Where Did that Last Minute Go To?

Almost one month ago, my main external hard drive stopped working. The day passed in a frenzy of activity that proved useless at resuscitating the vital piece of equipment, and every day I discover a new folder that is missing research and photographs. I am a strong advocate in backing up electronic files, and I did pretty well with this until the Pandemic hit. The past year was hit and miss with my patterns of redundancy, and I’ve been in mourning for my lack of attention and the loss of so many items.

(And before anyone pipes up with helpful tips about backing up to the cloud: I live in rural America. We don’t have high-speed internet. Although an AT&T fiberoptic line runs to our house, AT&T is no longer required to provide service – so – they don’t. We exist on our cellular data, which is a struggle with two adults working from home and one of them ensconced in our dining room on Zoom calls all day, every day.)

The good news is that spring has (knock on wood) arrived!

So I apologize for it being almost a month since my last post, but between feeling slightly helpless at the loss of all of my “to write about files,” the continued struggle of working from home with two small children at home full-time, and starting some work on our 1901 farmhouse – my desire to write as well as the necessary time for the activity have both been in short supply.

Shortly before Christmas, we received the distressing news that were noticeable levels of lead in our home. I am a historic preservation professional – and yet this happened to me and my family. It’s not just chipping paint you have to watch for (we both knew this) – but an unseen culprit that is even more dangerous – lead dust.

As part of remediation efforts, we’re tackling some projects that are not only making things safer but greatly improving the bland color palette of white on white. Our house was clad in vinyl siding sometime in the 1980s (my educated guess). The windows, thankfully, were left alone, and the exterior window trim was not covered up. We will now have a green and white house, with green trim around the windows and doors to counter all of that mealy white siding.

In addition to lots of exterior work, we decided to remove some problematic features inside the house, including a flue that was taken down below the roofline decades ago. It hasn’t been in use for probably 50 or more years, and while it seems small, it is a big roadblock to doing much in a small kitchen. But of course it has to come down from the top down, so today work started on the second story (the attic was completed yesterday).

This morning, my carpenter (who is simply the best) handed me a small piece of worn and discolored paper. He found it while removing the baseboard – years ago, it must have fallen down behind the trim. Typed at the top reads “Where did that last minute go to?”

Given that it appears to be from a typewriter, I am guessing it came from one of my cousins prior to the farm and house being sold in 1973. As to what it means – my interpretation is that this scrap of paper is a missive from the past, directing me to cherish the mad mad minutes that make up my life.

I miss my professional life. I miss a world without masks. But as the air outside warms and the robins return, there is no place I would rather be than this old farmhouse and this farm, chasing around two scamps, and tumbling into bed each night exhausted, as my “to-do” list grows longer and longer.

There is one more thing to add to the list – we need a porch swing!