Keeping away from my thoughts...

If you are wondering what a rock river is, here is my version of one.  Thanks to the generosity of Sandra, I was able to harvest enough rocks from her old, primarily empty beds to lay out my river.  I still have a few "thin" spots to fill in, but I was rather exhausted by first harvesting, then loading, then unloading, then hauling, and then spreading eight painter's buckets of rocks.  No, I did not do it all at once, but I did, I must admit, create my river in far fewer days than I should have done so.

At first, I was only going to have the river in the empty space before the burning bushes.  However, my mother suggested that I start it at the back steps.  Her interior design skill is exceptional, so even out of doors I am open to her advice.

The river wends its way around the three creeping junipers that are in front of the pink bush (I have no idea what that bush is, but I got it on clearance for a few dollars the first August I was here primarily because it was actually still blooming in August).  So, the river is before the bush, but wrapping around the junipers until it snakes its way through the narrow part of the bed that leads to the burning bushes area.  This area of the river is primarily between 10 and 12 inches.  It was hard to ensure the river bed was properly "filled," since I was working beneath the bush branches.  Since it goes barren in the winter, I am sure I will see spots that needs additional "water."


The river widens as it crosses before the burning bushes, until it is 19 inches at its greatest crossing.  My mother suggested more bends here, but I could not figure out how to do them with the limited amount of left-over landscaping cloth I was using to ensure the rocks remain on top of the mulch.  Using other left-over materials, created a "river bed" for my "water" by lining the edges of the cloth with paver base and sprinkled playground sand (which I use to level stepping stones) over the rest of the cloth.

I wanted to leave space for a ground or at least low-height bird bath.  Right now, I took the bowl off of the bird bath that is in my day lily bed, since the birds never go there.  I am hoping they will come to like this location as much as they do the one in the bulb bed.

You will see that I was able to get a few companions for the rock river.  There are two turtles, three frogs, and a toad.  The toad is nestled by the pink bush, so I can see him whilst I sit on the back steps waiting on Amos to conquer his fear of grass long enough to do his major business. While I wish I had one or two more turtles (rock animals are not economical, even at the 30% off-end-of-summer-clearance-price), I would consider my rock river complete if ... somehow ... I could get some moss growing around it.  That is what I miss most about living in Alexandria.  I had over a dozen moss gardens (moss growing in bonsai pots).

Why a rock river?  Well, for one, I am embracing my hermitude or hermitness.  Hermits do odd things.  Have odd things.  I now have a rock river.  Second, I wanted to fill the space with something that had no need of weeding, fertilizing, or pruning.  Third, I love God's creation.  I seriously do.  It awes me to utter stillness and humility to ponder all the things He created for us in this world.  Of course, turtles, frogs, and toads are chief amongst those bits of creation.  My friend Caryl has them where she lives.  I have to make do with rock versions.

Still, isn't it amazing, for example, that some of the most beautiful fish in all creation are located in the depths of the ocean, where few will ever see them?  One of my favorite authors is Gene Stratton Porter, who wrote Freckles (published in 1904, this sold millions of copies) and Girl of the Limberlost, amongst other novels.  Despite her success as an author, Stratton Porter's  passion was showing the world the beauty of the swamp where she lived.  So, she struck a deal with then Dell Publishing.  She would write fiction for them if they published her non-fiction books on nature.  I have a first edition copy (sadly slightly chewed by my first puppy) of her book on moths.  She taught herself photography, in the early part of the 1900s, at spend hours on end in the muck and mire of the swamp to capture its beauty on glass plates.  Simply astonishing what she accomplished, yet that pales in comparison to the thought of all that God created.

[I now live within driving distance of the Limberlost, but I have no way of navigating the swamp tours. I would love to somehow be carted about there.]

Yes, I am a girl who gets struck dumb by a great clump of moss or a turtle peeking out of its shell.  And ... well ... a fluffy white puppy dog who gives an enormous amount of affection and snuggling to his puppy momma.  Who knew a dog could be such a balm to a wounded soul?

I worked on the garage door some yesterday and a lot today.  Too much.  Far, far too much work.  SIGH.  Will I ever learn?  Or will I be falling out of my hospital bed trying to accomplish something as I am dying?  I am, however, becoming adept at being productive whilst sitting in some fashion or another, since standing for significant amounts of time is too difficult.

I had planned on replacing the two vertical outside pieces, but as I was working today, I finally noticed that the laundry line (one of the four anchors for the two lines) is attached to the outside frame on the right.  Since I would never be able to restring such a taut line, I decided to just focus on replacing the inside wood of the frame because it was in the worst shape.

If you look in the first picture, up on the top right, you will see a gap.  Yes, the "skilled" contractor moved that piece of the frame to install the deadbolt.  But, instead of putting it back in place with regard to the top, he cut out a slot from the threshold to wedge the old board back in and left a gap in the upper right corner.  SIGH.

One change I made, which I hope is okay, is that the top piece is now from edge to edge, instead of being set inside the two side pieces. Even though it will all be painted, I thought it made more sense to be that way.

We will not discuss how I cracked the window in two places, working on removing more of the crumbling grout in preparation for having glass bead wood put back in (as it is on the other side of the door).  We will not discuss how, after studying the problem of the new lock being hard to turn, I ended up using my drill as a faux Dremel to hollow out the rest of the space that the deadbolt needed to move freely.  And we will not discuss just how many times I had to use the circular saw to get the properly fitted pieces ... yes, more than the three cuts it should have taken ... many more.

I could not get the screws all the way in, so the boards are temporarily in place until Firewood Man can finish the job for me.  The right, vertical board also needs to be cut at an angle to accommodate the crookedness of the door and yet still be set plumb (??) at the front.

However, the old wood was removed (another too-much-work-for-Myrtle-to-be-doing task), the new wood was cut and set in place, the door and the outside wood is scrapped (I ended up with THREE Target shopping bags full of scrapped off paint) and sanded as best as can be by someone who swore projects were behind her, and the door is now ready for hole filling (especially the rather large ones from the old latch that are above the dead bolt).

Whilst I long for an end to this project—especially since it means spending far, far too much time near the garage walls that also need scraping before the next painting—I am rather hoping that Firewood Man does not have time any time soon to do the glass bead miter cuts and set the frame pieces properly.  That way, I don't have to think about painting.

It is not that the painting (after properly priming) will be hard at all, but I have had all these wild thoughts about color ... crimson like the trim on the house or GREEN (since I love that color) or boring old white.  For one who is good about making decisions such as this, I am rather undecided.

What does one do after all that garage door restoration work?  Why cook!  After all, I am rather frustrated at having to "fix" yet more problems of the contractor's work.  So, tonight, I tried Ritz Summer Squash Casserole.  Yes, I did make some changes.  But, seriously, I wouldn't have to do so if folk were not so free with adding onions to things.  I would rate it a B+.  And, yes, I am considering trying it again with cream instead of milk.

Amos spent all that garage-door-work time safely perched on the back steps, so he is currently ensconced in my lap (translate that: glued to my person).  That makes typing difficult, but I do want to try Take Two on "bodies," since I barely found any good words when I tried my first post about bodies and sexual abuse.

I know that all this physical labor—despite its steep toll on my ever weakening body—is taking place because I am upset by what I am trying to write, what I want to write.  It is a good upset, but hard to experience nonetheless.  I know it is a topic few want to read or take the time to learn about, but I have found that few understand just how much spiritual damage sexual abuse can do, much less physical and mental and emotional damage.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!