The God of Small Things

The joys of home ownership, renos, demos, ohnos.

I neglected to mention that when the office was torn down, one lone piece of roof made a final protest at being removed.  Swung soundly into one of the living room windows.  Voila the result.  Steve only got one gash and, after a couple weeks of looking at poly, installed a window that mom and dad had in their garage, almost a perfect fit.  Good for now.

Turning your attention to the finer, major details of home construction, may I present to you our foundation?  Proudly supporting our house and the wood addiction of local carpenter ants.  We've bought the lumber to begin The Job.  Or One Of the Summer's Jobs.  In Dad's new book of Wisdom, some famous guy says, "I've known this all along: Don't ask the experts."  And so we are going ahead with the installation of beams, replacing of pony walls and pouring of foundation ourselves.  Consult enough of the Snake Island crew and you have all the expertise you need, minus a few beers.

I just have to say that, despite the fact that it causes the collapse of our house, I have always loved the trails made from ants eating wood.  I used to find the logs along the ski chalet hills riddled with passages and think that I had discovered ancient languages, characters of the forest...warriors?  Gods?  Fairies and elves.  Dwellers.  I would decipher them, but I can't tell you what they said.  Then I'd have to kill you.

Portraits of a lady

It's been a while...

Spring brought more excursions for getting wood (Steve), piling and splitting...every time I swing the axe I am very mindful of my shins.  I think of the story of the guy who brought the axe down into his leg.  Local story.  Or rural myth?

Tough.

Stubborn.

My 30th birthday, champagne birthday instructions were to wear a party dress, boys follow suit.  Any excuse to doll up.  And the perfect excuse to wear Annie's fuschia flash, her first runner up for her Enchantment Under the Sea fundraiser social, also an event to celebrate her 30th birthday.  Fitting, non?

Classy.

Silly.

Steve and I have been planning on buying a painting by Laird Goulet.  He is a native painter from Saskatchewan.  His aunt and uncle own Indian Heart Creeations, in Flin Flon.  His paintings are often from a bird's eye view or coming straight at you.  They are swirling, vibrant masterpieces with dots of gold or other colours, so represent the beadwork used in native handicrafts.  Steve recently made a trip to Flin Flon and "found my birthday present".  I tried to feign excitement all the while dreading unwrapping a garden cart from Canadian Tire.  Nothing wrong with a garden cart, and there's a specific one there that is all the rage (n'est-ce pas, Dave and Jord?), but it's my 30th!

Steve's gift came wrapped in a brown paper bag.  Too small for a garden cart.  Inside was this beautiful woman, musher, girl from the north.  I'm in love (with him, with her). 

Beautiful.

Wild.

Time to call it a night.  Need to get London home, hopefully await a phone call that can get the ball rolling on fixing our foundation (there are more and more surprises as we go).  This last photo was kept because it reminded me of A Series of Unfortunate Events.  Good for a giggle-fest every time.  This is the second Jim Carey movie I'm endorsing.

Mysterious.

Ridiculous.