Apartment Hunting 101

You never forget your first apartment.  That first taste of freedom.  The first place you could put things where YOU wanted without your mother putting them back where they belonged.  I never got to live in my 'first apartment' -- the landlord absconded with all the rent money before we even got to move in. But the first apartment I lived in with my two friends was a 2-bedroom basement unit in a scuzzy building on a busy downtown Ottawa street.  There were on occasion drunks sleeping one off on the sidewalk pressed up to our windows.  Every now and then a curious dog walking by would stop and stick his head in a window to check out our digs.  Our ceilings were covered with pipes so we painted them chocolate brown and turned them into art nouveau.  We had beaded curtains in doorways and thrift store furniture.  It was a fun, funky place and I had some of the best times EVER in that apartment.

Yesterday I took my daughter on her first apartment hunting expedition.  We now have the benefit of the internet, digital photos, and Google Streetview.  Back in the day, we circled sketchy ads in the local rag and walked through a lot of dumpy apartments (I'm talking boil your skin off when you leave dumpy) before choosing our own dumpy apartment (which we nicknamed The Black Hole of Calcutta. Our friends lived down the street in The Lean-To.  Ah, good times.)  But I digress.

We had three appointments lined up -- a 1-bedroom in a standard apartment building, a ground level suite in a private house, and a unit in a triplex.  We started in the apartment building, replete with narrow hallways, dingy carpeting and the requisite scary elevator.  The unit was nice, she could live there no problem, but it had no oomph, no pizzazz, no personality.

On to the private house.  In a beautiful neighbourhood.  Lots of trees.  Lovely homes set back from the roads.  Okay, so far, too good to be true.  Then we meet the landlords who live in the house next door and they are...the nicest older couple you'd ever want to meet.  Maybe on the planet.  Their daughter and her family live in the house where the suite is located.  The house is immaculate, the grass freshly mowed.  Mr Landlord opens the door to the suite and it is -- Shangra-La.  It's small and cozy and clean and bright and funky and so full of personality and potential it's in danger of exploding. My daughter's face is also in danger of exploding.  She can't wipe the smile off it.  She has found her first home away from home.  I'm jealous.  I want to live there.  We call and cancel the triplex.

The only thing I'm sorry about (other than the fact that I wish I was 19 again) is that she didn't really get the full experience of apartment hunting.  It was way too easy.  I'm happy I got to scruff and scrape and live in a place with drunks and dogs and pipes and beads and thrift store furniture.  And one day my kid will probably be telling people about her first apartment -- that it wasn't even big enough for a queen size bed and full size microwave -- and her eyes will glaze over with nostalgia.

Cuz that's what first apartments do.  

   

Happy Canada Day!

It's over 30 degrees Celsius in the shade and it's just past noon, so I'm giving myself the gift of a day off -- no yard work, no gardening, no cleaning.  A day in the yard to read, write, and watch the birds (who start singing at precisely 04:25.  I know this for a fact.)

I've distributed peanuts across the lawn and am awaiting the arrival of Elvis, Marcus, and Adam.  They're my crows.  I love crows. Elvis is the most recognizable of the bunch -- feathers always poofed up on his his head in a nice pompadour.  And those hips!  That bird has swagger.  Marcus is the biggest of the lot, and just unkempt enough to make him cool.  And then there's Adam.  Skinny little Adam.  He really doesn't stand a chance up against the big boys.  I'll be watching to see who can beat the record for getting the most full sized peanuts in the shell in their beak at one time.  Elvis and Marcus currently share the record with three.  The odds makers are split on this one -- Marcus has the size, but Elvis has the brains.

Later today I plan on conducting an experiment on the effects of sun and beer on the sleep deprived. When I recover consciousness I'll report on my findings.

On another note...I understand how you can grow a seedless watermelon.  What I don't get is how you can grow another one.

Zzzzz...

I have insomnia.  Well maybe not classic insomnia.  I do sleep.  Sometimes.  In short increments.

Typical night scenario #1:  1)  Go to bed (sometime between 11:00 - 12:00).  2)  Listen to the dog snore. 3)  Read until book is in danger of bloodying nose (sometime between 12:00 - 1:00).  4)  Put book down, take off glasses, turn out light.  5)  Find comfortable position on right side.  6)  Find comfortable position on left side.  7)  Flip the pillow to the cold side.  8)  Find comfortable position on back.  9)  Move feet around to find the cold spots.  10)  Fall asleep.  11)  Wake up at 2:30.               12)  Repeat steps 5 - 9.  13)  Repeat steps 5 - 9.  14)  Calculate the amount of time you have left to sleep if you fall asleep NOW.  15)  Listen to the dog snore.  16)  Repeat steps 5 - 9.  17)  Listen to the birds waking up after a full night's sleep in their cozy little nests, yawning and stretching their little wings, ready to greet another day with a song in their beaks.  18)  Fantasize about birdocide.           19)  Watch the venetian blinds on the window as the light between the slats gets brighter and brighter. 20)  Calculate the amount of time you have left to sleep if you fall asleep NOW.  21)  If you fall asleep NOW.  22)  How about NOW.  23)  Fall asleep (sometime between 5:00 - 6:00).  24)  Wake up (sometime between 7:00 - 8:00).  25)  Listen to the dog snore.

    
Typical night scenario #2:  Repeat scenario #1.  Eliminate Steps 10 and 11.  Add more Steps 2, 15 and 25.

Breaking Point

We all have one, don't we?  A breaking point?  Well, I've reached mine.  And it's time to do something about it.  I'm talking about -- cleaning the house.

Sure, we've all heard the cliches...Life is too short to spend time dusting...or...There will always be housework to do...or...Just don't answer the door when the Department of Health shows up.

But I'm one of those people for whom a cluttered house = a cluttered mind.  I really can't relax and give anything else my full attention if there is as much detritus on the carpet as there is in the yard.  I have a dog with velcro fur -- if she touches it outside, it's coming inside with her.  Pine needles, moss, those little fuzzy brown things that fall like rain from the pine trees.  I also have a cockatiel that produces so much feather dust I sometimes have to get the snow scraper out just to see the TV screen.  

I know it's time to clean when --

     The dust bunnies bear a strong resemblance to tumbleweeds.

     My daughter and I stop communicating via texting and start leaving messages in the dust.

     The slime on the shower floor actually oozes between my toes.

     Even the dog refuses to eat anything off the kitchen floor.

I've tried many house cleaning systems.  I've tried assigning a task to each weekday (Monday is dusting, Tuesday is vacuuming...) but that usually only lasts, oh, about a week.  I've tried blitzing once a week but that usually only lasts, oh, about a week.  I've tried seeing how much I can get done in an hour a day.  I've tried seeing how much I can get done in half an hour a day.  I've tried seeing how much I can get done in the length of time I can hold my breath.  I've tried cleaning when I'm having people over...so I just stopped having people over.  

I have nothing but admiration for clean freaks.  But I have to face it -- clean freak is just not in my genetic make-up.  I simply have to wait until my brain twists in a knot and refuses to let any thought processes through until I do it.  So I'm gonna clean my house.

Tomorrow.

On another note...I love finding a book I just can't put down.  Even if it means I don't do any writing for two whole days because I can't drag myself away from the book.  Just one more chapter...okay, just one more chapter.  If you like a book that you will gladly put your life on hold for, I highly recommend GONE GIRL by Gillian Flynn.  The ending was sheer perfection.  And when I finished all I could think was...Damn, I wish I'D written that.

Autumn in June

I know it's a little early for fall colours but I have to say it's the one thing I miss about Ontario, my home province.  We're woefully short of maple trees here in B.C. so we just don't get these colours.  A lot of yellow but only a little red and none of the golds.  So I have to settle for recreating them in my stained glass studio.

I had shut the studio door a few weeks back.  Felt like I was spreading myself too thin and I really wanted to concentrate solely on my writing for a few months.  But while the writing muse was sitting on one shoulder, the glass muse was sitting on the other.  They were getting a little loud, vying for my attention, so I finally had to say -- Enough!!  There's time enough for the two of you...as long as I give up vacuuming, dusting, cleaning toilets, and washing floors. Okay, I decided -- if I have to, I have to.

The sacrifices we have to make in the name of art.                                                                                   

On another (but similar) note...The new novel is progressing quite nicely.

Wanna Make A Lot of Money?

Invent a grass trimmer that isn't based on a piece of plastic string spinning round and round on a little spool.  That always runs out or jams when you've only got about 10 feet left to trim.  And so you take off the plastic cover and replace the string.  And you put the ends of the string through the little holes but it always loses tension and you have to take the spool out again to rewind it.  And then you put the spring back in but the cover never seems to line up on all four sides at the same time.  And you press and you twist and you push and you get so frustrated you just want to throw that damn cover. But you don't.  Because then you'd never find it in the brush.  So you sit down on the rock to cool off. And then you try it again, maybe you even talk nicely to the cover.  And so finally you get it on and start to finish that last 10 feet and the thing jams again and won't spit out any new string.

So yeah, invent something that isn't based on a piece of plastic string spinning round and round on a little spool.  And then go on one of those shows like Dragon's Den or Shark Tank.  And they'll give you lots of money for your invention because they all have lawns and they all hate their trimmers too. And then your trimmer will be hailed as the greatest invention of the 20th Century.  And you'll make so much money you'll never have to work again in your whole life.  And you'll even be able to hire somebody to cut your grass and do the trimming.

Yeah, invent one of those.  And I'll buy one.

The Next 122 Days

I've got a new plan, so I'm putting the household purge on hold for a bit.  Partly because it's getting to be too nice outside to be doing stuff inside.  Partly because I'm almost done.  But mostly because I have a visitor.  An old friend I haven't seen lately has decided to stop in for a while so I better give her my full attention, treat her right, and hope she sticks around.  I don't even know her name.  I just call her my muse.

I don't like to admit this but I'm a very undisciplined writer.  I write when the mood hits.  It's like moonshine of the brain -- I let a story or an idea brew for a while and when it reaches maximum potency, I write it down.  That's where I am right now.  There are people in my head who want out. They are tired of having long conversations with me while I walk the dog.  They want to meet each other and start living their lives on the page.  So I'm obligated to let them.

A lot of writers (probably all the successful ones) commit to writing x number of words or pages every day.  I've never been one of the those writers.  But I'm going to give it a try.  I'm committing the next four months to taking the novel that lives in my head and putting it down on paper (okay, on screen). I'm committing to 1,000 words per day.  Yes, I know...some days I'll write more, some less.  But by the end of September, my goal is to have the first draft finished.

That means there's going to have to be some changes around here.  Like maybe getting up earlier. Like maybe less TV.  Except for the end of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.  Even though my Leafs are out, I still love my hockey.  And there's only a few more weeks left of The Voice.  Oh, and on June 24th Stephen King's Under The Dome starts.  I can't miss that.  I mean, Steve is my idol.  All right, maybe the occasional movie.  But definitely -- no more Seinfeld reruns.  Except for the one about The Contest. That one is always worth watching for the umpteenth time.

Hmmm...Something tells me my muse is not amused.