Past time for a few framing shots. Here’s the kitchen/dining section, looking from slightly up the hill down toward the pool. That deck on the far side of the pool is the one that I built last July. It hasn’t fallen down yet!
Here’s the living section, with an almost invisible Allysen inside at her computer.
Here’s Allysen working on a deadline. We spent hours trying to get her reliable internet at her usual place at the dining room table, but finally had to settle for a rickety card table inside, to be closer to the router.
The place is quite lovely, looking up from the pool. That’s a cork tree in the middle.
Is there a sight more, er, stirring than the writer trying to remember what the hell he was thinking when he started this novel?
By the way, here’s a quick view of all of The Ponce Chronicles, through the years (in reverse order).
Cutting off the Ho Chi Cat Trail. That was yesterday’s project. Just me an’ my rat wire.
A frequent complaint from visitors in the last year was that stray cats would get into the kitchen and steal their food. True! There is a multitude of stray cats (and dogs) on the hill, which is sad for many reasons. They stroll through the property at times, though I tried last year to close the Ho Chi Dog Trail for good. (Unsuccessfully, as it turned out.) But the cats manage to get into the kitchen—a separate structure from the rest of the house—even when the door is locked. If you ever watched the series Leverage, they were like Parker, dropping in by wire, from who-knew-where.
Actually, we did know where. Part of the idiosyncratic construction here includes skylights over the back part of the kitchen, which were added, or replaced at various times, using whatever materials were at hand, in true local style, with odd gaps and overlaps. The supporting structure looks like something out of an M.C. Escher drawing, mostly out of steel. Sturdy, but challenging to work with, after the fact.
Enter me and the rat wire, known less colloquially as hardware cloth. (Some guys who worked on our own house many years ago referred to the stuff as rat wire. Just for fun, I entered rat wire in the search box on the Home Depot website. To my surprise, it took me straight to hardware cloth. Anyway, armed with that stuff and some aviation shears and a bag of zip ties, I attacked the problem yesterday. I think I’ve managed to close all but one of the openings for the clever kitties. I saved the hardest one for last. That’s tomorrow’s problem.
Lexi and Connor really were here. I spotted them the next morning. They prepared breakfast for us and Frances and Che, and then packed up and departed for San Juan and parts far away. Meanwhile, the early-arriving workman was unable to come due to a family emergency, so I actually spent most of the day resting. (Well, except for what felt like a week online locating and ordering a ridiculously overpriced gasket for the door of the refrigerator freezer, and like that.)
Next day. Sitting at my laptop, enjoying the sea breezes. Signal from Connor: his flight to Boston on Frontier was canceled out from under him at the last minute. (Same thing happened to him getting down here last week. Do not fly Frontier!) After much hassle, he managed to get booked on JetBlue, but not until Tuesday. Meanwhile, Lexi was in the air between here and Ecuador, but she is now safely back at her hosts’ place in Quito.
I thought I might be driving to San Juan to bring Connor back, but he opted to spend a couple of quiet nights in an Airbnb, trying to refocus on his work. Instead, Allysen and I went to a free outdoor classical concert on the Ponce Plaza—very much like the Boston Pops on the Esplanade in the olden days, though a lot smaller. It was fun.
It has begun. Our annual trip to Ponce, Puerto Rico, for maintenance and repair on Casarboles, the home Allysen’s parents built. I arrived last night, but she has been down here for a week already. As I started this (I got interrupted, so it’s no longer true), the sounds of animated conversation in Spanish filled the outdoor spaces. Allysen was hosting a reunion of her middle-school classmates from the years she lived here as a kid. Most of these women she had not seen in over 50 years! They were a great bunch, and Allysen had a wonderful time. I took part for a while, but as most of the conversation was in Spanish, I eventually drifted off to, well, start this year’s Ponce Chronicles.
Prior to my arrival, Allysen and Jayce laboriously prepared the pasillo, or hallway, for painting of the ceiling.
Then Jayce flew home to take charge of the dogs so I could come down. Meanwhile, older daughter Lexi and her husband Connor had their own reunion here, Lexi flying in from Ecuador, where she’s involved in a four-month refugee assistance and training program. They’ve been off doing Puerto Rico things, and I haven’t actually seen them.
In the last twenty-four hours, since flying into San Juan, I have:
Driven all over Old San Juan on a circuitous course that looked like a fiendish meditation labyrinth. Allysen wanted to welcome me after a long day by taking me to a restaurant that featured a variety of craft beers. She didn’t know that the address was deep in Old San Juan, where a gnat couldn’t park, or that the restaurant itself would be invisible to the naked eye. We were both too tired to find central parking and walk, so we turned vaguely toward Ponce, while she hunted for other possibilities. Our labyrinth spiraled and twisted ever more hopelessly as we failed to find spots listed on GPS. Eventually we gave up, and by 11 p.m. settled down to macaroni and cheese at Casarboles.
Up early today, though, because in an accident of scheduling, Allysen’s reunion party was on for this afternoon.
Party over, it was all hands (both of ours) to the paint rollers, pouring white paint upside-down on a popcorn-plastered ceiling. Then—because it’s writ in the laws of reality—I was off to Home Depot to buy supplies for a worker who is supposed to show up at 7:30 a.m. on my second morning here, to begin banging out repairs to something just outside the bedroom door. I can’t wait.
We’re also hosting our next-door neighbors, Frances and Che, for breakfast in the morning. That will be fun. Except for the hour.
What am I doing still up? Time enough to post this tomorrow.
I still haven’t seen Lexi and Connor, who are leaving tomorrow. Are they really here?
A few weeks ago, I paid a parking ticket online, through my town’s website. The town thoughtfully sent me an email acknowledging receipt. It began, earnestly and sincerely, “Dear GENERIC CUSTOMER…”
I feel goosebumps just remembering the warmth of the reply, enhanced as it was, by modern software design.
What’s your favorite memory of deeply personal public service?
My previous post notwithstanding, 2022 has gotten off to a pretty rocky start in the Carver household, due to some family members going through tough times. I’ll not go into details, for reasons of privacy. But several pieces of (professional) good news have come along to brighten the days, and I want to share those.
The first, I believe, was a lovely review of The Reefs of Time from Scribble’s Worth Book Reviews. They liked the book a lot. On their list of Pros and Cons, they gave it 9 pros and 0 Cons.
The second was my first review on TikTok, by a young man named Anthony Avina, also of The Reefs of Time. He too liked it lot.
The third was a wonderful short review of the Sunborn audiobook, on an internet radio segment called Sci-Fi Bookbuzzes with Bria Burton (scroll down to the little audio player to hear the review). That led to a subsequent on-air interview with PatZi, the host of the parent radio show, Joy on Paper. You can listen to the interview here.
I’ve headed back to my favorite part of Cape Cod for Writing Retreats, this time as my first expedition in the Mothership! Here I am taking command, ready to leave, having worked the dock crew’s fingers to the bone getting everything ready.
A few minutes after this is taken, I hit the spacelanes, full of confidence.
You know, everything looks different from the bridge of this ship. I like this perspective. My, aren’t those F-150 pickups the most adorable little cub trucks? Wait—is that a Ranger like mine, or a toy truck? Must be a toy. My Ranger isn’t that little.
The confidence takes a hit an hour in, when I make a stop and discover what I forgot to pack: my wallet. Drivers license. Money. Credit cards. Nooooo! Grumbling, cursing, 180 turn. Back home for the wallet. Then back onto the spacelanes, somewhat deflated. The more so when the Check Engine light comes on. Gritting my teeth, I forge ahead. Real spacemen don’t stop for no stinking Check Engine lights! Would Neil Armstrong have stopped? Hell no!
(Okay, I eventually stop and scan the code. Non-mission-critical. Steady on course, Mr. Sulu.)
I arrive and set up in the dark. Why does this always happen? Connect water—check. Connect power—check. Remove bike from bed in back and lock it to the picnic table—check. Check that we’re level. Oh no. The site isn’t level. I jockey back and forth in vain. I wonder if this is why there’s a bag in the back marked “Levelers” full of oversized Lego pieces. I wonder what to do with them, hoping it doesn’t involve jacks. The internet comes to my rescue. It doesn’t involve jacks, but we’re not done setting up yet. It’s gonna be a long first night. Well, at least the wifi router in the cabin connects to the campsite wifi without trouble. (Yet…heh-heh.) Things will look better in the morning. Repeat after me.
Here’s the Mothership in daylight. Things do look better.
And here’s what you do with those oversized Lego pieces. You drive up onto them.
And here’s what you do to reward yourself. The campground is literally right next to the bike path.
