Sunday, October 21, 2012

the cat has a twitter account (and other flashbacks)

It was a week of not much, like cats getting into Twitterverse, envelopes with chances to win millions of dollars, and anniversaries of big, life-changing, never-going-back, risking-it-all purchases.

The Cat Tweets
Whatever compelled Elliott to start with the tweeting I don't know. But certainly my father is behind it. Yes, my father passed away in 2005, but in December 2004 he sent me a letter informing me of a chat he had just had with Santa about my whereabouts. (That was the year I moved from the Chicago area, where my parents also lived, to Michigan's Upper Peninsula.) Now, I may never have written to Santa, but Santa wrote to me and my sisters quite often over the years, usually on Christmas Eve, when he'd take time from his travels to tap out an oddly spelled note thanking us for the cookies. Tapped out on my dad's typewriter and oddly spelled due to cold fingers, as he usually made it very clear just how br r rbrr! co o o ld1! his  finghers weere. It seems to me that if Santa is talking to my dad about me when my dad is 85 and I am 47, then my father must have something to do with my cat tweeting on Twitter at any age.

My Chance to Win a Million Dollars
I've mailed in my envelope with the potentially winning number to the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. By November 30, I will know if I've won a million dollars or not. Oh, and, $5,000 a week for life. Wouldn't that be nice? Yes, stuff like this still happens through the mail. Searching through the sheets of colorful deals to find the entry confirmation stamp to affix here, and the who-knows-what stamp to place there, took me back to the kitchen table in the house where I grew up, spreading out all the bright pieces of paper, concentrating, making sure I got the right stamp in the right place because surely, if I followed the rules, I might very well be rewarded with a million dollars. Or more. (Or my parents would be. This was a good 45 or so years ago, after all.) You know what? I still think I have a good chance. Because I followed the rules. And the rules said I didn't have to order anything ...

An Anniversary
Pssst! Wanna buy a log cabin on the outskirts of nowhere? No plumbing, no water, no electricity, no worries. Yeah, needs a little work. Needs heat. Drafty. Beautiful little spot, though. Look at that view, look at that river ... brook trout, baby. The cabin? Solid foundation. Mice? Sure. Mosquitoes, flies. But, lookee that floor, girlie, yeah, the one that just stuck a two-inch sliver up your big toe. That floor's from a 120-year-old silo in Oconto Falls, yeah, looks like Douglas fir. See all those pock marks? The real thing. From pitchforks. Yeah. From people pitching around inside the silo 100 years ago. And all the logs are from an old barn in Pulaski, yeah, tore it down and hauled it up here. The porch is oak planks from old shipping crates, and all these doors piled up over here are from a cheese factory in Green Bay. Some even have knobs and hinges. This beadboard and kitchen cabinet? From a Catholic School. The stone? From a local quarry. Slate from Detroit. And these posts and rafters were cut by Sam, the guy down the road, yeah, the one with the cows and the sawmill ....

Hook, line, and sinker.
Thursday marked the second anniversary of my buying this log cabin built in the early 2000s of old, salvaged material and its surrounding 18 acres of untended fields. It was either the smartest or dumbest thing I've ever done.

Boards from a 120-year-old silo. The inside, with the scars.

{Thanks for visiting! If I win that million dollars, will I keep on doing this? Stay tuned. Meanwhile, weekly specials have begun at the Etsy shop. Specials are announced each Monday on Twitter. My account, not the cat's.}

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