House Arrest

Going into the studio yesterday was inspiring. It’s so beautiful. The cork doors are on the water room now and the paper shelving is done. It’s not a studio now; it’s my studio. I’m over-the-moon impressed with Darrel’s work and how we’ve worked together to create so ideal a creative workplace.

I’m going to have a very long two-foot-wide counter behind my worktable and underneath the new east window. And I’ll have six shelves above it and on either side of the window for all my supplies and I can store bulk materials in bins under the counter.

I’ve done much more than I planned to do and spent more money than I expected to as well, but I’ve got a place that’s beyond-the-pale better than I ever dreamed of; I am thrilled with it.

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I’m going to run out of wood at the end of March. I’ll have burned four cords. I’m going to have to get six cords a year now that I have two stoves. That’s eighteen hundred bucks.

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Notice the emerging theme? The expression “bleeding money” comes to mind.

Diet Coke is exactly twice as expensive here as it was in the city. Limes are $1.00. And so very many things I have bought adjusting from tiny condo to half an acre and three buildings have come with hefty shipping costs.

It may mean I have to go with Plan B for the sunroom but I am fine with that. The sunroom is a bit of a folly whereas the studio is vital.

My rationale is simple: C-PTSD has had me in house arrest for almost two years. Dr. S. says the prognosis is that this condition will be ongoing, so if I am going to live the rest of my life in quarantine it’s going to be a nice prison.

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It’s Dwight’s birthday today. We’ll talk on Skype later. We Skyped last night too while he and Laura were having martinis. It was so, so nice to feel together with them and to chat with both of them and their daughter, Natalia. A good friend is a real privilege. 

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Last night I managed to stay awake until 9:00 pm. My sleep pattern really has nothing to do with Sheba. I think it’s just about being old plus my being a life-long early riser.

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I’m going to brag here: On Thursday I made absolutely world-class perfect and delicious vinaigrette. I’ve only ever mastered “acceptable” vinaigrette in the past but this batch is saintly. Paula even commented on it. (Uninvited by the way!)

Steve, my ex, made perfect vinaigrette every time. Now I can do it. It’s all about ratio and I can remember what I did. (I only measure the liquid ingredients.) Simple salad is one of my favourite things to eat: Lettuce, tomato, green onion (or red) and vinaigrette (with salt and pepper).  

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I’m still getting shivers of glee because Sheba’s housebroken and when I consider my blessings I am still not taking the surety of water for granted. (Getting my water system in order cost two and a half grand. There’s that theme again.)

Everyone asks how big she will get; two “formulae” seem to sum everything up. One theory is to double her weight at 4 months old. That’s her age now.

I’m more curious about her height. It’s said that most dogs will be at 75% of their final height at around 6 months old. If that’s correct she may be biggish, but not too big. I could care less about her size but I find myself hoping she’ll be big.

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I wrote about considering building a puppet theatre as my next project. I meant a marionette theatre. I’d forgotten the difference between the two.

I was surprised to learn the etymology of the name marionettes. “Marionette” means “little Mary” in French. I’d never realized that. Stringed puppets were used to tell bible stories to illiterate citizens long ago. Consequently, “marionette” came to be used as the name for all stringed puppets.

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Today will be just another day at Pinecone Park with Fred, Ethel, Sheba, the birds and the deer that come by regularly now that I feed them. I’ll prepare the garbage for collection on Monday and work on Mertz Manor.

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Today is the last day of my first quarter at Pinecone Park. I’ve been here exactly three months and I’m rather astounded by all I’ve accomplished and learned to be honest.

But now the pace has slowed. The flurry of initial visits is over and the pets and I are successfully merged as a family — an odd one, but one that works very well.

I take not a moment for granted. It seems every time my eyes change target I see something to be grateful for — especially my pets.

Right now all the sky I can see is pink and purple. I see the colour behind the black silhouettes of huge Fir trees. And I this perfect warm and cozy log home with a studio and a hot tub and a massive yard/garden. I’m feckin’ giddy all the time, folks.

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PS: Regarding the birds I’ve been thrilled to see two golden Thrushes coming every day. They’re quite big and not intimidated by the Jays. I now see Thrushes, Jays, Woodpeckers, Flickers, Chickadees, Towhees and Sparrows regularly. I hear the Ravens and Turkeys but I don’t often see them.