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.

The big bang theory

After a month of jet-setting, it seemed like there was a lack of events to write about.  Where has the month gone?  What have we been doing?

Oh yeah, destruction.  If you're going to clean up, you've first got to make a mess.  If you want to create something grandiose, you better be prepared for the chaos that comes with it. You look at people with their beautiful houses and forget the ugly, dirty months of work that it took to get there.  You see families with their wide-eyed, waving babies and can ignore the fact that a body had to change beyond recognition to get there, sleep had to be lost to maintain.

So here's the plan:

1. Finish the deck on the sauna, laying flooring in the changeroom, painting the outside.  "Small" jobs that will create a safe haven while the house is lifted from its ashes nearby.
2. Finish demolishing the office.  The only spot in the house that we had painted, layed flooring.  My bright, creative space that had frost piling up in the corners during the winter as the draft coming up from the floor whistled into the house.  Steve happily took the sledghammer and reciprocating saw to it yesterday...the "pimple" on our house.
3. Break for lunch.
4. Lift the whole (remaining) house, pour a ribbon foundation under the kitchen and where the future addition will go (clothesline side).  The kitchen is currently sitting on rotting, untreated 2x6.  Ignorance was bliss and made for a happy sales transaction four years ago.
5. Consult those people wiser and more experienced than us to ok our house plans.  We've come to a consensus on many ideas, many drafts of drawings.  Now we need people to make sure we stay realistic.  Fortunately, retirement row and the town of The Pas is full of them.

I leave you with Holmsian wisdom.  "Make it right."
ps.  Steve's arm muscles keep getting bigger.

Moab Mecca

Wind-swept, water-beaten, these rocks are shapeshifting sandstone wonders.  I have stealthily filled (Steve's) pockets with tiny red stone shards.  Not in hopes of death by drowning.  Instead, as samples for my kids and Mireille (beautiful friend and rocks and minerals coveter).

We scrambled up a couple trails in Utah's Arches National Park today, hopping from solid footing to solid footing, digging the tips of our fingers into crevices to help pull ourselves up.  And taking photos.  Many, many, many photos.  The digital camera is a blessing and a curse.  Fast, easy, convenience.  Too fast, too easy, too much.  I found myself wanting to go through my photos and tackle the task of deleting some at the Moab Brewery after dinner.  Not exactly food for conversation.  I refrained.

Some sights we saw:  the Devil's Gardens, which I would call the Devil's Playground.  Too much fun.  The courthouse with its trio of judicial looking towering columns.  The Delicate Arch, where we were assaulted by a very less than delicate wind (parents, hold tight to your children, waifs beware).

We are exhausted.  And off again tomorrow.

Morning Meditation

 

My morning walks are energy-renewers and sanity-keepers.  If the sky is clear, they often take me to Hugo's Bay, site of morning sunrises, evening sunsets, inspired kisses and official proposals.  The silence, the light, the cold air and the sight of vast expanses of water or snow fill my eyes, my ears, my lungs and satisfy, well, my soul.  

London the wonderdog is my constant companion.  If our schedules coincide, Steve and I will go out together.  It is a routine: morning walk after London eats, evening walk after London eats.  As if the walk is more important for London than it is for us.  Morning walk before Meaghan runs around with a class of 24 kids, evening walk after Meaghan has run around with a class of 24 kids.

I've been thinking a lot about meditation and the ability to have a peaceful mind and spirit even when everything else is hectic and chaotic.  I've had lots of good talks, emails and reads about this.  I like that meditation is not solely done with legs crossed, palms turned up.  It can take many forms, such as during my morning walks:  being aware of the layers of light from the sunrise casting tints and shades across ice and trees, listening to my boots crunching the snow and then the surprising sound of my own voice as I start a conversation with the dog that has just cut me off at the knees as he streaks down the path.  

Amen.

Smile, it's your birthday!

Steven, it's your birthday

We're going to party like it's your birthday

Twirl spaghetti like it's your birthday

Eat some cheesecake and rhubarb cause it's your birthday!

This was last night's desert, provided by Tamsin and Kurt.  Decorating skills honed in front of the televison.  Tonight we'll be dining on Steve's favourites.  Cheesecake has been his birthday desert of choice for as long as he can remember.  His mom used to make it for him and now, once a year, I do it, too.  We set the alarm for 6 a.m. so that I could whip it up.  (Sleep must be sacrificed when you're celebrating a new year...)  Steve will be making the spaghetti sauce and meatballs in our new crockpot (won at our curling windup).  If you want something done, sometimes you've got to do it yourself...even if you're the bouncing birthday boy!

Texan Vietnamese Tra-la-la

It's amazing where you can get after 27 hours in a car.  Texas.  No cactus.  Surprisingly like Portage la Prairie.  The landscape rolling by was hilly fields protected by buffers of trees along the highway.  Hills and bluffs in the Iowa distance made me think of Where the Red Fern Grows...a perfect place for exploring and adventures whether you're young, old or canine.  Watch out for cougars.  And the golden arches. 

The roadtrip gang, 5 determined friends, was off to be with Andrew and Mai at their wedding.  Did it ever pay off.  The ceremonies were largely held in Vietnamese, the food and culture was as far from North American as possible (minus the Corona at the tea ceremony, thanks Nu!), but some things are universal and are not subject to language barriers.  Do you?  I do.  Rings exchanged, tea drank in communion, an uncle wishing many babies with a pregnant gesture.  I understand it all.

I felt much more than a simple witness to it all.  We were given corsages!  (I felt special immediately.)  Andrew's kilted Scottish cousins led the parade to Mai's family home bearing a pig, followed by the rest of his family and us, his friends, carrying domed trays covered in red embroidered and sparkling velvet; gifts of frankincense and mirh, or ladyfingers and Irish Cream.

The bride was beautiful, both in her traditional vietnamese wedding outfit or the well-known white wedding dress.  A sight well worth the trip.  So cheers to texan vietnamese tra-la-las, to cross-continental adventures, overloaded senses and emotions, safe drivers, good friends and New York unions made in love, in Texas.