Category: home

Day 6

I am on the 6th and final day of my staycation.  I am left feeling like I did’t cross off enough To Do items, didn’t accomplish anything I should have.

And that’s the problem with staying home for a vacation. You’re continually torn. You’re constantly in a position where you see the stuff you should be doing/fixing when you’re trying to unwind and relax and do SFA, and feel resentful of the stuff you do/fix when you’re on your vacation dammit.

But it appears I am an equal opportunity slacker…I neglected both the things on the To Do list thatI should have done AND the relaxing things I wanted to do.

My novel is just as unwritten as before. Pages of letter paper are still blank. The half-finished embroidery project is still half-finished.  The sewing is still unsewn.


I went swimming in the river every day, spending time braced against the submerged rock in the deep spot, luxuriating in the feeling of the cool water sliding over my skin.

I spent an afternoon reading and napping in my hammock, listening to the crickets and birds.

I went for walks, for drives. I finished a knitting project and started another. I bought a crokinole board from the old gentleman at the farmers market who makes them by hand. I drove us out to Thornbury for ice cream and a walk along the water. I sat solo by the water towers and watched the sun go down. I felt sorry for myself at one point but managed to stop the mood before it could slide any further from alone to lonely.

I spent most of the time in or around the house. I love our house.

Keith asked yesterday while we were walking by the river, if it was fate or luck that landed us here. I said something flippant in answer, but it’s been on my mind. The better answer would be, it feels like fate, because I’ve never really been this lucky.

It feels…right. Right to be in our yellow house out in the boonies where most of our sparse-by-our-standards traffic is pickup trucks and farm vehicles. I love my commute through farms and fields and pastures, along rivers and the escarpment, where every view is lovely.

And I am grateful: to Keith’s mother who saved and invested so diligently to give us this nest egg, to Keith for so so much more than just embracing the move to this new lifestyle, to Side Launch for hiring me so I can live in this heaven, to whatever Fates or gods have landed me right here at this now.

prompt 57

The prompt comes from a list generated from 642 Things to Write About. The number was picked at random by Juliette:

#57: Things I should throw away but can’t

What followed was a short text discussion on possibilities. J thought of larger, metaphorical items, like guilt. I replied, like I could ever get rid of that. It’s like old Windows applications that are no longer useful but are buried so deep in the operating system that they could never be extricated without fucking the whole thing up.

So here is my non-metaphorical list of small things I should throw away, but can’t.

  • a collection of small glass bowls I bought at the dollar store to float decorative candles in during my 40th birthday party
  • my dad’s full set of James Bond 007 novels. They are slowly disintegrating in that way that old pulp paperbacks do, and I can’t get past the sexism, mysogyny, homophobia and racism to read them through again. yes, I know they’re indicative of a time period, but it doesn’t mean I really want to visit that time period.
  • photos from wedding #1.
  • video from wedding #2
  • my journals written during bad times
  • a pair of red kid gloves from when I was very small
  • the pink gingham dress I wore on my first day of kindergarten
  • my old buckle boots that are now too narrow to fit my feet
  • a collection of cheap earrings, bracelets and pins from my bad old days
  • my mother’s old nursing cape. I wish I could wear it but I am a bit broader in the shoulders
  • a hundred or so cards sent to me by my beloved during our rocky courtship
  • old photos from working in bars and restaurants, of events and people I don’t remember
  • the black leather mini skirt that I will never fit into again
  • the expensive hand cream that makes my hand turn red and feel like they’re on fire
  • the bubble bath that makes me smell like I’ve doused myself with old lady perfume
  • 2 USB headsets that don’t work
  • several computer games on CD that won’t run on anything later than Windows 98
  • a few hundred CDs that I have already converted to mp3 files
  • a crate of stained glass panes and a tool box filled with all the necessary equipment in case I should ever decide to get back into stained glass again
  • a small bible given to me by someone when I was small. It has my full name stamped in gold on the black leather cover. It carries no significance or meaning for me whatsoever
  • books on programming languages that no one programs in any more
  • a vintage black dress with the broken zipper I’ve been meaning to fix for a decade
  • liners for motorcycle jackets that were left in Australia
  • silk ties I picked up because I liked the designs but will never wear or use in a craft project

Thoughts from laundry day

I would swear to you that I turn my clothes right-side-out when I take them off and put them in the hamper. And yet, every laundry day I find myself taking all of my inside-out clothing from the dryer and turning it right-side-out properly before putting it in the dryer. I could easily shave three minutes, maybe four, from my total laundry time if I ever in fact did what I keep thinking I do anyway.
File under mysteries of laundry.

Not only did I gap and put my bras in the washer, I also gapped and put them in the dryer. Now whatever one I put on is going to be slightly too tight for the first hour or two that I wear them, and I will subconsciously feel like I have put on slightly more weight than I think I have. That feeling will not fade, and even after it has slightly stretched back to being just-right, I will be slightly pissy and slightly depressed all day.
File under mysteries of women.

After a decade of marriage, I should either ask my beloved why it is that on any given laundry day, his portion is at most 25% of mine, or just stop wondering how he can go through a whole week using fewer pairs of socks & underwear than I.
File under mysteries of men.

I fold his shirts differently than mine. His way is slightly faster and I could easily shave three minutes, maybe four, from my total laundry time. But I like how mine get folded, showing the printing/icon/cartoon on the front of the tshirts and I secretly think his way is kind of sloppy and I hate that crease running down the middle you end up with. He likes how his gets folded for some reason that makes sense to him. So there it stands.
File under mysteries of marriage.

Where the hell is that other sock? I know I had matched pairs of socks when I put them into the washer. I checked the washer thoroughly, even that weird icky gap under the drain gasket. I checked the dryer thoroughly, even that fuzzy gap by the lint trap. And yet, I do not have matched pairs of socks now.
File under mysteries of the universe.

June 21

Day 21: Where you slept.

Yeah. Like I’m going to show a picture of my messy bedroom.