Friday, November 17, 2017

Stacking Day II

A week alone and I feel so much better but it’s not the solitude that has me so pleased it’s the time I have had to finish getting settled into life here. It’s little things like creating a space in a cupboard for a small stack of wood and kindling so that starting the fire in the morning is so much easier. Now I know to refill the indoor woodpile before bed.
It was an exciting day here in La Lavende (aka Paradise) yesterday.
First of all my gates are installed and Darrell confirmed that my fee includes closing in the foundation of my deck with lattice so Sheba can’t disappear under it, into that dark dank land that once housed a family of raccoons. 
Even better: He’s starting on the studio next frigging week! That really excites me. It’s going to be pricey but worth every cent — entirely purpose built and cozy workplace with a wood stove (that will also be a third guest room).
And also on the renovations front: I heard from “Andy” who’s coming from Budget Glass in Nanaimo to plan the sunroom with me. It’s another pricey but worthwhile asset — another playroom.
And I earned the pumpkin gingerbread cookies I devoured yesterday by helping unload and covering two more cords of wood. But when it arrived, all the excitement elicited of the day abated
Finally – and this is something I thought might never happen again — I got caught up on all my email. I am completely up to date with answers for the first time in maybe six weeks. Yowzah!
When I first saw this place I loved it right away. A log cabin, are you kidding? What’s not to love? All the land and the separate studio were jewels in the crown.
There are two other buildings too. One is my garage shed that I recognized as practical but I initially thought it was a big ugly carbuncle on my beautiful backyard landscape. But no more: I love that building now. I fell in love with it yesterday morning sorting through all my f**king recycle materials because I was warm and dry and it is so well lit that working in it is a delight.
It houses my scores of separate garbage containers: One for old light bulbs, and others for glass, paper, stretchable plastic, rigid plastics and polystyrenes, organics, waste, garden scraps and two for drink containers. It’s what you must do here. Plus my wonderful shed houses my generator, painting and building materials and all my gardening stuff in there too. It seriously appeals to my X chromosome whereas the house and studio are Y chromosome driven.
It’s starting to feel odd following Vancouver media. I read about stuff going on there and then wonder why I bother. It’s starting to feel irrelevant. And I’ve absolutely no interest in politics. (But I am glad to read that the Kinder Morgan pipeline sprung a leak today — not for the environment where the leak happened of course, but for the anti-pipeline movement here.)
Today I stack wood all day to earn my pie. I lucked out with both wood deliveries: Today is clear, a perfect day for wood stacking just like last time.  Once I stack this load I’ll be taking the rotting compost and old wood palettes out of the yard and then Pinecone Park will be back to health.
And then it’s onto the most exciting projects: The studio and sunroom.
When I had the condo it came to feel like a cage. Especially since my office was a teeny room off my bedroom. Here my office is in the “grand” room that is also my dining room, kitchen and living room.
Hands. I’ve learned so much of late.
There’s been progress with Fred and Ethel and I realize that they’ve become familiar with my tendency to pat. I now understand that from their perspective, coming at them with a flat hand aimed at their head was unfamiliar or unwanted.
Brent, I noticed, picked them up by the scruff of their necks and that might be why they are hand averse. But that is changing.
Sheba thinks my hands are playthings because they are the things that ruffle her fur and pat and fondle her so she wants to bite them.
And my hands are vital for communication. They are how I indicate to strangers that I am mute. They mime speech for me and write notes.
I never washed my hands much in Vancouver. Here I wash them a dozen times a day — so often I have to use hand cream to combat the dryness. But even with work gloves (a new passion) they get dirty from the constant work, Sheba and from the fire setting I am doing.
The things I ponder, eh? But it’s the change I see in Fred and Ethel’s relationship with my hands that got me thinking about how important they are to me and to us.

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