hunker down projects

On social media I see so many friends tackling big projects while they're sheltering at home. Making quilts, painting furniture, landscaping, homeschooling, cleaning out their garages.....doing big stuff.

Even though I'm still working full-time at Second Helpings, I'm not working Saturday nights at the Red Key or the occasional Sunday at Marigold. I don't have any writing deadlines, I can go to Mass on my own schedule, and any concerts or parties have been cancelled.

Since I have an abundance of energy in regular times, you'd think I'd channel it and all of my free time into painting the house or starting a novel or scanning the boxes of photographs in my closet or writing letters or organizing my Christmas ornaments or cataloging the PEZ collection....or even keeping up with Words With Friends and birthdays greetings on Facebook.

Nope.

I spent the first few weeks overwhelmed and tired. Second Helpings is doing amazing things and we were working seven days a week in a combination of onsite and at-home shifts and conference calls and planning.

Leaving the house and coming home felt exhausting. I leave my shoes and anything that I was bringing home on the porch, take my clothes off inside the door, run to wash my hands, sanitize the door knob and my keys, toss my clothes down the laundry chute, shower, sanitize my watch and jewelry and glasses, start laundry, sanitize my purse and lunch bag on the porch and fall into bed.

Not that I was sleeping well. I was waking up several times a night in a panic - taking my temperature and realizing that I was hot because the cat was laying on my head or was shivering because the blankets had fallen away. Worrying about COVID-19 symptoms messes with you dang head.

I've certainly settled down. Work has evened out. It's a true testament to how nimble Second Helpings is that we pivoted overnight in how we deliver meals to the community. Not to mention doubling the number of people that we're serving.

I'm sleeping (mostly) through the night and I no longer obsessively take my temperature (now just before I leave the house).

I was feeling guilty that I didn't have a good answer to the question that invariably comes up in Zoom meetings, "what are you doing to keep yourself busy?" Answering "laundry and keeping the cat alive" doesn't seem ambitious enough.

I finally realized that getting through this is a big enough accomplishment in itself. In order to quit feeling like an underachiever I've given myself a list of small things that I can do to feel like I've accomplished something.

This evening I separated a jar of coins from the buttons, pocket lint, and safety pins that had collected there. I went as far as rolling the pennies and separating the Euros from the Canadian coins.

Look at me go!

first line: no one is more surprised by my life than i am.

[please click on the title to read the full post] 

Happy New Year! I am excited to be participating in the Think Kit project again this year. 

Today's prompt: First Line: Pretend you're writing your autobiography. Give us your first line, a first chapter, or even just an image. What's the story of you?

I'm sure the first like of my autobiography would be: No one is more surprised by my life than I am. 

Seriously. I have an amazing life - an awesome job, loving family and friends, and I'm smitten with my community. 

I always joke that everyday is a new day for me. But it's true. If I go to bed angry or disappointed or feeling like something is impossible, it's all forgotten by morning. Which has worked in the favor of family members and boyfriends and co-workers over the years. 

So, I've got the first few lines and recapping the last 54 years seems daunting...how 'bout a little slice of last year? 

In 2015 I got to throw out the ceremonial pitch at in Indianapolis Indians game and drive an official Indianapolis 500 Pace Car for two laps around the famed track. 

 Not too bad for an nonathletic chickie who drives-like-an-old-woman lady. 

For the record, the pitch made it to the plate and I used the turn-signals as I drove around the track. 

This year I also celebrated 10 years at Second Helpings, met (and maintained) my Weight Watchers goal, continued to write a column for the Broad Ripple Gazette, attended all 17 days of the Indiana State Fair and blogged about it for NUVO, and kept my two part-time jobs. Oh, and I'm on the boards of School On Wheels and the Indianapolis City Market. 

It's late and I'm ready for bed - and to wake up to a new day of what is sure to be great fun. 

See you tomorrow! 

blue sky

[click on the title for the full post]

I'm typically a positive, half glass full, happy sort of person.

I drive even myself nuts sometimes with my sunny attitude - sometimes you've just got to pack it in and give up on something.

With the dark days and the frigid weather and the cruddy roads I was having a hard time feeling peppy.

Intellectually I know that I'm better off than 99% of the people in the world and that I have an amazing life, but I was having a hard time remembering that.

I've had my head down for days, mostly out of necessity in trying not to fall on my ass on the ice.

When I finally looked up I saw blue sky.

The sky is blue!

winter

I'm over it.

blessedly alone

[click on the title for the full post] 

Okay. I feel like a bit of a jerk, but I'm craving some time alone. 

Between the neighbor (who's last name I still don't know) being at my house for the last two days and will be sleeping on my sofa again night and the harrowing drives to work and the constant decision making about the weather and such, I am frazzled. 

The only option for being at home alone involves my basement, which is pretty damn chilly with the -15 degree weather and all.

Sweetie got a service call to fix a leak at a neighborhood bar. When I asked to go along I think he assumed I was going to help and hold wrenches and stuff.

We walked in the back door and I hightailed it to the bar, tossing him the tools I was holding as I ran. 

The glow you see in my delicious Vanilla Porter is my Kindle downloaded with the latest Janet Evanovich novel. 

This feels like a mini vacation!

power

[click in the title to read the whole post] 

I'm still close enough to my days of living paycheck to paycheck and juggling utility bills that my first thought when the power goes off is that I forgot to pay the bill. I immediately run to the window to look down the street to see if any of my neighbors have lights. 

While my lights were only out for about eight hours on my side of the street, they still don't have power across the street and a good chunk of the neighborhood. 

It feels like I'm bragging by turning on the porch lights. Hey, lookie over here! I have lights, and heat, and water and you don't! Nannie nannie boo boo! 

After yesterday's storm the temperatures crashed to below zero and the frigid air was starting to take its toll on fingers and toes and water pipes and people's nerves.

I was grateful to be able to open my door for cell phone charging and toe warming.  I met folks I'd never seen before and was glad that old friends walked over.

In fact I've got a neighbor sleeping on my sofa tonight. I'm pretty confident of his first name, but I don't know is last. Nothing weird about that, right?

our lady of perpetual shoveling

[click on the title for the full post]

Indianapolis got socked with a foot of snow today. 

It fell really fast, over an inch an hour. 

At least it is one of those pretty snows. Big fat flakes that make everything look clean and beautiful. 

It was all fun until the lights went out. The whole neighborhood was dark. 

Sweetie and I took shelter at his sister's house. And a lovely house it is. Wood burning fire, football game on the TV, beer in hand, and a pug at my feet. 

I was ready to stay for days when I heard that the power was back on. 

Back to reality I went.

city snow

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It's not pretty, but I got the sidewalk in front of my house and most of the driveway shoveled by 7:00 this morning.

Even if I'm the only one on my block that shovels the sidewalk, I feel weird if I don't. And as the landlord, I also shovel the driveway and a path for the tenant to get from the driveway to his side of the house and a path through the front yard for the mailman.

As a kid on the farm the most delicate tool we used to move snow around was a scoop shovel - the same one we used to "clean out" the cow barn, I might add. At least shoveling snow with it knocked some of the stink off.

Snow removal typically involved the John Deere B tractor and the attached front scoop. I loved being part of it when I was younger even though that meant freezing my little arms off to do it. Note the lack of cab or any sort of windbreak.

Shoveling snow is the city is a privilege that I enjoy. We're supposed to get walloped with snow again this weekend. I'll be the one on Winthrop with my shovel, Uncle Cletus' potato fork, and a big frozen smile on my face.

think kit day four - wisest decision

 

 [Click on the title to read the full post]

Today's Think Kit blogging prompt: What was the wisest decision you made this year? Did it change your "everyday", move something from Point A to Point B, or involve others?

My wisest decision this year was to go for it!

I come from a long line of ruminators. You’ve met the likes of us before. We’re the if only people. If only I had said that /not said that/ turned left/turned right/stayed home/gone out/broken up with him/not broken up with him/had the perfect haircut/let my hair grow/worn that/not worn that/blah blah blah. 

I’m one of those woulda shoulda coulda kind of people.

I avoided one of those times this summer. I'd learned just a few days before that Helen was putting her house (home of the Flower Man Jam) up for auction. I’d always pictured that someday I would live there.   

 Once the shock wore off I dismissed the idea thinking that there is no way that I could pull it all together to place a bid and I accepted it as fate, while mentally beating myself up for not having buckets of money in the bank.

Then I spent a few hours with Helen in her backyard that Sunday. I woke up Monday morning determined that I should figure out what my options were. I ran around my house like a nut and gathered up and scanned last year’s W2s and tax return, and my current pay stub.  I e-mailed them with a link to the auction and details to the mortgage officer at my bank.  I was in an off-site board retreat/planning session most of the day and didn’t realize that the e-mail to the loan officer had flipped back to me. I stopped at the bank on the way from the meeting to work and learned that the contact I had was long gone, someone had replaced him, that guy quit, and the “new” loan officer hadn’t started yet. I stopped at another branch of my bank and learned that the loan officer for that branch was on vacation. Again I decided that it must be fate and I mentally gave up on the idea - while wondering why the heck they don't forward bank e-mails to the current people. 

Then I remembered that I had a mortgage broker from when I purchased my house. I shot her a quick e-mail and she responded immediately. In 36 hours she had me pre-approved for a mortgage. A heroic feat, really.

It forced me to examine my current living situation and whether I wanted to let the double go to make the move to house Helen's. After crunching numbers I decided that untimely I wanted to keep the rental property. After almost six years I’ve gotten things manageable enough that renting out both sides would cover the cost of my mortgage loan, property taxes, and insurance – but not much cushion for emergency repairs or vacancies. Armed with the numbers, I decided that if push came to shove I wouldn’t sell the double in order to buy Helen’s house.

I was a Nervous Nelly, arriving two hours before the auction and was the first to register and get my bidding number. I let Helen know that I would be bidding and she gave me free rein to poke in the attic and cellar. The house is quirky and old – the ‘new’ part was added 123 years ago to an existing log cabin. It was really interesting to see the different foundations in the basement. A friend was with me and he used his plumbing and electrical expertise to look at the mechanics of the place. The plumbing is new, but the electrical system harked back to the 1930s. 

The roof and decking looked great. As I was immediately smitten with the attic – as wide as the house with a tall roofline and several windows. It almost doubled the size of the living space and I could picture myself with a chair tucked in the corner and the computer on my lap. I mentally upped my maximum bidding amount.

There had been lots of ‘tire-kicking’ on the house and the auction company thought there would be some heavy bidding and I was hoping so for Helen’s sake. I was going in to the auction wanting the house, but hoping that Helen would get tons more money than I could afford.

As it turned out there were only two bidders, me and another guy. As I farm kid I am pretty comfortable with the auction process, but I’ve never been a participant in anything bigger than bidding on a potato fork or box of wrapping paper. 

I took my seat on the lawn chair with the dozen or so folks gathered in Helen’s back yard.

The auctioneer started out high and I was afraid to breathe. After no one bid, the auctioneer asked for an opening bid. A bidder opened at $100,000, a mere $10,000 more than the in-my-head maximum.  Yikkes. I was pre-approved for more, so I bid $105,000. Gulp. He countered at $110,000. I bid $115,000. He bid $120,000. My dad was looking green in the lawn chair next to me. I went to $125,000. Dad was shaking his head vigorously back and forth and looking a little green. The other bidder offered $130,000. I started shaking my head no.

The auctioneer took Helen into the house for a conference and they came out and re-opened the bidding. I bid $1,000 more, he bid another $1,000, I upped it by $1,000, and he upped it one thousand dollars to $134,000. I was out. After another in-the-house conference between Helen and the auctioneer they came out and announced the house was sold to the other bidder.

I could have gone higher, but I would have had to sell the double and I wasn’t ready to do that yet. It was emotional and heart-breaking, but I gave it my best shot.

Even though I didn't get the house, I feel wiser for trying. 

And if the house ever goes back up for sale, I'll be the first in line.

 

happy feet

Like most people, I totally soak in the vibe of the folks around me and tonight I filled my positivity tank to the brim.

I got to spend the evening with one of the most positive and action-oriented and all-around cool folks that I am lucky enough to know - Robert Egger.  It was a lovely evening, spent with lovely folks in a lovely house - as you can tell, there was lots of lovely flying around!

Robert's brother, sister-in-law, and nephew live just a few blocks from me in this amazing home. It is  beautiful, cozy, and clearly home to a happy family.

Cheers to good vibes! 

no regrets

I come from a long line of ruminators. You’ve met the likes of us before. We’re the ‘if only’ people. If only I had said that /not said that/ turned left/turned right/stayed home/gone out/broken up with him/not broken up with him/had the perfect haircut/let my hair grow/worn that/not worn that/blah blah blah. I’m one of those woulda shoulda coulda kind of people.

I avoided one of those times last month. I learned just a few days before that Helen was putting her house (home of the Flower Man Jam) up for auction. I’d always pictured that someday I would live there.  Once the shock wore off I dismissed the idea thinking that there is no way that I could pull it all together to place a bid and I accepted it as fate, while mentally beating myself up for not having buckets of money in the bank.

Then I spent a few hours with Helen in her backyard that Sunday. I woke up Monday morning determined that I should figure out what my options were. I ran around my house like a nut and gathered up and scanned last year’s W2s and tax return, and my current pay stub.  I e-mailed them with a link to the auction and details to the mortgage officer at my bank.  I was in an off-site board retreat/planning session most of the day and didn’t realize that the e-mail to the loan officer had flipped back to me. I stopped at the bank on the way from the meeting to work and learned that the contact I had was long gone, someone had replaced him, that guy quit, and the “new” loan officer hadn’t started yet. I stopped at another branch of my bank and learned that the loan officer for that branch was on vacation. Again I decided that it must be fate and I mentally gave up on the idea (while wondering why the heck they didn’t forward bank e-mails to the new people).

Then I remembered that I had a mortgage broker from when I purchased my house. I shot her a quick e-mail and she responded immediately. In 36 hours she had me pre-approved for a mortgage, a heroic feat, really.

 It forced me to examine my current living situation and whether I wanted to let the double go to make the move to house Helen's. After crunching numbers I decided that untimely I wanted to keep the rental property. After almost six years I’ve got things manageable enough that renting out both sides would cover the cost of my mortgage loan, property taxes, and insurance – but not much cushion for emergency repairs or vacancies. Armed with the numbers, I decided that if push came to shove I wouldn’t sell the double in order to buy Helen’s house.

I was a Nervous Nelly, arriving two hours before the auction and was the first to register and get my bidding number. I let Helen know that I would be bidding and she gave me free rein to poke in the attic and cellar. The house is quirky and old – the ‘new’ part was added 123 years ago to an existing log cabin. It was really interesting to see the different foundations in the basement. Schaun was with me and he used his plumbing and electrical expertise to look at the mechanicals of the place. The plumbing is new, but the electrical “system” would need to be updated. The roof and decking looked great. I was smitten with the attic – as wide as the house with tall roofline and several windows. It almost doubled the size of the living space and I could picture myself with a chair tucked in the corner and the computer on my lap. I mentally upped my maximum bidding amount.

There was lots of ‘tire-kicking’ on the house and the auction company thought there would be some heavy bidding and I was hoping so for Helen’s sake. I was going in to the auction wanting the house, but hoping that Helen would get tons more money than I could afford.

As it turned out there were only two bidders, me and another guy. As I farm kid I am pretty comfortable with the auction process, but I’ve never been a participant in anything bigger than bidding on a potato fork or box of wrapping paper.

I took my seat on the lawn chair with the dozen or so folks – including Schaun and Dad – gathered in Helen’s back yard.

The auctioneer started out high and I was afraid to breathe. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The other bidder opened at $100,000, a mere $10,000 more than the in-in-head maximum.  Yikkes. I was pre-approved for more, so I bid $105,000. Gulp. He countered at $110,000. I bid $115,000. He bid $120,000. My dad was looking green in the lawn chair next to me. I went to $125,000. Dad was shaking his head vigorously back and forth. The other bidder offered $130,000. I started shaking my head no.

The auctioneer took Helen into the house for a conference and they came out and re-opened the bidding. I bid $1,000 more, he bid another $1,000, I upped it by $1,000, he upped it a thousand  to $134,000. I was out. Another in the house conference between Helen and the auctioneer and they came out and announced the house was sold to the other bidder.

I could have gone higher, but I would have had to sell the double and I wasn’t ready to do that yet. It was emotional and heart-breaking, but I gave it my best shot.

Dad, and Schaun, and I took Helen out to lunch and swapped stories and laughter.

I’m glad I tried, and you can bet that I’ll be first in line if the house ever comes up for sale again.

all hallows eve

My favorite costume of the evening

I've felt disconnect from a long-time friend. Nothing major happened, but she moved a few miles away and I started a job with more regular hours. Then more time passed and it started feeling awkward.

We keep in touch through facebook and an occasional text or e-mail. I've been meaning to stop by her house like the good old days. But I was afraid that I'd be dropping in at a bad time.

What better time to ring the door bell then Halloween when people are expecting visitors? Sweetie joined me and we had a great visit with Kassie's family. It was wonderful to catch up and rekindle the friendship.

If I was a kid I'd mark their house for trick-or-treating next year. Kassie gives out the giant candy bars!

robots in church

Robot Girl ring was a gift from Annie 

I was exhausted after the long day of traveling and waitressing Saturday Night. I had time to grab a quick four hours of sleep before it was time for church Sunday morning.

I have to admit that I did minimal preparation before I walked out the door, including grabbing the jewelry I'd worn the day before on the way out the door.

I have the honor of being an Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist for my parish.  While distributing Holy Communion this week I realized that I was holding reverently presenting the Holy Communion and offering the Body of Christ to parishioners with a robot ring on my finger.

God loves robots too, right?

finally

Note the fabulous bar top

Sweetie has been working really hard on helping to get the Aristocrat back open after a fire over a year ago. The pub threw a Contractor's Appreciation Party last night before the official opening. 

I loved being able to watch him greeting the folks he'd been working with for months and being able to admire his handiwork properly. 

I'm trying to work up enough nerve to share the details of the night of the fire - don't worry, I didn't cause the fire - maybe soon....

the big oh-four

 The girl one.

The Twins turned four last week. They are real live people now and I'm not even afraid of breaking them anymore, although Sissy took a tumble when twirling with the microphone that I gave her. Through her tears she determined that her birthday watch was not cracked and the microphone was fine. She wiggled her fingers and declared them "not broken. If my fingers were broken I couldn't pick flowers or open doors." She's discovered two of the joys of life already - flowers and open doors. I always joke that she is watching and soaking it all in waiting to be old enough to take over the world. She's well on her way.

Bubba throws his whole self into anything in his path exploring everything thoroughly. He makes sure that no stone is unturned, both literally and figuratively.

It has been a true joy to watch them grow up and selfishly I'm glad that I live just a few blocks away even though I don't see them as often as I should.

Happy birthday, kiddos!

fabulous jane

Jamie Ridpath, Nora, Jane Rulon

 

Jane Rulon was fabulous. 

Truly and genuinely fabulous. 

In the fifteen years or so that I had the honor of knowing her, my family always referred to her as “Fabulous Jane.” She had that certain flair that is hard to describe, but you know when someone has it.  I was shocked when I found photos of her that she was not wearing a scarf. In my mind she always had one draped around her beautiful neck. I even imagined her at home with stylish silk scarf over her bathrobe. She wore her gorgeous grey hair with aplomb, making me wish that I had enough nerve to do the same. All of her accessories had a lovely story. One of my favorite pieces was the glass ring that she purchased in France. She could make something funky sparkle.

Jane was a familiar face at art, film, and music events. She and I had the same habit of dropping in on multiple events in the same evening. I was delighted when I’d see her twice in one night without making a plan. She was a marvelous conversationalist, I loved looking over at parties and seeing her deep in conversation with one of my siblings or neighbors. 

She made everyone feel special. 

Jane made everything seem like an event, whether she was popping in to my yard sale, celebrating a birthday, or bumping into her at the State Fair.

She was a thoughtful gift giver and occasion-maker. When CATH coffeehouse closed, a group of regular customers put together a lovely celebration. Others provided the cake and food and keg. Jane arraigned with the Mayor’s Office to decree it CATH Day and listed all of the things the coffeehouse added to the community, which helped soften the blow of the café closing. 

She made a fabulous toast at fortieth birthday, and I was thrilled to celebrate my fiftieth with her. One of my favorite moments of that party was running into Jane and some other women in the washroom and having a great conversation. In case you’ve ever wondered what the inside of the ladies room at the Jazz Kitchen looks like, this photo was snapped there.

She once gave me a gorgeous paper crown made of sheet music and glitter labeled Queen Bee, just because it reminded her of me. Her gift for my fiftieth birthday was a shiny plastic Academy Award with an “envelope please” listing why I’d won. Both the crown and the statute reside in places of honor in my home.

Fabulous Jane died August 22, after a short illness. Her friends and family are hosting a Celebration of Jane at the Jazz Kitchen on Sunday, September 23. There will be music and food and everything Jane. Wear a scarf, bring a dish (something French would be fabulous), and share your Jane stories.

I’ll see you there.

Celebration of Jane
Sunday, September 23, 2012
The Jazz Kitchen
5377 N. College Avenue
3:00 – 7:00 pm

matt elliott

Matt Elliott at my 50th birthday party, May 15, 2011

Matt was happy.

Matt was at a happy point in his life, doing what he loved in the neighborhood he loved.

I’m taking great comfort in that.

Matt Elliott died on October 27.

Matt was one of those people that I knew would always be part of my life. Who knows where our individual lives would have led, but I knew without a doubt that Matt would be around.

I first meet Matt when we were selling beer for a little craft beer distributor and I soon realized that Matt was everywhere. At various times over the last sixteen years we’ve played poker together, worked across the street from each other, sat next to each other at boxing matches, attended the same shows and tended for each other’s cats.

We took turns being across from each other at various counters and bars– sometimes me waiting on Matt, sometimes Matt waiting on me – sometimes both in the same day. Most fun were the times we were sitting on the same side of the bar. Those meetings typically weren’t planned, but you always knew that Matt was good for excellent conversation and that you were sure to have at least one belly laugh and leave with a bunch of random Indiana-centric facts. If the conversation involved meat or chocolate or newspapers or books or beer, all the more better.

Matt was delightfully curmudgeonly. He was well-versed in the things that caught his fancy and opinionated in almost everything. If he dug his heels in the ground, there was no budging him. I finally gave up in asking him to have decaf coffee brewed in the morning at the Newsstand Café. But he didn’t let differing opinions get in the way of a good conversation or friendship. In the middle of a debate, he’d throw in a charming wink.

Matt was one of those ‘all in’ guys. He didn’t do anything halfway. We swapped cat feeding duties at various times over the years. I would dutifully feed his cat, fetch the mail and turn on lights while he was out of town. Matt would camp out at my house while I was out of town; keeping my Felix company, enjoying sleeping on my ancient sofa, exploring my stacks of books, and the adventure of living a few blocks away for the week.

For years we worked across the street from each other and the Atlas Food Market was on the same corner. After the fixtures and contents of the Market were auctioned off, Matt realized that they hadn’t sold the wooden sign from the alley side of the building. Matt plotted rescuing the sign for months, but he felt the time was never quite right – which drove me nuts. Matt was deliberate and thoughtful about projects, a right–tool-for-the-right-job sort of guy. I’m a dive in and pound-nails-in-the-wall-with-the-heels-of-my-cowboy-boots sort of woman. One evening, after yet another conversation about the sign, I excused myself, drove around the corner, parked next to the building, hopped in the back of my truck, and crowbar’ed the sign down. Ten minutes later I returned to report that the sign was ready to deliver to his house. It is now on the wall of Twenty Tap, across the street from where Atlas used to sit. 

Matt was a charming escort. And not just because he owned a tuxedo. I drug him to various fancy fundraisers over the years and he could always make me feel comfortable. I tend to wig out over those things – and convince myself that I don’t belong and I’m not wearing the right thing – you get the picture. By the time Matt and I figured out who’s vehicle could actually hold a passenger (we’re both notorious messy car folks), who’s car was mechanically sound enough to get us downtown, and if we had enough cash to park the car and tip the bartender, I was a mess.   

My very favorite Matt memory comes from one of those nights. I was feeling especially tense. I’d already spent $300 on tickets, purchased a fancy dress, and was missing my Red Key shift. I was feeling particularly poor and out of place. There was wine on the tables, but I’m not a wine drinker – wine tends to make my face red and my mood morose – not something you want when you’re already feeling weird. Matt excused himself, found a bar across the street and walked back into the gala with a glass of my favorite whiskey. A man at the table remarked, “Wow, he must really love you.”

Matt really loved all of his friends and would go out of his way to make sure they were comfortable and had exactly what they needed. Except for decaf coffee, maybe.

I did love and admire Matt. After spending time with him my heart always felt full -- from gratitude of living in a community that allows you to meet folks like Matt, and the joy of making strong grown-up friendships.  

Rest in peace, my friend. And I’m glad you were happy. Seriously. 

yard sale

Jennifer and I had our annual yard sale this week.

We’ve been doing it for a dozen years. We couldn’t start until noon on Friday due to work concerns and the threat of rain and I think it cut in to our sales.

It was hotter than Hades. With the heat index is was over 100 degrees.

I didn’t sell much, got a sunburn and achy feet.

Yet, I had a wonderful time.

We love marketing and merchandizing our sale – and get compliments on our organization. We have a book nook – organized by age and subject, a kitchen korner, holiday table – Christmas and other, CDs and a toy table. We make outfits out of the clothes and hang them on the fence. The kids clothes are separated by size and season.

Jennifer’s brother helped us pack up and asked why we did it each year. I told him that I loved having two straight days to catch up with Jennifer. He pointed out that we could go to a spa instead.

Good point, dude. Good point.

russel settle 1918 - 2010

As you know I've worked at the Red Key Tavern for eight years and adore it and the owner Russel Settle.

Russ died on Easter Sunday. He was 92.

I could tell Russ stories all day - and have been all week. After he retired at age 87 from working six nights a week, ten or so hours a night, Russ would still come to the bar and make sure we were doing it all right. I didn't feel like I was working unless he growled " Spitznogle did you turn on the light....ring up that beer....have them hang up their coat.....?" or whatever caught his eye.

He started getting a hamburger to take home. I took great delight in drawing pictures on the paper bag that I'd put his sandwich in. If you've ever seen me draw you know that I can goof up a stick figure. Often I'd have to write a note explaining what I was trying to draw. For his birthday and holidays I'd get extra-fancy and add glitter or cutout photos. His daughter told me that he had a stack of those bags and would let anyone use them.

I loved walking Russ out to his car. Sometimes I'd need to give his bum a little boost to walk up the tall back step. I walked him out on Saturday and we chatted in sunlight. I asked if he would wait while I grabbed my camera. I fully expected him to have driven off in the time it took me to run back in to fetch it. He was still standing there and I snapped the photo above, gave him a kiss on the cheek and sent him on his way.

Click here to read the NUVO piece I wrote about Russ.

fat tuesday

Pooped.
Out of steam.
Beat.
Worn Out.

I was so tired when I got home from work that I literally didn't get farther than the sofa - the last seven days (Bahamas, work, work, work, column due, waitressing shift the night before the party, intense cleaning, party, work the next day and bowling) tuckered me out.

Brother J.R. called to see if I wanted to do something Fat Tuesday-ish and I barely had the strength to text him back to count me out. After a nice four-hour nap in my work clothes and a flurry of text messages from a couple of friends, Novella picked me up for Yat's Fat Tuesday party.

I did nothing more than brush my teeth. Didn't change out of the work/nap/wrinkled clothes, didn't brush my hair, didn't put on earrings, didn't put on makeup. The only think I added to this fabulous ensemble was my big puffy down coat and Dansko shoes.  Because the coats adds a good ten pounds and is always a good indoor party look, and hey, clunky shoes just screams 'party!'

So who do you think got quoted in the Indianapolis Star's Talk of our Town column? Yep. Thanks to Cathy Kightlinger for making me sound good and for the photo credit. And double thanks to Novella for getting my bum off the sofa. J.R. - next time I say I'm not going out, don't believe me.

Read the full thing (and see my photo credit) by clicking here. I've copied the text below (and yes my name was in bold - hee hee). And there was a photo of my smiling face next to my quote in the paper copy.
  

by Cathy Kightlinger
If Yats owners Joe and Gina Vuskovich locked the doors of their College Avenue restaurant after hours one Fat Tuesday, the annual holiday of food and drink would still come and go.


But the pre-Lenten funfest wouldn't seem the same to the neighbors who live near 54th Street and College Avenue, as they are accustomed to a yearly after-hours Fat Tuesday party the couple host.
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It's a free event that gets started when the New Orleans-inspired Yats closes its doors about 9 p.m. on Fat Tuesdays. Anyone who hears about it and shows up is treated to free food, drinks and music -- an event that makes Joe, who is from New Orleans, feel at home when his native land is celebrating Mardi Gras.


"Originally it was just a thank you to the neighborhood community for supporting us and embracing our concept," Gina said.


Now, though, the area's residents have come to expect the party.


"I can't think of a better neighborhood host than Joe Vuskovich," said area resident Nora Spitznogle. "Yats' Fat Tuesday celebration is the perfect time to soak in the goodness and generosity that is Joe and the neighborhood."


This year, jambalaya and hurricanes (New Orleans-style cocktails) were on the menu Tuesday, and Rusty Redenbacher, of the Mudkids, served as the event's DJ. Gina handed out Mardi Gras beads. And the party went on until the wee hours on Ash Wednesday.


"People love beads," Gina said. "They get a huge kick out of it."