Posted by: nedlnthred | November 5, 2016

Our revels now are ended…

cocktails-on-beach

That’s how I feel about the end of summer as a general rule. It so happens that this year there have been some especially poignant endings. The actual things I was managing kept me too busy to write about them while they were happening, though.

This post is not intended to go into depth about my Feelings about any of this. And believe me, I have lots. But just to remind readers and myself that this is a Thing I Wish To Do and throw my towel back into that ring.

What you have missed:

I did actually get my shit together and get some writing done there for a bit. Up until end June I was working on the dissertation slowly, but regularly. It was encouraging to know my brain still was of an academic caliber I could respect. And I really am interested in the project, which is turning into a discussion of the many economies in which textiles/clothing perform at the Tudor courts. Probably at the Plantagenet courts of the 15th century as well, because the vast accounts book I have been photographing has docs pertaining to Edward IV, Richard III, and Henry VII. (pretty fucking cool, and I still can’t believe that they hand it to me when I request it. National Archive, you fucking rock!)

I have a lot to say about the chemicals which rule our branes. The damage done to mine becomes more and more evident to me as depression’s inky tendrils begin to let go my gray matter, oh so slowly. I’m not sure why I feel so very much more like myself this fall than I have in DECADES, but I am so very grateful, I don’t much care. Except for the fact that I want to maintain this level of functionality for as long as I can. Hmmm, and I want to be Carrie Fisher writ smaller, and speak out about how insinuating and vile a companion these misconnections in one’s brain can be, and why they shouldn’t be taken lightly, or ignored because they happen so much more often in the brains (and hearts) of women. Just sayin’.

I have been doing a ton of renovation and sorting/organizing in my home, which is pretty darn exciting. I still cherish the illusion that it could someday resemble what it looks like in my head. I know that’s nutty, but I cling to it. And, while I don’t like painting, or scrubbing, or moving furniture, or boxing cloth and trims, I must say I enjoy the fruits of those labors enormously.

Me and the chicks just made a pilgrimage to London, where we saw the Opus Anglicanum show there. Which was mind blowing, really. I have more to say about that, and some pics to add.

Also, people keep asking me about where there is to eat in Chelsea. I have Opinions on that, and I do sorta track that stuff, so why not compile it all here where other people can see it. I am working on that a bit more.

The two most significant things going on though have been these:

My parents sold the shore house. I still can’t even think about it without tearing up, so I’m not going to write about it today. But it is ghastly to me that my refuge, my secret hideaway, my safe and happy place is no longer there. It was bought by a developer and will be a load of dumpsters and two plastic houses on stilts before springtime. This is so completely the antithesis of how I feel about this place in particular and preservation of old homes in general, that I am still frozen in pain.

Plus, the breaking up of the house was ghastly. Mom couldn’t conceive of all the working parts or action items, so Cole and Shara and I ended up being the forces that made it all happen. So not only was it heart rending, it was overwhelming and exhausting.

Speaking of project management, I took a lot of furniture from the shore in an attempt to fill in some gaps in my own home, as well as preserve some sentimental spaces and pieces. While I was so busy taking care of making the move happen, I failed to make the space happen here on Berwyn street for all those pieces to go straight where they are planned to.  Shara and Nasir, her awesome boyfriend, made the entire move happen. But the day was a long one, and we didn’t have time to get anything into a storage space by the time they got to my house. Consequently, all the furniture I have envisioned to go in other rooms here is currently stored as tightly packed in my front room as they could get it. With smaller things placed in spare spaces all over the downstairs.

There is so much fucking furniture in my downstairs that I can barely move, barely sit, and am losing my tiny mind. So this is partly a story of my handling all of this, both through cleaning the bejeesus out of places that haven’t seen a scrub brush since they were painted, and rearranging furniture, consolidating and binning cloth, moving books down to the library, and painting bedrooms.

And don’t leave out my exhausted avoidance behavior: after multiple weeks of scrubbing walls, sorting shit in the attic, and toting bins of cloth up and boxes of books down, I folded. And began the project of putting all my cloth into Ravelry instead. This is so clearly “pick an instant-gratification project to soothe your tortured soul” that it makes me laugh. As though, in rooms full of new furniture just stacked on top of itself, organized boxes of yarn make one hoot’s worth of difference. But they did, strangely.

And then, in the middle of all of this, my kitchen faucet and refrigerator died at about the same time. Can I have a vacation now?

 

 

 


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