It's In The Genes

This little man loves to fish.



He gets it honestly.

From his great grandfather Young,

From his grandfather,

From his Father,

And from this guy.



On this particular evening Uncle Chris and the G-man had their poles in the water long after the sun went down.



What can I say?

It's in the genes.

Perseveration

Perseveration (vb: to perseverate) refers to insistent or redundant repetition.

There is a pair of robins flitting around Little Red this summer attempting to build a nest and start a family.  On the surface it appears to be a natural state of affairs.  However there is on little problem... their selection of building sites.

The first nest was erected beneath the trailer deposited on our property by the neighbor assisting with the installation of our new yard.  We joked that unbeknownst to the loving couple they had erected a mobile home.  One that unceremoniously drove off one bright sunny day leaving our love birds in the lurch.

Disappointed but undeterred our pair selected a new site, the wheel well of The Kid's red jeep. 

The Kid, unaware of the homesteaders also drove off one afternoon leaving in his wake another shattered home.  This time broken bits of blue were visible in the rubble.  We were crushed.  

But the persistent pair were undaunted and soon got back to work rebuilding their nest... in the same location.  We thought we caught this one in time removing the nest before eggs could be laid.  No such luck.  Two tiny blue eggs had already been placed in the bed of straw.  We were home wreckers once more.

The Kid took to parking the Jeep in the barn in an effort to encourage the pair to move along.  And move along they did...to our other vehicle.

For the past three weeks it has been a war of wills between the robins and the humans.  Every day we remove the straw beginnings of a nest and every evening they return and begin again.  

Over and over and over again. 

We have now resorted to placing aluminum foil on top of our tires in a last ditch effort to deter them.

Perseveration:  insistent or redundant repetition.

We can't decide if the pair is learning disabled or just plain stubborn.  

Either way I guess the least I could do is thank them for the addition of a new word to my vocabulary.

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Chair

My neighbor and good friend Marcia, a.k.a. The Principal, has in her possession a wonderful old rocking chair with fabulous carved goose neck arms.  It is one of the most beautiful and comfortable old chairs I have ever encountered.  The first moment I laid eyes on it I knew it was meant to be mine.

Unfortunately Marcia preferred to retain the rights to her lovely goose arm chair and I found myself chairless and out in the cold with a burning desire to acquire it that would not go away.

I wanted that chair.

I needed that chair.

I coveted that chair.

Which leads me to that little thing called the tenth commandment.  "Thou shalt not covet they neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's."

I felt pretty good through the first 25 words of the decree.  After all I didn't want Marcia's house, nor her maidservant, nor her ox, I didn't even want her, well, you know.  But her chair, oh how I wanted her chair.

I knew I was screwed when I reached the "nor anything that is thy neighbor's" part.

I was risking eternal damnation because of my desire for my neighbor's fabulous goose arm rocker.

And then it occurred to me that I might get off the hook if I could locate one just like it and acquire it legally.

The hunt began.

For months I scoured the internet.   Checked ebay.  Craig's list.  Watched the local paper for any sign of a goose arm chair for sale, or even for rent.  (I was desperate.)

My search turned up empty.  Apparently all of the goose arm chair owners were just like Marcia and preferred to retain their rights.  And honestly, who could blame them.

And then last weekend Marcia appeared at my back door with a tiny slip of paper in hand.  It was an advertisement from the local newspaper for a swan neck rocker.  Could it be?

I made the call.

I scheduled a time to look at the chair.

I took Marcia along to authenticate it.

As I approached the old farmhouse my heart was beating wildly in my chest.  Could it possibly be the right chair?

And there it sat in all of it's goose arm glory, faded and worn, badly in need of a little TLC and some embossed blue denim fabric.



For a mere $85 it could be mine.




The deal was sealed.  The chair was gently stowed in the back of the car and I smiled the whole way home.

Upon arriving back at the cottage The Kid met me wearing a look of concern and attempted to throw cold water on my excitement.

"Maybe Marcia doesn't want you to have a chair just like hers," he said.

"Then Marcia shouldn't give me want ads," I retorted.

And just like that I'm back on track.  No more worries about breaking commandments and eternal damnation.

At least not this week.

Is It Wrong

Is it wrong to purchase fabric to recover a chair that one does not yet own?

I think not.

The Kid, not so much.  Quite honestly I believe that he believes that with this little purchase I plunged over a very dangerous cliff.  Never. To. Return.

Perhaps he is correct.

It happened several weeks ago on a shopping foray with the design team.  We found ourselves perusing the cluttered shelves of a discount fabric store in Erie.  On my radar that fateful day was fabric to make cushions for our dining room chairs.  I spied the perfect candidate almost upon entering the building.  My day was over.  Or so I thought.

After wandering the cluttered isles for an hour and giving unsolicited advice to the remaining members of the D-team my eyes were drawn to a far corner of the room.  Hidden beneath stripes and florals and bathed in a golden glow it called to me.  Seriously,  I swear I heard harps playing as I slowly approached that golden light.

Really I did.

It didn't take long to drag the bolt out of the corner and spread it lovingly on the cutting table for a closer look.

It was perfection.

A beautiful blue, embossed denim that would be just right for the new chair in the sun room.

New chair?

What new chair?

The fact that I didn't own a new chair, or even an old chair, did nothing to deter me.  Especially when I discovered that only eight yards remained of the denim dream, and if I purchased the entire eight yards I could have it for a mere $6.50 a yard.

Who could resist?

Certainly not me.

Which brings me to the place I have been for the past two months, hording fabric for a chair I did not own.



Until yesterday.

to be continued.