But today I am celebrating a quieter, less domestic, less-communal sort of re-birth. I want to bring myself back to life, and that needs to happen alone.
It's a rocky path, though. I woke at 5 and listened to the birds singing in anticipation of the dawn. I put on a robe and went outside: the air was cool, springlike, almost balmy. I felt almost too warm in my fuzzy yellow robe. The scent of some flower drifted past on a fresh early morning breeze, a light caress. Daphne? Lilac? Something spicy, something sweet, something uplifting. I breathed it in, sensing the serenity of the morning, but my eyes were still gritty and wanted to close, so I went back to bed and had an AWFUL dream about shopping for antiques, paying $75 for a broken box, and somehow upsetting two of my sisters. I woke up and decided to start this day differently. D is at the beach with his men's group, I have the shedroom to myself. I will turn things around, do some Qi Gong, some Tai Chi Chuh, make some coffee, snuggle with my dog.
And it works. The neighborhood is quiet, and my shedroom is like a little cabin in the woods. My urban cabin: I love it so much. The light streams through the skylights, and I look east over my garden while I practise and putter about the little kitchen area. The cat leaps to the window ledge and watches me. She doesn't seem to want in, she is companionable but not snuggly today.
I realize that what I really want is to go back to where I was 20 years ago, living in a one-room converted milk barn. Back then, I walked across the driveway to the big house to take my shower, and it was perfect: I figured out what the weather was and planned my clothing while I washed away the sleep. My house felt connected to the earth and sky, and I felt connected, too. I read A LOT and listened to music. I went for long walks with the landlord's dog, and spent a lot of time with friends. I put a darkroom in the landlord's laundry room. I had everything I needed. I was serene, content.
My shedroom feels very similar: I start every day with a stroll through my garden. I walk around the house to shower, do laundry, use the bathroom, watch TV, use the kitchen. I don't need those last three, at least not often. My kitchenette is sufficient for the basics, TV is a time and brain drain, and once the composting toilet is installed, I am set for most daily living. The big problem is that I cannot really go back to this simpler life and still live with D. The shedroom is too small for two, and he can't live without the amenities. It's really a space built with my needs in mind. He likes it, but only on limited terms.
It's been a tough spring, a tough year, a tough time all around, and not just for me. In general, I know how lucky I have been, how supported. I still have my home, my family, my friends, my pets, my sanity, my health, my work. Basically. There have been stresses on all of these, and I find myself bone-tired by 9 pm, every day. I don't answer phone calls, I don't go to choir or music night, I hurt people's feelings, I hide from them and the consequences of my actions. I lose track of my keys, my phone charger, and my checkbook. (I'm still looking for my keys.) There is no rhythm to my days, and I haven't meditated or practised Tai Chi Chuh or violin or viola da gamba since.....I can't recall when.
The home is evolving, and it's an ongoing process: working with the new tenants, trying to keep the airbnb going, still painting the house and fixing up the yard. There's some remodeling left to do, and some reorganizing and de-cluttering (who knew we had so many pictures? books? vitamins? bottles of cortisone cream? ditto of lotion and shampoo?) Every day has a big project attached to it, sometimes two. Order is slowly being wrought out of the chaos, but it feels like it's taking too long. I yearn for a stable environment. I miss my friends. I miss myself.
But, I do seem to have the remnants of hope to build upon. I have proof, in fact. Recently I sent this message to a friend who was checking up on me:
We went up to Port Angeles to visit Dave's wonderful cousins, and Carbon's laryngeal paralysis kicked in....after one hour on the way home it was so bad we stopped at the nearest clinic. 3 hours later, after several shots, and oxygen treatment, we were on our way, only to stop yet again to spend the night at a Motel 6. Total cost, for all of this, $400.
It's really scary to hear your sweet old dog panting for breath for 5 hours straight. No more road trips for her.
Then we got home and found Simone had an abscess. It was so bad they put in a drain. She's a tuxedo cat, and it looks like a grotesque bow tie. It stays in for 72 hours, which means an RCA victor collar and being sequestered inside. When I put the collar on her, she backed into a corner, eyes round with fright, and refused to eat or drink. We left her in the living room over night, and in the morning she greeted me sans collar and made a bolt for the outdoors. But, we've managed to keep her fairly well contained, and she's leaving the drain alone, so such is life. She really is quite sweet, and doesn't fight me too much over all this unnatural treatment.
Cost for that, $170. It would have been closer to $700, but I got a wellness plan last year when she had what has become her annual spring abscess.
Amongst all of this, I decided that, while the rooms were empty, we really should refinish the floors and paint the walls before the new housemates move in. That's tomorrow. Needless to say, we are not meeting that deadline. Cost for floors, $500. Cost for paint, $350. Will be working with the housemates to finish up.
We made $1375 on the sale. You do the math!
I spent today reorganizing the entire kitchen and clearing away the grime of 20 years, prepping for a shared kitchen. The floor guys came today, so it was the only room we could access. Fortunately, the shed room remodel is basically done, and we can sleep and rest out there. We put Carbon and Simone out there to keep them away from the chaos.
During all of it, I've been bickering with D. It makes me so sad that we don't always pull together. This work could be fun, or at least a way to build closeness. Instead we argue about what to do and how to do it. The moments of consensus emphasize the disconnects, and I can't seem to focus on the positives.
On the plus side, the various changes to my homestead are wonderful, and once the final arrangements are made, it'll be a huge relief. I've needed to declutter for a long time. I really like my little shed. It's like a cabin, with a peaked roof, roses peeping in the windows, rain on the skylights, a little kitchenette, and a shuttered closet. The only thing it lacks is a bathroom. We're adding an outhouse next week, and regular bathroom stuff will be in the main house. Reminds me of my days in the milk barn on Taylor's Ferry Road.
Then we got home and found Simone had an abscess. It was so bad they put in a drain. She's a tuxedo cat, and it looks like a grotesque bow tie. It stays in for 72 hours, which means an RCA victor collar and being sequestered inside. When I put the collar on her, she backed into a corner, eyes round with fright, and refused to eat or drink. We left her in the living room over night, and in the morning she greeted me sans collar and made a bolt for the outdoors. But, we've managed to keep her fairly well contained, and she's leaving the drain alone, so such is life. She really is quite sweet, and doesn't fight me too much over all this unnatural treatment.
Cost for that, $170. It would have been closer to $700, but I got a wellness plan last year when she had what has become her annual spring abscess.
Amongst all of this, I decided that, while the rooms were empty, we really should refinish the floors and paint the walls before the new housemates move in. That's tomorrow. Needless to say, we are not meeting that deadline. Cost for floors, $500. Cost for paint, $350. Will be working with the housemates to finish up.
We made $1375 on the sale. You do the math!
I spent today reorganizing the entire kitchen and clearing away the grime of 20 years, prepping for a shared kitchen. The floor guys came today, so it was the only room we could access. Fortunately, the shed room remodel is basically done, and we can sleep and rest out there. We put Carbon and Simone out there to keep them away from the chaos.
During all of it, I've been bickering with D. It makes me so sad that we don't always pull together. This work could be fun, or at least a way to build closeness. Instead we argue about what to do and how to do it. The moments of consensus emphasize the disconnects, and I can't seem to focus on the positives.
On the plus side, the various changes to my homestead are wonderful, and once the final arrangements are made, it'll be a huge relief. I've needed to declutter for a long time. I really like my little shed. It's like a cabin, with a peaked roof, roses peeping in the windows, rain on the skylights, a little kitchenette, and a shuttered closet. The only thing it lacks is a bathroom. We're adding an outhouse next week, and regular bathroom stuff will be in the main house. Reminds me of my days in the milk barn on Taylor's Ferry Road.
Still, I'm doing okay. Still interviewing for library gigs, still renting the studio for airbnb, still working on call, still wishing for a new career. Looks like innkeeper or landlord is the most likely. At any rate, I'll try not to let you all down. I hope you are right about my ability to ride this out. It's pretty exhausting right now.
Okay, so, the remnants of hope are a little tattered.
Awww. Carbon is welcome to sleepovers here when you and D take off for weekends! We would try not to be too exciting for her. :)
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