July 28, 2001

     So it's nearly time for the open house and am i ready?  Of course not!  The upstairs still looks like a bomb has hit - although it is making progress and i can even picture it done some day.  In fact, i dream of the moment i walk into the bedroom and can stand near the doorway and just gaze at how nice it all is.

     i don't think Himself understands though.  i think He views a house much differently than i do.  For me, having a home that is unique and 'created' by us - paintings hung in quirky places and furniture angled instead of straight - gives me huge amounts of pleasure.  When everything is tidy and neat and some of my favourite items are out on display for me to feast my eyes upon - that is when i get the most pleasure.

     It's like the first burst of flavour as a creamy smooth chocolate melts against your tongue - that's what i feel when i walk from room to room and just stand quietly breathing  in the feel of the space.  i love to stand in doorways, surveying what i see before me and taking pleasure in it all.  i love moving a candle stick on a table just a quarter of an inch over, so that it fits just so.  When i need a de-stress moment during the day, a walk through a tidy house that's decorated to reflect our personalities, is instantly calming.

     And something else.  i'm just realizing that decorating my home has always been the one thing that i've never felt pressure to be perfect at.  i've always gone with my gut instinct for example, on just where that painting should go - and always liked the results.  And never cared if anyone else did.

     The only moments of insecurity have come from colour choices because i don't see them the same way other people do.  So i usually depend on someone else to guide me in that area.

     i'm fairly positive a lot of this attraction was learned at my mother's side, since she was a fanatic about decorating her houses.  She was more rigid about it than me however - unable to get past the uniformity of placement and never putting items in quirky spots.  i prefer the quirky spots.  If i can put a piece of furniture on an angle in the room and get away with it, i'll do it.  Sometimes i'll do it even if it's not quite right.  In fact, i've been accused of having angle-itis.

     And as i glance at the space around me i notice:

     The monitor is on an angle.

     The speakers are on an angle.  

     The mousepad is crooked and the keyboard is angled.

     The printer is straight.

     i'll have to fix that ...

     So - i just reread the above and realized something.  i think i've passed along this house thing to my daughter as well since she's enrolling in a school for interior decorating.  Maybe it's in our blood?

     i seem to be suffering from silly moments these days.  Which is causing me to wonder if perhaps menopause really will kick in, in spite of the fact that i take hormone pills.

     On Thursday, friends of ours came over to help with some of the work still needed in the house. When they'd done as much as possible, we went to the local bar/pub for food and (sigh for the hips) beer and sometime during all this my cat got outside.  (He's not allowed out because he doesn't have claws and i'm afraid he'll get killed.)

     He survived this time however.  i found him on the front porch, his eyes larger than ever as he surveyed the other cats around him.  

     Then yesterday morning, while i was waiting for the kettle to boil for tea, i did the 'walk' i described above, around the house - just taking it all in.  That's when i noticed that the bathroom window was open on the side that doesn't have a screen.  And my thoughts instantly went to doom and gloom mode.  

     With the window wide open, i just knew the cat was gone again.  i went outside and checked around but the only creature out there was the dog-from-hell that lives next door.  i didn't want to look at him in case there were bits of black fur sticking out from his huge jaws.  

     i went inside and checked the house.  Then back out the front door and saw nothing.  By now i was giving up all hope.

     So i went in again and did the only sensible thing - busied myself with making the tea and trying really hard not to think about the fact that my kids gave me that cat. Tried to not remember how tiny they were that day they held the skinny black bundle of fur in their arms, and presented it to me.

    And wondered how i was going to tell them.  Then remembered how much Himself's daughter likes that cat and how to tell her. She cries as easily as i do!

    Of course the cat has one of those identifying tattoos in it's ear, but that was for back where i used to live. Even if a miracle happened and the cat wasn't eaten by the dog, but picked up and taken to the pound, this would mean the ex would know i lost the cat.  Shit.

    And what if someone found him and decided to keep him instead of trying to find his owner?  

     By this point i was pacing from room to room, weeping and trying really hard not to because i didn't want to wake up Himself.  But i couldn't stop crying either.

     Then the cat came downstairs for his breakfast.

     Alrighty then. Now i feel stupid.

     i'm blaming it on the 'pause.  Even if i'm not in it.

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