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.

THE CLOUD HAS LIFTED. SORT OF.

Although the day did not in fact start out promising. I flew out of bed at the sound of the alarm at 7:20, had been in a dead sleep since 11 PM. No pill, for once, and a heavy heavy sleep, the kind I haven't had in awhile. Which is not to say I could have done with a few hours more but, as I said, hopped to it, exercise, shower, hair, make-up, doors unlocked, to be able to greet Outside Bob inside, at 8 AM, looking like I'd been up since 5 being productive. All went well, except Bob didn't show. So thought I had the day wrong. Or he decided not to come. Or had gone via LP Adams hardware to buy stuff we need I've forgotten about or the mixture of gas and ethanol (?) for the leaf blower I'm scared to use.

Meanwhile I've got the Hillbillie Cleaner-Clearer- Carpet-Taker-Uppers due at 9, but only if the dumpster had arrived by then, which it hadn't. Just as I'm writing Laurie in Ohio saying what a crap day this has been so far, Bob walks in. He had to take his son to the school bus; said he'd told me. He probably had. Then Sharon at Valley Dumpster calls to say she's re-routed her guys and they're bringing it out now, not late afternoon, hooray, so I leave a message at the HBs, in fact two messages.  

1 PM they ring me back with some story about a truck axle and Russel, which is either a place or a person, and which in any event I understood not word one of, the end result being that they will come tomorrow at noon, not today. They then rang me back three times (just as I got seated across the kitchen, one day I plan to work near a phone, honest) to ask if I like peaches, because they have two trees full of them, and will bring me some. Hillbillies bearing peaches is fine with me, so said yes, then, as I said, rang back twice more to discuss this upcoming event. First Don, then the other. They sounded pissed. Maybe guzzling fermented peach juice.

Bob excelled himself today: 

- painted the den, touched up nail holes in upstairs dressing room, upstairs bathroom where ugly Peg medicine chest had been hung (upside down for some reason) and then touched up marks from all removed carpets along baseboards. And filled 20,000 nail holes in kitchen.

- removed large TV from kitchen and placed in the back seat of his car (he worked it off last month: $200), then hooked up DVD and video player to TV in den, eliminating 6 miles of cords through walls in the process, and the cozy area by the fireplace in the kitchen now has a Stickley rocking chair in it and table with lamp instead of looking like a corner of a recording studio.

-showed me how the new digital/video arrangement was hooked up, told me to write it down and make a diagram, which I did, which I have already lost. 

-replaced 7 dodgy fluorescent lights in kitchen so now I can see something.

- started painting the two little rooms off the living room, formerly known as Odd's bedroom and Peg's closet.

I, meanwhile, have got to grips with the personal paper portion of Peg's Archive, and instead of a foot high slippery pile on the dining room table of plastic sleeves full of Peg stuff, labelled "Letters from Peg to inlaws in Norway 1949", "Things that made Peg laugh", "Letters/faxes to Astrid 1994 - 1996", "Peg: on Writing", "Letters from Peg's father, 1917-1918" and so on and so on---I reconfigured the whole mess out on the porch, commandeering all furniture and the floor, putting like with like and then boxing and labeling and... Anyhow. The diningroom table is now clear, in preparation to do the same thing for her business stuff. Then when that's done, I move on to pictures. Then scripts. I emptied the two big cupboards in the den where I've carefully stored All Things Archive for the past 5 years and where Peg periodically hauled out the couch or chair and dug in to screw things up, I was very close to buying a crossbar and padlocks, I swear. Anyhow it's not as packed solid in there as I remembered. Do-able. Scripts--well. Possibly a thousand still to scan. But considering she wrote over 11,000--not too bad. 

In any event, I have MADE A START. And 4 big boxes ready now in the living room to send to Oregon. All I need now is for someone to show me how to load the nifty packing tape dispenser so you go zap RIP, zap RIP, zap, RIP like those people in the Amazon warehouse and presto, box all taped shut, rather than have the stuff twirl and twist and stick to your pants and the scissors just out of reach and having to yell well fuck this! every two seconds.

Leftover breaded shrimp from Price Chopper for dinner and a waffle, in honor of Peg. The more you empty the freezer the more interesting combos you get.

STILL SAD

But am working through it because I have no choice. Have spent since 9 AM until just now glued to this thing, labeling scans on pen drives, moving into folders, copying, saving, blah blah blah. Over 3000 scans today, easy, probably more. Hope Oregon fucking appreciates this. I know it's 99% for me so I have a record of everything before it disappears into a library out West, and it's the right thing to do, the only thing to do. Still. Am getting SO FED UP. In deference to Peg I am listening to the Extreme Weather Channel as I work. Although in fact all I have to do is look out the window: nonstop bucketing all day. 

I wish the phone would ring. 

I was invited to go up to Williamstown to The Clark Museum to see the Van Gogh exhibition which closes today. Decided to pass (rain, driving at night). Whistler's Mother there too. Wish mine was.

My big outing was getting three sacks of garbage out to the big bin at the end of the drive, and how to do this without swimming there. Found a pair of Odds boots and someone's rain slicker they left behind, managed to get out the door and wade across the front lake and got the bags into the boot of the Saab, built to hold two marbles, tops. The end of the drive presented it's own challenges, you have to stop on a hill, handbrake on, out into the downpour, then can't open the boot, need the keys, haul the bags out then can't get the stupid bear-proof bin open--this is a giant bin, you could fit 6 people in it lying down, which let me tell you I felt like doing after I finally got the sucker open.

So then I came back to the house feeling like I'd accomplished sweet FA, so did a clear-out of the fridge--one of them. Peg has two. Correction. 4. 2 giant ones and two drinks fridges, until I sold one to Bonnie for a tenner. Peg had this thing about allowing other people to use her refrigerators for things like a bottle of wine or a can of Coke. We came to blows any number of times ("So let me get this straight, you've bought Alex a fridge of his own for upstairs so he can keep his KETCHUP up there?? Well I am SO SORRY if it is IN YOUR WAY!"). Anyhow we're down to 3 now, and my intention is to get everything confined into 1 by the time I leave, plus empty the freezer in the back room too. I see she has a veal roast there, which could be 10 years old. And a duck. I keep avoiding them both and defrost chicken thighs, which appear to be multiplying.

Why do I keep having the nagging thought that somewhere in this world, there is a person who is enjoying hearing about me having a hard time. I feel it so strongly it must be true. 

A GREAT SADNESS

...has descended. Big time. I figured it might be coming, but wasn't prepared for such a terrifying feeling of--islolation. Aloneness. Is that a word? People say how sorry they are, for about a month, and get on with their lives, quite rightly, but here I sit, still, cataloguing, scanning, photographing, wrapping, boxing. The days aren't too bad but the evenings are complete shite. Not that I want to be out dancing and partying back in London or even Suffolk, I just want--someone to be here. Someone to do this with me. Who's good at it. As good as I am (am afraid this means a female, should any guys be racing into their cars). Just to have someone here to say fuck this for a game of darts, let's open the Whispering Angel (a lovely rose), would be fabulous.  

I am merely going through a temporary crisis of feeling sorry for myself, and I will get over it. It has all just been too too much and not been helped by Verizon (am writing the CEO) making life impossible by not only canceling our internet by mistake but making me hang on the phone for 2 hours about 12 times a day to talk to Chad in Omaha, flash asshole Brian in Springfield Mass, and Josephe Estarlio in the Phillipines. Yeah yeah yeah, life's trials, we all go through this, but am on my own here and have had three meltdowns in two days and wishing I weren't an only child and could get on with projects I'm good at (dinner, labeling  scanning, wrapping, organizing, burying ashes in cute boxes) while my siblings tend to the hard stuff like filling out forms and sticking pins in a Verizon doll and selling the house and...

I have filled out Treasury Bond Form 3556, wrong, now, 3 times. I'm starting to hate my father for taking out these fucking bonds that are a HUGE palaver every time one matures, getting the form stamped ($10 bank charge) and every single time, no exaggeration, some 12 year old from Treasury Securities whatever in the midwest rings me to ask why my name on the bond is not exactly the same as the one on my bank account and every single time I have to send copies of my marriage certificate and...

Berkshire Bank has mistakenly cancelled our online banking, even though I went in there specifically last week to make sure they didn't, to put my name on it...

I am now resigned to making almost no money on the sale of this house because of where it is instead of 20 miles down the road in trendy flashy Lenox or Stockbridge. All the realtors, bar two, do their best to make me ashamed that the house happens to be situated HERE, bordering on boondockland, like this is my fault. Like as well as clearing 50,000 tons of stuff I should hump these great grey stones down the down and re-erect this place closer to Tanglewood. Have pretty much decided on which of the 7 realtors I've seen I'll sign with. Sothebys can take a hike. Ditto the one that never follow-up emailed to say what a joy it was meeting me. Ditto the one who sat like a lump having coffee at the counter at the General Store saying Gosh, I wouldn't care for your job in a million years (meaning clearing Peg and Odd's house) and didn't hold the door open for me when I was trying to get out with seventeen hundred boxes. Ditto the one who's never sold a house for more than $200,000. And the one who came in flip flops.

Still, the Terminex Man came today. Scott. Seems Peg had a contract with them to spray for mice and spiders and fuck knows. I later ran into him in Wal Mart where I went to buy bubble wrap but got distracted passing Women's Clothing and thermal long sleeve shirts for $3.99. It's starting to get cold here. Am sorry Scott saw me buying clothes in Wal-Mart but it was nice to be able to say Hi to a familiar face.

I'm so lonely. As I said.

This whole experience has made me think rather more deeply than I ever planned on, about the meaning of friendship. Bear with me. You have friends when you're little, and then growing up, and then you move on to the college lot, then the work group--the ones before you got married, and then kept, after marriage, because they were the real friends, the true friends, even after you moved thousands of miles away, they were "the real ones". 

You then make friends with your child's friends' parents because you have to, although one or two genuinely wonderful ones sneak in there to to add to your list.

And then, through chance, or in my case, a deliberate move to seek and find, you hook up again with the friends from growing up, the ones you knew starting at age 5  and managed to keep all through high school--and you are stunned that even though you lost track of them for years, you find that everything you liked about one another back then still holds true today, and, if you are really lucky, as I have been, you find that you love who your friends married as well.

And then, just when you think you have more friends than any one person deserves in a lifetime, you move house, you move to a different part of the country, and to your astonishment, you discover new friends, equally wonderful, and you just know they are going to be your friends for life, along with those first ones from your childhood. And suddenly, the "work" friends, the "real ones", the ones you thought you'd have forever and ever--you start to not hear from. A few exceptions, naturally but very few. Life takes over. Everyone gets older. You live different places. You gradually lose touch. The trouble is you expect to hear from them, are sure you're going to hear from them, but--you don't. (Of course, maybe they never really liked you from the start, there is that to consider.)

Well, fuck it. Too bad none of my friends, wherever they are, however they feel about me, live in Becket, is all I can say. Some friends you've tuned out to be. Just when I needed you, too. I'll shut up now, and go empty the 12 million cans of Campbells Cream of Celery Soup and other goodies from the pantry shelves and box it all up for the food bank, which is "where the old Amway store used to be" everyone says, like I know where this is.

NO INTERNET

Standing up at the General Store down the road using their free wifi. Am hoping I will have it back soon at the house, otherwise I plan to torch Verizon Headquarters, who cancelled the net when they turned off the wrong phone at the house yesterday. Am going slowly mad. In fact, no, going mad exceedingly briskly.

I have hired two hillbillies who just walked in to shovel out the rest of the crap from the attic, the basement, behind the garage and also to pull up the rest of the dog-pee carpeting in the house. $30 per hour for the two of them. Don and Tammy. They live with Don's mother up the road. Don is about 50 and the size of the garage, and Tammy has no teeth. Apparently you give them cash, then they come down to the General Store, which is where I've just met them, they buy a lot of beer and go home and drink it until they pass out. 

You get less particular about who you hire, the longer you do this, I notice.

A rainy grim dark day. Going home now to an empty lonely damp-smelling humid house with no internet and drink a lot of beer. Tammy and Don may be on to something. 

I am ready to come home, my real home.

THE DAY I BURIED MY PARENTS' ASHES

My Facebook post of a few moments ago:

"A bright, sunny day at Maple Grove Cemetery in Kasson. MN. The interment of Margaret Lynch Ronning and Odd Knut Ronning. At 11AM today. James Lileks of the Minneapolis Star Tribune and I stood in front of the granite stone marked "LYNCH", purchased in 1918 by my grandmother Frances, today crowned by beautiful red roses and pine boughs designed by cousin Kim at Renning's Florist in Rochester. James had (masterfully) taken Peg and Odd's favorite song off a 78 (now buried with them), Grieg's "Jeg Elsker Deg" (I LOVE YOU). The scratchy notes of the tenor's voice rang out across the deserted cemetery as we both stood silently saying good bye to Peg and Odd. 

Who will now reside in perpetuity (ish) in a white metal trunk. Well, inside a box inside a white metal trunk. Their ashes are in an "urn", which resembles a row of classic books, whose titles I have adjusted ever so slightly, the center one reading "Our Perfect Daughter by Peg and Odd Ronning". Peg has a rather glam leopard jewel box devoted to her, full of carefully chosen mementoes and photos; Odd a Norsk wooden box full of other carefully selected treasures. 

I stayed until I made sure the gravedigger had buried the box and covered it well, then placed flowers over on my grandparents' graves, my great grandparents' graves, and those of my two favorite aunts.

I then got on a plane. Now I am sad."

MINNESOTA STATE FAIR

Well. A sight to behold. Adored it. Avoided the midway and concentrated on fried food, which seemed to be a running theme.

Also saw lots of goats and pigs and cows and sheep and gave a 25 min live outdoor radio interview along with my host and guide James Lileks to WCCO about Peg and her show and her being a Minnesota gal and even managed to get in that her archives have been placed with U of Oregon because stupid U of Minn, Peg's alma mater, never returned my calls or answered my letters when I approached them re donating her precious stuff. We did fine. Not too people got up and left and we were far more interesting than some guy before us talking about wrestling.

Tomorrow am up early to be driven to Kasson to inter the ashes. The white mental box I am burying is all ready. I said goodbye as I closed the lid. Then hello again when I opened it to actually insert the ashes, which is the whole idea, which I'd left in my carry on up in my bedroom. 

MINNESOTA

Today, suddenly, out of the blue, my eyes welled up. I was being given a tour of Minneapolis (gorgeous) and then the U of Minnesota, where Peg went to school. We drove down the streets where she would have walked, Dinky Town it's called, passed some buildings which would have been there when she attended in 1936-37, and her sorority house. Gamma Phi.  Today must have been pledge day or whatever it's called, the lawns in front were filled with young hopefuls, both male and female, outside fraternities and sororities, hoping to make the cut. All in white T shirts and shorts, which I'm sure is not what Peg wore. 

But I got all teary. She wanted so desperately to come back to Minnesota last year, wanted me to bring here here, to take the train. I humored her. I was wrong. I should have brought her.

My hosts are divine. On top of which James has organized the "Peg" folders on my laptop. Taken off All Things Peg, mostly all her scripts, and freed up 20 (?) gigabytes by compressing all the scans of her scripts and then putting onto DVD so if this thing blows up between now and when I get back to England and my new external hard drive--I have a copy. And he has kept one too. I get the feeling he looks at my desktop here the way I look at Alex's room, thinking I have never seen a greater shambles in my entire life.

Tomorrow is the State Fair. I am going to eat everything on offer.

I am so so glad I came. This all feels right. My last trip with my parents, I thought, as I flew here. Can't believe I'll be putting them in the ground here forever. She hated Minnesota winters. Maybe will put an extra sweater in the box.

TRAVEL DAY

Off to Minnepolis in an hour for 3 days. The Great Bury The Ashes Trip. Not sure what to wear for this sort of thing so have packed everything I own. Delta charges for a checked bag it seems. $25. How dare they. It's getting like RyanAir over here. I will be driven to the airport here, which is nice, and met at the airport there, also nice. Will be staying with the journalist/columnist major Peg fan and his family. He's covering the Minnesota State Fair this weekend so I am invited to tag along, where he's also set up interviews with papers and local radio etc. Have already been interviewed by the Rochester Post Bulletin--Peg's home town, where Mayo Clinic is. Tuesday I will be driven out to the cemetery where it seems I own 8 plots and will try not to fall in when I lay Peg and Odd's ashes in one of them, between Peg's mother and father. A relative still owns a flower shop in town so she's kindly done flowers, both for parents and assorted great aunts who I figured needed a posy or two since no one else is doing it.

I should eat something but am too nervous. Plus a disgusting lamb curry I made last night from a US magazine is still weighing heavily. Was trying to use freezer food so defrosted a boned leg. Unfortunately had guests so spent the evening apologizing for the food. Ended up inviting them to stay here while I'm gone instead of some crap motel in Lee and they have taken me up on it.  Delighted. They drove up in a  1930 Bugatti or something and seems drive 90 min to some car show at Lyme Rock every day. Guess you have to like cars. 

Excellent rooftop news: John the Roofer came yesterday just as the last of the 3 sets of realtors of the day were leaving, and he and The Boys not only fixed the leak (we hope, been too sunny to tell) with new slates, but snipped off the four million feet of dead satellite and TV antennae wiring hanging from windows and roofs and attics that even had clematis growing up it by now--AND then went around to the front of the house and put up the ladder and crawled WAY up top and removed the two huge defunct not to mention unsightly TV antennae tat have been up there since the 60s.

Time to move. Just hope I have the right fucking ashes.