Working with Spiders

my post got deleted but then recovered after I wrote it all over so sorry for repeat, but I'm posting both. bwahha.

So today and yesterday have been two full days of work of which I am quite proud and feel great about. It's been a while since we've worked so well or at least on projects that had so much to show for themselves. We cleaned out one of the major rooms today which meant I spent the better part of the day swinging a hammer to dislodge most of the moldy plaster that covered the stone walls while Hui scraped layer after layer of linoleum off the floor and tore down the ceiling.

I was covered in plaster and sat down to take a break when I gigantic spider started crawling down my collar. I was annoyed. And maybe a wee bit scared, but not really. We've gotten used to them even though their numbers have diminished drastically since we started clearing away shit and increasing bird traffic. awesome.

the weather again cooperated beautifully today and we pretty much stayed on task all day. it was good. really good. i feel great about it. and again we're making progress.


we moved the tent into the main room we cleared out and our next project will be the old room.  we tried burning peat in our stove as opposed to drenched logs and it burns so nicely that we have a seriously warm room (like barefeet shorts and no shirt warm).  It's great.  And we're really proud of ourselves for getting all this work done.

I cleared plaster off of walls all day and Brian scraped layer after layer of linoleum off the floor (honestly what were these people thinking?) There has been no regard for the longterm in many of the "fixes" we're coming across in construction on the house over the years.  But oh well.

A huge spider crawled through my hair and then down my collar today before I noticed it and threw it to the ground. I was more annoyed than anything, I guess that tells you my state now after 5 or so weeks.  Most of the spiders are finding new places to live now though that we are taking over.

It hasn't really rained in a while and it's been perfect fall weather. How nice.  I was struck today by an extremely warm memory and decided to write it down. I'll close with that today.

But before I do, I wanted to address the two quotations that have been posted here by anonymous.

The first one about 'God' I've definitely heard before and may have actually read some of that guy's stuff.  It's a good quote, I can't quite subscribe the 'God' language anymore but the meaning I think is a positive way for the 'faithful' or 'religious' to draw from dogmatic traditions. But then again, those traditions have purpose and can't be completely disregarded. It's a complicated situation that I can't say I care to get too far into over written words. I prefer dialogue.

As for the Teddy quote, I've heard that one as well.  And I like it enough. I'd like to add though that the critic is only guilty of the accustations that Teddy levels against her if critique is all she does.  But I'd argue that the role of a true critic is to be actively engaged (in the arena) in the dialogue of the subject matter which she critiques.  The true critic is an active particpant in a dynamic dialogue and therefore in just as much a position of action and greatness et cetera that Teddy waxes poetical about. My two cents on that.  And here, your moment of Zen.

On the 57.

Driving back in the white mini-van with the windows down and the warm late morning air screaming in, the bass from the stereo shook our weary bodies. After a long run in Carbon Canyon, riding back in such company giddy with fatigue and melting into our seats, tasting the waiting pancakes, sausage, muffins and (oh god please let there be eggs) at brunch produced smiles with such resolve nothing could peel them from our faces or disturb the contentedness in our hearts. Even the open windows couldn’t dispel the overwhelming stench of sweat, airheads, and car freshener, it packed us in and bonded us within that vehicle in a brotherhood of intimate knowledge. Half formed thoughts would careen through my consciousness flying by before really taking shape. I had trouble focusing on anything other than the wind on my face, the beats of our familiar song and the laughter or singing of my dearest companions. Nothing in the world seemed to matter as long as I was near these men. Legs aching with that old itching feeling, labored breathing and head swimming with heat and crusty salty skin were not symptoms of some torturous death but the limbs with which I embraced my friends. My pain was their pain, our pain. And our pain was turned into joy driving fast on the 57.