Temporary Measures and Coping Mechanisms- I: The Laundry Buffer

Owning a 250 year old house is a job in itself. Being single, on a severely limited budget, and having bought a condemnable 250 year old house, relegates my life to servitude. Well, it sometimes feels that way. I've been here 16 years, 11 months now, and I don't regret having bought it. I've learned to pick my battles with the house, and to summon to the forefront of my mind my vision of the finished house, when the reality in front of me threatens to render me sui- , homi-, or housicidal (should be a word, because it figures largely in my life). This visualization exercise has saved me on countless occasions, and is my ultimate coping mechanism. That vision of the finished product reminds me that whatever the day's problem is, whatever mess I'm staring at, is TEMPORARY, and someday I will live in the fully refurbished, fully functional, fully appointed house I see therein. 


Of course, not every day necessitates that level of coping. Usually, I can take a look around at how far I've come, and convince myself it's worth it. Or  post a humorous rant on Facebook, and feel better for having vented- better still when the conciliatory replies and LOLs roll in.  And, sometimes, I just have a drink- or several. But, I digress. Back to that bold-typed word. Many of facets of my home, from decor to infrastructure, are or are comprised of TEMPORARY MEASURES.


A temporary measure- in Tea's House- can take any form, and may persist indefinitely. Basically, the whole place is a system of temporary measures, strung together. Projects large and small in various stages of completion, repairs I haven't made or have mickey-moused until time or funds allow a permanent fix, seasonal adaptations to life in an old, unfinished house- all these and more are temporary measures.


Today, for instance, I performed maintenance on one of my seasonal temporary measures- the laundry buffer.  That is to say, I folded a large pile of laundry. "Huh?", you're saying , but my explanation will show you (I hope) how flexible and ingenious I am. Basically, my utility room is at the rear entrance to the house. The door to said room needs replacing. It is  an oddly-sized (of course), old, multiply cracked, loose in its jamb, wood door, which has long since outlived its useful lifespan. In the winter, the wind howls through the door, and, even absent wind, the cold seeps in at a nearly uncombattable rate. So, I fixed it, by hanging a few blankets over the door and surrounding wall area, to cut the draft. Effective solution.
But, folks, I've refined this measure over the past few years. (Yup, temporary measures can be improved upon without being made permanent.) I noticed that my folded laundry, atop the dryer, made a nice buffer to the draft at that level. So, a few years ago, I resolved not  to put away the folded items in the winter. Stacked there, they add an extra layer of insulation, and -  BONUS- I had less laundry to put away. (Way to incorporate less housework as a heat saving measure, huh?)  This year, however, I've further refined the system. Since the door is the biggest source of draft, and the piled up laundry tended to cascade when the washer was unbalanced, I decided to pile the folded laundry, three stacks wide, across the already shrouded back door. It works.


I don't mind this temporary measure at all. As long as I remember to preselect clothes and bring them upstairs when I shower, they have time to warm up- I  learned that one the hard way. It is a huge labor saver, in that I don't have to schlep the foldable clothes upstairs and put them away, and this excuse is the best one I've ever come up with for not putting them away- I really dread spring, on that front.  I do have to shift the leftmost pile when I do laundry to access the dryer, but no temporary measure is perfect- or it would be permanent. As far as I'm concerned, I've effected a solution to a serious winter problem in my old house.


 So, if you stop by before, say, May 1st, remember to use the front door, and do not judge when you notice the  three 4 ft stacks of laundry at the back door. Hell, they're clean and folded, and serving a larger purpose.

Greetings from the Couch- An Introduction

Good Afternoon. Since re-entering the modern age last summer, with the purchase of my laptop, I've enjoyed reconnecting with friends both dear and peripheral, via Facebook and E-mail. It's great to finally have the world at my fingertips, and should be promoting more general productivity in other facets of my life- right? Wrong. So here I sit, not folding the laundry, not shoveling the walk for the umpteenth time this winter, (although I did toss a little calcium out the front door),  trying to motivate myself in any new direction.

I remember purchasing my first -and previous, you can see how long it's been- computer, a Gateway, probably fifteen years ago. I bought it so I could start writing. Uh-huh. The life of a  single woman in her twenties with a mortgage to pay on a dilapidated 250 year old house,  the reality of work scheduling  and upkeep on said house, hanging together with my tendency to stagnate, has led to no progress on the writing front.

Next month, I'll be forty. I'm looking forward to the party, ( there had better be one),  to the milestone the age represents, to the proximity it gives me to eligibility for senior discounts. I am not lamenting my lost youth, because I've not lost it, yet.

I'm still single, and childless. Neither of which reflects the vision I had of my future self as I saw her 17 years ago. Yet, I am currently involved with a good man, who knows me, loves me, and makes me laugh. Further, I have been constantly and closely involved with the lives of three children, (1 neighbor and 2 family members), -  now grown- who have afforded and continue to afford  me the experience of  all the joys and pratfalls of parenthood, and then some.

The homestead has come a long way, and remains simultaneously  my biggest life joy and the bane of my existence. I'm proud of what I've accomplished here, and grateful for  the help of my family and friends along the way.  But if you didn't see it 17 years ago, you might find it hard to believe that its current state reflects progress.

My professional life has blossomed, although not in a way that I could have predicted when they handed me the diploma I still can't fully read (I never took Latin) and sent me out into the world ready to  conquer it. At my last reunion, several of my classmates were able to introduce me to my professional peers- their nannies, who they'd brought along for the weekend. An odd spot, but only the nannies seemed confused- I guess my classmates saw the perfect fit I'd found.  I know far too many people whose working lives bring them none of the joy or satisfaction that I enjoy, so I try not to spend too much time explaining my choice. It was obviously a good one.

I still tend to stagnate, between periods of frantic activity, in nearly all aspects of my life. However, I've always found that when I'm writing something, anything, it seems to stimulate me. Perhaps it's as my high school English teacher said; "you're going to need to write".  So, I'll start here.  My life thus far has provided me with a wealth of stories to tell. As the man in my life is constantly telling me, "You need to write a book, Tea."  I'll change or combine a few personalities to protect the innocent, the not-so-innocent, and the downright guilty. But I'm best at self-deprecating humor, so my intimates need not worry, further than owning up to their association with me.

 I  enjoy blogs' expansion of moments in time, the way one small encounter can lead us off into flights of thoughts and memories, can inspire us to new heights, can bring us so low. I've always believed that we are changed every day, sometimes by what everyone would consider 'life-altering events', but more often than not by much smaller, sometimes seemingly insignificant experiences, which lead us somehow to tweak something of our selves. And, further, that the 'size' of the experience cannot predict, and does not determine its impact. 

Enough of the biographical, philosophical, postulatory exposition. I hope you enjoy hearing from me, and please do comment. Conversation is much better than speaking in a vacuum. Besides, I live alone; I can talk to myself any time!

 ---Tea