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California where people who had lived there all their lives - old-timers, whose eccentricities had remained intact - surrounded us.Welcome to the official Facebook Page about Ripcurl.

Take Warren, for instance. Warren loved kittens,Detailed information on the causes of Hemorrhoids,Has anyone done any research on making Plastic molding parts from scratch? but lost interest when they became cats, and his neighbors, weary of feeding the multitudes, assumed responsibility for having Warren's animals spayed.

There was Elaine who, year-round, wore a red velvet Santa Claus hat trimmed with white fur. And Alicia, who was Vassar-educated but, as a youngster growing up in our village, had learned to feed pigs, raise chickens and, at one time, had tested milk for the local farm bureau. She had hoped to marry a farmer and raise 12 children. Instead, she remained single and raised worms for local fishermen.

Frank, our young neighbor, was another eccentric. Our home was situated on a slight rise at the northern end of town, overlooking Frank's property. Several shacks and outbuildings were located behind his house, and it was impossible to determine exactly how many people were living in them.

Every time the living room curtains came down at the main house, we knew Frank's latest girlfriend had moved out.

A brown jeep sat on the road, a truck was parked next to Frank's back door, and three vehicles - including an old sedan, a second truck and a 45-passenger, dirty, white school bus, minus wheels and door - could be seen sitting in the shade against the back fence. At one time, Frank owned six tractors, and five of them were buried under debris.

One year, when he was on a gardening spree, Frank constructed a greenhouse, but before the job was completed,What to consider before you buy oil painting supplies. a windstorm blew everything away except the plastic roof and one side of the building. That was the summer Frank was going to plant petunias in an old bathtub. The greenhouse was never rebuilt and the empty bathtub became a permanent fixture.

Rotting tires, oil drums, abandoned appliances, immense piles of scrap lumber and antique farm equipment made me fascinated by Frank's ever-evolving "junk" yard. Approximately once a year,We processes for both low-risk and high risk merchant account. he would rev up one of his tractors and begin moving the piles around.

"Frank is cleaning up his yard," I exclaimed the first time this occurred. That was before 82 mice that had been nesting at his place moseyed up our driveway, and ended up in traps my husband had set in our garage.

My husband, Jim, who had spent formative years on his grandparent's farm in Utah, attempted to explain Frank's philosophy. "When you live in the country," he told me, "you never throw anything away. If something breaks down and you don't have access to a hardware store, you can usually find something in your junk pile with which to repair it."

Jim was obviously satisfied with this explanation. Not me - it must be a guy thing.