Log by log...

Tonight's fire left me slightly singed.  A log I had just placed shifted off my beautifully stacked pile, so I reached in to set it back into place.  Perhaps I should have considered the flames that had already flickered up and down the length of the log before I picked it up?

Tomorrow, the third load of wood will be delivered.  I agonized over buying the second, wondering if there was enough cold weather left.  Now, I care not if but a single week remains.  My Weather.com app tells me at least seven more days will pass with legitimately cold nights.  That is enough for me.

It is amazing to me how my life has become defined by fires, bound by fires, contained by fires.

This second load of wood has been smokier.  The first was primarily mulberry.  While I am not sure which kind of wood this second load was, many of the pieces are twisted and have knot holes in them.  Since the smoke does not bother my asthma in the least, I am actually rather partial to it.  Even when I am in the kitchen, I can smell the fire though I cannot hear it.

This wood also pops, crackles, hisses, and sparks more.  Sometimes, a loud pop will happen and it is as if small fireworks wend their way up the chimney.  While the birds and Amos are not exactly welcoming of the sudden loud noise, I dare say they are becoming accustomed to it.   Sometimes I sit as close as possible, setting the screen aside, and stare at the burning coals and flickering flames.  I try to soak in as much warmth as possible before that tipping point of growing too warm.

To think, after tomorrow, I will have moved three entire truck beds of wood.  Well, after many tomorrows.

That, too, has been a lesson of sorts for me.  Each pile has been moved one armload at a time, slowly but inexorably transformed from an overwhelming mess taking up the bulk of the garage floor to an orderly stack that would make any homeowner proud.  Pretty good for someone who is so exhausted that she barely makes it through the days, eh?  The way I see it, Amos has to go out to do his business.  While he accomplishes his, I do mine.  After a few days of letting him out in the yard, the pile is conquered...eventually!

I have been so frustrated, all I can really do is stick the next log on the fire.  When home, one is burning if it can even possibly be termed even moderately cool outside.  I have become quite adept at tending the fire (with the exception of this evening) using the metal stick I found in the basement and then more recently my trowel.  A trowel is a rather exceptional tool for banking coals.  In fact, I think some trowel company ought to investigate a dual marketing campaign.  I mean, with rising costs across the living expenses spectrum, perhaps more people might develop the art of banking coals.  Thus far, I have managed to bank coals up to 18 hours.  I wonder what the limit is?

I have been frustrated because it appears the theophylline is no longer doing the trick where my heart rate is concerned.  For a while, I did not put two and two together.  Even though I had been eating more and better able to handle my still uncooperative innards, a deep fatigue began pulling at me.  While at the doctor a while ago, even though I was nervous and shaking and even crying, my heart rate was only 76.  My blood pressure was low as well.  I dug out my pulseoximeter and sure enough, I am primarily in the mid 50s while resting, even dipping in the upper 40s while reading.  The fainting has returned and equally distressing the near fainting.  I have consumed immense quantities of sodium and caffeine in the past week to no avail.  Well, other than to wreak such havoc with my insides I am back to eggs only.

The doctor was appalled that my innards are still distressed, but she was not surprised when she heard the restaurant at which I consumed that wretched meal.  From my stomach to the end of my bowels, I have roiling that is so loud she quickly pulled the stethoscope away from her ears when an unexpected gurgle filled the room.  For me, it feels like I have foam in my gut.  Other than the stomach cramps, that is how I primarily feel.  The roiling is so loud, Amos has been awaken abruptly on many an occasion.  I was very reckless and ate a cake (yes, all but one slice), but other than that I have had only small things for "dessert," with Dr Pepper serving in that function most often.  I am wondering if I went to an all liquid diet, say with ensure, if I might knock this out.

She prescribed probiotics, but they have had the absolute opposite effect.  I quite taking them after 10 days because I could not bear the side effects any longer.  I see the doctor again in a few weeks, so I shall see what she says.  Part of me, however, doesn't care anymore.  Me, Myrtle, no longer cares about food.  Some times, a craving will come over me, but for the most part I am not interested in eating and dread the act of doing so.

Couple that with how exhausted I am and the distressing tendency for the world to shift on its axis, turn black, or simply fade away, and I wonder why I even bother getting out of bed.  Since she wants to concentrate on one problem at a time, the doctor has my heart rate on the back burner.  Somehow, food is supposed to be more important than overwhelming fatigue and the fainting.

Last week I did force myself to tackle the solarium.  Having decided that it is foolish to spend any money painting and foolish for me to paint, I quite obviously choose the cheaper foolish action.

The best part about the paint job is that six of the windows are actually a long bank that spans across two walls.  With wood between them, that means that I only had to paint above and below them.  I am also deeply in love with this edging tool I first used doing all that painting for my ex-boss.  Would you believe I painted this entire room without a single strip of blue masking tape?  Yep...no prep at all.  I simply moved the furniture to the center of the room, stuck Amos on one of the beds, dropped the cloth on the floor, and set to work.  I also accomplished this miracle without a ladder!  For nearly the entire room, the beds sufficed.  Along the wall common with the guest suite, I simply used the chair I set in the corner of the wall.  What do you think of my accomplishment?


The color is not quite what I thought it would be.  In fact, I have never been as "off" in color as this and highly suspect the Lowe's employee slipped a digit.  However, it is interesting that the color matches the yellow in the scene on the antique lamp perfectly.  Mostly, the room just glows.  Sometimes, Amos and I hang out in there for a while just soaking up the cheeriness the way I soak up the soothing comfort of a fire.

The next project would be the hallway.  Had I had a single clue as to the cost of paint before I asked them to mix it up, I NEVER would have purchased it.  Now that I did, I would like for it to be used rather than take up space in the basement.

The problem with the hallway is that there are a gazillion sections in the walls.  The landing area in front of the storage closet and two of the bedrooms has six sections alone and the entire hall as eight doors, not including the two doorways leading to the two staircases.  Alas, that is a LOT of working around wood trimming.

The second problem will be that there is carpet upstairs, with the exception of the solarium and the bathroom.  On wood floors, if paint spills, you can simply wipe it up.  On carpet, that is really not an option.  I do have a really great drop cloth that a painter left behind in my house years and years ago, but it is small (10'x10', I think).

I do think the project, not including the stairwells, would have to be two days.  One coat a day.  The thought of having two days of clean up, though, is distressingly exhausting.  I wish that I were more of a disposable person and I could just discard the roller and trimming pad and paint brushes (two I used for edges).  Alas, though I am one of those wretched people who still use paper towels, I recycle or re-purpose as much as possible and cannot bring myself to throw it out.  For example, those 98 cent liners for paint pans...well...I kept the one for each color I have used.  So, since the parlor paint is going in the hallway, I have a liner and even a roller all ready for the job.  Of course, perhaps I am spending more in water than I would in purchasing new supplies...but you also have to factor in the waste from the manufacture and transportation of those goods, so perhaps I am still coming out ahead.

In any case, you might read about my demise in the obituaries:  "Woman found dead with a paint roller in hand.  The walls looked great, though."

Perhaps the painting is just really another distraction for how poorly I feel and how frightened I am at the changes in my body and the absolute wretched state of my innards.  Sometimes, all the distractions...Amos...the house...the fires...the wind chimes...the fountain...photographing the flowering yard...the painting...the volunteer communications work for the mission...are not enough.  Sometimes, I find myself utterly broken, curling in a ball clutching my puppy dog hot tears streaming down my cheeks.

I am extraordinarily embarrassed at how I fell apart over the upstairs toilet breaking Friday night.  I do not yet have sheets for the sofa bed and it is necessary for me to have a toilet near me during the night.  When I realized water was leaking out from the back of the base of the toilet--thanks to Amos thoughtfully licking it up--I burst into tears and did not stop crying even when I first called the plumber and learned he was booked through Thursday, then called my realtor, who brought over a handyman yesterday afternoon.

It's just a toilet, she crooned.  I couldn't even bring myself to thank the man, though I sniffled something.

The new tile floor that the previous owner set over the wood (NOT a choice I would have made) was laid crooked.  The tub needs to be shimmed and when the toilet was pulled, you could clearly see that the wax on the back of the ring was at least a quarter inch lower than the front.  The handy man pulled the flange out from the old ring and used that wax to build up the back before setting the new ring in place and putting the toilet back in place.

The woman who owned the house only did so for about 9 months.  She certainly did a lot of cosmetic work on this old house, but so very much of what she did was shoddy work, stuff that looks good in the short term but not enduring in the least.  Even the tub was not set back properly...besides the fact that it rocks, the hot water was connected back without a shut-off valve!  The toilet was also set wrong, with the valve so close to the floor that you cannot spin it on or off.  Instead, you have to pull off the handle and use a wrench.  And every time the electrician is here, he spots another issue.  [Argh!]  Two he has repaired at no charge, but I do not wish for him to do so.  He should be paid for his work.

He keeps telling me what a great house this is and what a wonderful investment it is.  In fact, an offer on a similar house that is not even in as good condition on the next block over that is $18,000 more than what I paid.  My realtor drove a hard bargain and that silly bathroom in the middle of the parlor, which I have primarily resolved, kept so many from even considering the home.  My realtor has been amazed at the transformation I have made and talks about how it shows extremely well right now even with the white walls in the hallway and the older kitchen!  Still, I am wearying of electrical things that were supposed to be repaired popping up as still not fixed.

That stupid toilet.  I am bigger than a toilet.  I am.  Only right now a toilet is enough to send me over the edge, tumbling about the raging waters of hurt and confusion and illness.

I think I would be lost without the world's greatest realtor, the world's most affectionate puppy dog, and most especially my fires.  One log at a time the latter has kept me from drowning.  Whatever will I do when the weather finally turns for good?  As much as I might long for the Creator to stop the world wending its way about the sun, I know Spring is just around the corner. 

Whatever will I do? 


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!