It has finally happened — I can’t listen to the news any more. What is going on in Ottawa, the grandstanding, the hypocrisy, the tempest in a teacup absurdity of the whole thing, is so appalling that it turns my stomach. Especially as what it may lead to is even more appalling – a government run by Andrew Scheer and his band of hyenas. My last night’s ruminations at 4 a.m. were less about my reno worries than my worries for this country. And this province, with its own band of hyenas, heedless, stupid, blind, destructive, smashing and crushing.
No, it hurts too much. So — enough. Of course, I’ll keep reading the Star, which tho’ lefty is bad enough. The media is so complicit in this — let’s keep this thing alive because it’s controversy! It sells papers!
Tonight, my last home class of term, and how I love this bunch of marvellous writers and people. An oasis of sanity and empathy, not to mention talent. Hooray.
Other things looked up today. On top of everything else, my hairdresser, who’s been a dear friend for decades, wasn’t well, so was delayed in her appointments; usually I’m shaggy six weeks after a cut, and this time, it was eight weeks before she could take me. I was as bushy as the lion of my August sign. But this morning, there was Ingrid with her blessed scissors, and I look like a person again.
Yesterday Mr. Wu the electrician and his helper worked all day on the complicated wires of this house, but they got it done. The painters left, more to be done later. Today, Kevin worked on the staircase, and he put in the wine rack JM bought at ReStore, covering a place in the kitchen the termites had gnawed. Home improvements.
All the equipment and junk that was in my bedroom is now in the spare room. Look, a floor. There’s hope.
This is the eccentric enclosed staircase.
And this is the wine rack, much too big for me, but needed to fill this corner. I’ll struggle to find a bottle or two to fill it. And those holes and white plates to the left represent hours of Mr. Wu’s time, tugging wires.
Mostly – what’s wonderful is that it feels and smells like spring, mild and bright, though there’s still some snow on the ground.
Tomorrow is frantic; at 8 a.m. Mr Wu arrives for the city’s electricity inspection, and two cleaners arrive to at least start the process of getting rid of mounds of plaster dust and sawdust. That’s a huge step. At 10.30 the furnace man arrives to make sure it wasn’t carbon monoxide that set off my smoke alarms, though we know it wasn’t, because we’re not dead. In the afternoon, the second of two queen-sized foam mattresses arrives. The first was delivered this evening and is propped against the piano; I wonder if we’ll ever get it upstairs.
On the down side, I asked the guys to put the blinds back on my bedroom and bathroom windows, taken off when the window work was being done. Surprise – the new window frames are a different size, and I need new blinds. Well, why not?
Let me fling some money your way, shall I? I’ve become a champion. Money flinging, c’est moi.
