Ok, so it’s very exciting the weather’s turning less wet, cold and dreary and we should be celebrating that summer has arrived at last. So why do so many of us feel like depressed and dejected losers? Like partially deflated balloons, with crinkled Mylar, nearing the ground, half-assed waving in the gentle covid-infused breeze.  It’s because our environment doesn’t fit our current reality. We want things to be like we think they should and it’s disconcerting when they can’t be. And, just the simple fact that we are tired of being isolated and inside. Do not misunderstand—I am 100% on board with whatever the CDC and NIH want to tell me to do. I want everyone to be safe and smart. I don’t want a second more horrible wave, no way, no thank you. If they tell me to surgically staple a mask to my skin I will comply for the greater good. But it’s extremely interesting to see what happens when you can’t control a good portion of your life, or at least the way you used to. There’s a fight in ourselves that makes us want to buck against this, we want our comfort, we want to get back into our personal ass-groove of life and we think, really believe, that we have the power to change the unchangable. And no, this is not a moment for Gandhi to step in and tell us that we need to be the change we want to see in the world. This is about a real fruitless fight against what cannot be altered. Many of us have a difficulty in letting go of what we cannot control. When I say “us” I may or may not be including myself. Yes, I am including myself 100%.This can manifest in many ways from insignificant (damn I can’t go spend money buying things I don’t need at Home Goods, now re-opening, eeps!) to profound (lack of social interaction causing loneliness and depression and musings on signing up to join a Mars colony) to annoyed panic (oh no I might have to use leaves to wipe myself because the toilet paper has all vanished) to fear (me and everyone I know may get the virus and die a horrific lonely death). All of these are anxiety provoking in varying degrees. And I’ve observed this in myself and my family in many ways.

In the “insignificant” category, all the 40 million homes projects we have started during all this come to mind. As anyone with an old house knows, your work is never never done. Old houses have character and special style and their walls talk to you with their long history. The price you pay for this uniqueness is an unending outpouring of money and labor. It’s not a money pit, but a bottomless hole that extends deep through the earth’s core, out through the opposite side of the globe and shoots into space, floating to other galaxies far far away. Old houses are ungrateful and they are like quirky cool pseudo-friends” who take take take and only reward you with the style they impart to you by being associated with them.

Some of our current projects include raising our barn and our front porch, restoring the column bases that are rotting out, covering our dining room ceiling with planks, installing crown moulding and plate shelf display above the doorways. Redoing a closet off the kitchen into a pantry, redoing our kitchen floor and various other cosmetic touch-ups. I’ve painted and repurposed an old desk into the vanity I’ve always wanted even though Sean told me gently to “throw that piece of shit away.”

Sad neglected 1940’s style writing desk/trash treasure

My POS dumpster-find transformed, in your face Sean

None of these home projects have gone exactly how we expected so far. This is because old houses have settled with time, walls slope up to several inches and Home Depot doesn’t carry column bases that were constructed in the 1860’s. And I know what you’re thinking—please please tell me more details about all these projects and I assure you there is no need to beg and I promise to in some other posts. But my point here is that at first some of our obstacles to these projects were met with frustration and friction against what we realistically had to work with.

The molding in the dining room was scrapped halfway through because we realized we were trying to ignore the extreme and obvious several inch slope in the ceilings, trying to put up molding for a straight-lined ceiling instead of the one we actually had to work with.

wonky old house walls: the leveler does not lie

Once we accepted that with another extra step we could have a moulding that didn’t make us cringe every time we would look at it, a wave of relief came over us and especially me because there’s no way I could have figured this out without Sean’s A Beautiful Mind (and face).

Making it work

trickery of the eye, our little secret between us and you

At first with the front porch column bases, Sean tried to create a square base, but not only was this not in keeping with the round preexisting old column bases but also were the wrong height. Ultimately he found a company to create custom round bases that were exact replicas and fit perfectly, or at least much more perfectly. They were made out of African mahogany which sounded pretty extravagant and rich to me. Sean said they used this type of wood because it resists rot, but I wasn’t really listening to him and just murmured “yes my King,” pretending we were royalty.

our royal column base

The most significant example of this accepting of reality came with our attempt to participate in the front steps project. You’ve heard of this? Photogs with their long lens and masks donned take sweet photos of you and your family from afar on your front steps/porch. Proceeds go to their charity of choice and your moment during covid 19 is forever commemorated. What a great idea and I said sign us up! Only issue was this also happened to be the week Sean has decided to start working heavily on the porch. A front porch project during an actual front porch project. Should we cancel? No!! Let’s show it how it really is. This is life and this is real. Let’s get all the dogs AND the pig in it. The problem was, our mini pig Theodore Nibblebottoms lives in the back yard. He is a creature of habit and is scared of life on account of his existence before we took him in and also just because he is a pig and they are frightened of life. He hasn’t worn a harness since he outgrew his last one and when I attempted to put one on him and leash walk him to the front steps it was a total and utter Shit Show starring him and yours truly. He said no thanks but not with words. And he left out the thanks part. He was screaming and pulling me around my front yard, knocking over our Adirondack chairs and eventually pulling me literally off my feet and dragging me in a zig zag fashion with cars slowing to watch in disbelief. Meanwhile our photog had shown up and was happily snapping away. Sean was laughing like I’d never heard him laugh before. The kids were, for once in their life, speechless. And poor Sheppie was crying “Mama! Mama! Mama!” as he watched in horror as his mother was tossed around like a rag doll by what he probably thinks is an ugly dog.

I said ok, Teddums. You don’t have to be part of our photo. I somehow got him back to his yard and he ran to his house and hid in his hay, trembling. I was bummed he couldn’t join, and also mildly traumatized by his freak out and concurrent painting of me in our front yard.

We took our photos and they turned out great. Our preternaturally patient photog even sent me a shot of me getting pulled right after Teddums knocked over a chair and a subsequent one of me soothing him while sitting on the ground (after being pulled to said ground by him) with my younger daughter Sawyer trying to calm him (and me) as well. Was it what I I envisioned? Hell no. But it’s life, isn’t it? And we must embrace what we cannot control.

#frontporchproject during an actual frontporch project, sans Ted the Pig

Once we succumb to working smarter and not harder, or at least not fruitlessly trying to making things fit something they couldn’t, a weight is lifted. But how do you get to this point where you give in to what you cannot control? And when big profound aspects of your life are seeming out of control, how do you resist the urge to microcontrol every little insignificant thing?

My oldest daughter, who is 11 years old now, was 7 when her dad and I told her we were getting a divorce. She took it extremely poorly, as I imagine most 7 year olds do, even though it was delivered in as gentle and loving a way as possible. She threw herself literally on the ground and sobbed and questioned why we wouldn’t be her parents anymore. Once we had explained what divorce meant and that we would always, always be her parents (especially even when she didn’t want us to be), she calmed down and her sobs became more quiet sadness. But it was rough for her, and so, as divorcing parents often do, we sought therapy for her.

Her therapist was calm and sweet and sympathetic. She was all the things you would want in a counselor, the right eye contact, the kind nodding, the patience of an angel. I would most definitely be the worst therapist of this world. I would twist my face into horrible reactions without realizing it, I would sigh exasperated sighs, and I would probably just blurt out “what the f— is wrong with you? Just get over it.” Ms. Jeannine was perfect though, and she said something once to my daughter that also stuck with me, which makes her kind of my therapist too, I guess.

My daughter was bucking against her current situation. Deep down she knew she could not control an uncontrollable situation (her parents’ divorce) but she was having such difficulty in accepting this. Her response to this was to seek control in whatever she could in her day to day life. This would come out in a mix of sadness, anger and mostly frustration. Ms. Jeannine, in all her wisdom said so softly to her “Sloane, you can just decide to let it go. Like letting the water flow off your back. Let it just roll off your back.” This has such a soothing connotation, I could see a calm come over my daughter. And I was mesmerized as well.

What could be more metaphorically cleansing? We are mostly water, the earth is mostly water. Water is fluidity and water is life. There’s no fighting water, no friction. I still think of this offering from Ms. Jeannine almost every day. I remind my daughter often and in doing so I remind myself. Given that she is nearing her teen years, she likely is sticking pins in a voodoo doll of my likeness and rolling her eyes so far back they pop out of the back of her head every time I do so.

But it’s a great thought and it is a very appropriate one these days. Maybe the summer isn’t going to be exactly as we want it. And even when this is all over, there will always be hard truths that we can’t change no matter how hard we want to try. So even though the pools may or may not stay open in NJ, on hot days we can still run outside in the grass under the sprinkles  or run into the ocean and let that actual water flow over our head and roll down off our backs. We can rub our pig’s belly and whisper to them that we wish they could have been in our front porch photos but we understand that it wasn’t in the cards for them that day. And guess what? Our porch is now finished and beautiful, just in time for us to enjoy it for the summer, but too late to be captured in professional photo style.

And that’s ok, because living the life (not just chronicling it) is what really matters.

Teddums and I forgive each other