Tidy Sapling

I clean houses. Basically, I get paid to go the therapy. Yes, cleaning houses, especially the houses of others is therapeutic. Here's why:

-Exercise. Bending, stretching, climbing stairs, VACUUMING!
-Alone time to think
-Experiencing the transformation of dirty to clean...
-Dirt is one thing in life we can control.

There are two kinds of houses:

The minimalist. They don't have a lot of stuff and everything they own is functional, simple and beautiful. There are no pets and no children. When I clean here I NEVER have to take out the trash or clean a sink full of dishes before I clean the kitchen. 

The maximist. Chaos. Teenagers. Pets. Busy. Busy. Life. I spend most of my time getting down to the surfaces and barely have time to clean them. Dishes everywhere. Laundry in various stages of doneness. Garbages overflowing. Archeological kinda shit in pots and pans and forgotten backpacks. 

And then there are all the houses in between. But of the two extremes I can't decide which one I prefer. 

At the minimalist house I harbour the secret fear I am miking the house dirtier just by entering it. (I have a dog so I use a lint roller on my entire body, including and especially the bottom of my socks, before I enter the house.) One time ALL of my cleaning rags were covered in the dogs hair because my daughter got into the cupboard and threw my rags on the floor. It drove me insane and I had to vacuum every surface I wiped. If all goes well, I am in and out of this house in a few hours. It is the same routine every time and so becomes easier and quicker. When I leave the house is pretty much the same as when I arrived, immaculate, except now it's immaculate with a bit of a shine.

At the maximist house it is always a surprise. Will I spend the next three hours climbing mount laundry or will I discover a new form of penicillin? When I get there I take the garbage bag from the kitchen and speed around the house picking up refuse wherever I go. Then I tackle the bathroom and the kitchen and I barely have time to vacuum floors and get them scrubbed and four hours have passed. I could spend a week in this house and still have stuff to do. But after a few hours of my time, the house looks completely different. The occupants come home they say AHHHHHHHH, for one second. And then they get back to life and back to keeping me employed.

I dislike winter. There.

Trying to be positive and write clearly thought out blog posts is making me mute. So here are a few half thoughts.

1. Cloud Atlas the movie made me swear off meat. (Reasons being the mass production of animals just for our consumption is something I have a hard time ignoring). A few times in my life I've been on a highway and passed a truck filled with live pigs. Plus the idea of forcing animals to eat their own selves to fatten them up for us to eat.... repulses me. Cannibalism. Horrifying. I should read the book. Game meat is different. I would eat it. But still this is hypocritical because I would never shoot anything unless my life or someone else's was in danger. I think.

2. Working at Starbucks. Why is it so enjoyable? Is it the constant stream of free drinks? Is it the constant stream of people to watch? Is it the camaraderie with fellow baristas? Is it the smugness of knowing I am in control of the sanity of a great many people in this town... police, medics, veterinarians, politicians... here's your coffee and a psychotic (not even ironic or forced) smile..

3. Night has eaten up the day. I'm cold. It is dark for too long.

4. Why doesn't Canada own a warm island somewhere? Oh. Because everyone would live there and we need people here to mine and drill and chop down trees. right. and there aren't enough mexicans to do everything.

5. "So you got mountains? That don't impress me much."

6. How many times did I utter the word Yukon before living here? 1 in grade 4 geography class? Yeah. Once. I don't like this place compared to pretty much every other place I've been in Canada. And I've  been everywhere else except NWT and NFL. But there are jobs here. A good life for our family. 3 months of decent weather.

A Casual Absence

Anger manifesting as sadness seems impossible to shake without an outlet and so the rift widens and throbs between my brain and my eyes. I do not want to cry, seems melodramatic now after so many years. After 7 years. Maybe I feel like I should because at the time I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was at work at the café, bussing tables and pouring coffee, putting on a smile for the regulars whose happiness depends on the 5 minutes of cheer from the supporting cast of characters, the baristas, of their lives.

It’s the mid morning lull and I’m stacking saucers and folding half-read newspapers when I see a wallet sized photo of Aidan smiling back from the front page. I almost brush it off. He’s started some Terry Foxian marathon swim along the Trent Severn water way, I think, something athletic and philanthropic. Something totally wholesome and totally crazy, all at the same time. But then this villainous, horrific word. Slain. It punches me in the gut and for a moment I would like to collapse in a heap on the tiled floor but the door tinkles the arrival of more customers and I tuck the paper into the basket and put on a smile.

It has happened more than once now I live in the north. The inner panic, the absolute agony of being handed a gun. People up here think nothing of it, they fondle them casually and show them off like a new iphone. But the weight of it in my hand conjures horrifying images in my mind, images of flesh torn open and a heart beating blood on snow. In my mind he is always wearing white. It was his Halloween costume from a month before. The last time I saw him. I don’t even know what he was dressed as. A pirate? This billowy white blouse and a grin so wide and so gentle, with this slight awkward twinge like he was not yet completely comfortable with how absolutely beautiful he was.

He was a bit of a fringe character in my life. Always at the same parties, the same pubs. Two years behind me at our small Liberal Arts University and so somewhat of a little brother in my mind. An embarrassment of curls and eyelashes and mischievous grin, so a kid that was hard to miss. I was really down yesterday, bombarded with thoughts of sadness and anger at his violent, senseless end and my partner asked if Aidan had been my lover. I scoffed. Of course not. One does not need to have been in love with someone to mourn their death, to mourn their death years and years after the fact. And then it occurred to me. Aidan was the world’s lover.

As human beings our emotions are bonded to the casual presences in our lives in ways we don’t always realize. The Chinese woman you see on the subway on your way home from work, who one day is silently weeping and you have this urge to take her into your arms. The cheerful bank teller who is so efficient you wish she were slower if only to enjoy a few more moments of her pleasant company. And then there is the neighbor you see occasionally in the fleeting moments of gathering the mail and shoveling the driveway, a twinkling rare jewel of a neighbor who respects your privacy, and you theirs, and this silent agreement goes unnoticed, but is so integral to your peaceful existence on the planet.

Last look

I've been missing this view just a bit...

We moved to another cabin in October. One south of Whitehorse instead of north. Same distance to town of about 30mins in the car. Our new view is not as majestic, not as open, but it is nice just the same. It is more forest than farm.

The big news is that we now have running water. It makes the little details of everyday life so much easier, as I am sure you can imagine.

So as I say goodbye to this view, I also say goodbye to hauling jugs of water, sponge baths, outside washroom facilities, winter pee buckets, greasy grey-water buckets, gas station showers, boiling water to wash the dishes ... etc etc etc

Medic Love

There is a story in What's Up Yukon this week about how awesome the EMS volunteers are in the communities and how awesome paramedics are in general. Oh, and I wrote it. No big deal. Toot Toot goes my little horn. Of course I am a bit bias as my love is a paramedic, an extremely dedicated and knowledgeable and passionate one at that!

Every time I hear an ambulance I get butterflies and I smile. A bit morbid? I don't think so. Whoever needs help is getting it, and they are in good hands.

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unease

mountains were clouds and clouds mountains