The 24-Hour Non-Sectarian Church of Banjoy

Word of the Year – 2021

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Fri, 01 Jan 2021 02:53:00 +0000

This is my only blog post in 2020.

I was beyond words for most of this year.

I didn't know what to say or how to say it.

I still don't.

Something drew me here this evening, though.

A call, to write, to say something.

Anything.

Word of the Year?

For the first time in 5 years, I didn't post a Word of the Year for 2020. I remember picking one, but I can't remember what it was. Most likely it would have been meaningless by March anyway.

I've picked a word for 2021.

The word is:

Embrace

2021, this is me, betting myself that I can find some way to wrap my arms around you.

I don't know how yet. I don't even know if I want to.

I just know I'm going to do it.

Somehow.

The missing piece

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Tue, 24 Dec 2019 20:36:00 +0000

I've been doing December for a while now. We're past the half-way mark, past the solstice and really in the home stretch now. Just a few days left to go. Of course, it's been feeling interminable. Over the weekend, I got out a jigsaw puzzle and started putting it together. There is something very calming about jigsaw puzzles.

I'm sure someone has written their master's thesis about their neurologic effect. To me it seems obvious enough why they are satisfying: the visual skills that we honed through generations of gathering food, (seeking out shapes and colours that we recognized as "mushroom", "berry", "plant with tuber below", etc.), still enjoy hunting through the pieces for the shapes and colours that create a recognizable image.

A little 500-piece puzzle; one of many that I won at a penny auction
at the West Dublin Hall (several years ago now).

I find jigsawing meditative. I can get into a Zen state where all I am thinking about are the colours and shapes. It's all about the edges – the shifts in colour within the design and the shapes of the pieces themselves.

However, I don't always get synced up and become one with the puzzle. Jigsawing can also lead to rumination. And rumination is a double-edged deal. It can be dark and it can be light. I can think about things that take me to a place of grief or anger or disappointment; I can think about things that take me to a place of joy and uplift and excitement. And, as my therapist spent many hours trying to teach me back in the day, at its best, it's not either/or, it's AND.

Thinking about gladsome tidings does not wipe out pain. And thinking about grief doesn't have to erase joy. Of course, holding both at the same time is not easy. Although human beings are capable of believing many contradictory things at the same time, we also have a tendency to pick one side of a dichotomy and stay there.

I was on the dark side of December for a good few days this month. And I'm afraid that jaunty little jigsaw puzzle sent me spiralling further down.

Until I remembered that the antidote for disconnection is gratitude. I sat down and wrote a list of all of the people I feel thankful for. People who taught me things (even hard things), people who helped or guided me, people who gave me gifts this year – gifts of connection and belonging, gifts of being seen, heard and accepted, moments, presence.

There were 75 people on my list. And although I am still feeling sad and I am still wishing December was over, I am also holding that I am a very fortunate person to have so many people and moments to be grateful for — and to know it.

It's both.

It's all.

(And December is almost over. THANKS BE!)

Long December

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Sun, 01 Dec 2019 14:42:00 +0000

Every year, I wish the same wish – that I could go to sleep on December 1 and wake up on December 31, just in time to welcome in the new year.

Sometimes, December feels easier and sometimes it feels more difficult.

I know there are things that I can do to make December better for myself. One of them is blogging, something that I have not been doing for quite a while.

So, I'm going to try to post at least a few times this month. I've been thinking about a lot of things (as usual) and maybe it is time to start trying to put some of those thoughts into words.

In the meantime, here is a link to my ever-growing, end-of-year, YouTube playlist. These are the songs that comfort, console and keep me company through this dark, dark month. Perhaps they will improve December for you, too:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLUCTQC2TUoqBl3DQ5x7IgBY7tFJdnhXgI

Banjoy: Gregory Alan Isakov

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Wed, 18 Sep 2019 11:14:00 +0000

Loving on this, this morning:

#Banjoy – The Avett Brothers

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Thu, 06 Jun 2019 15:59:00 +0000

I have been continuing my streak of really not blogging. It's getting to the point that I have been wondering if this blog is just – over.

I don't know yet; I haven't decided.

But while I continue to mull it over, I came across this song today and wanted to send its beautiful banjoy-o-rama out to those of you who visit this blog for a dose of #banjoy:

2019 Word of the Year

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Thu, 17 Jan 2019 14:15:00 +0000

Time for the 2019 Word of the Year. A time to reflect and look forward.

I think my 2018 Word of the Year: Hermitage, was right on the money. I spent as much time as I could last year holed up in the woods in my new cabin. And it seems that my desire to be a hermit applied to my online presence as well as to my daily life. Last year saw the lowest number of posts on this blog, by far, in any year since it began.

Which feels "not like me".

Indeed, I have been feeling kind of funny lately in general. And I don't mean funny-haha, I mean funny-strange.

Not in a terrible way. My mood is decent most of the time. I think I just have a lot on my mind. I am processing many things and trying to figure them out. I feel uncertain of my path.

It's easiest for me to hide out when I'm feeling that way. And so, I am particularly grateful this year for this tradition of setting a word as a theme and inspiration for 2019. Wanting to maintain this 6-year streak is pulling me out of hiding for a few minutes and giving me an opportunity to think about and share where I'm at and how I'm feeling.

For 2019, I have selected the word: Attune.

I was all set to pick something more dramatic, like transformation or metamorphosis. But then I looked at the definitions for those words and they spoke of changing one thing completely or dramatically into something else. And that is not what I want this year to be about.

Things are shifting, for sure, and I am changing, but not radically. Carefully, gently, deliberately, with hope and compassion.

And just look at the definition for attune:

Courtesy of the Google Dictionary. To see this larger and live-r,
visit https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&q=Dictionary#dobs=attune

Dictionary definitions turn me on at the best of times, but I can feel this one put its arms around me and look deep into my eyes, if you know what I mean.

Welcome, 2019. Let's attune to one another.

Adulting – with bleach

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Sun, 14 Oct 2018 12:21:00 +0000

There is a task that I have been putting off for a long time. Months, in fact.

When my plumbing fixtures were first installed, I was supposed to shock my well and all of the components of my water system with bleach.

I have been incredibly resistant to doing this. I mean, I shoulda done it back at the beginning of February, and it's now heading into the middle of October.

I have some empathy for myself in my resistance. I have some good reasons:

I love my well and I long ago learned that you shouldn't pour bleach down the throat of something you love.
I have never done this (or anything like it) before. It feels new and unknown and therefore complicated and scary.
It requires planning, equipment and supplies.
It requires time and effort.
Did I mention that it involves bleach? I very rarely use bleach for ANYTHING. It is not my go-to for ANY task or purpose. I rarely even have bleach in my house. I don't like the way it smells. I don't like what it does, I just: ugh, yuck, icky, guh, blech.

And, I've decided it needs to get done. Just once. Just for the sake of doing it and having it done.

A note about my water quality

My water is great. I've had it tested. It doesn't contain any nasty chemicals and it doesn't contain any e. coli. It does contain choliforms, the benign bacteria that are just, you know, in the world.

A while back, it was deemed acceptable to have a certain number in choliforms in your well water in Nova Scotia. That number was dropped and dropped again, and currently there is a zero tolerance policy for choliforms.

Which is probably why most people have problems keeping a healthy population of friendly bacteria in their gut biome. But that's a rant for another day.

I've had my water tested for chemical impurities too and it is aces. Basically, I won the lottery of dug wells – I have lots of water and it's good water.

But, the presence of choliforms is deemed to be a red flag that my well is at risk of being contaminated by e. coli. And because my water tested positive for them, I have been living under my own personal boil water advisory since I moved into my cabin in February.

I have decided to accept that my water system should be cleaned out, at least once, to ascertain that my well is not compromised or at risk of further contamination, and to get rid of anything that might have gotten introduced when the pump and other plumbing was installed. And I would also like to be able to serve my water to guests without long explanations about why I'm giving them lukewarm, previously-boiled or bottled water.

The process

There is a whole publication about wells for Nova Scotian residents which can be found here, for anyone who is interested. Essentially, the process of "cleaning" a well is called shock chlorination and it involves putting bleach in the well, circulating it through all of the components of the water system, and then discharging it, trying to get as little as possible into the septic system, which really doesn't want to have all of its bacteria killed.

I have decided on one additional step, which involves patting myself on the back and eating cake.

Here are some photos:

Portrait of the blogger as a reluctant adult complying with provincial water quality guidelines.

It took approximately FOREVER to try to clear the smell of bleach from my very low-flow bathroom tap.

At least it was a gorgeous fall day.

And my hose reached far enough to follow the instructions to circulate the bleached water for an hour in a loop between my cabin and the well.

Looking down.

Securing the well cap.

Salinger and I had one of our very rare arguments that day. He thought he should be allowed to lap up the bleach water that I was pouring on the driveway (to divert it from the septic system) while I thought that was a terrible idea. We worked out a compromise that included a combination of imprisoning him in the house, yelling at him each time he escaped and approached the puddles on the driveway and hosing away the bleach water with fresh water. Salinger was displeased with the whole process, and I don't blame him. It was no fun for anyone.

I should have gotten them to decorate it: "Happy shock chlorination" is probably not something that gets written on cakes very often. If ever.

I do have a thing for badass, cheap, white bakery cake with icing that doesn't even pretend to have butter in it. And doesn't it look nice (is that the word I'm looking for?) on my beloved Fish's Eddy Manhattan skyline plate?

I'm not going to lie to you. I hated every minute of this entire process. Even the cake didn't really help. I felt so anxious while I was doing this that I felt somewhat unhinged. I had every irrational fear (and maybe a few rational ones): that I was doing it all wrong, that I was poisoning myself and my beloved cat, that I was damaging my pump, my hot water heater, my pipes and every single element of my water system, that it was a mistake to do it in the first place.

It's been a week and while I've relaxed a great deal, I'm still not feeling settled about it. I still get mild whiffs of chlorine some of the time, at some of my taps and keep fighting off "always/never" thinking (I will always smell bleach in my water. I will never feel comfortable drinking it). I have taken a couple of showers without feeling like I've gotten chemical burns. I'm still not drinking my water, though, even boiled. It just feels too gross.

And that's funny because I lived in cities for so many years and drank chlorinated water without even batting an eye.

I am owning that this process made me feel completely not rational. And that was hard.

It reminds me that I put a lot of effort into organizing my life in ways that allow me to feel rational most of the time. I've been thinking this week especially about how that is a luxury afforded to me by privilege. And how incredibly grateful I feel that I have that luxury. Feeling that anxious all of the time would be agonizing. I guess I would get through it if I absolutely had to, but I am very, very thankful that I do not.

I took a water sample into the hospital on Thursday and should get results next week. Let's hope, after all that, that this at least accomplished what it was supposed to accomplish.

Update (October 17): Got my first water test results back and my water is zero for both choliforms and e. coli. Sweet.

That was bad. That was good.

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Thu, 27 Sep 2018 19:56:00 +0000

September is drawing to a close.

And this year, I'm glad to see it go.

It has been a tough month for me.

And a wonderful month.

Exhausting.

Full.

Heart-lifting.

Heart-breaking.

I am reminded of one of my favourite episodes of the Simpsons, the one in which Homer buys a Krusty Doll at a curiosity shop and the owner engages in this bit of dialogue:

That is what my month has felt like.

Allow me to illustrate with one example from Late Summer 2018 (SQUEAMISHNESS WARNING: this post details a minor medical procedure):

One beautiful day in the late summer, some relatives and I got slices of pizza and went to the beach.

That was good.

When I went in swimming, I tripped on some rocks and fell.

That was bad.

But I wasn't seriously injured.

That was good.

But I did get a foreign object lodged in my foot.

That was bad.

But it was pretty small.

That was good.

I was still quite freaked out.

That was bad.

My relatives drove me home and one of my relatives was able to give me a first aid kit they had in their car.

That was good.

But even with the help of the first aid kit, I couldn't get the foreign object out.

That was bad.

But, I calmed down and let my relatives carry on so I didn't have to ruin the rest of their day while I soaked my foot in salt water to see if that would help.

That was good.

But it didn't help.

That was bad.

But, it was good timing to go to the walk-in clinic in Bridgewater and I was able to drive myself there.

That was good.

But I arrived 15 minutes after the beginning of registration.

That was bad.

But I still got on the list – 18th out of 25 people accepted.

That was good.

But when I told them what was wrong with me, they said the walk-in clinic probably wouldn't have the right equipment to treat me.

That was bad.

But that the emergency department would be able to help me.

That was good.

But the wait in emergency was very long.

That was bad.

But there were interesting people to talk with.

That was good.

But most of the conversations were about how Nova Scotia's health care system is not working very well for a lot of people.

That was bad.

And more and more people kept arriving.

That was also bad.

Compared to them, I had nothing seriously wrong with me.

That was good (for me, anyway).

But it meant that I was unlikely to get treated – ever – or at least until my foot went septic and/or gangrenous.

That was bad.

After about 4 hours of waiting, one of the newer arrivals to the waiting area asked me "Why don't you try Liverpool Hospital instead?", an excellent question.

That was good.

I was tired and it took me more than a half an hour to drive to Liverpool.

That was bad.

But I had thought to bring a piece of pizza with me which I ate along the way for supper.

That was good.

Walking up to Liverpool hospital, I could feel that my foot was getting more painful.

That was bad.

But the triage nurse was super-nice and tried to see if she could take the foreign object out without me having to wait for a doctor.

That was good.

But she couldn't get it out – and she didn't have anything except a little lidocaine to numb the pain. I cursed – a lot.

That part was really bad.

But she was great about it and said it was okay for me to curse.

That was good.

But I had to wait to see a doctor after all.

That was bad.

But when I used the little black phone to register my presence with the front desk at the hospital, the staff person said, "So, you got a rock in your foot, hunh?" which was pretty funny and we had a hearty laugh about it.

That was good.

But then I had to wait.

That was bad.

But I got put into a treatment room after about an hour, which was way better than the 3-4 days that would have been my best guess for my wait time in Bridgewater.

That was good.

They put me into a treatment room with another patient and his partner.

That was a little weird.

But they were both really interesting and sweet and we had a lovely chat.

That was good.

Then the other patient got treated (by a fantastic doctor) and they all left and I was all alone for what felt like a really long time and I thought maybe everyone had forgotten all about me.

That was bad.

But then the same fantastic doctor came back and tried to get the foreign object out of my foot.

That was good.

But she couldn't do it.

That was bad. And at the same time, it was good, because at least I didn't feel like I should have been able to take it out myself and was wasting everyone's time by coming to the emergency room.

The doctor reassessed the situation and decided to give me some local freezing.

That was good.

But getting it injected with a needle was NOT FUN.

That was bad.

But then my foot was numb.

And that was GOOD.

And then the doctor dug around and cut and tweezed and stuff like that and extracted the foreign object.

That was also good.

And it turned out the foreign object in my foot was an entire, small periwinkle shell.

That was COOL.

That was INSIDE my foot – for about 10 hours.

The doc said that she had taken a lot of things out of a lot of people's bodies, but this was a first for her.

That was also cool.

I got to keep the shell.

And that was also cool.

The staff all laughed with me about it. Before I left, I waited for the triage nurse to be available so I could show her the shell and commiserate about how neither of us had been able to get it out of my foot – not surprising since it was round and had completely embedded itself in my foot so that there was no way to get a grip on it without doing some hard-core excavation.

That was good.

I was able to drive myself home.

That was also good.

My foot was very sore for several days and then itchy as heck for several more days.

That was bad.

But there was no subsequent infection or need for further treatment.

That was good.

Almost a month later, there is still a scab on my foot.

Which is kind of weird.

But it doesn't hurt.

That is good.

And the Frogurt is also cursed.

(Very) amateur gardening and foraging

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Fri, 27 Jul 2018 22:56:00 +0000

I have many friends who are amazing – and often professional – gardeners and foragers. I am not one of them. But at the end of a long (and fairly frustrating) week of desk work, it felt lovely on this hot, Friday evening to take a walk around my property.

Before I get back to work for a couple more hours, I would like to share my photos with you.

Embryonic zukes. I'm hoping for a deluge
(this is the first year a zucchini plant has lived to maturity in my garden).

My first few raspberries!

Kale and other greens.

My main garden area is a chaotic, haphazard mess with treacherous
footing. It hardly feels like it interrupts the woods at all and I love it!

Flowers planted – or soon to be planted – in my scattered
hugelkultur beds and my "septic meadow".

The black walnut tree (a gift from my folks) that I planted the first year I owned this land.
It's doing well, but I think I'm going to move it next spring as it is fairly close to my
well and I don't want any juglone in my water supply...

Old dump (one of several).

Sweet little oaklings are shooting up in the sunshine
available since so many big trees uprooted this winter.

I marked the spot where I found some chanterelles with a flag of green tape.

Indian Pipes – a chanterelle companion/marker.

One small chanterelle, with requisite slug.

Weird little standing stone beauty spot.

I wonder if there are chanterelles hidden under those downed trees?

Salinger leads the way onward.

I only have three acres, but I am endlessly amazed by the variety
of the terrain. The brook that forms the boundary line at the
back of The Crooked Wood is surrounded by a grassy wetland.
The footing here is treacherous and always puts me in mind
of the Marshes of Morva in Lloyd Alexander's Prydain. Someday,
when I have time, I plan to build some corduroy paths through
this area so I can explore it without losing my boots.

The most open skies in The Crooked Wood.
With signature crookedness, of course.

Crooked fallen tree beauty spot.

Crackerjacks, I think these are called. The berries taste like wintergreen;
I don't like wintergreen. At all. They are very cheerful-looking though.

In my earlier post about gardening this year, I pondered whether I would have the budget to invest in some nut trees, and shortly after I wrote that post, some friends announced that they had some leftovers from a big order they had placed that they were selling at excellent prices.

I bought six – two hazelnuts, two heartnuts, one Persian Walnut and one Ultra-Northern Pecan. I thought I lost three of them in the late frost that hit in June – all of the leaves on the Walnut and one of the heartnuts turned black and shrivelled up and the pecan tree was just a stick.

Amazingly, they bounced back and all six are currently alive and well.

The Persian Walnut, thriving.

The Ultra-Northern Pecan. Just a stick for the longest time,
the leaves on this tree still seem small and tentative, almost
as if they are saying "Is it okay to come out yet?" It's 36 degrees
with the humidex, baby, and it's not going to get any warmer
(At least, I hope not).

When I was digging the holes to plant the nut trees – all six of them in one day after a winter of desk work, which was a bit of trial by fire – I described the process as "piling in with a pickaxe to uncover rocks – and air". Quite literally, the was very often NO SOIL in the places where I hoped to put my trees. So, I cleared out the rocks and had to bring buckets of soil and compost to make the holes habitable.

Here is a picture of one of the many trees that uprooted on my land this winter,
illustrating that trees living with their roots in rocks and air are
very likely to tip over if the wind blows hard enough.

Looking up the hill at the cabin.

Approaching the back door. In time, this chaotic
tangle of dead wood will be transformed into a garden.
In time. Probably lots and lots of time.

Thanks for coming along with me on this little tour. If you garden or forage, I wish you a bountiful summer!

Scent memory – hot conifers

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Thu, 05 Jul 2018 01:28:00 +0000

It's been really warm on the south shore of Nova Scotia for the past week or so. Mid-to-high twenties with humidex warnings – something we are not used to at all.

I drove home late this evening after playing some songs at a show in Mahone Bay. I got out at the top of my driveway to pick up the stupid flyers that someone throws there every Wednesday and I was hit with the smell of The Crooked Wood at the end of a hot day. Hot pine and spruce trees, hot fir and hemlock.

That smell never fails to take me to a very specific place and time: 1981, the Sierra Nevada mountains, California.

I was ten years old and my dad was driving me and my sister from Toronto to San Diego and back again. Why? Partly because my dad loves car trips and partly to see some cousins and my dad's grandmother (aka, my great-grandmother, "California Nana" as we called her).

We met up with one of my dad's first cousins with his wife and kids in King's Canyon National Park and spent a few days camping there. Talk about hot conifers! Ninety-some-odd degrees Fahrenheit and sunny during the days in the midst of a forest of giant sequoia and redwood trees. I don't think I'd ever smelled that smell before. Growing up in Toronto, there simply weren't enough trees and while summer trips to Harbourville, Nova Scotia had provided lots of exposure to evergreen trees, they weren't ever hot – they seemed almost perpetually fogged in, their scent easily drowned out by the smell of the salt, sea air.

I think it's safe to say that I fell in love with the smell of hot evergreen trees during those few days in King's Canyon National Park. I never smell them now without feeling something about how it felt to be 10 years old. I was on the cusp of so much change, but I wasn't changed yet. I felt I was exactly who I was, and who I had so far felt myself to be in life. That smell is locked deep in my psyche, somewhere innocent and fun-loving, a place that houses a deep sense of peace and love and selfhood.

I hope everyone has a smell like that – whether it's grandma's cookies or the smell of baseball gloves or rain on dry pavement – something that takes them back to a time that felt essential and clear, that grants a window, or better still, a door back to that state of being, to a state of grace.

Regard – Part I (The Gift of Presence)

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Fri, 25 May 2018 12:15:00 +0000

***This is the first in a series of posts about the concept of regard. I'm not sure how many parts the series is going to have, probably four or five and possibly more. I will tag each of them with #regard, so if you click on that label in the right-hand column of my blog it should pull up all of the posts in the series (all that have been written and posted so far, that is).***

This post is dedicated with gratitude to Frank, Momo, Trevor and my Mom.

“The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.”

—Thich Nhat Hanh

I have been thinking lately about the concept of "regard".

It's a word that I use often, but I have to admit that I had not given much thought to what it means. "Best regards," I often write in work emails; sometimes "Kindest regards" or "Warm regards" to friends and extended family members; or just plain "Regards" when I'm stumped for a closing salutation.

Then, I had an experience this past winter that brought my attention to thinking about regard and what it means in new and different ways.

I have a friend named Frank, who lives in the States. He and I don't know each other particularly well – we met briefly when he was travelling in Nova Scotia a few years ago. He's a storyteller and a thinker and we meet up (virtually) by times in the realm of words, as storytellers and thinkers tend to do.

Frank often reads my blog. And this past fall, he sent me a gift – an email which said, in essence: I see what you are doing over there. And I feel connected with it.

Frank saw me.
And he told me that he saw me.
And I took that in.
And it got me thinking.

Now, it's not that no one has ever seen me before, or never told me they saw me. And it's not that I've never taken it in before. In the past, I've even given some thought to the experiences of seeing, of being seen and my relationship with those experiences. But a new train of thought got sparked by Frank's email and has been bubbling away in my brain ever since (if you love mixed metaphors – you're welcome).

What does it mean to be seen?

This is the definition Google gives for regard:

Click here to visit this link for a larger, more readable version.

Check out the etymology from Old French. Regard basically has its origin in this idea: I've got your back.

Regard is more than being seen. It is mattering to someone else. It is about meaning and connection; care and attention. Frank's email got me thinking in new ways about what it means to me to be seen and also to feel seen.

I didn't develop the habit of feeling seen when I was growing up. I was a latch-key kid. My busy parents separated when I was seven years old and then divorced. From there, I continued growing up in a family with more parents and step-parents than I knew what to do with. Each person was coping with a lot; I felt like I often disappeared in the midst everything that was going on. And frankly, a lot of the time, I felt pretty lucky if I was able to stay under the radar. I preferred to keep my head down, trying to avoid both conflict and disappointment.

Unfortunately, growing up in that environment trained me to notice people who were absent or pre-occupied more than people who were present and paying attention.

As I moved into adulthood, I became someone who noticed the people who sent their regrets more than the people who showed me their regard.

My approach to regard was twisted.

The people who didn't give a hoot about me often felt more important than the people who had my back.

I was better able to see the people who couldn't see me and less able to see the people who could.

I am just now beginning to understand the impact this kink in my personality has had on my life so far.

I could still spend days, maybe even weeks, running down the long list of the moments I can remember when I felt people didn't show up for me, whatever their reasons, and how I felt about it. I could talk about the amount of time and energy I have spent focusing on people who didn't give a damn about me – hustling for worthiness, as Brené Brown would say.

Husbanding those grievances is a familiar and well-worn strategy. But that way of looking at my story is losing its appeal.

What is becoming more interesting to me is this new lens that I'm developing, a new understanding, a new way of experiencing and valuing being seen. And along with that, I hope, new ways of seeing others.

Let me tell you a story.

Re-framing regard

In 2015, I did a 52-song project on YouTube. Once a week, I posted an original, previously unrecorded song. There were a few people who viewed every (or almost every) single song and often commented on them. All year long.

I was having a tough year, struggling with depression and a broken heart. That song project felt very vulnerable to me most of the time. Sometimes excruciatingly so. And it was also a lifeline, something that kept me reaching out week after week, to connect even when trying to connect felt agonizing or unlikely or pointless. And every week, those few stalwart people gave me the gift of seeing me. Some of the videos in that project got eight views each in their first week.* And I know who at least three of those eight people were, because they granted me the gift of saying: I see what you are doing over there. And I feel connected with it.

While the project was going on, I admit that I frequently struggled to feel seen. I mostly couldn't take it in. When a video got only eight views I would take it as a sign that I shouldn't bother, instead of realizing that those eight views, and – most of all – the one or three or five comments and acknowledgments were the most precious part of the whole process. And that I would be far better off focussing on them rather than on the people who couldn't or wouldn't see me or who wouldn't or couldn't acknowledge that they did.

The people who could see me were the ones I needed to take in. They were saying with their constancy and their encouragement:

I see what you are doing over there, and I feel connected with it.

I struggled to understand this at the time, but now I see more clearly.

I was being given mighty gifts of connection, of constancy, of love, of regard.

Those connections were pointing me in a direction where I need to explore and grow.

And now that I'm finally getting closer to where I need to be, I feel profoundly grateful.

Thank you.

I am really, really, REALLY taking our connections into my heart.

THANK YOU!

(Better late than never, eh?)

***
I'd love to hear in the comments your thoughts and feelings about the experience of being seen and/or seeing others.

Slug Challenge Kick-off 2018

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Fri, 27 Apr 2018 21:03:00 +0000

The first seeds have been planted. This means that my yearly challenge has been issued to the slugs who are the de facto overlords of The Crooked Wood.

I think this is year two (?) for my flat-topped hugelkultur bed.

I bought a bigger bottle of Abundance liquid fertilizer at Seedy Saturday this year, but last year's empty is still in my garden. I think this photo demonstrates how picturesque it can be to be messy and a total chaos muppet.

I hear slugs hate sand, so I gave this bed of bok choy and other greens a good sprinkling...

Salinger enjoys gardening. And, of course, he is quite good about staying off the planting beds –
at least when anyone is watching. Now, if only I could help him acquire a taste for hunting slugs – but ugh.

Some of the open-sourced seeds I got from the lovely folks at Seedy Saturday this year
(held in Dayspring at the Municipal Activity and Recreation Complex, aka the MARC, back in February).

The garlic I planted in the fall is several inches above the ground, so that's encouraging. I am planning to build many more hugelkultur beds in the next couple of weeks – some for veggies, some for flowers and herbs, some located along my driveway and others on the land that was cleared around the new cabin.

I am also harbouring some nut tree fantasies. I haven't decided yet if those are in my budget for this year, but I expect you know the saying: "The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now."

Construction: Weeks 18-22 (Including move-in!!!!)

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Sun, 15 Apr 2018 10:46:00 +0000

Well, this is a much-delayed post.

My cabin got finished (YAAAAY!) and I moved in (YAAAAAAY!) in mid-February (YAAAAAAAY!)

I moved in the midst of an extremely large and demanding work project, which meant that my first several weeks in my home felt like camping. There was no time to get things organized and properly placed (tasks that are not my forte at the best of times and therefore would have consumed a lot of resources that I did not have available) and there was certainly no time for blog posts. But I have hot and cold running water, electricity and Internet, a bar fridge, an induction hot plate, a mattress and my awesome desk and kneeling chair and so I was good to go.

The last weeks of construction and first few weeks of living in my home felt surprisingly fragile to me. The pieces left to do in the last stages were very small, but they felt more overwhelming than many of the bigger elements that had been tackled toward the beginning of the process. I don't know if it was because I was tired, or had less time free from desk work, or felt daunted by the enormity of the transition facing me, or because of my erratic hormones and mood swings (most likely a combination of all of those things), but I felt delicate and teary.

Fortunately, I was able to feel the feelings and do the work and make it into the cabin. I love it and feel very contented and peaceful there. Which is not to say that I don't get tired and cranky and stressed or anything like that, but I feel like I have the space I need to be myself and feel safe in that, and that is an awesome feeling.

Having the floors stained and polished was a gift from my Mom. The floors are one of my favourite things about my house – handsome and easy to clean.

The amazing contractor who stained and polished my floors added a lovely rectangle at each door at my request. I don't know why, but for some reason, these boxes remind me of the department stores I went to as a child: Eaton's and Simpson's. I don't know why that should feel like a good and comforting thing, but it does.

And these beautiful stripes in my bathroom/mechanical room.

One of my tasks was to sand and stain the material for the wood trim. I should have done it as soon as the trim material arrived, but I didn't and ended up having to rush it at the last minute before the carpentry crew came back in to install it.

Painting the bathroom door

Forsythia: a gift of spring from a dear friend.

Getting so close! The trim and kitchen cabinetry got installed and only the electrical and plumbing finishing remained.

The bathroom door got hung with awesome hardware made by the blacksmiths at Ross Farm Museum.

The back of the bathroom door – distressed.

The toilet and shower got installed. The tiling and the bathroom sink are going to have to wait until more money, time and energy are available. The water runs. Some of it is hot. This is more than good enough. (And yes, I do have a shower curtain now, I just don't have a photo of it on hand.)

Everything including the kitchen sink! Complete with running water.

And the shelving unit on the reverse of the kitchen counter/shelves which serves my office space. Complete with an electrical outlet that was pretty awkward to install. My electricians had to do some super problem solving. They were very gracious about it.

Move-in day! While I did spend a few nights at my house during the transition, it wasn't really home until Salinger moved in on February 15th. Here he is, settling in for his first night. It didn't take him long at all to adjust; he also seems to love our little home.

I had plenty more help during this transition. Help painting, help moving, listening ears and leaning shoulders.

On the day of my occupancy permit inspection, one of my tender-hearted friends helped me move some furniture from my tiny house and shed into the new cabin. We talked and cried and jumped up and down together. I could have hugged the building inspector when she okayed everything – no, wait, I DID hug her (with her permission). There were no snags and I felt again my deep gratitude to all of the dedicated and professional contractors who built my home as if it were there own, with care, precision and kindness. And I was grateful for the more-or-less successful job I had done impersonating a general contractor – I had acquired and supplied all of the necessary paperwork, we had ticked all of the necessary boxes and done everything we were supposed to do.

The cabin is lovely to live in. It is warm. It is bright. It is airy. It is beautiful. It is simple. Everything works.

There are many finishing touches that need to be added. Now that my very hectic work schedule has slowed up, I need to move in properly. I need to move some pantry shelving and book shelves from my tiny home into the cabin. I need to figure out where things are going to go. I need to find the bag of hardware that will let me put my bed frame together. I need to apply linseed oil and varathane to my kitchen/office cabinets and a few coats of varathane on the window sills, too. I need to set up my turntable and move my records in. I need to make myself fully at home.

Salinger: showing his appreciation for the beautiful, wide windowsills (and not so much for the view of winter outside... )

Eventually, as time and money are available, I will have the shower tiled, the bathroom sink installed, and a deck built. This summer, I will try to do as much as I can to contribute to the healing process for all of the cuts and scars on the land that were caused by the construction.

In good time, I expect that the Crooked Wood, Salinger and I will all find our stride to integrate and grow together.

Random #banjoy

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Thu, 22 Feb 2018 20:19:00 +0000

I came across this when I was Autoplaying my way around YouTube the other day. Some mean banjo from Mean Mary. Enjoy:

2018 Word of the Year

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Sun, 11 Feb 2018 12:12:00 +0000

***BLOGGERS NOTE: I wrote this post in December, but wasn't ready to publish it until now. It feels like my new year is starting a bit late.***

It's Word of the Year time again.

Last year's word was realization and I think I pulled it off – manifesting a cabin out of a vision.

The cabin is almost finished with the end of 2017. It's so close I can taste it.

The selection process for 2018's Word of the Year has proved difficult. I thought I had the perfect word and then lost it and I have had a hard time finding another.

There have been many contenders: recoup, recovery, grounding, presence, celebration, home, settle, joy, gratitude, shelter, safety, release, reboot, rest, solitude, anchorage, nest, peace, centre, lucky...

I've been on a streak of R words for the last several years, and I sat on the fence for a long time about whether I wanted to stick with R or if it is time move on.

After much thought, I have decided that my Word of the Year for 2018 is:

hermitage

I have loved this word for a long time. As a teenager, I was a big fan Richard Lovelace's poetry. The final stanza of his poem, To Althea, from Prison reads:

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.

A place of contemplation for an innocent and quiet mind.

A place for dreams and daydreams.

A peaceful place.

A safe place.

I have managed to have such a place built for myself. I plan to take full advantage of it this year, to transform my longing by recreating this spirit of safety within my own heart and mind.

With the companionship and inspiration of my fluffy, orange guru, of course.

If you are contemplating your own Word of the Year, or just hanging out while 2017 draws to a close, may I invite you do so while listening to the New Year's playlist I put together on YouTube? This time of year always gets me in a playlist-y mood. There are some old favourites, some of this year's new favourites and of course, some #banjoy!

Construction: Weeks 13-17

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Mon, 15 Jan 2018 09:40:00 +0000

If I thought weeks 9-12 were challenging, they had nothing on weeks 13-17.

I can't even.

Here are some photos:

My clumsily but adequately installed slab insulation skirt (adequate was the engineer's word for it)

With added Geotextile

Obstacle course. Crude but (hopefully) effective solutions.

December 17, 2017

The gravel pile.

Keep your powder (I mean, gravel) dry.

My beautiful furnace. I can't even say how magically, deliciously warm my house is.

Covering the skirt with gravel

Mudding and taping

Hieroglyphics (I loved all the bits of random math and cryptic messages I found on the walls of my home)

Making progress.

Coming along

Storm warning morning: January 4, 2018

This is the top of a tree that fell from a height of about 40 or 50 feet, fortunately onto the bare piece of ground next to my well – where it will aid the reforestation the process. The power lines are just about 20 feet to the left.

The thaw after the storm let me move a lot more gravel

Sunny skies after the storm

Up on staging, priming the walls

Painting in the bathroom

Fresh and clean

Dusty and paint-spattered – and satisfied and tired – at the end of a long day.

Another thaw and this is all that's left of the gravel pile – I shoveled in my T-shirt sleeves in +15 Celsius weather on January 12, 2018.

It was too soggy to manoeuvre around the house, so I spread the gravel on the driveway, where it was just as badly needed.

This colour was called "Unforgettable" by the paint company. Which is, let's face it, a pretty forgettable name. My friend who was helping me paint that day (Thank you!) won the renaming contest with "I'm Lichen It" (my suggestion of "Chartresque" received an honourable mention).

I had my first ever exciting interior decorating idea for the bathroom. Here is the first stage – one and a third walls painted grey...

I don't think there is any way I can put together a literal narrative of this segment of the project, so here are some (mostly short) poems which attempt to capture something of these past five ineffable weeks:

Power outages

No back-up heat

Only questions

What–?

When–?

How soon–?

How long–?

If–?

Will it–?

Storm-stayed

Forest-caught wind

Throat-caught heart

House

rock solid

in the howling

night

Wreckage

I heard the SNAP

at two in the morning

Dawn cracks on

torn and twisted

sisters

One top dropped

from fifty feet or more

Onto the bare ground

next to my new well

The first step

in the reforestation project

Altercation

Frustration met with anger

Anger met with fear

Straight back to the old times

the bad times

the worst times

Always with me

Even

After

All

These

Years

Shoveling

The bite of the

blade

into the big pile

of Class A

The shuddering of

each landing

against the bottom of

the wheelbarrow

My newfound

favourite meditation

Crunch

Clang

Roll

Dump

Spread

Sweat

Repeat

Painting

Unforgettable

London Road

Milk Mustache

Pink A Boo

Lemon Ripple

Pink A Boo

Was a mistake

I swear

I handed in the wrong card

At the paint counter

Waiting

With luck

It will be done

next week

at least

before Christmas

No luck

Perhaps January first

Definitely January third

Or not

Tired

You'd think

it would get easier

After learning

so much

Figuring out

so much

The confidence

of accomplishment

Look!

It's done!

A building

Warm against the cold

Solid against the wind

But it is not done yet

More interlocking tasks

Remain

More deadlines

Remain

to be hit or missed

tasks to be scheduled

and/or re-scheduled

hit and miss

And I am tired.

Physically tired:

From painting

lugging

shoveling

sanding

vacuuming

disassembling

storm-watching

losing sleep

from surprises

and adjustments

Mentally tired:

from learning

from failing

and succeeding

from surprises

and adjustments

Emotionally tired:

from feeling

worrying

spinning

running on empty

trying to ask for help

managing disappointments

and surprises

and adjustments

I have sometimes thought that

surprises

are the most delightful thing

about having a human brain

And I still think that

sometimes

But I have learned that

surprises are more fun for me

when I am playing tennis

than they are when I am

trying to build a place to live

In real-life terms

surprises can be

exhausting

And so

instead of feeling

like this is getting easier

I'm battling fatigue

and an overwhelming desire

for this to be over

done

complete

I promise myself that

I will

NOT DO

ANYTHING ELSE

to this place for several years

at least

except for gardening

And maybe

just a little

recreational

gravel-shoveling

Construction: Weeks 9, 10, 11 and 12

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Wed, 13 Dec 2017 00:39:00 +0000

I have been struggling to write this blog post. It has been postponed from week to week.

I have been busy, doing a lot of manual labour out at the site and a lot of desk work the rest of the time. And these weeks have felt challenging; I have been frequently overwhelmed.

Rather than not writing a blog post about these weeks at all, I am resorting to a classic cheat borrowed from William Goldman's A Princess Bride:

What with one thing and another, four weeks passed:

I had some trouble finding someone willing to dig my well and install my septic system, but fortunately, my plumber was able to recommend someone excellent. We walked the land and he recommended the place for the well, very close to the massive felled maple log that was dropped when my power lines were installed last year. It was going to need to be cut up and moved. So, I boldly set about cutting it into shorter logs with my small chainsaw. At one point, I pinched my saw and had to free it with a hand saw. One of the joys of being a rookie...

A rare view of the low side of the cabin.

In Week 9, the cabin was wired

Roxul insulation getting stockpiled

Week 10: Excavator, on the job!

The septic tank

The septic field

The septic system covered with fill, seeded with clover and covered with hay.

Guess what got dug up? Rocks! Now placed aesthetically along my driveway

Meanwhile, in the house, the interior walls were being insulated.

And I drove to Ross Farm museum to pick up the barn door hardware they had made for me.

Here's the hatch for my firewood pass-through.

The excavator, resting after its labours.

I take a time-out to appreciate the beauty of a wee, still-red oak

Over the weekend between Weeks 10 and 11, the house sees its first light dusting of snow

Week 11: The well gets dug.

They went down about 14 feet and there was so much water that the excavation crew could hardly level the first crock before the water was threatening to come in over their boots. Here is the well after the concrete apron has been poured. (The next day the water rose up over the apron!) I feel like I have won the rural home lottery!

My awesome plumber comes and installs the well-line and pump

Bright blue well line for the water and rainbow electrical wire for the pump – pretty!

Next, the trench was dug for the well-line. We hit a snag here, but I don't want to talk about it. Suffice it to say, we got through it.

Guess what else got dug up? More rocks! Including some really, really big ones.

Meanwhile, I was working on augmenting the insulation around the slab, having fun with an exacto knife and a pickaxe.

And inside, the insulation and vapour barrier were complete and the drywall was delivered and stored ready for the following week.

Week 12 began with the site in a great big mess.

(Trenches can be beautiful, though).

With the trench for the well line dug and filled back in, next was the trench to bring power from my shed to the house.

The electrical cable and the conduit containing my internet cable had to be seated in sand and inspected before the trench could be filled back in.

Where the electrical service enters the cabin.

In the cabin, the drywall was going up.

Outside, I was unearthing some pretty big rocks in the process of regrading the land around the house to lay insulation out two feet from the slab at an angle of 4 degrees (or more). Some of the rocks were too heavy for me to move. Fortunately, my stellar carpentry crew helped me roll the biggest ones out of the way.

Here's one corner of the insulation around the outside of the slab.

On the last day of the excavation work, my well and septic contractor brought me a load of Class A as a bonus – I will use it to backfill against my house, over the slab insulation.

While putting together the photo essay portion of this post, I think I have found a few words to say.

These four weeks felt intense. I was on-site a lot. On the one hand, it was lots of fun to be at the heart of the action. I really like all of the people working on the project, so it was great to hang out and indulge in a little banter.

At the same time, though, I was working hard: digging, digging and more digging. It was good for me, but at the same time exhausting and hard on my joints. (I've started going to see a chiropractor again after a 7-year break and it is rescuing me from immobilization).

While it was physically grueling, it didn't require any particular skills. It was a part of the job that I could do, and I needed to invest all the sweat equity that I could because somewhere in these four weeks, I ran out of money. Which is to say that I ran out of my money, money that I had or had access to on my own responsibility.

This project has been more expensive than I hoped. That is always said of building projects and that's because it's probably always true. There is so much to do, especially so much infrastructure to establish for a rural house.

Fortunately, I have friends and family to help me out and they have encouraged me to keep going. Many have provided moral support and encouragement, some have loaned tools and equipment, others have given their time to help, some have loaned and some have given me money to help make it possible for me to complete this project. I feel very, very lucky and very, very grateful.

And at the same time, I'm pretty stressed. I didn't want to take on this much debt. I foresee some austerity measures and as much desk work as I can get my hands on for the next 3-5 years.

I do feel, though, that it is worth it. I have such a longing for a home of my own. It is starting to feel very real; I am getting to the point where I can visualize living in my home: reading, doing jigsaw puzzles, having dinner parties and summer visitors. Having a place to be myself, to be content, to be free and safe and peaceful.

And what a place it is. The Crooked Wood continues to provide me with a blessed sense of belonging. Each time I arrive there and breathe that first breath of forest air, I feel something sacred fill me: mind, body, heart and soul.

The thought of being able to live in my own home, cozily, year round, is worth the debts and the stresses and the challenges of this process.

It's simply where I feel I'm meant to be.

Galway #banjoy

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Sat, 09 Dec 2017 21:16:00 +0000

Someone who knows me well shared this link on my Facebook page and the #banjoy that resulted was worthy of a post here:

https://www.independent.ie/entertainment/banter/trending/watch-sensational-byrne-brothers-bring-galway-street-to-a-standstill-36387732.html

Enjoy!

Construction: Weeks 6, 7 and 8

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Mon, 13 Nov 2017 22:58:00 +0000

These were three more big and periodically overwhelming weeks.

Week 6

Progress continued to be rapid in Week 6, with the cabin quickly getting sheathed and wrapped, in time for a couple of stormy days.

All closed in. Photo courtesy of Anckaert Built.

That's a wrap! Photo courtesy of Anckaert Built.

Week 6 ended on a bumpy note. The locks I'd purchased for the doors didn't fit in the holes that had been drilled in the doors. I had failed to specify the size of the holes when I ordered the doors, so they had reverted to the default size, which I didn't realize would be different from the holes in the door of my shed. So, when I bought the same kind of locks, they didn't fit.

I admit that I had a meltdown that day, in the parking lot of the Superstore in Bridgewater. Not very fun, or pretty to look at. Often, it is difficult for me to make mistakes or feel like I am out of my depth. And there has been more than enough of that in this project. The learning curve is steep. The problem with the locks was not high stakes, but it felt that way to me on that Friday afternoon.

Fortunately, I keep learning how to ride my own emotions more gracefully. And after talking with people in every hardware store in town, none of whom seemed to have the least clue about how locks are installed or what the measurements on the packaging referred to, I felt quite a bit better. I mean, if it's part of their job and they don't know, it seems more than fair that I don't know either.

On Saturday, in my absence, the slab contractors came back and added styrofoam to the outside edges of the slab. I would have liked the styrofoam to extend a little further down – I plan to correct that when I add the insulation "skirt" to the building.

Week 7

The beginning of Week 7 felt about the same as the end of week 6. I came over on Monday morning with new sets of locks and doorknobs, but I wasn't able to install them, because the doors needed to be prepped first and that lies a bit too far beyond my skill set and comfort zone.

The crew wasn't on site that day because of the rain, rain that came with high winds that later on blew a tree down on the power line that runs from the road to my shed:

So, there was no power on site Tuesday morning, which meant that the crew were only able to work a half-day until the batteries wore down on their tools.

On the plus side, they were able to use some of that time get the locks installed, so my house is now lockable.

Two more keys to add to my strangely large (and strangely beloved) ring of keys.

I came over in the afternoon on Tuesday and hung around waiting for the power company crew to show up and fix the lines. Fortunately, it was warm enough that I could sit outside and do deskwork most of the afternoon.

Expected restoration time for my power was 3pm, then updated to 6pm. Shortly before 6 pm, the forestry crew showed up and deftly cut the tree off the lines, bless them. My restoration time was updated to 9pm and I went home.

Before I went to bed, my restoration time had been updated to 11pm. I was afraid that it was going to keep getting pushed back into the next day, but fortunately, in the morning, power had been restored and work could resume at full tilt.

For the construction crew, Week 7 was all about strapping and adding trim. I didn't come back to the site until Friday afternoon.

The Heart of this project

As I got out of my car, I was struck by the delicious smell of The Crooked Wood. I had parked in the turnout to keep the driveway clear for the other folks on site. So, I strolled down the driveway and was greeted by the sound of music and banter and the sight of the crew working cheerfully and efficiently. I have a huge sense of gratitude for all of the good energy that I feel is being infused into my home, with each board and nail, each piece of siding and sheet of metal.

My tiny house was converted by a very good-hearted person; I feel that energy all the time when I'm in Wholehearted House. I knew it was important to me to have good-hearted people work on my permanent home, too.

• • •

I spent the afternoon of that last Friday of Week 7 sanding down the door that I bought on Kijiji which is going to be hung, barn-door style, at the entrance to the bathroom. I love this door – with a single pane of textured glass, it reminds me of a door to a private investigator's office in a typical noir film from the 40s.

Sanding is relaxing.

I love how distressed this big ol' monster is.

In addition to the work that can be seen happening in these photos, I was also trying to figure out solutions and get estimates for work on digging the well and septic system. There are a lot of challenges there, many of which I'm still working through. There were moments when I felt extremely frustrated with red tape and with people not getting back to me.

The cabin at the end of Week 7

A little autumn beauty spot in #TheCrookedWood. I love how oak trees are among the last to lose their leaves.

Naked maple

Week 8 went somewhat more smoothly. There was more progress and the crew were able to start putting the siding on the exterior. There were also more rain days, and for me, more frustration trying to nail down the situation with the well and septic. But there were no more downed power lines! And I call that an improvement!

I wasn't on-site much myself during Week 8. I had desk work to do and it has gotten too cold for me to sit still and work on the site. And, there wasn't much I could contribute by being there, so I mostly kept out of the way.

The plumber came and did the behind-the-walls plumbing.

I imagine most people don't find this kind of infrastructure beautiful, but I do. It's so neat and orderly and enables me to envision what the finished bathroom is going to look like.

And, here's the exterior of the house at the end of Week 8.

My outdoor tap in the foreground <3

Looking good! I don't want to tempt the fates by saying this, but I think I might be halfway through...

Quitter (Part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Sun, 05 Nov 2017 13:00:00 +0000

Booze

So, more than 3 months ago, I stopped drinking alcohol.

Compared to quitting soda pop it was a snap to do. I think I looked at my quit app to remind myself maybe once a week for the first month or so? Compared to hourly checks when I first quit drinking Coca-Cola.

Which in a way is not too surprising. I was a daily Coke-drinker when I quit pop. A first-thing-in-the-morning, jonesing, sugar fix desperado. And, while I have been a daily alcohol-drinker at times during my life, I wasn't at the time when I quit. I was probably having 1-5 drinks a week, depending on my social calendar.

Now I only look at my app when someone is cajoling me to have a glass of something and I want an easy way to explain why the answer is "no". Hey, I'm three months in. The quit app is the new AA token.

My quit app on Day 90. It has taken me a while to finish this post; I am now at Day 102.

Why?

I decided to stop drinking for 6 months to find out if there was a correlation for me between alcohol consumption and the hot flashes and mood swings I was experiencing as symptoms of peri-menopause. Back in July, I noticed those symptoms had ramped up big-time. I went from experiencing one or two hot flashes a week to several every day. And my mood swings became more severe, too. The lows that had been lasting 2-3 days started lasting 2-3 weeks.

I was about to throw myself on the mercy of the nearest naturopath when I thought to myself, am I doing everything I can do? Am I eating right, getting regular exercise? Why not run an experiment to see if alcohol is a trigger for me? Are these things not worth a try before I spend hundreds of bucks (that I don't have to spare) on alternative medicine?

The proof is in the pudding (and I'm not talking about 150-overproof)

Three months in, I feel fantastic. I still have some hot flashes, but rarely more than one a day and often none at all. My mood seems a lot more stable, too. And, I feel more "with it" emotionally. It seems clear to me, that I am in the subset of people for whom alcohol has an impact on peri-menopausal symptoms.

Of course, it might not be the alcohol itself that is the agent of change here.

I've been thinking lately about the phrase "The opposite of addiction is connection" and the ideas that go along with that (if this is the first time you're encountering that phrase, you might want to take 17 minutes to check out this TED talk).

I think it's possible that the act of not drinking has opened me up to more connection: with myself, my life, the world, my feelings and my friends and family. If we sometimes drink to make up for a lack of connection, I wonder if choosing not to drink alcohol can make it easier for us to connect?

Connection has never been particularly easy for me. Since I started drinking at age 19, alcohol has been my main medication for my struggles with connection and intimacy – and like many western medications, while it does nothing to cure the root cause and has terrible side effects, it does do a pretty good job at masking symptoms. Alcohol often succeeded at numbing the feelings I had about my struggles with connection. But drinking also made it harder for me to have authentic connections – and, well, I'm sure you can see the potential for a vicious cycle there...

A new leaf

I feel like I'm spiralling up. I think that not drinking is helping me to get better at connecting. I'm not sure where that's going to take me. What I can say is that I am loving the experience of not drinking. I feel more like myself. And I like myself more.

It takes me back to when I was a teenager. I was a little goody two-shoes: no booze, no drugs, no sex, no tobacco. (But lots of cursing.) That was a good space for me at the time. It was simple, and it was a simplicity that I knew I needed then.

I guess it's not surprising that during the huge hormonal shift of peri-menopause, I am finding comfort in the same strategies I used during my adolescence. Not drinking feels simpler than drinking. And it's a simplicity I know I need right now.

Of course, it's a little weird socially. And culturally. I suddenly notice what a huge emphasis our culture puts on drinking. It runs throughout TV shows, movies, books, music and conversation. Most of my friends and acquaintances (with a few notable exceptions) are drinkers. And I used to be someone who LOVED to drink and often talked and joked about drinking.

So, I'm adjusting.

And it feels good.

Without question, three months is the longest I have gone without drinking alcohol since I was 19. That's 27 years of greater and lesser dependence on alcohol. I'm holding things open, but I expect to breeze through the rest of my 6-month experiment and won't be surprised to see it transform into 12 months, which may well become 24 months, which may well become...

PS: Unlike pop, where I have an occasional bottle or can, quitting booze has been an experience of 100% compliance. I'm not saying I haven't had a few times when I badly wanted a drink – like the day I moved for example, and some of the more stressful days during my building project – but so far I have wanted to not drink more than I wanted to drink.

PPS: Just for fun, here's one of my favourite laments about going sober: Coffee Dogs by the redoubtable Kevin Quain. (The only working link I could find for this song is on Spotify, so you'll have to login to listen).

Banjoy: Rhiannon Giddens

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Thu, 02 Nov 2017 17:58:00 +0000

Yesterday, I saw the documentary Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked the World. It's a very interesting and revealing film. I learned a lot.

I hope to post more about it later, but for the moment, I'd like to share this song by Rhiannon Giddens, to whose music the documentary introduced me. Pure #banjoy:

Construction: Weeks 4 and 5

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Mon, 23 Oct 2017 13:03:00 +0000

BIG Weeks!

Weeks 4 and 5 were two major weeks. I was too overwhelmed and busy during and between them to write a blog post, so am putting both weeks together in one post now (at the beginning of Week 6).

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Salinger and I reluctantly moved house, back into our winter digs in Lunenburg. While we are incredibly lucky to have these friendly and comfortable accommodations available to us for the third winter in a row, it was still a bad wrench to leave The Crooked Woods. But my little tiny house was getting chilly and starting to have problems with moisture and condensation and it was time to head for central heating.

Week 4

Week 4 was SLAB WEEK! This was one of the most nerve-wracking stages of the build so far. Pouring concrete is something you want to get right the first time. Second chances at a pour are virtually impossible. Also, if the cement truck can't access the site, there's a big financial penalty and then more work to do to make the site accessible.

Fortunately, the cement truck was able to get back to the form on its first attempt, thanks to my amazing friend who widened out the driveway and cut a low limb off the big maple during Week 1.

Distributing the cement to the rear section of the form is heavy work, done by wheelbarrow. The work speeds up once the concrete can be poured directly from the truck's chute into the form.

All poured, partly trowelled

Power-trowelling!

The finished slab. I love the marbled look it has.

The slab needed to be kept wet for three days to discourage cracks from forming. My rain barrel, a bunch of bed sheets and a big tarp helped with this task. Salinger putting his fluffy backside on the wet sheets was probably counter-productive, but very, very cute.

The ever-deepening chill was a big factor in deciding that it was time to move out to my friend's house in Lunenburg. Here is the radiant heater running full blast in the tiny house while I tried to get some desk work done in the early morning on one of my last days living on site...

The sub-contractors who worked on the slab were fantastic to have on site, continuing my lucky streak of skilled and friendly people working on this project.

Week 5

With the slab poured and set and inspected, the framing could begin. There was a risk of rain on Monday, so the work began on Tuesday, and holy cats, did it ever go quickly with four people on the crew and four days of gorgeous fall weather!!!

Day 1 of framing

Detail, Day 2

End of day 2!

I was stuck in Lunenburg doing desk work on Day 1, but managed to get to the site to spend the morning on Day 2 and then stopped in for quick visits on Day 3 and again on Day 4.

I was delighted on Day 2 to watch how the four-person crew functions as a well-oiled machine. Everyone had their tasks to meet the inter-locking requirements of the build. Boards needed to be selected and cut and placed and secured and I found it a graceful, intricate dance to watch. And I love the energy with which the crew works – music on the radio, banter back and forth, questions and answers – it all seems to flow with ease and enthusiasm.

The best contribution I could make was to stay out of the way! So, I turned my hand to sorting out a bunch of paperwork to do with the build and making sure that all of the permits and plans would be readily accessible when I wasn't there.

I had an unsettling feeling on Day 2. I walked around inside the framed space and was filled with a sense of panic – "It is TOO small!" I thought. "What have I done? What am I doing? I'm having something built that I'm going to HATE living in. Oh NO!!!!!"

Day 2, side view

But then, weirdly, when I came back at the end of Day 3 and two of the walls were sheathed with OSB, enclosing the building somewhat, it felt larger, rather than smaller. I felt perfectly comfortable, and thought "Oh, yes, this is exactly what I thought it would be like; this is plenty of room!"

And when I came back on Day 4, when all four walls were closed in to a height of 8 feet, the space felt even bigger and more comfortable.

I can't decide if my brain just needed to adjust from my imagination to reality, from 2-dimensional plans to 3-dimensional space, or if there was some kind of cognitive block in my brain that meant I couldn't accurately gauge the volume of space when it was outlined without being enclosed. In either case, it was strange and unsettling, and I'm glad it passed. This project is way too major to have to live with discontent or disappointment about it!

Of course, I am curious to see how it feels once the walls are closed all the way in and the roof is on, as that will make a change yet again, I'm sure.

Day 4

I got more chances to spend time on the building site over the weekend, because some friends invited me to stay in their nearby house while they were away camping.

Interior space taking shape – I love that high window. The small opening lower down on the left is for my firewood pass-through.

Light and shadow at my back doorway.

The view from my back door.

I had a moment, sitting in the back doorway when I could feel what it's going to be like to live in my house, with a deck or even a little screened-in porch to the south, and maybe even a deck on the east side, as well. I foresee a lot of coziness and peace and quiet, safety and comfort, protected and blessed by these trees.

I have been yearning for a home of my own for a long time. I feel very lucky and humbled and I am deeply, deeply grateful to all of the people and circumstances that are making this possible.

Construction: Week 3

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Tue, 10 Oct 2017 10:58:00 +0000

Well, last week was rather up and down.

There was a lot of hanging around waiting for things to happen; it felt frustrating and tedious by times.

The plumber was unable to come on Monday, but I couldn't go anywhere because I was waiting for the inspector to come and ok the under-slab insulation and vapour barrier. She came in the mid-afternoon and signed off, so that was good.

My plumber came with an assistant on Tuesday morning to install the in-floor heating pipes.

So neat and orderly.

The pipes are all zip-tied to the wire mesh.

Once all of the pipes were in, the plumber pressurized them with an air compressor to make sure there were no leaks.

My plumber came back on Wednesday to bring me my shower pan and invoices for the work of roughing in the plumbing.

My builder came on Wednesday, too, to have a look at the heating pipes and take photos and measurements, so they can be sure when they anchor the walls that none of the in-floor heating pipes will get ruptured.

The slab contractors weren't able to come on Wednesday OR Thursday – there was just no space in their schedule.

Wednesday was not a fun day. I was in a terrible mood and didn't feel like going anywhere or doing anything.

I felt a bit more upbeat on Thursday, but I still couldn't go anywhere because I was waiting for the first delivery of materials. Since the concrete truck still needs to be able to back up to the form, the materials have to be placed properly on the site, so they won't all have to be moved out of the way when the concrete truck comes. There is a hefty penalty if the concrete truck comes and can't access the site.

The boom truck is pretty cool.

Tucked out of the way for the time being...

Bad news

I received a couple of pieces of bad news on Thursday. For one thing, although the slab crew would come on Friday morning to make their final preparations, it would be Tuesday before the building inspector would be able to come sign off – and therefore Wednesday (at the earliest) before the concrete could be poured. So more waiting was on the cards.

Also, the results of my Efficiency Nova Scotia New Home Construction Program Review came in and showed that there was nothing feasible I could do to be eligible for rebates for my project. My Energuide rating works out at an 82, and there is not much I can do at this point to push it over the threshold for rebates, which is 85. This is partly my fault, because I waited too long to do the assessment – essentially, after making inquiries about it earlier this summer, I then forgot all about needing to do it until a couple of weeks ago... If I had done the assessment before my design had been decided, I might have been able to make changes that would have brought me up to an 85. But, not necessarily. My house is so small that changes to the mechanical systems don't have much impact. Also, the base load in the model is for two adults and a child, rather than one adult and a cat. So, I will doubtless be more efficient in my home than the model shows, but bureaucracy doesn't work like that and there will be no money back from the government for me.

On the plus side, the assessment was done by a friend of mine who works in the energy efficiency industry and we got to have some nice chats as we went back and forth discussing questions and options.

By the end of the day on Thursday, I was in an even grimmer mood than I had been on Wednesday. Fortunately for me, a friend came, helped me get my newly-delivered doors into my shed for safekeeping, took me to play tennis for the first time in years (which was super fun) and then to a party with many of my favourite people.

Next steps

I was in a much better mood on Friday and happy to see the slab contractors come back and finish installing the rebar for the project. I sent photos to the engineer who had designed the slab and he was impressed by the execution.

Continuous lap rebar

The finished underslab

Steps 6, 7 and 8 of the slab got completed this week. Just two more steps to go!

Excavation (Week 1)
Construction of the form
Under-slab plumbing
Under-slab plumbing inspection
Insulation and wire mesh (Week 2)
Inspection
In-floor heating pipes
Rebar
Inspection
Concrete pour

I paid for the excavation and the first phase of the plumbing this week. Money is flowing out quickly now, as I knew it would. This project has not felt particularly blessed financially. The bank declined to extend my line of credit. There will be no rebates from Efficiency NS. This makes me all the more thankful to my friend who gave me a sweet deal on the excavation work, and who is also willing to dig a well for me when the time comes. And I am deeply grateful to a couple of dear people who have offered me short-term loans if I get in over my head.

Ever changing moods

I notice my moods have been cycling more rapidly than usual, which feels challenging. I struggled through the early part of last week, was very chipper Thursday eve through Saturday eve and then quite depressed again on Sunday and Monday over the holiday weekend. I think this is a combination of hormones and the stresses of this undertaking. I have wished, more than once, that I had had the foresight to know that I should build a cabin immediately after landing back in Nova Scotia, when it would have been less expensive and when I was not yet into the emotional rollercoaster of peri-menopause. I feel that many times in my life, I've gotten ready to do things (my personal chef business, my music career) years later than would have been optimal. But, I'm here now. And I'll get through this. While it might have been easier seven years ago (or 10 or 20), it was also not possible for me then – if it had been, I would have done it.

Here I am, in the present moment, taking things day by day – or hour by hour, when that's necessary. Sometimes, I'm in a crappy mood and feel overwhelmed and anxious. And sometimes I'm in a great mood and feel like I can manage everything just fine. And that, my friends, is my life these days.

Lumber is Salinger's favourite camouflage.

Construction: Week 2

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Mon, 02 Oct 2017 21:42:00 +0000

This process is getting smoother as it goes along. It took me almost a whole week before I managed a report on Week 1 and here is the Week 2 update after just a couple of days.

On Monday, last week, my amazing friend and another amazing friend of ours came to spread several tons of Class C and Class A gravel to extend the pad around the foundation. We had to hustle because the crew was coming to build the form at 2pm. So, hustle we did and we got 'er done in time.

The pad at the beginning of the form's construction.

The form had to be meticulously measured to make sure it was a rectangle and not a parallelogram. I was proud to see that our measurements were very close to the pros'. As the form was built, it had to be leveled, too. A couple of our corners were a few inches lower than the others, but it was nothing that a little crushed rock couldn't fix.

No fair! They had a rock "slinger" and filled the form with gravel in a fraction of the time that it took us to spread gravel for the pad!

Three-inch thick and 2-foot wide foam insulation was placed around the edges on the inside of the form. The centre was then filled with gravel up to the edges of the insulation.

On Tuesday, the plumber came to install the under-slab plumbing. It was an unbelievably hot day for late September in Nova Scotia. Actually, it was an unusually hot day for Nova Scotia – period. To reduce the risk of my plumber passing out from heat exhaustion, I pitched in to help dig channels in the gravel to place the pipes and then helped fill in around them. Even sharing the work, we had to take several breaks for water and popsicles.

It's a small job – one 3-piece bathroom and a kitchen sink, but it's still a lot of pipes...

Once the under-slab plumbing was done and inspected, the slab contractors had to come back to do the next steps.

Stakes and pieces of 2x4 bolster the sides of the form, so it won't fall apart when the concrete is poured.

Insulation is fitted over top of the gravel and pipes.

Rebar and wire mesh are added to reinforce the concrete.

Surprise! The plumber needed a wooden box to put around the shower drain to keep it free of concrete and allow him some wiggle room to place the drain correctly under the shower pan. I had no idea this would be necessary, but fortunately, my builder was able to build the box on short notice and the slab contractors cut the angle to fit the slope of the insulation.

To recap, the following steps were completed during Week 2:

Excavation
Construction of the form
Under-slab plumbing
Under-slab plumbing inspection
Insulation and wire mesh

I felt much more steady during Week 2 than I did during Week 1. Working with friends the first week gave me the safety to meltdown and be supported in my doubts and fears. Now that things have moved into the hands of strangers, I'm rising to the to occasion and pulling myself together a bit more. It helps that I feel like I am developing a better handle on this process. Learning what to expect and what I can do to help facilitate things is helping me maintain a more positive and relaxed attitude.

It helps that the contractors working with me (and their crews) have been stellar, fitting this project into their schedules with virtually no delays. It feels like a complicated process to weave all of these inter-dependent tasks, but so far, it's been almost seamless, and that is helping to build my confidence.

I'm optimistic about Week 3. If things continue in the same vein, the slab should be poured by the end of this week! (knock wood)

Construction: Week 1

noreply@blogger.com (www.alexsings.ca) — Fri, 29 Sep 2017 14:09:00 +0000

Mumma, for why all these changes?

Well, after months of planning, designing, stressing, worrying and lining up contractors and estimates and quotes, the ball finally started rolling last week.

I had found a contractor to pour the slab for my foundation, but I couldn't find anyone who was available to do the excavation. It feels like the entire south shore of Nova Scotia is madly building, trying to get things done before the snow flies and contractors are busy, busy, busy! I feel lucky to have found the great bunch of contractors who've agreed to work on this project, but I struck out trying to find a excavation contractor who was available, affordable and with whom I felt comfortable. And without the excavation work, nothing could move forward.

Luckily for me, my friend of the amazing chainsaw skills has myriad other skills and offered to do the excavation work I needed to have done. Not that he's not extremely busy, too, but he made the time so that work at my place wouldn't be held up – a tremendous and generous gift to me.

The first task was "scrubbing off" the organic matter, dead and alive.

It was a perfect opportunity to take logs that had been cut over the past year and a half to make way for the driveway and power lines and load them on the trailer to go off to be milled into useful lumber.

One of the limbs had to be removed from old Father Maple so that the big trucks would be able to back right up to the form. He remains a stately, if somewhat less crooked, presence.

We had to have a couple of loads of shale delivered.

And my friend brought tons of gravel in his truck and trailer, too...

...much of which we spread by hand using shovels, rakes and buckets.

I got to drive the excavator when the right-rear wheel of the truck went over the edge of the driveway and the truck had to be assisted back onto solid ground.

The awesome slab contractor loaned us his transit level so we could check how level the pad was as we spread the gravel.

A DEEP trench had to be dug for the well line to go out from the house. You never think how deep 4 feet is, but it's deep enough when you're trying to dig through rocky South Shore Nova Scotian soil!

I'm not going to lie to you, I melted down more than once last week. I felt so overwhelmed. I wished that I had never had the temerity to think that I could organize having a small cabin built for myself.

Days were spent leveling ground, moving logs and getting gravel in place. Despite being worn out by the work, I did not sleep well, waking up in the middle of the night with anxious thoughts like, "What am I doing?" and "Why did I decide to do this?"

There were some shaky, miserable hours. Fortunately, a number of people close to me provided moral support and tangible help, often exactly when it was needed most.

And there were some exiting moments, too. I invested in a chain saw and used it for the first time ever! And I drove the excavator. And I worked: healthy, outdoor, physical labour.

As the work progressed, I started to feel better. Excavation was hard – it felt like we were ripping the land to pieces. Fortunately, after ripping it apart, we started to put it back together again. And for me, as that happened "Why am I doing this?" and "What am I doing?" transformed into "I am doing this."

The definiteness of that is a lot more comfortable than sitting in the unknown of doubts and second guesses.

And since I am doing this, I want to embrace the process. After several wobbly weeks, I've come to understand that if I want this house to be built wholeheartedly, by people who are kind and easy through the process, that means that I have to find kindness and ease in my heart, too.

Otherwise, there is no point.

This construction project requires Salinger to be vigilant and alert. On Friday, when all the machines had gone away for a bit, he had to have some serious naps to recover from all of the excitement.