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Haphazardly yours

  • Posted on February 25, 2011 at 11:47 am

I had an awesome blogpost halfway written in my head last night. Unfortunately, I was also warm and comfycozy under my covers and SO NOT COMING OUT.

So you get this.

Because I forgot the whole thing. There’s not even a whisper of a faint memory. I just remember that it was going to be an awesome post.

School is going well. It’s a much more solid semester than most of my previous ones. I just have to…decide on a major.

Y’all, I have a difficult time deciding on what paint to put on my bedroom walls – deciding where to focus my degree program has gone from a vague idea to downright impossible.

I want it all. With sprinkles on top.

~~~~~

I’ve started cooking again. So far, the problem has become that I make a recipe and I’m the only one that eats it.

I do not love leftovers.1

You can see the conundrum. I cook, eat, and decide that I don’t want anymore.

And yes yes, I know I could stick it in the freezer until I decide I want it again. The issue there is…I usually don’t want it again until the frozen leftovers are completely inedible.

Buh.

~~~~~

The boys are doing moderately well in school.2 I’m trying to get things worked out so that I’m homeschooling them in addition so that any holes in their education are plugged.

~~~~~

And that’s all I have right now.

  1. Unless it’s a dish that involves planned leftovers. Soup and beans taste better the next day. [↩]
  2. Meaning they still go every day. [↩]

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A house disrespected

  • Posted on May 2, 2009 at 4:58 pm
This entry is part 6 of 10 in the series atypicalrelationship

I went to the house he’s been “renovating” for Mama. The demolition has been done, and the wall repair/primer is up. He told me the stucco crumbled when he pulled the wallpaper down, and therefore the entire kitchen must be redone. He says that putting panelling up would be less expensive than replacing the drywall. In the rest of the house, the old carpet has been pulled up, but the old pad is still there – ostensibly to protect the floor. The floor that is going to be covered by new carpet…

There is only one small section of wall that is stucco in the kitchen- where the old chimney is. The rest of it is drywall. He had hammered holes in the drywall, looking for the studs. He sees me looking and tells me not to worry – there’s only a week’s worth of work left and then he’ll be done.I know better. There is too much to be done – the house is an old one and a job that SHOULD take a day usually takes three. I take my leave, having reviewed the to-do list with him.

Days later he calls to tell me the panelling is up, so I make arrangements to go by the house and see what he’s done. Mama and her friend (who is a contractor) come with me, so we can have a “professional” opinion. Shock. Horror. Amazement. Trepidation. These are not words you expect to use when viewing the work of Someone To Marry. Especially when they’re doing a “labor of love” for you.

There is demolition debris still on the floor. There is…stuff…on the wall. It’s not panelling it’s….oh dear lord it’s luan plywood. Some of the panels are hung vertically, some horizontally. That will not work – it has a grain to it. He’s used button-cap nails to fasten it – which means they will stick out. He didn’t use straps to bridge the no-longer-standard gap between the studs, so when you place your hand in the center of the panel and push, it bows in. A lot. I walk through the rest of the house – it looks like nothing else has been touched. What in the WORLD has he been doing for the last two months??!!?? (Obviously? Not working on the house.)

There is yet another meeting with him. Neither of us is happy – he wants to be left alone to work and that is not.going.to.happen. Too much has already gone wrong.

Another month goes by. He calls to tell me the fuel oil tank is empty. I ask if he’s there, I’ll have the oil company deliver a minimum order ASAP. He’s not.

I stew for a bit, then hop in the car to meet the delivery guy. Someone DOES have to be there for it, after all. My head exploded when I walked in the door. Demolition debris? STILL on the floor. Drywall had been hung (over the phone jack and a power outlet), but not taped/mudded. I picked up a shovel and dust mask, taking my fury out on the largest pile of debris. The rest of the house is STILL in the same state it was.

He’s fired.

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You can fix anything with duct tape…almost.

  • Posted on May 31, 2007 at 10:43 am

Jenn (Mommy Needs Coffee) has a thoughtful post up today about Shattered Vases. An antique, one-of-a-kind, absolutely irreplaceable vase smacks the floor with a crash and no matter how many hours you spend searching, sweeping, and gluing, the vase has a hole that can’t be repaired. And what if *you* are the vase? My answer was (I hope) pithy…

If you need to use the vase, you slap a piece of duct tape on both sides of the holes and turn that side to the wall.

Conversely, you can take the shattered pieces of the vase, shatter them further, and use them to make a mosaic tile or plate. Then it will have a different function, but still be beautiful AND remind you of what was.

When you’ve had the wind knocked out of you, the instinct is to curl up into a ball and protect the rest of your body. The absolute last thing that you want to do (stand up straight) is the very thing that you MUST do to breathe again.

I can answer that way, because I was/am that vase. My move to Florida was the duct-tape repair, my move back to NC was the beginning of the mosaic tile. My perpetual WIP (work in progress). I like to pull the tile out and run my fingers over the surface, remembering how THIS crack was made and how jagged that edge was and how painful the wound was when I picked that piece up and gouged myself. There are still times when the ground shakes in my little world, and I pick the tile up and hold it close, protecting it and myself.

There were many times…there ARE many times when I wish there were someone here to help me complete the mosaic. It’s difficult work and time consuming. I have to stop working on it and attend to other things. Having someone else working on it would not only mean an earlier completion, but that my work would be less lonely.

The hardest part is taking a hammer to a large piece. It’s beautiful, and the pattern is still so vibrant in places – but shatter it I must, to fit it in the mosaic. Gently tapping, hoping there are no faults in the ceramic or hairline cracks through it, I do my best to preserve the pattern. It is these times when I’m glad I’m alone in this project. There’s no-one to blame but myself if it doesn’t turn out the way I wanted and expected it to. There’s no-one to take the credit if it turns out beautifully.

I wonder what to do with the smallest pieces. The anonymous specks of dust and sharp but blank shards of myself. Can I, SHOULD I do anything with these? They can always be mixed into the mortar, but would that inherently weaken the finished piece? I save them, will continue to save them, and hopefully an idea will strike, or a new method of binding them together will appear. It seems superfluous to hold onto them when I have so.many.pieces to work with, I know. Chalk it up to my “don’t throw that away, you might need it” upbringing.

Jenn also says:

As many times as I have been knocked down, beaten down and broken, never have I been shattered to a point where I can’t find a way to brush myself off. Partly because I have wanted to get through and move forward. What do you do when all you want to be is that damn vase before it shattered? What happens when you just cannot stop longing to be that pre-destroyed vase? What do you do when you know you can no longer be that damn vase because that piece is never, ever coming back to make it all work and for the love of god you don’t want to be anything else but that old vase? Forget new purpose and new meaning. You want the original to work.

And it doesn’t.

Then what?

I have pictures…I look at them and remember. Love and pain. Keening loss. Betrayal. Joy. I look more closely at the pictures, and I can see cracks in the vase that I didn’t notice at the time. Wishing that things had been differently, wondering how the vase got off the shelf in the first place. Knowing that the original was functional, but it can be made better, stronger.

They say that hindsight is 20/20, but what they don’t tell you is that you’re looking at it through the dewy star-lens of time – so it’s not REALLY clear sight.