This old house

S and I have an old house – built around 1870.  Who knows what the area looked like back then, or what our yard looked like.  But apparently the landscapers have found multiple layers of patio. 

When I was a kid, I wanted to be an archaeologist.  I was fascinated by the things people left behind.  It makes me want to excavate my own backyard.  Still, there’s plenty to be found without digging too much.  Broken plates, small scissors, faucets, chunks of burned wood… One day I’ll go to the City archives and see what I can find out about the area.

Considering the house is in what was always a poor area of town, and clearly had a lot of owners (we get mail address to around 5 different occupant groups), it’s still got a good vibe.  I don’t think it was occupied by desperate and unhappy people, at least not for too long.

We’ve kept some recent talismen of goodness and love.  Prior owners scratched a heart shape containing their initials into a cement patch on the basement floor.  We decided to keep it intact, but we can’t offer any guarantees with respect to the same thing in pencil on the wall of the study.  Still, when it eventually gets painted over, it will continue to exist underneath te paint.  A symbol of love, hope, happiness.  Good mojo.

And to that we will add our own – maybe something that someone another generation from now can find as they explore the house and marvel at how good the vibe is.

Update: we had some of our neighbours over for a BBQ.  One neighbour has lived in his house (in the middle of our row) for over 20 years, so had a pretty good knowledge of the history of the houses.  Our particular house is missing the stained glass transom over the front window.  Apparently this is from back when an owner became addicted to crack and was selling off as much as possisble to get some cash for drugs.  So – it seems there was a period of desperation and unhappiness, but luckily it hasn’t lingered in the bones of the house.

Land ho

The landscaping has begun. 

In the past day, the backyard has been magically transformed from a white-trashy muddy mess to a simple and tasteful mudfield.  It’s pretty impressive that they not only got a bobcat into our ultra narrow 14 foot wide urban lot, but also were able to drive it around.  And this isn’t one of those mini bobcats either.

Plus, everything was tidy as hell (and yes, in my world, hell is a place where one must always be tidy).  I like it when contractors give a damn about how they leave the job site at the end of the day.

I’m so curious to see how it will turn out.  Sure, I have the landscape designer’s plan to look at, with its pretty pastels and architect’s handwriting.  But what will it look like in hard, cold 3-D?  Will the french drain be remotely effective?  Will the patio look like it was inspired by the eyesore that is Dundas Square?  Will the whole thing look too grey and industrial instead of casual and inviting?  Will the boulders look insubstantial when they’re sunk into the earth?  Will the plantings make sense?  Will it feel like garden?

Will it?

Will it????

So tired….

I slept well, but feel like a wreck today.  Tired, headachey.  Plus, I have a general sense of ennui about work.  Not that I’ve always felt pumped about my work.  I’m good at it, my boss seems to value my contribution… but I’m only here because my path has led me here.  Oh, and the pay is decent. 

Lately, I’m getting asked to do stuff that seems just plain stupid half the time.  Or if not stupid exactly, then unnecessary.  And of course it’s all required immediately.  Makes me wonder what else I could be doing instead.  Like a took the proverbial wrong turn at Albuquerque (is Bugs Bunny a proverb?).

I used to want to be a writer.  And, technically, I write for a living. But I don’t write.  I’m not one of those write-a-novel-in-her-spare-time types of people.  I used to think that if only I had the right tools – oh say a nice shiny laptop of some sort – I’d be writing away.  An unstoppable literary machine.  But no – years ago I did buy said laptop (not so shiny now), and I even wrote a bit.  Just enough to have me come to an understanding that books don’t write themselves.  It’s work.  And the last thing I want to do when I get home from work is work.

I’ve been reading a blog: dooce.com.  The writer actually supports herself writing a blog.  No wait – let me italicise that.  She supports herself writing a blog! A blog fer fucks sake!  Good for her.  And she’s actually an entertaining read. But I don’t imagine I’d be supporting myself writing a blog, or writing anything else other than briefing notes and legal specs. 

Still, I have these flight fantasies.  Typically, these used to involve me picking up stakes and engaging in menial labour while riding across the country on a motorcycle.  A suddenly fit, tanned, strong, silent, lesbian drifter.   Now it’s more along the lines of moving to rural Ontario with S and being a stay at home mom.  Basically, being a kept person. Maybe doing some woodcarving in my spare time ( ha – a stay at home mom with spare time, that’s funny!).

What I really need is a vacation.

But on the plus side, I found my cell phone. 

Ok – where’s my cell phone?

No really…. where the fuck is it?

Again

It was all so easily explained away.  She was straining to poo, so the vet put her on a special diet.  She wouldn’t  let us brush her, so she got mats.  Her belly looked funny, but we figured it was the mats.  She stopped pooing out of the box, so we figured the new food was working. She didn’t like the new food much, so wasn’t eating all of it but it took us a while to realize how much weight she lost.  Then I started giving her the food I knew she liked, and she’d purr like crazy while she ate it, but ended up leaving half of it behind.  When I finally started feeding her salmon hoping she’d eat more, she had already started hiding between the house and the airconditioner.  The next day she began to be wobbly when she’d walk.  The next day she stopped purring.

That afternoon the vet saw her pale gums and figured she was bleeding a lot internally, making her belly distended.  It took her no time to feel the tumor.

My good companion — Found October 2003.  Lost April 2007.   

 A bad month for grey-coated pets.