book « Robin Writes

For what seems like 40 days and 40 nights, it’s been raining. Actually, I think, it was more like a week or so. Every. Single. Day. And most nights.

The charm of listening to rain on a metal roof was quickly quashed.

Woke up this morning to silence (except the constant meow from the cat who thinks that 5:30 a.m. is an acceptable breakfast time).
I jumped up—okay, staggered; had a wee bit last night, because even preppers and homesteaders have to kick loose now and again—and looked outside.

Blue sky. Not a single cloud.

I was sure I was suffering morning-after delusions, but nope—the weather persisted. Add a NW wind and a temp just below 80, it was perfect!

And supposed to stay that way for the whole week . . . we’ll see.

So after a rather late breakfast at the local café, I started to play catch-up on all the outdoor chores. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with rain itself, but prefer to take shelter during thunderstorms like any other sane individual.

Stop laughing!

And some things just can’t be done when it’s that wet, like the garden. However, now, weeds are much easier to pull and, thanks to the breeze, I’ll be able to till again tomorrow. Pretty much a weekly event until I mix up my weedkiller: Dawn, water, and vinegar. Can’t spray the plants you want to keep, though—they’ll be dead by the time you hit the end of the row if you miss the weeds.

Tomatoes had to be tied up and I have a few rows of complete or near-complete crop failure, so those have to be re-seeded. On the other hand, I’ve tripled my blueberry crop from last year, if all goes well, and I will have FIFTEEN whole blueberries in another week!

Laundry, too, needed to be done. Since I use the sun to dry things, it’s really helpful for it NOT to be raining. Yes, I have a dryer. No, it’s not yet hooked up. And I prefer it that way. We’ll cross that off the neverending list in November.

My husband picked today to start the bathtub removal—and I’m happy to report that it has indeed been removed and relocated to its new home across the road, with only the loss of the hot water pipe, which in turn commenced in a very clean bathroom floor—so he’s been tied up with this for about six hours. That means the chainsaw hasn’t been run, and the pasture hasn’t been mowed.

But that’s okay—what isn’t done today will be done the next, during the beautifully sunny but 90-degree day coming up.

I’m sweating just thinking about it . . .

It’s no secret that I’d like to have more land; who wouldn’t? Even another 25 acres or so. And I’ve been wondering about the parcel next to us . . .

Finally, I looked up the owners to see if they’d be interested in selling. The answer was apparently yes, as the taxes were delinquent and, indeed, it had been sold two years ago but the new owner never filed the deed or paid taxes since. That meant that the property had reverted back to the original owners.

Who were deceased.

I’d like to thank Google and the Internet for their invaluable help in this matter. Ha.

Since when are the Whitepages NOT free?? I was going nuts trying to find phone numbers. Seems those don’t exist any longer, unless you want to get an account and pay a fee. No, thanks.

First, I searched for the name of the couple, which is when I found out he was a rather famous literary agent—how weird is that—and that he’d died in 1993. His wife, too, had passed away in 2006 or 2007. Since Mr. M was very well-known, his obit was still available online with only a cursory search. And they had two children . . .

So I emailed the agency, which still exists. Surprisingly, they answered right away but had no information to contact the family.

No, they did not offer me representation or a contract.

Next, I looked for the last known address. It had been sold in 2007.

But, the children’s names and addresses were on the deed transfer documents—bingo! However, people do move; we’ve done so several times since 2007. Four, to be exact.

So far, this search had spanned the eastern half of the country: New York, New Jersey, Missouri, and Illinois.

I went on Facebook (duh) and found someone who may have been the daughter; she hadn’t posted since 2009. I found several possibilities for the son, too, but hardly any of them had posted in years either. I mean, come on—once in a blue moon I’ll see something on TimeHop that tells me I didn’t post on Facebook THAT DAY. DAY, not years!

Finally, I found someone that I thought was a match for the son—so I emailed him and asked.

And he wrote back and said yes, he was, and he noticed I was a writer so, he asked, is that how I knew his father?

I WISH! This guy repped Arthur C. Clark and Philip K. Dick, among others. Holy smoke. I WISH.

But no, I told him I was interested in buying the property in Missouri. We exchanged a few emails. He’ll actually be in the state in a month or so, and he wants to come see it.

Keep your fingers crossed!