I am so grateful today.
I’m grateful to have a solid roof over my head (and Ava, Robbie, and Kitsu the cat would say the same if they could speak) as the rain pours down all week and the season’s first high-wind warnings go up.
This sense of security I owe to you.
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I owe C-B, S.H., M.K., L.P., and especially Anonymous and the Mysterious Rockefeller for the latest round of help, which repaired the section of roof that collapsed while the rest of the roof was being refurbished. I also owe many of you, especially Paul Bonneau, for construction advice.
In case you’re wondering, I ended up not having the “Full Joe” repair.
I was relieved (and may I say again SO grateful) to have money in case the “Full Joe” was necessary, but I decided to try one day of the “Contractor Mike” approach (jacking up the roof and trying to pull the walls back into square, foregoing a total roof rebuild). If that went well, great. Mike all the way. If it didn’t, then Mike and I would be giving Joe a call.
The first day went brilliantly. The construction gods smiled upon every step. Within five hours, the roof was back at its proper height and shape. The worst wall, that had bent three inches outward at the top (pushed out by the collapsing roof), had eased about halfway back in.
The second day (pulling the front wall toward the rest of the house with a come-along and securing the rafters to the main house wall) … not so well. Hours of frustration. Little result. In the end, we had to settle for some make-do measures to get the rafters re-attached to the house. But by day three, everything was impeccably solid and secure, supported, flashed, caulked, and not leaking. The most out-of-kilter wall was absolutely plumb again and all was airtight, water-tight, and ready to resist tonight’s winds.
One wall still leans slightly toward the street. About an inch. But it’s barely noticeable — and that’s why they make trim boards in so many useful shapes and sizes. A few judiciously placed bits of decorative wood and nobody but me will ever know.
The “Mike way,” with most of the work done from inside the house, meant cutting giant holes in the beautiful old beadboard ceilings, which I’ll now need to replace or cover with drywall. But that also gives the opportunity to put insulation where there was none, so it’s all good.
No queen in her castle was ever more warm and dry than I am, thanks to you.
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Saturday, November 1, will be the day full hermitting begins.
What I’m going to do is draw within from that day to December 31 — blogging as I go and meeting my work deadlines, but making no other commitments and taking lots of time for reflection.
Toward the end of December, I’ll re-evaluate and (hopefully) have some idea where to go from there. My long-term plan is for a year of hermitting, with this first two months of retreat being mainly to get an idea of what I really want and how best to approach that.
I’m going to be really, really, really terrible about email for the next two months. I’m awfully slow at it in the best of times, but now … well, if you don’t hear from me for two months, I hope you’ll understand and forgive.
I’m also going to ask that my friendly providers of newslinks stop sending them for a while. Unless something earth-shattering occurs (and I think I’ll notice, though possibly notice only briefly, if a giant meteor strikes or the Yellowstone supervolcano blows; in which case it’s been very nice being part of your lives and I hope your preps get you through), I don’t want to know.
Two months. Solid immersion in the Real World — and that part of the world, real or unreal, that exists within.
“Solid immersion in the Real World — and that part of the world, real or unreal, that exists within.”
I think – and would hope – that the part that exists within is far more real than anything you might find without.
We come into this world alone, and will go out alone. Others may be near us, around us, and dear to us, but we think, feel, breathe, believe, and live our lives for “ourselves alone.” (not talking about Sinn Fein here.)
I find it abhorrent that so many people – myself included – spend a great part of our lives looking for ourselves. If “the world is too much with us” (and we have too much allowed ourselves to be swallowed up by it), there is something wrong with all of us as we interpret our own needs and our place in society. For those who think they have the right to live for us, and we who spend so much time fighting them off that we have no life of our own, we ALL have been gobbled up by a false premise of what is society and where we fit in it.
Claire, your friend, L., is a fitting example as you leave on your retreat. Have a good one, and come back – whenever – refreshed.
[And that’s enough philosophical wandering.]
Oh, good to hear about the roof. And I chuckle ever time you mention having a cat. 🙂
I sure wish I could spend some time ignoring the world at large. I sort-of did that back in the early 90’s for a while. I didn’t become a hermit; I just dropped out of the “normal” life I’d been living for a while. Well, that’s a story for another time, I suppose, but for the most part, it was an enjoyable way to live, for a while. There was a price though, and sometimes I question that.
If I were to embark on something like that, I think I’d start off by re-reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which, really, I think I ought to re-read again, regardless. But I think that Pirsig’s message is even more lost on today’s world than it was back in 1984 when I first read it.
Claire, I think I might emulate your example for the same period. I, too, am sick of getting dragged into things I, quite frankly, don’t care that much about, and some solitude I think would be good for the soul.
To the rest of the Commentariat, would the rest of you be willing to go into Claire’s type of hermitage for the next two months alongside her? I think it would be a great idea to follow her example, and then afterwards, comment about what our experiences were, as well as whether any of us thought it worth it.
Kyle, nice thought, but I’m not prepared to do that. At least not yet. But good luck, Claire, and enjoy your hermitage. I hope you find what you’re looking for.
Er, Kyle, I’ve been a hermit for quite a while. We’re moving into Portland and I’m looking forward to seeing human faces again, heh.
Jed, I’m a great fan of Pirsig’s book. I just re-read it recently and it has aged well, does not seem dated to me. It also resonates because I’m an amateur motorcycle mechanic too. BTW if you get it be sure to get the later edition with the afterword having some sad information about what happened to his son.
Other good books for the hermit are Edward Abbey’s books (some of which can seem dated), particularly “Fire on the Mountain”; and Craig Lesley’s books (I have two, “River Song” and “Winterkill”, both set in Oregon).
Claire, I didn’t help that much. I was sorry you weren’t closer so I could help you but I thought it would take multiple trips. I’m glad to hear it came together so quickly. These old houses still work if we take care of them, and often better than the absurd McMansions that have proliferated everywhere. I prefer the idea of economy and sufficiency in housing.
Paul, I have, I think, two copies of Zen, so it’s a matter of looking through boxes and finding one. Neither is a later edition, but I have read of what happened to his son.
“River Song” — is there a Tardis involved?
Claire, Some thoughts that might help, besides timers, although a similar principle. Could you put a door and lock on your office, com room. Post a sign to yourself, open from 2 till 3, every other day or something. Whatever fits.
Keep your creative writing in the library or somewhere else. You can do the above without doors and timers and such but I find it makes things easier.
I have a real advantage here, in that I can walk outside to a secluded yard, surrounded by woods, close the door to the cabin, and be totally disconnected to the electronic world AND friends and neighbors. That’s why I removed Wi-Fi which worked in the yard and the outdoor phone bell. Too intrusive. The gate, chain and “Keep Out” sign at the end of a 700ft winding, wooded driveway helps.
If you can’t get to the country or monastery and need to stay home, in town then a note on the door, voicemail and automated email response is probably the best you can do. Good friends will understand.
Good Luck, keep it separated and under control and don’t hesitate to break your own rules. Remember, You’re The Boss !
Oh yes, as Bill said, Remember to Dance.
I may need to read Pirsig again, too; I could use the quality time. It’s odd the particular parts that stick in one’s mind. The one that keeps going through mine is good motorcycle mechanics don’t play music while they work. And I suppose his son could be considered just another disarmed Californian who became one more tragic statistic. That makes the trip all that much more meaningful, I would think.
I remember Edward Abbey once went on about a ten day canoe trip the day of the election so he wouldn’t have to deal with the results for ten days. Now that’s a sensible short term hermit for you.