Scarlet Stone

Since my last column, there have been quite a few exciting changes to my house in Soudan, including that fresh paint job I was anguishing about.
The house went from a boring grayish green to fresh white as I finally made the decision on the color and stuck with it, despite a few influencers pushing me in other directions. The results are just lovely, especially after this week’s addition of dark wine-colored board and batten shutters. And getting the front porch painted means Porch Lady, who is herself getting a makeover, can sit on her perch once again.
While the house was getting painted, the insulation company came to fortify my attics with a blown-in material, which made for quite a vacuuming job afterward, but this sure will help this winter.
I also purchased a new garage door and man door, and these will be installed this weekend, plus it sounds like I may even get the garage painted before the snowflakes fly. I sure am grateful and very happy with the wonderful improvements and all the multi-skilled friends who are helping with the projects.
My adventures on the road continue as I tracked down a few more furniture items I located on Facebook marketplace.
I tied one adventure into a medical trip a couple of weeks ago when I drove to the Duluth Essentia Medical Center to have a non-invasive cardiac scan done because there is some genetic concern for blockage (results are zero deposits in the ticker ... so feel free to bring on the cheesecake).
I drove down on a Monday and was glad that the traffic was sparse because I did not know exactly where I was going to park with all the ramps and road construction. I finally found the purple ramp after swirling the block an extra time, then found a parking spot close to the door on the same level as the radiology department.
I take a string of photos as I walk in confusing places. In case I get turned around, I can refer back to my pictures. This was easy compared to other trips I had made through this medical complex over the past years, wandering from parking ramps, going up and down elevators, through skywalks and around corners.
A person must allow plenty of time for navigating once you get into the downtown area, and that’s a fact. Having another set of eyes is what I prefer, but not that day, so you do what ya gotta do.
The scan procedure was so fast, I was out of radiology within 15 minutes and on to my next furniture-find adventure...locating a free, vintage wicker chair, with rounded arms and a design woven into the back rest. A great piece I had to have for some project I have in mind of course!
To assist with navigation, I used my Apple maps, entered the address and proceeded down to W. Superior St. not knowing exactly what sketchy circumstances I would possibly encounter. I messaged the seller to let him know I was enroute and he said he was on his way to what turned out to be a men’s clothing store. Upon entering, I was instructed by a portly gray-haired man in a white shirt and dress slacks to wait at the back of the store.
I walked past the racks of starched shirts, displays, mirrors and wood tables stacked with quality sweaters. The smell of leather was in the air, mixed with the building’s own history (referred to as mildew in some circles), and the faint scent of men’s cologne.
I thought, “How charming, to drift into a place like this on a chair-chase,” and, “Where are the groomed men that wear clothing such as this?”
I sat at the back of the store between a couple of clothing racks and noticed an office area to the right of me with the wicker chair facing in my direction, and it seemed to be saying, “Ms. Scarlet, get me out of here, I’ve been surrounded by starch and testosterone for too long.”
Within minutes, the seller arrived at the store in dress clothing, confirming to me he was an employee. He was a clean-cut, smiling young fellow who chatted as he carried the chair out on to the sunny sidewalk, around the street corner and up the hill to my car.
The two quarters I had shoved into the parking meter to buy me 20 minutes had just expired, when I recalled a time when that same 50 cents used to buy an hour. The gent loaded the chair into the back of my Jeep, I thanked him, and went on my way.
The grass had no chance to grow under my tires because just last Saturday, my friend Mary Batinich, who loves similar adventures, drove me to Cloquet to pick up a perfect metal baker’s rack to be used on my deck next spring for potted plants, and various chachkes.
Upon arriving to town, we veered down several side roads, found the address and pulled in the dirt driveway lined with junk cars, long grass, flowerpots and a haphazardly parked camper.
An assortment of drab articles of laundry slumped over a worn clothesline in the distance amidst a yard full of neglect.
An elderly woman in an apron appeared and greeted us. We exchanged pleasantries, $40, and off we went with the shelf in the back of the Ford Explorer. This seller had given us a treat as well, two small strawberry cupcakes like the ones you get at Walmart in the clear plastic container.
I asked Mary if she trusted them to be safe and she looked at me, perplexed, then took a bite, with me doing the same, and since we are still alive today ... I guess they were safe.
The very next day, because of too much time on Facebook, I found Mary some lovely synthetic wicker furniture at a place out on Long Lake, south of Eveleth. She made one trip down with another friend and ended up buying what she could fit in her vehicle and made arrangements to return this past Monday morning with her trailer to retrieve the rest. I said I would drive her down if I didn’t have to back up the trailer anywhere as I currently lack that skill.
Upon arriving at the site, we both loaded the nearly new chairs and chaise loungers in stacks in the trailer, then happily headed toward home carrying our treasures. Shortly after getting up to around 50 mph while chatting with Mary, I noticed two chaise loungers rise and take flight.
Up and out onto the highway they flew with me yelling out a few expletives. We thought the weight of the furniture packed into the trailer would not require strapping the load. I should have known better from experience.
I quickly pulled over, leaped out and ran down the side of the road to grab and pull one chaise from the centerline before it got hit or caused an accident.
We were so fortunate that there was very little traffic that day as Mary, age 89, with her bum knee sauntered toward me, and dragged the other chaise back to the trailer.
I lowered the steel trailer gate to load the chaises back in but was frustrated as hell, having failed at ratchet strap procedure even after watching a YouTube video the night before. It seemed altogether ill planned to have my elderly companion hobbling alongside of the trailer with her weak knee that nearly gave way while wrestling with a chaise.
Cars went zooming by and I was mad because nobody slowed down, pulled over and said, “Hello ma’am, step aside ... I happen to hold the Guiness Book World record as the fastest ratchet strapper.” Or, “Ma’am, may I ratchet the hell outta that jumbled load of wicker?” In the end, I managed to get the ratchets to hold, and we made it back to Soudan with the moral of the story being, “It’s hard to hold back a woman who is dead set on getting what she wants when she wants it.”
Mary and I are cut from the same cloth in that respect; however, she is a reinforced, double-layer pocket and I am a sleeve or just a hem.
Oh well, whatever happens in a day of events can certainly be made better with a humorous approach.