Les UDs finally discovered the precise boundaries of their property; their landscaper had a surveyor do the deed. Turns out we own a good deal more forest than we thought we did, so yesterday UD created a path through the woods, connecting one of our established paths to the new boundary marker. This involved raking up leaves and dirt, plus pulling and tossing dead branches – work UD loves for itself, and also for the way it shapes the land and gives the dog and me more walking space.
It was a clear cold day, full sun, and it took UD very little time to forge a nice wide walkway.
At one point she raked up an old lp.
Why would someone toss/bury a record in the woods? She and Mr UD speculated. An unwanted gift? Did it fall out of a trash bag? But then how would it end up a half acre away, at the very top of the property? What animal would find it worth picking up or nudging?
Something emotional? A favorite track, associated with a love affair gone sour, hurled in rage or sorrow into the void?
***************
Short of sending it to the FBI forensic lab, there was certainly no way of identifying the record. Right?
Wrong. Take a look at the lp’s center, where I’ve focused a light. All it took was deciphering the printed and written language there, and then checking a discography.
VAN GELDER appears on part of the curve; that would be the recording studio; PRLP is I suppose the record label: Prestige. 2934A (I think that’s the written number) is, according to the Prestige Records Discography for 1961, “To Rigmor,” a piece Joe Newman (the whole album is the Joe Newman Quintet, Good ‘N’ Groovy) wrote for his wife.
La Kid, looking a lot like her mother at that age, with two Irish friends in Chicago last night. (She’s in the middle.) She’s about to go Halloweening dressed as Moira from Schitts Creek.
… are off for their annual Halloween at the beach thing. Rehoboth, dog parade, costume parade, boardwalk up and back twice a day, dinners with old friends, gazing at container ships through binoculars. Of course UD will continue blogging.
Layers and layers of horrible in UD’s hometown, Baltimore, Maryland, where a woman driver being threatened by the city’s adorably named squeegee kids takes out her gun to make them go away.
Big trees, little house: After years of ignoring them, Les UDs are finally having three immense trees taken down. We’ve watched our neighbors get hammered in various storms; our jokes about our impending death-by-tree have become threadbare. Time to part with the big bucks and end this.
When you inhale out there, the air is very wood-chippy.
The thud of falling limbs repeats.
Tree guys are chain smokers. Big cigs hang out of their mouths while they work.
… UD has updated her old photo on her ABOUT page. Her sister, the Morrissey fanatic, took it two days ago at Summer House Santa Monica, North Bethesda. It reflects UD‘s true age as of this minute: 66.
