The drought has continued, we have had a smattering of rain – which evaporated before it reached the ground. So the grey/gray water saving and carting has continued. Our builder has rushed to put the garage (family room for the haughty) roof and walls up because, he says, it is due to rain and the plumber and electrician needed walls and a roof – I can relate to being an electrician and not wanting to play with the electricity in the rain.
For some weeks Ive listened to the constant banter between Man Of House and Daughter Of House as to who the garage (sometimes referred to as a shed by us all so I guess we are just cultural deserts) belongs to and who/what will populate it. Originally planned for DOH so piano, excess books, excess horse gear, excess posters, overly large stereo with woofers [nothing to do with dogs Im assured, we already have two] and guitar which she has her name down for lessons - electric of course, (thanks to movie ‘School of Rock’ & parental adoration for real rock, real R & B and basically anything not manufactured and performed by teeny boppers who struggle to write their own name let alone lyrics).
MOH wants space of his own, the other shed/garage is used by the dogs, and the room out the back of that is a ‘tack room’ for DOH horsey gear, and the wee alluminium shed is full of hay for the horse. For those readers from across the seas, the Kiwi male feels whole only if he has a shed to play in (sorry, ‘tinker’), somewhere to retreat when the woman of the house turns the vacuum cleaner on, or DOH wants to talk about menstrual cramps, or his relatives visit so he scarpers out to his shed and pretends he’s performing something of the equivalent to life preserving surgery on the lawn mower. No, I do not jest - we even have books on ‘Blokes Sheds’.
Our ‘bloke’ or MOH has resigned himself to the knowledge that the washing machine, clothes drier, piano, chest freezer (full of his meat – another Kiwi male imperative, eating animal flesh with a side of vege and a beer to wash it down with, all low fat of course), and the computer, computer desk, printer, some book shelves and my sewing machine. I say he has resigned himself to this, but when we went to buy the chest freezer, we ended up coming away with a 32 inch flat screen as well – for the DOH he opines, for when her friends visit and they want to watch rugby – oops, he means chick DVD’s. Two months ago, he fell on a “real bargain” new stereo, eight speakers and woofers and meows or whatever the technical terms are, for the daughter, a belated xmas pressie – translation – he has wanted a stereo since 1988 when we got for $300 when we bought our first ‘cottage’ (two bedroom, 30 yrs old) and didnt have a radio. It was a our first minisystem with a CD player and turntable – which died two years ago, rest in peace, and we have survived on a small portable CD radio since.
Because the stereo is so big and has to be wall mounted (dont go there) it is staying in the boxes until the shed/garage/family room/salon/studio, building is finished, our house is resembling the flat Derek and Rodney (Del boy and Rodders) shared in Peckham in “Only Fools and Horses”, only I swear all the boxed goods are paid for and did not fall off the back of a truck. We now have a boxed stereo, a boxed TV, and a boxed chest freezer. None of which will be opened until the paint drys on the walls – good incentive to make sure MOH & DOH dont sit back and watch me do it all.
Meanwhile, I have been suffering, yes – the word is correctly used for the circumstances, suffering as in agony, pain, trauma, and all the rest – with an infected tooth. In actual fact it is the phantom tooth, (no there is no singing going on here), because it is pain in the same place that a tooth was extracted a month ago. I now find out that the one beside the now empty space, needs a root canal – that is dental surgeon talk for “Im off to travel around Europe with my family, and will be back just in time for your next check up”, or loosely close. I have had to ask for extra strength pain relief, and they have prescribed something which I found out today is nothing much more than what I was taking over the weekend which didnt really work – plesebo affect Im guessing, but it keeps stuttering along, sometimes the pain is relieved, sometimes it is not – its those “not” times that I have to watch so I dont chase someone down and punch them, or call senior staff in my proximity a prat of the highest order – its amazing what drugs and tooth ache can do to a reasonable diplomatic person. So I have a week to get rid of the infection in the tooth, and meanwhile the dentist will be getting sessions in at his local sun bed so he doesnt look to pale on the Riveria.
For me the trauma and tension of the tooth, not to mention listening to MOH and DOH laying territory to the hut outside, has been relieved by a feast of nourishing email chats with a colleague who works in another city (the same employer as me – we are sort of an outpost of a larger branch). A couple of years ago when we were first introduced by our manager, we were told she likes ‘writing’ and that was that. It could only have been a male that would reduce a published author down to ”she likes writing” – a bit like saying Michelangelo was a “bit of a painter”. She has been published, won competitions, awarded a prize from our country’s Prime Minister, and has been writing for years. Back when I first met her I had been a “closet writer” - nothing published – nothing actually stayed on paper long enough to call it a draft, so I was more of a ‘would-be’ writer, meaning if I stopped pushing the delete button, and stopped tearing up my notes, settings, and character profiles, I “would -Be” a writer.
Well to cut a long story short (I’ve got to stop editing as I write), this enchanting person has inspired me to get back to wordsmithing, to write the story (or stories) just write!!! Whats more interesting, is that what I saw through my “vision” of my environment was to her, just as interesting as I what I see in settings overseas – but I see our beautiful countryside so often I have taken it for granted, after all it is just a baby compared to Ian Rankin’s Edinburgh for Rebus, and Colin Dexter’s Oxford for Inspector Morse.
So DOH was beside me in the car on the way home running off all sorts of scenario’s and good ones I might add, for a rollicking good murder – her and I are great fans of Agatha Christie, and Colin Dexter. No more delays, no more deleting, no more procrastinating… no more….well I did have to update my blog, and I have just got the washing in, and finished dinner, and by the time I finish this, there is no time to write, just read. But by gosh I will be burning a trail tomorrow evening and be published by lunch time next Friday!!
So, the structure out the back of the house, which is made up of two rooms, one smaller than the other with a shower and toilet (sorry, how base, I mean ensuite), is going to be my study!!!! my writing room! Just what Virginia Woolf recommended, she said we women writers need a room of our own to go off and create – or something along that line, so I will take a flask of coffee, some lovely opera for ambience, a hint of lavendar oil for ambience, and join the literati.
