Monday, April 17, 2017

Sticks and stones...

Today was a tad rough on me.  For one, I was felled by dizziness whilst the maids my mother sends each month were here.  I ended up sleeping on one of the sofas almost the whole time they were here.  It is the first time I gave into feeling poorly during one of their visits, the first time I didn't try to pretend to be better than I was.

As it was, I was exhausted when they arrived, for the day's bout of nausea was extensive and I had little sleep before they arrived just before 1:00 in the afternoon.  And, really, I was exhausted from all my DO SOMETHING coping that I did yesterday.

But, in truth, I have been hurt and upset from an exchange that happened yesterday.  I was out in my haven, helping my neighbor, when Firewood Man and his helper came to put in the raised bed.  The conversation turned to my haven and I mentioned my latest idea for it:  a small metal trashcan with a lid.

A while ago, one of my other ideas was to put handles on my trash and recycling bins.

I looked for handles and finally decided on cheap and unattractive over everything else that caught my eye.

Since the handles were for drawers (I couldn't find any that had screws than went back into the handle that were not for drawers), I had to make up for the thickness a drawer would have that the plastic lids did not.  My solution:  the handy dandy nifty wifty cheap washer.

I wanted the handles because, with the bins in their new location due to the privacy panels Firewood Man put up for me, I had to put them in front toward the fence so that it would be easier for me to pull them out for the trash and recycling collectors.  Where the bins were previously, with the odd angle of the fence line, I could just leave them in place since they were within the prerequisite distance to the alley.  And I had them hinge to hinge so I could more easily open them whilst leaning over the fence.

When we straightened the angle of the corner of the fence line back to a right angle,  the bins would only fit along the fence side-by-side.  To put them with the lids outward instead of the hinges made pulling them out for pick-up too difficult, as I stated.  But it also made them really, really difficult for me to open.  Hence, my handle idea.

For the record, I'm not the only person who's commented enthusiastically over how easy it is to open the bins now that they have the handles.   But all I care about, really, is my response.  The handles worked even better than I envisioned.  So, I am pleased.

Back to the trash can.

Because the birdies like my haven as much as I, generally I have to clean off the table (sooooooo glad I bought a glass top right away) every time I go out there.  The first few times I carried a bottle Windex and a roll of paper towels, but now I bring three cleaner soaked pieces of paper towels.  I really don't like having dirty paper towels on the table whilst I am eating.  But if I put them on the ground, Amos will mess with them.  So, I've been making a trip back to the house before sitting down to enjoy my meal.  More steps for me.

I also have this new condition that I really don't like to talk about: gustatory rhinitis.  My nose has become a sieve when I eat.  So, I need to have Kleenex near by.  After I finish eating and am savoring time in my haven, I really dislike having to hang onto my dirty tissues to keep them from blowing away.  For the same reason as the paper towels, I cannot drop them on the ground.

Hence, my main two reasons for desiring a trash can in my haven.

I have thought about this quite a bit.  I figure a metal one with a lid will mean that I can leave a bag inside and then just empty it when it is full.  No more extra trips to the house (or to the trash bin which is more steps than to the house).  Of course, typing this, I realize I could put some sort of trash bag in the garage and deal with my trash there, but that is still more steps.  I want less steps.  I want things in my life that make my life easier rather than more difficult.  It is plenty difficult enough for me.  Anything that makes what I do easier is precious to me.

Tonight, after I finally finished languishing on the sofas, I went outside with Amos so he could tend to his business.  It was so lovely that I spent quite a while out there just savoring the evening.  What I love about my haven is that I feel safe out there.  I cannot really explain why, but I do not feel safe when I am outside, even in my back yard.  I have to battle abject fear every time I take Amos for his walk (which is why I love it when Becky talks on the phone with me whilst I am doing so).  I am okay up on the airing porch, but when we spend hours up there, Amos had needs.  We tromp downstairs and then back upstairs and I get exhausted.  Out in my haven, it is private and I feel safe and Amos can tend to his needs as much as he wants.

Since Firewood Man finished the pavers out there, I have been outside more than I have since the pit bull attack.  And I have felt safe outside more than I have since the pit bull attack.  I have a place of peace and rest and I actually have high hopes that the shade will let me be out there during the summer (at least during the shady times).   Amos enjoys it.  I enjoy it.  Dare I say, I have been happy out there.

Having that space does make dealing with the misery of my body easier.  Okay, maybe not easier, but I have something to look forward to that is outside of this house.  Maybe I just don't have the words for it, but this has been the best thing I have ever done for myself.  And it has been the best thing in my life since moving here ... okay, second best because Amos came after I moved here.  You get the point.  It is a good thing.

But yesterday there was this joking or teasing or mocking that started and I was trapped, socially, into laughing along when all I wanted to do was weep.

Words were bantered about concerning how this project had ballooned into something over the top all because I mentioned the trash can.  And yet, from the beginning ... well ... once Firewood Man said he could pave it for me, I knew I wanted a space that had a table and a fire pit and wind chimes and a water feature.  I knew I wanted plants, but I am waiting until I figure out if I want planters that match the privacy panels or large pots.  I knew I wanted some sort of art, but most likely not on the panels and dreamed of finding a cheap stained glass window (I did that!).  I wanted things that would make me feel comfortable and enjoy the space, but not anything crowded.  I absolutely do not believe that what I have created or what I want eventually (as in, the water fountain of some sort) is over the top.  Nor do I think wanting a discreet trash can outside is over the top.  But the twitting and the mocking based on that thought really, really, really hurt.

I mean, if I created a Liberace-themed patio and that made me feel safe and happy, wouldn't that still  be a good thing?  Wouldn't that be something to celebrate and laud?  Firewood Man teases me mightily and drives me to my wits end, but he also makes me feel safe and normal himself.  He never picks on things that are hurtful.  Instead, he picks on things that I mock about myself myself.  He wasn't the one driving the let's-pick-on-Myrtle discourse.  Yet having him be there in that moment made it all the worse for me.

So, I feel crappy on all sorts of levels.  I know in my head that what was said was wrong, was not a true thing, but it doesn't feel wrong.  It feels like the familiar I'll-never-do-anything-right refrain I'm used to hearing.  Especially when it is what is socially right.  SIGH.

Stick and stones
May hurt your bones
But words will never hurt you.


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