Boxes

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Life lately feels like a continuum of boxes.

Mentally, we are checking off the many boxes that will enable us to move to another town, another house: find a new job, find renters, find financing, find a new house, find a way to move between houses.

Our conversations have more frequently consisted of verbally checking off boxes:  “I did a, b, and c today.”  “Were you able to do x, y, z?”  We make a list of tasks and split them between us, and proudly report on our progress at the end of the day.  It’s very romantic.

Most noticeably, we are surrounded by physical boxes, of the cardboard type.  I spent two and a half weeks sorting through and packing up the items which we had stored on the unrented side of our duplex, in preparation for persons yet unknown to fill it with their own possessions. Those few weeks have made me into something of a cardboard box connoisseur.  I am collecting them, in various sizes and shapes, from a variety of sources–book boxes from my work at the library, paper boxes from the office of a family member, Easter candy boxes from the local convenience store.  I am becoming quite adept at eyeballing a heap of variously-shaped items, carefully selecting a box of just the right volume and shape, and packing everything so the contents fit together like pieces of a puzzle.  Sturdy boxes with pre-cut handles are gold, the Holy Grail of packing supplies.  My enthusiasm for them may border on the effusive.

I have also started packing up on our side of the house, choosing the least-used items to pack first.  We have no idea when we will be able to move (this depends on the person(s)-yet-unknown who will hopefully want to rent out our apartment), so I try to keep in mind that I might not have access to the items for months or, possibly, for more than a year. This sort of rigorous selection process has resulted in another round of de-cluttering–“if I really won’t need it for a year, will I ever need it again, and in that case, do I want to spend the time and energy to move it?”  Sometimes, unfortunately, I can’t recall if a certain item has been packed up out of sight in a box, or has been gotten rid-of altogether.  I’ve also started “losing” items, in general chaos that is my house lately, and I’m never quite sure that some necessity hasn’t been accidentally slipped into a box and sealed up.  I regularly check on the cats for this reason.

There are stacks of empty cardboard boxes scattered around my house, waiting to be either broken-down or filled up.  I’m starting to feel like a hoarder.  I try to remind myself that this is temporary, but then I remember that I don’t know how temporary.  I also know that when the time to move actually arrives, it will be much, much worse.  A sea of boxes.  A forest of boxes.  I’ll be wading through them, in every room.  I myself may wind up swathed in newspaper and sealed inside one with packing tape.  If you help us move, be sure to carefully check my labels scrawled in Sharpie, and be mindful of This End Up.

 

 

 

Etsy Shop: Yes, We’re Open!

Ash & Acorn on Etsy is once again open for business!  Below are the items currently available.  Coming soon: two more candle designs, a vintage wedding dress find, and greeting cards.

The shop had been open only two days when I received my first order, a request for a customized candle for an adult baptism:

The candle is 18-inches, a variation of “Antique Elegance” (coming soon), the larger version of “Antique Grace.”  The request was that a bow and cross be added to the existing design.  It was a pleasure to create!

Etsy Shop: Coming (back) Soon

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Ash and Acorn on Etsy will be re-opening this week.  I’ve been finding spare moments here and there–like while waiting for my truck to have the oil changed–to work on my beading, and have dozens more ideas in my head for the future.  My shop will continue to have wedding crowns and candles, but will also have other items for sale which share the “cover everything in beads” theme.

Having the shop open while we prepare to move will be an interesting exercise; all my craft supplies are in boxes, but aside from that, are easily accessible.  Conveniently, as I mentioned, beading is a craft which is easy to transport, like knitting, and is easy to do anywhere you are going to have to sit around a wait a while–if you don’t mind a few curious looks.  And if your auto mechanic doesn’t mind the possibility of a few shiny pink seed beads being left behind in his shop….

A glimpse at some of my projects lately, some for the shop, some personal:

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The Fairy House

“It was a blustery sort of day,” and the motley gray clouds were indecisive about rain.  Dampness and uneven light played weirdly with color, unnaturally brightening some hues while sinking others into murky shadow.  The trees swayed this way and that in the gusts of wind, whispering fiercely.  It was beautiful, and very eerie.

 

 

The trail was aptly named “Wonderland,” and although it felt that morning like an otherworldly setting for a ghost story or a dark fantasy novel, it was actually wending its way through Acadia National Park on the coast of Maine–a place less fantastic, perhaps, but to my mind, certainly not less romantic.  It was not well populated, except for Shaun and myself, and a few other determined hikers, likely due to the fitful weather.  So it was easy to feel the wind pull viciously at my hair, and see the strange play of light and shadow through the moaning trees, and believe that around any bend in the trail, one might suddenly glimpse a sullen ghost, or a fleeing dryad.  The goosebumps on my arms were not all due to the chilly mist.

We talked quietly as we walked, and eventually entered an archway of trees that formed a  lush green tunnel.  The floor of the wood was a genial tangle of rocks, undergrowth, moss and fallen leaves.  The wind dissipated among the trees.  It was an altogether friendlier place.

Rounding a bend in the trail, we saw a small, bare-headed, rain-coat-clad figure kneeling at the side of the trial ahead, just before the path disappeared around another turn.   The boy looked up at us as we approached, and we saw that he was around eight or nine years of age, golden-haired, with a small face and large eyes.  As we came closer, he stood up and looked at us expectantly.

“Would you like to see my fairy house?”

We assured him that we would.  He knelt down again and showed us his creation, which was built atop a bed of needles and twigs to the side of the trail.  It would have been easy to miss, had its architect not pointed it out to us.  The roof was a thick slab of moss.  The walls were all of stone, chosen carefully from the the trail, and an opening had been left for the convenience of diminutive house-hunters.

The boy looked at us with some concern.  “Do you think the fairies will like it?”

We assured him that we believed they would.  “If I were a fairy, I think that would like it very much,” I told him.  He seemed satisfied.

Another adult appeared around the next bend in the trail.  “There you are!” she said to the boy.  “Time to move on.”

“I was showing them my fairy-house,” the boy said proudly, indicating the two of us.  The woman held out her hand, and without a backward glance, our young acquaintance skipped away out of sight.

We admired the fairy-house for a moment more, and I snapped a photo.  When we continued on our way, the trail ahead was empty.  We never saw the fairy-house builder again.

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October

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” -Anne Shirley

For the last few months, life has tumbled us around until I feel I barely know which way is up.  Just when I’ve found my feet, the floor is upended beneath me.

Outside my window, autumn at last has the landscape all to itself.  Summer was brazen and persistent this year, but autumn went about its work quietly, gently, using summer’s sunniness and warmth to highlight its jewel-box colors.  Winter is cruel and comforting by turns; spring is a celebration; summer, carefree; but autumn is content.

I have been re-re-re-(etc.)reading the Anne of Green Gables novels.  They are a welcome escape, a place where most problems are resolved to their rightful conclusions. Anne rejoices in each season at its turn, and I join her; but I have a special affection for autumn.  There is something about it that deeply satisfies me, like eating a good meal after you have been hungry, or snuggling down under clean sheets after a hard day’s work.  Autumn fills up my soul with peace and contentment.  It reminds me that however bewildering my circumstances are, there is still constancy in the world.

This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
~Maltbie D. Babcock

 

You Look So Young: Incredulous

The cashier at the grocery store had to ask for my I.D. during check-out today.  Knowing that I will probably be carded until I am age 90, I had it ready.

The cashier looked at my birth date, then at the photo, and then up at me, clearly disbelieving.  He looked down at the photo again, back at me, back at the birthdate again, and back up at me.

I was about to ask if there was a problem when he shrugged and entered my birth date into the computer.  He sighed as my purchase cleared.

“Well,” he said, “You just barely made it.”

Even official documents do not spare me.

(Also…how does a margin of six years constitute “barely making it”?)

The Log Book: June-July 2016

Latest Projects:
-Planning a vacation to Acadia National Park in Maine!
-I’m still shuffling things around to my new studio on the other side of our duplex.  On the up side, the two spare rooms on our side are starting to look like rooms and less like gigantic piles of stuff.
-My first major knitting project is still unfinished five years later (this is a chronic problem for me).  I’m making a final push to complete it, once and for all.

What’s cooking?
Camping food:  Hot dogs and s’mores, hamburgers, tinfoil meals.  Oh, and lobster boiled over a campfire.  It was MAINE, after all.

Reading:
Everywhere Present by Stephen Freeman
The Lost Boy by David Peltzer
The Martian by Andy Weir
Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie
Redwall, Mossflower, and Mattimeo by Brian Jacques

Other happenings:
Basically, this comic:

Where Did June Go?

We’re more than half-way through 2016. Maybe my head will stop spinning by the time November does its fly-by.

July has gone by at a more leisurely pace.  We spent the first part of the month on vacation in New England.  I had my first real camping experience at Acadia National Park.  It was fun, scenic, and tiring–and it drizzled most of the time.  Vacation was capped off by attending the wedding of a dear college friend.  The rest of the month was spent trying to  beat the heat and watching my lilac bush droop from lack of rain.  August is looking pleasantly busy from here….

Aftermath

With a week-and-a-half of vacation behind us, we drove from southern Maine back to our home in New York State.  It was an eight or nine hour trip that stretched to eleven, thanks to a lack of distinct road signs.

Relieved to be home, we hobbled stiffly out of the car and onto the back porch, fumbling for the house key.

I glanced in the back door window to our kitchen, and then looked again.

“Oh, no.”

The trash can was overturned.  Strewn around it was an array of cat food tins, lids, and the remains of the trash bag, now ripped to shreds.  Some unidentifiable sort of internal cat waste (it turned out to be a hair ball) was visible among the wreckage.  As if on cue, Juniper sauntered up and sat down with great dignity next to the mess, staring at us placidly as we gawked and struggled to open the back door.

Once inside, we stepped gingerly over the trash as Juniper minced out on to the back porch, hardly giving us a second glance.  I headed for the bathroom, which is just off the kitchen, and was again brought up short.

The cat food bin was overturned and the lid was off.  There was cat kibble all across the bathroom floor.  I bent to right the bin and noticed pieces of dry egg noodle mixed in with the cat food.  I followed the trail of egg noodles to the pantry shelf where I keep dry and canned goods.  About a half-dozen cans and boxes had been knocked off the shelf.  The bag of egg noodles was ripped open neatly from top to bottom, spilling its contents over the shelf and onto the floor.

I called to Shaun and showed him the mess.  “I’m afraid to venture any further into the house!”

He assured me that the only other damage was that the cats had pulled down a curtain hanging on a tension rod and slept on it.  “It could have been a lot worse.”

“Oh, I know!” I said, and got to work cleaning up trash and cat kibble and egg noodles and hair ball while Shaun unloaded the car.

Juniper pointedly ignored me for the rest of the evening, making a show of preferring Shaun instead.  Only after I fed her that night did she come twine happily about my ankles.  I took this to mean that I was finally forgiven.

–Just as long as I never go on vacation ever again.