Not Ready to be Done

It's a fine evening to do some projects. I am home alone, it's quiet, comfortable, I have a hundred things I could be working on and I don't want to do a single one. The living room, which was painted last week and is undergoing redecoration, is screaming to be finished. Every time I walk by it, I rearrange the mess on the couch, stare at the the array of curtains we're considering, and walk away without really doing anything. I attempted to put up a curtain rod tonight, but that mostly involved drilling a hole in the wrong place, couldn't drill a deep enough hole to get the anchor in all of the way, and then the part of the rod that you're supposed to screw to the wall is getting in the way of the screwdriver, making it impossible to finish tightening the piece and now it's hanging there all askew. So, we'll leave that for my better half to finish. 40 minutes wasted on something that turned out wrong anyway. I could bake or cook- I have enough veggies sitting around, just waiting to be made into something tasty. But I am so sick of washing dishes that it makes me want to avoid the kitchen completely. I could have worked more out in the yard while it was still light, mulching, moving some more plants around, digging out the little rocks that are out front, planting some fall grass seed. But I didn't feel like it- it's more fun to do that when someone else is around to help me out. I'm sitting in the basement, with a pile of paperwork to go through that is at least 12 inches high, but that's less than appealing right now. Excuses.
I am starting to wonder if I just need a night off, to rejuvenate and get some energy to finish these projects. Or perhaps I am incapable of finishing things, for fear that once they're done, I won't have anything else to do or to think about. Sometimes the mere idea of spending so much time arranging and rearranging the things we own seems so bizarre and almost a waste of time. I wish I didn't care how things looked or that I could look past them and not see the pile of things on the couch that are waiting to be put away.

Makeover

The internet is back on. Praises be.

I was hanging out in the basement this morning and realized that it's Sept 15, which means that a year ago, we started the major remodel on the basement. Prior to the remodel, you wouldn't have caught me "hanging out" in the basement. I have photos of the before, the process of, and the finished product (though the finished photos are somewhat old and don't show that we've actually decorated a little and added doorknobs, etc). The before photos don't really do justice to how icky it was downstairs. The photos make it look light and bright, not gloomy and damp and cold, which is the truth of what it was. 2 dirty lights in the dingy ceiling, 2 tiny windows that were dirty as can be, freezing cold and damp year round, a big room with no definition to it, one awkward closet that had no light and was triangular shaped (making it impossible to put anything large in it, as things got stuck in the tight angles of the shelves), ugly tile floor, loud creaky stairs, ugly things along the staircase, bugs everywhere. All in all, it was screaming for a makeover. My father-in-law is an architect and drew up fantastic plans for the basement, though I did have moments when I wondered how we were going to fit a family room, office, and bathroom all in this one space. Our friend Kevin was our unofficial contractor and did a huge amt of the work, as did our friend Justin.

So, the "before" photos...

You can faintly see in this photo that there are blue tape marks back by the triangle closet...that's where the bathroom and office were laid out. At the time, I couldn't imagine that those were ever going to be large enough to accommodate people.


The stairs. Yikes.

Kevin dug the hole for the egress window a year ago today. That was the official start of the remodel.

Within 2 hrs, GCNP and Kevin had this hole ready to go.

Here are some "during" photos...this process took from Sept to March...mostly because of money and time constraints for us.

Digging out the floor for the plumbing...if we'd had cats, they would have been the happiest felines ever, given that there was a giant sandbox in our basement.

And finally, the nearly finished project as it was in April, when we scrambled to get things done in time for a surprise party for GCNP's 30th birthday...

The family room

Bathroom
Shower

More of the family room...aren't the stairs a HUGE improvement??
GCNP's office, which we call the Hubby Cubby, as it's 7x7.

We'll be paying this all off for a long time, but it was worth it.

Technology Dependent

I am without internet right now and it is KILLING me. I am off work for a chunk of days right now, so I have no access to emails, banking, paying bills, etc unless I go to a coffee shop. Not very convenient when I'm at home painting and doing a bunch of projects (photos will eventually follow, when I have internet at home again). I had to call up my sister and announce to her that I'm coming over to use their internet. So I am sitting here in their office while she and her husband sit on the couch and get caught up on their day. Weird. I really didn't know how dependent I was on the internet until I realized that I can't check the weather online, I can't check email to find out where my family is in the plans for birthday get-togethers next week, I can't finish making plans with friends for coffee dates, I can't update my facebook status, I can't blog about the things that are running through my head as I paint all day. My next thought after realizing that I can't check the weather online was that I could just turn on the TV. Nice idea, until I remembered that our TV is in the repair shop (note: they don't make 'em like they used to- that TV is less than 3 yrs old!!!!!). I had no idea how much I used modern technology in my everyday life. And I am struggling to make it...so I'll be on the phone with the wireless company and Xcel tomorrow (they cut the power lines to the wireless node, in the process of removing GIANT elm trees in our neighborhood- another sad story to blog about). I am afraid that they're going to start labeling me a "problem customer", as it will be my 4th or 5th phone call to them this week.

I can feel it!

I am obsessed with summer, can't get enough of it, never want it to end...until I get a whiff of fall and then the anticipation of a new season comes around and summer is cast off like last year's shirt.
Fall is in the air...
Technically, it's still summer and what a glorious summer it's been! But at the cabin this past weekend in WI, the mornings were crisp and cool and there was a distinct smell in the air that can only be fall. The past two mornings, we've woken up in our upstairs bedroom with the window wide open and cool air coming in. This is, I'm sure, only exciting to us, as we are sick of the a/c on every night. This is one of the few beefs I have with our house. Our bedroom is the 1/2 story upstairs...cute, charming, and hotter than hell. It's like living in a tent- nothing between the us and the great outdoors but a little tarp. Freezing in the winter, hot in the summer. The central air doesn't even cool down that room, so we have this ancient hog of an air conditioner that came with the house and blasts us with cool air every night of the summer. We are thankful for that beast, but even more thankful when it can be silenced.
So, back to my original point, which is that fall is in the air. Even if you can't smell it, you can sense it in the crazed children at the store, intent on driving their moms to a breaking point of "I can't wait till you kids go back to school!" You can see fall's approach in the mums for sale at the garden centers, in the back-to-school ads, in the piles of pencils for sale at Target. Secretly, I miss that anticipation of school, of soccer practices, cross-country meets, new fall wardrobes, shopping for those new pens and notebooks, wondering what exciting things this new school year will hold.
I have to go water plants now. A subtle hint that it is, in fact, still summer.

Wishful Thinking

I am sorting through boxes full of my childhood memories, books, awards, etc

I came across this "family tree" that I did in pre-school or kindergarten (based on my handwriting).
I couldn't stop laughing. My "branches" resemble popsicle sticks, not a growing tree. As if that wasn't enough to earn myself an "F" on this project, perhaps the fact that I completely left my sisters off the family tree (as well as every other family member we've ever had, other than mom, dad, and myself) would have been the last push for the big "F".

10.5

I just picked 10.5 pints of raspberries at my parents' house.
Lovely, buggy, scratchy, prickly, tasty.
And free.
I love summer so much I can taste it!

Wounded

I once fell while out for a run. It was 8 yrs ago, when LSJF and I lived on Grand and Summit. It was a gorgeous late spring/early summer day and I was running on the sidewalk, up a hill. There was a stoplight ahead and I was watching the light to see if I could make the green. That was my mistake- not watching where I was going and before I knew it, I was flat on my face, wondering how I got there and how many in their cars had just seen it. I sat there, wondering how something so great could go so wrong. I then saw where the sidewalk had heaved- something that I never saw coming as I ran blissfully. I still have the scars from that fall. The wounds on my knees were so deep that I could see the white tissue that I could only assume were ligaments and tendons. It took a long time for the scabs to form and several times throughout that summer, I accidentally hit my knees on something and the wounds would open up and start to bleed all over again. I think it was October before I could safely say that my knees were healed. It took my body a long time to release itself from the memory of that fall and when I look at the scars on my knees, I know that the fall will always be a part of me.
It's been 365 days today. A whole year since the recent fall, this time from the bliss of a first pregnancy, during which I never looked down to see if the sidewalk was smooth and safe. When there's so much to look around and marvel at, who wants to look down and always be careful and wary? Who wants to believe that they might fall? All we could do was marvel that we had gotten pregnant in the first place and the memory of hearing that heartbeat was so fresh in our minds. The ultrasound was just to make sure things were ok and to check dates. It was like watching that green light while running, trying to make it through so as to not interrupt the run. How were we to know about the heave in the sidewalk?
I tried to find the ultrasound photos today, something I haven't seen in many months and I panicked when I couldn't find them. That last remaining physical piece of evidence that he existed was carefully tucked away, so well that I couldn't find it. If this was lost, would it mean he hadn't existed? To my relief, I opened a folder and there they were. Teeny little head, butt, arms. Heart, but no heartbeat. Yikes, I think I hit that wound and opened it up again. The scars have started to form, but the scabs are still there too, still fragile, though thankfully smaller than they used to be.
Unlike the scars that formed on my knees, the scars that form on my heart take longer to fill in. I am reminded of the 101 times that this wound has been accidentally bumped and opened fresh to bleed again. Finding out that yet another friend is pregnant, a due date that went by without a baby for us, rejoicing over yet another friend's child and being reminded that they have what my heart desires, accidentally finding the ultrasound photos when sorting through old mail, driving past the hospital where we would have delivered but instead went to have a d& c- all of these bump that wound just hard enough to make it hurt and bleed. And make me cry. When I was young, I used to pride myself on not crying, to count how long it had been since I last cried- days, weeks, months. Now I find comfort in it. I have days when I stare at the wounds and wonder why they aren't healed up yet. I have had moments of "Woman, get over it!", as I imagine that it's what others might say to me or think about me or what I would maybe think about them if they were in my position. I have had friends say "I forgot that it would bother you" when they are all talking of someone else's pregnancy- a reminder that this is my fall, my wound, not theirs.
I know that at some point, this memory, this experience, this little boy will no longer hurt, but instead be a scar. The wonderful and ugly part about scars is that they are still visible- they never really go away. The beautiful part is that I know that a scar means healing, the ugly part means that something painful happened to create that scar. But just as I look down at my knees and see that the scars have just become a part of who I am, I know that at some point, I will see the newer scars as yet just another part of me.