Thing one: a job I wanted months ago is still looking to fill the post. I've gone through two rounds of interviews for it and stated plainly that any skills or experiance they'd like to see in me I'll gladly invest in to be considered for the post. No answer, and they've just re-posted an ad for it. Feeling rather "and so it goes" about that, hope they find someone perfect, kind of still wish it had been me.

Thing two: After the last two carloads to value village I'm looking aroud the house thinking "why do I need any of this stuff?". Feeling owned by stuff, but happy about cat and pretty fish so must needs a place to be after the sale.

Thing three: Fabulous husband has decided that after the sale, I need a bike to get around on. One of those sooty, modern, motorized machines. Says he feels as though he's pushing me into getting one and although this isn't possible, he is pushing toward the thought and it's intriguing. Having such a thing would make getting around to summer weddings so much easier. A bicycle isn't an option really because sweating between brides is never good. Feeling rather interested in that which is either Burgman or Vespa.

Thing four: Our neighbours, who I've never gotten on with, will be moving. The City will be selling their house. Do we wait to sell? Why, after putting up with no end of crap for 11 years are they moving now? Because one of her successful sons is building her a house. Actually had a pleasant and sureal conversation with her, what I would consider a nice, repeatable chat. The gods, they do laugh.

What a day. It's only 4:30. I'm having a beer and getting back to work...

HUZZAH! Yes, Lt. Ripley has used the litter box consistantly for 48 hrs, first time since January.
NOT looking forward to moving with this cat, will be trying to keep that to a minimum...

Yesterday Fabulous Husband (tm) set up the aquarium in the living room and I went off to two weddings in a row. The first one (set in historic St. Lawrence Hall, good acoustics) was for an old friend from the publishing industry, a truly great editor who of course wrote (mostly) a 10 page ceremony that included readings from an array of works, including one that he edited. I helped out a little by printing up programs for him and including the 13 digit ISBN for each title from his company's website. The whole ceremony was saturated with meaning for the couple, and their rings were encrusted with heirloom diamonds from his auntie. I really like it when rings re-use family materials, its something very special and speaks of a present that moves forward into a future connected to an honouring the past. Also, lots of kids running around. At one point in the ceremony a 6 yr old with a digital camera stood very seriously next to the kneeling pro photograper in the aisle. They were the same height and too cute to ignore so I got the grooms to turn and look - two fingers clicked at once and hopefully got the amazed expression on their faces. The ceremony music was played by friends, and ended with a song from the couples first date called "Mirabeau Bridge" where everyone was invited to sing along on the chorus (I put that on the programs too - bookmarked size, not much room). So humming the chorus I was off to wedding number two. Wedding two was a funky couple - she'd waitressed at a venue where I'd done a bunch of weddings, so it was really nice to work with her on her own ceremony. Laid back and casual at the venue Over Joy at Queen and Booth, no walking down the aisle, just gather and go. She looked like a 40's film star goddess in a slinky white dress, and he looked radiantly happy with a funky lapel flower tied with bright green wire that brought out his eyes a little. During the ceremony in place of a reading two of their friends sang a song they wrote for the day, a perfect wedding song, and everybody got misty when the bride walked over on the second verse and joined in, her gift to him, her voice unwavering and clear. Best man's toast concluded with the line "may be today be the day, looking back from your old age, that you loved each other the least". Too fucking beautiful. Then they wanted me in the group photos, so I was a little late getting home but very honoured.

Back home FH had set up a most artistic and involved aquatic display, with one fish. Which is a Cooly Loach, which hides. New plastic plants, driftwood, clean stones...life lurking, but not visible. So this morning I was off to get fish from a store in China town east that also specializes as a gardening and bonsai centre. I like the older guy that runs the place...not so much the teen agers that help out. I got one of them and after some back and forth managed to get most of the fish on the list - platies, sword platies, neons and two corry's. I wanted ghost shrimp and was happy to see that they had some. Ghost shrimp are see through, so everything they eat is visible in it's transformation from flake to poop. Also, they will occasionally hold a flake in both tiny pincers and eat it like cartoon corn. Hours of fun for me. The fish, on whom Warner Bros cartoon humour is lost, will eat the shrimp within a month or so. We had one who punched the approaching fish and developed a wicked right-left-right who lived to old age of 1.5 yrs. So - me and ghost shrimp, liking. When I inspected the bag at the counter I noticed one was dead though, which resulted in the following exchange:

Me: I don't want this one, it's dead.
Teenager: Huh?
Me: I wanted six shrimp. Live ones,only.
Teenager: (heavy accent) There are six. One, two, three, four, five, six. What problem?
Me: The dead one. (holds up bag, begins to poke sad corpse through plastic) See how it's eye is floating away and it's untroubled? That's because it's dead. I don't want the dead one.
Teenager: You still have six in bag. Six other shrimp.
Me: And a seventh that's dead. I don't want it.
Teenager: No charge!
Me: Don't care! We (meaning FH) just cleaned the tank, I don't want to put corpses in it right away. We can wait for those.
Teenager: (grumbling) Okay. (looks at bag, does not seem to know how to proceed)
Me: Look, if it's a problem, I'll just take the rest of the fish. Okay?
Teenager: Okay, okay. (rings in the rest of the fish)

I know the corpse was in essence free food. But I didn't think FH would be impressed by the immediate addition of death to the nice clean tank. He's not really an embracing the putrified flip side of life kind of guy. Also, the knowledge of buying actively cannibalistic shrimp was disquieting to me so for now - no wee crawfish in the tank. But the rest are shiny happy finned things, zipping about with all manner of pleasure. When Lt. Ripley finally works out the litter box issue and is released from the prison of this office, she's in for a visual treat - TV just for cats.

Go Aunki! Shiny Firefly fan video.

I try to keep on hand stuff friends like if I know they'll be about. For Angel, it's cheese. For Greg, anything plus beer. Port and cheese bread for Kelly, meatcake for Ariella, no pork/milk for J but frozen yogurt goes over well, no gluten/milk/camomile for B but parking him on one end of a rare roast is a friendly thing to do. Red wine and fish&chip for Aunki, lemon pie and salad for Doyle, chocolate and port for the Bevins, herbal tea for Zevenhuizen and Kim. Fresh bread, healthy food and red wine for the Lelchuks, yorkies for the B&B boys. On the rare occasions we've seen Timothy - perogies and whiskey. I've considered recipe cards that include the allergies and preferences of regular guests because on occasion I've forgotten and felt bad. I do try. It's part of the hosting thing I'm not terribly good at yet.
Fabulous husband is happy with either anything meat or spaghetti, tinned sauce only.
Lt. Ripley? This is the weird thing: pringles. Cat likes chips. Have decided that her limit is half a chip at a time, long time in between because that can't be good for her.
Landscaping last Tues/Thurs, reno work Mon/Wed, film shoots last Fri/Sat - today wedding but other than that I'm taking the rest of the day off.

Discovery 1: I like landscaping work. May be due to soil bacteria that acts like an anti depressant, may be the fact that it's so not a cube.
Discovery 2: While painting what could charitably be called a mudroom off the kitchen, which was assembled with scrap materials by the last owners I discover that the reason I can't screw ceiling tiles back in is that there is no frame on the ceiling, just a bunch of blankets. Painted instead, it's now the Smokers Lounge.
Discovery 3: Lt. Ripley has shown some progress while imprisoned in my office, and has used the litter box with newspaper (B) in it to wee. Poop is near but not in litter box B. Litter box A, which has had (alternately) clay sand and wheat scoop in it, remains largely ignored. Fabulous husband translates that the litter likely feels dirty and she doesn't like it. Fabulous husband furthre translates that the doesn't want to get her feet wet when she poops, hence the near but not quite aim on poop. Result: two litter boxes with newsprint and we'll see how that goes. Next steps may include a) making a litter box with no litter, just scrap tile since she seems to like that, b) a lower edge pan with newsprint or c) fostering her out to professional retrainers for a while should all else fail.
Discovery 4: I am far to concerned with the defecation habits of my cat.

Feel crap. Going to work anyway. Wouldn't be going today if it was cube farm work, but trying my damnedest to be there for a job involving creativity, physical activity and plants. This indicates strike 9,843 against the cube farm: I am not motivated enough to fight through extreme ick for it, and it is in my nature to fight through said ick.

In other news, we did not do the wrap around stained glass on the 3rd floor and will be lucky if I get two doors in for the completion of one side. However, this morning as I was scraping glass I realized the view is stunning, and it's actually for the best. Self disappointment gave way to gratitude for divine intervention and a side of joy, served warm and tummy up.

Cat is on notice. Really need to fix the house soiling issue. She's in the office with the litter box, her food (far from the litter box) until she sees fit to use it. She no longer has full run of the house and cuddles. Treats are available for when she does clue in and remember what the nice clean sand is for. Really hoping I don't have to give her up, she's too fabulous in other ways, but the hygene is important.

Another day, another bit of reno work, another hour or so slipped from the toolbox of days until we have to be ready. And another memorial service that I'm likely going to miss tonight. This one wasn't a long kiss goodbye that anyone saw coming - it was a short sudden flight that leaves only questions in it's wake, and a silence that weighs down the emotional barometer. Sudden shower, chance of migraine, an atmospheric block in the form of a cut of low. Suicides are like that.

They also seem to change the pattern of the grieving process, throwing the most gifted and skilled navigators of loss into unfamiliar, shocking territory. Anything can and should go. I know one family that went ahead and kept the mothers day reservation at the restaurant of her choice, place set and food ordered, urn of ashes beside the fork. Hell with what anyone else at the establishment thought and it worked for them. When someone changes the rules of passing, when their pain outstripped their ability to cope and depression insulates them from joy or compassion, leading them to what is often a very selfish act - the rules of grieving are set on edge for those left behind. It's not so well laid out or talked about, it's something we should be able to see coming and intervene all hero like, five minutes to the triumphant close, role credits. We should all over ourselves and may hallucinate points of the past that qualify as signs. But sometimes, we're human - they're human - and the act is an unavoidable, empty surprise.

Trying to find a memorial poem for a suicide, what I've come up with are individual poems meant for individual people, each grieving circle of family and friends finding their own way on an isolated journey. No stopping clocks or softly walking or defiance of death and sleeping. Simply "we miss you" and "why" and "forgive" and "you bastard".

I did find one - not specifically a universal memorial poem for suicides, but given that Sylvia Plath also took the short cut home, it kind of fits the mind set:

Now the washed sheets fly in the sun,
The pillow cases are sweetening.

It is a blessing, it is a blessing:
The long coffin of soap colored oak,

The curious bearers and the raw date
Engraving itself with marvelous calm.

Perhaps not the grieving person, but the understanding of what the suicide might have felt. When we can't catch and stop them, can't save them and the soul already slips, perhaps it becomes a point of learning to respect a choice we wouldn't make ourselves and can't and never want to comprehend. Too soon for that, I think, I kept looking and found some song lyrics that serve for me. A friend wrote them and I listened and transcribed, failing at a word or two I think so very sorry Timothy (see right of screen) and also thank you. From his song "Summer Wine":

Autumn came and it stole away the sun
The forest red behind
The thread you pulled, the fabric comes undone
You had October in your eyes
Under the sunset trees, you're tangled in the leaves

And we were so high, that we raised a flowing cup
But you drank it dry, and now the bottles used up.
Finished off the summer wine, must have been fools at the time.

Morning came and it drove away the night
Sent the stars to sleep
Woke the world with grace and the light
You had a highway in your heart
Coffee and an early road, in the room already lost to sight.

And we were so high, and we passed the bottle round
But you drank it dry, and you left without a sound.
Finished off the summer wine, must have been fools at the time.

Weeks ago when I missed June Callwoods memorial due to obligations I walked about 2K home instead, a march of one, bearing tulips to plant. Fucking squirrels ate them but no matter, I felt better. Today I think my memorial act will be in scraping paint from windows - it may sound trivial, but comforting to let in a little light right now.

Insanely, I was thinking of have a yard sale today. I have a wedding, so this would mean getting up about an hour before now, printing off signes, posting signs, and hauling everything outside only to haul it back inside prior to the last possible minute before I have to get ready to go to the venue. Seems geared to make me frazzled and grumpy, which is not great customer service to the couple.
So, no.
Instead, I'm going to have it tomorrow morning. When it's mothers day. And we're having the boys from Brigadoon back to do some yard work, so I'll have company in being frazzled and grumpy. Still mad? Oh, yes, but better for the couple.

While cleaning just now I found several scraps of paper. Most are the beginnings of stories and I've entered them into word - one was a list of trivia. Here is a list of facts I doubt, but am intrigued by:

A shrimps heart is in it’s head.
A pregnant gold fish is called a twit.
By law, every child in Belgium must take harmonica lessons in primary school.
More than 50% of people in the world have never made or received a telephone call.
Your heart stops for a millisecond when you sneeze. During sneezing, it’s possible to fracture a rib.
Wearing headphones for just one hour will increase bacteria in your ears 700%.
A crocodile can’t stick it’s tongue out.
Although the US govt claims to have no knowledge of aliens, Title 14 Section 1211 of the Code of Federal Regulations implemented July 16 1969 makes it illegal for US citizens to have contact with ETs or their vehicles. 35% of people who use personal ads for dating are presently married.
A ducks quack doesn’t echo anywhere and no one knows why.
23% of all photocopier faults world wide are caused by people sititng on them and photocopying their buttox.
Cats urine glows under black light.

Re: yesterdays post. Ow. Today, ow.

And on with the purge, not only to declutter to show the house better but I've been giving careful though to what "clutters up a life". Many things get kept with the best intentions, or because they were gifts, or because they remind me of a time when they were used daily and mattered. They are not actions or obligatoins or memories though - they're things. And if I'm not using them, maybe someone else could.

Recently a pair of friends sold their house (for north of e gads! in funds) and have been purging to prepare for life in a condo rather than a four story abode. They have really great stuff and have been quite successful ebayihg most of it. They said the secret to their success in purging came from a recent trip to New Orleans when they lost their luggage - and then met people who'd lost everything. It helps one alter their priorities and shuffle off the importance of "stuff". I've been shocked with what they could bear to part with. And today, a couple of times, I've been really surprised at the ease with which this and that has landed in the possible yard sale pile.

Getting there...

Gardening grooviness abounded today! Planted 14 feet of concrete segments in the backyard (and hope they don't grow), took 11 or so wheelbarrow loads of front yard to the back to entomb said concrete (broke the damn wheelbarrow after three goes, could not find the bolt that fell out, went to get a similar one from hardware store and continued), received 9 x 30L bags of top soil, 4 x 30L bags of compost and a large cube of peat moss plus four shrubs, cleaned one gardening bag and a recycling bin of roots, tape, beer caps, cigarette butts (and can I just say eew?), nails, bits of roof and previous paint, inexplicable insulation tufts, more roots, paper, plastic and no less than 2 sawzall blades - one of which I found by sitting on. Don't recommend it. Worked the bags of earth/compost/most of peat into the clean-as-it's-going to get ground, fielded many questions from neighbours, planted shrubs in order following instructions (peat and water, then plant, then more soil, then press down to remove air bubbles, then murmur reassurances), fielded more questions from neighbours regarding murmuring to shrubs, raked ground, planted periwinkle and stone crop plus some lilies I found, made a small slate pathway and you know what? Tired now. And grateful for the friend that brought ice cream today. You? Rock.

Two weddings yesterday. First was chinese/polish, two ring bearers in traditional Polish folk garb and two flower girls in traditional Chinese. Fabulous location on the U of T campus that I didn't even know was there, really lovely couple and one of the most touching exchanges at the altar - she crying, he wiping away her tears with a hanky. Second was at a B&B that I really love, two of the nicest girls who may decide to become Canadian, and one of the last weddings I'll perform there as they've sold their house and are changing gears to a high end condo B&B. Although they may still have on site weddings it's doubtful for the first while and most of the weddings for later this year have been moved to other venues. They've had a number of yard sales and the house looks more or less empty, spar. I think of how much fun I've had with them, of joyful moments with couples celebrating the start of their relationships or, like yesterdays brides, 10 years in. They have cake toppers they said I could have, wee bears that you can either put together as two hetro or two same sex couples, after their last wedding in June. During the ring exchange I got a little weepy and it wasn't entirely how lovingly the ladies looked at one another. I'll miss their fine house.

I think I'll miss this house too, but before I can get to that I have to get to the power purge and landscaping that is this week. Wish me luck...and if you're feeling brutish in the next couple of days, swing by and help me shovel. ;-P

The stars aligned, the contractors returned for a marathon day yesterday and the house is (almost) done. As well, fabulous husband (hereafter known as "The Shoveler") and I were very busy indeed.

All around our front yeard, which has been charitably refered to as my Weed Sactuary, there was a chain link fence. Inside, there were three trees and a quantity of lilies, michaelmas daisies, stone crop, tulips, more and different stone crop, periwinkle, and peonies. The peonies found a home with a neighbour. The periwinkle was sadly unsalvaged, but day before yesterday everything else was uprooted and deposited in the backyard on a shelf to await re-planting, in a slighly more organized fashion.

Yesterday, the chain link (except that which joins us with the less popular neighbours) came down thanks to brute force, a sawzall (spelling? whatever) and sheer force of will. Gone too is the surprisingly thin bar of concrete from the front. Gone too are two of the trees. One was (I think) a peach pit that had been dropped in the yard ages ago and I had let it flourish. The other, the sick and twisted aple tree, went down swinging. It should be expected that it put up a fight - it was our wedding tree. Too old and too gnarled by pollution and random passers by yanking on it over the years to save, it came down in pieces - some of them hopefully stuck into either water or fertalized earth and I dearly hope they'll show some initiative and root. If they do, I'll have wee apple trees for everyone including grandma's farm, where I should have planted it to begin with.

The tree was originally planted on October 27th 1996 by the only guest at our wedding more intoxicated than I - yes, the guest who passed out in the cake. He also pocketed an apple from the feast table and took it home. One of the seeds from the supermarket bought apple took root and flourished. It shouldn't have lived, but it did and in the spring we were presented with two feed of merry leaves and hopeful wee trunk. Our hundred year old silver leaf maple had come down the year before and as the trunk had an opening in the centre, it seemed like a good place to plant the sapling. It wasn't - as the years went by and the old tree crumbled to earth, the new tree began to list and lean over the sidewalk. It was a full six years before it flowered and I was very excited by the sight of blossoms. Recalling the conversation:
Fabulous Husband: What are you on about? It bloomed last year.
Me: No it didn't.
FH: Yes it did, it bloomed all last summer.
Me: ...really?
FH: Yes (smug at noting something botanical), you just didn't notice.
Me: Boo, were these blossoms by any chance blue and purple?
FH: Yup.
Me: And in your experiance, apple blossoms are blue and don't result in apples?
FH: Now that you meantion it, it did seem a little weird but it's your garden...
Me: Sweetie, I think you'll find those were morning glories. Like on the fence, see?
FH: Shut up.
Years passed, apples finally came and I occasionally tried to make them grow. I'd lost touch with the wedding guest and so asked the advice of apple merchants and bee keepers (who in my estimation know everything), and followed the instructions carefully. No luck. It was sad to bring it down yesterday and I thought I might get weepy (as I did with the silver leaf maple years before - the city sent back a counsellor with the second team they dispatched after I rebuffed the first one, very embarassing) but instead I felt rather uplifted. Here the wood (through the GTA composting program) returns to the earth. Each fibre and root, each bud and stem that is not given chance to root is passed under to the soil and continues being a part of what I walk on, the air we breath. It felt very appropriate that Ross and I were the ones to take it down.

Not entirely just us though. You can't honestly turn on power tools without random men walking up and wanting to help, and there was a bit of a Tom Sawyer bit (that looks like fun...) with neighbour Doyle. And that was appropriate too - planted by one of the least personally sucessful men I'd ever met, a carreer alchoholic who's talents were legendary and also pissed away in his determination do drink himself to death over a percieved romantic slight - ignoring whatever friendship or kinship was offered on his long fall down. I think he's dead now. Removed with care and efficiancy with the assistance of one of today's friends, one of the most sucessful men we know, gifted and rational about what he is not gifted at, competent in business and willing to help out a food banks, and a also a hell of a gardener.

And so it goes. And the chain link removal? Had no idea how much that had bugged the neighbours, damn near had a freaking parade.

Welcome to the colours of my house so far:

Poetic Licnese = light mauve, my office. Yes I got if for the name. No, I didn't know it would be close to pink but it's not violence inducing, so all good. Just need to keep with the coffee...
Powdered Iron = grey mauve, armory. Goes good with swords. Might have to put those away when showing the house.
Siam Red = vivid burdundy, living room. It's important to have one red room because it's impossible to lie in a red room.
Geko = honest to gods thought it was tan. More like yellow. Have never seen a yellow geko, and yes, this is another one where the name affected the choice. Halls, sun room.
Belgian Waffle = this we knew was yellow. Kitchen. Also, got if for the food name.
Black Pepper = very dark brown. Stairs, and when the exterior paint job is done, the porch floor.
Balmoral Meadow = looked like a nice green in the store, got it for the bedroom. Turns out it's more a Kermit shade and impossible to sleep around, instilling a disquieting mupped fear. So it's now in the basement bathroom where it looks proper and sunny and bright...and disappointing to the slugs who somewhow made it inside and mistook it for leaf clour. No leaves, just hungry and sad slugs. Unsure how to proceed with that. Unsure if they'll figure it out on their own and wander off, really hoping they don't need help.
Sleeping Water = very light, almost hospital green. Actually looks good in the bedroom plus, actually encourages sleep.
Shrimp Cocktail = under coat on dining room ceiling and east wall. Why Shrimp Cocktail? Because Apricot (the exact same clour on another companies colour chart) seemed sissy to fabulous husband. The word "cocktail" is obviously more macho.
Baige brilliance = miss spelled but I've lost the can. When mixed with a glaze it goes nicely over the apricot. When applied head on to panels, it looks like Penis Pink and so was swapped out for an unnamed dark tan. I call it Savior.
Apple Green = more nuclear than edible, it's in the upstairs bathroom, very sunnny. Also the only time a name of fruit has been acceptable in a clour choice.
White = no surprise here, all trim and risers and window casings.
Naples Cream = Looked cream in the store, actually more yellow. Might be cream if you're talking a discount french vanilla ice cream product. Exterior trim, won't be repeating this one.
Radiant Red = very aptly named, also exterior, brick. Also won't be repeating this one and glad it's on the outside of the house because damn, clowns will eat me. Very bright next to the very yellow trim. Our goal had been the colour of an old TTC streetcar and under certain conditions it works...others it doesn't. Gonna leave the streetcar colours to streetcars next time.

Off to an interview this morning, wish me luck. It's a part time gig and would need to be coupled with another part time thing to make up for the salary I walked away from, but is outside of a cube and that's where I'd like to stay. Not saying I'll never return to the realm of corporate veal, because never is a long time and benefits were nice, but it would also be nice to interact with real live humans once in a while. Plus in this one, I'll also be interacting with wine and beer and cider, o my! My tribe. I hope I can afford it.

The last sad reminants of painters tape are drifting away from the house, green tendril like ribbons fluttering in the cool night air, as though some random drunken Maypole had tried to get affectionate with our Victorian semi. The contractors have not yet been by to finish the exterior, and will have to re-tape when at last the stars aline and they reappear from whatever Brigadoon they've gone to. Interior mostly done, with my own two front paws. Living room, dining room, kitchen ceiling, second coat on hall, armory, basement bathroom, office...the names of paint have become something I really love. Siam Red. Sleeping Water. Belgian Waffle. Geko. Poetic License. Fabulous landscape beautifuls were here to devise a cunning plan for both front and pack yards, total materials cost possibly within reach if I sell everything I'm not using, right now, on Ebay. Given that our next abode will likely be an apparement this is a good idea on a variety of fronts. Also managed to pawn off some beloved plants on good friends, so they'll be where I can vist them.
Lt. Ripley is continuing to stage protests in the hall. She has yet to clearly indicate her demands but if she did, I'm about ready to surrender.
We get a fair market evaluation for our streamer laiden house later this week. Hope for us.
I am beginning to occasionally hallucinate, and mostly blame the paint although it's low VOC and all. Actually I've discovered I love painting houses almost as much as I love Star Trek. And because the only non-house reno thing we've been doing lately is watching the original series I've discovered I'm a woman who really loves her Star Trek.
We're busy, in other words. So busy that I'm really beginning to miss a work environment with non-furry co-workers. You know, the kind that don't leave yellow puddles by your birkenstocks...