NEXT STAGE

Realtors contacted. 5 emails went out this afternoon at 1, by 2 PM I'd heard back from all but one of them. Have arranged a series of appointments for next week, starting Tuesday afternoon for them all to come out and look at the house. Sothebys already trying to do a hard sell with me, using Peg's name and career, links to all the NY papers and beyond etc. Didn't start well when he asked for "Mr. King" on the phone but--we'll see. Will ask each to prepare a selling plan and then choose which one seems to be instinctively the right one, but will only sign for 3 mos and see how they do.

House is in good enough shape for realtors to assess, at least. Will do a number on it when it's time for pics.

Latest is the Dynamic Duo Ken and Laurie want to come back, in a week or so. Stay another two weeks. I am toying with the idea of asking Ken to stay here until either the house sells or he finds a place to live. If he can chip in with utilities it would be a comfort to me to know the place isn't empty. Bonnie and Outside Bob will be checking on it/doing mail and so on after I go back home but--still. They will not unearth marvelous things in the lower garden--and my Ken Doll will.

I had a night away in CT last night with my Very Select Reunion group (as I have dubbed them) from high school. 8 of us. Marvelous. And fun. Love them to bits. And I got to spend a night in a big cozy bed with no coyotes baying through the screens trying to get to my throat and other soft bits.  The only downside, not counting a 30 mile detour on a dirt road because they were doing something to highway, was dropping my £££ prescription sunglasses onto the tile floor and knocking the stem off, plus the little silver bar that holds it in place that says Burberry or Calvin Klein or Don't Buy These Suckers Again. However, Tom, Peg's fan at Berkshire optical over the mountain has fixed me up with superglue and as soon as I get prescription sent from the UK (closed on Saturdays and Bank Holiday Monday, good old England) he will whip me up a spare pair.

4 packages/boxes mailed off to relatives today, GAP Outlet to buy jeans--have only 1 pair here and it's getting cold here in the mountains--then to West Stockbridge to help Tory pack up her house. I take my hat off. She's leaving--a life. I get it, not just on some level but on every level. Things her mother saved, her aunts and so on. A beautiful house full of beautiful things (i.e. 9 million antique quilts her mother collected) but she's selling the lot. That's the way to do it. An estate sale in 2 weeks. Needless to say I am adding to the pile and heading over there in a truck tomorrow with things I've been dithering about as to keep, ebay, or consignment shop. I have a new favorite category for boxes now: TORY.

I went through 3 folders last night in preparation for scanning: Peg's letters and cards to Odd from 1948-49 and her letters to his parents in Norway. Marvelous stuff. She details every aspect of writing, rehearsing, performance--all so they can understand what she does. One of them slayed me: she wrote  to them about what an imposter she felt, how the world is going to suss her out any second, that she's just writing 'plain old ordinary family' stuff and should't be getting all the fame and adulation. 

Also did the CONTRACTS file, rather a large one, dating back to 1937. And letters from Peg's mother to Norway, also good, since they also detail what Peg is doing, career-wise (and how adorable  Baby Astrid is, so keeping THESE).

Out to dinner last night, out again tonight. I am being well looked-after. But miss my home, and my bed, and husband and son and dog and mates. And my M & S long underwear. 

BETTER

A full day. Slept, which helps, despite fucking coyotes am convinced are circling the house and have megaphones.

Up and out bright and early and off to Kushi Center around the corner to let them know house is coming on the market, they have no money but seems polite to notify them, then to Hinsdale post office to mail $54 worth of stuff to deserving folk, on towards bubble wrap and plastic sleeves at Staples, which I was pleased to note had a United Parcel Service desk, so went back to the car for the 3 huge frames of ancestors which is going to someone related I've never met in Michigan, and it would have helped if some Staples employee actually MANNED this desk more frequently than once a half century but, finally, all got sent. 

And it was onwards to Price Chopper, then Tina's for a $35 haircut, then to the bank for those paper coin sleeves for the 9000 pennies in dishes around this place, then to Goodwill in Lee, then to friend Tory's in Lee to exchange Saab for Subaru (again, we're getting quite good at this), then to Baja Charlie's with Tory for Mexican lunch of veggie quesadillas, onwards to Lucky Nails for a pedicure Vietnamese style, meaning they don't care to your face if you have disgusting fungus on your big toenails but you can be sure yak non stop in Vietnamese to everyone else who works there about your nasty toes, then across the street to Greylock Federal Credit Union to discuss possible line of credit, then home and onto to phone ASAP for meeting with DK's website magic man in the UK to get All Things KEY CHANGES, DK's memoir, onto deniskingmusic.com with all the right links, then rush rush rush to get all garbage that's been piling up for weeks from the back entry onto the driveway so friend Jenkins can collect in his truck and hit Middlefield Town Dump (open Wed from 5- 8 PM), then back here to feed him Shepherd's Pie made from lamb from Peg Freezer, which hasn't made a dent in the lamb she's got frozen, looks like it might be a whole herd of sheep in there, plus maybe a collie or two, and now here I am, 9:15 PM, and not feeling nearly as sad as I did last night.

Full day out an about is the answer.

I think I was OD-ing on scanning yesterday. And there is no doubt that the pedicure has brightened my outlook considerably. It's a bright neon orange polish I have chosen, too. 

Plus another relative I've never heard of has got in touch via the family Facebook page to say she wants all the family letters plus a glove box plus the antique sugar scoop and a slew of other things and--I am happy. Off they will go to Lincoln, Nebraska tomorrow. 

Remind me when I get back to England to never save anything ever again.

Tomorrow I start dealing with realtors and a company that can ship all this shit I'm saving over to England.

SAD AND SICK

Alone here and not caring for it. Last night it sounded like the coyotes were in the hallway. Had to get up and turn on the outside floodlights. No sign. Then awoke to violent thunder and rain, padded downstairs to unplug my laptop and phones. Discovered the roof is leaking. Had to deal with thumb tacking plastic sheeting in the attic. 

5 huge boxes in the car ready to UPS to relatives and friends and some woman in Ohio who wants the big verdigris/bronze repro head of Boy On a Dolphin that Peg bought in Delphi in 1964 and we had to schlep back from Greece. Tick. Now need homes for the fucking 9 million Horizon Art Magazines and World History of Art 13 Volumes and will be away to the races. 

Tick also to: 4 big thick Peg Archive files of contracts; 6 boxes Peg Archive fan mail; a personal history of growing up in Meraker Norway, Cousin Hedvig's version (as opposed to Eirik my grandfather's version) , which is winging its way now to Sweden to her daughter or granddaughter, I can't recall; 4 side chairs rubbed down with Scratch-Cover; 1 freezer emptied; letter and $350 check and cremation certificates off to Maple Grove Cemetery in Minnesota (actually re-did letter 4 times, after Bonnie kept pointing out inaccuracies like my dating it 1915 instead of 2015 and so on).

I think my mind is deteriorating at a faster rate here than it does in Suffolk.

The "urn" arrived. It looks fine. Light, too. And vaguely tasteful. Like a stack of 5 leather-bound books with gilt titles, the names of which I will change once I get a gold pen at Staples tomorrow. (I mean, WHAT am I doing? Gold pen? Who cares? WHO is going to read this? ). My friend Giliana suggested the main centered book, slightly thicker than the others, should be entitled "OUR PERFECT DAUGHTER by Mr. & Mrs. O.K. Ronning", which I am more than leaning towards.

The dumpster left. The lady driver had some issues backing down the drive and getting it reattached again to the truck, plus her horn was going the whole time, some kind of short circuit, and for which she apologized.

Met with a new friend who's a realtor in CT but has a summer cabin up here and wants to hold my hand throughout the selling and marketing of the house, which pleases me. Plus she's fun. Also have someone who wants to house sit/caretake if it doesn't sell right away, who works at the General Store down the road. 

I feel sick. Headachey and nauseous. And unbelievably lonely. And kind of fed up with this.

MISTAKE

...reading my father's letters to my mother in 1976 when he took time off work and flew over to Norway to help take care of his father, Eirik, 92, who in fact died a week or so later. Made me sad. I understood for the first time that Daddy was going through exactly what we all went through here with him and later with Peg--dealing with catheters, wet beds, messes, shit, dentures, dribbles, trying to get liquid down, pureeing food, alternating between being optimistic and pessimistic, seeing someone you love in pain but being brave--and then of course after the death, being confronted by the mountain of stuff to go through. I'd forgotten that Odd had gone over to Norway. It was only a few months after my wedding (first one), and Eirik, aka my Bestefar, had come over to give me away, along with Daddy. I was so proud, walking down the vom between them (no aisle, got married in a theatre, but of course..)

I am now trying to remember at what my point father stopped being Daddy Who Knew How To Do Stuff and Take Care of Things, and became the someone who couldn't drive down the drive without taking the wing mirror off on a pine tree or even be able go outside by himself anymore, let alone weed.

His letters to Peg are so heartfelt, so articulate. Was quite stunned. That's the papa I want to remember, not the one who couldn't get his breath and watched CNN with the sound off.

I walked outside today, looking at his garden, thinking how clever he was. Considering he hasn't touched it in over 10 years, it really doesn't look too bad. Ground cover being the order of the day, and you have to like rhododendrons and myrtle and laurel, but still. He thought ahead and--it worked.

Am now going to go read Peg's letters to Norway to see if she said anything bad about me.

ARCHIVISTS INC.

The scanner has been going full time, especially yesterday, when the lovely Savannah Grace came from Concord (MASS) with her equally lovely ma, Jen. Savannah started by glueing all the gilt gesso that had chipped off Peg's portrait (that Jen's father in fact painted back in the 70s), and Jen got started cataloguing all the Radio & TV books in which Peg is mentioned, or interviewed, photographing the cover, then the pages in question, then packed into a box ready to go to Peg archive in Oregon. Whereupon Jen attacked Peg's personal treasured books, listing them, ready for sale either on website or Yellow House Books in Great Barrington.

Savannah went on to scan about 150 family letters, beginning 1882 to the present day.

And when they left they took the Fairbanks Table which has been in the family for generations, and will deliver it back to the Fairbanks House Museum in Dedham, not far from Concord. Sorted. YES.

I meanwhile got through 5 boxes. Letters from Peg's beaux. Letters from Peg's director (and possible beau). Letters from her lawyer. Letters from my grandmother on a European tour in 1949 to Peg back working in NY. Letters from Peg to Odd in Norway in1948. Letters to Peg from her grandson, from me. The only thing that has me stumped, still, are letters (200+) from my first husband to me, which my ex sister in law says to keep, please keep, but can't think why, have tried to read some again and it's mostly embarrassing or indecipherable (terrible handwriting) so might just be time to pitch. 

Renning family framed portraits now bubble wrapped and ready to UPS to Renning family members in the MidWest.

Met with landscaper who's going to come round with 2 guys and saws and a chipper and make the drive tidier, losing saplings, dead limbs and so on. 

Tonight is 5 boxes of fan mail dating back to the 40s. What to do with it all. Oregon, watch out.

Tomorrow the dumpster goes. 

Wednesday I get my friend David with his truck and we load all the excess garbage bags that have piling up and hike em over to the dump in Middlefield. Who says my life isn't exciting. 

And the bad news is my Clinique back order for Tinted Moisture Surge still hasn't come, having been ordered in early July, so rang them, they reckon on October, thank you. I'll be needing more than just a surge by then, I can tell you.

LAWYERS

Considering a lawsuit re the funeral home and ashes mix-up. Not sure if I have the energy or inclination or funds but lawyers speechless by what's happened so--who knows.

The trunk to hold Peg and Odd's ashes--and of course whosoever feels like joining them, am not particular anymore, all welcome--has been shipped to Minnesota, full of mementos, pics, STUFF to bury with them, which UPS kindly did for me for $20.

Got through a few more boxes last night, lawyer friend Paul who I've known since 3rd grade and his beautiful Kate, retired archivist--made me understand that almost everything could go on to Peg's archive in Oregon and THEY could deal with it, tax and business records from the 40s, 50s and 60s, none of which interest me one whit, save a cancelled check I found from 1968 from Peg to my boyfriend Rob for $350 (paying him to be nice to me despite me being a shite to him perhaps), but so much of the stuff deals with her show and  expenses and I suppose, okay, might be of interest to someone someday if they're doing a book on what it cost to own and produce and write and star in a TV show in the 1950s. 

I scanned about 40 letters today, including one from my grandmother, Peg's ma,  to her husband, Peg's pa, 4 days before he died of the Spanish flu in 1918--chastising him for not writing more. This is before she knew he was sick. Made me cry.

Outside Bob's last day for 2 weeks, which also made me cry, there's still so much to do, but we got some carpet underlays down from the attic into the dumpster, and the upstairs hall painted, and about 9 brass carpet things for doorjambs put it so you don't trip. There must be real name for these.

Did a phone interview re Peg with some 2 year old who had not done his homework, for the Rochester Post Bulletin. Told him to ring me back tomorrow after he'd read her website, that we're wasting time asking me stuff like when was she BORN, thank you. Where do they find these guys.

Designer Friend David came round and we moved furniture for 2 hours, "decorating the set", which we are very good at--and finally the living room is beginning to look like a living room and the den like a den, not counting a lovely pink oriental carpet which looks great but stinks to high heaven of possibly dog pee, so it may have to hit the dumpster.

Cancelled my flight home next week. Sadly but hey. No choice. Virgin Atlantic not charging me for a date change, thanks to Peg dying. Very kind. 

Big worry: I am starting to really like the house, for the first time in 45 years. 

Also worrying that I am becoming boring, so closing before I start thinking of all the wonderful times I had with my ma and getting teary.

More houseguests tomorrow. Hope they like leftovers and scanning shit.

TURNS OUT PEG NOT AS HOME AS WE'D THOUGHT

Primarily because Dery Funeral Home returned somebody else's ashes to us, ashes belonging to somebody named Peter, a mentally disturbed Vietnam vet who jumped off a building in downtown Pittsfield (next door to where my friend Louise was getting her hair cut, as it happened). So for two weeks seems I've been throwing a kiss to Peter every time I passed the brown plastic container, not to mention scattering some of him next to Odd and the dead collies under the rhododendrons and all that rigamarole on the kitchen counter, spooning off some of him for Peg's fan in Seattle (and mailing it), and who I've now had to email to say please throw Peter out unless you and Donna want to be buried with him instead of Peg.

A panicky few hours it was indeed, after Bonnie opened the cremation certificate taped to the box in order to make copies for the cemetery in Minnesota and the airline--in the unlikely event they think ashes might be a security risk, along with my shoes--and she read the name and nearly fell over. As did I. And Laurie and Ken and even the Fedex man who happened to be here delivering a case of exfoliating face pads for me from drugstore.com, which I can't get in England (and seem to have ordered 18 rolls of instead of 8).

Dery's, when rung, was not as apologetic as I might have been, but clearly were worried (I guess SO), especially since my final words to Fred Dery had been "Look after my Mama, please, Fred" and he assured me he would guard her with his life. Fred Dery who is now shortly to be dead himself if I ever run into him again. 

The good news, finally, after 2 or more hours, was that Peter's son was located and asked about HIS container of ashes, the label of which indeed had my mother's name on it and--thank you God--had not been scattered in the Housatonic or over Hanoi or anything else Peg wouldn't have cared for. So, Dery's collected Peg, brought her to us, took (what was left of) Peter, and returned him to his son and, not counting Peg and Odd and the collies having company down there under the rhododendrons until kingdom come--all SEEMS to be sorted. I don't even want to think about what if the labels got switched. The other good news here is that I refused to pay Dery's bill, and they grudgingly rendered it null and void. So end of the day, Peg, by not staying put, saved me $3000.

The sad news is that Laurie and Ken, my helpers of three weeks, have had to go back to Ohio. Neither wanted to leave but she was worried about her cat. I told her to go get it and bring it back with them, which they just might, so hope to Christ a coyote doesn't get it.

7 for dinner tonight. 2 more tomorrow. 4 on Saturday. Freezer dinners. Hope they all like lamb, looks like Peg bought a herd. I have lovely lovely friends.

Habitat Restore came today and took an enormous truckload for charity, old shutters, rugs, chairs, everything, love them madly. Already becoming more like my mother, I invited them for lunch. 

THE HOUSE OPENS TO BUYERS

Well, not all, but to some rich types up the road, as a favor, since they're heading back to their winter home in Miami tomorrow. Also some neighbor who lives next to them, who winters in DC. The reaction was--pleasing. Positive. Loved the location. Trees. Paneling. Stucco. Stones--everything I hate. Heard some talk about how perfect the place would be for a boutique hotel, and so on. They asked what sort of price I'd be asking. I said oh, gosh, hadn't got that far yet, a real estate fan of Peg's in Boston--former radio DJ--said he'd do a whole spec for me on the place, which he has, he's been here lots of times so knows it well, but said I hadn't even had time to read it yet, untrue. Let them go back to Florida or wherever and think about the potential here. Am happy with that.

Meanwhile I await Habitat Restore or whatever they're called, on Wed., with a truck, and another 30% of stuff will exit. Cannot fucking wait. It's just about possible to breathe here now.

3 more photo albums photographed. And Ken the Man has been busy clearing the south 40 today, I worked with him for about an hour until the initial excitement of puling ferns and brambles receded into merely a pleasant memory and I collapsed on the screened-in porch to wonder if I was having a heart attack. Extraordinary how open the property is becoming, just by losing saplings and ferns and errant lilacs (I keep the good ones). Am hoping that 3 leafed-thing I pulled a lot of was alder saplings and not poison ivy.

Laurie and I went into painting mode: she re-furbishing the little "English Village" parade of houses I made for Peg as a centerpiece years ago and can't bring myself to throw out (actually I can, but Laurie won't let me) , and me rosemaling a wooden box Norske-style to hold the rest of my father's ashes, which wouldn't fit into said box, as it happened, despite my "scattering" most of them for about half an hour around the property last year, so had to head back down the hill to pour some more out under the rhododendrons where the collies are buried. 

I then changed my shoes, from sandals into less slippy sneaker, retrieved Peg's ashes, snipped the plastic holder on the  bag inside the ugly brown plastic container, and took it back down the hill and shook Peg ashes over Odd and collie ashes, then carted them up to near the garage to where more collies are buried, then back to the kitchen, to begin the VERY PECULIAR operation of decanting some of Peg's ashes into an egg cup size urn her major fan Tom had sent from Seattle, the idea being Peg is eventually buried with Tom and his wife Donna. The whole idea is bizarre but it's in the will. So. Out with the paper towel to cover the butcherblock, and frying to find a demitasse spoon. 

The urn came with a mini plastic bag, which I lined a shot glass with, edges back over themselves, then scooped some Peg into it, closed the mini-ziploc, then found it wouldn't stuff into the mini urn, so had to open it up, scoop some of Peg out again and back into her big bag in ugly brown plastic container. I did this about three times until I got the amount right, then screwed the urn closed, put it into bubble wrap, into a mailer box with the pre-paid label Tom had sent, and presto bobs your uncle: one mother ready for Hinsdale Post Office.

She's still awfully heavy though, so am thinking the rhododendrons need a bit more of her, otherwise I'll be staggering with the carry-on all the way to Minneapolis. (More on this when finalized, but it involves A) getting there;  B)  4 graves I inherited from my grandmother and never knew I had; and C) heavy Minnesota press coverage. Aiming for Sept. 6.

I drove to Northhampton (45 min) late afternoon to finalize the announcement for DKs memoir with my computer guru-cousin Tim. Now all sorted. Will perhaps push SEND this week, maybe next. Not sure. Getting nice reactions already, and reviews, which pleases DK. We were all ready to go with the launch when Peg started failing. Can't really say oh yeah, my mother died, gee it was really sad--but listen, you're really gonna love this book we wrote!

I have such extraordinary friends, I am at times quite, quite overcome. I feel so impossibly lucky. Plus, the big news, Denis just won £3.75 on the Lottery. 

SOCIAL LIFE

Staff Dinner for 6 at Elisabeth's a success, although Dominick got lost and went up North St instead of East St so we got off to a rather delayed start while we talked him in by phone-- but a jolly night despite the occasion, and food excellent, and portions huge, so Outside Bob, who rates places by the amount of food on his plate, was happy. 

Plus the borrowed Saab started, afterwards, which made me happy, because we'd had some issues on the way to dinner when I stopped to collect Dawn (Bonnie's predecessor) and it died, no electrics whatsoever save the alarm blaring and a flashing light on the dash saying something like "FULL THEFT ALERT!!!". So we got out of the car, locked, unlocked it, got in, tried again. And did this again. And again. And then I rang Tory the owner, for advice, who was driving and couldn't hear me too well, but then suddenly the car decided to knock off being a silly bugger and kicked into action--and off we sped. 

So, as I said, after dinner, all OK, I get us back to Dawn's, who lives down an unpaved road off the mountain road, I drop her off, keeping the car running--in fact barely giving her enough time to get her feet out before I was shooting back out of the drive--and off I go, up the hill in the dark towards the mountain road where, within 30 feet of Dawn's, a big black bear ambles across my path, so I brake, then carry on towards the main road, where, as I go to make the left turn off of what feels like the top of Everest it's so steep, the gearshift knob comes off in my hand and sails into the backseat and the electrics conk out, including headlights. So. Will it start again,  no. The trouble, now, is that, while I would like to go through the rigamarole we did in Dawn's driveway i.e. getting out, locking, unlocking, pretending we're starting from scratch--I am loathe to do this in the dark with some bear nosing up my skirt. And my phone has fallen out of my purse and is somewhere on the floor of the backseat with the gearshift. And no inside lights because no electrics.

I groped around and eventually got them, tried the car, no juice, tried again,  sat at the top of Schultz Road for 10 minutes in the pitch black of a Berkshire night, hoping no car would be whipping across the mountain road and sheer the front end off of Tory's Saab, thinking "Hm..". I began talking to the car, telling it that I was, in fact--although it may not SEEM so--getting into it for the very first time ever, that I wasn't stealing it, and finally that I was in fact, Tory herself, that it was only confusing me with some asshole because it was too dark to see. I then opened the door (3 inches, enough for a bear claw, yes, but I was quick)  and locked and unlocked it a few more times, and, at long last, hooray, the electrics sprang into life, we had lift off, and off I sped towards home. Last time I take The Staff out to dinner.

Tonight's "thank you" dinner at the Dreamaway Lodge (Laurie, Ken, Tory) was fortunately less eventful car-wise, primarily because I had traded cars with Tory again and had the Trusty Subaru back, which I think she is now selling, so I will get the Saab back soon. For WHICH I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL, DON'T GET ME WRONG (she reads this) and I'm sure, in time, the car and I will reach an understanding and in no time at all we'll be sitting around the driveway laughing and honking at all the stuff we used to get up to in the old days.

On The HOUSE FRONT--looking GOOD. Two more carpets up in bedrooms, more lovely hardwood floors revealed. Ken still busy excavating more paving stones around the house. And he and Bob cleared 99% of the garage, including a mouse which had been nesting in a drawer full of string and which jumped out of the drawer after we'd hauled it into the driveway, nearly sending me over the ridge. 

Laurie and I now attacking photo albums. I think have almost finished Family Heirlooms, Ephemera and General Vintage Meticulously Saved Crap: everything now documented, copied or photographed, listed, labelled, baby shoes, dolls, flour scoops, telegrams, recipes for preventing croup, and what seems like every birth or marriage certificate from every relative going back to 1832 in Grabs, Switzerland--and I can tell you this, having spent three days at this now and my back a mess from bending over photographing you name it--I have decided I hate every single one of these relatives for even existing. And especially Carper Vetsch for having 11 children, and 3 named Jacob.

I am busy, but find myself overcome, at the oddest moments, by a sadness that is all consuming. It passes. But lingers there, underneath all the sorting the pitching. 

I am so grateful to have Laurie here, who manages to be efficient and inventive and intuitive and fun all at once and still finds time to create little art projects in the bedroom--I just saw she and about a dozen small picture frames up there she's glueing Peg's leftover costume jewelry onto--and they look fabulous (honest). Not sure what I'll do with them all, other than maybe trace Casper Vetsch's great great grandchildren down and say "Love from Guess who" but--am sure, like everything else, they will find the right homes. 

And listen to this, or maybe I said this already, no idea, but Laurie's taking the gold mounted Mask of Agamemnon for her sister in Ohio, who's always wanted one, would you believe. Laurie currently has her eye on a piece of filthy old vintage 1920 linoleum she found in the attic. I love Laurie.

 

DUMPSTER DAY

A triumph, despite lashing rain which poured off the slate roof like Niagara Falls (no gutters), some of the finer accomplishments of my ten busy helpers being:

- Livingroom carpet and underlay chucked

- Odd's office carpet and underlay chucked, floor cleaned and sticky carpet tape crap removed

- Aunt Elise's old hospital bed chucked

- Odd's metal filing cabinet and safe, chucked

- Attic now 98% clear

- old hot water tank brought up from basement and chucked

- furniture/wood/metal pile ready for charity to collect hopefully sometime soon including doors, trunks, mattress springs, paint cans, windows, you name it, plus 5 sets of skis, some which look like the Leif the Lucky brought them over on a longboat when he and his mates discovered Vinland

- sticky black carpet tape marks from entire downstairs removed with 'Goo Gone', my new favorite purchase

- Peg's good Lenox china and 101 Royal Copenhagen Christmas plates wrapped and taken away by Louise the eBay Queen, as well as an entire SUV full of other salable goods.

- Peg family ephemera, photos, letters, books, bibles and vintage household items catalogued and boxed, ready to be photographed today if I get to it. Waiting to hear from curator of Minnesota museum, then rest will go to family scattered around the States (whether they want it or not).

- The Fairbanks museum in Dedham, MA (first frame house in America, a family from whom Peg is descended on her paternal grandmother Lynch's side) has been contacted to see if they want a table that's been in the family for generations and is said to have come over with Jonathan Fairbanke from Sowerby Bridge in Yorkshire in 1643 or thereabouts, but no way to prove this, so if the snooty bastards turn me down I guess I bring it back to England.

- The front stone terrace has been completely excavated now, and Ken the Magnificent is hard at work digging out the rest of the stonewalk that goes around the house, which has also disappeared under five feet of grass and pachysandra. He has finished planting all window boxes with pachysandra and tomorrow he will start looking for the lower garden, which I figure must be down there somewhere, I remember picking from a large snowball bush, for decor, when DK and I got married beneath the pines. He also will finish clearing out the garden shed, which we can just make out a corner of through the undergrowth. I reminded him to check his body for ticks (because I'm sure not doing it).

So. We are going going going. I made a quick run this morning to exchange cars for a few days with the lovely Tory, so have her Saab that has no gas gauge, for awhile. She says to re-set the mileage every time I fill up with gas, and when it gets to 300 start looking for a gas station. Will let you know if this works. Stopped at Sunset House afterwards, unfortunate name for nursing home, to see dear Jeanette Roosevelt (1st wife of FDR's grandson), 95, who was in not too bad shape last Feb when I visited but who is now bent over in a chair, in a hospital gown, on oxygen, drooling, and didn't wake up when I held her hand and talked. Maybe she heard, who knows. Hope so. (Didn't tell her about Peg, or that maybe she'd be seeing her soon). Drove back over October Mt. and sure enough, started to tear up, thinking about Mama, then the gear knob came off in my hand and I was fine again.

Tonight is Staff Dinner, out. Place called Elizabeth's. No credit cards. Have a fistful of cash. Am taking Bonnie, Terri, Dominick, Outside Bob and also Dawn, a former employee, who like Bob, also said "I quit!" at the same time as Peg said "You're fired!". Thought they all deserve a thank you, and a large drink.

TICKING MORE STUFF OFF

Dinner guests last night, after which I ambled down the road to neighbor Rick, who was having people round he wanted me to meet, contacts for when I put the house on the market. One's a second home owner up here, main home in Greenwich ($$$), she's a realtor there, going to set me up with her high end contacts here, told me exactly how to market the place, how to vet realtors, how long to sign for an so on. We'll meet up next weekend I think. Also had nice chats with Arlo Guthrie's 3 daughters, also neighbors, and who lost their ma to cancer 2 years ago at the age of 67. We sat around Rick's fire pit yakking, laughing, and shedding a few tears, looking at meteor showers, listening to the coyotes howling--with some of us really really looking forward to the (brisk) walk home alone up along the dark road then through the even darker forest, eyes forward, trying not to look like coyote or bear meat. Or thinking about the axe murderers in the garage waiting for me to go past. Laurie and Ken, my Magic Helpers, had stayed home making lists and carrying stuff down from the attic (I DID invite them, honest) and were fortunately still up when I banged through the front door at 90 miles an hour, I think startling them.

Today we had another fruitful outing, this time to Pittsfield and Dalton, dropping off more Goodwill stuff, then hitting Home Goods, where we found the perfect boxes for both Peg's and Odd's ashes, plus a larger metal chest that both boxes fit in. Which will also fit in a carry-on bag when I take it to Minnesota next month. Peg's box is a glitzy leopard pattern glass jewel box, Odd's is wood and Norsk colors. Laurie and I will do Norwegian rose painting on it. If it all wasn't to hold my dead parents I'd be really excited, they're so perfect. We got home to find the small egg-cup size funeral urn had arrived from Peg's fan Tom in Seattle, in which I am supposed to put some of Peg's ashes and then post back to him, the idea being that it will sit pride of place on their mantle and then eventually will be buried with Tom, and his wife Donna, who are "co-mingling" their ashes. This is all so bizarre I can't even think about it, but it's what Peg wanted, and indeed wrote as much on a note tacked to her will-- tacked being the key word here, so I am not compelled by law to do this, but--oh Christ, probably will.

A decision which pleases me has been made by Ken, in Gardener Mode, to put all the pachysandra we're (he's) digging up--in all the window boxes and then see what happens. The hope is that it'll all take immediately with no new good soil and never require watering or weeding and stay alive in minus 40 degree snowstorms.

Laurie has meanwhile busied herself tagging, colour-coding with post-its, everything in the attic as to where it needs to go. 12 people arrive tomorrow, fro Dumpster Day, to get stuck in. My contribution so far is Coronation Chicken, Salmon cakes, leek and potato soup, and some cake I found in the freezer (as well as the chicken and the soup), and will probably wash my hair in honor of the event. 

Speaking of which  Peg's Italian hairdresser of 30 years, Tina, arrived today for a commiseration visit, along with her Italian husband Dante. They brought chocolates. I gave them iced tea, pictures of Peg they wanted, a pair of Peg's earrings, and, a sudden inspiration--the piece of marble Peg stole from Hadrian's Villa in Rome in 1959, figuring if I can't get it back to Italy, at least Italians in Pittsfield have it. 

ZIPPING ALONG

Except someone, probably me, has inadvertantly thrown out the little mesh thing you put the Lavazza in that sits inside the thing you hook into the espresso maker, so this morning I am sitting here with the worst latte you can imagine, not counting gas station machine coffee, cobbled together using Melita filters and Lactaid (because someone used up the whole normal milk).

But otherwise been having great days, clearance-wise. The guys from Heartwood, an eco-joinery up the road,  got very excited over all the wormy chestnut panels from my mother's old apartment in Gramercy Park which had graced the attic here since 1970. The cobwebs looked fake there were so many. Heartwood came, they saw, they came back within the hour with a truck. My kind of people.

Four sets of louvered doors ready for Habitat Restore or something, furniture or building supplies for  ex-addicts or ex-prisoners, can't remember. A run has already been made to them once with ugly accordion doors. They will take all the wooden furniture I don't want too, presently being collected in a room off the LR. 

Speaking of which, old yellow dog pee carpets in both rooms off the LR are now up and reveal beautiful polished wood floors which have not seen daylight since 1970. Carpet also removed from laundry room. Crappy black runners also removed from all kitchen/utility areas, including the cement like black lines the glue or tape has left on the parquet, which comes off beautifully--you may wish to make a note of this-- with a superb product from The Big Y called 'Goo Gone'. And with less elbow grease than one might imagine. Mostly.

Bonnie has cleared and scrubbed the laundry/cleaning room top to bottom and we have thrown away 3 irons that don't work, a dust buster and a washboard which I can't believe anyone here ever used, maybe you a scrub collies against it or something.

Okay now here's the best news: Ken. 

Ken arrived on Thursday with Peg's friend Laurie from Cincinnati. Laurie is the younger sister of a girl I went to high school with and who reconnected with Peg at a Radio & TV convention years ago. Laurie is an artist, a miniaturist to be precise, and makes things. Ken is her cousin who lost his wife to cancer in April. he was a tennis pro and ran  horse farm  , which the bank repossessed. He's just tagging along, figuring out what too do with his life. 

But, meanwhile, while he's thinking, he's cleared the dog porch; cleared the dog pen--pulled ferns, weeded and so on (he brought his own secateurs-clippers which he wears in a pouch on his belt); removed the milkweed forest in the lower garden; is presently clearing the stone steps to the lower garden and removing a foot of pachysandra which had overgrown everything; removed the yellow carpets; brought stuff down from the attic; taken two loads to Goodwill and one to Habitat Restore; removed unwanted hardware from doors, walls; 100 other things; plus made hummus from scratch and laughed at videos of Peg's old shows. 

And Laurie's no slouch either, finding homes for stuff I am fresh out of ideas about--the mask of Agamemnon Peg bought in Mycenae, an etching of Hemingway a friend in Russia made, a piece of the Parthenon (and there's Greece getting all huffy with England about the Marbles, little dreaming all they had to do was call Peg)-- and she is putting a lot of it in Ken's car, I see, to take back to Ohio, to I presume make something miniature out of. Peg's costume jewelery for instance, her earrings will be going onto a picture frame for me, two frames, one for Laurie, one for me. Will let you know if successful. She's awfully good though, so have high hopes.

They are staying at least a week, maybe two.

How good is this.

Plus I had to go out last night, dinner up the road at two elderly ladies' place (not a couple, don't think, friends), and was only going to be polite, that's it, and expecting some nasty casserole but no, a fabulous Indian dinner--seems one of them had grown up in Goa, daughter of a missionary, and then went on to found the neo-natal preemie clinic at Bellevue. The other was married to someone who ran the Equity Library Theatre for years. Becket. Who knew. Surprises abound.

I've not had a good weep yet but can feel it coming. 

Got to go look at Ken's handiwork now and bring him a cold drink, bow down and kiss his feet. Least I can do. 

PEG'S HOME AGAIN

Fred Dery the funeral home guy brought her ashes out on Tuesday. She's now in a brown plastic box with a label stuck to her, sitting next to what's left of Odd, also in a brown plastic box, on the island between the kitchen and the dining room, behind there lazy susan. Peg's friend Laurie, an artist, arrives tomorrow. Laurie's job, besides photographing cookbooks and photo albums, will be to find/make and decorate a pretty box for Peg and Odd. We will then decide what precious Peg and Odd items we think should be buried with them. So far I have the old sheet music for Now Is The Hour, the song they used to sing to one another when Daddy used to have to go back to Norway a lot years ago, and Peg O'My Heart. I have photos (heavy on the collies). A copy of her first Ethel & Albert script. Wedding pictures. Debating about one of Den hugging Peg (from years ago). I will put in the worry beads she bought in Cairo in 1963. The Etruscan vase she bought in Rome in 1958, and which she broke, twice, and I glued back together twice. A brick she stole from Pompeii, also in 1958. Her favorite book, yet to be chosen, she had so many. 

Meanwhile...

A 20 cubic yard dumpster (skip) has arrived, delivered by a woman, who backed the biggest truck you've ever seen, all the way in from the road. I have christened the dumpster with a piece of non skid carpet from the kitchen. I would pull more strips up but I notice a lot of black sticky stuff is left on the parquet flooring now which my flip-flops stick to so--best wait for Outside Bob and some sort of trusty unguent from his magic truck. A Dumpster Party has been organized for next Tuesday: 12 able bodied friends will clear the attic, garage and house proper of All Things Dumpsterish. And I will point and do lunch.

Monday I did two radio interviews about Peg.

Yesterday Terri and Candee my oldest friend in the world (i.e. known the longest) arrived from Connecticut to help empty the new kitchen. There is a new kitchen and an old kitchen here. They meld into one another and look like one, but they are, in our minds, two, and always have been. Goodwill and Salvation Army made out like bandits yesterday. Candee also offered me the best advice so far: get out of here and take a walk, get some air, so we did. I got a horsefly bite.

The Gay Brigade arrived for a Peg Freezer Dinner, which all went according to plan until I learned that their Algerian friend, Ali, is a Muslim and not crazy for pork (fillets on the barbecue) or shrimp (canapes with red cocktail sauce). Some fish was found. And orange juice (no wine either). They went home with a quart size zip-lock full of Peg's costume jewelry, the glitzier the better, much of which they tried on during dinner. They also took 6 huge boxes of books for Lee Library. I love the Gay Brigade.

Outside Bob returned in the evening with a trailer and wife and 5 year old, and took 5 Staples bookcases. His son was at that super-wired stage of the day where bedtime should have been an hour ago, and raced around like the Tasmanian Devil, up and down and on and off everything, with Sheri, his mother saying "Bryce? Now don't touch that--" and Bryce paying no attention. Glad the ashes hadn't been delivered yet.

I made 11 more phone calls to Peg friends who I'm sure don't read the papers, so don't know. I am ringing everyone in her address book who she has marked with a little red heart. When she did this, I don't know, many of these numbers are 'no longer in service' which I imagine means the owners aren't either.

All this was accomplished with no internet. Thank you, Verizon Phone. One day without and I was anxious. Two days and I was beginning to be unpleasant to be around. Three days and, 'Hello, Virgin? About that ticket for Aug 27.." Sad, isn't it, how dependent we've become. Bonnie spent no exaggeration half of yesterday on hold with Verizon or talking to Verizon employees, none of whom apparently communicate with one another.  This morning, upon awakening, my cell phone dinged "EMAIL!" and I was happy to discover the internet was ON. The euphoria was, however, short-lived, because by the time I took two phone calls on the land line, shouting over the terrible static and telling everyone to hang up and call me on my USA cell--the internet was down again. I rebooted the modem, and my laptop, and all was well. It took me until 5 PM to discover that every time I picked up the landline to shout my cell number, it disconnected the internet. Perfect, or what. Thank you Verizon, again. I don't cope well with this sort of thing. Am leaving it for Bonnie to sort tomorrow, and meanwhile not answering the house phone (and also the answer machine, just in case) which rings, I kid you not, 9 times an hour, better not be missing the police calling everyone to say there's an axe murderer loose so lock your doors.

Will take a pill tonight, after three terrible nights in a row listening to trees fall down in the forest, coyotes, thunderstorms, and my heart.

The other thing I lie awake thinking about is how to take Bonnie back to England. I can get used to this personal assistant thing, big time.

THE REAL FRIENDS

Although what I am about to say does in no way apply to everyone I know, it has been my experience, that, generally,  in times of crisis, people tend to fall into two categories: the ones who offer to help and then stay where they are; and the ones who get in the car. 

Paul and Jackie and their two children drove up from New Jersey yesterday for the night. Jennifer, who used to babysit Jackie years ago, arrived from Boston for the night. Five years ago Jackie had a severe stroke at the age of 43(?) and lost the use of an arm, a leg, and the power of speech. Aphasia, it's called. Jackie was more help in 24 hours than many people I know would have been in a year. I bow down before her, humbly, and her husband and children. http://steveadubato.org/aphasias-impact-on-the-family/

Paul is a lawyer. Paul went through every single document in every single folder and file drawer in the house and within seconds had three piles: save, pitch, and shred. The pitch pile was the biggest. he took the shred pile home with him to do there (when we discovered our shredder was good for little  more than almost shredding his 12 year old son Jackson's right hand, who was trying to fix it). Paul examined and advised on every document from the safety deposit box. Paul went to the attic and brought down three trunks, which we all then emptied. Paul moved furniture. Paul did dishes. Paul made breakfast. Jackie meanwhile sorted Blue Book crap. Their kids did what they were told to do, happily and willingly.  And the family went home to New Jersey today with a Subaru Outback and roof rack packed full of Becket stuff, from artificial Xmas trees each kid wanted for their room to my father's Norwegian boyscout uniform from 1926 (Jackson is a keen Scout) to needlepoint wall hangings of mine, to the ridiculous 3 foot high helmet I made for actor David Clennon in 1970 in his role as the Knight of the Mirrors in Man of La Mancha, which Peg has fondly kept all these years for reasons that escape me, the formerly bright purple mirror-encrusted ostrich plumes now pukey beige and missing 98% of the plumage. Jackson and Rachel (15) had to practically sit in each other's lap for the ride home.

Jennifer, meanwhile, my maid of honor first time round, was the happy recipient of a similar amount of stuff and her Volvo went back east down the Pike equally stuffed.

At which time the house went from the lively, vibrant home full of people it used to be in its heyday, to me left alone waving them off down the drive--but unbelievably happy that so many Peg-treasured items had found a perfect home, and one that she would be pleased with (Sadly, no one wanted the samovar Peg bought in Moscow in 1968 even thought I sweetened the deal with three boxes of Lipton tea (one already opened) and Introductory Russian Grammar, a book from freshman year Vassar. )

And you know what? The house doesn't look one fucking bit emptier. Even with two full carloads gone. It would be very easy for a less--determined--person to get depressed about this. I imagine.

Meanwhile Peg's website is getting oodles of hits and I answer about 10 Peg fans every day, strangers writing to say how much pleasure she's given them over the years or how thrilled they are to discover her. I can't not answer. She replied to every single fan letter that came to her, personally, always. I can at least do the same.

Meanwhile also, 'Sorry for your loss' cards pour in. Some a bit formal and predictable, some heartfelt. 

Someone wants to do a documentary film on her. 

Tomorrow I have to go be interviewed by radio whatever Albany. Fortunately only have to go as far as a studio over the mountain in Pittsfield (Albany 90 min) so can multi-task, love it love it, and drop off the Kennedy half dollars still hanging around of Odd's at the coin place on the way, and the Peg picture I came across she'd autographed to Tina her hairdresser, and buy bubble wrap so Louise can start eBaying Peg's 18K gold rimmed Lenox dinner service which I have finally decided I do not want. And tomorrow I will order the 20 cubic yard dumpster.  

And, am thinking I might go to Lucky Nails and get my nails done, instead of chewing them. If there's any left.

Card Jennifer and I found today amongst Peg's cardboard box of mismatched stationery, "cute" cards, cards never sent, Valentines addressed and stamped but never sent and so on: 

"I've used up all my sick days so I'm calling in DEAD."

I miss Turner Movie Classics blaring in the background. Would turn it on, whatever's playing, if I could figure out the remote.