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Follow your Dog

18 Wednesday Aug 2021

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I talk a lot about Jenny on this blog.

Jenny… my sidekick, my partner in crime, my guide dog. I’ve had her harness in my left hand for almost eight years. It is abundantly clear that we have far more years of partnership behind us than we do ahead. I’m not even sure that our partnership has multiples of years left. I’ve found myself talking more about her retirement lately – of course I am, especially in the process of applying for Guide Dog 2.0 – but it still feels both like it will happen tomorrow, and like it’s a million years away.

But while she’s still my steady and reliable guide, she still reminds me that I need to follow her, dammit! And she has the most adorable ways to show me that I am being foolish. I often tell the story of the time I seriously over-corrected her – thinking she was distracted and veering way too far to the right. My “correction” had us crossing a busy downtown street… diagonally. Not realizing my error until later, I got up on the opposite curb and asked my dog “what the hell was that?” She calmly walked me around the corner to the light pole, and stubbornly sat down, cocking her head to the side. The thought bubble above her head couldn’t have been more clear: “Are you quite done?”

That instance was years ago – frankly, I should’ve known better. But Jenny is nothing if not forgiving, and smart, and intuitive. I honestly believe that she took her lack of useful work over the past year and a half personally, because she’s rocked every new thing I’ve thrown at her in the past few months. And even in the mundane and routine , she’s got her way of baffling me, while simultaneously putting me in my place.

Today I decided to go to an unfamiliar restaurant for lunch. I’d been there once before (with my dad, traveling in his car, about seven or eight years ago?) I left work and made my way through the parking lot, redirecting Jenny from the other restaurants in the area that we’ve been to before. I waved her forward, through the parking lot, and asked her to find a door. There’s more than one door – in fact, there’s about ten of them – and she took me to the one door to the one restaurant I wanted. I don’t think her tail stopped wagging the entire time she was showing her stuff.

On my way home, my mind was full of complicated thoughts. It has been a hard day and a long week, and I truthfully wasn’t paying as much attention to my orientation as I should have. I made a turn, and about a hundred feet past the corner, Jenny made a sharp turn to the left. Thinking she was severely distracted by something across the street, I waved Jenny forward. She angled in front of me, as though to block me from the rest of the sidewalk. Was there construction? I waved her forward again, and again she angled in front of me, preventing me from moving forward. I snapped out of my mental funk and realized she hadn’t been distracted at all – she was taking me to the crosswalk that we cross regularly. As soon as I turned around and headed back toward that crosswalk, my faithful, forgiving guide dog wagged her tail frantically, as if to say, “See? You really should listen to me.”

I do listen to Jenny more often than I don’t. She speaks so loudly with her whole body. I wonder how Guide Dog 2.0 will communicate? Will they be gracious, or stubborn? Will they throw up warning messages (“Are you sure you want to go straight/cross this way/take this turn?”) or just let me figure out my own foolishness? Will I be open to learn what they will teach me? I certainly hope so.

Could you Be My Eyes?

17 Tuesday Aug 2021

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I’ve written before about visual interpreting service Aira more than once. In case you missed those brilliant pieces of my wisdom (read: my personal opinion and experience), I pay Aira a monthly fee to provide visual information and assist with inaccessible apps. But Aira is by no means the only spare pair of eyes I can call in a pinch. But when I ask someone to Be my Eyes, I use that service for different tasks than Aira.

Early Be my Eyes Marketing

I’d be remis if I didn’t address the initial marketing strategy of Be My Eyes. When it first became available late in 2015, it had a really icky message. “Help the blind see!” or “Do a good deed!” The exact wording of their slogan at the time isn’t something I can recall, but it made me reluctant to use the service until such a point as they cleaned up their marketing and made blind people feel less like a charity case. Thankfully, they’ve now changed their slogan to “See the World Together”, and their outward marketing is more of collaboration and mutual benefit to both sighted and blind alike.

Universally Accessible

Be my Eyes is a free service. Basically, if you have a smart phone, you can use it. If you speak more than one language, you can use that language to request or provide assistance. I’ve primarily spoken to volunteers from my home country of Canada, but there have been times where my “eyes” are located in England or South Africa. If I just need a quick check of when my yogurt expires, or how many kilometers I’ve ridden on my exercise bike workout, I’m more likely to reach for Be my Eyes, rather than Aira.

Corporate Partnerships

One of the handy things about Be my Eyes is their partnerships with global companies in technology, blindness services, and personal care items. These partnerships use the Be my Eyes video platform to connect a blind person to an employee from (for example) Google, Guide dogs for the Blind, and ClearBlue. So if you need a hand with your Google Doc, or want a trainer to take a look at your guide dog’s behavior, or are concerned about pregnancy or fertility, there’s someone who knows the product specifically and can provide an extra bit of information without a crash course in tech or guide dogs or whatever.

A few Drawbacks

The quality of volunteers – and the information they provide – can definitely be hit or miss. I’ve had amazing volunteers who have spent half an hour with me going through all the swag in a race kit. I’ve also had volunteers who were unable to provide directions so they could better see what I was needing help with (“Bring your phone up. No… not up, but UP!”) Volunteers have been at home watching TV, or out at a club. Volunteers have been in their sixties, and I swear I’ve had more than one who couldn’t have been older than twelve. Overall, however, my experiences with Be my Eyes have been generally positive. Now, if only they could fix their bug that messes up my phone’s speaker after every call…

The Bottom line

I don’t use Be my Eyes for confidential information, or for anything that requires a third party to log into my computer to work through an accessibility glitch (I still use Aira for that). but for another tool in my toolbox – which means I’m not relying on friends and family – it’s a welcome addition. Adding their useful corporate partnerships, and it’s an app that’s sticking around. I can’t wait to see where it goes next.

The Joy of Clean and New

12 Thursday Aug 2021

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There’s nothing quite like coming home to a clean house. I’m by no means a neat freak, but I like things to be clean. I can hold my own, but I’m just not a particularly proficient cleaner… and no, it’s not because I’m blind.

A few times a year, I splurge to pay for a cleaner to come and do a deep clean on my house. I started this a couple of years ago when my husband moved out. I felt so overwhelmed by all of the stuff – nearly a decade of stuff – and dirt and grime and junk in my house. Two years ago, with no judgment, my housekeeper (Kendra) and her partner came and scoured my house. They spent an embarrassing amount of time here (while I spent 1/3 of my most recent paycheck), and I vowed I would never let my home get that badly neglected again. I’ve stuck to that. It hasn’t been perfect, and at times I’ve felt so overwhelmingly exhausted that I’ve done only what needed doing until I couldn’t take the state of my house anymore. But it has never again gotten to the point where I felt ashamed of where and how I’ve been living.

Over the past two years (more or less once a season), Kendra comes to clean. She cleaned on my birthday last year. I’ve recommended her to my friends, and she’s brought magic into their homes as well. Normally, I try to be there when she’s cleaning – she’s just such an amazing person to be around – but my new job hasn’t quite given me the ability to work from home yet. No matter when she comes, she’s always left my home sparkling clean and organized… which is wonderful, except when I’m trying to find something (it wasn’t where I put it yesterday or last week or a month ago). The flip side? She can find things I’ve replaced, given up for lost, like the black ring I wear on my right middle finger that I could’ve sworn a certain black kitten (who shall remain nameless) took to her toy hoarding palace under the couch.

Speaking of couches… why had I never seriously considered replacing mine? I mean, aside from the fact that furniture and delivery is expensive, and the logistics of getting rid of my old ones? But, seriously… Over the past few months, I’ve noticed my love seat just not being comfortable anymore. My partner found a set of leather couches on Kijiji, and they were just perfect for us. Within less than 24 hours, we’d located the couch and love seat, had it delivered, and Kendra had sent me a text hoping I was as happy as she was with her work in the house. I walked in my door to the smell of… clean. And leather. And my home is once again an oasis of calm and clean and comfort. My biggest thanks to Kendra for her help along this journey, and wonderful seller of leather couches (sorry, I never knew your name). My home once again feels like a place I want to be.

The Healing Power of Stress Dreams

08 Sunday Aug 2021

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I am tired.

I am so so so so tired.

I think I’ve been tired for a long time, between stress from the pandemic, and the stress of the past few months. Almost everything major in my life has been up in the air for the past few months – job transition, divorce paperwork, refinancing my house – and I said earlier this summer that if one of those things settles down then I’d feel better. Well, I’ve left one job and started another, and the paperwork for my house has been signed. My divorce documents are working their way through a seriously backlogged court system, but effectively complete but for a Justice’s signature. But I am still very very very tired.

In times of immense transition like this, I tend to have stress dreams. They’re super awful in their own way because they are things that could conceivably and realistically – if not likely – happen. Over the years I’ve had dreams that my partner has left me, stalked me, or tried to hurt me. I’ve had dreams of loved ones dying. I’ve had dreams that my house burned down in a fire, or was destroyed by a flood. I’ve had dreams I’ve been fired from my job, or had nightmares that I was back at a toxic work environment that I only now realize still haunts me in some less than helpful ways.

And what really really really sucks, more than having these dreams in the first place?

I get one of them, wake up (usually at 2:30 AM), stay keyed up for two hours, finally get back to sleep again… only to have another one just before my alarm goes off.

The weirdest part about them is that when I wake up, I realize they aren’t true… even if they potentially could be. In their frustrating real-life yet immersive-movie ways, they bring a sense of healing. They bring out a fear or a worry or a trauma that I can’t consider in real-time because I’m so busy hyper-focusing on what’s actually going on in the moment. For whatever reason, they give a voice to those little niggling doubts that there’s something lurking under the surface. Even if there really is nothing to worry about, I’ve got a healthy-ish involuntary sieve that filters out the little worries and lets me get on with things in my real life in an actually healthy way. They’re my healers, even if they hurt in the middle of the night. Because in vary short order, what’s caused them in the first place gets dealt with in the real world, and even if it’s not the way that I would prefer, it’s never ever ever as bad as my dream was.

So tonight, I will sleep like a baby who’s just started sleeping through the night, and tomorrow I’ll be able to face the world with a little less uncertainty and a little more determination. Those niggling worries have faded, and now I can tackle the real and practical issues in my world.

The Best Laid Plans

07 Saturday Aug 2021

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I had all these plans for today.

A few weeks ago, my regular local meet-up group that has been meeting virtually for nearly a year and a half planned an in-person event: a picnic in a local park. I’ve been looking forward to this event for weeks: being around people again, but also being able to distance appropriately, while still being in proximity to their energy. It looked like the weather would be perfect…. until 9:00 this morning when a series of loud thunderstorms boomed over the city. With two hours to spare, the picnic was called off. There are plans to reschedule; I hope the weather cooperates.

My sandals are getting old. I’ve worn them constantly for two summers, now my feet hurt, and the bottoms are feeling almost flat. Once the storms cleared out, my partner and I took a trip down Whyte Ave, where we ate lunch on a sidewalk patio, then crossed the street to a local shoe store that specializes in orthotic shoes and sandals. I must’ve tried on 15 pairs of sandals, and there was something just slightly off with every single pair. They were either too wide or two narrow. They pinched my heels, or my feet flopped around in them. I found the PERFECT pair of sandals… except the strap near my left foot rubbed uncomfortably against my toes. After more than an hour, and a bunch of frustration, I walked away with only the shoes I walked in with, and despair at ever finding new sandals that fit.

I walked in my front door, ready to relax and write an interesting blog post prior to a long-standing Saturday night virtual game night. Instead, I had to figure out the source of the pieces of lightbulb strewn across my house, from the kitchen to the living room to the hallway. While looking for the pieces and hoping no one cut their feet or paws on broken glass, I also had to figure out where Simone’s kitty harness disappeared to. We found the box of broken lightbulbs in the basement; my partner used the shop vac to clean up the glass, while I went on the hunt for the cat harness. We eventually found the harness stuck under the couch – the ring with Simone’s bell and her city license got caught underneath, and she must have squirmed her way out of it. Thankfully, on all counts, everyone is safe. We just won’t be walking around the house in bare feet anytime soon!

It has not, in any way, been the day I’ve hoped for. But I am still grateful to have lived it. I will look back on this day and realize that even though it hasn’t gone anything like I’ve planned, that I have lived it well. I may not have enjoyed my picnic, but I will eventually get to spend time with my tribe. I may not have new sandals, but I hope I will eventually find some, and they will be worth the frustration in finding them. I may be down half a dozen light bulbs, but no one was hurt, and hopefully the cat has learned that not everything’s a toy.

Maybe hope springs eternal. Maybe optimism is what gets you through a day. Maybe that’s all OK. And maybe, tomorrow, I’ll have a chance to write the post I hoped to write today. but if not, something different will come along… and it might be better.

Finance Friday: Why I’m talking about boring Money Stuff

06 Friday Aug 2021

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I am not a financial adviser. I know next to nothing about investing, and terms like “dividends” and “annuity” make my head hurt (I had to look up how to spell “annuity”).

That all being said,, I’ve been personally interested in day-to-day financial management for a very long time. I have a head for numbers. I know exactly where every penny (or nickel, I should say, since we don’t have pennies here) is going. I realize I’m blessed and privileged to be in this position.

Recently, my friend and fellow blogger Steve wrote an open letter to well-known budgeting app YNAB (You Need a Budget) thanking them for fixing a very serious accessibility bug that rendered the app unusable to him. This got me to thinking. There are not all that many resources out there for Canadians that are both easy to understand and with accompanying tools that are accessible to me as a blind person. I am fortunate that while the finances themselves haven’t come as easily to me at times over the years, I’ve had the aptitude and some of the tools to be able to budget and save with the funds that I’ve had. Those tools – and a head for numbers – have kept me afloat during some really tough times. But financial literacy is seldom taught – resources can be hard to find and need to be sought, which usually doesn’t happen until a financial emergency occurs. And while I obviously don’t know everyone’s relationship with money, I’d like to start a conversation about lessons learned and useful tools, particularly here in Canada.

The most vivid memory I have of financial consequences was in the year I graduated from high school. I was living at home, and had a small but reasonable food budget. I could order pizza (the only takeout food available at the time) every Friday night, but then I’d have to figure out what to do for food for the rest of the month. What teenager doesn’t want pizza every weekend? After three weeks, I had $20 left for groceries, and had to figure out what I could eat for a week with that $20. The answer? Raman noodles. I couldn’t put anything on them like you can at trendy Raman eateries these days, but I could get a case of them, and some apples, for my $20. Nearly twenty years later, and I still can’t eat Raman noodles.

For me, this is a funny personal story, but food insecurity is a serious problem in this country. With many disabled people living near or below the poverty line, I’d like to open a conversation about some options available that can provide some practical money-saving tips. I can’t solve the country’s money problems, but maybe if I can start a conversation, we can all create a little bit of change.

I get it. Money isn’t a glamorous topic. it’s confusing to many. It’s a source of stress. It’s extremely personal. It’s a leading cause of relationship breakdown. I’m not going to tell anyone what to do with their money; heaven knows I’d resent anyone telling me how to manage mine. But I think it’s important to raise awareness of some of the tools that have enabled me to save effectively – if not aggressively – while maintaining the roof over my head. I’d also welcome personal stories and experiences and ways you’ve found to budget, save money, or stretch a nickel into a dollar.

The tools I will be discussing in the coming weeks are ones I’ve used personally. I haven’t received any kind of incentive or compensation for providing reviews; I’m simply a user of product or service XYZ and wish to share my experiences. They are, I am sure, not the only tools out there; they are simply a few that I’ve found over the past couple of years and found generally usable, effective, and primarily accessible. Come on this journey with me, and maybe we can learn a few things together!

I’m Sorry… but I’m not apologizing Any More

05 Thursday Aug 2021

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I sat down at my desk and contemplated the task I’d been asked to do. I had never once done this particular task before, and had never even seen an example of what it would look like.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “But… I’ve never done this before and am really lost.”

“I’m sorry,” I said twenty minutes later, when direction or information was unclear.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, when my computer decided to not behave properly while someone was trying to do something with it.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry…”

I don’t know at what point in my day I realized I had said it in seemingly every interaction – the new task? the unclear instruction? the seemingly “foolish” question that I’d have no way to answer unless I asked – but something tripped in my brain. Why am I sorry? What do I have to be sorry about? And why am I “sorry” so much?

Something did happen that day that warranted an apology – something that was 100% preventable. I was more than willing to offer it. But why do I (and so many others) feel the need to apologize for asking questions, needing help, not knowing something?

Maybe this is half the battle. Knowing that you’re habitually doing something and being able to stop it because you’re thinking about it. There is no need to apologize for a lack of knowledge, for requesting clarification, for needing a hand sometimes. Apologizing for such things can actually cheapen the apology for things that we should be sorry for – for hurting someone, for making a mistake that we knew better than to make, for intentionally (or not) greatly inconveniencing people with no way to reciprocate their generosity.

So, I’m sorry, world… I’m putting myself on notice. Apologies are for important things – harm, negligence, hurtfulness, etc. They are not for being human, not to be used when I don’t know the answers, not to be trotted out as a cover for uncertainty. Because I shouldn’t be sorry for those things, either.

And I won’t be, any more.

Blind Lady Gets Sh*t Done, November-December: Finishing Strong

01 Friday Jan 2021

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After an incredibly exhausting October, where sleep was elusive and the thought of warm blankets and books I couldn’t concentrate on seemed more appealing than doing stuff around the house, it seems that the last two months of the year put me back together again. We didn’t have to worry about washing dishes by hand, or putting off washing dishes by hand. I could just do my job, go running, spend some time on my exercise bike, and yes… get sh*t done!

November: Puppy Dogs and Plumbing Problems

Ben’s puppy, Wyatt, comes to visit for a few days. He and Jenny get along like a house on fire – they start each day with enthusiastic greetings, wrestle and play, have a nap, and then regroup for more tug wars – not always with things that are appropriate. More than once we have to take Jenny’s stuffed pink pig away from them… and six weeks later we’re still finding strands of destroyed tug rope in various nooks and crannies of the living room… or (also likely) they’ve re-materialized after Wolfie has balled them up and turned them into her own kitty toys. Wyatt and the kitties co-exist quite nicely, staying out of each other’s way, or firmly asserting boundaries if avoidance is impossible. Unfortunately, both Wyatt and Jenny come down with Kennel Cough, and the puppy party must end unceremoniously.

Once a year I have a plumbing company come in and do a check of the plumbing and furnace. This year, I get told – again – that the whole house pretty much needs to be re-plumbed. Oh, and the furnace needs replacing too. And can we add a humidifier to your new furnace? Why yes yes you can… when the furnace gets replaced. But thanks so much for showing me how to disconnect the plumbing for the old dishwasher that’s going to be hauled away in just a few days!

I go out for a run on a Sunday morning, and come home to find a coughing, mopey dog, and a brand new thermostat on the wall. We realized with Daylight Savings Time that there’s no quick and easy way for me to adjust the temperature settings, or the time. This new thermostat can be operated like a traditional thermostat or through Smart technology, which means that for the first time in my life I can independently program a thermostat! It’s a BIG deal to me, even as it feels like a small thing. Oh, and if there’s ever a reason to open up that wall, we need to watch out for sharp objects – there’s a handheld hole saw that got dropped down there (I’m writing this so that no one can say they didn’t know!)

The brand new dishwasher we’ve waited six weeks for finally arrives on a cold Friday – the same day I realize the snow rake isn’t designed to be used by short people, or blind people… either that or my house is too tall. The massive dishwasher box blocks the pantry door for a day or two, but we’re eating takeout this weekend – skipping the dishes, as we do. The installation, however, doesn’t go as smoothly as the delivery. I hear nothing until 5:00 PM Sunday (the day of the appointment we booked six weeks ago), at which point I’m told that they can’t install today and will be able to reschedule for Tuesday. I decline the offer, and call my friend Keith, who comes by both Sunday and Monday night (due to missing parts) and gives us a crash course on dishwasher installation. I don’t think I could do an entire installation, or explain how it’s done, but I know more than I used to… The first load of dishes that runs through is so quiet that I find myself regularly walking into the kitchen to make sure there’s not a problem. Thankfully, there is no problem, and our dishes get REALLY clean, and we have more time to enjoy the holidays.

December: An Unusual Christmas

It’s proving to be a holiday season unlike any other we have ever experienced. The provincial government has imposed restrictions so that people cannot mix and mingle over the holidays. I take the opportunity to add a few touches to my personal spaces. I completely de-clutter my work space/beading table and even create a couple pieces for the holidays. The old, ratty mat by the back door is replaced with a shiny new one. And the music room receives some TLC in the form of new curtains. I think I need to  spend more time there in the coming year.

So, it is just my partner and I for Christmas. In some ways I am glad to miss the hustle and bustle, and in others I miss the mingling. We enjoy Mandarin oranges and chocolate treats. Christmas dinner turns out to be disappointing – the turkey breast we bought turned out to be sandwich meat… Oops! But Keith and his family save Christmas by delivering an emergency supply of prime rib and mashed potatoes and little green balls of death (brussel sprouts) that I normally don’t like but turned out YUMMY! Even though we couldn’t have Christmas dinner all together, I feel blessed to have friends who, over the years, have come to my rescue in ways big and small.

During my time off from work, we alternate between resting and relaxing, and doing things about the house. We decide to be strategic, starting in the kitchen, and working our way towards the other end of the house. It’s not all done, it’s not all perfect, but the kitchen is reorganized and way less cluttered. The caddy, the portable counter-top unit that every single person who has ever been to my house has bumped their hip on at least once, has now been relocated into the living room. Wolfie is not a fan of this new development, because now she can’t hang out in the kitchen and meow at us. And she seems to show no interest in hanging out in the living room and meowing at us. I don’t think I’ll understand that little gray fluffball…

A Few Reflections

When I started this journey of making my house my home, I did so with the hope to make my place both somewhere I would want to live and a place that I could be proud of. I had no illusions that my house would ever become a show place – I’m not the best housekeeper in the world, and my place is old and kinda beat up – but I wanted to have people come over and not worry so much about whether they were politely avoiding comments about the state of it. I’m not sure if I’ve succeeded to this end – looking back I realize I’ve ebbed and flowed in drive and motivation – sometimes with great bursts of productivity and sometimes trying to stop myself from drowning in inertia. I’ve kept a plant alive for almost a year – something that a friend who is no longer with us would be super proud of if she could see it. Perhaps Happy Plant is a lot like me – sometimes bursting forward and sometimes quietly growing in incremental ways.

A succulent plant in a pot. There are no flowers on the plant, but it is very green and growing taller.

I’ve done a lot of things myself this year, and a lot more with other people either assisting or directing. Maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to do everything myself. Maybe, just maybe, there are times to rest in the little things, where small pleasures and small victories are the important ones. This year, like for so many others, hasn’t been the year that I have expected. I have experienced great joy, Wolfie has come home! I have experienced sadness with the loss of friends. I’ve done things I never thought I would do, like actually sort of want to barbecue, or cut the grass. I’m not terrified to go into any part of my home, which honestly was a really big thing for me earlier this year. Maybe, that’s enough. Maybe the symbolic burning of things – like the dishwasher box and the papers I sorted earlier this year – is a way to clear out the old feelings of shame and expectation I’ve carried for so many years.

2021 will also look different – I won’t be running Boston like I thought I would. I don’t know all of what it will bring – I hope it will bring joy and love and peace. All I know is that, as much as it’s up to me, I’ll do what I can to continue this journey of home improvement, and to work on the things within myself that need to shift. I’ve got a few things on the go for 2021 already. My hope is to write more, to have some fun with the writing process, and I have some ideas that I’m excited to share. As I am writing this, I realize that maybe I got what I needed out of 2020 – it’s taken a lot, but given me much as well that I can carry into 2021. Who knows? Maybe in a year, I’ll look back at 2020 and realize that without it, 2021 wouldn’t be the year it will be. So let’s look forward, clinging to hope, doing what we can, wherever we are, and, above all, be kind to ourselves and each other. When it comes time, my home will be ready.

Blind Lady Gets Sh*t Done, February: Creating a Strategy

29 Saturday Feb 2020

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There’s something to be said about productivity. Tasks like cleaning and laundry and dishes never seem to end, but organization and de-cluttering feels like a million small victories. February beat me up a bit – both physically and emotionally – but one of the best things I did was to create a generally strategic plan for my house’s organization. it may shift and contract as tasks become more urgent, or if I need the assistance of another person, but February saw me moving from the front door, moving backward and outward. The basement of doom will probably take months to sort through, and I’ve had to make peace with that. There are places I believe are too emotional to handle in the moment, and I hope when the plan dictates I’ll be able to push through.
But February’s organizing was much much more… organized… than January. Maybe that’s all I needed.

 

February 1-8: This Might Hurt a Little

 

It’s Saturday morning, and I’m up early. I enjoy a cup of coffee and a snuggle with Annie, then harness up Jenny and take a walk to the thrift store with a bag of usable items. When we set out, there’s a slight mist in the air, with light snow falling almost imperceptibly from the sky. Within less than ten minutes, jenny and I are soaked, and being bombarded by little ice pellets. I decide to do some shopping at the thrift store after I drop off my donations – no sense getting pelted again. I come out with two pairs of pants and two shirts, and walk out the door to more snow – this stuff is less pellet-y, but it’s thick and heavy. Jenny and I just want to get home and hunker down and read books (me) and take a nap (her).
But why do that when I can de-clutter?
I decide to organize the front closet. All of the jackets on the rod are mine, but I put one or two that I haven’t worn in years into a bag to go back to the thrift shop at some later date. Now it’s time to tackle the top shelf. I organized the winter clothes box back in the summer, but there’s a bunch of other odds and ends that have been left up there, unsorted and unclaimed by anyone.
I move a chair over to the closet and bring everything down to the floor. I take a duster to the shelf and the little nooks and crannies, and it’s like my closet has been completely cleansed. I sort the winter clothes box again, putting a few items from it into the donation bag. My closet’s top shelf now contains two boxes – one with winter gear, the other with childhood mementos – and a motorcycle helmet. I find a container of spray foam insulator, and set it aside for a day when I’m feeling brave enough to fill in the gap by my sliding glass door. I love the new look, and I feel like I’ve taken on the world.

I take a break from closet organizing and vacuum my living room – floors and furniture. I do other odds and ends, like dusting and meal prep. Then I head back to tackle the boot rack in the main closet. I bend down to pick up a pair of shoes off the floor… and forget I’ve moved a chair over…

My bottom lip hits the corner of the back of the chair. Hard. There’s blood. I don’t feel so good. I call HealthLink and give the nurse on the phone an earful about how blindness isn’t a Greek tragedy. I sit on my couch, listen to a hockey game, and leave further organizing for another day.

 

* * *

 

It’s Sunday. I’m feeling OK, but my face hurts if I talk too long. After a morning run – where a bunch of people ask why I have a bandage on my lip and what does the other guy look like? – I head home and finish up the closet organizing. I group together running shoes on one shelf, work shoes on another, and boots of any variety on top. I vacuum the floor, relocate a couple of small signs to where they can be seen by visitors, hang a roll of jenny’s baggies on the mail keeper, and call it a day.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a funny week. A friend comes over to see if he can help me pinpoint why my dryer is squeaking. We find $1.35 stuck in the drum, and hope that will fix it. It’s not silent, but it’s much less rattle-y the next time I run a load of clothes through it.

 

Friday, I tackle the Stuff table. Everyone has a Stuff Table (or drawer, or room, or….) in their home. This stuff table hangs out in the main hallway, and it’s a great central repository for…. stuff! Back in August I organized the drawers – user manuals for appliances in the bottom, everyday tools and things in the middle, and assorted odds and ends in the top – but never seemed to get up the gumption to take care of the top.

it takes fifteen minutes. I sort, consider, and then realize that there’s very few things worth keeping up here. By the time I am done, I can set a dinner plate flat on the top of the Stuff Table if I wanted to – but decided against it… the table’s too short to eat at. And while I’m at it, I re-position the shoe rack so that it’s perpendicular to the coats in the closet. I’m not sure I like the look, but I am glad to have vacuumed out the area and taken ten-year-old painter’s tape off the baseboards.

 

* * *

 

It’s Saturday again, and I’m back in the basement. My partner is coming next week and we’ve decided to make that twelve-pound turkey that’s been hanging out in the basement freezer. In order to do that, I have to move the last shelving unit back into the furnace room.

It’s not nearly as bad as I think it is. I find all kinds of cool odds and ends – like wall hooks and enough screws to fill a 6-inch-cubed box and ceiling tiles that don’t contain Asbestos. Sorting this shelf takes less time than the Stuff Table yesterday, but the moving of things takes much more effort. (boxes tend to be unwieldy like that). I move the empty shelving unit to a perfectly sized spot, group together flooring (kitchen and upstairs) then ceiling tiles (just the one box) and a few odds and ends that go on the shelf I organized in January. I step back and admire my work. it is done. And I can get to the basement fridge/freezer and take out the turkey when it’s time.

One of my treasures is a new, still in the package, carbon monoxide detector. I knew it was around here somewhere – since I know we bought two but only ever installed one – but actually putting my hands on it feels like a huge victory. I put in a brand new battery, plug it in to an outlet upstairs, test it out… and somehow just know that I’ll sleep just that teensy bit better tonight.

 

February 9-15: All the little Things

 

It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m back in the basement. There’s a bunch of mostly junk in here, so I make quick work of it. Some stuff is set aside to go to the Ecostation, but most of it goes to the garbage or recycling. I do, however, find the Nativity scene that’s been carted around with me since I was old enough to not break the figurines. I move it over to the top shelf of the unit I moved yesterday, haul bags of recycling to the back, and call it a successful night.

 

* * *

 

During the course of the work week, I’m not home much. But I’m finding out – as my home becomes more organized and more settled and less cluttered – that it’s easier to do a couple of cleaning tasks on the regular. They’re no longer relegated to the stuff I do on the weekends, but they’re more integrated into everyday habits. I doubt I’ll ever be a super motivated or super accomplished housekeeper, but I’m liking the changes.

 

My Mom and my partner both arrive on Friday. when I get home, they’re getting along like a house on fire. The three of us make a lovely dinner of steak and potatoes, then sample craft beers and play Scrabble. When it’s time for bed, Mom looks in the linen closet at the top of the stairs to find blankets and sheets and – I hope – enough pillows so that all three of us can sleep well. In the closet is a bag I thought contained a quilt. Instead, it has fitted sheets, a thin sheet or two, and PILLOWS! I’m so happy that my pillow count is up to five usable pillows (including mine) that I can’t stop myself from doing a little jig.

 

On Saturday morning, Mom suggests a trip to pick up a few things for the house. She tells me about these covers that go over your heat vents that divert the heat further into the room, rather than dispersing it up the walls. I wouldn’t have known what to call them, much less where to find them, and my previous exposure to such things were already built in to the vents themselves. Having ones that can be attached by magnets? I’m game! She also suggests getting runners for the front entryway of my house. In another “what do you call these?” moment six months ago, I searched for “indoor/outdoor rugs” on Amazon and got a cute little one that’s useful, but doesn’t cover a lot of ground, so I like the idea of runners to protect my floor from ice and salt and moisture and gouges from my ice cleats.

 

We pile in to Mom’s rental car and buy a bunch of stuff at Walmart. We discuss curtains, and I’m a bit overwhelmed by all the options. Mom suggests blinds instead, and I find myself feeling the need to defend why I really don’t like blinds. We leave the curtains/blinds debate (which is never a debate because we all know I’m getting curtains) for another day, locate runners for the front hall, and find a Swiffer so I can more easily clean my floors. They don’t have heat deflectors, but Home Depot (right next door!) has them. It’s an overwhelmingly successful trip!

 

We get home, and I almost instantly install the heat deflectors. It takes less than five minutes for me to install three of them – two in the living room, one in the dining room. The fourth one, I put in the hall closet until I can decide where to place it. I take the Swiffer for a spin around the kitchen, and even I can see my floor looks nice and shiny. I decide to move the garbage can so that I can install the fourth heat deflector in the kitchen, and make quick work of that. The brooms and the Swiffer make an uneasy home in the hall closet, but they balance precariously and fall down regularly – I’ll deal with it later, but for now they’re all out of the way. Mom, my partner, and I make ourselves useful installing the runners, and the difference in my entranceway is astounding. I’m thrilled with all the changes, and they’re so so simple.

 

Mom asks me why I don’t move the Stuff table into the entrance closet. To be honest up until a week ago there hasn’t been space. She says I could go to Ikea (the seventh circle of hell) and get different (shorter) shoe racks and put them and a Stuff table in the closet. I can’t seem to respond with anything but defensiveness. It’s just all too much – I’ve worked my ass off to get this closet to something uncluttered and useful for me, and I’m not even sure I like it the way it is now… but it’s not the way it was, so I feel like that should be enough. Suggestions of improvements feel overwhelming and dismissive, and I don’t have the words to spit that all out. But words fail me, and I just let it all go for now.

 

February 16-22: Big Bird made me clean my Kitchen

 

So… that turkey in my freezer? It’s not twelve pounds… It’s nineteen pounds!!! My partner and I discover this when I bring up the turkey so we can make it for Thanksgiving in February. My friend Meagan pitched the idea in the midst of some deep angsty conversation and we decided to run with it. We thaw the turkey Monday morning – thanks to advice from Mom before she headed back home – and pre-heat the oven. The turkey – heretofore nicknamed “Big Bird” is placed in a disposable roasting pan that looks like a blue race car, covered in spices and herbs and plenty of water. It smells so good even after fifteen minutes that my partner and I have to stop ourselves from opening the oven and devouring it as our last meal before we die horrible deaths from food poisoning.

 

Meagan and her husband arrive with a casserole dish of mashed potatoes. I steam a bunch of vegetables. My partner removes the turkey from the oven… and water goes everywhere. Somehow he manages to remove Big Bird from the pan, then takes the race car roasting pan full of hot water into the bathroom and dumps it in the bathtub. We take care of the urgent concerns – like the drawer underneath the oven, Big Bird itself – then all four of us sit down and eat a decent turkey dinner. Another 15-30 minutes in the oven would’ve made it even better, but for a first turkey, Big Bird is a pretty big success… though I think my next experiment with a bird will be a chicken.

 

My partner and I are horrible hosts. While Meagan and her husband lounge on my couch, we are cleaning. It’s not as bad as we thought, so we decline offers of assistance. But I’m not sure if it’s the water or the huge amount of cleaner that makes me have to use a bath towel to dry off my stove top. My partner swiffers the hallway between the kitchen and bathroom, and then the bathroom itself. When he’s done, I grab the Swiffer and clean out the area underneath the stove. With the drawer being cleaned in the bath tub, it’s the perfect opportunity to find new repositories for the four toy mice I’m pretty sure Wolfie shoved under there before she left. By the end of the evening, the kitchen is cleaned, leftovers are packed away, and the four of us try and solve the world’s problems one issue at a time. Thanks, Big Bird, you served us well!

 

* * *

 

Every day I’m at work this week, I come home to find that my partner has done some of the day-to-day cleaning. I never once asked him to do this; it’s just done when I get home. I do most of the cooking, and we split food prep duties, so I don’t protest too much that he’s taken some of this on himself. It’s a nice surprise, and frees us both up to visit friends or do other necessary things in the evenings.

 

It’s Saturday, and we’re back at the thrift store with a bulging bag of donations. Then  we head back to Walmart to pick up yet another thing I didn’t know existed – and wouldn’t have known what to call it if I did. I still don’t know what to call them – broom hangers? – but I purchase two of them. When we get home, we each install one on the back of the hall closet. Now, the brooms hang merrily and don’t fall over, and they’re accessible and out of the way.

 

I ordered a hanger for my race medals. It arrived on Friday, but I’m not sure where I want to hang it. The spot I’ve chosen is logical, but there’s already a wall hook there. My studfinder isn’t working properly – and it’s the stuff out of nightmares where you can’t get a thing to work properly and all you hear is “beep beep beep” – so I guess I need a new one. I find a wooden Coptic cross that was a gift from Egypt several years ago. It’s sat on the end table for as long as I can remember, and I don’t think I ever knew it had the ability to be hung on the wall. there’s a tiny loop that I thread the wall hook through, and it’s now on the wall above my love seat. It’s brilliant. It’s perfect. But where to hang my race medals now?

 

It’s not something that can be solved right now, so we tackle another task – one that requires two people. We get the stepladder from downstairs. My partner positions the ladder while I climb up and clean the tops of the cupboards I couldn’t access from the chair in January. Overall, it’s not as bad as I thought, though the spots that are bad are pretty gross. I got more than I thought cleaned in January, so I’m able to make quick work of the cabinets, with my partner moving the ladder and handing up cloths to clean and dry the cupboards. Another little thing – but a big thing, too.

 

It takes us thirty minutes to organize underneath the sink. I know most things are usable, because it hasn’t been long since I did a preemptive clean/organize under there. I find Jet Dry, even though I just purchased another bottle. I have more Windex than I know what to do with. And I doubt I’ll need to buy dish soap for a decade, thanks to the massive jug of it under the sink. I also notice a very small, almost imperceptible leak, so I make a mental note to buy teflon tape. I stand up from the sink, where I once again can lay hands on absolutely everything and/or know where to find anything I need (in the event I need one of a dozen disposable masks).

 

My partner’s a tall guy. Instead of me bringing a chair over to the fridge, he hands down items from the cupboard above the fridge/freezer. I sort, both mentally and physically, items to be kept and items to be donated. By the time fifteen minutes has passed, I’ve put everything I’m keeping on the bottom shelf of that cupboard, within easy-ish reach for my shorter frame. We stand back, and I’m amazed – the first room of my house has been completely cleaned, sorted, and de-cluttered. Okay, maybe the second (my bedroom got organized with the new floors), but the first high-traffic room. It feels like a huge victory, like I’ve climbed a mountain and reached the summit. Maybe, in some ways, I have.

 

February 23-29: Making it Mine

 

My partner goes home Sunday morning. I’m sad about this, but I know we’ll see each other soon. A running buddy buys me a bottle of white whine and gives me strict instructions to enjoy it with company (he also has no idea that I’ve got a serious case of the blues). A friend comes over and – for the first time in I don’t know how long – I don’t stress about the cleanliness of my house, or don’t feel the need to scramble to make my place presentable for company after days, weeks, or months of neglect. We don’t touch the bottle of wine, but we enjoy ragtime music and an impromptu dance around my kitchen to “The Entertainer”. The house and I are settling in to a new rhythm, and we’re both happy with people around.

 

* * *

 

I take a personal day off work on Tuesday. It’s that time of year again – time for my piano to be tuned. Josh, the piano tuner, arrives on time, and one of the first things he says is “You’ve done some organizing here.” No kidding! While he’s doing his thing, I go about doing mine.

 

The sun is streaming through the room I’m having a hard time calling “the beading room.” That hasn’t been it’s original purpose, but that’s what it is now. I moved my beading things there months ago, but I spend little time there. The sun streaming through the window stops me in my tracks, and I feel a heaviness, a need to enter and do something with that space. It’s hard… very very hard. I take a deep breath and tell myself I don’t have to do everything right now – but I need to do something. So I tackle an easy task – set up a garbage can. Then I organize the top of my beading table. And then I find it… the thing that will help make this room what I need it to be.

 

More than twenty years ago, a friend of mine went to Hawaii. We didn’t know each other well, but the day we met we talked for hours. I was surprised that she thought of me on her trip – enough to bring home a bamboo mat. This mat has moved with me no fewer than seven times. I’ve never brought myself to be able to use it, but I’ve never been able to get rid of it either. I cut the string holding it together and unroll the mat onto the floor. This may eventually ruin it – the edges are in rough shape – but maybe that’s OK. Setting that mat on the floor feels like staking a claim. I put essential oils in a defuser, and inhale the scents that bring me peace and joy. I stand in the doorway, listening as the piano’s pitch is corrected note by note by note, and feel like I’ve started something big today.

 

A friend arrives, and we make lunch. She drives me to the airport so I can get my Nexus card, and then helps me locate a space for my race medal hanger. We decide on a spot by the entrance to the kitchen – right by the frame for my first half-marathon bib. She makes sure everything is straight, maybe or maybe not putting a hole in the wall, then drags a chair over so that I can nail the wall hooks in at a decent angle. The hanger hangs proudly on that wall, and I’ve got another tangible reminder that this place is truly my home.

Blind Lady Gets Sh*t Done, January: All over the Place

31 Friday Jan 2020

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Every journey starts with a single step. I didn’t set out to blog about boring stuff like cleaning, organization, and home maintenance. I just wanted to get this house whipped into shape, turning it into a sanctuary for myself and for others. I’ve had to confront some truths that haven’t always been pretty. But this simultaneous home- and self-improvement strategy seems to be taking, even with a setback or two… because I’ve got myself some momentum! And sharing this journey makes everyone feel less alone – because I now know I’m not the only one with a terrifying basement of doom and a strong avoidance strategy.

January saw me divest myself of extra flooring, a deep freeze, and a whole lot of paint. I searched for things I couldn’t find, and found things I didn’t realize I still had. Little “projects” turned into moderate bursts of productivity. I’ve felt a range of emotions – joyous to despondent, overwhelmed to productive, accomplished and…. something less.

January has been the warm-up I desperately needed… in more ways than one.

 

January 1-5: “Get that THING out of my House!”

 

There’s been a massive deep-freeze in my furnace room since we bought the place, and it’s so large that my Dad and I joke that they built the house around it.

I’m not eating as much meat – particularly beef – as I used to, and this thing is so large that I don’t have a hope of making much use of it. I’ve got enough freezer space that I’m using efficiently. That thing’s been empty for months… time for it to go.

I posted on my community league’s Facebook page months ago – something like “free to good home… you can move it? You can have it.” A friend and neighbour emailed me, telling me that she and her family could use it. I sent her the measurements and reiterated – you can move it, it’s yours!

It’s Saturday morning, and my friend is here with her husband and eldest son. Between the three of them, it takes just under an hour to divest my house of its largest most energy-deficient appliance. In the process, they have to move all of the shelving to some space out of the way of the furnace room. The shelving and other odds and ends wind up spread out over my basement bathroom and main area. There’s a path to the basement fridge/freezer, but I’m out of luck if I get the sudden urge to make a 12-pound turkey (the fridge/freezer doors are blocked by a shelving unit). Beyond that… it doesn’t immediately impact my life too much.

The only way I can move the shelving back in to the furnace room is to empty and organize.

So that’s what I do. I sweep the furnace room so that it doesn’t look as much like a drywall factory blew up, then pick a shelving unit to organize at random (okay, maybe not at random… but it’s the first one I come across when I enter the basement of doom). With the help of one or 2 Aira agents, I set six cans of paint aside to go to the Ecostation. I also discover that I own an auger (the thing that unclogs drains, not the thing that has anything to do with grain silos), wood floor cleaner, and a whole bunch of hand tools that have been buried for years. Within 18 hours another neighbour picks up a bunch of canning jars – I hope they get more use out of them than we did. I haul the shelving unit to the back corner where the deep freeze used to live. I can now name everything I have on every shelf – tools on one shelf, cleaning supplies on another – and lay my hands on all of it. My basement still looks moderately terrifying, but it’s a basement! So for right now, it can wait.

 

 

January 6-12: “This is Cross-training, right?”

 

The first full work week after the holidays seems to drag on forEVER. My energy has been waning, but I’ve made it out to marathon training clinic, then decide to stay home and hunker down while snow blankets the city on Wednesday.

Once the snow stops falling on Thursday, I get out the shovel. I’m not particularly proficient at this task, but I get my walks shoveled – competently in the front, passably in the back. It takes forever – but the Edmonton Oilers game keeps me company – and straight lines seem to elude me. I hope I’ll get better at this with more practice, but for some reason I have my doubts. Also, I’ve got a snow rake that should get the snow off the roof, but I haven’t had an opportunity to use it – I feel like I need someone with me to give me directions so that I can get the snow off the roof without (1) scraping off a shingle, (2) missing the snow entirely, or (3) breaking a window. So the snow is still on my roof, but my sidewalks are navigable. I can at least take the garbage out back and walk out my front door to the sidewalk… so score one for accomplishment! But moving that snow? That should be cross-training! (Is it, Coach?)

 

* * *

 

Saturday dawns crisp and pretty cold – the kind of day that’s perfect for hunkering down and eating soup. A friend comes in to the city and has some time to kill. She tells me to consider her my Uber for any errands that need doing for the afternoon.

And I have errands!

I’ve got bottles that need to go to the bottle depot, a package to pick up at the post office (since I apparently can’t have cookie sheets left unattended on my front steps)…

And, oh yeah, I’ve got this flooring…

This fall, my Dad and I purchased some flooring for upstairs – I figured it was time to replace it when I could feel the subfloor underneath portions of the carpet, and there was a huge strip of duct tape where Wolfie clawed the carpet to shreds. Dad and I (mostly Dad) got the main upstairs area and one of the bedrooms done, and I hired professionals for the other two bedrooms. The excess flooring has been taking up space in my music room for a month, and I want it out.

I’ve set aside one box, plus the boards from a previously open box – just in case I need to replace anything – then lift and haul six boxes of flooring to my friend’s car. Who needs weights when you have flooring boxes? My friend pushes and directs the boxes in to position in the trunk of her car, and we return them to the store after a quick stop at the bottle depot. My music room seems almost empty now, but I can now walk to the piano without kicking a big heavy box! And my basement has been cleared of one of its sources of doom.

 

January 13-19: “I Just Need this one little thing…”

 

I need to find my birth certificate. The place I thought it’s lived for the past several years… apparently doesn’t have the document stating when and where I was born.

But there’s plenty of papers to sort through and what else am I going to do on a Monday night, when the windchill is hitting -40?

The papers have lived in the music room for a while now. And I am itching to sort them, if for no other reason than I need something, and this is the most likely place to find it. With a combination of apps, I make steady work out of a 6-inch thick stack of papers – some of it important, much of it not. I’ve whittled down six inches of paper and a functionally disorganized briefcase-esque filing “cabinet” into stuff for the house, stuff for Annie and Jenny, stuff for taxes. The rest goes in to recycling, and my hundreds of pages have been whittled down to an organized little pile of paper happiness (two inches, tops, including a binder).

But I still don’t have my birth certificate

 

* * *

 

This week has been cold. Unquantifiably, you should really stay home, cold! I had a non-specific cold/bug thing on Wednesday but realized my office was warmer than my house, so I worked all day and went to bed early that night.

The cold finally starts to break on Saturday. I’m back outside, shoveling my back pathway. I cannot shovel in a straight line to save my life… but again I have a clear-ish path to the garbage cans. My front walk and steps have been taken care of – what took me 20 minutes last week took Ed less than three while waiting for me to get ready for Run Club on Thursday. I may never get the hang of this shoveling thing!

There’s a wooden box in my bathroom. It’s a hold-over from my childhood, but for as long as I can remember it’s held various toiletries and body washes and the like. it takes me five minutes to pry open the latch – which gives you a pretty good idea how long it’s been since I last opened it. I take everything out, throw it into a garbage bag, and wipe it down. Mission: accomplished!

I’m just putting the box back into position when I notice – not for the first time – the vent cover behind it. I don’t think I can remember a time when that heating vent has been covered. The cover has just sat in front of the vent, allowing hot air to make the bathroom one of the most luxuriously warm rooms in my place. The drywall surrounding the vent is… crap. There’s no nice way to put it. I hold the cover up to the vent, cross my fingers, and get to work, because by God that vent will be covered today!

I start by scraping paint off the back of the cover. I start with my nails. I use water. I use a bit from a screwdriver. I use cleaner. Finally, I find a screw and use my handy-dandy screwdriver to push it through a tiny hole. Great! Now what? how am I going to get this cover to stay in place when the drywall around it is flaking off in my hands?

Get bigger screws.

It’s not pretty, it’s not straight (it’s only about 1/8″ off-center), but the long screws are screwed at odd angles into…. something. That vent is now covered. I sweep up the drywall, and do a happy little jig into my kitchen.

I just want to clear out the cupboard above my stove.

That’s literally the only thing I set out to do. I don’t think it’ll be too bad – I’ve done little bits of this off and on for the past little while – but I haven’t stood on a chair and reached in to the back and made sure there’s no growing or hardening things in the recesses of the cupboard.

I throw out an aged open box of Golden Grams, and some oatmeal I bought once upon a time with good intentions of eating more oatmeal.

It’s then that I realize the cupboard is gross, and needs a good wipe down.

So I grab a spray bottle and a cloth and get to work.

And it turns in to more cleaning and scrubbing, as the Edmonton Oilers play a high-scoring game against the Arizona Coyotes.

The stove cupboard is just the beginning. I move on to the next cupboard to the right, and start wiping down shelves. I reorganize it so that I can reach everything – because the old storage system wasn’t set up to be reachable by anyone shorter than six feet tall. All the wineglasses and shotglasses and bottles of booze all live together in harmony, all the Instant Pot accessories live with the Instant Pot… and so on. As I organize, I can feel little pieces of myself get put back together.

Then I reach up above the cupboards, wipe the surface as best I can (I need to find my stepladder to get to the back), and throw out everything that’s been up there collecting dust and grease and God knows what else for the past who knows how long.

I’m not sure when the anger hits, but it’s there. It’s red hot and present and intense. I’m angry that I’m dumping out perfectly good Captain Morgan. I’m angry that I’m able to use my fingers to write my name in the dust above my cupboards. I’m angry that it’s been allowed to get so bad that I don’t remember the last time I wiped out the crud from the lazy susan that holds my glasses and mugs.

On the plus side? I now have a clean and organized kitchen, and I found my big tall mug with the orange and white cat on it… the one I swore I lost at a job I was laid off from five years ago…

And I’m glad I’ve done all this today.

 

 

January 20-26: All the Little Pieces

 

It’s a hard week. The cold weather has broken after a week and a half of clasping the city in its frigid grip. I have little energy, and am exhausted preparing for – and then testifying in – my first (and hopefully last) Human Rights Tribunal. But I’m able to get a few things done. On Monday, I move the last of the spare flooring into the furnace room, and start to organize other items into groups. Once I have more energy, I’ll do more, but at least I have something done.

Saturday, a bag of kitchen items is donated to the thrift store. I sort through the odds and ends in my bathroom – throwing away more old things, organizing what’s left – and giving it a good clean. Then I decide to sweep, and am once again reminded how much I suck at it. More than one person has suggested vacuuming as a way to keep my floors clean. In a day or two, I’ll give it a try – anything’s better than what I’ve got now – a tall and unwieldy broom, a short useful broom for some spaces, and a hand-broom that broke in half when I tapped it to loosen the animal fur from its bristles.

On Sunday I notice that Annie’s thrown up a hairball on my living room curtains – something I’m noticing more these days. A friend helps me take the curtain rod down, and I take the curtains downstairs to wash. Once they’re dry, I put them on the curtain rod, standing on the couch so I can put the rod into the brackets. One of the end pieces doesn’t fit quite right, and I can’t tell if it’s always been that way or if I’m just useless at tightening things while my hands are above my head.

Then I notice the shelves.

They’re coated in dust, dust so thick I can write my name on them with my fingers. I take everything off the shelves and sort them into piles of things to donate, things to keep and things that I’ll deal with when I have the emotional energy.

I’m thrilled I’ve found things that I haven’t thought of in years – like the music box I’ve had for as long as I can remember. The top has a cat and a fiddle, and the base shows tactile representations of all the other lines in the song. I spend a long time dusting it off, then set it on the hutch – the same place it sat when I was growing up – and turn the dial so that I can hear the song.

It plays slowly – much more slowly than I remember. As I stand and listen, I’m hit with intense waves of sadness and rage. I don’t know if I’m sad or angry that I forgot all about this music box even as it’s sat in my living room for a decade. Why did we put it there, rather than on a place it can be picked up and enjoyed? Am I grateful or angry that I’ve got a belated opportunity to purge and cleanse and get to know my home? What the hell am I going to do with my wedding photos? Why didn’t I take more pride in this place before? Is it too late now, am I fighting an uphill losing battle?

The dish ran away with the spoon… and I am so done. The rage and the helplessness and the anger all come gushing out into a wave that I seriously think is going to drown me.

And for a while, I let it.

 

 

January 27-31: Putting It Back Together

 

For the next few days, I’m a wreck. I can’t even get behind the everyday things that need doing. Dishes pile up in my sink, I’ve got a small load of laundry that needs folding. I don’t want to run, I don’t want company, and I certainly don’t want to talk about it.

On Monday after work, I therapeutically bake a batch of muffins – if for no other reason than the milk will go bad if I don’t use it. I pour a teeeeeeeny bit too much whiskey into the coffee I enjoy with my freshly-baked muffins. I start reading a trashy book that interests me in the beginning and then frustrates me with its implausible premise – which is when I know I’ll be OK.

Why I decide to re-reorganize the hall closet on Tuesday? Beats me! Maybe it’s because I have more space. Maybe because I don’t remember the last time it was organized completely. or maybe because most of the organizing was done in September, and it was a job I could complete with minimal effort but maximum results. Maybe all of the above. I spend half an hour sorting and reorganizing – all the towels and cloths on one shelf instead of the two they’ve occupied for nearly a decade. Pet stuff on the next shelf up – dog stuff on the right, cat stuff on the left. Various extra staples – paper bags, freezer bags, Kleenex, packing tape, light bulbs, etc., etc., etc. on the top shelf. The cubby underneath the bottom shelf is emptied of its contents and sorta swept with the broken hand-broom, and now all there is under there is a big bag of dog food.

I feel accomplished.

I feel better.

And I feel like my place is a bit less cluttered.

I know I have a lot of work ahead of me – tonight I plan on chipping away at the blocks of ice in my back yard – and I know January’s been all disorganized and kinda wobbly. Maybe February is when things will start to come together, when I start to form a more concrete plan of organization. But as far as January’s concerned…. this blind lady got sh*t done!