The reason I’m such a nitwit about the home improvement and maintenance stuff is…well, complex.
This is the first house I’ve ever owned all on my own. (And the first time since childhood I’ve lived with some land around my home.)
And the only other time I’ve owned (part of a) house, my then-husband was strongly in favor of hiring people to take care of things. Contractors, gardeners, plumbers, handymen–we even had maids. (I didn’t scrub a toilet during the entire fifteen years of our marriage.) We had a lovely woman who cooked, served, and cleaned when we threw parties.
We had the means to pay for all this, and I am not complaining about it–no sirree!–but, the result was, I never learned how to do anything, other than research, hire, and supervise help.
I’m not in that life any more. I don’t have those means any more; but, more to the point, I’m REALLY enjoying learning how to do things. For myself. Even when it involves making mistakes. Then, when I finally do get something right–oh my god the pride I take in it! I like feeling strong and capable and independent. No, that’s not right: I LOVE it. I NEED it.
It’s a gorgeously literalized metaphor for my life these days: taking ownership, taking charge, handling things. Trying and failing; picking myself up and brushing myself off and taking stock and going forward again; overcoming. LEARNING.
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That said, here’s today’s progress on the Great House Number Project: I obtained sandpaper, sanded off the errant newspaper bits, and painted two coats on the front of the board. (Thanks to intelligentrix for the clever painting tip!) Tomorrow, I shall (hopefully) affix the numbers and then screw the board into the house. This will involve a drill (which I have, and have used) and a power screwdriver (ditto). And measuring and whatnot, and being careful around the heavy, fragile tiles. Fingers crossed.
I was relieved that the mail was delivered today, though my house is currently numberless. I was thinking I’d have to put a paper sign out there, but apparently not. Even so, I’d love to get this done before I go to California on Wednesday morning.
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And about writing. So I was thinking, in the pool, about how I had all this excitement and enthusiasm recently about the Callie novels, and less energy for Hobgoblin; and yet how, interestingly, none of that translated into any writing on either novel. And that led to the thought that perhaps, I am spending so much time these days thinking about Big Life Stuff, maybe I am not ready to write (or rewrite) a novel yet. Because so much of the recent excitement was about theme, and about what these stories MEAN, why I am writing them in the first place; and how the theme has to speak to something deep and important to me or there will be no story there, no heart; and maybe I am still working all that through.
I had just finished congratulating myself on such a brilliant insight when THE WHOLE DANG OPENING SCENE of the all-new Callie novel just started PLAYING OUT in my head, as though I was watching a movie. Line for line. Tone and everything. I know JUST how it starts….then the rest of my swim, I was exploring the world, the conflict, even the resolution….
Silly brain! I didn’t write any of it down. If it’s solid, it’ll still be there (and I will talk to Mark about it, of course). Instead, I came home and painted a board, did freelance work, and wrote a couple of pages on the collab short story. 🙂
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And finally: apparently, buying a humidifier in Oregon is a weird thing to do. “We have dehumidifiers,” said the man at the hardware store. Lo, they had a humidifier as well, it turns out. My skin is happier.* The orchids probably won’t mind it either.
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*Yeah, it’s 82% outside right now, but 47% inside, and that only after having the thing on all evening.