JanerBlog

Give me your hand...

So, tonight's my last night here in Kzoo. Tomorrow, I'll be off to Chelsea, and the wedding's on Sunday. I'll be out of internet and phone range for the entire time, and expect to be back sometime around October fifth.

We're getting wedded! Hooray!

Janer

Satellites?

So I hear that anyone with a paid LJ account can set up an RSS feed for a blog.

Anyone feel like setting me up one?

And for those of you wondering why I don't just post all this stuff on LJ, since I do already have one, well, I'm just a little squicky about putting my own content and writing on someone else's server. This trusty little MT blog lives on Dan's sidhe.org server, safe and sound. Dan (and his wife Karen, and their kids) rock the house on so many levels, I can't even get started. Dan's generously hosted my stuff for going on ten years now, and I know my content's secure on his box.

So.

Anyone feeling generous?

It's not gonna happen; it is happening.

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=584&e=1&u=/nm/20040922/pl_nm/campaign_vote_dc

Back to Nature

Yesterday was one of the most spontaneously gorgeous days I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Even though we shouldn't be spending money on things like eating out, we went to Cosmo's for breakfast and ate outside on the deck. We then went for a nice long walk at the Kalamazoo Nature Center. As far as woods go, they're pretty tame, with big wide paths and boardwalks over the marshy places and all, but hey, it was outdoors and not a cloud in the sky. Plus they have a little mesh-covered quonset hut full of butterflies. Gosh, but those Zebra Longwings are purdy.

And Friday night I got an incredibly thoughtful email from M'Oak himself, who never fails to restore my faith in humanity.

Life has felt really good these last couple days.

Slowly, slowly, my studio is coming together. It's highly irritating because I had to junk most of my studio furniture from my previous house... none of it would fit! I found good homes for all the major pieces, like my nice cedar dresser that had been holding all my flat art files. Now, however, I'm stuck finding new storage for all my stuff. This is a big pain in the butt.

{minirant}
I abhor consumer culture. I cannot wait to get my studio settled so that I can stop buying things. Shopping in Target and OfficeMax to find stuff to organize my studio makes me feel like I'm wasting countless precious hours and dollars that would be better spent on darn near anything else.

Who the heck finds consuming for the sheer delight of consuming fun?! I feel ten thousand times better when I find a treasure at Recycle Ann Arbor than when I find one at Target.

{/minirant}

Still, once it's all settled, I will be a very happy camper. The new space, despite its many limitations, is very much My Own Studio -- something I haven't had in years and years. I got a new flatscreen monitor (used! hooray) that will make the studio ever so much nicer than my big wonking monitor.

Ever closer...

Cross yer fingers.

http://www.weather.com/weather/local/48118?lswe=48118&lwsa=WeatherLocalUndeclared

10-day forecast says Partly Cloudy for the wedding day.

Air of September

Autumn always holds me in its wistful spell. Wistful in a good way, mind you. Mark "M'Oak" Oakley once described it as a "power time" for me, and he's right. Mark's in a position I often wish I was, and often hope to direct my life so I can get there someday soon: He listens to the world. He listens to himself, and what his guts are telling him, on an innate level that most of us scoff at. More important than the listening, he takes action on it all. He follows his muse through life instead of a career, doing what he knows is right and important. I wish I were there. I wish I didn't have to have a dayjob, and could concentrate all my time and efforts on my art, and on listening to the rhythms of life and the world around me. I used to live a life like that, living on the farm, playing in the woods, helping out with the animals. It was a much more satisfying life, albeit harder, and with many fewer frills.

I think that's why autumn gets its tendrils into me so thoroughly. Autumn brings back memories of romping in our woods, playing down in the gullies as my father buzzed wood for our wood-fired boiler (for several years we didn't have a furnace, but a large, outside boiler cobbled together from copper pipe, firebrick, insulation and the main section of an old steam engine). As you can imagine, it took many cords of wood to heat the boiler through the winter, and we kids were responsible for stacking the wood once it was cut. Dad would let us run and play as he cut the fallen trees, and then we'd all fill the wagon at once. Sometimes he'd bring a tripod and cast-iron pot, and we'd heat some Campbell's soup over a small fire.

The woods there were full of locust and black cherry trees. Cherry trees live a short life, and when they die, they often remain upright and rot from the inside out, leaving a papery grey bark to hold the soft spongy mass together. When a eight year old kid gives one of those trees a good shove, it goes over in a spectacular style, usually snapping off in the middle, and makes the kid feel like Hercules. Or in my case, Athena. The gullies there were home to countless snail shells, some as small as a pinhead, others big as silver dollars. We'd collect them and pretend they were wampum for trading with the nonexistant natives who lived in the woods. But mostly I just remember walking along, pretending, dreaming up stories that I told myself as I went. These were the best days of my childhood.

I miss that. Terribly. No, I don't mean I want to sit on my butt in a muddy gully and play with action figures. I mean that I miss that intense feeling of wonder, that sense of storytelling for amusement, for the sake of telling a story. That ability is intrinsic to my life as an artist, and it often feels squashed under tons of responsibility. I'm a homeowner, I'm going to be married in nine days, I work as a computer geek. The trivialities of life keep crowding out my sense of wonder, the time I want to spend walking in the woods, or swimming, or just being aware.

I think this must be why Renaissance Festivals always appealed to me so much. I went to my first one before I was out of highschool, and it had a tremendous impression on me. Here were adults who weren't ashamed to still pretend, and who actually reveled in the wonder of it all, rather than scorning it as something for the nursery shelf. Plus, it was held in September, when it was finally cool enough to wear silly costumes. I've grown away from Renfests (not outgrown... big difference), partially because all the ones I've seen in recent years seem far more concerned with commerce, corporate sponsorship (Bud Light Knights, anyone? ech.) and 'entertainment groups' so corny, vulgar or ridiculous that even I am not amused. Where's the wonder? Where's the pretending just for pretending's sake? I miss the old RenFaires, back when a ticket cost less than going to a movie. But I digress.

My heart is aching for an escape like that. The air has finally started to smell like September here, after an extended hot spell of Indian Summer. Last few days, it's been low seventies, and yellow Walnut leaves have begun to spiral down in twirling clouds again. God, I love the smell of September. I think it's my favorite smell in the whole world. I walked by a neighbor's house the other day -- he has a small Concord grape arbor, and the autumn scent of it nearly knocked me over, bludgeoning me with memories of picking our grandfather's grapes for boiling into juice.

Sigh.

I know I'm feeling really squashed lately because of all the work we've undertaken. Between getting married, moving from Ann Arbor, the high drama at work, moving into the new house and doing lots of work to virtually every room in the place, there really hasn't been a whole lot of time for contemplation. It's been nonstop work, incessant attention to minutae and quite a bit of stress. I am sick and tired over sweating details like centerpieces, flowers, paint chips and hardwood floors. I'm dead-ready to get back to living. And damned if I'm going to allow this autumn to slip away under a pile of to-do lists.

So I'm trying to figure out what I can do -- right now -- to bring that sense of awareness back into my life. I have to, because -- let's face it --- the day job isn't going away any time soon, and the housework isn't likely to let up any time before the new year. We still have so very much settling in to do. Fortunately, we're finally getting to the "nesting" stage, as opposed to the "scrape other people's funk out of the bathroom" stage. Nesting is fun. Funk-scraping is not.

Music helps a lot. I know that sounds corny, but my soundtrack to Autumn has always been stuff like Pentangle, Steeleye Span, Kate Rusby, June Tabor, Old Blind Dogs and other wonderful folk-rockers like that. Lately I've been listening to a lot of John Renbourn, Fairport Convention and my buddy Steve MacDonald, who also Gets It. (hiya, Steve!)

Finding roots in this new community also helps. Shopping at the Food Co-Op (where they all already know me by name), Hoekstra's and at the farmer's market is grand, and helps me not feel so anonymous. So does cooking. I don't know why, but cooking, especially baking, is always really satisfying and cathartic and nestworthy for me.

On our Honeymoon, we're going to a place in Canada that's one of my very favorite places in the whole world, because it inspires that kind of childlike wonder. Lots of amazing rock formations to climb on, trees growing at odd angles, and a beautiful river. I hope that a week there will help some. I am going to be keeping a Journal while I am there, and trying to write down all the things I notice. Notice what really helps me feel connected, and helps me feel grounded and good and aware. Then, I'm going to make a big list of all those things and tack it to my wall. Whenever I feel snowed under, I'm going to look at that list and go do one of the things there, even if it's just to take a walk.

I'm also going to start knowingly re-organizing my life to admit more of those things, and keep out the things that stress me out. I'm sick of feeling drained by my job and my day-to-day life; a few planned adjustments (off with the TV's head! No internet in the studio!) should help quite a bit, I'm sure. I need to tame the lions that are roaring for my attention, so that I can turn my attention to those things that are far more important.

I've needed to write this journal entry for quite a while now. I know it was long and rambling, but thanks for bearing with me. Things have rarely been still enough lately for me to put my thoughts down in any sort of cohesive manner, and this has really helped.

T-minus eleven

We just walked down to the county building and applied for our marriage license. We'll pick it up on Monday.

Eleven days left.

eyewww

Sticky leftover polyurethane between my chubby little toes is a really disgusting feeling.

Spill Zone, part deux

I found out two new things today:

Our new purple couches hide coffee stains really well.

My favorite jeans, however, do not.

Spill Zone

Okay, here's today's Home Improvement tip from the Janer:

If someone ever says to you, "Hey, before we start refinishing that furniture, let's drop this entire quart of polyurethane and spill it all over the floor! It'll be great!"

Say no.

Dear John

Know anyone who's still gonna vote for Bush? Send them this.

It's a "Breakup letter" written to John McCain a professor at Swarthmore, written from one conservative to another.

http://www.swarthmore.edu/SocSci/tburke1/perma83104.html

It's to say that you can be conservative and be critical of this administration.

Enjoy.

Janer

Ho-lee crap.

http://www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/9584265.htm

Innanet

So we tried to do our first load of laundry.

And the washer filled and filled and filled and fillllllllllllllled but never kicked over and started to agitate.

Crap, we said. Now we have to call a repair dude.

Wait, sez I. Lemme go ask the Innanet. The Innanet knows everything.

Sure enough, a DIY home repair site let us know what was wrong: The drainage hose had to be higher than the emptying nozzle.

Thank you, Innanet, for being smarter than we are.

Labor! Day!

Okay, only Ric Conway will get the title of this entry, but that's okay.

So it's labor day, and I'm taking a brief rest from laboring. We have done so much friggin work these last couple of days. The hardwood floors are finally done, so this opened up the floodgates of work that could be done to the upstairs.

Since Friday, we have:

• Taken down the cabinets and painted my studio
• Touched up the hallway paint
• Moved the bookcases upstairs and started refinishing them
• Moved 99.9 percent of Paul's house, including the bed
• Stripped and refinished the window ledge in the master bath
• Finished re-plastering and re-painting the new medicine cabinet in the master bath
• Fogged the house. Fleas from the previous tenant's %^&* kitten. Blargh.
• Replaced the kickstrip in the kitchen
• Moved the washer-dryer from Paul's house
• Moved the fridge and stove from my studio and onto a friend's truck
• Moved the neutron-star-heavy sofa sleeper into the library
• Cleaned the guest bath to the point of usability
• Played the Junior Senior album twenty times
• Done the secondary sort and cull of Paul's clothes and towels and sheets
• Stripped and refinished nightstand
• Started urethaning bookshelves (3)
• Moved all the furniture into the bedroom

There's two or three dozen other little things that we've done, but that's most of the major stuff.

Paul's actually been doing the lion's share of the heavy work. He's amazing. I've always found Paul to be one of the gentlest and tender-hearted men I've ever known, but after watching him Hulk out and move that fridge down the stairs entirely by himself ... well, anybody who ever thinks of calling him a nancy-boy better watch out.

He's also proven himself to be incredibly capable and handy with all the stuff that has needed installing, fixing or just tinkering, and I am blessed to have such a hardworking, intelligent and loving partner. I know some of you who may be reading this blog may doubt that last statement (I'm looking at you, Sizer Siblings...) can just come over and behold the wonder that is our new house. The only stuff that we've had to job out are the hardwood floors and some electrical work that my brother and our friend Jackie did. Paul (and to a lesser extent, I) have done everything else in the house, from fixing busted toilets to removing carpet strips to unclogging sink-pipes to laying new tile floor to installing the gas main on the new dryer. Huah!

It's really incredible to have done all this. I mean, a month ago the most strenuous house stuff either of us had done were installing a sink and a few doorknobs at Paul's house. Still, we felt confident that we could do most handiwork around the house... and we were right. It's so satisfying and liberating to look at a task and say, "Yeah, we can do that." Not just painting -- but installing medicine cabinets and showerheads and a half-zillion other things. We have drawn the do-it-yourself line at heavy plumbing and electrical work -- with those we call professionals -- we have no desire to either burn the house down or flood the second story, regardless if Liano did it and got away with it.

Anyhow.

I've alllllmost got the "After" pix done. Those should be up soon, probably sometime next week. Now, I've got to go turn over our first load of laundry (YAY!) and put another coat of urethane on the shelves. Tonight we sleep in the new house for the first time, and then we close on Paul's house tomorrow at noon.

Thank God we discovered the swimming hole ten minutes from the house. It has been a literal life saver. The fact that Paul and I have done this much work, and haven't killed each other -- or even gotten into a heated discussion, let alone an argument, is a testament to why we think this crazy marraige thing might just work.

We're getting there.

You know you've grown too fond of the "F" word when...

... You have to watch your mouth around the workmen.

Too good not to share...

From an old college buddy who's been reading the JanerBlog:

If anyone in your family says anything about living in sin, you have a few options....

Grin and say, "Yep, Paul is easily seduced by a woman covered in paint and TSP. Amazing, isn't he?"

Look around in amazement and exclaim, "Oh no! Paul!" Start digging frantically in a box and yell, "Quick! We have to find him before he runs out of air!"

Throw your hands up in the air and yell hysterically, "LIVING?!?! You call this LIVING??!! I can't even find my sweaters! This is SURVIVAL, BUCKO!" Gasp for breath for a few minutes, and then say, "I've never heard of surviving in sin, so we must be ok."

And finally, if all else fails, say, "Paul who? We ain't got no Pauls around this house..." (only cuz it sounds like you're not seeing one another much).

Psycho Janer, Qu'est-ce que c'est?

So a couple of weeks ago, we were walking down Paul's street, and we see this sign, taped to the front door of a house with red duct tape. I goggled at it -- this was something worthy of Found Magazine. Part of me wanted to rip it down and send it to Davey Rothbart, but then no one else would get to revel in its weird glory. So then I intended to take a photograph of it, but we got bogged down in the move and didn't get a chance.

Miraculously, when we returned yesterday, the sign was still there. I took a couple digital photos:

(click to read the whole thing)

Now, even though this photo was taken like, two blocks from Paul's house, I have no idea who these people are. The "Jane" in the note is not me -- unless I've been sleepwalking, or leading a double life that even I don't know about. But the note was so crazy, it had to be saved for posterity.

Mmm... Puh-sycho ex-girlfriends.

Boo. Yah.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uselections2004/story/0,13918,1294572,00.html

They're like men, I hear.

So on Tuesday the hardwood floor guys came in, and took their superpowered sanders to our upstairs. This was really not conducive to work, as it was like being in an airplane hangar. Of course, Tuesday was the day that I had to take three conference calls. I literally had to take my laptop and hide in the downstairs bathroom with the door shut.

Wednesday they came and finished sanding, then applied the first coat of urethane. It. Is. So. Pretty. The floors went from very very dirty hershey's-chocolate brown to a light honey-colored pine that goes just amazingly well with the two purple rooms, the green hallway, the orange in Paul's studio, the green bathroom and the blue bathroom.

Today: a buffing and another coat of urethane. Friday: Lather, rinse, repeat. Saturday we can walk on 'em to do more work in the rooms, Sunday we can move furniture in, which means we can finally start disassembling the jungle of boxes and furniture in our downstairs and basement. Hoooorayyy!

Picture pages, picture pages...

(lots of fun with crayons and a pen-cil!)

Okay, I finally got the pictures page built. I was too lazy to build thumbnails for all the images, so the index page will take a long time to load. The good news is, once they're loaded, the individual pix will load rilly fast.

Enjoy!