xtcian

7/20/02 Why is it that

7/20/02

Why is it that I view the farm as a place to relax? Every time I come up here, I fancy myself "kicking back" and "letting the shit hang out, yo" and such, but more often than not, I'm involved in hours of backbreaking labor. Don't get me wrong, I love being up here, but a brief sojourn to a swimming hole today reminded me that it was the first time I'd just sat and enjoyed nature without a pressing secondary activity – since I got here.

Of course, it was hard to think about much else than the excruciating pain of walking barefoot on tiny jagged rocks all around the water note to self: wear flip-flops next time. I remember a place south of Mombasa, Kenya where we stayed for a week on the beach. We were told by some prescient soul to bring tennis shoes to wear into the water, and it was the smartest thing we did in Africa. You could walk a mile into the Indian Ocean and it would only be up to your waist, but your feet would have been long gone, shredded to bits on the coral.

Speaking of almost losing body parts, I tried sanding the the upstairs office room today, and it was even tougher than the library. Thick coats of 1964-vintage polyurethane gummed up the drum sander every few feet, making the whole thing pointlessly sisyphean. During one particularly disturbing brawl with the edging sander, I stepped backwards onto an ancient venting shaft in the floor, broke through the plaster, and half my body ended up downstairs in the kitchen. Sean said he looked up from his book and saw a disembodied leg hanging over the lunch table. God knows what kind of insulation ended up exploding all over the kitchen, but in case it was asbestos, Sean and Michelle hosed the place down. Needless to say, Chopin the dog saw the whole thing and will probably need therapy.

view from the top floor, through the old vent shaft, into the kitchen Michelle and Sean clean up

Chopin, by the way, has been a real handful. He played fetch yesterday for a half an hour, which is more than I've seen him do in a year. Tonight, he came upstairs in the barn and ran around in a giant circle - during our game, no less for almost two hours, barking at the top of his lungs. It must be the Rimadyl I've been slipping into his salmon. Without Tessa around, he has hyper-imprinted onto me, following me from room to room like he has something for me to sign. Every time we go outside, he finds a way to get in the car; when he's sure we're not going anywhere, he bolts into the cow pasture at 73 mph and starts eating weeds. I need to get him a good book or something.

Chopes offers me his advice during a game of Oh Hell