I'm riding that intense rush again, only it's different this time. I'm not falling out of a plane or hurtling past the ski team with a textbook in hand -- but I'm still doing, I'm still watching changes burn patterns into my pride, I'm still feeling that thin thread of fire
the one that screams ALIVE with every nerve it brushes against.
This weekend we laughed and worked and ran, antique shopping on Friday and heavy words over a light publike dinner and pause for giggles at the birthday party of a friend I'd lost touch with because I thought she didn't find me intersting enough.
Saturday I was up at five and playing in the garden and stuffing my new filing cabinet and my office feels like and office, then we raced our way to Coburg after a stint with the sanding attachment on the dremel-tool, and breakfast fit for the rubinesque, and spent the day tumbling and being tumbled over by children, eating WAY TOO MUCH until my stomach started doing that uncomfortable-unhappy thing, meat and shrimp and vegetables on the grill, berries and raspberry pie that was still warm from the oven.
We wandered through the farmer's market and then just wandered, we spoke (too little) and yet somehow mountains were exchanged, along with seeds and garden ideas and clover bracelets and metalworking techniques.
We were home before midnight and unconscious before Saturday crossed over into Sunday.
Sunday was the day I'd been avoiding, the Great Stressful Cleaning of The Basement that Needs Doing but involves nothing but unpleasantness and heavy lifting and general pain.
We started the morning off with Another Breakfast for the Rubinesque, including Dave's magical home-made hashbrowns that turned potatoes into something that even monstres would eat for fun.
The morning ran on with a jaunt down to antique row again (on foot this time, what a lovely neighbourhood I've ended up in!) because I'd been dreaming about that 60's asian-style crimson and brass dresser that we'd seen. (detachable into two low pieces, too!). I could've gone for the Early Canadian place's newer stuff, gone for delivery and gotten great quality and more space while avoiding so many hassles...
...and I wondered about that while we leaned against the car waiting for the cab to show up because neither piece of the dresser could fit into my back seat.
And I wondered beforehand, while we wandered the stores again, looking at these endtables, that corner china cabinet, the little wooden rocking horse with woolly hair.
All within budget. All so different, not just graceful and old but alive too, with character and breadth and spirit.
Every morning since I've woken up to peer at the great mass of it, thinking -- I done good. I've bought furniture for my home this time, wood and brass that will carry me through a life not as a minimalist wanderer, nor as a destitute student, but as someone who has a home to warm and welcome other people into.
Strange, this new life.
Strange, the brightness of the "new" basement, the odd assortment of left-behind tools (a vise that swivels, two levels, another dremel, two drills, two hammers, five sealer-squisherguns, ten thousand nails... tons of dusting spray and paint thinner, and more drill bits than you can imagine), the mismatched china, the memories.
Dave's items of nostalgia which reminded me of the ones I'd left behind and lost forever -- at first I railed at these trappings of childhood lost until I realized, I see my elephant dolls reflected in the glass eyes of his bus-stop salvaged teddy bear. Even if I will never share them with anyone again.
I'd forgotten that basements hold memories and past lives, even for one so... odd as mine.
It took until last night to finish the basement, and the dust was high and my patience waning when the smoothness of the transition caught me by surprise.
One moment, the basement was almost done and we were hauling the last boxes of garbage out.
Then I was chopping onions and peppers for the vague idea I had for dinner in my head.
Then the onions were soaking in hot paprika and we were out in the back yard with paintbrushes and cherry stain, starting off shaky and finishing the fifth and sixth shelves with long clever strokes.
Then we were rubbing stain from our fingers and the cherrywood was tall and graceful against the fence and the kitchen smelled of chicken paprikash that I hadn't made in over a decade with grandma, and then my belly was full and I was tired enough to sleep heavy and well
and today I am conquering the world again.
Kicking ass, taking names, and drawing awed looks from people who thought they'd seen it all.
"That hasn't worked in the three years I've been here..."
"Things are different now."
"Yes they are, monstre. Yes they are. Michael, where did you find her?"