early morning dignity

It's not that I wasn't awake.

I was.

I woke up at 5:44 AM today, at Millhouse's command. Went back to sleep, of course, but was up before 8 AM, opening windows to catch the morning breeze, sipping the first coffee of the day, checking to see if Anything Very Important happened in the world while I slept.

So it's not that I wasn't awake.

But I wasn't expecting a workman to arrive at 8:18 on a Saturday morning.

He graciously ignored my bedhead and hastily donned robe, and allowed the conversation to proceed as if I didn't have morning crust in my eyes.

"Oh, hello, are you guys working here today?"

"No, no, just have to take some quick measurements."

"Oh, I see. Come on in. Welcome to my home. What a lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes, it certainly is."

What else is one to do in that situation? There's a lockbox on the door, so if I pretend I'm not here, he's coming in anyway. I don't think arm-waving shrieks would be helpful at that moment. And so I resort to my usual response - just get through the moment, knowing this is going to make a mildly amusing story later on.

"All right, so this is where the tile floor was?"

"Yes, yes it is. Watch your step on the stairs, there's a light switch at the bottom."

"Ok then, and here is where the carpet was? I have a sample of that carpet; it's being analyzed so we can determine the value."

"Yes, that's where it was. That's great, thank you."

I wander back upstairs. He's only staying a moment, so there's no point now in putting on make-up, or even washing my face. I do manage to run a brush through my hair before he emerges from the basement. I also make the bed - why? I don't know. He's not even in that part of the house.

"All right, I'm finished. Once the analysis is completed, I can bring you back some carpet samples so you can decide what you want to do down there."

"Oh, how lovely. Would we be able to put in flooring instead? ... allergies, you know ..."

"Certainly. There are many options available. Perhaps some vinyl flooring where the peel-and-stick tile was."

"Wonderful. Well, thank you so much. You have a great day now."

He leaves, calmly, graciously. He's almost certainly composing HIS version of this mildly amusing story.

And perhaps making a mental note to include a small bottle of mouthwash in the estimate.

a tribute

Dwayne made a good point.

The random toilet deserves one last moment.

Here goes.

Ah, random toilet, how did we love thee? Let me count the ways.

Thou wert a place of rest for weary overnight travellers that didn't want to ascend the stairs whilst half asleep.

Thou wert also a haven to which boys (and - let's be honest - even girls sometimes) could run in an emergency.

Thou wast the one and only toilet in this abode, unassuming yet necessary, whilst the upstairs privy wast being gutted and renovated, and the donut shop down the street wast closed.

Thine enclosure in the hall didst shield 60 to 75% of a person using thee. Which isn't bad for a random toilet.

Thou didst provide many joyful laughs and deepening of relationships, as we fondly displayed thee to our friends who toured the house.

Thou didst inspire creativity and imagination amongst those friends who offered suggestions of what could be done with thee.

And now thou art gone.

Thou didst back up and spew, and although we do not hold that against thee, yea indeed, we do forgive thee - yet - thee had to go.

Thy time has come. Thou hast fulfilled all of thee's duties (doodies?) in this house, and the time has come for thee to go to thine eternal reward, perhaps on heaven's front lawn, as a daisy planter.

And so we bid you a fond farewell, one last flush, as it were, content in the happy reflection that you were a part of our lives for a time.

Adieu, random toilet! Adieu.

unexpected reno

We had a plan for this house. It wasn't set in stone, but the items in the plan lined up nicely in my mind.

Some of the items have a nice check mark beside them.

Replace the floors in the front half of the house - check.
Redo the bathroom - check.
Front perennial garden established - check
Back gardens cleaned up, begin vegetable-growing experiment - check

Most of the plans are yet to come.

New hardware in the kitchen
New paint in the kitchen
New curtains and blinds in the kitchen
Fix the front porch
Fix the driveway
Put a second floor on the front half of the house for a seriously AWESOME master bedroom

... and waaaaaaayyyy down the list .... at the bottom .... was an item vaguely referred to as "change the basement so it doesn't feel like the inside of a mint tictac".

And then it stormed last Thursday. And while I contentedly reflected upstairs on the fact that our house is higher than most of our neighbours, so our basement has never flooded ... well, it flooded. Backed-up sewer kind of flooding.

Of course, since I don't generally hang out on the inside of a tictac, I didn't know this. Spike called me at work on Friday to query about the carpet that was oozing ick under his bare feet.

---

....pause to give thanks for insurance....

---

And now our basement carpet and sub-flooring have been ripped out, as have entire sections of wall, and yes, the random toilet. Industrial size fans are down there right now, drying things up and drowning out the sound of any planes flying overhead. The smell of disinfectant spray is wafting gently through our home.

Moving that vague "change the basement" item right to the top of the list.

*sigh*

It was just important to me that you knew ... we had a plan.

memories

Nothing like a warm summer evening to revive memories.

Teenage years. Not the best years of one's life, I must say. (Who started that rumour? Someone with a wicked sense of humour, I'll bet.)

Still. Good years. If I had to do them over again - well, I'd rather do them now, when I have a far better sense of who I am, and far less anxiety about looking stupid.

And a warm summer evening now brings back memories of those years.

Footlong hotdogs, fries, and some awful-tasting drink called a "Golden Glow".

Plastic tables under outdoor fluorescent lights, soft ice cream cones, listening to the tape cranked in the nearby pick-up truck.

Lots and lots of laughter. Cool breezes.

Friendships you never, ever forget, even if you don't know where the friends are anymore.

---

Weird, isn't it, that Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson both died today? Farrah wasn't much on my radar as a teenager, but Michael was. I wasn't personally a huge fan, but you couldn't not know who he was. One friend with the single glove, who was totally in love with him - makes me laugh. I wonder where she is now, presumably hearing this news at the same time I am?

miracle princess

I got to see a Princess yesterday!


She was gorgeous. A bright pink, spaghetti strap dress (just because I can't wear pink doesn't mean no one else can either), and a sparkly, bejewelled tiara on her head, holding back endless dark, bouncy curls.

She sang.

She danced.

She was front and center on the stage, obviously because that's exactly where she belonged.

"... if I had wings like a butterfly ..."

"...itsy bitsy spider..."

and of course the Numbers Song.

The best song of all - "Look at me! I'm a miracle! There's no one else quite like me!"

All performed with a shy dignity, and a smile that kept sneaking through. A video of memories included a shot of this Princess posed with one hand on her hip, gazing confidently at the camera, while Sarah McLachlin played in the background.

She's going to be a police officer when she grows up! (The Princess. Not Sarah McLachlin. At least, not that I know of. But I don't really know Sarah McLachlin - I'm sure she has dreams too.)

Afterwards, as we looked for her silhouette on the wall, she turned without warning and pulled me into a hug that only a Princess can give.

Congratulations on your Graduation from kindergarten, Princess!

"When you wake up every day
Please don't throw your dreams away
Hold them close to your heart
'Cause we're all a part"

can't sleep

wakefulness

slow progression of thoughts on a repeating track in my head

eyes open, staring into the dark

might as well get up

i remember another night, a long time ago

this time, wakefulness was an assignment

"nightwatch" for an hour, by myself, outside

sounds are different

cool breezes are peaceful

can't do anything - just be

which is, it turns out, not a bad thing

travel by backpack

Yesterday morning, two backpackers from Alabama came to Crossfire. "Happy" and "Donuts" - had just come from the city down the highway one way, and are heading on this week to the city down the highway the other way.

Intriguing. Any other backpackers out there?

My sister-in-law backpacked through Europe, I'm pretty sure, but I was only newly dating Spike when she came home, so I'm fuzzy on the details.

(I should ask her more about that, now that I've known her for a couple of decades. Maybe it's time I get over that initial shyness.)

Here is what I learned. Today's backpackers carry tiny little laptops with them. They also pre-arrange some of their sleeping arrangements through websites dedicated to backpackers with texting capabilities. Or they sleep in a park, like backpackers of yore.

And they can live - two of them - on $22 a day. $23 with the exchange.

They were lovely people. I enjoyed meeting them.

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I don't think I'm backpacker material. I can rough it - that's not a problem - I've seen my share of international bathrooms. (Which, ironically, rarely have a bath or running water, and may not even be a room. Even "toilet" can be a gross exaggeration.)

But I need a plan. I don't have to be in charge of the plan. I'm open to the plan changing. I can be flexible about the plan. I just like to know that there was a reasonable attempt at a plan.

No, I'm not backpacker material.

I'm more of a road trip kind of gal. Unless it's to St. Petersburg. That's my dream destination (having fulfilled my Alaska dream a couple of years ago). St. Petersburg will require travel by plane and train, as well as an excellent interpreter.

I will get there someday.

Without a backpack.