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Oct. 26th, 2019 09:48 pmWe plunged into basement prep for the second day. We got everything in the finished room stacked up along the interior wall! That elliptical machine was the biggest problem. I had hoped it would sort of slide on the mat it was parked on. I hadn't reckoned with the fact that its own weight, combined with the weight of the Lumberjack exercising on it when he was here, had embedded it into the mat and the carpet beneath, so it wouldn't budge when pushed. It is far too heavy to lift. There's a bar on the back, whereby the back end can be lifted up, IF you take extreme care not to ruin your own back. There are wheels on the front. However, lifting it up and trying to make the wheels turn did not work, because of the aforesaid embedding. Then I figured out that, although I couldn't lift the front end up, I could lift one side and tilt it, so the Sparrowhawk could slip pieces of cardboard under the wheels. And THEN it careened forward nicely when pushed and slid right into its allotted slot. Then we disassembled the bed and stacked up its parts. And finally, unloaded and moved the last bookcase. And a filing cabinet. And the TV. And the desk. Victory! We're all ready for the waterproofers. Luckily, they will move the washer and dryer themselves. The Sparrowhawk vacuumed around the walls. I'm very happy to have this opportunity to give the room a good cleaning. When Tron and the Lumberjack come at Christmas, it will be all freshened up and have a new and better dehumidifying and ventilation system.
Once we'd finished the job, I felt at a loose end. I love well-defined mission objectives! Show me a thing that needs doing, and I WILL DO THAT THING. Many years ago, Queenie lettered some poems for me as a gift. One of them was "To be of use," by Marge Piercy, with its final lines, "The pitcher cries for water to carry/and a person for work that is real." Well, that's me all over. But, as a writer, my goals are often ill-defined and nebulous. What am I even doing? Will I finish anything ever again? Is there ANY point? Without furniture to move, I'm reduced to the furnishings of my own mind. I flail, trip over things, and blame myself. I took refuge in making a cast-iron frying pan full of vegetables to go with the pork chops the Sparrowhawk was cooking. I cut up two mini-cabbages, a few small potatoes, an apple, an onion, and some carrots, and cut some parsley and sage from my garden. I sauteed all of the above in a little butter, together with some bratwurst, added a splash of KBS to the pot, and baked them covered in the oven until they were tender and the flavors had swapped around. It was a great hot dish for a chilly night of more pelting rain.
Once we'd finished the job, I felt at a loose end. I love well-defined mission objectives! Show me a thing that needs doing, and I WILL DO THAT THING. Many years ago, Queenie lettered some poems for me as a gift. One of them was "To be of use," by Marge Piercy, with its final lines, "The pitcher cries for water to carry/and a person for work that is real." Well, that's me all over. But, as a writer, my goals are often ill-defined and nebulous. What am I even doing? Will I finish anything ever again? Is there ANY point? Without furniture to move, I'm reduced to the furnishings of my own mind. I flail, trip over things, and blame myself. I took refuge in making a cast-iron frying pan full of vegetables to go with the pork chops the Sparrowhawk was cooking. I cut up two mini-cabbages, a few small potatoes, an apple, an onion, and some carrots, and cut some parsley and sage from my garden. I sauteed all of the above in a little butter, together with some bratwurst, added a splash of KBS to the pot, and baked them covered in the oven until they were tender and the flavors had swapped around. It was a great hot dish for a chilly night of more pelting rain.
