Imma gonna build me a house

I am totally going to do this! But I want a bathroom.

If you see my little life list on the right, you'll see that I've had a dream to have a healthy, self-sustaining home on a big plot of land. I picture it with lots of warm woods, white walls (I love white walls because everything else I have is so colourful and there needs to be a balance, and white is the perfect background colour for all art and I have some nice art), tons of books, a big creative space with my sewing machine, fabric, paints, felt, pottery wheel, etc. A kitchen with a big work space and rock walls, maybe copper sink and light fixtures. I'd want wide-plank wood floors that can be roughed up by dogs. Or warm cork floors. 

My ex-husband's boss built a beautiful contemporary-traditional mish-mash home in the hills of Peace River and he had a large mud room with tiled floor for his large dogs, with a dog door. The dogs were kept from the rest of the home but could go outside. I'd like that for some dogs, not to keep them from the house all the time, but to have the option of closing them out if friends come over. 

But in the meantime, I can do with much less. I like having a small space. The only thing I don't like about it is having to pare down my books and art and not having enough room to cook. So, I'd like a bigger place than the one in that video. I'd want my kids to have their own rooms. I'm going to need some bedroom privacy, you know. (And they will, too.) 

And I'm totally capable of building a house! I don't know everything I need to know now but it would just take a bit of research. I've put my son on the job of researching this. I was the best student in my junior high AND high school carpentry classes (the only girl in high school class, too). I did a ton of renos in our first house when I was eight months pregnant and with a toddler. I once built a built-in bookshelf in the bathroom while pregnant and caring for three kids, when Jude was working out of town. Bought all the materials with kids in tow, built it on my front porch with a jigsaw (I didn't have a table saw, so I made do with wood filler and paint after the imperfect cuts). It had nice beadboard in the back, painted a butter yellow, crown moulding, baseboard, and I got the measurements all right except for taking doors into account, so I sewed a pleated skirting for the bottom. And I made it all in one weekend. (With three young kids. And while pregnant.)

To build a cheap little thing with reclaimed and free materials, (and driftwood, Montana said!), it doesn't have to be done perfectly. If I ever wanted to sell a house like this in Alberta, it would be tricky. But here? There are a ton of people who would love a house like that. Students, hippies, older people. 

I know people who know how to build cob houses. I know people who would be happy to help me. And how great would it be to have the kids here in the summer for a month, helping to build the house? What a great memory! 

First, I need to figure out WHERE this can be done, and do I have to buy land, and if so, for how much? Are there communal communities around here? Can I rent some land from someone else, who has a big plot? 

Then, I need to do my taxes for 2009, so that I can get money that the government owes me for 2010. But I can't find the tax forms when I look online. 

Then, start asking around and building my knowledge base. I need to find a place to store materials and start collecting those. 

If I could build a house and find cheap rent for land, I would be more self-sufficient and would save a LOT of money every month. I would really miss living right downtown but maybe it could help me save up to buy a condo, if I ever wanted to do that. (I'd end up having to get a car, though, which is such a bummer.) But the great thing about living communally, is that people trade and share services. So, maybe someone would want to use my car and then charge me less for rent on their land. 

There are so many possibilities! Just have to get creative and ambitious. 

Think of all the cool things you could do with your house if you built it yourself and it didn't have to look perfect. All the personal little details. 

If anyone has more information about how to go about this, please email me, or leave the info in the comments section here!

Daily Gratitudes

1. I love that when my son hears bullshit at school from the DARE cop, like that marijuana is as addictive as heroin, that he is able to say, "Wait a second. That doesn't sound legit." And then does his own research. I love that he doesn't just believe everything he's told and I love that my kids have always argued with me when they've felt something was unjust. Because it forced me to have to argue back (or be a bad parent—that was an option I opted for sometimes) and give reasons, and then when it made sense, they'd listen, and when it didn't, it meant that I'd have to change my approach and then we'd all grow and be harmonious. Because, who the hell am I to say they have to listen to me just because I'm authority? I'm just an experimenter at life. Yes, I get to call the shots, but I shouldn't get to call the shots AND all the conversation, too. Anyway. I love this about my kids. 
2. I think I lost my Anthropology textbook. But the TA sweetly offered to let me borrow hers when I need to study, for the rest of the term. 
3. I can do my grocery shopping, from now on, from Spud.ca. Local, sustainable food, organic, free delivery! Just shop online and it gets delivered. HOW AWESOME IS THAT?! (Available in Calgary, too.) I think the food is more pricey but ethical food is like that. 
4. But because they don't deliver right away, I just phoned a delivery service to bring me some sour cream, butter, salsa, bread, and fresh mint, for only $5 delivery fee. 
5. On Wednesday, I'm going to be modelling for a local photographer and ex-prof at UVic. I don't feel very comfortable in front of a camera, have never modelled, and this will be very weird and a bit nerve-wracking. But a new, cool experience! More to follow. 

A poem I wrote for my son

Inspired by Rheostatics and Dr. Suess, I wrote this tonight for my son. I need to tool with it some more to make the metre work better in places. This is just my first draft.

I Fab Thee

“I fab thee in the name of the fuzz
I fab thee so fabulously.” -Rheostatics

Compared you to silver tarnished,
Said you were losing your shine.
You could be tarnished with poop!
And I’d be proud that you’re mine.

Forget them. They’re silly!
Who cares what they say?
You know all that matters
At the end of the day

Is that you’re you and not them.
And they are nothing so great
With their blacks and their whites
And their doctrines of hate.

Be honest and earnest
And orange and pink;
Dance naked in starlight
And remember to think

All your thinky thoughts
Both original and not.
You’ll win Pushcart prizes
Though your days will be fraught

With failure and vices
And mad last minute saves.
Your enemies will be saints
And your friends will be knaves.

It’s confusing as H-E-double-hockey-sticks
But you’ve got what it takes
To harvest only the lovelies
And ignore all the fakes.

The fakes they will like you
When you do what they say
And live how they live
And pray how they pray.

The lovelies will love you
No matter your song
They only are asking
That we get well along.

You can be a doctor, a writer
A shrink, or a quack,
Just burn, burn, burn, child;
Be like Jack Kerouac.

Go wear your hair stupid and
Punch holes in your face.
May you fail alllll your classes
And settle for last place.

I say there’s always tomorrow
Or next week, or next year
To become our Prime Minister
Or to star in King Lear.

All that matters to me
Is that you dream and still try.
Go drink all of the drinks
And eat all of the pie.

I know you’ll be okay because
Since you grew from my knee
I fabbed thee, so fabulously,
I fabbed thee. You’ll see.

Musings on privacy

I started this blog in 2008 with musings on privacy, on discretion, on what we keep from each other and why. I still think about this every now and then and I haven't found any reason to abandon my opinion I held then, which was that people keep things to themselves out of fear, out of insecurity that if their friends and acquaintances really knew what they think and feel and do, that they would not respect and like them. 

If I had to pick one word that I think defines North American society, one word that's the subtext of so many discussions, so many ideologies, I would choose "shame". 

We're ashamed of our appearances, our sexualities, our races, our lack of educations, our incomes, our beliefs or lack of beliefs. I'm sure there's more but that's the meaty bulk of it.

Like everyone, I care what people think, although usually only certain people. But I have worked at not caring too much and think I am pretty successful. Nothing forces you to not care too much like baring that which people think you should keep hidden and then dealing with the fall-out. It's SO much easier to just keep your mouth shut, to keep your real self for a select few, and chalk it up to "dignity" or "convention" or "privacy", like being private is just something you naturally are, like extroverted or introverted. I guess it is, to the extent that it's related to introversion. If you're not one to talk much about anything, that would include talking about yourself.

I think people who say, "I'm a very private person" should start saying, "I'm a very ashamed person", then ask themselves if that could be as true or more true than the first statement and really sit with that inquiry. 

Some people are private because they hold some information sacred and they like to have secrets between them and someone they love. It makes that information seem more special. I don't know what I think about this. It's an interesting way to look at things. I wouldn't say at this point that this is a false experience or a false way to think but I will say that it's not necessarily true that sharing information makes it feel less special.

Because think of this: What if your significant other wrote you a letter and expressed the loveliest sentiments about you that anyone ever has, and you showed it to fifty people and all of them just adored it and thought that it was so special and so sacred and they were just touched that you shared it with them because it made them feel happy to know that such love exists in the world. Would you regret having shared it? Would it feel less special to you, to have fifty people agree that it was so super duper special? Really? Now, what if you showed it to fifty people and half of them made fun of it, pointed out the spelling mistakes, and questioned some of the sentiments because they sounded like clichés that your partner got from some bad romance novel? Would you regret it because people sullied it for you? Why? If half of the people loved it and half hated it, who is right? No one. So, why do we tend to let the negative opinions silence us? And would we do that if only 5% of the people were the grumpy ones? 

It's about strength of mind—whether or not we let other people's interpretations of us and our beliefs and the things we love silence us. Shame is a choice. 

I've been letting go of shame in increments. I've been getting more comfortable with my body. I walk around my apartment naked and don't care if people can see me. I trust some people with more and more sensitive information about me. And I can't help but think that one day, it would be so great to be as free and confident about who I am, as Greta Christine is about who she is. I mean, read that post. She doesn't give a *bleep* what conservatives or Christians or anyone else thinks. She knows what works for her, what's true for her, she's happy, she shares it and if people can't identify then they should politely get lost and people who do are thrilled that she is so open. 

And you might wonder what the point of such writing is. Oh, to change the world. To abandon shame. To inspire other people to abandon shame. To give a big F-U to patriarchy and all the people who want us to feel ashamed so that we'll let them take control of our society and laws so they can be comfortable and self-satisfied and smug. 

Take, for example, marriage laws. Marriage has existed the way it has not because it's inherently more moral or successful when it's made of a man and a woman, but because of religion, fear of ostracism at best and death at worse (or worser worst: torture and then death), and... what else? True democracy being a relatively new thing? Patriarchy? Because, see, polygamy being okay even though it's marriage between more than two people, and is unequal, makes sense in a patriarchal society. Because it's nice for men, not for women.

And now we have countries and states allowing gay people to get married. The conservative right argues that once we allow gays to get married, soon we'll be forced to allow polyamorous marriages. Yes, and...?

So often these arguments are made without further explanation because the tone in which they're made suggests the foregone conclusion: that would be gross and bad. 

But the only reason we might be prone to believing that is because we're not exposed to these supposedly gross and bad ideas, so we don't know any better and we're not exposed to them because the people living these lifestyles are quiet about them because of shame. Or fear of intolerance.

Without shame, we would see all sorts of different lifestyles coming out of the woodwork and we'd be able to determine how well they work or not to make people happy and healthy based not on speculative Christian rhetoric, but on anecdotal evidence. 

The more people feel shame, the more problems they will have, in general and in their relationships. They don't feel shame because what they're doing is inherently evil and stupid. They feel shame because they've been told to over and over again.

If people stay hidden and ashamed, then there aren't enough of them to challenge laws, to change social mores, and then the conservative majority gets to feel like they're normal and right, and they don't have to be tolerant of other kinds of love relationships. 

I don't think privacy is an evolutionary value. People are meant to be in tribes. In Roman times, they bathed and toileted publicly (even used communal sponges—eek!). There are still countries where people toilet publicly. I seem to recall reading that in parts of Hawaii, it is expected that everyone will know your business. 

I wonder where it all started.

/musing

Daily Gratitudes

1. The sun did come out today... briefly.

2. I bought the most delicious artisanal olive focaccia at the farmer's market, and more amazing macaron ice cream sandwiches. 

3. Robert, Michelle, and I (but mostly them) are organising a feminist philosophy discussion group. Paul made a lovely poster for us today for free. I'm excited!

4. I love hearing Josie's sweet voice and laugh. I'm so madly in love with that girl. She's going to grow up into something amazing. 

5. Knitted socks.

Who goes on a first date on a Friday?

Seriously, Friday is for sloppy congeniality with a friend who knows you well enough that you can keep your legs unshaved and you can bitch about every stupid little thing that reveals you to be the shallow, small-minded, entitled, self-indulgent jerk that Tuesday and Wednesday totally knew you were, and they're blowing hot air on their fingernails and shining them against their lapels now. 

People should go on first dates on MONDAYS. Monday, after the weekend, after a movie or two or ten, some laughs, some really fatty and delicious meal, way more napping than you really needed, and some good Angry Birds and Words With Friends wins. 

Go on a first date when you're on top of your game, when you remember what you like about your life and the world and yourself. 

Just been a crummy three days is all. And the sun could come out tomorrow. That would be nice. 

Contemporary art and hormones, probably

Ugh. Today I am overstimulated, sensory-wise. Everything seems so loud, especially the young women sitting behind me in my Gender and Social Justice class, talking about how hard philosophy is. I'm finding it impossible to think with people talking around me. The snow plows outside sound like monsters and make me want to kill myself and then eat five cakes. And I don't want to learn anything new. I don't want to discuss consumerism and how it's eating away our self-esteem and pocket books and how this hand-stitched and stuffed blob on a steel pole reflects this... supposedly. I don't want to discuss how to save this creature and that soul and how English imperialism spawned the propaganda-driven glorification of motherhood as a way of blaming mothers for high infant mortality rates, rather than admitting that the state should step in to ease poverty and lack of education and poor health, to increase the number of citizens (and thus future soldiers). I don't want to discuss the paradox of all the problems in the world we need to solve so that we can be happy and yet how we need these problems so that we can have something to solve and thus be happy because with utter peace and serenity we would be bored out of our minds and our brains would turn to mush and we'd die out.

I just want to sit on a grassy hill, overlooking the ocean, in Tibet, near a jungle, with a person I love, and hold and be held and not talk. Is that so much to ask? And then when that silence has soothed enough fray, I want to read and write poetry. And that's it. For days. That's all I want to do. 

Instead, I endured the most frustrating art class today. This artist came in to show slides of her work and discuss it and she could barely pin down one useful comment about her work. I made notes of criticism, because we are assigned to write journal entries after these presentations and after half the class was done and I couldn't find anything meaningful to say about her work because I couldn't follow her empty musings, I realised that the problem wasn't me, it was her. She said mainly vague things such as, 

"The piece helped communicate certain aspects to the viewer." AND THEN LEFT IT AT THAT. What aspects? How did it help communicate?

"...an experience worth thinking about." Isn't everything, to a degree?

"I thought that was kind of a strong statement." A statement of WHAT? Why? She didn't say!

"There's a certain rhythm." Of what kind? Why is it important?

"The obscene is a personal survival mechanism." How so?

"It kind of has a duality." How? Never said.

She must have said "kind of" about twenty-five times. And when students asked her really fantastic questions about oh, modernism and post-modernism intersecting and where, and something about binary gender roles, she didn't follow but tried to pretend she did. She replied back with something about modernism and the Cartesian self and didn't explain what she meant by that, how they were related, what they meant to her, how they were reflected in her art. 

So, then she had these bulbous stuffed fabric thingies impaled on steel poles and she said that some people could only see strippers on a pole and then said like she was miffed, "If that's all people see, well, then that's all they see but there's more there." Or something like that. So, I raised my hand and asked, "What does this piece mean to you?" And she said really defensively, "Well, I was about to get to that!" I was shocked. For one thing, she didn't explain that about any of her pieces so far, so why was I jumping the gun? And secondly, why not smile and say, "I'm glad you want to know. I was just about to get to that." And then she said more about this piece than any other, as if that was her plan all along and most of it was very vague but then there was something good about using green because it was a military colour and it was ironic because are we really free in a consumerist society? Something along those lines. 

One of her pieces was a part of a series called "The pa  ra-dox of t*he a-bsu-rd" (writing it that way so it's hopefully not findable by her via Google) and does that even make sense? and it was just this black fabric blob with white ovals printed on the fabric, and it kind of looked like a bean bag chair with bulges. Sigh. I wish I could say it inspired me. 

So, anyway. This student made a really astute comment about how her work could be saying something about how we're all vulnerable and in pieces and stitched together and something about society and Frankenstein. Don't remember. But it was good. And she said, "I hadn't thought of that." Yeah. Artists who cannot explain what is profound about their work better than a first year university student? I don't know.... 

One could argue that the artist doesn't have to be anything other than a creator, that she is pulling from her subconscious, listening to her genius, and it is up to us to find meaning in it. I get it. I think. 

But I couldn't get away with that as a writer. I can't just sling a bunch of random words together like hash and then expect other people to say what's meaningful about it and then take the credit for how great it is. If I can't justify the use of a word or a sentence, then it doesn't belong there. 

I mean, why can't anyone just throw together a bunch of crap (literally, even!), put it on a platform and say that it "suggests something" about the loss of agrarian societies? And then not say what that "something" is and how it suggests that exactly. 

The class made me feel like contemporary art is a fraud, or that some art is a fraud. That it's all about knowing the right people and being pretty and doing something a bit different, even if you can't say why the hell you did it. And the whole time I could hear my ex sitting beside me, his snide comments drowned out only by the rolling of his eyes. And I totally agreed with him. 

So, I left and phoned Joelle and was venting to her about the class, thinking surely I was the only one to think it was inarticulate, vague, frustrating rubbish, when I started to close in on a woman in black venting loudly into her phone about this class she just left. 

"And then someone asked her what her art meant to her and she seemed pissed off! And she was just asking. And she just wanted to stand there and read her thesis, which seemed like it was mostly other people's ideas." And I tapped her arm and asked if she was talking about the same class I was in and she said yes and I said it was me who asked the question and we were both marvelling at how much we hated the class and as we parted ways I could hear her still complaining to her friend about how strange and meaningless the discussion was. 

And I was not alone. I should have invited her to my Tibetan jungle ocean-view hill. 

And I'm behind in my readings and the internet has turned my attention span to that of a toddler's. I have a date tomorrow with someone who seems sweet and interesting and likable and I don't think it will make a good first impression to collapse into a chair in front of her with a bottle of wine I've already half-chugged on the way over and say, "Can you do all the talking?" But that's how I feel.

So, I think I'll be shutting down my Facebook page for a week or two, and will try to minimise my email checking to once a day, and am going to try harder at meditating. 

Zzzzzzz.