So, our building has to turn on our heat. We can't do it ourselves. Typically this happens around October 15. Usually it's warm 'til then
Not this year.
Compounding the problem, we live on the north side of the building. We have two walls that are pure brick (not insulated) and one wall has three nearly floor-to-ceiling windows.
It's been 39 degrees at night.
It's only been like 60, at most, usually cooler, during the day.
It's been damp and dark.
Our plants are dying.
It's freezing in here.
Calls to the management have been basically ignored. We are undergoing a management switch, and since they don't have to LIVE HERE they are probably not putting heat high up on the list. But I bet the heat's on in THEIR HOMES.
And the bass. I am being battered by bass on all sides with neighbors lately. It's like water torture. Thud, thud, thud boring holes through my skull.
DAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Monday, October 5, 2009
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Making a Home
I love Sunday mornings. The newspaper, the Target ad, leisurely sipped coffee, and waffles made in our iron by William. This morning we had blueberry waffles and they were so good. Molly is extra snuggly and the light comes in the window and it feels like home.
It's always felt like my parents' house will feel like "home." Especially the first house--I only lived in their "new" house for a couple of years. And those homes still do sorta feel like "home" because it's comforting to be there, but it's been a slow progression towards making my own home.
Sunday mornings feel like home. Pajamas, waking up slowly, enjoying the morning like it's an indulgence. It's turning into a routing, a tradition, and I love every one of them.
It's always felt like my parents' house will feel like "home." Especially the first house--I only lived in their "new" house for a couple of years. And those homes still do sorta feel like "home" because it's comforting to be there, but it's been a slow progression towards making my own home.
Sunday mornings feel like home. Pajamas, waking up slowly, enjoying the morning like it's an indulgence. It's turning into a routing, a tradition, and I love every one of them.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Home Sweet Home (At least, one of them)
Two photos of the home I wrote about last night. Just thought I'd share some of William's talent and give you a little visual.
The yard:
The yard:
Monday, July 7, 2008
Home
I have been doing a lot of contemplating lately about what makes a home, home.
I grew up just a few miles from where I live now, and St. Paul and its metro area will always be home for me, no matter where I may go. (Probably nowhere permanently because I'm such a fraidy-cat).
This weekend, I went to one of my homes. I took a road trip with my husband and brother-in-law, four and a half hours north, to a cabin that resides quietly near at the Canadian border. It's near a few towns you've never heard of. The mosquitoes take steroids. A local bar names the geographic location as "where the pavement ends and the north begins." I can't make this stuff up.
The nights become so pitch black you can see the swirls and whorls of the Milky Way, actual milky, sparkly spindles that wind through the sky. Everything smells like pine and clean water and gravel road. When I was young, we got one radio station. It was old country, interspersed with Achy Breaky Heart, and promptly at 9 p.m., you lost reception. It didn't matter if it was mid-song. We got one tv station. Usually it showed Sesame Street in the afternoons. I read a lot of books.
It was there I learned to fish, and I learned the difference between rock bass, sunfish, walleye, crappies, northerns, and perch. I saw a rainbow end in my front yard. I saw an eagle teach her babies to fly. A snake slithered over my foot in the outhouse—indoor plumbing is a fairly new addition to our outpost. I can be fully immersed in 70-degree water in less than a minute and after some initial screaming, enjoy it.
I have convinced wild ducks to eat out of my hand. Come to think of it, I saw ducks immediately after birth, pushed out of their duck house to find the lake. I had a bear amble by the living room window. I have seen fawns frolic with their mom. I've danced in a bar to the live tunes of Johnny Cash's former guitarist. I learned to drive a three wheeler.
I've learned about respecting the environment and seen the effects of what happens when you don't. I've become protective of that environment.
I've learned a lot of life lessons and I've gotten to know my parents and my siblings in ways I don't think I would have, had we always stayed in the city. We play games together at the cabin. We watch less TV and fish together. We tell stories from a long time ago. Those are treasured bits of my family history.
I have eaten a lot of appetizers, enjoyed a lot of cocktail hours, swam in a lot of cold water, and screamed at bugs and other slithery and slimy critters. I've itched a lot of bites. I've listened to wicked raindrops cascade onto a tin roof, and done nothing else because we're out of power.
I've spent a lot of time in awe, in total wonder, at how something so beautiful has become a part of me. Trees like old friends. The massive unpredictability of weather that makes a good day feel like winning the lottery.
Just yesterday, I woke up, threw on some day clothes, brushed my teeth, and headed out on the boat with my dad and brother-in-law and husband. We fished for three-ish hours, carrying in quite a few sunnies. My dad filleted them immediately afterward. We donned our suits and our brave faces and waded into the water. We floated on noodles and bobbed with waves and rinsed off. My sister and niece sat in the lounge chairs, shiny from sunscreen, and giggled at my screaming at the cold water. But, I promise, it really is refreshing once you get in.
We ate tacos for dinner and packed sunny filets in our cooler. We packed up reluctantly, bid everyone farewell. As the dust kicked up under our wheels, I thought about how I felt like I was driving away from home to go home. Behind this urban-girl veneer is a country girl.
I grew up just a few miles from where I live now, and St. Paul and its metro area will always be home for me, no matter where I may go. (Probably nowhere permanently because I'm such a fraidy-cat).
This weekend, I went to one of my homes. I took a road trip with my husband and brother-in-law, four and a half hours north, to a cabin that resides quietly near at the Canadian border. It's near a few towns you've never heard of. The mosquitoes take steroids. A local bar names the geographic location as "where the pavement ends and the north begins." I can't make this stuff up.
The nights become so pitch black you can see the swirls and whorls of the Milky Way, actual milky, sparkly spindles that wind through the sky. Everything smells like pine and clean water and gravel road. When I was young, we got one radio station. It was old country, interspersed with Achy Breaky Heart, and promptly at 9 p.m., you lost reception. It didn't matter if it was mid-song. We got one tv station. Usually it showed Sesame Street in the afternoons. I read a lot of books.
It was there I learned to fish, and I learned the difference between rock bass, sunfish, walleye, crappies, northerns, and perch. I saw a rainbow end in my front yard. I saw an eagle teach her babies to fly. A snake slithered over my foot in the outhouse—indoor plumbing is a fairly new addition to our outpost. I can be fully immersed in 70-degree water in less than a minute and after some initial screaming, enjoy it.
I have convinced wild ducks to eat out of my hand. Come to think of it, I saw ducks immediately after birth, pushed out of their duck house to find the lake. I had a bear amble by the living room window. I have seen fawns frolic with their mom. I've danced in a bar to the live tunes of Johnny Cash's former guitarist. I learned to drive a three wheeler.
I've learned about respecting the environment and seen the effects of what happens when you don't. I've become protective of that environment.
I've learned a lot of life lessons and I've gotten to know my parents and my siblings in ways I don't think I would have, had we always stayed in the city. We play games together at the cabin. We watch less TV and fish together. We tell stories from a long time ago. Those are treasured bits of my family history.
I have eaten a lot of appetizers, enjoyed a lot of cocktail hours, swam in a lot of cold water, and screamed at bugs and other slithery and slimy critters. I've itched a lot of bites. I've listened to wicked raindrops cascade onto a tin roof, and done nothing else because we're out of power.
I've spent a lot of time in awe, in total wonder, at how something so beautiful has become a part of me. Trees like old friends. The massive unpredictability of weather that makes a good day feel like winning the lottery.
Just yesterday, I woke up, threw on some day clothes, brushed my teeth, and headed out on the boat with my dad and brother-in-law and husband. We fished for three-ish hours, carrying in quite a few sunnies. My dad filleted them immediately afterward. We donned our suits and our brave faces and waded into the water. We floated on noodles and bobbed with waves and rinsed off. My sister and niece sat in the lounge chairs, shiny from sunscreen, and giggled at my screaming at the cold water. But, I promise, it really is refreshing once you get in.
We ate tacos for dinner and packed sunny filets in our cooler. We packed up reluctantly, bid everyone farewell. As the dust kicked up under our wheels, I thought about how I felt like I was driving away from home to go home. Behind this urban-girl veneer is a country girl.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
molly mail
well, today marks a new, crazy day: molly got mail. seriously. from petsmart. that super makes me giggle. it was the only thing in our mailbox, which made me laugh even harder.
since my parents are out of town, my grandma is taking molly during the day. my grandma had a full run-down of their day's events together--two big walks, followed by snacks, and she had picked me a bagful of tomatoes out of her garden. sweet! my grandma is pretty awesome, if you don't already know her. thanks, gram.
it was gorgeous out today, finally, and wow did that ever help my mood out. the one concerning thing: it's only 8:30 and it's dark out. like streetlamps are on. nooooo! nooooooo! i am officially protesting the end of summer. like, totally protesting. it's not going to happen, people.
pretty quiet day in the neighborhood, today. that's not always a bad thing, either.
tonight i took molly out for her regularly scheduled short walk, and i looked up into our place. i could see our magenta wall, covered in framed photos done mostly by william, i could see the brick wall, i could see our super kickass light hanging over our island. it looked warm and cozy and hip and home-y. i stood out there, with that perfect 70-degree breeze blowing, and smiled. it was nice that i was looking at my own home, and i was happy.
since my parents are out of town, my grandma is taking molly during the day. my grandma had a full run-down of their day's events together--two big walks, followed by snacks, and she had picked me a bagful of tomatoes out of her garden. sweet! my grandma is pretty awesome, if you don't already know her. thanks, gram.
it was gorgeous out today, finally, and wow did that ever help my mood out. the one concerning thing: it's only 8:30 and it's dark out. like streetlamps are on. nooooo! nooooooo! i am officially protesting the end of summer. like, totally protesting. it's not going to happen, people.
pretty quiet day in the neighborhood, today. that's not always a bad thing, either.
tonight i took molly out for her regularly scheduled short walk, and i looked up into our place. i could see our magenta wall, covered in framed photos done mostly by william, i could see the brick wall, i could see our super kickass light hanging over our island. it looked warm and cozy and hip and home-y. i stood out there, with that perfect 70-degree breeze blowing, and smiled. it was nice that i was looking at my own home, and i was happy.
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