Greening Our Space

We're beginning to plan our garden, and it's pretty exciting.  We had to stop composting for a bit,  which I  haven't been too happy with, even having a garbage disposal...  we have no wooded area to just freely work with, and have to build an enclosure here.  It's not difficult; just waiting for warmer days more consistently.  We also plan to put at least two rain barrels at the foot of gutters to use for watering the veggies.   A cherry tree is in the plans too-- and we'll finally plant the placenta (sorry if that detail freaks anyone out.  I get that it was an act most don't make, saving it... but it honestly seemed weird to me to dispose of it, and unlike what others have said about it, I don't find the thing gross.  It just is-- and honestly, given what it did, it's kind of fascinating.  We both felt that way about it.).  A cherry tree will be both a pretty and useful investment-- a nice tree for the kiddo to claim as her own.  I look forward to putting in some berry bushes at some point too-- although maybe not this year: a bit at a time.  I definitely will expand the strawberry planting too: we have only a very few plants, and have almost never gotten any fruit worth mentioning.  We need to get the first few raised beds in quite soon, so I can plant the early crops--peas, cabbage, kale, lettuce.  This is going to be so fun: finally having some earth to work for real.

Basically, spring is all I think about.

I'm Brave, Bitches. Brave. (A Prose Poem)

I wrote a piece of self-pitying shit earlier today, yet I saved it.  It says some horrible things about the darkest parts of me.   But I saved it. 

I'm not really sure what that says about me.  I still have, as I always did, the cathartic urge to write about the worst of what I think.  The stuff most people-- please Goddess, tell me everyone is that f'ed up underneath it all--think and feel but prefer never to admit to themselves.  The stuff that made Freud, half-cocked and a bit neurotic himself, at least in the same sector of universe in which psychological reality abides.  So many of us repress emotions and truths from ourselves.  How else would we cope with being the foul, shitting thing we are.... unless we put certain feelings in boxes, as curiousities to visit now and then under a haze which makes us recognize them vaguely only if we see a similar trait in another?  And likely we'll hate this other person, because though we recognize that trait that we abhor, it is simply something which it is to us thatwe'd be capable of ourselves but for something.  Courage, perhaps.  Conscience or guilt, maybe.  Honor... nay, arrogance.  Peut-etre, honor. I forgive everyone but myself, as always.  Give myself no gifts.  But,  I own my shit.  And that is brave, bitches.  It's brave.

The only screwed up thing is that I feel the need to share these things.  Be glad this--this rambling pile of pseduo-intellectual, self-aggrandizing drivel--is the one I actually chose to share.  I had the nerve to regret a fork in the road at age 16 today, and to pity myself for it.  This is charming by comparison.

Goddess Help any Bastard

Moving sucks.  It makes you feel itchy on every level.  Even physically. D woke up this morning, and we shared the same complaint with each other: we had slept poorly because we were itchy.  We had had long-overdue haircuts, but this doesn't explain the total experience.  We itched.  All night long.  And woke far more times than normal.... and normal with an infant, two adults, and two snoring cats in a queen bed, is an interesting stretch of that word.  "Normal".

Our whole life is now in boxes.  We both had a few days off from school, and, as a result, what we had chipped away at over the last month, box, after shredder load, after box, has become a full plastic- plates- only, every- corner-, cupboard- and drawer- in- a- box-, tote-, bag-, or crate-, experience.  It's a hot mess, to use the overused.  We own a lot.  None of it--or at least, most of it; we deleted what we could already, and are still choking--ought to be disposed of.  These are how many things a citizen of the Western world" needs."  How do nomads, bedouins, and gypsys do it?  How do they, turtle-style, carry all posessions at all times?  Everything itches. I'm going mad.  Clean cup--move down! And I'm about to add a whole work week of two- hour- a- day driving in the mix before I can even begin to unpack all these carefully labelled, artful arranged, delicately handled many packages.  And, my period is due.  Goddess help any bastard who gets in my way....

At least I got to see my kid's first, very few steps this long weekend.  Goddess pities this poor bastard.

Sweat into What is Still Someone Else's Equity

I painted with nice high toxin paint today.  And sanded and chipped off lead paint too.  I did this in the name of having my house.  I ended up at times slapping paint around, sending wild  splashes of it into the soil and landscaping, and unraked leaves at this house too.  It was not a good time to have to do as much exterior painting as was required to satisfy the terms of our mortgage.  And we had only the one day to work with, as the seller was resistant to doing much more than partially funding the supplies for the project.  All I can say is that after giving six hours to it, with five of us working, I'm not sure how I'll put myself together again if I don't have keys in two weeks like I'm supposed to.  The house genuinely looks better at least.  This was a weird snag, weirder than many of the bumps I've heard of when it comes to the things people go through on their road to renting a house from a bank (it's weird to think of this as homeownership:  I'll own it before I'm 70...but not by much).  But we-- and me especially--achieve everything only after many setbacks, forks, pitfalls, and deathtraps.  I had hoped somehow we were lucky because we looked at only a dozen or so houses, found this one so quickly after it was listed.  This really has to be the only twist.  I can't take having something else I've invested so much of myself in taken again.  I'm not sure there are pharmaceuticals that can even take the edge off the sort of despondency that will lead to.

Clubs and Realtors: Oh My

I interviewed today, and the principal seemed genuinely impressed with my idea of gardening in the quad.  He gave me both hope, and confusion, though, which is typical of my conversations (of everyone's conversations) with him, stating that he wanted to find a way to convince the superintendent to at least give me some kind of stipend, if they choose to keep the current advisor in place.  Sounds both promising, and a sign that the interview was a formality, and he may plan to keep status quo, regardless of inadequate and lame that "quo" is.  Here's hoping.  I know for sure I could take the thing and make its vision bigger and more adequate to what was intended in making a Green Team in the first place.  Hopefully, the supe likes the idea of gardening on the quad enough to be sold on investing in me.

We also got our current land lady to agree to work with us as our realtor.  I'm hoping the conflict of interest isn't an issue: she had dropped the hints herself months back that we should look, and admitted that she was hoping we'd get that to mean that we'd work with her.  I just don't want to see her motivation to keep us as tenants ending up being a factor.  But, to be honest, with us out, and a max of 2000 in cosmetic upgrades, she could charge someone easily another 300/month over what we're paying, and she'd make her commission off us too once we did find our place.  We have another address in mind and are just waiting to hear back from her about whether she was able to arrange a visit for us this Thursday.  This time, we'd be looking at a property that at minimum, needs 20,000 in work, but the price is in a place where we might be fools not to take it, given how many of our dream features are there, if the structure and guts are sound... and we could borrow that extra to get going on the projects anyway.  I'm hoping our search isn't as long  and protracted as other people I know have described theirs to be.... and that may be an unreasonable thing to hope for, but given how much of my life has been harder to achieve than anyone else I know, maybe this will be my compensation, and a bit of cosmic balance? 

House Hunting Really is the Most Fun and the Most Miserable at the Same Time

First house was, in my opinion, about a 60% match.  I loved its woodwork, and its kitchen... hated how close everything felt, and how there was no master bedroom door (the arch way was pretty and all, but holy no privacy, Batman!).  Loved the attic bedroom, and the way they'd made one of the second floor bedrooms into a dressing room/walk-in suite.... hated the fact that there was one bath, and no way to cram in a 1/2 later.  Hated, and this killed it, the almost complete lack of any land upon which to garden.  Barely even enough room to store a bicycle and a grill in the super shady back yard, and less than ten feet between the house and the sidewalk in front.  And, much of what I liked about the house, D. didn't even care about, so I'm seeing that we're on two totally different pages in terms of what we want, and while that should come as no surprise, it's just another obstacle that may make the whole thing more complicated than I want to allow myself to think about. 

I prefer to remain hopeful.  And, we already have a second house in mind, one which will need a ton of work but which could allow us a whole lot more house--and land--for a similar budget.  A different town, with slightly less reputable schools, but I know that other town too well anyway to judge fairly, given that it was the town I was schooled in.  A fresh start town might be best anyway. 

We learned a bit about realtors from that first experience, and have made some phone calls in the direction of finding an agent to work with.... and I think I should inquire about this new house by Tuesday if I haven't heard directly from one of our leads yet.  We may not yet have an agent, but that shouldn't stop us from looking, and seeing what connects, or doesn't, with this set of photos.

Being Green... At Things

I just realized why my entries about marriage, parenting, and even teaching fit.  One can be "green" at things one cannot do well, but at which will one eventually get to a place of maturity.... like green, punky wood that you do not want for your woodstove, but which can be stacked and set aside for a winter in future.

The house we're looking at first has a woodstove, which is a cool feature.  It also is old--built in 1870, so probably build with old growth wood, and there's no negative eco karma attached: by now, its surely neurtralized, at least, and old houses are much like vintage clothing.   A thing which lets you have a thing that's decadent and beautiful without feeling guilty because it isn't using any new resources. That's a thing that makes me keep looking at 1850-1900 or max 1915 or so Colonial houses.  Crazy-beautiful wood paneled walls, and in-built detailing.  Always more risk of structural problems from hell with houses like that. And I may look at tons more than the one we see tomorrow. 

I keep avoiding pools.  Why the hell anyone looks at a yard that could take a least four ginormous raised beds with which they could feed their family and decides to put in a chemical money pit on their property is beyond me.   The place we're looking at has a ton of mulch instead of lawn, something we are actually pleased by.  Lawn chemicals are not the best thing to try to have to suck up in your organic garden anyway.  See?  I'm still starry-eyed and green at this house hunting thing too, and it's pretty sweet that I  can still go to that high and hopeful place over something.   I do know how long this may take, but so many things feel promising about this.  And, in the end, it's going to be something I take for an adventure.

National Board candidacy feels similar: daunting, but do-able, if I make myself take it in steps.  We'll see.

And I interview for Green Team advisory on Monday morning.