Skip to main content

Whistle While You Work, Really: a Small Update

It should be clear by now that we are marching to our own drumbeat.  We are the drummers.  At a certain point, you stop worrying about whether you "should" unpack books before spackling or "should" play scrabble when there's insulation still to do.  You have to just … march.

But there are things that are done in a certain order.  You can't bake until you have the correct circuit installed.  You can't take a bath without the hot water tank being in.  (You could, but ow.)  For a while, we did that kind of prioritization.  We had to.

That's not where we are at this stage.  From the beginning, we prioritized keeping warm, preparing food, and a place to work.  We have our desks set up now, with some setting up still to do, but the important things:  clear surfaces, materials at hand, internet and printers.  We can cook or bake, and now we have staples and meats.  We have warmth when there is power and a generator coming.

Meanwhile, we are living in a crooked little spackle house.  I like this crooked little spackle house.  There is so much to do.  The infinite list is barely an exaggeration.

We are hunkering down.  There will likely be times in the next few months where we seem to disappear.  We're probably not doing anything holidayish this year.  We haven't yet unpacked our party clothes -- or our ornaments.  Shucks, we're rural and the internet could go out for a while.  But mostly we are drumming to the beat.

We were talking the other day about music.  I don't play music while I work, at all.  John always plays music.  Back in Virginia, we had our offices on opposite ends of the house.  Now we have to coordinate when music should be played.  Because we've been coordinating, the first time I've really had to do so when it comes to my creative space, we discovered that I'm whistling ALL the time, under my breath usually, out loud sometimes.  I knew I was a whistler.  I didn't know I breathed melodies all day long.  It's not really an epiphany or even useful, but at my age, figuring out something new about myself is fun.  No wonder I don't work with music on!  So we are negotiating the music schedule to maximize creative time in the shared space.

Every day, if we are doing it right, we remind ourselves of our first principles.  Art.  Connection.  Peace.  Work.  Love.  Engagement.  It's a good rhythm.

That's what we're up to.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Life is a little tough these days. Taking a break. I will be back with more tales of grasshoppers and compost heaps and scrabble games soon.
It’s January 31. I’m sure you all know what that means! Yes, it’s time to give Marsh some advice. Here’s my little dilemma. I like the way this blog is going. (I know, some of you think it needs a bit more spice, excitement. To quote one reader: “what you need is more scrabble porn.”) But I also want to take advantage of some of the features of livejournal, particularly the community features. So I was thinking about (and actually made) a more scrabble-oriented version at livejournal. Maybe I will take some of my general scrabble posts here and expand upon them over there. I don’t know. I don’t really want to just have two identical blogs. Honestly, though, I don’t want to only post about scrabble over there, either. So. Advise me!
Things I think versus things I say: I’m somewhat less confrontational than most people. (I can hear the guffaws from my family and friends from here. Less confrontational? She thinks she’s less confrontational? She’s a wuss. She rolls over and plays dead.) Okay, whatever. It’s just a matter of translating. Owner of UgliestPuppyEverBorn: Wow, look at that; all the hair on your dog’s back is standing up! Me: (nervous chuckle) Yeah, look at that! Translation: Yes, you cretin, that’s because your dog is being very aggressive and leaping on MY legs and barking profanities in my dog’s face. Why don’t you and your inebriated “date” take your dog to obedience classes? Also: And don’t turn your back on me when I’m trying to fend off your dog. It is dangerous and rude. Even later: And, by the way, your dog is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. What the HECK is that breed? How can it breathe with that squashed nose? Even later: Hmph.