Category: Life Is A Spell

There are so many August birthdays in our family that we celebrate them all at once at my brother Tim’s place. It was his birthday in fact. My mom was born in August too but we already celebrated her birthday. My brother, Fran, who celebrated his birthday a few days ago, brought the corn. He soaked it in the husks for ten minutes or so and then threw it on the grill the way guys do. It was fantastic.

Another brother, John, also born in August, brought this old picture of our great grandfather to give to our dad. My dad, the family historian, said his grandfather was born in Ireland and worked in the shoe factories of Manchester, England before moving to Rochester. He guessed this photo was taken in front of his Hayward Avenue home.

The newest member of the the August club, our niece’s daughter, Lennon, made her first appearance at one week of age. Named after John, she would have been named Jagger (but not after Mick) if she was a boy. She wasn’t even big enough to make a racket when she cried.

Tom Kohn wasn’t even there last night to see how the performers he booked for the “Fourteen Fridays” at the Village Gate went over. They packed the courtyard, drew more than any of the bands. It got me thinking about how bands are overrated. What people really want is entertainment.

Rick Simpson from “Just Foolin’ Around” had performed between Margaret Explosion sets the last two years and this year Tom gave them their own night. Rick lined up a vaudeville show with jugglers, hula hoop dancers, a saw player, an accordion/percussion player, a string duo performing Neil Young songs, a story teller/sound effects dude that reminded us of Tall Tales Audio and best of all a batch of corny jokes that Rick delivered as he he introduced each performer. We watched a guy juggle five volleyballs. Bob Mahoney was pulled from the audience to assist in an Houdini style escape gag. Two hours flew by before the fire juggling finale.

Peggi and I had seen a show like this in Europe, a traveling mini circus with a handful of performers wearing many hats and this show was every bit as good. It is possible to appeal to all ages without the dumb down, smarmy antics of, you know, the stuff that makes you want to be anti family. Rick, like Pee Wee Herman, rocked the open air, all ages house last last night.

On our way back from Pike we stopped along a dirt road near this batch of windmills. We have seen before, mostly in Spain, but we had never gotten so close to one. They’re sort loud but beautiful. I say, “Not in my backyard but my maybe in my neighbors”.

It finally happened. We were driving by the intersection of Westfall Road and East Henrietta and we WEREN’T in a hurry to get somewhere. So pulled over to look at these beautiful old buildings that have been all but swallowed up by nature. There are about ten buildings all in the same state of rot. I took a few photos and then spotted another couple taking shots. I asked my father what these buildings were and he said this one, Number 5, was a County run run TB ward and he remembered visiting a friend here who was suffering from TB.

Number 5 is the biggest of the buildings in the complex and the ivy has not engulfed it like it has the others. The Visual Studies Building in yesterday’s post recently had its ivy removed. Ivy sucks the moisture out of the mortar joints and it eventually found its way inside the the VSW building. This is an ongoing problem here. I remember Dave Mahoney in the late sixties up on a later removing ivy from this same building. I used to meet him for breaks and we’d walk up to the corner store for cheese crackers and a coke.

I was talking to our neighbors down the street while their dogs were yapping away. I took this shot and our neighbor said, “Oh you’d like pictures of our dogs?” I can give you hundreds of pictures of our dogs”. I said no thanks but then I got to thinking what that would be like. I could make a scrapbook of them like I did with pictures the former owner of our house left here. He had a wandering telephoto that sought out women’s butts. I break the scrapbook out at parties if the mood is right.

Bruce O’Neal is the best tree surgeon in town but I bet he wouldn’t want to be called a surgeon. He stopped over to look at a few our dead limbs and he was talking about his daughter going to school for nursing and then switching to criminal justice. His advice to her – “Money does grow on trees.” Our trees.

Next blog please. So Many Records has an sensational entry up there now, “He Cried” by the Shangri-Las, an over the top song with Incredible production. It was fun hear Peggi singing along as I gave it a spin. Why can’t they make like this anymore.

I wasn’t going to take a picture of these orange shelves in their obsessed with state until I saw the way our Hoosier Boy box looked on them. The box was on the way to the trash after all these years. I had electrical parts in it or something. We had this box since Bloomington. It reminds me of the tomatoes we grew in southern Indiana. I’d start with one stake and then another on the same plant and by the end of the season I’d have five stakes holding up the same overloaded plant. Of course the summers there were so hot and humid they would take the life right out of a person. That is unless you were hanging out at the quarries.

We’ve had a generous amount of rain this summer, not enough to keep you indoors but enough so we haven’t had to water the garden. And there has been just the right amount to produce a wide variety of mushrooms in the woods. We’ve seen the ones that look like donuts and the brilliant orange ones that that woman ate and – I can’t remember if she died but she got in the paper for eating them. The ones above look like tropical coral.

We live vicariously through our friends and neighbors, Rick and Monica. They take vacations and we enjoy those. Tonight they went bowling over at that place that has only six lanes on Merchants Road.

We stopped down at the pool today after our walk and we were talking to one of the neighbors about the new people that have moved onto our street. We told him we had met them yesterday but neither Peggi or I could remember what the guy’s name was. Our neighbor set us straight. He too had talked to them the day before. They moved here from Reno and our neighbor heard that the woman telecommutes to work somewhere in the bay area. He asked us if we telecommute. Peggi said, “I guess so, we never leave the house.” I am still trying to imagine what telecommuting is.