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adventures of a hesitant homeowner
Glencrest --Time for Change
Can't you almost smell these April magnolia!Spring/Summer 2006 - BREAKING CAMP
Our souls are starved for spring after this long, mild, gray winter. (It's April 14th and I'm yet to see a swallow!) Started out taking pictures (digital) of crocus and rhubarb. Used them as computer backgrounds, breathing in ever so welcome spring, while I hung out in computer world. When the magnolia began opening, tried capturing blooms heavy with rain, then in the sunshine; forsythia was quite the challenge; neighbor's daffodils and tulips, so photographic. Now the weeping "cherry" is opening. It's gorgeous, and fragrant, though I still smell the gas leak (2 visits, "no leak, mam"), cat droppings, and the dump. Home. Love it or leave it.
As breath taking as it is to watch and smell the spring monsoons drops on white magnolia blooms, at some point this year I realize I'm going to be writing, as Isak Denisen did, "I had a house... "... in Idaho. Major winds of change are blowing. As long as the weather is topsy turvy, might as well take advantage of unstable times and make the move big back to the midwest.
Today I write: "Of course the house suddenly seems wonderful, as it has less stuff in it; the peonies (I planted) are finally prepared to burst. Columbine bloomed, a small group of lilies of the valley finally bloomed earlier and the step-able thymes between paver rocks by the front door are spreading and blooming. My 6th summer, the yard is no longer a dog run! Sniff."
A couple of weeks ago I looked at houses in Illinois. Suddenly I'm spoiled by the openness of Glencrest/the house, appreciating it's floor plan; it's pretty much the only house I've ever had on my own. Keep looking for something like it in Illinois; nothing made me feel at home. Totally different situation--1880s is an "old" house; 1950 is "new"!
Back in Boise I plug along--sifting, sorting, taking box after box of paper to recycle. The house has looked like h-e-double hockey stick for months now, worse and worse, as I drag everything out of closets and cover floors with boxes. Sort, pack, give away. I'd do almost anything to get out of this move. I'm a desperate woman, paying dearly for attachment to things of the world, as well as having sunk into my first real house in decades.
Bill politely remarked that the house isn't anywhere near being able to show. The clematis needs pruning (I know), and the oak too; flower pots gotta be dealt with and tarps (I know); on and on and on. Yes, yes. Makes me wanna take a nap just thinking 'bout all there is to do.
This morning I crawled out from the back porch mosquito tent. After trip in to bathroom, closed off the house from the sun; went out to deal with baby hollyhock sprouts filling backyard, and water tomatoes. Don't ask why I insist on growing tomatoes when I won't be able to water and harvest. Just guess. The sellers I bought Glencrest from planted a garden too.
Dug up one of the 4 tomatoes (3 vintage) and potted it so it can be taken along. It's not happy. Initially I found myself thinking what is summer without Brandywines! But now I find myself changing tune, letting go, moving into survival mode in micro shifts that enable me to uproot.
As I felt down hollyhock stems to the roots thought of myself as an unfaithful gardener. Not a great caretaker of a home, having rooted late in life. Just the basics-- foundation, paint, leaks, appliances--I maintained with faithfulness; added porch, widen drive. Details? No. The garden is haphazard, yard same. Like my life. "As the garden, so the gardener".
Spring 2005The first Saturday evening of May—just home from a driving jaunt to western Colorado--resisted the urge to "go out on the town" (some variation of church and chinese dinner). Instead, hung the hammock on the upstairs porch, moved out pillows, books, magazines and letters. Plugged radio (and computer) into extension cord; found Prairie Home Companion. Balanced self, pillows and laptop into hammock and snuggled in, feeling unusually free, comfortable and grateful for this home. Began overdue letter to incarcerated CA pen pal. Time stopped, although the sun lowered. A rare evening of homeowner bliss not to be forgot.
When I thought I heard the doorbell, I saved the letter, struggled out of hammock, setting things aside and made way through sliding screen door, trotted down stairs.
To my surprise, walking away slowly after the long wait were former neighbors Tom and Linda who’d moved to Kodiak. To what did I owe the honor of their visit? I was the only neighbor home this gorgeous spring evening! A plus for not having a life! Switched gears; made mint tea. They’d come down to celebrate a wedding; stopped by to see the old neighborhood. So we walked around their old neighborhood before it got too dark to see the new common area playground. “How’d you get through insurance requirements?” Tom exclaimed! Dunno; Ellie did it. “Nice, eh?”
We surprised Kim from the park side of her house. Then Bill and Ellie came home; Tom’s good buddy Gary was on his way the family reported. I turned Tom and Linda over to the returnees, having done my hostess thing. We sure miss them. Since I had a former lifetime in Kodiak, loved hearing abut the new French chef! I’m wretched about losing friends even while I’m happy for them.
Yes, I experience moments of belonging to a neighborhood that are meaningful, timeless, perfect evenings. Still not sure it makes home owning worthwhile; but possibly a step towards being an all American homeowner.
Folks still look nervously around for the tv. Not to mention couch, coffee maker and frig full of beer. Ha. And I wonder why folks won’t come over!
This spring a yoga visitor explained that people like cozy dens, crowded kitchens, more than high ceilings. May be more than missing tv and couch that keeps people from feeling welcome at Glencrest. Good to be understand, tho I don’t see a sociable solution short of moving. Poo. The only fires I made in the wood stove, set off the fire alarm and neighborhood dogs. Heat goes straight up to the ceiling and up the stairs and off goes the alarm. I bolt thru the garage doors to the fuse box to throw the breaker. Blessed silence. Fan the doors. So much for cozy wood heat. Alas, Glencrest is not a house that welcomes during the cold months. I like to hole up, but I wouldn't mind an option.
Huge project late winter was hiring Jeff and Axel to clean out years of apples from the backyard, shed roofs and in between, and prune neighbor Sally’s overhanging trees. Only sparse winter income and the need for firewood could have motivated anyone to join me in the project I wouldn't do either. Sensed I had to work right along on the nasty project. Put on Kodiak Xtra Tuff boots, slogged back and forth with bags of rotten apples, armloads of branches for the dump, or garbage day. Cripes. This was huge; Jeff and Axel moaned and groaned--Jeff was right to avoid the apple ordeal as long as possible. A few weeks later I did feel better about starting spring, having dealt with one several years over due yard project.
Crazed fruit pie baker/ sharer and consumer, I tried to bribe Jeff and Axel onward with apple pies baked from these very trees. By the end of the afternoons, Jeff was too tired to eat—took pie home. Axel refused to even look at another apple; it was pizza or bust.
Continued to invest heavily in “the back 40”/garden. Bought dozens of bags of soil conditioner. A compelling salesman at Zamzows sold me a car load of the perfect local product. Tee hee. Then, once again I invested in Jeff's labor. Good to be a woman of independent means. With the greatest of difficult he rototilled the 8 raised beds. (Don’t think he’s recovered yet.) I learned how to mix oil and gas 1:24. David said he was going to rebuild the tiller anyhow. Loaned Jeff Pullig Schatz' Back Care Basics; but fear he was beyond self help.
I still prefer working the soft soils at the Vineyard garden, and the excellent company. Spend far more time down the street where Master Gardeners who knows Their stuff are in charge. We’re harvesting spinach, leaf lettuces, radishes, chard, peas... strawberries.
Whereas Glencrest has yet to harvest anything. Great potential, tho. Slugs (I think), nip off the tops of bean and pea shoots. Or squirrels. I've covered everything with net or screen. Cuts down on cat shit too. Grrrr. Such a warm spring; some folks gambled and won, putting in vegetables weeks/months early. I probably could have put the Brandywines in in April. One by one I took them back to the raised beds back where cool air sits by the stream. Still, planting's ahead of last year. No frost, though cold nights, cool days. "Someone" is still stripping the marigolds. I blame slugs for eating the strawberries just before they’re ready for me.
Once the raised beds were rototilled, I was certain I wanted to see if the overhead sprinklers that water the entire area, causing tremendous weed crop everywhere, could be changed to drip lines in the beds. (Told Jeff, as soon as the raised beds fall apart, we can rototill the whole back section again in a couple of hours rather than several weeks!) Thrilled when yoga friend Claudia knew a sprinkler fellow who didn’t bat an eye when I asked if it was possible to change the standing sprinkler heads to drip tubes. Gregg made a number of changes, got the pump running, is a Gemini wizard I’m delighted to have met. (Finding both tax and sprinkler experts has been a great relief. See why I rented? Such a worrier!)
YES! Finally!
Adored the spring rains. What a year to be a plant, a weed! The red twig dogwood is now enormous. Wish I’d known. Pretty much every plant’s in the wrong place; so be it. I'm pleased that after 3 seasons, peonies will bloom! Iris doing well also. Most everything is, tho I’ve not seen hide nor hair of the delphinium, flax or columbine I planted in the unmowed grass in the back. Love that tall grass! Apparently it wins over most new ones. I’ve inched the bamboo fence sections forward, to mower Cliff’s chagrin I’m sure. Such a good planting year! Put in a blue day lily and a bleeding heart. One by one the beauties I’ve loved over the years go in. And I'm slipping woolly thymes between the paving stones in front.
The "new" front oak is happy, just in time, because the aspen are dying. The pine that came with the yard has gotten quite large. How I wish the magnolia and volunteer (I’m sure) mulberry weren’t right on the fence. Lotta shudda wudda cuddas. It’s excellent not to be a perfectionist.
I hate feeling a slave to weeds and "losing" anyhow, tho this damp spring was a boon to soften the soil I call concrete. Otherwise pulling weeds from the clayey soil at Glencrest I realized is akin to extracting Excaliber (King Arthur’s sword, ya know) from granite—impossible.I've suggested before that I enjoy winter home owning more than summer. In winter I’m home a lot, with no yard demands to deal with. Well, I look the other way, grateful to be warm as I read and write the gray days by. I was extra decadent last winter, taking the laptop to bed for the day or evening numerous times. Adore writing, reading in bed--the warm spot. Winter remains a welcome respite from wasp, hornet and bee defense, and lawn maintenance. Hopefully, doing away with thousands of rotten apple will disappoint many winged stingers and biters, hopefully reducing their population this summer (though it doesn’t seem like it yet; I swear they were out all winter). Wasps began nesting early and are still at it, of course. I still haven’t learned that if I spray straight up under the eves, I get the windfall. Several times I’ve had to strip and shower. Duh.
My Buddhist not yet enlightened consciousness winces at every murder, wrestling with the misery of being stung.
Something happened to the hot tub late last summer, I think it was. That’s when I met biker Bryan. He'd put in a ceiling fan—willing to try anything to warm up the place--and made the mistake of saying he’d rebuilt his hot tub. When I discovered a leak and heard a bad sound last winter, he returned to rebuild a bearing. I still use the hot tub a lot, though this winter was so gray and overcast, totally snowless, that I admit that, without being able to watch moon and constellations move across the heavens, I was less enthusiastic. No could see Orion! Therefore, on mild Sunday nights, I still "run away" and go sleep in the car, in hopes of getting out from under Boise’s gray inversion, to see stars, smell sage. Late last fall I noticed flickering northern lights when I got up in the middle of the night, a light show otherwise missed under the inversion.
I often say I bought a house in order to have a hot tub. A second motivation for home owning paid off this wet spring. I may be a reluctant gardener but I put steer manure on the rhubarb from time to time. I’ve one well located plant. Another was choked out by the unmowed grass at the back of the back yard. The one I tried to move from under the new low planter wall continues to sent up a few stalks. Currently have 1½ plants. Been a superb rhubarb spring, what with all the gentle rains.
I seem to be the only person I know to regularly use rhubarb. Normal, life time homeowners have been there, done that, dug out the rhubarb. (Sometimes I feel like one of the last to use an oven like an old fashioned cook!) I’ve taken stewed rhubarb to a number of gatherings and made a lot of pies, some large, some mini in small corning ware dishes. I get balls of pie crust from Donna. Been adding candied grapefruit peel--sometimes too much. Yum, yum, yum, yum. After years of stalking alleys, knocking on doors, sending out inquiries, finally have "my own" rhubarb! But really--is rhubarb a reason to buy a $100,000 toy! OK: hot tub, old variety tomatoes, rhubarb, sleeping on the porch all summer, and home yoga classes. Already it’s warm enough evenings to sleep outside, but the upstairs bedroom is still comfortable and convenient. Attic fan hardly been on this year. Last year it started running in April as I recall!
Glencest hosted only a few yoga classes this past year. Interest is there, more than ever perhaps, but just can't compete in our jam packed lives. So I start to wonder about rearranging rooms—do I really need to keep the living room for yoga? Hmm.
It’s my 2nd year on Gary Lane homeowners board. Pat went away mad, darn it. I like being with people who care about the neighborhood. Then again, recently I've wanna go away mad too! Why aren't people perfect!
New Playground! fall 2004 photo
Great Apple Ordeal, FebruaryMulberry moon has just begun. Drunken starlings and robins feed on what used to be small mulberry on the fence line. Then large purple recycled splats appear high on the sides of the house, as screaming, winged feathered friends careen and lighten their load. When I can't stand it any more I go out with a wet wad of something on the end of one of the long bamboo poles and try to wipe down berry stains! Who wudda thunk it!
Seems to me, all in all, the house looks much the same inside and out. I'm sorry it'll probably never be an all season inviting home. Not bad in the summer; nice porches (not as spectacular as the screened ones I saw in the Midwest that people live on all summer!). I still think it’d be swell to have some sort of a courtyard, an enclosed garden or dogwood, southwest style. How that would work, I'm clueless. But my life is not about a house.
I love hearing the great blue heron stop by the creek, listening to night frogs. (By the way, last Nov. I heard a frog croak as I walked down the street to a homeowner’s meeting!) Ducks talk all year long--wood ducks and mallards. One morning I looked out neighbor Gary’s back window and saw kit foxes tumbling, at least 5. Then one afternoon I saw mom (fox) hunting my ducks! We gotta little ecosystem. Lately the horses have been snorting all night long as though they have a touch of hay fever too. Not perfect, but perfectly ok by me lately.
SPRING 2004Seems like folks're always desperate for Spring. I, however, just hunker down with the computer. Can do winter, though I grumble about week after week of overcast--it's perfect for reading, writing and photo projects. Even watched a few of what I call annual videos. Will probably miss Colorado weather 'til my dying day. Even started scanning the new Hemphill history docs I picked up in Connecticut last fall. Next thing I knew--it was spring. (Ha. Don't believe that!)
One March (I think) day it was suddenly warm, suddenly spring. No more Sunday snowstorms! Even so, I was late putting in peas, beans, beets and spinach. Doesn't make a difference--no sign of beans, perhaps one pea poking up--might be a weed. A few signs of beets. Gardener Donna looked at my raised beds I've done my best with and suggested I replace the soil. Ach!
Spring may have arrived early, but I'm not taking chances with the Brandywines (tomato starts) from Toby's once again. No way. (Those ones with all the cracks, exclaimed the neighbor who relies on volunteers from the compost pile.) Anyone who put out tomatoes months early this year, probably got away with it, though I haven't heard of anyone. The frost the other night was slight.
One way I observe winter is from evening soaks in the hot to. (What a difference, crawling into a cold bed after a soak!) It's my opinion moon and stars were in short supply this winter. Didn't watch Orion move west, 'cause night after night, couldn't see it. Grumbled about missing full moons, only the eclipse once it rose out of a cloud bank. Several evenings, though, the moon peaked through rows of hustling clouds, enchanting me. Afterwards I'd attempt to capture the drama haiku-like--one still drifting around--to send on to daily haiku-er Phoebe.
Full moon set in orange crown
Shines through downy sheet
Black dragons between clouds
Stars twinkle
I think Boise winters are dreadfully dreary; but others, perhaps skiers, see them as sunny and clear. It was, I heard, a terrific ski season. (Just can't get motivated to drive somewhere to be cold, despite fond memories of Colorado powder.) Come to think of it, a number of days--often Sundays-- I ran up and down the side walk with the shovel, again and again, for neighbor Sally and I. We wonder why the sturdy teens on the other side don't knock off her section off with a few swipes. Then again, I don't understand how she can walk three size large dogs morning and night, but not push a shovel. Ha! Every time I recall how I literally couldn't stand up straight during my snow shoveling winters in Durango, I'm grateful for yoga reclaiming my back! I don't miss Durango snow. Idaho's is a piece of cake compared to the endless soggy dumps in Durango, and, my back is world's better.
A treacherous patch of ice formed this winter, by the down spout draining onto the sidewalk to the house. Finally I laid a piece of carpet on it, fearing an unsuspecting yoga student might ice skate.
While hot tubbing one early spring evening, I was struck by neighborhood diversity (which as far as I can tell refers to breed of dog in Idaho). There I was soaking, listening for the first frogs with weird Philip Glass floating out the cracked backdoor, while on one side Matt and Tami were crooning to their new pit bull and chichauhau. On the other side, Sally was letting her herd of malamute and doberman shoulder wrenchers in and out. What-a-neighborhood!!! Why me! Weird Jeannie listening to frogs and maybe owls, surrounded by households of dog devotees. Sometimes I'm glad it's a free country (or I'd be out on my dogless behind). Being amused beats the heck out of waking in the middle of the night to Vince's dog barking and barking, fantasizing a well placed bullet followed by blessed silence.
Better change the subject. Home improvements--couple of months ago this scoffer of matching towels up and bought two new big towels, 2 hand towels and a bunch of wash clothes that almost match--sage green--at Big Lots. (Only to find them cheaper still at Walmart a few days later--oh, well--where I'd found a bathroom rug earlier.) Can't bring myself to get rid of my lost and found assortment.
Still framing and reframing pictures, especially when I find nonreflecting glass. Still dragging feet about hanging send pair of blue and gray Degas prints upstairs. Removing the mats tones down the blue that's so anomalous in my home.
The sprinkler system's up and running, and it's only April--a record by several months!! Cliff cursed for hours, then brought in his Navy buddy Stan to troubleshoot. They think a new standpipe for priming will take care of the annual startup nightmare. I'll see if I can remove and replace the sprinkler head in the far right corner that's not rotating before leaving town for a week.
The north side rhubarb is this sping's star, already supplying several pies. The "wild" purple penstamon from the hill's back. Peonies came up late--wonder if one of the now 3 will bloom this year; planted the 3rd in front today. Where to plant feels like spin the bottle to me. The anise herb survived; nearby blueberry straggles onward. Out of a dozen raspberry transplants, 2 shoots came up--better'n nothing. One big hollyhock died; plants others can't get rid of, struggle at Glencrest. Several shoots I put in seem to have taken 2 seasons to show up--wild rose and current. All things I planted "in the desert" I acquired. Don't think the delphinium in the long grass survived winter--rats. I've cordoned off a strip at the back to leave unmowed--but Cliff keeps whittling away at it. I like it!! Would like the whole yard that way. Better put the old black cable back to halt encroachment by Mr Weedwacker!! There's a hint of a medicine circle developing in the long grass.
Replaced the foot high rose of sharon with small white dogwood last week after stewing for a couple of years about what should be directly out the kitchen window. No diversity in size in the backyard-- dogwood, pear, cherry--everything new, young, small. The goal is a forest blocking headlights that shoot straight over from Hill Road into hot tub and bedrooms.
I'm pleased to report the guerilla style "porch" (can't recall what they're called) I've rigged around the hot tub has only blown down a couple of times. Finally ran line from corner bamboo pole to upstairs porch railing to stabilize. Cripes, it's crude; but I'm pleased to have created the suggestion of an enclosure. Don't know how much longer the plastic buckets of rocks will anchor the bamboo poles! (see photo above) I'll be busy chasing wasps out of the poles for the next 6 months...
No spectacular wildlife events this past year. The foxes must have been eradicated by the bang, bangs we hear not uncommonly. Gary keeps after the beaver. One evening I was delighted to hear and see screech owls circling; recognized the call from Payette, the only other place I've heard and seen that. Occasionally I hear a distant great horned in the night. A few frogs have croaked ever since late winter. I swear birds sing all year long, all night long. They're always bursting into song in the middle of the night, particularly the white crowned sparrow, even on the darkest nights, any month! Currently I'm enjoying the calm before the storm. The robins who built on the ladder in the shed just started feeding 4 vertical open beaks. I swear the kids' necks grew an inch today, they now reach way above the mud rim. I'll give the guys another day to develop their voices. I'll have to wear earplugs. I told them one nest only; can't tie up the ladder all summer. Wish they ate wasps, hornets and bees instead of worms. So many flying, biting critters because of Sally's fruit trees to the north. A swarm of dainty new mud daubers must have just hatched. I cringe to unroll shades, open bags.
Being owned by a home is certainly a fine teacher. Amen, brothers and sisters?
SUMMER SOLSTICE 2003
Within a few days of getting back from California, June 8th, I set up summer camp on the back porch. After all, I was used to camping, and Boise was hot. Each night I peaked out when the waning moon rose and shown light on the porch. A couple nights later, clouds rolled in. Usually I awake when winds, temperatures or humidity change. Forced to surrender, I dragged pillow, quilt and mattress inside and crawled into the bedroom for the rest of the night, as rain started. Gotta figure a way to string the tarp under the upstairs porch since water runs under the tarp, along boards. Since my mosquito net tent hangs from above, not sure how to string tarp around hooks... Maybe I'm fishing for one of those screen sided kiosks that are getting popular, no! not another toy! Luckily they were out of Big Lots down the way when I checked!
Can't believe I haven't written about Glencrest for nearly a year! Many a paragraph was composed as I sat in the hot tub from October on, watching Orion move overhead. Even spotted Arcturus in Bootes--I think. I've heard most people don't use hot tubs once they get 'em. Unlike many of the toys I think I "can't live without", but lose interest in immediately, I'm still in love, soaking for at least a few minutes, more nights than not. Winter nights, if I don't bring body temperature up before slipping into bed, almost always have to crawl out and do so. Even flannel sheets don't do what hot water does. Maybe most folks don't use their hot tubs every night, but this honeymoon ain't over yet. ( Not in summer--the very thought of warm water's unbearable.)
This winter was much, much milder than last winter when outside cold brought hot tub water temperature down so rapidly I couldn't stay in long. (In no time at all 104 degrees became 100. You gotta have a bigger set up than this one to maintain water temperature when it's that cold. Besides which, I don't like to listen to the motor, so I unplug before soaking.) Late night soaks are times when I have to admit life is very, very, good. Night after night, before I knew it, it was midnight before I soaked. Can tell by moon, stars and quiet--late, late, late again. One night I was thrilled to watch a meteor shoot "through" scattered clouds.
Perhaps the biggest crisis of the winter--after furnace thermostat was fixed again--thank you neighbors Dave and Evie, who work for TML--was what turned out to be the meltdown of the timer I'd rigged under the hot tub. Like I say, don't like to listen to it run day and night--hence the late timer. Why didn't I look underneath when I smelled something odd? Huh? (Ditto when the computer smelled last summer!) When will I learn? Will I learn? Neighbor Tom, who'd just installed a similar tub, came to the rescue something like a week later, explaining how things work, replacing plug and discussing possible timer options, and, halting a leak at the same time. A borsht dinner was but a speck towards the gratefulness I felt. The "new timer" is me plugging and unplugging.
Alas, Linda and Tom have just accepted work north to Alaska. Can't stand to think of them leaving the neighborhood! Ace jack of all trades and neighborhood mediator, Tom will be sorely missed. Maybe they'll be my opportunity to return to the north country I once both loved and hated....??
For yet another winter, while others replaced floors (Tom and Linda), ripped out carpets (Kate and Jim), remodeled bathrooms and kitchens (J&K again), I looked at the matted beige carpet in the bedrooms and tried not to think about what it's smell like when it comes up someday.
I'm pleased with how widening the drive has made the house more welcoming; however, the problem of severe congestion just inside the front door where the stairs start, continues to drive me nuts, with no solution obvious.
Lately I'm back to Yes, raise the sunken living room. No one who I run it by agrees (but they don't live here!) Maybe that will happen.... 'Tis a spendy plan, especially since I like wood floors not carpet. Carpets and paint remain low priority.
My growing attachment to the house constantly brings up the Buddhist reminder about the suffering resulting from attachment. Am I rooting or possessed? Arg. Heading into the 3rd year, I still think it's insane and unhealthy for a lone person to rattle around in a house and yard. Don't even suggest filling it would fur bearers. It's not about being lonely, it's about resources. I don't need this much yard or house!! Crazy Americans, crazy me.
As I was saying... while others remodeled...this winter I continued to unpack. At the bottom of my round topped chest lo and behold I found the set of Degas charcoal sketches on blue and gray (hardly my earth colors!) I've had since childhood. Wonder if grandmother Hemphill gave them to me? Probably mom. Who knows! Matted and hung them in frameless glass. Out too came Olas Murie wildlife sketches acquired via High Country News during my environmental '70s. These went in unmatched frames I brought home one by one from St Vinnies or Youth Ranch....
The biggest surprise was pulling out watercolors from mom's sister Peggy, who died in the '60s. Hadn't realized I'd had them all these years! Clearly and fondly recall the lovely one of a stream that hung in our Illinois living room. Found a wonderful western storm scene and 2 roughly painted forest watercolors. They're not in frames and mats, but they're up (living room)!
Meanwhile Gary Emerson's black and white windmill photos in frames I'd made in Durango shop class no longer looked right. Nor the frame for Eileen's white pine ink print. Began swapping, trying out "new" frames. Bedroom, no stairway, no livingroom.... Framing my life, after all these decades, was enormously satisfying, and, as always, frighteningly like commitment. More or less my only winter project.
Linked with my search for community, my fantasy of using the house for gatherings remains unfulfilled. Following Deep Ecology class, interest in an Earth Institute potluck was limited; then that was the weekend mom died, so that was off. Offers to host meditation gatherings have fallen like lead balloons--Dan Monasterio's party house is much more popular than my "monastery". In May, though, I offered the yoga space for a gathering, when Char died. It was a wonderful evening; I was glad to have the space used. (Yoga classes continue more or less twice a week.) The following week, 6 of us held book club in the non dining room and adjourned to the living room, the first time it's been used in ???
Mainly, I sit on the floor upstairs in the yoga room at the computer. All this winter I slept downstairs. When I'm not eating at Chan's Wok Inn Noodle, I cook. Use bathroom, that's it!
Between settling into home ownership and regular church attendance, perhaps I had more faith facing the sprinkler system this spring. A brief fantasy about buying a lawnmower and becoming a lawn mowing homeowner vanished as quickly as it appeared. Instead I asked neighbor Sally's lawn person Cliff to mow. When sprinkler installer Keith didn't respond, Cliff and helpers began exploring and troubleshooting the system. Cliff survived a hair raising shock from a bare wire that was never grounded. Cliff's tough; he's good. That's why he only works half a year.
Early this spring I heard Alice the Gardener quip "It's almost too late to put in peas and winter seeds"! Hastened to Fred Meyer to picked out bush and pole peas, looking at the pictures. Attempts to start beets and spinach from seeds continually failed (I have exactly one fledgling beet). But Lo, I have peas this year! Eventually found pony(?) packs of spinach starts, arugala, sorrel and bok choy. This desperate rookie gardener has no pride! I'll leave starting plants from seeds to Alice and Evette et al.
Remembering how I couldn't find heirloom tomatoes last June, got right on that early. Found Brandywines at Toby's in Eagle! BUT I don't listen to the news, so while they sat by the hot tub, twice they frosted badly, once enough to kill. It was still close to frosting when I left for Seattle May 22nd, but GardenGuy said go ahead and put them in; I think there are 4. Back home after three weeks away, they're hardly bigger, though slightly healthier than when I put them in! Now I hear if tomatoes are frost nipped, they're stunted. So it seems. Didn't helped that the sprinkler system wasn't on most of the time. Repeated power outages tripped it off... Not a sensible time to travel--just as yard and garden get going. Good trip, though.
Worried with good reason about yard and garden. Earwigs, slugs, and I think, rolly polies have turned bok choy leaves to lace. Also rhubarb, hollyhocks. (Chan got the first and perhaps last picking of bok choy.) Gotta master Evette's jalepeno spray. Lot to learn. Think wistfully of Eve's visit and garden help a year ago!!!
After reading Lozoff's It's a Meaningful Life, I've vowed to work more and whine less (or else downscale)! Find more meaning and gratefulness in home maintenance, gardening. I could use it; the world could use less whining!So Mode It Be.
SUMMER 2002 AUGUST NIGHTS - Pax Glencrest
After record breaking heat in July that baked eyeballs, and melted plastic stuff on the Toyota dash as well as unfortunate audio tapes (the region is full of extreme heat tales), August has been a "breeze". At first I was uneasy, braced for more roasting, having just been blasted so severely, with memories of two prior sizzling Augusts.
But no, August evenings have been pleasant, barely a mosquito! Pleasant, at least in the back yard. A wall of heat builds on the front side of the house--direct sun all afternoon until it sets (I hover by the front door and shut it as quickly as possible if anyone comes over). However, the back/morning sun side of the house is dramatically cooler, shaded towards the end of the day. I've been enjoying the porch swing plus the new "personal" mist-er fizzing, taming the heat.
Remarkably, some evenings have been so agreeable, I've wandered back to the garden to prowl, pull a few crab grass bushes from aisles between raised beds, or in beds. After the heat of day, I come to life briefly--just briefly-- these beautiful evenings.
Alas, each time I step outside sets off explosions of barking from nearby dogs, noses jammed into gaps in fences, following my meanderings. If I bushwhack along the ditch, the subdivision and beyond goes ballistic with barking. Of course I don't understand the growing number of dogs in the neighborhood. Probably a reflection of esclating fear in the world! One home recently replaced one old cat, with 2 dogs. Across the street, a 2nd dog was just added. S/he barks every time I go in and out of my house. I'm ringed by large woofers and boofers, when it comes to odor and sound. Eau de canine and piercing barks may assure owners, but it's puzzlement to this urban monastic, who prefers blackbirds and frogs. I digress....
I'm no gardener. Yet. Last year, the sellers of the house put in a garden for the buyer. They wanted a new owner who'd appreciate the fine garden plot they'd created between fence and the ditch. I nodded appreciatively, alarmed at my lack of experience and sloth. This'll be good for me, I told myself.
This June long time friend and passionate Colorado gardener Evette ("Eve's garden") made a timely, welcome visit, just as the water system finally, finally began to work. Sometimes. While I filled the brand new raised beds, E. planted from her traveling seed cache. She left a mystery map of her planting.
I'm rarely--well, never--alone in back. Sometimes a hummingbird--the only one(s) I've seen in the yard all summer--visits the scraggly butterfly bush between arborvitae. Sometimes I concentrate so hard on uprooting crabgrass or chasing squash bugs that I don't consciously hear a rustling on in the far side of the ditch. When I finally look to see what's going on, one evening I saw mom and ducklings confidently foraging, unconcerned about me. Of course, it's their back 40! Sometimes quail call. One morning I was thrilled to see a quail sitting on the gate to the garden as I gazed groggily to the back yard.
Tonight I couldn't figure who was felling tall grass on the other side of the ditch. Couldn't have been the small birds flitting in the weeds. Musta been a duck or muskrat-- the gnawing was loud.
Good to wild have company while it lasts, right here in river city. Still, I keep chicken wire over (Evette's) beautiful rainbow chard, in case mallards discover and acquire a taste. Garden fool I may be but I'm ahead on this one! Last year "someone" ate strawberries before I saw 'em, so I've transplanted the surviving plants nearer the house, where they are barely surviving at all. Charlene says her dad gave 'em a year to establish.
It's the end of August and tomato plants (4) in back are as tall as me, so thick you can't see through them. A mere 2 tiny romas have ripened thus far. I've never heard of pruning tomatoes (except at the base) until Dena visited; now I have. Oops. Bottom of list; may not happen this year.
Evette loves beans, especially vintage, so numerous unknown varieties are coming up in several beds, just beginning to produce. A few beets made it--4 to be exact, one of my super favorite things. Distinctly remember E. saying, you'll have to thin the beets. I wish!
Failed to get the delicious, unusual squash that the sellers planted last year going this summer. Or my other favorite squash, butternut. The clump of yellow squash, planted late, are successful. Thus far, I'm ahead of squash bugs. No amnesty like last year! (Amnesty came to an abrupt halt when Evette educated me about enabling. No more playing Buddhist with those guys. I wince and squash. Didn't realize how they were murdering my future squash!!) Perhaps delicata will bare also. Leeks look all right!
I believe in wild yards and gardens, which is to say, I'm lazy, only the tough survive and weeds have it good. I don't worry about lambs quarters--it's gentle. Evette says purslane is good too.
I get a great deal of pleasure out of being outside, picking a bean or 2, tugging futilely at crabgrass and button weed. Tonight I harvested about 8 blackberries from the wild thicket; 2 green beans, 1 yellow squash. Nothing like the buckets of vegetables I brought in last year. More my scale, what with the fine farmers market right down the street, don't need much.
Next year I'll hunt down or order that vintage tomato I adore--brandywine--though I like supporting the old timer who lovingly brings them to market! Still, I'm a little embarrassed to pay $6 for 3 tomatoes! I think the sellers had them growing in the garden which I inherited! But Evette and I couldn't find starts, late as it was in the season. I'll plant spinach too, another true love.
After rooting a bit, it's back to the porch to read a few minutes. But then I heard a "strange" bird call and felt compelled, having just read Kenn Kaufman's Kingbird Highway to get up and try to i.d. it--no luck. Kenn repeatedly hitch hitched clear across the country to see a rare bird. I can at least stand up and walk probably not even 50 feet to the garden. Couldn't find who made the distinctive call, but saw an orange, near full moon rising through clouds. Must still be haze from fires coloring the sky. Beautiful!
As I write this up a few evenings later, better pause, get out there and check the moon this evening! Just in time--silver rim on clouds to east, full moon about to burst into clear sky for the evening!
Due to orientation of the house, I can't really see sunsets. Summers, they're on the unbearably hot side of the house, as well as blocked by other houses. Tonight's western sky was hot pink when I peeked, colorful like the moon rise. Life at Glencrest follows the moon.
Good to experience moments of peace. They've been slowing in coming to this overly serious neurotic. I'm not a born home owner; might be a gardener at heart. Probably not, or I'da had one by now. Years ago I got tired of moving rhubarb from apartment to apartment, and stopped planting tomatoes. More often than not, I've felt overwhelmed by this new home owner experience, stressed by a sudden pool of water on the floor, heat or air conditioning not working or the growing list of everyday homeowner joys that shake me. Recently I've been somewhat successful ignoring that one side of the (admittedly rickety) kiosk just collapsed. It's starting to gnaw at me, though. Perhaps I'll set up the ladder so I can start pondering what might shore it up. Will I beat it? Small potatoes compared to heat/water/sewage crises!
I've snatched moments on the back porch appreciating that the pie cherry looks well and growing, forsythia too. The red twig dogwood that has been in a year now, of which gardener/water system creator Keith disapproves, delights me. He doesn't approve of rhubarb either. As a sometime logger turned landscaper, I'm sure he has his reasons. Having acquired a well used, virtually barren back yard, while having a heart for wild vegetation, and a great desire to shield headlights from the road, I'm eager and easily thrilled by new growth.
Keith doesn't think much of my amateur (and wild) taste in plants and I'm not keen on getting shocked when I reach for the sprinkler head he installed by the pump.... but I'll be darned if I can think of a way to get him to do even a quarter of what he promised. But that's another whole story I don't want to relive, that has had stressed me to the max at times, brought me to my knees repeatedly, and had me attending Keith's bible study in order to find him!Some time early this summer, set up sleeping digs on the downstairs porch. When I remembered having hauled a mosquito tent around since the beginning of time--last used one unbearably hot buggy night in North Carolina in the early '70s--strung it. Perfect. After hauling in gear several times, centered large tarp on porch above, to catch odd threats of sprinkles that blow through once in a great while this turbulent summer. After weeks of jumping at spiders, imagined or real, sewed bottom into 3 sides of the tent. Much better. My view of moon and stars filters through netting, but I feel like the queen of sheba in her casba (whatever that is!) I love listening to the array and play of cricket/insect cycles in the dark. Even the sprinklers coming on at dawn don't phase me, though one head must be shaking loose, spraying nearer and nearer.
For the precious moment, peace reigns at Glencrest! Blessed Be!PS Forgot to describe that not uncommonly I'm out in favorite striped pj top or bottom, odd haphazard combos (could almost understand if dogs howled, not barked), or not much at all, prowling yard or garden or resentfully hacking plum shoots that have wedged in the fence the eve of garbage pickup, sweat rolling profusely. This freedom to work erratically and dress spontaneously is highly satisfying.
Part 2. My first year ends following the 13th Moonrise at Glencrest. Adventures from my first winter include--drip, drip... more migrations and bed change... brrrrrrr... signs of spring... kestrel scouting... red winged blackbirds calling and Garbage Day Neurosis.
SPRING 2002
First winter--whata winter! A real one! More than just "cold"--below freezing, week after week.
Skiffs of snow stayed day after day, week after week. Not exactly Colorado, but shades of "The Rockies". Didn't dig out the raccoon coat for months-- couldn't believe cold was going to last--never had since I'd been in Boise. But it did. Right up until the official first day of spring, it was cold! But that night, frogs croaked faintly. I couldn't believe it! However did the weather change so suddenly, and how did the frogs know it was the first day of spring!
In many ways, I enjoyed holing up, experiencing "real" winter, classic time of going within. Good excuse to lay low, stay in the new home, get to know it, enjoy it. One of the first things I realized was: lack of insulation! Being used to apartments or thick walled older homes, I wasn't used to feeling cold radiate from walls. Brrr. I lived by the quartz heater in the upstairs room.
After months of hauling foam pad up and downstairs between yoga classes I re-established sleeping quarters downstairs. Missed looking out at the stars from the sliding glass door, but when the inversion settled in for what seemed like the duration, I became more practical. Even decided to try a futon after years of "dishing" them and dislocating hips! Finally my back was willing and ready. For the first time in adult life, began using rather firm bed and surviving. What a winter! Boy was it cold! Under Sue and Jeff's Montana denim quilt plus blankets, I snuggled in flannel sheets, veritably nailed down by the weight!
Although I don't think most folks heard 'em, I heard red winged blackbirds sing pretty much all winter long, even in the cold of January. Granted, they sang louder in February, but I heard 'em in January. Makes me wonder question whether birds really know winter from spring!
A more propitious time to have acquired a hot tub couldn't have been chosen. Perfect. Every nippy night but one found me soaking. One cold night the frigid 8 step walk to soak was more than I could face! What a whimp! As I soaked night after night, it became clear I didn't buy a house, I bought a hot tub. It's the only thing I couldn't acquire without having a house. I've yearned for a hot tub for years--not a house! It took months and months and months to fall asleep in the hot tub the way I do in a bathtub, but I'm getting it down.
Sometimes though, instead of listening to night sounds, I choose to stew over and plot the demise of the cat who lives and poops in my yard not hers! The more wicked, the better!
All fall I ignored a brown ooze that came out a downstairs outlet, looking to me like packrat droppings. Several professionals offered their opinion that it was strange. A leak didn't sound all that strange to me. Finally about February I stood outside and saw the swales in the roof and neighbor Gary gooped some tar on a hole he found in shingle. Being a Hemphill, I wasn't satisfied that the root of the problem had been identified. Joe comes to work on the chimney flashing ... soon. I feel better about that.
Monday Febrary 18th, I knew exactly what has happening when a kestrel called and circled the house--scouting former digs for 2002 potential! Foiled--new landlord. The sellers of the house may have allowed generations of birds to reside in the attic, but not this troll! Time to go wild, lovely sparrow hawk!
In March my dream of having the low track light replaced with canister lights set into the ceiling in the yoga space came true. Now to find a heater that doesn't cause the lights to flicker during relaxation!! I'd sure like to have more space in the yoga room--out towards the porch? Off towards the kitchen? All winter we've had 2 cozy yoga classes a week, with 2-6 of us.
Sometime in March, as soon as snow was gone from the shade, I dashed to Home Depot and began buying bare root trees and shrubs: lilac, forsythia, peach, sour cherry and pear. Determined to get something growing in the bare backyard, I dreaded digging in the rocky concrete soil I'd met last summer. Lo, following a soggy winter, digging was a piece of cake! Enthusiastically dived in, and returned for more plants. I'm seriously thinking about not mowing the back yard at all; I like the unmown section from last year.
I'm recreating my childhood favorites: lily of the valley, violets, peonia. Rhubarb made it through winter. Wonder if there's room for rose of sharon or magnolia?
Early April, in the heat of spring, I pulled the Christmas candle lights out of the front windows. After all, it's light until nearly 9pm! Evidently I made it through winter.
Fridays I still become completely neurotic--Garbage Day. Luckily or unluckily, I'm free to stay home and throw myself in front of the garbage truck or recycling truck when it fails to stop for my 3 quarts of oil. Can't go anywhere, do anything, Fridays until the garbage truck comes, I tell occasional callers. Ears perked I listen intently then repeatedly dash down the stairs to outside to see if the truck's on my side of the street. It's ridiculous! I'm a wreck! I hate Fridays!
Part 1 FALL 2001
When I visited mom fall 2000 and met with 2 of 3 brothers, I put out the idea of family backing if I stuck out my neck and bought a house--finally. 'Bout time--I'm more or less retired! Synthesizing my thoughts before I finished the question, brother Jamie zeroed in on the concept, "Jeannie's Ashram; I think mom could help". Back in Boise I bit the long avoided bullet and, to make a long adventure short, May 1st, my first night at Glencrest, blissfully watched the full moon rise over the backyard. Since I liked the sellers so much, it was home at first night.
In my elder hood, I had no illusion owning a house would make me happy--au contraire-- was afraid of losing freedom to yard and maintenance, feeling burdened. The honeymoon lasted one night. In the morning, I rolled my eyes at the pool of water on the wood floor in the kitchen and dived for sponge and bucket! I knew it--life as I'd known it was over!. I was now a slave! Could imagine myself saying: "No, I can't take a walk; I'm a homeowner, defending wood floors." (FYI. Disposal backed up into the broken dishwasher. DW sits, worn out, taking up space. I pretend it's not there.)
Like a deer frozen in headlights, after decades of being a renter, I froze in panic with what I perceive as vast new responsibilities. Where to even start with the former pet and child filled yard! Clearly, though, after troubleshooting kitchen pond--whadda-I-know-about-dishwashers-and- disposals-never-had-'em--the next order of business was territorial!! Despite being a long time birdwatcher, I had to evict the active nesting birds (and former squatter remains) from the attic. This is my house I told the starlings, yours is outside; the neighbor's cat watched. Crawling across swales of insulation in the heat, with the stench of accumulated bird droppings, was a hugely unpleasant task--Stygean to my mind--doing nothing to convince me of the joys of home owning. Nor did early morning prowls to "off" wasp nests from eves and cracks sell me on home owning.
My prized possession is the extra long bamboo pole I found in a Seattle nursery that helps me get spider webs down from inside and bludgeon wasps outside. When well meaning folks chirped, "How do you like your new house?" I wanted to--and sometimess did--snarl ungratefully, "Would you like crawling in a hot attic reeking of bird dud?", Definitely off to a slow start bonding.
Slowly, though, I'm becoming one of those happy Americans roaming the household section of the grocery store, Lowe's and Home Depot, looking for just the right gadget. Never having been a little housewife, I bought my first Windex and Bon Aim. The Windex is to troubleshoot a leak at one of the multiple joints in the gas stove's Rube Goldbergish connection Warren and I rigged up. Watching the new kitchen windows spot immediately, I go it--why struggle! After seeing a sparkling toilet bowl and asking how--now of great interest to me--invested in pumice stone rather than using a kitchen knife to keep the ring off the toilet bowl. I care about some things, you know.
Front from street, Sept 2001--door is red! Kitchen-"dining room" New back porches and deck, Aug 2001 Garden and produce Do I love Countrywide's and my house? Sometimes yes, sometimes, no. Most folks have owned for so many years, if not so many houses, I say they have no idea what it's like to buy on one's own, one's first and perhaps last home, at retirement age! Maybe like having kids while young and foolish? I've definitely enjoyed expanding my East meets West decor into somewhat larger quarters--not much larger than a 2 bedroom apartment. That's fun. The oiled oriental umbrella I've moved around for years is perfect over the high round window across from the stairs, despite new tears. Southwest pots and art look fine on the ledge beneath, as far as I'm concerned. It's good to put up prints that have been in storage for literally decades. I still treasure Gary Emerson's black and white windmill prints I've had since the early '70s.
Don't need anything but restraint and good taste; I've had a household of wonderful things forever. Speaking of which, for the first time in decades, my treasures aren't in a storage unit--they're in my garage! When I have time and spirit moves, I love realizing I have just the right thing for the right place--my decorating style, more or less unchanged since the '60s. If you ever catch me shopping for window treatments, call the Rainbow family. House Beautiful ain't me. I'm still using existing nail holes, filling old ones.
Sometimes, as I weed (not enough that anyone but me would notice), prune, or dig in the garden, I'm afraid of rooting too deeply, loving and losing. Tough balance for me, owning or being owned by this new dependent.
In August I began Thursday evening yoga classes, either downstairs on hot, hot, hot nights, or upstairs on merely hot nights! Currently the upstairs bedroom is designated open space--no furniture. The Ashram is open! I call it Glencrest (the street name). Truly enjoy creating my own relaxing space, and not always drive across town for yoga!
Now that it's fall and cooler, I'm keen on sitting on the new backyard porches added in August-- thank you Wayne and Don! I still worry about maintaining the homemade sprinkler system and the garden; I'm easily overwhelmed, Right when I wanted desperately to simplify life, I became a homeowner! Perhaps after I take home maintenance class this fall, I'll feel better, not like the first home owner on earth. (Earlier landscape, feng shui and spa maintenance classes were most helpful.)
Time to fulfill my promise to have a small hot tub, have the wild elm taken down in front, start a new tree, plant trees in the utterly bare backyard. Then, I'll sit back and watch dandelions grow. Meanwhile, I'm incredibly grateful to neighbor Kyle for mowing. Took me 2 weeks to do the back yard with my "new" rummage sale push mower. I never want him to grow up! Someday I'll try starting buffalo grass.
Even with a house, I remain migrant. As soon as the porches were finished, I spent late evenings upstairs under the stars, in the hammock, with the laptop warming my belly. Within a few nights I established sleeping quarters on the downstairs porch. For the first time since moving I thought, this is something altogether different than apartment dwelling. Bet I'll be sleeping out summers, savoring night air, duck quacks, flailing at mosquitoes and itching. I didn't need a bedroom, I realized; I needed a porch!
When it cooled off, I found myself moving the laptop upstairs "permanently" (upstairs was unbelievably hot all summer--next year: attic fan). I write mornings. Have laptop will travel. Then the back porch foam pad came up the stairs. Now I sleep by the new upstairs sliding glass door, watching moon and stars. This I love! On Thursdays I slide foam pad and bedding back downstairs and set up for class! Weekly migration!
"Throw it in the washer". Uhhh, friends, I've used a laundromat most of my life. Didn't buy a house to have a washer. Un-American, I know, like not loving beer and pizza. My dear friend and mentor Barbara in Bellingham used the laundromat, despite purchasing a home in the 1950s.
Mid-November, hot tub became reality. And, in spite of myself, I confess, a washer came in the front and settled in the pantry just around the corner. If only I got rid of things as easily as I acquire (I wouldn't need a house!! or have a full garage)! Moon after moon, I root, adjust--the last few cloudy--I always notice. The house has perfect moon and sunrise orientation (no sunsets).
Every late evening since it heated (took 3 days), I can been found, rain, sleet, snow or stars--we've had 'em all--in the hot tub. When late fall leaves finally and suddenly blew off, suddenly also I was no longer "alone". A line of house lights on the hillside across the road suddenly appeared where formerly I'd only seen one! Under stars or clouds, snorts of neighboring horses sound wild, as does the night croak of heron relocating. A lot happens along the back ditch at night; I appreciate it all. May my horsey neighbors live forever and the road stay narrow!!
Spa on the move! Spa lands.
(Oops, wrong place--too noisy.)Least you think I live in woods idyllic--I wish--just an urban subdivision not yet fully developed. I chose not to dwell on the huge quantity of dogs/barking and cats in the neighborhood, their stench in the heat, and the closeness of homes on either side. Persistent felines try to move into my yard when former residents vacated. The south(?) wall of my house is the property line; when the toilet lid hits the tank, dogs go off next door. My former California neighbor now gone native, hauks, spits, pisses beside my house, his side yard, throughout the night, a few feet from my head. When Marcy visited she asked if I was sick--I was sleeping on the porch. Forgot to warn her about "the wildlife". I chose to accept it, part of my promise to love my neighbors.
For the first time in my adult life, I stayed home and cooked Thanksgiving! Time for change! How I wished the old Bellingham crew I've eaten with for 20 years could have been there!! Instead, I was honored to cook turkey-dressing-gravy-cranberries for Seattle Karen and her family, perfect, easy going guests. Karen pulled my small kitchen table which I've moved around since Boulder days ~1969 (see kitchen photo above) away from the railing and set 5 places. We adjourned to living room for their delicious pies and tea. How good to use my odd collection of old china after all these years! Thank you, Great Spirit, for this year of change, for friends, and the blessing of a new home!
The week following Thanksgiving, as I reached to lower the front door shade at the end of the day, I was shocked to see colorful Christmas lights across the street. Eee godz! I'm in a real neighborhood for the first time in my life! Better pull out the Christmas boxes and see what I got before dashing to the thrift store for something to decorate the lantern pole by the front door. Outdoor decorations?-- yet another new home owning concept! I'll start by getting the garage lights wired so they can be used and putting candle lights in the 4 front windows.
Bless This House!
Glencrest ~ 1995 - B.J. Before JeannieReturn to HOME PAGE
