Tuesday, November 12, 2013


"And now, our newest song, written by the lovely Mildred, "Holes In My Backyard". And a one and a two and a..."

Morning Readers,

Good news. While standing on one foot and testing whether the trim on the top of the cabinets could be ripped off, I discovered a boxed gift set, containing a shaker and mix for chocolate martinis. As this was supposed to be a present for a friend back in 2007, I think it's safe to say they'll never miss it.

Party for one at the Kellerman house this weekend, hosted by my bad memory and Stirrings Company -est. Nantucket 1997.

Now then, everyone who listened to a chorus of jackhammers ring out costly amounts of repairs yesterday, raise your hand.

Wow, that was a few more of you than I thought.

No matter, my headache just subsided in time for them to start again this morning, so it's all ship shape over here. We're raising high the Split level, and, apparently, that means ripping the entire garage floor up and hoping nothing crawls back up through the holes I just surveyed. Word on the street is there's more than one way to get to Narnia or the neighbor's basement, if you set your mind to it.

Things got started pretty smoothly...

*Ding Dong*

Wait. Nope, the doorbell didn't ring because it doesn't work. When you come to the Kellerman house, standing on the doorstep, until I realize there's a person shape blocking the glass is standard procedure.  I scream, think I'm being killed, and throw the nearest spatula.We really should get that fixed before we sell this rig.

"Mrs. Kellerman?"

"Good morrow to you, man in coveralls. I assume you're the one they sent to drag the last of my enthusiasm away. Oh, I see you brought a wheel barrow. Excellent."

He nodded and acknowledged Sundance trying desperately to show him how quickly she'd dressed herself at 8am, in her princess dress from Halloween. "Whenever you open the garage door, we're ready to get started."

"Wonderful. Let me just pull the kids and the dog back inside."

"You do have some little ones there."

"I do. There's three of them and one dog. If one of them falls in a hole, tell you're men to jump to safety and I'll coax whoever it is out with a cookie. Whatever you do, don't tell them you'll read them a story. It'll slow the entire retrieval process down. "


"Seriously. Someone wants to turn the pages. Another one's asking questions about why the Berenstain Bears live in a tree and not a townhouse. Grueling."

The crew unloaded and got right to work unloading supplies, crowding the driveway, and making it necessary for me to haul the kids down the street to our van when errands needed to be run. At noon, I stepped out on the deck and watched as four men popped like gophers out of four holes lining the back of the house.

I waved. "How's it goin?"

The Foreman took a drag on his cigarette and looked up. "Going fine." Behind him, a dirt pile high enough to star in Close Encounters of the Third kind threatened to topple back and smother the whole crew.

"You haven't found any kids down there, have you?"


"Good. I was sure my count after lunch was accurate, but you know what they say."

"What's that?"

"Kids fall in holes."

We're making progress over here. I think. Either that, or we've just torn up a lot of stuff with jackhammers.

It's hard to tell.

Until Next Time, Readers!