And I built it entirely from scrap, including a window and some old wood that we’d hauled along in the move to this house last fall, plus some bamboo harvested from the overgrown patch along the street side of the property. Yay, me! As my mother, who was born during the second world war and hates waste, would say, “You get points!” Never a specific amount of points, mind you, just a comment that they are now mine, as the innovator of this excellent reuse. In my mother’s world, every time a good use is found for leftovers from the fridge or a piece of junk from the alley or a scrap of material from another project, the person responsible for the initiative “gets points”. It’s the sort of funny familial habit I’ve only recently begun to the notice.
Yay also for the cat, who seriously has been driving us crazy with her desire to go outside these last couple weeks. You know what happens when Ballou goes outside? She falls off things, gets lost, or trapped in ridiculous locations. She has survived for 11 years, but it’s likely that this is only because Oats has kept her strictly an indoor animal for most of them. In the wild, cats like her do not last.
For months, Oats has been saying that Ballou needed an enclosed area off our bedroom window, to which I’ve been replying that the bloody feline is not getting a single square foot of my precious vegetable garden, also located outside the bedroom window. All this meowing really wore me down, though… And I like getting into Oats’ good graces when I can, so that she’ll overlook the fact that I never clean the bathroom and am often rather snarky. Happy cat, happy partner, happy FG.
I’m kidding, with the title to this post… I actually did do some job-related stuff today, including nailing down an appointment at the shipyards, to *finally* sign off on the security clearance and the rest of their forms. It’s taken them forever to get back to me, so I’m relieved that something’s actually happening.
In the meantime, I’m back at the farm. Yesterday I picked strawberries for 8 hours: On my knees in the hot sun, bending over the rows of plants, severing the stems just above the bulging red fruits and getting the overripe sticky juice all over my hands, my mud-stained t-shirt, my scandalously tight nylon short-shorts… Sexy as hell, it’s true, but *fuck* it hurt my body. Tomorrow I’m going back, to hull and weigh the berries leftover from today’s sales so that they can be frozen, a job I specifically offered to do in exchange for a share in the fruit. Then Saturday I’m earning a cash wage again, running the farm’s stall at one of the markets, which is my most favourite farm job of all. It’s crazy busy, but there’s a variety of tasks, and tons of folks to visit with, plus I get to take home scraps for my chickens and fresh food for dinner.
Yes, summer is still hitting hard.