Hey there I'm Robert MacEwan the author of Ideal Absolutes. If you're new to macewan.org, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed.
Across the street, we watch a couple of weekend warriors work to rehabilitate a house. The house is of a rather pedestrian design (to borrow a phrase from Val) meaning it is simple, a working-man’s house. Two rooms upstairs, two rooms down with a shotgun hall on the left hand side. Our former neighbor, Jasper, lived there his entire life and had inherited the house from the aunt who raised him when his parents were killed in a tragic train wreck in Kentucky in 1932. Jasper married a few years ago, moved into his new wife’s house. He decided to sell the house about six months ago, put a price of $93,000 on it and sold it in two days. Suffice it to say, he made out like a bandit.
The rehab couple drives 4 or 5 hours twice a month from the farthest border of Virginia — almost in West Virginia. They want to retire here About six weeks ago, the wife-half of the duo gave Val the “Hey” sign and the two women chatted for a moment. “It sure is hot,” warrior wife commented, “I thought it would be chilly in the evenings by now.”
“Oh, we’ll have a temperature drop now and then, but we’ll be barefoot at Thanksgiving,” I heard Val reply.
The next day as the couple drove away, wife-warrior rolled down the window of their 4×4 king cab pickup to tell Val, “We’re coming back in two weeks with some friends and we’re bringing our boat! See you then!”
Sure enough, two weeks later… the couple arrives, huge boat in tow, friends in close pursuit. Understand, please, our houses are directly across the street from each other. The view of Jasper’s house is ubiquitous, unavoidable, as is the hearing the conversation of anyone in the yard or house as sound travels up just as it is amplified across water. It’s about 40 degrees and overcast. The house has no electricity and running water exists outside, not inside. Warrior couple has completely gutted the home. (And they gave Val the old kitchen sink! Cast iron… it’s on the back porch where it will remain because it’s too heavy to even push out of the way…)
Back to story. The couple and their friends stand in yard, donning coats and scarves. Val comes around corner of yard and they “Hey” to her. She heys back. “Thought the weather was going to stay warm,” warrior wife complains.
“Two months of the year, the weather sucks here. It’s just not a steady two months it varies from day to day. We’ll be barefoot on Thanksgiving.” Val waves and walks back into the house.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I looked out the kitchen window and saw my wife throwing the ball for the dogs in the backyard yesterday (Thanksgiving) afternoon.
She was, in true raised-in-Arkansas fashion, barefoot.
bought a funky old waterfront park called Whichard’s Beach. They hired a fancy architect, issued a bunch of big-time press releases written by expensive advertising agencies to pimp the property and it began. The Beaufort County real estate agent’s wet dream. A 13-story condominium complex, wait! did I say “A”? I mean TWO 13-story condominium complexes on the Pamlico River.
