Inclimate Weather

The weather was not so great today. Thunder storms, even hail which is rare around these parts. It's been quite chilly outdoors, around 5C (40's F). I plugged in a space heater Mother and I picked up a year or two ago (and never opened) for a trial run. The cat seemed cold and Vegas is due in tomorrow and might require its use. It's working just fine.

I didn't sleep worth two damns last night. It took me hours to drift off and I was out of be in about four hours. The day sure seemed longer which was OK, I had a lot of clean up to do. I cleared out the deep freeze and found a few frozen meals 'best by' with dates in 2004! I mopped the floors, scrubbed the tub and vanity, changed out the towels in the primary bath. I unplugged the obnoxiously loud fan in the bath ceiling until I can outright remove or replace it--30 years has put a lot of wear on those bearings. It sounds akin to grinding rocks. When we had the plumber Matt over last summer when the fan came out he was startled and thought someone had started a jack hammer! Anyway, I had gotten up last night to check for a leak in the sun room. Often over the years when it has rained there has been a leak in one particular spot. It's been fixed over the years many times but never permanently. Well, I thought I had it licked, I hadn't seen a leak in years but I'm paranoid. I checked, there was nothing, I went back to bed. While I was getting something for the bathroom clean up, I noticed there were droplets. A leak had begun.

Not seeing any obvious source, I was heavily annoyed and I ripped down trim and paneling in search of the cause. It'll be a fairly easy permanent fix and why it wasn't done 25 years ago I have no idea. Still it's more work. I guess since it didn't effect the house itself, it wasn't seen as a priority. Then again, many things about this house didn't seem to be priorities, things I've worked on in recent years. One of these days I'll have to write about the Great Kitchen Remodel of the mid-80's. Let me just say I'm pleased Mother got to see a "fully armed and operational" kitchen before she passed even if she never did quite "move back in." I still don't get that. I finished up, months passed and she didn't move in. I kind of felt bad about it. Part of me wonders if she was bewildered as the kitchen turned out far better than she had imagined. Heck I look at it and still can't believe what I accomplished. To deeply appreciate what it is like now you had to know what it was like before. I felt a scintilla of pride when the realtor remarked, unsolicited, he liked it and said it would photograph well. As she told me when I said there were some things I would have done differently had I known she quipped, "there's always the next kitchen." That moment especially, along with our existing readiness to move, has been very important in my continuing process of accepting having to move forward. Looking back, we had a good year in 2005. 2006 held such promise for us.

Mother learned some things about me, about my resilience and willingness to tackle problems as well as knowing when I'm out of my league. When I told her it was time to call a plumber, she didn't flinch. I think she appreciated most that it got done. When I halted work on the kitchen flooring a few years back, I said when the plumbing is done I'll finish the floor. I kept my word.

My approach was pretty methodical with lots of photos, drawings, measurements, mirrors... I would make plans for attacking a problem and she was surprised when they were so cleanly reflected in the final work. She also came to appreciate that I understood she needed drawings, something visual, to help guide her thoughts because for all her uncanny knowledge of minutia she was not so great with visualizing abstracts, reportedly common among females.

I'd involve her but sometimes I just had to send her away if she was hovering and I was frustrated. She would go listen to talk radio or work her crosswords in ink. I needed focus.* Then I'd call her over to hold a light or to inspect, to hand me items out of reach or when it was break time. We'd go out front to the covered porch and she'd have a smoke while I cooled off. I would also know when to quit for the night, usually 9pm, and take the time to put things away. She liked that. That really wasn't Father's method. While my method technically "wasted time" it gave me a chance to close up that day's work, prepare for the next step and mentally detach. A process I continue to employ. Not sure of all the origins for my method. Possibly having to put toys away after play. Perhaps methods I was taught studying computer science or maybe just my own iterative (an antithesis to CS) process when I dabbled as a graphic designer. *shrug*

5pm now. I'm still gnawing at my dinner. Cold chicken. Well, it's cold now. It wasn't cold an hour ago. I think Mother got to know me and appreciate me, not in some areas surely but in ways I hadn't realized. Suddenly I feel fortunate.

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* On a related note, about 12 years ago when I was home for the summer from uni, I was working on an oil painting at night. Father would come stare at me and it made me insane. I couldn't concentrate. I know he was only showing interest and wanted to see me at work but it felt like I was on TV. I like that painting. It's in storage, I hope to see it again this year. I owe Vegas a portrait. I'm only 10 years behind. That sits in storage too, unfinished. In the not too distance future, probably within 12 month, I think it'll be time to pick up the oils again.