Here Comes Summer

When I was a kid, this song came on the AM radio every summer like a migratory bird returning from warmer climes. I’d sing along. In those pre-Internet days, I thought it was a Beach Boys song.

In April, I found myself listening to it at high volume to dampen the roar of wind. Spring came with a vengeance and a wind advisory for 45 mph (73 kmph) gusts.

After so many years, I’m accustomed to sudden gale-force winds sweeping down the street. I recognize the hollow bang in the driveway: the empty garbage bin fell over. Dead leaves skitter across concrete. I barely notice the familiar creaks of La Casa de Tontería (aka The House of Nonsense).

Late-night windstorms are another thing. A wooden thump had me checking the back door. The wind shook down a sword-of-Damocles limb that was dangling in the maple.

How I Became a Wealthy Landowner

By accident.

Since the Covid-19 Shutdown, all sorts of people have found their way to our little corner of the world. A few came from the Metro Detroit area, seeking relief from rising rents or just a walkable neighborhood.

A young couple (and baby and adult whose role I don’t understand) moved into the huge house next door. They paid more than $200,000 for what had been a $52K house. (The previous owners scoffed when their real estate agent suggested the asking-price, which was less than that!)

The exorbitant price barely nudged my little house’s taxable value. (La Casa de Tontería could fit into that house’s garage.)

But then came a perfect storm.

First was inflation. I have paid relatively little for property taxes, despite living a fairly high-tax area. The Headlee Amendment restricted the local governments from raising the millage too high. Unfortunately, the amendment ties tax increases to the rate of inflation. And the inflation rate took off like a rocket.

Then the next-door squalor house went on the market. The county usually sells such unlivable houses for $15-20K.

It sold for more than $70K.

The buyer, a local flipper, did a fantastic job of restoring it to its former glory. She and her handyman emptied the house, excavated the lawn from multiple layers of broken bottles and unsanitary debris, and repaired the interior.

She just sold that small house – which is the same size as mine – for more than double my house’s value.

That, dear reader, is why I wear a top hat and a monocle and refer to La Casa de Tontería as my “palatial abode”.

Winter Gardening

With February being unusually balmy and March following suit, it looked like Spring entered the garden. The weeds certainly thought so!

It was a trap, of course. Jack Frost returned with a load of snow.

However, I caught the gardening bug. Last fall, garden enthusiasts at Migardner convinced me to save seeds from store-bought vegetables. (Note: This is an example of true Midwestern neighborliness when the seed-sellers explain how to save money by not buying their seeds!)

I saved green and yellow bell pepper seeds. Roots for onions came from my usual purchases of spring onions and green onions (aka scallions). The grocer routinely cuts the roots off leeks, but they grow anew when inserted into jars with just a little water.

La Casa de Tontería is becoming a greenhouse. I planted peppers in the guestroom, which gets direct sunlight all morning. Tomatoes will take over the livingroom, which has the only south-facing window.

WRITING MODEL: Poster Girl by Veronica Roth

Disclaimer: Reviews marked “Writing Model” are focused on the craft of writing and, therefore, may contain spoilers.

Why I Read This: I wanted to look at world-building and voice. This book was recommended to me by someone who loves Roth’s works. I haven’t read her Divergent series or seen the movie adaptations.

PLOT: Poster Girl is a post-dystopian novel. The Delegation, a technocratic government, has been overthrown by Analog insurgents. The families of Delegation elites were condemned to live in a prison city called the Aperture. Sonya, the literal poster girl for the Delegation, has been imprisoned for ten years.

PLOT-MOVER: To earn the privilege of living outside The Aperature, Sonya must find a girl whom the Delegation forcibly “rehomed” away from her birth family.

Because of the restrictions of the setting, the protagonist has things done to her, instead of doing. It isn’t until the seventh or eighth chapter that she seems to find her footing.

WORLD-BUILDING: Sonya has “Insight” embedded in her (left? right?) eye, an implant which the old regime used to link citizens directly to the government. It provides an automatic search-engine to provide Delegation-approved information about whatever she sees. The author makes it clear that as useful as it is, it also means Sonya has never had any privacy. Case in point, Sonya can’t even masturbate without Insight noting.

MOOD/TONE: Ennui with occasional annoyance and angst.

WRITING STYLE: This novel is basic, as the kids say. It’s written in third person, present-tense with fairly low vocabulary. Solid descriptive passages are rare.

VOICE: Several characters sound the same. This makes sense in Sonya’s social group, the children of former elites. But non-elite characters, who might have been distinguishable by their slang or work jargon, sound downright bookish. For example, a prison guard tells Sonya, “Someone left this for you. Gangly fellow.” Who says ‘gangly fellow’?

I intensely disliked when people talked like characters from the ’90s TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. For example, a character discussed the Delegation-imposed cost-benefit analysis like an experienced office worker. In the next paragraph, he switched to dropping whimsically archaic phrases like “By whom, pray tell?”

A Friendly Challenge Paid Off

In November, some pals and I were chatting about budgeting and such. We decided to do a low-spend/no-spend challenge in January. Honestly, we all had unrealistic expectations of what things would cost in 2024. 

I thought $50 was about right for the month’s groceries. (Pardon me. I seem to have fallen out of my chair, laughing at myself.)

Most of us had budget-crushers we could see coming in 2024: increases in rent, winter heating costs, and price-adjustments in services and insurance. It was almost fun to pool our brainpower and come up with budget-reduction plans (or schemes, as our British pal says).

By keeping a tight watch on our purse-strings, we all managed to put aside a little savings for the month. (Very little in my case; I had to pay for a tire repair.) 

Here’s a list of some money-savers we tried:

• Cancelling services (physical and digital)
• Replacing all paid programming with a free streaming services
• Eating and drinking only what we brought from home
• Menu-planning from what we had in our pantry
• Not replacing anything during the month (This was hard for me at first. My old Stanley vacuum bottle, carrier of my daily coffee, was irreparably broken.)
• Buying only manager’s specials or “mystery” food (The latter is a UK thing; one uses an app to buy discounted Surprise Bags of surplus food from local shops and restaurants.)

Like a Bad Penny, I Return.

It’s not much of a return. During the late summer, my laptop began squealing and overheating. Rather than buy a new one, I shut it down and packed it up until I could get an appointment with Big Brother Tech Support aka my big brother.

Using a phone is a pure pain, but the approaching year-end gave me the urge to give a state-of-the-house report. Here is a run-down of major events in La Casa de Tontería and its surroundings:

THE “TRASH HOUSE”

The abandoned house next door was bought at public auction for just over $72K. I couldn’t believe the high bid. Now I can’t believe the results. The new owner and her hired hand have been working day and night to make the house not only livable but back to its pre-squalor glory. Mountains of garbage were removed, ruined woodwork was repaired and restored, and the skeletal remains of a cat were given a decent burial.

I pray that the house is bought by good people.

THE GARDEN

I sadly report the demise of my favorite (and certainly the squirrels’ favorite) oak tree. There are several viruses that attack trees in the area, creating a condition called “wet wood”. The bark cracks and a sweet sap-and-virus foam trickles out, attracting insects that spread the virus.

All the oaks from my yard to the next-door neighbors’ sickened. My solitary pin oak recovered. The swamp oak trees (Quercus bicolor) struggled, but I thought mine was recovering. However, every windstorm or heavy rain brought down dead branches and bunches of wilted leaves. Then I discovered that another split appeared on the opposite side of the trunk. It ran from the roots to above my head.

Long story short: The tree is gone, and the stump was ground to a fine sawdust. I planted two chrysanthemums and moved daffodil bulbs to the site, hoping a sign of new life will make up for the lost foliage.

Currently, the driveway is still “curing” from the repairs where it cracked under the weight of the bucket truck. I park in the front yard by driving diagonally between the drive and the mailbox.

INTERIOR NONSENSE

Remodeling powder room is a work in progress. A trustworthy flooring contractor replaced the burned, cracked linoleum. I removed the toilet myself and plugged the drain to prevent sewer gas from rising. Next is repairing damaged walls and molding, repainting, and (fingers crossed) replacing the light fixture.

Good-byes and Hellos

My mother died in May, adding me to the rolls of the club no one wants to join: people who’ve lost parents. I think about her every day and, yes, I’m still catching myself doing something Mom-related.

It was especially hard at the re-opening of the Young Human Factory. Mom taught different subjects over her career: mathematics, American history, and Spanish. Despite being retired, she easily fell into “talking shop” with me.

Towards the end, she was smiling in her sleep and woke up still smiling. I asked what she was dreaming about.

“Christmas. I hope everyone has a good Christmas break.”

I don’t know whose students she was recalling (mine? hers?) but “the kids” were on her mind.

I think she’d like my current line of Young Humans. They’re chatty, silly, and naughty-but-nice. (In other words, they’re as quick to apologize as they are to drop f-bombs!) Sometimes I go into the Factory an hour early because I wake up with an idea of an activity they might like and need to tweak the plans.

Air Quality Status: Very Unhealthy; Brain status: fried

Lots of things happened in the last three days: the A/C was installed, a 1-hour assignment for work took SIX HOURS, and La Casa de Tontería was engulfed by smoke from the Quebec forest fires. I ventured out yesterday with a mask on and still got eyes on fire. (“Eyes on Fire” or “Ojos en fuego” would make cool band names!)

Speaking of which…

While spending the afternoon doing chores, I decided to take a friend’s suggestion to learn about Swedish Death Cleaning. I typed in “Swedish Death” and spent an hour or so with Swedish death METAL playing in the background before I caught on to my mistake.

It blended very nicely with the sound of a vacuum cleaner.

You’re so vain, you probably think this blog is about you.

(Apologies to Carly Simon)

Last month, some young humans at The Factory found this blog. And by “found,” I mean they searched for my name.

As regular readers know, this is a blog about creative writing, editing, home renovations, squirrels, fiction writing, the architectural stylings of Jerkface MacGuyver, DIY writer’s retreats, and Tales of the Middle School Mafia. Not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately, the last category is the one the drop-in readers focused on, and hilarity ensued.

To be clear: No, the Middle School Mafia isn’t real. Real incidents are fictionalized; e.g. the tiger pit. No actual children were harmed in the writing of vignettes for my writer’s group. A few anecdotes – such as the ugly sweater/ugly kid exchange – immortalize funny kids being funny and making me laugh. None of the “Tales” were written to offend or hurt the feelings of actual Young Humans.

To long-time readers: I deleted several posts with links to friends’ blogs and took down an entire category, ensuring that no adults are pestered by association. Otherwise, it is business as usual in La Casa de Tontería.

Confidentiel à Monsieur Canadien : Je suis désolé que vous ayez été dérangé par des délinquants. Notre nom est trop merveilleux pour résister.

DIY Writing Retreat 2023: Mentor Texts

When I attended writing retreats, one of the best things was that the presenters brought in boxes upon boxes of genre-specific books. Participants perused them and choose a mentor text.

I always chose something that I’d never read and was never disappointed. (NOTE: Love That Dog by Sharon Creech was an especially delightful surprise.)

Reproducing that abundance of mentor books seemed like a challenge. I planned to focus on contemporary fantasy for children and young adult.

Naturally, I visited the library. Librarians knew not only contemporary literature, but popular fantasy authors of the ’60s and ’70s. And, as luck would have it, the Friends of the Library held a book sale: $2 per BAG.

Between borrowing and buying, I now have a plethora of mentor texts. Expect, dear blog-readers, to see reviews.