A Place of Simplicity

A friend described life out here in "the county" as a simple life, which it is. It's more peaceful and slow that city life. I'm thankful for that. But even rural life can become busy and hurried if we're not careful. I find my autumn filling up with so many responsibilities and activities that it's hard to remember what a quiet, cool, still autumn day is meant to feel like. I want one of those.

Adam put a vapor barrier, sleepers, joists, and OSB subfloor in the little building.

 I started painting the OSB. It's a rough surface, but paint is what it's getting. Adam will built a short knee-wall around the base of all the walls to enclose the electrical wiring and outlet boxes.

 I have a long way to go on the painting, and I'll have to shift the furniture over to the painted part so I can do the other side.

I'm reading this utterly delightful book by Rosemary Verey, renowned British gardener.

 I want more of her books. She has that easy, sparky, intelligent style that I love. Here's a fun paragraph to give you a taste:

 At last, the days are cool. At last, the leaves are turning.

 My four chicks are doing well. I suspect I have 2 roos and 2 hens.

 Here's my big roo. I call him Boss. He has not attacked me yet, although he views my skirt with the red trim on the bottom with great suspicion. Last time I wore it in there, he tried to stomp at it and peck it. The skirt hem did not respond.

 We had a funeral at our church last week. I thought the casket spray was so beautiful for autumn.

 Adam has been faithfully coming to the farmer's market with me since the summer. I'm so thankful! This past weekend was Oriental's Ol' Front Porch Music Festival. Sales were brisk and these two fellows welcomed customers!

 A cool set of wheels pulled up to Buddy's fish shack across the street.

 I'm painting pumpkin cards.

 Today a friend and I took an outing to New Bern, which is, by all accounts, a wonderfully historical city with an unusually large downtown district of old homes, considering its size. We took a little tour of 1st Presbyterian Church, now 202 years old. What a lovely old sanctuary!

 This is a Fisk organ, very beautiful.

 My days fill up one by one, and I find I have less and less time to wander around the pasture and stare at the dying of the year, watch the sky for trails of geese, gaze out my window while I paint, or breathe in the cool air blowing through our open doors. I feel I am on the run, doing, doing.

Adam made a delicious dinner tonight.

Tomorrow is Prayer Shawl Ministry, followed by another new piano student. If you don't see me here, dear friends, please know I'm still reading your blogs when I can and enjoying them, and looking forward to that simpler rural life -- the rich, empty days and time for languid creative thought. Some day.

The Trail of Human Debris

Like many of you, I spend lots of brain time pondering family relationships. I suppose they're no more complicated and heart-breaking now than they were a century ago. Perhaps medical science tells us more now about the health risks of relationship stress, about how stress wreaks havoc on our bodies. We know this. A child's death, a failed marriage, the death of a spouse -- these things can send a person into the grave.

Some stress is unavoidable, but in families we study the situations that develop and often wonder if and how they could have been avoided. Then we wonder what could have been done differently -- how mistakes were made that caused the trauma and resulting stress, and wonder why people behave the way they do. As we watch our loved ones suffer, we can't help but ponder these things.

Is it right to ask who is at fault, when broken relationships cause stress and then lead to ill health? Sometimes, perhaps. In families, there are decades of competing narratives. Family members take sides. They stop talking to each other. This is just more fall-out from the initial actions, but this fall-out keeps the stress and trauma going.

So how can you tell who is at fault, if anyone? I don't ask this for the sake of blaming, although plenty of blame is often slathered about, in family conflict. I ask it for the sake of safety. If there's someone in your extended family who is dangerous, shouldn't you know? For your sake, the sake of your kids, the sake of your own health? But with competing narratives about fault and blame, and people taking sides, how can you know who is dangerous and who is a victim?

I look for a trail of human debris. I examine the parties and ask myself, "Who has left a trail of human debris, of broken relationships and pain, behind him or her, often for a lifetime?" This is a useful question. It's a question you can't answer accurately without knowing all the parties, talking extensively with them, and being close to the situation. So observers on the outside of the family usually cannot know the answer to this question as well as family members do. There are secrets, uncomfortable facts, that families don't tell outsiders. In fact, if you're a family outsider, and you think you know lots of private facts that support one side of the conflict narrative, you're probably being manipulated. If you haven't, at some point, talked honestly with both parties, then you can't speak knowledgeably about it. You don't know the complexity.

A trail of human debris -- what does it look like? Perhaps a series of failed marriages or romantic attachments, decades of friends offended and lost, many estranged children or estranged siblings, parents/grandparents, even a person who moves often and picks up new friends and alliances and then drops them. Equally important is examining family members for the opposite trait: a history of loving relationships. If a family member has a long history of good friends, good relationships with most siblings, parents, grandparents, a spouse, or children, then it's unlikely that this one situation in which they're being attacked or vilified, is an accurate depiction of their character.

I say this only as a normal person with the usual closet bursting with extended family conflicts spanning several generations and reaching across half the country. There are very few methods to evaluate these painful situations, and "not doing anything" is often not a good option. I find myself confused and baffled by people's behavior whom I thought I knew! Nobody's account of the situation(s) agrees. How can I assess? Should I just bury my head in the sand and ignore the train wreck going on around me? What about family members who have not buried their heads in the sand, who have become deeply involved, trying to help, and are themselves wrecked and battered by the conflict that won't end -- whose health takes a nosedive? Do I also ignore them? I can't do that.

I look for a trail, a pattern, a lifetime of relationship behavior. And although it's not a perfect evaluative tool, it helps a lot. I don't use it for blame, and certainly not for any type of revenge or hard feelings, but simply for clarity going forward, and so I can anticipate future damage, future stress, future health risks. As one in that middle generation in a family, this is a weight I feel. And even those who leave this horrifying trail of human debris need help and support. They need to change their relational habits and stop hurting those around them -- they need friends. But that role will almost certainly be taken up by someone not in the family they have just left in a bloody heap. 

We should always, always forgive. Always try to move on. Always be kind and patient. And do our best not to keep a list of past offenses that we pull out and mull over, keeping the pain alive. That's so hard! Peace is our goal, peace with others and peace with ourselves. Sometimes peace looks like a close, intimate, loving bond. But sometimes peace with a trail-of-debris person looks like distance, and distance is the only position that produces peace. Sometimes distance is the only place where forgiveness can happen.

If you're the rare and lucky person with no conflict in your extended family (does that person even exist? Anyone? Anyone?), be thankful. Be aware you're unusual. And above all don't be judgmental of those around you who are being blasted and leveled by family conflict, and who are struggling to get back on their feet and correctly evaluate their loved ones who have thrown a bomb into the close family unit. It's hard to manage that private devastation with a smiling public face. Let's all be easy on each other and remember -- from the outside, it's hard to know what's going on.

Digging Out the Little House

We have a small concrete-block building across the yard that serves as an occasional extra bedroom. It's 15 x 15 feet square. It was the first thing we cleaned up and redid when we bought this property. You can look back on it here.
The last time anybody slept in that building was the weekend of Anna's wedding, 15 months ago. I knew that it was really, really filthy. I didn't want to think about it. But Julia is making noises about bringing friends home for fall break, and I told Adam we needed to inspect the building before anybody even thought about staying over there.
 Well ...

Termites have been working. The floor joists are rotten. The floor is giving way. Time to rip it all out. First we had to empty the building of furniture.

 It's hot and dry now, and all this furniture is benefiting from a good airing.

 I'd found some scary-looking poop in the building, poop I was afraid had come from some snake. I told Adam we might have a snake infestation. (That's my phobia showing.) Thankfully, this proved to be not so! All he found under the floor was old pecan shells. That means squirrels.

 So many pieces of wood with severe termite damage:

 The termite tunnels ran all the way up the walls. Ugh.

This afternoon he pulled all that subfloor out and then pulled out all the 8x8 joists. That's hard work in 93 degree weather!

Adam plans to take the 4x4 posts from the garden that he used for the tomato trellising, and use them for new joists. (My tomato plans for next summer have totally changed, so this is fine with me.) But before putting in a new floor, he's treated the ground underneath to kill the termites. He'd previously treated the perimeter of the building, but now he's treated the ground under it.

In addition to this little project, we have lots going on at church, lots going on in our family, lots going on with work and hobbies. Illness, travel, funerals, festivals, painting, census work, singing, piano, mowing, and on and on. Today I just added two more piano students! Yay!

I'll feel better when that little building is clean and tight again. Someday, wouldn't it be lovely if it had a screened-in porch wrapping around it, a little bathroom and kitchenette? Somewhere somebody could live simply? It's a thought.

I Have Been Remiss ~

That's a phrase my parents would occasionally use, "I have been remiss ..." in doing whatever duty they had neglected. I have been remiss in blogging.

At last the outdoors don't feel like a furnace set to "high." Now it's simply hot. Each day reaches the mid-80s. I'm ready for the next break in the weather, when our highs will be in the low 70s. That's my favorite weather.

We had stopped tending the garden. I assumed the okra was finished. I don't know much about okra. I visited the garden yesterday and found some okra too big/old to eat (and threw them into the grass), but many were fine.

I'll try to go pick them every other day, so they are small, until they stop producing. Okra are hard workers. We'll plant them again next year. Adam fried some the other night that we'd frozen before, and they were fabulous -- much, much better than any from a restaurant.

I've been painting a lot of cards, and sold quite a few lately too. I won't share them all here, but here are a couple. A friend requested some beach/water scenes.

I dropped in at the thrift store yesterday and found two treasures. Books were half-off, so they were 50 cents each.

I love both these authors. I've started Rosemary Verey's book already; she's a famous English gardener. I turned straight to "September" to read what she thinks about this time of year. I'm sorry to report that I'm utterly bored with both the Elizabeth Goudge books I'm trying to read. I know it doesn't seem possible -- The Child from the Sea and Island Magic have both failed to hold my attention. I'm still trying. She was prolific, and I suppose no author who writes that much can have winners at every turn.

I've been longing for one of the large, beautiful wreaths that another vendor sells at the market each week. They are expensive, and I'm too stingy to spring for the price. But then we reached a bartering arrangement: some of my cards for one of her wreaths! Hooray! The beach/water cards are for her. Here's my new wreath:

It's very large and beautiful and autumnal. It's too big to squeeze between either our front or back doors and their matching screen doors, so it's hanging inside on the guest room door.

Anna mentioned that grandbaby Isaac might like some books for Christmas, so I shopped at my favorite online used book purveyor, Abe Books. The first to arrive in the mail was this gem:

It's in pristine condition.  In fact, I ordered all Tasha Tudor books for him -- six of them. I may go shopping for a few other favorites that he really must have in his children's library. How could childhood be complete without Miss Suzy and Martha B. Rabbit?

He's a very happy, very smiley baby! I tell Anna he is happy because she is such a good mama.

The ladies from our church, plus a couple of neighbors, have started up our fall Bible study again. We took a group selfie since 8 of us were present! That's nearly a record for this busy bunch.

These ladies are some of my dearest friends, precious every one.

Henny Penny and her four babies are just fine. I think they're two and a half weeks old now. I've actually been out in the yard just a little ... in the morning, when it's cool ... weeding. I planted four lantanas plus a sedum, "Autumn Red." 

That's it for now, friends! I hope all is well with you in your neck of the woods!

The First Cool Morning

That was this morning - I walked out on the back deck, felt the breeze (blowing east from Hurricane Humberto, thank you, Humberto) and said, "Ahh! I survived another horrid summer!"
Yesterday Henny Penny took her four babies out into the big world of the chicken pen for the first time. (Oh, sorry about the Instagram link! But if you click over, I think you can watch it fine.)

View this post on Instagram

Jenny Penny takes the babies out

A post shared by Mary Kathryn Christiansen (@marykathryn.christiansen) on Sep 18, 2019 at 2:00pm PDT

Adam has been working many hours for the U.S. Census, which means I have many hours at home alone in a quiet house, just Beau and I. I love peaceful, productive morning hours at my desk.

 I've learned, after all these years, how to make the perfect little French press of coffee for myself. A candle. Diffuser oil. A little lotta editing.
Before the editing, I paint. My brain's not awake yet, and painting is a good first activity.
A little water, a little paint.

 Writing and editing are much harder than painting. Adam says they're much harder than walking/driving around door-to-door gathering census information too. But we both love writing. When I can't fall asleep at night, I lie in bed thinking through the plot of whatever story I'm at plot-thinking stage in. It helps me fall asleep.

Sunset on Saturday. We are heading into a pretty time of year.

What a Week!

I'm pooped. I told you how I wore myself out emptying the guest room of its furniture. Well then I had to paint the room. I didn't take many photos, but here's a short video of the room when I'd just started doing the trim:

The guest room was my catch-all room. I had boxes of china and family photos under the bed, plus bags of baby clothes from when the kids were little. I had boxes of fine crystal and the boys' Legos in the tiny closet. And so many books, books I need to give away.

Philip's shoes when he was an itty bitty

Philip wore this shirt when he played t-ball as a 4 year old.
I have the cutest photo of him running bases, wearing it.

I enjoyed Jan Karon books years ago,
 but now I want my daughter to have these. Or somebody. Anybody?

I spent much of one day at the top of a ladder, reaching the corners of those 10-foot ceilings. I was exhausted. The next day I painted the floor. I pushed myself, wanting to get done. My legs have not recovered. Here is the "after" video:

Adam just went into our bedroom and said, "Now this room is the worst one in the house." He's right. "You should do this one next," he added. Ha! Not until my legs have recovered! It may be a while. Still, I'm very pleased with the guest room. Not too bad for a 100 year old sharecropper house!

Blue Flowers Watercolor

 These flowers were some of the "hurricane painting" I did to calm myself during Dorian :) I was surprised they came out so well -- except the first flower, the one on the lower right. I was utterly disappointed in its shape.

 I tried to work with it, adding more black paint, even ink. It still did not satisfy me.

 But it was good practice, which was its purpose. I was again surprised when I posted the watercolor on Facebook and a friend said that she liked that flower the best! Isn't that cool? So I touched the flower up a little more with colored pencils, popped the painting into the mail to her, and now I don't have to think about that flower any more, haha!

I liked the concept well enough to attempt another one. I've been wanting to replace both of the not-quite-beautiful watercolors I framed in the spring, with something better. Here is the second Blue Flowers watercolor:

 I popped it into the frame (sadly, with a red mat trim that looks kind of wrong) and am enjoying it on my bedroom wall.

Today I decided to do another, but in orange/yellow/red.

I wish I hadn't put that bit of blue in the background. After this photo I tried scrubbing it a bit to make it lighter, and adding a very light blue wash around the edges of the flowers. I think I should have left it alone. As Adam tells me, "Don't forget the white space!!"