blatant adoration of flag and country. They used the 1812 flag, to honor the 200th anniversary of Fort Wayne (or at least I think Fort Wayne is the one having an anniversary).
The mayor was there tonight, so a proclamation came next, honoring 70 years the philharmonic has contributed to the economical and individual well-being of the city. And then the conductor, who is so engaging and so funny told folk not to turn off their phones. He wanted people to do the social media "thing." Everyone was chuckling because he needed a whole lot of prompting for naming different social media platforms and for telling everyone the hashtag to use. I was laughing so hard, even though my heart was hurting over the loss of a kind and merciful man, because he kept asking what a hashtag was, almost distracted from his job, but then interrupting the explanation because it could wait.
Darn it, I left my phone at home!
The first half of the performance was exquisite, using a double string orchestra. I didn't know such a thing was possible! Sir Michael Tippet's Concerto for Double Sting Orchestra was utterly fascinating to listen to how all the different sounds made from and the flow of the music interplayed between only one class of instruments. I very much liked it, as did the audience.
The second half was Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 1 in D Major. Now, I really did not think I would enjoy Mahler, especially having read the performance notes. Talk about modern music in orchestral works and I start to cringe. But his work, to my ear, did not have the dissonance or clashing sounds described. I mean, clearly he was playing around with interspersing folk music with traditional orchestral music, but I still had my moments of haunting notes so sweet it almost hurts to listen to them, especially this one section where the cellos and the violins were passing the music back and forth. The piece ends with the entire French horn section standing as they bring the music to a triumphant end. Folk around me were on their feet and shouting out accolades a nanosecond after last note ended.
Giddy.
High.
Totally outside my world.
Coming home, whoever is driving me, will notice that I practically bounce off the windows of the car, talking a mile a minute about all the instruments used and what was played and what I noticed and what I still don't understand. If driving myself, whoever is accompanying me via phone, experiences the same. Going to the symphony is an absolute balm for my spirit and a magical, very much welcome escape from my quotidian existence.
I celebrated, once home and showered and done with the evening's star gazing on the airing porch, with something crafted from all those missing ingredients I restocked today.
Cinnamon Toast with not one, but two large glasses of ice cold whole milk. [I'm the kind of gal who keeps a spice bottle filled with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar at all times ... just in case of need.] Pioneer Woman has this rather brilliant way of making cinnamon toast: she softens butter, mixes in ingredients, and then spreads in on the bread. That way, you can add something not possible with the butter-then-sugar application, such as vanilla!!! Some day, I want to try that. Maybe with just a touch of nutmeg. But, for tonight, I went with the tried and true method of creating soul-satisfying-sweetness.
So, this day was filled with lots and lots and lots. Too much, really, for I am exhausted and my heart feels like it has been on an emotional roller coaster. I think that, in the future, symphony days should have neither nerve-wracking construction in them or errand running. They certainly should not have panic-attack-inducing purchase of medications. Seriously, if I had not had a sodium fest in my Panera salad, I doubt I would have made it through the day.
My seat mate gave me a card with her contact information and told me to get in touch with her. Before I send her the ideas that have been percolating in my head, I would like to send a condolence card. If ... if that would not be too weird.
Mercy is important.
Those who show it ... share it ... deserve honor and thanks.
Thanks Mary and Becky and Caryl and Gail and Tim and Leslie and Eleanor ... and Lockwood, a merciful man who, it turns out, spent much time volunteering for SCAN, an organization battling child abuse.
May he rest in peace.
And may the Lord shower mercy upon Eleanor, his bride of 56 years.
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