Encouragement

-------------------------------------my mantra------------------------------------

I get encouragement from unexpected sources.

I'm not a person who's greatly disciplined.

I have routines that give me pleasure. The slog work I tend to avoid.

I envy others who can pack the slog and pleasure into a smooth run. I watch them wipe counters and brush up as they accomplish other tasks. Like a a ballet.

I'm a reactive housekeeper. I'll clean up like a mad thing if you're coming over. I've been known to pile up dishes because I don't have time to unload the dishwasher as I'm too busy binding a handcrafted afghan or immersed in an unputdownable book or writing a chapter or prepping a workshop.

I get private emails from those who read my blog. And sometimes it's a lash with a wet noodle.

One of them recently had me mulling - in a good way. (S)he questioned why I salivated over others' words in books when I should be working more on my own creative words.

Another, who lives in France, wrote me directly having lurked on my blog for years, and asked me why I'd never finished my thoughts on emigration from Ireland as she could relate. So yes, I need to concentrate more on writing.

I did write a piece on emigration but it was brutal, savage, blunt and harsh. And I hesitated with it, filed it away. But honesty can be brutal. Honesty can be harsh. But as Granny said: hesitation buys no tea.

Maybe I do need to back away for a while from distractions. And salt myself away in the Tigeen and write.

Encouragement.
It wakes me up.
I need that.

Shabby Shopping

Well, that's what I call it. Scrounging through second hand stores and charity shops for all sorts of goodies, including books and movies. I've no time for malls or big box or brandname fancy chains. But show me a Goodwill or a Sally Anne or a Value Village and I'm just about over the moon.

Almost an addiction for me. And my family too. And my friends.

I have a rule though:. If I haul in I have to haul out (donate). So far it works. I'd been looking for an apple picture to hang beside my apples (I'm a bit of an oddball that way, hanging like with like) and found one in the Sally Anne on half price day for $1.50. No tax either. I rather like it. Thing is if you get fed up with a shabby shopping item you just throw it in the charity bag and replace it for another $1 or $2.

And if you're wondering about the tigeen (an teachin - the little house), I had to use the internet up there yesterday and I felt I was flying above the trees. Seriously.

Look:

What, Me Worry?

Another in the ongoing series of sunsets from the porch, taken a few evenings ago

A small irritating thing can go wrong and it will drive me crazy, stressed out, yelly, snarly, not nice.

But a whole accumulation of stuff can happen, I lurch from one catastrophe to the next and I just laugh and say: OK, Universe, what else can you throw at me, see if I care. I will NOT surrender.

I was out and about yesterday taking some lovely shots as The Bay was at her best when I get back to the car and she starts up as she normally does but the gears don't engage, they slide slackly in their appointed track but nothing happens. Ends up I walk for miles in the blazing heat to the post office and call CAA who tell me they will have to send a flat-bed from the sounds of it. Which they do, several hours later, my being at the back of beyond 'n all. I wave bye-bye to Strawbella, who has never let me down quite this badly in all our years together. Today my new best friend Ed calls me to tell me not a part can be found in all of Newfoundland for my baby (a gear cable) so he arranged for it to be flown in tonight at a cost of $15, did I mind. The cable itself is, gulp, $470 + labour + taxes + air freight.

Soldier on, sez I.

One of our cast members did not show up at a crucial sound rehearsal on Sunday night (we now have a professional sound man but his time is limited as he is also involved in another ongoing production) and as our next venue is huge and just about sold out it was crucial she be there. Efforts to get hold of her have all come to naught and WE HAVE NO UNDERSTUDY. Performance is a few short days away with a final dress rehearsal the night before.

I heard Gordon-the-Gift was in town but has gone away again to his contract in Labrador and never came by to fix what he so badly effed up in The Tigeen.

Our theatrical troupe has also been asked to perform the play (with a deadline for answer of early this week) during the month of September for a festival and can't access the venue to assess it for space, sound, set placement, movement, etc. and THEY WANT AN ANSWER NOW.

A client downloaded one of her files to me and crashed my system here. Oh, six times. Eating my time and shovelling away at my temper.

Other clients drop in today and the lawn is overgrown, great imagery. Leo had been badly stung by a series of wasps and his reaction is to crawl under the covers and cry and forget the mowing. A reaction I totally respect, and well if the truth be known, envy, as what one of us out there wouldn't like to do the same thing if life ain't going our way but being grown-up we grin and bear it and carry on. More fools us.

And I haven't cracked. Here I am writing my blog and looking in the larder at all the hidden things we keep for emergencies when we can't access a grocery store.

Did I mention there isn't a car for rent anywhere on the island? Bloody selfish tourists.

Running Away

No I haven't. But it sounds appealing. One of my acquaintances is off to northern Greenland. Now normally I wouldn't be envious. Not one bit. But today I am.

But I am ever mindful no matter where I go, there I am. Everything is an effort. Dressing, showering, cooking, working. Being civil is a huge stretch. I normally don't tolerate fools well but at the moment I am just about hissing when confronted with one. Odd that, how many hapless eejits can walk into your life when you have the message out there: Don't. Come. Near. Me.

My little Teachín - or Tigeen,which is easier to say - has had her fair share of trouble. Gordon-The-Gift is just back from Labrador and we discovered the lovely wood floor had heaved in the month and half he was away even though well insulated. He figures he didn't allow room for "breathing" and also used some fancy long staples when nails would have been better. I feel more badly for him than myself as he has to go back to Labrador tomorrow ("Big Money") and won't be back to fix the floor ("No problem - I'll take it all up and reinstall and not charge you")for another six weeks. He tells me he is poisoned at himself. Meanwhile the solar panel (imagine! no electricity bill!) works well and the rain barrel is installed.

The wee washroom is looking good apart from the fact I can't find a micro corner sink anywhere (6"-8") even in marine/nautical/RV suppliers. I saw a perfect one in my friends' washroom in Dublin but I lacked the tools to secretly pry it off their wall and into my luggage.

This too shall pass. One foot in front of the other. I am comforted to know that I am not alone. Your emails and comments are as a balm to my spirit and I thank you all. I find routine is a salvation. Doing the do things, suiting up and showing up. Sometimes mindlessly. But a far better choice than hiding, disengaged, under the covers hoping for the world to blow away.

Wednesdays Unplugged Redux

(An Teachín, finished on the outside, pic taken Tuesday, snow is gone again).

This experiment of unplugged Wednesdays is truly amazing.

I look forward to it. Plan carefully for it and then let the wind take me where it will.

Nothing exciting at all. Maybe grocery shopping, maybe a movie, though what St. John's has to offer is depressing - the demographic has to be hormonal, grammatically challenged 13 year old boys with a blood lust.

I read a lot on my Wednesdays and work internally on the new play, for my best ideas have always come while driving. I meet some friends, sometimes. But mostly I am alone. Newfoundland is a place one talks to strangers. There is a natural curiousity that I love in Newfoundlanders who pick up on my accent and have to know right then and there where I am from and when I confirm, yes, Ireland, there is unbridled joy: the Homeland! So then I have to get into the journey that brought me here and then it is their turn. It is all about clan and family and outports and connections.

The voicemails wait on my phones.
The emails nest together irritably.
Facebook updates slide sideways.
Lexulous boards are anxious.

Now I haven't gone to two days unplugged yet. But we'll see.

The Self-Educated Toilet Woman

Framed skylight with the interior panelling completed, outlet is for the marine light for the loft bed.

Wow. I've never been so involved with toilets as I am today. I mean, yuck, right? Poop, pee, excrement, faeces, urine, voiding and other more unseemly words. "Little Things" and "Big Things" as they were called by my ladylike mother in the house I grew up in, shortened to "Lickuns" and "Bickuns" by my brothers, who in that manner peculiar to miniature males, found speculating on what exactly a visitor performed in our bathroom a matter of thigh-slapping, snorting and falling-down-helpless hilarity. One even went so far as to take penny bets as to - ahem - outcomes.

It was extremely challenging to be even remotely feminine in that house of testosterone and it was mostly a case of join 'em. But I did draw the line at guessing or betting at the specifics of bathroom excretions of aunts and uncles and other assorteds.

There is a point to this post. Yeah. Gordon-the-Gift had sent me trotting around to investigate composting toilets. There is very little on line in the way of information on these, as pertaining to Newfoundland anyway: unheard of devices. There are none on the island, I've been told. What most people do with an "An Teachín" such as mine, is sneak in an old oil tank underneath the house as a catchment type of system and then don't tell anybody. Meaning the authorities or Environment Canada or local municipalities. And they always get away with it, I was informed, so what is this nonsense about composting toilets, hardy-har-har, when you could dig in an old oil tank and use that as a sorta septic system.

For a minute or two I was swayed there. Yeah, no one would know. But I would. And the town council trusts me to do what I promised on the permit. And seriously, you're either all green and enviro-tree-huggy or this po-faced hypocrite getting away with some nasty behaviour and all that shouting about groundwater and leakage and seepage you did would be just another emperor wearing no clothes.

So I tackled the problem head(sorry)on and went to the manager of Home Depot and asked for help. And guess what, they were bloody wonderful and we all talked to the manufacturer down in in the USA, and found out all there is to know about composting toilets, which are odour-free with a tank that sits underneath the cabin with an outside hand crank you turn every day - to mix her up goodlike - and an airvent that brings in the air to activate the bacteria that does the job and it all condenses down to a drawer that eventually fills up with powder-like compost for the garden.

There was a special discounted web price on the toilet plus shipping, and the HD people dropped 15% off this price and there was no shipping charge on top of this and it will be here in three weeks

It's still pretty expensive - for Thomas Crapper's big invention.


I never, ever, get over the view from the covered deck of An Teachín.

Update

We're finding it hard not to gloat out here at the edge of the Atlantic. The weather is gorgeous, most days sunny, little cardigans or sweaters on us just for show. No hats yet.

The rest of Canada, just about, drowns in the white stuff or hellish, pounding, galey rain. A friend from New Brunswick phoned yesterday asking me to confirm that we haven't had any snow yet. He described floods and swollen rivers and we chatted about Ontario and the deep freeze and like, well, winter.

Work continues apace on the lovely writer's cabin, An Teachín, though we are held back a little by the absence of the French doors which were ordered three months ago.

So I present recent pictures which also shows off the weather here.

The covered porch is now on, as you can see. I was up there yesterday to test drive the incredible wraparound deck and found it difficult to tear myself away. I said to Gordon-The-Gift I might want to move right in. The cabin has been wired and tested for the solar panel which will be installed on the roof. The solar panel is adequate for the requirements which are minimal - few plugs and lights.

We are currently investigating composting toilets. If anyone out there can offer advice/suggestions/hints on this it would be appreciated.

Driving Inertia

An Teachin's Progress to yesterday. Skylight was installed. Roof nearly finished.

Or is it inertia?

Two days in a row I've tried to leave here. Go to town, visit some friends, stock up my dwindling larder/freezer shelves. I get the fire going in the morning. Gordon-the-Gift arrives to work on "An Teachin" and I wander about the house doing some work, some annual tasks like sorting winter and summer clothing, then baking in readiness for my gluten-free daughter's arrival in mid-December, knitting some Solstice gifts, exchanging writing pieces with a friend for critique, playing Lexulous, reading.

I love being inside, cosy, it seems like just too much to leave here and drive 200km in total to town and back.

And I revel in the fact I don't have to do anything.

So there.

Duh!

The lumber delivery truck pulls up the driveway as I'm on the phone with a client. It is loaded with additional bits and bobs for An Teachin - the Artist's/Writer's Cabin I'm building on the hill behind the house.

Ansa starts to bark with some degree of urgency so I fold down the conversation on the phone. Something is up.

I go out back. All this lumber, stone and cedar is piled up in front of the garage door.

"Hey!"

"Wha'?"

"My car's in there!"

"Where?"

"In the garage!" (note: I don't say a**h***)

"Why?"

"That's where she lives, b'y!" (injecting a bit of Newfoundlandese here, notice?)

He continues stockpiling in front of the garage.

"I'll need to get my car out."

"When?"

"Later."

"Why?"

"I have to go to town - look never mind, move the stuff to the meadow. OK?"

"Are you sure?"

"Seriously. Positively. I swear on my firstborn's head."

"Well, only if you're sure now." (reluctantly)

"Oh, why would you think I wouldn't be?" (humour me)

"I wouldn't like the look of it on the meadow."

"It's not going to stay there. It's for the cabin up yonder, see?"

"Whatever you say then." Huge, sad sigh, headshake thrown in for good measure.

Ansa = 1. Delivery person = 0.


PS: Yes, picture taken today, yes, grass still green. Weather gobsmackingly gorgeous.

An Teachín

I previously wrote about it here.

Well, it's started now.

Here is the foundation:



Here is the view from the front:



And here is a view from the virtual deck looking west:



Work is suspended for a week due to Gordon-the-Gift's prior commitment.

Why is Combatting Climate Change Such Hard Work?

T is for "Teachín" - pronounced te-ockeen (the tongue just about skips the e) - "Little House" in Irish. More on that below.

Today we have good news - or should that be dreadful news?

The leading sceptic of global warming - Bjorn Lomborg - has now done a complete about face and is actually coming out with a book advocating we immediately start pouring billions of dollars at the problem. You're awfully late to the party, Bjorn, but you're welcome. Read all about it in The Guardian

And to make this matter personal, I am embarking on a project of my own which has been close to my heart since I bought this place over six years ago.

From the beginning, I had dreamed of a cabin up on the hill behind my house. A cabin with a difference. A cabin completely off the grid - by that I mean on a wind turbine with rainwater collected in an enclosed barrel to be used for washing, etc., a compostible toilet and a tiny one log woodstove for cooking and heating. A cabin using recycled material where possible with its own deck and loft bed with a skylight for star-gazing. And a big desk and easy chair.

This is all beginning to unfold. The plans were drawn up and tonight Gordon-the-Gift was here, with glee, he had managed to salvage the flooring from an old church which is now going to be used for the cabin.

However, and it is a huge one: I am getting absolutely no co-operation or information on any of this from municipal, provincial or federal environmental agencies. Along with 99% of the population our governments are positively snoring when it comes to making any changes to our existing utilities infrastructure and the desperate need for change. (Did someone mention powerful oil, coal and hydro lobbies?)

My own research has been in collusion with other private citizens who are anxious to reduce their own environmental footprints and contribute less in some small way to climate change. We are the change we wish to see in our tiny part of this precious planet. For instance, I am in touch with a tiny manufacturing facility in BC who makes these little teensy woodstoves for boats that no one wants to hear about for houses. I could go on.

The cabin will be for rent to artists and writers and anyone who just wants to get away from it all and live on a hill for a while with a magnificent view of the bay.

Below is a picture of the site~~



I am seriously excited about all of this. Scared too. But I knew if I didn't start this year it would never happen.

There will be ongoing progressive cabin photos and blogging along the way. And the name of this project? - An Teachín.