This Old House

Too keep myself on track, or at least remotely inspired I subscribed to several old home/restoration/farmish/do-it-youself type magazines. The spring copy of This Old House came yesterday, and in it the editor was talking about a job he had to do at a relatives house. And he described the house as ramshackle. I immediately thought "Omigod, I think I live in a ramshackle house." At least, if This Old House was to walk by, they would call it ramshackle. I think I am going to embrace that word, and make it my own.

There is a wierd feeling I get when I get home late from work, all is dark, the kids are at their dads. My house looms. It is not even very big(!) 1900 sf or so, and it literally looms above me as I walk up. It is not an ominous looming, just a presence. As in, I have stood here at this spot for a dang long time and you gotta respect that, lady.
I cannot help but think how proud the original owner who built it must have felt. It seems BIG for its era of modest Poulsbo farmhouses, and the proud feeling I have of making this a home for my family has to be nothing next to the feeling of building it 106 years ago out of nothingness on empty logged dirt.

Book News

For those of you monitoring my blood pressure and cranky levels, I sent the book text off minus the intro last week. Today, as long as the heavens allow and the ferry doesn't sink, I will be sending off all 199 images, minus five pending from another institution.

News Flash: I am in the ferry line, and the police just told someone to turn down their music. For the first time in my life of hearing overloud music, I actually really like that song and was kinda groovin'.

I did not know that was a ferry line requirement to have low volume tunes. Polite, yes, law, no. Live and learn people.

Picture: Has nothing to do with book, but does have to do with blood pressure. How many of these cookies do you think you can eat without it affecting health? I am thinking alot. I will let you know.

Gentleman Woman Farmer

That is what my neighbor called me yesterday, somewhat stumbling over it all. A gentlemanwomanfarmer. I guess that is alot better than 'single-mom-getting-into-lordknowswhat-without-a-man girl' neighbor. Sometimes I feel I am on the receiving end of folks not able to fit me into their little hole of working single ma. Whatever that means in their head, I guarantee I don't fit it.
In the past two years I have dealt with things I never dreamed were still happening around Seattle, or for that matter, since the 1970's. I forgot how open Seattle is. There is a reason people are moving here in droves.
I am only 20 miles away, but wow, it is quite a different beast over here. I am missing the alarm in my brain that has a clearly designated this-is-woman-behavior and this-is-man-behavior section. I didn't grow up that way in my family. If it needed doing, it was done. Didn't matter what gender accomplished the task. In this place, for better or worse, I am the do everything person. I don't have the luxury of only cooking and cleaning. I also have to fix the mower (slowly) clean the gutters (fearfully) get the cars repaired (I like this part) talk to neighbors with wayward dogs (not so much) oh, and get my kids in to get their teeth cleaned. For the first time in my life, I have been told that there are things women do, and things men do, and that is for a reason. And, that it is in the bible. Sigh. I am hitting small bumps of how to fit into community meetings, where the women flow to one area and the men to another. I have a foot in both the decision making homeowner group and the childrearing gardening cooking group. How is that navigated? Before I die, I will know. But for now, I don't. And sometimes it is just tiring. I know why I have such a fierce love of inclusiveness within groups. Some sort of reaction to being excluded. Yeah, yeah, not everyone needs to like me, but civility is a good thing. I make it sound like everyone is cognizant of their behavior, and I really think they are not. All strange. But also, all invigorating for me. I love a good challenge, and an opportunity for opening minds, or probably more appropriate for me, but less effective, the opportunity to smack closed minds into shock mode. But politely, of course.

I am really doomed if a man does wander into my life. Since I don't want to be the inside the house cleaning person. Or even the crafty person. I want to be the outside breaking things like my lawn mower person. Or trying to fix things and getting all oily and dirty person. Or tying my hair up with baling twine and wearing jeans all day person. And then when I am all dirty and tired come in the clean house with dinner already done person. I also don't want to be the scrub around the base of the toilet person. That is my least favorite job.

Friends

1. That is a very wacked opinion, Ms. Feisty. Can we make a $1000 bet whether that happens or not? Am confirming at LEAST Saturday night.
2. I need garden help, Ms. Green. The weeds are sprouting. And I am just watching them.
3. Ms. McBride: Rest well. It will all be over soon. (Wow, that sounds almost deadly)

Another commute, another coffee accident

The big maw of the ferry awaits me...
I had to really think where this is! Duh. It is Bremerton, home of the Navy Shipyards. And quaint coffee shops, antique stores, excellent public art and a few good art galleries. Yay Bremerton! I can't figure out how I took this picture. That is the rack on the truck unglamorously framing the shot.

My daily commute. Coffee cup just perched for spillin', laptop open and ready to receive that spill, and about 10 minutes into the ferry ride me drooling, face pressed up against the driver side window sleeping. Ah yes, I am a hot BABE.