AND SO WE SAY FAREWELL

I am off to Boston, to await my flight. Finally. 

Arrived USA July 22nd. Departing October 16th. A long time to be away. On the other hand, a short time, in which a great deal has been accomplished. I could look at it that way. If I choose. I suppose. 

I have taken this journey as far as I can take it, for the moment. 

I have de-Pegged and de-Odded the house. 

Their personal effects have all found good, appreciative and welcoming homes.

Their ashes have been interred in Minnesota, under the rhododendrons in Becket along with collies too numerous to mention, plus a bit of a suicide victim named Peter Kip. A small amount of Peg is in Seattle, to be interred, at her direction, with a loving fan and his wife when it is "their" time. A small Florentine gilt box of her and my father are in my hand luggage, awaiting scattering in England.

Anything important to Peg's stupendous career has been preserved in perpetuity at the University of Oregon Libraries, not counting her portrait, currently still in the living room but which will be shipped there. And anything sent to UO has been scanned or photographed and two digital copies made of her entire archive. 

Anything of interest and worth preserving of a family nature has been shipped to The Dodge County Historical Society in Mantorville, MN. 

The house has been emptied of All Things Uninteresting or Saleable, the majority of saleable items now up in Williamstown and, under the care and professional guidance of Louise, going on eBay, with Peg's provenance, even as I write. 

The house has been cleaned, top to bottom; windows, including hard-to-get-at storms and screens, shine. Inside and out. Carpets up, floors sparkle. Nail holes filled, no small feat, Peg O'the Hammer having been hard at work for 45 years moving picture frames every 20 minutes. Walls are painted. Woodwork painted. Outside trim painted, both stories. Garden cleared. Trees cut, limbed, hauled off. Fridges and freezers emptied. Ovens cleaned. The furnace has a new motor. The septic and leach tanks being pumped. Ancient TV antennas down and slates replaced on roof. 

I am done. With the house. It is on the market. 

A few issues remain, as yet unresolved. Travelers insurance is threatening to stop providing Home-owners because I don't live there full time and because the house is on the market. I may get a buyer, I may not. I may take it off the market and do holiday lets. I may not. Amazing Ken is in residence to act as caretaker. Free of charge. He will pay 1/3 to 1/2 of utility bills. For as long as he lasts there. Ken is capable and good at what he does. And likes living in the country. And keeping the heat at 50. Thank fucking Christ.

Outside Bob will work two more days, making me new outside bilco doors to the basement. He will then remain only "on call", should he be needed.

Dominick, for whom I wrote a letter of recommendation, has found employment in the health care line. He found that he enjoyed it (believe it or not).

Terri, who held both my parents as they died, is taking some time off to move into a new apartment. 

Bonnie's hours have been reduced to two short days a week for the moment. She will stay in charge of all matters financial and cleaning, and get a jump on sorting out this year's taxes. With Ken, she will prepare the house for viewings (if we get any). She is hoping to find more permanent work at a legal firm in town. 

I have had help from both friends and strangers. I will be eternally grateful to both. It is sometimes rather surprising who shows up at your door in times of crisis, and who doesn't; those you were sure would be there for you in a heartbeat, you don't hear dick from, and those you never expected to see in a million years are suddenly rolling up their sleeves. It's been revealing, this whole thing. About friends and about myself. 

Story. One which I cannot recall if I've told already but too bad: 

Last March when I was here and Peg was in the hospital, I happened upon some sparkly beads in the dining room, looped round the bronze head of a Greek reproduction statue of Peg's. "Boy On A Dolphin". I ignored it, rolling my eyes, assuming it was yet more peculiar Peg "decor". 

After she died, I again came upon it, and, now in Shoveling Mode, said "What the fuck is this anyway??" 

I held up the long string of crystal beads to show Bonnie and Terri. Both looked up from lunch, surprised.

"Why, they're--yours. It's a necklace. Your mother made it for you. Didn't you know?"

Peg? Made me a string of beads? A necklace? Made me anything besides maybe pot roast? 

"You're kidding. Really? Why?"

"She had us all sitting here at the butcher block stringing and stringing--oh, for days. She had a pattern she liked and we had to follow it, then she changed her mind and wanted a new pattern, then we ran of out the pink ones and--she never gave it to you?"

"No."

"She said she wanted to replace the one you lost."

I looked blank. 

"When you were a little girl. The one she had made out of your tears, she said."

And suddenly I--went to pieces. Utterly. It all came down on me in that one moment. All the months and months of "giving up" my life at home to be with my parents, to look after them, their deaths, their ashes. Everything.

When I was a little girl, and I was upset over something, or had hurt myself, Peg always managed to make me stop crying. 

"Wait--wait--" she said, sounding excited, as the tears rolled down my cheeks. "Let me get it, let me get it--oh! That was a big one! Here, give me another one--I need another big one now--" and so on until I was so fascinated by someone putting tears in a pocket or wallet or dish or whatever was handy--that I stopped wailing. 

"I'm going to make them into a necklace for you," Peg explained. This also fascinated me. One day she returned off the train from New York and handed me a box, and in the box was a string of little clear irridescent beads. My necklace of tears. 

Which, not surprisingly, I mislaid at some point in my life. 

And now my mother has made me another one.

Terri took it away so her crafts friend Amy could put a clasp on it, whereupon Amy promptly mislaid it and it remained lost, much to all our distress, until yesterday. As I was loading my pile of suitcases in the car to head to the airport, Bonnie drove in the drive, excitedly waving it out the window.

Thank you, Mama. 

And of course Daddy. Who probably paid for it.

So. That's it. After over two years of WAITING FOR GOD KNOWS, I'm done. 

Although I am, of course, still waiting. But at least with my tears around my neck now, instead of running down it.

TWO NIGHTS TO GO

I seem to only sit down when I am in the car. Yesterday the borrowed Saab started right up, every time, which thrilled me, so as a reward I put the top down, all the way home from Williamstown, about 45 min. Weather glorious until I hit Hinsdale, which is in shadow behind the mountain as the sun sets and the temperature suddenly went from 75 (honest) to about minus forty, and me with no sweater and hair blowing madly and, yes, looking extremely cool, granted, barreling along Rte 8, but had to pried out from behind the wheel when I got home, being frozen into fourth gear.

So. The countdown begins. One bag packed, three to go. 1st extra bag on Virgin is £55, the next is £120. Don't ask about the third. I feel the need to get all my stuff OUT of here. It's been accumulating, after all, since 1970. I have left clothes in my closet here, and my chest of drawers, for the last 20 years. Goodwill did very well out of me (not to mention Peg and Odd) but there is still--well. 20 years worth. And anything Peg-Important I will have to hand carry. DVD one-offs, gold jewelry, gold coins, scrapbooks, essentials like maple-bacon flavored Snyder's pretzel pieces for my son...Pack Mule Inc.

The Hillbillies ring every day. I never recognize Donald's voice and sadly he no longer feels the need to identify himself:

"Hello?"
"Hi!"
PAUSE "Er.."
"It's me!"
PAUSE  "Er.."
"It's Don!!!!!"
"Oh. Hello, Donald."
"I was wondering if you wanted me to plow the drive."
"Er..is it snowing?" [It's 74 degrees out]
"Ha ha!!! No!!! I mean this winter!!!!!"
"Right. Well. Let me see what Delaney charges and---"
"Whatever he charges I will charge half of that! HALF!!"
"Oh. Well. The thing is, whoever plows the drive I need to be able to count on, see, I can't have your truck breaking down [as it does every fucking day] or needing an axle or--"
"All I need is $500 and I'm getting the new transmission and Russell and I will be putting it in! Like tomorrow. And if it breaks, I have snowblowers!"
"It's kind of a long driveway for snowblowers, Donald. Like sweeping the Mass Pike with a toothbrush."
"Ha ha ha!!! Toothbrush!!! Hey! Me and Russel'll be coming down to get the ladder if Ken's done with it. Bout ten minutes. We don't need paying or nuthin. Just a 30 case o'Bud!!! (beer: Budweiser)

So, Ken is indeed done with Don's ladder, having washed then repainted the trim on every window in the house (plus washed it), plus did the eaves trim and the back and front door and yesterday and today has been hard at work scraping and painting the laundry room, pantry, and back entry, formerly red, now white, and all French doors. Saturday he starts work for my friend David J in Middlefield putting up sheetrock, whatever that is, and sticking in insulation made from recycled blue jeans. I'll be outta here by then. If I can get past Don and his snowblower blockade in the driveway.

I feel--dazed. Went for a spa pedicure and gel manicure today, treated myself, and sat there in the chair having my feet and calves rubbed as I watched some endless House Restore program on the big TV at the Vietnamese nail parlor--and realized tears were running down my cheeks. For no reason in particular, they just started and didn't stop until I got to the Big Y supermarket for loo paper and Lysol Wipes and Cinch garbage bags (I remember when I use to go shoe and handbag shopping) and I came out pushing my cart and the rain had stopped and there was an enormous rainbow that went from one mountain to the other and, I tell you, with the blazing fall colors behind it, it stopped me in my tracks. And, more good news, the Saab started for me, first time. I think it feels sorry for me.

I miss sitting here and not hearing the weather channel and Turner Classic movies. 

SHOWING THE HOUSE

I don't care to do this every day--getting the place spotless and clutter-less for potential buyers--so just as well am heading out of here on Thursday. 

Spent half of yesterday raking leaves, pine needles, pachysandra, myrtle, driveway, paths, front steps, anything else that needed raking, my hair, and today of course am living on Advil. Hillbillies arrived at 9 AM to de-needle the quarter of a mile long drive. Looked good for about 20 min, then the buggers started falling again. 

Showed a couple from Greenwich round at 10. Actually had met him last night at a neighbors' cookout round the fire pit, didn't make the connection. They won't buy, too big, but they'd be interested in renting weekends and so on. It may come to this. Then showed 6 New Yorkers around at 1, led by Daniel, proprietor of The Dreamaway Lodge. Not sure what they have in mind, all theatre types or teachers, so how they could afford this I don't know, they were talking about "all buying a place together", which sounds like a disaster to me but the fun part was discovering that one of them lived at 12 Gramercy Park, where my mother lived in NY from 1944 - 1964.

Wish she still had it. She paid $90 per month, rent control. Imagine it must be rather more these days.





Dinner and overnight guests, then I start the final countdown. Have spent 2 days digitally organizing Peg's archive, all that I've been scanning and copying and photographing for the past 5 years. Only scratched the surface. Would like to at least break the back of it before I go home and lose interest.

I went to see my 95 year old friend Jeanette Roosevelt (FDR's grandson's wife), at Sunset House,  the nursing home division of Kimball Farms Retirement Village. Broke my heart. Been to see her 3 or 4 times since July, but she was sleeping. This time though the nurse said to wake her, so I did. She was now sharing a room with a lady whose ankles are so fat she can't stand. I sat on Jeanette's bed, and held her hand and said her name, she opened her eyes, they lit up. I knew at once she knew me, asked about Alex and DK and...Peg. She didn't know. No one had told her. We both cried. 

I spent the rest of the day depressed--nursing homes do that to you just going in and out the door, imagine what it's like having to live there. And this is a NICE one. Jesus. So I came home and raked myself senseless, delighted for the invite two houses away, which ended up being the perfect tonic. Met lovely, really lovely people, including beautiful and about to give birth any second Danelle, who was Peg's Visiting Nurse physio, and when she recognized me in the dark, came over and threw her arms around me (almost sending both of us into the fire pit) saying how sorry she was about Peg, how she adored her. Her husband is a real estate lawyer. Offered his help if I need it. Extremely kind and they left fortunately before I had to go off and find towels and get the water boiling in the kitchen.

Sunny and crisp. The colors are superb this year, the sugar maples turning redder every day. (See how Brit I've become, talking about weather?)

TRANSFORMATION BEGINS

Mine, not the house's. Ellyn my father's Hospice nurse--also a qualified masseuse, how very convenient, who worked at Canyon Ranch for seven years--came by at 6 PM with her table and oils and went to work on me up in my sitting room. Bliss.  Refused to charge. Said I needed it. Wants to give me another before I leave. 

Today I went for full highlights and cut at Tina's, Peg's Italian hairdresser who told Peg to get the Italian Channel from Dish Satellite costing nine million dollars and a stupid dish sticking up like a lollipop on the front terrace. I have in fact had some other issues with her on earlier visits, when I left looking orange, but this time, possibly because I didn't give a fuck--just needed the bloody stuff hacked off and brightened--she did a bang-up job. And all for $75.

So let's see, on the WHAT'S LEFT IN THE HOUSE FRONT, have found a vintage place that wants Peg's party dresses, U of Oregon wants Peg's portrait, which I am thrilled about because I sure don't, I have an electrician lined up to re-wire the bar fridge, the only one we have working now, the other two having been cleaned and turned off. This is the "bar" fridge Outside Bob has wired to the generator, which is in fact a good thing, but (in fact at Bob's urging) I need the wiring to look like someone professional did it. I don't need the house catching fire. Especially since I've spent the afternoon on the phone talking to insurance companies re the homeowners policy here which strike me as outrageous at $400 per month. 

I feel the need to report that, as I write, Amazing Ken, over on the other side of the room, is cleaning the oven.  This is after spending the day suspended over a slate roof cleaning a hard-to-get-at window, cleaning the mildew from the trim and sill, and painting the sucker. It was actually Bonnie who started the oven cleaning, but then got the time wrong and realized she'd be gone by the time the self-lock unlocked itself. So Ken took over. Bonnie has also cleaned the big oven in the big kitchen. It occurred to me that with all this oven cleaning going on, with temperatures exceeding 500 degrees or something hot-sounding, I might have avoided all the Dery's Funeral Hone ashes confusion by doing it myself.

I am, in a word, two words, near collapse. So, really, the only thing I need to make transformation complete, besides manicure and pedicure, is to be whisked and whirled back to Kansas.

And now I believe an employee is trying on a scam involving $7500, which saddens me. Greatly. Tomorrow will be on the phone to lawyers and tax accountants. Just what I need. 

I'd cry myself to sleep if I didn't have to go watch a dumb movie with Ken.

KEN BACK, LIKE A BAD PENNY

It didn't work out with the old girlfriend in Boston. Apparently around 5 PM she looked at her watch and said hm,  guess you'd better get going if you want to be back in Becket before dark. Except the trouble was, Ken couldn't reach me--sitting nice and cozy in the warm barn in Middlefield, WITH my phones next to me on the dining table, while we waited for 2 HOUR BARBECUE RIBS to cook, which I'd thought were the Warm Me Up Only 15 minute jobs when I bought them--anyhow Ken, getting no reply, and having no key, had to spend the night at the Super 8 Motel in Lee. I felt badly the next day when I found out. At least he was warmer than he'd have been at the house, down to 40 that night.

So. Ken is back. Indefinitely. He is going to look for jobs locally. I have written him a letter of recommendation. Did well as one for Bonnie and Dominick. I basically write one for anyone who asks these days. Will be writing Paul the Furnace Repair Guy who showed today, one any day now. Paul has shown Ken how to by pass the automatic water feed and how to fill the furnace manually whenever it needs water. (I in fact already know how to do this, would you believe. My father showed me 40 years ago. And you never forget how to fill a furnace.)  

So, basically, all you have to do now, instead of ignoring the whole thing and getting heat on demand by shoving the thermostat in the den up or down--is get a flashlight, and better shoes on, and go down the scary rickety stairs to the basement, hanging onto the bannister, which is in fact a maple tree branch my grandfather gerry-rigged years ago--turn right, stare at the furnace, walk gingerly over to it, avoiding dead mice in traps, and shove a certain lever to the right (or maybe left) and turn another thing the other way (let me know if I'm getting too technical) and check that the water level has then come up to where it should: where the black magic marker line is on the glass thing behind the furnace. 

Piece of cake. Anyhow we have heat.

Ken had second-coated painting Odd's office, which Outside Bob started. He has also put nice brass numbers on the new classy black non-beige plastic mailbox he installed yesterday. He also took down the 70s track lighting in the kitchen with the track lights covered in brown "wood-grain" contact paper. He made a salad. And hummus (with a ton of garlic)

I meanwhile, working my way through the freezer, as ever  have used 2 packets of stewing beef to create a carbonnade of boeuf, which should be ok by tomorrow. I used freezer-found chicken breasts to make chicken piccata yesterday. Not much left in there except some maple-flavour breakfast sausages, 1 filet steak, 1 lamb chop. Ice. Half a package of Eggo Waffles.

I then met friend Wendy from Vermont in Lee, to hand over 4 Norwegian cookbooks and two framed Norsk items, a map and a poster. That I don't want or need. Raced home in time to meet Louise, here to collect the last of the eBay stuff, including a mink coat and a mink and silver fox jacket hat belonged to Ken's wife Pam. 

I want this jacket, big time. 

Seriously. NEED it. Require it.  Desire it. Feel I deserve it. It's fantastic and a perfect fit. Will see what the furrier appraises it at. Or if Ken decides he needs to give it to me because I make such great carbonnade. Or if DK reads this post and secretly contacts Louise and does a deal. Because I'm so wonderful and love it and need it and deserve it, as I said. 

COLD

So the furnace stopped working on Friday night. Dave the Cesco repairman came Saturday at 3. Emptied 6 buckets of water from the furnace. Got it back running. Said I'd have no problem with it but it was due for a service, I should do it just cuz. An hour and a half after he left the furnace went off and stayed off. Saturday night was a two duvet night. House rather parky this morning. I stood, teeth chattering, watching out the bathroom window as Amazing Kan loaded his car at 7:30 and headed east on the Pike to Waltham, near Boston, to a former girlfriend's. I think to see if she'd take him in. He is hopeful. Even though he ran out on her 20 years ago and left her with his half of the rent to pay. I told him not to arrive looking like the Beverly Hillbillies with a full station wagon, it might put her off. But he appears to have taken everything except his desktop Mac and 2 mink jackets belonging to his dead wife. And half a bag of Faro, whatever that is, and some chick peas in the fridge. And his organic sesame whatever health bread. And some wheat germ cereal that's like eating bark mulch.

My guess is he will be back. And if not, I can wear the coats, which believe me crossed my mind as I sat blue-fingered in the kitchen today.

I have now scanned all 390 Peg-signed scripts for the MY FILE. Bollocks to Oregon. These are my babies. To sell. Catalogued them. Put them onto the external hard drive. Bought a sandwich at the General Store. Schmoozed with the locals a bit (didn't take long). Bought a sweatshirt that says "Becket General Store" with a small line drawing of it, so I remember this place when I get back to England and cursing Peg and Odd for dumping a house with a dead furnace on me and a septic system THAT FAILED TITLE 5. Yes. Perfect. The bad news. But expected. So that'll be $30,000. And a new furnace, that sounds cheap.

And Bonnie has vertigo and in bed for Day Three.

I am now at my friend David's barn-that-is-actually-a-house, 10 minutes away. It is warm. I have been given a vodka & tonic. A place to type. Tony Bennett is playing. Ribs in the oven. I am feeling better. Not great, but better. Slightly. 

I have booked my ticket home. A week from Friday. No charge apparently for changing flight dates because Peg died. I knew I'd find a plus in all this.

TITLE 5 SUCKS

$30,000 is what it's going to cost me. New septic system. Odd should have dealt with this. He didn't. (Like how I'm annoyed at a man, my dad no less, because he had a stroke or 5 and LEFT THIS TO ME, who doesn't KNOW from fucking septic systems..?)

Am very very very--no I mean really VERY low. 

The only good news re the septic system is that it will never back up, we're far too far up the hill on a ledge for it to ever do so. So can shower and flush at leisure. No worries until I sell, please God. Which is when all this Title 5 crap, no pun intended, has to be taken into account. 

The soil guys also managed to dig up half the back lawn looking for the septic tank, which they assured me was "only ten feet away from the house, tops," and I assured them NO WAY was it in the back lawn, my father THE AVID GARDENER never would have countenanced that, I was sure it was way down the hill in the woods somewhere. Which it indeed turned out to be. Bill the Septic Guy, who, (2 hrs of hitting rock ledge and fucking up grass later)  stopped looking at me like a dumb female, has now made me President CEO of Soil & Septic Tanks INC or whatever his company is. Should I choose to ever re-think my existence in England and move here permanently, I'd have a job divining septic tanks. Who knew I had such talents.

Ken is now upstairs at 10 PM scraping wallpaper off my father's office. He has made a run to Pittsfield, not only not gotten lost, but found a box in which to ship Peg's typewriter table, a wood post on which to install my new non-icky-beige-plastic mailbox, replacing the existing one with a nice black metal one I bought yesterday (but didn't think  further than "black" or "nice" towards posts, ] say) gone to Home Depot for more bubble and tape, and Price Chopper for you name it. And now I am happy to let him scrape wallpaper while I sit down here listening to scraping. Almost.

I might have had too much red wine. 

Bonnie and I celebrated finishing the Last Of The Oregon Boxes (like Last Of The Mohicans but with marginally fewer missing scalps) with a lovely California merlot, which I bought knowing nothing about California merlots,  but am now a fan. We sat remembering Peg and her last days, and I was in floods. Reading her fan mail again today, as I was packing it. Christ she was so loved and admired and adored. Like some sitcom God. I hope I told her enough how proud I was of her.  I hope I did. I'm not sure. Probably not.

Good news is Heidi, Terri's beagle peed on the vinyl laundry room floor today instead of a Persian rug. Terri who came to help scan Ethel &Albert TV scripts. Because I am fucking sick of it and will pay anything at this point for help.

All I hear is the scraping of wallpaper upstairs. I will now tell him to go to bed. Maybe I will too. (Not together.)

LOSING STEAM, INTEREST, AND THE WILL TO LIVE

I don't want to do this anymore. I want to go home. I have spent the past 2 days going through 11 bankers boxes of fan mail (Peg's, not mine), going back to 1944. I have scanned about 300 letters out of, oh, 5,000? More maybe. I just couldn't let them go into the Archive without a smattering to have on record, should I ever need them. In the unlikely event I write my mother's biography and get past Page 2 before saying fuck this for a game of darts.

22 more NBC TV Ethel and Albert scripts to scan, 46 pages each--then done. And the final shipment can UPS it's way to U of Oregon, including, as of today, Peg's typewriter table. Hope it's as much fun to wrap as the typewriter itself was. Looks like it might be. Am so covered in packing tape half the time and so sick of filling boxes and stuffing in bubble wrap and newspaper to keep it all tight and non-rattly that it has occurred me, to raise my spirits, to pack something bizarre like a piece of ordinary kitchen equipment and tell the Oregon people it's Peg's "special colander".

Amazing Ken has been up a ladder all day, despite the rain. Not totally sure what he's been doing but all the foliage on the house i.e. ivy and euonymous and clematis is now free of dead brown stuff, plus he got rid of a bird's nest or possibly a mouse nest he said, though what a mouse nest is doing 10 feet up in a bunch of ivy, I don't know.

I found a dead mouse, a fat dead mouse just lying there on the stone steps in the sun yesterday, and was greatly upset. Not sure why. It's a mouse. But the Terminex man had put poison down last month and I reckon the thing gorged itself then...died. I couldn't touch it. David J had to come over and dispose of it with a paper towel. I cried for the mouse like I hadn't cried for Peg.

The decision has been made to remove the brown pipe-tobacco reeking grass 70s wallpaper from Odd's office. Outside Bob started on Monday, now Ken and I are finishing. I've had better times. Though, (Outside Bob Trick) did you know the best way to remove the wallpaper that still sticks to the wall is to take a dryer sheet (Bounce) and put it in a spray bottle of warm water, let it soak a bit, then spray the wall? Not that I will ever be doing this again, but it makes me happy to know about, for some reason.

Doesn't take much to make me happy these days. 

Still, there are the Title 5 men to look forward to tomorrow at 9 AM. The septic guys, who, along with someone who knows about these things from the Town Hall, will come to assess the septic system here and give me a pass or fail or conditional, whatever that means. If I "fail", I get to shell out $37,000 to get it fixed for the new buyers, that's all I know. State law.

Want to go home. Thank you, Peg and Odd for leaving all this to me to do.

SUCCESSFUL PHOTO SHOOT

Well, not that the house has sold on the strength of these realtor photos (YET) but they are indeed great shots, we were lucky with the weather, clean windows sparkled in the sun, the place looks about the size of Blenheim, and they all make me want to move right in. Were I not here already. So. We shall see. 

A taster:  

And, now, for your supreme delectation, the BEFORE shot, featuring the couch area above underneath my portrait--and, I kid you not, AFTER Peg had "tidied" it:

The entire house looked like that, but 100 times worse.

Yesterday was spent Fixing USB DRIVE FUCK UP of last week, and going through every single paper, scrap, letter of STUFF ALREADY SCANNED BUT SADLY NO MORE--one by one, and re-scanning, then cataloguing, then boxing and labeling and ready for Box Shipment 2 to U of Oregon. Who also want her LC Smith Typewriter and won't let the Smithsonian have it where it'll get buried somewhere, so have to find a triple extra heavy duty box for it, which Amazing Ken, returning today from an overnight in Boston, is kindly detouring to a place called Lowes or something, to purchase for me. After that, I reckon 10-20 more boxes, then done with Oregon.

And onto Dodge Center Historical Society in Minnesota with things like great grandmother's wedding dress. 

And my baby clothes. And Peg's fur coat. And Odd's Burberry.

And then the rest of the stuff for EBay Louise.

And then pack up all the stuff I'm keeping, from books to glass dessert dishes to Peg's plaid coat she got in Paris on her honeymoon.

So I'd best get my act in gear. Oh, and go get my nails done. If I can find them.

READY FOR PHOTOS

Just about. The house, that is, not me. I would need a year, at least, at Canyon Ranch, with The Works before my old tired face with the rather grim, resigned-bordering-on-retarded expression could sell anything.

Realtor coming at 9 in the morning with her team. And cameras. We are spotless here. Amazing Ken has now completed ALL the windows outside, storms included, and even bleached and repainted where the ivy had grown over the window frames. Becket Barbie here, meanwhile, did the Main Stairwell Window Of The Two Thousand Panes, including storms, and half the downstairs ones inside. Bonnie did inside upstairs, dusted and vacuumed. Outside Bob second coat painted the "solarium" and 1st coated the office. It will have to stay that way for tomorrow, no intention of painting until midnight. I don't last long around a paintbrush without picking it up, and soon painted the bar Ivory White, having had just about enough of "Harvest Gold" around this place (Peg and Odd's favorite, not counting some nasty lime-aid color in an upstairs hallway), also painted the larder and--oh I don't know. Everything is Ivory White now and clean and smells good. Even Ken. 

I also raked the lawn and swept the stone terrace and steps and never want to see another fucking rake or broom in my life.

Don The Hillbilly and sidekick Matt arrived right on time at 9 AM with chain saws and chipper and together we took down about 30+ trees, me driving his truck on occasion, which was attached to the tree in question with a rope, I think to keep it from falling the wrong way and severing the electric supply but just did as I was told. They then came back and cleaned the drive. Not one chip or leaf in sight on the blacktop. Beautiful work. I am going to pull all my teeth and move in with them.

Did a mad run to The Big Y (supermarket) for $60 worth of flowers for set dressing, now find I have given away all my vases so...will have to be clever somehow. That'll be hard. I am fresh out of clever.

Been getting some lovely reviews for "Key Changes", DK's memoir, which bucks me considerably---for about 2 minutes, then I wash a window and feel like my old pissed off self again.

MY 31st WEDDING ANNIVERSARY

I thought I'd celebrate by, even before breakfast, washing 12 windows. Amazing Ken was outside on the big ladder, see, which I found scary, but he was coping admirably with these fucking awful sash windows they have here with screens and 2 sets of storm windows (double glazing) that slide up and down, but only of course if you can find the little cathches to release the sliders, most of which don't work anymore after 40 years. The long and short of this is that the windows at the front of the house, upstairs, are GLEAMING. 

I then moved on to Old Nasty Yellowed Brocade Drape Removal. Actually, to be absolutely technically correct, I removed the drapes in the upstairs sitting room BEFORE I washed windows, and in fact while still in my night attire. I then removed the curtain rod and hardware and spackled the nail and screw holes. Then decided maybe I should get dressed before Ken moved the ladder and popped his head over the sill for an eyeful and fell off onto the flagstones and I'd have yet more ashes to cope with.

Showered, shivered, dressed, had a quick Lavazza latte, which which I toasted my husband, then moved pronto into photograph album photographing (3) and Photo Sorting (27 million). Followed by scanning a 90 page film script, which I was sorry I started and didn't leave for Bonnie but once you start you can't stop a scan. The Hillbillies then arrived and tackled the dead/wet/rubbish firewood in the basement and the mega-pile of rusted crap and piles of roof shingles surrounding the garage (didn't mention the 4 dead collies buried there). I finally headed up for a look about 5pm: terrific job. I meandered on about 12 miles further to the end of the drive to get the mail, but got distracted removing rogue ferns from neat & tidy pachysandra beds at the entrance and was there an hour or more getting mosquito bites but it looks nice now. Maybe next time would not have chosen a cashmere sweater to weed in but, we do what we have to do. Here in Becket.

Hillbillies also bought the second drinks-size fridge Peg bought for Alex, because she couldn't stand people keeping "their" soda or beer or wine or juice in "her" fridge. (Nice). $15 bucks. Then someone bought all of Peg's old sheet music and a few books for $100.  And another someone bought $300 worth of Peg's glassware, dessert wine glasses and akvavit glasses. All going towards Alex's music school fees. As opposed to a week at Canyon Ranch for myself. 

Made dinner for Ken....pasta in red pesto sauce. I could have made do with popcorn or toast but feel guilty not feeding him when he's up on ladders and second-coating the solarium. I then went back to scanning. He tried to tell me some story about when he worked as a bagger at some supermarket in South Carolina, right after his wife died, which involved muffins, and I think was funny (he laughed), so I did too, but couldn;t begging to tell you what it was about since I was in FULL SCANNING MODE and counting pages.

The back room giant freezer is now empty and off. I threw out a frozen duck I found in there. 

I am so totally unbelievably exhausted I can't think. 

FLAGGING

Not sure how long I can keep this up. Or how long I can stand not turning the furnace on, wondering what I'm trying to prove by shaking all day.

Productive day, another one. Bonnie mostly scanned (I guess so..) and we have now done--that is, re-done--all pictures and images. Almost all. Which currently grace the dining room table and I now need to label and sort into piles: ME KEEP and OFF TO OREGON, LUCKY BUGGERS.

I photographed with iPad three large photo albums. Two to go. Bending over kills my back. Also not sure what to do with the one from my first wedding. Can't imagine Oregon wants it. Still. What are they going to do, send it back? Lots of pics of Peg in it so maybe they'll think it gold dust. 

Schlepped to Willamstown (1 hr) to friend Louise's house with all the Peg glassware a Brit friend bought off Peg's Facebook page, over $300.00 worth, so Louise could supervise the packing. She didn't trust me to do it. Felt like a kindergardener (sp?). Also dropped off at Louise's 3 plastic bins full of Peg Florentine gilt shabby-chic stuff for eBay.

The Saab wouldn't start 4 times today. Hinsdale P.O.; Louise's; Bottom of Louise's road onto Rte 7; Wal-Mart (for crap sweatshirt for Ken, to paint in, and Cinch window cleaner). Tory Saab Owner if you're reading this somewhere west of Pennsylvania, don't fret. Clearly it's me. And I love the car, make no mistake. I just get out again, lock it, say "Oh, look. Here I am back at the car FOR THE FIRST TIME, guess I'll get in and drive off now!", unlock it, get in, fasten my belt, shut door, put key in ignition, turn it, and it starts. It's just part of my daily routine now. I think it misses Tory and found out she buggered off to Mexico without it.

Ken spent much of the day on a ladder cleaning the outsides of the windows. Fuck the $681.00 estimate from Kirt With An "I". Ken then donned his new WalMart sweatshirt and continued painting the solarium (formerly Peg's dressing room), but didn't do a neat line at the ceiling, like Bob did, so now we have to paint the ceiling, which looks filthy suddenly next to Ivory White.

Repeat of Pot Roast dinner tonight, David J coming round with his pooch any second to join Ken and Me. 

DK's and my 31st wedding anniversary tomorrow. Can't decided how to celebrate. Am leaning towards eating pot roast for third time in a week. 

LONG DAY, BUSY DAY

Hillbillies due at 9 but showed at noon. Pisses me off but learning to live with it. They removed the front hall 1970s tartan carpet and finished clearing/cleaning the attic, plus dumstered rusted wheelbarrows and other choice items from down behind garden shed in lower garden. And I sold Peg's IKEA wardrobe to Matt, the 22 year old Hillbilly Helper (as opposed to Hamburger Helper) for $10, the deal being he had to disassemble and take it it away, NOW, which he did. Outside Bob could then get in there and paint. 

Meanwhile, Hillbillies 1 & 2 hard at work on hall carpet and figuring out how to move giant marble 12 ton hall mirror and coat rack. A lot of head scratching ensued. You can only watch a certain amount of head scratching at $15 each per hour. I produced 4 "sliders", things Peg used to slip under heavy furniture to slide it around with little or no effort, which I have to say work amazingly, for something so cheap- looking and plastic. We then discovered wall behind hall stand was unpainted and still full of 1925 wallpaper, so while Bob went to work on that (a dryer sheet immersed in water and Palmolive then sprayed on--VERY effective in removing all paper, whatever age it is), I grabbed paint brush and touched up kitchen, dining room, hall, and the French doors in solarium, as we're now calling it (Peg's dressing room), got paint on floor, cashmere, good boots, you name it. Which I wouldn't have done had Bob not had to leave at 3 PM to pick up his 5 year old from school, and what which fresaltor coming to take pics on Saturday--we are behind. Bob is join "to see" if Arlo (Guthrie) can possibly due without him on Friday and come to me instead. Arlo gets him 4 days a week as its. He can give me Bob for one day, is how I see it. And will ring him if he gets stroppy about this.

Eventually did a late Goodwill run with Ken (mostly clean curtains from you name it, every window in the house: am in Set Decorator mode) via bank and post office, and culminating with Super Stop & Shop and TJ Maxx for birthday present for friend (wrinkle remover $5.99) and vinyl shower mat, the kind with suckers, because the old one looked like a relic from the 70s, which it was. Scoured tub. Got none of it up. Put Drain Free in drain. No result. Wate still drains out at minus point 2 mph.

Ken been busy researching all Peg's personal books, to provide Louise The Ebay Marvel with all the info. He also made a salad for dinner. Bravo Ken. And spackled nail holes.

Alain arrived from Connecticut to collect his phone, inadvertently left here yesterday in a carrier bag full of packing tape. That was exciting. 

Labels have arrived for Oregon shipping of Peg's archive, scheduled for Thursday. Also exciting.

Kirt (yes, with an "i") the Window Washer Guy arrived with estimate for SOME of the outside windows and none of the inside: $681. Er, don't think so. 

The pen drive full of 3 weeks worthy of scans is fucked. That is sad new indeed. 

I have been scanning scripts since 8 PM when Ken and I finished sun-dried tomato pesto pasta and hate scripts, all of them, never want to see another, ever, and if I ever write one, remind me of this, before you take aim.

I am freezing but refuse to turn the furnace on yet. 

SCRIPT ATTACK

Alain and Rosemary came up for the day from Connecticut to help sort the 15 bankers boxes of scripts on the landing that I've been walking past 12 times a day since I put them there five years ago. Miscellaneous, missing ones, extra ones, original broadcast ones, Peg personal ones marked up, Alan Bunce personal ones marked up, Margaret Hamilton personal ones marked up, Peg autographed ones she signed between 2008 and 2014, scripts from The Kate Smith Show, The Couple Next Door, Ethel and Albert ABC radio, Ethel & Albert WJZ radio, Ethel and Albert TV sponsored bv Sunbeam, by Ralston Purina, by Maxwell House Coffee, The Little Things in Life. NBC Monitor, Old Time Radio & TV Convention performances 1996 - 2012, and about 3 boxes of starts of scripts, middles of scripts, ends of scripts, no name, no number, no year. 

Lucky University of Oregon getting all of it. 

Not counting the autographed original broadcast ones, which I keep to sell.

All have been scanned. Most are now boxed, labeled and sealed and sitting in the living room ready to UPS their way to Oregon later this week. 16 ready to go by the end of play today.

Also photographed 3 personal photo albums and labeled images.

I am trying not to think of the possibly (probably) defunct pen drive that Bonnie is taking to the pen drive doctor tomorrow morning at 9. Or about the 9 million scans on it that will have to be redone. Fortunately none of them scripts,  which is what takes the time. The half hour shows run to 46 pages each, and have to be done individually because the paper is so old it would tear if we used a feeder.

Ken spent the entire day trimming and tidying along the drive. Looking good.

We all went to the Dreamaway Lodge for dinner. 

I have been scanning and labeling since we got home at 9. Alain and Rosemary went back to Connecticut. I rang them a few minutes ago to tell them he left his iPhone in a plastic Staples bag full of filament packing tape on the dining room table.

4 boxes more of scripts then I move on to cassettes and video and DVDs.

More wine will be needed. I think I know the plot now to every single one of my mother's shows, and, for a small fee, would be happy to recite any of them, playing all parts--and rather well, I might add, depending of course on the amount of wine.

CRISIS

Well. Peg's archive is so vast, I was running out of room on my macbook, so ordered a 500GB external hard drive from Amazon (and pretty purple padded carrying case). It arrived today. On my To Do List  is transferring all files already scanned onto this X Drive, a permanent file. How we've been going about the scanning process, so far, is scanning onto 2 different USB pen drives, then I stick them into my laptop and label each scan, ON the pen drive itself, rather than import the data (scans) onto my laptop and have to label twice (pen drive and laptop), but couldn't do this anyhow because in fact I had no room to import. Hence buying the external drive.  On Pen Drive Let's Call It "A", for example, are over, 2000 scans, probably more, because we've been using it for about a month. I have imported none of them onto my laptop. I was waiting for my X 500 GB Drive, which, as I said, arrived today. Exciting so far? It gets better.

What also happened today, is that Bonnie, while rushing to get her car keys to unlock her car (why does she keep it locked in our driveway in the middle of nowhere?), so as to get the right size phillips head screwdriver needed to remove curtain rods up in my bedroom--inadvertently side-swiped Pen Drive A, which was sticking out from/still plugged into the printer/scanner. And--it bent. At an alarming angle. And basically, in a word, or five,  IT NOW DOES NOT FUCKING WORK. I am convinced the connection has been permanenty and irreversibly severed and the thing will never work again and all those 2000+ scans are toast. Bonnie, who is incidentally devastated, is taking it into Mad Macs on Rte 7 first thing Monday morning, hoping against hope The Proper Man can retrieve everything.

I wanted to smash plates and go into the woods and wail and scream and never return, but had to keep calm for Bonnie's sake. 

So. I now have to go into my files, see what's already in the computer from Pen Drive 2, write it down, go dig into (already sealed for shipping) boxes, and go through all the fuckers again. Pictures, Letters. Pages and pages of financial reports. Scripts. And on top of everything else, because we needed the dining room table for dinner guests tonight, we worked all day organizing and scanning 98 years worth of photographs.

I can't think about it. Without another drink in my hand.

Nancy the Realtor comes to measure and take pics of the place for the brochure next Saturday. Archive was supposed to be shipped by then. Hope potential buyers like the shots showing how you can fit 12,000 scripts onto a couch and eat dinner using wedding photos as placemats.

My friend Tory Who Kindly Loans Me Her Cars has sold her house, the closing was today, and she is off to Mexico for the winter on Tuesday, so I made her a Peg's Pot Roast dinner and a Tarte Tatin to celebrate and say bye. I will miss her madly. Also in attendance were James, her other half, Dominick, David J from down the road, and, brace yourself---KEN! Yes! The very same. Back from Cincinatti, garden clippers in hand and ready to be put to work. It is unclear how long he is staying. We will play this by ear. He asked me tonight to look through a box of his dead wife's jewelry and I can't believe I actually have added to my load BUT, it's a delicate silver dog lead and collar with a dainty little silver loop handle and it's just the right size for Mabel and I cannot wait to walk down the street in Walberswick looking like a grand lady from the Upper East Side with her toy poodle. (Mabel will need dyeing and a permanent).

He also has his wife's mink coat and mink and silver fox jacket. We are going to take pictures of me in them tomorrow, plus Peg's mink, and then sling them onto eBay. Prices not great. Am thinking we should take them to Italy. I was there in Rome in December a few years ago and you could not move for fur, every single woman was wrapped up in some sort of expensive animal and loving every moment. 

It's garbage night tomorrow. Already my pulse is racing. Ah, life in the Berkshires.

REALTOR CHOSEN

Finally. Ta-da. Seven contenders, one stood out. 

So invited her back, gave her the good news. Her numbers are towards the high end, but realistic. Why this house is in fucking Becket instead of Monterey or Stockbridge is not my fault, but it makes the figures about $500,000 less. Sad but true. Anyhow. I like this woman, she's funny and sharp and a New Yorker by birth and--if I were the one buying a house? I'd trust her. Watch this space. Four years from now when I'm broke and living in my car and the house still hasn't sold.

I have until next Wednesday to complete Peg's archive and get it catalogued and listed and shipped off to the U of Oregon Library. Gave myself a deadline. Then Nancy (realtor) comes in with team to measure etc. We're moving on this now. Sharpish.

So. That's done. Just pitched the other six realtors' brochures in the bin. But wrote them all a very kind, appreciative email saying thank you BUT. Because I was brung up good.

And also happy because have got Radio Spirits, which put out Peg's most recent The Couple Next Door CD, and who indeed are bringing out another for Xmas--to take two other audio series of hers and make digital copies of, since I have no way to copy reel to reels or cassettes. Or feel like it. 

Had another bout with Online Banking wankers. Think it may now be sorted. The "amazing" mop I ordered from Amazon on Bonnie's instructions, arrived. Great excitement here. That coupled with a new online password plus a brand new bottle of Murphy's Soap for wood floors. What a day, eh?

The Hillbillies, which I've decided now to call The Junk Boys, as my neighbor down there road does, never showed. No brakes on Don's truck, it seems. But, he is fixing them tonight, he says, and will be here at 9 AM. I hear stuff like that and for one obscene moment I think: wish I knew how to fix brakes. But then I remember all the stuff I'm good at and Don probably isn't, like ordering microfibre mops, and I feel better. 

Am going to now finish checking Ethel & Albert Scrapbooks 3, 4 and 5, finish an excellent bottle of $50 Pinot Noir, courtesy of friend David Jenkins' son, and have a bit of a weep. Seems like a good thing to do on a Thursday in September. 

COLD

Am wearing my friend Tory's black fleece which she has kindly loaned me, along with a lime green cashmere cardigan. It may be 80 in Pittsfield but here on the mountain, Fall has definitely arrived. And no way do I turn on the fucking heat and burn $$$$ oil. Yet. I shivered for two nights wearing more clothes than Maggie Smith in Lady in The Van, then got clever and found another duvet to sling on the bed AND a hot water bottle in a Liberty print I'd given to Peg years ago and I suspect never used. I loved it. Cozy and toasty and pretended it was DK's legs next to me (in floral Liberty print PJs). It stopped me shaking all night. I told Bonnie about it the next day.

"A hot what?" she said.

"Water bottle," I said. Bonnie looked blank. Intrigued, but blank. 

"You mean, like Evian or Poland Spring?"

"No, like a hot water bottle. That you fill, with the kettle or hot water tap!"

Bonnie had never heard of a hot water bottle. Making me feel awfully awfully Brit and vaguely eccentric. Whereupon I produced the bottle, which further fascinated her. I explained that it wasn't particularly "Brit", that my grandmother over here had had one. And she remained politely transfixed, like I was making this up. 

I am going to go online tomorrow and order her one.

Today, on a lightening trip to town, bought two tastefully-mouse-grey scatter rugs at Home Depot for my bathroom, now that mint green filthy carpet is up and the icy terrazzo floor revealed. They work a treat.

I also mailed off Treasury Bond info, 900 forms & bonds--certified, recorded, pony express and so on. Got the receipt. Will get a call in two days saying I filled it out wrong, guaranteed. 

And, while in Hinsdale post office, remembered my wedding anniversary coming up, so picked a card, not a great deal of choice, in fact only one "Anniversary" choice, so I grabbed it  wrote something cute and witty and loving, addressed the envelope, sealed it, then went back to the window to post it and the wheezing unfriendly asshole guy there who has about 6 more days to live before emphysema gets him says, "I need to scan your card" which is of course now signed and in the enveloped. And is the last anniversary card, but will he take a Birthday or Get Well to scan, no, even though they are ALL from the same company and ALL say $2.95--so I have to rip open the sucker so he can get the bar code. Fuck Hinsdale forever. 

Then hit Price Chopper for Murphy Oil Soap for wood floors (the best) and Spic and Span. Home Goods for rugs, as I mentioned, and TJMAXX for a belt and $12 retinol face magic cream, meaning tomorrow I will look about 12, no question, and Bonnie won't recognize me. Unless of course I appear at the door embracing a hot water bottle.

On a brighter note, the Hillbillies, my new best friends, arrived on time, finished removing carpet underlay from the den and the 6 million staples from same up io=n Red Bedroom (as opposed to the Tulip Room, Leopard Room, EBay room, Dressing Room, Odd's office, and my room) and it looks great. They made a start on the basement. A ton of firewood down there, which I am giving them in return for hours. An they will take apart the Giant Satellite circa 1975 Dish in the garden that looks like part of the Hadron Collider.  For nothing. Because I am giving it to them for scrap. 

They are really really seriously good news. Don arrived today and gave me $40 back, saying I'd overpaid them yesterday, and that I did NOT owe them another $140, as I'd thought. I said "Oh?". We then both stood there with our phones trying to do kindergarden math for 10 minutes,  both coming up with about 12 different totals.  My kind of guy.  

Seems Tammy has no teeth (I asked) because she had to have them all pulled due to gum disease, the result of smoking, the dentist said. (I texted this info to my son). She is being fitted for plates tomorrow. I asked how she could eat anything (clearly not a huge problem, judging by her size) and Don said she eats everything, even steak. Guess you gum it, like babies do. Anyhow she has the most gorgeous hands, my husband would love them. Long and slim and beautiful nails. And there she is, a junk pile cleaner and firewood cutter. And doesn't wear gloves she said, ever. I look at these two and think: Jesus. Your lives are nothing like mine, nothing, and yet--and yet--I feel strangely close to you. Granted, in an odd hillbilly toothless nice-nails sort of way. But still. They are good people. I said I was going out to dinner. Don said he doesn't go out to eat, the inference being this would be dangerous, so he eats at home. 

And so, we move on. As ever. More trouble with online banking, which I thought I had sorted, and Radio Spirits bringing out second CD of my mother's stuff, for Christmas, so had to OK cover artwork, which was wrong, and then re-title all the episodes, which they needed by tomorrow, of course, nice of them to give me all this notice--so didn't accomplish as much Archive stuff as I'd planned. There are rolls of bubble wrap everywhere. Before I found the duvet, it occured to me to wrap myself in it before bed.

I wish I knew when my return air ticket was, wish I had enough courage to make a date and book it. I had dinner with my lovely man-friend David J,  at Elizabeth's, in Pittsfield. I was weepy all the way there, and on the way home, and also while we sat here afterwards at the butcher block, him talking art and sculpture, and me being weepy. Maybe he figured I was moved by the very mention of Whistler, or Degas.