Word by Word
November 2006
Tuesday, November 2, 2006
noon
My self-induced chaos continues. I have wood floors, but now I also have painters. Soon I will have a freshly painted apartment, plus lovely wood floors, and cats that come out from under the bed. Poor furry things.
But to my eyes, it is so lovely in here that I'm inclined to get the floors extended into the bedrooms. But first things first. It's maybe not quite sane to decide until I've got all the junk back out of the two bedrooms (well, not junk, but when all your belongings are piled all over the place, they look like junk).
It may be that I suffer from some neurosis about all this. One of the writing classes I took last year had an exercise to write about the first house you can remember. I wrote about the house I lived in at 5th and Semlin Drive in Vancouver. Lots of memories of that place, but one memory struck me as significant. My father renovated the place: I have clear pictures in my brain of the house up on stilts as the basement was built in (originally there was a dirt floor under the house). Then of course he had to build new stairs, front and back. I don't remember him doing anything else there, except move out for a while, before he moved back with a new wife and her daughter (that's when I moved with my brothers and the old wife, to another house).
(Doesn't that sound bad? The way things are phrased can really colour the emotions can't it?)
But really, my point is that one of the things I learned early was that you renovate. Too bad I also learned that men leave. Takes forever to realize that this is almost like an expectation, hard-wired. Ah, life. But I'm sure I'll eventually get it right here. At least I've broken the pattern of doing renovations right before you move out, which is what it turned out I did at the house. No, I plan to stay here for awhile. It's getting to be too nice to hand over to someone else.
(To be fair, there was lots of work done at the house when the kids were little. Oh, no! Do you think they'll all be renovators too? But maybe they're safe, as I'm their mom, and not their dad. Hmmm. Their dad left too. Oy oy oy.)
Friday, November 10, 2006
evening
Out of chaos comes order. This is using the term in the physics sense, and not in the mythological sense, which wouldn't really fit, as there is something here, not a void.
A system, while appearing disordered, is not, according to chaos theory (which I've only the haziest of understanding of -- perhaps that is because my brain is chaotic in the mythical sense).
My apartment, while appearing to be a disordered system, is gradually resolving itself into a state of order. It's just taking a bit longer; something about the factor of three (mathematics, not physics) that my brother says must always be applied to projects of this sort. It doesn't help that each time something gets finished I see several more tasks to be done.
Right now my main bedroom is empty and I'm camping out in the living room. This was so that it could be painted, which has happened. I'm going to have wood floors put in there too, arranged for next Wednesday. This gives me time to also empty the second bedroom, my office, so both rooms can be done at the same time. It'll be a bit hard to get around in here for a few days, but then there'll be that sigh of delight when there are floors everywhere.
After that there are some fiddly bits of painting left; inside closets and around the baseboards which are only primered. Also the closet innards will need to be adjusted slightly as the floor will be a smidge higher than the carpets. Details. The kitchen is going to be painted too, and because it's so small it counts as fiddly as well. No quick sweeping of the roller in there.
But it's all according to plan, so not really chaotic (in the mythological sense), and barring any more factors of three, will be absolutely dazzling by the end of the month.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
1 pm
The factor of three is at work, or at least two, as the floor guys are still here. But they really are almost finished, which means I can put some of my stuff back this afternoon. Not much though; book club tonight. It'll be nice to dust myself off and sit around with some friends. I'm even a passenger tonight, so I can have an extra glass of wine. (The book is The Birth House, by Ami McKay. I'm interested what others thought about it; my own response is mixed. The story is set in rural Nova Scotia, and is a funny mix. At first I was totally immersed in the details about time and place [WWI ish] but it's got first-novel-itis. Everything tossed in, and it loses coherence. Also the message started to outway the story. Not that I disagree with the message, about midwifery, and women's control over our own bodies. Just I started to get overwhelmed with man bad woman good. And it seemed to stray out of it's period, into a more modern sensibility. Good for the cause, but the story suffers. Aren't I negative? We'l see whether my book club sways my opinion. All the same, it's a worthwhile read.)
It's been a bit trying here, though I have to remind myself that whining is not a very attractive activity. After reading in the paper about all the damage done to people's homes yesterday and last week because of the extraordinary weather, I can't see where I've anything to whine about. Tearing up my home on purpose just doesn't rank on the richter scale. (Gee, I hope that's not next.)
Warm and dry in here, if a bit dusty. My poor cats are under my bed, which still sits in the middle of the living room. They should be thoroughly traumatized by all this; either that or getting hardy. Just another day (or three) of people in here painting, and this place will be ours again. I'm not sure they're too happy with the change. The floor's not as comfy for them as the carpet was, and their feet slip when they run. Awww. (Yes, I'll take pity, and make sure there are some comfy spots for them to lounge around in.)
I've been feeling fairly organized, which is peculiar given the circumstance. But I've managed to keep track of things in this upheaval. Even my chequebook, which I'm going to have to drag out in a little while, to cough up the rest of the price for this reno. I promise come January I'm going to have to learn to be frugal. But staying in shouldn't be too onerous. Which is the whole point I suppose.
Friday, November 24, 2006
7:30 pm
This is a picture of my mother, when she was 62.
I'd like to wish her a happy birthday, but I'm not convinced she'd get the message, though she does pop into my dreams from time to time. I'm not quite clear about what we talk about but I suspect it's me dictating the conversation, and not her.
She ought to be 82 today, but she died in the summer of her 63rd year. About a year after this picture was taken.
18 1/2 years is a long time to not have a good talk with your Mum. Oh well. That's life.
I'm guessing about this picture, but I think it's taken when she's about 5 or so, in Outlook, Saskatchewan.
Rascal.
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