You know you live in a small town when..

The front page of the sports section is taken up with a one third page spread of very grey haired people playing croquet. (Headline - 'The Croquet Crew').

I should clip the main picture - a couple of elderly gentlemen, giving each other the high five over what must have been an exceptional play. I find such showboating in sports just deplorable. What's next ? Tossing their mallets in the air ?

It frequently amazes me that there are enough people to buy a copy to make a paper worthwhile, but they do. How else would you know when to attend the next Baked Bean Supper, or Senior's Bingo Night ?

Paint a mile

You never really consider how big something is until you have to paint it.

After spending much time and effort trying to save my porch, I came to the realization that it was just a pile of sawdust and rot held together by caulk and paint. Within a day, it was relocated into the dumpster (a Skip for those English readers).

Now I'm faced with the depressing task of rebuilding the thing, and all before the winter - which in these parts is only a short 2 months from now.

First on the agenda is a new floor. Being someone who likes to do things right the first time, I'm going with the same material that was used originally. A bit pricey, true, but worth it. It's recommended that you put two coats of base and one finish coat on all sides of the boards, and I have 1300 feet of them. So, by my shaky math that is 7200 feet of painting, or 1.36 miles.

This could take a while.

Lady Katrina

When I lived in England, I never really appreciated the scale of weather. This probably had something to do with the fact that it’s an island, and it rains all the time so you get used to the same sort of stuff (it really doesn’t, by the way, but all Americans think it does - just like London is still foggy).

Here in the US, since weather systems can simultaneously affect both ends of the country, you really have to marvel at the power of it all.

I feel badly for the folks down in the Gulf states, since they’re on the real ‘sharp’ end of bad weather. It’s also raining here, thousands of miles away and all from the SAME storm (I live in the small red circle in the top right). Incredible.

You can call him Al

I have an elderly neighbor - I think he's somewhere in his 80's, though exactly where in the decade I couldn't say. He is something of a spectator.

For the purposes of this post, we'll call him 'Al' *.

Al's wife, whom we shall call 'Dorothy' most definitely wears the trousers in their relationship. The most common phrase to pass Al's lips would be 'Yes, Dear' - usually in response to some command issued with megaphone like volume from their back door. Al is usually hiding in his barn pretending to 'work' on something or other.

The first year of renovations, most of the work was done on the back of the house. Al and Dorothy's elevated deck is at a convenient height and doubles as an observation platform for our entire back garden. I'd be out there banging and sweating away, and Al would pull up a deck chair, orient it for the best possible view and sit happily as if watching his favorite TV show.

Things have come a long way since then, and work has moved to a less convenient location (for Al anyway). I've also come to the conclusion that just about any distraction for Al will be better than being driven to it by his wife, and I'm happy to provide one.

I'll often be beavering away when, out of the corner of my eye, I'll detect a slight movement and Al will have silently arrived to check out my progress. It can be a bit disconcerting when you're up a ladder, or turn around without expecting it.

By general agreement, though, Al has gone from spectator to 'Consulting Engineer'. He keeps up morale with light hearted chit chat, dispenses the latest village gossip and provides historical facts about the residents of my house during the civil war (OK, maybe that's a tiny exaggeration). In any case, he's a part of the team.

Eventually, Dorothy will realize that Al's 'missing' and will come to track him down ('I hope he's not being a bother') and Al will trudge obediently back to his house ('Coming Dear'), until the next time he manages to slip away.

* This is in fact his real name, and his wife really is called Dorothy. Don't tell them I told you...

Sunflower

It still amazes me how something this large and beautiful grows from something so small. My daughter and I planted these back in the spring, and now they're taller than me.

If you've ever taken the time to really look at a sunflower - the inside part - it's just such a work of art.

Amazing.

I don't know why they stare....

They say a picture's worth a thousand words .

I've been a little occupied lately on a small home improvement project. It's one of those things where you start off thinking it'll just be a few bits of trim here and there, and end up ripping off half the porch.

The sidewalk runs right in front of this picture, and every passer by has some cheery 'Oooh, looks like you've got your hands full' type comment. You think ? I was just going to slap some paint on it and call it a day.

T-I-R-E-D

I keep wondering when, exactly, I'll feel like people do in TV commercials. You know - boundless energy and 'joie de vivre' exhibited by people in car ads and the like.

I know I'm not getting any younger, but given enough sleep, diet and regular exercise I keep hoping to wake up one morning and spring out of bed, full of beans for the day ahead. Currently, it seems that I'm only marginally less tired when leaving my slumber than I was when I conked out on the sofa at the end of the previous day's toil.

Is there a vitamin supplement that I'm missing ? Not enough fiber in the diet ? Some magic mattress ? Any suggestions considered (even yoga).

One day - when the kids have flown the nest and the endless list of jobs around the house is reduced from 'Dead Sea Scrolls' length to something that'll fit on a single sheet of paper - I'll be relaxed, rested and full of energy.

For the next 16 years, I'll just have to be knackered.

It's too bad I'm not Irish

Other than the ability to consume large amounts of Guinness with little ill effect, the quality I most wish I possessed from Irish ancestry would be that of digging.

I'm not being racist or anything, far from it, in fact. Much of America (and England for that matter) was built on the backs of hard working Irish laborers who could have probably dug the Chunnel if someone had put them up to it.

I have moved on to the next rung of the interminable project list, to 'The Porch'. It has been on the list for several seasons. I mean *list* as in Tower of Pisa list. The winters in Vermont can be hard on old buildings, and the last few have all but squashed one side of our aging porch. It has sagged badly. It's been one of those things that I have really wanted to get on with, but I've never quite had the time. Now it's getting urgent. Winter will be here in a jiffy , and it won't be able to take the snow.

So, out with the 5 ton jacks, the bracing and the demolition tools and forward I go into unexplored territory under the porch. I'm not easily scared by a little bit of rot or a complete lack of foundations. Anything can be fixed with enough tools.

Surprisingly expediently, I now have 5 new foundation piers sunk 4 feet into the ground, and the whole porch above is floating, seemingly unsupported, on a collection of jacks and beams.

No small bit of digging, that. Hence I wish I had a little more Irish in me, so my back wouldn't ache quite so much today. Still, each pint of Guinness makes me a little more Irish, right ?

Thunder, lightning.

Once a month the Smalltown Fire Department meets and carries out some kind of training drill, so that our skills are kept fresh and honed like a razor.

So it is that I find myself sitting on top of a fire truck, on top of a hill, packing wet hose, in a thunderstorm. I'm not generally one of those people who runs for cover and hides in the basement when faced with millions of volts of electricity and loud noises - but I'll admit that it was a tad disconcerting.

Nonetheless, I made it safe and well to the bar and polished off a couple of Guinnesses in celebration.

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In other news, number one daughter has made the transition to a diaperless night. This, as any parent knows is a period fraught with worry over midnight bed wettings, but more than this it marks a happy move forward to a time when diapers are a thing of the past. Oh, happy day !