spynotes ::
  March 05, 2007
A short history of a large country

Well, I can see from my stats that I�ve driven you away with all this conference talk, so you will be glad to know that I am moving on to other more interesting subjects. Like the weather.

[sound of crickets chirping]

Okay, I�m not really going to talk about the weather except to say that winter is so totally kicking my ass. There have been so many snows and melts and snows and melts that the snow is now hard packed a good 18 inches above the ground. I know this because the well head is now completely submerged. I can stand on the snow and see it below ground level. Unfortunately, the melting snow has infiltrated Mr. Spy�s office/guestroom, soaking the new carpet. We are not sure how the water is getting in � the area around the foundation wall is bone dry, thanks to an overhanging deck. But there is definitely a problem.

We feel like we are waging a war against the house. We have liquidated our savings and run up our credit cards trying to keep up with the last couple of months of household disasters. We�ve stopped being anxious about it and started being resigned. Mostly, though, we are looking forward to leaving the place behind when we go on our first real family vacation in nearly two years in three weeks (18 days � but who�s counting? I am. That�s who.)

I spent the day avoiding the leaky office, which, since I can�t figure out how the water is getting in, I can do nothing about. Instead I cleaned the rest of the house in a frenzy, including scrubbing the bathroom with a toothbrush. No, I am not kidding. I also mopped the ceiling. Somehow, gaining control over the rest of the house seems necessary to deal with the part of the house that has a mind of its own.

I�ve always responded to a lack of control in other areas of my life with a taming of my house. In college, I�d go into a cleaning frenzy every semester right before finals. The rest of the year, my room was comfortably cluttered. But when finals week rolled around, my room was neat as a pin, save for the long string of 3x5 cards clipped to a piece of string tacked along the wall, my system for writing papers in my pre-computer days. When I�d move around as a kid, with each new house I�d be fanatical about organizing my belongings. There was a place for everything and everything was in its place. Even when I was in the hotel this weekend, my room was immaculate. I even made my bed in the morning, even though I knew someone was coming by later to make it for me. My shoes were in a perfect row in the closet. I am not plagued with OCD, but I am very sympathetic to it. Gaining control over small things makes big things feel more manageable somehow. I feel less useless.

Mr. Spy has removed the baseboards, rolled back the carpet and taken up the padding. Mr. Spy is a man of action. I am, apparently, a woman of sloth, or at least avoidance; I am, after all, still sitting here typing. But Mr. Spy does not mind. This is how he exorcizes his own demons. Now if only we could roll up the snow. But no matter. 20 days from now I will be standing with my toes in the sand staring out the seagulls following the trawlers along the shore or perhaps a pink dolphin belly or a loggerhead turtle, still shell-less, crawling to the sea. I can't wait.


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