My little story
She never came to visit. The house called on the mice, I'm alone here, why don't you come and live with me. The mice got together, under the rocks, had a meeting about moving. It's time to go help the house.
They packed up all their mouse belongings and went inside.
They had a great time, dancing on the sofa, climbing the stairs, running through the stove's burners. They called other mice, told them to move from the trees and from under the rocks and join them.
Hundreds of mice walked up the driveway.
The house wasn't happy. You didn't make her come back, call her again.
The mice conferred again, this time in the attic, one said, if she comes back, we'll have to leave, eventually.
These humans hate living with us.
We've gotten use to being inside, it's comfortable, we've set up little tables for cafes, we've made beds under the mattress, we've gotten fat here.
The mice brought in a red tailed squirrel for consultation.
Maybe you can cheer up the house.
How am I going to get in, I can't fit through the little openings you squeeze through.
The mice looked around, sent scouts up to the ceiling.
They came back with news. we think he can get through the fireplace.
It'll be difficult, he may slip up there, but it's worth a try.
We've also got an army of bugs waiting to come in. Will that bring her back ? Where you've been, said the mouse in charge, they've got poisons for bugs all over this place.
Maybe the squirrels can talk to the mosquitos, no, we already tried that, the mosquitos are happy outside, lots of humans waiting to be bitten, what about the ants, the second in command mouse said.
Which ants, the mouse committee asked.
What about carpenter ants, there's lots of wood here ,they'd have a feast everyday.
The next night the carpenter ants moved in, single file marching up the three stairs bringing their tribe with them.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Old Friends, New Friends, No Friends
Maybe people who know you for a long time don't know you at all.
It's like that Gabriel Garcia Marquez quote, "I know my wife so well I don't know her at all."
Those we know, we don't give space to their lives. Maybe it's not we, maybe others do give space, I don't.
Except for a few, those I love and don't fear losing.
Then, watching them change becomes beautiful.
It's those I am not sure about, is that what I mean?
It's a struggle for me to see those closest to me as changing.
I know them, don't I ? Maybe I don't. Maybe I could give them a chance to change, and then maybe I could too.
Saw an old friend, made lots of judgements about who she is and who she thought I was.
I didn't give her a chance to change.
And I didn't feel she gave me a chance.
She told me I was hard on myself. I cried.
Is that what all this is, that I'm hard on myself, unrelenting, always wanting to be better ? Better than what?
She told me I'm not judgemental, she's doesn't know me, I judged...
I am such a work in progress some days I don't know how I have the courage to get up and live another day in this imperfect body and soul.
I want so much to do the right thing. And yet, so many times it goes past me as I fumble through some awful thing I say or do.
I am getting better though. Little by little I'm watching the moment fly by and sometimes I catch it before it completely disappears and I retrieve the thing I want to do and stop the awful thing I was going to do or say.
Also, why do I let people explain simple things to me, without stopping them.
My friend asked me if I knew that an author's work was just a theory, not fact? I nodded that I understood that.
Did she really think I believed it was written in the sky ?
Then my brother tried to explain EZPAss to me.
He said I was defensive, but did he really think by explaining in that sweet, kind voice that people use when they are talking to someone they think has no clue what is going on, how ezpass worked....
Maybe it was a miscommunication ? I don't know.
Ok friends and brother, I understand that a person writes a book and it is their opinion, and I understand how ezpass works....
Now I sorta get what people say about their kids talking to them as if they don't understand things...
That's all just another thought too. I hold on, I'm not a watcher of clouds in the sky. thoughts coming and going.
No, not yet, they stay right in front of me. I stare at them.
But my question is : Why can't I respond in the moment, tell the person how I feel, what I understand and move on, let the clouds roll by....
Sometimes I can't believe someone is actually explaining some simple concept to me. Is it me ?
New friends, they are eager to find out who you are, they don't know what you'll say or do. there is no history, no backstory, it's all front story to them.
I like that.
Maybe I need more new friends.
And then there's no friends, I tend to stay alone at the house, my house.
I tend to spend a lot of time looking at the trees, sweeping the floor, arranging and rearranging things, ideas, feelings.
I do my best to not imagine the house in the future.
I do my best to enjoy it for what it is now, broken shingles,
no front door, chipped and peeling paint.
I do my best to not say to myself, "if only,"
that's a trap I've fallen into too many times.
I do my best to look around at what has gone right, at what I did that worked, although sometimes I wonder if there's anything.
It's peaceful there without the strain of ambition and goals.
My friend has a lot of plans, "I'm not planning these days," she told me and then she started telling me her future plans.
I guess we all do that.
Even when we're not planning there's some event or happening in the future we're looking forward to.
How can you live in the present moment by moment ?
Upstate, it's easier. There's little distraction.
In Manhattan, there's too many worlds, which one to look at, travel to first. It makes my head spin.
Up there, in that little corner of earth, there's a stream,
trees, sun and wind, ambling creatures in the woods.
Ambition comes in short bursts. I'll sweep the floor, make some tea, sit on the chair and watch the water that moves unceasingly.
It's like that Gabriel Garcia Marquez quote, "I know my wife so well I don't know her at all."
Those we know, we don't give space to their lives. Maybe it's not we, maybe others do give space, I don't.
Except for a few, those I love and don't fear losing.
Then, watching them change becomes beautiful.
It's those I am not sure about, is that what I mean?
It's a struggle for me to see those closest to me as changing.
I know them, don't I ? Maybe I don't. Maybe I could give them a chance to change, and then maybe I could too.
Saw an old friend, made lots of judgements about who she is and who she thought I was.
I didn't give her a chance to change.
And I didn't feel she gave me a chance.
She told me I was hard on myself. I cried.
Is that what all this is, that I'm hard on myself, unrelenting, always wanting to be better ? Better than what?
She told me I'm not judgemental, she's doesn't know me, I judged...
I am such a work in progress some days I don't know how I have the courage to get up and live another day in this imperfect body and soul.
I want so much to do the right thing. And yet, so many times it goes past me as I fumble through some awful thing I say or do.
I am getting better though. Little by little I'm watching the moment fly by and sometimes I catch it before it completely disappears and I retrieve the thing I want to do and stop the awful thing I was going to do or say.
Also, why do I let people explain simple things to me, without stopping them.
My friend asked me if I knew that an author's work was just a theory, not fact? I nodded that I understood that.
Did she really think I believed it was written in the sky ?
Then my brother tried to explain EZPAss to me.
He said I was defensive, but did he really think by explaining in that sweet, kind voice that people use when they are talking to someone they think has no clue what is going on, how ezpass worked....
Maybe it was a miscommunication ? I don't know.
Ok friends and brother, I understand that a person writes a book and it is their opinion, and I understand how ezpass works....
Now I sorta get what people say about their kids talking to them as if they don't understand things...
That's all just another thought too. I hold on, I'm not a watcher of clouds in the sky. thoughts coming and going.
No, not yet, they stay right in front of me. I stare at them.
But my question is : Why can't I respond in the moment, tell the person how I feel, what I understand and move on, let the clouds roll by....
Sometimes I can't believe someone is actually explaining some simple concept to me. Is it me ?
New friends, they are eager to find out who you are, they don't know what you'll say or do. there is no history, no backstory, it's all front story to them.
I like that.
Maybe I need more new friends.
And then there's no friends, I tend to stay alone at the house, my house.
I tend to spend a lot of time looking at the trees, sweeping the floor, arranging and rearranging things, ideas, feelings.
I do my best to not imagine the house in the future.
I do my best to enjoy it for what it is now, broken shingles,
no front door, chipped and peeling paint.
I do my best to not say to myself, "if only,"
that's a trap I've fallen into too many times.
I do my best to look around at what has gone right, at what I did that worked, although sometimes I wonder if there's anything.
It's peaceful there without the strain of ambition and goals.
My friend has a lot of plans, "I'm not planning these days," she told me and then she started telling me her future plans.
I guess we all do that.
Even when we're not planning there's some event or happening in the future we're looking forward to.
How can you live in the present moment by moment ?
Upstate, it's easier. There's little distraction.
In Manhattan, there's too many worlds, which one to look at, travel to first. It makes my head spin.
Up there, in that little corner of earth, there's a stream,
trees, sun and wind, ambling creatures in the woods.
Ambition comes in short bursts. I'll sweep the floor, make some tea, sit on the chair and watch the water that moves unceasingly.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Lost and Found
Radio Man
My father was the youngest on the "kiddie cruise."
Two weeks past seventeen.
In the garden he told me,
Flying tiger whiskey, I drank so much, six year sailors called me the flying tiger kid.
They'd hoist me up into bleached coiled net
and deliver my young body
onto the ship's salty air.
Why did I join?
I was lost.
The day my father signed the enlistment papers, he cried.
Do you know what you're doing? He didn't have to say it.
I sailed away.
The night torpedos fell, thousands of stars untangled.
We lived in ration filled life boats
full of death.
The waves a rhythm to our prayers.
How many died ?
Too many
You'll never understand.
My father was the youngest on the "kiddie cruise."
Two weeks past seventeen.
In the garden he told me,
Flying tiger whiskey, I drank so much, six year sailors called me the flying tiger kid.
They'd hoist me up into bleached coiled net
and deliver my young body
onto the ship's salty air.
Why did I join?
I was lost.
The day my father signed the enlistment papers, he cried.
Do you know what you're doing? He didn't have to say it.
I sailed away.
The night torpedos fell, thousands of stars untangled.
We lived in ration filled life boats
full of death.
The waves a rhythm to our prayers.
How many died ?
Too many
You'll never understand.
Bugs no Bigger than this period.
Tiny specks, they crawl, can also sharpen,(or are they rubbing them together, maybe they have an itch?)their tiny little legs and then miraculously fly away ! Who is what is responsible for these creatures ?
I am not alone here, bugs of all kinds, shapes and sizes.
Moths, flies, mosquitos, wasps, bees, butterflies, chipmunks, squirrels, (regular and red tailed)hawks, sparrows, a thousand trees, mostly pine and fir, wild turkeys, tiny orange salamanders, frogs, saw an owl once too, but haven't seen him in awhile. Saw a great blue heron hanging out at the little pond up the street too)
A few moths have stowed away in the car and are now refugees in Manhattan.
I am not alone here, bugs of all kinds, shapes and sizes.
Moths, flies, mosquitos, wasps, bees, butterflies, chipmunks, squirrels, (regular and red tailed)hawks, sparrows, a thousand trees, mostly pine and fir, wild turkeys, tiny orange salamanders, frogs, saw an owl once too, but haven't seen him in awhile. Saw a great blue heron hanging out at the little pond up the street too)
A few moths have stowed away in the car and are now refugees in Manhattan.
House of Holes
Everywhere I look there are holes in my house, outside and inside !
Bruce, mr. pest control, says this is nothing ! "You should see some of the places I go to."
Holes in the stone in the front of the house, holes in every basement window, holes in the eaves up near the peak of the roof, holes in crevices, it seems the more holes I see, the more I see.....
But Bruce is convinced he can plug up all the holes. He's got some strange looking foam that fills in entire windows ! He's made a wire cage like part to go over a piece of the roof, looks awful, but if it keeps out squirrels, chipmunks, mice, and anything else that crawls, walks or gallops, so be it !
And I am beginning the inside hole plugging.
At Lowes I get a patch kit and start applying the patch and then I slather on spackle, it looks more like I'm frosting a cake, but I'll do the best I can.
(And by the way, I 'd rather be frosting a cake !
Two holes done, several more to go.
Bruce, mr. pest control, says this is nothing ! "You should see some of the places I go to."
Holes in the stone in the front of the house, holes in every basement window, holes in the eaves up near the peak of the roof, holes in crevices, it seems the more holes I see, the more I see.....
But Bruce is convinced he can plug up all the holes. He's got some strange looking foam that fills in entire windows ! He's made a wire cage like part to go over a piece of the roof, looks awful, but if it keeps out squirrels, chipmunks, mice, and anything else that crawls, walks or gallops, so be it !
And I am beginning the inside hole plugging.
At Lowes I get a patch kit and start applying the patch and then I slather on spackle, it looks more like I'm frosting a cake, but I'll do the best I can.
(And by the way, I 'd rather be frosting a cake !
Two holes done, several more to go.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Doe a Deer on Father's Day 2011
I should be with my father. That's my first thought. I should be wrapping his present, picking out the scmaltziest, gushiest card I can find. I'm not.
He's here with me, in here, but the change in form is too great. It's too painful, and I can't understand it.
I want to understand it. I want a sign.
We made a pact, or I made the pact and he agreed, whomever gets there first, wherever that is,
will send the other one a sign. Maybe I should have said what the sign would be, but I didn't.
Maybe I didn't think I'd ever have to live that pact. And now I do. And I don't like it.
I think of Eleanor Roosevelt - "You must do the thing you think you cannot do."
She survived the death of her father, whom she adored, and her mother, and a marriage that was difficult.
And I think of Dai Sil - when it gets really bad, she said, I just tell myself I'll get through it, I don't call you, more for myself, I don't call to see if I can do it, and when I do it, when I get through without calling you, I feel better for myself.
At noon, I walk down the path to the stand of my three favorite trees.
I came here after 9/11 with Isabel and Amalia and we sat under the trees and did a meditation.
I can't meditate, not today.
I stand beside one thin tree and wrap my arms around it. Outloud I say St. Francis's prayer.
Before I get through it, I'm crying. I get louder, sobbing.
Then I see a flicker of something moving up on the hill.
It's a doe. She's standing there and she looks at me. She stares.
I look back. I keep crying. She keeps looking.
I imagine she'll come closer to see what I'm doing. She doesn't
She stands at the top of the hill eyes fixed on me. Then she cocks her ears to the side of her head, she looks away. She's done with me, bored by my tears ?
For some reason this makes me stop crying, and we both walk away, she returns to the business of being a deer, (maybe she's going to spread some deer ticks to be sure I'll have at least one latch onto me)
I go back to the business of human life.)
Our lives do not join each others. We're in two different worlds.
Or at least that's what it seems like.
I return to my seat by the stream. I spend most of the day, as I do most days up here, outdoors.
I'm in the air, it's a change from NY.
Most days there I spend indoors.
I watch the birds here, listen to the water, bat the bugs away, look at the lizards on tree trunks, watch spiders weave webs, and notice the sway of tree branches.
Everything in its place, that what's Byron Katie would say.
Everything here to be noticed, or not. Here my eyes fall on shadows on the tree trunk, sun on a leaf, light on the rocks along the stream, and the stillness that accompanies everything.
Peace.
I'm blessed to have a place like this. Blessed, lucky, fortunate.
These last years I did the best I could with everything, including my house.
A part of me wants to say I wish I had done better, but that's the perfectionist part,
the judge and jury, guilty, didn't do enough ! Take her away ! Next.
I don't know exactly what that better would have looked like, if I had spent more time here, less with my father, I would have been remorseful. I do feel some remorse for the times I was up here doing nothing, but I'm trying to let go of that.
If he had needed me, I would have been there.
If I thought he wanted me, I would have been there.
One thing about not feeling your own worth, you misjudge what others might love about you and how your presence brings them joy.
And believing there could have been a better way is believing in the "idea" of me," not the real me.
The real me has mice in her house, carpenter ants crawling around the corners, spiders, maybe a squirrel in her attic, that big, black snake and who knows what else.
The real me makes a mess sometimes of life situations and houses, doesn't always feel the way I think I'm supposed to feel, forgiving, patient, loving, kind....
No, the real me has "reptiles" as St. Teresa of Avila called them, " those interior sufferings of mind, heart, and spirit that you need to face and expel from your soul," crawling around her inner space.
Who can "exterminate" those? Me?
only me.
I'm working on it.
He's here with me, in here, but the change in form is too great. It's too painful, and I can't understand it.
I want to understand it. I want a sign.
We made a pact, or I made the pact and he agreed, whomever gets there first, wherever that is,
will send the other one a sign. Maybe I should have said what the sign would be, but I didn't.
Maybe I didn't think I'd ever have to live that pact. And now I do. And I don't like it.
I think of Eleanor Roosevelt - "You must do the thing you think you cannot do."
She survived the death of her father, whom she adored, and her mother, and a marriage that was difficult.
And I think of Dai Sil - when it gets really bad, she said, I just tell myself I'll get through it, I don't call you, more for myself, I don't call to see if I can do it, and when I do it, when I get through without calling you, I feel better for myself.
At noon, I walk down the path to the stand of my three favorite trees.
I came here after 9/11 with Isabel and Amalia and we sat under the trees and did a meditation.
I can't meditate, not today.
I stand beside one thin tree and wrap my arms around it. Outloud I say St. Francis's prayer.
Before I get through it, I'm crying. I get louder, sobbing.
Then I see a flicker of something moving up on the hill.
It's a doe. She's standing there and she looks at me. She stares.
I look back. I keep crying. She keeps looking.
I imagine she'll come closer to see what I'm doing. She doesn't
She stands at the top of the hill eyes fixed on me. Then she cocks her ears to the side of her head, she looks away. She's done with me, bored by my tears ?
For some reason this makes me stop crying, and we both walk away, she returns to the business of being a deer, (maybe she's going to spread some deer ticks to be sure I'll have at least one latch onto me)
I go back to the business of human life.)
Our lives do not join each others. We're in two different worlds.
Or at least that's what it seems like.
I return to my seat by the stream. I spend most of the day, as I do most days up here, outdoors.
I'm in the air, it's a change from NY.
Most days there I spend indoors.
I watch the birds here, listen to the water, bat the bugs away, look at the lizards on tree trunks, watch spiders weave webs, and notice the sway of tree branches.
Everything in its place, that what's Byron Katie would say.
Everything here to be noticed, or not. Here my eyes fall on shadows on the tree trunk, sun on a leaf, light on the rocks along the stream, and the stillness that accompanies everything.
Peace.
I'm blessed to have a place like this. Blessed, lucky, fortunate.
These last years I did the best I could with everything, including my house.
A part of me wants to say I wish I had done better, but that's the perfectionist part,
the judge and jury, guilty, didn't do enough ! Take her away ! Next.
I don't know exactly what that better would have looked like, if I had spent more time here, less with my father, I would have been remorseful. I do feel some remorse for the times I was up here doing nothing, but I'm trying to let go of that.
If he had needed me, I would have been there.
If I thought he wanted me, I would have been there.
One thing about not feeling your own worth, you misjudge what others might love about you and how your presence brings them joy.
And believing there could have been a better way is believing in the "idea" of me," not the real me.
The real me has mice in her house, carpenter ants crawling around the corners, spiders, maybe a squirrel in her attic, that big, black snake and who knows what else.
The real me makes a mess sometimes of life situations and houses, doesn't always feel the way I think I'm supposed to feel, forgiving, patient, loving, kind....
No, the real me has "reptiles" as St. Teresa of Avila called them, " those interior sufferings of mind, heart, and spirit that you need to face and expel from your soul," crawling around her inner space.
Who can "exterminate" those? Me?
only me.
I'm working on it.
David Saves the Day
What have I learned this week ? It helps to have help ! Four hands are better than two. And six hands are able to do a lot.
David and Dante did simple things, changed lightbulbs, cleaned light fixtures, lifted bags, and David showed me my electricity wasn't going away, just the dimmer switch on my ceiling lights had been touched ! Did I know I had a dimmer switch ? No, I didn't.
Dante started the lawnmower and mowed the grass until the gas gave out.
They got me going again. They lit the way.
David installed the motion senser lights - so if any intruder does come, at least I 'll be able to get a good look at him !
Thank you David and Dante !
David and Dante did simple things, changed lightbulbs, cleaned light fixtures, lifted bags, and David showed me my electricity wasn't going away, just the dimmer switch on my ceiling lights had been touched ! Did I know I had a dimmer switch ? No, I didn't.
Dante started the lawnmower and mowed the grass until the gas gave out.
They got me going again. They lit the way.
David installed the motion senser lights - so if any intruder does come, at least I 'll be able to get a good look at him !
Thank you David and Dante !
Waiting for the other shoe ( or sneaker) to drop
One long night in the house, while listening to something above my bedroom - less galloping now since the exterminator came, more like a scurrying sound, I fall asleep and have a dream that I am going somewhere with someone ? and I only have one sneaker on, and that one appears to be falling off.
I keep asking the person? God, angel? if I can get my other sneaker so that I can have both on, I don't want to walk around with only one shoe on, but they either ignore me or say no.
I can't remember, just this feeling remains that something is off - I'm limping around with this one shoe on and one shoe off and I'm going somewhere and it seems the trip will be a long one, there's no arrival in sight.
And there's no way to get the other shoe, although I keep asking whomever is running things ?
if I can just please get my other shoe..... but no answer comes and I feel as though I'm being taken by someone somewhere, there's no choice- they are in charge, and if I am to get to have my other shoe they will be the one who will grant that, to go back and retrieve it.
And no answer comes. And we keep walking, me with one shoe on.
I've dropped my shoe along the way and I couldn't find it.
I had to keep going without it.
I keep asking the person? God, angel? if I can get my other sneaker so that I can have both on, I don't want to walk around with only one shoe on, but they either ignore me or say no.
I can't remember, just this feeling remains that something is off - I'm limping around with this one shoe on and one shoe off and I'm going somewhere and it seems the trip will be a long one, there's no arrival in sight.
And there's no way to get the other shoe, although I keep asking whomever is running things ?
if I can just please get my other shoe..... but no answer comes and I feel as though I'm being taken by someone somewhere, there's no choice- they are in charge, and if I am to get to have my other shoe they will be the one who will grant that, to go back and retrieve it.
And no answer comes. And we keep walking, me with one shoe on.
I've dropped my shoe along the way and I couldn't find it.
I had to keep going without it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Enter Bruce
"Mrs. De Leo," he says, as I open the screen door. ( I don't correct him, I impersonate my mother for the moment, not anxious to let people know, expecially workmen that there's no Mr. De Leo living here with me.)
It's an hour or two after Pest Management said he would arrive, it's 6 30 pm, but I'm just glad he came.
His blue eyes under his pest control hat are bright. "Sorry, I'm late, had some trouble at the house before you, a half hour took 2 hours," he says.
Bruce is quick to tell me, in the first few minutes of looking around my kitchen that "this wasn't my first line of work."
"What was?"
"I was in the corporate world, management."
I don't want to be rude, but I don't care what Bruce used to do, I only care what he can do for me now, and I don't think any less of him that's he's in a hat and uniform that say pest control.
Or maybe I do and it's unconscious. But really I just want him to get rid of the live creatures that have taken over my house.
Bruce looks over the holes I have closed up with steel wool, then checks for more, inside and outside the house.
He finds many.
"You look like you can take care of things yourself," he says.
"Looks can be deceiving," I say.
"OK, then we can close up all the holes for you, but I'll tell you, it will be expensive, I can point out the places they are getting in, and then you can get someone to do it for you. Don't tell the company but it will save you a lot of money."
"What about today?"
"How are you with, um. you know, getting rid of them permanently?"
"I had one lady from the city she wanted to save the mice at all costs."
"Oh no," I say, "I've had mice in my apartment, I've asked them to leave, they wouldn't, I had poison put around, sounds cruel, but I couldn't live with mice."
"Ok, what method do you want to use?"
"NO glue traps," I say.
"Can they just go somewhere else to die, I don't want to see that."
"Well, this is the country, they might and they might not."
"Just do what you have to do," I tell Bruce, "I'll deal with it."
And then Bruce says again that he used to do something else. "There's nothing wrong with what you're doing now," I say.
"Well, I do get to meet nice people like yourself."
Wait, should he say that?
And then he adds, "I like your choice of radio station."
I'm listening to a classical music station, one of the only stations that I can get on the radio.
Another comment that makes me uneasy.
It's happened before, a workman comes in , you're alone with them, you're a single woman alone, and then some odd remark comes out of their mouth. It doesn't happen every time, but often, too often.
I thank him for appreciating my taste in music.
Can we just go on from here, and get to the job.
I like to think I'm a peaceful person, but I'm at "war" with the mice, I don't want them here.
There's no peaceful coexistence. I just don't want to see traces that they are around.
I think of all the creatures in my house instead of outdoors where they belong as invaders.
I imagine the mice running around, sitting in my attic on tiny little tables, with tiny mouse maps and toothpick pointers, discussing their plans to fight back.
ok she's blocked off our usual points of entry, we'll have to go in through the dryer vent, she'll never look there.
She just can't take this house back, it's ours, squatters rights, she left it too long this time.
They would be right, I left it alone too long this time.
A flat leaver. I left my life, and the house along with it.
My house didn't sit here unchanging waiting for me. It kept going, spiders wove cobwebs, mice multiplied, carpenter ants dug themselves into the wood floors and started eating.
Wasps made hives under the eaves of the porch, and even a squirrel (or so Bruce thinks) has found his way into the attic)
The grass kept growing, the weeds took over the stone walkway, snow melted on the roof and seeped through to the ceiling, and lots of assorted and tiny bugs have made homes in the windowsills and corners.
Coming back is not so easy. There's a whole army of life in here, not eager to move on.
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It's an hour or two after Pest Management said he would arrive, it's 6 30 pm, but I'm just glad he came.
His blue eyes under his pest control hat are bright. "Sorry, I'm late, had some trouble at the house before you, a half hour took 2 hours," he says.
Bruce is quick to tell me, in the first few minutes of looking around my kitchen that "this wasn't my first line of work."
"What was?"
"I was in the corporate world, management."
I don't want to be rude, but I don't care what Bruce used to do, I only care what he can do for me now, and I don't think any less of him that's he's in a hat and uniform that say pest control.
Or maybe I do and it's unconscious. But really I just want him to get rid of the live creatures that have taken over my house.
Bruce looks over the holes I have closed up with steel wool, then checks for more, inside and outside the house.
He finds many.
"You look like you can take care of things yourself," he says.
"Looks can be deceiving," I say.
"OK, then we can close up all the holes for you, but I'll tell you, it will be expensive, I can point out the places they are getting in, and then you can get someone to do it for you. Don't tell the company but it will save you a lot of money."
"What about today?"
"How are you with, um. you know, getting rid of them permanently?"
"I had one lady from the city she wanted to save the mice at all costs."
"Oh no," I say, "I've had mice in my apartment, I've asked them to leave, they wouldn't, I had poison put around, sounds cruel, but I couldn't live with mice."
"Ok, what method do you want to use?"
"NO glue traps," I say.
"Can they just go somewhere else to die, I don't want to see that."
"Well, this is the country, they might and they might not."
"Just do what you have to do," I tell Bruce, "I'll deal with it."
And then Bruce says again that he used to do something else. "There's nothing wrong with what you're doing now," I say.
"Well, I do get to meet nice people like yourself."
Wait, should he say that?
And then he adds, "I like your choice of radio station."
I'm listening to a classical music station, one of the only stations that I can get on the radio.
Another comment that makes me uneasy.
It's happened before, a workman comes in , you're alone with them, you're a single woman alone, and then some odd remark comes out of their mouth. It doesn't happen every time, but often, too often.
I thank him for appreciating my taste in music.
Can we just go on from here, and get to the job.
I like to think I'm a peaceful person, but I'm at "war" with the mice, I don't want them here.
There's no peaceful coexistence. I just don't want to see traces that they are around.
I think of all the creatures in my house instead of outdoors where they belong as invaders.
I imagine the mice running around, sitting in my attic on tiny little tables, with tiny mouse maps and toothpick pointers, discussing their plans to fight back.
ok she's blocked off our usual points of entry, we'll have to go in through the dryer vent, she'll never look there.
She just can't take this house back, it's ours, squatters rights, she left it too long this time.
They would be right, I left it alone too long this time.
A flat leaver. I left my life, and the house along with it.
My house didn't sit here unchanging waiting for me. It kept going, spiders wove cobwebs, mice multiplied, carpenter ants dug themselves into the wood floors and started eating.
Wasps made hives under the eaves of the porch, and even a squirrel (or so Bruce thinks) has found his way into the attic)
The grass kept growing, the weeds took over the stone walkway, snow melted on the roof and seeped through to the ceiling, and lots of assorted and tiny bugs have made homes in the windowsills and corners.
Coming back is not so easy. There's a whole army of life in here, not eager to move on.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Nobody here but the mice, ants, queen bee, sometimes big black snake and me
I might make the porch my summer bedroom. I have to sweep, ( I am also my mother's daughter and she is a long time sweeper, it was the last thing she did before she got into the car where we all (all seven of us including my father who smoked a few cigarettes while she swept) waited, about to go visit aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins,( an hour drive away in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn,) that's the beginning of the cleaning of the porch.
There's fine dust all over, which makes me think those black ants I keep killing, (Isabel shudders every time I do it when she's here, she says don't kill them, yes, that's what I used to say, until there were just too many to save, I'd load them onto cardboard and bring them outside, it didn't make a lot of sense, didn't they just find their way back into the house) are carpenter ants. ( this is confirmed by Lyn at the pest control company, will they eat my house before you can get here next week?)
( The propane man told me when he came to reconnect the propane bringing a fresh tank - the old tank was
disconnected because some thieves stole the copper tubing -- only worth a few dollars, and then all the propane seeped out, when I came back and turned on the hot water heater and the stove, I couldn't figure out why nothing happened. Called the propane company and they said is your tank on? On ? I looked at the window, it's not even there !) so Isabel and I could have hot showers, wash all the linens (for reasons I won't discuss or no one will ever come to my house, )and cook that "you can never get rid of mice." He used to set have a heart traps,then he would drive the mice 20 miles from his house and set them free, "trouble was, a few times they got loose in my van, and they were running all over while I was driving. That ended the have a heart, now I set traps that kills them instantly, it's the best I can do. In a second it's over."
"But you never get rid of them completely. The best you can do is get the population down, and in the summer they go to live outdoors, mostly."
While I'm sweeping, a tiny mouse darts behind the faded red trunk Carolyn's ancestors came over from England with.
I scream (Isabel says how come you didn't scream when you saw big black snake and you scream with a tiny mouse?) I don't know, is it the legs, the eyes, the snake was outside, although it was once on the porch.
The mouse takes off like it's in a cartoon its legs are in the air moving, but it's not going anywhere for a moment, then it gets its legs back on the ground and off it goes....
I swig the Peroni. The mouse disappears into a heap, won't go near that heap, and then I hear it.
The sound of buzzing near me. At the window, on the screen, there's a huge bumble bee.
Queen Bee.
It's stuck to my screen, just sits there, buzzing away.
It makes a few attempts to fly away, always comes back to the screen and sits there.
I close the door to the porch. And for now I give up on the idea of sleeping out there, maybe ever.
I'm glad there's a glass and wood door between queen bee and me.
Every hour or so I check on the bee, 4 hours later she's still there,quietly sitting on the screen.
Is she dead? How long do bees live? I don't know.
That's enough sweeping for one day.
There's fine dust all over, which makes me think those black ants I keep killing, (Isabel shudders every time I do it when she's here, she says don't kill them, yes, that's what I used to say, until there were just too many to save, I'd load them onto cardboard and bring them outside, it didn't make a lot of sense, didn't they just find their way back into the house) are carpenter ants. ( this is confirmed by Lyn at the pest control company, will they eat my house before you can get here next week?)
( The propane man told me when he came to reconnect the propane bringing a fresh tank - the old tank was
disconnected because some thieves stole the copper tubing -- only worth a few dollars, and then all the propane seeped out, when I came back and turned on the hot water heater and the stove, I couldn't figure out why nothing happened. Called the propane company and they said is your tank on? On ? I looked at the window, it's not even there !) so Isabel and I could have hot showers, wash all the linens (for reasons I won't discuss or no one will ever come to my house, )and cook that "you can never get rid of mice." He used to set have a heart traps,then he would drive the mice 20 miles from his house and set them free, "trouble was, a few times they got loose in my van, and they were running all over while I was driving. That ended the have a heart, now I set traps that kills them instantly, it's the best I can do. In a second it's over."
"But you never get rid of them completely. The best you can do is get the population down, and in the summer they go to live outdoors, mostly."
While I'm sweeping, a tiny mouse darts behind the faded red trunk Carolyn's ancestors came over from England with.
I scream (Isabel says how come you didn't scream when you saw big black snake and you scream with a tiny mouse?) I don't know, is it the legs, the eyes, the snake was outside, although it was once on the porch.
The mouse takes off like it's in a cartoon its legs are in the air moving, but it's not going anywhere for a moment, then it gets its legs back on the ground and off it goes....
I swig the Peroni. The mouse disappears into a heap, won't go near that heap, and then I hear it.
The sound of buzzing near me. At the window, on the screen, there's a huge bumble bee.
Queen Bee.
It's stuck to my screen, just sits there, buzzing away.
It makes a few attempts to fly away, always comes back to the screen and sits there.
I close the door to the porch. And for now I give up on the idea of sleeping out there, maybe ever.
I'm glad there's a glass and wood door between queen bee and me.
Every hour or so I check on the bee, 4 hours later she's still there,quietly sitting on the screen.
Is she dead? How long do bees live? I don't know.
That's enough sweeping for one day.
Peronis
After I rake and shovel on this hot June day, I walk back to the house to get a drink.
Just as I reach my car I see my reflection in the window. I'm glistening - with sweat - dripping down my face long beads and short beads of water all over, not the gym fake kind after running nowhere in place for a half hour or rowing a boat that doesn't move, real work, real sweat. I like it.
Now I know why my father always had a beer in his hand while he worked around our almost acre of yard, mowed the grass on the steep corner hill, or weeded his organic (before we used that word) backyard garden.
Nothing quenches your thirst - like a cold beer.
My brother left half a dozen Peronis in the refrigerator when he visited last summer.
The beer has not gone bad, not like all the other food left here for almost a year, even the parmagiano cheese I thought it was going to be okay, cheese ages doesn't it, no, it also had that refrigerator taste, had to toss it, along with shriveled up hot dogs, green mold in a bowl on some unknown leftover, stale cashews, I threw (reluctantly the cheese) out everything.
Ok, I'll make a confession - there were 3 tubs of ice cream, one organic, one Friendly's, and another brand whose generic name I can't remember - they all had ice on the top. In desperation, well, I wasn't starving, just looking for some dessert, I peeled off the ice, hacked it off, and ate some of the Friendly's chocolate brownie ice cream ! A few spoonfuls was enough, and then down the sink it went.
I'm safe with the Peronis. The smell of beer on my breath reminds me of my father's smell after he had a beer. (My brother said he drove cross country with a beer between his legs the entire trip !)
It's 95 degrees outside, the Peroni hits the spot, the sweet spot.
I am my father's daughter.
Just as I reach my car I see my reflection in the window. I'm glistening - with sweat - dripping down my face long beads and short beads of water all over, not the gym fake kind after running nowhere in place for a half hour or rowing a boat that doesn't move, real work, real sweat. I like it.
Now I know why my father always had a beer in his hand while he worked around our almost acre of yard, mowed the grass on the steep corner hill, or weeded his organic (before we used that word) backyard garden.
Nothing quenches your thirst - like a cold beer.
My brother left half a dozen Peronis in the refrigerator when he visited last summer.
The beer has not gone bad, not like all the other food left here for almost a year, even the parmagiano cheese I thought it was going to be okay, cheese ages doesn't it, no, it also had that refrigerator taste, had to toss it, along with shriveled up hot dogs, green mold in a bowl on some unknown leftover, stale cashews, I threw (reluctantly the cheese) out everything.
Ok, I'll make a confession - there were 3 tubs of ice cream, one organic, one Friendly's, and another brand whose generic name I can't remember - they all had ice on the top. In desperation, well, I wasn't starving, just looking for some dessert, I peeled off the ice, hacked it off, and ate some of the Friendly's chocolate brownie ice cream ! A few spoonfuls was enough, and then down the sink it went.
I'm safe with the Peronis. The smell of beer on my breath reminds me of my father's smell after he had a beer. (My brother said he drove cross country with a beer between his legs the entire trip !)
It's 95 degrees outside, the Peroni hits the spot, the sweet spot.
I am my father's daughter.
Monday, June 13, 2011
House History
My house and I have a long history. I saw an ad for the house in the New York Times in the classifieds, before Craig's List and Trulia. It sounds like the dark ages, but it wasn't that long ago.
The real estate agent didn't even want to show me the house. He said it wasn't worth much.
It was listed for 150,000.00. I walked in and looked around a dark and empty house.
There was a beautiful stone fireplace. The property was lovely, the house and property were full of potential. I dreamed.
That ad brought me to my house, neglected and abandoned then too. A daughter had lost her parents and couldn't pay for the house. Taxes were due, repairs, she had to sell. She didn't want to.
I bought the house because I couldn't afford a decent apartment in Manhattan. I stayed in my rent stablized apartment in the East Village and bought the house along with almost 8 acres and a stream.
I was working for a non profit organization. The owner/director had promised me and another woman worker that he'd buy us a home in New York. He paid us low wages but he would secure a home for us.
I believed him. He didn't keep his promise. He then promised me he would help me buy a house, pay for the down payment. I found a house and asked him for help. He declined.
It sounds dumb and naive now, but at the time it sounded like a promise. I really believed it would happen.
After the first house and his rescinding on his offer, I began looking for houses on my own, knowing that I would have to pay everything.
My house, the one I have neglected and abandoned was the house I found.
I looked and looked at it and declined. I couldn't afford the price.
Several months went by, I still thought about the house.
One day driving home from a friend's house, I thought, is this it, am I always going to be visiting friends, but never have a house of my own.
I had a friend call the real estate agent to see if the house was still available. It was when I was in New Mexico filming a woman who had breast cancer, was forty five years old, and was going to die.
It's time to get a house. It's time to stop waiting for the perfect house.
The house was still available, I made an offer. First my offer was too low.
The owner wanted more, I wanted to pay less.
We settled in the middle. I bought the house for 89,500. It was 90,000, but the owner wanted to charge for a kitchen fixture, she said it was "Tiffany like," I didn't think so. We fought, she wouldn't give me the fixture, I didn't want to pay extra for it, so she took the fixture down and deducted 500.00 off the price.
She replaced it with an ugly half falling down fixture.
Looking back, I should have just given in, but I thought it was better to fight. I wouldn't fight today. Or at least I don't think so. My contract said "with fixtures," and I wanted her to abide by the contract.
I heard a real estate agent say, "we don't sell you a house, we sell you a life."
I understand that now. A house is a marriage of sorts. I haven't been married so it's funny for me to say that. But it is a commitment and a responsibility. A big one.
I shirked my responsibility.
For too long.
I hope the house can forgive me. I hope it's not too late.
The real estate agent didn't even want to show me the house. He said it wasn't worth much.
It was listed for 150,000.00. I walked in and looked around a dark and empty house.
There was a beautiful stone fireplace. The property was lovely, the house and property were full of potential. I dreamed.
That ad brought me to my house, neglected and abandoned then too. A daughter had lost her parents and couldn't pay for the house. Taxes were due, repairs, she had to sell. She didn't want to.
I bought the house because I couldn't afford a decent apartment in Manhattan. I stayed in my rent stablized apartment in the East Village and bought the house along with almost 8 acres and a stream.
I was working for a non profit organization. The owner/director had promised me and another woman worker that he'd buy us a home in New York. He paid us low wages but he would secure a home for us.
I believed him. He didn't keep his promise. He then promised me he would help me buy a house, pay for the down payment. I found a house and asked him for help. He declined.
It sounds dumb and naive now, but at the time it sounded like a promise. I really believed it would happen.
After the first house and his rescinding on his offer, I began looking for houses on my own, knowing that I would have to pay everything.
My house, the one I have neglected and abandoned was the house I found.
I looked and looked at it and declined. I couldn't afford the price.
Several months went by, I still thought about the house.
One day driving home from a friend's house, I thought, is this it, am I always going to be visiting friends, but never have a house of my own.
I had a friend call the real estate agent to see if the house was still available. It was when I was in New Mexico filming a woman who had breast cancer, was forty five years old, and was going to die.
It's time to get a house. It's time to stop waiting for the perfect house.
The house was still available, I made an offer. First my offer was too low.
The owner wanted more, I wanted to pay less.
We settled in the middle. I bought the house for 89,500. It was 90,000, but the owner wanted to charge for a kitchen fixture, she said it was "Tiffany like," I didn't think so. We fought, she wouldn't give me the fixture, I didn't want to pay extra for it, so she took the fixture down and deducted 500.00 off the price.
She replaced it with an ugly half falling down fixture.
Looking back, I should have just given in, but I thought it was better to fight. I wouldn't fight today. Or at least I don't think so. My contract said "with fixtures," and I wanted her to abide by the contract.
I heard a real estate agent say, "we don't sell you a house, we sell you a life."
I understand that now. A house is a marriage of sorts. I haven't been married so it's funny for me to say that. But it is a commitment and a responsibility. A big one.
I shirked my responsibility.
For too long.
I hope the house can forgive me. I hope it's not too late.
Lowes and the Lock In
Just after I talk to my brother and he tells me the story of a woman co-worker who was recently attacked, I decide it's time to lock not only my flimsy side (and only) door, but also to lock the "new" screen door. It used to lock, that is, until my aunt ( she's a smoker) was visiting and one night ( the only night she stayed, she was so scared in my house, she sat up on the couch waiting for the dawn) she was desperate to smoke and couldn't get the door open, she forced it open and popped out the little metal bar that kept the door locked.
It's never been the same. I've tried and tried to fix it, so did John who does carpentry and round the house work for me, but it only stays fixed for a while, then that little metal bar pops out, and it doesn't lock.
This night I need some extra protection. I fool around with the metal bar and jam it into place ! it's locked. I'm relieved. it works.
Just to be sure it's ok, I try to open it. Doesn't budge. I push and push on the lock - nothing.
I keep pushing, nothing. I get a screwdriver and wedge it against the lock, nothing.
Who can I call ? The list starts, my brother, my neighbor.... I'm too embarrassed to call them.
"Come and save me, I'm trapped in my house." That's what I would have to say. I can't do it.
For awhile I give up. I lay down on my bed and call my sister, she's far away but always offers helpful advice.
"There's a metaphor for you," she says, "your house is holding you hostage, and won't let you go.|" And so it is.
A few more tries and I give up, there's no budging the door open.
Lowes installed the door, I could call them.
By now, it's 9:30 at night. I tell the operator I'm trapped in my house, my screen door won't open.
"Wow," she says, "Please hold."
Minutes go by, no one comes on the line.
I can't hear anything, maybe I got disconnected. I call back.
"Hi, I just called, I'm trapped in my house." I say.
"Oh,yeah," I put your call through and was waiting for someone to pick up, I'll try them again."
A young guy answers, I can tell he's young I don't know how, but I can.
"I bought a screen door from you awhile ago." I couldn't remember how long but I knew it was a long time ago.
"What's your phone number." He says.
I tell him, a minute passes and he says ,"you bought that door from us in 2005."
"Oh," I say, "that was a while ago, can you come and fix it."
"Ma'am, that was 6 years ago, the warranty is only for a year, I don't know what you want us to do."
"I want you to untrap me from my house."
(I want to be set free, I don't say outloud but that's what I want, I want to be saved, again.)
He repeats, "Ma'am I really don't know what you want us to do, it's been too long. We can't send someone out there."
"Well, maybe not tonight, but maybe in the morning?"
I'm talking to this guy like he's the super in my building. Somehow I think of Lowes as my friend?
or the super? What am I thinking? What is he supposed to do?
"Ok," I say. "It's ok, I'll figure out what to do."
"Call a handyman," he says.
Reluctantly I hang up, I really thought he would have compassion for me.
I go back to the door, shove and push it as hard as I can. It pops open !
Now I'm free, just feel unsafe. Which is better ? Trapped wasn't an option.
I lock myself in my bedroom, bring my cell phone and my car key - to be able to make a quick escape....
I'm all set to go to sleep, turn off the light and then I hear it.
Running - something. sounds big, sounds active. It's in the walls or over my head.
I shout go away. I bang on the wall the way you might if you have a noisy neighbor below or above you in your apartment building. I really am a city dweller !
It' sounds like it's galloping through the walls, it sounds like an army - of what ? Mice - bigger than mice ?
I don't know. And I'm afraid to find out, not tonight, not now.
The banging seems to stop the galloping. I turn on the radio, looking for a talk show, something to distract me and music won't do. I find Charlie Rose on the radio, strange, but he sounds familiar and comforting, like listening to a friend, or listening in on a friend's conversation, where you don't have to join in, you can just listen.
I let myself fall asleep to Charlie.
No more galloping for the moment, whatever it is maybe it went to sleep too ?
Tomorrow it's time to call the exterminator - or pest control, maybe they call themselves that because you don't ever get rid of them, they just become a smaller population? Time to find that out tomorrow.
G'night.
It's never been the same. I've tried and tried to fix it, so did John who does carpentry and round the house work for me, but it only stays fixed for a while, then that little metal bar pops out, and it doesn't lock.
This night I need some extra protection. I fool around with the metal bar and jam it into place ! it's locked. I'm relieved. it works.
Just to be sure it's ok, I try to open it. Doesn't budge. I push and push on the lock - nothing.
I keep pushing, nothing. I get a screwdriver and wedge it against the lock, nothing.
Who can I call ? The list starts, my brother, my neighbor.... I'm too embarrassed to call them.
"Come and save me, I'm trapped in my house." That's what I would have to say. I can't do it.
For awhile I give up. I lay down on my bed and call my sister, she's far away but always offers helpful advice.
"There's a metaphor for you," she says, "your house is holding you hostage, and won't let you go.|" And so it is.
A few more tries and I give up, there's no budging the door open.
Lowes installed the door, I could call them.
By now, it's 9:30 at night. I tell the operator I'm trapped in my house, my screen door won't open.
"Wow," she says, "Please hold."
Minutes go by, no one comes on the line.
I can't hear anything, maybe I got disconnected. I call back.
"Hi, I just called, I'm trapped in my house." I say.
"Oh,yeah," I put your call through and was waiting for someone to pick up, I'll try them again."
A young guy answers, I can tell he's young I don't know how, but I can.
"I bought a screen door from you awhile ago." I couldn't remember how long but I knew it was a long time ago.
"What's your phone number." He says.
I tell him, a minute passes and he says ,"you bought that door from us in 2005."
"Oh," I say, "that was a while ago, can you come and fix it."
"Ma'am, that was 6 years ago, the warranty is only for a year, I don't know what you want us to do."
"I want you to untrap me from my house."
(I want to be set free, I don't say outloud but that's what I want, I want to be saved, again.)
He repeats, "Ma'am I really don't know what you want us to do, it's been too long. We can't send someone out there."
"Well, maybe not tonight, but maybe in the morning?"
I'm talking to this guy like he's the super in my building. Somehow I think of Lowes as my friend?
or the super? What am I thinking? What is he supposed to do?
"Ok," I say. "It's ok, I'll figure out what to do."
"Call a handyman," he says.
Reluctantly I hang up, I really thought he would have compassion for me.
I go back to the door, shove and push it as hard as I can. It pops open !
Now I'm free, just feel unsafe. Which is better ? Trapped wasn't an option.
I lock myself in my bedroom, bring my cell phone and my car key - to be able to make a quick escape....
I'm all set to go to sleep, turn off the light and then I hear it.
Running - something. sounds big, sounds active. It's in the walls or over my head.
I shout go away. I bang on the wall the way you might if you have a noisy neighbor below or above you in your apartment building. I really am a city dweller !
It' sounds like it's galloping through the walls, it sounds like an army - of what ? Mice - bigger than mice ?
I don't know. And I'm afraid to find out, not tonight, not now.
The banging seems to stop the galloping. I turn on the radio, looking for a talk show, something to distract me and music won't do. I find Charlie Rose on the radio, strange, but he sounds familiar and comforting, like listening to a friend, or listening in on a friend's conversation, where you don't have to join in, you can just listen.
I let myself fall asleep to Charlie.
No more galloping for the moment, whatever it is maybe it went to sleep too ?
Tomorrow it's time to call the exterminator - or pest control, maybe they call themselves that because you don't ever get rid of them, they just become a smaller population? Time to find that out tomorrow.
G'night.
Adding Color
I friend writes to me that he feels sad for what I feel. I bristle. I don't want pity, I don't want anyone taking away from how I feel, I wanted to be acknowledged, to be heard, to be listened to, without judgement or someone telling me you have to move on, or sadness for how I feel. It's mine.
My life is my life. It's like painting, adding a color, in watercolor once you set the color down, it can have movement, it can change but you can't take it away. My life is different now, I've added a color that will never go away, it's now how I will move the color around, how it will affect the other colors, how my landscape will change and develop.
I won't go back to what was. That is impossible. I won't go back to how I used to feel. That is also impossible. I live now unfurling all the colors, letting it all go where it will, I don't have to hold it together anymore.
What will my landscape look like, I don't know. I'm a work in progrress.
My life is my life. It's like painting, adding a color, in watercolor once you set the color down, it can have movement, it can change but you can't take it away. My life is different now, I've added a color that will never go away, it's now how I will move the color around, how it will affect the other colors, how my landscape will change and develop.
I won't go back to what was. That is impossible. I won't go back to how I used to feel. That is also impossible. I live now unfurling all the colors, letting it all go where it will, I don't have to hold it together anymore.
What will my landscape look like, I don't know. I'm a work in progrress.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Strawberries Forever
On my way home from the dump, I stopped at the farm, here they pick the strawberries for you, unlike the place down the road where you pick them yourself.
I've done that, with my sister in law, my brother ( although he spent the whole time my sister in law and I picked the berries, on his blackberry talking my other brother out of a bad real estate deal.)
I've also picked with my two nieces, maybe they were too young, first, they both complained the entire time we picked, and after we spent hours in the noon sun picking, stooping down and filling our little baskets, my youngest niece accidentally emptied her whole basket onto the ground !
I bought a quart size basket - strawberries are my father's favorite ! I won't say anything else. or else there will be tears spilled all over the blog.
I also bought some local (not organic, but from a nearby farm) heavy cream.
Strawberries and cream.
I was looking forward to that and drove up my lumpy driveway as Eric Clapton started his song about his son who tragically died after falling from an open window. I've heard that song many times before, this time I got it,"would you know my name if I saw you in heaven, would it be the same if I saw you in heaven..."
The tears fell. I don't believe in heaven, yet I knew exactly what he meant. I knew. I have the same questions. Sometimes I want to go to "heaven." And I wonder would you be there waiting for me?
I've done that, with my sister in law, my brother ( although he spent the whole time my sister in law and I picked the berries, on his blackberry talking my other brother out of a bad real estate deal.)
I've also picked with my two nieces, maybe they were too young, first, they both complained the entire time we picked, and after we spent hours in the noon sun picking, stooping down and filling our little baskets, my youngest niece accidentally emptied her whole basket onto the ground !
I bought a quart size basket - strawberries are my father's favorite ! I won't say anything else. or else there will be tears spilled all over the blog.
I also bought some local (not organic, but from a nearby farm) heavy cream.
Strawberries and cream.
I was looking forward to that and drove up my lumpy driveway as Eric Clapton started his song about his son who tragically died after falling from an open window. I've heard that song many times before, this time I got it,"would you know my name if I saw you in heaven, would it be the same if I saw you in heaven..."
The tears fell. I don't believe in heaven, yet I knew exactly what he meant. I knew. I have the same questions. Sometimes I want to go to "heaven." And I wonder would you be there waiting for me?
Transfer Station
Why do they call it a transfer station ? Everyone knows it's the dump. That's what you do, you dump stuff there.
Garbage, machinery, household junk, old furniture, and a special section, called "free," you can take someone else's stuff and bring it home from the dump. (Yes, I have looked over the free stuff, so far haven't taken anything home.)
You pay to dump your stuff. $1.75 a bag, a big bag. And my old metal broken garden chairs I bought years ago thinking I would strip them and paint them, they got dumped for free. A dream let go, for free.
I have few illusions now of the things I'l do and the things I won't. Stripping chairs, no, won't do it.
(although to save two metal folding chairs I spray painted them white but now they look like two chairs that escaped from a mental hospital )
It cost me 44.00 to dump my stuff, 30.00 for the permit, yearly, and 1.75 a bag.
But that was a small price to pay to get set free, or to begin the road to freedom. The less stuff I have, the free- er I will be, or that's how it's supposed to work, we'll see.
Garbage, machinery, household junk, old furniture, and a special section, called "free," you can take someone else's stuff and bring it home from the dump. (Yes, I have looked over the free stuff, so far haven't taken anything home.)
You pay to dump your stuff. $1.75 a bag, a big bag. And my old metal broken garden chairs I bought years ago thinking I would strip them and paint them, they got dumped for free. A dream let go, for free.
I have few illusions now of the things I'l do and the things I won't. Stripping chairs, no, won't do it.
(although to save two metal folding chairs I spray painted them white but now they look like two chairs that escaped from a mental hospital )
It cost me 44.00 to dump my stuff, 30.00 for the permit, yearly, and 1.75 a bag.
But that was a small price to pay to get set free, or to begin the road to freedom. The less stuff I have, the free- er I will be, or that's how it's supposed to work, we'll see.
Trust people but always check their work
Today was gravel day. The rut in my driveway has been that way since I bought my house a long time ago.
I always meant to do something about it, I never did. Mud filled in the holes, one year I had a cooking your bliss party, people came into the kitchen ankle deep in mud.
Today is the day it gets fixed.
I started out with two bags of gravel from Lowes. One was pea gravel. The other just plain old gravel.
Two bags. Just to start. It was like emptying the ocean with a teaspoon.
I went to the local hardware store. ( Why is it the women at those stores are always the strong, silent types that know everything!) I asked a young guy about buying gravel. He began describing the ways it gets sold, and delivery, etc. I told him I bought some gravel, it didn't do much. "Pea gravel," the smart dark haired woman with her back toward us said. "That won't do anything."
We discussed prices, he said he could bring the gravel right away. A quick save. My kind of action.
Immediate.
And pay someone else to do the job.
Ha !
It cost more than I thought, about one hundred dollars, including delivery.
We zipped along to my house, he was right behind me in his truck.
He looked at the driveway, saw the gullies.
Then dumped, yes, dumped the gravel all in one place !
"Well, you'll have to smooth it out with a rake," he said. Smooth it out, it's a lump of gravel, before I had two small gullies, now I have a pile of gravel which you have to drive over and not bust your shocks when you do it.
"You'll need a shovel," he revised his advice.
Yes, I needed a shovel, oh hardware boy. And more than a smoothing out, I was on the chain gang wielding a heavy shovel and throwing the gravel over my shoulder toward the gullies. Sometimes I aimed well, other time, missed the mark and flung the gravel away from the driveway.
In tweny minutes I was tired.
Hardware boy shoveled two shovelfuls to show me. I stopped him. Would he expect a tip if he shoveled more? Do I have to tip someone for bad work ? I didn't want to tip him. He dumped the gravel where I didn't want it to go. Why didn't I stop him? I thought he knew what he was doing. Mistake.
At the risk of sounding dumb and being humiliated, ask questions, and stop people from doing dumb things, even when they tell you they know what they are doing. Why is this so hard to grasp ?
How old do I have to be before I get it ?
I hope not too much older, we're losing daylight !
I always meant to do something about it, I never did. Mud filled in the holes, one year I had a cooking your bliss party, people came into the kitchen ankle deep in mud.
Today is the day it gets fixed.
I started out with two bags of gravel from Lowes. One was pea gravel. The other just plain old gravel.
Two bags. Just to start. It was like emptying the ocean with a teaspoon.
I went to the local hardware store. ( Why is it the women at those stores are always the strong, silent types that know everything!) I asked a young guy about buying gravel. He began describing the ways it gets sold, and delivery, etc. I told him I bought some gravel, it didn't do much. "Pea gravel," the smart dark haired woman with her back toward us said. "That won't do anything."
We discussed prices, he said he could bring the gravel right away. A quick save. My kind of action.
Immediate.
And pay someone else to do the job.
Ha !
It cost more than I thought, about one hundred dollars, including delivery.
We zipped along to my house, he was right behind me in his truck.
He looked at the driveway, saw the gullies.
Then dumped, yes, dumped the gravel all in one place !
"Well, you'll have to smooth it out with a rake," he said. Smooth it out, it's a lump of gravel, before I had two small gullies, now I have a pile of gravel which you have to drive over and not bust your shocks when you do it.
"You'll need a shovel," he revised his advice.
Yes, I needed a shovel, oh hardware boy. And more than a smoothing out, I was on the chain gang wielding a heavy shovel and throwing the gravel over my shoulder toward the gullies. Sometimes I aimed well, other time, missed the mark and flung the gravel away from the driveway.
In tweny minutes I was tired.
Hardware boy shoveled two shovelfuls to show me. I stopped him. Would he expect a tip if he shoveled more? Do I have to tip someone for bad work ? I didn't want to tip him. He dumped the gravel where I didn't want it to go. Why didn't I stop him? I thought he knew what he was doing. Mistake.
At the risk of sounding dumb and being humiliated, ask questions, and stop people from doing dumb things, even when they tell you they know what they are doing. Why is this so hard to grasp ?
How old do I have to be before I get it ?
I hope not too much older, we're losing daylight !
Could I last a year, a month, a week.? ... only been 3 days
I don't know if I'll last a few days.
The quiet gets to me.
The bugs get to me.
The mice, or the evidence that they exist and run freely throughout my house gets to me.
I hate my house.
I love the idea of my house. Sounds familiar. I had a few boyfriends, or maybe more than a few that I loved the idea of them, but the day to day messy reality of them, it didn't fit my perfect picture of love.
Me too, the "idea" of me, is great, but watching myself parade around living every day, not so much.
My house. I've neglected it for almost a year. Too many memories here. Too much pain being here alone, no tv, no computer, no distractions. When I came it was always too noisy in my head. The thoughts wouldn't let go.
Now I've returned. I'm here to take back my house, from rodents, bugs, dust, mold, peeling paint,
dirt and the lack of love I've withheld from my little house.
Will I last a year ? A month? I don't know. I'll take it a few days at a time.
When my brothers asked how long I would say, I answered both of them " as long as I can stand it."
Sad, that's how I feel. What has this house ever done to me, it's what I didn't do for it.
I'll invest myself this year, in making it a home.
The quiet gets to me.
The bugs get to me.
The mice, or the evidence that they exist and run freely throughout my house gets to me.
I hate my house.
I love the idea of my house. Sounds familiar. I had a few boyfriends, or maybe more than a few that I loved the idea of them, but the day to day messy reality of them, it didn't fit my perfect picture of love.
Me too, the "idea" of me, is great, but watching myself parade around living every day, not so much.
My house. I've neglected it for almost a year. Too many memories here. Too much pain being here alone, no tv, no computer, no distractions. When I came it was always too noisy in my head. The thoughts wouldn't let go.
Now I've returned. I'm here to take back my house, from rodents, bugs, dust, mold, peeling paint,
dirt and the lack of love I've withheld from my little house.
Will I last a year ? A month? I don't know. I'll take it a few days at a time.
When my brothers asked how long I would say, I answered both of them " as long as I can stand it."
Sad, that's how I feel. What has this house ever done to me, it's what I didn't do for it.
I'll invest myself this year, in making it a home.
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