wordless wednesday

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four weeks

You know how I mentioned yesterday that I am having trouble

getting decent snaps of Tansy and Fern?

Here's why:

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presto chango

Presto...

chango!

I had to laugh when the kids struck the same pose

in the same spot, seconds apart!

Can you see the size difference in the two?

The silver girl has gotten heavier and bigger.

The black girl, by comparison, is still a peanut!

But only by comparison.

She is growing, fit, and active, and getting plenty to eat.

They are both very active.

One day I shot 327 images, trying (and failing) to get

a decent picture of each kid so I could do a special

"introducing" post to tell you their names.

(Which are NOT "Presto" and "Chango."

Nor are they "Bloodroot" and "Lungwort,"

but thanks, Tanya. HAH!)

Their names are:

 

TANSY

and

FERN

Tansy knew her name the first time I used it.

Fern is taking a bit longer,

or else she has just been too busy to respond.

In the picture above, she is checking

to be sure she has tracked dirt into both compartments

of the mineral feeder.

Because any job worth doing is worth doing well.

~~~

And now, before the looming rain begins to fall,

I'm going to take this girl for a run in the woods.

Happy Saturday, everyone!

~~~~~

underway

The porch floor work was mysteriously delayed for two days.

I don't know why. That's the mysterious part.

  

But today, the gentlemen arrived on time and got busy right away. They left at 5PM, after sanding the floor thoroughly and putting down the first finish coat of a probable three.
Fingers crossed it will be done by the weekend.

I didn't take a wide shot of the entire floor before they began sanding, but here's a fairly representative section of floor - this is the area in front of the slider, looking south - taken on the day when I insulated the kneewalls:

And here is a detail of the floor in front of the slider

after the sanding was done today:

It was fun seeing the original colors reappear.

(It was especially fun since I was not the one

on my hands and knees, sanding.)
The wood has been darkening naturally since 1997.

I remembered finding the mahogany at two lumberyards,

laying out every single stick,

and choosing the ones I wanted.

This is not behavior that typically endears a person

to the lumberyard staff, by the way.

(This doesn't worry me. I mention it as general information.)

There is a lot of variation in this mahogany,

and I remember deciding how to arrange the colors.

Now those colors are more than coming back;
the wood is taking on new depth

as the clear finish goes on.

In this picture, the upper section has one coat of finish:

I suddenly remembered having a load of this lumber

tied to the roof racks of Brownie, my old wagon,

when I stopped at a dog show in NH

where a good friend was showing her Irish Wolfhounds.

She is gone now.
As are her Wolfhounds.

As are my Wolfhounds.

It was another lifetime.

But it's all there somehow, in the wood.

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repeated handling, no wheels

Yesterday I pulled the big tarp off the pile of construction debris left by the carpenters who worked on the porch,
and began picking away at it.

It's a task, alright.

Many years ago, I worked for a while in a stockroom.

Heavy boxes. Lots of them. Receiving, distributing.

At the time, I relished heavy physical labor.

Two tips I learned from the stockroom manager,

which have served me well over the years:

1) Move it once.

2) Put it on wheels.

Unfortunately, neither of these tips is applicable
to the debris pile situation.

.

It's a matter of picking up each piece,
brushing off dirt and sawdust,

determining potential usefulness,

removing all nails and hardware,

and adding it to one of several smaller piles.

After one hour, the original pile looked like this:

And there are now five smaller piles/stacks

that look more like this:

It looks like progress!

It also looks like the same mess

spread out over a larger area.

If When I get to the bottom of the big pile,

each smaller pile of salvaged material will need to be

sorted, organized, and carried, piece by piece,

to one of the sheds for storage.

Likely much of it will reappear in a future project.

(Stay tuned!)

I have to pace myself on a task like this.

Well, on any task, if I'm honest.

I can spend an hour or so working,

then must stop and rest my bones.

Repeat.

And repeat.

The work periods get shorter,

and the rest periods get longer.

As the physical toll becomes cumulative and 

the resting becomes less effective,

it becomes more and more difficult 

to pry myself out of a "zero-gravity" position

and force my body back into action

for even fifteen minutes.

I'm a long, long way from those stockroom days.

But.

I often remind myself: it is not important

how long it takes me to do something

or how difficult/exhausting/painful the simplest task.

What is important is that I can do it at all.

And that I do.

I believe this, but must remind myself. Daily.

Because in my mind I hear, "lazy." Also, "whiner."

Sometimes even, "Lazy whiner!"

It's certainly true I postpone/avoid some chores.

Many of my routine tasks come with an obvious reward.

Carrying water buckets to the goats, for example.

Brushing Piper. Emptying the dishwasher.

Disproportional fatigue and aching joints, but:

healthy goats, happy Piper, a harvest of sparkling dishes!

Tackling a chore like the pile of construction debris

is less satisfying. It's much more like housework, which is also an awful grind and rarely gives me a feeling of satisfaction.

Possibly because I am so bad at it.

Or maybe that's a chicken-and-egg situation.

Here's what I'm thinking:

I need to adjust my attitude;

learn to find the satisfaction - the inherent reward -

in all these tasks.

Any advice?

Thanks

:)

~~~~~