There used to be a day when the annual Ikea catalog would arrive on my doorstep and I would get excited.
Couldn't wait to open the pages- like a kid on Christmas morning excited.
That glossy little booklet held inspiration, possibility and fuel for my poorly channeled design eye. It also represented my need for order and to have beauty around me.
There's nothing more dreamy in my mind than returning home to a sanctuary after spending a day in a dirty beige office tower. We're stuck with dingy carpets and dated furniture. All day we're surrounded by walls that have seen better days, and better wall treatments or paint selections. Right now I'm gazing at a wall that has been papered, textured yet beige, in an effort to not feel industrial, but just generic enough that it is neutral and coordinates with the off white trim on doors, beige-y wall dividers and commercial carpet that contains jaunty red accents.
The blessing is that we are surrounded by windows. The only saving grace to the space is the glimpses of green from tree tops we get from the 15th floor and the abundant natural light.
I suppose it could be much worse. I fight the urge to launch sharpened pencils into the beige ceiling tiles above my head and see how many I can get to stick.
This year the Ikea catalog arrived and I was not as anxious to peek inside. Just glimpsing the cover made me feel defeated. It still sits unopened on my kitchen counter waiting for me to have a spare minute to flip through.
You see, my home is being renovated.
Well, let me rephrase that, renovated gives the wrong impression, renovated implies that work is getting completed and jobs finished.
My home is in a constant state of 'renovation' and it has been since we bought it 11 years ago. The dreams I had for the place are in danger of me letting go. I'm tired, too tired to fight for my ideas and designs. I'm kind of like my poor little house. The cracks are showing.
Currently my home is in a state that might give the impression that it's a drug den or perhaps we're squatters. Our intentions were good when we purchased it, we knew it was a 'fixer upper' our neighbourhood is full of 'handy man specials'.
But after 11 years I tire of the cracks, bumpy ceilings, half removed wood paneling and the latest eye sore an enormous hole in my wall that I view constantly from my seat at our kitchen table - a hole that was the idea of Spouse while I was out running errands one day. "we're opening it up" he stated, and the task left incomplete.
When I took a break from work two years ago and was able to spend the time on and in my little house that it deserved, I fell back in love with it. It truly is a jem and a comfortable home. I was able to organise the tiny closets, properly clean the mid century hardwood floors, keep the windows clear so the sun was able to stream in and warm floors. Fresh paint and curtains- a little lipstick for the old gal.
My kids never complain, their rooms are warm and clean and decorated to their tastes. In the end isn't that all that really matters? It should be, but I'm craving my own 'space'.
Now that I'm back to work full time, I again see the love my little house needs and deserves. The list of tasks is overwhelming to bring the old gal back to where she should be. I need this more than I realized. I need to bring her to back to where I can be proud and feel like it is a place I want to live and 'be'.
Like one of those rooms they set up in an Ikea catalog.
So as summer winds down and we are slowly forced back to living inside my task begins. How do I prioritize room by room the work that needs to be done, and pay for it I might add. How do I prioritize the time required to slap some lipstick on this pig and keep up with daily chores and schedules. How do I make this building a space that I can finally feel really happy about, live in share with those I love and 'be'. I suppose the answer is room by room.
Like in the Ikea catalog.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Where am I rushing to?
The walk to the corner for my morning bus Downtown takes me roughly 5 minutes. I put my head down, hunch my shoulders and walk as fast a my little legs will carry me. There are a handful of us every morning walking the same way though our neighbourhood we nod in acknowledgement of each other and continue to hustle our way down the street.
We scuttle to the corner when our bus arrives, shifting our weight from one foot to the other while we wait in line to jam ourselves onto the crowded bus.
Our eyes roll when a fellow passenger isn't 'ready' and holds up the line while they fish for fare in endless bags and bottomless pockets, we impatiently stand waiting our turn to be granted entry, bus fare in hand.
We internally criticize when someone chooses to leave their belongings beside them in an empty seat-valuable real estate during rush hour, yet no one ever confronts the selfish, oversized backpack wielding person, who values their bag's place in this world over the comfort and safety of another person.
We stand together, shoulder to shoulder our boots scraping the floor as we are herded back. The sound of sand and ice beneath our feet is constant. We gaze out windows over other people's heads at the city as it whips by.
The bus slowly empties stop after stop as we enter Downtown, our boots scraping the way to the exits as we weave between other passengers who seem reluctant to aid in our escape. Only a few people bothering to utter 'pardon me' or "excuse me please". We again patiently queue up for the door shifting our weight from foot to foot, dodging backpacks and purses slung over shoulders as we file out onto the street.
Then we hit the sidewalks, heads down, shoulders hunched and scurry to our towers. We rush to enter crowded elevators, rarely making eye contact with other workers all of us shifting our weight from foot to foot as we ascend to offices and hurriedly take off our winter clothes to - sit.
Sit at a desk.
We are separated by beige half walls, we 'prairie dog' over them to see who may be sitting a bank or two over in their 'pen'.
We pound off information mostly a sentence at a time, responding to emails, sharing facts and making requests. We take courses that teach us to shorten our responses and eliminate unnecessary words.
If you're fortunate your phone will ring and there will be another person's voice. But even those interactions are brief. Just the facts-stuff to do...
Then after a full day spewing one liners, fulfilling other people's requests and tapping away at a keyboard we rush back to those same elevators. Heads down we scurry back to bus stops or parking garages, line up to board the bus or train and enter rush hour traffic.
All the while we shift our weight from foot to foot, hands held out for a paycheck every two weeks.
The walk from the corner bus stop to home takes me roughly 3.5 minutes. I put my head down, hunch my shoulders and walk as fast a my little legs will carry me. There are a handful of us every evening walking the same way though our neighbourhood. We nod in acknowledgement of each other and sometimes muster a smile as we hustle our way down the street.
We rush because we are going to where we belong. Home.
We scuttle to the corner when our bus arrives, shifting our weight from one foot to the other while we wait in line to jam ourselves onto the crowded bus.
Our eyes roll when a fellow passenger isn't 'ready' and holds up the line while they fish for fare in endless bags and bottomless pockets, we impatiently stand waiting our turn to be granted entry, bus fare in hand.
We internally criticize when someone chooses to leave their belongings beside them in an empty seat-valuable real estate during rush hour, yet no one ever confronts the selfish, oversized backpack wielding person, who values their bag's place in this world over the comfort and safety of another person.
We stand together, shoulder to shoulder our boots scraping the floor as we are herded back. The sound of sand and ice beneath our feet is constant. We gaze out windows over other people's heads at the city as it whips by.
The bus slowly empties stop after stop as we enter Downtown, our boots scraping the way to the exits as we weave between other passengers who seem reluctant to aid in our escape. Only a few people bothering to utter 'pardon me' or "excuse me please". We again patiently queue up for the door shifting our weight from foot to foot, dodging backpacks and purses slung over shoulders as we file out onto the street.
Then we hit the sidewalks, heads down, shoulders hunched and scurry to our towers. We rush to enter crowded elevators, rarely making eye contact with other workers all of us shifting our weight from foot to foot as we ascend to offices and hurriedly take off our winter clothes to - sit.
Sit at a desk.
We are separated by beige half walls, we 'prairie dog' over them to see who may be sitting a bank or two over in their 'pen'.
We pound off information mostly a sentence at a time, responding to emails, sharing facts and making requests. We take courses that teach us to shorten our responses and eliminate unnecessary words.
If you're fortunate your phone will ring and there will be another person's voice. But even those interactions are brief. Just the facts-stuff to do...
Then after a full day spewing one liners, fulfilling other people's requests and tapping away at a keyboard we rush back to those same elevators. Heads down we scurry back to bus stops or parking garages, line up to board the bus or train and enter rush hour traffic.
All the while we shift our weight from foot to foot, hands held out for a paycheck every two weeks.
The walk from the corner bus stop to home takes me roughly 3.5 minutes. I put my head down, hunch my shoulders and walk as fast a my little legs will carry me. There are a handful of us every evening walking the same way though our neighbourhood. We nod in acknowledgement of each other and sometimes muster a smile as we hustle our way down the street.
We rush because we are going to where we belong. Home.
Monday, February 9, 2015
10 Things I have Learned
Well.
I have been back to work full time outside the home for exactly two months now and I have learned a few things about myself in the working world.
I have learned-
That it takes roughly one week for a home with kids to revert back to a shithole once there is no one to do daily housekeeping.
I have ZERO tolerance for yoga pants in the workplace, UNLESS you're a fitness instructor.
Business Casual my ass. Don't get me started on the half a skirt that makes a weekly appearance. I'm pretty sure you can see cooch.
People fart on the crowded bus and it's disgusting. (I know who you are buddy, don't think I don't. we're ALL onto you and you are foul. You may want to get in to see a Dr.)
I have OCD when it comes to unmade beds
I detest walking in crowds and silently resent getting caught behind slow walkers who are physically capable of keeping pace. (Usually males walking in groups-frustration level just above "Manspreading" google it, it's a real thing and two frustration levels below walking "hand holders".)
Photocopiers and I have a love hate relationship. mostly hate.
The coffee shop is 15 floors away. Too far for my liking.
Taking public transit is good for the environment and also good for developing my surfing skills.
Lots of people smoke Weed and then immediately take transit. (see farting guy)
it must help with the motion sickness, maybe I should give it a go.
No one in my family is worse for wear and all settled right back into the routine of up early, home late, rushing here, rushing there- although, dinner leaves a lot to desired most nights but reintroduction of vegetables should be virtually painless. Now if the Barbies and dirty socks would stop procreating all over the house and the beds would "automake" I'd be "having it all".
On a positive note, I am falling back in love with my City and it's downtown. The Man who hands me my newspaper every morning makes me smile and wishes me a good day-even under his scarf his eyes tell me he's smiling. The fellow 15 floors down where I get my coffee is kind and likes to chat, makes a mean egg sandwich and an excellent cup of hot coffee.
I have been back to work full time outside the home for exactly two months now and I have learned a few things about myself in the working world.
I have learned-
That it takes roughly one week for a home with kids to revert back to a shithole once there is no one to do daily housekeeping.
I have ZERO tolerance for yoga pants in the workplace, UNLESS you're a fitness instructor.
Business Casual my ass. Don't get me started on the half a skirt that makes a weekly appearance. I'm pretty sure you can see cooch.
People fart on the crowded bus and it's disgusting. (I know who you are buddy, don't think I don't. we're ALL onto you and you are foul. You may want to get in to see a Dr.)
I have OCD when it comes to unmade beds
I detest walking in crowds and silently resent getting caught behind slow walkers who are physically capable of keeping pace. (Usually males walking in groups-frustration level just above "Manspreading" google it, it's a real thing and two frustration levels below walking "hand holders".)
Photocopiers and I have a love hate relationship. mostly hate.
The coffee shop is 15 floors away. Too far for my liking.
Taking public transit is good for the environment and also good for developing my surfing skills.
Lots of people smoke Weed and then immediately take transit. (see farting guy)
it must help with the motion sickness, maybe I should give it a go.
No one in my family is worse for wear and all settled right back into the routine of up early, home late, rushing here, rushing there- although, dinner leaves a lot to desired most nights but reintroduction of vegetables should be virtually painless. Now if the Barbies and dirty socks would stop procreating all over the house and the beds would "automake" I'd be "having it all".
On a positive note, I am falling back in love with my City and it's downtown. The Man who hands me my newspaper every morning makes me smile and wishes me a good day-even under his scarf his eyes tell me he's smiling. The fellow 15 floors down where I get my coffee is kind and likes to chat, makes a mean egg sandwich and an excellent cup of hot coffee.
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