Monday, January 8, 2018
As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
Unless you are raised as a child in a house that is not your own, with a constant murmur that you are going to be kicked off the sharecropper farm, you never know the uncertainty of what life really is. It is why I have always been fixated on having a place of our own, so no one can ever make me feel not at home again.
The Viking dropped me a note about his paying off their home this year and I lit up with delight when I read that, as what a wonderful reality it will be for him and his family, to have that deed. As long as one pays the extortion penalties the regimes charge for living in your own home, that home then is a place that no one can take from you. No one can make you feel uncertain. No one will be able to ever make you leave. A Viking's home is his castle.
I thought I would tell you a bit about the place I am held hostage in and I in shame brought TL to. It is a homestead house, meaning a poor person built a few rooms to try and not freeze to death, and then the house was built on in thee worst not planning in all humanity. The kitchen is some awful shed moved onto this house and nailed on. It is not code in 2 by 4's. It also when they put in the foundation have it slanted. I have to put a knife under cakes to bake them level....or sort of level.
Dad got a jack knife carpenter to panel the kitchen. The roof leaked and degraded a hole over the stove where the chimney was and it is rippled. The floor is tile from 1963 AD in the year of our Lord. It is worn to the wood.
The living room where I am typing this has 5 doors and two windows in it. Yes it is a transition point and it sucks. The linoleum is worn through, the floor rocks when you walk on it.
Where we sleep is an 8 by 10 bedroom. I have a hell of a time making the bed as there is absolutely no room. The Puntz jumps on the bed and looks out the window at night and in the day she makes bird sounds as she watches birds in the red cedar I planted which is now huge.
The cedar is a Godsend, as it taught me that a tree on the north side of the house, keeps it cool by 15 degrees and if the window is open it is natural air conditioning on all but the hottest days.
The bathroom is a sort of old porch, 6 feet wide by 10 feet long, three doors, one to the cellar which is dirt and stone work in a real root cellar.
Mom's bedroom had part of the plaster fall off in the ceiling, which needs remedy. The first fell down before dad died and another chunk fell down last fall.
Speaking of which a rainstorm when my parents first moved in here (they could see wind blowing through the doors) rained upstairs and soaked through the living room, so it is sagged and two years ago a chunk fell. I plastered it and it looks like inverted drifts in the snow.
The chimney leaks upstairs even with my patching, so the plaster fell off the north room up there. The south room still is holding together. To get upstairs are steps so worn, old and cracked they look like they are over 100 years old.
They enclosed two small porches, which one is the porch and the other is a sort of bedroom. Everything is jam packed full of treasures, meant for our home or survival. I bought a great deal of that cheap army surplus stuff. I actually have two British web sets with the tommies names on them, and one still has the clay from wherever that pack was when I suppose he was killed as British officers detest dirt and bad foot care.
Homeland has a nice photo of it, as they took a photo before they left. I saw no purpose in it, as no Homeland Security officers have sent any checks trying to roof the house or end the poverty we endure.
I think this is the dirtiest house on the planet. It grows dirt somehow as a crop. That is the most puzzling thing about it, as I mop, we never wear our shoes inside, and yet it just gets dirt on the floors. I used to think it was my dogs, but as we have no dogs and the dirt appears, it must be something of a virtue of a house which existed in dust storms that all that depression dust simply never came out.
The plaster is back plaster or horse hair plaster as there was once no insulation in America. You can actually see the horse hair in the plaster......it was put in there to hold the plaster and keep it from cracking.
I have hated and detested this house since I was a child. It was always cold or it was boiling hot. It is an odd thing about this kind of house as it takes about 3 days to cool off or 3 days to warm up. That is nice in the winter, but Lord it gets cold and it radiates cold. If our cold would just last 2 days it would work out better.
I sometimes think this place is cursed as in looking through the old deeds, a bachelor built this place and then a stream of people had it as it changed hands. The people who had it longest before we did, had a constant of 2 good years, 3 broke years and 5 marginal years.
When I grew up here, there were two old elms which are now gone from disease, but they must have been planted almost from the start. They were huge shade trees.
One of the things I worked hard on was restoring the pastures to their real wild condition. There is a small wet spot where I have three willows growing by God's Grace. There were two ancient willows in that slough when I was small.
The out buildings like most on farms across America are almost all fallen down now. There just is not money to fix in 10,000 dollar upkeep, so things just return to the soil. America once had policy to keep things cheap so people could build lives, now all the goods go to China to make a few rich.
I just noticed that it is bright in here and not dim as I type this. It has warmed up a bit, so the power company has not cut back their production, and we have real light instead of candle light.
I am so pleased the Viking will have his home paid off this year. That is a wonderful accomplishment. I am still waiting on God to get our start, but it will come, and if Jesus beats me to it, I really do not want a mansion in New Jerusalem. I would like best to have a shade tree, some soft grass for a bed, maybe my puppies for blankets and I have not figured out what for my pillow. I think a real tiger would be nice as tigers are pretty.
I should probably close this up, but I don't know what to do with two nights ending good like this, as Captain Kirk was talking knives last night and tonight the Viking was telling me he will have his home for Mama and Baby Girl paid off this year. I do worry about things like that for others and I will sleep well tonight with happy thoughts of Vikings in garages, stars and smoking those health giving cigarettes which protect one from getting colds.
That was me closing things up, and still nattering on.