Page taken from a post at Matilda Magtree. Did the categories, being careful not to scroll to see the legend until I was done.
My Ideal Dwelling:
22-29 degrees. Dry air. Clear dark night skies. Mix of exposed rock, scrub grass, pockets of wetland and good open soil. Mixed forest. Some pine, large, cedar, ironwood, sumac, pin oak and various deciduous. Mushrooms and slime mould. Birdsong. Visiting reptiles and amphibians. A few rooms without windows as a little cave with walls for many bookshelves. An open area with big windows for sun. Iridescent green curtains that can pull. Thick walls. Exposed wood. Beams would be nice. Sauna. Shower and tub. Wifi. Near enough to friends. One room painted green, one blue, one yellow. Big kitchen with long counters.
From urban streets, gadding at window displays, picking up some apples to take with me, walking with company until we hit the river and walk along its spray-edge where we see birds and turtles.
Out along the edge of the long grass, there’s movement. It’s hard to tell scale. Did the grass move or the dark part inside it? Could be a Newfoundland dog. Or a boulder. A funny shadow. Sense of another presence, life energy. Standing motionless, almost breathless with the gift of being granted the gift of another life nearby. Feeling the sun and wind more keenly.
At the edge where the stone caught in the groove it makes a kettlestone deeper for itself, the flood not enough to lift it out of its years. The stone darker where my wet foot stepped. The kayak lifted to shore but I pause to relaunch and go back for more poking around the shoreline, seeing what more I can see.
The glass smooth to palm, jewel colours thrown across my hand faster than the heat. I can’t tell you with the words covered what they read but if I saw the same cup elsewhere, and I did, I’d know it was the twin. I won it by random spin of the wheel at a fair. When I went to pick it up, I perhaps had heat stroke. I fainted between one step and the next at the nurse’s desk as she went to pass me my prize. I came to even as I was crushing through the empty cardboard boxes in front of her desk, leapt back to my feet. It still somehow feels lucky, the blue glass, larger than any drink I need. Half full is enough.
I used to collect keys, rings of them like other useless bits like cans of pencils too short to be of any use, or erasers too pretty to use. A skeleton key tarnished silver, black in its creases seemed cut out of the Hardy Boys. I never found a lock the universal key would fit. All the old holes have changed shape.
Perennially open. Even it forgets it has hinges. It’s the symbolism of the thing. Like a no that is never exercised. I may as well hang the door beside its opening and paint it with acrylics and googly eyes.
Carin did hers “in Susan Musgrave’s workshop at the Kingston Lit Festival last month.” What?! We were at the same conference and saw the same person and didn’t know we passed the same harbour.
House = how we see ourselves
The Walk = direction in life
The Bear = how you react to trouble
The River = sex
The Cup = love
The Key = knowledge
The Door = death
Now that’s easily the most amusing thing today.
“In in order to cook, you have to know how to eat, know what you’re looking for.”
“There’s always a moment of beauty, even in the moment of worst atrocity.”
She lived thru war, refugee camp, going from a house/family compound of servants and a chef for each cuisine to living starting again from nothing as part of an immigrant family in Quebec.
Less verbatim she said, we can choose. There’s enough beauty in life to occupy us. An abyss can happen at any time. You can die looking down the abyss or die with the last image being the beauty of the sky. Why would you want to see the abyss all the way down?
Kind of elated, kind of tired. Kind of incomplete because there’s so much left.
Still, headway is headway.
Our renovation is coming. We have a floor most of the way across a room. Camping out in the downstairs is actually kind of fun. There’s a nice morning light there. There’s a heating vent shooting right at my elbow all night.
I have slept well for feel-like-unprecedented 4 days in a row. Good sleep = optimism.
I’m knee deep in 3 different manuscripts of mine and in the layout of 2 others for others. Knee deep isn’t nearly deep enough to swim but it’s a start.
I have sent out the second newsletter. (If you want to sign up, here.)
Return to the gardening’s slow lane. We’ve only have the slightest lightest touch of frost. Kale, cucumbers and tomatoes are still producing. The beans would have been too had we got to them first.
Not your type of thing? This for type geeks may be fun to explore: Typewriter Database.
There’s also this rather delightful article on punctuation. Beth Hill writes, “the semicolon brings a rhythm to sentences that other punctuation can’t offer[...] sometimes you want the feel that only a semicolon produces.”
Yay Words has flash fiction hybridized with haibun. Interesting dense effect.
It’s hard to remember to not keep busy-busy momentum going until depletion. Full stops have their uses too.
As gratifying as it was to get my LinkedIn profile updated, and some submissions sent out, and books read, and poems edited, physical work feels like more was done.
To take a page from Kate Braid, these hips were made for carrying flooring. The lot of it carried upstairs. Sometimes by 5 boards when I felt strong. 3 boards per load when I felt like resting. Another stage is done. Woo. Whew.
The best part of teamwork, beyond doing something together might be the get hot, shirtless parts. A perk.
And under the carpet and its underpadding, there are surprises like:
We were in the running for a corner Jacuzzi from the previous occupants? But got a closet there instead. Ah well, easy no come, not go.
All that tile is ripped out. Places on the floor look as dodgy in person as they did thru carpet. They are still to fix or shim or something.
We’re trying to take it bit by bit to not overdo it. At the same time, we’re eager to get it done and get the dander and allergen collectors gone and good solid, unsqueaky bamboo in. That’ll be sweet.