The Color of WELCOME

I walk the dog…a lot. I get the illusion of exercise, and he sniffs and pees and eliminates solids in a quantity that amazes all who see. He may poop more than he eats.

But I digress. The topic is Front Doors, and we see quite a few in any neighborhood, but the eclectic (what a kind word for what we see here), “beachy” neighborhood in Virginia Beach where we walk has quite a variety as it isn’t limited to the narrow, suburban choices. The value of a suburban neighborhood is determined by the number of cars in the driveways, the number of pickups on the street and the various measures of suburban standards, like lawn care, foundation plantings, type of roof, make sure your garage doors are closed and you know the drill. In this “beachy” neighborhood, the value is determined by the fact that you are two blocks from the Atlantic Ocean, and the Boardwalk of Virginia Beach is just another stroll.

It is not unusual for the value of a house to be: structure, $40,000; lot, $425,000. The structures are just not the main focus. There is a house that is not much more than a shed with plumbing. There is a guy who lives in a garage (it is a two-car with a nice beer sign) and cooks on a gas grill. Across the street is a three-story beauty that was recently built, fits the neighborhood and has a construction cost of well over $400,000.

The front doors are equally as varied. Made me wonder, what should a front door be? What color, in particular? Lots of reds, from deep, deep almost maroon to bright, red like the stripes in the flag. Greens are popular. I am not a huge fan of the wood ones, they seem extravagantly expensive and not very practical since the heat and UV is really hard on any material, particularly wood. The fake wood ones are just not my style.

How about yellow? There is a gray, shingle Cape Cod with a purple front door. Should they have a storm door around them? Or, be bare? Lots of white ones, and I think some of that is they come from the factory that way and it is easy to just keep them white. Battleship gray with a brown shingle house and green roof. Hmmmm.

I don’t know, what does feng shui say? Well, it depends, evidently on your facing or seating direction, and … aw, I just don’t know.

All I do know is that the proper front door color is just not as important as the attitude that it projects, the feeling you get when you go through it. And I know that color should be WELCOME.

Bourbon and Dad

A recent article in a magazine, “Wine Spectator” discussed the tastes and features of various bourbons, the “American drink.”  One of them brought back a whole bunch of memories for me, and as it would happen, I then inflict these musing on you guys.

I had to throw out my dad’s hat that I had kept since his death in 1990.  Over the 22 years on the shelf, the old Stetson (it was a Western gentleman’s hat, not a cowboy style) had developed some mold problems.  It was a definite symbol of Wallie, since he came from a generation that wore hats routinely for work and for dress, and he often said that he felt uncomfortable to be outside without a head covering of some sort.  Ergo, after his death, I made sure he would have a hat if he ever showed up.

Back to bourbon.  My dad bought Old Grand-Dad bourbon by the case, and it had to be a specific one of their bourbons, I think the 86 proof.  That brand had several, and I think the 100 proof is the one I see most often, but he liked the taste of the lower alcohol level.

His older brother, Martin, died of a tonsillectomy at about age 8 (my brother had the same operation at about the same age which had to spook my grandmother), so he was essentially an only child.  Except that he had a friend, Jake, also an only child. They were about the same age (Jake was adopted, so the age was not certain) and like the brother neither of them had. They grew up together, were close until Jake died about two years before Wallie, and they would enjoy some Old Grand-Dad, or as they said it in some sort of old country accent, they “drinked a little.” Neither drank to excess, but the ritual was two high balls before dinner—you see, one wasn’t enough because “you can’t get home on one leg.”

The magazine talked about the “spicy” and “classic” and “smooth” general tastes of the whiskey they featured, and Old Grand-Dad, which is apparently owned by the Beam Distillery (as in Jim Beam), is a very moderately priced spirit.  They list it as “spicy,” and I have no way or reason to dispute this, but this is what else they have to say:  “You’ll find sweet cinnamon and cornbread mingling with minty, peppery rye aromas.  It’s authoritative in the mouth, a solid punch of hot corn and robust oak is accented by a hint of anise and a long, spicy finish.”  Wallie and Jake would have laughed and called BS on all that. For them, sippin’ whiskey isn’t about “finding peppery rye aromas” or a “long, spicy finish.” Sippin’ whiskey is just about one thing—friends. Just friends.

Whenever I have a taste of Kentucky bourbon, I think of my dad and those times.  It is a taste that is unique, for sure, and since the hat is gone, I will have to keep a jar of it around.  We will enjoy some sips in their memory.

WELL, AT LEAST I WON’T DIE YOUNG

There are many ways to lose innocence, I suppose. My mother’s mother (Jennie Craig, but not THE Jennie Craig) died when my mother was sixteen and her father died when my mother had just turned 22 the previous October 31. That left her with five younger siblings to care for, a bunch of farm animals and equipment, and no time to be a teenager/young adult. It was Christmas time in 1932, the bottom of the Depression, and there she was without parents.

The farm sale was scheduled for February 8, but she postponed it due to the weather. Here is an excerpt from her cousin Maurie’s diary as transcribed by his daughter who tried to make it exactly as he wrote it, including variations of spelling and abbreviations that are sometimes difficult. Some of the people referenced were neighbors, and it is helpful to remember that the population of that part of Nebraska was much more dense than it is today; for instance, when I was a youngster, say twenty years after these entries, we could look from our place and see thirteen places where people lived and raised families. Today, there is one…and the school is gone. Family referenced here include my mother, Norma.

Feb. 8: Norma postponed the sale until the 17^th. Terrible cold weather 40 mi hr wind & 10 to 15 below zero.

Feb. 9: Murphy’s sale. Bought harness $7; Harrow $6.25. Frank & Clara were up for dinner. Little bit warmer.

Feb. 10: Went home after a load of corn. Surprise on J Crosier 20^th anniversary. Much warmer to-day.

Feb. 11: Hauled a little straw. Put straw around the hen house. Went to Andrew’s for a card party.

Feb. 12: Norma & kids were up for dinner. Folks & Pop & Francis were also here. Getting warmer.

Feb. 13: Shelled today. 10 loads. Cold in morning. Tractor kept freezing so didn’t get started until 10.

Feb. 14: Helped the good wife wash. Fixed on the nests in the chicken house.

Feb. 15: Freda had club today. Hauled load of corn home.

Feb. 16: Helped Shaffer dip his cattle. Freda played for a funeral. Stan had a birthday party.

Feb. 17: Norma’s sale. An awful big crowd. Things sold good. Black stud $245 Gray $260 Cows about $30

This was after a series of really interesting entries from that previous December, 1932:

Dec 12: it was 15 below this morning. Ground about 100 bu of ear corn. Hauled 2 loads of corn, 1 loads of oats to the steers.

Dec 13: Bought 28 T of hay of Webb at $5. Freda, Francis, Gord, Ken & I went to Columbus this afternoon for license & etc.

Dec 14: Splendid day. Sunshine and fairly warm. About 40 to the wedding. Very nice ceremony. Oh, what a bride.

Dec 15: Went to Columbus and had our pictures taken. Eleanor’s folks had their sale.

Dec 16: Loafed around at Freda’s all day. New kind of a honeymoon.

Dec 17: Still at Andreasen’s. No chores to do. Just lots of loving and such.

Dec 18: Went to Church. Attend Christmas singing. Will stay at the folks. Dad went to Columbus.

Dec 19: Chivari crowd. Freda & I painted the wood work. Splendid weather. Grandma got a basket of grapefruit from Texas.

Dec 20: Uncle Carl is awful bad. Freda & I finished the papering. Boys hauled two loads of hay.

Dec 21: Uncle Carl died this noon. Dad went to Columbus. Mother stayed to help with things. Freda & I went to Chris’.

What a Christmas. I have been fascinated with the combination, in these few entries, these few days, of the mundane (“ground about 100 bu of ear corn”), the joyful (“Oh, what a bride”) and the end of a life, a hugely significant negative event for my family, (“Uncle Carl died this noon.”).

People get married, work and die. We seem to think of those events today in such grand terms, but at that time, with very little money and the lack of “modern” communication, they just went on about their lives. The farms were microcosms of these cycles and people accepted life on those terms.

Today’s loss of innocence comes a bit differently. Exposure to television and the internet conditions our young people to horrible and intimate experiences, perhaps earlier than they can fully understand and so often without any “real” context. People are shot multiple times per day in front of them, and no one mourns. There is no emotion with it. Porn is available on the internet—titillation without emotion or context.

I can’t say that any of this is better or worse than the 1930’s in rural Nebraska, but it is surely different. These events happened only thirty years before I graduated from high school. Thirty years back from today seems like yesterday.

As described by my mother and others, my grandfather Carl seemed to have the same heart condition that afflicted me, obstructive enlargement of the heart, which runs in families. It was never diagnosed, and even if it had been, it would not have been treated because the treatments had not been invented yet. He died at age 52. Young.

At least I won’t die young.