Restoration

A weekend at the cottage of friends. I was determined to do very little, and of that, mostly what I pleased. I ended up starting to knit a new pair of socks, had some good conversations, puttered about trying to be helpful, and baked two delicious pies. Being out of the city, breathing lilac-scented air and hearing bird calls instead of traffic was heavenly. I even shook off the week-long cold I had suffered. If only I could get a whole week of restoration like that.

I consider myself profoundly fortunate to be in the company of people who can give me these gifts. They open their homes, buy food for their friends, give the gifts of delight in our company and warm welcomes. The Boyfriend is the primary reason for this bounty. Without him I might still be longing for an escape like that instead of having lived it. I say might because it's possible things like that would have come my way, regardless. And I've made plenty happen for myself in the short time I've been on this earth. But there's no denying he brought things into my life that I wouldn't have sought myself -- mostly good things. So I'm the richer for having met him. I have to remind myself of that when the relationship is frustrating.

My Voices

The NaBloPoMo theme for May is 'Voices'. How ironic that I decided to opt out of daily blogging this month, seeing as I'm a singer and all. I have this lovely voice and the ability to control it in a very special way. I can't count how many people have told me how lucky I am. I know it. I feel it. When I have laryngitis I mourn its loss. Many times I've thanked whatever powers that be for also giving me healthy hearing so that I could use my voice so effectively. Did I inherit this trait from my parents? Hardly. When she was still willing to sing in church choir, my mother would timidly squeak away in the soprano section. My father was stricken with partial deafness at a fairly young age -- disease-related, not hereditary -- but his singing still leaves you wondering how a human being can span that many octaves on one note. Now that he's older, his deteriorating hearing makes it more difficult for him to hear me perform. If I sing in my hometown, he doesn't stay for a whole performance because it frustrates him. However, he's the reason I sing what I sing in the first place because he took me to my first opera performances as a young girl. How about that for a lasting gift?

My voice is also a voice in abstract. Something used to express an opinion or support a cause. It's not so much heard as felt. I don't use that type of voice nearly as often, and for that, sometimes, I'm ashamed. But as I get older, I find myself more and more outspoken. The opinions of others don't make me cower as much as they used to: my growing 'voice' is accompanied by growing courage. I just hope it's also accompanied by increasingly good judgement, otherwise it's just that noisy gong or clanging symbol talked about in the Bible, or, as Shakespeare would say, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing". Ultimately, I'd rather be a smart, old hag than a stupid, old windbag. 'Nuff said.

The Thirsty Car?

I just came across an ad that promotes a manual on how to convert your car to run on water, or at least partially on water. Seriously. So I Googled the subject and turned up a whole slew of articles and even videos about it. Huh. Now, I haven't actually read up on the specifics, or dug very deep, but the mere fact that I didn't turn up any sites that call this a hoax is comforting. One site voiced the same doubt and came up with promising results, but didn't go into much substantiated detail: greentchgazette.com

It sounds almost too good to be true and there must be a catch, mustn't there? But lordy, wouldn't it be exciting to no longer be so dependent on gas to get around?

FNB

Fave New Band: Vampire Weekend. Thanks to one of the bloggers out there in Blogland. If I can find her again I'll give her credit.

Spring Futon Sale!

Where to begin? The weather. It rather sucks. Cold and damp as a dead fish. Not as stinky, though. Spring is supplying some sweet new-plant smells to almost make up for the current gloom.

The Boyfriend is getting ready to launch his sailboat. He's as excited as a puppy at dinnertime. Sailing season is a ton of fun for him, but it means it's twice as hard to get him to do the big household jobs I don't want to do by myself. Like painting the first floor, staining the deck, and/or cleaning and re-organizing the entire basement. The basement has become our de-facto attic. My worldly goods from before moving in with him are still trapped down there, two years after being stowed there. Some of them are waiting to be un-buried and given a home, some I'm simply holding on to, some must be junked, and some will be part of the yard sale which it behooves ne to hold this year.

Talk about procrastinating. Along with two years of taxes, this is the other elephant in the room. I think the thing holding me back, aside from the difficulty in swinging the time off to actually hold the yard sale (my Saturdays are work days at the museum), there's this hulking futon mattress which The B managed to fold in half and wedge into a niche created by a wall and an old desk. Until I moved in with The B, the mattress was beautiful, in great condition, and comfortable. Now, after being stored in his leaky garage and being folded and compressed in his basement, I fear the mattress may have to go to the landfill if I can't resuscitate it. Besides which, even if I can bring it back to a respectable shadow of its former self, I would have to go to quite a bit of trouble to avoid the dump. Second-hand stores don't take them (too much risk of pests). Most families tend to avoid them (bulky, hard to handle, require a special frame, and sometimes not as comfortable as spring mattresses), and selling or giving it away requires advertising.

Sigh. But it must be done, otherwise I can't get to the rest of my... uh... crap. Oh bother. Sometimes it's bloody hard to be environmentally friendly. So... anyone wanna buy a futon?