Did a tiny batch of canning today with the last hours of stove ownership. Gorgeously blood red plums and some pears, although found peeling the green pears terribly tedious.
Kevin showed her first signs of alarm when the fridge left. I got the WTF meows and tail-twitching suspicious staring at the place where the fridge was. I was surprised at this. Whole house has been in furious uproar for weeks and whole rooms are totally emptied. Even her favorite recliner got taken away, but no, it’s the fridge’s disappearance that gets noticed. She doesn’t even get fed out of it. She just sits in front of the door and gets whacked with it several times a day.
And so: a moment of humour. I didn’t do it! I just walked in and saw this and tried to get the picture before I died laughing. She’s still sound asleep in the After picture.
How daunting, overwhelming, and energetically crushing is the sight of a jumbled heap of “stuff” that is patently un-useful unless it is united with others of its kind (loaded bobbins, batteries, etc). For instance, I never think, “I really need a blue Sharpie. I’m gonna look in that shoebox of half-finished sudokus, mixed tapes, and not-quite-empty vitamin bottles that’s in the back of the closet.” No, I’m gonna look in the box of office supplies, and if the blue Sharpie hasn’t found its multi-coloured cousins there, it’s SOL.
This means, hauling out those dusty embarrassing boxes of junk compilations that provoke soul-searching questions like “What was wrong with me that I sheltered this in my valuable mortgaged home for years?” and returning the pens that still work, the profligate hair elastics, and the errant sewing notions to their proper locations.
Personally I’m sick to death of the saga of my knee, three major surgeries and a couple minors later, but anyways, an update.
Recovery from this, most major invasion, in which surgeon addressed about 5 different malfunctioning aspects of my damaged joint, is very, very slow.
Upsides: previously unimagined hours spent online, sleep requirements upwards of 12 hours/day, getting waited on and told to stay still. Downsides: dizziness rising from prolonged inactivity, loss of muscle tone, and limited activity, to say the least.
I feel like I’m melting away, getting so small, but fitting my tiniest clothes is a small consolation for no longer being able to protect myself from a hummingbird.
I can do almost no strengthening yet bc of trauma and swelling, and this last week it’s developed a very alarming new locking-randomly-with-pain-when-attempt-straightening feature. Not a meniscus thing, but a strange new tissue/muscle thing (I can tell these things by now). So the hot, heavy foam brace is back on and I stump around like Quasimoto and can be quite effective. For about four hours.
Unfortunately, this recovery coincides with harvest, summertime, and a moving deadline. The vacancy date looms, but it looks like we’ll manage.
Leaning on a driftwood log as I sit on the rocks in a small cove of ocean-coloured Lake Minnewanka. There’s a hell of a breeze and the sun has already dropped below the mountains, so I’m a little cold, barelegged, but I have my hoodie. There’s a wader minding his own business ankle deep in the water’s edge, and I just got circled twice by a suspicious ground squirrel at close range- plump and bouncy with his racing stripe and black-eyed stare. Continue reading My brush with furred fame→
Living conscionably has to start right now. It’s nice to imagine a future life off-grid without flush toilets, and wearing the homespun wool of ethically raised squirrels, but generating mountains of garbage and emissions on the way from here to there is not ok.
Although I’m still mostly flat, especially since my physio got too ambitious and set me back a week, I’ve been planning, listing, and mapping the next few weeks, aka The Great Divesting. There’s a could-be-considered-gargantuan amount of sorting to be done, with some areas of the house gnarlier than others (basement!). I think I’m going to tone down the scariness of it by getting a storage space temporarily. Then the micro-sorting of stuff like papers and fabrics can be delayed until our time of homelessness. Who wants to be sifting tax-deductible receipts when there’s a whole house to get thru yet?
Work proceeds on getting the Farm in the Forest. The seller is very nice and honest and currently on the other side of the world, so every evening I watch breathlessly for the latest email coming in from an opposite time zone.
I’ve spent a remarkable amount of time on the phone and confuser, talking to lawyers, researching the place, the community, the resources (3 CSAs in Nova Scotia), local bloggers, negatives, planning, water testing, moving options…
So last night, “out of the blue”, like all real magic, we found a “Organic Farm in a Forest” listed on Craigslist. Ridiculously cheap, by BC standards, for 20 acres of neglected orchard and agricultural land, old farm buildings in unknown condition, in… Nova Scotia. Seeing as I was born in Newfoundland and get breathy talking about Halifax, it’s not like I’m considering buying lunar real estate sight unseen, but….close.
To say suddenly moving to Nova Scotia is HUGE is understating it a bit. I’ve been running up and down the Pacific coast for roughly 18 years now- to leave the mountains for the Atlantic is breathtaking, and totally exciting. New province, new politics, new everything. Especially to choose it over 24 hours, seeing only a sketch and google earth.